The Mersey Daughter

by Annie Groves

  Laura listlessly picked up a tray in the mess queue and wondered what the options would be today. As Wrens, they were being fed adequately, as everyone knew you had to make sure service personnel had proper sustenance, but none of them actually looked forward to meal times any more. Kitty had regaled them with tales of corners they’d been forced to cut when she was in the NAAFI canteen back home, and that was before the rationing got so bad. Now the choice was Spam fritters or a meat pie. Laura could guess that the contents of the pie would only be very slightly laced with meat, and the rest would be made up of oats or some other cereal to eke out the precious flavour. At least there were plenty of potatoes. She sighed for the days when they would have come slathered with butter, but butter was very strictly rationed now and was definitely counted as a luxury. She thought of all the farms near her family home, and wondered if Cook had managed to come to an arrangement with them. Her parents would be sitting down to a delicious lunch right now, with fresh eggs, maybe a chicken … Laura could feel her mouth watering at the idea. Maybe she should try to go home on her next leave – and yet she didn’t feel inclined to do so.

  Wearily she chose the pie and nodded when the kind woman behind the counter offered her an especially large helping of potatoes. Word had got around that Laura had performed a heroic action and saved a child, and suddenly everyone was bending over backwards to be nice to her. She knew she should be grateful. People were making an extra effort in recognition of what she’d done, and yet she couldn’t rise to the occasion and appreciate it. She didn’t know what was wrong with her.

  Laura carried her laden tray across to the tables. A group of Wrens she barely knew were gathered at the closest one. All of them smiled, and a dark-haired young woman moved her chair so there would be room for one more person to sit down. Laura smiled back but shook her head. She really didn’t feel like company, certainly not that of people she barely knew. She’d have to explain to them what had happened, and she’d already told the story what felt like a thousand times. She’d made sure to keep her account as basic as possible, resisting the urge to embroider it, leaving out some of the more gruesome details, if anything, not wanting to horrify her listeners. She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. The noise of the burning buildings, the breaking glass, the overwhelming heat: how could she possibly convey this to anyone who hadn’t been there? She made her way to a small corner table that was far from the rest of the staff, not wanting to be drawn into conversations or to have to listen in to whatever the others were discussing.

  It had been a week now since the night of the fire, and she hadn’t seen or heard from Captain Cavendish in all that time. She didn’t know what to make of it. She couldn’t remember when there had been so long a gap without seeing him, not since she’d first met him when she’d had to take him to a meeting not long after she’d qualified as an official driver. Of course she’d spent most of that time cursing her luck and wishing him elsewhere. Now she had to admit it was strange – it was more than strange. If she was completely honest with herself, she missed him – his constant demands, the way he made her attempt the impossible on a daily basis. Then, of course, there had been those extraordinary moments in the police station when he had gazed into her eyes and touched the tip of her nose. What did he mean by that? Was it just a warning to look smart before leaving the station, or was there something else behind it? For a brief flash she could have sworn there was, but now he must be avoiding her. Was he embarrassed? That seemed unlikely. Did he regret letting his guard down? Had he found a better driver? Her professional pride bristled at that. She was good, she knew it. So what was going on? She was also increasingly annoyed that she was unable to stop going over and over the same thoughts. Really, she told herself, she should snap out of it.

  Laura had had plenty of contact with men her own age, as her brother had always brought friends back from school or university, and she’d often gone along with them to whatever entertainments were available back home. Then there had been the frequent visits to London, which had served her well in her quest for fun, now they were stationed within reach of the city centre. She loved dancing and flirting, and considered herself an old hand at both.

  Not one of the men she had danced or flirted with had ever got close to her heart, though. They were for amusement, nothing more. She didn’t take them seriously, and she knew full well most of them didn’t take her seriously either. If anyone ever hinted that he was becoming keen, she would drop him like a stone, not wanting anything to get in the way of light-hearted fun. They were boys, that was all. If she wanted serious masculine conversation, there had always been Freddy.

  Now she had to face the fact that this was something different. Somehow the captain had got under her skin, riling her most of the time, but making her react in a way she had never done before. She had thought she’d hated him. But when she believed he was going to die in that blazing house, she had desperately wanted him to escape, to be safe, to be alive and with her. He had held her and his touch had been strong and reassuring, even when he’d been hurt. He’d stroked her nose, an astonishingly intimate gesture, totally unexpected, and somehow more special than if he’d tried to kiss her or hold her hand or something more usual. Then, after the powerful experience of getting through that evening of danger, he’d vanished off the scene. She just didn’t know what to think or what to do. Common sense told her to forget the whole thing – and yet she couldn’t.

  There was a clattering behind her as someone pushed a chair aside and Marjorie arrived, carrying a tray of Spam fritters and a much smaller portion of potatoes than Laura had been given. ‘Room for two more?’ she smiled. Laura nodded. She didn’t mind Marjorie – at least she wouldn’t ply her with intrusive questions about the fire, or weigh her down with congratulations she didn’t feel she deserved.

  ‘I swear these helpings are shrinking,’ Marjorie complained, setting down her plate. ‘I know my waistline is, and I didn’t have much of one before. It’s a conspiracy to save material when we have any new uniforms, I tell you.’

  ‘You may be right,’ Laura said, feeling a little guilty about her own big helping. She hadn’t come close to finishing it, and Marjorie had obviously noticed. ‘Here, you have some of mine,’ Laura added hurriedly.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do, if you’re sure,’ Marjorie said eagerly, sitting down and adjusting her chair so that she could see the rest of the room. There was Kitty, picking up her own tray and coming across. ‘I almost didn’t notice you here, tucked away. Gosh, you wouldn’t think it was possible to get so hungry just sitting still all day but, I tell you, I could eat a horse.’

  ‘Sadly there don’t seem to be many of those roaming the streets of north London,’ Laura said, attempting some of her old humour. She heard the words come out flat and heavy, but Marjorie didn’t seem to care. She tucked into the potatoes with gusto and only paused when half of them were gone. Kitty pulled up the other chair and made a face at the size of the portion she’d seen Laura give to Marjorie. Hers was far smaller.

  ‘Suppose you got these because of the other night,’ Kitty said without rancour. ‘I think you should get more than a few potatoes, though, Laura. They should give you a medal or something.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Laura said quickly. ‘People do this sort of thing every night of the week. When I think about that poor ARP warden, or the policeman that came to escort us, or the bomb disposal teams … what we did was nothing.’

  Marjorie crushed the last of the potatoes into the remains of the thin juice from the fritter. ‘Ah. That’s better. Still, they should reward you for bravery. You aren’t one of the teams meant to deal with these things; you were just passing by and stayed to help. I reckon that counts for something. What does Captain Cavendish say?’

  Laura kept her expression calm with some effort. ‘Oh, I’ve no idea. I haven’t seen him since, actually.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Marjorie glanced up at her friend. ‘Stupid me, I’d forgotten.’


  Laura put down the fork she’d been playing with to hide her agitation. ‘Forgotten? Forgotten what?’

  Marjorie shrugged. ‘Why, that he wouldn’t be going off to meetings in his condition, sending you all over the place and annoying you to pieces as usual.’

  ‘In his condition?’ Kitty echoed. ‘What condition?’

  Marjorie gaped. ‘Don’t you know? It’s all over the language groups, so I thought someone would have told you, of all people.’

  Laura stared at her. ‘No, nobody’s told me anything. What’s all over the language groups? What’s happened?’ She did her best not to sound over-anxious.

  ‘Well, that he was hurt in the fire, of course,’ said Marjorie. ‘You were there, you must have seen it all.’

  ‘I know he hurt his ankle, I told you about that,’ Laura said. ‘I even had to practically carry him along the street. You’ve never seen anything so funny, him so much taller than me. Thank God nobody we knew was there to watch it. And yes, he did have a cut, as there was blood on his shirt. He said they’d cleaned him up at the police station and there would be no problem.’

  Marjorie pushed away her plate. ‘That’s not what people are saying now. I heard he’d been rushed to hospital, something about a wound being infected. He’s been really ill. I can’t believe you haven’t heard.’

  Laura stared at her. So that was why she hadn’t seen him or been summoned to drive him anywhere. He hadn’t been avoiding her – he’d been in hospital. Her mind flashed back to that evening and the blood on the shirt and then the large, very obvious bandage he’d been wearing on the journey home. She should have guessed that was no flesh wound. ‘Is he in danger, do you know?’ she forced herself to ask.

  Marjorie shrugged. ‘I don’t really know. You know what it’s like, the rumours spread like wildfire and they grow out of all proportion. The stories range from he’s being held in for bed rest, to he’s hanging on to life by a fingernail.’

  Laura couldn’t stop her exclamation of distress. ‘But that’s terrible. He seemed so sure it would all be well when I last saw him. I’ve got to go to see for myself. I can’t believe nobody told me.’

  ‘Maybe they only told his family and his immediate team,’ Marjorie pointed out. ‘Just because you were there with him doesn’t mean they’d think of you. You know how it is: careless talk costs lives. If you were his girlfriend, I suppose they’d have said, but you were only his most regular driver, and as it doesn’t affect your work, they’d say there was no reason for you to know. I say, are you all right?’ She finally noticed that her friend was uncharacte‌ristically silent.

  Laura pulled herself together. ‘Yes, of course, totally. It was just a bit of a shock. Here was I thinking he hadn’t sent for me because I’d done something wrong, and all the while he was fighting for his life in hospital. After everything he’s been through – it doesn’t seem right.’ Inwardly she was screaming, but she wasn’t going to admit that, not even to Kitty and Marjorie.

  ‘If you want to go to see him, I’ll come with you,’ Kitty offered. ‘I don’t have any more shifts until tomorrow.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Laura said hurriedly. ‘I’d like that. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘I can find out,’ Marjorie said. ‘Don’t you have to be on duty this afternoon?’

  ‘I’ll tell them I had a relapse,’ said Laura. ‘How could they not tell me? When I was there right beside him? I damned well deserve some time off to check him for myself.’ Suddenly all her old energy returned. ‘Right. Let’s get going. I won’t rest until I see him for myself and find out just how bad he is.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  It was always disorienting to emerge from the bunker of Derby House into the daylight, Frank thought. No matter how many times he did it, the contrast in the light levels, the temperature, the sense of being released into the fresh air always hit him. Today the air was chilly, autumn beginning to set in, and as ever the atmosphere was full of dust from shattered buildings mixed with the sharp tang of the nearby river Mersey and the sea beyond. He could hear the cry of gulls overhead.

  ‘Thank you for that lecture, sir.’ One of the new recruits he’d been detailed to oversee walked up and fell into step with him. ‘It’s taken me ages to get the hang of co-ordinates. It’s good to have a refresher.’

  Frank looked at her. She was in Wren uniform and was probably in her early twenties, and he couldn’t help noticing she had shiny black curls, tumbling in an unruly fashion from beneath her cap. He recognised her from the talk he’d given earlier that morning. She’d been sitting in the second row and his eye had been drawn to her then, he had to admit. Perhaps it was the curls.

  ‘Glad you found it of value … I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name. It’s always difficult in the larger groups,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘Hemsley, sir. Sylvia Hemsley.’ She smiled up at him and he could see she had bright-blue eyes and a smattering of freckles left over from the summer across the bridge of her turned-up nose.

  ‘Of course.’ Frank found himself smiling broadly at the young woman, who gave the impression of infectious energy. More often than not he found an excuse to cut off any of the recruits who tried to make conversation outside the classroom, but now he decided not to be so churlish. It wouldn’t hurt to make a bit of an effort. ‘How are you finding Liverpool, then?’ Even from their brief exchange, he could tell she wasn’t from the local area. Her accent placed her to the north, he thought.

  ‘I love it, sir,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Even though everyone says I should have seen it before the war, it’s so friendly. People talk to you and nobody minds giving you directions if you get lost. I did my basic training down south and some people there look at you as if you’re some kind of alien if you ask for help. I didn’t take to it at all.’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ Frank said. He’d been based in Southampton before being posted back to Merseyside and, though he’d enjoyed it, some of his colleagues had had similar experiences. ‘So where are you from originally then, Hemsley?’

  ‘The Lakes, sir. Not too far from Penrith,’ she said, her eyes lighting up at the thought of her home. ‘It’s beautiful there and I miss it, but there’s so much more to do in a city like Liverpool. I don’t have to wear Wellingtons to get down the lane, for starters.’

  Frank laughed, despite the caution around women he’d adopted since he’d lost his leg, and made to turn to answer, but the sharp movement caused him to stumble a little. Damn, whenever he let down his guard, his leg betrayed him.

  ‘You all right, sir?’ Hemsley’s face showed her concern.

  ‘Yes, nothing to worry about,’ he said hastily. So she didn’t know. He had imagined that it was the first thing anyone learnt about him, and that they all talked about it behind his back: the fact that he had only one leg. But perhaps that was his paranoia running wild and they had better things to gossip about. He decided to get it over and done with. Then she could tell the rest of the recruits if she felt like it. ‘Actually, it’s because I lost a leg in action a while back, and now use a false one. Every now and again it plays up. Right as rain now.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that, sir,’ said the young woman, taking the news in her stride. ‘Does that mean you don’t go to the Grafton dance hall very often, then? Bet that wouldn’t stop Douglas Bader.’

  Frank could have laughed out loud. Was this recruit trying to chat him up? He decided to play along. ‘I wasn’t the best dancer in the world before it happened, to tell you the truth,’ he said. ‘I leave that sort of thing to my younger sister. She was always out, often down the Adelphi. They used to have some wonderful music there before the war broke out. Still do, now and again,’ he added, remembering Gloria’s visit as Hemsley fell into step beside him.

  As they rounded the corner, he could see Danny heading towards them, ready for his shift. He stopped to say hello. Frank felt obliged to do the introductions, and couldn’t help registering how Danny looked at the Wren w
ith appreciation.

  ‘Good to meet you, Hemsley,’ he said with his infectious grin. ‘Frank, sorry, Sublieutenant Feeny, I’ll see you later.’ He hurried off, close to being late as usual.

  The Wren gazed after him for a moment and then turned her attention back to Frank. ‘I’ve seen him around, haven’t I? They say he’s one of the best trainee code breakers. Whoops, have I said something I shouldn’t?’

  ‘Actually yes,’ said Frank, ‘so you want to be careful who’s around when you talk about such things. Best kept for in the bunker if you want to be certain nobody can overhear. We need to keep what goes on in there a secret from the outside world as much as we can. It wouldn’t do for half of Liverpool to know what Danny Callaghan does for a living – he’s too valuable an asset to have his work made public.’

  Hemsley nodded, her eyes widening. ‘I’ll be more careful,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want to put anyone at risk. He seems nice, though.’

  Frank shot a look at her. So, she was like many of the women of his acquaintance – impressed by just a minute’s worth of Danny Callaghan’s company. Well, he couldn’t blame her; Danny was a good-looking young man, highly rated in his work, and footloose and fancy-free. Despite his looks, he’d never taken advantage of them when it came to women, as far as Frank could remember. Now of course there was the issue of his enlarged heart, but that wasn’t Frank’s secret to tell.

  He remembered his own days before the accident, when he’d never been short of female attention. While he hadn’t played the field overmuch, he’d certainly made the most of it, and had never been backward in coming forward. Everything had changed since then – or, no, he told himself: strictly it had been just before that when he’d noticed how Danny’s sister Kitty had transformed from a child into a very beautiful young woman. But there was no way she would have been interested in him once he’d lost his leg, and now she had Dr Elliott Fitzgerald, and they all said he was crazy about her. Good for him. What excellent taste he must have. Nevertheless, this young woman before him now had something of Kitty about her: the bouncing curls, the blue eyes, although they weren’t as dark. She was bolder than Kitty had been, for sure, but then again he had no way of knowing what Kitty was like now, six months into her own training and living far away in London. More importantly, Wren Sylvia Hemsley was here in front of him, not all those miles away and, even if she was impressed by Danny, she also seemed to be showing signs of interest in Frank. Why not pursue it for once? Live a little, he told himself. You’ve come close to death once; what harm can a little encouragement do?