Lights Out Liverpool

by Maureen Lee

  ‘But you never lie in!’

  ‘Well, I do now. I thought it’d do that lazy bugger downstairs good to wait on me for a change. Anyroad,’ he offered her a cigarette and she shook her head, ‘what have you been up to over the weekend?’

  Eileen sat on the edge of the bed. ‘You know darn well what I’ve been up to. I’ve been to London. In fact, I’ve brought you a present.’ She handed him the tea caddy.

  He gave it a cursory glance and said, ‘Ta,’ but didn’t touch it.

  Eileen put the caddy on the dressing table. She wasn’t upset by his apparent rejection of the gift. He’d treasure it, as he treasured everything given him by his family.

  ‘Did you go with Nick?’ he asked gruffly.

  ‘You know that, too,’ she said. With Eileen’s approval, her sister kept Dad up to date on her affairs. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Why should I mind?’ he said, shrugging his massive shoulders. ‘It’s your life.’ He picked up a paper and began to read.

  Ah, but you didn’t think so once, Eileen thought. Not when you persuaded me to marry Francis.

  ‘You like Nick, don’t you?’ she asked cautiously.

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘I’ve only seen him the once. He seemed a reasonable enough feller. Bit poncey, but what more can you expect if he went to university like you said.’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’

  ‘Anyroad,’ he turned a page, pretending to read, ‘it don’t matter if I like him or not, does it? According to our Sheila, you plan on getting wed once you’re rid of Francis Costello.’

  ‘Would that bother you?’

  He put the paper down and stared at her accusingly. ‘Why are you so keen on having my opinion? Course it wouldn’t bother me.’

  ‘Not even divorcing Francis?’

  ‘I don’t care if you shoot the bastard. Though again, according to Sheila, divorcing him won’t be an easy matter.’

  ‘No,’ she confessed. ‘The solicitor more or less told me to go and jump in the Mersey. Miss Thomas, a woman from work, is trying to find me another one.’

  He lifted the paper and pretended to read again, his blue eyes moving to and fro over the print. ‘I might be able to help you there,’ he said casually.

  ‘You!’ she said astonished.

  ‘I could write to Francis and promise to go through with the nomination as planned, as long as he made no objection to a divorce.’

  ‘You’d do that! For me?’ she gasped, even more astonished.

  Her dad flung the paper down impatiently. ‘For Chrissakes, girl,’ he said angrily. ‘You’re my daughter. I’d lay down me life for you.’

  ‘But,’ she said, flustered, ‘surely you wouldn’t want Francis Costello for an MP, not after what you know about him?’

  He smiled. ‘He wouldn’t be much worse than most. Anyroad, there’s quite a few men want to fill Albert Findlay’s shoes when he retires. I’m only promising to nominate Francis. I’m not promising he’ll win.’ He tapped his nose with his finger and said slyly, ‘A few words in the right ears and Francis won’t be any the wiser when he loses!’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’ She hugged him. ‘Don’t write the letter yet, though. I’ll see what the solicitor has to say.’

  ‘Gerroff!’ he muttered, pushing her away. Eileen felt a moment of hurt, because he welcomed the slightest gesture of affection from Sheila. ‘Now leave me alone to read me papers in peace, and on your way out, tell our Sean I’d like another cup of tea.’

  Chapter 13

  When Arthur Fleming got home from work one evening just after Easter, Jess was sitting at the table reading a magazine. There was no sign of a meal, not even a cup of tea.

  He nodded politely and said, ‘Evening, Jess,’ which was as far as any demonstration of affection went nowadays.

  ‘Hallo, Arthur,’ she replied absently.

  He sat down, opened The Times, and decided not to comment on the lack of food and drink. Jess had been in the strangest mood lately. It was as if he’d lived with several different women over the last year. There was the greedy, grasping Jess of old, then the martyr bravely going out to work. After she’d given up her job, she’d changed. There’d been elements of the girl he’d married, as she’d gone round singing at the top of her voice. Lately, though, she seemed to be in a dream world all of her own. He would find her gazing abstractedly into the fire, as if she could see things invisible to him. Whatever those things were, they must have been pleasant, because she was forever smiling, if only to herself, like the cat that had got the best of the cream.

  She was smiling now, as she sat with her chin in her hand, looking like a Botticelli angel with her red hair loose and rippling down her back. Her face seemed rather plump, thought Arthur, and it made her appear more youthful, almost girlish.

  ‘How are you getting on in the ARP, Arthur?’

  He jumped, the question was so unexpected. ‘All right. They’re a good crowd.’ He’d joined just after Christmas when Jess and Jacob Singerman had started to give concerts for the troops, conscious of the fact that he himself was doing absolutely nothing towards the war effort.

  ‘Are there any lady ARP wardens?’ she asked innocently.

  Alarm bells began to ring inside his head. What the hell was she driving at? ‘A couple,’ he answered, just as innocently.

  ‘Then I expect the lipstick on your shirt belonged to one of them,’ she said in a matter of fact voice.

  ‘What shirt? What lipstick?’ he spluttered.

  ‘The red lipstick on the collar of your blue shirt. I scrubbed it off. It seemed silly to produce it, like evidence.’

  ‘Now, look here, Jess,’ he began heatedly, ‘you’re not to read things into this that don’t exist.’

  ‘Your blue shirt exists, Arthur,’ she said calmly. ‘The lipstick’s gone now, but that existed for a while. Someone’s been kissing you. Is that all you did, Arthur? Kiss?’

  Oh, God! ‘That’s all, Jess, I swear,’ he said with all the conviction he could muster, but he was no good at lying, never had been. One of the reasons the business had gone bust was because he was too honest for his own good.

  ‘You’re not telling the truth, dear. I can tell by your face. You’re having an affair.’

  There seemed little use denying it. ‘Not a proper affair, Jess …’

  ‘An improper one?’ she suggested, smiling.

  Her attitude made him feel uneasy. She was up to something. It seemed unnatural, this apparently calm, serene acceptance of the fact he’d been with another woman. Why didn’t she scream and yell or throw him out of the house? Perhaps she was working up to a terrific rage and any minute now she’d chuck that vase of daffodils at his head. He almost hoped she would. It was no more than he deserved.

  ‘I was lonely,’ he said defensively. ‘Mavis was …’

  ‘Mavis? That’s a pretty name,’ she remarked.

  ‘Her husband’s been sent down to work at Plymouth Docks. She was lonely, too. And, and …’

  ‘Frustrated?’ suggested Jess.

  ‘Well, since you mention it, yes,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘I know how Mavis felt.’

  ‘Oh, do you now!’ What a joke? She’d not come near his bed, not once, since they moved to Bootle.

  There was silence for a good five minutes. He kept expecting Jess to explode and was ready to duck if the daffodils came his way, but her next remark took him even more by surprise.

  ‘I’ve not been much of a wife to you, have I, Arthur?’ She folded her arms on the table and stared at him thoughtfully.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about that, Jess,’ he said uncomfortably, unsure whether the answer was yes or no.

  She hardly seemed to notice he’d spoken. ‘I think the worst thing was not being aware of how miserable you were at work. It wasn’t until I worked for Veronica that I realised how important it was to be happy in your job. When I left, I felt as if I’d been liberated. Poor Arthur, you were in chains for nearly twenty years.’

 
‘That’s putting it a bit strong, Jess.’ He felt worried that she’d begun to lose her mind.

  ‘I’m sorry, Arthur, that I didn’t notice. We should have got someone in to manage the business.’

  ‘That’s all right, Jess,’ he muttered.

  She seemed to forget he was there for a while, staring dreamily into the fire, and Arthur wondered, of all the various Jesses he’d experienced lately, which did he prefer most? A bit of each, he decided eventually. This one was definitely too odd for him. He was more than a bit miffed that she’d accepted his hasty, not very pleasant affair so easily. Why wasn’t she jealous? Surely, a husband was entitled to an angry reaction from his wife when he strayed off the straight and narrow? But she’d taken it all so calmly. Why?

  ‘Arthur,’ she said pleasantly, ‘I’m pregnant.’

  He stared at her, thunderstruck. It had been ages since they’d … He counted the months. Eight. Her face was plump, but that was all. She was definitely not eight months pregnant.

  ‘Jess! You haven’t …’ He couldn’t go on.

  She nodded smilingly. ‘I have, dear. I’ve had an affair, too.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘That, Arthur, I will never tell you. You can ask till your face is as blue as the shirt the lipstick was on, but I’ll never, never tell you.’

  ‘But how could you be unfaithful to me?’ he demanded wildly.

  ‘How could you be unfaithful to me, Arthur?’

  ‘I told you, I was lonely and … and frustrated.’

  ‘So was I.’

  ‘You never said.’

  ‘Neither did you.’

  Arthur felt as if drums were beating a war chant in his head. Another man had touched his Jess! He wanted to kill him. ‘I need a drink!’

  He slammed his way into the front room and the glasses and bottles clinked together furiously as he pulled down the door of the cocktail cabinet. He poured himself a large glass of whisky and swallowed it neat.

  ‘Arthur,’ Jess had followed, ‘don’t be angry.’

  ‘How can I not be angry when you’ve been with another man?’ He flung the glass at the wall, where it shattered into a thousand pieces which fell like silver sparks onto the carpet.

  ‘You’ve been with another woman, but let’s not start all that again.’

  ‘I’ll never forgive you, Jess,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Never!’

  She took his arm and led him gently to the settee. He sat down, still dazed, unable to believe what she’d just told him. To his surprise, she sat on his knee, but he left his arms stiff beside him. Somewhat unwillingly, he let her take his hand and place it on her stomach. ‘There’s a baby in here,’ she whispered. ‘And it’ll be ours. You know how much I’ve always wanted a child, don’t you, Arthur?’

  A baby! He glanced down. There was a real, live child under his hand. With a shock that almost made him cry out loud, he realised the implication of her words. Some other man had given her a baby, which meant it was his fault she’d never conceived in the past, not hers! Yet she hadn’t uttered a word of blame.

  ‘Does he know, the father?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, and he never will. It’s our baby. You’re the father, dear.’

  ‘Where did you meet him?’

  Jess put her fingers over his lips. ‘Don’t ask questions. I don’t want to know anything about Mavis.’

  ‘At least you know her name,’ he said sulkily.

  ‘Oh, Arthur!’ she chided. ‘Don’t be childish.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘No. Do you love Mavis?’

  ‘Of course not! I told you, I felt lonely and she just happened to be there …’

  ‘It was the same for me,’ said Jess.

  Despite everything, his doubts, his jealousy, his fears, it was difficult to resist, with her lovely, curvaceous body tucked into his, putting his other arm around her.

  ‘Say something nice to me,’ she whispered. ‘Please, Arthur!’

  He closed his eyes briefly. He knew that in the years to come, he would never stop wondering who the man was and what it had been like for her. Yet common sense told him it was time to forgive and forget. He had no choice, otherwise it meant losing Jess and he couldn’t visualise life without her. She’d forgiven him, now it was his turn.

  ‘I love you, Jess. I’ve never stopped loving you,’ he said simply. Looking deep into her green eyes, he could tell she believed him. Her lips curved into a delicious smile as she cuddled even further into his arms, and he rubbed his hand over her belly. ‘Is there really a baby in there?’

  ‘Our baby, yes.’

  ‘Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?’

  ‘Who cares?’

  ‘I’d quite like a son.’ His heart quickened. He was going to be a father!

  ‘But you won’t be disappointed if it’s a girl?’

  ‘No, of course, not! I’d quite like a daughter, too.’ Suddenly, it was too much. He wanted to weep. To his shame, he felt tears course down his cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, Jess,’ he sobbed.

  Jess clasped his face fiercely. ‘Don’t be sorry, darling. Cry all you want and I’ll cry with you. We’ve had a terrible year – no, a terrible twenty years. But let’s forget the past. From this moment on, we’ll start again, just you, me and our baby.’

  It was Miss Thomas who broke the news. She came into the workshop during the tea break one morning in the second week of April and shouted, ‘Can I have your attention a minute, girls.’

  The women looked at her, wondering why she appeared so agitated and upset.

  ‘What’s the matter, Miss Thomas?’ Carmel shouted.

  ‘I’m afraid something quite awful has happened. As you know, we have a wireless in the staff room. It’s just been announced that Hitler has invaded Norway and Denmark. Denmark has already fallen. God knows what will happen to the brave Norwegians. They’re fighting back.’

  She left. The stunned women struggled to digest the news.

  ‘What does it mean, Eileen?’ Doris asked nervously. Eileen was the acknowledged expert on all matters concerning the war.

  ‘It means the phoney war is over,’ Eileen said, thinking of Nick, ‘and the proper one has begun.’

  ‘But it was only a few days ago,’ she said bitterly to Nick later on in his cottage, ‘that Chamberlain said Hitler had “missed the bus”. I thought that meant there’d be no war, that it’d just fade away.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t let yourself get so upset.’ Nick tried to kiss her, but she avoided him.

  ‘Upset! Who wouldn’t be upset?’ she cried angrily. ‘How many people died in the fighting last night? Oh, it’s such a bloody, stupid waste!’

  ‘Personally, I think he, Hitler, has bitten off more than he can chew,’ Nick said.

  ‘I hope so, but if he has, even more lives will be lost proving it.’

  Nick sighed. ‘Eileen, the dinner hour is almost over and all you’ve done is rant and rave about the damn war. I desperately want to make love to you, but there’s scarcely any time left.’

  ‘I don’t feel in the mood,’ she said stubbornly.

  ‘In that case, would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re not in the War Cabinet,’ he shouted from the back kitchen, ‘otherwise I’d never get my hands on you at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said penitently. Ever since they’d been to London, she hadn’t bothered with dinner, but spent the entire hour in his home a short distance from Dunnings. His cottage was the sort you read about in novels. On its own down a path off the High Street, it had roses around the door and black beams crisscrossing the low, white ceilings. The two bedrooms and the single living room were sparsely furnished, but it had a simple charm all of its own. And it was theirs! The place where she and Nick made love.

  Except today, she thought guiltily. She’d been cross that he didn’t appear nearly as upset as she was. He might even be glad; glad, because now there was a greater
chance he’d be called up.

  ‘I suppose you’re pleased,’ she said crossly when he came in with the tea things. ‘You’ll be expecting to hear from your Air Force bigwig any minute now.’

  His lovely sensitive face split into a wide smile. ‘So, that’s it! You’re worried about me!’

  ‘Not just you,’ she confessed. ‘Though you were the first person who passed through my mind when Miss Thomas broke the news.’

  He knelt on the floor in front of the chair and put his arms around her waist. ‘Can I have at least a kiss, if nothing else?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She slipped off the chair into his arms. Immediately his lips touched hers, the magic began to work and her head swam. He twisted her around until she was on the rug beneath him.

  ‘Nick! There’s no time,’ she protested, praying there would be.

  ‘I can be quick when necessary,’ he said, pushing at her skirt.

  ‘What about the tea?’

  ‘Damn the bloody tea!’

  In the days that followed, it seemed that Nick was right and Hider had indeed bitten off more than he could chew. The Royal Navy sank ten German destroyers off the coast of Norway and the British were cock-a-hoop, convinced they had the enemy on the run.

  Gradually, though, as April progressed, and people stayed glued to their wirelesses, anxious for the latest bulletin, disillusionment set in. Victory, it seemed, was not to be theirs. British aircraft were shot out of the skies; the Navy, after their initial triumph, were driven back into the sea. Troops sent to help the Norwegians in their battle against the invaders found themselves attacked from the air by Luftwaffe planes and, to the dismay of the entire country, it was Britain who was on the run, as thousands of men were hurriedly evacuated back to their own country.

  ‘It’s the old, old story,’ Jack Doyle railed in the King’s Arms. ‘Retreat and defeat!’

  ‘Did you hear Lord Haw-Haw last night?’ someone asked acidly. ‘Going on and on about, “the British defeat in Norway”.’

  A serviceman from Ruby Street, one of those who’d taken part in the fighting, came home injured and embittered, and described how the shells he’d been provided with were the wrong calibre for his gun.