by June Francis
She smiled. ‘I’d embarrass you if I told you that I like your face. You’re a good-looking lad.’
He flushed. ‘I wish you wouldn’t, Mrs Donegan.’
Lynne dropped her gaze to his hands on the table. He was doing that funny little trick with his finger joints again. ‘So, you’re adopted, Nick,’ she said abruptly.
He jerked a nod. ‘Yes, I’ve seen the document that says so and I brought it with me, along with my post office savings book, and baptismal certificate. I decided I had a better right to them than bloody Dennis. Forgive me for swearing.’
Lynne hesitated before saying, ‘What about your original birth certificate?’
‘I haven’t the actual one with my birth parents’ names on it. The document I have, which I suppose replaces that, is the one given to my adoptive parents. Dennis showed it to me and said that it was given to Kenneth when they took me from the home in Cheshire. The date on it isn’t really the date of my birth but the date when they adopted me.’
‘You do realize that, even if you had the original birth certificate, it would not tell you the name of your natural father?’ said Lynne.
‘No, I didn’t.’ He looked disappointed. ‘I thought I’d be able to go to Somerset House in London where the records are kept and find out who my birth parents are.’
‘Your father would have needed to be aware of your existence and agreed for his name to have been registered as the father, Nick.’
He blinked. ‘Are you saying that my natural mother never told him that she was having me or he didn’t want to own up to me?’
Lynne hesitated. ‘At a guess I’d say that she never told him.’
Nick was silent for several seconds and then said, ‘You’re thinking that’s because there was a war on and he could have been killed, just like Bobby’s father was?’
Lynne darted her daughter a glance. ‘I thought it might help him,’ said Roberta.
Lynne nodded and gave her attention once more to Nick. ‘I hope it does help you to understand? During the war so many couples thought they might never see each other again and decided that it was now or never for them to be together.’
He nodded. ‘I suppose he could have even been a Yank.’ A sigh escaped him. ‘I bet I’ll never find out who they were.’
‘Perhaps it’s best that you remember the couple who brought you up as their son. I think they made a good job of doing so,’ said Lynne firmly. ‘Now shall we change the subject? Are you going to have a bath, Nick?’
‘I will,’ he said, squaring his shoulders. ‘You think Detective Walker really meant for me to stay here tonight?’
‘Of course he did,’ said Lynne.
‘Only I don’t want him to feel that he has to help me,’ said Nick, his lean face set.
‘It was obvious to me he meant it,’ said Roberta.
‘Perhaps you’d like me to run the bath for you, Nick, in case you’re feeling a bit shy about going upstairs in a strange house?’ said Lynne.
He shook his head. ‘It’s kind of you but I’m not scared of going upstairs on my own.’
Lynne nodded and watched him leave the room. ‘You think he’s going to be OK?’ asked Roberta.
‘He’s a cheeky monkey,’ said Ethel stridently, startling them both.
‘Why d’you say that, Ethel?’ asked Lynne.
‘Because I say he is,’ said the old woman, glaring at her. ‘I can lock him in the cellar and it makes no difference. He still looks at me in that way of his. He’s not like his father in manners.’
Roberta exchanged glances with Lynne. ‘She’s going doolally!’ mouthed the girl.
‘You’re another cheeky one,’ said Ethel, taking a swipe at Roberta, who drew back, so the blow did not land.
‘That’s enough now,’ said Lynne. ‘Unless you want to be left here all on your own.’
Ethel stared at her and then she looked away, her mouth working. ‘Don’t want to go in the workhouse,’ she mumbled, trembling.
‘Who said anything about the workhouse?’ said Lynne, feeling sorry for her now. ‘How about another cup of tea?’
‘Cocoa if you please?’ said Ethel.
Lynne glanced at her daughter who stood up and went in search of a tin of cocoa in the unfamiliar back kitchen.
They had finished drinking their cocoa by the time Nick came downstairs. His fair hair was damp and tousled and he looked much more relaxed.
‘You want a cup of cocoa?’ asked Roberta.
‘I can make it myself,’ he said hastily. ‘I’m not used to being waited on.’
‘That’s what I like to hear,’ she said, smiling. ‘A member of the opposite sex who can do things for himself.’
He grinned and collected the dirty cups and took them outside.
Roberta looked at her mother. ‘You know, he reminds me of Sam.’
Lynne said smoothly, ‘It’s the fair hair and the brown eyes.’
Roberta nodded. ‘OK if I go home? I’ve got homework to finish.’
Lynne nodded. ‘Don’t work too hard.’
‘Will you be very late?’
‘I hope not.’
Roberta went out, whistling noisily.
Lynne stared at Ethel but she’d dozed off again and Nick was still in the back kitchen. Lynne leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. Gosh, she was tired but she had a lot of thinking to do.
‘I could watch her if you want to go,’ whispered Nick suddenly.
Lynne’s eyelids fluttered open and she stared up into the youth’s face and fought the urge to pat his cheek and say I think I know who your parents are. ‘No, it’s all right,’ she said, sitting up straight. ‘I’ll stay a bit longer. You sit down and drink your cocoa.’
He sat on the sofa, cradling the mug of cocoa. ‘I see they’ve a telly,’ he commented. ‘Chris’s mum and dad have a telly.’ He sipped his cocoa. ‘What d’you think will happen to me, Mrs Donegan? If I was a few years older, I’d have Dad’s money and could be independent. I could get a job or go on to further education. Mam wanted me to be a doctor or a teacher.’
‘And what do you want?’ asked Lynne.
‘I’d like to be a detective like Sergeant Walker. To catch criminals and make Liverpool a safer place.’ His brown eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. ‘I’m sure Mam would believe it a worthwhile job if she was still alive.’
‘Of course she would,’ said Lynne warmly. ‘I’m sure, when the time comes, that if you have a word with Sam – Sergeant Walker, I mean – he’d tell you how to go about becoming a police detective.’
‘He’s one of the good guys, isn’t he?’ said Nick.
Lynne agreed. Then she leaned back and closed her eyes, effectively bringing the conversation to an end, but she was thinking that it was good for a son to admire his father, even if he didn’t know it.
Twenty-Four
‘So how do you feel now, Nick?’ asked Sam, as they stood outside the solicitor’s office in North John Street a week later. ‘Are you happy with the decisions that have been made for you for the present?’
‘Yes, Sergeant,’ said Nick hastily, shooting a glance at Chris’s mother and the woman from the Welfare who had both accompanied them to the meeting with the solicitor in charge of Kenneth Roger’s business affairs.
Sam smiled. ‘Good. Then I’ll bid the three of you a good day. I need to get back to headquarters.’
Nick guessed why. There had been a report in the Echo about a watchman who had died of a fractured skull and murder was suspected. He hesitated before saying, ‘Will I be seeing you again, Sergeant Walker?’
‘I’ll keep you posted,’ said Sam. ‘I presume you’ll be going along to the coffee bar in Hope Street?’
Nick nodded. ‘You’ll pass a message on through Bobby or Betty?’
Sam nodded and, with a wave of the hand, he walked away.
‘What a nice man he is,’ said Chris’s mother.
‘Yes, he is that,’ said the woman from the Welfare. ‘So are you happy with the arrangements,
Mrs Nuttall?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ she said, smiling at Nick. ‘I’m sure we’ll all get along like a house on fire. It’s not as if we’re strangers to each other.’
The woman returned her smile. ‘Well if there is anything that worries you at all, do get in touch. Although I will pop in and see you and Nicholas during the next month.’ She held out her hand and shook hands with them both. ‘See you soon.’
Nick watched her walk away, thinking how swiftly everything had been settled once he had plucked up the courage to seek help from Sergeant Sam Walker.
‘So, Nick, do you want me to come with you to school or would you prefer making your way there on your own?’ asked Mrs Nuttall, who had taken on the role of his foster mother. She would be paid from his adoptive father’s estate which would include the money from the sale of the house in Shotton.
Astonishingly, Kenneth’s father had left the house to his eldest son, who was to use his discretion when it came to how much money Dennis should be given when it was sold. It transpired that ever since Dennis had been demobbed, his mother had been handing over money to him whenever his gambling got him into difficulties. Mr Rogers senior only discovered this when his wife was dying and, deciding that their younger son had bled them long enough, changed his will.
‘I’ll manage fine on my own, thank you, Mrs Nuttall,’ said Nick.
She smiled. ‘You can call me Aunt Amelia, if you like. It’s friendlier and I can’t see you wanting to call me Mam.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘That’s settled then,’ she said, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. ‘I’ll see you and Chris this evening.’
He nodded.
They did not immediately part company but walked together in the direction of Church Street before splitting up. Nick headed in the direction of Renshaw Street and the Boys’ Institute on Mount Street, thinking about the couple of days he had spent at Sergeant Sam’s house before moving to Chris’s parents’ home. It had been odd the way the old aunt kept mistaking him for Sam when he was younger. Even Sam’s father had stared at him oddly. Nick had been tempted to ask if there were any photographs around of Sam when he was his age, just to see if they were alike at all. He couldn’t see it himself but thought it was probably due to them both having fair hair and brown eyes, which wasn’t all that common.
He thought about the telephone call from Sam’s sister, Jeanette, who worked in Cunard Building. Apparently she had checked out the passenger lists for ships departing around the time Dennis had vanished and found his name on the Carinthia sailing for Canada. Enquiries were in progress. Dennis was wanted to help with police enquiries, the fingerprints found at the house in Shotton having matched those found on the chisel rack in the shop. Nick’s admiration for Sam had increased and so had his determination to be a detective. In the meantime summer would soon be here and without having to worry about Dennis being a threat to him, Nick’s heart was feeling lighter, although he still grieved for his adoptive father. Hopefully he would be able to meet up with Bobby at the coffee bar in the meantime.
Roberta’s thoughts were running along the same lines as Nick’s and so shortly after four o’clock one fine afternoon, she strolled along Myrtle Street in the direction of Hope Street. She was wearing a blue and white gingham frock, white ankle socks and black shoes as well as her blazer and school hat. The latter she planned on removing once she reached the coffee bar. It was a rule of the school that the hat had to be worn going to and coming from school. If seen without, punishment meant one had to wear the dreadful hat all day in school.
She entered the coffee bar and was pleased to see that Nick and Chris were already there and seated at a table. As she made her way towards them, she could hear Alma Coggan’s latest hit, ‘Dreamboat’, coming from the jukebox and she began to hum the tune. She spotted Betty talking to Lenny the boss and noticed that they were glancing over at Nick and Chris. No doubt they were discussing Nick’s affairs. Betty would have heard from Jeanette about Dennis Rogers having skipped the country and gone to Canada.
Nick stood up and pulled out the vacant chair for Roberta and she sat down. ‘Thanks! Is everything OK with you two?’
‘Great,’ said Chris. ‘Nick’s part of our family now.’
‘That’s fab!’ exclaimed Roberta, removing her hat and resting her arms on the table.
‘Yeah, I’ve always wanted a brother instead of two sisters,’ said Chris. ‘Not that I’m saying there’s anything wrong with girls, mind,’ he added, grinning.
‘I should think not,’ said Nick, smiling at Roberta. ‘I wish I’d had sisters. How’s your mam?’
‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘Come Friday, she’s hoping Sergeant Sam will be giving her a dancing lesson.’
Chris stared at her. ‘Sergeant Sam?’
‘She means Detective Sergeant Walker,’ said Nick. ‘It got confusing when I was staying with him saying Sergeant Walker because his father is a Sergeant Walker, too.’
‘Right! Now what kind of dancing?’ asked Chris. ‘I bet it’s ballroom. All the oldies are still doing ballroom. It’s time they got with it.’
Roberta frowned. ‘Mam’s not an oldie and neither is Sergeant Sam. They’re getting on but they’re not old. Mam was only seventeen when she had me, which means she’s thirty, not fifty. I bet Sergeant Sam’s not much older.’
‘Mum said the war made them all look older than they are. It was the worry,’ said Chris.
‘Are you three ordering?’
They looked up at Betty.
‘Yes,’ said Chris. ‘I’ll have an espresso and an iced bun.’
‘I’ll have a hot chocolate,’ said Roberta.
‘Same here,’ said Nick.
Betty said, ‘Two things. I’m sorry to hear about your Nan, Bobby. I’ll drop by and see your mum tomorrow evening if that’s OK. And Nick, it’s great that you’re back in Liverpool.’
‘Same with you,’ said Nick, smiling. ‘I bet you had a good time in Italy.’
She nodded. ‘So what was the worry Chris was talking about?’
‘No worry,’ said Nick with a shrug. ‘It was Chris telling us that his mum thinks the war aged people.’
‘I reckon that’s true. This morning Jeanette and I were discussing the war but we were talking about how many babies were born then and that probably twice as many were born in 1947. You were a war baby, weren’t you, Nick?’
He nodded, adding, ‘Yes, born 1942, although what with being adopted I don’t know the exact date.’
‘Now there’s a surprise! Every family has its secrets, I suppose.’
‘I’d agree that most families have a skeleton in their cupboard,’ said Roberta.
‘I wonder where that phrase “skeleton in the cupboard” comes from. I just wish I knew the exact date of my birth. It gets me that I’ve never seen my real birth certificate,’ said Nick.
‘Actually,’ said Roberta casually, ‘I’ve never seen mine either. I must ask Mam about it.’
‘I’d better go and get your orders,’ said Betty, hurrying away.
Roberta noticed that Lenny, who had been hanging around, had already gone into the kitchen and instead of preparing their drinks behind the counter, Betty had gone in there as well. Perhaps she had an order for a hot meal.
The following evening Lynne had just posted a letter to Emma and another to Hester, belatedly thanking them for their messages of sympathy, when Betty arrived on her doorstep. She hugged Lynne tightly and expressed her condolences on her bereavement. ‘She was a really interesting lady and I’m glad I had the opportunity to have a good chat with her about her theatrical days as a dresser.’
Lynne kissed her on the cheek and pressed her into a chair and sat opposite whilst her daughter put the kettle on. ‘I’ve a box of memorabilia that Nan left that you can borrow if you want. There’s copies of old posters and The Stage as well as snippets of news and photographs of performers cut out of the dailies.’
Betty’s face l
it up. ‘I’d enjoy taking a gander at them.’
‘Right, I’ll get the box before you go.’ Lynne leaned forward in her chair. ‘So tell me all about Italy and meeting up with Stuart?’ she said.
‘It made such a difference having his company,’ said Betty, resting her chin in her hand. ‘He’s so knowledgeable about architecture – the different periods, you know.’
‘As you’d expect of an architect,’ said Lynne, looking amused.
‘Yes, but he knew his paintings, as well,’ said Betty. ‘And he can dance and catch a waiter’s eye when a restaurant is busy.’
‘Now that sounds useful.’
They smiled at each other. ‘I tell you what he said that surprised me,’ murmured Betty.
‘What?’
‘That Liverpool has some great buildings. I reminded him that the Luftwaffe had destroyed quite a bit of the city centre.’
‘Including the old Customs House,’ said Lynne.
‘Stuart said that we should be thankful that the Liver Building is still standing as well as St George’s Hall.’
‘Well, I am thankful,’ said Lynne. ‘So what about California?’
Betty said hesitantly, ‘What do you think about my travelling out there with him?’
‘I think it’s a wonderful opportunity. I hope you have a lovely time and do some of the best painting you’ve ever done.’
Betty chuckled. ‘That shouldn’t be difficult. I’m glad you don’t think I’ve gone off my nut. There are those that do! Our Maggie for instance. I told her the light will be different in California and there’s the Pacific Ocean and San Francisco and Hollywood to visit. Lenny said he envies me. His ambition has long been to visit Hollywood and gawk at all the film stars.’ She hesitated. ‘I’ve told Stuart that I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to stay. We’re just really good mates at the moment. I know that might sound odd because there are those who believe men and women can’t be just good friends, but Dorothy Wilson seems to think it’s possible.’
Lynne was surprised. ‘Honestly?’
‘Yes! She says that in the theatre you get to know lots of men who are just good friends who don’t see you as a potential wife or lover.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘I had the impression that Stuart didn’t quite believe her. Maybe he thought she was just saying it because she has Sam back here in Liverpool.’
