Put Out the Fires

by Maureen Lee

  “What on earth are you doing here?” she cried. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming? How did you know where I was?”

  He continued to hold her. “Questions, questions,” he groaned. “I fly all the way from North Africa and drive through the night to see my girl and all I get is questions.

  Aren’t you pleased I’m here?”

  “Of course, I am.” She began to cry. It was impossible to have been more pleased about anything. “Of course I am.”

  “There now, don’t cry.” He wiped her face with his handkerchief. “Come on, let’s go home. When I arrived in Pearl Street, Sheila told me you’d gone to some mysterious place called ‘the Docky’, so me and your brother-in-law set off post haste in search of you. Cal’s gone to look the other way.” He began to lead her along the road, his arm around her shoulders.

  “But what are you doing here?”

  Her heart lifted at the thought he might be home for good, but it didn’t lift for long. Nick replied, “The Squadron’s being sent to Russia in support of Uncle Joe.”

  “Jaysus!” She stopped in her tracks. “Oh, Jaysus, Nick.

  That’s more dangerous than anything you’ve ever done before.”

  “Not for me, it isn’t,” he said boastfully. “I lead a charmed life. I’ve made a pact with my maker and he’s promised nothing will ever happen to Nick Stephens.”

  “Don’t pretend, luv,” she said gently.

  His face became serious. “We all pretend, darling. We have to. It’s what keeps us going.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “Anyway, we’re taking off from Northolt tomorrow afternoon, which means we have about ten hours together. I have to leave at midnight.”

  “Ten hours!” she breathed tremulously. “There’s not a lot we can do in ten hours, is there?”

  “I can think of one thing straight away, but I don’t suppose that’s on at the moment.” He looked down at her vast stomach. “However, there’s something else we can do, possibly more important . . . ” He paused and looked mysterious.

  She dug him in the ribs with her elbow. “Stop codding me, Nick. What is it?”

  He waved a piece of paper in front of her face. “We can get married! I’ve got a special licence.”

  “What?” She stopped again and looked at him askance.

  His brown eyes were dancing and his face quite literally glowed with happiness. She thought she had never loved him so much as she did at that moment. As they stood stationary on the pavement, a horse and cart rattled past, people jostled against them, and a ship’s hooter sounded three times on the river. Eileen only half heard or half noticed the activity and the noises all around her. Time seemed to stand still, and all she was conscious of was the piece of white paper which Nick held in his hand. She had nothing to wear. There was no time to arrange a reception, but most importantly of all, it just wasn’t done, getting married when you were eight-and-a-half-months pregnant.

  What on earth would the priest think? As for the neighbours, their tongues would wag for months.

  “All right,” she said. What did all these things matter when compared to the look on her beloved Nick’s face?

  “Phew!” he said, relieved. “I had a feeling you’d raise all sorts of objections. I was all prepared for a marathon argument, though there was no way I would have taken no for an answer.”

  Eileen gave a long shuddering sigh, and Nick said with some concern, “What’s the matter, darling?”

  “I feel all funny inside. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Well, it is, I can assure you. All the arrangements have been made. I’ve been rushing around like a mad thing since I arrived in Liverpool this morning.”

  “You’ve been here since this morning?”

  “I got the licence, and I’ve been to see the priest in that little church in Melling. The wedding’s booked for four o’clock, which gives us,” he looked at his watch, “two and a half hours. What shall we do till then?”

  She looked at him, scandalised. “What do you mean, ‘what shall we do till then?’ I’ve got to get ready.”

  “But you look beautiful as you are!” Nick protested.

  “I’m not getting married in this ould smock, I’ve got a decent one at home. And I’ve got to do me hair, change me stockings, get made up, look for a hat—there’s a million things to do. In fact, we’d better get a move on.”

  They met Cal on the way back. “There you are!” he beamed.

  Eileen waited until they were in the house before she made the announcement. “Nick and me are getting married in Melling at four o’clock this afternoon!”

  Sheila screamed. “You can’t! Not in your condition.”

  “I can, and I am, Sheil, so don’t waste your breath trying to stop me,” Eileen said in a voice that brooked no argument.

  “Oh, all right, but I’ve got nothing to wear.”

  “Neither have I, but it’s not stopping me.”

  “Jaysus, our Eileen,” Sheila complained. “Trust you to spring something like this on us without a word of warning. Another thing, the larder’s virtually bare. We were having snoek and cabbage for tea, which isn’t exactly what you’d term wedding food.”

  “But we don’t need food,” Nick put in hastily. “In fact, we don’t need anything. There’ll only be the two of us.

  The priest said he can provide two witnesses.”

  “You must be joking!” Sheila looked at Nick as if he was mad. “D’you seriously think I’d let me own sister get married all on her own? And what about me dad?” she demanded. “He’ll have a cob on for the rest of his life if he doesn’t give her away.” She went to the front door and yelled, “Dominic? Niall? One of you come in this minute.”

  Niall came rushing in, “What is it, Mam?”

  “I want you to run down to the Docky as fast as you can and tell them on the gate that Jack Doyle’s girl is getting married in Melling at four o’clock and they’ll let him off early. You know which entrance, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Mam,” Niall said importantly.

  “And don’t tell anybody else,” Sheila shouted as he was halfway down the hall, “We don’t want the whole street knowing.” She looked Eileen up and down. “Not with her looking the way she does.”

  Cal said, “What d’you say you and me go for a bevy, Nick?”

  “Good idea.” Nick looked relieved. “I was wondering how to make myself scarce for a while.”

  “Tara, luv,” Sheila said absently as the men both left.

  “Eileen, have you got any decent stockings?”

  “I don’t think I have, no,” Eileen answered, panic stricken.

  “Neither have I. I’ll send our Siobhan round to Veronica’s for a couple of pairs. What about flowers? You’d like a little posy, wouldn’t you? I wouldn’t mind a buttonhole meself-but what’ll I pin it onto!” Sheila looked distraught. “Jaysus, Sis, I’ve only got two frocks and one’s as old as the hills and the other’s second-hand. And I lost all me hats, except for that woolly one, in the blitz . . . ”

  “What about the pink costume I wore for Annie Poulson’s wedding?”

  “It’ll never go near me. I’m much bigger round the hips than you are.”

  The blue crepe-de-chine, then, it’s a bit fuller—it’d go well with me navy-blue beret.” Eileen remembered she’d ordered wedding outfits for all of them earlier in the day, but never mind, they’d do for when Sean and Alice got married.

  “I’ll try it on in a minute. How are we supposed to get out to Melling, the lot of us?” Sheila said, suddenly indignant. “Why couldn’t Nick have arranged it at St Joan of Arc’s?”

  “Because he thought there’s be just the two of us,”

  Eileen explained patiently. “But he’s got a car. You and Cal can go in the back with me dad if he gets here on time.”

  “But what about the kids? He can’t fit six kids in an” all.

  They’ll want to see their only auntie getting married.”

&nbs
p; “Are you sure, Sheil? You’re turning this into a great big do all of a sudden.”

  “Well, people only get married once in their lives, don’t they?”

  “Not everyone, Sheil. This is me second time, remember?”

  “Jaysus, I forgot.”

  A voice called down the hall, “Are you there, Eileen?”

  “It’s Aggie,” Sheila mouthed, making a face. “Come on in, Aggie.”

  Aggie Donovan came bustling in, her face shining with excitement. “Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard the news. Getting married, eh?

  That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it, Eileen?”

  “Who told you?” Sheila asked sharply, “Your Niall did. He shouted it out to the whole street.”

  “The little bugger!”

  Aggie folded her arms on her chest and regarded Eileen with sly, curious eyes. “I suppose it’s that big RAF chap I saw walking down the road with Calum Reilly?

  Eileen nodded numbly.

  “I thought as much!” Aggie said with a satisfied look, as if she’d known all along there was something going on.

  “Anyroad, luv, you don’t need to worry about the food for the reception. I’ve started on a cake—I managed to get some sultanas last week, but it’s a pity there won’t be time to ice it—and Millie Harrison’s doing some cheese sarnies.

  Paddy O’Hara’s gone round to see if there’s any biscuits in the shops - they can allus find him odds and ends, him being blind, like - and Brenda’s making one of those eggless sponges.”

  “But Aggie,” Eileen said faintly. “We weren’t going to have a reception, and it’s all the way out in Melling.”

  “I know, luv, but Millie said the buses run quite frequent. She reckons we can get there in plenty of time.

  Well, I’ll love you and leave you for the moment. I expect you’ll be dead busy getting ready over the next couple of hours.”

  She left, and Eileen and Sheila looked at each other and burst out laughing. “This street! I don’t know how you can bring yourself to leave it!” Sheila said eventually. “Well, I suppose we’d better get a move on. Your other smock needs ironing, for one thing, and I’d better try your blue frock on.”

  Over the next hour, Pearl Street became a hive of activity.

  Women went into one another’s houses, their faces creased purposefully, borrowing a quarter of margarine or a cup of sugar or in search of a precious egg. Frocks were ironed, hats brushed, shoes cleaned and best jewellery given a spit and polish. May Kelly brought Eileen a bottle of whisky and eight Easter eggs which she hadn’t managed to get rid of. She was quickly despatched to buy a posy of flowers and six buttonholes if they were available. Unfortunately, as she regretfully explained, flowers weren’t available on the black market. Mack, the landlord of the King’s Arms, offered a crate of beer at a reduced price.

  “I’m sorry, Eileen, but I can’t afford to give it free, like.”

  “Thanks, Mack. I’ll pay you later,” Eileen said, doing her best to sound grateful. Nick would do his nut when he came back and discovered there was going to be a fullblown reception after the wedding.

  Brenda Mahon came just as Mack was leaving. “You know that hat you liked, well I found a bit of cream net and tacked it on. It’ll look lovely with your navy blue smock, if that’s what you’re ‘wearing.’

  “Oh, ta, Bren!” Eileen said gratefully. “That means our Sheila can have me white straw boater.”

  “Is there anything else you want?”

  “Yes, there is, actually. Seeing as how we’re having a bit of a do, like, perhaps you could stick a note through Ruth Singerman’s door and tell her what’s happening? She might like to come if she gets back in time.”

  “Okay, Eileen.”

  “Is that you, Brenda?” Sheila called downstairs. “Can I borrow your pearl necklace?”

  “Yes, but the stuffs started peeling off the beads at the back.”

  “That doesn’t matter, that part’ll be under me collar.”

  Gradually, the activity ceased, and everyone who was in Pearl Street that Wednesday afternoon left to catch the bus to Melling.

  “I’ll see you in church, luv?” Sheila hugged her sister.

  The blue frock was a bit too snug around her waist, but with the white boater on her brown curly hair and her face carefully made up for once, she looked remarkably like the comely, flirtatious young girl who’d married Calum Reilly nearly a decade before.

  “Why don’t you wait for Nick and Cal to come back and we’ll all go in the car?” Eileen pleaded, suddenly frightened of being left alone.

  “I’d sooner not trust the kids with anyone else on the buses. Anyroad, I’ve got to let all that lot in the cottage to lay out the food, haven’t I? I’m not leaving Aggie free to poke around.”

  “Sheil!” Eileen called just as her sister was leaving. “Give Kate Thomas a ring when you get there.” When Sheila’s face fell, she added, “If you’re too scared to use the telephone, I’m sure one of the kids’ll work out how to do it. There’s one of them directory things on the table under the phone.”

  After Sheila had gone, Eileen powdered her nose and applied her lipstick. She combed her hair back smoothly, clipped on her pearl drop earrings and put the hat that had been made out of Xavier Mahon’s fedora on the side of her head.

  She stared at her pale reflection in the mirror. In an hour’s time she would be Nick’s wife, Mrs Nick Stephens.

  She said the words aloud, “Mrs Nick Stephens.”

  “Oh, God, I’m going to cry!”

  Fortunately, her dad came marching down the hall dressed in his best suit. “Have you seen Nick and Calum?” he demanded.

  “No, Dad. They’ve gone for a drink.”

  “I know that, girl,” he said irritably. “I meant, have you seen the state they’re in? They’re outside, pissed as lords, the pair of them.”

  “Oh, no!”

  Nick was leaning on the Kellys’ windowsill, giggling uncontrollably. “We decided to wet the baby’s head in advance,” he hiccupped when he saw Eileen.

  “You’re a bloody idiot, you!” She did her best to keep a straight face. “Look at the state you’re in! Where’s Calum?”

  “Over there!”

  Calum was standing on the pavement staring at the vacant space where Number 21 used to be. The house has gone!” he called, his face a picture of bewilderment. “It was there a few minutes ago, and now it’s gone.”

  “Oh, well!’Jack said indulgently. ‘I suppose they’re just letting off a bit of steam. I’ve never seen Cal drunk before, and life hasn’t been exactly easy for the two of them over the last couple of years, has it?’

  “You’re not fit to drive a car,” Eileen said exasperatedly to Nick. “Where is it, by the way?”

  “There’s a big black Humber parked around the corner,”

  Jack said.

  Nick saluted. “That, sir, is probably mine. I can’t remember the colour when I borrowed it, nor do I recall if it was a Humber. However, I know for certain I parked it around the corner.” He turned to Eileen. “Are you suggesting I’m not fit to fly a car?”

  “Go and splash your face this instant,” Eileen ordered.

  “And you, too, Cal,” she shouted. “We’ll have to leave soon.”

  “But how can I,” Cal looked on the verge of tears, “when there’s no sink?”

  “There’s a sink over here you can use. Come on!”

  Nick was looking at Eileen, eyes half closed and a stupid grin on his face. “We’d better do as she says,” he said out of the side of his mouth when Cal came wandering over looking lost and forlorn, “else Lord knows what she might do to us. She’s a fine looking woman, though, isn’t she, if a trifle overweight?”

  Eileen gave an exaggerated sigh of resignation. “I’ll skin you both alive, if you’re not careful. It’s a good job there’s no neighbours about to witness this performance.”

  “Don’t worry, luv, I’ll sort them out
,’Jack Doyle said.

  “Come on, Nick, there’s a good lad. Don’t forget, you’re getting married at four o’clock this afternoon.”

  Chapter 23

  It was the strangest wedding anyone in Pearl Street had ever witnessed: the bride with her belly fit to bust at any minute, the groom, a handsome officer in the RAF, with his collar askew and a silly smile on his face throughout the entire ceremony. Even the best man, Cal Reilly, didn’t appear quite sure where he was, and the female organist looked at least a hundred and had to be prodded awake every time she was supposed to play. It was a wedding in a million, one they’d remember for as long as they lived, and they wished, oh, how they wished, they knew the truth behind it all . . .

  The tiny sun-drenched church was almost full. Just as the bride was about to walk up the aisle on Jack Doyle’s arm, a pile of strange women came pouring in and sat at the back, most of them dressed, believe it or not, in navy-blue overalls, which only added to the bizarreness of the occasion.

  “What a pity Francis Costello isn’t here to see it,” Aggie Donovan thought wistfully, entirely forgetting that if Francis had been there the wedding wouldn’t have taken place. Just as the priest asked the question, “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife . . . ” the air-raid siren sounded in the distance, and Aggie noticed Sheila Reilly’s shoulders stiffen, and she remembered it was considered an unlucky omen for the siren to go when you were getting married. Still, that was probably a load of ould cobblers, Aggie decided.

  Instead of answering, “I do,” the bridegroom hiccupped, “Yes, please.”

  Aggie leaned forward and seized Sheila’s arm. “Is he a Catholic, Sheil?”

  “He was lapsed,” Sheila whispered curtly back, “until this morning.”

  The children had been in the garden of the cottage and stripped every rose of its petals, so that when the newly married couple emerged from the church they were showered with rose petals. Eileen Costello, no, Eileen Stephens, looked rather like a rose herself, everyone thought, all flushed and pink and creamy and a fraction overblown at the moment.