Liverpool Daisy Read Online Free

pocket, an envelope which appeared to his experienced audience suspiciously like a summons from the beak.
    It was not a missive from the magistrate which he took out, however, but a penny will form from the local stationers.
    Though the preamble was almost incomprehensible to Freddie’s audience, the bequests were clear. There was a tiny gift for each of her daughters and for her daughter-in-law, Nellie O’Brien. In addition she left her rosary to her granddaughter by Daisy, Elizabeth Ann, who was at that moment scrubbing the dining-hall floor in the training home and was weeping into the grey soapsuds for her dear, dead Nan.
    At the mention of Elizabeth Ann, Meg drew in her breath sharply. Her hollow cheeks darkened as she tried to suppress her rising anger.
    “Why Lizzie Ann?” she asked. “Why not our Mary?”
    Agnes lifted her woebegone face.
    “What about our Winnie, if it comes to that?”
    Freddie’s eyes were watering and his nose was beginning to run from the incredible effluvia emanating from his stout mother-in-law beside him. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his eyes before answering Meg.
    “Mrs. O’Brien states in her will that Elizabeth always admired the rosary, and was allowed to carry it to her first Communion when she was seven.” He thrust his handkerchief back into his pocket, and added with sudden enthusiasm, “It is very beautiful. The beads and the crucifix are hand-carved. I understand Mrs. O’Brien’s grandfather made it as a gift to his wife. Perhaps Mrs. O’Brien felt that Elizabeth Ann would take special care of it.”
    “Humph! So would our Mary.”
    “Or our Winnie,” echoed Agnes.
    Meg pointed a thin finger at Freddie and prodded him in the waistcoat. “I don’t see why Lizzie Ann should be the only granddaughter to get anything.”
    Freddie moved back a step. “Mrs. O’Brien did not have much to leave,” he said conciliatorily.
    Meg advanced and prodded him again.
    “She could have thought of something for Mary,” she said savagely.
    Daisy here interposed wrathfully and waggled the poker at Meg. “You shut up, Meg, and stop poking Freddie in the stomach.” She snorted. “You always was a jealous bitch!”
    Meg threw off her shawl and turned angrily upon her sister, ignoring the threatening poker. “Don’t you call me names, you fat sow!” she screamed. “Always so bloody stuck up. Now Nan’s passed on you needn’t think you can throw your weight around, ’cos I won’t stand for it.” She raised her fist to strike her sister in the stomach, and Daisy teetered on the creaking butter box.
    “Meg!” warned her quiet husband, John, shooting forward a fist like a prize fighter and grasping her bony shoulder.
    She turned on him like an infuriated ferret, while at the same time Daisy stepped heavily down from the butter box and surged purposefully towards her, eyes flashing, huge arms akimbo, poker still clasped in one hand.
    “Na, Daisy, na, Daisy. Meg didn’t mean nothing. She’s just hot-tempered. Come on, now, you know her.” John attempted to clasp his wife firmly round her waist to hold her back. He had a despairing feeling that he was going to be caught between two hellcats.
    “Didn’t mean nothing!” Daisy paused, and her great bosom swelled. She thrust out her chin and screamed into the face of her small but determined sister. “I’ll fat sow yer, yer greedy bitch. Where was you when Ma needed help? Where was you of a night when I was up putting hot poultices on her? When our Lizzie Ann was home she was proper good to her Nan. She earned the rosary, she did.”
    Daisy dropped the poker, and Agnes squeaked as it hit her ankle. She raised her fist to strike Meg, while John did his best to hold back his kicking, yelling wife.
    “Na, Daise,” he cried, “Don’t you hit her. She didn’t mean it. Meg had to look after me Dad. How could she help you?”
    The fascinated neighbours began to edge back to form a rough circle and give the