The Four Streets by Nadine Dorries Read Free Book Online Page B

twice.
    The church bell began to ring out the death knell. A Liverpool funeral wasn’t worth having without the solemn, dramatic accompaniment of the slow, steady call to a requiem mass. They told everyone on the four streets it was time to leave. Put on your coat. Check your lipstick. Put on your hat. Leave the house.
    Maura looked out of the window to see if anyone else had begun to drag their hard-backed kitchen chairs outside into the street. The rain had petered out into a drizzle. How did anyone cope in this life without prayers to be answered, she thought. She put on her funeral black coat and mantilla, shouting to Tommy to come and help her put their own chairs out onto the pavement.
    As she stepped outside she looked towards the top of the street and noticed that the dogs had ceased to bark, the tugs had stopped blowing and every curtain in the street was drawn in respect. Most houses had been in darkness with their curtains drawn for the last six days and no curtains would be opened until after the interment.
    The cranes, visible on even the murkiest day, stood motionless like dormant lighthouses in relief against the flat landscape of the harbour. Even the dockers who didn’t live on the four streets, and who hadn’t known Bernadette, knew Jerry. They wanted to pay their respects and show solidarity in his worst hour. The Mersey Dock Company, the stevedore bosses and even the gaffers knew this wasn’t a time to pull rank or to lay down the law. The faces of the men were too grim, too set to challenge. The docks were as silent as the four streets.
    A hush had fallen over the cobbles and the only noise was that of wooden chair legs being scraped across the pavement as they were dragged outside to be lined up in a row along the pavement edge. Along with softly falling tears and the occasional sob, this was the only sound to be heard. No one spoke, but everyone crossed themselves each time they looked towards Jerry’s house.
    There were no words to be said. The feeling of loss was so acute, the shock so profound, that normal chatter had ceased.
    People were used to grief. Everyone knew at least one person who had suffered as a result of the war even if they hadn’t lost someone of their own. Infant mortality rates were high and maternal death from childbirth the biggest single killer of young women, particularly those from impoverished backgrounds like their own. Death was no stranger to the families on the four streets but, still, they hadn’t expected it to snuff out the very brightest light that burnt in their midst. They were grappling in the dark. She was too vibrant, too noisy, too vital to be lost.
    It was nine-thirty as everyone took their seat and lined the pavement in a guard of honour. At just that moment, the clouds parted and a ray of sunshine broke though. The older neighbours, who weren’t going to the church or the graveyard, came out, the women with their headscarves fastened over hair curlers and heavy dark woollen coats flapping open on top of faded nightdresses or, for the men, stained pyjamas. They wore outdoor shoes with bare legs and no stockings, or work boots unlaced with no socks. The laces flapped around bare ankles and soaked up the rain from the pavement. No one batted an eyelid at the coats worn over nightwear. Everyone had wanted to say a last goodbye to the young, exuberant girl with the flaming red hair and the infectious laugh.
    The women took their places on the chairs lined up in the street as their men stood behind, holding onto the backs. Some were shaking, some were tearful, and all were in shock. Today was a day they all wanted to be over as soon as possible. Even Maura. Despite her inner torment, her unstoppable tears and the acute pain in her diaphragm, the survivor in her knew that once a line could be drawn under today, she could take a fairy footstep towards normality. Life had to move on. She had her own children and family to hold on to, and if there was one thing