by Annie Groves
‘No!’ Rita almost screamed it. ‘Don’t hurt Michael! He’s only a little boy; he’s done nothing wrong. I won’t say anything, of course I won’t. I’ll help you, I can make sure you get away without anyone knowing, I’ll give you food …’
‘You’ll help all right.’ His expression changed as he thought of another idea. He turned to Winnie. ‘Get me the stuff, will you?’
Winnie didn’t question him but walked unsteadily to the storeroom. She smelled strongly of sherry.
‘Right, you and me are going upstairs.’ Charlie spat the words in Rita’s ear. ‘You’re still my wife, I can do what I like with you. If you don’t scream out and let me do what I need to do, then I might just leave the boy alone this time. You understand me? You said you wanted to be a good wife, well now I’m claiming my rights as a husband, and if you dare to cry out or try to stop me I’m off to that farm. So you better be good. Spread your legs like you used to and pretend to enjoy it, though I don’t think you ever did, that was just more of your lies. You were spreading them all the time for that Jack, weren’t you, just having me on you loved me. So now it’s my turn and I’ll enjoy it all the more knowing you wished it was him.’
‘I … I …’ Rita’s stomach turned over at the idea of him touching her. He was filthy and smelled of sweat and fear, and his fingernails were black. She had tried to enjoy sex with him when they’d been living under the same roof, wanting to make the marriage work and keep the family together, but now the thought of it was deeply repulsive. However, she had no choice. She couldn’t risk Charlie harming Michael, and from the manic look of him she didn’t doubt he would do it. It was no empty threat. She had to get this over with for the sake of her son. Desperately she tried to think of anything that would make the ordeal more bearable. She knew she had to be strong and get through it, endure the next few minutes, or however long he decided it would take. Surely it wouldn’t be long – he’d want to get away. It might be no worse than it used to be, when he’d hurt her for his own pleasure in the knowledge that she wouldn’t cry out in case it woke the children. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he was Megan’s father, and if she’d never met him then she wouldn’t have Megan, the joy of her life. She could do this. She could force herself to look as if she was enjoying it just so her children would be safe. It would be nothing really. She could manage this, she had to.
Looking at Charlie again, she found she pitied him. This was a man who had had everything: a fiercely protective mother, a decent home, a reliable job, a willing wife and two adorable children. Yet he’d lost it all, through his own cowardice and greed, thinking he could have any woman he wanted, bearing no responsibility for his family. Winnie had ruined him, spoiling him, making him think he was above everyone in Empire Street, as she had portrayed herself. It had done neither of them any good. Now she was a pathetic drunk, hardly able to get around her own shop, just her spite left to keep her going. She’d been able to siphon off some foodstuffs to feed her son, but she couldn’t help him now he was on the run. He’d brought that on himself – and yet he would never have had the backbone to knuckle down to army discipline. He was a desperately sorry creature. Maybe if she thought of him that way it would make what he was about to force her to do more bearable. She got to her feet, bracing herself against the pain.
Charlie lunged at her and groped her breasts under the jumper. ‘Let’s get a feel of what I’ll be having,’ he said, his voice uneven, his breath short. She could smell the foulness of it. ‘You’ve lost weight, Rita, it doesn’t suit you. You used to give me a nice handful, now there’s hardly anything there. Like that all over, are you? I shall have to check.’
She forced herself not to push him away, though his hands were hard and rough. She turned her face away from the stench of his breath, but he caught the movement and wrenched her head around, jerking her neck violently. ‘Look at me, Rita. I know you don’t want to but you’re my wife, you don’t turn your back on me. Not unless that’s how I want it,’ he added, with a grim snigger. She thought she would be sick but she looked at him steadily, this wreck of a man who had somehow fathered the most beautiful little girl. He was pushing her towards the stairs and she briefly shut her eyes at the thought of being in their old bedroom together, bringing back the painful memories of all she had endured there.
‘Don’t shut your eyes, I told you to look at me.’ He slapped her hard and the noise rang out like a gunshot. She staggered but didn’t fall as he had his cruel hands on her under her clothes, pawing mercilessly, twisting and pinching her flesh.
‘Up you go. Come on, I’m in a hurry.’ She could feel his body against hers and he was growing hard at the idea of causing her pain.
Just as she made herself climb the first step, there was a noise from the shop, several voices shouting at once.
Winnie emerged from the storeroom, a big cloth bag in her hands, which she was struggling to lift. ‘What was that?’
Charlie swung around, releasing Rita so swiftly that she fell into the wall. ‘You bitch, have you set me up?’ he snarled frantically, grabbing the bag from his mother. ‘Come on, we’re leaving.’ He took his mother’s elbow and shoved her towards the door to the back yard. ‘You’ll be sorry for this, Rita, I’ll make you pay. You won’t see Michael again – until he’s lying in his coffin.’
‘I didn’t do anything, I don’t know anything!’ Rita cried in desperation, but it was too late, the door slammed shut behind a fleeing Charlie and Winnie.
Before she could tug her jumper properly back into place, three men in military police uniform burst through the internal shop door. ‘Where is he?’ the first one demanded sharply, then softened his tone as he took in the state of Rita, leaning against the wall, her clothes crooked, bleeding from the leg and a vivid red weal across her cheek. ‘Where is Charles Kennedy? We know he is here.’
Wordlessly she pointed to the back door and two of the men ran through it. The final policeman stayed to question her. ‘And what is your name?’
Rita shuddered as she told him. ‘If you don’t catch him, he’s going to kill my son,’ she added, her mind racing in fear, while trying to work out what had happened. ‘Why are you here? How did you know? I had no idea he would come, I haven’t seen him since before Christmas.’
‘We had a tip-off,’ said the man. He had kind eyes but they were sharp with determination. ‘Somebody got in touch to say your husband, a deserter, would be on these premises at ten o’clock today. So it wasn’t you?’
‘No, I don’t know anything about it. It’s just chance I was here. I should have been at work but I swapped shifts … I was just going about my housework …’ Rita gave a sob, the shock of the morning’s events beginning to hit her, but she knew she had to hold herself together and find out where Charlie had gone. She wouldn’t be safe until she knew he’d been apprehended.
‘Then I must follow my colleagues. We will probably need to question you further later on, Mrs Kennedy.’ The man made for the back door. Rita followed him, still bleeding, but more concerned to learn Charlie’s fate than for her own injury. That would have to wait. She urgently had to know if Michael was going to be safe or not.
The policeman crossed the back yard, bending to avoid the washing flying in the breeze, and went through the gate. He seemed uncertain which way to go, but Rita pulled him around the corner and out on to the top end of Empire Street, as she could hear that something was going on further down. Sure enough a small crowd had gathered in front of the ruined façade of what had been Mrs Ashby’s house. She half ran, half limped the short distance to where they stood, while the man hurriedly went to join his colleagues, who were standing outside the remains of the front door.
One of them stepped forward and called through the broken door. ‘Come out, Mr Kennedy. There is no point you hiding in there – we know where you are. You must come with us.’
Rita stared in horror as Charlie’s face briefly appeared through the shattered panes of one of the u
pstairs windows. He must have dragged Winnie in there too, although maybe she wasn’t fully aware of what was going on if she’d been on the sherry since breakfast. Still, they couldn’t hide away in there for long. The houses on that side of the street had no back alley, so the only way out was via the front.
The first policeman banged on the doorframe to emphasise his point, and immediately there was a sound of something falling, a clattering, from inside.
‘It’s not safe!’ cried Rita, pushing to the front. ‘That house got damaged in the air raids, it caught fire round the back. It’s not safe.’
The policeman with the kind eyes turned to her. ‘All the more reason for you to stand back, Mrs Kennedy,’ he said firmly. ‘Your husband and motherin-law are in there, but we must get them out before they come to serious harm. We don’t want you added to the casualty list – any more than you already are.’
Rita had all but forgotten her own pain now. She was filled with foreboding, the sense that a tragedy was about to unfold before their eyes. She had to try to stop it somehow. She hadn’t loved Charlie, and she’d hated what he’d done to her, how he’d threatened her and the children, but she didn’t want his life to end here in the dereliction of a bombed-out house. ‘Tell your colleague not to bang on the doorframe …’ she began, but before she could finish there was a deafening crash from inside the house and dust billowed from the gaps in the broken door and shattered windows. Then the remains of the door fell in and everyone could see what had happened. The upper floor had given way, and everything from the bedrooms had crashed to the ground floor – the burnt furniture, the bricks and plaster, an odd assortment of Mrs Ashby’s pathetically old personal possessions, and, underneath all of this, two bodies.
‘Stand back!’ shouted the first policeman, urging the crowd away, but Rita broke free of the group and ran inside. ‘Mrs Kennedy, leave the premises at once!’
‘I can help, I’m a nurse,’ she called back, as she began to scrabble through the rubble, hoping she could somehow pull Charlie and Winnie clear. Ignoring the pain in her leg, she worked as fast as she could, joined now by two of the police while the third stood guard at the door. Rita hoped the sherry had dulled the impact for the old woman; that she hadn’t been fully aware of what was going on. Gradually they threw aside the debris and uncovered the faces of mother and son, lying silent and still on their bed of plaster and bricks. There was no sign of life in either of them.
‘Come now, Mrs Kennedy,’ said one of the policemen. ‘Your nursing skills won’t be any use here. They’re beyond your help.’
Rita gulped, but even though she could see what he said was probably true, she couldn’t quite believe it. Wordlessly she reached for Winnie’s wrist, brushing the coating of dust from her dry skin. There was no pulse. Rita shut her eyes, remembering what her mother-in-law had been like – carping, manipulative, overly proud. Yet she had also worked hard for years in the shop, and had a good business brain, until the combination of Charlie’s desertion and Ruby’s arrival had taken away her standing. She’d been largely the architect of her own downfall, but without her there would have been no Megan. Rita’s heart contracted in sorrow for the old woman. Nobody deserved to die like this.
As for Charlie, she was filled with a turbulent mixture of contradictory feelings: pity for the needless waste of a life, sadness that he hadn’t realised how lucky he had been, but also relief that he would no longer be able to hurt her or the children. Michael would be safe. He and Megan need never know about the threats and the danger they were in. She would tell them Charlie and their grandmother had died in an accident, but not why they came to be in that house in the first place. Maybe when the children were older she would have to explain, but for now she would spare them all but the most basic details.
Poor Charlie. Now he’d never have the privilege of seeing the children grow up into the fine people they would undoubtedly be. Rita knew they were her reason for living and yet Charlie had turned his back on them, had failed to recognise the glorious potential of his own little daughter. He’d done many mean, wicked, selfish things, but to ignore the promise of his own flesh and blood – that was beyond her comprehension. The sad thing was, neither child was likely to miss him. Charlie had forfeited the right to their love when he’d walked out on Rita, and now their lives would continue much the same as before.
‘Come away, Mrs Kennedy.’ The policeman was insistent now. ‘This house clearly isn’t safe. You can do no more for your husband and his mother, you’ve seen that for yourself. We need to get you seen to. You’ve got a nasty wound there by the looks of it.’
As he escorted her out through the damaged doorway, Rita realised her leg was still bleeding copiously and that it hurt a lot. Now the urgency of the situation had receded, the pain hit her like a wave, and she sank to the pavement as soon as she was outside. She knew the wound needed to be cleaned up at the very least, and maybe she’d have to have stitches as well, but the only person she could think of who could help was Sarah, and she’d be at work. Gritting her teeth against the agony, she looked around as the small crowd dispersed. None of her family was there. Her father would be at work, Dolly and Violet were most likely down at the victory garden. She couldn’t exactly ask Ruby for help – the young woman would still be marooned upstairs over the shop, hampered by having to rely on crutches. Poor Ruby – she’d lost her mother without really ever having had her. She was more alone than ever now.
Rita screwed her eyes against the bright daylight, wondering if the pain was making her see things, or if by some huge coincidence there was another person on crutches. For coming down the short length of Empire Street towards her was a young woman with blonde hair, swinging herself unsteadily along but managing to cover the distance. Yet how could this be Ruby? Yesterday she’d hardly been able to get to the bathroom.
‘Rita! Are you hurt?’ There was no mistake, it was Ruby, and now she was trying to bend down to see how Rita was.
‘Ruby! What are you doing out?’ Rita’s first thought was concern for her friend. ‘Oh Ruby, the most dreadful thing has happened …’
‘Did the military police come?’ Ruby asked. ‘I told them when they should be there. I went all the way to the ARP station and told them to pass on the message. Is that why they are outside Mrs Ashby’s house?’
‘Oh Ruby, you’ve been really brave and clever,’ sighed Rita. ‘I need help, but if you could ask one of them to get me to the shop then you could fetch me the first-aid box and I can look after my leg. Then I’ll tell you what happened.’
Ruby looked along the street. ‘You need somebody to lift you.’
‘Well, there isn’t anyone, so we’ll have to make do as best we can,’ said Rita, her determination returning.
‘Yes there is,’ said Ruby, a big smile spreading across her face. ‘I told him to come too. Look, here he is.’
For the second time, Rita thought she must be seeing things as a beloved and familiar figure came towards her along the street, breaking into a run as he realised she was injured. ‘Jack!’ she cried, unable to believe her eyes. ‘Jack – is that really you?’
Jack took in the scene with one glance and didn’t bother to reply. Instead he scooped her into his arms and lifted her as easily as if she were a child, hurrying to carry her to safety. Once in the kitchen behind the shop, he set her gently down. ‘Oh Rita. I came as soon as I could. I got leave after all, the plans were changed at the last minute so I couldn’t send word. Then as I was coming along the dock road I saw Ruby, and she’s told me the strangest things have been going on. But never mind that now. Let’s take a look to see how badly you’re hurt and worry about everything else later.’
Rita felt the tears begin to fall, of pain, of relief, but also of sheer happiness at being in his arms again. She felt as if she would never let him go. ‘Jack, you’re back,’ she sighed against the warmth of his shoulder. ‘I needed help and you were there. My rescuer. Oh Jack, I can’t begin to tell you how glad I a
m you’re here.’
‘You don’t have to,’ he said, his breath warm and soothing against her ear. ‘I’m as glad to be here and to see you. I’ve dreamed and dreamed of seeing you again, and holding you close, showing how much I love you.’ He broke off, releasing her from his strong arms, leant back and smiled at her. ‘All right, I didn’t dream you’d be in such a state. But I don’t care – I’m back, and with you, which is where I belong, and now I’m going to fix you up.’ He glanced up as Ruby slowly made her way into the kitchen. ‘Here, Ruby, you sit with Rita for a minute. You’ll be right as rain, Rita, just you see.’ He kept his voice light and encouraging, not commenting on the weal on her face. From what Ruby had told him, he could well imagine what had gone on. But there would be time enough for explanations later. For now he had to make sure the woman he loved above all others was safe and protected.
‘Oh Jack, thank God you’re back,’ sighed Rita.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Kitty bowed her head as the organ finished the final bars of the closing hymn. She was grateful for the support of Laura and Marjorie, who stood one either side of her, all three of them in their Wren uniforms. Now, if she could just keep control of her emotions as they formed up to leave the church and went into the graveyard, she would have managed to get through the public part of the day.
She wasn’t sure exactly what had changed her mind about going to Elliott’s funeral, but now she was glad she had done so. Thinking it over, as she had done incessantly for the past few days, she’d decided it was important to be there not only because of her relationship with him, but to represent how Elliott’s life had been in the period immediately before his death. All around were those who’d known him as a boy or a medical student, but there were few who’d known what he was like as a doctor in Liverpool – the kind, knowledgeable professional, widely respected and admired, who had loved her. Nobody could be spared from the hospital on Linacre Lane; they were under too much pressure now one of their key members of staff had been taken from them. So Kitty, Laura and Marjorie were there to remember him as he had been in his last months of life.
