by Sheila Riley
Connie… Dependable Connie. Everybody’s friend.
Angus’ eyes were drawn to the flower-papered wall that divided them. She was feet away. Yet it could be a thousand miles. He was glad she had married, even if only for a short time. It was proof, if any were needed, that she was a warm and loving, red-blooded female, and not the spinster he had first took her for. That would be a terrible waste of a good woman, he thought.
Smiling, he noticed the outline of two hot-water bottles under the covers. Connie must have put them in when he went to the telephone box.
Tossing his socks into the laundry bin provided, he lay on top of the bed. His hands behind his head in the dark, and he stared up at the cracked ceiling watching the occasional arc of a vehicle’s headlights as it crawled over the icy bridge.
A relationship with Connie could never progress, he thought with more than a hint of regret. Although, admittedly, he was growing fond of her… too fond. He didn’t want to hurt her, and he wouldn’t be here long enough to sustain a permanent relationship.
He had been here longer than usual, but as he told the powers-that-be, Darnel had raised his game from stealing booze and cigarettes to cracking bonded warehouses. Stealing war weapons to sell abroad was a hanging offence.
Jack’s information about the weapons stored for overseas shipping was a breakthrough. He would make a star witness. Darnel would know that, too.
A small creak of the floorboards jolted him from his thoughts. Connie was still awake, and he imagined her moving around the large square room next door. She was edging a sticky drawer back into place, trying to be quiet so as not to disturb anybody. Her mother especially.
‘Connie! Is that you?’ Mim’s strident call showed she was not as considerate.
Who else would it be? Angus thought, deferring a mirthless chuckle. Mim likely suspected he was in Connie’s room. Ravishing her daughter to within an inch of her life. But nothing could be further from the truth… Seven long empty years.
He never expected to find another woman who could set his pulse racing. But that night, when he was looking for lodgings, he knew he had to get to know Connie Sharp.
19
Angus decided he would have a pint in the tavern after work, instead of going straight upstairs to his room overlooking the docks. Mim would be cooking the evening meal and it was safe to say this would be the only time he could have a private word with Connie.
The tavern, ever popular with dock workers, was busier than of late given that the ice was beginning to thaw, and the country appeared to be on the move again. It was also one of the best places to watch the comings and goings of the locals.
‘Busy tonight,’ Angus said to Connie who had started pulling him a pint. She nodded as she slipped the glass of dark beer across the bar and shook her head when he offered her the money to pay for it.
‘There’s a couple of American ships in, and the dockers are having a whip-round for Sid Harris – he hasn’t been able to work since he was coshed during a warehouse robbery.’
Angus knew all about it, because Connie told him. He also knew that she helped Jack that night, and he worried that Darnel might put Connie in danger
‘Poor Sid is an old soldier, who lost half a foot in Flanders, working out on the dockside in all weathers,’ Connie was saying. Her dander was up, Angus could tell. ‘If he doesn’t get some kind of reward for the bravery he showed that night, I’ll eat my hat.’
‘That would be a sight to see,’ Angus said giving her a smile that would charm the birds from the trees. Connie flicked a bar towel in his direction and, smiling, went to serve another customer.
‘… An American ship came in that night an’ all.’ Sid Harris’ words were slurred as he leaned against the bar. It was obvious he had had a skinful.
‘What night was that, Sid?’ Angus asked. It was amazing what information he had gleaned once the customers got to know him – or at least, once they thought they had got to know him. It seemed any friend of Connie’s was a friend of theirs.
‘That night… you know.’ Sid waved his forefinger at something Angus could not see. In his inebriated mind he knew what he meant, but the trouble was, nobody else did.
‘Do I?’ Angus asked, and Sid looked at him through bleary eyes, swaying on the spot.
‘The night before I got whacked over the head, and took a fractured skull fer me trouble,’ Sid mumbled, scratching his grey-stubbled chin and narrowing his eyes to a narrow slit in concentration. ‘Anyway, as I was saying…’ Angus didn’t know what he was talking about but thought it wise to listen. ‘… The drinking led to good-humoured banter, you know what the locals say about the Yanks – over-paid over-sexed and…’
Angus was taking mental notes. It appeared there was something Sid needed to get off his chest.
‘Sometimes you get the odd skirmish, but nothing serious.’ He shook his head. ‘Nothing I can’t handle. I’ve helped Connie eject many a leery customer who thinks she’s an easy target. I fought in the trenches you know…’
‘So I’ve heard, Sid… another?’ Angus nodded to Sid’s pint glass.
‘Aye, go on, then. Seeing as you’re offering,’ Sid moved from the bar and headed to a table. ‘I’ll just be over here, rest me poor feet.’ Angus watched him zigzag across the chequered floor of the bar and plonk himself down at a table opposite.
‘Has he got on to his war days, yet?’ Connie asked with a smile. It was good to see Angus coming into the bar after work.
‘Aye,’ said Angus, returning Connie’s beautiful smile. ‘I think he’s in the mood for talking. I must sit down for this one.’
‘Well, don’t let him keep you gabbing all night,’ she said, pulling the second pint and putting it on the bar. ‘Mim will have the tea on the table at six o’clock sharp.’ Angus gave a low chuckle and saluted from the brim of his trilby.
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he said, and Connie flicked her hands, urging him away from the bar. They both laughed. Angus had brightened her life so much, it would be a bleaker place when he left. But she didn’t want to think of that now.
‘Hey?’ Sid looked puzzled, and he thought for a moment, his forehead pleated in a concentrating frown. ‘Oh aye,’ he said, ‘I was telling you, wasn’t I?
‘Better start from the beginning, Pop,’ said Angus, ‘I came in halfway through the conversation.’ Angus knew the locals were notorious for keeping information to themselves. But Sid seemed willing to sing like a canary tonight.
‘So you did. Well…’ Sid took a sip of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘It were like this. Wednesday nights the Shipwrights have a meeting in the snug at seven o’clock.’
‘The Shipwrights?’ Angus asked thinking the conversation had taken a strange turn.
‘Aye,’ said Sid reaching for his pint. ‘They used to build wooden ships, now they repair them. Some people call them artisans, highly skilled, like… Anyway, every Wednesday they have a get-together in the snug over there.’ He nodded to a small private room separate from the bar. ‘Don’t suppose they like mixing with us riff-raff.’ He gave a low chuckle and wiped his mouth while Angus waited patiently for him to get to the point.
‘So, that night, a few Yankee sailors came into the tavern. They’d had a skinful, singing dancing, eyeing up the ladies.’ Sid took another sip of his pint, to dramatically heighten the tension, thought Angus. He waited.
‘Well, that’s the Yanks for ye,’ Angus said in his low Scottish brogue, drinking his pint of bitter while taking all in. His interest piqued, he was thrilled he had followed his instincts and come into the bar after work.
‘Well, Rene…’ Sid wagged his finger, pointing drunkenly to an empty chair and meandering through his memories. ‘Lovely Rene… you know Rene… everybody knows Rene… you know, the barmaid.’ He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘Well, she seemed to know the Americans well, because they supplied Darnel with ill… illic… knocked-off booze, and Darnel supplied the sailors with the female attr
actions, so to speak.’ Sid took a well-worn tin out of his back pocket and slowly filled a cigarette paper, careful not to spill the precious tobacco – all the while airing his vital observations.
‘The Yanks have a never-ending wallet of notes, and the ladies like to be treated.’
‘How come you were in here that night?’ Angus knew the night-watchman would usually be on the dock making sure the warehouses were secure, any time from seven at night.
‘I usually call in before my night shift, have a quick gill, give Connie a hand, collecting glasses if she was busy. That was two nights before I was bundled into that warehouse – to keep me quiet while they made off.’ Sid lowered his voice, looking all around the bar, ‘they told me to keep shtum, but…’ He shrugged his shoulders again. ‘I’m passed taking orders. Sid Harris will do what he likes from now on.’
‘Good for you, Sid’ Angus could have jumped up and punched the air, knowing that Rene Kilgaren was in here two nights before Jack got shot. But he must remain calm. This was his lucky day.
‘Aye. Guns and everything! There must have been ten… no twelve of the buggers. One pulled a gun out and pushed me into the warehouse. Told me to keep my mouth shut or else. Then he cracked me over the head.’
‘Who did? Darnel?’
The older man nodded, obviously running out of steam.
‘Bastards!’ Angus cursed, disgusted they could treat a war hero like Sid in such a way.
‘Aye, they’re the scum of the earth, who neither work nor want for anything.’
‘Did you get a good look at them?’ Angus asked, suspecting he was asking too many questions but unable to stop himself. Nevertheless, in his inebriated state, Sid didn’t notice.
‘They all had balaclavas over their faces, except for the hot-head and Leo Darnel.’
Angus felt his adrenaline soar. Sid could even describe the goons who assaulted him. ‘Darnel was there right enough, trying to calm the hot-head down. But I’d recognise the eejit with the gun. Irish he was.’
Angus gave a silent groan of disappointment. Every other person in Liverpool seemed to have an Irish accent. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Then a thought struck him, and he reached into his pocket.
‘Did he look anything like this man?’ Angus showed Sid the picture.
‘That’s him! That’s the bugger. Thought he was John Wayne, he did!’
‘I’ll tell you what, Sid, you don’t half have some exciting escapades,’ Angus said, keeping his cool. It wouldn’t do for the locals to know what he did to earn a crust. They would treat him with suspicion for hoodwinking them into thinking he was a regular bloke, one of them, and not a senior undercover detective working on behalf of the port insurers.
‘… He was a trigger-happy bastard – heard a rat over by the coal hills and bang! Not a second’s hesitation.’ Angus said nothing but gave a low whistle. Evie and Connie had both managed to contain the information about Jack being shot and he suspected that was only because Mim and Sid’s missus hadn’t found out.
Lucy didn’t know the true details either. They had all been told Jack fell over and Connie was cleaning it each day. ‘The place was heaving, everybody was having a fine old time. Singing. Dancing. You name it, the locals were having a ball.’
‘Rene Kilgaren was enjoying the American’s attention.’
‘In what way?’ asked Angus, filling his pipe.
‘She was just larking about, having a laugh and a dance, the way they do, but she kept looking over the sailor’s shoulder, tormenting him, like.’ Angus presumed Sid was talking about Darnel. ‘He must have been wound up, the way he broke that glass.’
‘Broke the glass?’ It was like pulling teeth trying to get a straightforward story from Sid now. ‘And then what happened?’ Angus’ pulse was racing, but he couldn’t be sure if it was because of hope or frustration.
‘Grabbed her by the wrist and told her she was drunk. She didn’t seem sloshed, like,’ said the wiry watchman. ‘She could drink enough to sink a battleship, that one – I’ve seen her in a worse state than that, and she’s been capable.’
‘Of what?’ Angus asked with a practised grin. Sid chuckled, he was a man’s man.
‘She could get herself home.’ He paused thinking about the day. ‘She stormed out in a huff and he left too.’
‘Did you see him again?’ Angus asked and Sid nodded his head, seeming to have lost interest in the conversation about Rene.
‘What about Rene?’ Angus asked. ‘Did Darnel say where she had gone?’
‘I asked him, like, and he said she went off in a huff. Talking to some fella. He left her to it.’
‘That doesn’t sound right,’ Angus watched Sid’s eyebrows pucker. ‘He was always possessive from what I heard.’
‘He was edgy, like, drank quite a few whiskeys.’ Sid laughed and leaned on the table. ‘Here, you’re not a copper, are you?’
‘Me?’ Angus knew his luck had just run out, and quipped, ‘What do you think? Anyway, I’d best be off for my tea, otherwise Mim will skin me alive.’ He laughed, finishing his pint. It was time to go. Sid shook his head at the absurdity of his own question and smacking his lips he said, ‘Aye, you’re right. Our Mim doesn’t like snoops – well, who does?’
Angus considered Sid’s last comment at leisure as the old man’s eyes grew heavy.
‘It’s time to go, old fella,’ Angus told Sid, who got up from his seat and, wending his way to the door, waved his flat cap drunkenly as he went.
‘Mim will have our tea on the table,’ said Connie, who had just finished checking the till before the part-time barmaid took over.
‘I like your hair,’ he said admiring her mahogany curls. ‘Have you done something with it?’
‘Done something?’ Connie said, patting the result of an uncomfortable night’s sleep in a head-full of steel curlers. ‘Not really.’
20
‘Evie!’ The rapid thump, thump, thump of small feet racing along the landing kept time with Evie’s thumping heartbeat. The frantic calling of her name penetrating a quickly forgotten dream, and at first, she imagined the child’s voice was part of her nocturnal slumber until the bedroom door swung open with such force it banged against the wall. Evie’s eyes opened wide, trying to adjust between wake and sleep.
‘Evie! Save me!’ Squinting, Evie focused on her sister’s small frame scrambling over the bed.
‘What’s wrong, Lucy, did you have a bad dream?’ The silver glow of a frosty moon shone through thin net curtains, giving no sign it was night or morning and Evie unfolded the bedclothes, hoisted herself up to rest her elbow on the pillow. Jack said their young sister was prone to nightmares since they came back from Ireland. And who could blame her? Your mother running away from home was enough to give anybody the heebie-jeebies.
‘There’s a man on the landing!’ Lucy hissed between her teeth. ‘I think he’s dead!’
‘Behave yourself!’ Every nerve in her body screamed and Evie said the first thing that came into her head, being woken so dramatically. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. ‘You’ve had a bad dream that’s all. Nobody can get in here.’
She listened, pulling on the bedclothes. As the icy air hit her, she grabbed her young sister’s hand and dragged her into the bed, putting her by the wall. ‘Go back to sleep.’ She could brain her mother for putting the child through this much distress. Evie stroked her sister’s hair, and Lucy drew her knees up under the faded nightdress that had once belonged to her, and she was shaking.
‘I’ll have a look, shall I?’ Evie wanted to check Lucy hadn’t wet her bed, as she had the previous night, when she had a nightmare.
‘No! Don’t leave me!’ Lucy sounded terrified, and Evie scooped the child into her arms.
‘It’s all right, Lucy,’ Evie whispered. ‘Jack’s a light sleeper, he would’ve heard something.’ Lucy snuggled into her big sister, too afraid to look up.
‘You’ve had a bad dream, tha
t’s all.’ She folded the child in her arms, patting her back, whispering soothing words. ‘Shh, go back to sleep. You’re safe with me.’
‘But he’s here,’ Lucy cried, ‘he’s here!’
‘Who is Luce?’ Evie’s mouth was paper dry. ‘Who did you see?’
‘A man! A big man and he’s not moving.’ Lucy’s eyes had a wild look about them. The child believed she had seen someone on the landing. Evie heard night terrors could be as realistic to the victim as real life itself.
‘I’ll go and check, you stay here,’ then, in a light-hearted voice that would be sure to ease Lucy’s distress, she said, ‘It might be your good shepherd, asleep on our landing. If it is, I’ll puck the gob off him – waking me up at this hour.’
Dotting her toes on the freezing lino, Evie located her slippers, certain she would find no strange man asleep on the landing, nobody would get past their Jack’s bedroom door at the top of the stairs without him hearing.
The candle had almost burned down, and she cupped the flame as she picked it up. The creak of the rusting hinges sounded much louder in the silence of the night, and Evie steeled herself to look around the bedroom door. But all she could see was a wall of darkness. Nothing stirred. She closed the bedroom door, tiptoeing across the floor to Lucy.
‘See? I told you there was nobody there.’ As she and Lucy settled down to sleep, the sound of the creaking bedsprings drowned out the click of the closing front door.
‘I’ll see Evie after breakfast.’ Connie felt heart sorry for the girl who’d had no life to speak of. Nineteen years of age and saddled with two kids, it didn’t look as if she would have much of one for the foreseeable.
‘They said on the wireless the worst of the bad weather is over. Maybe her ladyship will come back to her kids,’ Mim said, causing Connie’s eyebrows to pucker in confusion. Her mother said the daftest things sometimes. The weather was warmer, and there was hope the worst was over. But she had no clue why her mother would think the weather would bring Rene home and she had no intentions of asking. ‘I asked Evie if she wanted the cleaner’s job, when Mrs Harris sprained her ankle,’ Connie said, ‘but she wasn’t interested.’