by Annie Groves
‘Dutch? Like those dishy men we met in Soho that time?’ Laura brightened up. ‘You could always practise on them. I could go along and show how useless I am at languages and make you look good in comparison. What do you say?’
‘Laura, you are impossible,’ groaned Marjorie.
‘Anyway, they’re probably back fighting by now,’ Kitty pointed out. ‘They were only in London for a long weekend. It was so brave of them to join up with foreign forces. I’m not sure about going to that club without Elliott though.’
Laura grinned mischievously. ‘And how is the lovely Elliott, the dashing doctor? Is he coming to see you again soon?’
Kitty sighed and pushed a curl back behind her ear. ‘I don’t know. I hope so. It was lucky he made it down a few times over the summer as the raids haven’t been anything like as bad back home as in May. But if it all starts up again, he can’t leave the hospital – you know that, he told us.’ Elliott had visited as often as he could and had willingly taken on the job of squiring Laura and Marjorie around town to all the places he knew of that were still open for business. They’d all enjoyed themselves enormously, and Kitty had finally got over her fear that someone like Laura would be far better suited to him. In a way she understood that Laura regarded him as a surrogate brother – someone to tease and have adventures with – but nothing more. They could all see that Elliott only had eyes for Kitty.
At one point over the summer he’d floated the idea of her coming back to visit her family and friends. Kitty had had to explain that she didn’t think she’d get enough leave to make the long journey, although she missed everyone badly. She was still grappling with the finer points of working the complex system of telephones, but Tommy was never far from her thoughts, even though they wrote to each other as often as they could. She guiltily wondered how Rita was managing; Elliott had reported the nurse was increasingly tired when they were on the same ward, and often short-tempered, which wasn’t in her character at all, although living with Winnie would try the patience of a saint.
‘That’s a shame,’ said Laura, digging around in her bag until she found a nail file. ‘He’s a proper tonic. Well, we shall have to find something else to do the next time we all have the same day off. That’s if I don’t get called back on duty like last Friday. Honestly, when I found out I was going to be a driver, this wasn’t what I thought I’d be doing.’ She pulled a face at the memory. They’d been getting ready for a visit to Lyons Corner House in the West End when the summons had come from Captain Cavendish for Laura to chauffeur him to a meeting near Whitehall. Laura had been obliged to go, but she did so with very bad grace.
‘That was an exception,’ Marjorie pointed out.
‘Was it?’ Laura filed the corner of her broken nail with furious energy. ‘I’m not so sure. He could have got anyone on duty to do it; it didn’t need special skill or detailed knowledge of that part of town. But no, he had to insist on it being me. I swear he knows when I’ve got a treat planned and goes all out to ruin it.’
‘Why on earth would he do that?’ Kitty couldn’t see the logic.
‘Who knows?’ Laura regarded her handiwork with vexation. ‘I’ve made the damn thing worse, it’ll have to be trimmed off, it’s too bad. No, I think he might well be one of those officers who can’t accept women drivers. There’s a lot, you know. You’d have thought they would have got used to it by now, but some take extra delight in giving you impossible routes or claiming you’ve made a mistake when you haven’t. You should have seen the space Cavendish wanted me to park in! I could tell he thought I’d mess it up.’
‘But you didn’t,’ guessed Marjorie.
‘Of course I didn’t. I angled it in perfectly, not a scratch on it, all in reverse, and there wasn’t a thing he could say. Bet that ruined his meeting,’ Laura replied forcefully. ‘Oh God, it’s too hot to be cross. We’re going to expire from heat on this very spot if we aren’t careful.’
Kitty shook her head. ‘He sometimes comes into our sessions to speak to our officers and he seems all right to me. Very smart, and you can tell he’s clever. Quite good looking in fact,’ she joked, raising her eyebrows at her friend.
‘Oh honestly, Kitty Callaghan, you’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ Laura exclaimed. ‘I’m sure on first appearances he is perfectly civilised. It’s just when you can see his eyes in the rear-view mirror all day, calculating how else to make your journey hell, and knowing that he’s staring at the back of your head, it puts one right off.’
‘Keep your hair on,’ said Marjorie lightly. ‘I’ve seen him around, I don’t think he’s bad looking at all. It’s all right for Kitty, she’s got Elliott. But you can’t blame a girl for wondering.’
Kitty reflected that Marjorie had completely come out of her shell. She would never have made a comment like that when they’d first arrived. ‘So what are we going to do this evening?’ she said, trying to focus her friends on the task in hand. ‘We could go to the cinema. Let’s just try the local one, then we won’t have to worry about transport being disrupted again. I read in the paper that Major Barbara is on, and I’d love to see that. It’s got that Rex Harrison in it.’
Marjorie nodded. ‘His hair’s a little like Elliott’s, isn’t it? Bit on the dark side for me. I’ve decided I prefer fair-haired men. But he’s a super actor.’
Laura looked up, animated at the prospect. ‘He is, and I’ve already seen the play it’s based on, and that’s jolly good.’ But before she could say more, the canteen door opened and a petty officer stood there, ramrod straight and no trace of humour on her face. She briskly strode across to their table.
‘Which of you is Fawcett?’
Kitty and Marjorie looked at Laura, whose face had fallen. She stood wearily.
‘You’re wanted urgently. Kindly see to it that you pick up Captain Cavendish outside the officers’ mess in fifteen minutes. Look sharp.’ And she turned on her regulation low heel and left again.
Kitty realised they’d all been holding their breath, waiting to see if Laura would explode in frustration. She managed to say nothing until the petty officer had shut the door behind her. Then she threw down her bag in annoyance.
‘You see? This is typical. He probably knows I was going out this evening and he’s done it deliberately to spoil my fun.’
‘Laura, we’d only just decided to go to the pictures,’ Kitty pointed out.
But Laura was having none of it. ‘Well, obviously I shall have to go to see what he wants. But I’ll get my own back on him, you see if I don’t,’ she said, picking up her bag and striding from the room.
Danny wasn’t usually one to sit in a pub by himself, but tonight he reckoned he’d earned a drink. His head was spinning. He’d never worked so hard in his life, even though he knew his old mates down on the docks would have laughed at him for saying so. He’d barely moved from his desk, so it wasn’t exactly tough physical graft. But the amount of information he was expected to take in was vast, and then he had to show he understood it and could do something with it. That was on top of the incessant puzzle solving. Even though he knew he was good at them, he had to get to grips with ever more fiendish versions, variations on sorts he knew along with completely new challenges. When he tried to sleep at night he saw numbers and letters revolving round in a wheel, threatening to drive him crazy. But it was all in aid of the war effort, to try to understand the enemy signals when they were intercepted. Eventually he’d be assigned to do it in reality, so that German planned attacks could be pre-empted.
Now he’d been told he’d passed the first part of the training and he was walking on air. Who’d have thought it, he asked himself, shutting his front door. He still lived at home, cycling to and from the centre of Liverpool. No point in having digs when there was a perfectly good house not that far away, and he wanted to keep it for when Jack, Kitty or Tommy returned. So he’d decided to pop down to the Sailor’s Rest.
‘Danny! Haven’t seen you for ages! And look at you, in
uniform now.’ Sarah Feeny was coming out of her own front door, not in her own uniform for once, but wearing a bright print summer’s dress. Danny always had to pinch himself when he saw her these days – the girl he’d spent his boyhood thinking of as a kid sister had long gone. She was a young woman now, and, he realised not for the first time, an increasingly good-looking one. But she was still almost family, he told himself.
Yet something made him say, ‘What are you up to this evening then, Sarah?’ He thought she was looking at him a little differently, as plenty of people were starting to do now he was recognisably part of the navy.
She shrugged her shoulders, nonchalantly. ‘I fancied a bit of fresh air. Who knows how long this weather’ll last?’
‘You probably deserve it,’ he said warmly. ‘Word is you’ve been the backbone of the nurses’ station.’
‘Nonsense.’ But she looked pleased, he thought.
‘Don’t suppose you fancy joining me for a quick drink, Sar?’ he asked impetuously.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sarah wasn’t used to going into pubs. She wasn’t quite eighteen and had no interest in mixing with the men who were seen walking in and staggering out of the Sailor’s Rest or Bent Nose Jake’s down at Canada Dock. But she didn’t see much of Danny any more as he was so busy with his new job. She liked his company and still felt rather protective of him, knowing more about his health than most. ‘Don’t tell Mam, will you? She’ll only worry,’ she said, her unease mixing with her pleasure at the thought of spending time with Danny.
‘I don’t want to worry your mam,’ Danny assured her. ‘We’ll see if the bench out in their back yard is free; we can sit out there, catch the sun’s rays and cool down over a beer – or a lemonade if you’d prefer,’ he added, catching sight of her expression. ‘If there’s no room out there, then we’ll just go for a wander.’
‘Then that would be lovely. Danny Callaghan, I accept.’ Sarah fell into step beside him and they made their way down the street, which bore signs of the Luftwaffe’s visits: boarded-up windows, sandbags around front doors, and old Mrs Ashby’s house standing forlorn and empty, still marked by the damage from the smoke that had killed her. There was dust everywhere, baked dry by the heat of the day. Remnants of the damaged houses were still blocking up the gutters.
They were in luck. The Sailor’s Rest was yet to fill up at the end of the week with the dock workers who hadn’t joined up, and the crooked wooden bench propped up in the back yard was free. Cyril Arden, Gloria’s father, was polishing the pumps, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Nobody was playing the piano in the corner, and the few early drinkers were chatting peaceably over their pints. No one paid any attention to them as they entered via the sturdy porch and Danny made sure Sarah was settled before buying the drinks. He had just elbowed the back door open and was halfway through when he heard a voice. He almost dropped the glasses.
‘Evening, Cyril,’ came the brash tones of Alfie Delaney.
Danny cursed under his breath. He hadn’t seen the man since the day down at the warehouses when he’d thought Alfie had set him up. Now Danny no longer worked on the docks their paths hadn’t crossed, which was yet another reason he was pleased with his new position. He would be happy if he never saw the bumptious, malicious coward ever again. Now it seemed his luck had turned. He placed himself so that he could hear the goings-on and see some of the bar, but Delaney couldn’t see him.
Sarah looked up and mouthed ‘what?’ Danny carefully set down the drinks and put his finger to his lips.
They could hear the background low-level noise in the half-empty bar die down as Alfie went on to order a pint.
Danny squinted for a view between the edge of the door and its frame. He could just make out the figures through the narrow gap.
Cyril laid down his polishing cloth and turned to his latest customer. Although far from in the prime of his youth, he wasn’t a man to be messed with. He’d run this pub for over twenty years and prided himself on needing no outside protection to keep troublemakers from his door. Now his brow creased. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said firmly.
‘What d’you mean, Cyril?’ Alfie was taken aback.
‘I mean what I say,’ said Cyril. ‘You’ll get no more pints from here, Delaney. Now sling your hook. I don’t want to see you on my premises again. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll stay away from the whole area. That would be best for you and best for me.’ He glared hard at the young man.
Alfie’s expression turned sour and he ran his finger around the inside of his collar. He was still in his dock worker’s clothes although, as Danny knew all too well, he never did much work unless he was forced to. ‘You threatening me, Cyril?’ he said, and laughed mirthlessly. ‘You think you can tell me to keep away, when my own mother lives round the corner? Pull the other one. Remember who I know, and count your lucky stars I haven’t clocked you one yet.’
Cyril shook his head but didn’t back down. ‘It’s no good, Alfie. We know what was in that last batch of goods you touted round here. It’s bad enough when you said you had chocolate for the kiddies and it turned out to be laxatives. Now we find that you’ve been selling poisoned food. Several people round here have been took bad. That was after you came in here last week with what you said was fresh pork. Weren’t no such thing. We reckon it had been condemned. Good job nobody died of it – you’d have been wanted by the coppers then.’
‘You’re lying,’ said Alfie, his eyes cold. ‘Don’t you go spreading tales about me. I could get your pub done over just by clicking my fingers.’ He moved closer to the bar.
Danny stiffened. If this was going to get nasty, he wouldn’t let Cyril face Alfie alone. Sarah crept forward, having heard it all and knowing what he was like. ‘Stay back, Danny. You can’t get involved. You can’t exert yourself if it comes to a fight,’ she whispered.
Danny bridled, knowing she was right but furious that his heart condition meant he couldn’t even defend his local publican. What Alfie had done was despicable. Sure, he himself had benefited from the occasional slightly dodgy deal down at the warehouses, but to take condemned pork and sell it as fresh was something only the lowest of the low would do. Everyone knew good meat was hard to come by round here nowadays, and he wouldn’t blame anyone for jumping at the chance to feed their families with it. It sounded as if they’d all paid the price. Then, someone else spoke.
It was one of the older men, husband to one of Dolly’s friends, still in his overalls. ‘He’s right,’ the man said, ‘you told us it was ideal for the Sunday roast and my missus was sick for days. I thought it was going to be the end of her. We don’t want your sort round here.’
Alfie laughed again, amazed that two middle-aged men would dare to stand up to him. ‘She probably got the flu or something. There’s all sorts going round.’
A figure from the other side of the bar stood and came over: Mr Mawdsley, in his clerk’s clothing. He allowed himself one half of stout every Friday, and no more. He was a mild-mannered man, usually happy to let his extrovert wife do the talking. Now he was precise and calm.
‘I’m afraid that’s not true, Mr Delaney. Some of my wife’s friends were in the same position and they’d all eaten your contaminated meat.’ He regarded the young man steadily. ‘Of course I can always report this to the authorities if you’d prefer. It’s up to you. But my word carries some weight in those circles. I doubt you’d be willing to take the risk.’
Alfie was at heart a coward, and he began to falter. Despite the fact that each of the men before him was over twice his age, he didn’t fancy taking the three of them on – and now the rest of the customers were watching him carefully, too. None was under forty, but they were for the most part dock workers – still fit and strong, able to handle themselves. Cyril was making as if to come out from behind the bar. Alfie glanced behind him and made his decision.
‘This isn’t the last you’ll hear of this,’ he growled as he backed away towards the leaded glass door. ‘You know
who I’m going to tell. He won’t be frightened off by a load of old men.’
Yes, but you are, Danny thought, holding his breath and standing still.
‘Tell who you like, son,’ Cyril said confidently. He had known Alfie Delaney since he was a boy and was certain he’d be too embarrassed to tell Harry Calendar, his gangland boss, what had happened. ‘Just get out and keep it that way, then we can all be happy. The door’s right there behind you.’
With a final sneer, Alfie was gone. Cyril went back to polishing the pumps as if nothing had happened.
‘Blimey,’ Danny said, turning to face Sarah in the sunny back yard. ‘Never thought I’d see the day. Well, I can’t say I’m sorry. He won’t be able to bother me now.’
Sarah looked at him over the rim of her lemonade, her face concerned. ‘Bother you, Danny? What’s he been doing?’
Danny could have slapped himself. He’d never breathed a word of Alfie’s threats, and here was the last person he wanted to burden with the knowledge.
‘Oh, just his daft schemes down the warehouse,’ he said vaguely, hoping she wouldn’t press him.
Sarah looked at him keenly. She was getting used to telling when he was holding something back. But it was Friday evening, the sun was out, and they both deserved a quiet drink in peace. So she would say nothing more about it unless she had to. But it was one more reason that she resolved to keep an eye on Danny; after all, there was no one left nearby from his own family to do so. She wouldn’t mind doing that at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Violet put down the trug of tomatoes on the kitchen table. ‘There you are! Aren’t they beauties?’
Dolly beamed. She’d been impressed with her daughter-in-law’s skill at gardening and this was the best crop yet. ‘What a lovely smell they have as well. We’ll have to bottle some of them to make them last through the winter. Make sure we have our vitamins, like the government says.’ She picked one up to admire it. ‘Is this the last of them? Surely they won’t go on for much longer.’