by Maureen Lee
“We didn’t realise,” Matt was saying, “that we’d been infiltrated, that we had an agent provocateur in our midst.
One night, our meeting was raided and everyone was dragged away, including Maria. A month later, they were all dead. Before you ask why I wasn’t with them, I was at home. I had die Grippe—what is it called in English?
Influenza.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ruth said again.
“So am I,” he said bitterly. “Sorry I was ill, sorry I didn’t have the courage to give myself up and die with her.
Instead, I went underground. A few months later, it was the turn of another group to spirit me out of the country. I came to England, where I was granted political asylum.”
Suddenly, a burst of raucous laughter came from a table nearby, and Ruth came down to earth with a start. A group of women were sitting there whom she recognised from the dance. She wondered what they’d think, the women, the other people taking afternoon tea and coffee in the restaurant, if they knew the conversation she was having with this man?
“Did you come straight to Liverpool?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I changed my name to Smith by Deed Poll and got a job in Croydon as a language teacher, though the staff knew my nationality. They didn’t seem to mind, not even when the war began. I’d made my feelings about Hitler pretty clear by then.” He cocked his head sideways and said thoughtfully, “I suppose I should have been happy, or at least grateful I’d survived, but instead, I felt dead inside. Without Hitler to fight, I’d lost my reason for living—they wouldn’t let me join the British forces, although I tried. Nothing seemed to matter any more. I’d also lost Maria, and my family had long since preferred to think I didn’t exist.”
Ruth nodded. “I felt the same, though I had my father. If it hadn’t been for him, I doubt if I would have seen a reason for living, either.” Except the chance, the faint chance, that Leah and Simon were still alive.
Matt said with a quiet air of triumph, “I said we two might have something in common.”
“So you did!” His handsome looks did him a disservice, she decided. Men as attractive as he was were often conceited and usually aware of the effect they had on women, yet he seemed entirely oblivious to the appreciative looks he was getting from the women on the next table, the ones who’d just laughed. He must have been very brave to have stood up to Hitler, one of the very few who had. She felt almost sick with shame when she remembered the way she’d spoken to him. He was a hero, and she’d treated him like dirt. She realised an apology was in order, and duly proffered one.
“I lumped all Germans together, I’m sorry. I thought you were all the same.”
“That’s understandable,” he said generously. “Jack Doyle told me about your husband and children, but it was partly my own fault. It was foolish to click my heels and address you in German the first time we met. I thought you might find the heel-clicking amusing, and I was anxious for a conversation. Despite everything, I miss my old language.”
Ruth shuddered. “I never want to speak German again for as long as I live.”
“Is there any more tea?”
She’d forgotten to add the hot water to the pot. “It won’t be very warm.”
“It doesn’t matter. As long as it’s wet, as they say here.”
“What brought you to Liverpool?” she asked as she refilled the cups. Furthermore, what was he doing working on the docks when he was a teacher?
He smiled ruefully. She’d already noticed the smile never reached his eyes. “It’s where the boat docks from the Isle of Man.”
She stared at him, perplexed. “What’s the Isle of Man got to do with it?”
“That’s where I was interned,” he said tightly.
Ruth vaguely remembered that was something else Jack Doyle had mentioned, but she’d felt so angry that night she’d not taken in properly all he’d said.
Matt appeared to be looking at some point above her, his face inscrutable. She sensed an unfathomable rage.
“After all I’d been through,” he muttered, almost to himself, “losing Maria, risking my life and being bundled out of my country like a criminal, the British authorities decided I was an alien, an enemy, and put me in an internment camp with people most of whom were as innocent as myself.”
Neither spoke for a long time. Matt seemed to have forgotten all about her. He remained staring at a spot above her head.
“How long were you there?” Ruth asked eventually.
“Six months. When various people found out where I was they wrote and complained. I was one of those that helped them escape, they said. So, after a great deal of huffing and puffing on the part of those on high, they let me out.” He shrugged, still enraged. “I landed in Liverpool. I had no wish to return to teaching. I had no wish to do anything, but I had to live, so I took the first job that turned up, on the docks.” He looked down at his cup, still full of tea. “Why did I ask for more? I haven’t touched this. Never mind.” He swallowed the drink in one gulp.
“You know, Ruth, it’s ironic, in a way. I’d be far more use to my old country where I am now, reporting on shipping movements, than I ever was as a teacher.”
Why was he was telling her all this? Did he merely feel the need to confide in someone and, for some strange reason, think she was the appropriate person? She’d almost forgotten about Michael. Sheila Reilly would have deposited him with Jacob by now. Ruth pretended to look across the tables out of the window whilst she searched for a clock, though no matter how late it was, she doubted if she could bring herself to make an excuse and leave, not whilst Matt Smith was unburdening his soul.
Perhaps her dilemma showed on her face. He said, “I suppose you’re wondering where this is all leading?”
“Well . . . ”
“I wanted you to know everything about me before . . . ” He paused and smiled, and this time the smile actually reached his eyes and his face was transformed.
“Before what?” asked Ruth.
“Before I ask you to marry me!”
Chapter 17
It was one of those rarest of moments, a moment when everything fell completely quiet. As if a spell had been cast over them, people stopped talking, dishes stopped rattling and the restaurant was silent. Ruth felt convinced Matt’s words had been audible to the entire room, rendering everyone as dumbstruck as she was herself. Then somebody laughed and, all of a sudden, conversation began again and the babble was almost deafening.
“Actually,” Matt said thoughtfully, “I’d sooner put it another way; before I suggest we get married, which is a different thing altogether. It makes it seem more of a mutual decision, rather than a proposal.”
“Is this some sort of a joke?” Ruth said eventually.
“It would be a pretty lousy joke if it were.”
“But it’s crazy. The whole thing’s completely crazy. I can’t believe it’s not a joke.” Perhaps it was April Fool’s Day? But that was long past. She began to fumble for her gloves, her bag. Almost in tears with embarrassment and irritation and the conviction she was being made a fool of, she again got up to leave, but once again Matt reached out and clasped her arm firmly to prevent her.
“It’s not a joke, Ruth, I assure you,” he said brusquely, “but you want to adopt a baby and you need a husband.
Jack Doyle told me.”
She could have killed Jacob on the spot if he’d been there. He was nothing but an old gossip, telling everyone about her affairs. And Jack Doyle wasn’t much better, nor Matt Smith, come to that. Yet men were always ridiculing women for gossiping.
“It’s a stupid idea,” she said flatly. “As if I’d marry someone I scarcely knew.”
Matt actually had the nerve to look impatient. “It wouldn’t be a real marriage, naturally. There’ll never be another woman for me after Maria. I would expect nothing from you, and all you’ll get from me is my name, my status as a husband, a father for your child. We can divorce as soon as the adoption paper
s have been signed, or we can stay married if that suits you better. It would be entirely up to you.”
“And what makes you so saintly?” She still felt convinced it was some sort of cruel jest. “There must be something in it for you.”
He frowned deeply, and after a while gave an almost imperceptible nod. “You’re right, there is. I hadn’t thought about it before, but I would feel of some use on this earth. I feel no use at all at the moment.”
“You’re much younger than me. I’m forty-one.”
He spread his hands, palms upwards, in a gesture that reminded her a little of Jacob. “I’m thirty-two, but what does that matter?”
She supposed it didn’t matter at all under the circumstances.
“Why would staying married suit me better?”
“Jack told me you were saving to go to America in search of your children. I wouldn’t mind visiting America myself, and it might be sensible, and easier, to go together.
I have dozens of contacts in the States, mainly refugee groups: religious, political, national.”
“Is there anything about me you don’t know?” she said irritably.
“I doubt it. Everyone seems to know everything about everybody in Liverpool. I have a terrible job myself, fending people off with lies.”
“I know what you mean,” she said drily. “Where would we live if we were married?”
“Where we’re living now. Nothing would change, except your name.”
“I would never want . . . I mean, I couldn’t bear to . . . ” She paused, embarrassed.
“Neither would I!” Matt Smith said emphatically.
Ruth put her elbows on the table and sank her chin into her hands. The whole thing made sense in a crazy sort of way. After all, she had nothing to lose and an awful lot to gain. It would be a married couple applying to adopt Michael, and according to Kate Thomas that would be the best possible thing. But even so, it was a tremendous step to take, marrying a man who was almost a complete stranger.
She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “It’s kind of you to offer, more than kind, but I’m afraid the answer’s no.
Eileen Costello was sitting with Jacob when Ruth arrived home, Michael fast asleep in her arms. Ruth seized him jealously. “How’s he been?” she asked.
“No trouble at all, except he’s half kicked me to death.
Going to be a footballer when he grows up, I reckon.”
“No, he’s not. He’s going to be a pianist.” Ruth hugged the baby fiercely. “Are you all right, Dad?” Jacob was half asleep and hadn’t even noticed she’d come in.
He blinked awake. “Oh, it’s you, love. I’d better get the tea ready.”
“It’s all right, Dad. I’ll do it in a minute.”
“I’ll put the kettle on, at least.”
Ruth watched worriedly as he shuffled into the kitchen, noticing the way he grasped the table then the doorpost to keep his balance. “He’s not been so well lately. He has good days and bad. There are times when he’s just like his old self, full of beans and mischief. Other times . . . ”
“I’ve noticed.” Eileen had been shocked at the deterioration in the old man, not quite so much physically, but mentally. When she first turned up, he hadn’t recognised her. Even now, it seemed to take an effort to remember who she was, and when he did, he kept asking about Tony. “Where is he? It’s a long time since we’ve played cards.”
“I’ll be off,” she said. “It was me who brought Michael home, and I thought it wise to stay till you got back, your dad being asleep like.” Ruth took exception to the baby being called Micky. “By the way,” she said, aware she was about to drop a bombshell. “Dai Evans called in not long ago. He wants to take Michael across the water to New Brighton tomorrow. Ellis and Myfanwy have gone to Wales for the weekend.”
Ruth’s reaction was even more shocked than Eileen had expected. “He what?” Every scrap of colour drained from her face. She squeezed the baby so tightly in her arms that he began to whimper. Jacob came shuffling back with the kettle and placed it on the hob to boil. He sank into his chair and immediately began to doze.
“C’mon, girl, sit down a minute.” Eileen led Ruth to the other armchair. “I’ll make you a cup of tea once the water’s boiled.” Ruth was almost too choked up to speak. “Is that how he put it?” she asked hoarsely. “He didn’t ask if he could take Michael, just said he wanted to, as if he had the right?”
“I suppose he did.” Eileen understood Ruth’s distress, but tried to sound reasonable. “After all, he is the baby’s grandad.”
“Even so, he can’t just demand to take Michael out whenever he feels like it.” Ruth was close to hysteria.
“Would Sheila let your dad take her children out if it didn’t suit her?”
“No, girl, but you see, Sheila’s their mam . . . ”
“And I’m not Michael’s! Oh!” Ruth began to unbutton Michael’s matinee jacket with trembling fingers. “I’ve got no rights, have I? Legally, he belongs more to Dai than he does to me.”
“What are you doing, luv?” asked Eileen.
“I don’t know.” Ruth burst into tears. “I don’t know.”
“Dai only wants to take Michael to New Brighton. He won’t be gone for long.”
“What if he gets drunk? He’s always drunk. What if the pram goes over the side of the boat? The pram!” Ruth looked triumphant. “That’s it! I won’t let him have the pram! I’ll tell him if he wants to take Michael out he must find his own pram.”
“That’s being silly, luv,” Eileen said gently. “You don’t want to start rubbing Dai up the wrong way. He’s just fond of the baby, that’s all. Michael’s his first grandchild.”
“He’s getting too fond. He sneaks in the back on his way to the pub almost every night and insists on picking Michael up, even when I’ve just got him to sleep. The other night, he came in again on his way home, drunk as a lord, and acted really maudlin. It was sickening.” Ruth wiped her cheeks with the corner of the baby’s shawl and looked down at him, eyes red with weeping. “I couldn’t bear it if he was taken off me.”
“Frankly, Ruth, I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” Eileen didn’t, actually. She would have acted exactly the same in Ruth’s place, but felt it was best to try and calm the woman’s fears.
Jacob started to snore, entirely unaware of the drama taking place in his living room, just as Snowy, now fully grown, sauntered in from the parlour. He jumped on Jacob’s stomach and began to purr.
Ruth whispered, “What if Dai gets so fond of Michael, he talks Ellis into having him?”
“You don’t know Ellis, luv. There’s not much chance of that.”
But Ruth scarcely heard. “Grandparents would always be given preference when it comes right down to it.”
“Don’t forget, luv, it was you who Dilys wanted to have her baby, so you should be given preference over everybody else.”
“Yes, but there’s only my word for that!”
“In that case, you’d better find out where Dilys is and get it in writing. Did she say where she was going?”
“She intended joining the WRENs. I suppose I could write to the Admiralty in London.”
“The WRENs’d never take her,” Eileen said bluntly.
“She’s too bloody thick!”
“Then where is she?” Ruth cried frantically.
Eileen shrugged. “God knows! I suppose you could still write. If she applied, they might still have her address.
You could try the ATS and the WAAF, as well - not to mention the Land Army.”
“I’ll write everywhere I can think of,” muttered Ruth.
“As for tomorrer, I know what to do,” Eileen said triumphantly. “We’ll go out early, all of us; Michael, Jacob, you and me. Then, if Dai comes round there’ll be no-one in. If he says anything later, tell him you’d already planned a day out. Once Ellis is back, he won’t have an opportunity to ask for Michael again.”
“But you said E
llis had gone for the entire weekend. What about Monday? Dai might . . . ”
“No he won’t, because we won’t be here. We’ll stay away the entire weekend.”
“Where?” asked Ruth dazedly.
“Remember the cottage in Melling I went to at Christmas? It belongs to . . . to a sort of friend. He won’t be there, and he won’t mind us using it. We’ll spend the ‘weekend in Melling. I’ve been dying to go ever since I got back from Norfolk.’
Sheila decided to come with them when she heard the news, though only for the day. “We’ll all go to early Mass no, we won’t, we’ll go to Mass in Melling,” she said delightedly. “I love that little church. It’ll make a nice change, and it’s a real treat, going out on Easter Sunday.”
“We’ll have to go by train, what with all the prams. It means changing trains at Kirkdale for one to Kirkby, then it’s a bit of a walk through to Melling.”
“The kids’ll love that.” She looked even more delighted. “The little ‘uns have never been on a train before.’
On Sunday morning, the rising sun was hazy in a milky blue sky when Eileen Costello opened the blackout curtains. It was going to be a lovely day, though the air felt slightly chilly.
“Ne’er cast a clout till May be out,” she murmured to herself as she put a cardigan on underneath her coat.
To her joy, her dad came out of Sheila’s house when she called shortly afterwards with Ruth, Jacob and Michael already in tow.
“I thought I’d come and take a look at the garden,” he said gruffly. “It’s a shame to see all that land go to waste.
After all, we’re supposed to “Dig for Victory’, aren’t we?”
He’d been to the cottage before, last summer, to help get it ready for when she and Nick moved in.
“That’s right, Dad. Y’know, Nick would never mind if you tended the garden properly. You could go as often as you wanted.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about what Nick would and wouldn’t mind, considering you two have broken up!” he commented drily.
