A Woman’s Fortune. Josephine Cox
Publisher
July 1954
Shenty Street, Bolton, Lancashire
She’d seen him around here only a couple of times before, a scruffy-looking man with his cap pulled low and his collar raised high. He had a furtive air, not looking directly at anyone in the street and skulking in the shadows instead of greeting folk with a cheery ‘All right?’ in the usual way. Round here, everyone knew everyone else – and their business – so Evie was certain this man was a stranger. And, from his manner, he was up to no good.
The question was, what did he want with her dad?
She’d now come into the kitchen to make sure her brothers, Peter and Robert, were getting on with their homework, leaving her mum and Grandma Sue folding the dried clothes ready to be ironed. Now, standing just inside, the back door partly closed to conceal her, Evie watched her father and the stranger. The two men faced each other in the shadowy alleyway between the Carters’ house and the next row of terraces. Evie could plainly see both men in profile, her father taller, younger and more handsome than the weaselly-looking fella. The stranger was saying something in a voice too low for her to hear and then Dad, who had been smiling, no doubt laying on the charm, muttered something in return and began to look less happy. The next moment the man, his expression aggressive, was wagging a finger in Dad’s face. Evie was surprised to see her father’s shoulders slump and he no longer met the other man’s eye. She was half ashamed to be snooping and half afraid that here was bad news on the way and she ought to see if she could do something about it before her mum heard. This wouldn’t be the first time Dad had got in a bit of a tight corner, and Mum had lost a bit of her sparkle of late.
Since Evie had left school to help her mother and Grandmother Sue with the washing business she was more aware of what everyone in the family was up to. It wasn’t always bad news with Dad, but there had been some weeks when money was especially tight after he’d had a long evening at the pub, celebrating or commiserating some event with ‘the lads’, especially if the bookie’s runner had been there collecting the stake on some nag that Dad had been told was ‘a certainty’ to win and make his fortune, and which had eventually cantered in well down the field.
Michael Carter was never down for long and, with his irrepressible high spirits, would shrug off his setbacks and carry on regardless, sweeping aside any difficulties as if they weren’t happening. But Mum was sometimes impatient with him these days, and the older she got the more Evie could see Mum’s point of view. Somehow Dad’s jokes weren’t as funny as they used to be, and Evie understood why her mother was beginning to look worn down and her smile had grown, like herself, thin. You couldn’t live on laughs, after all.
What was that word Mary had used when Evie had once confided how annoying Dad’s charm could be when you recognised how he worked it on you? Exasperating. Mary Sullivan, Evie’s best friend, was clever. She always had her head in a book and knew a whole dictionary of good words. She even had a dictionary, so Evie reckoned ‘exasperating’ was probably exactly the right word for her father.
Evie glanced to where her brothers were labouring over their schoolwork at the kitchen table. Their heads were down in concentration so she risked opening the door a fraction wider and craned her neck through the gap. The two men were talking intently but their voices remained low. Then the stranger, with another jab of his pointed finger, turned and disappeared from view. Evie waited a minute, then made a show of opening the back door wide and treading heavily up the alleyway to greet her father where he had moved to stand in the open in front of the house. The summer’s evening sun was low between the rows of back-to-back houses and for a moment a golden beam shone through the sooty air directly onto his face, showing his furrowed brow and his tired eyes with a fine trace of lines she had never noticed before. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, facing into the sun with his eyes closed, almost as if he were praying. Suddenly Evie saw that her handsome dad looked older than his years.
Michael Carter looked up at his daughter’s approach and turned to her, his smile instantly back in place.
‘You all right, Evie?’
‘Just taking a rest before I tackle a pile of ironing. Grandma’s got a bit of mending to do so I said I’d iron. She’s really feeling the heat today.’
‘Well, your gran’s got her own insulation,’ he said, winking. ‘It’s certainly hot work for a July evening.’
‘It is that. But Gran will be taking the good stuff back early tomorrow, so we need to get on.’
‘Oh, leave it, lass. Don’t be beating yourself up. It’ll wait for you.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of, Dad. There’ll be more tomorrow and I’ll not have Mum or Gran doing my share. Gran’s complaining about her feet, and I don’t blame her. She’s been on them since seven this morning.’
‘She’s a tough old bird, and a good ’un. Don’t tell her I said so, mind.’
Evie and her father exchanged smiles.
Michael called across to Marie Sullivan, who lived in the house opposite and was sweeping dust off her doorstep. ‘All right, Marie? Tell Brendan I’ll see him for a drink later.’
‘I’ll tell him.’
He waved to old Mrs Marsh, who lived next door to the Sullivans, and who was out rubbing Brasso onto her doorknocker. Mrs Marsh was known to be house-proud. ‘Evening, Dora. That’s looking good. I’ll find you a job at ours, if you like.’
‘Give over with your cheek, Michael Carter,’ she grinned.
Evie laughed along with her father. This street was home. She knew no other, and nor did she want to. But the question remained, who was that man with the creeping manner who had caused her father’s smile to slip? She took a breath and decided to plunge in.
‘Dad … who was that man?’
‘What man?’
‘Here, a few minutes ago. In the ginnel.’
‘Here, you say?’
‘Ah, come on, Dad. Talking to you. Just now.’
‘Oh, that man …’
‘Yes, that man. I don’t think he lives round here. Is he a friend of yours?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t exactly call him a friend, love …’
‘What then?’
‘What?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Dad, do you have to be so exasperating? Who is he and what does he want, lurking round here? Is everything all right? Only you didn’t look too pleased and it set me wondering.’
Michael turned the