Through The Storm

by Maureen Lee

  ‘He’s gone somewhere. We had a few drinks in the pub, then he took me home, but I came out again to look for you – someone told me where you live.’ He did a little jig on the pavement. ‘I came to arrange for that date you promised.’

  Kitty pursed her lips angrily. ‘Oh, this is disgraceful, it really is. I’ll wipe the floor with Jack Doyle when I see him. Come in and I’ll make you a nice hot drink, then I’ll take you home again – but this time you’re going to bed and staying there.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Glyn grinned and saluted as she unlocked the front door. ‘Has anyone ever told you, you look even more beautiful when you’re angry?’

  ‘I’m too angry to listen to that sort of nonsense! Get indoors this minute and sit yourself by the fire.’

  She pulled out the flue on the grate and coaxed the glowing coals into flames, then she took his coat and laid it on the hearth to dry. ‘Now, get warm!’ she commanded. ‘I’ve a good mind to report this to Nurse Bellamy on Monday. She’d have you in a convalescent home before you could say “Jack Robinson” if she knew what was going on.’

  Glyn looked oblivious to the threat. When she fetched the water to make cocoa, he began to sing, ‘Yours till the stars lose their glory, yours …’

  ‘I love that song!’ said Kitty.

  ‘Dance with me.’ He took her in his arms and began to whirl her around the room.

  ‘Glyn!’ It was difficult to stay angry with him for long. Laughing, she tried to push him away. ‘You’re not up to this. You’ve only just come out of hospital. You should be resting.’

  ‘I’ve never felt better. Ouch!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she cried.

  ‘Just a twinge across my chest,’ he said dismissively. ‘It’s nothing.’

  He stopped dancing, but remained holding her. Suddenly, the room seemed very quiet. He wasn’t tall, and his dark eyes were level with her own. Kitty’s arms were resting on his shoulders and his were linked around her waist. His dark dancing eyes glistened as he leaned towards her and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘I love you, Kitty.’

  ‘No, Glyn.’ She tried to push him away, but he kissed her harder. Kitty waited for something to happen inside her, some sort of magical awakening, rising passion, a faster beating heart, but nothing did. It was nice, but that was all.

  She was too engrossed in her first real kiss to hear the door open, and Jimmy Quigley came in just as Glyn had embarked on a second. He was wearing his new overcoat, a chunky herringbone tweed with the collar turned up in the manner of American film stars.

  ‘Oh, hallo, Dad,’ she said, breaking away from Glyn’s arms and feeling more than a little embarrassed.

  ‘Hallo,’ he said acidly.

  Kitty introduced Glyn to her father, then made them all a cup of cocoa. Despite Glyn’s best efforts to be friendly, Jimmy positively refused to be friendly back. In fact, he was almost rude, grunting scarcely audible replies when asked a question and adopting an expression of studied indifference to anything Glyn had to say.

  At half past eleven, Kitty took the invalid home to Garnet Street, where Jack Doyle was about to go firewatching and was startled to discover his visitor wasn’t in bed and fast asleep. When she got back, Jimmy was still up, waiting for the midnight bulletin on the wireless.

  ‘Well, I didn’t think much of him,’ he said dismissively.

  ‘I doubt if he thought much of you!’ Kitty said crossly. ‘You were dead rude, Dad. I felt ashamed.

  ‘He was too mouthy for my liking. Had too high an opinion of himself. I’m not bound by law to like the men me daughter goes out with.’

  ‘No, but you’re bound by good manners to treat them with civility when they’re guests in your house. I’m always nice to Theresa.’ Theresa Beamish and her children had been round to the house on several more occasions since they first came to tea.

  Jimmy bristled. ‘Does that mean you don’t like her?’

  ‘I never said that, did I, Dad? I meant I’d still be nice even if I didn’t.’ In fact, Kitty couldn’t take to her dad’s fiancée. No matter how friendly she tried to be, Theresa always shrugged her away, as if she were incapable of any warm feelings. Even towards Jimmy, her soon-to-be husband, she appeared cold and unaffectionate, and wasn’t much different with her children.

  ‘Dad?’ she said quietly.

  ‘What?’ He was pulling apart some cigarette stubs which he’d collected in his pocket, and placing the shreds of tobacco onto a paper to make a whole one.

  ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’

  He turned on her, ready to tear her off a strip, to say of course he was, and what business was it of hers, anyroad, when he saw her wide hazel eyes were anxious. She was anxious for him, her dad. ‘I’m sure, kiddo. Don’t worry about me,’ he replied kindly.

  Jimmy had managed to convince himself that his entire life had been a tragedy, particularly the last ten years, when he’d been tied to a chair, unable to walk, living on a pittance of a pension. He wasn’t quite sure whose fault it was, but it certainly wasn’t his. Now he was about to marry a woman over twenty years his junior and his mates in the King’s Arms were green with envy because Jimmy Quigley was about to achieve the happiness he so richly deserved and which had been unfairly denied him up to now. Theresa made him feel young again, rejuvenated, as if he was making up for lost time. He admired the way she kept her two lads firmly in line. She might be a bit low on imagination and short on conversation, but sometimes she took him into the parlour of her parents’ house in Flint Street and allowed his hands to stray underneath her jumper and caress her breasts and Jimmy would feel re-born, as if he’d been allowed another chance to have a go at life. He couldn’t wait to get her into bed. It was a bit disconcerting to have a father-in-law scarcely older than himself and a mother-in-law a year younger, but once Theresa and her lads were ensconced in Pearl Street, Jimmy wouldn’t have to make the comparison so often.

  Glyn took Kitty for a drink next day to the Adelphi, the poshest hotel in Liverpool. Although badly bombed the year before, the place continued to function. Kitty had a Pimms No 1 which made her head spin. Afterwards, they went to see Citizen Kane with Orson Welles, though it was Joseph Cotton whom Kitty found the most attractive. When they came out, she insisted they went home immediately so Glyn could go to bed early.

  ‘I’d be failing in my duty if I let you stay up late,’ she said virtuously when they were on the train.

  ‘I wish you weren’t a nurse.’ He looked aggrieved. ‘I’m fed up being bossed about.’

  ‘If I wasn’t a nurse, we’d never have met.’

  Glyn smote his brow dramatically. ‘Of course! I was forgetting. And the course of my life would never have changed.’

  ‘Please, Glyn!’ It frightened her that he seemed to have made the assumption they’d get married.

  He raised his dark eyebrows. ‘Am I rushing you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She scarcely knew him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said penitently, but even so, he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him. ‘Let’s see, what can I do within the next few weeks to persuade Kitty Quigley I’m the man for her? I’ve got savings, you know, quite a bit in fact. I’d come with a dowry.’

  She dug him in the ribs with her elbows. ‘Shurrup, you!’

  ‘We could live in the Welsh valleys as I’ve already suggested, or we could go to Australia and farm sheep. We’ll stay in Bootle if you prefer. Alternatively, how about the States?’

  ‘I don’t know, Glyn, I need time.’

  A telegraph boy called at the house at ten o’clock the next morning. Mystified, Kitty tore open the bright orange envelope. I love you, Kitty Quigley, the message inside read. There was no signature, but Kitty had no doubts who it was from.

  ‘Who was it?’ Jimmy asked when she returned inside.

  ‘It was a telegram from Glyn,’ she replied, smiling.

  ‘Daft git,’ Jimmy said sourly.

  Another telegram w
ith the same message arrived an hour later, and a further one at midday. Kitty went round to Jack Doyle’s house. Jack was at work and Glyn was in the kitchen. There was a delicious smell of cooking.

  ‘There won’t be any dowry left if you carry on with this nonsense,’ she admonished, waving the telegrams. ‘If you send one to the hospital this avvy, I’ll kill you. I’d never be able to live it down.’

  ‘I was wondering how many I’d have to send before you came,’ he said, his face gleeful. ‘Look, I’ve got some wine.’ He pointed to the table, which she was surprised to see was nicely set with a vase of paper flowers in the middle, a bottle of red wine and two glasses. ‘And I’ve made moussaka.’

  ‘Wine, at this time of the day!’ Kitty said weakly. ‘And what on earth’s moussaka?’

  ‘Greek scouse. I managed to buy some herbs. I did enough for Jack, but I doubt if he’ll appreciate it.’

  ‘You should be in bed, resting.’

  ‘Stop being a nurse, for God’s sake. Take your coat off and sit down.’

  ‘But I’m in the middle of making dinner for me dad!’

  ‘He’ll just have to wait till you’ve had yours.’

  The meal was delicious, though it was only mince and potatoes with a few chopped vegetables. It tasted like no scouse Kitty had ever eaten before. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said when she’d finished every mouthful.

  ‘See, it’s not just a husband you’d be getting, but a cook as well.’

  Kitty went off to work that afternoon, heady with wine and flushed with Glyn’s kisses, though the first had had more effect than the second. She wished she could respond with more vigour, but the fact was he left her cold, which was a pity, because he would make an exciting husband. Life would never be boring or dull married to Glyn Thomas.

  When she entered the ward where he’d been, each man solemnly handed her a note. Glyn Thomas Loves Kitty Quigley, each one said.

  ‘Oh! I bet he put you up to this!’ she cried.

  From then on, Kitty found him waiting for her at the bus stop every night. He would take her to Jack Doyle’s for a candlelit supper which he’d cooked himself – Jack was always mysteriously elsewhere. One Sunday, they caught the train to Southport where they strolled, window-shopping, through a snowstorm and Glyn tried to coax her into choosing an engagement ring from a jeweller’s window. The following weekend they went to Chester and ate lunch in such a grand hotel that Kitty was the only woman not wearing a fur coat. When she pointed this out, Glyn immediately offered to buy her one. Occasionally, they caught an early train into bomb-scarred Liverpool or wandered along the busy Dock Road. Glyn seemed to see the world as a more vivid, interesting place than most people, pointing out sights and sounds that Kitty would never have noticed on her own. Whatever they did, wherever they were, he always managed to turn it into an adventure.

  ‘I hardly ever see you,’ Jimmy complained to Kitty.

  ‘He’ll be gone soon and everything will be back to normal,’ she replied, half dreading the return to her usual humdrum life.

  Three weeks later, after the most strenuous convalescence anyone could have had, Glyn returned to the hospital and was pronounced fit. He was ordered down to Chatham in two days’ time where he’d be found another ship. That night, wearing his sailor’s uniform for the first time, and looking even more devil-may-care than usual in the round hat, he took Kitty to a dark little pub just off Lime Street which they had decided was their favourite, and formally proposed marriage. ‘There’s just time for us to get a twenty-four-hour licence.’

  Kitty was sorely tempted to accept. Six months ago, she might well have done, but she recalled Harriet’s advice: ‘Whatever you do, Kitty, don’t marry the first man who proposes just so you can have “Mrs” in front of your name.’ It was unlikely that she would ever meet anyone else like Glyn again. She hoped she wasn’t making the greatest mistake of her life by turning down this extraordinary man. ‘I’m sorry, Glyn, but I don’t love you,’ she answered sadly.

  ‘But I’ve enough love for both of us.’ He’d never looked more serious. His face was grave, almost tragic, as if he had already known what her answer would be.

  ‘But that wouldn’t be fair, either on you or on me,’ she cried. ‘We’d both be missing something.’

  ‘Oh, damn this bloody war,’ he cursed. ‘I’ve been waiting for a girl like you all my life. If only we’d had more time!’

  Kitty felt her heart could easily break when she saw the bleak expression on his normally cheerful face.

  ‘Could you grow to love me, Kitty?’ he pleaded.

  She couldn’t bear to hurt his feelings. She liked him more than any person she’d ever known. She might even love him, but not in the way he wanted, at least not yet. ‘Possibly,’ she whispered.

  ‘Does that mean we could get engaged?’ he said eagerly.

  Kitty’s heart fell. She didn’t want to raise his hopes, then dash them later. ‘I’d sooner not, Glyn. Let’s be friends, good friends. We’ll write to each other – and see each other when you get leave. You can always stay with Jack.’

  He sighed and made a face. ‘I suppose that’ll just have to do.’ He stroked her cheek and kissed her softly on the lips. ‘I still think you’re the only woman for me, Kitty Quigley.’

  ‘Perhaps I am, Glyn,’ she replied shakily. ‘You never know, the time might come when I’ll realise that for meself.’

  She genuinely hoped it might one day turn out to be true.

  Singapore fell, as Calum Reilly had predicted it would, in the middle of February, when the British general went out with a white flag and surrendered to the Japanese. Eighty-five thousand Allied troops were either lost or taken prisoner. Across the Pacific, Australia and New Zealand trembled.

  On the BBC that night, Winston Churchill told the nation, ‘So far we have not failed. We shall not fail now. Move forward steadfastly together into the storm and through the storm.’

  ‘What does he mean, we haven’t failed?’ Jack Doyle demanded in the King’s Arms. ‘What’s the fall of Singapore if it isn’t a failure?’

  ‘I dunno, Jack,’ Paddy O’Hara said gloomily. ‘Seems to me, we’re failing all round at the moment.’

  Jack wished Glyn Thomas were there because he would inevitably provoke an argument and somehow prove they were winning, which was what everybody desperately wanted to believe. Jack really missed Glyn.

  So did Kitty. She felt as if a light had gone out of her life, a brilliant, dazzling light that would never be switched on again. When Stan Taylor asked her out – his transfer back to Plymouth had been delayed a further three months – she spent the entire evening trying to explain how she felt.

  ‘There’ll be another light, Kitty,’ he comforted.

  ‘Will there?’ she asked plaintively. ‘Perhaps I should have agreed to marry him if I miss him so much.’

  ‘I don’t think so. You wouldn’t have had doubts if you really loved him. You’d have snapped up his proposal like a shot.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Kitty sighed. ‘It’s dead stupid, isn’t it, getting all upset after you’ve turned someone down.’

  ‘You’ll get over it.’

  Kitty managed a smile. ‘I tried telling you that when you split up with Daphne. You didn’t believe me.’

  ‘I do now,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Do you?’ She glanced at him in surprise. He was a tall, lean man with scarcely an ounce of spare fat on him. His hollow cheeks and deep-set eyes gave him a gaunt, hungry look which many of the nurses found attractive. His skin had a slight yellow tinge as a result of jaundice as a child, making him appear as if he had a permanent tan. This had precluded him from active service in the Navy and left him bound to a desk which he hated. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got over Daphne already?

  ‘Already! It’s nearly two months since she ditched me. You can’t stay brokenhearted for ever, particularly when there’s a war on.’

  ‘I’m ever so glad, Stan.’ She was beginning to like him a
s a friend. There’d never been the slightest hint of romance between them. ‘I really hope you meet someone else you’ll love as much as you did Daphne.’

  ‘I already have, someone much nicer than Daphne ever was!’

  Although she pleaded with him to reveal who it was, he adamantly refused. ‘I haven’t told her yet. When the time’s ripe, Kitty, you’ll be the first to know.

  Jimmy Quigley married Theresa Beamish at half-past two on a cold wet Saturday when there were still dirty clumps of frozen snow on the ground and the sky was black enough for midnight.

  Only a few people from Pearl Street braved the icy winds to see the newly married couple emerge from the church and the single photo taken of the wedding showed an unsmiling bride with her two sulky children, though the bridegroom looked as if he’d just scooped the pools. Kitty Quigley was obviously doing her best to appear happy for her dad, and the best man, an unwilling Jack Doyle, would clearly have preferred to be somewhere else. Only the bride’s parents beamed cheerfully at the photographer the way proper wedding guests were supposed to do.

  ‘Perhaps they were only too glad to get rid of her,’ Sheila Reilly suggested when Kitty showed her the photo a week later.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Kitty said miserably. ‘Honestly, Sheil, I feel ashamed. She’s cleaned the house from top to bottom since she moved in. You’d think she’d found it filthy dirty, or something. We’re not even that clean in the hospital. And the washing! She’s forever washing, I don’t know where she finds it. Thank God she has a job in the evenings, so we can have a bit of peace.’ Theresa had a part-time job in a fish and chip shop in Marsh Lane.

  ‘What does your dad think?’

  ‘Oh, he thinks it’s the gear. He keeps pointing out how much better Theresa does his shirts compared to me; they’re whiter and she irons them without a single crease.’

  Sheila was doing her own ironing, despite the fact it was Sunday and supposed to be a day of rest. She paused and said thoughtfully, ‘I must say, he looks dead pleased with himself when I see him out. He’s like a new man altogether.’