by Maureen Lee
‘Griff. Josie. We’re going.’ The shouts sounded far away.
Griff raised his head. ‘Coming.’ He looked down at Josie and lightly touched her left nipple. ‘Have you done this before?’
‘Well – almost.’ She felt disappointed that he’d stopped. There seemed something daringly wicked about lying in the open air with her breasts bare. She stretched voluptuously.
‘I thought as much.’ He pulled down her jumper. ‘That’s enough for tonight, my darling. And don’t tease.’
She thought about him the second she woke. He was on her mind all day, as she counted down the hours and the minutes before she would see him again.
That night, they wandered far away from the bonfire to the place they’d lain the night before, where they fell on the sand in each other’s arms and began to kiss eagerly. Josie felt as if her body were on fire as it began to respond to Griff’s touch, his hands or his lips exploring every secret part of her. Suddenly, he sat back on his haunches. She was surprised to see that he was naked – and so was she, though she couldn’t remember either of them having removed their clothes. He was the handsomest man she had ever known. Her head was whirling, and she felt as if a spell had been cast upon her. Making love had been far from her mind when she’d come to the camp. She had thought it would be years away, when she was married. But now it was about to happen, on an enchanted Welsh beach under a dark sky, to the sound of the rippling tide and the faint, tinny music from the wireless.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked impatiently. Griff was feeling in the pockets of his trousers. She wanted him back.
‘Looking for this.’ He held up something very small. ‘We don’t want a little memento of Haylands arriving in nine months’ time.’ He straddled her, then tenderly cupped her face in his hands. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ he said gently. ‘I won’t be cross if you change your mind. Well, not very.’
Josie clasped her arms around his neck. ‘You’ll have to put me in the mood again.’
‘Willingly,’ murmured Griff.
Lily was irritable next day, and it was all Josie’s fault. She wasn’t concentrating, she wasn’t listening, she was in another world. ‘You’re bloody miles away,’ Lily said accusingly.
‘Am I?’ Josie dreamily shook a mat.
‘You’re supposed to shake it outside, not in. I’ve just brushed that floor.’
‘Sorry, Lil.’ Josie shook the mat outside.
‘You’ve already done that. I’m just brushing the muck up.’
‘Sorry, Lil. What shall I do now?’
‘Empty the bin, make the beds, clean the sink, same as we do every day. What on earth’s got into you, Josie?’ Lily said acidly. She looked at her friend intently. ‘What’s happened? I’ve never known you so vague before.’
‘Something wonderful, Lil,’ Josie said in a husky voice. She had to tell someone, and there was no one else but Lily. ‘Something truly incredible and … and, oh, wonderful.’ She could almost hear the ticking of Lily’s brain as she tried to think what the something was. Her eyes grew wide and her jaw fell as enlightenment dawned.
‘You’ve gone all the way!’ she cried. ‘Did it hurt, Jose?’
‘Only a bit, only at first.’
Lily’s face twisted ferociously as she tried to adjust to the news. She pouted. ‘I’m the oldest. I should have done it before you.’
‘Oh, Lil. It’s not a race.’
‘Are you in love? You look like you’re in love.’
‘I’m not. It’s purely sexual.’ Josie sighed rapturously. ‘We can’t keep our hands off each other.’
‘You lucky bugger!’ Lily’s expression changed from one of envy to concern. ‘Our poor Ben, though. Does this mean you’ll never get back together? Ma keeps hoping you will.’
‘I’m afraid it does, Lil. I never felt with Ben the way I do with Griff.’ She had forgotten the letter she’d meant to write.
Lily said wistfully, ‘I love being here. It won’t half seem dull when we’re back in Liverpool, working in an office.’
Josie reluctantly came down to earth. She decided it was time she dropped her bombshell. ‘I’m not sure if I’m going back to Liverpool, Lil.’
‘Why ever not?’ Lily’s face was a picture of bewilderment.
‘Because Vince Adams is back with Auntie Ivy. That’s what the letter from your ma was about. I’ve got to find somewhere to live, as well as a job.’ In order to get everything out of the way in one go, she explained that her mother hadn’t been married and that Ivy had insisted that Josie change her surname to Smith so no one would know. ‘But from now on, I’m Josie Flynn.’
The Liverpool Echo was on sale in the camp. Josie bought a copy every day. By the end of August, the only live-in job even vaguely suitable was as a cook in a men’s hostel, which she didn’t fancy, mainly because she couldn’t boil an egg. Most rented accommodation was way beyond her means. Even the few affordable places meant she’d be left with scarcely anything to live on.
Lily was desperate for her friend to stay in Liverpool. ‘We’ve got to stick together, Jose. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t around. I’d miss you far more than I would our Daisy or Marigold.’
Even Griff became involved in the search of a job for Josie. ‘You could join the forces,’ he suggested one night after they had finished making love. They were in his chalet because it was raining. Jeremy had been ordered not to come back for an hour. ‘Become a Wren or a Wraf. Or you could marry me.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Do you mean that?’
He appeared a tiny bit shocked. ‘I’m not sure. It just sort of slipped out.’
‘I’m sure. It wouldn’t work. We hardly know each other.’
‘I would have thought we knew each other better than anyone else on earth. I’m familiar with every single part of your body, and you with mine.’
Josie’s stomach lurched. ‘Yes, but we still don’t know each other. We don’t know what goes on inside each other’s heads. I mean, we never talk.’ She began to touch him. There was still time to make love again before Jeremy came back. ‘Oh, but I’m so glad you were the first,’ she cried. ‘I’m so lucky it was you.’ She would never see him again after October, but she would remember him all her life.
It was Lily who saw the job that might possibly do. ‘Secretary/companion required by elderly gentlewoman to commence mid-October. Own large room. No cooking/cleaning/nursing. Formby area. References required. Salary: £10 per month.’
‘There’s a box number,’ Lily announced when she read the advertisement aloud. ‘It sounds perfect, Jose.’
‘Would you fancy being companion to an elderly gentlewoman?’ Josie said huffily.
‘I’d hate it. But I don’t need to find a live-in job, do I?’
‘Thanks for reminding me. What’s a gentlewoman when she’s at home, anyroad?’
Lily shrugged. ‘Same as a gentleman, I suppose. In other words, dead posh. But ten pounds a month, Jose, and you wouldn’t have to buy food. You wouldn’t need fares.’
‘Hmm, I dunno.’ Josie chewed her lip. ‘I couldn’t very well write from Haylands, could I? It wouldn’t look good to say I was a chalet maid.’
‘Put our new address in Childwall, and I’ll send it to Ma to post. She’ll send the answer here.’
‘I don’t suppose it would hurt.’
A fortnight later, Mrs Kavanagh sent the reply with a short note to say the job sounded ideal, and she hoped the letter contained good news.
The letter was signed by a Marian Moorcroft and was short and to the point. ‘Dear Miss Flynn, In regard to your application as secretary-companion to my mother, kindly present yourself for interview at the above address on Wednesday, 2nd September at 2 p.m. Please telephone if you are unable to keep the appointment.’
‘Oh, well, that’s that.’ Josie threw the letter at Lily. ‘I can’t possibly go all the way to Liverpool for an interview.’
‘Someone’s not going
to take you on as companion to her dear old ma on the strength of a letter,’ Lily argued. ‘It stands to reason she’ll want to see you. You can easily get there and back in a day. Wednesday’s our afternoon off, and I’m sure Mrs Baxter would you let you have the morning off as well. We’ve both been reliable workers. Oh, look at the address – Barefoot House, Sandy Steps, Formby. It sounds lovely. Come on, Jose,’ she coaxed. ‘Formby’s only the other side of Liverpool. We could go out together nights and weekends. At least you’ll have friends, which won’t be the case if you move away.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Josie.
It was a bright, sunny day, and Liverpool seemed incredibly loud when Josie got off the bus at the Pier Head, loud and very crowded. Trams clattered noisily along the metal lines. They, and the buses, seemed much bigger than she remembered, and she almost gagged when a car passed exuding clouds of black fumes. The New Brighton ferry had just docked, and people were hurrying to board down the big, floating gangway – families, mainly, the children carrying buckets and spades.
Josie paused for a second on the very spot where she’d stood once before and watched the same scene. It seemed a lifetime ago, and she found it hard to connect the small, mixed-up child with the person she was now. Yet they were the same. And she was still mixed up, but in a different way. And then she’d had Mam.
She walked to Exchange station, where the Southport train was waiting. It left almost immediately. After the wide open spaces of the camp, with its small cream buildings, the landscape she passed through seemed claustrophobic, the houses small and dark, crammed together in narrow streets. There were still bomb sites to be cleared, and the air was full of smoke. But when they reached Formby, the scenery became more countrified, the houses spaced widely apart with big gardens. Cows grazed in a field.
It wasn’t quite half past one when she got off the train at Formby station. There was plenty of time to find Barefoot House – Mrs Kavanagh had been unable to find Sandy Steps on the map.
Unfortunately, the few shops were closed and wouldn’t be opening again because it was half-day closing, and there wasn’t a soul about. She walked along a road of large, detached houses, and approached a man working in his garden.
‘Sandy Steps? Sorry, dear, I’ve never heard of it, or Barefoot House. Try the post office.’
‘It’s closed.’
Two girls on bikes couldn’t help either, or a woman walking her dog, or the man about to get in his car. By then it was almost two, and the idea of having come all the way from Colwyn Bay and not being able to find the house added desperation to her search. It wasn’t hot, but her hair felt damp against her neck and her armpits were wet, although she’d rubbed them with deodorant that morning. Worst of all, the canvas shoes which had always felt so comfortable, began to rub her heels.
At last! ‘That’s where Louisa Chalcott lives, isn’t it?’ exclaimed an elderly lady in conversation with another over a garden gate. ‘It’s at the bottom of Nelson Road, on the beach. Go back down this road, turn left, then second right. It’s quite a walk,’ she chuckled, ‘but it won’t take long on your young legs.’
As Josie limped away, she heard the other woman say, ‘I thought Louisa Chalcott was dead?’
Nelson Road was lined with bungalows, and led directly to the shore, beyond which flowed the greeny-brown waters of the Mersey. At the point where the bungalows ended, the road sloped down to meet the sand, and on the right a series of steps, attached to a brick wall, led to a tall iron gate with a name on a metal plate: BAREFOOT HOUSE.
With a feeling of relief mixed with annoyance at the lack of directions, Josie hurried down the steps, through the gate, up more steps and into a small garden of withered bushes, bent reeds and long-dead trees, separated from the sand by a low wall. She almost ran towards a large, windswept, sandstone house with curved bay windows upstairs and down. The window frames had more paint off than on, and the front door, which might have once been grey, was pitted, as if gravel had been thrown against it.
She knocked, and the door was opened by a smiling woman in a flowered wrap-round pinny, a scarf tied turban-wise around her head.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ Josie began, ‘but—’
‘There’s no need to apologise to me, luv,’ the woman said cheerfully. ‘Save it for the terrible twins in the parlour. What’s your name, luv? I’m supposed to announce you. Stupid bitches,’ she said under her breath.
‘Josephine Flynn, er, Miss Flynn.’ Josie was a bit put out by the reception. She ached to go to the lavatory, and would have liked to comb her hair, see if her lipstick had smudged, have a wash. As she followed the woman across a square, spacious hall, she tried to straighten herself up as much as possible.
‘Miss Josephine Flynn,’ the overalled woman said regally when she opened a door without knocking. She jerked her head at Josie. ‘Go on in, luv.’
Josie entered a massive, sparsely furnished room overlooking the river, where two women in pastel twinsets and pearls were seated officiously behind a table. They would have been identical, except that one wore glasses and the other didn’t. Their round, narrowly set eyes regarded the newcomer with disapproval. She saw her letter on the table.
‘You’re late,’ the woman with glasses snapped. She looked at her watch. ‘It’s a quarter to three. In another fifteen minutes we have to interview somebody else.’
‘I’m sorry, but—’ Josie began, but the other woman interrupted. ‘It hardly seems worth our whiles interviewing this person, Marian. Not only was she very late, but she’s far too young for Mother.’
‘I agree with you there, Hilary.’
Josie plonked herself in a chair without being asked. She was seething. ‘If you’d bothered to put the proper address on your letter, I wouldn’t have been late,’ she said spiritedly.
The women gave each other an outraged look. ‘Everyone knows where Barefoot House is,’ Marian said curtly. ‘Our mother, Louisa Chalcott, is very well known.’
‘Well, I asked loads of people who’d never heard of Barefoot House, and the only one who had thought Louisa Chalcott was dead.’ Josie tossed her head. ‘As to me being too young, I put me date of birth on me letter. All you had to do was work it out.’ She rose to her feet, knowing that the job would never be hers, but she wasn’t leaving without tearing the women off a strip. ‘You’re both very irresponsible and rude. I don’t appreciate having me time wasted by the likes of you.’
Their faces sagged in stupefaction. Josie went to the door and opened it. ‘Tara,’ she said loudly, and they both jumped.
‘Stay!’ an imperious voice thundered.
It was Josie’s turn to jump. Outside the door stood a very old, very tall, painfully thin woman with jet black hair, lightly sprinkled with grey, and black, bushy eyebrows. She had a walking stick in one hand. The other, trembling slightly, she held in front of Josie’s face. She wore baggy tweed trousers, a man’s shirt worn loose and carpet slippers. Her dark eyes, large and very beautiful, flashed angrily in her deeply wrinkled face. She gave a terse nod, which Josie took as an indication to return. The woman followed, leaning heavily on the stick, and sat down with difficulty, waving aside Josie’s attempt to help. ‘If I need a hand, I’ll ask for it,’ she snapped.
‘Please yourself,’ Josie snapped back. She wasn’t in the mood to be nice to people, even if they were old and walked with a stick.
‘Really!’ Hilary gasped.
The older woman smiled. She took cigarettes, a holder and a silver lighter from her breast pocket, lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Puffs of smoke emerged from her nostrils, reminding Josie of a dragon. ‘I want her,’ she said emphatically. ‘I don’t want another retired schoolteacher fawning over me, or a retired nurse, or a widow with nothing to do. I want someone young for a change, someone with a bit of spirit who’ll answer back. I want someone like her.’ She nodded at a dazed Josie, then chuckled spitefully. ‘I enjoyed the way she wiped the floor with you two.’
&nbs
p; ‘Have you been eavesdropping, Mother?’
‘I most certainly have.’ The woman – presumably Louisa Chalcott – had a deep, hoarse, attractive voice, and spoke with an accent Josie couldn’t identify. ‘I was amused to hear some people think me dead. I am, however, very much alive, and, despite your insistence to the contrary, I am not an invalid. I am also still in possession of all my faculties, and quite able to choose a secretary for myself.’
‘But, Mother, you are an invalid,’ Marian cried. ‘We were only trying to help. This …’ She waved her hand at a still-dazed Josie. ‘This person is entirely unsuitable.’
‘She isn’t to me.’ Louisa Chalcott banged her stick on the floor and yelled, ‘Phoebe.’
The woman in the flowered overall must have been indulging in a spot of eavesdropping herself, because the door opened immediately. ‘What, Lou?’ Hilary and Marian winced.
‘Show this young lady to the room that would be hers should she deign to live with us. She is quite likely to subject you to the third degree, and I’d like you to be brutally honest so she’ll know what to expect. Oh, and, Phoebe, show her the lavatory on the way. She looks desperate for a pee.’
The upstairs room was the same size as the one below, and just as sparsely furnished. There was a double bed with a white cotton cover, a wardrobe and chest of drawers, both urgently in need of varnish. Two faded rugs graced the polished wooden floor, and faded cretonne curtains the big bay window. The view, overlooking a vast expanse of the Mersey, was breathtaking. Josie knelt on the window seat to watch a liner, making its stately way along the gleaming river, and several other smaller ships – tugboats and coasters. There was a single yacht, poised like a bird on the water. Fluffy clouds raced across the blue sky, much fester than the ships. Fancy waking up every morning to this!
Phoebe was standing inside the door, arms folded. ‘I must say you put the twins in their place,’ she said with a complacent smile. ‘Me and Lou laughed like drains.’
Josie climbed off the window seat, sat on the bed and bounced a few times. It felt nice and soft. ‘Who exactly is she, Louisa Chalcott? I’ve never heard of her meself.’
