by Rosie Harris
Winnie wondered whether it would do any good if she knocked on the door and apologised. If she didn’t, or if Miss Henshaw wouldn’t listen to her, then what on earth was she going to do? It was already freezing and she was sure it was going to snow before morning.
Picking up her sticks she hobbled up to the front door and knocked. The door remained firmly closed. She banged on it again, this time more loudly, and watched as one by one the lights inside Craven House went out.
Shivering and scared, Winnie turned to get back into her chair. As she did so she stumbled against an unwieldy bundle on the doorstep. Her belongings!
Tears streaking down her face she dragged the bundle down to the pavement and hoisted it onto her chair, balancing it precariously between the seat and the footrest. It was a struggle for her to get back into the chair because it was already full of her Christmas presents from the market. She finally managed it by perching on top of the bundle with her legs sticking straight out in front of her.
She wedged her sticks in beside her and wrapped herself up warmly in her new red cloak, pulling the hood of it up over her head to protect her ears from the biting cold. Then, with great difficulty, she began to slowly propel her wheelchair along the road.
The load was so heavy that it made the chair top-heavy, and Winnie felt terrified each time it wobbled in case it overturned. She had no idea what to do or where she could find shelter. Tears misting her eyes, she continued along Islington, following the familiar route towards Great Homer Street that she took every morning.
When he left Winnie at the corner of Carver Street, Sandy Coulson felt at a loss. The Christmas holiday would last all over the weekend and he had nothing at all planned. The lads he sometimes went for a bevvy with would all be enjoying the festivities in the hearts of their respective families. Most of the men he worked with at the market also had families and were looking forward to Christmas with them. They’d be playing Father Christmas and watching the joy on the faces of their children as they unwrapped their Christmas stockings and any other presents they could afford to buy them.
Since his own parents had died and his brother had gone to live in Canada, Sandy had been living in digs. He had no one to buy Christmas presents for, except Winnie of course, and he’d already given her his gift. He felt a surge of pleasure as he remembered the look of delight on her face when he had slipped the red cloak around her shoulders.
Winnie coming back into his life had disturbed him more than he had ever imagined it would. He’d thought about her often enough after they’d taken her off to the orphanage. He’d even written to her at the orphanage, and he couldn’t believe that they’d kept his letter from her.
He enjoyed working alongside her at the market, but that wasn’t really enough. She was never out of his thoughts, and he would have liked nothing better than to be able to take care of her and make sure she was properly looked after.
He’d finished paying for the wheelchair he’d bought for her and so once again he’d started saving towards getting a stall of his own. As soon as he could do that he’d be able to earn enough money to get a decent place to live. Then, if Winnie was willing, if she cared for him in the same way as he cared for her, well, perhaps his dreams would come true.
Realising that he had been leaning against the lamppost for so long that he was almost numb with cold, Sandy pulled himself together. He’d take one last look at the hostel. He often hung around there at night because he knew which room was hers, and he liked to wait until he saw her light go out and know that she was safely tucked up in bed.
He walked to the corner and stopped in surprise. Was he imagining things or was that Winnie at the junction of Carver Street and Islington, her chair piled up so high that it was unsafe.
As she heard his steps pounding on the pavement behind her, Winnie half-turned, looking over her shoulder fearfully. As she did so her wheelchair tilted precariously and she let out a scream.
Sandy broke into a run. ‘Winnie! Winnie, it’s all right! Don’t worry, it’s me,’ he shouted as he grabbed at her chair before it could crash to the ground.
* * *
Bob Flowers shivered as he came off watch. The Patricia had been tossed and battered by heavy seas all night as it made its way through the Bay of Biscay after calling at Bilbao. They were on their way to South Africa, and tomorrow they would be moving into the calmer waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
It would be a long trip, and for the first time since he’d made the sea his life Bob wished he hadn’t signed on.
He had been looking forward to his leave in Liverpool, to meeting up with Winnie Malloy as he’d arranged. True, they’d been over three weeks late getting into port, but he’d still been optimistic that she’d turn up at their agreed rendezvous. He’d been there every evening and he’d waited for a couple of hours each time, but she hadn’t turned up. He’d had no idea where to look for her. In desperation he’d even gone along to the Holy Cross Orphanage to see if they could help him.
Sister Tabitha had remembered him, and, although she was reluctant to do so, had eventually told him that Winnie had gone to work at Johnson’s Mantles. She’d given him the address of the factory, but she wouldn’t tell him where Winnie was living.
‘No, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to do that,’ Sister Tabitha told him. ‘I am only confirming where she is working since she has already told you that much.’
Winnie hadn’t been at the factory, though. The foreman told him that she’d left at the beginning of her second week and he’d had no idea at all where she’d gone after that. He’d hung around until they closed for the night and had questioned some of the girls, but none of them had even heard of her, so in the end he had given up looking.
Chapter Twenty-one
‘SO WHAT AM I going to do now? Where can I go? Where am I going to find a place to stay overnight?’
Winnie’s voice rose higher and higher with each question and Sandy had no idea what the answers were. He wanted so very much to take her in his arms, smooth her black curls back from her worried brow and banish all her fears. He wanted to offer her a happy ending to her problem and see relief soften those expressive blue eyes, feel the touch of her lips on his cheek as she gave him a kiss of gratitude.
Above all, he wanted to tell her to stop worrying, because whatever happened he would always be there to protect her. But he couldn’t do any of these things because the words died in his throat before he could utter them. He couldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t let her build up false hopes only to find them dashed again when he couldn’t fulfil his promises.
If only he could invite her back to his room so that she was sheltered from the bitterly cold night. He would happily have slept on the floor so that she could have his bed, but even that was impossible because he was sharing the room with two other chaps.
His own background was almost as fraught as Winnie’s and he never spoke about it, not even to her. When he left the market at night, whistling happily, people probably thought he was going back to a warm home and a loving family. None of them knew that home was a squalid room that he shared with two other blokes in a crummy court!
He didn’t want anyone to know the truth in case they felt sorry for him, and pity was something he couldn’t abide. He’d tell everyone about his personal life when he had managed to save up enough to have his own stall, made a success of trading and was able to afford the sort of home he dreamed of one day owning.
That was all in the distant future. His problem at the moment was to try and help Winnie out of her present predicament, and that was much more urgent.
‘Why did they kick you out of the hostel? Couldn’t you have stayed until morning, or until after the Christmas holiday if it came to that?’
Winnie shook her head. ‘Miss Henshaw got a ticking off from Sister Tabitha from the orphanage because I’d left Johnson’s Mantles and they’d never been told.’
Sandy felt perplexed. ‘Were you expected to report that to t
hem then?’
‘I suppose so, but I didn’t tell her I’d left the factory because I managed to get another job right away. I didn’t think it mattered as long as I could afford to pay for my room every week.’ She reached up and put her hand over his as he pushed her chair. ‘And that was all thanks to you!’
Sandy felt his pulse quicken at her touch. ‘I met that Miss Henshaw the day I brought your wheelchair round to Craven House, a right sour puss she seemed to be.’
Winnie giggled. ‘She was almost as strict as Sister Hortense and Sister Tabitha rolled into one,’ she agreed.
‘So is that who came round and told her off?’
‘Sister Tabitha did! I think that was why Miss Henshaw was so furious.’
‘So she chucked you out?’
‘She gathered up all my belongings and piled them up on the doorstep. When I got back tonight she told me to clear off and take my stuff with me.’
‘Miserable old cow!’
‘Maybe she had no choice,’ Winnie said reflectively. ‘The orphanage must have connections with the hostel and that was why I was given a room there in the first place.’
Sandy shrugged. ‘Perhaps you’re right. So what are we going to do now? We could try a bed and breakfast place, or even a hotel?’
‘They’re hardly likely to take me in at this time of night!’
‘No, you’re probably right. Haven’t you any friends who could put you up for the night?’
Winnie shook her head. ‘I’ve lost touch with the few people I used to know in Elias Street and Carswell Court.’
‘You’re quite sure you don’t want to go back to Holy Cross and see if they will put you up for the night?’
Winnie gave a sharp, bitter laugh. ‘After what I’ve just told you! It’s their fault that this has happened. If Sister Tabitha hadn’t gone to Craven House and told Miss Henshaw off then none of this would have happened.’
‘Then it will have to be a bed-and-breakfast place, you’ve no choice.’
After their fourth attempt, Winnie insisted that they were wasting their time. On each occasion they had been turned down flat, even though there was a sign in the window that said ‘Vacancies’.
Sandy ran a hand through his shock of red hair. It was getting colder by the minute and he could see that in spite of the warm red cloak he’d bought her, Winnie was shivering.
‘So what are you going to do?’ He did some quick calculations in his head. ‘You could go to one of the big hotels for the night.’
‘Think what that would cost!’
He shrugged. ‘It would only be for one night and I’d pay the bill for you.’
Winnie shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t let you do that. Anyway, the night porter probably wouldn’t let me past the door in a wheelchair piled high with all sorts of bundles! What I could do,’ she went on before he could argue with her, ‘is spend the night in the ladies’ room on Lime Street Station. It would be warm enough in there.’
Sandy looked doubtful. ‘I think they’ll turf you out when they find you don’t have a ticket.’
‘I can say that I’m meeting someone who will be arriving on the first train tomorrow morning.’
‘We can give it a try,’ Sandy conceded, ‘but I don’t think it will work.’
He was right. The minute he started to wheel Winnie along the platform a porter stopped him.
‘There’s no more trains tonight, whacker!’
‘We know that. We’re waiting for someone coming on the early morning train,’ Sandy explained.
‘Oh yes, which one?’
‘Not quite sure what time it gets in.’
The man’s lip curled. ‘I see! Where’s this friend of yours coming from, then? Do you know that?’
Winnie smiled up at the grim-looking man. ‘Look, I’ve nowhere to stay tonight and I thought perhaps I could kip in the ladies’ waiting room,’ she said persuasively.
‘It’s locked, miss, and I don’t have the key. I think the pair of you had better be on your way, otherwise I’ll have to call the police.’
‘We’re going!’ Sandy swung Winnie’s chair around so fast that everything piled up on it juddered and threatened to fall off. ‘Thanks for nothing, whacker!’
‘So where do we go now?’ Winnie asked wearily as they emerged into Lime Street again.
‘Straight down here, there’s a café on the corner of Lord Nelson Street that stays open for people leaving the Empire after the last show. Come on, and with a bit of luck we’ll get there before they close.’
Over a cup of hot chocolate they tried to decide what to do next.
‘I think it’s the wheelchair that puts them off,’ Sandy said gloomily. ‘We probably look homeless because it’s piled up with so much stuff.’
‘You’re right, but there’s not a lot we can do about that is there.’
‘That’s it!’ Sandy drained his cup. ‘Come on, luv, drink up, I’ve got an idea.’
He helped her back into the chair and set off at breakneck speed towards Cazneau Street, cutting through into Great Homer Street.
‘There’s no point in going back to the market, it will be all shut up at this time of night,’ Winnie told him.
‘I’m not going to the market, I’m going to Peg Mullins’ place. She lives in Skirving Court, which is at the top end of Skirving Street. If we can persuade her to stow your belongings at her place for a couple of days then you’ll stand a better chance of finding somewhere where they’ll rent you a room. Get it?’
‘It makes sense, but won’t Peg have a fit if we turn up on her doorstep at this time of night?’
‘Not when I explain what’s happened. Don’t worry, kiddo, you know Peg’s got a heart of gold. She’ll help.’
Sandy was right. Peg was prepared to do more than simply let them leave Winnie’s belongings at her place. She insisted that Winnie should stay there as well.
‘I can’t let you put yourself out like that,’ Winnie protested. ‘It’s Christmas, it’ll upset all your own plans.’
‘Is that right?’ Peg’s grey eyes twinkled. ‘You know all about what I have planned, do you? It looks as though I’m having a party, does it?’
‘Well, not tonight, but you might have one planned for tomorrow perhaps, and Monday is Christmas Day …’
‘Tomorrow, Christmas Day, Boxing Day! It makes no difference what day it is, I’ll still be here on my own. I expect Sandy has told you that I lost my husband and son in the war.’ She wiped a tear away from the corner of one eye. ‘Now you understand why I’ve nothing to celebrate.’
‘Yes, and Winnie lost her dad in the war too,’ Sandy told her.
Peg shook her head sorrowfully. ‘Then you know what I mean. Is that how you came to be in an orphanage? It’s all right, Sandy told me about that the day he asked me if I could find work for you in the market kitchen.’
‘Yes, my mam died shortly after she received the news and there was no one else to look after me.’
‘The same thing happening again, eh? No one to take you in tonight. Well, we’d better keep each other company then, luv, hadn’t we. You can have my Sam’s room. The bed’s made up and there’s plenty of room in there for all your belongings.’
She turned to Sandy. ‘I’ll make us all a pot of tea while you unload Winnie’s stuff,’ she told him. ‘Once you’ve drunk that you can be on your way, Sandy. You can come back in the morning to make sure Winnie’s all right if you want to, but she looks all in, so I think the sooner she gets her head down the better.’
Sandy was whistling happily as he left Skirving Court half an hour later. Winnie was safe for the night. By now she’d be tucked up in bed in Peg’s spare room and probably already be asleep.
He’d go back there tomorrow and hopefully they’d be able to sort out where she’d be staying for the future. If his instincts were right, and they generally were, Peg Mullins would try and persuade Winnie to stay on there for a while.
In his opinion it was the perfect so
lution. Peg was kind-hearted but lonely, and they’d be good company for each other. She and Winnie were used to each other’s ways. They already got on like a house on fire so it was perfectly natural that they should settle in together quite happily.
Deep down he felt a twinge of jealousy that Winnie would doubtless be happy there. Then he mentally kicked himself for his stupidity. That was exactly what he wanted for her, wasn’t it. He wanted her to be happy and settled.
What was more, he told himself, because he also got on so well with Peg he’d be able to visit Winnie whenever he felt like it.
Before she went to bed that night, Peg Mullins went into the bedroom that had once belonged to her son Sam. She stood beside the bed, holding the candle she was carrying high so that the flickering light didn’t shine directly onto Winnie.
A smile played over her lips as she studied Winnie’s face in repose, the heart-shaped features framed by the black curls, the pink lips slightly open, the long lashes hiding the vivid turquoise-blue eyes. Even in sleep there was an appeal about the girl’s face that touched Peg’s heart. She’d always longed to have a daughter. Someone who would understand a woman’s way of thinking and be a companion to her in her old age.
She’d only ever had the one child. Sam had been a wonderful son, a good lad from the day he was born and she would always be proud of him. It was such a wicked waste that his short life should be snuffed out so violently. He’d never been aggressive in any way, and he’d never wanted to take part in a war.
If he had lived, she reflected, then Winnie Malloy was the sort of girl she would have liked him to have chosen as his wife.
She would have preferred her to have been fit, of course. Not that being crippled made Winnie any less lovable. She was always cheerful and uncomplaining and she worked hard.
As she turned to leave, Peg heard the girl stir and heard her murmur in her sleep. As she paused to listen she heard Winnie say Sandy’s name and saw the half-smile that lifted the corners of her mouth.
Peg smiled as she moved quietly away. Yes, she told herself, those two were meant for each other. Sandy was a lovely lad and she was very fond of him. He never talked about his family so she knew very little about his background or where he lived. She vaguely remembered Winnie once saying that they’d been at school together when they were small, so he must live somewhere around the Scotty Road area.
