Christmas on the Mersey. Annie Groves
to make sure nobody could hear him, ‘a consignment of Craven “A” came in from Canada this afternoon. They’re like gold dust, but the shop will have some in tomorrow.’
‘Mrs Snooty said she’ll pass a packet in for our Frank after the shop is shut.’
‘Did she now?’ Danny said and, knowing he could trust Sarah to be discreet, he added, ‘They’re not going off the dock until tomorrow morning.’ He knew that if Mrs Kennedy was getting her order tonight she was not going to get them by legal means. He shook his head. The crafty old cow … ‘Looking down her nose at everybody else while she is creaming off the top.’ Well, that was handy to know.
‘Are you coming in for a cup of tea?’ Sarah asked. She liked being around Danny. He made her feel … safe.
‘I’ll have to get going,’ Danny answered. ‘I’m on the twilight shift on the dock tonight but tell Frank I’ll see him before he goes.’
He had turned to walk away when Sarah said, ‘Were you going to our house for anything in particular?’ She smiled when Danny smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.
‘I’d forget my head if it wasn’t stuck on,’ he laughed. ‘Our Kitty wanted to know if your mam would look out for Tommy until she gets home from the NAAFI? There’s a dance on and she’s got to work an evening shift.’
‘Send him over,’ Sarah said. ‘He can help me sort the bag of woollens I collected this morning with Mam, and I’ve got some pullovers that need unravelling.’
‘He’ll love that, I’m sure,’ Danny laughed, ‘but only if it means he can listen to your wireless.’ With that, he turned and crossed back over the cobbled road, wondering if he could get his hands on a wireless set, now they were a bit flush, like. It would be Kitty’s twenty-second birthday in a few weeks; Danny would love to surprise her, and to surprise her with a wireless would be the gear …
Sarah was a lovely girl. The thought popped into his head without invitation, as it did a lot of late.
‘Was there any word from Charlie this morning?’ Rita asked her mother-in-law as she saw her place a small pile of post, retrieved from the doormat, on the counter. Rita had just returned from night duty at the hospital.
‘Not this morning,’ Ma Kennedy replied airily. ‘I’m sure he has got more on his mind than writing to us every five minutes. He has got a job and two children to look after, you know.’
Rita eyed the woman coldly. ‘He should have given us his address by now. He can’t just up and disappear with two kids in tow!’
‘Of course he hasn’t just upped and disappeared,’ Mrs Kennedy said. ‘I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.’ Her protestations were determined. ‘He has written already and said that they are all fine. He must have forgotten to put his address on, that’s all. He said that he wants the children to settle in for now and not have any upsetting emotional visits.’ She seemed overly bright to Rita this morning, even a bit giddy. ‘You listen to far too many of those daft dramas on the wireless. Then you get all worked up over nothing.’
Rita gave her mother-in-law a sideways glance but kept quiet. Ma Kennedy claimed she had given Charlie the only copy of this friend Elsie Lowe’s address that she had, and as she wasn’t in touch regularly she couldn’t remember it at all. Surely if Mrs Kennedy really did not know the address where her son had gone with the children she would move heaven and earth to find out … It had been nearly two weeks and that was all they had heard. Every morning Rita hovered around the door waiting for some news, or hurried home from the hospital after her shift in a state of high anticipation, only to be bitterly disappointed when she got the news from Mrs Kennedy that there was no news today.
Watching the older woman fiddle with the morning newspapers stacked on the counter, unfolding the top one, smoothing it down and then carefully joining the edges together, Rita knew it was a nervous gesture, a sure sign that Winnie had something to hide.
What a fool she had been to think Mrs Kennedy, as a mother, would sympathise with her plight. However, looking at her now, and reading the tell-tail signs that the Kennedys unconsciously displayed when they were trying to hide something, Rita suspected the crafty old woman did know something; Charlie would not go one day without talking to his mother, let alone two weeks. They were in cahoots, obviously.
Rita was trying not to panic. Charlie had been in touch at least and there was no reason to think that the children were in any danger.
‘Put those out for the paper man, would you?’ Ma Kennedy pointed at the pile of newsprint and then headed for the back room and her usual spot by the window.
‘What did your last slave die of?’ Rita muttered, but she was tired and in no mood for an argument this morning. She went to pick up the bundle of papers and before she did so, she idly looked at the pile of letters that the postman had brought. There were the usual bills and these days there was often some official pronouncement about saving water or paper, or important information about more essentials that were being rationed. Today there was also something different. It was an official-looking letter addressed to Charlie. Rita turned the brown paper envelope over to see if she could see where it had come from and gasped when she saw the name of the sender was the War Office.
So, she thought, Charlie’s papers had finally come. There could be no escape for him now.
‘Rita! Cooee!’
Rita, deep in thought as she entered Empire Street, turned to see Kitty Callaghan beckoning her across the road. Rita smiled; she had not spoken to Kitty for ages as their shifts were often at different times, and even though they lived almost opposite each other they never seemed to have time for a catch-up these days.
Kitty looked a little perturbed. ‘There’s something I’ve got to show you. Have you got a minute?’ She led Rita up the narrow passageway to her kitchen.
It all seemed very cloak-and-dagger, Rita thought, intrigued. Entering the warm, cosy kitchen where the clean smell of Mansion polish mixed with the delicious aroma of a stew bubbling away on the stove, Rita felt suddenly hungry.
‘Stay and have a bite to eat,’ Kitty said, and she invited Rita to sit at the table before opening the sideboard drawer and taking out an air-mail envelope.
‘This came for you yesterday.’ Kitty’s face was suddenly infused with a pink blush. ‘I didn’t want to take it over the road in case Ma Long-nose saw it and started asking awkward questions. You can do without that kind of thing when you’re busy.’
‘A letter? For me?’ Rita asked, then recognised the careful, copperplate handwriting on the envelope. Jack had sent it. He had sent a few letters to the hospital and she had answered them. They were just friendly and informative, but reading between the lines Rita could tell that Jack still thought a lot of her and she also thought much of him.
A thrill ran right through her. She always looked forward to hearing from Jack. He told her of the long periods of boredom punctuated with bursts of frightening activity. To curb the tedium, he read. Rita knew now that Jack had learned to read and write only while serving his apprenticeship in Belfast. He had told her that he could never have read the letter that she sent to him. The one asking him to come home … the one before she made a decision that would break both of their hearts.
He was now an avid reader and he devoured books of every kind. The last he had read was an Agatha Christie murder mystery, and Rita had hurried to Bootle library to get herself a copy so they could discuss it the next time they saw each other. Rita crushed down the unspoken fear that they all had. The fear about the men they cared for and the danger that they faced in this blasted war. If anything should happen to Jack … He also told her what films he had managed to see when he was not on duty and when Rita saw the Marx Brothers in Duck Soup she knew she was laughing at the same things Jack had laughed along with. She tried