by Sheila Riley
‘Can you tell me if there are any lodgings round about, lassie?’
‘I doubt it,’ Connie said knowing the area had lost a huge percentage of housing during the May Blitz of 1941 when Merseyside was bombed to devastation. ‘And it’s a long time since I was a lassie, but I’ll take the compliment. Now, for the last time, can I get you anything?’ Like the rest of the country, she too desperately needed cheering up.
‘I’ll have a wee dram of single malt, if you please,’ he said. And Connie realised it wasn’t just his Scottish accent that told her he was a stranger in these parts. It was unusual for anybody to come into the tavern and ask for a single malt, because it was almost impossible to come by – unless you knew the right people, and in a dock road public house it was easier than not. However, her natural suspicions regarding strangers told her to be on her guard.
‘I haven’t had single malt since Churchill wore a siren suit.’ She wasn’t lying. The good stuff, which she never drank, was kept locked away for trusted customers only. The ones who kept her mother in the fine things, which other people could never afford.
‘Ahh,’ he grinned. ‘It was worth a try. In that case, I’ll have another pint of your best bitter.’
‘A pint of best, coming right up.’ Connie pulled the pump with practised ease. What did he mean by it was worth a try, she wondered?
Looking under her thick dark lashes, she poured the last pint and noticed his eyes sweep the room, taking all in.
Ma Green was tickling an out-of-tune melody on the upright piano and she saw the grimace he did nothing to hide.
‘They come in here to torment my ears and hog my fire,’ Connie said as the old woman and a group of likeminded pals were strangling the popular wartime version of ‘Roll out the barrel’.
‘She couldn’t hold a note in a bucket,’ he said.
‘You think?’ Connie felt protective of her regular clientele. ‘Well, let me tell you, she was singing on the stage of The Metropole, before someone blew it up.’
‘I can see how that would nae do much good for her voice.’ Angus knew he’d said the wrong thing when Connie scowled at his flippant remark.
Who did he think he was?
‘You don’t even know her,’ Connie snapped. ‘The poor mare lives alone in a cold, half-furnished room – and glad to have it. Her family were all blitzed. This place is her lifeline.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Angus looked contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to offend anybody.’
‘You haven’t,’ Connie replied with a mischievous glint in her marine coloured eyes. ‘She’d have the eyes out of your head and take up residence, if she thought she could.’
‘You mean it’s not true?’ Angus gave a theatrical sigh, looking relieved.
‘Oh, it’s true enough,’ Connie nodded, ‘but like I say, it doesn’t do to make snap assumptions – there’s always a story.’
‘I consider myself reprimanded.’ Angus smiled, relieved as he raised his glass. ‘Will you have a drink with me?’
‘I’d have a port and lemon if we had any port – or any lemons, come to that.’ She gave him a quizzical look when he threw his head back and laughed; that joke was so old it had whiskers. ‘I’ll have a drop of mother’s ruin, if you don’t mind. I can always get my hands on a bottle of gin.’
‘Be my guest,’ Angus said, and as the bar cleared of drinkers, they were chatting away like old friends.
‘I’m not casting aspersions,’ Angus explained, nodding to the singing revellers. ‘It was just an observation.’
‘Have a lot of observations, do you?’ Connie asked, still on her guard.
‘Old habits,’ Angus answered. Some things were not up for discussion.
This one had something about him. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a room here?’ Angus asked.
‘Here, are you taking advantage? One gin doesn’t reap favours, you know.’
‘Och, as if I dare,’ he said in a good-natured tone. ‘Perish the thought.’
‘Don’t talk about perishing, either,’ Connie said with a shiver. ‘The whole country’s fed up trying to make do, and then we’ve got this awful weather.’ The fire would last another half an hour, she supposed. ‘Considering the war ended over a year ago, there’s still a lack of everything.’
‘What happened to the land fit for heroes?’ he asked, watching every departing customer.
‘We should frame that saying, hang it on the board and throw bloody darts at it!’ Connie laughed, and the sound awoke something inside him he thought lost forever.
‘We should,’ Angus said.
‘Listen to me harping on.’ She gave a little laugh, covering her confusion at the lingering touch of his fingers as he handed over the money. It had been a long time since anybody, except young Bobby Harris, took her hand and held it longer than was necessary. ‘I’m turning into a right old moaning Minnie.’
‘Been here long?’ Angus asked, putting his pint of bitter on the bar.
‘All evening,’ Connie answered. He was getting no information from her.
‘I mean working here,’ Angus smiled giving her his full attention – and a knowing look.
‘Born and raised here.’ She didn’t mind talking about herself but found it wise not to discuss her clientele. ‘Apart from nursing overseas during the war, I’ve been here all my life.’
‘A nurse?’ Angus looked impressed. ‘What made you give it up to work behind the bar?’
‘I’m the landlady.’ Connie’s blunt reply was a clear sign she was cautious of his direct manner. ‘And I don’t talk about my war work.’
‘Fair enough,’ Angus said, changing the subject. ‘So, do you know of any lodgings going begging?’
‘There aren’t many lodgings, owing to the Luftwaffe gate-crashing the party,’ she answered. ‘Most of the properties in this area were damaged or destroyed.’
‘I need nothing fancy,’ Angus said, ‘just somewhere to lay my weary head after a day in the office.’ She noted his clean nails. His hands did not have the usual rough segs that patterned the hands of local men who worked the docks and factories.
‘Is there room at the inn?’ Angus ventured. This place would be ideal for his line of work.
‘We sell beer, cigarettes and spirits, if we’re lucky enough to get a delivery,’ Connie said, ‘but we don’t rent rooms.’
‘That’s a shame…’ He looked disappointed and against all her instincts, Connie, a sucker for a sob story, felt a little sorry for him when he said, ‘I have a room for tonight, but I have to be out in the morning.’
Connie wiped the clean bar again. She had nothing against light conversation but was having nothing to do with lingering looks. Where did he think he was? Casablanca? He offered a warm smile that would give her a lift in other circumstances. But she hadn’t just come over on a banana boat. She knew when a customer was giving her a load of old flannel.
Looking at the clock behind her, she realised the radio play she had been waiting to hear would start in half an hour. Angus, following her eyes to the clock, knew if he would persuade her to rent him a room, he didn’t have much time to do it.
If she was to rent him a room, Connie knew she would have to consult Mim first. Not that she needed her mother’s permission, but if sulking was an Olympic sport, Mim would win gold. ‘I’m housetrained. Clean. Tidy. Handy with a hammer.’ Angus watched her expression change. She looked deep in thought, raising his hopes.
Works in an office, Connie thought. No dirt and grime clinging to his clothes. A clean job. A collar and tie job. ‘Your wife?’
‘I’m a widower,’ Angus said, and she nodded.
‘I’m prepared to pay well above the going rate, for the area,’ Angus said, ‘and the convenience, you understand?’
This would be a perfect opportunity to make extra cash. The pub was limping, because the men were laid off. There were a few unoccupied rooms upstairs that, during the
war, were rented out to foreign sailors, it was a shame to let them go to waste when they were furnished for someone who would be out at work all day.
‘A hot meal and a bed for the night, you say?’ Connie asked. He looked respectable, and it would be nice to have a man about the place again. ‘Can you supply references Mr McCrea?’ It surprised her when he reached inside his pocket and took out a slim brown envelope. ‘Our rooms are clean, comfortable, well-furnished and, above all, this is a respectable house.’ She stressed the last part.
‘I’m sure.’ Angus said, watching Connie. This would be the ideal place to stay. On top of the docks. A good view of surrounding streets he would be free to observe with alacrity.
‘I will show these references to Mim – my mother. She owns the place, I’m just the dogsbody with the licence.’ Connie knew her mother would not let go of the reigns if she could help it.
‘I will call tomorrow morning, if that’s all right. Is eight-thirty too early?’
‘Not at all.’ Something about him impressed Connie.
‘In that case I will bid you good night and look forward to seeing you tomorrow.’ Angus finished his beer and made his way to the door with a cheerio to the stragglers.
‘He looked nice enough,’ said Ma Green as she put on her scarf and prepared to go home.
‘His name’s Angus McCrea,’ Connie said, staring at the closing door. ‘He’s got work on the docks – looking for lodgings.’
‘If that smile across his clock is anything to go by, my girl,’ Ma Green said with a mischievous grin, ‘I’d say he’s looking for more than that.’
‘I don’t know what you’re implying.’ Connie feigned astonishment, and even to her own ears the remark sounded lame. But one thing was for sure, the only interest she had in Angus McCrea was his rent money.
‘Go on,’ Ma chuckled, pulling up her collar. ‘You can’t kid me.’
‘Be off with you, old woman,’ Connie laughed, ‘I’ve got a date with Valentine Dyall.’
‘I forgot The Man in Black was on tonight,’ Ma said, hurrying out and into the snow. ‘See you tomorrer, girl.’
‘Aye, Ma… Mind how you go.’ Connie said, watching her climb the lethal-looking steps to the bridge. As she turned to go back inside, she saw a suspicious-looking mound outside Rene Kilgaren’s house…
It moved. And as her eyes grew accustomed to the hazy light of a cloudy full moon, she realised the mound was a body. A man, motionless, sprawled between the pavement and Rene Kilgaren’s tiled path. Screwing her eyes, Connie peered a little harder and saw the figure wasn’t a man. He was just a boy – and the copious amount of something dark seeping from his body told her he was in serious trouble.
9
Connie didn’t need her medical qualifications to see the kid was in trouble. If the blood trailing onto the snow-covered pavement was anything to go by, his injuries were serious. Hurrying, she went to see what she could do.
‘Are you all right?’ Connie asked, kneeling in the snow patting the cheek of the unconscious youngster, and was just able to make out a face she had not seen for many long years. As he began to stir, his eyes were full of terror.
‘Jack? Jack, is that you?’ Connie hadn’t seen the lad since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. But there was no mistaking those blue Kilgaren eyes.
‘I’ve had an accident…’ Jack gasped, his words petering out as he tried to rise. Connie knew she had to work fast. She had to get him up off the cold tiles and into the house.
‘Lean on me, Jack,’ she said, hooking his arms around her neck and levered him to a standing position, her medical training kicking in. ‘That’s it, Jack, you can do it… Put all your weight on me. Now straighten your back… That’s it… Good lad. Do you have a key?’
‘Inside the letter box.’ His voice was barely audible, as if the effort to make himself heard was too much. Leaning forward, Connie lifted the long black knocker and put her hand inside the letterbox to retrieve the key hanging on a piece of string.
‘Who’d that be?’ Caution in the child’s lilt was plain to hear behind the closed door. Connie looked through the letterbox. Jack must have lost consciousness before he was able to alert Lucy. It was pitch black behind the front door. No wonder the child was terrified.
‘Lucy, don’t be scared… It’s me, Connie! I work in the tavern next door, is your mam in?’ Connie’s tone was gentle, given the child’s cautious demeanour. She doubted Lucy remembered her or Reckoner’s Row. She had been so young when she was sent to Ireland.
‘Jack said I mustn’t open the door ‘til he comes home,’ Lucy called.
‘Don’t worry, he’s here with me,’ Connie assured her, while Jack was getting heavier by the moment. If the child didn’t open the door soon there was a danger of them both ending up on the icy pathway.
‘Why won’t he speak?’ Lucy sounded unsure. ‘It’s dark in here. I’m frightened.’ The child had been left alone. Connie’s irritation grew. On a night like this, Lucy should be tucked up in bed, safe and warm.
‘It’s all right, Lucy.’ Jack barely lifted his voice above a whisper. ‘Open the door.’
‘I can fix the light.’ Connie assumed the gas money had run out and she was glad when the door swung open. Edging out, the child lifted her hands to her lips and gave a little yelp of concern.
‘Holy Mother, Jack, what happened?’ Lucy gasped as Connie helped her brother into the house. ‘Jack, you’re bleeding! Shall I fetch water…? I’ll get a chair! Oh Jack…’
Guided only by the light of the full moon through the small window over the front door, Connie helped Jack along the narrow lobby into the kitchen. Finding a straight-backed chair was not so straightforward in the room’s darkness.
‘It will be easier to manoeuvre you from here,’ Connie said when her foot hit the leg of the chair and she sat Jack down. She shivered, unable to ignore the intense cold that made the air damp on her skin.
‘Did you get us the wood, Jack?’ Lucy’s gentle inflection sounded hopeful. ‘I can get a good blaze going in no time.’
‘There are a few sticks on the cart,’ Jack gasped. ‘Not many, though.’
‘When will your mother be back?’ Connie called from the lobby, putting pennies into the meter. When she came back to the kitchen to light the gas mantle, the boy’s ill-fitting clothes were soaked in his own blood.
‘Ma won’t be long,’ Jack answered, too quickly for Connie’s liking.
The shabby room was a stark contrast to the last time she saw it when Rene invited her in for a drink after work last Christmas. She remembered complimenting Rene on her polished, red leather three-piece suite, and stunning mahogany sideboard that matched the dining table. Now there was just an old rickety dinner table covered in newspaper, three mismatched straight-backed chairs and a sofa that was bursting at the seams.
‘Are you all right, Lucy?’ Connie was worried, the child was obviously freezing. When did she last eat? How long had she been on her own? Evie didn’t live here any longer, and who could blame her. The girl had a bellyful of her mother’s lodger and had moved into a room on the other side of the canal. It wasn’t much, but at least Evie was out of danger from Leo Darnel.
By the look of this desperate situation she suspected Rene had been gone a while. She hadn’t been in the tavern since Christmas, but Connie knew it wasn’t unusual for Rene to go off somewhere that took her or Darnel’s fancy. Since her husband’s ship copped it in the Atlantic, Rene was a free agent. Able to up sticks on a whim. But she’d imagined the barmaid would have changed her ways when the kids came home from evacuation. None of us are saints, she thought.
‘Right, let’s have a look at your leg,’ Connie said, using the no-nonsense, all-knowing tone she adopted with injured soldiers. It put them at ease, knowing they could concede control to someone more knowledgeable. And, if ever there was a time for her nurse training to kick in, it was now.
Because if she was not mistaken, something other than a slip on t
he ice had caused a wound as severe as this. Connie found a pencil and a piece of paper and she scribbled something down.
‘I want you to take this note around to Evie in Beamer Terrace,’ she told Lucy. ‘Knock on the door and wait for an answer. Can you do that for me?’ Lucy nodded, thrilled she was being given the privilege of responsibility.
‘Jack treats me like a baby,’ Lucy confided in a whispery voice, ‘but I’m all growed up! I’ll be there and back in no time.’ Shoving the note between her teeth, the child pulled on her coat, already halfway down the narrow passageway.
‘Do you know where it is?’ Connie, glad of the child’s enthusiasm, sighed when Lucy shook her head. It was late, and she should probably go herself, but that wound could not be left much longer. Connie had no choice but to send the child. ‘It’s over the bridge. Turn left when you go out of here, climb to the top of the stone steps, careful not to fall… and it’s the second street along, across the debris’
Lucy, whippet-quick, was halfway up the bridge before she had even finished speaking. ‘Right, let me put the kettle on for hot water, then I’ll have a proper look at that leg.’
‘Sure… It’s not’n.’ Jack didn’t want to see what state his leg was in, but didn’t have the strength to argue, ‘Ma will be along any minute…’ That said, Jack afforded himself the luxury of putting his head on the table knowing Miss Sharp would take over…
Wasn’t it a good thing that man was passing along the dock road when he needed him… Sure, everybody should have a good shepherd. That’s what he called himself. A good shep… but his thoughts got no further as Jack drifted into oblivion.
Connie could see that in this sad situation, Jack and Lucy needed all the help they could get. Yet, concentrating on their plight, she had failed to see the lone figure watching the child scurrying through the snow-covered street…
‘I haven’t had your ruddy coal,’ Miss Skinner said when Evie ran-tanned on her landlady’s door.
‘Well, somebody has,’ Evie answered, noticing the old woman’s sparrow-thin legs were a mottled red, like she’d been sitting close to a blazing fire all day. She knew the measly ration of coal Miss Skinner eked out was not a strong enough blaze to cause those kinds of markings.
