Daughters of Liverpool. Annie Groves
fists until Emily swiped him hard with the heavy weight of her old black shopping bag with the Thermos in it.
The bully yelped in pain, releasing the boy to lift his hands to protect himself as he dodged Emily’s second swing with her bag.
‘Here, Artie, let’s get out of here,’ he yelled to his friend. ‘She’s a ruddy madwoman. I ain’t having me head bashed in for no five bloody bob, that I ain’t.’
‘The next time it will be the police that will be waiting for you,’ Emily warned them, as they fled down the alleyway towards Roe Street.
She was out of breath and her heart was racing in a way she knew her doctor would have warned her was dangerous but she actually felt more elated than afraid.
She looked down at the boy. He was looking back at her.
‘You can’t stay here,’ she told him emphatically. ‘Not now. I’m taking you home with me.’
Where had those words come from? Wherever it was they had made Emily feel positively giddy with power and excitement.
‘Be much safer for you there. And warmer too. Lost your family in one of the bombings, I expect, haven’t you?’
At least she was giving him a chance to tell her if there was someone he should be with, Emily reassured herself. And it wasn’t as though, if there was someone, they were much good to him, was it? After all, it had been over a week now that she’d been feeding him.
Emily reached down and took hold of his hand. It was icy cold and the bones plain to feel through his skin. She was trembling a bit, half shocked by what she was doing and half thrilled, as she tugged him to his feet.
Once he was on them he looked even thinner and weaker than she had thought. It was a fair walk up to the top end of Wavertree Park but she didn’t want to risk taking him on a bus in case she saw someone she knew. She wanted to get him cleaned up and a bit more respectable-looking before that happened. But then there was no hurry. They could take their time. Con wouldn’t be in until gone midnight. They could stop off at one of the chippies on the way. Emily’s stomach growled eagerly at the thought.
The neighbours would want to know where he’d come from; she’d have to think of something. Perhaps she could tell them that he was related to her in some roundabout way; after all, any number of folk were having to take in the homeless so there was no reason why she shouldn’t have him to live with her, was there?
No reason except that Con would play holy hell about it.
Well, let him, she didn’t care. And it was her house, when all was said and done.
Katie knew the minute she saw the twins’ faces that her black dress was every bit as dull and unsuitable for Liverpool’s best ballroom’s big Christmas Dance as she had thought.
Even Jean was looking at her sympathetically. Katie’s heart sank even lower. She really wished that she had not agreed to go to this dance. As her father’s assistant it had been necessary for her to wear businesslike clothes that helped her to fade into the background, not pretty dance dresses.
‘Are you really going to the Grafton in that?’ Lou, always more forthright than her twin, asked.
‘Lou …’ Jean objected, shaking her head at her daughter.
‘It’s all right,’ Katie assured her. ‘I know that my dress is very dull, but I didn’t think to bring a dance frock with me.’ Her words were both the truth and a small face-saving exercise, since in reality she did not possess a ‘dance frock’, but no one need know that.
‘Nobody will ask you to dance if you wear that. It’s too dull, more like what me and Sasha will have to wear when we go to work in Lewis’s,’ Lou told her.
‘Lou, that’s enough.’ Jean sounded stern now and Katie felt obliged to defend the child.
‘Lou’s right, my frock isn’t suitable for a Christmas Dance, but unfortunately I’m going to have to wear it because it’s all I’ve got.’
‘You could have borrowed something from Grace if she’d been here,’ said Sasha, ‘couldn’t she, Mum?’
‘Yes, I’m sure she could. Wait a minute!’ Jean exclaimed. ‘I’ve just had a thought. There’s that trunk full of clothes our Fran left behind. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you borrowing something from her if we can find something suitable, Katie. That is, if you don’t mind borrowing?’
‘Of course she doesn’t, do you, Katie?’ Lou answered for her.
Without appearing rude Katie had no choice but to agree.
Ten minutes later the four of them were upstairs in Katie’s neat, tidy bedroom, but which now reminded her of an expensive dress salon. Clothes were lying on the bed – expensive, beautifully made, elegant clothes that Katie’s mother would have loved.
‘What about this, Katie?’ Lou demanded, pirouetting round the room on her toes, holding a pale grey silk taffeta evening dress in front of her. It had a white sash waist and a matching short-sleeved bolero jacket decorated with one white and one grey silk flower that nestled stylishly together.
It was, Katie knew without even inspecting it properly, a very expensive outfit. It was also perfect for her colouring, and some female instinct she hadn’t known she possessed until now yearned for her to wear it. Even so, she felt obliged to demur.
‘It is beautiful, but it looks very expensive.’
‘Oh, Fran won’t mind, will she, Mum?’
‘I’m sure that she won’t, Katie,’ Jean agreed. ‘Why don’t you try it on?’
By the time Katie had got the dress on and discovered that it fitted her as though it had been made for her, Jean had found a pair of grey satin shoes to match it, along with a small evening bag, and once the twins had seen her in her borrowed finery, Katie recognised that there was no way she was going to be allowed out of the Campion house wearing her own dull black frock.
‘If you’re sure that your sister won’t mind …?’ Katie asked Jean yet again.
‘She won’t mind at all,’ Jean assured her. ‘But you’ll need a coat. It’s a cold night and if I know anything about the Grafton at this time of the year you’ll be queuing outside for a while before you can get in.’
‘That’s all right; I’ll wear my own coat,’ Katie told her.
Her change of clothes made her later meeting Carole than they had planned, which meant that there was indeed rather a long queue for them to join, even though it was only just gone six o’clock.
‘That’s because it’s the big Saturday night Christmas Dance,’ Carole told her. ‘Everyone wants to get a good table. I’m glad we’ve got tickets. They’re making those in the queue who haven’t got them wait.’ She gave Katie a warning dig in the ribs and giggled. ‘Just look over there at those army lads eyeing us up.’
The young men in question had just climbed out of an army truck. One of them, with more cheek than was good for him, Katie thought, winked at them and called out, ‘Waiting for us, girls?’
‘Ooohh, cheek,’ Carole breathed, but it was plain to Katie that she was not at all averse to the attention.
The young men looked decent enough, although the tall one with thick dark hair and the kind of stern, almost brooding, expression that made him look a bit like a film star, didn’t seem too pleased about his friend’s flirting.
‘We could be all right tonight with that lot in,’ Carole told Katie, giggling again as she added, ‘Mine’s the one with the fair hair and the nice teeth.’
The dark-haired one had turned his head to look right at them, and Katie suspected that he didn’t approve of what he saw. He was wearing a corporal’s