by Annie Groves
Ruby shifted her body. ‘There were planes, and bombs. We were in the doorway. Sarah and Danny looked after me.’
‘That’s right,’ Rita said encouragingly. ‘Sarah told me all about it. You were very brave.’
‘No, I was afraid,’ Ruby said suddenly, trying to sit up. ‘There was shouting, but I can’t think what it was about.’
Good, thought Rita. Maybe that’s for the best.
‘You weren’t there,’ Ruby went on. ‘You were at work. I was going to tell you something when you got back.’
‘Well, never mind,’ said Rita. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to think about that now you’re getting better. Your leg is doing so well that the doctors say you can come home tomorrow. How about that?’
Ruby twisted as best she could under the firm hold of the starched sheet. ‘But have I been here long?’
‘A day or two,’ said Rita. She didn’t want to worry Ruby more than necessary.
‘Days,’ muttered Ruby. She looked as if she was struggling with a difficult thought. ‘So … is it next week yet?’
‘No, we’re at the end of the same week,’ Rita said. ‘The raid was on Monday evening and you came in here on Tuesday. Don’t worry, you haven’t been asleep for ages, you haven’t missed much.’ She kept her tone cheerful, though the thought of next week brought her further misery. That was when Jack should have come home on leave, but he’d written to say it was going to be cancelled after all. Her hopes of seeing him were dashed yet again.
Ruby’s face grew determined. ‘Next week is important. It’s the pattern. I was going to tell you but there’s still time.’
‘What pattern?’ Rita asked gently. She didn’t want Ruby straining herself, working out something complicated when she’d only just recovered consciousness. ‘Really, Ruby, all in good time, you need to rest, you’ve had a bad injury and that’s going to make you feel very tired. You don’t need to tell me about it now.’
‘But I do,’ said Ruby stubbornly. ‘It matters. It’s when things go missing. You know, you told me before.’
Rita nodded. In all the activity of the bombing, the vanishing cases of stock had completely slipped her mind. It didn’t seem terribly important when set beside Ruby’s ordeal and the death of Elliott. But obviously Ruby was anxious to explain. ‘Yes, I remember now.’
‘It will be next Wednesday,’ Ruby predicted, totally serious. ‘That’s when it will happen again. If I’m home by then I can help.’
‘If you’re at home on crutches you will do no such thing,’ Rita said forcefully. ‘You leave all that up to me. You are to have complete rest when you get back. You have been through a lot.’ She gave silent thanks that Ruby didn’t seem to recall the details of the row that had caused her to be outside when the explosions happened. ‘If you won’t let me tell you as a friend, then let me do so as a nurse. Total rest, and that’s an order.’ She smiled to take the edge off her words.
‘I want to help,’ Ruby said, her big eyes gazing at Rita. ‘But I trust you. You are good at sorting things out. As long as you know it will be Wednesday.’
‘All right, I’ll be extra-vigilant on Wednesday,’ Rita promised, figuring that Ruby wouldn’t settle unless she agreed. ‘Now you stop worrying and lie down and make yourself comfortable. That’s better. And look, here’s Maeve, come to see if you’ve woken up.’
The Irish nurse beamed in delight as she arrived with two cups of tea. ‘Well, will you look at that. Our patient is better. Will I get you a cup of tea as well, Ruby? Wouldn’t you like that?’
Ruby shook her head. ‘No, thank you very much,’ she said politely. ‘I want to go back to sleep now.’
‘You do that,’ Rita said, relieved that Ruby seemed calmer now she had remembered her piece of vital information. ‘We’ll go and leave you in peace. I’ll see you tomorrow, and with luck you’ll be coming home.’ She bent and planted a small kiss on Ruby’s head, then quietly followed Maeve away from the ward and along to the welfare area. Well, that was one less thing to worry about: Ruby seemed fundamentally unshaken by the events of Monday night. As for the suggestion that something was about to happen on Wednesday, Rita would deal with that when the time came. There was only so much a person could cope with at any one moment – and she had just about reached her limit.
‘Oh, this is nice!’
Sylvia Hemsley looked up at the curves of the building above the ornate main door to the pub where Frank had taken her. She’d never seen anything like it. The windows were mullioned and there were domes right at the top. It was beautiful and impressive both at the same time.
‘Do you like it?’ Frank grinned. He’d guessed she’d be surprised by the place. While the Philharmonic Dining Rooms wasn’t where he would usually choose to come, being too far from Derby House and his billet, he knew it would be somewhere she would appreciate. ‘Well, wait till you see inside.’
He pushed open the heavy door, careful to keep his balance. He’d managed to walk all the way from the bunker to the pub, even though some of it was uphill, and he didn’t want to spoil things now. He was doing his very best to move as normally as possible. Sylvia hadn’t known him before his injury, of course, but neither had she seen him when it had been new and raw, before he’d got the hang of his false leg. She was judging him by how he was now, and this was as good as he was likely to get. So he didn’t want to mess it up.
Sylvia’s cheeks were rosy from the cold but also, he realised, from anticipation. They hadn’t gone for a drink together before, or at least not as a couple, on their own. She’d been amusing company when he’d shown her the waterfront, admiring the Liver Birds as they guarded the city from on high, taking in the expanse of the Mersey as it flowed northwards past the docks and his home. He’d seen her around at work several times since and they’d had tea or cocoa at breaks between shifts, but always with other colleagues around as well. Now he had grasped the nettle and asked her to come for a drink, half expecting her to say no or to make an excuse. But she hadn’t. She had accepted at once, her bright eyes dancing with mischief, apparently glad to be with him and to learn more about him. For the first time in a long while, Frank had felt optimistic.
‘Don’t tell me this is your local,’ she said now, as he led her to a corner with plush seating, from where she could appreciate the elaborate décor of the place.
‘Not exactly,’ admitted Frank, thinking of how different this was to the Sailor’s Rest, or even Bent-nose Jake’s down at Canada Dock. ‘I’m not sure I’d take you there, to be honest. I used to come here before the war, though, if I was out in town.’
‘If you wanted to impress a girl,’ Sylvia guessed, and from his reaction she could tell she’d been right. ‘I can see why. It’s splendid, isn’t it? All … what do you call it?’
‘Art Nouveau,’ Frank told her, hoping he’d said it right and not adding that he’d never heard the term back in those days – when he’d played the field without a care in the world, before he’d lost a leg. ‘What would you like to drink?’
Sylvia slipped off her warm coat with its fake fur collar, which she’d bought second-hand especially for their date. She was glad she’d made the effort. All around people seemed to have done the same, making the best of what wartime Liverpool could offer, splashes of vibrant colour amid the uniforms of the servicemen and -women enjoying time off. Frank was still in his; she was proud of the way he looked in his navy jacket, now bearing the insignia of a sublieutenant. She tried to work out what other women her age were drinking, but it was beyond her, so she played it safe. ‘A lemonade, please.’
Frank nodded and set off for the bar. She watched him, aware of how much effort he was making not to limp or reveal in any way that he used a false leg. If he was doing so for her, he needn’t have worried. Everyone at Derby House knew about it and that he’d been injured in the war, which made him a hero in her book. She’d never been bothered by it. Plenty of people had war wounds and, if she wasn’t mistaken, there would be a whole
lot more before it all finished. You couldn’t go around discounting anyone for that reason. She liked Frank for who he was – good company, funny, sharp, always interesting, with opinions on all manner of subjects. He was just the sort of person she’d hoped to meet when she’d signed up. She loved her home and the majesty of the great hills and lakes, but she wanted more.
He returned with the lemonade for her and a pint of bitter for him, which he set steadily on the highly polished table. Really, if you hadn’t known, you couldn’t have spotted the injury, she thought. He was good – and that was after the walk, when he’d gently held her arm and made her feel special and protected. She’d feared it would be too much for him but not a bit of it.
‘Thank you.’ Sylvia grinned up at Frank, enjoying how his eyes sparkled in the lights of the colourful bar.
For a moment Frank’s mind flashed back to his rushed visit to Empire Street; he’d wanted to check for himself that everyone was all right. There were broken windows everywhere, loose or missing tiles on many roofs, and what had remained of old Mrs Ashby’s house was in a sorry state. His mother had regaled him with what had happened at the shelter and the fate of poor Ruby, which had offended his innate sense of justice, but fundamentally they were all in one piece. Then Dolly had told him about Elliott.
He had gone through a swift mixture of emotions at the news. He was hugely saddened to learn that the gifted young doctor had died; he knew as well as anyone that his skills had been desperately in demand and that he would be dearly missed. He knew too from his sister Rita that the man had been widely liked as well as admired. Most of all he could scarcely bring himself to imagine what it must have been like for Kitty to hear about the tragedy. Who would be looking after her now, far away at her training centre in London? Part of him wanted to leap on a train and comfort her. Then again, he had enough self-knowledge to admit that comfort wasn’t all he was thinking of. Kitty was free now. She would be emotionally available once more.
He’d told himself to stop considering any such idea. He would write, as an old friend, with condolences, which would be the most suitable thing to do. She’d made her break from Empire Street, and the very fact that she hadn’t once been back to visit told him where her priorities lay. He was no longer the man she had known; she would inevitably judge him by what he had been like before, everything he had been able to do that his impaired mobility now prevented. She too would be different now – more sophisticated, more educated. He must put aside all romantic thoughts of her, no matter how it cut him to the quick to do so. As he’d struggled through the bomb-ravaged streets between Bootle and the centre of the city, he’d resolved to forget about her. She belonged to his past, not his future. If she had dreamed of a future with her doctor, then she would see her life heading in a very different direction and it would not feature Frank Feeny. He had to be strong and turn his back on his dreams.
Sylvia was untainted by memories of his past. They shared a close bond in the present, through their secret war work, which was demanding, exhausting, and yet deeply fulfilling too. Now she was sitting opposite him in The Phil, her expression bright and keen. Frank smiled back and felt himself relaxing a little at last as he sank into his comfortably padded seat. For a moment he could almost believe the war wasn’t happening. Here he was, in this friendly and beautiful historic pub, with a good-looking young woman who seemed to want to spend her precious time off with him. He sipped his beer with relish. He was going to make the most of this evening. They both deserved it; it had been one hell of a week.
She could be his future, if he dared to think that far. Sylvia, not Kitty. He raised his glass to her and she raised hers in acknowledgement. ‘To happier times,’ he said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Kitty went through the next days in a trance. She hardly noticed if she ate or drank and wanted only to sleep. However, when she tried to do so she would jerk awake again and sit up in confusion, knowing that something was wrong but not what it was. Then she would remember and the whole nightmare would begin again.
This would usually wake Laura, who still had the top bunk above Kitty. Mindful of how caring her friend had been when she’d confessed about her brother, and also when Peter had been so ill, Laura would slip down from her bed and rescue Kitty, walking her up and down the corridor outside the darkened canteen, letting her sit and cry if she needed to. There was little she could say. Nothing would alter the facts. The wonderful Elliott was gone, and there would be no more trips to exclusive Soho nightclubs for them all. Laura knew that Kitty had begun to hope that there would be so much more to come in their future together; she would never have agreed to meet his parents if this had been a flash in the pan. Now that had all been taken away from her.
Laura couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, as Peter was visibly improving every time she managed to go to see him, which was almost every other day. She knew Kitty wouldn’t begrudge her this, but it was such a contrast to how they had been just a short time before. Now their positions were totally reversed. Kitty was devastated, trying to come to terms with her loss, knowing that Elliott had died in an unforgivably cruel way and that everyone thought he was a hero. Peter had survived the crisis and was coming on in leaps and bounds. Whether they would have any sort of future together, Laura still didn’t know; she wasn’t going to force the issue while he was still bedridden. But they had moved far beyond distant captain and reluctant driver. They had a connection nobody else could understand as they had been through the fire together, an experience that she knew had changed her and suspected had changed him too. Now she was content to see where this led them – but at least she would have the chance to find out.
Wearily she trod the familiar path up and down the corridor, letting Kitty lean on her. ‘Do you want to sit down for a bit?’ she suggested finally. ‘We could try the canteen; it’ll be empty and there are loads of chairs.’
Kitty shrugged as if she didn’t mind either way. Laura cautiously tried the door and it swung open, revealing the large room in darkness, except for at one end where the blackout blind had been removed to let light in for the early shift and the moonlight streamed in. She led them to where the silvery beam picked out the shapes of the functional chairs and tables and sat down, letting Kitty take her place opposite.
Kitty sighed and rested her head in her hands. Then she looked up. ‘Do you think I should go to the funeral?’ she asked abruptly.
Laura thought for a moment. ‘Do you want to?’ she asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Kitty at once. Then she softened. ‘I’m not really sure. His parents have written to ask me, you see. It’s going to be at their parish church in Hampstead. It will be all his family and whoever is left in London from when he did his training. It’s going to be everyone who knew him from before, from when he was engaged to the professor’s daughter. I’d have to ask for special leave.’
‘What about Bill? He’ll be going,’ Laura pointed out.
Kitty gave a long sigh. ‘I know, he’s bound to. But it won’t feel like anything to do with me. Do you reckon they’ll think badly of me if I don’t go?’
‘None of their business,’ Laura said robustly. ‘You have to do what you think is right. I’m sure nobody will blame you. If you feel you want to go, or that you should go, I’ll come too. I bet Marjorie will as well. After all, we knew him. But if you’d rather not, then don’t.’
‘I don’t think I could bear to,’ Kitty said, trying to explain her feelings when she wasn’t really sure of them herself. ‘I mean, what a way to meet his parents. After all our plans for the weekend, when it was going to be like a celebration. It’s too much. I don’t think I can stand there and shake their hands and have them looking at me wondering what I’m like. Not without him there too.’
Laura nodded slowly. ‘Well, you don’t have to make up your mind tonight. Think about it and let me know if you’d like me to come. It might help. You know. Make it seem more final and all that.’
‘It feels final all right,’ Kitty said disconsolately. ‘It’s sunk in now and there’s nothing I can do to change it. It’s as if I’ve been hollowed out from inside somehow. Some major part of me is missing. I can’t shift the feeling.’
‘Early days yet,’ Laura said, reaching for her hand. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. It would be stranger if you felt all right, if you were running around as usual. It’s perfectly normal to be like this – you’ve lost your chap and he was a wonderful man, no doubt about it. It’s not fair, but life isn’t, is it? When you think of all the cads and the spivs, or the cowards, it’s not right that one of the good ones has to die. I’m so sorry.’
Kitty suddenly thought of Alfie Delaney and Charlie Kennedy, two of the most despicable men she knew, still to the best of her knowledge alive and well and taking advantage of everyone back home. She shook her head. ‘He was one of the good ones, wasn’t he?’ she said quietly. ‘Everyone knew it. He never lost his temper; always had something nice to say about everyone; never avoided his duty, no matter how tired he was, he just kept on going. Till that bomb got him.’ She let out a sob. ‘Oh Laura, I feel so heartbroken, but the funny thing is, I’m not sure I was in love with Elliott, though I was so fond of him, and if we’d had the chance I think I might have fallen for him properly, but I was too busy worrying about whether I was good enough for him – I wasted that short time we had together fretting.’
‘Oh Kitty, feelings are funny things. Falling in love doesn’t always happen immediately. Everyone who knew you both could see that you adored each other,’ Laura reminded her.
‘Elliott was so good to me. He showed me that I could be somebody different … that there was more out there in the world for me if I was brave enough to look for it … and now he’s gone and I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it.’
‘There, there, Kitty, there’s no point trying to predict the future.’ Laura was anxious for her friend. Kitty was such a gentle and kind soul, who felt things deeply. She cursed the war and that blasted Hitler who had thrown so much pain and heartache their way. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the dormitory. See if you can sleep a bit now.’
