by Sheila Riley
She wondered if Danny would be quite so cocky when he found out his precious Aunt Meggie was not as saintly as everybody thought she was and toyed with the idea of telling Ada what she knew.
Ada wouldn’t want anything to cloud her daughter’s homecoming on the first of May, now only a week away, and Susie couldn’t wait to get a glimpse of Grace’s new fiancé.
Imagine the terrible disgrace if the fiancé was met with the family shame, Susie thought. Maybe it would be better if she warned Danny, in case the scandal slipped out after she had a few drinks in the Tram Tavern.
The Skinners had no kids of their own – or so everybody thought – and it was understood by Ada that her Danny would inherit the yard if anything should happen to Auld Skinner. But what if Meggie’s offspring should suddenly appear and claim it when Meggie keeled over. After all, the business would go to the rightful heir, or heiress for that matter. Surely Danny ought to be warned there was another contender – Meggie’s illegitimate child.
He would be so eternally grateful that she had saved his family from the humiliation and shame of such scandal, that the scales would fall from Danny’s eyes and he would realise he had loved her for all these years. And he would wonder how he could ever build a business without her support and dedication, and most of all, how he could possibly live another day without her.
Susie couldn’t wait for Grace, her best friend since school, to come home. She would be thrilled to have her as a sister-in-law. Maybe they could have a double wedding - but then she would have to share her big day. Maybe not.
All she had to do was get Danny to take her out as a proper couple, not just as friends. If Danny weren’t such a good catch, she doubted she would still be friends with Grace, or work in this awful place.
Susie, never to be put down, considered that she had a far superior voice to Grace, and believed she would have made it big if only her mam and dad had allowed her to leave home and meet other men besides Danny.
She watched him bring the wagon to a stop across the yard, knowing most of the girls round here had their eye on Danny, especially since he came out of the army and his mother let it be known he was going to have his own business one day.
Susie sighed gazing out of the window, imagining Danny keeping her in style, with a new house as big as the Skinners, and fancy clothes like the ones in the magazines she read. Danny would take her to eat in the best restaurants, and they would go to the theatre. She would introduce him to a bit of culture, watch a show, not spend Saturday night in the Tram Tavern, the way most men did round here.
Obviously, she would not spend eight hours a day in this awful shed of an office either, even though it didn’t look so bad now it had been cleaned up. She would employ some other dogsbody to do the donkey work, and Danny would be knocked bandy by how well she played hostess when she held private dinner parties – because everybody knew that successful businessmen did their wheeler-dealing at private dinner parties. She’d read about it.
Susie had pursued Danny with every womanly charm she could think of, read all the magazine stories about how to make yourself beautiful for your man. Although Danny had shown no inclination to see her as a serious girlfriend, let alone put a ring on her finger and walk her up the aisle – a vision in virginal white.
Though that might be why he wasn’t interested, she reasoned. She might have to change her mind on the virginal bit if Danny didn’t get his skates on.
He had taken her to the pictures a few times, a dance now and again, and they had a good time, but nothing ever came of it. What was wrong with her? Three years of showing undivided devotion to a man who barely noticed her was becoming more annoying by the day.
Danny may well want to build his own business, but she wasn’t getting any younger. Maybe she should try another tack. Meggie had got Auld Skinner up the aisle in such unholy haste and now she understood why.
Mrs Skinner, doing charitable deeds and chewing the alter rails every Sunday, was a scarlet woman of the worst kind. Not only did she have a child out of wedlock, she gave it away so she could marry a man who had money. Despicable, that’s what it was.
Meggie would be devastated if the news got out. And it would. These things always did. What would Danny think of his precious aunt then?
But what if he told Meggie what she had heard? Then Auld man Skinner would sack her for eavesdropping and telling tales. He had already threatened, if she didn’t buck her ideas up, she would be out of a job. Although, who else would be daft enough to work here for the pittance Henry Skinner paid? And, Susie thought, her mind working furiously to her own ends, the information was to her advantage. In possession of a golden nugget, she was not afraid to use it if need be.
She jumped visibly when Danny opened the door, but he didn’t enter the office.
‘Did you want me, Susie?’ he asked matter-of-factly, gazing round the spotlessly clean office. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry.’
So he had seen her waving, she thought irritably. ‘I just wanted to see if you fancied going to the pictures tonight?’ Susie decided now was not the right time to tell him about his aunt Meggie.
‘Not tonight,’ Danny answered, ‘I’ve got to have a look at the engine of this wagon.’ He had already hatched a plan to get Susie off his back once and for all, but he needed his sister Grace home to offer a comforting shoulder for Susie to weep on, until then he just had to be the Houdini of excuses.
‘But you only put a new fan belt on the other week,’ Susie was obviously miffed.
‘I know,’ he said, ‘but now the hydraulics are starting to chug about a bit and the old girl’s getting jumpy.’
‘She’s not the only one,’ Susie said, dragging the cover off her typewriter, knowing she would have to spend another night listening to the wireless with her mother while Danny would rather play with jumpy dryholicks, or whatever they were called. than take her to the pictures.
Hell’s bells, she thought, knowing some people said the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But she had never been much of a cook, and knew it started much lower down that that. Well, we’ll soon see about that. After all, he’s just a man – and all men have needs.
6
Grace heard the gentle click of the cabin door and inhaled the mellow citrus cologne that soothed her. She had felt nothing so exquisite in all her life as she did when she and Bruce made love on the homeward voyage.
Bruce had been a perfect gentleman. He didn’t jump on her and try to take advantage as some men might have. Men like Clifford, who not only had a girl in every port, but one in every cabin.
‘It’s a wonder Clifford Brack hasn’t made a pass at you yet?’ one showgirl had said early in her relationship with Clifford, applying make-up in the mirror next to Grace. ‘He’s a slippery fish, and he’s up to all kinds of nefarious activities…’
But none of that interested Grace any more, she had Bruce, the most wonderful, caring man in the whole world, who had truly swept her off her feet. Her every day was a gift, knowing he was going to be in it, spending every possible moment together.
When they were in New York, Bruce took her to Bloomingdale’s and bought her a beautiful silk scarf in the most vibrant peacock blue because it matched her eyes, he said. It was the most precious thing she owned. Not because of its luxurious expense, but because Bruce wanted nothing in return, he was not giving her a gift just to get her into bed - that came later. Their exquisite lovemaking was as natural as breathing, both craving the intimacy of one another.
She bought him a tiepin in the same hue and felt it somehow bound them together in the most intimate friendship she had known. They thought the same way, they laughed at the same things. He called her his soulmate and she called him her wounded sailor, because of his war wound, and Grace could not imagine a world without Bruce in it.
And now she was on her way back home to Liverpool, and Bruce was with her too. He had meetings in head office. He had restored her trust in a way she did not t
hink possible after Clifford’s betrayal. Although the less she thought of him the better, and they studiously ignored each other whenever they met, a situation that suited Grace. She would much rather endure Clifford’s silence, than his bitter vitriol.
‘Am I missing something here?’ Bruce asked Clifford pointedly when, once again he did not acknowledge her presence.
Grace had told Bruce everything about Clifford, from the start of their friendship, not because she wanted to get the entertainment director in hot water with the boss, but because she wanted to purge herself of the ugly worthlessness, Clifford had inflicted upon her, and because Bruce was the easiest man she had ever talked to. She felt she could tell him anything.
‘I do beg your pardon, Miss Harris, forgive me, I was lost in thought.’ Clifford was being over-gracious, and Grace could detect the merest hint of disdain. Clifford was paying lip service to Bruce, and his smile did nothing to warm the chill in his eyes.
‘Please, don’t mention it,’ she replied with equal cool. Grace wanted nothing to do with Clifford, knowing she only had one more week to endure his sneaky criticisms before the ship docked in the port of Liverpool.
‘He can be very brash,’ Bruce sounded apologetic when Clifford turned and walked away, ‘but I won’t have him dismiss you like one of his minions.’
‘Let’s think no more of it,’ Grace said, but the catch in her voice told Bruce that she was more upset than she was letting on.
‘What’s wrong?’ Bruce asked, reaching for her hand, gently holding it, when silently Grace pleaded for him not to be kind. She swallowed the tight knot in her throat, but it wouldn’t budge. ‘He really got to you, didn’t he?’ Bruce said tenderly and Grace shook her head, unable to speak. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you to your cabin, you look beat.’
‘I’m fine,’ Grace lied, knowing Clifford’s icy glare had upset her more than she ever thought possible. ‘But I would like to go to my cabin where it’s quieter.’ When nearing the end of a long voyage like this, she always felt the pull of home and could not wait to see her family.
‘You merit real diamonds,’ Bruce said, and he reached into his inside pocket. ‘I wanted to give you this when we got back to Liverpool, but you look like you could do with cheering up now.’
Grace had never expected to be given anything so beautiful and, later that night, the elegant bracelet was all Grace wore when they made love.
She should have slowed things down. But she couldn’t, she was in love with the most wonderful man she had ever met, and she would miss him so much when they parted in her home port. The parting was going to be bittersweet, looking forward to seeing her family, yet knowing she would not see Bruce again.
When Evie collected her cards, she was pleased and surprised when Mr Walton said he would be sorry to see her go. The staff contributed to a small brown leather-bound book of poetry, which he presented her with.
‘It is from all the office staff,’ he said in his usual stiff, although not unfriendly, manner, and Evie felt her throat tighten. Nobody had ever given her a present, at least not one as beautiful as this. All the staff had signed it and Mr Walton had written a brief message thanking her for her dedicated service.
‘I’ll treasure it,’ Evie murmured, unable to get the words out, steeled herself against bursting into tears and was only able to briefly thank her wonderful colleagues before her throat contracted. She gripped her book of poetry so hard. Everybody hugged her and even Mr Walton, not given to outbursts of sentiment, told her to come and see them any time she pleased.
Working in the heart of Liverpool was everything she had studied and sacrificed for. And working for the D’Angelo Line one of the biggest shipping companies in the world had filled her with enormous pride. Her colleagues, efficient and self-assured, treated her as an equal and Evie adopted the longed-for mantle of respectability in the office, and in Reckoner’s Row.
When she left River Chambers, she was walking on air. Hoping she had made the right decision. But Evie hadn’t worked hard to reunite her family only to desert them every day by working miles away. And with the wages she would earn at Skinner’s she could even afford to put a bit of money aside for Lucy’s future.
She had no choice but to work. If she didn’t work, they couldn’t afford the luxury of rental money for the wireless, or little treats like a night at the pictures, or even some rarer comforts that rationing allowed, like a bag of toffees or an even scarcer bar of chocolate. And Lucy had a sweet tooth.
Skipping down the wide marble steps of River Chambers, Evie sighed, glad her last day was over. Although she loved working in the hive of commerce overlooking the pewter-coloured waters of the River Mersey, one thing made her even more determined to be closer to home. Their father had been sectioned in a secure hospital indefinitely. But how long was indefinite?
Her breath caught in her throat when Evie remembered how persuasive her father could be. Lucy still thought of him as her Good Shepherd. But Evie knew there was nothing good about him. He was manipulative and sly. Was she being irrational thinking the authorities would let him out early for good behaviour? She could not help but think his actions were premeditated, no matter how much he pleaded his innocence, telling the jury his wife was alive when he left her.
Evie’s heart raced, and her mouth dried just thinking about it. She carried her responsibility to her family firmly on her shoulders, to keep them out of his way whatever the cost.
In the Liver Bird's shadow, a little shudder rippled through her slim body, and in the waning sunshine, she could not shake off the underlying fear that her sister may one day come face-to-face with the truth.
The trial had taken place three years ago in St George’s Hall, opposite Lime Street train station, only a brisk five-minute walk away. It had been the talk of Liverpool. Evie had prevented Lucy knowing the whole truth by sending her on holiday to Ireland until the trial was over. And even though the news was splashed over the front page of every daily newspaper, Lucy was none the wiser.
Evie reached the arched marble exit. Pulling her paisley headscarf from her brown leather box bag, she folded it into a triangle, covered her honey-coloured curls and tied it under her chin, before lowering her head against the eddying wind blowing off the River Mersey up Castle Street. Hurrying along the grimy pavement of the bustling port, where soot still gathered in pockmarked bullet holes years after the Luftwaffe tried to annihilate Liverpool docks. She would miss the bustle of the city streets.
‘Evie!’ Her name sounded distant, and she looked round, about to make a run across the cobbled road towards the bus stop opposite the docker’s umbrella. ‘Evie, over here.’
Over the noise of rumbling traffic, she noticed the chugging flat-backed wagon only yards away, spewing out diesel fumes into the gusty spring air, and her heart flipped unintentionally when she saw Danny leaning out of his cab. His chirpy grin chased away all reflective thoughts of her father and Evie vowed that she would start a new phase in her life.
Danny put his arm out of the window to let her know he was coming over to her side. Holding up his hand like a policeman on point duty, he stopped oncoming traffic, filling Evie with a fizz of pride, and came to a halt at the kerb opposite her. She felt elated and embarrassed at the same time.
‘Come on, girl, get in! I’ll give you a lift home,’ Danny said in that easy-going way he had about him, leaning over the passenger seat to open the passenger door he tipped his cap. ‘Where to, madam? I am at your service.’
‘Thanks, ever so,’ she said, a little breathless after climbing into the cab. She had liked Danny from the moment she’d set eyes on him. What you saw was what you got. And she liked what she saw.
‘So, are you looking forward to joining our happy workforce?’ Danny asked. ‘I thought we’d been robbed when I went in and saw all the clutter had disappeared.’
‘I can put up with most things,’ Evie answered, ‘but not dirt and clutter. It stems from my days skivvying, I suppose.’
‘You were never a skivvy,’ Danny said. ‘You provided a service and there’s nothing wrong with that.’
Evie knew his mother, Ada, had worked as a cleaner in the Tavern for most of her married life. ‘I’m not saying cleaning is less of a worthwhile job than any other,’ Evie said quickly, ‘I just meant that I—’
‘I didn’t think you were,’ Danny cut in, ‘we’d be in a right state without our Mrs Mops and the office has never looked so good.’
‘Our Jack and Lucy will be relieved they won’t have to come home to an unlit fire and no tea on the go,’ Evie said, looking out of the window to see the dockside streets whizzing by.
‘He’s a real trouper, your Jack, he gets stuck in,’ Danny said with a nod, ‘and he’s one of the best workers in Skinner’s yard – apart from me, that is.’ He laughed, but Evie could well believe that Danny and Jack would make a formidable pair in any task they undertook.
At seventeen, her brother was nearly six feet tall and was as strong as an air-raid shelter. He was also immensely popular with the girls around Reckoner’s Row and, after listening to Danny telling of his wartime escapades, decided he was going to sign up for the army when he was called up for National Service.
‘You’re so modest,’ Evie smiled, ‘but you’ve got to admit, peeling potatoes is not a job for a man who’s worked hard all day.’
‘It’ll stand him in good stead when he’s called up,’ Danny said, reminding Evie that young men, from the age of eighteen were being subscripted into the forces for National Service and could be sent anywhere in the world. ‘I think everybody should do a bit of spud bashing, especially if the woman of the house is working too.’
