Michelle Rawlins - The Steel Girls

‘Oh, it’s okay, luv,’ came the reply. ‘They’re still all pretty needy.’

Nancy nodded. It had only been three months since Big George had died in the most tragic and unspeakable of manners. His neck scarf had got caught in one of the monstrous lathes; his workmates had tried to shut down the machine but couldn’t stop the thick unforgiving belts quick enough. ‘Decapitation caused by severe laceration of the neck,’ the death certificate had read. No wonder Doris couldn’t sleep; Nancy knew her mind must have filled with unbearable harrowing images as soon as she closed her eyes. There couldn’t be a crueller way to die and now Doris was left with four children, all under the age of ten, to feed, clothe and care for. How she had time to scrub her doorstep, as well as take in washing, sewing and do the odd cleaning job for the neighbours, was beyond Nancy.

She knew there was no point telling her friend to take it steady. How could she? Doris had bills to pay like everyone else and, with no husband to bring home a wage, she was juggling every ha’penny she had in a desperate bid to keep the tallyman at bay.

Doris didn’t need to be told twice that if she didn’t meet the rent, the debt collector would appear at the door and wouldn’t think twice about taking away any possessions she had to cover the money she owed.

Nancy knew that Doris had already pawned most of the jewellery Big George had bought her over the years, including the intricate locket he’d given her on their wedding day, eleven years earlier – a family heirloom that had been passed down through the generations that had been a wrench to part with – but that she refused to let the gold band on her wedding finger go.

‘Listen. Don’t you be worrying about me,’ Doris said, snapping Nancy out of her daydream. She didn’t know how, but she was determined to find a way through the heart-wrenching predicament she had found herself in. She had no choice – she had four kids who were relying on her.

‘Well, at least come and have that cuppa when we’ve finished cleaning later,’ Nancy said. ‘Bert said he’d be working late and I’ve got some leftover jam pudding from last night – the kids can share it between them after school.’

Doris smiled. ‘Thanks, luv; that will cheer them up.’

It was the very least Nancy could do. She couldn’t imagine what life would be like without Bert to bring home a steady wage from his job as a tram driver – his steadfast love and support was all Nancy had ever known.

The rest of the day passed in the blink of an eye. After her doorstep almost glimmered in the bright sunshine, Nancy black-leaded the range, cleaned the windows with the previous week’s collection of newspapers and a good douse of malt vinegar, before getting through the pile of washing that had mounted up. By the time three o’clock came, she’d done her jobs and was happy to put bucket and cloths away just in time to go and collect Billy and Linda from the school gates, before preparing a few extra carrots and potatoes to go with the leftover slices of beef from the day before’s Sunday roast.

She’s only been back a few minutes when, right on cue, as she boiled a fresh pan of water on the kitchen range, Nancy heard the giggles and chatter of Little George, Alice, Joe and their eldest sister, Katherine, come tumbling through the yard, with their exhausted mum.

‘Perfect timing,’ Nancy said, fetching a jug of creamy milk from the parlour and setting out her two best china cups and saucers. ‘Put your feet up and have a minute,’ she said, with a smile, scooping a generous spoonful of tea leaves from the old tin caddy into her trusty teapot.

‘And look what I’ve got for you lot.’ Nancy showed Doris’s children, cutting the remainder of the jam sponge into squares. There was just enough for each of them, with a slightly smaller piece each for Billy and Linda. ‘Now, tuck in and let your mum have a well-deserved break,’ she said, knowing her neighbour’s children probably hadn’t had a sweet treat in weeks.

Apart from Little George, who clung to his mum like a limpet, the others all happily ran back into the yard with a trail of crumbs following them.

‘Thanks, Nancy, you’re a good friend,’ Doris sighed, grateful for ten minutes to sit down without fending off one request after another from six-year-old Alice, Joe, seven, and Katherine, nine.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Nancy protested, ‘you would do the same for me.’ The two women had been neighbours since she and Bert had moved in the week after they had got married, eight years earlier. Slightly older, and wiser, Doris had immediately taken Nancy under her wing, something the younger woman was grateful for. Nancy’s parents lived forty miles away in their home city of Manchester, not far from her elder sister, Lucy, and her husband, Jack. Nancy desperately missed Lucy; they had been so close growing up and she wished they lived nearer so she could chat to her about everyday life and any worries she had. But when Nancy moved into the neat three-bedroom terrace at 23 Prince Street, Doris had naturally slotted into the protective big sister role.

When Billy, and two years later Linda, had come along, it had been Doris who had held her hand through the painful contractions, mopping her forehead with a cool damp towel, calmly reassuring her and expertly telling Nancy when to push. And once her precious babies entered the world, yet again it was Doris who showed Nancy the ropes, until her mum had arrived to offer a helping hand.

Inevitably a close friendship had formed between the two women and now Nancy knew it was her turn to offer Doris support.

‘Are you sure you’re managing?’ she asked tentatively.

‘I’ve been better,’ came the unsurprising reply, as Doris took a sip of her sugary sweet tea. ‘The bills are mounting up,’ she said, letting out an exhausted sigh. ‘I’m robbing Peter to pay Paul and the kids are pulling me in all directions. It’s not their fault. They are good really, but obviously need me more than ever. Alice asks at least ten times a day when George is coming home, Georgie isn’t sleeping, Joe doesn’t understand why he no longer has a daddy and poor Katherine is trying to be brave but every night sobs into her pillow until she has no tears left.’

Nancy took a deep breath and firmly pressed down on her bottom lip, desperately trying to fight the tears that were now stinging the back of her eyes and threatening to burst down her cheek. The thought of the heartache Doris and her children were suffering was unbearable, but the last thing her friend needed was to see her turn into a blubbering mess. Nancy tried to find the right words to ease Doris’s pain, something that would give her a tiny glimmer of hope and reassure her things would get better. But each time Nancy went to open her mouth, she found herself completely at a loss as to what to say. The thought of Billy or Linda going through the same indescribable horror stopped Nancy in her tracks – no child should endure that sort of anguish, especially at such a tender age. It was hard enough for an adult to come to terms with such a gaping loss, let alone little ones, who were far too young and innocent to make any sense of how cruel life could be.

‘I know I can’t bring George back,’ Nancy started, ‘or take away what you must be feeling right now, but I’ll always be here for you.’ She gently took hold of Doris’s tiny shaking hand. ‘If there is anything you need, or anything I can do – whatever if it is, I’ll do my best. Maybe I can have the children of an evening if you want to take on a couple of extra cleaning jobs?’ Not that Nancy liked the idea of Doris working all the hours God sent but she knew, now more than ever, it had become an evil necessity if she wanted to keep the wolves from the door.