The Mersey Daughter

by Annie Groves

  ‘Maybe you’d like to go dancing tomorrow, though, Kitty?’ Elliott asked, a tender but hopeful look on his face. ‘I could show you my favourite spot in the West End. I’m sure you’d like it.’

  Kitty felt excitement well up in her. Elliott was a very skilful dancer – he’d once confessed he had been a champion, back in his student days – and she suddenly remembered the way he’d held her round the waist on New Year’s Eve, which she’d found herself enjoying far more than she would have imagined, despite all her nervous insecurity at the time. She decided she would very much like him to hold her that way again, with his warm hands pressing against the silky fabric of her dress. ‘Oh yes please,’ she said. ‘That would be wonderful.’

  ‘It would be my pleasure, indeed, my honour,’ he said with a grin to show her he meant it but wouldn’t take it too seriously. ‘Would you like to ask your friends to come too?’ Marjorie and Laura had met him briefly when he’d come to collect her earlier; they’d been extremely keen to meet the fabled author of the letters which Kitty anticipated so keenly. ‘I wouldn’t neglect you, I just thought you might enjoy having them with us.’

  For a moment Kitty fought off the sensation of inadequacy. Part of her wanted to keep Elliott all to herself on their brief weekend together. She’d have to compete with Laura to be seen as someone who fitted in with the London nightlife, who knew how to dress, dance and behave in such a sophisticated set. Then she berated herself. He hadn’t asked Laura out – he’d asked her. ‘That’s so kind of you to think of that,’ she said. ‘I’ll ask them.’

  ‘But they won’t hold a candle to you, Kitty,’ Elliott assured her. Then he leant forward and, in the middle of the crowded pub, softly planted a kiss on her lips. He drew back before she could be embarrassed. ‘That’s just on account,’ he smiled. ‘But I couldn’t resist you, Kitty Callaghan.’

  She had to stop herself from gasping aloud. He’d done that – him, a doctor, and her just plain Kitty Callaghan from Empire Street. It was all too much to take in. Across the room she caught sight of a young woman with slightly tousled dark hair, eyes bright, cheeks slightly flushed, and immediately alongside her the back view of a well-set man in an immaculately cut jacket. It took her a moment to register it was a mirror and the man was Elliott, the young woman was her. Everything was happening so fast and she could feel herself changing along with the pace of the times. Where would it all lead? She had to gather her courage and see where this new life might take her.

  Rita stared at the letter, her heart hammering furiously. She’d known this would happen but it was still a horrible shock to see it in black and white. One of the main suppliers to the shop was demanding immediate payment for its goods or it would suspend trading with her. Rita knew she needed this firm; they’d done business for ages and it would be well nigh impossible to sign up with anyone else. They’d take one look at the slowly failing shop and turn her down without a backward glance. She also knew she didn’t have the money. Wild ideas came into her head. Should she ask Danny to see what fell off the back of a lorry down at the docks? But she couldn’t go down that route – that was Winnie’s way, but it wasn’t hers. Even when her back was against the wall, Rita knew she couldn’t be dishonest. She wouldn’t be able to face herself in the mirror in the morning if she did that. Damn Charlie – he’d treated her like a punchbag, brought disgrace upon the family, and scarpered off without a care in the world, leaving her with this mess, which she’d never asked for in the first place.

  Was there another way of balancing the books? Had she done the sums right? Had Violet made any obvious mistakes and Rita been too tired to see them? Damn Charlie for causing his mother to go into such a tailspin. Rita also wondered if some customers were staying away on principle, knowing he was a deserter. She wouldn’t put it past them. She could understand all too well how they might feel. She hated cowardice, and resented being tarred with the same brush as her faithless husband. How different it would have been if he’d turned out to be the man she was hoping for: someone she and the children could have relied on, someone she could have shared her troubles with. At least they were safely out of it, happy and well, although achingly far away. When it came down to it she was on her own. Violet was kind and never said no to working late, but she didn’t really understand the business, for all her outgoing cheerfulness. Rita still had little idea of what went on in Ruby’s head and certainly wouldn’t dream of burdening her with the realities of the shop. And as for Winnie … well, she was just Winnie.

  Rita sighed heavily as she checked the blackout blinds were properly fastened across the shop window. Dusk had fallen and she needed to turn on the lights, though she dreaded the extra expense. Maybe she could negotiate. Perhaps she could offer to pay an extra amount per week or per month – she’d have to find it somehow, but it was better than doing nothing. She had to keep the shop going, there were no two ways about it. Shivering, although it was a warm evening, she turned to go back to the living quarters.

  There was a soft knock on the shop door, and she jumped. Fear shot through her that it was someone from the suppliers, come to demand their money in person. She hesitated, not wanting whoever it was to be heard in the street; she couldn’t have borne the shame of a public confrontation. Her name was in tatters already, and she couldn’t risk putting off even more customers.

  ‘Rita, Rita,’ called a male voice, ‘are you in there? Are you going to let me in?’

  Rita gasped as she recognised the voice, barely able to believe that it was who she knew it to be. Her knees went treacherously weak. Then she made her way across the shop floor to the door, hastily opening it, fearful that the light would be visible and the ARP warden would notice. If it wasn’t Pop, it could mean even more trouble for her. But she couldn’t wait to see her caller.

  For a moment neither of them spoke as they absorbed the sight of one another. It had been long, long months since they had last been together. Then she could hold back no longer.

  ‘Jack, Jack, you’ve made it home!’ Despite herself she flung her arms around his beloved broad shoulders, but then jumped back. ‘Oh no, how’s your injury? Have I hurt it?’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Jack hugged her tightly, knowing she was the most precious woman in the world. But he would go no further. While he was in no doubt he loved her with all his heart and soul, she was still a married woman, even if in name only.

  ‘Oh, Jack.’ Rita breathed deeply, inhaling the magical scent of him, the essence of a strong, good man. How she would have loved it if she could only let him take care of her, lift all the worries that had been besetting her since Charlie disappeared – and, in truth, long before that. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t fair on him. She was still tied to Charlie: devious, vindictive Charlie. She broke away, as she knew she must. Jack was her very good friend, the very best friend she could ever have, in fact, but he could be nothing more.

  Jack stood back and regarded her. Even in the meagre light from the sallow overhead bulb she was radiantly beautiful. ‘You know what, Reet?’ he said softly. ‘You’re a proper sight for sore eyes and no mistake.’

  ‘Jack.’ Rita forced herself to break away, and held him at arm’s length, taking in the sight of his familiar features. ‘Oh Jack, I’m so glad to see you. When you wrote to say your leave had been delayed, I didn’t know what to think. I thought you’d been posted somewhere far away and I’d never see you again.’

  ‘Reet, don’t say that, you know I can’t tell you where I’ve been or where I’m going. That’s if I even know, which often I don’t. But I’ll always come back. You know that.’ Jack’s eyes glowed in the half-light as he drank in the sight of her.

  ‘I know. Well, I hope so.’ She still couldn’t quite take in that he was here in front of her; she was conscious that the clock was already ticking and the precious time they would have together would be short. ‘How long have you got this time?’

  ‘A couple more days.’ He drew a finger around the collar of his
uniform jacket. ‘I stopped by your parents’ house before coming here to check you weren’t on shift. Your dad says I can have the cart tomorrow and that it’s your day off.’ His eyes were dancing. ‘Fancy a trip out to Freshfield?’

  ‘Oh yes, Jack. That would be marvellous.’ All thoughts of money worries fell away at the prospect of seeing her children again – and the thought that Jack was Michael’s unacknowledged father made it all the more special. ‘I’d like that better than anything.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Danny stared at the piece of paper in front of him. He couldn’t quite believe what had happened. He felt like pinching himself to check if he was dreaming or not, but the stern face of the naval officer who’d summoned him from the warehouse stared down at him. Danny didn’t think he was the sort of person who’d take kindly to any form of joke.

  They were in a small office in one of the buildings in the city centre that had managed to avoid being damaged by the blitz at the beginning of May. The smart black car had brought them here and Danny had gasped as they had gone through the familiar streets, many now almost unrecognisable. He hadn’t left Bootle since the raids and, even though he’d heard what the centre had suffered, it was still a shock to see it for himself. The cathedral had taken a hit and St Luke’s Church was all but a ruin. What made it worse was he still hadn’t been told what all this was about. He felt as if he was headed for his doom, with destruction all around him.

  Then they had pulled up at a nondescript door, which gave no clues as to what was inside or what firm or organisation owned the premises. The officer had shown his ID to a guard inside the door – there was an air of secrecy to the whole procedure. Danny was shown to a seating area and told to await further instructions. It reminded him of being hauled before the headmaster, when you knew something bad was coming but the waiting made it worse. He paced around, too restless to sit on one of the worn old leather office chairs arranged around the walls. There were no notices on the walls to give a clue what this place was for. His earlier fears that Alfie Delaney was somehow behind this began to be replaced by something much worse.

  Eventually, after he’d been kicking his heels for what felt like hours, a young woman in smart WAAF uniform approached. ‘Commander Stephens will see you now,’ she said, watching him calmly with her grey eyes, ‘so follow me.’

  Danny did as he was told, still more puzzled by the young woman. She led him briskly down a series of bland corridors before knocking sharply on a plain brown door. ‘Mr Daniel Callaghan for you, sir.’ She pushed open the door and left him to face whatever was coming. By now he was fearful and curious in equal measure.

  A man in naval officer’s uniform stood up and offered his hand for Danny to shake. ‘Mr Callaghan – Commander Stephens. Good of you to come.’ Danny was baffled. Good had nothing to do with it. He hadn’t exactly been given a choice.

  ‘You’ll no doubt be wondering what all this is about,’ Stephens went on, giving Danny a genial smile. ‘Sorry about all the subterfuge, but you’ll understand when I explain.’

  Danny had to bite his lip to keep his temper. He could tell no good would come of losing it, but he was by now extremely fed up with how he was being treated. ‘I’d appreciate that,’ he said bluntly. ‘I don’t know why I’m here, but I’m not in the navy and so am not answerable to you. And that young woman was a WAAF. I’m not in the air force either. Not for want of trying,’ he concluded bitterly. If things had been different that could have been him in the smart dark uniform – although possibly without so much gold on his sleeves.

  ‘Excellent observation,’ Stephens said, his smile not faltering at the challenge. ‘So, yes, where you are now is rather unusual. As you have seen for yourself, it involves close co-operation between the air force and the navy, and the Royal Marines as well, as a matter of fact.’

  Danny looked at the man’s face for any sign of a threat but found none. He decided he was telling the truth. In which case there was only one place he could be talking about. ‘You mean Western Approaches Command,’ he said. ‘That’s the only place I can think of where that happens. But we aren’t in Derby House now.’

  Commander Stephens smiled even more. ‘Spot on, young man. No, we aren’t in Derby House, as everyone there has to have security clearance. But we’re sometimes allowed the use of some neighbouring offices.’ He sat back down. ‘Do have a seat and I’ll try to fill you in.’

  Danny would have preferred to stand as he still felt too restless to keep still, but it would have been rude to refuse. Besides, he needed to hear what the commander had to say.

  ‘Let me be totally straight with you,’ the officer began. ‘We are looking to recruit people with very particular talents for our operation, and we have received word that you might be just the sort of person who would be suitable.’

  Danny’s jaw would have hit the floor if he hadn’t been biting his lip so hard. Whatever he’d expected the man to say, it most definitely wasn’t that. ‘But,’ he finally managed to reply, ‘I can’t. I’ve applied to every one of the armed forces and been turned down by the lot. I’m useless for the war effort. I’ve got a damaged heart.’

  ‘We know all about that, Mr Callaghan,’ Commander Stephens said reassuringly. ‘It is most commendable that you tried so hard to join up. That’s one of the things that drew our attention to you. The other, believe it or not,’ he flicked at an invisible piece of lint on his sleeve, ‘is your heart condition.’

  ‘What?’ Danny blurted. This was getting ridiculous.

  ‘Or rather, your stay in hospital. The Royal Infirmary, wasn’t it?’ the man amended. ‘Where you met Captain Jonathan Forrester.’

  Danny searched his memory and drew a blank. He and his fellow patients hadn’t exactly swapped ranks on the ward.

  ‘The man who introduced you to cryptic crosswords,’ the commander prompted.

  Suddenly the pieces fell into place in Danny’s mind. ‘Yes, I know who you mean now. But I didn’t know he was a captain in the navy. We didn’t talk about such things. I knew he’d been a high-ranking officer of some kind, but that was as far as it got. I just called him Jonny.’

  The commander smiled again. ‘Yes, he really is a very informal chap. But he happened to mention to one of our team that he’d come across a young fellow who had a natural aptitude for solving tricky puzzles, who in a short time had picked up enough to tackle the most fiendish ones – all without any former background in such things. That’s pretty rare, you know.’ His expression changed. ‘I must ask you to keep all of this absolutely to yourself. What I am about to propose needs to be treated as top secret. It is nothing short of being at the heart of what we do here at Western Approaches Command.’

  Danny was taken aback at the change of direction. ‘Of course,’ he said. Who exactly was he going to tell, anyway?

  ‘We need you to take a short test,’ the commander went on briskly. ‘Nothing too bad; certainly nothing to someone like you if Forrester was right – and I’d trust him with my life.’ He rose and ushered Danny towards the door. ‘Through here. Lieutenant Commander Sykes will supervise you.’

  They were in another small, anonymous room, but there was the man who had summoned Danny earlier that day, looking as though he wished he were somewhere else. He indicated a desk, on which there was a single piece of paper. ‘Do sit, Mr Callaghan,’ he said, his tone making it clear this was not a request. ‘After Commander Stephens has left the room you will work your way through these questions and then hand the answers to me. I am here to oversee you and not to help, so please do not direct any questions to me.’ He saluted as Stephens made to leave.

  ‘Good luck, Mr Callaghan,’ the commander said cheerily on his way out.

  Danny glanced up at the wall but there was no clock. So he figured he might as well get on with the task in hand. Warily he skimmed the page. Well, those were easy; they were obviously anagrams. Those looked like some kind of verbal logic. There were a couple of numerical sequences he t
hought he’d be all right at; the final ones were some kind of maths he hadn’t come across. He’d worry about them later. He picked up the pen they had provided and set to it.

  In what felt like no time at all, he looked up and met Sykes’s steady, unwelcoming gaze. ‘Finished,’ he said. ‘Or as finished as I can be.’ He hadn’t been able to do the final questions; they went beyond the simple arithmetic and geometry he’d done at school, which he’d been all too keen to get away from. He figured that was hardly his fault. No doubt most of the people they tested had gone to private schools, and quite likely university too. He’d done his best, and if that wasn’t good enough, then too bad. He was expecting to fail. He didn’t dare think about what this could lead to; there was no point, he wouldn’t make the grade.

  ‘Wait there, Mr Callaghan.’ Sykes took the paper and vanished through the door, leaving Danny on his own yet again.

  Danny stretched his arms over his head and leant back in the chair. Well, it beat counting crates in the warehouse. Now the test was over he realised he’d enjoyed it, or at least the puzzle aspect of it. He wasn’t so sure about being shut in a small room with Sykes; he could tell the lieutenant commander thought all of this was an enormous waste of time. He could sense the friction between him and the commander, who presumably was his superior officer, and wondered if by some miracle he did pass, whether he’d end up being caught between the two of them. Still, he probably wouldn’t see any more of these men after today.

  He stared at the ceiling. There was only one person who could be behind this: Frank Feeny. All of Empire Street knew he had come back to work in Derby House on some vital but hush-hush project. Quite how he had heard about Jonny, or Captain Forrester as he now knew him to be, Danny couldn’t work out, but he intended to ask him the next time he saw him. Frank was a good bloke and hadn’t deserved his injury – but then, as Danny knew all too well, fate had a habit of flinging unwelcome hardships at you.