A Place To Call Home

by June Francis

  A couple of minutes later Harry entered the room and sat down. Immediately she handed the cup of tea to him. ‘Get that down you, Harry. You’ll feel a lot better after it.’

  ‘Thanks!’ He took a gulp before smiling up at her. ‘Sorry if I sounded hard hearted but people love a bit of scandal and I’ve got to think of Greta. She wouldn’t like it at all if the neighbours had a juicy gossip about me.’

  She pressed a hand down on his good shoulder. ‘Perish the thought, Harry. I have my reputation to think of, too, you know.’

  ‘I’m positive the authorities will find you somewhere. It could be that you’d be better out of Liverpool.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Edith with a sigh. ‘It just bothers me that we’ll end up living with strangers who might not want us there … and there mightn’t be room for Joyce to stay when she can get away from the camp. But that’s not your problem.’ She smiled. ‘Drink up your tea.’

  Obediently, Harry drank his tea.

  Winnie entered the room, carrying a colander of peeled and sliced potatoes. ‘These won’t take long.’ She smiled down at Harry. ‘You look tired, Mr Peters, and you’ve scratches on your face.’

  ‘It was a kitten,’ he said grimly. ‘But don’t ask me to explain.’

  They didn’t and Winnie got on with the cooking while Edith talked of this and that, her eyes on Harry’s face.

  The warning siren went off just as Harry was finishing the fried potatoes and bacon. It had been real tasty but now he could hardly keep his eyes open. Mother and daughter started up from their chairs. ‘What are we going to do, Harry?’ said Edith.

  ‘What?’ Harry attempted to lift his head which seemed to weigh a ton.

  ‘It’s a raid!’ said Winnie, her hands trembling as she collected the dirty plates. She had to lift Harry’s head to remove his from beneath his cheek. He said something but the words were slurred.

  ‘What’s up with him?’ asked Winnie, glancing at her mother.

  Edith moved round the table and stood behind Harry. ‘His injuries must be catching up on him. I think we’d best get him to bed.’

  ‘You mean one of the camp beds I saw down in the cellar?’ said Winnie.

  Edith smiled sweetly at her daughter. ‘No! But you can go down there if you’re worried about sleeping upstairs … but not until you help me with Harry. He’s in no condition to sleep in a cellar.’

  ‘Couldn’t we put him on the sofa?’ said Winnie. ‘What if a bomb was to come through the roof? He … could be killed.’

  ‘Oh, Winnie!’ Edith slapped her daughter lightly on the cheek. ‘You’ve seen this street. Not a house down. The Jerries’ll be aiming for the docks again. Now give me a hand with him.’

  Reluctantly, Winnie did as she was told and, as she was a strong girl, it was she who bore most of Harry’s weight as they dragged him upstairs. Pausing to have a rest on the landing, Edith gasped, ‘The front bedroom, girl. Then you can take your pick of the other two rooms if you change your mind about going down to the cellar.’

  Winnie shook her head and, taking a deep breath, pushed her arms beneath Harry’s armpits and dragged him along the floor to the front bedroom. By the time they had managed to hoist him onto the bed, the warning siren had tailed off and the distant sound of aircraft engines could be heard.

  Take off his boots!’ ordered Edith. ‘And then you can leave us alone.’

  Winnie peered across the darkened bedroom at her mother. ‘You don’t think you should get a doctor for him?’

  A sharp laugh escaped Edith. ‘You are a bloody idiot! Where will I find a doctor during a raid in an area I don’t know? Just do what I tell you and keep quiet about this! I don’t want you telling anyone.’

  Winnie had a struggle on her hands to remove Harry’s boots but managed it at last and then, before Edith could ask her to do anything more, she hurried out of the bedroom and down to the cellar.

  Edith hummed beneath her breath as she removed Harry’s trousers and underpants. She covered his whatnots with the bottom of his shirt before drawing the bedcovers over him. Then she sat on the side of the bed and took out her cigarettes and lit up with a trembling hand. Bloody hell! Was she mad or what? But she did not want to go and stay with strangers and this way Harry might be persuaded into letting them stay. For a moment she took comfort in nicotine, listening to the boom boom of explosives, thinking how far away they sounded. The docks and city centre were really getting it again, no doubt about that.

  She finished her cigarette and then undressed and slid beneath the bedcovers alongside Harry. She ran a hand over his body, thinking what a shame it was that he cared so much for his reputation and wasn’t in love with her. They could have had fun. He was going to get a big surprise when he woke up in the morning and found her in his bed, wondering how the hell he had got there and whether they had done anything. Although, commonsense would tell him that he couldn’t have done much with a broken arm. She rested her head on his shoulder and felt safer than she had for a long time. Eventually she fell asleep.

  16

  Harry could hear banging and a voice calling his name. He did not immediately realise that he was not in his own bed, that his arm was broken and he was not alone. Until he was shocked into opening his eyes by a woman’s voice in his ear. ‘I think you’d better get up, Harry, and deal with whoever that is. Unless you want me to go down?’

  Harry received one of those shocks in life that one never forgets. Broken arm! No trousers or underpants! Edith in his bed, in a frilly nightgown and her blonde hair all wispy about her lovely, golden face. ‘How the hell did we get here?’

  She smiled. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t remember, Harry? I never thought you’d manage it but you were so determined.’

  He was speechless, couldn’t remember a thing. At that moment his name was called again and he recognised Wilf’s voice coming from inside the house! Harry shoved down the bedcovers with his feet, only to stop abruptly as he remembered he was naked down below. ‘Get my trousers, Edith!’ he hissed.

  ‘Say please?’ she teased.

  He swore and got out of bed. After all she was a bloody widow and must have seen it all before. He tugged on his vest and shirt to cover himself, groaning inwardly, thinking of what Rene might say if she got to know about this.

  ‘You OK, Harry? I heard you’ve broken your arm.’ Wilf’s voice sounded as if he was on the landing.

  ‘I’m OK, Wilf,’ shouted Harry. ‘Could you do us a favour and light the fire? I’m bloody desperate for a wash and a cup of tea. I’ll be down as soon as I’m dressed.’

  ‘The fire’s lit, mate. Kettle’s hot! You sure you didn’t get a bang on the head?’

  ‘Winnie must have lit it,’ whispered Edith. ‘She’s on early shift so will have left for work.’

  Harry cleared his throat. ‘You’re right, Wilf. I did bang my head. Tunnel caved in. I’ll be down in a minute.’ Adding in a mutter, ‘As soon as I get my bloody trousers on.’

  ‘Want a hand?’ Edith smirked as she slid off the bed.

  Harry was grateful to hear Wilf descending the stairs and glowered at her. ‘You surprise me, Edith! You’ve bloody set me up, haven’t you?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘As if I would! But I’d like to know what Rene would think if she knew that we’d slept together.’

  ‘You bitch!’ he said grimly. ‘How d’you know about Rene?’

  Edith smiled. She was enjoying herself. ‘Her name was on your lips when you woke. I’ll keep my mouth shut if you’ll let me and Winnie stay just for a while.’

  ‘And how do I explain the pair of you being here without incriminating myself?’ said Harry, dragging the bedspread from the bed and wrapping it round him. He needed clean clothes and they were in his own bedroom.

  ‘You can keep us quiet. We’ll come and go by the back door and no one need know we’re here,’ said Edith with a giggle and reached for her cigarettes on the mantelshelf.

  ‘That’s a daft thing to say if eve
r I heard one. Some of them could spy for Hitler in this street,’ he said grimly.

  ‘You need someone to look after you, Harry! You could tell them I’m your private nurse.’ She regarded him provocatively.

  Harry darted her an exasperated look and left the room. His mouth felt terrible, his head was muggy and his body was stiff and sore. But most of all, he was furious with himself for getting in this mess. He closed his bedroom door firmly, hoping Edith would have the decency to respect his privacy and prayed for a bloody miracle.

  By the time Harry arrived downstairs Wilf had made a pile of toast and a pot of tea. ‘Bad raid last night,’ he said, filling a mug with steaming amber liquid.

  ‘Was it?’ Harry had noticed the two holdalls on the floor next to the sofa and his heart plummeted like a stone dropped in a well. ‘Heard of any damage?’

  Wilf’s gaze followed Harry. ‘You weren’t taking much notice then? Whitefield Road church was hit!’

  ‘Shame! Bloody close!’ Harry sat down, wondering why, if he’d slept for several hours earlier in the day, he’d been so deep in slumber that a full blown raid hadn’t disturbed him. Then a thought struck him. Would she? Could she have?’ He reached over for his working jacket which someone had hung on the back of a chair and searched inside the pockets and found what he was looking for. He didn’t remember taking any of the sleeping pills and yet he would have sworn the bottle had been full. A relieved smile eased his mouth. For a moment in the bedroom he had wondered whether he could have possibly done what Edith had hinted at. He dropped the bottle back in one of the pockets and hung the jacket back on the chair before turning to Wilf.

  ‘I’d best explain,’ said Harry gruffly.

  The old man listened and would have looked suitably horrified if it wasn’t for the twinkle in his eye. ‘So what’s she like this widow?’

  ‘A real eyeful and that only makes it worse,’ said Harry, grimacing. ‘You’ve got to help me out of this, Wilf! I have an idea but you’d have to say yes.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ asked Wilf.

  Harry told him.

  *

  Greta slammed down the telephone and marched out of Llanberis post office as if to the beat of a military drum. Rene hurried after her. ‘What did you do that for? I didn’t get a chance to speak to Harry.’ They had been trying for days to get through to him, only to be told that the lines were down.

  ‘I didn’t get to speak to him myself. I was cut off but not before I was told something that made up my mind for me. I’m going home!’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong?’ Rene was alarmed by the expression on Greta’s face. ‘Has something happened to Harry?’

  ‘Yes!’ Her eyes glinted. ‘A woman and her daughter are living in our house. A Mrs Cox! I knew it! I just knew that woman wanted to get her hooks into Dad,’ said Greta in a seething voice.

  Rene felt dizzy and had to stop and rest against a garden wall. ‘There must be some mistake! Harry wouldn’t do such a thing.’

  ‘I found it hard to believe, too! But-But she said “a Mrs Cox” as clear as day!’

  ‘But how? Why?’ Rene felt as if her world had collapsed around her.

  Greta swiped the head of a weed with the shopping bag. ‘He’s been lying to us about how well he is, too! He’s got a broken arm. I bet that’s how she got in. Saw he needed a woman to look after him and so she came as soon as she knew.’

  ‘How did he break his arm?’

  ‘I don’t know! Mrs Ridgeway never got round to telling me that. What she did say was that there hasn’t been a raid since Wednesday night so it could be that it’s safe to go home, anyway.’

  Instantly Rene said, ‘I’m going with you!’

  ‘I knew you’d say that!’ Greta’s face crumpled and tears filled her eyes. ‘I don’t know what’s got into him! What’s he thinking of, having that woman and her daughter in our house? What if Alex was to come home and that blonde bombshell Joyce was there? She fancied him I could tell!’

  ‘You mean … you and Alex have met Mrs Cox’s daughter?’

  Greta nodded. ‘Joyce! She’s got It, Rene. And Alex had the cheek to say that if the mother was anything like the daughter then he could understand why Dad kept on visiting her.’ A sob broke from her.

  ‘Oh, heaven help us!’ Rene placed an arm round Greta’s shoulders. ‘It’ll be alright,’ she said unsteadily. ‘If he marries that woman you can always come and live with me.’

  Greta stared at her, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘What do I tell Gran? I mean this woman’s not only moved into her house … although Dad pays the rent … but has replaced her daughter! My mam! I wouldn’t have minded if it was you he was marrying. But her! How could he?’

  ‘We know how!’ blurted out Rene. ‘She’s got It! Something I haven’t! And yet … ’ She stopped abruptly

  ‘What?’ Greta brushed away her tears. ‘He likes you a lot. He does, Rene. I know that for a fact. But I think you going out with Uncle Jeff threw him off balance. Probably he’d taken it for granted that you’d always be there for us.’

  ‘But I don’t like your uncle Jeff,’ said Rene slowly. ‘In fact I positively dislike him. Anyway, we don’t have to tell your gran anything about Mrs Cox and her daughter at the moment. We just tell her that Harry’s broken his arm and that’s why we’re going home. Hopefully, we’ve still got jobs waiting for us there.’

  Greta’s and Rene’s heads were so full of Harry, Mrs Cox and her daughter that it wasn’t until they came out of the railway station in Lime Street and saw the utter devastation the Luftwaffe had inflicted that they realised that some of the rumours had been true, for all Harry’s reassurances to the contrary. Greta clung tightly to Rene’s arm as she gazed at the fire ravaged walls of the gutted Lewis’s departmental store. ‘It’s terrible! I can scarcely believe it!’

  Rene could only nod because words were beyond her.

  Slowly, they wandered along Great Charlotte Street where the ruined Bladder’s emporium displayed blackened walls. Then they went on as if in a trance towards Greta’s workplace, but when they arrived at the spot it was to find it too was just an empty burnt out shell.

  ‘Looks like I’m out of a job,’ said Greta, trying to hold back tears. ‘I feel so lucky to be alive.’

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ said Rene huskily. ‘Shall we go and get the tram home or do you want to see what else has gone?’

  ‘Let’s head for the Pierhead. I want to see if the Liver birds are still there.’

  So they walked in the direction of the Mersey, their shock increasing by what they saw as they drew nearer to the river. Civilians and soldiers were working to clear great acres of land where, once, there had been a thriving business and shopping centre. Amidst what now looked like brickfields was the Victoria monument. They gazed up at the bronze face of the queen, who had once ruled over a mighty empire. Her proud expression seemed to say, Do your worst, but this city, this country, this British empire will not give in! We shall not be defeated!

  Then they turned and looked down towards the river and caught a glimpse of the Liver birds, still poised as if about to take flight. Greta smiled. ‘I’ve seen enough. Let’s go home.’

  They went via Victoria Street, so they could check whether Rene’s firm was still in business, and thankfully, the building was still standing. So they caught a tram in Dale Street and were soon walking along Whitefield Road.

  ‘Perhaps Miss Birkett’ll be able to tell us something about Mrs Cox and her daughter,’ said Greta, as they came to the draper’s shop.

  ‘You can ask her if you like,’ said Rene with a sigh. ‘But I’d rather go straight home.’

  Greta said, ‘No! We’ll go together.’ After all, what could her old friend tell her that she wasn’t going to find out for herself? As they approached their street they saw that the church opposite the sweet shop was just a ruin. Greta gasped. ‘So close!’

  Rene was silent, her mouth taut. She felt so angry. That church had been part of her
childhood. She had gone to Sunday School there. They were aware of being watched as they walked up the street. A couple of women waved and they waved back but made no effort to go over and talk to them.

  At their houses, both front doors were closed. ‘I suppose Wilf’s down at the Pierhead talking to his cronies,’ said Rene, opening her door.

  Greta pulled the key out on the string and put it in the lock. She stood listening as she stepped into the lobby. ‘Can’t hear a thing,’ she whispered.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve left,’ said Rene.

  ‘Or they could be at work or have gone shopping. I wonder where Dad is? Surely he can’t be working with a broken arm?’

  ‘You wouldn’t think so.’ Rene wished she didn’t care so much about Harry. That she could switch off her feelings. ‘See you later,’ she said wearily, closing her door behind her.

  Greta took a deep breath and strode up the lobby and into the kitchen. She had never seen it so clean and tidy. The back kitchen was the same, not a dirty dish in sight. Damn the woman and her daughter! Why couldn’t they have given her something to criticise? She went down the yard to the lavatory but even here every thing was tidy; the wooden seat scrubbed and neatly cut squares of newspaper on a string.

  She used the toilet then returned to the house. From her holdall, she took the eggs and bara brith Fred had given her. Then picking up her bag, she climbed the stairs, only to hesitate outside her own bedroom door. She decided not to go in there but instead went along to the front bedroom. Surely if her father was sleeping with that woman she would find signs of it there. She turned the handle and pushed open the door.

  A dusting of face powder clouded the shiny wooden surface of the dressing table and on top of it was a hairbrush with blonde hairs clinging to its bristles. On the floor was a pair of flesh coloured satin knickers and a crumpled white blouse. A peach cotton nightgown trimmed with lace was flung on the bed. The words, Who’s been sleeping in my bed? came into her head. Damn! Damn! And bloody damn! How could her dad do this to her? Bring that woman to this house and sleep with her in Gran’s bed!