Laceys of Liverpool Read Online Free PDF

he did his best not to cry, but the minute the front door closed he started to bawl. ‘Don’t hit me, Mam. Please don’t hit me.’
    His mother ignored his cries. ‘In here,’ she said imperiously, opening the door to the living room. ‘Come on!’ She tapped her foot impatiently.
    Maurice walked slowly into the room, dragging his feet. What had he done wrong? He never knew what he’d done wrong. He was shaking with fear as his mam told him to bend over a chair and the cane swished three times against his bottom. It hurt badly. The little boy sobbed helplessly, knowing his bottom would sting for ages. He could understand being beaten if he broke windows, did something really bad, but although he tried very hard to be on his best behaviour, somehow he always managed to make Mam angry.
    ‘You can get to bed now.’
    It was too early. He hadn’t had any tea. Still crying, the child made his way upstairs. In the living room his mother listened to the faltering steps. There was something very touching about the way he climbed, drawing his feet together on each stair. Her heart turned over as she imagined the sturdy little figure clutching the banister. She heard him reach the top, go into his room, then flew after him. He was sitting on the bed, knuckles pressed into his eyes.
    ‘Maurice!’ She fell on her knees, clutched him against her breast. ‘Don’t cry. Oh, don’t cry, luv. Your mammy loves you. She loves you more than anyone in the whole wide world.’
    He felt hot, his small body shuddered in her arms, his heart thumped loudly against her own. Two small arms curled around her neck. Cora held him closely as wave after wave of raw, savage emotion coursed through her veins. There was nothing, absolutely nothing on earth comparable to the love she felt for the child sobbing in her arms, clinging to her, and it was made even sweeter by the knowledge that he loved her back, unquestioningly, wholeheartedly, because she was his mother.
    ‘Do you love your mam, son?’
    ‘Oh, yes.’
    ‘Shall we go down and have some tea?’
    Maurice hiccuped. ‘Please, Mam.’
    ‘Would you like some Christmas cake?’
    He nodded. ‘Yes.’
    ‘Let Mam carry you.’ She picked him up, laughed and said, ‘Lord, you’re a weight. Pretty soon you’ll be carrying me.’
    She carried him downstairs like a baby. Maurice, more confused than ever, wondered what it was he’d done right.

    It was three years since Cora and her family had moved from O’Connell Street to Garibaldi Road. The new house was a great improvement on the old: semidetached, with three good bedrooms, a proper hall, small gardens front and back. There was a bathroom and separate lavatory upstairs. Even Billy, who hadn’t wanted to move, appreciated having a lavvy inside.
    ‘But we’ll never be able to afford the rent on a place like that,’ Billy protested. He was home on leave from the Army where he appeared to be having a whale of a time.
    ‘It’s twelve and six a week, half a crown more than we pay now.’ Cora was no longer prepared to be dictated to by her husband. If Billy wanted, he could stay in O’Connell Street on his own.
    ‘Only twelve and a tanner for a house in Garibaldi Road!’
    ‘According to the landlord, yes.’
    Billy looked dubious. ‘I don’t want us to move, then have that Flynn geezer shove up the rent.’
    ‘He won’t,’ Cora assured him. ‘I work for him, don’t I? I told you. He calls himself Flynn Properties. I keep the books.’
    She’d been badgering Horace Flynn for a better house for years. They couldn’t afford it, but she’d take in washing, she’d do anything to get out of O’Connell Street. Then, he’d owned just over thirty properties. Now there were forty. Every few months he bought another house.
    ‘We’re good tenants, aren’t we?’ she’d reasoned years ago. ‘We’re never late with the rent.’
    ‘No and I don’t know how you manage it, not with your husband in the Army. I’ve had to give