A Place To Call Home

by June Francis

  Rene sighed. Having to refrain from helping Harry and Greta, she had often wished Cissie Hardcastle’s nature was more maternal. Rene did not doubt that Cissie grieved for her daughter and her grandchildren in her own way, but she did not show it. She and Harry might have drawn some comfort from each other if they had been the sort to unburden themselves on other people. Rene thought about the derogatory things her mother had said about Cissie’s husband upping sticks and vanishing well before the Great War and the manner of things she had done to keep her head above water and support her children. She had had little thanks for it from her two sons, who had gone to fight in the Great War. Both had survived, one marrying a girl from the south of England and never bothering to get in touch again. The other, having suffered from shell-shock, had moved to the comparative peace of the Welsh mountains, leaving Cissie and Sally to fend for themselves. Rene often pondered on the different ways women left without their menfolk managed to survive.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Greta.

  Rene spun round. The girl stood in the doorway, her narrow shoulders hunched, her arms crossed over her breasts, hugging herself.

  ‘Well what?’ asked Rene.

  ‘What are we going to do about the moggy?’

  Rene smiled and reached for the matches. ‘Let’s have a look at her.’ She touched Greta’s cheek as she passed. It was cold. ‘Five minutes, then you get in front of that fire, kid,’ she said firmly.

  It took less time than that for the scrawny tabby cat and her four mewling kittens to be revealed. ‘Aren’t they tiny?’ marvelled Greta, reaching out a hand.

  ‘Don’t!’ warned Rene, grabbing the girl’s wrist and dragging her away from the cupboard.

  At that moment footsteps sounded in the street. Greta turned her face up to Rene’s and her hazel eyes widened. ‘Dad! Blinking heck! He’s not going to like this! What are we going to do?’

  Rene could only think to shut the cupboard door and get out of the parlour. Although Harry was bound to have noticed the light was on when he came up the step, he was not to know there was a cat in the cupboard just yet. She stretched up and turned off the gaslight, before thrusting Greta out of the room and into the lobby, nervous at the thought of facing him.

  The front door opened and Rene stared at the man who stood in the entrance. At thirty-six, he was two years her senior and at five foot, ten inches, their eyes met almost on a level. She was tall for a woman, standing five feet eight inches in her stocking feet, and built on generous lines, with long legs and a large bosom. From childhood she had been teased about her height and people had, more often than not, judged her older than her years.

  ‘Rene?’ he said, peering at her through the darkness. ‘I didn’t expect to see you round here again. What are you doing?’ His voice sounded lifeless.

  She swallowed, trying to ease the tightness in her throat. ‘Someone was in the house and Greta came looking for help,’ she rasped.

  ‘What d’you mean … someone? A burglar? Is that why you were in the parlour? Has the meter been robbed?’

  Rene was glad that she had startled him into life. Harry would have gone in there if she had not stopped him by grabbing his arm. Immediately she was aware of the swell of muscle beneath the damp fabric, as well as the acrid smell of cement and brick dust.

  ‘Don’t, Harry! I put a penny in there and it didn’t sound empty … and I’d better tell you now … there’s a cat with kittens in the cupboard.’

  He turned towards his daughter. ‘What did I tell you about not encouraging that cat?’ His tone was sharp.

  ‘I didn’t!’ she insisted, slipping a hand through Rene’s arm. ‘It must have got in when the youth got in.’

  ‘Get rid of it!’ croaked Harry. ‘Then you can tell me about this youth!’ He freed himself from Rene’s grasp and, closing the front door, strode up the lobby and into the kitchen.

  Rene and Greta peered at one another through the dimness of the unlit lobby. ‘I knew he’d say that!’ said the girl sadly. ‘A cat would have made this place feel more homely but there it is. You-you won’t have the kittens drowned, will you, Rene?’

  Rene did not want the kittens but she knew that she could not let them be drowned. ‘Of course not,’ she said firmly. Then she followed Harry into the kitchen.

  He had taken off his gaberdine mackintosh, revealing building-dust covered brown corduroy trousers and a grey shirt beneath a fair-isle patterned pullover. He dropped the coat over the back of a fireside chair and, removing a tweed cap, slung it at the hook on the back of the door. He ran a work-roughened hand through curling black hair and stared at her, his expression grim. ‘Why the hell couldn’t she go bothering her grandmother instead of you? You shouldn’t be here! Our problems aren’t yours. You have enough on your hands with your mother.’

  ‘You’re telling me something I already know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you,’ said Rene, her green eyes concerned. She folded her arms across her breasts and leaned against the wall next to the door. ‘Besides, Greta did go to Mrs Hardcastle’s but couldn’t get an answer and the key on the string wasn’t there. Mrs Hardcastle had a helluva row with Cecil last night. From the way the house shook when he slammed the front door, he’s probably gone for good.’

  Instantly Harry’s expression changed. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Mam and me could hear almost every word. He accused her of being too wrapped up in herself and being no fun anymore. He wanted her to go dancing with him but she said there was nothing doing. That he was a selfish swine! Hadn’t she lost her daughter and two of her grandchildren! Also, that she had her part-time job to go to. He hated her having that job. I can’t see him coming back.’

  Harry sighed, ‘I bloody hope not! I could never see what she saw in him.’ He rested an arm along the mantelpiece, and drummed his fingers on the cream painted wood. ‘Thanks for telling me,’ he muttered, then after a moment’s hesitation, added, ‘This youth … did he take anything? Do you know?’

  She shrugged. ‘As far as I know he fried himself an egg and some bread and turned over Sally’s memory box.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Bloody cheek! He wouldn’t have found much in there. Only … ’ He paused, swallowed, and his dark brows hooded his eyes so that she could not read his expression. ‘Only memories.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘But if he was frying eggs and bread then he’s someone down on his bloody luck, so I’m not going to get myself worked up about it.’

  ‘He might have thought there was jewellery in the box,’ said Rene.

  He made a noise in his throat. ‘The only jewellery Sally had was her wedding ring and that brooch Mrs Armstrong, whom she was in service to, gave her. I have that hidden somewhere else. I suppose I should get rid of the box, only … ’

  ‘You didn’t have the heart,’ she finished for him.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Have you been home? Does your mother know you’re here?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then you’d best be going.’ He didn’t look at her. ‘She’ll work herself up into a state thinking you’re out in the fog.’

  ‘I don’t plan on enlightening her that I’ve been somewhere else.’

  ‘Too right! You don’t want her knowing you’ve been here.’ He looked into the fire.

  She murmured a goodnight, wondering why he should say that, and left.

  It was only when Rene reached her front door that she realised that she had left her handbag behind. Fortunately the Millers’ key was on its string, enabling neighbours to pop in and out to see if her mother needed any help. Vera could be very sweet to people when they served her purpose. Rene was about to enter the house when a voice said, ‘Is that you, Wilf?’

  ‘Not unless I’ve grown a moustache and shrunk four inches,’ said Rene, turning to her next door neighbour. ‘What d’you want him for, Mrs Hardcastle?’

  Wilf was a quiet man, who had never married. He had been a ship’s chippy, who, just like Harry, could turn his hands to most thing
s and would do anything for most people. Yet he was forever making excuses not to do jobs for the next door neighbour. Rene guessed he was terrified of what Cissie Hardcastle might do to him if she was ever to get her hands on him.

  ‘Very funny! Yer should be on the stage at the Empire.’ The fag dangling from Cissie’s painted lips jiggled as she spoke. ‘I need a chair fixin’! I suppose I’ll have to go round to Harry’s. Isn’t this fog bleedin’ awful? It doesn’t do me chest any good but I’ve got to get to work. I can’t let people down and the customers like to see me behind the bar.’ She patted her peroxide blonde hair, which was fashioned in sausage curls.

  Rene almost laughed out loud. Cissie’s sixtieth birthday must have come and gone years ago. It didn’t take much of a mathematician to work that out. She was mutton dressed as lamb and had provided the neighbours with plenty of entertainment in her time.

  ‘Greta knocked on your back door earlier but got no answer.’

  Cissie scowled. ‘I need me beauty sleep with working evenings at the pub … and then, you must have heard the row! I’ve thrown my fella out, yer know?’ She drew on her cigarette, choked and burst out coughing.

  ‘Is that how it was?’

  ‘Aye!’ gasped Cissie, her eyes watering.

  ‘Want me to bang you on the back?’ offered Rene.

  Cissie shook her head, and managed to stop coughing. She wafted smoke in Rene’s direction with podgy, nicotine stained fingers. ‘I’m fine,’ she wheezed.

  ‘That’s alright then. Greta found a burglar in the house, so I went round there with her.’

  ‘A burglar! What kind of burglar?’

  Rene smiled faintly. ‘A young one who cooked himself egg and fried bread. It doesn’t look like he’s stolen anything else at the moment.’ She hesitated before adding, ‘Do me a favour, Mrs Hardcastle, don’t say anything about my having been round there to anyone. I-I don’t want to worry Mother with her being the way she is.’

  Cissie looked at her knowingly and tapped her nose. ‘Your secret’s safe with me, girl. I know Vera better than you do, believe me!’

  Rene stared at her with a fixed smile. ‘Well, you’ve known her a long time, I know that. I’m going in. Don’t go exposing too much flesh, Mrs Hardcastle. You don’t want to catch a chill,’ she said seriously. ‘Tarrah!’ She slipped inside and closed the door.

  ‘You’re bleedin’ hardfaced, you are!’ shouted Cissie.

  Rene was startled by the words but realised she must have said something that had offended her moody neighbour. She stuck her tongue out at the door and then hurried up the darkened lobby, calling ‘I’m home!’ She unbuttoned her coat on the move, stuffing her hat in a pocket before hanging her coat on a hook among several on a piece of wood nailed to the wall at the foot of the stairs.

  As she entered the kitchen, her mother looked up. The lines of her bony face were dragged down and her mouth was a thin straight line. ‘You’re late, madam! I thought you might have left early with the fog.’

  ‘No, Mother! Did one of the neighbours get the liver as I asked?’

  Vera pursed her lips. ‘Liver! You know I hate offal! Mrs Woods got us a rabbit and even skinned it for us and put it in the pan with some carrot, onion and rice. Can’t you smell it?’

  Rene sniffed. ‘Come to think of it … I can! That was kind of her. But rabbit, Mother! Liver would have been cheaper.’

  Vera sniffed. ‘I don’t know what you do with our money. I’m not well. I need good food to keep my strength up.’

  Our money! thought Rene indignantly. She went over to the black leaded grate and taking the pan of stew from the hob, she placed it on the fire. Her mother paid nothing into the kitty. If Rene’s father had died on the battlefield then she would have received a teensy pension from the government. As it was, she didn’t and she resented that. Rene’s mother hadn’t always been such a moaner and so critical of everything her daughter did. Rene put it down to the pain she suffered with the rheumatism. If only that hadn’t developed the way it had, then her mother would have been able to get some kind of part time work after she was widowed: cleaning, washing or ironing. ‘I take it that Wilf hasn’t arrived home yet?’ said Rene.

  ‘Does it look like he’s home?’ muttered Vera, lowering her eyes to the newspaper on her lap.

  ‘He could be in his room. Ready for your rabbit stew in five minutes?’

  ‘What d’you think I’ve been waiting for all these hours? I don’t know why you can’t get a job nearer home, then you could nip in at lunchtime and see how I am,’ said Vera querulously.

  ‘You mean go back to being a shop girl or work in the laundry or a factory? I worked hard at night school to get my typing qualifications so I could get office work as Dad wanted.’ Rene moved over to the sideboard and took two bowls out of the cupboard and placed them on the table next to the window, that overlooked the back yard. She sat down and eased off her shoes. ‘I like where I work. It’s interesting.’ She also liked the office being within walking distance of Church Street and not too far from the Pierhead. During the long summer evenings, there was nothing Rene enjoyed more than going down to the Mersey and watching the ships go by before having to make her way home. There was little opportunity for her to do what she wanted in her time off.

  ‘As you’ve grown older you’ve got selfish, that’s what you have,’ moaned Vera. ‘One of these days you’ll come in from work and find me like a tree in winter with its branches all twisted and sticking out, unable to move.’

  ‘You should try and keep on the move, Mother, you’re 57 not 87!’ Rene held her stocking feet out to the fire to thaw her frozen toes.

  ‘You’ll get chilblains like that.’

  Rene let the words go over her head. ‘Miss Birkett said knitting is good for helping prevent the fingers from stiffening up.’

  Vera said moodily, ‘It’s alright for her to talk. She’s got the shop and only herself to think about. Anyway I don’t want to talk about Miss Snooty. I thought I heard raised voices outside. Was it Cissie Hardcastle you were talking to?’

  Rene chuckled. ‘She told me she’d thrown Cecil out.’

  ‘He walked out on her more like!’ Vera sniffed, a satisfied expression on her face.

  ‘She thought I was Wilf and wanted him to go in there and fix a broken chair.’

  ‘She’s got a nerve!’ Vera sat up straight and the newspaper fell onto the rag rug in front of the fire. ‘She’d expect him to do it buck-shee … would choose to forget he’s only got his old age pension and his savings. Mind you, knowing her she’d think of another way to pay him. Have his trousers off and be giving him it in no time, I bet.’

  Rene was as shocked by the crudeness of her mother’s comment as she had been by the words she had shouted at her after returning from Harry’s house one evening. You’re a frustrated old maid, prepared to give him what he’s missing because you’ve had a pash on him for years. All the neighbours are talking about you. So you’ve got to stop going round there, my girl! Rene had wanted to tell her mother to wash her mouth out with soap but had been so stunned and hurt that she had been speechless.

  Rene picked up a ladle and dipped it into the stew. ‘You could be wrong about Cissie Hardcastle. It could be that she’ll turn over a new leaf now Cecil’s gone.’

  Vera’s eyes narrowed as she looked at her daughter. ‘Leopards don’t change their spots.’

  Rene returned her stare and said politely, ‘Are you having your stew on a tray on your knee or d’you want me to help you to the table?’

  ‘I’ll have it at the table … and I’ll manage without your help, madam!’ Vera pushed herself up from the chair, which had an extra cushion, enabling her to get to her feet more easily. ‘Pass me my stick!’ she ordered.

  Rene picked up the stick, leaning against the chair, and handed it to her. Then, ignoring her mother, she went and sat at the table and picked up her spoon. Once seated at the table Vera said, ‘So what’s been going on at your place today?’
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  ‘One of the wine cellars is being turned into an air raid shelter,’ murmured Rene.

  Vera’s black button eyes widened in dismay. ‘Your boss must think there really is going to be a war.’

  ‘He’s just being prepared. Better that than leaving things too late if it was to come to a fight with Germany. You mustn’t worry, Mother!’

  ‘Easy for you to say that, girl. You were too young to remember what the last war was like.’ Vera chomped on her lower lip.

  Rene didn’t bother arguing with her but actually she remembered quite a lot. She could recall the sense of horror and misery that seemed in the very air she breathed, the women with pale, drawn, grief-stricken faces, shop windows being smashed, food shortages … and never would she forget her dad coming home a different man from the one she had known. His arrival had filled her with confusion and fear … the compassion had come later. It had taken a couple of years for them to be able to talk and feel comfortable with each other again. Together they had attended the Remembrance Day services that were held at the newly built cenotaph in Lime Street. Paying his respects to his dead comrades had somehow helped him to cope with his guilt for still being alive.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten what it did to my father,’ said Rene firmly, filling two teacups. ‘And all the women, like Miss Birkett, who never got to marry because they lost boyfriends and fiancés.’

  ‘She never had to struggle,’ sneered Vera, holding her spoon awkwardly between swollen, crooked fingers. ‘And men can be more trouble than they’re worth. You mark my words, madam! You’re better off without a husband as long as you can earn your own living.’

  ‘So you keep saying … but we couldn’t manage half so well without Wilf being here,’ said Rene, an edge to her voice. She had never spoken to her mother of the offer of marriage she had received that she had turned down, believing not only that her duty lay in looking after her mother, but also that there was only one man that she had ever felt passionate about and that was Harry, whom Sally had met first and laid claim to.