by Rosie Harris
She sighed and let her thoughts drift back even further, to her own childhood. She’d been born and brought up in Anfield, a leafy suburb of Liverpool. She could still remember the excitement she’d always felt whenever they went into the city centre.
So many people had thronged the pavements in Lime Street, London Road and Church Street that she’d always clung tightly to her mother’s hand. She’d loved the brightly lit stores like Hendersons, C&A, Lewis’s, and George Henry Lees. In her mind’s eye she could still see their windows with life-like models wearing wonderful clothes. She could also remember the smart shops in Bold Street where everything was so expensive it took your breath away when you looked in the windows. And there had always been the tantalising smell of coffee as you walked past Coopers or the Kardomah.
She’d been eighteen when the new king paid a visit to Liverpool in 1904. It had been a glorious July day and along with a million others she’d stood for hours waiting to see Edward VII and Queen Alexandra. It had been such a fleeting glimpse that she’d been bitterly disappointed.
The grand parade in honour of their arrival had been wonderful, though. Horses, their coats gleaming and polished brasses jingling, had pulled decorated carts and floats. There’d been any number of bands playing and men in uniform had marched along behind them carrying all sorts of Union banners, followed by people in fancy dress. If she closed her eyes and concentrated she could remember every detail.
She thought nostalgically about her first boat trip to the Isle of Man. She’d stood on the top deck as they left Liverpool, thinking how impressive it all seemed. The Mersey had been like a busy roadway with fussy little tug boats hooting and snorting as they made their way up and down the river, out to the Bar, and then back again, guiding the liners and big ships.
In front of the Liver Building, immense oceangoing liners had been berthed, dwarfing all the other boats on the river. She’d tried to imagine what it would be like to go on one of them, sailing over the ocean for weeks and weeks as they made their way to Africa or Australia.
Once the Isle of Man boat had crossed the Bar, the Irish Sea had seemed like a watery desert, so vast that it frightened her. As they sailed on into its choppy waters their boat had started to pitch and roll. One minute it seemed as if they would plunge into the water and the next minute hit the sky. She’d felt so ill that she never wanted to put to sea ever again.
All that waiting and being sea-sick for just twelve hours ashore! Douglas hadn’t been any better than New Brighton. The boat trip to go there only took about twenty minutes and there was no rough sea or rolling waves to make you dizzy and sick.
She loved New Brighton, with its golden sands, donkey rides, and every kind of amusement. Bowls, a miniature putting course, tennis and swimming. You could walk the length of the pier or, if it was warm and sunny, sit on the promenade eating an ice cream and giggling at some of the outfits worn by people sauntering up and down the Ham and Egg Parade.
It was lively at night, too. There were concert halls, cinemas, theatres and pubs. There was dancing to big bands at the imposing, red-brick Tower Ballroom with its magnificent tower that dominated the New Brighton skyline.
She brought her thoughts back to the present. It was years since she’d let herself think about those days and when she’d been a young wife and the mother of two small girls and a husband who any day would be going away to fight for his country.
And now they were going to move back to Liverpool! She couldn’t believe it was happening. Even the fact that they’d be living in a flat failed to dampen her spirits. As long as it was in Liverpool, she didn’t mind what it was like.
Lynn would love Liverpool, there was no doubt at all about that. She’d be in her element at a big school and make a lot of new friends. She’d soon be old enough to go dancing and to the pictures on her own. Yes, Lynn would love every minute of it.
Megan didn’t seem very pleased at the idea, but she’d soon come round and realise it was the best thing that could have happened. She’d never be able to find a worthwhile job here in Beddgelert.
Moving to Liverpool would get her away from that hulking Ifan Jenkins, Kathy thought with satisfaction. Nothing wrong with the lad, but he was so awkward and ungainly. He worked for his father and he’d be middle-aged before he had a chance to take over the farm or even have a say in how it was run.
Anyway, she couldn’t see Megan making a very good farmer’s wife, not with all that mud and mess; she was much too pernickety. Megan would be able to meet a very different type of boy in Liverpool. With any luck, a white-collar worker who’d be able to match up to that sharp brain of hers.
Yes, Kathy mused as she mopped up the last of the thick tasty gravy from her plate with a piece of bread, it was going to be a fresh start for all of them.
Chapter Two
MEGAN DREADED THE ordeal that lay ahead. She felt numb. It was almost as if she’d swallowed a lump of ice and the painfully cold tentacles were spreading right through her body.
She leaned against the rails at Liverpool Pier Head, one hand shielding her eyes against the sudden glare of the early morning September sun as it was reflected on the river, wishing herself miles away.
Ships and boats of all shapes and sizes dotted the Mersey. She watched two small tugs skilfully guide a massive blue-funnelled vessel into dock and a larger single tug noisily chugging a tanker up the deep, narrow channel out to the Bar. Once there the tanker would make its way out from Liverpool Bay, across the Irish Sea, and sail on to the Atlantic, bound for such remote places that she couldn’t even imagine what they were like.
A ferry boat manoeuvred alongside the landing stage, disgorging a shoal of people. They hurried up the floating roadway, disappearing onto buses or along one of roads that led to the heart of the city. Megan envied them; they were all so full of purpose and determination, their day already planned.
None of them cast a second glance at the slim girl wearing a belted navy raincoat, a scarf tied over her dark hair to protect it from the blustery wind, who was standing by the railings, mesmerised by what was happening around her.
Behind Megan, the imposing, grey granite buildings, reaching skywards like enormous temples, formed a scenic backcloth to the waterfront. The magnificent gilt Liver birds, perched on top of the tallest building, were like silent sentinels guarding the busy Mersey.
Seagulls massed on the many ledges, their bright, beady eyes watching every movement. Wheeling and diving, they swooped down, scavenging the waterfront. Their harsh, raucous screams sent a shudder through Megan and she ached to be back in the wooded mountainside around Beddgelert.
The thought of going for an interview made her feel nervous and awkward. She knew that once she entered the room she would either dry up or her mind would go blank. Either that or she would speak so fast that they wouldn’t be able to understand what she was saying.
It was all very well her father telling her to ‘take a deep breath and count to three before you start to speak’. Whenever she’d done that the person interviewing her seemed to think she wasn’t going to answer or that she hadn’t understood the question. Often they began asking her the same question all over again, which only added to her confusion.
Most of the people who’d interviewed her so far since she’d arrived in Liverpool had seemed so stern and unfriendly that she’d wanted to slink out of the room and vanish. It was as if they resented her taking up their time, and it made her feel as if they were doing her a favour by even seeing her.
At that moment she would have gladly swapped places with her friends back in Beddgelert. She’d thought that the jobs they’d be doing after they left school would be dull and monotonous, but now she envied them the cosiness of their daily routine. They didn’t have to try to convince complete strangers about how proficient they were. Or worry about whether they were going to be able to cope with the work if they were lucky enough to get the job.
Jennie, in her white overall, serving behind the coun
ter of her father’s shop, enveloped in an aroma of freshly baked bread and cakes, would be greeted each day by a constant stream of familiar faces. Gwyneth, too, would see the same people each day as she handed out newspapers and cigarettes or served sweets to the local children.
With a deep sigh, Megan checked the time. There was still twenty minutes before she was due at the Walker’s Shipping Company’s offices.
It was the fifth job she had been after in the three weeks since she had come to live in Liverpool and each time it had been a dismal failure. At the end of each of the interviews they’d said, ‘We’ll let you know’, but she’d not heard a word from any of them.
This time it would be different, she told herself optimistically. Her father had heard about the vacancy from his co-driver, Robert Field, even before it was advertised in the Liverpool Echo, and she was determined not to let him down.
The chiming of the clock on the Liver Building brought her back to the present with a jolt. Turning her back on the Mersey, she began to make her way up the steep road between the warehouses and offices.
As she turned into Old Hall Street she caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the plate-glass windows. Hastily she removed the chiffon scarf that she’d tied over her head before leaving home to make sure her hair stayed in place because Lynn had insisted on styling it into a face-framing bob to try to make her look more ‘with-it’.
‘I’ve combed on plenty of sugar water to make certain it stays in place,’ Lynn had explained with a grin as she’d stepped back to admire her handiwork.
Megan knew that having a new hairstyle should have made her feel more confident, but it didn’t. As she stood outside the revolving doors, etched in gold with the name Walker’s Shipping Company, she still had to take a long, deep breath to try to calm the panic she felt building up inside her. Her legs seemed to turn to water as she tried to summon up the courage to go inside.
‘Give it a good hard push. Or let me do it for you. It can be a bit stiff sometimes.’
Megan jumped at the sound of a man’s voice in her ear.
Turning sharply, she found herself staring up into a pair of brilliant blue eyes belonging to a good-looking young man in his early twenties. He had black wavy hair, thick dark brows, a bold nose and firm chin with a cleft right in the centre of it. He was dressed in a well-cut grey suit, pale-blue shirt and was wearing a grey and blue striped tie.
‘You were going in?’ he questioned.
Megan nodded, wishing she wasn’t so tongue-tied, longing to be able to say something smart and witty.
He grinned as though amused by her reticence and she noticed how white and even his teeth were.
‘Indeed, yes … I have an appointment at half-past ten,’ she blurted out.
‘Really! And have you come all the way from Wales for this interview?’ The blue eyes twinkled and his eyebrows shot up questioningly.
‘There’s clever of you to know that I’m from Wales.’ She grinned shyly.
‘But you are living here in Liverpool now?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted with a hint of a sigh.
‘And you’ve come after the junior clerk’s job?’
‘That’s right! I’ve got an appointment with a Miss Pearce … and I’m terribly nervous.’
‘I don’t think you need to be, she won’t eat you,’ he reassured her.
‘I know that, but it’s tremendously important to me that I get the job, see.’ She bit her lip, wondering whatever had come over her that she should confide in a complete stranger.
‘Stop looking so anxious.’ He grinned. ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine.’
‘You really think so?’ she asked, frowning.
‘Well, let’s say you deserve to get the job.’ He smiled encouragingly.
‘The trouble is I’ve no previous experience and there’s bound to be plenty of local girls after it who have. There always are.’
‘As far as I know, it hasn’t even been advertised yet, and you know what they say about being the early bird,’ he said solemnly.
She stared at him for a moment in silence, then managed a weak smile.
‘Come on,’ he guided her through the swing doors, ‘I’ll show you where to go.’
‘Thanks. I hope it’s not taking you out of your way.’
‘No. I work here.’
‘Are you in the office?’ she asked as they made their way up a flight of stairs and along a corridor at the top.
‘Sometimes, but mostly I’m down at the docks.’
‘What do you have to do there?’
‘Check the bills of lading, sort out problems with customs, that kind of thing.’
‘It all sounds very complicated.’ Megan sighed. ‘I suppose that’s why when they advertise they always say that they want people with experience.’
‘It’s surprising how quickly you get into the routine and know what to do,’ he told her cheerfully.
‘Was this your first job? Did you start here straight from school?’ Megan asked.
‘My family have always been in shipping,’ he said evasively as he escorted her through the maze of corridors. ‘I grew up listening to people talking about it so I knew quite a lot before I actually started work.’
‘That probably did help,’ Megan admitted. ‘I’ve never worked in an office or known anyone who did.’
She was tempted to tell him that her father also worked for Walker’s as a lorry driver, but she thought better of it.
‘So where were you living before you came to Liverpool?’
‘Beddgelert in North Wales. It was beautiful there, magnificent mountains and quite near the sea.’
‘And no office blocks.’ He laughed.
‘The only offices were at the slate quarry. It wouldn’t have been too bad working there, mind. More homely, see. And I would have known most of the people, anyway.’
‘You’ll soon make friends once you start work.’
‘I hope so. I feel like a fish out of water. You’re the first person, outside my family, that is, that I’ve really spoken to since we moved to Liverpool. Back home everyone had time to talk to each other, but here everybody seems to be so busy. They haven’t even got time to say good morning!’
‘Here we are, then.’
They came to an abrupt halt outside a dark oak door marked GENERAL OFFICE. Megan stared at it fearfully, feeling her mouth go dry.
‘Tell the receptionist who you are and she’ll phone through and let Miss Pearce know you’ve arrived.’
‘Thank you. I’ll do that.’ She hesitated nervously.
He frowned. ‘If you want to tidy up first, the ladies room is the last door on the right at the end of this corridor.’
‘Thank you.’ Megan smiled gratefully.
‘Good luck with the interview.’
She smiled at him shyly. ‘Thank you. I feel a lot better about it after talking to you.’
‘Then I shall expect to find you working here next time I come into the office.’ He grinned, his vivid blue gaze mesmerising her.
Before she could answer he had disappeared down the passageway and she was left standing outside the general office. Heart thudding anxiously, she hesitated for a brief moment and then scurried along the corridor to the ladies room.
Colour rushed to her cheeks the moment she caught sight of herself in the cloakroom mirror. No wonder he had suggested she might want to tidy up before her interview. The carefully constructed hairdo now looked a complete mess. The strong wind had played havoc with it since she’d removed her headscarf.
In desperation, she wrestled with the tangled mess, trying to restore it to the smooth face-framing style Lynn had created. It was hopeless. Frustrated, she combed it back behind her ears, wishing she’d never let Lynn touch it.
It was a wonder that such a good-looking young man had spoken to her at all, looking like she did, Megan thought grimly. She wished she knew his name. It would be the first thing Lynn would want to know when she told her about meeti
ng him. She could imagine the look of disgust on her sister’s face when she said she didn’t know.
She sighed, remembering how handsome he’d been. He was very different from Ifan Jenkins. Certainly the sort of chap Lynn would go overboard for, all right.
Lynn thought that Ifan, with his massive shoulders and heavy build, was a joke. It was something they constantly argued about.
‘I don’t know why you bother with him, Megan. He’s a real clod-hopper,’ Lynn told her time and time again.
‘He can’t help being a bit clumsy. He’s big framed,’ she always claimed in his defence. Lynn was right, but Ifan was good-hearted and she didn’t like her sister criticising him.
‘And fat with it. He eats like a pig.’
‘He needs lots of food to keep his strength up. He’s out working on his father’s farm before six every morning.’
‘I know.’
‘And then he has another stint to do when he gets home after school.’
‘What sort of life is that?’ Lynn would jeer. ‘He’s nothing more than a labourer.’
‘He’ll own the farm one day.’
‘Scratching for a living, chasing sheep all over the mountains, milking cows night and morning and mucking out the pigs. That’s no future.’
‘It’s not all work. He goes hunting and shooting with his father and sometimes they go fishing.’
That didn’t impress Lynn in the slightest. ‘How can you like someone who enjoys killing animals?’ she would sniff contemptuously.
‘I suppose you’d prefer a chap who dressed up in a smart suit and a white shirt to go to work and still looked clean and smart when he came home at six each night.’
‘Of course! Especially if he brings home a fat wage packet at the end of the week.’
It’s a pity Lynn isn’t the one who has come for this interview, Megan thought ruefully. Nothing ever disconcerted her. She’d be so much more confident than I am. If she didn’t know the answer to any of the questions they asked then she’d bluff her way.
‘And that’s exactly what I had better do if I’m going to make sure of getting this job,’ Megan muttered aloud as she made a last critical scrutiny in the mirror to check that her lipstick hadn’t smudged and that her nose wasn’t shiny.
