Lizzie of Langley Street Read Free

previous owners. The jerseys were darned and had squares of cloth from her mother’s work-box sewn over the elbows. Her boots had been
outgrown by their neighbour’s daughter, Blakies hammered into their soles.
    She reached behind her, scooped up her long dark hair and plaited it. Then she poured water into the kettle and warmed her hands beside it. Next, she sliced the big crusty loaf that was
purchased from the baker’s roundsman, also referred to as the Midnight Baker because he delivered at night. Kate bought bread and milk from him twice a week. On Fridays, when she had money,
and on Tuesdays, when she had none. Her debt was recorded on the slate. Lizzie knew it was robbing Peter to pay Paul but that was how people survived on the island.
    When she had finished her chores, she went outside to the lavatory. The path to the wooden shed in the backyard was covered in frost. Sitting on the cold seat, she left the door wide open and
shivered as she gazed up at the stars still lighting the sky. With luck, it would be a fine, dry day and business would be brisk at market.
    Lizzie’s heart raced at the thought of seeing Danny Flowers, the tall, blond-haired barrow boy whom she secretly worshipped. She thought of the silk ribbons lying on the tray, imagining
them tied in her own curling black hair. Ribbons were all the rage, favoured by the young women who travelled down from the West End. Gentry were always dressed impeccably. Lizzie was fascinated
with their clothes and loved to study the fashions. It was the only opportunity she had to do so and she made the most of it.
    Thoughts of Danny and beautiful clothes vanished as she returned to the house, stifling a yawn. It was time to wake her father and she’d only had three hours’ sleep. All because of
Vinnie. His drinking was becoming worse and so were his black moods.
    The stink of disinfectant flowed out as she opened the bedroom door. It was the only antidote the islanders had to bugs and mice. Distributed free at the local park each week, Kate used it in
the bedroom, which, because of Tom’s injuries and the risk of infection, was the priority.
    Once acclimatized, Lizzie pushed the Bath chair up to the bed. Her father groaned as she parted the heavy curtains.
    Kate woke and sat up on the edge of the bed. ‘Wait, Lizzie. I’ll help you get ’im into the chair. You’ll do yer back in if you try it on yer own.’
    ‘I’ll manage, Ma, you couldn’t have got much sleep last night.’
    ‘Oh, I’m all right now, love.’ Still sitting, Kate wound her long grey plait into a bun. ‘Let’s get your father dressed, then,’ she sighed, rising slowly.
    As usual, Tom complained throughout the performance. It was not until he was washed and fully clothed that Lizzie had time to notice how ill her mother looked.
    ‘You sure you feel all right, Ma?’ Lizzie asked at the breakfast table.
    ‘I’ll be right as rain when I get me second breath.’ Kate poured tea into three enamel mugs. ‘Spread the drippin’, gel, will you?’
    Lizzie’s mouth watered as she spread the thick, juicy paste scooped off the top of the stock. Kate rarely cooked a joint of beef now. They wouldn’t eat another one for at least a
month. Lizzie remembered how every Sunday before the war they ate thick slices of succulent roast beef, the leftovers fried as bubble and squeak the next day. The rich brown juice was made into
broth, eked out over the week. They had taken the beef for granted then. Now, even the dripping was a delicacy.
    ‘Eat up, you two,’ Kate told them briskly. ‘You won’t get much more before the day’s out.’
    Lizzie bolted her food. She noticed Kate hadn’t eaten a crumb. ‘Why don’t you go back to bed, Ma? Babs could take Flo to school today.’
    ‘Aw, stop fussing,’ Kate scolded. ‘Anyone would think I’m on me last legs.’
    ‘It’s them lazy buggers upstairs that’s the cause of the trouble,’ muttered Tom angrily, pushing himself away from