There were ladders up outside the pub, in front of the large plate-glass window, and when Lizzie arrived two men were wrestling with a freshly painted sign that read, The Pride of Weatherfield. An older-looking man, who not so long ago had probably been part of the Home Guard or one of the firewatchers, was slowly applying a coat of glossy black paint to a side door. He was obviously in no hurry and was alternating swipes of the paint brush with long draws on his cigarette when Lizzie approached him.
‘Excuse me, but do you know when they’ll be opening for business?’
The man took the opportunity to rest the brush in the paint pot and suck an extra few puffs from his cigarette as he eyed her up and down.
‘Desperate for a drink, are you?’ He gave a phlegmy laugh.
‘No,’ Lizzie retorted, ‘but I wouldn’t say no to a job.’
‘Well, put it this way, they can’t open before I’ve finished this,’ he said waving the paintbrush in the air, ‘an’ I’ve to make this here pot go as far as I can, so you can work it out yourself.’ He coughed and laughed again.
Lizzie turned away as he went back to his work, chuckling.
A young woman in a headscarf was passing by the large frontage, her lips pursed so that she looked as if she was whistling quietly. She stopped when Lizzie spoke to the workman and glanced up at the sign, interested in his reply.
‘Glad to hear you ask that,’ she addressed Lizzie. ‘Cos I’ve been wondering the same thing.’
‘You a barmaid an’ all?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Oh no! I tried it once but I’m not quick enough at making change. I’ll stick to my cleaning. At least I know I’m good at that. My name’s Hilda Ogden, by the way.’ She extended a hand in Lizzie’s direction.
Lizzie shook it. ‘Lizzie, Lizzie Doyle,’ she said. ‘Where’ve you been working till now, Hilda?’
‘I’ve been up at the moonitions place up the road. Very important we were, once upon a time, making bullets and the like, but they’re beginning to lay folk off now, starting with me! I thought I should get down here quick to find out when they might start hiring so’s I could get a new job. Perhaps one more suited to my talons.’
Lizzie smothered a smile at Hilda’s unfortunate mis-choice of words. ‘It looks like we might well be first in line,’ she said, ‘though I’m sure we won’t be the last.’
‘You live round here then?’ Hilda asked.
Lizzie nodded. ‘I’ve just moved into Coronation Street with my ma and … my three brothers. And you?’
‘I’m living in Charles Street, not very far away,’ Hilda said. She pointed in the general direction of the next set of terraces. ‘At least, I’ll be there until my Stan is mobbed and comes home from Italy. It would be handy to work here. Whereabouts in Coronation Street are you?’
‘Number nine’.
‘Like it?’
‘We’ve not really settled in yet, though everyone I’ve met so far seems very friendly. In fact, it were our next-door neighbour as told me about this new pub.’
Hilda gave a short laugh. ‘She obviously didn’t want the job then,’ she tittered. With a nervous gesture she retied her headscarf under her chin, pulling the knot away from her throat, then she patted the curls that stuck out at the front as if for reassurance.
‘I suppose not,’ Lizzie said. ‘But she seems nice. Like she enjoys a good laugh. I reckon she needs it with two young kiddies to look out for. But, no, she didn’t seem to be interested in the job herself.’ Hilda tapped the side of her nose. ‘Maybe she’s one of them who finds other ways of putting a bit of extra food on the table, treats for the kiddies and the like, if you follow my meaning. I’ve heard talk of some round here who liked to hang around them Yankee soldiers, always cadging ciggies or chocolates or the odd pair of nylons from them.’ Lizzie looked at her sharply, but Hilda had turned away and was using the window as a mirror, a benign smile on her face.
The two men had successfully managed to string the banner announcing The Pride of Weatherfield above the plate-glass window and were fastening a smaller brewery sign for Warner’s Ales to the wall.
‘What do you say we knock on and see if anyone’s at home yet?’ Lizzie suggested.
‘Good idea, chuck,’ Hilda said, and she immediately linked arms with Lizzie as they faced the front doors. But they were saved the bother of knocking, for at that moment one of the doors swung open, like in the Western saloon bars Lizzie had seen at the pictures, and it nearly knocked over the painter. A large man with a balding head, his lumberjack shirt barely fastening over his corporate-sized belly, emerged. He didn’t look in her direction, but she could see how he stood his ground, feet planted firmly apart, his features set in a no-nonsense stare as he folded his arms and addressed the man with the paintbrush.
‘How’s things going, Fred?’ he barked. ‘How much longer?’
‘All under control, Bob. No need to fret. We’ll soon be done and out of your hair.’ Fred took a particularly long drag on his cigarette and nodded towards Lizzie and Hilda. ‘I think these young ladies might be wanting a word with you.’
Bob looked at them then and Lizzie immediately felt she was under close scrutiny. She disengaged her arm from Hilda’s and tried to meet his fearsome gaze with a confident air. ‘Are you the landlord here?’ she said.
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘I am that. Who wants to know?’
‘My name’s Lizzie Doyle and I came to ask when you’re likely to be hiring new staff?’
The man clicked his heels, smiling suddenly. ‘Bob Bennett at your service.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘I’d like to apply to be a barmaid.’
‘Would you now, Miss Doyle? And you’ve worked behind a bar before, have you?’ he asked in a mock-Irish accent and Lizzie could feel her hackles rise.
‘I’m not actually Irish,’ she said. She looked at him directly now, in a show of bravado. ‘That would be my mother you’d be confusing me with.’
‘No offence,’ he said, putting his hands up as if she were holding a gun on him. ‘I’m always one for a little joke. Why don’t you come inside? We’ve no need to conduct this little interview out in the cold, now have we?’ He put his arm round her waist and gave her a squeeze as he made to usher her inside. Lizzie wriggled out of his grasp and turned round quickly, grabbing hold of Hilda’s arm again.
‘Oh, but my friend Hilda’s looking for a job too. She’s an excellent cleaner and comes highly recommended. You might be interested in hiring the both of us at the same time.’
Bob didn’t reply but flashed a disdainful glance at Hilda before turning his attention back to Lizzie. Hilda gave a nervous giggle and hung on to Lizzie’s arm as Bob beckoned them to follow him indoors.
The refurbishment of the old pub, now to be called the Pride of Weatherfield, had almost been completed, and according to Bob he was preparing to open the doors to much razzmatazz on 14 February, St Valentine’s day.
‘After that,’ he said, ‘there’ll be live shows every Saturday night with a variety of up-and-coming cabaret artists and me, of course, giving them the benefit of my old magic act in between.’
There was no doubt the builders had done a good job on the refurbishment and Lizzie liked what she saw when Bob gave her and Hilda a brief tour of the premises. He didn’t seem concerned that she had no actual bar experience. ‘I’m sure you’re a fast learner,’