‘To hell,’ was his quiet reply. ‘I couldn’t just sit there in Crosby when I could hear what was going on. I’ve been among the dead, the barely alive, the young and the old. You shouldn’t have come back here.’
‘But it’s Christmas.’
‘Yes. The Germans know it’s Christmas, too, Mrs Kennedy. They imagine us sitting round our hearths with the children’s stockings hung and waiting, so they bomb us. The young among us look to the sky for reindeer and a sleigh. Instead, they get Heinkels and tons of shrapnel. I did what I could. We all did what we could. But the people, including the walking wounded, are so unbelievably brave. I dressed the hands of a man who had prised off two fingernails in order to dig out his family, and he felt no pain.’
‘Did he get the family out?’
‘Oh, yes. Except for his wife.’ He swallowed. ‘If that happened to Marie, I don’t know what I’d do, Mrs Kennedy.’
So the rumour was true, then. It had come from Gloria, had been filtered through Mel, then via Eileen. But this was no game of Chinese whispers. He was back with his wife. ‘Good lad,’ she said softly.
‘Is she … all right? Eileen, I mean. Is she happy?’ he asked.
‘She is. And expecting.’
‘Good.’ He stopped at a level crossing. ‘Sometimes, we don’t know what we have until we throw it away. Marie needed help, as did I. Tell Eileen I was asking after her.’ He pulled away when the crossing barriers were lifted, drove up Liverpool Road, then stopped suddenly outside his surgery. ‘Stay here for a minute or two, boys. Mrs Kennedy, come and give me a hand.’
She waited while he unlocked the door, then followed him into his surgery. ‘What?’ she demanded. ‘Are we here for a repeat performance? I can hit your jaw for a change if you like.’ She smiled at him. ‘Pulling your leg,’ she said.
He told her about the town hall, municipal offices, a food warehouse, shops, an hotel, houses, the docks. ‘There are five railway arches down. People were sheltering, and it could take days to get the bodies out. Fires are being dealt with by people who work all day, only to come out again to man trucks and hoses at night. You shouldn’t be here. Last night was the worst so far, and I suspect we’ll be getting repeat performances. I think they got West Derby again, and Waterloo Grain House was firebombed and destroyed.’
‘I didn’t know,’ she whispered.
‘You’re supposed not to know, because what the populace knows, the enemy knows. They are among us, Nellie. And that’s not paranoia; it’s a fact.’
She dropped into a chair. ‘If we’d stayed at Willows—’
‘Stop it,’ he ordered. ‘I won’t have you making yourself ill because of this one mistake. What I am saying is that you must take the boys back. Stay here tonight. Keith Greenhalgh and I will put our heads together with regard to petrol. I have an allowance, and I use a bicycle when I can, so I should be able to spare a gallon. And I have patients who might donate some.’ He looked her up and down. ‘But God help you when she opens that door. She has a feisty side, as I’m sure you know.’
Nellie smiled ruefully. ‘Her dad was a quiet man, so she got her temper from me. Keith manages her.’ Keith loved Eileen, and Keith was capable of loving only one hundred per cent, but the doctor didn’t need to know that. Between Eileen and Keith there was a chemistry so powerful that it seemed to colour the air around them. Those long, long kisses they stole when they thought no one was looking, soundless word-shapes mouthed across a room, his hand in her hair, her head on his chest while they listened to the wireless. Tom Bingley had wanted Eileen; Keith Greenhalgh adored her.
‘I promise I’ll take you back tomorrow,’ Tom said.
‘Thanks. And …’
‘And what?’
‘Sorry I hit you and put the Word out on you.’
This woman had done the right thing. Eileen had been his for the taking, and it would all have been so wrong. ‘Come on, madam. Those boys probably need feeding, and you’ve a virago to face.’ He wished he had to face … No, he couldn’t wish, mustn’t start that all over again!
They stepped outside. While he locked the outer door, Nellie had a quick look round. Everything was standing, no gaps between houses, no dying flames. The Crosby bombs had fallen nearer to the river, and just two houses had been wiped out. She would be living here soon, but she would rather be here now and know that Eileen was safe at Willows. Mel needed looking after, as did Frances Morrison. ‘My daughter won’t let me come back till the house is all right,’ she complained.
Tom laughed. ‘It won’t fall down, believe me. It’ll be months or years before it’s finished properly. Stick to your guns. I’ll take you back to Willows, because all your things are there and the boys need a lift, too. But choose a date and tell her you’re coming back. She and her baby need to be away from here. The house is stable enough, I promise you. While it looks odd, it’s been passed as habitable by the corporation and the fire chief.’
‘All right.’ Nellie sat in the car and turned to her grandsons. ‘Your mam will kick off,’ she advised them.
‘We know,’ said Phil. ‘And we’re not bothered.’
The back door flew inward and Elsie Openshaw stepped in. ‘I’ve fetched you two bottles of Guinness,’ she cried. ‘Good for you and for the babby. How is our Maisie?’ She entered the living room. It was a tip, and Nellie, who sometimes helped Gill, had buggered off to Liverpool with two of her grandsons. The third boy was helping Collie Crawford, because Collie looked after Pedro, and Bertie liked to show his gratitude. When she got back from Crosby or wherever, Nellie would clean up Gill’s mess. Elsie, who was averse to housework anyway, had to open up the shop in half an hour, but she had promised to call in here while Nellie was absent.
Gill Collins wasn’t coping. Like many who wait endless years for an imagined child, Gill found the reality of motherhood disturbing. Several days each month saw her hurtling to Willows Edge or to the main house in search of advice when the baby vomited, when she seemed too hot, too cold, too fretful. And Jay got on his wife’s nerves.
Elsie placed the bottles of stout in a small space on the cluttered table. She hadn’t been a good mother, and she didn’t want to watch Gill failing at this very important job. Oh, well. At least the nappies had been washed, because a dozen or so were hanging as stiff as boards in the freezing cold outside. ‘Shall I fetch your washing in, love?’
‘What?’
‘While you’re feeding her, shall I get the nappies in and put them to dry in here? There’s no breeze. They’ll be frozen solid by teatime.’
‘Oh.’
Elsie waited. ‘Right. I’ll fetch them in and they can thaw out near the fire. Then I’ll make you a bit of tea and toast, eh?’
Gill shifted the infant to her other breast. ‘If you like.’
The old Elsie revived and bridled. Jay was a grand lad. He was on the daft side, very good at acting the rubber pig, but he had a big heart and he loved his wife and child. ‘You want to pull yourself together, missus. Yon man of yours is ill—’
‘So was yours,’ Gill snapped. ‘But you still mithered him till he keeled over. Don’t be lecturing me, Elsie Openshaw. You’ve only gone nice since Nellie came and helped you out in the shop. So think on before you start telling the rest of us how to fettle.’
Elsie had learned from Nellie how to hold her tongue. And this girl wasn’t well. She’d settled down during the pregnancy, but once the baby became a reality Gill started losing her grip. The gatehouse deteriorated into a mess, while Jay, who had special dietary requirements, was abandoned to manage for himself. That might have worked had he not been such a clown, but his diabetes was fast becoming unstable, because he let himself run too low on sugar before noticing that he felt odd. With Phil Watson away, Jay had no help, and he could let himself go all the way to coma if this wasn’t sorted.
While Elsie went to bring in nappies, Gill stared into nothingness. She remembered, just about, imagining herself in love with Keith Greenhalgh. She�
��d even been upset when he’d married the Liverpool glamour girl, but now she knew the truth. The fact was that she wanted to be married to somebody sensible, and Keith had happened to fit the brief. Jay had been fun at the beginning, but she’d grown up, while he had remained a child. She had two children. One was at her breast, while the other was outside somewhere clowning about up a ladder or on a roof. ‘I can’t worry about both of you, Maisie. There isn’t enough of me to go round, you see. And that was why I thought I wanted Uncle Keith. He’s dependable.’
Elsie came in and began to place ice-stiffened washing on a couple of clothes horses. The nappies would thaw out faster near the fire. ‘Shall I come back after I’ve closed the shop? I can cook something and tidy up a bit in case Nellie doesn’t get home in time.’
‘I’m sorry, Elsie.’
‘Nay, lass. Put your name down for a good skrike. Tears and temper are good as long as you let them out.’
‘He’s driving me mad. Remember when he got tanked up on Guinness and came home a bloody fighter pilot? I half drowned him, but I managed to keep going. Even then, before Maisie, I was wishing I’d wed somebody with a bit of gumption, a gradely chap who didn’t go round acting like somebody let out for a day from the loony bin.’ She placed the child in a pram and fastened her blouse. ‘I’ve a baby to wean. When she starts crawling, I’ll have to watch her. And I have to watch him, him, him.’ Her voice rose with every repetition. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t listen to his stupid jokes any more, can’t watch him playing the fool all the while. He’s a father, and he should act like one.’
Elsie pushed a pile of newspapers from a chair and sat at the littered table. ‘Does he know you feel like this?’
Gill shook her head. ‘He’d stop looking after himself altogether, and he’d die, then that would be my fault. I am so bloody tired, Elsie.’
‘I know, love. Look, I can leave the shop shut and stay with you if you like.’
Gill shook her head. ‘I’m best by myself, thanks all the same. God knows where he’s got to. It’s all the worry. Cleaning up’s beyond me, and I even forget to cook. Sometimes, I can’t remember what happened yesterday, because life’s always the same, like a muddy ball of Plasticine when all the colours have got mixed up together. There’s no order any more. He comes home, the singing, dancing joke of a husband, and I don’t hear him these days, hardly see him till he picks Maisie up.’ She couldn’t let him hold his own daughter. What if he had a hypo? What if he jiggled the child until she vomited? What if he dropped her on her head?
Elsie left the poor young mother with a cup of tea and a couple of biscuits. Feeding a kiddy took a fair lump out of a woman, and Gill needed help. The post office could look after itself for once, because this problem needed a solution. One of the Land Army girls hadn’t taken kindly to field work, but Elsie had a use for her.
At Willows Home Farm, the large woman stopped and reclaimed her breath while preparing to knock on Jean Dyson’s back door. The Land Army girl in question lived in Jean’s house, so the farmer’s wife had to be consulted. Jean opened the door. ‘I thought I heard somebody out here. Get inside before you freeze to the ground. We’d do better if it snowed. Apart from anything else, snow would confuse the Germans, and we’d be that bit warmer, too.’
Elsie sat down in the kitchen and accepted a welcome cup of scalding tea. Words tumbled from her tongue in no particular order, but Jean was good at jigsaws, and she managed to piece together the message after just one repeat. ‘Gill can have her for a few hours a day, and welcome. She’s one of the older ones from a family of eight, so she should be all right with the baby and a bit of tidying up. No good at all on the land, Elsie. It’s like sending a fox to mind the chickens.’
Elsie managed a smile. ‘Nellie says the girl’s nesh.’
‘Nesh? What the hell’s that?’
‘Mardy. Soft. A moaning Minnie.’
‘She’s all of the above. I just hope she does better for Gill than she has for us.’
So it was sorted. Until Neil Dyson walked in with an unconscious man in his arms.
‘You’ve no idea,’ Nellie moaned. ‘When she was fourteen, she fell hook, line and gobstopper for the milkman’s lad. I gave her down the banks for it – I never stopped shouting at her for about four hours. So she moved out. She didn’t go far; she went living with her friend four doors away. For the best part of three weeks, she never spoke to me. Her dad was dead, bless him, so there was just me left to manage Madam. Anyway, she came home because she decided the milkman’s lad was a few sarnies short of a picnic, but she carried on sulking.’
Tom tried not to laugh. Nellie Kennedy was afraid of her own daughter. He had parked the car a few houses away from Miss Morrison’s, because Nellie’s panic had started about halfway up Manor Road. There was some heavy breathing in the rear of the car, too, since both lads were tired and hungry. Eventually, Phil declared that he’d had enough of this malarkey, so he and his brother were off, thanks, and they were grateful for the lift.
Nellie watched them as they walked to the house. ‘The big one’s a Leonardo de … Italian bloke, I think. Or a Botticell-something-orother,’ she announced proudly.
‘Botticelli.’
‘Yes, him and all. I’d best go, eh?’
‘You’ll be all right. She loves you.’
Nellie opened her door. ‘I know that. She loves me enough to kill me.’
‘Good luck,’ he called.
‘Hmmph.’
Tom chuckled to himself when Eileen appeared in the street. She grabbed her mother and dragged her through the front gate just as the doctor’s car shot past at speed. He couldn’t have coped with Eileen Watson as a lover; she was too hot to handle. But God, she was beautiful.
Inside, one angry woman stood at each end of the kitchen table. Between them, Keith occupied a chair at one of the two longer sides, a newspaper spread before him. While they argued for several minutes, he turned pages and pretended not to be there. The boys, having discovered a tin of jam tarts, had gone off to eat these treats while examining bomb holes in the playing field. Miss Morrison parked herself in the hall, wheelchair wedged between front door and coat stand. She liked a good row. Nellie and her daughter were brilliant at rows, since they were loud enough to be heard quite clearly. This one was heating up nicely.
‘You shouldn’t have brought the boys away from Willows. There’s dead bodies and all sorts down there in Liverpool.’
‘I didn’t know that, did I? If nobody tells us nothing, we don’t know nothing, do we?’
Frances Morrison decided not to stand up and argue the case against double negatives. She hadn’t counted them anyway, so Nellie’s nobodies and nothings might have worked out positive … Language could be quite mathematical if one thought about it. But she couldn’t care less at the moment, because Keith was stepping into hot water, and Keith was quite effective when it came to the management of his wife. It was rather unfortunate, really, because he often put a full stop before a sentence had ended.
‘Eileen?’ Keith looked first at his father’s watch, then at his beautiful partner. ‘Right, that’s six minutes, and I’m chucking in the towel. Stop it. My newspaper’s curling at the edges, so give over. We all know what’s going to happen, because it’s like a bloody pantomime. You tear strips off your mother, she bounces back and calls you all the names under the sun. She cries, you cry, and all that energy’s been wasted, cos we all end up supping tea anyway.’
‘But she’s fetched two of my lads into a burning city, and—’
‘Stop it,’ he repeated. ‘I’m not having behaviour like this in a house belonging to a woman with a weak heart.’
He had forgotten, just for a moment or two, that he was living in a matriarchy. Lancashire women were strong and bolshie; those who clung to the banks of the Mersey were particularly robust.
‘Spoilsport,’ called Miss Morrison, thereby proving to the only male in the house that even she was his superior, and she was suppose
d to be polite, since she came from the posher end of the conurbation and had a bad heart. They always bloody won in the end, didn’t they? Though he usually got some sense out of Eileen when they were alone. And horizontal. Oh, God, he mustn’t start laughing. His sweet angel would probably beat him about the head with a wet dishcloth if he kicked off laughing. And the cast iron frying pan was still standing on the hob.
Nellie turned and leaned on the sink, but her shoulders betrayed the fact that she was trying not to chuckle. Eileen stared hard at the man she worshipped. There was amusement in his eyes, and he had not been given permission to be amused. ‘No interest for you this quarter, young man; I don’t care about the size of your deposits.’ His smile melted her heart, and she left the house in order to retrieve her sons before they took a nosedive into a bomb crater.
While marching across the playing field, she wore a daft smile. She was putty in his hands, and she would deal with him later. Or would she? ‘Come on,’ she called. ‘All the explosives have gone, so there’s nothing to laugh at.’
Inside the house, a delicate truce clung desperately to life. When Frances Morrison had been wheeled back to her room, and her lunch had been delivered, five people sat round the kitchen table. At its centre sat a package wrapped in red crêpe paper done up with a festive if rather squashed green ribbon. Phil’s cheeks burned brightly.
‘For me?’ Eileen asked.
Rob nodded. ‘He drawn it,’ he said, a thumb jerking in the direction of his older brother. ‘But Miss Pickavance put it in a frame and wrapped it up, like.’
‘Shut up,’ cried Nellie. ‘Don’t spoil the surprise.’
Eileen opened her gift slowly, her gaze fixed on Phil. He had made whatever this was just for her. The lad had changed. She remembered his scribbles and how he had guarded them, head down, arm shielding the work from prying eyes. Her children were growing up, and the war had stolen precious months, because they could not be together as a family all the time. Phil was twelve, and his head was almost level with Keith’s shoulder. Soon he would be a man, and if she was going to be there to see him grow she would have to leave Mel, who was up to something— ‘Oh,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, Phil. That is wonderful. It’s Jay. Look, Keith; it’s him to a T.’
The Liverpool Trilogy Page 59
