by Maureen Lee
‘As long as the picture’s a musical or a comedy,’ she said to Stan. ‘I’m not in the mood for a romance.’
They went to a cinema in Waterloo to see Betty Grable in Down Argentina Way. Kitty supposed that normally she might have found it enjoyable, but she felt too numb to laugh and allow herself be carried away by the cheerful music.
When they came out of the cinema, Stan suggested they went for a drink in the public house across the road. ‘The usual?’ he enquired when they were inside.
‘No, I’ll have something stronger,’ said Kitty. Her usual drink was half a pint of shandy. She remembered he normally drank rum. ‘A rum and orange, please.’
‘It’s not like you to drink spirits,’ Stan said when he returned with the drinks.
‘I’ve changed since we last went out.’
‘In what way?’
‘I drink rum now, instead of shandy!’ She began to sip the drink slowly and by the time she’d finished, she felt a little dizzy and the edges of her hurt became slightly blunted. She felt less sad.
‘Would you like another?’ asked Stan.
‘I wouldn’t mind.’ Perhaps another drink would make her happy. ‘Did you ever hear from Daphne?’ she asked when Stan came back.
He made a face. ‘Only that she got married.’
‘What happened to the other girl, the one you fell in love with?’
‘Nothing came of it.’
‘I’m sorry, Stan.’ She squeezed his arm. She’d always liked Stan, but now she felt almost affectionate. He’d also been let down by the person he loved, which meant they’d both been through the same tragic experience. It was a bit late in the day, but she wanted to convey the fact that she understood and sympathised.
‘Never mind, there’s still time. Another rum, Kitty?’
‘Wouldn’t say no,’ Kitty replied thickly.
The barman called time just as she finished her third rum and orange. Kitty’s legs felt unsteady when they left the pub and began to walk along Liverpool Road in the direction of Bootle. Stan put his arm around her waist to hold her steady.
‘Thanks, Stan,’ she hiccuped. ‘You’re the best friend in the world.’ She stopped and looked at him with moist eyes. ‘Am I your best friend in the world, Stan?’
‘I want to be more than your friend, Kitty.’ Stan’s voice was strange, all tight and strangled. ‘I’ve been in love with you for ages. You’re the “other girl” I mentioned. I love you, Kitty.’
‘Love!’ Kitty laughed bitterly. ‘There’s no such thing as love. Love’s just a joke. It doesn’t exist.’
‘But I love you,’ Stan insisted.
‘I don’t love you,’ cried Kitty. ‘I’ll never love anyone again as long as I live. Love turns to ashes on the fire.’
‘Let’s get you back to my place,’ Stan muttered. ‘You can’t go home like this.’
‘Jessica won’t mind.’
‘Who’s Jessica?’ Stan began to hurry her along.
‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Kitty seriously. ‘But, whoever she is, she won’t mind. Anyroad, what’s wrong with me?’
‘You’re in urgent need of a cup of strong black coffee.’
‘Haven’t you got a landlady?’ Kitty giggled. ‘She might mind more than Jessica.’
‘My landlady’s on holiday.’
Kitty wasn’t sure why it was necessary for Stan to take her upstairs when they reached his lodgings. ‘Funny place for a back kitchen!’ she remarked as he led her into an untidy bedroom with too much furniture.
‘Lie down, Kitty. You’ll feel better once you’re lying down.’
She sank back onto the bed and the room swam around her. ‘I don’t like your wallpaper. I like black wallpaper with roses best.’
‘Damn the wallpaper.’ He bent over and pressed his lips against hers. ‘I adore you, Kitty,’ he said passionately, after a while. ‘You’ve no idea how long I’ve dreamed of doing this.’ He was fumbling with the buttons down the front of her frock.
Kitty just lay there and let him. She was still drunk, but the walk had sobered her up enough to realise what was happening. Stan, like all men, was merely taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity – Dale had done the same, except with him it had been a more long-term attempt to get her into bed. She knew Stan could be stopped. He wasn’t a brute. All she had to do was fight or scream and he’d soon back away, but perhaps this was a way of escaping from the all-consuming misery she’d felt over the last few weeks. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, drew his face down to her breasts and let him kiss them.
‘Kitty, Kitty,’ he groaned.
She shoved her clothes down and he ran his hands up and down her body. He touched the places only one other man had touched before. There was a pause whilst he removed his clothes, staring at her naked body greedily the whole time.
They made love, but it was nothing like it had been with that other man. He didn’t look like Dale or sound like Dale. He didn’t feel like Dale. He was a stranger, a rather worthless stranger, but perhaps not so worthless as herself.
When they’d finished, Kitty felt dirty. She felt like a prostitute who’d sold herself, not for money, but for a few minutes of forgetfulness. Not only that, the transaction had been a waste of time. She’d forgotten nothing. Indeed, it only brought home to her how perfect her relationship had been with the man who had so cruelly betrayed her.
‘That was wonderful, Kitty,’ Stan said in a small voice. ‘I’ll make you that coffee now.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Kitty. ‘I’d sooner go home.’ She began to put her clothes back on.
‘In that case, I’ll take you.’ He jumped eagerly off the bed.
‘I’d rather go by meself, if you don’t mind.’
‘When will I see you again?’
‘We’ll probably see each other round the hospital,’ Kitty said airily. She glanced at his crestfallen face. ‘Tara, Stan.’
Convoy PQ-17, on its way to the Russian port of Murmansk with a cargo of tanks, aircraft and military vehicles, was being subjected to a vicious onslaught from German U-boats and planes. Day after day, Sheila Reilly listened to the wireless and heard a cultured voice announce that once again, ‘Enemy planes have attacked British merchant shipping in the Barents Sea. Several British and Allied vessels were sunk.’
‘There’ll be none left to sink soon,’ thought Sheila. She was in the yard sorting out the family leavings in various receptacles: bacon rind in a jar for Eileen’s hens, potato peelings to make compost for her garden, bones for Rover, and silver milk-bottle tops which Aggie Donovan would collect, along with the waste paper and cardboard. There was scarcely any rubbish for the bin men nowadays.
‘It’s not knowing whether Cal’s alive or dead that’s the worst.’ On the other hand, not knowing meant there was still hope. She hadn’t yet had a chance to tell him about the baby.
It was going to be a boy. Brenda had suspended a needle and thread over Sheila’s belly and the needle had swung clockwise, which meant a boy.
‘I thought clockwise meant a girl?’ said Brenda.
‘Now you’ve got me all confused and I can’t remember meself. I’m sure it’s a boy.’
Sheila had begun to think up names. It had to be something Irish: Declan, Kevin – Patrick was a nice name and currently her favourite. But what if it was a girl? She’d always fancied Mavoureen, but Cal didn’t like it, he thought it soppy. They’d argued over Mary when their youngest was born. Cal preferred Aileen, but Sheila protested. ‘I’ve been calling her Mary for months. I’ve always had a feeling I was carrying a girl.’
She pictured her babies inside her womb the minute she knew she was expecting. They weren’t seeds or foetuses or whatever the doctors called them, but tiny, perfect human beings just an inch or so long. She could picture the new baby: it was about as big as her hand now and looked exactly like Calum. ‘That’s what I’ll call him, Calum!’
But no, there was only room for one Calum in h
er life, and it was tempting fate to introduce another. It was like cancelling the first one out. Sheila felt frightened that such an idea had entered her head. Perhaps it was a message from God? It was his way of telling her that Cal was dead.
‘Oh, dear God, please don’t do that to me,’ she prayed and she wiped her hands on her pinny and went back inside the house. But God had already done the same thing to so many other women. Why should he regard Sheila Reilly as special?
It was over a month since Jessica had written to Gus Henningsen. She’d almost given up on him when she received a postcard which said tersely, Dorchester, Thursday, eight o’clock. G.
When Thursday came, she made herself up with particular care, twisting her hair into a chignon at the nape of her neck. She’d already chosen what clothes to wear: a plain black costume with a frilly white blouse underneath.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind staying in with Penny?’ she asked Kitty when she was ready to leave. ‘Sheila will always have her if you’d prefer to go out.’
‘Kitty read stories!’ Penny put her arms around Kitty’s legs and glared at her mother.
‘I haven’t much choice, have I?’ said Kitty. ‘I don’t think Penny’s willing to let me go even if I wanted to.’
As the evening was all her idea, Jessica left early to make sure she reached the Dorchester first. She sat in the bar and ordered a dry martini.
The barman slid the drink across and Jessica was about to pay, when a voice said, ‘Let me buy that.’ A short man with a very red face and wearing an expensive suit was reaching in his pocket. He’d clearly had too much to drink.
‘No thank you,’ said Jessica. ‘I’m waiting for a friend.’
The man winked. ‘That friend could be me.’
‘Unless my friend has lost several stone in weight, shrunk six inches and had an operation on his face, I think that’s unlikely.’
‘Are you being clever, lady?’ The red face turned pugnacious.
‘No, I’m being realistic,’ Jessica said coldly. ‘Please go away.’
‘Sir,’ the barman interrupted courteously. ‘I think the lady would prefer to be alone.’
‘What’s she doing hanging around bars if she wants to be alone?’
‘Look, buster,’ a gritty voice broke in, ‘if you want to keep that nose in place, then take a hike. The lady’s with me.’
‘I’m becoming tired of rescuing you from drunken middle-aged men,’ Gus complained when they were seated in the almost empty restaurant.
Jessica was conscious, in a way she’d never been with Jack Doyle, of the enormous power in his broad shoulders and bulging arms. He had removed his cap and his short-cropped hair glistened palely. If it hadn’t been for his glasses, she could have visualised him in a horned helmet standing at the prow of a Viking ship.
‘You weren’t there to rescue me when your colonel started pawing me after the concert,’ she pointed out.
‘Sorry, but I was called out on an emergency. Some of our boys had got into a fight in a dancehall in Manchester. The MPs had sorted them out, but it’s my job to soothe ruffled local feelings. Anyway,’ he went on with a grin, ‘you seem perfectly capable of looking after yourself.’
‘Really!’ Jessica said tartly. ‘What would you like to eat?’
He looked at her over the menu. ‘Is this meal on you?’
‘I invited you, didn’t I?’
He smacked his lips with gusto. ‘In that case, I’ll have sole to start with, followed by roast beef.’
‘You can have either sole or beef. There’s a war on and you’re not allowed two main courses.’
‘In that case, I’ll have the beef.’ He laid the menu down and crossed his massive arms on the table. ‘What’s this all about, Jess?’
‘I just wanted to see you, that’s all. I haven’t got any ulterior motive. You didn’t get in touch with me …’
‘Only because I’ve been away,’ he explained. ‘I was called to a conference in London, then did a quick tour of our British bases, flew back to the States for a week. We’re very anxious our boys don’t cause too much disruption in your country. We’d like them to be regarded as friends, not as the enemy.’
‘One of your boys has caused disruption in my house.’ Jessica told him about Kitty and Dale Tooley. ‘The poor girl’s heartbroken.’
Gus didn’t look particularly concerned. ‘I’m afraid there’s not much I can do about that.’
‘I didn’t expect you to.’
The waiter arrived and Jessica gave him their order and requested a bottle of red wine. Gus looked amused. ‘This is the first time a woman has asked me out on a date.’
‘At our age, I think we’ve passed the point of who asks whom first.’
He said quickly, ‘I intended getting in touch as soon as I got back, but found your letter waiting.’
‘I’m relieved,’ Jessica said bluntly. ‘I thought you didn’t want to see me again.’
He looked amused again, but also slightly puzzled. ‘You’re very honest. I can’t help but wonder why?’
Jessica took a deep breath. Now the moment had come, she felt more than a little afraid. ‘Because I can’t be bothered pussyfooting around with all the preliminaries of courting,’ she said, amazed her voice sounded so steady and self-assured. ‘I think there’s a possibility we might be good together on a permanent basis. I could turn out to be wrong. If so, we’ll have lost nothing, will we?’
Gus no longer looked amused. He frowned at the table, looking grimmer than she’d ever seen him, as if Jessica’s words had struck him dumb with anger – or perhaps it was terror! The waiter brought their meal and he made no effort to touch it.
‘If you’ve already decided to run a mile,’ she said lightly, ‘stay and eat your dinner first. I’ll have to pay for it now.’
He picked up his fork and began to shove the food around the plate. Still frowning, he muttered, ‘I’ve decided not to run a mile. So, what happens now?’
Jessica swallowed. ‘I think we should start by being open with each other. I’d like you to know everything about me, what sort of person I am, because I’m not terribly nice.’
‘I’ve already managed to work that out for myself,’ he said cuttingly.
She ignored him, and explained about the house in Calderstones where she used to live. ‘It was what we call Mock Tudor, with five bedrooms and a double garage for the cars. Then Arthur lost the business which my father had built up, though it was just as much my fault for being so wrapped up with my own affairs that I didn’t notice what was going on. That’s when we moved to Pearl Street.’
‘I thought you looked out of place there,’ he commented drily.
‘Oh, no,’ cried Jessica. ‘Pearl Street’s very much where I belong. I was born there. My father was a rag-and-bone man. He used to wheel a handcart round the streets shouting for people to bring out their rubbish. Does that shock you?’
‘It surprises me,’ Gus conceded. ‘What surprises me most is that you admit it.’
‘When I lived in Calderstones, I didn’t tell a soul. I used to pretend I was born elsewhere, but when I went back to Bootle, it didn’t seem to matter.’
Gus had begun to eat, though he looked more interested in what Jessica had to say than he did the food. ‘Is that when you had Penny?’
‘Yes. Arthur and I never had children, and I always thought it was my fault.’ Jessica sighed. ‘I didn’t mean to deceive him, it happened so suddenly I couldn’t help myself, but then I found I was expecting Penny and I didn’t care. Soon after she was born, Arthur got a job in a museum in the Lake District, but I couldn’t stand it there. Like you, I’m a city person, so I left him and came home.’
‘Poor Arthur,’ Gus said in a hard voice. ‘It sounds like you gave him a tough time.’
‘I did. I thought he’d be happy messing round with his tiles and bits of statues, but he wasn’t. He joined the army – you know what happened then.’ Jessica breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Now it’
s your turn.’
‘To do what?’
‘Tell me all about yourself! What skeletons do you have hidden in your cupboard? I’d like us to start off with a clean slate.’
He looked irritated. ‘Lady, my cupboard is bare and my slate entirely clean. There’s nothing to tell. I got married at twenty-three. My wife died two years later. I brought Peter up on my own. He’d just started college, when we had Pearl Harbor. Against my wishes, he decided to join the army. That’s it. That’s the story of my life. Whereas yours might fill a book, I doubt if mine runs a page.’ He finished his meal and threw the fork down with more force than was necessary.
Jessica’s heart sank. She seemed to have misread the entire situation. ‘Have I made a show of myself?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Do you think me an idiot?’
‘Yes.’
There was a long silence, during which Jessica wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She was conscious of the clink of dishes, the buzz of conversation in the restaurant, which had filled up considerably since they came in. The waiter came and removed their plates and asked what they’d like for afters. Gus wanted nothing to eat, but asked for a double whisky. ‘Or bourbon, Jack Daniels, if you’ve got it.’
‘Yes sir.’ The waiter disappeared and the silence continued.
After a while, Gus said sarcastically, ‘I thought you said there was no ulterior motive for this meeting?’
‘I was lying.’
‘Also, I’m not sure if my ears deceived me, but did you propose marriage?’
‘Only in the very, very long-distant future, once we’d got to know each other properly,’ Jessica stammered. ‘Obviously, it was a stupid idea.’
He glared at her. ‘Isn’t proposing considered the man’s job?’
‘Normally, yes.’
