Sunlight on the Mersey

by Lyn Andrews

  ‘We only ever had a tiny thing at home and we made the decorations ourselves from pipe cleaners and cardboard covered with silver paper from cigarette packets,’ Rose told them. ‘I’m really looking forward to my first Christmas here,’ she added, thinking of the festivities that Miss Olivia had planned for the holiday. Ernest Williams would be coming over both on Christmas Eve for the large dinner party that had been planned, mainly for those who had not been invited to Elinore’s wedding, and for the family lunch on Christmas Day. Another dinner party was being hosted on Boxing Day.

  ‘Put those boxes away, Rose, and then you’d better see to decorating the tree in Mr David’s drawing room. After you’ve done that make up the fire in the dining room and help Nancy with setting the table for supper,’ the housekeeper instructed as she oversaw the safe removal of the ladder and the sweeping up of the pine needles that had dropped on to the floor.

  Rose took the empty boxes away and fetched the ones containing the decorations for the much smaller tree that had been placed in a corner of David’s small drawing room. The room was empty for he was closeted with Evan Price, his land agent, in his study, something he did frequently these days. She admired the fact that he had begun to take an interest in the estate again. She felt it helped him to achieve a more normal outlook on life. She switched on the standard lamp and closed the shutters over the windows, then drew the curtains shutting out the bleak December afternoon, for although it was not yet four o’clock it was almost dark. She stirred up the fire and added more coal and wood and then started to take the ornaments and strands of tinsel from their boxes.

  She was so engrossed with her task that she didn’t hear him enter and he sat watching her for a few minutes as she carefully attached the red, green and gold glass baubles to the branches of the tree. The light from the fire caught her cheeks giving them a soft, pink glow and her dark hair beneath its white lace cap was thick and shiny. His heart turned over. She was completely unaware of how beautiful she was, he thought as she reached gracefully up to drape a strand of tinsel over the topmost branches. He moved forward a little and the faint humming of the wheelchair’s motor made Rose turn suddenly.

  ‘Oh, you startled me! I didn’t hear you come in, I thought you were still with Mr Price,’ she said, clutching the gold star that was to be the finishing touch in her hand.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Mr Price has gone. I have to say it looks lovely, Rose,’ he said, moving closer to inspect her handiwork.

  ‘It’s not nearly as magnificent as the one in the hall, but it does look well,’ Rose replied as she placed the stool beside the tree, preparing to put the star into place.

  ‘Take care you don’t fall, Rose,’ he urged. If she did he could be of no assistance to her at all.

  ‘There now, shall I light the little candles?’ Rose asked, stepping down.

  ‘No, leave them. Come and view your handiwork from this angle.’ He had manoeuvred himself close to the fire and beckoned to her to sit beside him.

  As there wasn’t a chair situated near enough Rose knelt beside him and viewed the tree critically. ‘It does make the room look festive. Do you think it should be brought a little bit further forward?’

  ‘No, it’s perfect. It’s only the second time I’ve had a tree in here. I … I wasn’t very interested in Christmas and all its trappings when I first came home but then last year Livvie insisted I have some sort of festive decoration in here,’ he said quietly.

  Rose nodded; she could understand that. ‘We always had a very small tree at home and even though money was tight, Mam made sure we all got an orange, a new penny, a bag of nuts and usually a penny toy. And we were very fortunate; there were children in our street who never got anything at all. Did you have lots of presents and parties when you were a child, David?’

  He gazed into the fire, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. ‘We did. I suppose we were terribly spoilted by many people’s standards. I remember the year I got my first pony. I was five. A sturdy little Welsh Mountain, he was, and I called him Merlin. It was snowing but I insisted on riding him and Father braved the weather to lead me up and down the drive while Mother and the girls waved from the windows. The house was always decorated with greenery and we had house guests and parties and Lewis always gave me a big bag of toffees but then after the … accident, things … changed. Christmas became a very quiet time.’

  Rose looked up at him sadly. ‘That must have been terrible for you. I … I know how I felt when my father was killed.’

  He nodded slowly, his eyes filled with pain. ‘I was away at boarding school. The headmaster sent for me, to tell me. He was as kind as he knew how to be but it was still a very brief and awkward interview. And then I was sent home to a house that seemed so … desolate and empty.’

  Rose watched him, and in his expression and the loneliness in his tone, she suddenly caught a glimpse of the frightened, shocked and bereft child he’d been that day. She too had been away from home when her father had died but she had not been a child. Without really realising what she was doing she reached across and took his hand. ‘It must have been far worse for you than it was for me, David. At least I was older.’

  He held her hand tightly as he nodded. ‘I hated this house. Every room held memories. I was so … angry. But in time a sense of … acceptance took the place of loss and resentment; the grief became more bearable. Then a semblance of normality seemed to return, Livvie took over the household and I went back to school and then war was declared, although I didn’t have to go at once. I was too young.’

  Rose looked at him pleadingly. ‘Don’t talk about it, David. Not if it upsets you. Those four years were the most terrible, tragic years everyone has ever known.’

  He closed his eyes as he tried to dispel the memories of those days and months in the trenches. The unspeakably filthy, miserable conditions; the mud and the rats; the constant thundering of the heavy artillery; the terror that turned the stomach; and each heart-stopping, gut-wrenching moment when he’d led his men up the ladders and over the top, the whistle clenched so tightly between his teeth that his jaw ached yet he could not hear the noise it made. Not knowing if each second would be his last; not knowing how many of the lads who followed him – many of whom were the same age or even younger than he was – would survive for even an hour let alone a day. The terrible sights he’d seen, the sounds, the smells and the horror would remain with him for ever, his own wounds serving as a constant reminder. And he’d been fortunate, he hadn’t had to endure years of it as some had, and he’d lived. He was unaware that tears were pouring down his cheeks and that his chest was heaving with suppressed anguish.

  Gently Rose gathered him in her arms, her own eyes full of unshed tears. She was filled with guilt that she had unwittingly instigated such devastating memories. ‘I’m sorry, David, so sorry. I know it must have been appalling. Charlie would never speak about it and there were so many lads I knew –grew up with – who died. They were all in the same regiment – the liverpool Pals they called them. They were all friends. They’d grown up together, worked together and they …’ She couldn’t go on; memories of devastated families in every single street came flooding back and it was only four years since it had all ended.

  She didn’t know how long they clung together but at last he grew calmer and she released him, realising that she had overstepped the bounds of propriety. ‘I … I really am so very sorry, David. I didn’t mean to … It was wrong of me.’

  ‘I’ve never broken down in front of anyone or behaved like that, Rose. The fault is mine. We … we were talking of Christmas but somehow …’

  ‘I shouldn’t have asked you about the past and I certainly shouldn’t have …’ She lapsed into awkward silence.

  ‘Was it wrong to … comfort me? Isn’t it just what a friend would do?’ He was fighting hard to control his emotions.

  Rose was trying to gather her composure too, knowing that if either Mr Lewis or Mrs Mathews
or, worse, Miss Olivia had come into the room she would have been instantly dismissed. ‘I … don’t want … anything to spoil our friendship, David.’

  ‘Neither do I, and I feel that you at least try to understand.’

  Rose nodded, getting to her feet. ‘I hope I do. I’d best go now; Nancy will be wondering why I’m not working with her in the dining room.’

  He remained silent as she collected up the boxes and, with a last look at the tree, left. As he stared unseeingly at the tinsel and baubles David prayed that her spontaneous reaction to his despairing loss of control would not diminish her affection for him, would not cause her now to anticipate the time she spent with him with trepidation or, worse, regard him with pity. He loved her, he was certain of that now, but he was also certain that that love had no future. He would have to be content with her friendship.

  Rose was very subdued as she helped Nancy but as Nancy chatted on happily about the Christmas festivities and Elinore’s forthcoming wedding she didn’t appear to notice. Rose was deeply disturbed by her emotions. She had felt so sorry for him; he’d suffered so much tragedy in his life that all she’d wanted to do was comfort him but now she had to admit to herself that as she had held him that feeling had changed. She’d grown increasingly fond of him over the months but now she knew that that affection had deepened to love – and that she could never tell him how she felt. Her mother’s words of warning came back to her and she swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. You are a paid servant in his house. She didn’t know how she was going to live with what she now felt, but of one thing she was certain: she would have to if she was to remain here.

  As Christmas drew closer Iris felt that there were scarcely enough hours in the day. Both she and Tom were busy and despite the fact that Kate’s arm was now out of plaster and much better, Iris insisted that her mother do as little as possible.

  ‘I don’t want to find you trying to put up the decorations, Mam. Tom and I will do it,’ she had instructed, fearful that if Kate started climbing on chairs or stools she would fall.

  ‘But you’re both so busy, Iris,’ Kate protested.

  ‘And we’re both much younger and fitter, Mam. Now, I’ll go tomorrow afternoon and do the bulk of the shopping,’ she said, frowning over the list she had made. The kitchen was tidy and warm and a large pan of thick mutton stew was simmering gently on the range. It was almost closing time and Tom would be in shortly.

  ‘At least I can help with the preparations and we’ve already done the pudding,’ Kate reminded her.

  Iris smiled. ‘Tom’s going to bring home the tree tomorrow – nothing very grand – so you can decorate it, that’s not too strenuous.’ She knew it was hard for Kate to relinquish so many of the household chores and she tried to find things to make her mother feel she was useful. ‘I bet they have an enormous tree where Rose works.’

  ‘And I bet they are run off their feet too: they seem to be inviting half the county for dinner over Christmas, so Rose said in her last letter.’

  Iris nodded, adding ‘tinsel’ to the list. The bits they had were looking decidedly tarnished and tatty she’d noticed when the box of decorations had been unearthed from the cupboard under the stairs. She’d get some in the market. ‘I know. It’s because Miss Elinore’s wedding is going to be so quiet,’ she replied, getting up and giving the stew a stir, sniffing its appetising aroma appreciately.

  ‘Which is more than can be said for our Charlie and Florence’s, at least she’s got Christmas to take her mind off it for a while,’ Kate remarked dourly.

  Iris sighed and replaced the lid on the saucepan; with only four months to go Florence was beginning to fuss in earnest now and despite her mother’s instructions had begun to pester her father. At least Edward Taylor’s retirement didn’t look imminent, she thought, and Ethel seemed to have postponed plans to move until after the wedding, much to Florence’s relief. ‘Has our Charlie had any luck finding a place? What was the last one like?’ she asked. Her brother and her friend seemed to have spent weeks viewing houses, none of which had suited them. She knew decent rented accommodation wasn’t easy to find, but to her mind they were being far too choosy. The ones they’d viewed had been either too small, too big, too expensive or not in the ‘right’ area.

  Kate raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘He didn’t like the fact that there were kids playing around the streetlamp outside it. Said they were rowdy and could prove to be a nuisance.’

  Iris shook her head. Charlie had often played around the streetlamp himself when he’d been young. He and his mates had attached a length of rope to one of the arms and used it as a swing, and he’d played football in summer, using the wall of the shop as the goal. ‘He’s got a very short memory, has our Charlie. Have you finished writing the cards? Tom offered to deliver them because if I take them I’ll be gone hours; you know what they’re all like for jangling.’

  Kate nodded, indicating the small pile on the dresser. She had continued Bill’s practice of sending one to the regular customers – most of whom were also neighbours – who although too poor to afford to buy cards themselves greatly appreciated the gesture. ‘That’s nice of him. He’s a good lad.’

  ‘I know, Mam.’ Iris smiled, thinking that she’d never been happier in her life. Oh, they were busy but she enjoyed him being in the shop close at hand. Occasionally, if Charlie wasn’t going out, they went to the music hall or the moving pictures for a treat. Yes, married life suited her very well. ‘We’re really looking forward to Christmas, our first together as man and wife.’

  Kate’s eyes misted a little as she thought of Bill. ‘It will be nice to have you both here, and Charlie, although it will be his last in this house. I’ll miss Rose but I know it will be better than last year. Sometimes I can’t believe that your poor da has been gone for over a year now.’

  Iris reached and took her hand. ‘I still miss him too, Mam, but we’ll all be thinking of him, I know, and Tom and I are going to make sure that we all have a really great day. Probably a better one than our Rose will have – she won’t have the day off.’

  Kate frowned. ‘I sometimes worry about Rose.’

  ‘Why? You know when Gwen called she said she’s fine.’

  ‘She also said she talks about David Rhys-Pritchard a great deal. She seems to spend a lot of her free time in his company, and that bothers me.’

  ‘Oh, Mam! When she was home I thought Rose had grown up a lot. She seems more … sensible, less prone to daydreaming than she used to be. She won’t go doing anything foolish.’

  Kate sighed deeply. ‘I hope so, Iris. I just hope so,’ she replied.

  Iris got up as Tom came through, rubbing his cold hands together. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, you must be frozen, luv. Supper’s nearly ready and I’ve finished my shopping list for tomorrow.’

  Tom kissed her on the cheek. ‘We’ll have a dinner fit for a king, won’t we?’

  She smiled happily at him. ‘We will. It’s going to be a great day.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THIS CHRISTMAS HAD DEFINITELY been an improvement on last year, Iris thought as she helped Tom to arrange the fruit and vegetables he’d brought back from the market. It was hard to believe that it was a month ago now; tomorrow would be the first of February and they had escaped with little snow or ice so far, although there had been some quite wild and windy days. They’d indeed had a great lunch with a goose and all the trimmings. Afterwards Tom had helped her clear away while Mam had dozed peacefully in her chair and then they’d gone for a walk while Charlie went to Florence’s house for tea.

  She frowned as she swept up the loose soil from around the base of a sack of potatoes. With not very long now to go before the greatly anticipated wedding day Florence was becoming increasingly agitated, worrying incessantly about every single detail. She couldn’t understand just what all the fuss was about or why her friend was putting herself through so much angst; in her opinion Florence should really be enjoying herself, happily lookin
g forward to her big day.

  Now her future sister-in-law was fussing over Kate’s outfit for Ethel’s was in the process of being made by a dressmaker in Bold Street.

  ‘What’s the matter, luv? You look as if you’ve lost sixpence and found a penny,’ Tom asked, noticing his young wife’s expression.

  ‘I’m going to have to persuade Mam to come into town with me soon, Tom, to buy her outfit, and you know that’s not going to be easy. She keeps telling me we’ve got weeks and weeks yet – and we have – but I don’t think I can put up with Florence’s nagging for much longer.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Why don’t you both go on Wednesday afternoon?’ he suggested.

  ‘I suppose we could. She’s adamant that she wants something she can get plenty of wear out of in the future. She’s not wasting money on something she’ll never wear again, which is sensible, but …’

  ‘But what?’ Tom queried.

  ‘But I’m afraid that if we do get something soon, Florence will want to see it and maybe it won’t come up to her expectations.’

  ‘If you ask me, Iris, Florence is letting it all get out of control and is losing the run of herself.’

  Iris smiled wryly. ‘I have to agree with you, she really is getting carried away but I don’t want to go upsetting her by telling her so.’

  ‘I’m beginning to feel sorry for your Charlie. I think he’ll be glad when all the palaver is over and done with.’

  ‘We all will,’ Iris replied grimly.

  Kate flatly refused to accompany her daughter into Liverpool city centre on the Wednesday afternoon, stating that firstly she’d heard that snow was on the way and secondly she wasn’t having Florence dictate to her. ‘It’s not even February! There’s plenty of time to buy an outfit. At least they’ve finally found a place to live but Charlie was telling me that Ethel Taylor is trying to put Florence off the place, saying that the neighbourhood is going down rapidly. I just hope she doesn’t take any notice. Charlie confided that it is more than he wanted to pay in rent each week – almost eight shillings! – and they’ve got to furnish it. It just doesn’t seem to occur to that woman that you have to live within your means and Charlie isn’t making a fortune and never will from that shop. It’s not the actual day itself, or what you wear, or where you have the reception that really matters, it’s the commitment to spend the rest of your life together.’