Through The Storm

by Maureen Lee

  He turned his head away. The bedroom door was open slightly and the gaslight had been left burning low on the landing because Penny was afraid of the dark. Her face was just visible in the yellow light, long lashes quivering, lips pouting. The sheer miracle of Penny hit Jess with such force that she almost gasped. Her heart hardened against Arthur. He hadn’t deliberately denied her children, but due to him she’d had to wait until she was forty-three, and it was another man who was the father.

  ‘Jess.’ His voice was barely audible.

  ‘Yes, Arthur?’

  ‘You know, if it’s another child you want, then I could accept it. I’ve always loved Penny as if she were my own. I would love a second just as much.’ He began to cry. ‘You’ve no idea how much I miss my family, Jess.’

  ‘Oh, my dear!’ Jessica’s heart softened instantly and she took him in her arms. It had almost killed him when he discovered she’d been unfaithful, yet he loved her so much he was willing to let it happen again. She began to cry with him. ‘It’s no use, Arthur. It’s no use.’ She convinced herself he would be all right once he was back in the museum and immersed in his beloved artefacts.

  They fell asleep and although Jessica didn’t move away deliberately, when they woke, they had their backs to each other and there was a space between them like a barrier that would never again be breached.

  Next morning, Boxing Day, they strolled up Linacre Lane with Penny in her pushchair, so he could see for himself the garage he’d heard so much about. They were scrupulously polite to each other, like strangers who had barely met.

  Jessica unlocked the workshop and showed him the bikes she had in stock. ‘I’ve got fourteen at the moment. They’ll be gone in a week. I could sell two, three times that many if I could get my hands on them.’

  ‘What’s this for?’ Arthur pointed to a little Austin Seven tucked in a corner.

  ‘An old man offered to sell it to me for fifteen pounds. I couldn’t resist. You know, Arthur,’ Jessica said, eyes shining, ‘once the war’s over it’ll be years before they start producing cars again. If only I had the space to store them, I could make a fortune. People will be desperate to buy second-hand.’

  Arthur shook his head in admiration. ‘I might have known you’d do well, Jess. You never really needed me, did you?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, dear,’ she chided. ‘You need people for all sorts of different reasons, not merely financial.’

  ‘You didn’t need me for another rather important reason, either.’

  ‘Arthur!’

  Penny was clamouring to be released from her pushchair and he lifted her out. ‘Don’t take any notice of me, Jess. I’m just feeling rather superfluous all round at the moment.’

  ‘I said once before, we’ll always be friends. You can come and stay with me whenever you like.’ Jessica genuinely meant it. Now they’d sorted their relationship out, she didn’t want to cut him out of her life completely. ‘Penny will always think of you as her father.’

  ‘That’s right, so she will.’ He regarded Penny fondly. ‘She called me dada yesterday.’

  ‘She recognised you, that’s why.’ Jessica didn’t mention it was what Penny called every man she met.

  ‘I thought I heard voices!’ Rita Mott came into the workshop wearing the inevitable dressing gown, a georgette scarf tied around her curlers and an equally inevitable cigarette poking out of her mouth. She eyed Arthur up and down speculatively. ‘And who’s this?’

  Jessica introduced them. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ Arthur said as they shook hands.

  Rita giggled. ‘Not all bad, I hope.’

  ‘No, but not all good either, which makes you that much more interesting,’ he answered with a smile.

  Jessica had forgotten how charming he could be. She’d also forgotten how attractive he was in his quiet, gentle way. Eileen always claimed he looked a bit like Leslie Howard. Rita was instantly enamoured. She invited them upstairs for a glass of whisky and a turkey sandwich.

  ‘Turkey!’ exclaimed Jessica. ‘Where on earth did that come from?’

  Rita winked. ‘Don’t ask! It didn’t exactly fall off the back of a lorry, but the Christmas dinner it was meant for wasn’t mine.’

  ‘That sounds very mysterious,’ said Arthur.

  ‘I’m a very mysterious woman.’ Rita rolled her eyes.

  ‘Just the sort of woman I like.’

  As they went upstairs, Arthur some distance behind helping Penny, Rita whispered, ‘He’s so gorgeous, Jess, I could eat him. You must be mad, ditching a man like that.’

  ‘I probably am – mad, that is.’

  ‘This is cosy,’ Arthur remarked when they entered Rita’s living room which Jessica had always thought was in execrable taste, with its purple net curtains and brightly flowered chintz three-piece which clashed with the wallpaper and geometric patterned carpet which clashed with just about everything. It looked even worse now, positively drenched in Christmas decorations. She recalled how well Arthur had settled when they moved from the detached house in Calderstones to the tiny one in Pearl Street. He’d made friends with incredible ease, despite the fact he’d never mixed with working-class people before. He took folks for what they were with an almost breathtaking non-judgemental innocence – which was the reason the business had gone bust, because he was too trusting.

  Jessica realised with a flash of insight that in his own way, Arthur was a better man than Jack Doyle would ever be. Yet she didn’t love him, which was sad.

  Rita put a record on the gramophone. She had quickly removed her curlers, combed her hair and put lipstick on, and was flirting with Arthur outrageously, and Arthur, clearly enjoying himself, was flirting back. When she went into the kitchen to fetch biscuits for Penny, he said to Jessica, ‘She’s fun. I really like her.’

  ‘She’s a genuinely nice person,’ Jessica declared.

  ‘But not the sort you would have liked once?’

  ‘No, but we all change.’

  ‘Not necessarily. You might never have changed if our lives hadn’t gone a certain way.’

  Rita returned and refilled their glasses before Jessica could think of an answer. She noticed with alarm the way Arthur drained his whisky in a single swallow and held the glass out for more. He used to drink too much in Calderstones when everything had got on top of him, but a glass of beer had been his limit since then.

  ‘Well, what do you think of the garage now your Jess has taken it over?’ Rita asked coquettishly.

  ‘She’s done wonders, but then I wouldn’t have expected anything else She’s a businesswoman to the core, is Jess.’ Arthur’s voice was becoming thick and unsteady. I’ll make sure he doesn’t have any more to drink, Jessica decided.

  ‘We’re becoming quite famous,’ Rita continued. ‘A chap came all the way from Blackpool for a bike the other day, though lord knows what Den, that’s my husband, would say if he knew his garage had become a bike shop.’

  ‘But we still sell petrol, Rita,’ Jessica protested, ‘and I never turn away anyone who wants something doing on their car. The trouble is, most of them won’t let me touch it because I’m a woman.’

  ‘Perhaps you should pretend it’s Jack who’s the mechanic,’ Rita laughed coarsely. ‘He looks as if he’s got a particularly safe pair of hands. I’d trust my chassis with him any day.’

  ‘Jack?’ Arthur frowned at Jessica.

  ‘Jack Doyle,’ she explained easily. ‘He usually gives me a hand on Saturday mornings.’

  ‘You never said so before.’

  ‘It never crossed my mind, that’s why.’

  ‘I see.’ He leaned back in the chair and was quiet from then on. When Rita spoke, he responded with a brief, polite smile, as if he hadn’t taken in a word she’d said. Jessica glanced at him worriedly from time to time to find him staring intently at Penny, who was playing with a set of blocks which Rita kept especially for her. Next time Jessica looked, he was staring at her instead. Their eyes met. Jessica dropped hers imm
ediately.

  He knows!

  He asked Rita for the bathroom and, once there, Jessica heard him retching, but she stayed glued to her chair, too scared or possibly too embarrassed to face his misery. His wife had betrayed him with the man he admired most in the world. Rita, snapping her fingers to a Carmen Miranda record, was too engrossed to hear.

  When Arthur emerged, white-faced, he said, ‘I think I’ll go home. I feel a touch unwell.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ Jessica jumped to her feet.

  ‘I’d sooner go on alone.’ He picked Penny up and hugged her fiercely. ‘Goodbye, sweetheart.’

  ‘Dada!’ She banged his cheeks.

  ‘Goodbye, Rita.’ He bowed courteously. ‘It was nice meeting you.’

  ‘You too, Arthur.’

  The door closed. In the ensuing silence, Rita asked, ‘Is there something wrong?’

  Jessica nodded. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Was it my fault?’

  ‘No, it’s mine.’

  ‘He’s a lovely chap, Jess.’

  ‘I know.’ Jessica bundled Penny into her coat and carried her downstairs. Arthur was already out of sight by the time she set off along Linacre Lane, and when she arrived in Pearl Street, there was no sign of him or his suitcase in the house.

  Jessica had almost forgotten about him when, four weeks later, she received a short letter. ‘I’ve joined the Royal Artillery as a driver. Surprisingly, they seemed quite happy to take an old man of forty-five. I’m unsure where they’ll send me, but then I scarcely care. Please never let Penny forget me. With love, Arthur.’

  Chapter 11

  Calum Reilly stayed glued to the wireless for most of Boxing Day. The grim news was what he’d been expecting. Hong Kong had fallen to the Japanese the day before and 12,000 British troops, the entire garrison, had been taken prisoner.

  ‘Nice Christmas present they got,’ he muttered.

  ‘What’s that, luv?’ asked Sheila.

  He told her what had happened. ‘And the Japs are advancing in the Philippines. Manila has just been declared an open city.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means there’ll be no more fighting because the Americans have given up. It’s a world war now, Sheil. It’s no longer just Europe and Africa. Our lads are being driven back in Malaya. I bet you a pound to a penny that Singapore will soon go the same way as Hong Kong.’

  The names meant nothing to Sheila, but she was alarmed by the glum look on Calum’s face. ‘We’re not going to lose the war, are we, luv?’

  ‘Christ Almighty, Sheil, I hope not.’

  ‘You mean there’s a chance?’

  Cal pulled her down onto his knee. ‘Of course not, luv.’ He couldn’t reveal to her his worst fears, but all the victories so far had been on Hitler’s side. The monster merely had to glance in the direction of a country and it was his – though the Russians were still putting up a helluva fight. Even in Africa, where the Brits had wiped the floor with the Italians, as soon as the Germans arrived under the leadership of their brilliant general, Rommel, the whole British front had collapsed. Now the Japs were on the scene with an equally efficient and ruthless fighting machine, and the same thing was happening in the Far East; defeat followed by defeat. What if the unthinkable happened and Britain lost?

  That’s what it was, Cal told himself angrily, unthinkable. If you started to believe you might lose, then you might as well give up the ghost right now and save thousands, if not millions, of lives. They had to win, in order to save not just his own country, but the entire world from Fascism.

  ‘Conquer or die,’ Churchill had said, and whilst Cal had never believed a word that came out the mouth of a Conservative politician in the past, he believed that much. They’d conquer Germany or die in the attempt, because he himself would sooner be dead and his whole family along with him, than live under a Fascist dictatorship.

  Sheila was saying something in his ear. ‘What, luv?’

  ‘I said, would you like to go upstairs for a while? The kids are all out and we’d soon hear if one of ’em came in.’

  He grinned at her, his good humour restored. It helped to lose himself in Sheila. ‘I wouldn’t say no, but you’re wearing me out, girl. I’ll be no use for a week after I’m back on board ship.’

  To his surprise, she didn’t move off his knee straight away. ‘Cal,’ she whispered shyly, ‘do you have to use one of those precaution things? I want another baby, luv, I really do.’

  He shook his head firmly. ‘I told you, Sheil. Once the war’s over we’ll think about more family.’

  ‘But there’ll be such a big gap. Our Mary’s nearly two and a half, and Churchill said it won’t be over until nineteen forty-three.’ She kissed him beseechingly. ‘I’d love a baby, Cal. I feel dead empty if I’m not expecting or I haven’t got one to feed.’

  He looked down at her exasperatedly. ‘But you’re only twenty-seven, Sheil, and we’ve already got six kids. We’ll end up with a couple of dozen at the rate you’re going.’

  ‘A couple of dozen’ll do me fine.’ She stroked the back of his neck, where the hair already felt slightly longer. ‘Please, Cal!’

  ‘What about the last time when you had a miscarriage?’ he asked sternly.

  ‘The baby was growing outside me womb. The doctor said it would be a miracle if it happened a second time. But I’ll go to the clinic and be examined regular, I promise.’

  Perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm, thought Cal. After all, the bombing seemed to have stopped, his family would be safe. And if it made his darling Sheila happy …

  He pushed her off his knee. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go upstairs.’

  Lucy Peterson called in to see Kitty on her way to the pictures on Saturday night. She was all dolled up in a teddy-bear jacket and a bright red dress which her dad had bought her for Christmas. ‘He was in ever such a nice mood over the holiday. I think the job’s doing him good. Anyroad, how are you feeling?’ she asked.

  ‘Absolutely fine,’ Kitty assured her, ‘’cept me legs are a bit weak. I would have gone back to work today, but Harriet said she’d kill me if I didn’t wait till Monday.’

  ‘The last few days have been really the gear,’ Lucy said happily. ‘I never thought working in a hospital over Christmas would turn out to be so much fun. That Glyn Thomas bloke is a dead scream. He had the entire hospital singing “Men of Harlech” on Boxing Day.’ She looked at Kitty slyly. ‘He kept asking about you.’

  ‘I promised to bring him some books,’ Kitty explained.

  ‘He didn’t mention anything about books, but when he learnt you were ill he looked dead upset. I told him I was coming to see you and he sends his love. I reckon he’s interested. Oh, and Stan Taylor came searching for you yesterday. He was in a right ould state. His fiancée’s given him his marching orders and he wants to talk to you. He said only you would understand.’

  ‘Honest?’

  Lucy giggled. ‘He must think you’ve got a sympathetic ear.’

  ‘Actually, he was dead boring. I only went out with him because I felt sorry for him.’

  ‘Well, you’ll feel even more sorry for him now. They’re the most dangerous, men you feel sorry for. You might end up marrying him on the rebound – his rebound, I mean.’

  ‘There’s not much chance of that,’ Kitty said disparagingly. ‘We’d spend the entire honeymoon talking about Daphne, his fiancée.’

  ‘Can I have him?’

  Kitty burst out laughing. ‘What do you mean, can you have him? He’s not mine to give.’

  ‘I think he’s quite good-looking in a mangy sort of way.’ Lucy pursed her lips speculatively. ‘What he needs is his mind taking off things. I’d look upon it as a challenge.’

  ‘You can have him with pleasure.’ Kitty clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Gosh, I’m being dead cruel. He was madly in love with Daphne.’

  ‘She obviously wasn’t madly in love back.’ Lucy frowned severely at Kitty. ‘You shouldn’t
give a toss about being cruel to men. They won’t hesitate to be cruel to you if it suits them.’

  With that, Lucy left. She’d scarcely been gone a minute, when Sheila Reilly came in through the yard with a bowl of jelly and custard.

  ‘But I’m an not invalid,’ Kitty protested. ‘I’ve completely recovered. I can make jelly and custard for meself.’

  ‘Stop complaining and eat it,’ Sheila ordered. ‘It’ll do your throat good.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me throat.’

  ‘I made the custard with that new household milk. Have you tried it yet?’ Tins of dried skimmed milk powder had only just become available. Each family was allowed one tin per month to supplement their meagre weekly milk ration of two and a half pints.

  ‘Yes, but it’s horrible in tea.’

  ‘It’s only good for cooking.’ Sheila fetched a spoon from the kitchen and watched as Kitty ate. ‘What does it taste like? It’s no good asking Cal and the kids, they’ll eat anything.’

  ‘Why are you asking me? Haven’t you had some yourself?’

  Sheila shrugged dismissively. ‘I didn’t really feel like any.’

  ‘Oh, Sheil,’ Kitty said in dismay. ‘You’ve given me your share.’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t feel like any.’

  ‘Fetch another spoon and we’ll share.’

  The two women sat down at the table, taking turns to have a spoonful each.

  ‘It’s all right, isn’t it?’ said Sheila, pleased. ‘I declare household milk a great success. Y’know, this brings back memories of when we were kids and we’d try and raise a penny between us for a bag of chips.’

  ‘Whoever had the first go always picked the biggest chip!’

  ‘And we’d end up fighting over the crispy bits.’

  When they’d finished, Sheila washed the dish ready to take home. ‘By the way,’ she said coming in from the back kitchen, ‘who do you know in Flint Street?’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘No-one,’ she said. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s just that your dad asked our Dominic to take a note round to number twenty-two on Boxing Day.’