Maggie Sullivan - Christmas on Coronation Street - The perfect Christmas read

‘Don’t do anything silly, Phyllis, promise me.’ Elsie squeezed Phyllis’s hand.

‘It won’t be silly – anything’s better than this miserable life. Anyway, so long as you’re OK, Else. G’night then. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Night, Phyllis. Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite.’ As Phyllis crept across the bedroom and quietly clicked the door shut behind her, Elsie lay wide awake, mulling over what her sister had said.

It took longer than usual for the swelling to go down, by which time Elsie had made up her mind. She needed money. A second job. One that offered more than a quick grope and a few pleasures behind the shrubberies. But it also had to be one where the old man couldn’t get his hands on a penny of what she earned. What was the use in finding extra work if the money was only going to be poured down his disgusting throat? She couldn’t go on like this, starving for lack of a regular daily meal, watching the kids being whittled down to scarecrows. But she had no idea what she could do, for she had no particular skills. It was a pity she couldn’t get an office job like Fay had set her heart on, but she needed to work different hours. She couldn’t work during the day while she hung on to her job at the factory. She needed extra hours. Some kind of evening shift work like in a hospital or a factory that never closed down. She would have to think of something.

The next day was bright but cold and by the time she came out of work and the sun had gone down, a frost had already begun to form. Elsie was still smarting from the run-in with her father and didn’t feel like going straight home. So she did what she often did when she felt one of her moods coming on and wanted to be left to herself; she went to the Field. It was a strip of waste ground that had not a blade of grass on it, a few minutes’ walk away from the factory; she always went there whenever she wanted to think. She would sit, head in hands, on the remains of an upturned barrel that lay among the debris in the far corner of the stony ground, and mull over whatever problems were uppermost in her mind. Sometimes her thoughts would be interrupted by someone walking by. If it was someone she knew, she’d often play a game. First, she would catch their eye, for the gas lamp on the corner where the Field met the main street usually gave her a clear view of their face. Then she would shout something saucy or rude in the hope of making them respond, and finally she would award herself a score according to the level of their response. She’d give herself five if she raised a little smile, seven for a laugh, ten if she could get them to halt their journey and engage in a few moments’ banter. She was good at that. People hardly ever failed to respond in some way, even if it was only to shout rude words and obscenities at her. She would set herself a target for a total evening’s score and she rarely missed her mark.

But tonight she’d seen no one and she was wondering how much longer she could remain before she became frozen to the spot. She was about to give up and move off when a young man walked past. She smiled at him and he tipped his cap to her – that was seven points for a start. But she was prepared to give him a few extra points because he had such a pleasant face. He wasn’t very tall but he seemed surprisingly muscular and his gait was forceful and determined. She thought he might be a few years older than she was, maybe seventeen or even eighteen, though a cowlick of hair darker than the rest flopped forward, giving him a sort of boyish charm.

‘Hello again,’ she called, realizing that although she didn’t know him, she had actually engaged in her game with him before. The thing she had liked most about him then was his broad, cheeky smile. As he drew level with her, she saw a flash of it again.

‘Sorry, can’t stop today – I’m already late,’ he called, and as he increased his pace she could see his face break into a broad grin. ‘And if I don’t get to the pub on time tonight the bloody landlord will have me guts for garters, ’cos they’ll be all out of clean glasses.’

‘Which pub is that then?’ Elsie shouted, though she was unsure if he was still within hearing distance. Not that it mattered. She’d already awarded herself a full ten points.

‘The Butcher’s Arms.’ She heard his reply only faintly and it set her a fair puzzle, for she had no idea where that was. She stared at his back as he slipped out of range of the lamplight and disappeared from view. There was one way to find out. She would follow him. Sliding from her perch she set off after the young man, running the first few steps till she got him back into view then slowing to walking pace, for she didn’t want to get too close else he might realize he was being followed.

They seemed to have walked quite a long way through parts of Weatherfield Elsie had never seen before and if she hadn’t come to a crossroads with a sign that pointed to Westerley Cross in one direction and Town Centre in another, she wouldn’t have known where she was. She might even have thought she was in a different town completely. The young man had disappeared by now, but she spotted a pub on the corner and to her relief found it was called the Butcher’s Arms. It was not a pub she knew, but the good news was that she had never heard her father speak of it either, so she wasn’t likely to bump into the old man. She stood for a few moments wondering, having come so far, what she should do now. If anyone had asked her, she couldn’t have explained what had made her come all this way.

As she stood dithering in the chilly night the bar door was suddenly flung open and two raucous men rolled out, laughing drunkenly. The door swung back, lighting up the pavement for a few seconds. As it closed, she saw a notice was pinned lopsidedly to the diamond-shaped stained-glass panel cut into the wood. She tilted her head following the direction of the piece of paper, which seemed to be hanging by a thread and read: Experienced barmaid wanted for late shift. Must be 18 or over . Elsie hesitated but only for the minute it took to pat down her hair, pinch her cheeks and bite some colour back into her chapped lips. Then she pulled open the swing doors and was sucked inside by the warmth of the bar.

It was brightly lit and noisy but her appearance caused a stir from the moment she entered. Most of the younger lads wolf-whistled while some of the older ones were positively leering, reaching over to touch her as she stepped in among them. Her response to this instant reaction was to exaggerate the sashaying movement of her hips, a movement she’d been practising a lot recently. She even winked and raised her eyebrows at those close by, like she’d seen the film stars do in the pictures. She pinned an immediate smile on to her face and she could almost feel the twinkle in her eyes as she glanced flirtatiously round the dimly lit room. There were several men who obviously hadn’t seen her, for they were standing by the bar rail shouting their orders and a few obscenities to the young redheaded man who was running backwards and forwards behind the bar. He seemed to be trying to serve at least six people at once but couldn’t make up his mind who he should serve first.

A quick glance confirmed to Elsie that she was the only woman in the crowded room and she couldn’t deny she was enjoying the attention. If it was anything like the pubs she’d been in with her father, there would be other female patrons tucked away in the ladies’ snug, which would be approached by its own separate entrance, but she wasn’t in a hurry to join them. As she moved closer to the bar, she caught a glimpse of the young man she’d trailed all the way from the Field. She was right: he was worth following. Not only was his face pleasant but he was kind-looking too. And she liked the way he stopped now and then to flip the lock of hair out of his eyes. He was gathering empty glasses, gripping them tightly between stubby fingers. He carried them behind the bar and placed them in a large sink. There a boy was washing them in what seemed from the blueness of his hands to be cold water. A large man with heavy jowls and a ruddy scowling face, doubtless the landlord, was ringing up a variety of prices into the cash register as the redheaded barman called out the amounts of money he had taken. The landlord handed back the change and the barman’s cash was emptied into the till. When Elsie appeared, the redhead stared at her for a moment then he nudged the older man, who peered at her over his glasses and frowned.