by June Francis
Rene read Four Men Killed And Two Injured in Engine Room Explosion. There was a full report about the incident and it mentioned Harry’s bravery and that of an unemployed stoker and a deck boy from another ship, who had been quickly on the scene.
‘Where is Harry?’ Rene’s eyes glowed as she rustled the newspaper. ‘It isn’t every day I discover I’m living next door to a hero.’
Greta beamed at her. ‘My dad a superhero! He’s not back yet and neither is Alex. Gran’s been home and gone to work. I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, but Alex’s staying with us while he’s got shore leave.’ Greta reached for her Echo. ‘I’d let you have this but I want to cut out the article and pin it on the wall.’
‘I’ll buy my own copy. Wilf’s bound to be interested,’ said Rene. ‘Besides I want to read it out to Mother. It’s about time she appreciated Harry’s good qualities.’ She paused, jingling some coins in her skirt pocket, her rosy face thoughtful. ‘About Alex’s uncle … I got to thinking and I’m sure Sally pointed out whereabouts he lived when we went out for the day. You were just a toddler. I was working in a shop at the time and it must have been a Wednesday afternoon because that was my half day off. It was near one of the stations on the Liverpool to Southport line.’
‘Which one?’ asked Greta, excitedly.
‘It was after Seaforth.’ Rene sighed. ‘Sorry, I can’t be of more help.’
‘Better than nothing,’ Greta reassured her swiftly. ‘I’ll tell Alex what you said when he gets in. Bye! See you soon!’
She walked slowly home with two things on her mind. Would Alex want to take a trip to Southport on the train … and what was Harry going to say if Mrs Miller moaned to him about Greta calling her an old crow? He would hate the woman having cause to complain, even if he sympathised with his daughter and Rene. Perhaps he would feel he had to punish her for what she’d said? It would be the first time ever if he did. Punishment had been left to her mam, who had known just where to slap the once to get her message over. Greta decided that it might pay her to tell her father what she’d done. If nothing else he’d be prepared when Mrs Miller put in her complaint.
But before Greta saw Harry, Alex arrived back at the house. He was wearing a clean shirt, open at the neck, and navy blue trousers with a knife edge crease to them. On his back he carried a rucksack that had a tin plate and mug tied with string to one of the straps. His face looked like it had been scrubbed and his hair appeared still damp. Greta felt unexpectedly shy faced with this Alex. He seemed much more mature, somehow.
‘What is it?’ he asked, a quizzical expression in his eyes. ‘Have I still some coal dust on my face?’
‘No!’ she answered hastily. ‘I was just thinking how different you look to when I first saw you.’
‘I am different thanks to your dad … and you!’ There was an note in his voice that made her feel warm inside and she remembered her mother saying good deeds bring their own rewards.
She felt at ease with him once more and showed him to the parlour, where she had placed a clean blanket and a pillow. There was also a faint smell of gas from the meter in the cupboard. ‘You can open the window if the smell bothers you,’ she said.
‘It’s nothing to some of the smells I’ve come across since I went to sea.’ He dumped his rucksack on the sofa and eased his shoulders.
‘Did you like being at sea?’
He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t too bad once I got used to it. It’s no fun in a storm when you’re stuck up in the crow’s nest on watch.’ His eyes held a faraway expression. ‘When you’ve stared out over the sea for a couple of hours you start imagining you can see things.’
‘What things? Sea monsters!’
He grinned. ‘You mean like Moby Dick?’
‘Who’s he?’
‘He’s not a he but a huge whale that figures in a book.’
‘A true story?’
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘What about places? Buenos Aires … was that fun?’
He nodded. ‘There was some festival on so there was dancing in the street.’
Greta’s eyes sparkled. ‘You lucky duck! Did you dance?’
‘I had a go.’ He looked slightly embarrassed.
‘What kind of dancing was it? Did you do the Tango?’
He laughed. ‘I’m no Rudolph Valentino! But there were some girls who tried to teach me and a couple of the other deck crew the Samba. Then we had a go at the Conga.’
She perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘My dad had me doing the Conga at the Coronation … that was at the street party. I was only a kid then but it was fun. Nobody had much money but all the mams and dads managed to put some food on the table. We were happy then. Since Mam died … ’ She stopped abruptly.
‘Go on!’ urged Alex, resting an elbow on the corner of the mantelpiece. ‘I don’t remember ever being at a party where there were mums and dads.’
Greta shook her head and moved away from him over to the bay window. After a few moments Alex followed her and unlocked the sash and pushed up the bottom window. The blackout curtains fluttered in the warm breeze that blew in.
‘I’m not sure whether to carry on with my search,’ said Alex sombrely.
She shot him a startled glance. ‘You feel like you’ve come up against a brick wall?’
He shook his head. ‘If Mum was telling the truth then there’s the clue of the bicycle shop. No! It’s what she said to that woman about me that really bothers me. She must have had such plans for me and … ’ He stopped abruptly and gazed out of the window.
Greta noted the misery on his face and forgot her own reservations about his quest to find his family. ‘And what?’ she demanded. ‘Are you thinking that you’re going to be a disappointment to her?’
He shrugged. ‘Something like that.’
She seized his arm and shook it. ‘Then think again! Any mother in her right mind would be made up to have a son like you.’
He smiled grimly down at her. ‘Nice of you to forget my breaking into your house but then you’re the forgiving sort … and besides, you weren’t brought up to expect too much from life, especially when it comes to this world’s goods. In my mum’s case things were different. Even when things were almost as bad as they could be, Mum still hung on to the conviction that everything would work out. She certainly stopped us kids worrying for a while … until everything fell apart. Dad died and I found myself torn from my family to live amongst strangers miles away. Don’t want to bore you with anymore.’
Greta was unable to speak, could almost feel that small boy’s pain and loneliness. She took a deep breath. ‘We all try to hold on to our dreams. Your mother was no different from lots of others. You mustn’t give up.’
He was silent.
Well, she wasn’t going to say anymore, decided Greta, making a move towards the door. ‘How about some grub?’
Alex followed her out and into the kitchen. Greta put on the wireless to kill any awkward silences. The easily recognisable music of a palm court orchestra flowed into the room. Immediately she fiddled with the knobs until something more to her taste came on the air. ‘We’re in the money … ’ sang a tenor.
She hummed the tune as she opened the oven and took out a casserole. She heaped food on to a plate and placed it on the table. Alex thanked her and sat down. She picked up the Echo, folded it so that it was easier to read and placed it against the sugar basin. She pointed out the article to him. ‘It’s all about the accident. I’ve got other news for you, too. I don’t know if you want to know it now or how much help it’ll be, but Rene thinks your uncle lives close to the Southport line after Seaforth.’ She sat down opposite him and watched him eat. She found it intensely satisfying to see people enjoy her cooking.
Alex did not respond immediately but forked tender beef into his mouth. After a few minutes, he murmured, ‘It could be several places then. The trouble is we seldom visited Uncle David’s house. More often than not he came to ours. I can’t even r
emember what he did for a living. Although, strangely enough I’ve just remembered Dad’s brother, Uncle George, was a solicitor but we saw hardly anything of him.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ said Greta, thinking the search could still grind to a halt with so little to go on.
Alex did not get a chance to answer because at that moment Harry walked in. He looked exhausted and appeared covered in more building dust than usual. Immediately, she filled his mug with tea and handed it to him. ‘You look like you need this, Dad. What have you been up to?’
‘Thanks, luv, I’m parched!’ His eyes creased at the corners as he smiled. He took a couple of gulps and then placed the cup on the table. ‘I’ll have to get this jacket off. I’m roasting!’ As he tried to remove his jacket, Greta could tell from the tightening of his lips and the flaring of his nostrils, that he was in discomfort. She went over and tugged gently on first one sleeve and then the other, removed his cap, and hung both on a nail on the back of the door to the coal cellar. Then she went over to the sink and placed the plug in the hole of the shallow brown sink and turned on the tap. ‘Why all this special attention?’ he asked, smiling faintly.
She faced him. ‘I’m in trouble, Dad.’
He stared at her, and moistened his lips. ‘What kind of trouble?’
‘Mrs Miller!’
For a moment Greta thought her father was going to collapse on the floor but then he began to laugh weakly. ‘You gave me a fright then, girl!’ He ran a hand over his face, his fingers rasping a day’s growth of beard. Then after rolling up his sleeves, he reached for the block of green washing soap. ‘What have you done?’
Greta began to explain. She thought he didn’t appear to be listening as he washed his face, neck, arms and hands but then suddenly he interrupted her. ‘She said that about Rene and me?’ he said wrathfully. ‘That woman’s got a one track mind.’
‘Rene said, Chance would be a fine thing!’
His eyes glinted. ‘She’s right there! That woman hardly gives her a minute. So what did Mrs Miller say to that … and what did you do that was so terrible?’
Greta told him and she could see that he was doing his best not to smile. When she finished, he said sternly, ‘You go and say sorry.’
Greta groaned. ‘She’s going to love that, Dad.’
He nodded. ‘You got pleasure from calling her an old crow, didn’t you? So it’s her turn now. Off you go!’
‘Yes, but … ’
He shooed her out of the back kitchen with the towel.
Greta saw that the Millers’ front door was open. Wilf was sitting on the threshold, his lips pursed. He had his sleeves rolled up and was polishing a small engraved brass tray with a soft cloth. She knew the tray had come from India. Wilf had a collection of brasses from different corners of the Empire. She remembered him saying he found few things more soothing than giving his brasses a good rub. He had added with a wink that he never gave up hope of a genie appearing and granting him three wishes.
‘Is Mrs Miller in?’ she asked.
Without looking up, Wilf said, ‘You thinking she might have flown off on her broomstick?’
Greta said gravely, ‘I didn’t call her a witch.’
‘Naw, luv, yer didn’t! It’s what I call her meself, sometimes. Yer can do hell and all for her and she’s still not grateful.’
‘Then why stay?’
He put down his duster and stroked his moustache, his eyes narrowed against the rays of the sun. ‘Got used to the place and I’m too old to go looking for another berth. Besides, Rene’s life would be more cat and dog without me.’
Greta nodded. ‘Can I get past?’
Wilf got to his feet, his knee joints creaking. Greta stepped up into the lobby. Taking a deep breath she knocked on the open door and called, ‘Rene! Mrs Miller! It’s me Greta! Can I come in?’
The kitchen door opened and the cat shot out, skidded on the lino and then did a quick turn and whizzed towards Greta. She watched it spring onto the step and then she turned and saw Rene standing at the foot of the stairs, outside the kitchen door.
‘Has she heard there’s free fish at the chippy or something?’ joked Greta. ‘I’ve come to say sorry to your mam.’
Rene’s face showed a ghost of a smile. ‘Now’s not the right time,’ she whispered. ‘The cat got one of the chicks and Mother’s spitting nails because I didn’t notice the evidence and she put her foot on the remains. I only just managed to save us both from landing flat on our backs. She said she’s severely damaged hers and has taken to her bed.’
‘I’ll go then,’ whispered Greta. ‘You’ll tell her I came to say sorry?’
Rene nodded.
Greta left the house almost as fast as the cat had done, jubilant that she had managed to get away without actually having to say that word Sorry! to Vera Miller.
She found Harry reading the Echo and Alex poring over a Bartholomew’s Pocket and Atlas Guide to Liverpool and its environs. ‘Seen what they say about you, Dad?’ she said as she put on the kettle. ‘Think there’s a chance of you getting a medal?’
He shrugged. ‘I want no medal, luv. I didn’t do anything that merited it. What gets up my nose is that I doubt there’ll even be compensation for the injured men or for the families of those who’ve died,’ he said with a hint of anger. ‘It’s something the unions are fighting for but the employers want to carry on putting the responsibility for safety in the hands of the workers.’
‘One of the men who died left a wife and two daughters, name of Cox,’ said Alex, closing the book of maps. ‘I wonder how the hell they’re going to manage. I notice it gives their addresses.’
Harry’s craggy face quivered. ‘God only knows how they’re feeling.’ His voice was uneven. ‘I haven’t been able to get the men’s faces out of my head.’
‘Me neither,’ said Alex in a low voice.
Harry stood up. ‘I think I’ll go and write letters sending our condolences,’ he said huskily. ‘Depending on the day and the time of the funerals perhaps I’ll go and pay my respects.’
As Greta watched him leave the kitchen, his shoulders drooping, she felt a lump in her throat, remembering that shortly they would be coming up to the anniversary of Alf and Amy’s deaths. She felt like crying and had to avert her face in case Alex noticed the tears in her eyes.
The following evening, Rene was kneeling on a sheet of cardboard in the tiny front garden. She looked up as she heard Harry’s footsteps, her fingers relaxed on the kitchen fork she was using to dig up weeds. She could not afford proper gardening tools. Her mother was still tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and a library book.
‘So you’re a hero, Harry!’ She smiled, even as she tried not to think of his performance in her latest dream.
‘I’m nothing of the sort,’ he said, but it was uplifting to know that Rene thought so. He hesitated before crossing to her step. ‘Is your mother OK now Greta’s said sorry?’
‘Greta didn’t tell you?’
‘Tell me what? I’ve had that accident and those poor families who’ve lost a father and breadwinner on my mind.’
Rene’s green eyes were immediately concerned. ‘It was a terrible thing to happen. All that scalding steam! How those poor men must have suffered!’
Harry nodded and cleared his throat. ‘I’ve written a few words of sympathy and I’m just going along to pop the notes through the families’ doors. I don’t want to intrude but it can help knowing someone else is thinking about you when you’ve got troubles.’
Rene squared her shoulder and blurted out, ‘I’m glad you realise that, Harry, it was how I felt when I popped round to yours after Sally passed away. I never intended being a nuisance or to set the tongues wagging.’
‘You were never a nuisance,’ he said hastily. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. You were a real help. It was your mother who made me see that I hadn’t to be selfish and use you. At least I think that was what she was trying to say to me.’
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nbsp; Rene’s eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet. ‘She said that to you! She told me that the tongues were wagging, putting two and two together and working things out.’ Her fingers tightened on the fork. ‘I don’t want to soil my lips with the things she said.’
Harry was angry and he smoothed back his curly hair with a rough hand. ‘What the hell’s she at? She must know the kind of people we are.’
‘Of course she does!’ whispered Rene, glancing up at her mother’s bedroom window. Then she looked at Harry. ‘She’s a selfish woman! Always has been, I suppose, but I never questioned her behaviour. Since her rheumatism’s got worse, she’s in pain and she’s terrified of being completely helpless. I can only think that’s the reason for her cruelty and possessiveness. Even now, when I hardly speak to you she thinks that I’m making plans to see you.’
Harry said grimly, ‘Greta told me that you said, Chance would he a fine thing.’
Rene blushed and then suddenly she laughed. ‘Your Greta! She did my heart good the way she leapt to my defence.’
Her laughter and words brought a smile to his face. ‘I just hope her mouth doesn’t get her into real trouble one day.’
‘If it does, fate will probably take a hand and rescue her. Did she tell you about Mother slipping on a chick?’
‘No! Poor chick.’
Rene giggled. ‘It was already dead. But Mother’s in bed now, suffering from a bad back. I know I shouldn’t laugh but it does mean I’m getting the chance of a nice bit of peace out here.’
With warmth in his eyes and voice, Harry said, ‘You deserve it, luv. It’s a pity you don’t get more chances to relax and do what you want to do.’
‘Yes, that would be lovely, but you don’t get much chance to take the weight off your shoulders, either, Harry. Wouldn’t it be great to be free of all responsibility for a while? Just think what we could do.’
There was silence as they stared at each other hungrily. Then Harry said with a catch in his throat, ‘I’d best get going or I won’t be back until midnight. See you around, Rene, and don’t work too hard.’
