by June Francis
‘Well, God forgive me, but all I can say is … good riddance!’ said Cissie.
They jumped as a hand clapped them on the shoulder. ‘What are you two whispering about?’ demanded Greta.
‘Vera’s dead!’ Cissie cleared her throat. ‘I think that news deserves a drink, don’t you?’
Greta knew it was wrong but she began to laugh. Several of the neighbours looked her way and she stopped abruptly, struggling to swallow the hysteria that had her in its grip. Her whole body shook and she thought she might explode. Cissie took a firm hold on her and shook her. Greta gasped. ‘Sorry!’
The old woman put an arm round her. ‘There now, my luv’ly girl! Take a grip on yourself. Yer’re only young to be havin’ to cope with all this but the ol’ cow has lived her life and now Rene can live hers. Who’s to say that I mightn’t have a new daughter-in-law before this war’s over if what our Jeff’s said is anything to go by.’
Greta wondered if she should disillusion her gran and tell her that Jeff was a liar and Rene wasn’t interested in him. Then she decided that her gran’d had enough shocks for one night. She wished her dad would open his eyes and see what a wife he could have if only he’d make a move in the right direction. But she was jumping her fences. Rene did not even know yet that her mother was dead and she was free to do what she wanted at last. That was only if fate had been kind and Rene had survived the bombing in the city centre.
Rene stepped out of the office building, avoiding the pools of water left by the firemen’s hoses. She walked round the corner and gazed up at the main post office, amazed to see that it was still standing, although all that remained of its top floor and roof were charred timbers and debris. She did not linger for long and was soon heading for Dale Street, trying not to breathe in the stench of destruction. She had told her boss that she needed to go home before starting work. She had to see that her mother was OK, but had promised to return before lunchtime. It seemed miraculous that despite the fires last night there was so little damage to be seen, although, as she came to Dale Street, she noticed that part of the Municipal Buildings had been hit and she knew the docks would have suffered badly. Rene caught a 15d tram near the tunnel and headed for home, looking forward to having a good wash down and changing her clothes.
Rene gazed down at the still figure in the bed. Wilf had told her how he had found her mother covered in soot but that Cissie had washed the dead woman’s face. There was not a mark on her and Rene found it difficult to comprehend that she was dead. Vera’s wrinkled, parchment textured features were fixed in a snarl, the lips drawn back, revealing her gums and teeth. Rene felt a deep sadness that even in death her mother did not look at peace.
‘Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear sister here departed, we therefore commit her body to the ground,’ intoned the vicar. ‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body … ’
The rest of the words seemed to fade away as Rene gazed down at the coffin as it was lowered into the grave to join her father’s remains. Would her mother have been nicer if she had been given a different body? Rene could only hope God would forgive her mother’s sins and that Vera would find some spiritual joy now that she was rid of this mortal coil.
Rene shook hands with the vicar and then, accompanied by Wilf, Cissie, Harry and Greta, she made her way towards the waiting car. The sun shone, daffodils bloomed and there were buds on the trees in Stanley Park opposite the cemetery.
‘Yer couldn’t have had a nicer day for it, luv,’ said Cissie, linking her arm through Rene’s.
‘I think Spring’s on its way,’ said Greta.
A sigh escaped Harry as he looked at the three females he most cared about and wished that he had never caught the glimpse of Rene and Jeff in the light of his torch. What would happen now with Rene free to marry if she wanted? He didn’t want to contemplate it. He’d taken an instant dislike to Jeff, convinced that he cared for no one but himself. He also suspected that Jeff visited prostitutes, because he had turned down all offers of a bed, obviously preferring to spend his nights in town. Harry could not deny that women might find him attractive, but he kept asking himself how Rene could be taken in by a handsome face. He had credited her with more sense than that. He could only hope with Jeff at sea that absence wouldn’t make the heart grow fonder.
14
Greta sent a card to Alex, hoping he would get it in time for his eighteenth birthday on the 1st of April, promising to treat him to a trip to the cinema on his return and also suggesting that they go dancing, as she had been taking lessons. She told him of the death of Rene’s mother, adding that she thought her older friend needed taking out of herself. She says she’s OK, but, to me, she appears tired and jumpy, as if her nerves are in a bad state. Dad’s all for us looking after Rene because she was such a good friend to Mam, and us, but he makes no move towards her so I suppose he’s still visiting that woman! Gran told Rene to see the doctor and he’s given her a tonic, but said that what she really needs is a holiday. So Gran’s bullied her into taking a week off and she’s coming away with us to Uncle Fred’s at the end of April using the insurance money left over after paying for her mother’s funeral. I wrote to Uncle Fred and he says it’s fine as long as she pays her way and brings her ration book. I’ll make enquiries for you about evacuees when I’m there, although, to be honest, I don’t know where to start. I’ll do my best, though. Have you bumped into Uncle Jeff at any of the ports you’ve visited wherever they are? Gran thinks he might marry Rene!!! She’s got very fond of her since she went for that thief in the blackout. Let us know your news and I look forward to seeing you. Gran sends her love and Dad his regards. Take care of yourself, love, Greta.
She licked the envelope and posted it, wishing that she could have told him all her news face to face.
Rene dragged a nightgown from the clothes rack that was suspended from the ceiling and spread the garment on the folded towels on the table. She stood, barefoot, and reached for the flat iron on the fire, and spat on its bottom. The spit sizzled and she wiped the iron on a rag. It was six weeks since her mother’s death and she was getting rid of Vera’s clothes, giving them to those who had lost everything in the bombing. Tomorrow, she was leaving for Wales and so the task had to be finished today. Once she had finished ironing, she would hand them over to Miss Birkett, who would take them to the used clothing depot at the church hall.
Rene sighed and decided on some music to cheer herself up. She switched on the wireless but it gave out only the faintest of sound. She made a mental note to remind Wilf to take the accumulator to be changed at the wireless shop.
At that moment the letterbox rattled. Damn! She’d never get the ironing finished at this rate. She placed the iron on the hearth and then glanced in the mirror. She pulled a face at her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed, her nose shiny with the heat and her hair stood up on end. She pushed back the mop of red gold hair from her damp forehead and, noticing several more silver threads, groaned. But this was no time to pull them out and she hurried to the door, to find a postcard on the doormat. She picked it up, looked at the photograph of camels and palm trees and turned it over to read the message on the back.
Dear Rene, I hope this postcard will do the job of keeping me fresh in your memory. The camels reminded me of your mother. I’m getting it hot out here in more ways than one. I really can’t wait to take you in my arms and teach you a few tricks, Jeff.
Rage surged up inside her. Why did he persist in persecuting her? She found it almost unbelievable that the brother Sally had adored could behave in such a way. It just proved that someone could never know another person through and through. Jeff was definitely sick in the head. At that moment there was a knock on the door. With the postcard still in her hand, she went to answer it.
; Harry stood on the step. ‘Hi, Rene! I see the postman called at your house.’ He glanced at the postcard and rasped, ‘From Jeff, is it?’
‘Yes!’ Her colour was already high but now it deepened as Harry’s intense blue eyes took her in from head to toe. Immediately, she was conscious of her dishevelled, barefoot appearance and wished that she had not changed after work into the faded print frock. Her mother had once likened Rene’s bare feet to canoes, saying that Cinderella’s slipper would never have fitted her. Rene had been terribly hurt. Now here was Harry on her doorstep when they hadn’t even exchanged the time of day for what seemed ages. What a time for him to call. ‘What can I do for you, Harry?’
‘Not disturbing you, am I?’
‘No! Just ironing.’ She pinned on a smile.
‘Getting ready for tomorrow? The holiday will do you good.’
‘I’m sure it will,’ She rested a hand on the doorjamb and tried to conceal one foot behind the other, only to trip over in the attempt. The postcard fluttered from her fingers. She would have fallen if he had not put out both arms and caught her. Her breasts were squashed against his chest and she found herself gulping in air as if she had been running. ‘Sorry!’ she gasped. ‘That was stupid of me.’ But being held in his arms roused all kinds of sensations inside her. It would be lovely if, for once, he would say something romantic to her.
‘Not a problem,’ he said unevenly, his breath warming her cheek. ‘Can I come in? Is it safe?’
‘Safe?’ She swallowed.
He said tersely, ‘The cat! Is it in or out?’
‘Oh! It disappeared when the bomb went off.’
He looked relieved and slowly released her. She bent to retrieve the postcard but he got there first and picked it up, glancing at the writing on the back. She snatched it from his fingers and shoved it in the pocket of her frock. ‘Come on in!’
She led the way into the kitchen, hoping he had not managed to read any of the words, at the same time trying to remember the last time he had set foot in this house. She couldn’t. He hadn’t even come in after the funeral and it had been Wilf who had repaired her front wall, re-hung the door, and replaced the glass in the windows. ‘So what can I do for you?’ she repeated, waving him to a chair. ‘Sit down, Harry.’ Her voice was strained.
He made no move to do so but instead, rested an elbow on the mantelshelf. ‘Jeff gets around. I’ve been no further than Wales and Blackpool,’ he murmured.
‘You’re not alone in that. Sit down!’ she insisted.
He lowered himself into an easy chair. ‘So how do you find him?’
She stiffened. ‘Who?’
‘Jeff!’ he said, sounding vexed.
She stared at him and blushed. ‘He tells a good story,’ she mumbled, lowering herself into a chair and gazing down at her fingernails. ‘What can I do for you, Harry?’
He ignored the question. ‘He can do that OK! You just make sure that you don’t believe everything he says … that he doesn’t let you down.’
‘I’m not a fool, Harry.’ She raised her eyes. ‘You still haven’t answered my question. What can I do for you?’ He did not answer her right away. ‘Harry!’ she cried, at the end of her tether. ‘Will you get to the point!’
He rested his hands on his knees. ‘I want you to try and persuade Greta and her gran to stay on in Wales after the week’s up. I’d feel happier with them out of the way. It’s just a pity you can’t stay on as well. I suppose you could if you could find some work there.’
Instantly she thought, is it only my safety he’s concerned about as a friend or does he have an ulterior motive for wanting the three of us to stay on in Wales? A picture of the widow Cox popped into her head and she felt hurt and angry. ‘Nice of you to worry about me, Harry. But my staying in Wales is out of the question. I have a job I like,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. ‘And there’s Wilf. But I’ll do my best to persuade Greta and Mrs Hardcastle.’
He said simply, ‘That’s all I ask.’
They stared at one another and there was an expression in his eyes that caused her heartbeat to quicken and made her question whether she had misjudged him. Perhaps the widow meant as little to him as Jeff did to her. But before she could say anything there was a sound at the front door and Wilf called up the lobby, ‘Are yer there, Rene?’ She could have hit him.
*
‘Are yer ready, girl? Are yer ready?’ sang out Cissie through Rene’s open front door.
‘Ready as I’ll ever be,’ said Rene with a sigh, picking up the carpetbag containing her clothes, a towel, toiletries and a library book. She felt even more exhausted than ever, having not slept a wink, wondering what would have happened if Wilf had not come in on her and Harry.
‘I could carry that for you, Rene,’ said Wilf, following her out.
‘No need for that. I can manage,’ said Rene, forcing a smile. He wasn’t to know he had interrupted what might have been the defining moment in her life. Earlier that morning, she had stood at the bedroom window, watching Harry leave for work. She had been in her nightgown and had lacked the courage to run downstairs and speak to him. Now she regretted her cowardice, knowing she would not have the opportunity to speak to him again until she returned from Wales.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Cissie saying, ‘I’d appreciate you giving me a hand with my baggage, Wilf. I’m not a tall, strapping girl like Rene, but just a slip of a thing.’
‘You are joking, Gran!’ said Greta, her eyes twinkling as she checked the front door was closed.
Wilf winked at the girl. ‘I don’t mind carrying her baggage. If your gran likes to pretend she’s twenty-one, again, that’s fine by me. Neither of us might look the people we once were but, inside, we still feel young and want to kick up our heels. I’ll troddle along with yer to the station and wave yer off.’
Cissie beamed at him. ‘That’s the gear, Wilf,’ she said.
His ears turned pink and he said gruffly, ‘Anything to help a lady.’
‘I only wish … ’ said Greta.
‘Don’t start wishing,’ interrupted Cissie firmly. ‘Alex’s not here so it’s no use dreaming. As for yer dad, maybe he’ll be able to make it another time. Having us three staying with them will be enough for Fred and Megan for the moment. Agreed?’
Greta said, ‘Agreed.’
As they set off down the street several of the neighbours waved and called, ‘Have a good time, girls!’
‘You betcha!’ called Cissie, and linking arms with Wilf, danced him down the street. Rene and Greta raised their eyebrows and followed more sedately.
An hour later they waved goodbye to Wilf as the train clattered its way out of the station. The carriage was crowded and Greta and Rene had to stand all the way to Chester. There they were to change onto the London Holyhead train but it had not arrived when they reached the platform. They were told it was expected three hours later than planned, due to delays in the Midlands caused by bombing. Impatiently they waited and when it did arrive there was a concerted rush to get aboard. Only Cissie was able to find a seat in a carriage. Greta and Rene had to stand again, jammed in the corridor between a couple of gossiping Welsh women and a burly soldier, who smoked incessantly whilst staring out of the window.
Their route lay along the North Welsh coast and Greta, Rene and Cissie would leave the train at Bangor, where hopefully they would change to another that would deliver them to Carnarfon and on to a little train that would take them to Llanberis. At least the weather was fine, thought Greta, delighted when she caught sight of what she called the real sea. It helped her put aside her apprehension about meeting her new relatives, her worry about leaving her father and her concern for Alex, wherever he might be right now.
Rene was also nervous about meeting her host and hostess, wondering what Fred’s wife made of her spending a week’s holiday with them. Had he told her that she was the daughter of the woman who had deceived him for years? She was also concerned about whether Jeff had writt
en lying letters about her to Fred, and was in two minds whether to say anything about him.
Only Cissie had no qualms about the journey she was making, convinced that a warm welcome awaited her at its end. Her heart still ached for Mick and what might have been, but she’d had to cope with so many hurts and setbacks in her life that she did not doubt that a change was as good as a rest, as the saying went, and she would return home in a better frame of mind and bodily health after being reunited with her younger son and his family.
Having left a city scarred by explosion and fire, the journey was to leave an indelible impression on them all. Greta kept repeating, as if she could not believe it, ‘Everything is so green, so fresh, so beautiful and undamaged!’
‘And the houses look different from those in Liverpool,’ said Rene, forgetting her sore heart, and pointing to one built of the slate from which many a quarry owner had made his fortune in North Wales. ‘Do you think we’ll get to visit any castles?’ asked Greta wistfully, knowing there were several along the coast. She imagined Alex, clad in shining armour rescuing her from a tower and carrying her off on a white charger.
‘We’ll see them. I don’t know about getting to visit them,’ said Rene.
The journey took much longer than any of them had imagined and it was with a great deal of relief that they eventually descended onto the platform at Llanberis, exhausted. They looked around for Fred and saw a man striding towards them. Instantly, Greta knew it was her uncle because he had a look of her mother about his face.
He smiled down at Cissie. ‘I’d know you anywhere, Ma. You’ve hardly changed a bit!’ His Liverpudlian accent was tempered by a Welsh lilt.
‘Flattery’ll get yer anywhere, lad!’ she said, beaming up at him as he grasped both her hands. ‘Let’s have a proper look at yer!’
While Cissie checked over her younger son, Greta and Rene were also scrutinising him. He was almost as tall as Rene but painfully thin. The wrists that protruded from the too short sleeves of the well worn tweed jacket were knobbly. His neck was scrawny and his Adam’s apple was prominent, as were the bones in his face. Grey mingled with the gold in hair that lay lank on his forehead and covered his ears. As they stared at him they noticed a nerve twitching his left eyelid and Greta recalled that he had been shell-shocked in the Great War.