‘Moved here when we got married, nigh on forty years ago.’ She touched her husband’s hand. ‘Raised our children here.’
‘Do they still live with you?’ asked Helen.
‘Our daughter’s in the Wrens, somewhere on the south coast. John was in the RAF, rear gunner, he was shot down over the channel last June.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Helen.
The lock-keeper squeezed his wife’s hand. ‘It’s been a long, hard year for us, but we’re coming through it. It’s like the canal, you see – we’ve been stuck in that middle lock, sinking and sinking but, in the end, we’ll level out and carry on.’
*
When Helen came through the door of Bootle Street on Monday morning, she sensed a different atmosphere. The desk sergeant had no friendly smile, and in the canteen conversation was subdued, faces were grim. She spotted Sissy, staring out the window.
‘What’s to do? Has something happened?’ she asked.
Sissy’s eyes were red. ‘There’s been another murder. They found her early this morning in the shelter in St Ann’s Square.’
‘Oh, dear God, in a shelter just like Marilyn.’
‘The caretaker told me a team of detectives have taken over the conference room and the chief superintendent has been there since seven this morning. Maybe we’ll hear more later.’
The morning dragged by and Helen found it hard to concentrate on logging stolen ration books. She kept seeing Marilyn as she was in the hospital bed that night: clothes sodden with blood; eyes frozen wide in shock; her bloodless face drained of life. Her killer had not been found and now there was another dead woman.
Late in the afternoon, Sergeant Duffy addressed all the women police constables and auxiliaries. ‘You will have heard about the murder of a young woman. She was found at six this morning by an ARP warden in the St Ann’s shelter. I’ve spoken to CID and told them that, this time, the women of this force should be part of the investigation. I explained that women are sometimes wary or even afraid of policemen, but they’ll often talk to another woman. I’m hoping that the powers that be will make use of our skills.’
By the following morning they knew her name: Norah Jennings. She was twenty-three years old.
*
The week went on and there was no sign of policewomen being asked to carry out enquiries. Sergeant Duffy walked around with a face like thunder and there were rumours that she had confronted the chief superintendent and threatened to resign if he didn’t insist that CID must involve policewomen in the investigation. On the Saturday there was, at last, a request for the policewomen to join the hunt. ‘About time too!’ she ranted. ‘But it’s a pity they’re not stepping up the night shifts.’
On Saturday afternoon, Helen was looking forward to seeing the women at the rest centre. She had persuaded the overseer at the wash house that the rest centre women should be allowed to use the facilities whenever they liked. Sergeant Duffy had sent one of the older constables to deal with the unruly children; ‘He’ll put the fear of God up them, don’t you worry.’ As for the tip-off about the burglar brothers, it was unlikely that CID had the time to chase it up, with another murder on their hands. Still, three out of four wasn’t bad. And then there was Laurence… a cup of tea and a chat with him would be nice.
She knocked on his door to say hello, but there was no answer. She turned to walk away and there was Miss Pilkington coming down the stairs. ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you, dear. Laurence asked me to tell you he’s gone to Edinburgh to visit his mother. I believe she’s unwell. He left early this morning.’
Helen was surprised at how disappointed she felt, now she’d have to wait another week to see him. She went to the refectory and was surprised to see that there were a lot more women this time. They were pleased to see her, and a woman in her thirties, who introduced herself as Brenda seemed to have taken the role of spokeswoman for the group. She thanked her for what she had done. ‘The disinfectant, the wash house, oh, and that copper what came round didn’t half sort out the kids. Do you think he’d come back and do the same to the husbands?’
It was good to see the women laughing and Helen was glad she’d been able to do something to help them.
But Brenda hadn’t finished. ‘I’m guessing you had a hand in shoppin’ those Howard boys too. The police came and took them away for questioning. Haven’t seen them since.’
So, CID had managed to follow up her lead. That was good news. ‘If there’s anything like that again, you must always report it.’
At that moment the door opened and a woman slipped in at the back. Helen glanced at her, then looked again. Could it be… surely not. Gone was the make-up, the immaculate hair and the fine clothes, but there was no mistaking her smile. It was Anna Maguire, her model friend from Fenner’s.
Helen picked up her previous thought. ‘I’m glad they got the boys, and the aunt too, I hope. I thought maybe the detectives would be too busy working on the murder case to go after them.’
Then they were all talking at once, voicing their fears. ‘It’s the second one in a few months.’ ‘We’re not safe on the streets.’ ‘I’m frightened to go out.’
Helen tried to get a word in. ‘Listen, please, listen.’
‘Let her speak,’ Brenda shouted.
‘I know how you feel. I was frightened too. It’s all right in the daytime, but at night in the blackout, you never know who’s lurking. I can tell you that our detectives are working hard trying to catch this man, but until that happens, we women have to be very careful. I’ll be honest with you, I don’t think I’d go out in the dark on my own. So, my best advice to you all is to avoid going out at night unless there’s two of you and make sure you stick together. We’ve got to look after each other.’
‘But that’s not fair, is it?’ Brenda protested. ‘We can’t even go out when we want, because some bloody man out there hates women.’
‘They’ll catch him, I’m sure, but in the meantime, we have to be vigilant,’ she told them and then a thought occurred to her. ‘And if you’ve seen something that doesn’t look right, I don’t know what, tell the police. This man is going to slip up and when he does some woman will notice.’
A few women approached her afterwards asking for advice – lost ration books, getting a child into the nearest school – not crimes as such, but she was able to point them in the right direction. When they’d gone, she went in search of Anna and found her sitting outside in the sunshine. Her face was pasty, with a rash of spots on her chin and dark rings under her eyes.
‘Well, just look at you in your smart uniform,’ said Anna. ‘Some of the girls here told me about the young policewoman who was helping them. I never dreamt it was you. I thought you were still at Fenner’s.’
‘No, that didn’t last, the girl I was covering for came back to work. I didn’t like what was going on there, anyway. But never mind me. What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Same as the rest of them, bombed out. I was living in a lodging house – lost everything. And you know the kind of work I do, it isn’t regular. I had nowhere to go, so I ended up here. It’s a roof over my head and I get fed. I’ve been trying to get back on my feet, but look at the state of me, Helen. I heard from one of the girls I knew from the model agency, and she told me about a new gentlemen’s club that’s opening at the far end of Quay Street. They’ll be taking on waitresses soon, but…’ She shook her head.
‘But what?’
‘Who’s going to take me on? I haven’t had a bath or washed my hair properly since I got here. I’ve no make-up and look at this dress. I’m not exactly waitress material, am I?’
It wasn’t hard to do the right thing. Anna had looked after her at Fenner’s and now she had a chance to repay her. ‘I’m not leaving you here,’ she told her. ‘You’re coming home with me.’
Chapter 26
Since Jim died, Helen had learned to live with loneliness. Sometimes it would settle in like a dull ache for days on end. At work, th
ere were the passing irrelevant conversations that eased it a little, but nights spent alone would aggravate it. Other times, it would flare up and consume her.
The week Anna stayed with her, it disappeared altogether. They had such fun getting her back to her glamorous self. A warm bath in front of the fire, her beautiful hair shining and Anna pronounced herself ‘human again’. They went through Helen’s wardrobe, decided on a dress and a few other essentials then added a pair of wedge-heeled shoes. ‘I’ve some gravy browning you could use to colour your legs,’ Helen suggested. Looking glamorous again, Anna had no problem getting the job, but Helen was disappointed to hear that she had been offered the chance to share lodgings close to the club with another waitress. Before Anna left, Helen went to the post office and drew out her savings.
‘You’ll need to buy some more clothes and you can pay the first week’s lodgings.’
‘Oh, Helen, you’re such a good friend. I’ll pay you back every penny.’
‘No need, it’s a gift.’
It was all the pension money she had saved, but she knew Jim wouldn’t have minded.
*
The weeks slipped by. Anna had sent her a letter to say she had got used to the long hours and the money was good. She had heard nothing more from Gwen or Frank since their break-up. She wasn’t surprised. Why would they think of her when they had their own worries? And then there was Laurence. He hadn’t been back to the rest centre for nearly a month and she began to wonder whether he would ever come back at all.
One lovely July evening on her way home from work, she bought a copy of The People’s Friend from the newsagent’s and was looking forward to sitting out in the yard in the early evening sunshine to read the stories. She opened her front door and was immediately unsettled to see an official-looking brown envelope behind the door. She took it into the kitchen and sat in the armchair staring at it. The stamp was franked with the words ‘Manchester Fire Brigade’. Why were they writing to her? She had no connection to them any more. She ripped it open. A white card, with a black border, and the words ‘An Invitation’ and beneath it ‘Bravery Award Presentation’. They were giving Jim an award. What for, dying? Maybe it was something meant to please her – something to be proud of? She felt none of that, there was only sorrow and a wound split open again.
She went to bed early and, true to form whenever she was upset, she wore Jim’s cricket sweater and cried herself to sleep. Then, in the early morning, she awoke with a start and sat up in bed. Something had disturbed her. She listened, but there was nothing. She lay back down and that’s when she smelt it – a merest whiff of smoke.
*
The presentation was in the afternoon and, with five minutes to go, she was standing outside the imposing entrance of the fire station. When she had asked Sergeant Duffy for permission to attend, she hoped that it would be refused, but she was all for the idea. ‘You must go, Harrison, it’s a great honour for your husband and for you, so it is. You must be so proud of him, and don’t bother coming back to finish your shift. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
But she didn’t need an award to be proud of Jim; she already knew how brave he was and so did all of his crew. The last time she had been to the station was the day he had died. There had been pandemonium then. Frightened people had sought shelter in the building and she would never forget the exhausted firemen, their faces grim and grimy from the smoke. She sighed. Forgive me, Jim. I can’t go back in there.
She walked quickly away, but someone was calling her. She hesitated… and there was Frank by her side, taking her arm. She pulled away from him. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t!’
‘It’s all right, Helen. I’ll be with you the whole time.’
She shook her head. ‘No, no, I’m going home,’ and she set off walking again. Frank ran in front of her and held both her arms tightly. ‘Look at me, Helen. This isn’t about you. It’s about Jim and how he died. It’s about those men in there who loved and respected him. You have to be there to accept their thanks and the thanks of the brigade and people of this city. He’s being honoured, for God’s sake, and I’m not going to let you spoil that!’
She couldn’t answer. She was ashamed that she hadn’t the courage to face them.
Now Frank’s voice was soft and calming. ‘You can trust me. I’ll get you through it. Come on, now.’ And she let herself be led into the building and along a corridor to stand in front of a closed door. She stepped back, her heart beating so fast, she thought she would faint.
‘You know Jim would want you to do it,’ Frank told her. ‘Don’t let him down.’
Closed eyes, deep breath and a nod. The door opened and she faced a row of people she didn’t know, but she recognised the mayor’s regalia. There was the station officer who treated her so badly on the day Jim died and, standing behind those seated, the men from Jim’s crew in their best uniforms. She imagined Jim alongside them and had to catch the sob in her throat, for he was never more handsome than in his full uniform.
Frank walked with her to one side where a chair facing everyone had been set out for her. He stood behind her and the proceedings began with the station officer’s speech. So intent was she in holding back her tears that she heard only snatches of what was said. She became aware that the mayor was speaking when Frank touched her shoulder and spoke in her ear. ‘Stand up, Helen, and take the citation from the mayor.’
They were all looking at her.
‘Mrs Harrison? I’d like to present you with your husband’s bravery award.’
She crossed the room and took the vellum scroll from the mayor. She might have gone back to her seat, but instead she looked from the scroll to the firemen and paused. ‘This is an award for bravery,’ she began, ‘but I don’t think it’s right that you have to be dead to get one and I don’t think Jim would want me to accept this. He would say you are all brave men.’ Then she turned to the mayor and handed it back to him. ‘I think you should be recognising the bravery of all the Manchester firemen for their efforts in saving lives and the city we love.’
Without another word, she went straight out the door. Frank caught up with her in the entrance hall. ‘My God, Helen, where did that come from?’
‘Leave me, Frank.’
‘But I can’t—’
‘No, Frank, I want to be on my own.’ She walked quickly away, her head down to hide the tears. She should have trusted her own judgement and refused to go into the fire station. It had sparked so many terrible memories of the day Jim died. Ten minutes’ walk and she came to a busy junction, lifted her head and stifled a cry. In front of her was Piccadilly Gardens; there were no flower beds, only stagnant water in the sunken garden. Beyond it, on three sides were the burnt-out warehouses of the Christmas Blitz – blackened brick, roofless, with gaping windows. In all the months since Jim had died, she had never returned to this place; even today she had avoided it on her way to the fire station. This was the heart of her grief. She could have turned away then, but she felt compelled to absorb the horror of what had happened here. If she could face this…
The people on the pavements were going about their business; they’d grown used to it. She doubted that she would ever feel like that. On the left-hand side there was a narrow plot, where a building had been demolished. She stood in front of it and wondered if this was where Jim had fallen to his death. There had been talk of a narrow space between two buildings where the extended ladder had been… She stepped into the empty space. Is this where you fell, Jim? Then something caught her eye. She picked her way through the rubble and weeds to the far corner where, miraculously, a clump of wild violets had taken hold. She knelt down and ran her hand over their little heads. It was a coincidence, of course, but it was a comfort too.
She walked over to Stevenson’s Square to catch the bus home, but with each step her thoughts darkened. The last thing she wanted was to go home; she had never felt so alone. Why did she send Frank away? He would have come home with her and they could have talked about
Jim.
The queue was long, the bus was late and she found herself staring across the road at Fenner’s Fashion Agency. She couldn’t help wondering about Pearl. Had she really been involved in Fenner’s plan to make her the mistress of his old crony, Charles Brownlow? The letter she had sent afterwards was plausible but, at that time, she was in no mood to forgive her.
Had she been too hasty in cutting her off? She could see now that, prior to that, Pearl had been so kind to her. When she was desperate, Pearl gave her a job. But not only that – she had always liked her.
The bus pulled up at the shelter but she stepped out of the queue and crossed the road. She stood a moment outside Fenner’s. What if Pearl didn’t want to speak to her? But if that was the case, she could just walk away. She went through the heavy door and up the steps into the showroom. The mannequins were still there, but they were naked. She went to the open office door and there was Pearl, her head bent over a sales ledger. Rita was standing at the filing cabinet.
‘Hello, Pearl,’ said Helen.
She looked up, her eyes widened. ‘Oh, Helen!’ She was smiling. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ Her face was suddenly serious. ‘Is there something the matter? Are you all right? Is it your mother?’
‘No, there’s nothing wrong. I just wanted to see you.’
‘And I’ve wanted to see you too. But look at you, what a surprise to see you in uniform. Are you a policewoman?’
‘Not quite. I’m in the Women’s Auxiliary Police Corps – we help the constables.’
Pearl was beaming. ‘I’m guessing that detective had a hand in persuading you to join? Well, I have to say you look good in it, like those Andrews Sisters who sing in the films.’
Helen smiled. ‘I suppose he did.’
Rita closed the filing cabinet drawer with a snap.
Helen turned to her, smiling. ‘You must be Rita. I filled in for you when you were injured.’
The Girl from the Corner Shop Page 21
