Christmas on Coronation Street: The perfect Christmas read

‘I know but it keeps it out of the way.’

‘But there are lots of other things you could do to make yourself pretty. A bit of flesh on your bones, a spot of pink in your cheeks, rub some beetroot juice on to your lips and you’ll have all the lads chasing you before long.’

‘Nay, but I’m too small for anyone to want to bother.’

‘Don’t be so daft. You’ll grow. And soon. Though you wouldn’t really want to be as tall as me, now would you?’

‘One thing, I’ll never be as old as you,’ Fay retorted and both girls fell about laughing.

‘Seriously, Sis,’ Elsie said, you’re going to make something of yourself. I just know it.’ She smiled as she looked away into the distance. ‘The important thing is to hang on to the dream.’

Fay thought a lot about that dream and how she might be able to keep such a secret from her parents. She might even apply for the waitress job she had seen advertised in the café window in the centre of Weatherfield. As far as she knew, it wasn’t a place either of her parents frequented so she wasn’t likely to be found out. And though she had no idea what a waitress’s weekly wage might be, she began to picture piles of threepenny bits, sixpences, even shillings and the odd half-crown being added to the few pennies she already had in the biscuit tin that was hidden under the bed. She might even have some money left over to buy presents for her siblings: a pair of silk stockings for Elsie, a new toy car for Jack. Soon she’d be able to leave home and find a room to rent, like she’d read about in a book once at school. It all sounded so romantic and so grown-up; she couldn’t wait.

She was caught up in her dream while she was on her way to visit her best friend Valerie so she almost didn’t notice Elsie staring intently into the newsagent’s window on the other side of the road. But then she paused, wondering what her sister was doing. Fay was about to call out to Elsie to wait for her so they could walk home together, but before she could open her mouth she saw Bobby Mirren sidle up to her sister and cover Elsie’s backside with his large hand. Elsie looked startled and Fay’s instinct was to shout across to him to stop mithering and to leave her sister alone. But then she could see Elsie half turn and from the look on her face she seemed not to mind. Fay could only guess as to the exchange as she watched Elsie move Bobby’s hand away, but to her surprise the next thing she saw was the two of them sauntering off arm in arm.

Fay held back a little way but kept pace with them on the other side of the road, curious about where they might be heading. She was surprised when they stepped off the pavement and disappeared into some bushes behind the bus stop. Fay took the opportunity to cross the road. She kept herself out of sight and found a spot half hidden by the shrubbery where she could see them without being seen. They seemed to be kissing, which Fay found strange for she knew for a fact that Elsie didn’t particularly like Bobby. Hadn’t she told her so only the other day? Not only that, but she had been adamant that she preferred Eric Ross and would welcome the chance to let him know that she fancied him. But now, as Fay watched, it was Bobby who had his arms around Elsie and they seemed to be almost devouring each other with ever widening mouths. Even more surprising, Fay thought she saw Bobby’s hands slide inside Elsie’s coat as the two became more entangled and Fay wondered what Elsie could be thinking. Of course Fay understood about kissing, she’d even tried it once with Brian Morgan. But it had made her feel dirty and messy and it wasn’t something she was eager to try again. When she had told Elsie this, her big sister had laughed and told her not to worry about it for now. ‘Mebbe you’re a bit young yet. But you’ll be at it again one day before long, I promise you – and you’ll enjoy it too,’ Elsie had assured her. ‘But not before the time’s right, and the lad’s right too.’

Fay frowned. So did that mean Bobby Mirren was the right one for Elsie? Was she going to marry him? Suddenly Fay heard a shout, which she realized had come from her sister. She looked up to see Bobby pulling his hand out from under Elsie’s skirt. Elsie’s face was flushed as she patted down her clothing and rebuttoned her coat, but within a few moments they began kissing again, this time with even more energy. Feeling confused and not wanting to see any more, Fay crept away from her hiding place and started walking purposefully towards Valerie’s house. Maybe her best friend would be able to shed some light on it all. But in any case, she would talk to Elsie tonight. She’d have to tell her what she saw and she’d ask Elsie what it all meant.

Chapter 3

Elsie lay in bed on her back, her face throbbing, her eye and nose already puffy and swollen. It was too painful to lie on her side as she usually preferred to do. Fay was asleep when Elsie had finally come back home and crept upstairs, and now she was gently snoring, snuffling each time she turned over and trying to snuggle up close. Elsie was also aware of Polly, Ethel and Connie, who slept top to toe with them in the same bed, and she tried to push aside their feet which seemed as if they hadn’t seen soap or water for several weeks.

After being sick in the courtyard, Elsie hadn’t made it to the midden, she had fled the house and gone to seek refuge, as she usually did, with her best friend Aggie. She had stayed there most of the evening. As she had hoped, by the time she returned home both her parents seemed to be fast asleep downstairs, their bed pulled out from behind the front door, closer to the hearth, to make the most of the remains of any heat from the coal dust in the fireplace. Her father was on his back snoring loudly, as a result no doubt from having retrieved the money that had scattered from her pocket, and having spent it, as usual, down at the Three Hammers. Her mother had turned her face to the wall as she always did, so it was impossible to be sure that she was asleep, but from the irregularity of her breathing and the stiffness of her pose, Elsie guessed she was not.

She had crept up the stairs, anxious not to disturb anyone. It was a bitterly cold night and she slipped gratefully into her only nightgown, a winceyette passion-killer her mother had found in a jumble sale. Then she wrapped herself in an old woollen cardigan and climbed into bed. There was a fireplace in the room but as far as she knew it had never seen a fire, so she tried to snuggle more closely to Fay. She was congratulating herself on having avoided her father during the time he was at his most dangerous when she was aware of a noise on the stairs.

Elsie knew she was most at risk of further punishment within the first twenty-four hours after a supposed offence, and her father was more than capable of humiliating her with more than just his fists. Sometimes, when he’d had a skinful and if he caught her unawares … She knew what he did was wrong, and hated him all the more for it. He certainly hadn’t liked her behaviour tonight. She cursed under her breath. She had forgotten to wedge the old linen box against the door. She berated herself as she lay listening to the mounting footsteps. A hot wormy feeling crawled in the pit of her stomach as the sounds grew closer and she prayed that she would be able to hold down her meagre tea. She heard the final footfall stop outside the bedroom and then the groaning of the hinge on the rickety door. She closed her eyes, pretending that if she couldn’t see anyone then no one was there. But she could still sense a body had entered the room. And she could hear the harsh whisper, ‘Else.’ Her eyes flew open. ‘Else, are you all right?’ She couldn’t see her face but she could make out the silhouette in the moonless night against the sheet that acted as a makeshift curtain: it was Phyllis with her fists clenched.

Phyllis was shivering as she stepped inside the room and brought her face close to Elsie’s. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked again. ‘Only I heard you’d got batttered by the old man.’

‘Is that you, Phyllis?’ Elsie asked, relieved. ‘You frightened the life out of me. What the ’ell are you doing up at this hour?’

‘Sorry, but I couldn’t sleep. I was worried that he might come for you again.’ Phyllis paused, her pale and pinched features barely visible in the darkness of the shabby room. ‘I know what he’s like.’ Phyllis’s hand touched her swollen face and Elsie pulled back; the bruise was still tender.

‘Sorry I wasn’t here to help you,’ she said. ‘’Cos I would ’ave, you know.’

Elsie tried to smile, though it felt forced. Phyllis was one of the toughest kids in the family, maybe even as tough as Elsie herself, though she was barely into her teens.

‘Don’t worry, lass, I can look after meself. I’m all right and you’d best be getting back to bed before you catch your death.’

Phyllis lingered, and Elsie felt her sister’s cool hand clutch her own. ‘It’s not right, Elsie, what he does to us.’

‘No, it’s not, pet, but we look out for each other, don’t we?’

‘Aye,’ said Phyllis. ‘But I can’t take much more of it. I tell you, the first chance I get, I’m off.’

Elsie was shocked, ‘You’re talking daft. Where would you go at your age?’

Phyllis sounded defiant. ‘There’s plenty of places, places where Dad would never find us ’n’ all.’

‘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.

Chapter 4

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.

‘This bar’s not for the likes of you, even if you were old enough,’ he said, his voice surly. ‘So go on, ’oppit. Unaccompanied women, entrance round the corner.’ He indicated with his thumb.

‘I’m here about the job.’ Elsie jutted her chin out and spoke with as much confidence as she could muster, hoping she sounded stronger than she felt. ‘The one on the door.’ She indicated the glass panel where she had seen the advert. ‘Who do I need to see?’

The man took off his glasses and peered down at her. ‘You don’t look half old enough,’ he said.

‘Oh, but I am. It’s me birthday very soon. I’ll be eighteen,’ she put in for good measure, remembering what she had read on the poster. Thankfully, she had always been tall for her age – she would look even taller if only she had the money for a proper pair of shoes. But she was glad at least she had put her hair up that morning with some pins she’d found in the toilets at work. She only wished she had a bit of carmine to dab on her cheeks as she bit her lips again to redden them up. Unfortunately, the landlord was not impressed.

‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘pull the other one, it’s got bells on.’

‘It’s true.’ The young man from the street stepped forward, his fingers gripping a couple of dirty drinking glasses. He had stopped by Elsie and moved closer to her as he spoke.

‘Oh yes, and how do you know that?’ the landlord asked.

‘’Cos I knows her. We’re mates. Ain’t that so, Else?’

Elsie tried not to show her astonishment, not only that he knew her name when she hadn’t a clue about his, but that he dared to shorten it in such a familiar way. But she wasn’t about to contradict him. ‘Yes, that’s right, mister.’ She looked back at the heavy-set older man and fluttered her eyelids like she had seen Mae West do in the cinema. When the landlord began to smile, she hoped she hadn’t overdone it.

But he did seem to be taking her more seriously now. ‘Have you worked in a bar before?’ he asked.

Elsie thought back to the time a few years ago when her father had taken her with him into the Three Hammers at the top end of Back Gas Street. She was so young the innkeeper had declared her, ‘The youngest child that ever set foot in my pub!’ Since there were no customers about at the time, he had lifted her on to his knee and let her pull a pint. She recalled the way he’d instructed her to tilt the glass so that there was just enough of a head on it rather than a glassful of frothy foam. After giving her a sip, he’d downed it himself in a few long gulps.

‘Yes, I know how to pull a pint,’ Elsie said, crossing her fingers behind her back in the hope that she wouldn’t be caught out in the lie. ‘Any road up,’ she thought she’d better add, ‘I’m a fast learner.’ She winked at him. ‘If you know what I mean.’

Elsie caught his astonished gaze and was aware of his sudden scrutiny. She willed herself not to look away, knowing that if she wanted to get anywhere she was going to have to brazen it out. Just then there was an icy blast as both the double doors were pulled open sharply from the outside and a crowd of men rushed in. They were a mixed bunch. Some were young, some middle-aged, one or two were positively old, but they were all jostling for the honour of being first through the door like it was the most important thing in the world.

‘Now then, gents. Easy does it. Slow down a bit, will you,’ the man at the till called out, his attention diverted from Elsie. ‘We’ve room for you all, so what the hell’s the rush?’

There were several shouts of, ‘We’re thirsty,’ which for some reason made everyone laugh.

Then someone called from within the crowd, ‘Aye, aye, landlord,’ and he raised his arm in an exaggerated mock salute.

‘He thinks he’s in the bloody army already,’ his mate shouted, elbowing his friend in the ribs, to much general laughter.

‘I’m as good as,’ the first man said.

‘That’s right. Going to be shipped off to Spain to fight in the bleeding Civil War,’ one of the old men explained proudly.

‘I suppose they can do with all the help they can get out there,’ another agreed.

‘They must be bloody desperate to want him, is all I can say,’ a young lad muttered.

‘Can anyone sign up?’ Her new ‘friend’ the bar helper was trying to pass through the mob with more dirty glasses between his fingers. The crowd fell silent for a moment when he spoke; Elsie was taken aback by how serious he looked.

‘Of course. It’s a bloody fiasco out there.’ It was the newly enlisted man who replied.

‘They say Madrid’s under siege and things are going to get worse,’ the old man who could have been his father went on.

‘Well, I’ve signed up,’ the soldier said, trying to lighten the mood, ‘and I’m off in the morning. So this will be my last drink on English soil for quite some time. Let’s make the most of it, eh lads?’ He turned to look at them all. ‘Are you ready, fellas?’

The helper put his head down now and scurried back to drop off the glasses to be washed. Elsie stood uncertainly in the centre of the sawdust-covered floor. She was completely surrounded by the excited group of men until one of them moved away to go and stand at the end of the bar. He banged his fist on the countertop that was already swilling in ale and shouted, ‘Landlord, let’s be having some pints over here,’ and a loud cheer erupted from the crowd.

Elsie still didn’t move. She was mesmerized by the scene that had so suddenly changed with the arrival of the newcomers. War, war, war seemed to be all men wanted to talk about these days. Even her father had been moaning about Hitler invading half of Europe. Only this morning he’d told her mother, ‘It won’t be long before we’re dragged into a bleeding dogfight.’

Elsie had tried to shut her ears. She avoided looking at headlines about a possible war although there were often newspapers lying around at the factory. She didn’t want to talk about it, even though some of the older girls could talk of nothing else. What if Britain did get involved in a major war in Europe? What if their sweethearts were called up for active duty? They seemed to be proud and excited, but afraid at the same time. Elsie couldn’t make sense of it. Weren’t we already supposed to have had the war to end all wars? She was thankful her only brother was far too young to be called up into any army; as she had no proper sweetheart yet she refused to think about what war would mean for her. Not that she could avoid it completely. Even their Phyllis at almost thirteen years old was earning a few coppers shouting out the headlines about the latest German invasions from the Weatherfield Gazette stand. Let’s face it, she thought. No one could be sure what was going to happen.