by Annie Groves
‘That’s not very patriotic, Mrs Kennedy,’ Dolly said, catching the end of the conversation. Vera Delaney stood back to let her get served. Vera had put her best pans in the attic. Nobody was getting hold of those.
‘I’m keeping hold of everything now,’ said Mrs Kennedy. ‘They’ve had all they’re getting out of me.’ Consumer goods were becoming scarce now.
‘Just a loaf – if you can spare one,’ Dolly said drily. ‘Oh, by the way. Here’s that precious box of yours.’ Dolly passed it pointedly over the counter and the two women exchanged a long look before Mrs Kennedy took it from Dolly who then left the shop with a secret smile on her face.
‘Their Rita got me a war bond for Christmas – I ask you …’
‘I got war bonds off our Alfie,’ Vera said, looking pleased. ‘I’ve knitted him a pullover with wool I managed to get at Dolly’s bring-and-swap day at the church hall – you don’t need coupons for that.’
‘America donated a lot of toys for the hospital,’ Mrs Kennedy huffed, ‘which was just as well because there was nothing worth buying. The wholesaler isn’t stocking toys any more. I have to write directly to the manufacturers if I want toys, the manager said. Snooty so-and-so he was, too.’
‘The old postman told me he’s sick of trying to deliver cards and parcels to houses that are no longer standing. They put a notice up in the post office: check daily if you’ve been bombed-out!’
‘As if that’s all they’ve got to worry about – a Christmas card – when they’ve got no homes to go to.’ Mrs Kennedy let out a long stream of dissatisfied air.
‘I’ll miss the church bells this year, though,’ Vera said.
Mrs Kennedy glared at her: if the church bells rang it meant they were about to be invaded.
‘Aye, I suppose you’re right,’ Vera sighed heavily, ‘but it won’t seem like Christmas without the bells.’ After a moment’s thought she asked with a shrug, ‘I see you’re getting your roof mended pretty quick.’
‘Your Alfie said he’ll see if he can get me some wood and slate off the dock.’
Rita was surprised to see workmen already up fixing the corner shop roof. It hadn’t taken Mrs Kennedy long to grease a few palms to get what she wanted. She decided to go through the side door halfway up the entry, instead of going through the shop. If only her precious friend Vera knew what kind of a person Winnie Kennedy was. Her mother-in-law would not be so high and mighty then, would she?
‘You wash your mouth out, Vera Delaney,’ Mrs Kennedy was saying behind the counter of the shop, which never closed when profits beckoned. ‘My son would never stoop so low!’
It was unusual to hear Winnie talking like this to one of her oldest friends. Rita clenched her hand, quietly closing the side door at the bottom of the stairs near the adjoining shop door. On hearing the raised voices, she stepped back into the shadow of the small vestibule. She did not know why she was still here. Mrs Kennedy was hardly ever civil. If it had not been for the possibility that Charlie might bring the children back here she would have gone long ago.
Placing her bag on the hall table next to the empty sherry bottle, which Mrs Kennedy had forgotten to put in the salvage bin, Rita shook her head, suspecting her mother-in-law had taken to drink of late. However, that would be no concern of Rita’s soon, as she had no intentions of staying here. As soon as she could find other lodgings she was moving out.
Maybe Mrs Kennedy needed the alcohol to help take her mind off the terrible wrong she had done – like forgetting she had a daughter and three paid-up properties.
From the way the mirror was positioned, at the bottom of the stairs, Rita could see everybody in the shop without being seen in turn. Vera Delaney, who liked nothing better than spreading malice and misery, was rearing up indignantly and Rita intended to hear what she had to say. Vera’s Christmas spirit had given up the ghost long ago.
‘So where has your Charlie got to, then?’ Vera’s voice held a note of accusation. ‘Everyone has been speculating. He’s the talk of the neighbourhood!’
‘They’re billeted with an old woman, I tell you,’ Mrs Kennedy said stiffly and Rita’s heart began to thunder in her chest. She might be about to learn something useful for when she went to Southport to claim the children and confront Charlie.
‘Well, my cousin Tilly lives two doors down from them in Southport and ran into him one morning in the street with some other woman, and she certainly wasn’t old,’ Vera said, and Rita could hear in her voice that she was revelling in recounting the story to Ma Kennedy. ‘She’s not in the first flush of youth, by any means, but she’s not on her last knockings neither.’ Vera hugged her shopping bag and pursed her lips. ‘Bold as brass she was … Bottle-blonde, mind, so what d’you expect?’
Rita knew Vera liked everyone to think her cousin owned property in the affluent seaside town of Southport, but what she failed to divulge was that her cousin was the cleaner to a wealthy doctor.
Vera gave Mrs Kennedy a knowing look that said women who dyed their hair were no better than they ought to be. ‘Linking her arm with your Charlie’s like she owned him, she was, and ordering those little kiddies to get a move on … She heard it as clear as I can hear you now.’
This confirmed what Rita had learned from the neighbour in Southport like nothing else could. He had lied and cheated on her regularly, but she had never imagined when he’d left here nearly three months ago that he would stoop so low as to take up with a fancy woman in a new life of his own and deny her, Rita, the right to visit her own children.
Well, Rita intended to get them away from their cheating father as soon as she could. There was no chance of her bringing them back here to Empire Street, though, with such ferocious air raids almost every night. No, she could not bring them back to this – but she did know where she could take them if she had to, somewhere they would be safe and happy.
‘You are mistaken, Vera.’
Mrs Kennedy’s haughty tone carried to the hallway. She would have her nose so high in the air she would be in danger of drowning if it rained, thought Rita.
‘Charles would have been in his place of employment at that time of day.’ Mrs Kennedy’s voice was becoming shrill now.
Charlie was seldom at work, and his work was not like that of all the other men in the area who had to graft on the docks and in the factories – when they could get work at all, that was, Rita thought acidly.
If only Vera Delaney knew the whole truth about her so-called best friend and the child she never mentioned – she’d have spread it around Empire Street in no time; anything to get one over on Winnie Kennedy, who wore her snobbery like a badge of office.
‘I’ll go over and see Kitty when I’ve finished this,’ Violet said busily as she cleared the dinner dishes from the table and noticed that Nancy had not done a hand’s turn all morning. All she did was mope in the chair by the fire, hogging the precious heat and nursing baby George, who had fallen asleep ages ago.
Nancy was such a lazy individual, thought Violet, who wondered how the woman could sit idly by and let everybody else do the grafting. If she didn’t move soon she would need dusting!
‘Let’s hope there will be no raids tonight, touch wood.’ Violet was supremely superstitious and her life seemed ruled by little rituals that she believed would save her from harm.
‘Touching wood won’t save you if a bomb’s got your name on it!’ Nancy said, recalling the devastation she had seen. It was as if nobody else had been involved in a raid except Nancy.
‘Well, that acorn on the window-sill did the trick!’ Violet said with a satisfied nod of her head. ‘We weren’t set alight like the corner shop.’
Nancy lifted her eyes to the ceiling and refrained from telling her sister-in-law that it was just a coincidence. And who the hell did she think she was, telling everybody that she would go over and see poor Kitty? She had only been here five minutes! Nancy had never seen anybody stick their nose into other people’s business so quickly.
&nbs
p; And, Nancy thought churlishly, she was sure that if you wanted news spreading you only had to tell Violet and it would be around the street in no time. She could not keep her big gob shut! Nancy was in no mood for her today.
‘Did you get your letter?’ Nancy asked, and a ripple of curiosity made her wonder when Violet suddenly became animated, pulling the shabby brown cardigan she wore over a flowered apron that hung on her scrawny frame.
‘Shall I put George in his pram while you get changed?’ Violet asked, her arms outstretched already, heading towards the chair.
‘No, thank you.’ Nancy’s voice was stiff and her manner cold. ‘I can do it myself when I am good and ready.’ She only mentioned once that she might go to Strand Road to see if she could get Gloria a little Christmas present in case she managed to get home for the day. She didn’t say she was definitely going. It was more than likely that Gloria wouldn’t make it home until after New Year. In her letter she said she was having such a good time. The anger and the disappointment ate away at Nancy. Fancy her best friend going to London – and staying there!
It didn’t take much to make Violet aware of the warning note in Nancy’s voice. Nevertheless, she felt it was her duty to broadcast advice for Nancy’s own good.
‘You’ll spoil him if you sit with him on your knee all day,’ Violet said. ‘You’ll be mithered and get nowt done, because he’ll want holdin’ all of t’ time.’
‘And what’s it got to do with you if I’m mithered?’ Nancy almost spat the words. ‘We didn’t know you from Adam this time last month and now you’re telling me how to raise my own son!’
‘I didn’t mean owt by it …’ Violet replied, visibly shaken, obviously not used to being spoken to in such an abrupt manner.
Dolly came into the kitchen and quickly intervened.
‘Everybody’s going through a rough time,’ she said. ‘Nobody’s getting much sleep and nerves are stretched to breaking point, but it’s Christmas – there’s enough fighting going on outside without bringing it in here.’ Nancy had no right to take her mood out on poor Violet. ‘I’m sure Vi was only trying to help you, love,’ Dolly added in a gentler tone.
‘Well, she’s got far too much to say for herself in this house lately,’ Nancy pouted. ‘She must think we’re as thick as two short planks, coming in here telling me how to raise my own son!’
‘All right, Nance.’ Pop’s usual calming tone held a worried note. He didn’t usually interfere in what he called ‘women’s talk’, knowing it was best not to meddle in things he knew nothing about – though it was his duty as a peace-loving man to put a stop to his daughter’s tirade before tears were spilled.
But it was too late, already the tears were flowing down her cheeks and Pop knew she wasn’t coping at all well with the hostilities. Nancy always did have a delicate constitution where duty was concerned. She was more of a happy-go-lucky kind of girl who liked to enjoy herself. It was a pity she had to face reality and get on with it like the rest of them, he thought.
Violet noticed something different about Nancy today. She could not put her finger on what it was just yet. However, in time she would.
‘Why don’t you come to the church hall with me later this afternoon, Nance?’ Dolly said, trying to calm troubled waters. ‘We are sorting the POW parcels: maybe you’d like to send one to Sid?’
‘And they are recruiting for the Voluntary Service – you’d be a godsend to the WVS,’ Vi said with a hint of acid, knowing there was nothing the Voluntary Service could learn from Nancy – unless they needed a crash course in nail painting or lipstick pouting.
‘Aye, jam making and knitting boot socks might be right up your street, Vi,’ Nancy said peevishly, wishing they would all go away and leave her alone, ‘but I’ve got better things to do with my time.’
One of the reasons why she was so irritable and snappy was that Stan was supposed to be taking her to the pictures tonight – and she really wanted to go with him. In the days since the bombing of the Adelphi she and Stan had been seeing quite a bit of each other. His granny lived just round the corner and he’d been to visit surprisingly frequently these last few days. Nancy had started visiting Mrs Hathaway in the evening, just to keep her company, like – in the hope that Stan would call in to see his dear old gran. He had not let her down so far, and luckily for her visitors Mrs Hathaway was hard of hearing and a bit doolally. Nancy knew that Stan would like them to be more than friends and he had told her often enough. Nancy knew that she was treading on dangerous ground but felt that she deserved a bit of fun. If things got too serious with Stan, she’d pull the plug on it.
This morning’s letter said he couldn’t make it, as he was taking his dear old granny to Mass. That was a big fat lie if ever she heard one, she thought peevishly. Nancy decided to keep a lookout to make sure he wasn’t stringing her along.
But being the wife of a prisoner of war, she knew she had to behave herself. Her mam would not take too kindly to any kind of gossip that might grow into a scandal, and there were some, like Violet, who would not be slow to tittle-tattle given half the chance.
A short while later she put baby George into his pram and after dressing in her best woollen coat and making sure her hair was looking its best she smeared her lips with a slick of rosy lipstick and made her way to the telephone box to ring Stan. She only hoped the Post Office lines weren’t down.
‘You look as miserable as I feel,’ Rita said to Kitty when she saw her standing on the step, her cardigan folded around her body and her arms tucked tightly around her slim frame.
‘D’you fancy a cup of tea?’ Kitty asked before heading into her warm, cosy kitchen. ‘I wanted to give you this.’ Rita took the latest of Jack’s letters and put it away safely in her coat pocket where she would read it later.
‘I was thinking of sending our Tommy to me Mam’s people in Ireland, and I wanted to talk to you about it, seeing as Danny has to stay in hospital and not worry about anything. At least I’d know he would be well looked after by people who care for him but the little sod’s having none of it.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Every time I mention going away he takes a turn for the worse. He’s a better actor than Randolph Scott!’
Rita laughed; her friend’s dry wit was a tonic on a day like this.
‘Will he be in hospital on Christmas Day?’ Rita was on duty on the children’s ward, and there was going to be a party for the kids.
Kitty nodded.
‘I’ll make sure he gets a good present,’ Rita smiled. ‘You can come in and see him in the afternoon, if you like – we’re quite flexible on Christmas Day.’
‘Oh, Rita that would be great!’ Kitty was thrilled. The prospect of the party was the only thing keeping Tommy there. ‘At least he’s conscious this year and he’s not as deaf as he makes out either. He could hear the grass grow if he had a mind!’
‘You never know, he might like a trip to the countryside too, all that fresh air and open space to run wild in,’ Rita said, recalling how her own children loved the farm. She had decided she was going to send them back to the farm in Freshfield at the first opportunity. Joan and her husband, Seth, had written telling her they would love to have Michael and Megan back.
‘I’ll see what I can do – but for now all he can think about is the Christmas party.’ Kitty felt better for the first time since Tommy had been admitted to hospital.
‘Dr Fitzgerald is playing Father Christmas,’ Rita smiled, knowing that the young doctor always tried to be on the ward at visiting time so he could have a few words with Kitty.
‘Is he? That’s nice for the children,’ Kitty said innocently, feeling her face flush at the mention of the doctor’s name. She watched Rita pull on her gloves and fasten her woollen scarf more snugly around her neck before tucking it inside her heavy woollen coat.
Kitty thought of Rita almost like the sister she had never had and, indeed, the whole Feeny family were an extension of her own – all except Frank. The feelings she harboured for Fr
ank were far from sisterly, but it was no use longing to see him. He had built such a solid, invisible wall of independence around himself that Kitty could not get through to him however much she longed to. It would be a dream come true to look after him and care for him. However, that was exactly the type of thing he did not need to hear.
As if Kitty’s thoughts of him had conjured his name Rita said blithely, ‘Mam hoped that our Frank would get a bit of Christmas leave, but there’s no sign yet, not even a letter.’ She stopped talking when she saw Kitty flinch slightly at the mention of his name, and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Kit, I didn’t mean to open old wounds.’ She knew they had been sweet on each other for a time but she wondered if that had fizzled out now.
‘You didn’t open an old wound.’ Kitty forced a smile. ‘Frank and I are just like family and that’s all we’ll ever be.’ Kitty knew he did not feel remotely romantic towards her and the most cutting thing of all was that he probably never had. However, there was no use worrying about what might have been. No, Kitty took a deep breath and forced a stiff smile, better to live in the here and now – let yesterday take care of itself.
‘Your mam will be made up if Frank and Eddy manage to get home for Christmas.’ Kitty thought that Eddy still had some explaining to do regarding his decision to wed on the Q.T., and he would have to answer his mother, Christmas or no Christmas.
‘Is something else wrong, Kit?’ Rita asked, concerned that her friend looked so out of sorts.
Kitty shook her turbaned head.
‘Not really, I’m just worried about Tommy going to Ireland, and about Danny.’ She gave a little smile, but the warmth of it did not reach her eyes.
‘I know how you feel, Kit,’ Rita said as Kitty poured the tea. It wasn’t easy these days for mothers, not only worrying if their kids would have a home to come back to, but also worrying if they were being well looked after – and if they were, would they have changed by the time they got back home?
‘I wanted Michael and Megan home for Christmas but after the last few nights’ raids I know I can’t bring them back here.’
