about Elsie Blackburn?’
‘So help me, I’ll strangle yer in a minute, Mary Nightingale. Yer know damn well what I’m talking about – her husband catching her in bed with the milkman.’
Mary let her mouth gape in feigned horror. ‘He didn’t, did he? Ooh, he wouldn’t like that, would he? Did he give her and the milkman a good hiding?’
Amy’s face was set for a few seconds, then her infectious laughter filled the room. ‘Yer had me going for a while, there, girl. I thought to meself, aye aye, she must be pinching me job off me ’cos her gossip’s better than mine. Me owncommon sense should have told me yer were having me on. I mean, the state of Elsie! A feller would have to be blind to go with Elsie, and the milkman’s not blind. He’s flat-footed, got a squint in one eye and yer can count the hairs on his head, but blind he ain’t.’
‘May God forgive us, Amy Hanley, for talking about them like that. Elsie’s a nice woman, wouldn’t say boo to a goose, and the milkman, Harry, is a decent bloke and a happily married man. Neither of them are bad-looking, either! Anyone would think we were Jean Harlow lookalikes, to hear us talk.’
‘It’s only in fun, girl, we’re not doing no one any harm. I know I don’t look like Jean Harlow because I haven’t got blonde hair.’ Amy pinched on her bottom lip, her eyes narrowed in thought. ‘No, I’d say I’m more yer Joan Bennett type – slim, sultry and dark-haired.’
Mary grinned. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on and leave yer to yer wishful thinking. Yer’ve got such a vivid imagination, sunshine, can’t yer imagine Joan Bennett sitting at the table in her big Hollywood mansion, saying, “I’m a dead ringer for that Amy Hanley what lives in Liverpool. I’m lucky she doesn’t live in Hollywood, or she’d be pinching me job off me”.’
Amy waited until her friend had filled the kettle and lit the gas-ring before calling through to the kitchen. ‘Many a true word is spoken in jest, girl, remember that. One of these days I will catch the eye of one of them talent scouts, then I’ll be on me way up in the world. The new sex siren, that’s what they’ll call me. But I won’t let it go to me head, girl, I’ll always remember me friends. Yer’ll always be welcome in my mansion, and there’ll always be a cup of tea and a round of toast for yer.’
Mary popped her head around the door. ‘D’yer mean I’ve got to wait until ye’re a film star before I get a cup of tea off yer?’
Amy’s face took on what she thought was a haughtyexpression. ‘Sarcasm does not become you, Mary Nightingale. And have you forgotten that cup of tea you had in my house last Pancake Tuesday?’
‘I most certainly have not! It was such a red-letter day, I made a note of it.’ Mary gave a low cry. ‘Ooh, I’ve forgotten yer flippin’ toast – it’ll be burnt to a cinder.’
‘Put plenty of marge on it, girl, and I won’t notice.’ Amy picked up one of the cards lying on the table. ‘Counting yer club money, were yer, girl?’
‘Yeah.’ Mary put a plate down in front of her neighbour and hurried back for the two cups of tea. ‘I’ve done better than I thought and I’m dead pleased with meself.’
‘That’s what I came in for, to talk about Christmas, but yer put me off me stroke talking about Elsie Blackburn. A right bit of useless information, that was.’
‘You cheeky beggar! Yer came in here to do a deal, that’s what. A cup of tea and a round of toast in exchange for the latest gossip. I’ve kept my part of the bargain, so start talking, sunshine, and make it good.’
Amy folded the round of toast and took a big bite. She grinned as she chewed, her short legs swinging backwards under the chair. ‘I did that so yer couldn’t take it back off me if yer thought what I’ve got to tell yer wasn’t worth it.’
‘It’s such a long time ago, Amy, I’ve lost interest, anyway.’
‘I know how yer feel, girl, ’cos I’ve
‘So help me, I’ll strangle yer in a minute, Mary Nightingale. Yer know damn well what I’m talking about – her husband catching her in bed with the milkman.’
Mary let her mouth gape in feigned horror. ‘He didn’t, did he? Ooh, he wouldn’t like that, would he? Did he give her and the milkman a good hiding?’
Amy’s face was set for a few seconds, then her infectious laughter filled the room. ‘Yer had me going for a while, there, girl. I thought to meself, aye aye, she must be pinching me job off me ’cos her gossip’s better than mine. Me owncommon sense should have told me yer were having me on. I mean, the state of Elsie! A feller would have to be blind to go with Elsie, and the milkman’s not blind. He’s flat-footed, got a squint in one eye and yer can count the hairs on his head, but blind he ain’t.’
‘May God forgive us, Amy Hanley, for talking about them like that. Elsie’s a nice woman, wouldn’t say boo to a goose, and the milkman, Harry, is a decent bloke and a happily married man. Neither of them are bad-looking, either! Anyone would think we were Jean Harlow lookalikes, to hear us talk.’
‘It’s only in fun, girl, we’re not doing no one any harm. I know I don’t look like Jean Harlow because I haven’t got blonde hair.’ Amy pinched on her bottom lip, her eyes narrowed in thought. ‘No, I’d say I’m more yer Joan Bennett type – slim, sultry and dark-haired.’
Mary grinned. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on and leave yer to yer wishful thinking. Yer’ve got such a vivid imagination, sunshine, can’t yer imagine Joan Bennett sitting at the table in her big Hollywood mansion, saying, “I’m a dead ringer for that Amy Hanley what lives in Liverpool. I’m lucky she doesn’t live in Hollywood, or she’d be pinching me job off me”.’
Amy waited until her friend had filled the kettle and lit the gas-ring before calling through to the kitchen. ‘Many a true word is spoken in jest, girl, remember that. One of these days I will catch the eye of one of them talent scouts, then I’ll be on me way up in the world. The new sex siren, that’s what they’ll call me. But I won’t let it go to me head, girl, I’ll always remember me friends. Yer’ll always be welcome in my mansion, and there’ll always be a cup of tea and a round of toast for yer.’
Mary popped her head around the door. ‘D’yer mean I’ve got to wait until ye’re a film star before I get a cup of tea off yer?’
Amy’s face took on what she thought was a haughtyexpression. ‘Sarcasm does not become you, Mary Nightingale. And have you forgotten that cup of tea you had in my house last Pancake Tuesday?’
‘I most certainly have not! It was such a red-letter day, I made a note of it.’ Mary gave a low cry. ‘Ooh, I’ve forgotten yer flippin’ toast – it’ll be burnt to a cinder.’
‘Put plenty of marge on it, girl, and I won’t notice.’ Amy picked up one of the cards lying on the table. ‘Counting yer club money, were yer, girl?’
‘Yeah.’ Mary put a plate down in front of her neighbour and hurried back for the two cups of tea. ‘I’ve done better than I thought and I’m dead pleased with meself.’
‘That’s what I came in for, to talk about Christmas, but yer put me off me stroke talking about Elsie Blackburn. A right bit of useless information, that was.’
‘You cheeky beggar! Yer came in here to do a deal, that’s what. A cup of tea and a round of toast in exchange for the latest gossip. I’ve kept my part of the bargain, so start talking, sunshine, and make it good.’
Amy folded the round of toast and took a big bite. She grinned as she chewed, her short legs swinging backwards under the chair. ‘I did that so yer couldn’t take it back off me if yer thought what I’ve got to tell yer wasn’t worth it.’
‘It’s such a long time ago, Amy, I’ve lost interest, anyway.’
‘I know how yer feel, girl, ’cos I’ve
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