Maggie Sullivan - Snow on the Cobbles

‘It really doesn’t matter what you do with it,’ Cora said. ‘I think there might even be some beads in the sewing box. You could dress it up a bit and it’d look really pretty, so it would.’

Lizzie turned to her mother and smiled. ‘If you’re sure?’ Then she leaned forward and, grabbing her by the shoulders, kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Ma,’ she said.

Cora laughed. ‘You might as well enjoy it. I’ll certainly not have any use for it again.’ She stroked her hand gently over the material and it seemed to change colour as she touched it. Tears were in her voice as she spoke and Lizzie put her arms round her, holding her close for a moment.

‘Oh Ma, don’t say that.’

‘Why not? It’s true. I’m not likely to need it again, now am I? When will I go dancing? Besides which, I’d never be able to fit into it; and if I did, it would only make me look like mutton dressed as lamb.’ She laughed ironically then immediately became serious again. ‘No, my love, you’ve still got your whole life in front of you and it’s important you remember that. I know it’s hard, because of – well, because of everything that’s happened, but you mustn’t hide yourself away.’

‘Ma! I hate when you talk like that when you know that I can’t—’

‘Yes, I know that it still hurts but it doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun sometimes. Your life can’t stop because of … because of what happened. So, you wear it and enjoy it.’ To her relief, Lizzie began to peel off her clothes and prepared to try the dress on.

Lizzie was pleased with her sewing efforts and on the afternoon of the opening night paraded her new dress for Cora’s approval.

‘It looks far better on you than it ever did on me,’ Cora said, generously.

Lizzie secretly agreed and she had to admit that the new outfit made her feel more light-hearted than she had done for a long time. ‘It looks very posh, doesn’t it?’ Lizzie chuckled. ‘Though it feels very strange getting dressed up in an outfit like this only to go to work.’

‘I’m sure it does, but maybe that means you’re ready to have some fun. It’s put a real smile on your face.’

‘You know you don’t have to worry about me, Ma,’ Lizzie said, with an optimism she didn’t really feel. ‘I’ll get through somehow, even though it’s not easy right now.’

‘But I do worry. You’re too young to—’

‘Oh, no, not tonight, Ma, please. It’s going to be hard enough on the first night in a new job and all that.’

‘I know, love, and I’ll be thinking of you.’ Cora stood on tiptoe and, taking Lizzie’s face between her two hands, kissed her daughter’s forehead. ‘Safe home. That’s all I’ll say. I look forward to hearing all about it.’

Lizzie arrived at the Pride well before opening time and she had to ring the bell in order to get in.

‘Now there’s a corker if ever I saw one!’ It was Bob who opened the door, an admiring look on his face when Lizzie’s coat fell open as she stepped inside. He gave a long, loud whistle and Lizzie blushed. Normally she would have reciprocated the compliment without thinking, but when she glanced up at Bob it was all she could do not to laugh because he looked like he’d stepped out of a circus ring. His red master-of-ceremonies jacket had seen better days and it was obviously some time since he’d been able to fasten together its gold braided edges.

‘Staff coats this way,’ Bob said, indicating the passageway between the bar and the kitchen, and Lizzie did her best to squeeze past without touching him. As she stepped into the bar she was impressed by the amount of work that had obviously gone into the decoration, even if it did look rather gaudy, for the whole room was festooned with streamers and balloons and cut-out red hearts.

‘I only hope the punters appreciate the effort we’ve put into all this,’ Bob said behind her.

‘I’m sure they will,’ Lizzie said.

‘Well, you’d best get settled in behind the bar, then,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford to open late on our first night.’

Hilda, too, made an effort with her appearance for the opening-night celebrations, although in her position as cleaner and general charlady she didn’t imagine anyone would expect her to come dressed in anything too fancy. She chuckled at the thought. Just as well, for she didn’t possess anything fancy!

The only smart thing she had in her wardrobe was the pale-green serge suit with its pencil slim skirt and nipped in jacket that Stan’s mother had given her for her wedding two years before. She’d worn it then with a plain white cotton blouse that she’d tucked in at the waist and she saw no reason not to wear the same blouse now. She abandoned the headscarf that she normally wrapped round her hair like a turban and discarded the curlers that were usually hidden underneath. Instead, she brushed out her fair curls and styled them into a victory roll that she tucked in and pinned like a pie crust around her head. She had suggested that she and Lizzie might walk down to the Pride together but Lizzie had persuaded her otherwise.

‘It won’t be necessary for you to be there so early, Hilda,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’d wait till things warm up, if I were you. You’re not on duty, so if you time it right you can make an entrance like a lady.’

‘Ooh, just imagine,’ Hilda said, ‘someone announcing: “The Right Honourable Hilda Ogden”,’ She put on a high-pitched voice which was how she imagined a posh voice might sound. ‘But I suppose you’re right, there’s not much point, and I will have to be there bright and early the next morning.’

Lizzie laughed. ‘Not in your best togs! I’d rather not think about what the place might be like by then.’

By the time Hilda arrived, the newly decorated lounge bar was filled with people from the surrounding neighbourhood and it took her several minutes to push her way through to the bar to claim her free drink with the voucher she’d been handed at the door. She saw Lizzie manning the pumps at the far end of the counter while Pat Evans was serving at the other. Both girls seemed to be rushed off their feet so she could do no more than wave at her friend and find a place in the queue. It was Pat who eventually exchanged Hilda’s voucher for a port and lemon, though Lizzie did look up long enough to point to Hilda’s hair and give her the thumbs-up sign of approval. Bob was nowhere to be seen. Hilda bumped into Phyllis Bakewell, an old work colleague who she’d shared a bench with in the munitions factory, and she smiled at her and said hello. Phyllis didn’t seem to recognize her at first and Hilda didn’t know whether to feel pleased or offended.

‘It’s Hilda. Hilda Ogden,’ Hilda said.

‘Of course!’ Phyllis said, after staring for several moments. ‘Sorry, you must have wondered why I was ignoring you, only you look so – so different.’

Hilda patted her hair as if to indicate what the difference might be and was pleased to feel that not one curl had moved out of place.

‘I’d never have known it was you until you opened your mouth, and then I’d have known that voice anywhere,’ Phyllis said.

When Phyllis added her own inimitable loud cackle of a laugh, Hilda was taken aback. ‘Likewise, I’m sure,’ she said, not really knowing what else to say.

‘I meant, I’m only used to seeing you in your work clothes. You look quite different dressed up like that and without your headscarf.’ Phyllis tried to make amends. ‘You look very smart, if I might say so.’

‘Ta very much,’ Hilda said. She decided Phyllis had meant it kindly and managed a smile. ‘I always like to get dressed up for my Stan,’ she added.

‘Is he here? I didn’t know any local lads had arrived back yet.’ Phyllis’s gaze surveyed the room. ‘Thankfully my Ron never went away.’