that you’re in charge,’ he said. ‘I need someone I can rely on and you look like that kind of someone.’ But before Lizzie could respond he’d moved on to Hilda, officially hiring her as the Pride’s new cleaner.
‘I have to say, this year’s starting out a lot better than the last one. Don’t you think?’ Hilda interrupted Lizzie’s thoughts as they left the pub together after their successful interviews. ‘I call that a good morning’s work.’ She swiped one hand across the other several times in quick succession to indicate her satisfaction.
Lizzie nodded; she didn’t want to dampen Hilda’s enthusiasm voicing her reservations. She was just thankful that she had a job, and that at least it wasn’t in a munitions factory.
‘What with the war ending and all the soldiers coming home, the future’s looking right exciting, isn’t it?’ Hilda continued to bubble as she stared ahead dreamily, but Lizzie was too bound up with her own thoughts to answer. Suddenly Hilda giggled. ‘Fancy, live shows with singers and comicals in Weatherfield every Saturday night, whatever next? I think I’m going to like working there,’ she said. ‘What about you, Lizzie? You’re very quiet. What do you think?’
‘Hmm,’ Lizzie said, ‘I was thinking about what it might feel like actually pulling pints. But at least I shan’t have to worry about putting food on the table at home for the next little while.’
Bob organized a meeting for the newly hired staff the day before the Pride officially opened its doors and it seemed fitting that he addressed them from the stage, for he had a showman’s air about him in everything he did. And Lizzie could see from the start that he was not a man to be challenged.
‘I’ve already started developing a weekly entertainment programme as you can see from the flyers I’ve left on the tables,’ Bob informed them all. Then he gave a brief introductory welcome to Lizzie and Hilda, Pat Evans and several other young women who he’d hired as part-time barmaids, and a couple of shifty-looking older men who were helping out on a casual basis in the cellar. ‘And for our first night I’ve booked a local singer who’s recently returned from a tour abroad where she’s been one of the star acts entertaining the troops.’ Lizzie looked with interest at the leaflets that were being passed round, but was disappointed to find she’d never heard of the singer despite the build-up. She whispered as much to Hilda.
‘Me neither,’ Hilda responded. Her voice was well above a whisper and she received a glowering look from Bob.
‘On show nights, I’ll be acting as compere,’ Bob continued, expanding his chest as he tucked his thumbs under his braces and strode back and forth across the stage. ‘So, I’ll introduce the acts, tell a few jokes and perform the odd magic trick or two like I used to in the good old days in Blackpool.’ He was beaming now.
‘The one thing I’m asking everyone else to do, as you can see from the leaflets, is to wear something special for opening night,’ he said. ‘I would say wear your Sunday best, but that might be very dull.’ There was a titter from the floor. ‘So, let’s see if we can find a way to brighten things up and really let our hair down.’ He gave a lurid wink. ‘If you know what I mean. I’m offering a prize for the brightest and best so let’s see what you can do.’
‘Does that mean I’ll have to take my curlers out?’ Hilda chuckled. ‘Only he didn’t say anything about hairdos,’ she said and Lizzie had to stifle a yelp as she felt Hilda’s elbow in her ribs.
‘If we show the punters on the first night that this pub is really something out of the ordinary, then the whole neighbourhood will want to come to see what’s going on. And once they’re through those doors,’ he pointed, ‘all we have to do is to make sure to keep the beer flowing. In one night we’ll become more than the Pride of Weatherfield – we’ll be the talk of bloomin’ Weatherfield and we’ll knock our rivals, as the saying goes, into a cocked hat.’ This time he winked in Lizzie’s direction and she felt the blood rise to her cheeks.
‘Good luck, everyone!’ He raised both his arms high over his head in a sort of triumphal wave. ‘See you on Wednesday.’
Lizzie grumbled to her mother about the idea of dressing up for the opening. ‘What do I want to waste time and money getting dressed up for? It’s not as though I’m trying to get a new boyfriend or anything,’ she said. ‘Who’d want me anyway?’ she added.
‘Lizzie, you’ve got to stop talking like that. You can’t keep hiding away,’ Cora said, trying not to show her exasperation. ‘You’re young. What’s wrong with dressing up once in a while? You’ve got to look to the future and stop dwelling on the past.’
‘It’s not as simple as that, as well you know.’ A tear trickled down Lizzie’s face. ‘I won’t ever be able to let go of the past.’ She wiped the end of her nose with her handkerchief. ‘Besides, it’s not as if we’ve got enough money or sufficient clothing coupons to buy any new material, so what am I going to do, even if I wanted to go along with it? I’ve not even got anything I could alter.’
Lizzie pulled her only smart dress off the clothes rail in the bedroom they shared and held it against her while she peered down, trying to gauge its appropriateness. She shook her head. ‘I can’t wear this. It’s far too old-fashioned, too big, and the grey looks so dull.’ Her voice was close to tears again as she threw it down on the bed, then she shut her eyes quickly as she remembered the last time she had worn it. She had to breathe deeply before she could risk opening her eyes. Then she saw Cora had picked it up and was scrutinizing it.
‘It’s not as though there’s enough material in it to be able to turn it into something different,’ Cora said as she hung it back on the rail. ‘But I tell you what, why don’t you try on that green taffeta dress of mine? There’s lots of material to play with in that.’
‘You mean the one you hired for that big dance you went to with Daddy before the war?’ Lizzie turned to her mother.
Cora laughed. ‘You make it sound like I stole it, which I never did.’
‘I know. The shop closed down before you could return it after the do.’
‘Well, it’s true,’ Cora said. ‘So what was I supposed to do with it? Besides, it was well worn by the time I got it. But you’re welcome to have it if you’d like, so you are. Let’s see what we can do with it.’ Cora was already standing on a chair and, lifting down one of the boxes from the shelf above the clothes rail, she set it on the bed. There was a rustle of tissue paper as she removed the lid and a strong smell of camphor rose from inside. The anti-moth crystals had evaporated and all that remained were the slender chains of lavender-coloured thread. She carefully unpacked the emerald-green, shot-taffeta gown, standing back to admire it while Lizzie looked at it critically.
‘I suppose I could take out one of the panels in the skirt, nip it in at the waist on either side, and then shorten it. That would make it quite stylish,’ she said. ‘Providing Gran’s sewing machine still works, of course.’
Cora laughed. ‘It better had, or else we’ve been carting it about with us like a dead donkey. I was hoping to run up some curtains if I can find enough bits of material at the charity shop.’
Lizzie pulled the dress against her and tried to look at her reflection in the broken fragment of mirror her mother held up for her.
‘It’s a bit worn under the arms, but I could take a tuck there to get rid of the faded bits, if you really wouldn’t mind. I’d hate to spoil it by playing about with it too much.’ Lizzie sounded uncertain now as she looked to her mother for approval.
‘It really doesn’t matter what you do with it,’ Cora said. ‘I think there might even be some beads in the sewing box. You could dress it up a bit and it’d look really pretty, so it would.’
Lizzie turned to her mother and smiled. ‘If you’re sure?’ Then she leaned forward and, grabbing her by the shoulders, kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Ma,’ she said.
Cora laughed. ‘You might as well enjoy