Trickett’s, May and Ida were already there. Ida was doing her pools coupon and eating raspberry ripple.
‘Look out, it’s them,’ she nudged May as we came in.
My mother sank down.
‘I’m finished.’
‘Get some Horlicks down,’ May shouted for the waitress, who put down her cigarette and sloped across. Her glasses were at a funny angle, and stuck together with band-aid.
‘What you done?’ demanded May, ‘You weren’t like that just now.’
‘That Mona put her new delivery of beefburgers on them,’ she answered peevishly, easing herself against the wall.
‘They freeze them just like bricks nowadays.’
She flicked a dishcloth over the table.
‘Just like bricks, it’s not natural.’
She wiped out the ashtray.
‘Not that I think there’s owt wrong with a fridge mind, but you can go too far.’
‘You can,’ agreed May. ‘You can.’
‘I had that Mrs Clifton in here this morning,’ the waitress went on. ‘She’s a right one, common as muck, but all fancy with it.’ (My mother blushed.)
‘I said to her, I said, Doreen, what you pay at Marks and Sparks you get for half the price down here.’
Ida murmured her assent.
‘But you know what she said back?’
May said she didn’t but she could guess.
‘She said, posh as anything, I like to fill my freezer with things I know are good, Mrs Grimsditch.’
‘Ho, she’s a one,’ exclaimed May. ‘Called you Mrs Grimsditch did she? What’s wrong with Betty then?’
‘Aye,’ put in Ida, ‘what’s wrong with Betty?’
And they all started chorusing under their breath.
My mother was getting desperate.
‘Mrs Grimsditch …’ she began.
‘What’s wrong with Betty?’ glowered the waitress, turning round.
My mother turned to Ida for some help, but Ida was busy with her coupon.
‘Liverpool against the Rovers,’ she said to May. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘Nowt,’ said Betty, butting in. ‘Now what do you want? I haven’t got all day, there’ll all them glasses to wash.’
My mother was visibly distressed.
‘People spit in them and all sorts, it’s enough to turn your stomach.’
She looked at me.
‘Do you want a Saturday job?’
My mother brightened up.
‘Yes she does.’
‘Well it can start now, can’t it Betty?’ Ida spoke from behind her pools coupon.
‘Aye,’ said Betty, ‘there’s all them glasses.’
So I set to work, while my mother and Ida and May filled in the coupon and drank Horlicks. I didn’t mind the work, and there wasn’t much spit in the glasses, besides it gave me time to think about the fish stall, and Melanie.
Week after week I went back there, just to watch.
Then one week she wasn’t there any more.
There was nothing I could do but stare and stare at the whelks.
Whelks are strange and comforting.
They have no notion of community life and they breed very quietly.
But they have a strong sense of personal dignity.
Even lying face down in a tray of vinegar, there is something noble about a whelk.
Which cannot be said for everybody.
‘Why do I feel like this?’ I wondered. Then, just as I was about to turn away and buy myself a baked potato for comfort, I saw Melanie walking round to the stall. I went straight up to her. She looked a bit surprised.
‘Hello, I thought you’d left.’
‘I have left, I’ve got a job in the library now, just Saturday mornings.’
What could I say next? How could I make her stay?
‘Would you like a baked potato?’ I offered wildly.
She smiled, and said she would and we went to eat it on the bench outside Woolworth’s. I was very nervous, and the pigeons got most of mine. She talked about the weather and her mother, that she had no father. ‘I haven’t either,’ I said, to make her feel better. ‘Well, not much.’ Then I had to explain about our church and my mother and me being dedicated to the Lord. It sounded odd for a moment, but I knew that was because I felt nervous. I asked her if she went to church, and she said she did,
‘Look out, it’s them,’ she nudged May as we came in.
My mother sank down.
‘I’m finished.’
‘Get some Horlicks down,’ May shouted for the waitress, who put down her cigarette and sloped across. Her glasses were at a funny angle, and stuck together with band-aid.
‘What you done?’ demanded May, ‘You weren’t like that just now.’
‘That Mona put her new delivery of beefburgers on them,’ she answered peevishly, easing herself against the wall.
‘They freeze them just like bricks nowadays.’
She flicked a dishcloth over the table.
‘Just like bricks, it’s not natural.’
She wiped out the ashtray.
‘Not that I think there’s owt wrong with a fridge mind, but you can go too far.’
‘You can,’ agreed May. ‘You can.’
‘I had that Mrs Clifton in here this morning,’ the waitress went on. ‘She’s a right one, common as muck, but all fancy with it.’ (My mother blushed.)
‘I said to her, I said, Doreen, what you pay at Marks and Sparks you get for half the price down here.’
Ida murmured her assent.
‘But you know what she said back?’
May said she didn’t but she could guess.
‘She said, posh as anything, I like to fill my freezer with things I know are good, Mrs Grimsditch.’
‘Ho, she’s a one,’ exclaimed May. ‘Called you Mrs Grimsditch did she? What’s wrong with Betty then?’
‘Aye,’ put in Ida, ‘what’s wrong with Betty?’
And they all started chorusing under their breath.
My mother was getting desperate.
‘Mrs Grimsditch …’ she began.
‘What’s wrong with Betty?’ glowered the waitress, turning round.
My mother turned to Ida for some help, but Ida was busy with her coupon.
‘Liverpool against the Rovers,’ she said to May. ‘What do you reckon?’
‘Nowt,’ said Betty, butting in. ‘Now what do you want? I haven’t got all day, there’ll all them glasses to wash.’
My mother was visibly distressed.
‘People spit in them and all sorts, it’s enough to turn your stomach.’
She looked at me.
‘Do you want a Saturday job?’
My mother brightened up.
‘Yes she does.’
‘Well it can start now, can’t it Betty?’ Ida spoke from behind her pools coupon.
‘Aye,’ said Betty, ‘there’s all them glasses.’
So I set to work, while my mother and Ida and May filled in the coupon and drank Horlicks. I didn’t mind the work, and there wasn’t much spit in the glasses, besides it gave me time to think about the fish stall, and Melanie.
Week after week I went back there, just to watch.
Then one week she wasn’t there any more.
There was nothing I could do but stare and stare at the whelks.
Whelks are strange and comforting.
They have no notion of community life and they breed very quietly.
But they have a strong sense of personal dignity.
Even lying face down in a tray of vinegar, there is something noble about a whelk.
Which cannot be said for everybody.
‘Why do I feel like this?’ I wondered. Then, just as I was about to turn away and buy myself a baked potato for comfort, I saw Melanie walking round to the stall. I went straight up to her. She looked a bit surprised.
‘Hello, I thought you’d left.’
‘I have left, I’ve got a job in the library now, just Saturday mornings.’
What could I say next? How could I make her stay?
‘Would you like a baked potato?’ I offered wildly.
She smiled, and said she would and we went to eat it on the bench outside Woolworth’s. I was very nervous, and the pigeons got most of mine. She talked about the weather and her mother, that she had no father. ‘I haven’t either,’ I said, to make her feel better. ‘Well, not much.’ Then I had to explain about our church and my mother and me being dedicated to the Lord. It sounded odd for a moment, but I knew that was because I felt nervous. I asked her if she went to church, and she said she did,
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