Some Sunny Day

by Annie Groves

  ‘But if that is so, then why do they continue to hold our men?’ Bella burst out fiercely. ‘Especially my grandfather. You know how devoted to one another he and la Nonna are, Rosie,’ she appealed to her friend.

  Rosie nodded.

  ‘La Nonna cannot understand why they have not let him come home. We have tried to explain to her but she doesn’t understand. She is worrying about his chest, and if there is anyone at the police station to give him some cordial when he coughs. She is desperately afraid that the police will come back and take her away next and that she will never see Grandfather or any of us again. And my mother is just as distraught. She says it will kill my grandfather to be treated like this and that we will never see him or my father alive again. Oh, Rosie, I am so scared that she could be right,’ Bella admitted.

  ‘Oh, Bella, don’t,’ Rosie begged her, white-faced. ‘You mustn’t think like that because it isn’t going to happen,’ she went on stoutly. ‘It’s all a terrible mistake, Bella, it has to be. And as soon as the police realise that—’

  ‘But what if they don’t, what if—’

  ‘They will. They have to,’ Rosie insisted quickly. It was unthinkable that an elderly man like Giovanni should be taken away from his family and not allowed to return. Unthinkable too that kind-hearted Carlo could be mixed up in anything as dangerous as Fascism.

  ‘You can say that, but why are they keeping them for so long? Surely by now they must have realised that they are innocent.’

  ‘These things take time, Bella,’ Maria intervened in her calm gentle voice. ‘All we can do is pray for patience, put our trust in God and wait. Mr Churchill knows how many of our boys are fighting for this country. He is a fair and just man and once he has assured himself that there is no danger he will set our men free, just as Father Doyle says.’

  ‘If that is true why aren’t they free already?’ Bella announced fiercely. ‘I am going to go to Lime Street now and demand to see my father and my grandfather.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Rosie offered immediately.

  Maria shook her head and bustled both girls out of the parlour, closing the door behind her as she did so.

  ‘There isn’t any point in going to the North Western Hotel.’

  ‘We could take them food and clean clothes…’

  Lowering her voice, Maria said tiredly, ‘You won’t be allowed to see them and besides…Father Doyle has already been down to Lime Street and been told that they are going to be moved in the morning. I haven’t told la Nonna or Sofia yet.’

  Both girls looked at her in fresh shock. ‘Moved where?’ Bella demanded.

  ‘Huyton,’ Maria told them quietly.

  ‘The internment camp?’ Rosie whispered. She felt as though hard fingers had taken hold of her heart and were squeezing it so tightly she could hardly breathe. Early on in the war, certain streets on the new Huyton housing estate had been converted for use as an internment camp to hold those individuals who were considered a threat in the event of an invasion. Several roads in the estate had been sealed off with an eight-foot fence of barbed wire, and internees were billeted in the cordoned-off houses, where they faced the prospect of being sent to the Isle of Man, or even deported to Canada.

  ‘Yes,’ Maria answered. As she spoke Maria’s head dropped as though in shame and through her numbness Rosie felt a fierce surge of anger that she should be made to feel like that.

  ‘They can’t be going to Huyton.’ Bella’s voice was more that of a frightened child than a young woman. Rosie could feel her own hope draining out of her, to be replaced by cold disbelief and shock. How could this be happening? ‘They might say they are being interned but that’s just another word for being imprisoned, isn’t it?’ Bella whispered, tears filling her eyes. ‘Oh, Aunt Maria, what’s going to happen to them?’

  Maria shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Father Doyle says he’d heard that all those Italians who had been taken into custody were to be sent to somewhere near Bury – Warth Mills it’s called – where they’ll be held until the government combs out the Fascists. Then when that’s been done…’ Her voice trailed away, tears brimming in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. ‘Promise me you won’t say anything about this to your mother or la Nonna, Bella. There’s no point in getting either of them even more upset than they already are.’

  Rosie’s heart went out to Maria. She guessed that whilst it was concern for her elderly mother’s health that made her want to protect her from the news, it was the worry about what Sofia might say or do that made her feel her sister couldn’t be trusted with the truth.

  ‘You’d better go home now, Rosie,’ she added gently. ‘Your mam will be waiting for news.’

  Rosie hugged her tightly before turning to leave. She could sense that this was a time when the family needed to be alone although it hurt her too to know that she could not be part of the tight-knit circle of grieving, worried women because she did not share their blood, or their nationality.

  ‘At last. Put the kettle on, will yer?’ Christine demanded when Rosie opened the back door. ‘I’m parched.’ Christine was sitting with her feet up on a chair whilst she painted her nails a vivid shade of scarlet. Her hair and makeup looked immaculate and she was wearing one of her best frocks. Tight-fitting and in bright red imitation satin, it was a dress that Rosie knew her mother loved, whilst whenever she saw her in it, all Rosie could think was that she wished her mother wouldn’t wear it, and that it looked both cheap and too young for her.

  It astonished Rosie to see Christine looking all dressed up and full of herself, when the Grenellis were experiencing so much heartache, but the last thing she wanted to do was provoke a row with her, so instead of saying what she felt she said quietly instead, as she filled the kettle, ‘I’ve just been round at the Grenellis’.’ Trying to keep the reproach out of her voice, she continued, ‘They’ve had some news, but it isn’t very good. The men are going to be moved to Huyton in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know all about that,’ Christine interrupted her, looking bored. ‘I went down to Rose Street this dinner time and managed to sweet-talk Tom Byers into telling us what was going on. I suppose Sofia’s still carryin’ on about how she wishes they’d all gone back to Italy, is she? Ruddy fool. She wants to watch her tongue, she does, otherwise it won’t just be her Carlo who’ll end up being deported as a Fascist.’

  Rosie couldn’t conceal her shock. ‘The Grenellis aren’t Fascists, Mum.’

  ‘Well, you could have fooled me the way Sofia’s bin carryin’ on. I’ve bin warning Aldo to keep his distance from Carlo – not that Carlo’s to blame. It’s ruddy Sofia wot’s got them all into this mess, if you ask me, allus goin’ on about Italy and that Mussolini. Of course, she’s allus bin able to twist her dad round her little finger. It should be her wot was taken off, not Aldo. Anyway, Tom Byers has tipped me the wink that them as is found to be Fascists will end up being interned on the Isle of Man, wi’ the worst of them shipped off to Canada. I’m going up to Huyton in the morning to see if I can manage to have a word wi’ Aldo and warn him to keep his mouth shut when he’s questioned at this Warth Mills place they’re all going to be sent to.’

  Rosie could only stare at her mother. How had she managed to find out so much when poor Maria had been told next to nothing? Rosie winced inwardly as she took in her mother’s smug expression and dressed-up appearance.

  ‘I would have thought you’d be straight round to the Grenellis to tell them what you’d heard,’ was all she could manage to say.

  Christine reached for her cigarettes. ‘Wot, and ’ave to listen to Sofia ranting on? No, thanks. Besides, I don’t want to get tarred wi’ the same brush as them, and if you’ve any sense in that head of yours, our Rosie, you’ll keep a bit o’ distance from Bella whilst all this is goin’ on. Hurry up with that cuppa, will yer, Rosie?’ Christine looked down at her legs and added, ‘I hope that yer dad remembers to bring us some stockings back wi’ him this time. Honestly, he’s that daft a
t times. Fancy goin’ all the way to New York and not thinkin’ on to fetch us some stockings.’

  ‘They were almost torpedoed the last time, Mum, and Dad said that they were lucky not to be sunk. I dare say he didn’t have time to go looking for stockings with them having to unload and come back so quick so as not to miss the convoy,’ Rosie told her.

  She was still trying to come to terms with the change in her mother’s attitude towards the Grenellis – a change that left her feeling ashamed and determined to make sure that the family knew they could count on her loyalty and friendship at least.

  * * *

  The week dragged by with no real news about what was going to happen to the men. Rosie had no idea whether or not her mother had visited Huyton as she had said she was going to because Christine had flatly refused to discuss the subject with her, saying that it was her business what she did and no one else’s. There were times, Rosie acknowledged, when she found it very hard to understand the way her mother’s mind worked. Her mother’s behaviour made her feel guilty when Bella told Rosie that she and Maria were going to Huyton with the Podestra family to see if they could somehow or other manage to see their menfolk.

  ‘We’re going to take them some food and some clean clothes.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Rosie volunteered immediately.

  Bella shook her head. ‘You can’t, Rosie. We’re goin’ in the morning because that’s when Louisa Podestra reckons the guards let the men come out for some fresh air. You’ll be at work. Louisa has told me I can have the time off. Not that we’ve got that many coming into the chippie since it all happened, exceptin’ to ask if there’s bin any fresh news. It seems to me that me mam’s in the right of it and it would have bin better for us if we’d gone back to Italy,’ Bella added with a new bitterness in her voice.

  ‘Bella, don’t say that,’ Rosie protested. ‘You’re as English as I am.’

  ‘No I’m not. I’m Italian, and proud of it even if I were born here.’

  ‘We’re at war with Italy now,’ Rosie reminded her, trying not to look shocked.

  ‘I don’t need telling that, do I?’ Bella retaliated. ‘Not wi’ me dad and me granddad in a concentration camp.’

  ‘Huyton isn’t a concentration camp.’

  ‘Huh, those who run it may not be callin’ it that, but what else can it be when they’ve got men imprisoned there?’

  Rosie said nothing. She was beginning to feel as though she didn’t know her friend properly any more. She hadn’t missed the bitter looks Sofia gave her whenever she went round to the Grenellis’, and now here was Bella treating her more as though they were enemies than friends, and as though England wasn’t her home at all. Rosie was confused by her own feelings. She felt hurt by Bella’s attitude towards her and, if she was honest, she felt angry as well when Bella complained and said that she wished she were living in Italy. She had understood when Bella had been upset about what had happened to the Italian men, but she couldn’t agree with what Bella was saying now.

  ‘I hope you manage to see your dad and granddad,’ was all she could manage to say eventually. And for the first time since they had grown up they did not hug one another when they said goodbye.

  FOUR

  ‘You’re still on for Saturday at the Grafton, aren’t you, Rosie?’ Ruth asked cheerfully as the girls put on their coats to leave work.

  Rosie hesitated before replying. The truth was that the last thing she felt like doing was going out dancing, but she didn’t want to let Ruth down by backing out now.

  ‘Of course she is, aren’t you, Rosie?’ one of the other girls laughed. ‘You won’t catch me missing out.’

  ‘Meet us outside at half-past seven, Rosie,’ Ruth told her, adding with a wink, ‘And thanks for sortin’ me dress out for me. I’ll write and tell my Fred not to be so eager next time.’

  As she walked down Springfield Street half an hour later, Rosie wondered whether or not she should call at the Grenellis’. Don’t be so soft, she chided herself. There was no call to go getting all upset and taking it to heart because Bella had been a bit funny with her. Chances were that she had only been like that because she was so worried and feared for her dad and granddad. She had probably read too much into Bella’s wild talk. Reassured by her own thoughts, Rosie felt her spirits start to lift as she headed for number 16. She had missed Bella even though it had only been a couple of days since she had last seen her.

  It was Maria who opened the door to her knock, hugging her briefly, her expression betraying the strain she was under.

  ‘If you’ve come to see Bella, she’s round at Pod’s,’ Maria told her before Rosie could ask after her friend.

  ‘Who is it? Oh, it’s you, is it?’ Sofia announced in a hostile tone, answering her own question as she came into the kitchen. ‘Where’s your mother, or daren’t she show her face here after what she’s been doing?’

  ‘Sofia…’ Maria protested.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Rosie demanded, indignant at her mother being talked about in such a way even though she had been feeling ashamed of her behaviour herself these last few days. ‘What’s my mother supposed to have done?’

  ‘There’s no supposed about it,’ Sofia answered bitterly. ‘Seen at it, she was. Acting cheap around our men, wi’ them wot’s guardin’ ’em and we all know why. Some of us have allus known what she is, even if others…’

  Sofia’s voice was rising higher with every word she spat out. She was trembling with fury whilst Rosie had started trembling herself. All her life she had thought of the Grenellis as her family, never imagining that anything could change the deep bond she had believed they shared. That belief had been turned on its head the moment the trouble had started in Liverpool.

  ‘Sofia, please…’ Maria begged her sister urgently in a low voice.

  Rosie heard her but she was too shocked to be able to react. Somewhere in a corner of her mind she had always known that her mother’s behaviour wasn’t like that of Maria and Sofia, but she had put that difference down to the fact that they were Italian, not because…She couldn’t stand here and let Sofia call her mother cheap without defending her. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I know my mother went to Huyton Camp but—’

  ‘She had no right to go there,’ Sofia shouted her down angrily. ‘What’s she to us? Nothing! And you can go home and tell her we don’t want her coming round here any more. Not that she’ll dare to show her face here after what she’s done…’

  Rosie looked helplessly at Maria, not knowing what to say or do and not really able to understand why Sofia was so worked up.

  ‘You’d better go home, I think, Rosie,’ Maria advised her, bustling her out of the room. ‘I’m sorry that Sofia spoke to you like that. She’s not herself at the moment.’

  ‘I know how much you must all be worrying, Maria,’ Rosie agreed, swallowing down the tears that were thickening her voice. ‘How is la Nonna? Have you managed to get any word of the men?’ The questions she wanted to ask came tumbling out on top of one another as Maria hurried her towards the back door.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Rosie. A kind girl,’ Maria told her, without answering her. ‘But with things the way they are, it’s best that you don’t come round for a while. Just until things settle down and Sofia’s back to her normal self.’

  The tears burned in the back of Rosie’s eyes. She wanted to throw herself into Maria’s arms and be told that everything was all right, just as she had done so many times as a little girl: when she had lost both her first front teeth and had been teased at school; when she had not been chosen for the school pantomime; when the goldfish her father had won for her at the fair had died, to name just a few of the small sadnesses that had coloured her growing up. But this was different. Everything was not all right, and she wasn’t a little girl any more. Poor Maria. Rosie could hardly bear to think about what she must be going through.

  Squaring her shoulders, she reached out and gave Maria a fierce silent hug, an
d then hurried away before her emotions got the better of her.

  FIVE

  Rosie frowned as she studied her appearance in her dressing-table mirror. Having dipped her forefinger into a pot of Vaseline, she then drew the tip of it along the curve of her dark eyebrows to smooth and shape them, a beauty aid that Bella had shown her.

  She was wearing a frock she had made herself from a remnant of pretty floral cotton, bright yellow flowers against a white background. She had bought a roll of it at St John’s market in the spring. There had been just enough to make herself a halter-necked frock with a neat nipped-in waist and a panelled skirt.

  She had made the halter and trimmed the top of the bodice with some white piqué cotton, and then used the offcuts from the floral material to trim the little matching bolero jacket she had made. The result was an outfit that had brought her more than a few admiring comments. The smile that had been curving her mouth at the memory of those comments dimmed when she remembered how many of them had come from the Grenelli family and how Bella had begged her to make a similar frock and jacket for her. Together they had gone to St John’s every market day until they had found the perfect fabric for Bella’s dark colouring: a deep rich red, patterned with polka dots. They had both worn their new outfits for Bella’s birthday early in May. Less than two months ago but it might as well have been a lifetime ago, so much had changed, Rosie admitted sadly. Her mother hadn’t said anything about the fact that neither of them was visiting the Grenellis any more and, having heard Sofia’s bitter denunciation of Christine, Rosie had felt unable to talk to her about what had happened or why she had stopped visiting their old friends.

  ‘Where are you off to then?’ her mother demanded now when she saw Rosie dressed up to go out.

  ‘The Grafton,’ Rosie answered. ‘I’m meeting up with the other girls from work. It was Ruth’s idea. I think she’s feeling a bit low with her Fred in the army, and she wanted a bit of cheering up.’