скачать книгу бесплатно
‘No sign of Frank?’ Rita asked.
‘No, he’s at his digs. He’s doing a lot of night shifts this week,’ Violet said. ‘Hurry up, I don’t like being out in this, it’s like daylight.’
As the alarm continued to wail, the three women broke into a run towards the shelter. Once safely installed alongside their neighbours, they unpacked their provisions and settled down, knowing it could be a long night. Rita was full of admiration for Violet; she never seemed to tire and her spirits never seemed to flag. She led them all in a singsong, though Rita thought the notes of ‘Run Rabbit Run’ and ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’ sounded rather gloomy as they fought with the rumble from the guns and incendiaries outside. And none of it could hide the whispers and mutterings occasionally directed at Ruby from some of the ruder elements among the street’s residents. Rita pulled Ruby closer towards her and made soothing noises to calm the strange girl as they waited, for what seemed like an age, for the all-clear.
Warrant Officer Frank Feeny hurried down the concrete steps of Derby House, ready to show his ID for the second time since entering the building. Nowhere in the entire country was security taken more seriously than in this fortified bunker in the centre of Liverpool, which was now home to the command for the Western Approaches. It was no exaggeration to say that the fate of the war relied on what happened in these two storeys of underground offices, mess areas, and the vital map room, which served as the nerve centre for the Battle of the Atlantic.
He checked his watch as he handed over his pass. Just about on time – he hated to be late, as did everybody involved in this high-level operation. Even though today he would have had a valid excuse. Last night’s raids had caused damage to the city centre, with the General Post Office being hit and the telephone exchange being affected; emergency exchanges had been at work ever since to ensure there was no breakdown in communications, but it was still a major cause for concern. Derby House had its own direct telephone line to the War Cabinet down in London, as top-secret news had to pass between the two centres at all hours of the day and night.
Frank rubbed his eyes, berating himself for feeling tired. After all this time in service he should be used to the demanding shifts by now. Despite the loss of his leg, he was still young and fit, even if he’d never be a champion boxer again. He needed to keep alert and all his wits about him. There was no room for anyone to make a mistake, here of all places.
‘Good evening, Frank.’ One of the teleprinter operators looked up as he passed by and gave him a cheeky smile. ‘Manage to catch up on your beauty sleep today, did you?’ She raised one eyebrow, and if Frank hadn’t known better he’d have thought she was flirting with him.
‘Can’t you tell? I’m handsome enough already,’ he managed to say automatically as he headed for the next room along. She was quite pretty, he recognised, with her hair in its victory roll, just like his sister Nancy liked to style hers. But he didn’t have time to think about girls. They were a distraction and he couldn’t afford that. One small slip and the consequences could be fatal in this line of work.
He was glad he’d settled into service accommodation rather than move back in with his family. He told himself it was because they were full enough, now his brother Eddy’s wife Violet lived there while Eddy was back at sea with the Merchant Navy, and even his little sister Sarah was little no longer and serving her own shifts as a trainee nurse. They didn’t need him waking them up at all hours. He’d have loved the comfort of his mother’s cooking and the reassurance of his father’s hard-earned wisdom, much of it gathered from the last war, but that was an indulgence he couldn’t afford.
He didn’t want to think about the other reason he stayed away. He would have had to look across the road at that other front door and know that Kitty was not going to step through it. When he’d first learnt that he was going to be stationed back in Liverpool, his heart had soared, despite his best attempts at reasoning, at the prospect of being near her. Somehow over the past couple of years she’d gone from being almost another sister to the one woman who made his pulse race, whose face he looked for in every crowd. But then he’d lost his leg and he knew no woman in her right mind would look at him twice. He had his pride; he wouldn’t beg. And he absolutely would not hold her back. In his current state he would be a burden to any woman and he didn’t want that – least of all for Kitty. It would be unbearable. He knew she was friendly with a doctor now, someone who had his full complement of limbs in working order, and whose job was to save lives; he was a lucky man and Frank hoped he knew it. But he cursed to the heavens above that just as he had returned to his Merseyside home, longing to see her again, Kitty had enlisted and been posted to the other end of the country.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u7a8e88bb-c8ea-5f18-be1a-76cec90b962c)
Nancy heard the flap of the letterbox rattle against the door and rushed to see what the postman had brought. She made a point of being the first to do this as she didn’t trust her mother-in-law not to open her letters; for an old woman who complained she was ill all the time, Mrs Kerrigan was surprisingly quick off the mark. She had just managed to stuff the two envelopes bearing her name into her waistband and cover them with her cardigan when, sure enough, her mother-in-law emerged from the dining room.
‘What is it?’ she demanded. ‘Is there anything from my poor boy?’
‘Must have been the wind,’ said Nancy brightly. ‘There’s nothing there. We can’t expect Sid to write all the time, can we? He’ll have other things on his mind. Oh, that’s Georgie crying again, I’d better go.’ She almost ran through the parlour door, ignoring the venomous look Mrs Kerrigan shot at her.
The parlour was gloomy, but at least it was Nancy’s own space, which she rented from her in-laws in addition to the room she’d shared with Sid and insisted on keeping. She’d go mad without some privacy in the daytime. They had plenty of room, which was about the only good thing she could say for the cold, unwelcoming place. Now she drew a chair as close to the window as she could, to catch what meagre daylight managed to filter through the heavy net curtains.
Georgie looked up expectantly, crawling over and trying to pull himself up with the help of the chair leg. Nancy regarded him sadly. It was a shame that Sid would miss his son’s first steps – it wouldn’t be long now. Then George would be all over the place and she’d never have a moment’s peace. George had never known his father, and she had almost forgotten what he looked like herself. She glanced over at the picture on the mantle of them both on their wedding day. She smiled at the picture, admiring her own shapely figure and the way the fashionable dress hugged her curves. It suited her to ignore the memory of the swell of Georgie in her tummy and how it had taken several goes to zip up the dress, and the bitter tears she’d cried that morning over the revelation that Sid had been carrying on with a fancy woman in the run-up to their big day – if she hadn’t been in the family way then they’d never have made it up the aisle. Her smile drained away. Sid, well, he just looked like Sid, didn’t he. ‘Good boy,’ she said wearily. ‘Mummy’s just going to read her letters, then she’ll play with you.’
She opened the first envelope with its familiar handwriting. Mrs Kerrigan must never see this, must never know that Stan Hathaway was still writing to Nancy. The pilot’s looping script was instantly recognisable and it would be evident to anyone who saw it that the letter came from someone in the services – not something from a POW camp forwarded by the Red Cross. She hoped the postman could be relied on for his discretion, but she was far from sure he could. Her heart was hammering as she tore open the flap, careful not to rip the flimsy paper inside.
It was a short note, as Stan claimed he didn’t have much time. Still, he wanted her to know he was thinking of her – Nancy could just imagine the gleam in his eye as he wrote that and exactly what he was thinking of – and couldn’t wait to see her again. He wasn’t able to say exactly where he was, but he was being kept busy, defending the skies. He wasn’t sure when his next leave would be but maybe in another six weeks or so, if he was lucky. Nancy sighed with longing. She remembered how his touch made her feel, the sheer delight of being held by him making her reckless. Six weeks seemed like for ever. She didn’t know how she’d be able to sneak past the dragon-like figure of her mother-in-law but she’d manage somehow. She’d have to. Nothing could keep her from the warm embrace of the gorgeous Stan Hathaway. Carefully she folded the precious piece of paper and reached to tuck it in her skirt pocket. She’d hide it away in her bedroom later. Mrs Kerrigan would think nothing of coming into the parlour if she was out and snooping about to see what evidence of her daughter-in-law’s flightiness she could uncover.
‘Mmm-mmm-mm.’ Georgie reached for his mother’s pocket, keen to see what the fuss was about.
‘No, that’s not for you,’ Nancy said shortly. Then she saw her son’s face fall and the trembling of his chin that heralded another bout of wailing. Hurriedly she relented, bending down and scooping him up to place him on her lap. ‘Look what Mummy’s got. This is a letter from Aunty Gloria. Shall we see what it says?’
She opened the envelope with the huge handwriting on it and George snatched it from her, happily tearing it in two and stuffing one bit into his mouth. Nancy debated whether to take it from him, knowing that even used envelopes should be saved as paper was so scarce. Then again, it was keeping him quiet, and as long as he didn’t actually swallow it, it would probably do him no harm.
She unfolded the letter from her best friend, written on lavender-coloured notepaper and bearing a faint trace of Gloria’s favourite perfume. Even though there was a war on, she’d never gone short of it, as there had always been an eager queue of men willing to do anything to present her with a bottle or two, no matter how it had been come by. Nancy felt a twinge of jealousy. She knew she was pretty but Gloria Arden was something else, with her natural silver-blonde hair and her golden voice. She looked like a film star and carried herself like one, for all that her parents ran the Sailor’s Rest pub at the end of Empire Street. She had gone to London and been taken on by a leading impresario, who was arranging far more glamorous concerts for her than her old regular spot at Liverpool’s Adelphi Hotel.
Nancy skimmed the page and gasped. The concerts had been a roaring success, Gloria reported, and she’d been asked to do more and more. London just loved her. The impresario, Romeo Brown, was talking about getting her to make a record. In order to whet the nation’s appetite for that, he’d suggested a tour. She’d be heading up north, and a date had already been booked in Manchester. So she was going to persuade them to add a date in Liverpool. Then she would be able to stay for a while to see her family and, of course, her best friend.
Nancy was torn between the envy she always felt at Gloria’s success and anticipation of her visit, when she would be able to bask in her friend’s reflected glory. Life with Gloria was never dull, that was for certain. Trouble and adventure seemed to follow her around wherever she went. Nancy paused guiltily as she remembered that Gloria hadn’t had it easy these past few months, as her posh pilot boyfriend had died saving her, shielding her from a blast during an air raid. Giles had only just proposed and it should have been the happiest night of Gloria’s life, but tragedy had struck right at the moment of her triumph. So perhaps it was only to be expected that she would throw herself into her singing career.
‘Well, Georgie, things are going to liven up a bit at last,’ Nancy cooed to her son, as she retrieved the soggy paper from his mouth. ‘Let’s see what Granny Kerrigan says about that.’
And, she thought to herself, Gloria would know what to do about the other matter that was bothering Nancy. Not that there was really anything to worry about. But just in case it did turn out to be what she feared …
‘Winnie not well again?’ asked Vera Delaney, her lips pursed as she rubbed her finger along one of the shelves in the shop. ‘That’s a shame. Without her behind the counter this place is going to rack and ruin.’ Dramatically, she held up her fingertip, which bore a trace of dust. ‘Still, I suppose you’ve got more shelves to clean now there’s not so much stock.’
‘Well, there is a war on.’ Rita struggled to keep her welcoming smile in place. ‘What can I get you, Mrs Delaney?’
Vera hesitated. When Winnie was in charge she could get all manner of extras under the counter, but she was convinced nobody else knew about this, so she had no intention of asking Rita for any favours. She was all too aware Winnie distrusted her daughter-in-law. ‘I’ll just get my sugar ration,’ she said, pursing her thin lips.
‘Awful how it goes so fast, isn’t it?’ Rita said, trying to make conversation. She hated it when the atmosphere in the shop felt unfriendly.
Vera ignored her comment. ‘Still no sign of your husband, then?’
Rita looked up from the counter. ‘I’m sure Winnie told you, he went away to look after the children safely.’
Vera rolled her eyes. ‘Dodge conscription, more like.’ She reached for her sugar and handed over her coupon. ‘Don’t you try to lie to me, young lady. Word is out that your man is a deserter, plain and simple. I feel for Winnie, really I do, but when I think about what danger my Alfie is in down the docks it makes my blood boil.’
Rita didn’t reply as she took the coupon, even though there was plenty she could have said about Alfie Delaney. True, he had a job on the docks and was therefore in theory in the most dangerous place on Merseyside, but he spent most of his time appropriating goods for the black market, some of which found their way into Winnie’s cellar. He was far from the only dock worker helping himself to any extras that were available, but Alfie took it to a new height. When he wasn’t doing this he was usually skiving. Admittedly he had performed one heroic deed, saving Tommy Callaghan from a burning warehouse, but that had been months ago. Vera couldn’t resist mentioning this again.
‘And him pulling that young rascal from the flames, when he had no call to be there! Putting his own life at risk like that! That’s something we won’t find your husband doing, I’ll be bound.’
Rita smiled tightly, knowing that to say anything would be to give Vera even more ammunition. Somehow she had to ride out these snide remarks and hold her head high. She cursed Charlie for his cowardice. His reputation threatened to ruin her own, but she couldn’t let that show.
Vera drew closer. ‘Maybe you could let me know when Winnie will be back at work?’
Aha, thought Rita, that’s what she’s after – her usual parcel of ill-gotten luxuries. Before she could say anything, the shop door opened again and a gust of wind blew sharply down the narrow aisle.
‘Morning, Rita!’ Violet’s lanky frame appeared silhouetted against a rare burst of sunlight. ‘Hello, Mrs Delaney. Cold out, isn’t it? Brass monkeys, as my brothers would say.’ She threw her head back and gave her braying laugh – which took some getting used to – and her bright scarf slipped sideways on her poker-straight hair.
Vera shot her an infuriated glance. ‘Well, if you’d tell Winnie that I asked after her …’ She beat a hasty retreat. Violet beamed at her cheerfully.
‘Bye, Mrs D, sorry you couldn’t stop!’ she called as the door slammed shut. She turned back to Rita. ‘Horrible old bag, what did she want?’
Rita shook her head. ‘Her sugar ration. Or that’s what she said, anyway. Really she wanted to carp about Charlie and to find out when Winnie’s back in charge so she can get bits and bobs on the QT.’
‘Still no word from him then?’ asked Violet sympathetically. She had never met the man, but had heard all about him from the rest of the family. Nobody had a good word to say about him.
‘Not a dickie bird. He’s as good as vanished,’ Rita confirmed. She couldn’t bring herself to mention the shame of hearing about the visit from the police. ‘I can’t pretend I’m sorry, and the children never even ask about him. We’re better off without him. I just wish people wouldn’t tar me with the same brush.’
‘No, you mustn’t think like that,’ Violet said, immediately reassuring. ‘Everyone knows how hard you work. How are Michael and Megan? Have you heard from them recently?’
Rita’s expression changed at the thought of her beloved children. ‘Yes, they write all the time – well, Michael writes, and Megan mostly sends drawings. They love it down on the farm. Joan and Seth, that’s the couple who run the place, spoil them rotten. Now they’ve got Tommy as well, they’re made up. He’s big enough to help out with the animals. They’ll never want to come home.’ She shook her head. ‘I miss them of course. It’s like going around without one of my limbs. But knowing they’re safe and happy helps.’
‘Can’t you go and see them?’ Violet wanted to know. ‘You can’t be at that hospital every day, week in, week out.’
Rita bit her lip. ‘It’s just that bit too far to do on my own. You can’t rely on trains or buses and they’re rather out in the sticks. Also, I get called in for extra shifts all the time – you know what it’s like. Every time there’s a direct hit on the docks or anywhere around here I could be needed and I hate to say no.’
‘Of course,’ Violet nodded. But she could sense her friend wanted to say more.
Rita glanced behind her, as if to check the inner door was firmly closed. ‘Besides, I’m needed here,’ she said quietly. ‘Winnie’s not been herself ever since I got the children back. She used to run this place like clockwork, but now she doesn’t seem to bother about anything – not the orders, or the cashing up, or filling the shelves. I have to try to keep on top of that as well as everything else.’ Her expression gave away just how tiring she was finding it.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, I hadn’t quite realised,’ Violet said. ‘You can’t do everything, you know. Maybe I could help? I’m not very organised but I can talk to the customers all right.’
Rita smiled in gratitude. ‘I know you could; you’d charm them and they’d love it. But you’re so busy already, what with helping with little George and the WVS, and aren’t you helping Mam with the new victory garden too? You’ve got your hands full.’
Violet shrugged. ‘That’s as may be, but you think about it. If I can be of any use I will – as long as you don’t expect me to do any sums. I never was any good at maths, just you ask my Eddy.’
‘Oh, I will, next time we see him.’ Rita cheered up at the mention of her brother, who everyone thought of as the quiet one in the family, but who had a wicked sense of humour. ‘Don’t let me keep you. Did you want anything?’
‘Some strong string,’ said Violet, reaching for her purse. ‘I’m going to mark out seed drills in the new plot. One of the old fellows from the Home Guard showed me how. We’ll all have fresh carrots and be able to see in the dark.’ She waved brightly and was on her way.
Rita grew solemn again as soon as she’d gone. Violet was a breath of fresh air, all right, but she’d feel bad asking her to help out any more than she already did. Besides, it was the sums that most needed attention. Rita had only just realised that the shop wasn’t making anything like the income it had before Christmas, and she had no idea what to do about it. They needed the money – now Charlie had given up any pretence of providing for them. But there was no time to think about it now. She checked her watch, knowing that she’d have to set off for the hospital any minute.
‘Winnie!’ she called through the inner door. ‘Are you ready to take over? I’ve got to get going.’
There was a shuffling and then Winnie slumped reluctantly along the corridor. ‘When are you going to give up that ridiculous nursing job?’ she demanded. ‘Your place is here, looking after the shop and me. Now you’ve driven Charles away, it’s the least you can do.’
Rita closed her eyes for a moment and prayed for strength. She would not rise to the vicious old woman’s bait. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said instead, picking up her bag and jacket and making her way through the meagre stock to the outside door. She wrinkled her nose. It was still morning – but was that sherry she’d smelt on her mother-in-law’s breath?
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_0158ae02-0b4c-5db1-918e-e5e50f47cb7d)
‘Blast!’ Laura sat back on her heels and groaned. ‘You must think I’m a waste of space, Kitty, but this is much harder work than I’d ever have imagined.’ She wrung the grey water out from her damp cloth over the galvanised bucket. The sleeves of her overall were dripping from where they’d come unrolled.
It seemed that all they’d done since arriving was to clean the building, scrubbing and polishing, even though it had evidently been scrubbed and polished to within an inch of its life already by the previous band of new recruits, and alternating this with gruelling rounds of PT. The girls had also been sent on errands around London, taking urgent papers between offices, dishing out tea at important meetings and generally making themselves useful. Kitty had found it a shock to the system. She’d been accustomed to lifting enormous heavy pans of stew around the NAAFI canteen, but running around on her feet all day, minding her p’s and q’s whilst learning the ropes had been exhausting, and it had been almost impossible to take it all in. To begin with it had been hard to adjust to sleeping in their dormitory – which they were told to call a cabin. Soon they would also embark on a series of classroom lectures to learn the rules and regulations of the service, along with the endless jargon everyone used.
Kitty couldn’t help laughing at her friend. ‘It’s easier once you’re used to it,’ she said warmly. ‘Believe me, I know. I’ve been scrubbing floors since I was eleven – that’s when Mam died and I had to take over. Or even before that, as she couldn’t bend down when she was expecting our Tommy.’ A cloud passed across her face at the memory. ‘Anyway, they won’t have us doing this for long. It’s just to make good use of our time until we’re allocated our new positions.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said the young woman who’d been assigned to clean the corridor with them. ‘This stuff is making my hands red raw. I wasn’t sure what to expect in our first week but it wasn’t this.’
Kitty regarded their new colleague with interest. She was slight, and had very pale skin and a smattering of freckles across her small upturned nose. While she was not conventionally pretty, she had striking looks and an air of determination and energy about her that somehow reminded Kitty of her old friend Rita back in Empire Street. ‘I bet they think that as long as they have a group of women together they might as well set us to clean up the place,’ she said, shaking the bristles of her scrubbing brush with vigour. ‘But I’m sure they’ll start training us to do something else once we’re all here and the place is shipshape. What did you do before?’
The girl raised an eyebrow. ‘I was a teacher.’
‘A teacher!’ Kitty gasped. ‘You don’t look old enough … sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but …’
‘I’m older than I look,’ said the girl. ‘Don’t worry, everyone says the same to me. I’m twenty-three. I trained for two years, and then all the kids got evacuated, and I thought, “Marjorie, my girl, you’d better find something else to do with yourself and do it sharpish.” So here I am.’ She shrugged.
Kitty couldn’t help staring. Nobody from Empire Street had ever been a teacher, much less any of the women. Hardly anyone stayed at school longer than they had to; they were all needed to go out and work, or help raise the families, or both. It was all she could do to stop her mouth gaping open. ‘Well, at least you’ll be all right with these lectures we’re going to have to go to. I can hardly remember the last time I sat at a desk – I’ll probably be useless. Don’t you miss your job?’ she managed to say after a moment.
Marjorie looked wistful. ‘I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I had to fight tooth and nail to do my training. My family thought I was crazy, spending all that time studying for my Higher Cert and then going to college, when I’d only end up getting married and having to give up anyway.’ She shook her head. ‘Well, that’s not going to happen. I prefer teaching to going out with men and I’m not ashamed to say so. When this war ends I’ll be back in the classroom like a shot. But meanwhile I’ll do whatever’s needed here. It’s just a pity that happens to be scrubbing floors, or ferrying urgent messages backwards and forwards, never mind the endless PT lessons. I know we’ll have to be fit, but at the moment my muscles don’t know what’s hit them.’
‘Too true.’ Laura sloshed the water around in the bucket and went back to the task in hand. ‘You must have been really determined to get to college, Marjorie. I must say I envy you. I’d have loved to be allowed to study like my brother, but my folks wouldn’t hear of it. My father still thinks that women get ill if they have to think too hard. Doesn’t want me coming down with a fit of the vapours.’ She rubbed at the tiles. ‘There, that’s better. Do you think they’ve ever been so shiny?’ She sat back on her heels once more. ‘I probably shouldn’t say it, but if there’s anything good to come out of this war, then maybe it’s going to be people like us having the chance to find out what we’re good at and to get on and do it. I’ve always been terrible at sitting around in drawing rooms and making polite conversation. There must be more to life.’
Kitty giggled. ‘I’d have loved to be made to sit down and talk to people. We never had time for that.’ The very idea was completely opposite to what she’d known in her life so far. Perhaps that was no bad thing. She wanted to be fully prepared for whatever was going to happen to them next. If their future survival was going to depend on their physical fitness in any way, she wouldn’t complain about the seemingly pointless rounds of PT.
Marjorie looked at them both and smiled. ‘I was always too busy studying or marking to do much of that either. So what are you good at, Laura? Apart from your budding ability to clean a floor?’
Laura pushed up her sleeves again. ‘I, my dear, am good at having fun.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Stick with me and I’ll show you how, you see if I don’t.’
Danny Callaghan sat at the kitchen table and felt the silence echoing around him. He couldn’t get used to it. He’d never experienced anything like it in this house – there had always been Kitty bustling around, Tommy bothering them both, and now and again Jack striding about and giving him advice, whether he wanted it or not. Then there had been all the friends and neighbours popping in and out, passing the time of day, sharing cups of tea. He could hardly believe it was the same place. There was the kettle still in its spot on the hob, there were the cups and saucers and plates, steadily getting more chipped, but there was no delicious smell of baking from when Kitty miraculously managed to procure the ingredients for one of her delicious cakes or pies, and no pile of scraps that Tommy had salvaged from a bomb site and brought home to keep in case they were useful.
He couldn’t stand the thought that everyone was out doing their bit for the war effort when he was confined like this. He wasn’t usually given to self-pity or despair, but if he allowed himself to think too far ahead he could feel all hope draining from him. He was young, he was enthusiastic, he didn’t know the meaning of fear, and yet all because of a ridiculous twist of fate he wasn’t allowed to fight for his country’s freedom. It hurt him bitterly.
Sighing, he drew the newspaper towards him. This was his one regular piece of routine: ever since coming out of hospital he had made himself do the crossword every day. He’d never seen the point of it before, but during the long, empty hours convalescing on the ward, a fellow patient had introduced him to the challenge of filling in the gaps, solving the complicated clues. He’d bonded with the older man and somehow their shared interest had overcome the difference in their backgrounds. It turned out that the man was a high-ranking officer, who’d now returned to some shadowy behind-the-scenes, hush-hush role, whereas of course Danny had never been able to join any of the armed services, thanks to his damaged heart. But for those few moments the two men had been united in tracking down the perfect solution, and Danny had been bitten by the crossword bug. He’d made himself do one a day ever since. It was strange in some ways. He’d been no slouch at school, but had been too restless ever to settle down and make the most of his studies. He knew he had a good brain but had preferred to use it coming up with the latest scheme to make money or have some fun while working on the docks. Now all that was denied him, for the immediate future anyway, he took refuge in the pastime of thinking for its own sake.
He was absorbed in what he thought must be an anagram when there was a knock at the door. He almost jumped, he’d been staring so intensely at the arrangement of letters, willing them to form a recognisable word. He shook himself and shouted ‘come in’, as the door opened anyway and Sarah Feeny stepped inside.
The youngest of the Feenys, Sarah shared the no-nonsense, get-up-and-go attitude of her mother. She’d taken to her VAD nurse training like a duck to water, despite being so young. There wasn’t much that shocked or surprised her – having all those older brothers and sisters meant she’d heard it all before. Now she looked about her and grinned. ‘Blimey, Danny, it’s as quiet as a church in here.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Danny made a face. ‘Cup of tea? The pot’s around somewhere.’
‘Oh, I can see it, I’ll do it,’ Sarah offered at once.
Danny rose. ‘I’m not dead yet, I can still make a pot of tea,’ he told her, more sharply than he’d intended.
Sarah’s face fell. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t. I was just trying to be helpful.’
Danny groaned inwardly. He knew he was over-sensitive to everyone trying to molly-coddle him, and that’s why he hadn’t told anyone about his condition in the first place – anyone apart from Sarah, who’d found out. She was the last person he wanted to snap at and he felt bad about it, but that’s what came of spending too long on his own with only his puzzles for company.
‘I know,’ he said, his face softening. ‘But it’ll do me good to stretch my legs a bit. You make yourself comfortable, you must have been rushing round all day. Take the weight off your feet, I’ll only be half a mo.’
Sarah sank gratefully into the chair that until recently had been Kitty’s. ‘It’s so nice to have a bit of peace! No, don’t look like that, I mean it. People have been shouting at me all day at work and my head’s fit to burst with all the things I’m meant to remember. Then I come home and there isn’t a spare inch of space. Nancy’s in a mad flap because Gloria’s coming back for a visit and she hasn’t got anything to wear if they go out. Rita’s there because Mrs Kennedy’s driving her round the bend. Violet’s going on and on about the victory garden – you’d think she’d been a farmer or something before she married Eddy. Mam’s got piles of old rags everywhere, which she says are for her make-do-and-mend classes. Mam and Pop are bickering like they always do. It’s like a madhouse.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, don’t listen to me, I don’t mean it. I love them all, you know that. But sometimes it gets to me, I can’t help it.’
Danny smiled. ‘A bit of a contrast to here, which is like a monastery. You’re doing me a favour keeping me from going crackers rattling around here on my own.’
Sarah beamed. ‘Good, I’ll put my feet up then. Don’t suppose you’ve got any sugar? I know we aren’t supposed to have any in our tea now as it’s not patriotic, but some days it’s the only thing that’ll keep me going.’
Danny turned to the corner cupboard. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve got a secret stash of it in here. What’s the point of working on the docks if you can’t sweeten your tea now and again?’ He passed it across. ‘Just don’t make a habit of it, all right – it might have to last for the rest of the war, however long that’ll be. My contacts aren’t what they were, not since the fire.’ He smiled ruefully.
‘Don’t worry, this is a treat,’ said Sarah, stirring the precious sugar into her drink. ‘I’m not encouraging you to go on the black market, Danny. Not like that Mrs Kennedy, we all know what used to go on in her shop.’
‘Used to?’
Sarah looked up at him, registering how pale he looked, his face white in contrast to his dark wavy hair. ‘You haven’t been in there recently, then? It’s driving Rita mad. Winnie’s hardly ever behind the counter, Rita’s left to open up and shut the shop, and it’s hardly making any money any more. She never has a moment to think straight, let alone visit the children. I think missing Michael and Megan is making it worse.’
‘But they’re happy on the farm, aren’t they?’ asked Danny. ‘Our Tommy’s having the time of his life. Or so I gather from his letters. His handwriting isn’t the greatest, but he goes on and on about the animals, they’re turning him into a right farmer. At least he’s making himself useful digging for victory. He loves it, so I bet the others do too.’
‘It’s not that so much as being apart from them,’ said Sarah. ‘Honestly, Danny, they’re all fine. Rita showed me one of Michael’s letters – they couldn’t be in a better place. But she misses them like mad, even though she knows they’re safer there than just about anywhere.’
‘Can’t she go and see them?’ asked Danny, then cursed himself for his own stupidity. What had Sarah just told him? The shop wasn’t making money and Rita had hardly any spare time. Of course she couldn’t just up sticks and catch a bus out to the country – always supposing there were buses running anyway.
Sarah shrugged. ‘You know it’s not that easy. Pop would take her in his cart but he’s never home either – he’s on ARP duty all the time. When he isn’t, he’s sleeping off the night shifts. You know how it is.’
Danny nodded. He remembered all too well the effects of working night shifts. Your brain didn’t feel as if it was your own. Then the idea struck him.
‘Why don’t I take her?’
‘Well, I’m sure it would be a lovely thing to do but …’ she began.
‘No buts,’ said Danny, suddenly seeing that this was the ideal solution. ‘Come on, Sar, it’ll be doing me a favour. I get to leave the house, but I’ll be sitting down the whole time so won’t need to worry about me ticker – while Rita gets an escort to see the kids. I get to see Tommy, check he hasn’t run too wild. Everyone wins.’ He stood up.
