Lights Out Liverpool Read Free Page A

abruptly and Eileen noticed her Tony, hanging back as ever, was the first to be out. A good job Francis wasn’t around to see him lose. Tony came up, looking tearful. ‘I didn’t like pushing anybody, Mam.’
    ‘All right, luv, it’s only a game,’ she soothed. ‘C’mon, take these into Mary’s, then you can help us turn the cloths over.’ In a while, there’d be more children out and he’d have someone to play with. She noticed Freda Tutty, Wellington boots flapping against her skinny legs, was dragging Dicky around the circle of chairs by the hand, an almost fanatical expression on her little pinched face. When the music stopped, Freda swung Dicky onto a chair and bagged the next one for herself by the simple expedient of removing the boy already on it with a vicious shove of her bony hip. The boy – it was Sheila’s eldest, Dominic – caught his head on the neighbouring chair before landing on the ground. He stood up, blood pouring from a cut on his forehead, and began to yell. Sheila struggled wearily up from the step where she was sitting. Angry at his precious day being spoilt, Joey Flaherty gave Freda a sharp slap on the wrist. The girl stared at him mutinously, eyes full of hate, then dragged her brother down the entry beside the coalyard at the end of the street to go indoors by the back way.
    There was a general sigh of relief. Eileen’s own relief was mixed with a sense of guilt. Always, she felt as if she should do something about the Tuttys, but never knew what . When she and Francis had taken Number 16 after they got married, the sound of poor Gladys being used as a punchbag by Eddie, her now long-departed husband, had upset her terribly. But Francis had refused to let her tell the Bobbies. ‘It’s none of our business, Eileen. Anyway, the Bobbies won’t do nowt. He’s not breaking any laws.’ Now it was Freda and Dicky’s turn to take the beatings. Gladys had learnt a thing or two from Eddie.
    Eileen assuaged her conscience a little by resolving to take a plate of butties and a glass of ale along to Number 14 later on, though Gladys’d far prefer a bottle of gin. Everyone knew the lengths Gladys would go to for a bottle of gin when her Public Assistance money ran out.
    Suddenly a cheer went up from the men on the corner, and she glanced across. A black car had stopped at the end of the street. The driver was Rodney Smith, a young man with a cherubic face who worked as a rent collector for Bootle Council. As Eileen watched, a tall figure got out of the passenger seat, a handsome man with a fine head of black wavy hair who beamed at everyone in sight. Francis! He pulled down the boot and began to struggle with something inside. The waiting men went eagerly to help, and a few minutes later a large barrel was rolled down Pearl Street. The ale had arrived.
    The day wore on. The vivid sun grew larger, turned from bright yellow to musky gold, as it made its slow and inevitable journey across the gently changing sky, and a line of shadow began to creep across the cobbles of Pearl Street, sharply separating the light from the dark, though the air grew no cooler. Indeed, by late afternoon it seemed more suffocating than ever. The grown-ups had long finished their meal, the tables had been cleared and the cloths removed so they wouldn’t get drink spilt on them, though most of the men sat on the pavement with their backs against the walls of the houses. The younger children began to grow tired and tetchy. Many of the older ones had disappeared, having gone to other streets to find their friends. Brenda Mahon’s little girls were pushing round the home-made dolls’ pram that they were usually only allowed to bring outside on Sundays. Sheila had put Ryan to bed, leaving the window open in case he woke and began to cry. Her next youngest, Caitlin, had fallen asleep in her arms.
    The King’s Arms pub on the corner of the street opened its doors, and some customers brought their drink outside to join