A Sister's Duty

by June Francis

  ‘Too late, Mr Rossiter.’ Rosie gave him a friendly smile. ‘You’ve just missed her.’

  ‘Story of my life. I’m always missing out.’ He lifted Rosie’s hand to his lips and planted a kiss on it. ‘You’re looking as luscious as ever.’

  ‘Flattery won’t get you anywhere.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘You try it on with Mr Brown.’

  He groaned. ‘The man would chase me. Has no sense of humour.’

  ‘But it’s him you have to get around, not me.’

  ‘Pity. See you later, Rosie.’ He dropped her hand and hurried towards the dispensing room.

  Rosie watched him go, thinking that her aunt had been right when she said he had the gift of the gab, but that was what a good salesman needed, in her opinion. He breezed out as swiftly as he’d come in and she soon forgot about him, looking forward to the weekend, when she would see Davey.

  ‘And where d’you think you’re going, all dolled up?’ said Maggie.

  ‘I told you, Gran!’ Rosie’s skimpy skirts fluttered as she whirled away from the mirror. ‘Davey’s expecting his call-up papers any day now and then I won’t see him for eighteen months.’

  ‘Humph! Well, that’s one thing I won’t miss. His ugly mug.’

  ‘He probably feels the same about you, Gran. Only he wouldn’t say it,’ said Rosie, turning back to the mirror and applying lipstick. ‘But I think he’s dead good-looking and you aren’t so bad when you forget to put on your hard-done-by act with Granddad. You don’t want to lose him again, do you?’

  She put an arm round Maggie’s shoulders, thinking she had no chance of getting to America if her grandmother changed her mind about leaving her all her worldly goods. And she did so much want to see Harry and Babs.

  ‘Why should I care?’ sniffed Maggie. ‘I did without him for years. Anyway, never mind him. It’s you and that lad we’re talking about. I’m telling yer, girl, there better hadn’t be any shenanigans between the pair of yous. Yous keep yerself pure for when someone better comes along.’

  ‘He’s the one I want, Gran.’ Rosie blew her a kiss and left her grandmother moaning to herself about Walt teaching lads cricket when her legs were giving her gyp.

  Rosie’s heart seemed to swell inside her at the sight of Davey waiting on the corner of the street. His dark hair was ruffled by the breeze and his face and throat had already caught the sun. He appeared devastatingly handsome to her. ‘Hi, Davey!’ She felt breathless and her voice came out all husky. ‘How’s tricks?’

  ‘Terrible ’til I caught sight of you.’ He whirled her around before pulling her close and kissing her. ‘I’ve had my call-up papers.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Her spirits plummeted.

  ‘God only knows where they’ll send me once I’ve had my training. It could be thousands of miles away.’

  She gazed at him in dismay. The war might be over but only the other day the Archbishop of York had called on British Jews to condemn the violence against British servicemen in Palestine, and in India there had been killings in New Delhi. ‘I don’t want you to go,’ she said, clinging to the front of his shirt.

  ‘Me neither. But I have no choice,’ he said miserably, arms tightening about her. ‘You will wait for me, won’t you?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she said lovingly.

  ‘And you’ll write?’

  ‘Let them try and stop me.’

  They held each other, swaying slightly. ‘I wish we could get married now,’ he said, brushing her hair with his lips.

  ‘Aunt Amelia wouldn’t allow it. But when you get back, I’ll be eighteen and maybe she’ll think it a good way to get rid of me.’

  ‘Ma won’t say no. She’s always liked you.’

  ‘And I’ve always liked her.’ Rosie avoided mentioning America.

  They kissed.

  ‘Do you two mind?’ said a scandalised voice. ‘You shouldn’t be canoodling in a public place. It was bad enough when the Yanks were here.’

  Rosie and Davey glanced at the prim-faced middle-aged woman and drew apart. They smiled at each other, settling for holding hands but determined to make the best of the day.

  They went to the Pierhead, catching the ferry to New Brighton. They stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing down at the oily khaki-coloured waters as a seaman cast off.

  ‘Dotty, look!’

  Rosie’s head turned at the sound of the voice but the deck was too crowded for her to see if it was her sister. She gave her attention once more to watching the widening gap between boat and landing stage, feeling a thrill of excitement. Water foamed as the screw whirled and the ship swung round, heading towards the estuary where the Mersey spilt out into the Irish Sea.

  There were plenty of other ships to watch: tankers, cargo boats, liners, and the dredgers that helped to keep the channels between the sandbanks from silting up.

  Rosie breathed deeply of the salty air, arm linked through Davey’s as they strolled the upper deck, whispering sweet nothings to each other and planning their future. The breeze lifted their hair and gulls swooped and screeched overhead. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ she said, holding her face up to the sun. ‘I’d forgotten there could be days like this away from everything. Wouldn’t it be smashing if—’

  ‘Rosie!’

  She whirled round and this time saw one of the twins, waving madly to her. The other was hanging over the ship’s rail and all she could see was his rear end. Tom, probably, she thought to herself grimly.

  She pulled on Davey’s arm. ‘Get down from there!’ she yelled, hurrying over to the rails. She seized the twin by the collar of his shirt and the seat of his pants and dragged him down. Not a whit put out, Tom beamed up at them. ‘Hi, Rosie! Hi, Davey!’

  ‘Never mind the pleasantries,’ she said. ‘Who’s supposed to be looking after you? Aunt Amelia and Uncle Pete must be mad, letting you loose on the ferry on your own. Where are they?’

  ‘They haven’t come. Our Chris and Dotty are with us,’ chorused the twins.

  Rosie glanced round. ‘Invisible, are they?’

  ‘They’re somewhere,’ said Tom, drawing a circle in the air with one arm. ‘But never mind them. Tell me, what’s this thing in the water?’

  Davey and Rosie peered over the side. Not so long ago there had been an article in the newspaper about the danger of floating mines. Both of them let out a sigh of relief when they recognised the ‘thing’ as a buoy.

  ‘There’s lots of them around, marking where ships went down,’ said Davey.

  ‘Davey’s dad was a river pilot,’ Rosie informed them, hugging his arm. ‘I remember there were all these charts in the parlour and he used to let us look at them.’

  ‘Those charts were magic,’ said Davey, face rapt with nostalgia. ‘Remember, Rosie, we used to pretend they were treasure maps? You were Jim Hawkins.’

  ‘And you were Long John Silver,’ she laughed. ‘You broke your mam’s brush pole using it for a crutch.’

  ‘I got a clout for doing that.’

  Just then Dotty and Chris made an appearance.

  ‘Where’ve you two been?’ said Rosie, frowning. ‘You could have lost a twin overboard. They need watching.’

  ‘What business is it of yours?’ Chris scowled. ‘You’re always putting your oar in.’

  ‘Don’t you speak to her like that,’ said Davey, clenching his fists. ‘She cares what happens to them, which is obviously more than you two do.’

  ‘And who are you?’ Chris thrust one bony shoulder almost in Davey’s face.

  ‘Stop that!’ said Rosie, attempting to push him away. Davey removed her hand. ‘Keep out of it, Rosie. I can handle him.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Dotty, squinting in her sister’s direction.

  ‘What have you been telling him?’ said Rosie. ‘And where’s your glasses? You haven’t broken them, have you?’

  Her sister pouted. ‘I don’t have to wear them all the time. Chris is here to look after me. And anyway, I look prettier without them.’

 
‘And there was me thinking he was supposed to be keeping an eye on his brothers,’ said Rosie, grabbing Dotty’s arm and drawing her aside. ‘I want a word with you, little sister. What d’you think you’re doing, mooning over him?’ she hissed.

  ‘I’m not mooning,’ said Dotty indignantly. ‘Anyway, you’re with Davey. You’ve no right to talk!’

  ‘I’m older than you. Old enough to know what I’m about with a fella. So what are you doing here?’

  Dotty smoothed her hair and smiled. ‘Uncle Pete chased us out. He and Aunt Amelia were having a row.’

  ‘You surprise me.’

  ‘No, honestly. They were going at it hammer and tongs. Chris reckons they’ve fallen out, like thieves after a crime.’

  Rosie groaned. ‘He’s crazy. What were they arguing about?’

  ‘They were just picking at each other, like you pick at me. Over us kids and money and things.’

  Rosie shrugged. ‘I’m not surprised. It can’t be easy taking someone else’s kids on.’

  Dotty brought her mouth up close to Rosie’s ear. ‘I think Chris is wrong and they don’t fancy each other,’ she whispered. ‘She wears pyjamas, you know. When we left she was in bed with a headache. She wears striped ones, not a bit glamorous. When I start earning money, I’m going to wear négligés in satin and lace.’

  Rosie raised her eyes skywards. ‘Bully for you! I’m going back to Davey.’

  ‘Don’t go without me,’ said Dotty in alarm, grabbing her arm. ‘I’ll be bumping into people.’

  ‘Get your glasses on then and don’t be so stupid.’ She hauled her sister over to where Davey and Chris were still standing bristling at each other, held back by a twin apiece.

  ‘Come on,’ said Rosie, grabbing Davey’s arm. ‘This is our last day. We don’t want to be bothered with them.’

  By now the boat was approaching New Brighton pier and Davey allowed himself to be dragged away. Rosie scanned the water. ‘I remember Dad telling me there used to be a one-legged bloke who dived off the pier here for pennies.’

  ‘Mine too,’ said Davey. ‘His name was Bernie and he lost a leg in the Great War. The guts some people have, hey, Rosie?’

  ‘Not half,’ she said, thinking what were any of their problems compared to losing a leg and then plunging into the cold Mersey to earn coppers?

  Even so she felt uneasy about Dotty being in Chris’s company. What had Uncle Pete been thinking of? There was something not quite right about what her sister had told her . . .

  *

  ‘How’s the head?’ asked Peter.

  ‘It’s still there.’ Amelia’s voice was muffled by the bedclothes.

  ‘Why don’t you try one of your own remedies? What is it? Feverfew leaf sandwiches?’

  ‘Perhaps later.’

  There was silence but she knew he had not gone, could sense his presence. She wanted to reach out and touch him but was too unsure of how he would react so kept her hands firmly beneath the covers. The silence stretched. She cleared her throat. ‘I thought you were going to start painting the house?’

  ‘I haven’t the heart for it.’ He sounded weary. ‘And I want to get on with my writing.’

  ‘Leave it then.’

  ‘I think I will.’ She felt the mattress give and knew he had sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I hate all this arguing between us.’

  Amelia turned over and lowered the bedclothes but could barely make out his features in the darkened room. ‘You didn’t like it when we were being polite either. Not that I enjoy the arguing any more than you do. So why do we do it?’

  ‘I suppose it’s a way of communicating when other ways seem to have failed. I spent a couple of years arguing with Tess until I decided it was a waste of time and less tiring if I didn’t argue back. In the end we barely spoke to each other.’

  ‘Long silences,’ murmured Amelia, remembering Tess’s letter.

  ‘You knew? She told you?’

  Amelia took a deep breath. ‘In her letter.’

  ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘I’d rather not say.’ Her fingers curled over the edge of the covers.

  ‘I can imagine.’ His voice was flat. ‘That she didn’t love me. That she had never loved me but felt guilty about it because I had loved her and been good to her.’

  Amelia sat up. ‘How did you know?’

  He laughed. ‘I know because she said pretty much the same in her letter to me. But I already knew. You can tell when someone cares about you.’ Their eyes met. ‘I know you care, despite the arguments,’ he said softly.

  She was silent, almost scared to admit it. But her heart had begun to hammer.

  ‘I’m not going to talk about being in love,’ said Peter, slipping an arm round her waist. ‘I’m not sure I trust those words. But I admire you, Lee, and I like the person you are.’ He kissed her gently at first then exerted more pressure as she clung to him like a limpet.

  From somewhere deep inside there was an eruption of feelings long suppressed. There was no holding back now. If he wanted her then he could have her. She returned his kisses with a passion that was intensely satisfying. Like eating strawberries and cream when you hadn’t had such scrumptiousness for ages. He was out of his clothes before she had even taken off her pyjama jacket and then he was tearing it off her too, kissing her breasts as if starved, kicking down the covers as he did so.

  She gasped with surprised pleasure, never having thought it would be like this. His hands were undoing her bottoms and rolling them down over her hips. Then he was inside her, tearing her with a brutality that was unexpected. Her body shuddered with the force of his invasion. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered, gripping her hips as he slowed down. ‘I don’t want to hurt you but there’s no other way. Next time it won’t be so bad.’

  ‘It’s all right! Carry on.’ She wrapped her legs around him and held him.

  ‘God, that was good!’ he gasped, collapsing on top of her.

  Despite the pain, she was aware of a deep satisfaction. They had done it. And if he liked it so much they would do it again and again. She kissed his collar-bone and in turn felt his lips against her neck. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you,’ he said earnestly.

  ‘Forget it. I half expected it.’ She loosened her grip on him and stretched her legs. He slid off her but curled up against her side, placing his arm across her. She lifted his hand and kissed the palm and left him there while she went to the bathroom. When she returned, he was obviously asleep. She lay beside him, pulling the covers up and snuggling against him. There was not much room in the single bed but she did not want to leave him. She was so glad he had sent the kids out.

  She was wakened by something tickling her. She reached down and her hand came into contact with firm flesh. Hastily she twisted in his arms and gazed in to his face. Before she could speak, he kissed her. She held his face between her hands and kissed him back forcibly. He rolled on to his back, taking her with him so that she lay on top of him, breast to chest. He brought her face down to his so their mouths joined again. Then his body began to move slowly from side to side in a rocking motion. The movement was hypnotic, soothing, sensual, exciting. She rubbed against him and desire erupted again. Frantically they kissed and touched and caressed until, gasping, they joined again. She panted over him like a tiger having pinned down its prey until a scream escaped her. ‘More!’ she cried, astonishing not only herself but him as well.

  Peter shut off the sound with his mouth, rolling her over and finishing it.

  ‘Ohhh,’ she sighed, gazing up at him.

  ‘What?’ He smiled down at her.

  ‘I didn’t expect it to be so nice,’ she said with a hint of embarrassment.

  ‘You complaining?’

  ‘No.’ She stretched out her arms, aware of a contentment never experienced before. ‘No,’ she repeated.

  ‘You’re a surprising woman, Amelia Hudson,’ he said, pressing his lips against her naked shoulder.

  ‘I didn’t know I had all that in me
,’ she responded. ‘It must have been buried deep for years.’

  ‘Waiting for Prince Charm—’ Peter stopped.

  Amelia had heard it, too. She gave him a push. ‘You’d better get downstairs,’ she whispered.

  He just stopped himself from falling out of bed. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he hissed. ‘Why can’t we be honest, for God’s sake? Married people do go to bed together.’

  ‘Not us,’ she said, placing the flat of her hands against his chest. ‘You must go now. We don’t want Chris thinking—’

  ‘Sod Chris! He already thinks it so why shouldn’t we do it? I never told you, but after the twins were born, Tess and I never made love again. And she never, never asked for more.’

  More fool her, thought Amelia, bones melting just thinking about it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, touching his cheek with her hand. ‘But he believed his mother loved him. He’s still trying to come to terms with what she did.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ hissed Peter. ‘Tess was great at rejection. You didn’t know that, did you? But you do know Chris isn’t mine?’ He pressed his lips against Amelia’s hand before rolling off the bed.

  ‘Yes. But I didn’t know you knew that I knew.’ She stared at him as he fumbled for his trousers. ‘Did Tess put that in her last letter?’

  ‘Yep. It was yet another bloody thing she wanted me to forgive her for.’ He found his trousers and struggled into them.

  Amelia could scarcely believe it. ‘The father?’

  His laughter contained a bitter note. ‘She threw out hints.’ He straightened and met Amelia’s eyes. ‘She didn’t tell you so I guess she didn’t want you knowing.’

  ‘But why should it matter if I know?’

  He did not answer, shoving his flapping shirt inside his trousers as he walked towards the door. ‘I’ll say you’ve still got a headache, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, OK! But, Pete, who do you think it was?’

  He shrugged. ‘Let’s put it behind us. Not one thing with her was as good as it’s been with you.’ He blew her a kiss, opened the door and closed it quietly behind him.

  Amelia could not forget, though. She lay down, arms behind her head, gazing up at the ceiling, trying to remember who had interested Tess besides Peter. But she could not think. Hearing the children’s voices from below, she decided she was not going to allow the past to affect the here and now. Today was a day she would never forget, but would she and Pete ever be able to live like a normal married couple and not always be worrying about someone else’s children?