Free The Girl From Barefoot House by Maureen Lee Page B

home from his job as a quality control inspector at the Royal Ordnance factory in Fazakerley. As he ate his tea, she could hear Aunt Ivy telling him to sit up straight, not put his elbows on the table and eat up quickly before the food got cold, but all said in a fond,dopey voice, as if Vince were a little boy, not her husband.
    ‘My Vince’ was how her aunt referred to him when she spoke to the neighbours who’d called to see ‘Mabel’s little girl’ for themselves, and remark in amazement at how incredibly tall she was for five.
    ‘My Vince is on afternoons this week,’ Aunt Ivy would say in the same dopey voice, and with an equally dopey smile, or, ‘My Vince can’t stand that awful dried milk.’ ‘My Vince would have joined the army like a shot if it hadn’t been for his dicky heart.’
    When Lily called, Josie was not long home from a shopping trip to Penny Lane where Aunt Ivy had sourly bought her a grey pleated skirt, two white blouses, a navy blue cardigan, shoes, socks, underwear and a drab brown frock with long sleeves that was dead cheap but would do for church and to wear around the house until Mrs Kavanagh ran up something nicer.
    ‘You can chuck that rag away when we get home.’ Aunt Ivy nodded at the red gingham frock. ‘I’d have thought Mabel would have decked up her kid a bit smarter. I made sure she was dressed nice when she was your age.’
    Josie thought about the blue velvet frock from Paddy’s market. A picture flashed through her mind, of Mam ironing the frock. It seemed like an eternity ago. ‘There, that’s everything done,’ she’d said. Later, they’d waltzed around the room.
    ‘Come on .’ Her reverie was rudely interrupted by Aunt Ivy pinching her arm. ‘It’s time we made tracks. My Vince will be dying for a cuppa.’
    They hadn’t been in five minutes when Lily knocked. ‘Me ma thought Josie would like to see the fairy glen in Sefton Park,’ she said sweetly to Aunt Ivy.
    Josie was upstairs, changing into the brown frock. ‘I’m sure she would, luv,’ Aunt Ivy said in a grovelling voice.
    When she came down, Lily was in the parlour chattering away to Uncle Vince about football. He had a pools coupon on his knee, the wireless was on and he was waiting for the results.
    ‘You won’t win much,’ Lily warned. ‘Even if you get eight draws, you’ll only get about fifteen hundred pounds, least so me da’ says. Since the war, people have stopped doing the pools.’
    ‘Fifteen hundred quid would do me fine, luv,’ Uncle Vince replied.
    Aunt Ivy ruffled his golden hair. ‘I thought I told you to put your collar on, Vince,’ she said fondly. ‘It looks bad when people come.’
    ‘Oh, sorry, luv. I forgot. I’ll do it in a minute.’
    ‘You better had.’
    ‘That’s a horrible dress,’ Lily said the minute they were outside. ‘It’s the sort of thing they wear in the workhouse.’ Before Josie could think of an equally rude reply, Lily put her arm through Josie’s and said, ‘I see you’ve met My Vince.’
    ‘He’s very nice,’ Josie said defensively. She was convinced Vince would be even friendlier if it wasn’t for his wife.
    ‘Oh, he’s dead lovely, My Vince.’ Lily giggled. ‘Our Marigold’s madly in love with him, but me da’ said Ivy would kill her stone dead if she found out. He doesn’t like either of ’em.’
    ‘Your da’ doesn’t like your Marigold?’ Josie gasped.
    ‘No, silly. He can’t stand My Vince or your Auntie Ivy. He said she’s besotted, though I don’t know what that means, and he’s a ponce. I don’t know what thatmeans either. Me da’ thinks he only married her ’cos she had a house. It’s usually the fella that supplies the house. And, according to me da’, your auntie’s not short of a few bob. She bought his services, he said. When I asked for an explanation, I was told to mind me own business. He wasn’t talking to me, but to me ma.
    ‘“Look at the clothes she’s always buying him,” he said