by Annie Groves
Sarah hesitated. ‘Not completely sure. I didn’t get a good look.’
Pop’s curling grey eyebrows gathered in confusion between his good eye and his eye-patch.
‘This woman looked like our Nancy, and I wouldn’t want people mistaken, and telling Sid – and him thinking his wife is playing fast and loose with a Brylcreem boy!’
‘Now, Sarah,’ Dolly said, bringing a brown box into the kitchen and placing it squarely on the table, ‘loose lips not only sink ships but happy marriages, so don’t let your active imagination run away with you.’
‘No, Mam.’ Sarah knew she had said enough to cause second thoughts. She would shut up about it now and leave it in the lap of her parents. They would know what to do.
Once Sarah had headed upstairs for a bath Dolly and Pop looked at each other.
‘Well, Dolly, what do you think? It would be better to think first before leaping into this one.’
‘Bert, Nancy has been sailing close to the wind for a while now. I’ve left it too long already.’ Dolly knew what her own daughter was capable of, even if Pop went around with his head in the clouds. She would have a word with her erring daughter as soon as she got a private moment with her. That madam was getting away with far too much these days and it didn’t matter what Pop said about women having more freedom – not in this house they didn’t! But for now she would cogitate and ponder. And build up her strength for one of Nancy’s tantrums that would most certainly follow their mother–daughter talk. There was much work to do in readiness for the belated Christmas dinner – and she had a chicken to stuff.
‘A chicken!’ Sarah had forgotten about her wayward sister’s behaviour for the time being. ‘Where did you manage to get a chicken?’
‘I know a woman from back home in Ireland … I happened to tell her I used to live in the exact same place as those chickens and she promised to save me one … And true to her word she did!’ Dolly did not tell them that Danny had put her in touch with the woman.
‘You must have been up early, Mam,’ Sarah said, her mouth already watering in anticipation of the feast to come. It had been late when they finally crawled into bed and Sarah was far too tired to worry that the hot-water bottle had not slipped beneath the sheets before she did. She just pulled her knees up to her chin and she was asleep in seconds.
‘I was up and out before the crack of dawn.’ Dolly, who didn’t take to drink in the same way as her family, looked pleased with herself – but for only a moment. ‘Do you think it will stretch?’ Her brows were creasing now. ‘There’s going to be seven of us with baby George.’
‘I know,’ Sarah winked at Vi, unbeknown to Dolly, ‘he’s such a big eater, that George, I don’t know where the little fella puts it all.’ They all laughed and Dolly, laughing too, threw the tea towel at her daughter.
‘You know what I mean, there’s Pop and me, then there’s Nancy and baby George, and Violet and Eddy, and you.’ She counted each person on her fingers, ‘Rita’s on duty at the hospital.’
‘I bag the parson’s nose,’ Sarah said, ‘and the crispy skin.’ She licked her lips in anticipation. ‘Remember when I used to fight our Eddy for the skin?’
‘He loved it, too,’ Dolly sighed.
Eddy sauntered down to the Sailor’s Rest for a swift half while Vi helped with the dinner.
‘Wouldn’t it be lovely if Frank could be here, too?’
‘Mam, sometimes I think you just love to worry – anyway, they said they’d be home for the New Year. The married men with kids get the Christmas leave and then the ones with no kids get the New Year.’
‘I suppose we’re lucky they’ll get any leave at all,’ Pop said. ‘They don’t give any leave to prisoners of war and I doubt poor Sid will get roast chicken for his Christmas dinner, that’s for sure.’
‘I wonder if Nancy will even give him a second thought …’ Sarah said as Violet peeled more carrots and Nancy, dressed in the new cardigan her mother had lovingly knitted after unravelling an old pullover of Pop’s, ran upstairs.
‘Oh, now look what I’ve done,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
‘It doesn’t take much to kick her off lately!’ said Dolly.
‘You know they fight like cat and dog, but as sisters go they do love each other,’ said Pop.
‘I know,’ Dolly said with one of her incomparable shrugs, believing Nancy had ulterior motives for rushing upstairs in tears – it got her out of helping with the dinner.
‘Oh, by the way, Doll, while I remember, Freddy Pinkerton’s missus said to tell you that she got some brown sugar on the Q.T. So if you want to pop along with a spare paper bag she’ll fill it for you.’
‘Spare sugar!’ Dolly’s eyes were wide, as she rummaged in the sideboard drawer for a paper bag. Tea and sugar rations had increased in the weeks leading up to Christmas but that cut no ice with Dolly, who had been scrimping and saving. Ham and bacon allowances, butter, suet and margarine were particularly valued. As her family would gather here for dinner and tea, whatever food they could muster for the celebrations would be a blessing.
‘I won’t put me nose up to a bit of extra sugar.’ Thank the Lord for Mrs Pinkerton, and for Danny Callaghan, too, who, although he had been in hospital, had become very popular with everybody, including Mrs Kennedy, as he ‘knew’ people who also ‘knew’ people who could get a nice bottle of something alcoholic for the merriments.
For, thought Dolly, we need something to take our minds off the war, even if it is only for a couple of hours. And seeing as Danny was laid up after coming out of hospital he needed all the coppers he could get his hands on for the future.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hugging the wall after a blacked-out car nearly ran her over, Nancy knew it wasn’t very far to the Sun Hall picture house now. She was meeting Stan again, but in an effort to stay out of harm’s way she had turned her ankle and was sure it was sprained.
Stan was on leave until New Year, which only meant another couple of days. What harm could seeing him do, she wondered. It was just a bit of a giggle.
Gloria had gone to stay in London and did not know when she would be back. Nancy suspected she had gone to see that impresario chap, whom she missed meeting for obvious reasons on the night of the raid, as Gloria had not come home for Christmas and it was unlikely she would be home for New Year either, given the transport situation. You couldn’t get a train for love nor money with troops going back and forth across the country.
Watching her limp towards him in the foyer of the picture house, Stan promised to rub her leg better when they got inside.
‘Cheeky!’ Nancy giggled deliciously. It was nice to have a man’s attention again. However, he was seriously amorous tonight, encouraging her to think of nothing much except his ardent kisses as she crossed her long legs and aimed to settle down to watch The Shop Around the Corner, starring her heart-throb, James Stewart.
‘Did you know you have a look of James Stewart?’ Gloria said as Stan bent to caress her ankle and his wandering hands stroked her shapely calf before travelling up her skirt, which made Nancy giggle, encouraging a chorus of shushes from the people nearby.
‘Stop that, you fool,’ Nancy giggled, not really wanting him to stop at all, snuggling into his arms, rapturously aware of his probing fingers. She should stop but the urge to continue was strong. After all, she had been without male attention for a long time now.
It was a good thing they were in the back row, Nancy thought, where prying eyes could not see. For, as much as she wanted to see the film, she found concentration difficult as Stan nuzzled her neck and her earlobe.
‘It must have been terrible for Gloria to see her fiancé have the life sucked right out of him, like that,’ Nancy said, trying to cool Stan’s ardour.
‘It’s a quick way to go, I should imagine,’ Stan said distractedly, his lips searching for hers. Nancy noticed other girls, accompanied by their uniformed sweethearts, were not so shy in being forward as she was, and were having a fine old time – t
hey weren’t watching the film either.
However, for as much as she enjoyed Stan’s passionate kisses she hoped that she didn’t encounter anybody who knew her. Normally she would go to a picture house nearer home, but as she was with Stan, Nancy felt it was safer to go further afield.
Suddenly she found she was no longer interested in what people thought or what James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan were up to. She was enjoying Stan’s loving attention far too much.
She knew that she would have to be very careful as tongues would wag. Word may get back to Mrs Kerrigan, who would waste no time telling Sid.
Nancy’s mother-in-law had been urging her to go back to her parlour because of her fear of the bombs. However, Nancy could think of nothing worse than going back to Sid’s mother. She had managed to get her own way when Violet appeared and was sharing with Sarah, and she intended it should stay that way – whatever Sarah’s view on the arrangement.
On her first day off after Christmas, Rita knew that if she could get through to Southport on the train she would see her children.
‘Are you sure you want to go on your own? Pop can take you,’ Dolly said, ‘or I could always ask our Eddy.’
‘Pop’s busy, Mam, and Eddy’s with Violet. I’ll be fine, Mam, honest.’ Rita was so full of determination she would get to Southport even if she had to walk the twenty-odd miles to get there. Much to her disappointment, she was still standing on the platform of Oriel Road Station an hour later.
‘Trains can’t get through, love,’ a workman in a flat cap, using his shovel like a walking stick, informed her. ‘The line’s gone down at Bank Hall courtesy of a landmine. There is a bus to Southport but it runs only every couple of hours and I think you missed it by five minutes.’
Rita fought the urge to swear. Another hour-long wait would have her turn into a block of ice. She decided to go back home and see if Pop or Eddy would take her – doubting that if she started walking now she would ever get there before dark.
‘Rita! Rita!’
Turning as she walked along the main road towards Strand Road, Rita stopped when someone called her name.
‘Rita!’ Jack called, pulling up alongside her; he was sitting on Pop’s cart. ‘Your mam said you’d already left. I thought I’d missed you. Pop said there might be problems on the railway so he said I could take the cart.’
‘Hello, Jack,’ Rita said, surprised but overjoyed to see him.
‘She told me where you were going. Mind if I come along for the ride?’ he asked. ‘And give you a bit of moral support?’
‘But, Jack, you have to rest. You’ve been injured!’
‘That’s nothing,’ Jack said, looking into her eyes. Though they both knew that is wasn’t ‘nothing’, he shrugged and said bravely, ‘I hardly even feel it any more.’
Rita settled beside Jack, ignoring the pithy look of disgust from Vera Delaney, who was walking along Stanley Road, and would surely go tittle-tattling to Mrs Kennedy. Let her! Rita thought defiantly, she was not doing anything wrong accepting a lift from an old friend on her father’s cart.
‘Our Tommy really enjoyed the party,’ Jack said as they headed through Litherland and on to Netherton, through open countryside towards Southport. Their journey would take a long time and Rita was keenly aware of the nearness of Jack Callaghan. Even though he still showed signs of his injury, he would not let her take the reins.
‘You’ve been working long hours; have a rest while you can.’
The clip-clop plod of the horse’s hoofs lulled her and it wasn’t long before her eyes grew too heavy to stay open and even the biting cold weather could not keep her awake.
She did not know how long she had been asleep when the rough rickety shaking of the cart woke her and she realised her head had been resting on Jack’s shoulder.
‘Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry!’ Rita could feel the warm glow of embarrassment fill her neck and face! ‘Did I hurt your arm?’
‘You could never hurt me, Rita,’ Jack laughed. But, there was something so intimate in his gaze when he looked at her then, Rita knew he was not talking of his injuries.
Pulling the reins now, Jack slowed the horse. Rita wondered what was wrong.
‘Your mam made this,’ Jack said as he took a Thermos flask of tea from his knapsack. He also took out a parcel of sandwiches. ‘She said you might be hungry.’
‘Good old Mam,’ Rita laughed. She had been so excited about going to see the children she had completely forgotten to eat, which was nothing new lately. ‘I’m famished.’ She tucked into the sandwiches.
After a few moments she realised Jack wasn’t eating.
‘What?’ Rita asked as Jack sat watching her. ‘What? Have I got something on my face?’ She wiped her face and Jack smiled, shaking his head.
‘No, you don’t have anything on your face. It is a beautiful face.’
‘Jack!’ Rita felt her colour rise. She was a married woman and yet he could still reduce her to a blushing young girl. Jack continued to look intently at her and Rita could feel something in the air change between them, like a moment had arrived that they had both been waiting for.
‘I love you so much, Rita. You know that, don’t you?’ For a moment he looked unsure and she nodded, unable to speak, a half-eaten sandwich still resting between her fingers and suddenly she wasn’t hungry any more.
He reached for her and all resistance to him seemed to slip away. She leaned forward easily into his embrace. Rita was in a daze. Could this finally be happening? All her dreams were coming true at last. There was no need for words. Just the feel of Jack’s arms around her was enough, she was in the place where she should always have been and his tender touch told her what she had to do. She needed to be honest with Jack now, but most of all she needed to be honest with herself.
She no longer cared if she was doing the right thing, no matter what the cost to herself. Tomorrow they might not be here. Tomorrow they might not be alive – any of them.
The realisation brought home to Rita, not for the first time, that she must tell Jack the truth, no matter who got hurt and no matter how it changed her life. She could not even begin to show Jack the loving adoration and high esteem she held him in unless he knew the truth.
As he drew her close Rita hesitated, and the hurt expression in his eyes told her that she was about to do something that would either make him stay for ever or make him run for the hills.
‘I’m sorry Jack,’ Rita said, ‘but there is something I need to tell you … it’s about Michael.’
Jack’s steady gaze met her own. ‘He’s mine,’ Jack said simply. ‘Michael is mine.’
Rita nodded, and suddenly the weight of the guilt she had carried around with her all these years seeped from her shoulders as the tender look in Jack’s eyes told her all she needed to know. She didn’t have to confess. Jack had spared her that much at least. When she looked through the dimming light she could see a glimmer of a tear in his eyes.
‘I have waited so long for you to tell me – at one point I thought I would die not knowing for sure.’
‘It wasn’t long after you left for Belfast that I found out for sure. I wrote you a letter, Jack, but when weeks became months I thought that you’d abandoned me.’
‘I would never have done that.’ Jack held her to him and tears fell freely down both of their cheeks. ‘I never saw that letter, Rita. You know now that I couldn’t read or write and any post that I did get Bob or his wife read out for me. Either the letter didn’t arrive or maybe Bob didn’t want me to see it. It was wrong of him but he was a good man and he probably felt he was doing it for my own good.’
‘And he wasn’t wrong, Jack.’ Rita looked up at the strong features of the man she had always loved. ‘He didn’t want you to throw your life away on some silly young girl, who should have known better.’
‘It would have meant everything to me to be your husband, and Michael is a boy a father can be proud of.’
‘Oh, Jack, I love you so much �
� I was scared you would hate me.’
‘Hate you, Rita? My darling girl – never! I am glad I have a son, somebody to put my hopes in.’
‘Oh Jack, what are we going to do?’
‘Let’s not worry about that now, let’s just be together.’ As the all-encompassing darkness of the night closed in, Jack wrapped Rita in his arms and, after so many years apart they were closer than they had ever been.
Frank Feeny threw the last of his kit into a Navy regulation canvas holdall. He had a meeting in the office of the Commodore at 2100 hours and as the Commodore was punctual to the point of obsessiveness, Frank knew he had better get a move on.
Looking into the mirror attached to the wall above the chest of drawers, Frank checked his appearance. He was not a vain man but he was about to meet somebody of immense importance. He did not know who it was; the details had not been at his disposal. However, his own meticulous eye for detail would not allow a single speck of dust to remain upon his impeccable uniform.
He gently stamped his leg a couple of times on the linoleum floor, a habit he had got into when he first had the tin leg fitted, and one he was loath to discontinue as it ensured the bottom half was secure.
He had also learned through many hours of practice over different levels of ground, to walk without the hated sticks and, apart from an almost imperceptible stiffness in his walk, it was difficult to tell he had a false leg. However, his fierce sense of independence still rendered him unable to accept help of any kind.
His thoughts turned to Kitty now, one of life’s gentler people, who would help anybody, which was the reason he could not make the commitment she so wanted.
All her life Kitty had looked after people – and looked out for them too. First she was a mainstay to her mother, who was married to a feckless man; she then became mother to little Tommy when their mam died giving birth to him, and now she cooked and cleaned and ran around clearing up after the military. Frank fixed his cap securely on his head, refusing to be a burden to Kitty too.
It was Tommy’s first night home from hospital and he was as pleased as punch to finally have been allowed to go home. Tommy thought that the nurses were glad to see the back of him but the truth was that his cheerful attitude and energy had won everyone over. Danny too was now on the mend and the hospital had discharged him although medication and regular check-ups were something he would have to get used to. He was in the mood to celebrate.
