Flowers on the Mersey

by June Francis

  ‘She’s lovely,’ said Rebekah, stroking the green tail of the mermaid figurehead.

  ‘She looks a lot better than she did,’ agreed Joshua, hovering behind Rebekah. ‘Let’s hope she works some magic. I could do with it.’

  She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Has something else gone wrong?’

  ‘You may well ask,’ he said, his mouth tightening. ‘The ship repairers are on strike over wages and the Stewards’ Union are threatening to come out over a pay cut.’

  ‘Does that mean your ships won’t be sailing?’

  ‘It means that no liners will be sailing if the stewards refuse to sign on this week. Although, if they signed their articles on Friday they’re bound to go. Unless the union can be persuaded there’s no money available, we’re in trouble.’

  ‘It must be hard on the men having their wages cut.’ She moved away from him and down the garden.

  ‘Life’s hard for all of us.’

  ‘It’s harder for some. We have it easy in comparison.’ She stood on tiptoe to inhale lilac blossom.

  He broke off some for her. ‘My family worked for what I’ve got.’

  ‘They had more luck than others, perhaps?’ She eased the lilac stem through a button hole.

  ‘It’s not all luck,’ he said shortly. ‘And the men should be glad to have jobs when times are hard.’

  Rebekah frowned, ‘I’m sure they are glad. But after all, they are only asking for what’s theirs. How much is this pay cut?’

  ‘Something like eight shillings a week.’

  ‘Eight shillings! That’s a lot for a man with a family to feed!’

  ‘It’s happening all over the country.’ He scowled. ‘You don’t have to glare at me like that, Rebekah! There’s troublemakers stirring up the men and it’s not only in shipping. It’s the miners and the railwaymen. Nobody seems to be content with what they’ve got anymore.’

  Times are changing in England just as they are in Ireland,’ she retorted. ‘The working classes no longer believe what the so-called upper classes tell them about their place in life. The war saw to that when it killed and maimed thousands of men! And for what?’

  He seemed about to blurt something out but instead compressed his lips. After several seconds his expression relaxed and he placed his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently. ‘You’re a woman and can’t begin to understand these matters. But you’re more of a fighting Irish colleen than I credited. It’s a wonder you’re not over there battling against the so-called president of the Dáil in Dublin. A schoolteacher for a President, I ask you! What can he know about governing a country?’

  ‘He knows more about Ireland than Lloyd George,’ murmured Rebekah, concealing her impatience. ‘There’s nothing wrong with its being a republic if that’s what her people want.’

  His smile faded and his eyes glittered. ‘I suppose it was O’Neill who filled your head with such nonsense? Your father wouldn’t have liked your supporting terrorists.’

  She pulled away from him, her anger barely under control. ‘Not all those who want an independent Ireland are terrorists! Lots of honest decent people want it too! And they want to keep the ties with Britain strong. When were you last in Ireland that you’re such an authority on the subject?’

  For a moment she thought he was going to strike her and drew back, watching him struggle with his emotions. At last he said in a tight voice, ‘You’re right, of course. I haven’t been to Ireland for a long time. At most I’ve spent two years there and I did meet honest, decent people. Your grandmother was such a one.’

  She recognised the olive branch. ‘I wish I’d known her better.’ She sighed. ‘Just as I wish I’d known my mother’s mother. I kept the doll Grandmama Rhoades gave me for years – in memory of her – but it went down with the Samson.’

  Joshua put his arm around her. ‘We’ll get you another.’

  She forced herself not to stiffen and gave him a look. ‘I’m too old for dolls. Besides, it wouldn’t be the same.’ She hesitated. ‘There is something you can do for me, though.’

  ‘Tell me.’ He pressed his lips against her left eyebrow.

  She wanted to move away but realised that would not improve her chances of getting what she wanted. ‘The ship that’s replacing the Samson – you’ll change its name, won’t you?’ He nodded. ‘Could you change it to the Sarah Jane? It was my mother’s dream and I’d like to see it come true.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re asking,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’d be breaking with family tradition. All our ships are named for biblical heroes.’

  ‘Sarah’s biblical.’ Determinedly, she put her hand through his arm and said in wheedling tones, ‘Please, Joshua.’

  He stared down at her. ‘I’ll have to think about it. How about coming out with me tomorrow? We could go for a spin in the country.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m meeting Brigid.’

  ‘Don’t go.’ He squeezed her hand against his side. ‘We could discuss your idea.’

  ‘I can’t let Brigid down.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Rebekah!’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘You’re going to have to cut that connection sooner or later.’

  ‘Am I?’ Apprehension tightened her stomach muscles.

  ‘Dammit, of course you are! And better sooner than later.’

  ‘Better sooner than later, you say?’ Her brow furrowed.

  ‘Yes. You can’t move in two different worlds,’ he muttered, and kissed her with a passion that took her completely by surprise.

  Early on Monday morning Rebekah gave a threepenny bit to one of the boys who played in the road, to take a note to Brigid. She leant on the gate in the sunshine, not wanting to go back inside the house to face her aunt’s long face because she was going out with Joshua. As she waited for him to come, her feelings were mixed.

  His desire to blacken Daniel in her eyes upset her, and yet she thought she understood it. After all, she had told him that she loved Daniel so that went some way to explaining it. Yet she felt there was something more. She frowned and shook her head and passed on to the next aspect of his character which she did not like: his attitude towards the men who worked on his ships. She had seen for herself how hard they worked, and surely so must he. He ought to realise they deserved what they earned. Neither did she like his insistence that she keep the right side of her aunt for mercenary reasons. Although she had no intention of allowing Hannah to get her hands on what she considered was rightly her own inheritance. But back to Joshua … She did not like his wanting her to cut her connections with Brigid. It was something she just could not do.

  Yet he had his good points. There was his interest in the Seamen’s Orphanage and the fact that he had given her the money she had asked for last week. He had found her a job and taken note of what she said about Andromeda. And he did have some kind of physical attraction for her, although she had resisted him when he had kissed her yesterday evening. He had apologised, saying that she had gone to his head. She pulled a face at the very idea.

  There was the hooting of a horn and a motor car drew into the side of the road. Rebekah opened the gate, went over to the car and got in. She noted that Hannah was watching through the net curtains and waved to her. Her eyes gleamed as the maid’s face quickly disappeared.

  Some twenty minutes or so later they were rolling along the cobbled Walton Road with the hood of the Oxford Morris down. ‘I thought I’d take you north of Liverpool,’ said Joshua. ‘It’s nice countryside and coming this way I can show you where part of my family originally came from.’ He waved a hand in an easterly direction. ‘See that old mill? It’s mentioned in a diary of my great-great-grandfather’s. Springfield Mill, it was called. He passed it when he came to Liverpool seeking his fortune.’

  Rebekah tightened the scarf to secure her new cream straw hat against the wind and gazed at the decapitated mill. In another age it would have been picturesque with its sails turning but with them missing it had a forlorn air about it. ‘I take it he made his
fortune?’

  ‘He became a deckhand, but worked hard and was eventually the captain of a slave ship. He just about managed to make some money before slavery was abolished.’

  ‘Did you know that the Quakers were involved in slavery at one time?’ murmured Rebekah. ‘I discovered that yesterday. And that they had dummy guns on some of their ships to trick privateers into believing that they were armed.’

  ‘Never heard of that. But getting back to my family – even though slaving finished, there were still plenty of other cargoes to carry across the Atlantic. Earthenware, steel, glass, machinery, fish hooks, chemicals – you name it, we shipped it.’

  Rebekah listened as he continued to talk about ships and cargoes, interspersing it with information about various landmarks. They passed a church. ‘That’s St Mary’s. This is Walton-on-the-Hill where my great-great-grandfather came from. There’s been a church here for over a thousand years. Well before Liverpool was more than a dot on the map. Now this place is a backwater, while Liverpool’s thriving and a good place to live.’ He smiled at her and drove on, humming.

  He was full of smiles today, thought Rebekah, obviously enjoying driving and being away from his office. She had to admit to feeling some excitement herself, finding the speed of the car exhilarating. It was fun bowling along the road faster than anything else on it. She watched Joshua’s hands as they moved from steering wheel to different levers and wished she could have a go.

  Soon there was little else on the road. Housing became sparse and after Joshua pointed out Aintree Racecourse where the Grand National was run, it almost petered out altogether. As they travelled along country lanes where the hedgerows were white with hawthorn blossom and fields showed cowslips and daisies, he said, ‘My grandmother on my father’s side was Anglo-Irish, you know. Her family bred horses. That’s how she and my grandfather met – at some horse race in Ireland.’

  ‘You’ve never mentioned that before,’ she said, surprise in her voice.

  ‘Never saw the need.’

  ‘But it explains why your father bought land in Ireland.’

  ‘It would have been better if he’d ploughed the money into the business,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Yes.’ She would have liked to have asked him more about his family but now received the impression that he did not want to talk about them.

  ‘Janet made us up a picnic. I thought we’d have it on top of Clieves Hill. It’s not a difficult walk and there’s a good view.’

  He brought the car to a halt and lifted the picnic basket from the back seat, telling her to get the rug. She did so and followed him up the hill. They could have been the only people in the world. She stared at the view. The flatlands of coastal Lancashire spread below them and the dark huddle that was Liverpool was visible far away, as were the Welsh Hills and the Irish Sea shimmering in the distance.

  Suddenly Joshua’s arms slipped about her waist from behind and she realised that subconsciously she had been waiting for it to happen. She attempted to release herself but he laced his fingers and she could not unlock them. He said against her ear, ‘Isn’t the view worth coming all this way for?’

  ‘Yes. But can we look at it while we eat, please?’

  ‘Give me a kiss first.’

  ‘Mr Green, you’re taking advantage of me,’ she said indignantly, digging her fingers into the backs of his hand. ‘Now let me go at once.’

  ‘Don’t do that.’ His voice held a warning note. ‘Just one kiss, Rebekah. It’s not much of a reward for bringing you all the way out here.’

  ‘I didn’t know that I’d have to pay!’ she said. ‘I thought you brought me out of the kindness of your heart.’ She twisted in his hold, trying to free herself, and ended up facing him.

  He smiled. ‘That’s a good girl. I like you. That’s why I brought you. Now be a sensible child and kiss me.’

  She frowned but puckered her lips, thinking it quicker to get it over. She suspected he would spend time arguing with her rather than give in. He laughed, brought her close and almost ate her. Her mouth felt bruised and she was trembling when he released her.

  He rubbed his hands together in a satisfied manner. ‘Now food. Spread the rug, Rebekah.’

  She did as she was told, watching him as he unpacked the picnic. There was tongue and beef sandwiches, homemade meat patties, fruit cake, scones, apples, and a bottle of white wine.

  They did not speak while they ate. He filled two glasses with wine. It was sweet and she enjoyed it but refused a refill. ‘Come on, Rebekah!’ he said. ‘It’ll relax you.’

  ‘I’m relaxed enough,’ she murmured, determined that he was not going to get her drunk. Her gaze took in the view again and the car below them on the road. ‘I enjoyed the drive. Do you often come out here?’

  He shrugged and filled his own glass. ‘I go to different places. I enjoy driving.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind learning to drive.’

  A little of his wine spilt as he turned and stared at her. ‘But you’re a woman.’

  ‘So? I didn’t imagine you’d have brought me out here if I wasn’t. I imagine it’s not that difficult. I’m sure I could get someone to teach me. In fact, I wouldn’t mind having my own car.’

  His expression grew wary. ‘They’re expensive. You can’t afford—’

  She knew that but was determined not to give up her idea. She wanted to drive. It would be exciting. ‘I could ask Aunt Esther about buying one. I’ve noticed lately that her knee hurts her. Probably rheumatism. I could take her places.’

  His mouth tightened. ‘I don’t know if it’s a good idea, your having a car.’

  ‘Why? Saying I’m a woman isn’t a good reason. Women drove during the war, trams and all sorts of vehicles.’

  ‘That was different,’ he muttered. ‘There weren’t the men.’

  She stared at him. ‘That’s no excuse. I’ll ask Aunt Esther and I’m sure the dealer could arrange for me to have a few lessons.’

  He stuck out his lower lip and it was several seconds before he said, ‘I’ll teach you.’ He drained his glass.

  ‘You?’ She laughed. ‘Wouldn’t it go against the grain? You don’t want to teach me.’

  ‘Better I do than someone else.’ He refilled his glass. ‘Besides, your aunt mightn’t buy you a car.’

  That was true, she thought, but to go out with him again in his car was asking for trouble. He would probably believe that she did not mind his kissing her, and she did mind his presumption that he could kiss her when he felt like it. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll come.’ His tone was positive. He flicked her cheek with his finger.

  She rubbed her cheek but made no reply and began to collect the remains of the picnic together, aware that he watched her as he drank his wine. She was half expecting him to attempt to embrace her again but he did not. Soon afterwards he led the way down the hill and she followed, wondering whether he would suggest a lesson next weekend. She would have to make up her mind whether to go with him but before then she had her new job to think about, which started in the morning.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rebekah hesitated at the foot of a flight of well-worn stone steps at the end of a row of dilapidated landing houses in Everton. She was aware of the curious stares of several small children sitting on the edge of the pavement. They had their bare feet in the gutter and were playing with stones. A couple of women who had paused in mid-gossip outside a front door set in the wall beneath the outside landing, watched her. She smiled but they looked through her and carried on with their conversation. She shrugged and looked up. Level with her head was a window with the curtains drawn. One of the panes of glass was missing and the space was blocked with a sheet of grubby cardboard. She glanced down at the paper in her hand and read the name and address again then began to climb the steps.

  As she reached the landing a boy, whom she estimated to be twelve years old, came out of the second house. He leant hi
s back against the wrought iron railing opposite the front door, coughing and wheezing. He was pale and thin and wore grey trousers too short for him and a darned V-necked sleeveless pullover next to his skin. His eyes were unfriendly as they took in her appearance. She had dressed in her plainest and cheapest black frock but realised that here it would not be regarded as cheap. ‘I’m looking for Mrs Rimmer,’ she said, determinedly controlling her nerves:

  ‘Ma’s out.’ He moved in one fluid movement back in front of the doorway from which he’d emerged. ‘Yer’ll have ta cum back tomorra.’ His chest heaved.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Rebekah, remembering how in Dublin there had been occasions when she and her mother had been informed that Mam was out while she had been in. ‘If I can’t see her today then I’ll have to go to the next name on my list.’

  ‘She’s norrin, I tell yer! Why can’t yer go away and leave us alone?’ He coughed and twitched a shoulder in the direction of the floor inside the entrance. ‘We’ve even had to sell the oilcloth,’ he spluttered. ‘There’s nuffin else we got to pay yer.’

  ‘Who said I want paying?’ she said grimly. ‘I’ve come to see your ma about giving her money.’ She glanced down at the paper again although there was no need, she knew the words off by heart. ‘Your father was drowned when an enormous wave swept over his ship, dismantling its steering apparatus and considerably damaging the deck,’ she recited.

  The boy nodded. ‘The Magnifique the ship was called. Ma’s inside with the baby. Me brothers and sisters are at school. Wait here.’ He vanished inside the house to reappear a few minutes later, smiling. ‘Ma said to cum in but don’t go expectin’ anythin’ fancy.’

  Rebekah went inside expecting nothing at all in the way of frills and she was not disappointed. The room she entered was furnished with one chair and a rickety card table. In a corner a couple of grey and black army blankets lay on the bare wooden floor. A woman in a grubby blue frock nursed a whimpering baby. She stood next to a grate in which the fire was dead. From the ashes it looked as if it had been made up mainly of cardboard, paper and wood.