Lizzie of Langley Street Read Online Free PDF Page B

don’t know what life is about,’ agreed Dickie, folding the newspaper carefully and sliding it back in the sack. Politics, religion and the unions had been
ripped apart and put to rights again. Now it was time to get on with what remained of the day.
    ‘Push me by Elfie Goldblum’s stall,’ Tom instructed her. ‘No doubt he’ll be catchin’ a few latecomers.’ Though the traders had to have licences for
their pitches, disabled veterans were given the freedom of the streets, and Lizzie pushed the Bath chair beside Elfie Goldblum’s stall for their last stop of the day.
    ‘How you doing, my son?’ Elfie called, emerging from the back.
    ‘Had a good day, Elfie. And you?’
    ‘Could be better, could be better.’ Elfie Goldblum regularly denied making a fortune. He dealt in secondhand jewellery and curios. He was tiny and wizened with a small brown face
like a gnome. He had kept a stall at the market for years and was a very astute businessman. Tom liked to be near him in the afternoons because interest waned in the food as the day wore on but
people were always keen to look at Elfie’s fascinating stock. Rings, necklaces, bracelets, small pieces of china, teapots, brass and second-hand clocks. Elfie craftily replaced the gaps as he
sold and his stall always looked inviting.
    Lizzie was still thinking about Danny, the Lyric and Hammersmith when a cultured voice broke in on her thoughts. ‘How much are the mints?’ A well-dressed man pointed to the small
bundle of sweets remaining on Tom’s tray.
    ‘Four ounces for a ha’penny, all done up in nice packets,’ replied Tom, before Lizzie could speak. ‘Lizzie, pass the gent a packet.’
    Lizzie passed the mints, and after some examination their customer nodded. ‘I’ll take those three, one for each of my children.’
    Lizzie stared at the gentleman, dressed in quality clothing, a brown trilby, leather gloves and a silk tie. What was it like to have money to spend and nice clothes to wear and be able to lead a
life that wasn’t always overshadowed by poverty, she wondered as the man nodded to her father and went on his way.
    ‘You all right, gel?’ Dickie asked, nudging her arm.
    Lizzie nodded. ‘Yes, Dickie, I’m fine.’
    ‘Just as long as that flash ’arry with the barra ain’t upset yer.’
    ‘No, he hasn’t, and he’s not flash, Dickie.’ Lizzie knew there wasn’t much point in arguing. Dickie and her father were set in their ways and ideas. She could argue
till she was blue in the face on Danny’s behalf. It would make no difference. To some people on the island the Flowers would always be known as costermongers.
    It was growing foggy again and the crowd was thinning out. Dickie rubbed his mittened hands together as another customer passed over a penny. ‘Blimey, it’s like Christmas arrived
early,’ Dickie chuckled as he gazed down at Tom’s depleted tray. All that was left was a small pile of written commemorations for Armistice Day.
    Tom nodded in satisfaction. ‘I’ll be able to knock a bit off the rent. Kate’ll be pleased about that.’
    Dickie scratched his chin, his dirty nails raking against the grey stubble. ‘Talking of next week, are you going up to the city?’
    Tom shook his head. ‘That ain’t likely now.’
    Lizzie had been eagerly awaiting their trip to the Cenotaph even if she did have to push the chair all the way. ‘Why can’t we go, Pa? We could still sell them commemorations and buy
some more stock besides.’
    ‘You know the score as well as I do,’ Tom answered her gruffly. ‘You heard yer mother this morning. The rent’s got to be paid. What money is left won’t buy us
enough to make a trip to the city worthwhile. And don’t make those cow’s eyes at me, gel, ’cos I can’t bloody well work miracles, now, can I?’
    Lizzie turned away. She loved going up West. It would be the only chance she had to see the city before Christmas. But the tone of her father’s voice told her that his