grins, greasy caps pulled over their heads; Jews with orthodox ringlets, beards, long black coats and black hats; men with dark complexions, turbans and traditional long gowns, their feet bare of socks and wearing string sandals; women in headscarves tied in a knot, showing just a glimpse of hair, and aprons that crossed over at the front, on their break from the jam factory just down the road.
On one side of the road there was a pawn shop with the sign of the three balls over its door and a few tarnished articles on show; most of the stock was inside, tucked away in the safe, waiting for its owners to reclaim it when they had the money. Next to it was one of the Greenspan trading grocery stores and then a hardware shop and a pub with its sign in black and gold lettering and a picture of a kingâs head, adjoining it; a tobacconist store with penknives, cigarette cases and signs, and a rack of pipes in its window made up the row of shops. Further on was a Jewish synagogue and next to that a building with the name of a clothing manufacturer over its dirty windows, which were blocked out with grubby blinds. Beth told Lizzie it was a sweatshop and the seamstresses who worked there were made to do impossibly long hours.
âTheyâre all foreign women and I donât think any of them speak English,â Beth told her. âCome on, weâd better hurry now or Mum will get worried.â
*
âSo what happened?â Aunt Jane attacked as soon as Lizzie entered the kitchen. âI suppose it was a waste of time. Donât imagine your uncle and I are going to let you sit around doing nothing all dayâ¦â
âI got the job as an apprentice and Iâm going to learn everything.â Lizzieâs head rose in defiance. âMy wage is twenty-five bob for the first six months and then it goes up another ten shillingsâ¦â
âHow are you going to manage on that?â her aunt demanded. âIâll still want my pound a week and that leaves you with hardly enough to get to workâ¦â
âLizzie has done the right thing,â Uncle Jack spoke up for her. âIâve always said that sheâs wasted in that canteen â and it isnât her fault she missed all that schooling, Jane. Sheâll give you a pound a week same as usual, but until sheâs earning more Iâll give her ten bob for herself.â
âWhose money is that coming out of? Donât think you can cut my money. I work all hours to keep this family decent â and Iâ¦â
âItâs all right, Jane,â he said quietly. âLizzieâs pocket money will come from mine. Iâll share it with her.â
âUncle Jack,â Lizzie protested, âyou canât give me your beer money. You work hard all week, you deserve somethingâ¦â her eyes stung with tears, because he was always trying to help her, to protect her from Aunt Janeâs caustic tongue.
âIf heâs fool enough to give it to you, it wonât hurt him to stay home one night a weekâ¦â Aunt Janeâs eyes narrowed suspiciously. âSo if you got the job where have you been all this time?â
âI met a nice girl at Oliverâs workshops. Sheâs got a job in the office and I had lunch at her home and met her mum.â
Lizzie wished she knew more about her own mother, but she had only a tiny silver cross and chain to remember her by. Lizzie sometimes felt upset that almost nothing of her parentsâ had been kept for her, but then most of her past was shrouded in a hazy mist since her accident.
Sometimes strange pictures flashed into her head and she seemed to recall a nurse bending over her⦠and a room with bars on the windows. All she really remembered was the doctor at the sanatorium telling her that she was Lizzie Larch and she could go home to her aunt and uncle as soon as she was well enough.
Sheâd left school at sixteen, and gone to work