Laceys of Liverpool by Maureen Lee

for?’ Cora enquired.
    ‘Mavoureen. It was me mam’s name. Me dad called her Renee.’
    Cora nodded. ‘Well, here’s your money.’ She held out a small piece of paper.
    Alice regarded it vacantly. ‘What’s that?’
    ‘It’s a cheque for twenty-five pounds.’
    ‘But I need the money, not a cheque!’ She’d only vaguely heard of cheques and had never seen one before.
    ‘A cheque’s the same as money,’ Cora said with a superior smile. ‘Just give it to Myrtle’s daughter. She’ll know what to do with it.’
    Alice wanted to protest, but it would only show her ignorance. She took the cheque, thanked Cora and said she had to be getting home.
    Outside the house she paused. She felt uneasy. How could a piece of paper be worth the same as twenty-five pound notes? Oh, if only she could ask John! He seemed to know everything worth knowing. Alice sighed. But the days were long gone when they could discuss things – should they have a day out in New Brighton on Sunday if the weather was fine, for instance? Or perhaps Southport, easier to get to on the electric trains that ran from Marsh Lane Station? Was it possible to squeeze another bed into the girls’ room now that they were getting older? Orla constantly complained about sleeping three to a bed.
    The cheque thing was bothering her. She would have gone back to Dad’s, but he’d be out by now, probably with Phyllis Henderson, his latest woman. But Bernadette would know. Unlike Alice, she was clever. Although they’d started St James’s Junior and Infants together, Bernadette had passed the scholarship at eleven and gone to Seafield Convent. She lived no distance away in rooms in Irlam Road. Hopefully, Bernadette would set her mind at rest. It would make her late home, but she was already late and by now John was probably doing his nut.
    ‘Oh, well! I may as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb.’
    ‘Of course a cheque’s all right, silly.’ Bernadette laughed. She was already in her dressing gown ready for bed although it was only half past eight. Since Christmas she’d been feeling low. Roy McBride had turned out like all the other men she’d known, except for Bob, and had tried to get his hand up her skirt in the taxi on the way home from the dance on Christmas Eve. She had decided to give up on men altogether and rely on books for company.
    ‘We get loads of cheques in the Gas Board. What’s it for, anyroad?’
    For the third time that night, Alice explained about Myrtle’s, then described her meeting with Cora. ‘She made me sign an agreement of some sort – and she wants a third of the profits, but never mind. As from tomorrow Myrtle’s will be mine, that’s all that matters.’
    ‘Oh, Alice!’ Bernadette looked dismayed. ‘I wish you’d asked me first. I would have loaned you the money and you wouldn’t have had to sign anything. I wouldn’t have demanded a share of the profits, either. Just the money back when you could afford it, that’s all.’
    Alice regarded her friend, equally dismayed. ‘It never entered me head you were so flush, Bernie.’
    Bernadette shrugged. ‘It’s why Bob and I never had kids, isn’t it? I stayed at work so we could save up for furniture for our house. Since he was killed I couldn’t bring meself to touch a penny. It didn’t seem right, buying clothes and stuff, so the money’s been lying in the Post Office for years. There must be going on for forty pounds by now. You could have had the lot and used some to do up Myrtle’s place a bit. It certainly needs it.’
    ‘Oh, Bernie! I wish I’d known.’
    ‘Tell Cora to stuff her cheque and I’ll arrange to draw the money out tomorrow.’
    ‘I can’t, can I? I told you I signed an agreement.’
    Bernadette looked at her doubtfully. ‘What did it say?’
    ‘I can’t remember.’
    ‘You’re too trusting by a mile, do you know that, Alice Lacey? Anyroad, how about a cup of tea? Better still, a glass of sherry to toast your new business