Liverpool Taffy Read Online Free PDF Page A

Kettle’s proposal and probably turned it down. But that was when I knew where I was going and what I wanted, Biddy told herself ruefully, changing the carpet bag from her left hand to her right, for though not particularly full, it soon began to feel extremely heavy. Yes, that was before Mam went and left me. Now I’ve got to fend for myself and I’d rather a roof over my head than a gutter and yesterday’s Echo .
    Well, her thoughts continued, I’m down now, flat as a ha’penny on a tramline, but I’ll recover myself, given time. I’ll lie low for a bit and see what’s best, but for now, it’s Ma Kettle’s and like it. Otherwise they’ll slam me into an orphanage or the workhouse or something, and I wouldn’t like that at all.
    Ma Kettle was waiting for her. The shop was closed but the door hung open and there she was, boiling toffee in the back room and keeping a weather eye open, she explained, for Biddy.
    ‘Normally, I’d tell you to finish this boilin’ off for me,’ she said, ushering the girl into the back room and through the doorway which, until this minute, had been forbidden territory for a mere Kettle employee. ‘But seein’ as you’re goin’ to live in, you’d best come up and meet the rest o’ the fambly.’
    Carpet bag in hand, Biddy followed Ma Kettle up a flight of stairs and into a large, rather dismal living-room. It should not have been dismal, for there were dark red curtains pulled across the window, a deep, comfortable-looking sofa and number of saggy armchairs with faded, dark red upholstery – Biddy shuddered – the colour of dried blood, and the only light came from a dim little bulb with a red shade which robbed it of any brilliance it might once have possessed. It shone down on a large table covered with a maroon chenille cloth and on four upright wooden chairs with carved backs and tight leather seats. Even the walls were dark, the paper having lost any colour it might have possessed in favour of a uniform brown years ago. In fact, the only bright part of the room was the fire which roared up the chimney and the brass fire-irons which twinkled in the grate.
    There were three young men disposed about the room in various poses and Ma Kettle introduced them to Biddy in an undertone, so as not to disturb them.
    One was at the table directly beneath the red-shaded light. He was probably seventeen or eighteen and was poring over a book through a pair of small, wire-rimmed spectacles balanced on his oddly upturned nose. He was pudgy, with light brown hair, and took no notice whatsoever of either his mother or her companion. Biddy was informed in an awed whisper that this was Ma Kettle’s youngest, her beloved Kenny.
    Jack came next. He sat by the fire, elbows on knees, a slice of bread on a toasting fork held out to the flames. He was in his early twenties, tall, well-built, dark-haired, and wearing a seaman’s brief white shirt and blue trousers. He looked round and grinned as his mother said his name, white teeth flashing in his tanned face. Jack, Biddy remembered, was a sailor and not home often. He was the one who had allowed the maid to prig her bread and jam though, so her answering smile was tepid.
    The third man sat opposite Kenny at the table eating a plate of what looked like scouse. Biddy knew this must be Luke, the eldest son, but Ma Kettle told her so anyway. Luke reminded Biddy sharply of Ma Kettle for he was stout and had little grey eyes which met her own shrewdly, calculatingly. He was twenty-five, she knew that much about him from idly listening to Ma Kettle boasting in the shop, and worked at Tate’s. He was, naturally, the source of the cheap sugar which Ma used in her home-made sweets.
    ‘And this is Biddy O’Shaughnessy,’ Ma Kettle said, once she had named each of her sons. ‘Biddy’s comin’ to live ’ere for a bit, boys. She’ll give an ’and in the shop, in the ’ouse.… You want anything doin’, just ’ave a word wi’ me and I’ll see