Christmas on the Mersey

by Annie Groves

  ‘If you want a prostitute,’ he growled in the squaddie’s ear, wishing he could finish him off good and proper, ‘go look somewhere else, you filthy scum. This is a respectable area.’

  Dazed by the blow and obviously winded, the young soldier scrambled to his feet while Frank, towering over him, had retrieved one of his crutches and jabbed it into him as he made a run for it.

  Kitty could hear the heavy boots skidding on the icy ground and the sound of stumbling in his haste to escape further punishment.

  ‘That’s right, you yellow-bellied coward,’ Frank called, ‘you keep on running. And don’t stop until you get to the gates of hell – where you belong! Because if you do stop you can be sure I’ll catch up with you!’ As the footsteps diminished Frank become aware of Kitty’s gentle sobs.

  ‘Kitty! Are you all right?’ His voice was full of concern.

  Putting a protective arm around her shivering shoulders, he waited until Kitty was able to raise her head and she said in a voice barely above a whisper, ‘I’m fine now, Frank, thank you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Frank asked tenderly, his gentle eyes searching her face. ‘You’re bleeding.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbed at her cheek, his face etched with worry as he concentrated on cleaning her up.

  ‘I’m fine, honestly.’ Kitty’s voice sounded firmer than she intended, and she could not gauge Frank’s silence.

  As he put his handkerchief back in his pocket Frank acknowledged Kitty was an independent woman through necessity; she’d had to be stoic from an early age.

  ‘I’ve had more than that in me time – especially when I used to have to separate our Danny and Jack! Big buggers that they are.’ Kitty wished she could show her gratitude to Frank more freely; maybe flinging her grateful arms around his neck and sinking into his kisses! Even in the blackness of the night, she could feel her face flush warmly at the thought. That might be how it works in those romantic books she borrowed from the library. In those stories the heroine was so thankful she threw all caution to the wind and she and her hero ended up in each other’s arms, but it didn’t happen here in Empire Street – people would think she’d gone mad.

  Some birthday this had turned out to be. At least she would have a good tea … The pie! Where was the pie?

  ‘Where are you going?’ Frank asked, his concern turning to confusion.

  As she retraced her steps down the back alley, Kitty knew she loved Frank Feeny with every beat of her heart, even more now than she ever had, and she always would. However, she did not intend to tell him that. Not when she was just a humble NAAFI girl, someone he treated like a kid sister, and he was a petty officer in the Royal Navy. He did not look at her in the way he looked at other girls. She knew that and so did everybody else. Talk about delusions! She must have a slate loose if she thought Frank Feeny would ever see her as his sweetheart.

  ‘I’ve lost my pie!’ Kitty called; the pie was a distraction from the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her – the attack and the nearness of Frank had caused an upswell of feelings that felt almost uncontrollable. ‘I can’t go home without my pie!’ She retraced her steps as the clouds parted and the moon cast its silvery beam into the entry. Kitty saw the pie wrapped in its newspapers lying on the ground near the entrance and knew she had dropped it when … But she wouldn’t think of that now.

  ‘You’re a case, Kitty Callaghan.’ Frank shook his head as they passed the bombed-out storage sheds and the rubble-strewn debris where houses had stood only days ago. Kitty did not know what he meant by that, and felt he was admonishing her. Suddenly she felt a bit woozy and had to grab his arm to get her balance.

  ‘I just bent down too quick!’ Kitty said when Frank put his hand out to catch her. He had always been there when she got herself into a scrape. But she should not depend on him now. She must learn not to. ‘I didn’t intend to cause you any bother.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ Frank said abruptly as they neared Empire Street. He was going back to the naval base tomorrow. God, he would miss her.

  ‘I’m going away tomorrow; I don’t know when I’ll be back.’ The sound of a passing tram broke the silence, then nothing. Frank did not know what to say as the air hung uncomfortably heavy with their silence. He wished she would say something, even if it was only goodbye.

  Kitty’s senses were reeling! He’d been back for what seemed like only half a minute and now was going away again. She was glad the blackout was dark enough to hide her tears from him.

  ‘So …’ Frank said with a short mirthless laugh, but still she was quiet.

  I love you, Kitty Callaghan. The words floated around Frank’s head.

  ‘Will you be home for Christmas?’ Kitty asked eventually as they turned the corner.

  ‘I’m not sure, everything is hush-hush …’ There was nowhere else he would rather be.

  ‘I can’t wait to get back,’ Frank said. Away from the adulation, like he had done something more heroic than getting in the way of a collapsing bulkhead that had shattered his lower leg. ‘I’m getting the first train tomorrow.’

  ‘I thought you’d be staying for a bit longer,’ Kitty said, her insides dipping as they did when she was disappointed. She should have known he wasn’t one for sitting around waiting for something to turn up – he made life happen. There was something about Frank that did not fit into the ordinary everyday world of Empire Street. His gentleness, given the power his athletic body still possessed, was not something he had been taught. It was far more subtle than that. Something … other.

  Too soon they were outside her front door; the moment to tell each other their true feelings was lost.

  ‘Will they let you continue to serve with your leg?’ Kitty asked, unable to put her fears into more articulate words.

  ‘They won’t allow me to serve without it,’ Frank laughed, and Kitty found that she couldn’t stop herself laughing too, despite being genuinely worried.

  ‘You’re shivering.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Kitty shrugged him away and then felt bad. He was trying to help … but he wasn’t helping. His concern just made her realise all the more how much she yearned for him.

  ‘Are you sure you’re feeling better?’ Frank’s voice was gentle and full of concern.

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ Kitty flicked bits of soot from her coat for the want of something to do. ‘And for your information I don’t make a habit of being dragged down alleyways!’

  ‘I should hope not.’

  ‘I’d better be getting in. Danny and Tommy will think I’ve got lost.’

  ‘I’ll wait until you are safely inside.’ Frank did not want this moment to end. He would be gone when she got up tomorrow.

  ‘I’m fine now, Frank.’ Kitty knew his boxing training and the fact that he had been light-middleweight champion of his unit had helped him to recover from his surgery more quickly than someone less healthy. She edged towards her own front door. Then a thought occurred to her. Did she dare ask? Perhaps it was the shock she’d had but she couldn’t think of anything worse than Frank leaving her right now. It would be agony. Perhaps she could get him to stay a little longer?

  ‘Frank … there’s plenty of food. I’ve got a pie and a stew. This is my birthday present and you’d be welcome to share it with us?’

  Frank’s heart was aching. He desperately wanted to tell her that he had always loved her but he did not want her to feel obliged because he had helped her. He wanted so much to tell her she looked beautiful; even now, with her ashen face and dishevelled hair, she still looked exquisite. More than anything right now, he wanted to walk into that house with Kitty. To sit with her and her brothers and to laugh and have fun and to gaze at that lovely face again. But, no. He had to be strong. It would never work.

  ‘Sorry, Kit. But I’d better be getting back. Mam and Pop, you know …’ He trailed off weakly, knowing it sounded like a terrible excuse.

  Kitty was crestfallen. She was stupid to think he’d want to spend what lit
tle time he had with her. But she tried not so show it and kept her voice light.

  ‘Well, good night then, Frank,’ she said as she opened her front door, ‘and thanks again.’ She felt her heart wrench at the thought that she didn’t know when she would see him again. If only he would stay a little longer. To Frank she would always be just the girl next door. Or in this case, the girl across the road.

  ‘Good night, Kit, look after yourself.’ He bent and kissed her cheek as a friend would do.

  Her cheek was cold like silken marble. Her beautiful innocent blue eyes caught a flash of moonbeam. He saw the child in her eyes, the one who raced across the street with a newborn baby in her arms and who did not have a clue what to do or where to turn. As Frank turned away and tiredly made his way home he remembered those eyes again and the thought occurred to him, just briefly, that he was getting everything wrong.

  Kitty tried to put the assault behind her by not thinking about it. She didn’t want to worry Danny and she certainly didn’t want Tommy to know what had happened. She had to come and go between home and the canteen so there was nothing for it but to carry on.

  A week later, however, she received news that made it very difficult for her to carry on as normal. She returned from the NAAFI one evening and entered the kitchen undoing her coat, her mind already on getting on the tea. She nodded to Danny who was sitting by the fire next to the new wireless that he had bought her for her birthday, which had been a wonderful surprise, though Kitty didn’t like to ask where he had got the money from to pay for it. A little distracted, she paid no heed to the piece of paper that was in his hand. He was silently reading it, leaning forward in his chair near the dwindling fire.

  ‘Didn’t you think to bring some coal up before the fire goes out, Dan?’ Kitty asked. But he didn’t answer. ‘Dan, did you …?’ Kitty looked at Danny’s face and saw his furrowed brow and tight lips. His face was pale. ‘Dan what’s the matter?’ She felt her stomach clench. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, though terrified of the answer that he was going to give her.

  ‘It’s our Jack,’ Danny said. ‘His ship’s gone down. He’s missing.’

  ‘No! Please God, no,’ Kitty let out a long, low agonised moan. ‘Not our Jack, Lord. Please!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘It’s a letter from our Eddy!’ Dolly called, sorting through the clutch of post and heading into the kitchen, where Pop, Rita and Sarah were sitting at the table. They looked up expectantly as Dolly ripped open the blue envelope with her thumb.

  ‘Let’s see! Let’s see!’ Sarah cried as the family gathered round, eager for news. Nobody knew exactly where Eddy was but his letters hinted at cold weather and Pop said nothing was colder than the North Atlantic at this time of year. They had not seen Eddy for nine months and they all missed him like mad!

  ‘Shall I go and get Nancy? She’s just put George down for a sleep.’ Sarah knew her mother would not tell them anything the letter contained until she and Pop had soaked up every word. Pop looked at her now and a small shake of his head told Sarah to keep quiet.

  When Dolly had finished reading the letter, she had a puzzled albeit happy expression on her face as she passed it to Pop, who always read out any news.

  ‘Is he coming home?’ Sarah was particularly close to her older brother and could not contain her eager questions. ‘Where is he? Does he say?’

  ‘Give us a chance to read it,’ said Pop through a cloud of pipe-tobacco smoke while Dolly buttered a piece of freshly toasted bread and put it on a plate with the rest. Nancy, who had been resident at her parents’ house since October, seemed to have no intention of going back to her mother-in-law any time soon. No matter how many hints Dolly threw or how many times Sid’s mother came round to ask if she was ever going back, Nancy made some excuse to stay with her family. It was much livelier here than at that morgue Mrs Kerrigan called home.

  ‘He says he is in good spirits! That’s my lad.’ Pop raised his head and Dolly, smiling, nodded. They both knew how important it was to keep things as happy as possible, for the family’s sake. ‘He says he will be home before Christmas if all is well and good, and he has a Christmas surprise for all of us.’

  ‘He knows I love surprises!’ Dolly was wide-eyed now and her smile almost went from ear to ear. She pulled up a chair and sat down, pouring some more tea into her cup and looking like the cat that had just devoured the cream. She liked nothing more than having her whole family around her and she knew that if her Eddy could make it home too, then it would be a good Christmas after all, even if there was less in the shops these days than there had ever been.

  ‘He says this surprise item does not come with instructions,’ Pop’s black eye-patch rose along with his silvering brow, a sign he was as baffled as everybody else, ‘but don’t worry, he says, it’s not hard to fathom out, and we will all wonder how we ever managed to live without it.’

  ‘I wonder what it is.’ Sarah was wide-eyed while Pop, smiling, reread the letter.

  ‘Our Eddy does love his puzzles,’ said Dolly, ‘and he knows I never get the clues right.’

  ‘You won’t have long to wait,’ Pop laughed. ‘He’s always been blooming cryptic.’

  ‘I hope he hasn’t gone and done something daft.’ Dolly’s censorious tone did not fool anybody and they all laughed.

  ‘So, what else does he say?’

  ‘Not much, except, “Can you make sure my bed­­room is not in the same untidy state I left it when I finished my last leave?” Well, I ask you!’ Pop’s heavy eyebrows knitted together.

  ‘I’ll give him same untidy state, the ejit!’ Dolly’s look of excited wonderment had completely disappeared now. ‘I’ll let him know I scrub this house from top to bottom every Friday!’

  ‘And very nice it is too, my sweet!’ Pop interrupted his wife’s tirade, knowing she would forgive Eddy anything as soon as he stepped through that front door. Dolly got up from the table and, taking the tray of cutlery out to the scullery, she called over her shoulder, ‘Do you think he’s bringing home an­other lost soul, like last Christmas?’

  ‘Oh, I remember, he brought home that Canadian sailor,’ said Nancy. Then she pondered for a moment before saying in that little-girl voice she used when she did not get her own way, ‘And does that mean I’ll have to go back to Sid’s mother?’

  ‘I suppose so, love,’ Dolly said, coming back and taking a fresh sheet from the ironing pile on the chair.

  ‘You watch,’ Pop said to the gathering of women, ‘she’ll have this house scrubbed and polished till it gleams now there’s a possibility our Eddy is coming home.’

  ‘Let’s see what else we hear before we start counting our sheep.’

  ‘Chickens,’ Nancy said churlishly, refusing to be placated.

  ‘Are there sharks in the North Atlantic?’ Sarah asked, reading from the Evening Echo, trying to change the subject and then realising Mam would worry even more after that remark.

  ‘There are more sharks round here,’ Nancy shrugged. Supposing she asked Mam to let her muck in with cleaning the entire house? That might persuade her to let her and baby George stay. It wasn’t fair that she would have to go back to that mausoleum with Sid’s embittered old mother.

  ‘Remind me I’ve got to check my dried fruit store, Pop,’ Dolly said handing him the clean bed sheet, which had seen better days and which she had turned sides to middle to make a ‘new’ one that had a few more years’ wear in it. With Christmas coming soon Dolly was busy preparing bun loaves to raise money for the Spitfire Fund and the Red Cross shop. She was always busy, never stopping.

  ‘Will do,’ Pop said, taking one end of the sheet Dolly handed him. Sarah would be able to make bandages with the offcuts.

  ‘You’ve done a great job on this sheet, Doll,’ he remarked. ‘I’m sure you could teach the powers that be a thing or two about making do and mending.’

  ‘I’ve had enough practice, Pop,’ Dolly answered. ‘The Women’s Voluntary Service want me to recruit a
nother street fire warden, so I asked Vera Delaney. She’s the only one in this street who hasn’t volunteered for anything.’

  ‘What did she say?’ Pop asked, not holding out much hope.

  ‘What do you think?’ Dolly mimicked Vera’s plaintive tone. ‘“I couldn’t possibly – I would be far too scared to go into a burning building.” So that told me.’

  ‘Never mind, Doll, everybody knows if you need a job doing it’s best to ask a busy woman,’ Pop said. There was not enough of his lovely Dolly to go round sometimes.

  ‘That woman thinks she’s the only one who is going through this war!’

  Pop thanked the Lord every day for pointing him in Dolly’s direction all those years ago. However, he knew that the more time she had on her hands the more she was inclined to ponder, which might lead to a fit of conniptions, so he thought it was a good idea that she was involved with everybody else’s business instead.

  ‘I’d think about doing more myself, but what with my make-do-and-mend classes in the parlour every Monday and Friday, not to mention taking baby George’s pram and collecting salvage,’ Dolly said. ‘And then there’s the fire watching on a Wednesday night! Then, there are the bun loaves to make!’

  ‘With your expert powers of organisation you’re a boon to less fortunate women.’

  ‘You’re so right, Pop.’ Dolly was glowing in the light of her husband’s praise. ‘There are some women who can’t boil an egg, let alone make a pie.’

  ‘Get away.’ Pop’s disbelieving tone encouraged her. ‘You’re having me on.’

  ‘Straight up.’ Dolly put the sheet on the table, watching her beloved husband tuck his thumbs into his braces and ease them from his shoulders before sitting down.

  ‘Now you come to mention it, Mr Sefton said his wife couldn’t boil water before the war started; now she’s preparing bottled fruit like a good ’un.’

  ‘Right,’ Dolly said, ‘we’ll have to get cracking. Christmas is coming and bun loaves won’t make themselves – we’ll have to sort something out bed-wise in case Frank and Eddy do manage to get home, then we’ll start looking for another fire warden.’ Nancy knew her mother always said ‘we’ when she meant ‘I’.