A Place To Call Home

by June Francis

  ‘How d’you fancy a tram ride to Bootle?’ asked Greta.

  ‘What?’ Alex’s hand holding the comb paused, in the tangle of damp nut brown hair, and his eyes met hers reflected in the mirror above the sofa.

  Greta’s heart performed a peculiar little dance. ‘I’ve been stuck in all day and I’ll be back at work tomorrow so I’d like to go out.’

  He glanced towards the window. ‘It’s going to be dark in half an hour.’

  ‘So-oo! The blackout isn’t strict at the moment. Pl-eeease let’s go!’ She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  ‘Why Bootle?’ Alex stared at her from narrowed eyes. ‘You’ve got something on your mind. I’m not going with you unless you tell me what it is.’

  She pulled a face and sighed. ‘You probably won’t come with me but I was thinking of sort of checking up on this widow Dad’s seeing. She lives in Great Mersey Street. I don’t know the number but … ’

  ‘No!’ said Alex firmly. ‘Your dad’s been good to me and I’m sure he wouldn’t like us spying on him.’

  The emotions Greta had been experiencing towards him were set aside and she scowled. ‘I don’t like it that he’s seeing another woman when my mother’s only been in her grave for a year.’

  ‘He said you had nothing to worry about. You should trust him!’ Alex moved towards the fireplace, flopped into a chair and stretched his legs out towards the fire.

  ‘It’s her I don’t trust,’ retorted Greta with a toss of the head. She began pacing the floor. ‘I might feel different if I saw her. If I did that then I’d get her measure and know if I had anything to worry about.’ She threw a glance at Alex, who had his eyes closed.

  ‘I don’t see the logic of that,’ he murmured. ‘You can’t always tell what people are like by their appearance. Anyway, what are you going to do? You can’t knock on the door if you don’t know the number. What excuse would you give if she answered? What if your dad came to the door?’

  Greta screwed up her face in frustration. ‘We’ll find someone to point out the house to us! At least we know the name of the widow. You can knock and I can stand in a doorway or something and get a peek at her that way.’

  Alex laughed. ‘You really are mad. What excuse do I give when I knock?’

  Greta smiled and, going over to him, impulsively ruffled his hair. ‘You’ve got brains. I’m sure you’ll think of something.’

  He groaned. ‘I didn’t say I would go.’

  ‘Please, Alex!’

  He looked into her pleading face and sighed.

  Great Mersey Street was one of those long thoroughfares divided by a main road. Immediately this caused Alex and Greta a problem. She knew from living in a street that was divided by another road that the inhabitants of one end, more often than not, did not know those living at the other end. Not knowing the number of Mrs Cox’s house, meant that they had to make a choice and it could be the wrong one. Alex suggested they toss a coin. Heads the bottom, tales the top. Heads won and so they strolled down the street in the direction of the Mersey.

  Fortunately there were children playing out despite it being dark and one of them directed them to Mrs Cox’s house.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ asked Alex, as they stood gazing at the terraced parlour house.

  ‘It-It seems a bit of a waste of time coming here if-if we don’t,’ said Greta, feeling nervous now they were about to put her plan into action.

  But, before either of them could make a move, the door opened and a girl came out. She stood in the doorway, pulling on a glove. Greta could see her face clearly in the light of a street lamp and she caught her breath. She was lovely! A real blonde bombshell. The girl suddenly caught sight of them. ‘You looking for someone?’

  Greta surprised herself by saying, ‘Armstrong! We’re looking for a Mr Armstrong.’

  Alex’s head slewed round and he stared at her. She ignored him. All her attention was on the girl, whom she reckoned was several years older than herself.

  The girl smiled at Alex. ‘Nobody of that name lives here but haven’t I seen you before?’

  He stammered, ‘I-I would have re-remembered if we’d met.’

  Her smile deepened. ‘What a nice thing to say. What’s your name?’

  ‘Alex! Alex Armstrong! We’re-We’re looking for my … uncle. My … family moved and we lost touch.’ Now it was Greta’s turn to stare at him.

  The girl held out a hand to him. ‘Joyce Cox! Sorry I can’t help you.’ Her eyes went from Alex to Greta. ‘Are you brother and sister?’

  ‘No!’ said Greta without hesitation and slipped her hand possessively through Alex’s arm. ‘Do you have a brother or sister?’

  ‘I’d prefer a brother instead of my sister,’ said Joyce with a sigh. ‘She drives me mad. So what are you two to each other?’

  ‘We won’t keep you, Miss Cox,’ said Greta with an edge to her voice. ‘It looks like you’re going somewhere.’ And with that, she dragged Alex away.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ Alex was astonished. ‘I thought you wanted to see the mother. Although, if she looks anything like the daughter, I can see why your dad keeps on calling.’

  ‘Shut up!’ hissed Greta, removing her hand from his arm and glaring at him. ‘Just because Joyce Cox looks like a young Jean Harlow and was all sweet to you, it doesn’t say my dad can be led astray by a pretty face.’

  He protested. ‘But that’s what you must think to do such a crazy thing as coming here!’

  She scowled. ‘I don’t want to think it but I can’t help it. If it’s just her S.A. that draws him to Mrs Cox then I’ll move heaven and earth to put a stop to it.’

  He looked amused. ‘Do you think you can do that? Do you think you have that right? As your dad said to your gran, he’s a grown man!’

  She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Of course, I do! I’m his daughter. I bet if you’d been on the scene when your mother met her bicycle shop owner you mightn’t have wanted him replacing your father in her affections.’

  Alex stared at her as if the idea had never occurred to him. ‘I hope I’d have been pleased that she had found someone to take care of her,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s how I felt when I read the letter Mum sent to Sally.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘Anyway, the situation is different. It’s more than eight years since Dad died.’

  She smiled in triumph. ‘So you admit your mother’s situation and my dad’s are not the same. Have you thought what your stepfather’s feelings will be when faced with your sudden reappearance?’

  Alex frowned. ‘He’s got flesh and blood of his own, so I don’t see how, in all honesty, he can resent me.’

  Greta looked at him in disbelief and said sweetly, ‘Love can make people very jealous.’

  ‘Like you’re jealous of Mrs Cox and her blonde bombshell daughter,’ retorted Alex, and smiled.

  Greta knew he was right and she wanted to swipe his smile off with a well aimed slap. She hated him. How could he possible fall for a girl at first sight, who was so obviously a tart? Haven’t I seen you before? I would have remembered if we’d met. Ha! Greta was so hurt and angry that she did not respond to Alex’s attempts to draw her into conversation on the way home.

  Neither did she make the effort to speak to him the following evening when she arrived home from work. She had done much soul searching during the day and had come to the conclusion that it would be a mistake to get too fond of him. At the tea table, as she listened to him talking to Harry about his lack of luck in his search of bicycle shops in Litherland, an area to the north of Bootle, she knew that she would have trouble sticking to her decision to keep him at a distance. Finding his presence in the house unsettling, she wished he would go back to sea. As soon as Greta had finished her meal, she washed the dishes and then went out to the pictures on her own.

  During the next few days Greta showed no interest in what Alex had to say about his search for his family. She got on with her mending or read a library book. Yet she was cons
cious of him, glancing in her direction once or twice, but most of the time he ignored her, and one evening he went out without saying where he was going.

  The day before New Year’s Eve, Greta’s hurt had abated somewhat and she felt ashamed of her behaviour, knowing she could not carry on being so rude to Alex, especially when he would probably be leaving soon. ‘When d’you have to return to your ship?’ she asked as they sat down for tea that evening.

  Alex looked across the table at her with such a cool expression in his eyes that she blushed, wondering whether he thought she was asking because she wanted to be rid of him. ‘I’m not! I was paid off in Southampton, remember? The ship needed some repairs. I’ll go down to the Pool tomorrow and see what’s going.’ He glanced across the table at Harry. ‘That’s if it’s OK with you, Mr Peters, my still staying on tonight?’

  Harry lowered the newspaper. ‘Of course you can stay. No skin off my nose as long as you’re giving Mrs Hardcastle something for your keep.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ said Cissie, taking a cigarette packet from the pocket in her pinnie and smiling. ‘He’s a good lad and I enjoy his company.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Mrs Hardcastle,’ said Alex warmly. ‘I just wanted to make sure I’m not wearing my welcome out with anyone.’

  Greta felt that remark was aimed at her, and the colour in her cheeks deepened, but the words, Sorry, I don’t want you to go! stuck in her throat. How was she to know that he hadn’t called on Joyce Cox when he went out the other night?

  Greta arrived home on New Year’s Eve to be greeted with the news that Alex had gone. Having signed on a ship going to the Far East, he’d had to leave immediately. She was furious with herself and felt sick with dismay. What if something terrible happened to him now they had parted, not the best of friends? She was reminded of an argument she’d had with her mother a few days before she had died and knew that she was going to worry about Alex until she saw him again.

  The new year of 1940 began with the declaration that the war was costing the country six million pounds a day. ‘I know what’s coming next,’ said Harry heavily. ‘Income tax will go up.’

  ‘Rationing of sugar, bacon and butter starts on the 8th, Harry,’ said Cissie. ‘I don’t know why we’re being rationed so early in the war. It didn’t happen until a couple of years in during the last one.’

  ‘They’ve learnt their lesson,’ said Harry, rustling the newspaper. ‘It says here that cauliflowers ended up costing a shilling each, eggs sixpence apiece and tea went up to half a crown a pound. A lot of the poor were literally starving!’

  ‘I’ve read that article,’ said Greta, feeling down in the dumps. ‘Further on it tells you how people were urged to try the unusual … such as the caterpillars of the white butterfly. Apparently they’re delicious fried in butter.’ She spread jam on a slice of bread and bit into it.

  ‘Bleedin’ hell, girl! D’yer have to talk about such things while we’re eating?’ cried Cissie, her eyes almost popping out of her head. ‘I could do with cheering up now young Alex’s gone … and so could you.’

  Harry smiled at them both. ‘How about the pantomime? I won’t be going but if I give you the money, Greta, you could get tickets in town for you and your gran. Ask Rene if she’d like to go. Wilf said that she’s in most nights because Vera’s at her all the time not to leave her alone.’

  Greta did just that.

  Rene’s face lit up. ‘I’d love to go. I’ve been feeling a bit fed up lately.’

  Greta knew just how she felt and managed to get three tickets for Aladdin. It was quite an adventure going out in the blackout, armed with a gas mask and a torch, and would be something to write about if Alex got in touch with the name of his ship.

  Just as they were ready to go, Cissie stuck a hatpin in the lapel of her coat. ‘Yer never know who yer going to bump into in the dark,’ she said. Greta took in her words and reached out for the pepper pot and rammed it into her coat pocket.

  They met Rene at the bottom of the step. ‘Your mam OK?’ asked Greta.

  ‘She told me to enjoy myself,’ said Rene, unable to keep the amazement out of her voice. ‘I think something’s pleased her since New Year. She’s had this smirk on her face every time I’ve asked if she’s OK and she told me that she couldn’t feel better.’

  ‘Maybe she’s caught religion,’ said Cissie.

  Greta and Rene exchanged looks but said nothing.

  They caught a tram, lit only by tiny blue lights, and soon were relaxing in the Shakespeare Theatre watching the familiar tale of Aladdin unfold. The performance was colourful and cheerful.

  ‘I feel so much better after that,’ said Rene, as they came out into the darkness, immediately switching on her torch and focusing its beam on the pavement. The other two followed her example.

  The three of them turned the corner into London Road, their heels tip-tapping on the pavement. Suddenly a light flashed in Cissie’s face, blinding her. She felt a tug on her handbag. ‘Hey! Stop that!’ she yelled, dropping her torch and struggling with her unseen attacker.

  Greta and Rene shone their torches in the face of a masked man. ‘You wicked sod!’ cried Rene, and hit him with the box holding her gasmask. The man swore and caught her a blow with his torch. Greta took the pot from her pocket and shook the pepper in his direction.

  There was more swearing and the sound of voices. ‘What’s going on?’ shouted a man. The next moment Cissie’s attacker had fled and they were surrounded by people.

  ‘What happened?’ asked a woman excitedly.

  ‘Lower yer torches!’ ordered Cissie. ‘Me eyeballs are already burning in their sockets! It was a bleedin’ masked man out to steal me handbag but we foiled him,’ she added triumphantly.

  ‘It’ll need reporting to the bobby!’ said a middle aged man.

  ‘It’s a disgrace when you can’t walk your own streets in safety,’ babbled a woman. ‘A perfect disgrace! It’s Hitler we’re fighting!’

  Rene reached out and clutched Greta’s hand. ‘Let’s get away from here,’ she whispered. ‘I’m feeling a bit peculiar and I think I’m bleeding where he hit me.’

  ‘Perhaps you should go the hospital,’ suggested Greta anxiously.

  ‘No! I’d rather go home. Don’t trust hospitals! It’s only a knock on the head,’ murmured Rene.

  Greta tugged on Cissie’s sleeve. ‘Rene’s not feeling too good. We’re going! You coming, Gran?’

  Cissie hesitated, enjoying the fuss, but Greta and Rene were already making their way to the tram stop, so she hurried after them.

  As they walked up their street, they were spotted by Harry and Wilf, who were talking on the step. ‘Hello, you three? Enjoy the pantomime?’ called Wilf.

  ‘Guess what!’ cried Cissie, bustling up to the two men. ‘I was attacked and the swine nearly got away with me handbag.’

  ‘Rene hit him with her gasmask box and I threw pepper in his face,’ blurted out Greta. ‘Only trouble is he clouted Rene on the head and cut it open.’

  ‘The bloody swine!’ Harry gazed at Rene. ‘How are you feeling, luv?’ His voice was filled with concern.

  She nearly burst into tears and wanted to place her head on his shoulder and howl. Instead she remembered his outings with the widow and replied stiffly, ‘I’m OK!’

  Greta slid a hand through her father’s arm, gripping it tightly. ‘She went all peculiar but didn’t want to go to the hospital.’

  ‘She’s a heroine,’ said Cissie warmly.

  ‘I always knew Rene had courage,’ was Harry’s quiet response.

  Touched by his words, Rene’s insides melted and she said lightly, ‘Oh, shut up and save my blushes! Cissie and Greta didn’t exactly sit back and let him get away with it. Anyway, I’m knackered and ready for my bed. Goodnight!’

  ‘You take care of yourself, luv,’ said Harry. ‘Perhaps you should see the doctor in the morning.’

  Near to tears again, Rene said brusquely, ‘If I survive to the morning I won’t
need a doctor. Goodnight, all!’

  ‘Sleep tight,’ chorused Cissie and Greta.

  Rene went indoors, followed by Wilf, and was relieved to see that her mother had gone to bed. ‘Don’t tell her what happened, Wilf! You know what she’s like,’ she whispered.

  He put a finger to his lips. ‘They’re zipped, luv. But are you sure yer OK, girl?’

  ‘Positive,’ she replied, despite her aching head.

  The following evening there was a report in the Echo about several attacks on women during the blackout. Some had not been as fortunate as Cissie and their handbags had been stolen.

  Vera read the piece out to Rene and then glared at her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me what happened last night? I felt a right fool when Cissie knocked to ask how you were. She told me what happened and said you were a heroine. I had to pretend I knew what she was talking about. Anyhow, I said that it’s me that’s the heroine in this house the way I suffer in silence.’ She sniffed.

  Rene rolled her eyes.

  ‘That’s impudent, that is!’ snapped Vera. ‘And I know where you get it from. I don’t like it that you’re so friendly with them next door. Cissie wasn’t the only one to come round here. Harry arrived at lunch time, asking how you were, he’s got a bloody nerve! I’ll not have that starting up again.’

  Rene’s hands curled into fists, ‘There’s nothing to start up again, Mother! It’s all in your imagination.’

  ‘You would say that.’ Vera’s small dark eyes glittered as she stared at her daughter. ‘Immoral lot them next door! What about this widow he’s seeing and that lad who was staying there over Christmas … a strange howdy-do if you ask me. Taking in a stranger, who tried to burgle your house. I bet that cheeky little madam has her eye on him.’

  ‘Sally used to work for his mother. They used to keep in touch. He’s trying to trace his mother and sisters,’ said Rene, struggling to retain her patience.