The Mersey Daughter

by Annie Groves

  Grimacing, he took it and hauled himself up. ‘Better make ourselves scarce, Fawcett,’ he said and then broke into a grin. ‘I don’t think this is the best place to be hanging around. Do you mind if I lean on you – I’ve ricked my ankle.’

  ‘Of course, Peter. Sorry, sir.’ Laura shifted the bundle once more and it emitted a tiny wail. She felt it tug at her heartstrings, but now was not the time to think about it. They had to get back down the length of the burning street before they were safe, and then find the ARP post. If she allowed herself to, she would begin sobbing, in a mixture of relief for the child and fear for the peril that still faced them, but there wasn’t a moment to waste on that right now.

  Cavendish swatted at a stray spark which was singeing her uniform jacket, but it was no good. ‘Fawcett. Get your coat off at once. Here, we’ll shelter under mine.’ He threw her jacket aside just as it burst into flames, and held his own much larger one over the pair of them and shielding the baby. As fast as they could, him limping and leaning on her, her twisting to support him but still protecting the baby, they got themselves down the street and to the shelter of the corner, where there was a break in the buildings that the fires hadn’t crossed. The light of the flames revealed the baby’s blanket was singed and damaged, and it was beginning to give off smoke.

  ‘Throw that rag away before the smoke chokes the poor creature,’ he ordered gruffly, and Laura swiftly unwound the remains of what once had been a pretty wool blanket, embroidered with teddy bears, and flung it into the gutter. ‘Here,’ she said, unwrapping her scarf, ‘we’ll put this around him.’ Gently she tucked it around his wriggling body, as he wailed some more. ‘That’s right, you have a good cry,’ she said, ‘and let’s hope that means your lungs are all right. Come, his mother is this way.’ Slowing now, and realising just how exhausted she was, Laura led Cavendish along the side street towards the blessed sight of the ARP post and help.

  Laura sipped her tea, which had the luxurious addition of a generous dollop of sugar. They were in the local police station, and she was wearing a Red Cross blanket around her shoulders in place of her ruined uniform jacket. If she’d been the sort of young woman given to embarrassment, she might have blushed at the knowledge that her very much non-regulation underwear was on show. Everyone was busy milling around, but all she could do was huddle on the wooden bench and warm her unaccountably cold hands against the mug. Shock, she supposed.

  The baby had been reunited with his tearful mother, and both had been taken away by a Red Cross nurse to be assessed for any injuries or smoke inhalation. Judging from the ever-louder cries of the little child, he was going to recover well – maybe sooner than his distraught mother. She had, however, managed to thank Laura and Captain Cavendish, telling everyone that they were heroes and the baby would have been dead had it not been for their swift action. Laura screwed up her eyes at the thought. The woman was probably right. Now that the rush of adrenaline was over she was shaky, almost unable to believe what they had done. The heat, the fear, the urgency – and worst of all that moment when she’d thought the captain wasn’t going to make it. Her heart had turned over then – but he had made it, he had jumped to safety. He was now getting patched up somewhere in the police station. She knew he’d damaged his ankle in that final desperate leap but she couldn’t help thinking about the blood down his shirt. Was he badly hurt? What had happened in the burning top-floor flat to give him such an injury? Frantically she looked around, trying to see if there was anyone to ask, but everyone seemed to be too busy. She supposed the evacuation of the local streets had caused chaos on top of the regular disruption of war.

  Pull yourself together, she muttered. Your job is to buck up and be ready for when Captain Cavendish is fit to leave. You’ll be no use to him or anyone else in this state. She forced herself to sit more upright, though her shoulders had begun to ache from the force of catching the falling child. Her mind was in turmoil. She hadn’t been prepared for the touch of the captain’s hand on her arm, still less the sensation of holding him as he valiantly tried to walk on his injured ankle. It was as if he was a different person – no longer the demanding taskmaster who required her to jump to his bidding, but a human being, one who was vulnerable and who had been prepared to risk his own life for that of a child he didn’t know. Also, a small voice said in her head, one who was very good looking. She didn’t know what she’d do if it turned out he was badly hurt. That blood could have come from a deep would caused by breaking glass, or a blow from falling debris, or—

  ‘Fawcett, there you are.’ His familiar form limped around the sergeant’s desk and sat down beside her. ‘Bearing up?’

  Laura looked at him and gasped. He was wearing what must be a borrowed, ill-fitting shirt, and she could see a bandage had been applied underneath. ‘You’re injured, P … sir. Are you all right?’

  ‘Right enough,’ he said with a grimace. He took in her expression. ‘Yes, I admit, it’s not only the ankle that’s bothering me, but they’ve cleaned me up and I’ll be as good as new once I’ve had a proper night’s sleep. I’ve asked one of the police officers to telephone base and they’re sending another car and driver to fetch us.’

  ‘Really?’ Laura was surprised but delighted. She’d been dreading having to walk, and wondering how on earth the captain would manage.

  ‘Under the circumstances there was no quibbling,’ he assured her. He met her eyes directly. ‘I understand you disobeyed the policeman earlier, Fawcett, when he instructed you to accompany him to the ARP station.’

  Laura gazed at the floor. Surely she wasn’t going to be in trouble for that? She’d completely forgotten that moment, but now he reminded her it was true. ‘Yes, sir.’

  He waited until she looked up. ‘I’m damned glad you did, Fawcett. I’d have been a goner back there – and the baby too.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Fawcett, and well done. That took guts to go back down the burning street when you could have got to safety.’ He seemed embarrassed, something she’d never have thought he could ever be. His eyes were a warm brown, somewhere between chestnut and honey. She couldn’t look away. ‘You might just have saved my life – and the baby’s – tonight. So yes, you are getting a ride back in the admiral’s limo. Even I couldn’t insist that you drive after an evening like this.’ His face creased with good humour and she found herself smiling back.

  ‘Glad to hear it, sir.’ She felt her old good spirits returning. ‘Not sure that my reversing would be up to its usual standard – I might have pulled a muscle in my shoulder somewhere. But if that’s all, then I’ve got off lightly.’ She grew serious. ‘Really, are you going to be all right? I … I saw the blood before. There wasn’t time to ask but I did wonder how deeply you’d been cut.’

  He sighed, and doing so seemed to cause him pain, which he immediately tried to mask. ‘It was just some flying glass. I barely noticed at the time. But, put it this way, I shan’t be carrying any heavy weights for a while. Don’t make a fuss, Fawcett, it will heal perfectly, they’ve assured me.’

  ‘Very well, P … sir.’ She was relieved and didn’t know why.

  His warm eyes flashed. ‘You called me Peter, back there.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Best not let it happen again.’

  ‘Of course not.’ She could feel the blush rise in her cheeks. So he had heard her shouting out to him.

  ‘Dreadful name. I’ve got a twin brother called Paul, which makes it worse. Don’t know what our parents were thinking of.’

  ‘Must have been tricky, sir.’ Laura couldn’t believe she was joking with the man she’d thought of as Captain Killjoy, while stuck in a dismal corner of an overcrowded police station, both of them stinking of smoke. She reflected she must be feeling better, as in her earlier state of shock she hadn’t even noticed such a detail. She took a final sip of her sweet tea, not wanting to waste it; she didn’t know when she’d have such a treat again. Then her hand went to her throat. Of course – the scarf had
gone, she’d used it to keep the baby warm when his own little blanket caught fire. One more memento of Freddy lost. Still, it was to a good cause. She wouldn’t think about him now or she might break down and cry after all.

  ‘Something wrong, Fawcett?’ The captain leant closer, concern on his face, worry in his bright eyes.

  Should she tell him? No, she couldn’t. He was a captain, and after tonight she would be back to being his driver, one of many, and there would be nothing between them but the usual back of the driver’s seat. She forced herself to smile. ‘No, sir. Just got a tea leaf stuck in my throat, that’s all.’ She held the smile confidently, knowing she’d put on a happy face ever since the terrible news about Freddy had come through. That would stand her in good stead – she could act the part of cheerful, competent Wren Fawcett now, and evade the searching look the captain was giving her. She had to convince him. She couldn’t trust him with her secrets; this moment of intimacy would not come again and she couldn’t bear to think of him barking orders at her and yet knowing about her poor missing brother. ‘I’m getting better by the minute, sir. I’ll be right as rain by the time we’re back at base.’ Her smile grew bigger, and she willed him to believe her.

  ‘As you wish, Fawcett.’ He looked at her askance but didn’t press the point. ‘But just one thing.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You might wish to visit what passes for the powder room around here before the car arrives.’ He leant even closer and astonishingly touched her nose. ‘You’ve a smudge, Fawcett.’ Gently he stroked the tip of her nose, and then dropped his hand as a big grin broke across his face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ‘So, would you like to do that, Ruby?’ Rita’s eyes danced with pleasure at seeing the delight on the young woman’s face. She’d waited until she knew when Pop would be free to take them to the farm on his wagon, rather than get Ruby’s hopes up only to find Pop was on extra duties and they couldn’t go. Yesterday he’d told her he had a definite day of leave, or as definite as anything could be in wartime, and she felt confident that she could broach the idea. Now she was glad that she had. She felt she owed it to Ruby; the young woman had helped more and more around the place, even though she still hated talking to anyone in the shop. Rita had attempted to make her look more like her age by giving her some of Sarah’s cast-offs, but it had been only partially successful. Ruby still held herself as if she was afraid of the world for most of the time. Now, though, her expression was transformed.

  ‘Really, Rita? Really? I can go to see Michael and Megan? Oh, I’d love to. I’ve missed them so much.’ Ruby clasped her hands to her chest. ‘They’ll have grown tall, won’t they? I can’t wait. You’re too kind to me, honest you are.’ Her lip began to tremble and for a moment Rita feared she might cry.

  Rita moved around the shop counter and put her arm out to Ruby. ‘Not a bit, Ruby. You’ve been such a help. I’d never have thought of that way to sort things out with our supplier. You’re an asset to the business, that’s what you are.’

  Ruby glowed. She’d had more praise this morning than she could ever remember. Finding her way through the complexities of the account books hadn’t been any trouble at all; arrangements of figures made complete sense to her. It was talking about them afterwards that was the problem, because whenever she’d tried to mention money to mean Elsie Lowe in her previous life, there had been a row. Ruby hated rows. They scared her – one of many things that scared her. Now, though, she was getting the best reward she could have wanted. She loved Michael and Megan and felt deeply protective of them. It was one of the reasons she’d felt so safe with Rita all those months ago when she’d been rescued by her – she could tell Rita would defend her children as fiercely as was necessary. You had to trust somebody like that.

  She pushed back a wisp of blonde hair that had escaped one of her few precious kirby grips and decided to raise something else she’d found. She’d never get a better moment. It was just the two of them in the shop; the early rush of customers had gone, and Violet wasn’t due until after lunch, to take over when Rita went on her nursing shift. ‘I was counting boxes,’ she began.

  ‘Boxes?’

  ‘Yes, in the storeroom. They should match what you paid for, but some are missing.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the idea,’ said Rita, ‘but you know, Ruby, it doesn’t always work exactly like that. Things get lost, or misplaced, or now and again something isn’t available but we get sent a replacement. It’s never completely accurate, I wish it was.’ Privately Rita knew another reason for the discrepancies was that Violet never could quite manage to keep a proper tally of what came in, what went on the shelves and what substitute goods arrived. She’d carry on talking to the customers instead of breaking off to make a note, and then forget the details later, if she wrote them down at all. It was the price Rita paid for having the help of her gregarious and generous sister-in-law.

  ‘I know,’ Ruby said solemnly. ‘But certain things go missing regular.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be sherry, would it?’ Rita grinned. They both knew who’d be responsible for that. Rita had decided the easiest course was to turn a blind eye to Winnie’s pilfering. After all, it was technically her shop still, even if she’d shown no interest for months on end, and rarely ventured downstairs any more. In the end it made Rita’s life easier.

  Ruby shook her head seriously. ‘Not sherry. It’s food, tinned food. Luncheon meat, or beans, things like that. It’s mostly once a fortnight. I’ve been counting.’

  Rita remembered being unable to find a delivery of Spam a while back, but hadn’t noticed such a thing since. ‘Black market, do you mean? Is Winnie up to her old tricks, I wonder?’ she said, thinking aloud. Ruby looked blank. Of course she wouldn’t be aware of the goings-on at the shop in the early part of the war, with Winnie holding back choice goods for her favoured group of friends, or taking secret deliveries from the docks. The shady world of the black market was one of the things that Ruby would find hard to understand. She liked everything to be straightforward, not full of secrecy, hints, nudges and lies.

  ‘Doesn’t sound like it, though,’ Rita went on. ‘Beans and luncheon meat – it’s not as if it’s luxury produce. Yes, they can be scarce, but there’s so much more you’d make a bigger profit on. It doesn’t make sense.’ She sighed. ‘Leave it with me, Ruby. I’ll think about it. If you reckon you know exactly when things go missing, maybe we can keep a special eye out the next time we guess it might happen.’

  Ruby nodded, although she didn’t want to be the one to keep an eye out. There might be shouting and she couldn’t bear that. Still, she couldn’t refuse to help. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and look at the kitchen calendar now and see when might be next.’ She disappeared through the internal door just as the main shop door bell rang.

  In came Nancy, wearing a coat Rita hadn’t seen before. It was of good-quality wool in a lovely dark green and had a tight belt, showing off her younger sister’s neat figure and emphasising her curves. Rita felt a pang of envy. Once she too had had curves to be proud of, but those days were long gone.

  ‘Morning,’ she said, trying to keep the emotion from showing in her voice. ‘That’s a fine coat you have there, Nancy. Where did it come from?’

  ‘Fire damaged, can you believe it?’ Nancy pirouetted on the spot. ‘You can’t tell but the lining is scorched in places. I’m going to replace it when I have a moment. Honestly, Rita, I’m rushed off my feet now.’

  Rita raised her eyebrows but said nothing. When it came to being rushed off her feet, she was the expert. She didn’t need Nancy making a show about it.

  ‘It’s all these American engineers arriving in the city,’ Nancy continued. ‘You’ve no idea how many are over here now. And they all need taking care of – after all, it’s our duty, isn’t it? Even though they are from a neutral country, they are still helping us out in the fight against Hitler. I feel for them being so far from home, I really do. I wish I could do more for
them than just give them a cup of tea.’

  ‘Nancy, you’re a married woman,’ Rita began, but Nancy let out a delighted yelp of laughter.

  ‘Oh, listen to me, what have I said? I didn’t mean that. No, but they’re used to better food and everything, and all we can give them is a biscuit if they’re lucky. Still, mustn’t grumble. I do feel I should make an effort though, you know – cheer them up by adding a bit of glamour to their lives.’ She brushed her sleeve. ‘Don’t suppose you have any nice soap in? I always feel more like myself if I have a decent bar of soap.’

  ‘We’ve got Lifebuoy,’ Rita said bluntly.

  Nancy’s face fell. ‘Is that it? Are you sure? I was hoping you’d have some Pears. I love that, it’s so delicate.’

  Rita shook her head firmly, thinking how her own fair skin had suffered without the softer brands of soap. ‘No, Nancy, it’s Lifebuoy or nothing.’

  Nancy came closer to the counter. ‘You wouldn’t have any round the back, by any chance? I know that Winnie …’

  Rita sighed in exasperation. ‘No, Nancy, we don’t. We don’t do sales from round the back any more. If we had some Pears I’d be delighted to sell you some and I’d use it myself, but we don’t.’

  ‘Oh well, worth a shot.’ Nancy didn’t seem too disappointed. ‘I’ll see if there’s any in Lewis’s warehouse. I’m just around the corner from there, it’s so convenient.’ And with that she breezed back through the door, forgetting to close it properly.

  Rita followed her and resisted the urge to slam the door, thinking how lovely it would be to have something more fragrant than the carbolic she usually made do with nowadays. But until the war ended, that seemed about as likely as finding out where all the tins of beans were vanishing.