It's Now or Never

by June Francis

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  A Selection of Recent Titles by June Francis

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  A Selection of Recent Titles by June Francis

  IT HAD TO BE YOU

  SUNSHINE AND SHOWERS

  PIRATE’S DAUGHTER, REBEL WIFE

  THE UNCONVENTIONAL MAIDEN

  MAN BEHIND THE FAÇADE

  MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS *

  IT’S NOW OR NEVER *

  * available from Severn House

  IT’S NOW OR NEVER

  June Francis

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2014 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

  eBook edition first published in 2014 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2014 by June Francis.

  The right of June Francis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Francis, June, 1941- author.

  It’s now or never.

  1. Actresses–Fiction. 2. Single mothers–Fiction.

  3. Liverpool (England)–Social life and customs–20th

  century–Fiction.

  I. Title

  823.9'14-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8368-1 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-502-5 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-502-4 (ePub)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  Prologue

  Cheshire: 1942

  Lynne sat feeding her baby, thinking of the child’s father and wishing life could have been different. It was no use relying on her mother to help her, but Nan could just come up trumps if the letter reached her in time. Her grandmother must be well into her seventies, but was indomitable and still working. Lynne was almost out of her mind, worrying that the staff would talk her into giving up her baby. One nurse had spoken of babies being found on doorsteps or even in bins on the streets of Liverpool because their single mothers had been unable to cope. The voices could be so insidious, going on and on in her head, insisting that Lynne and her baby would be better off if the child was adopted.

  She forced back tears and buried her face in the crook of her daughter’s neck, thinking about the last time she had seen Robert. They had kissed in the shadow of the Liver Birds, not caring whether anyone was watching them. She remembered how a breeze from the Mersey had scooped up the skirt of her best dress, so that the brightly coloured floral fabric had wrapped around his navy-blue trousers as if nature was determined to keep them together. She had not said Goodbye because in her head it had sounded so final. Instead, as he had turned away, she had whispered Tarrah and blown him a kiss. It still hurt to think that she would never see him again.

  ‘Will yer stop crying!’ snapped the other girl in the room, whom Lynne only knew as Dot.

  She was standing over by the window that looked on to the drive of the large Tudor-styled house that had once been a rich woman’s home. ‘We could all weep if we wanted to, but what’s the bloody point? I can’t wait to get out of this place and start my life all over again.’

  ‘You’ve made that clear since I first clapped eyes on you,’ said Lynne, staring at her. ‘And I’m not crying!’ she added through gritted teeth.

  ‘Well, that makes a change,’ said Dot in a mocking voice. ‘Since the day we gave birth, yer’ve been whingeing.’

  ‘I have not!’ retorted Lynne, her blue eyes glinting with annoyance. ‘And even if I had, I don’t see what business it is of yours.’

  ‘It gets on me nerves.’

  ‘Well, you won’t have to put up with it much longer, will you?’ Lynne said. ‘You’ll be out of here today.’

  ‘Yeah, thank God! I’ll be free to do what I want!’

  Lynne was having difficulty believing that Dot could really be as hard as she made out. How could any mother, having held her child in her arms, bear to be parted from it? And yet …

  She cleared her throat. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t just try and get rid of yours early on if that’s how you felt?’ she said, flicking her auburn hair back over her shoulder.

  ‘Too damn scared, kid,’ snapped Dot. ‘I remember overhearing me mam gossiping with a couple of the neighbours in hushed voices about a girl in the next street to ours. She damn well died.’

  A shiver went through Lynne. ‘Poor girl!’

  ‘Yeah, poor bitch.’ Dot heaved a sigh.

  There was a silence.

  Lynne murmured, ‘I don’t think it was just fear that prevented you. Perhaps you felt the same about your bloke’s baby as I did about Robert’s. She’s all I have left of him since his ship was torpedoed. Even if I’m forced into giving her up for someone else to rear, I’ll know that somewhere in the world there’s part of him still alive.’

  Dot’s throat felt suddenly tight and she wished Lynne would shut up. She tried to close her mind to the image of her son’s face, his perfect little body, his tiny fingers that the nurse had told her could be double-jointed. Just like his father! Still, she’d given him away now. He had a mother who wanted him, as well as a father. It would have been a big mistake to tell Sam that the comfort they had sought from each other had resulted in a baby. The day of her best friend Carol’s funeral had been horrible for both of them. Sam had been in love with Carol and when she had been killed in an explosion, he had been broken-hearted. She had been too young to die, just as Dot reckoned she and Sam were too young to marry and become parents. She took a deep breath. She had done the right thing having her son adopted. It was much better for the three of them. Especially if she was going to achieve her dream of being a famous actress one day.

  She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin and there was a hint of amusement in her voice when she eventually spoke. ‘Bloody hell, yer a real romantic, Lynne. I would have thought aft
er what you’ve been through, all that stuff would have been knocked out of yer. Mine’s gone now and at least I’ve made two people happy. I just came to say tarrah, what with us having given birth within minutes of each other.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘I’d rather not say … and to be honest, I hope you and I never meet again!’

  One

  Liverpool: 1955

  Dorothy Wilson ran up the steps of the Lynton Hotel on Mount Pleasant, a short distance from Lime Street. As she furled her umbrella, she hoped the snow would not stick or bang would go her plans for tomorrow. She was looking forward to seeing Sam and his stepmother. Once inside the vestibule, she rang the bell. Within moments she heard hurrying footsteps approaching from the other side of the glass panelled door and recognized the proprietor, Kathy McDonald, a pleasant looking middle-aged woman wearing a tartan skirt and Fair Isle twin set.

  ‘What a terrible evening it is, Miss Wilson,’ she said, opening the door and beckoning her inside before closing it quickly. ‘You must be freezing.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Dorothy, shivering. ‘What’s for supper?’

  ‘Irish stew, so there’s still enough in the pan for you and our American guest who’s newly arrived.’

  ‘A Yank!’ Dorothy could not conceal her surprise. ‘Now I might expect to see one of those if it were Grand National week, but in February?’

  ‘He’s here to find someone,’ said Kathy, smiling. ‘Which reminds me. There was a telephone call for you from your agent. Poppy Jamieson? She said she’d ring back later.’

  Now what could Poppy want? Dorothy had told her after she had finished her last job that she needed a commercial or a film rather than theatrical work, as they paid more. If she was to achieve what she had set out to do here in Liverpool, directing and producing a social history of very special women of the city, then she needed more money.

  ‘Did she say what time she’d ring?’ asked Dorothy.

  ‘She said that she’d give it an hour, which would be anytime now,’ said Kathy.

  As if on cue, the telephone in reception rang. ‘Perhaps that’s her now,’ said Dorothy.

  Kathy lifted the receiver. ‘Lynton Hotel.’

  Dorothy watched and listened and then took the receiver from her. ‘Hello, Poppy. What can I do for you?’

  She listened to her agent’s words with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, only to say when she finally managed to get a word in, ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Think about it! Is that all you can say, Dorothy dear? This is the chance of a lifetime! You can’t possibly turn it down. There’s money to be made and I must have your answer tomorrow.’

  ‘I need a bit more time than that!’ exclaimed Dorothy.

  ‘The day after, then,’ Poppy conceded, ‘but you’re taking a risk leaving it that long. This is what you’ve talked about since you first came to London.’

  ‘I wouldn’t argue,’ said Dorothy, feeling all of a dither, ‘but things change.’

  ‘If you have any sense at all, Dorothy, my dear, you will terminate your relationship with your policeman and return to London where you belong.’

  ‘Liverpool is my hometown!’

  ‘Was. You should never have gone back there.’

  There was a click as the phone went down. Dorothy frowned as she returned the receiver to its cradle and stared into space.

  ‘Bad news?’ Kathy’s tone was sympathetic.

  ‘No, it’s good news, but it’s made my life more complicated than I could ever have imagined.’ Dorothy hoped she didn’t sound dramatic as she turned and headed for the stairs. ‘I’ll just get changed and be down shortly,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I’m really looking forward to that Irish stew. I could eat a horse!’

  Once in her bedroom, she wasted no time removing her outdoor clothes and hanging them up. She wished there was a radiator on which to place her gloves and hat but the hotel did not run to such luxuries. Instead she put a couple of pennies in the meter and switched on the electric fire.

  She sighed, thinking Poppy was right, of course: she should have stayed away from Liverpool. Only two years ago she had been offered a leading part in a play to be shown at the Royal Court. For years she had slogged her guts out, first working in an ammunition factory during the war. The factory work paid well and there were perks, such as cheap nylons and make-up. Her wages had helped pay for elocution lessons, which allowed her to follow her heart, first into unpaid work in a Manchester theatre to gain experience, which led to walk-on parts and speaking roles in repertory theatre. She sighed, remembering the sheer hard work of those days, as well as the fun times.

  There had been men, of course, but nothing serious. She still did not know whether to regard it as good luck or bad luck that Sam Walker had spotted her coming out of the stage door of the Royal Court one evening. Months later he had been in the audience at the Playhouse when she had been appearing there in a costume drama. When he had come backstage and asked her if she would accompany him to the evening do of the wedding of a female colleague in the police force, the years had rolled back, reminding her of the May blitz in 1941 and the day of her best friend’s funeral.

  Dorothy closed her eyes tightly. She was not going to dwell on that day now. If she did it would open a whole can of worms. She went over to the wardrobe and removed a pair of warm slacks and a cashmere jumper. The latter she had bought with some of the earnings from a part she’d played in a drama series on the radio. It had led to her getting her first film role in a Glynis Johns’ vehicle, Mad about Men. It had only been a tiny role, but what fun it had been spending time on location in Cornwall.

  As she dressed and reapplied lipstick and face powder, she found herself thinking about two American films in particular: Roman Holiday, introducing a new star called Audrey Hepburn along with the famous Gregory Peck. The other was Three Coins in the Fountain, which had also been shot in Italy in glorious Technicolor and had introduced two young foreign actors, Louis Jourdan and Rossano Brazzi, to British audiences.

  She gazed at her reflection dreamily, thinking how it only took one good film for a career to take off. Now here she was being offered an audition for a co-starring role in a film set in Italy and Scotland. She could hardly believe it and knew she would be a fool not to seize the opportunity that her agent reckoned was within her grasp. She had been asked for especially by the woman in charge of casting.

  Dorothy glanced at her watch, grabbed a cardigan and the key to her room and hurried downstairs. Once in the dining room she chatted to Kathy’s teenage daughter, glad of the distraction from her thoughts.

  After her meal, Dorothy went into the smoking lounge to have one of the five cigarettes she limited herself to each day. Contrary to what some doctors had claimed earlier in the century, they really weren’t good for the throat, but the odd one definitely helped with the ol’ nerves.

  She went over to the window and, raising the bottom of the curtain, gazed out. The snow was still falling in fat flakes and already the road and pavements were covered in the white stuff. She imagined basking in the sun in Italy and warmth spread through her body. Perhaps she could persuade Sam to holiday abroad, driving the pride of his life, a second-hand Austin A40 Somerset he had bought last Christmas. He had wanted them to get engaged but she had told him she was not ready for such a commitment, so he had bought a car instead and she had promised that she’d reconsider his proposal next year.

  She thought of their plans for tomorrow. Would Sam still have it in mind to visit his stepmother on the Wirral? This latest snowfall could change things, always assuming his job didn’t. Sam was a detective sergeant, in line for promotion and if involved in a case, he could so easily cancel arrangements at the last minute. Maybe he would ring this evening if that was so? She finished her cigarette and decided to call it a day and go up to her room and read in bed.

  But once in bed, Dorothy found that she could not concentrate on the words on the pag
e and her mind began to drift. She had always wanted to be an actress, ever since she had run down the aisle of the Pivvie in Tunnel Road during a showing of Cinderella when she was five years old. The ambition had burned brightly in her ever since: she had even given her baby away without even telling its father, Sam, that she was pregnant because her heart had been so set on becoming an actress. Her stomach performed a somersault. She had certainly never thought she would get pregnant: that only happened to other girls. Her mother had been terribly upset and then became exasperated when her daughter refused to name the father, so she had arranged for her to go away to a relative, who knew of a charity home in the Cheshire countryside where unmarried mothers could have their babies. Apparently it had been founded by a rich female philanthropist who had an interest in ‘fallen women’.

  Dorothy had hated the place but it had been preferable to giving Sam the news that he’d got her in the family way. After all, she wasn’t the only one with ambition. Even then Sam had been determined to follow his father into the police force. They had both met with success but the ultimate dream was still just out of reach. Hers was to be famous and his to climb to the top in the police force but he also wanted a stay-at-home wife and family. If she mentioned Poppy’s phone call and what it entailed, he would be far from pleased. He had told her that he loved her, and what woman would not be attracted to Sam? He was a dish, with fair hair and brown eyes and was amusing and clever. Never mind his having a good body as well. The temptation to try out for the role of wife and mother was there but was it enough? What the hell was she going to do?

  She stifled a yawn and knew she must get some sleep. Hopefully, after a good night’s rest, the picture would be clearer. The book slid from her fingers as she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep. She dreamed she was back in that home in Cheshire, reliving the birth of her baby and her final mocking exchange with the girl who had shared her room. As the images filled her mind, Dorothy found herself regretting her harshness and longed to have wished Lynne and her baby daughter good luck.