by Maureen Lee
She got up and went into the back kitchen to fill the kettle with water. When she returned, he was slowly shaking his head. ‘I don’t think I have, no.’ He smiled, a genuine smile this time, and she felt taken aback when his grim face was completely transformed. He actually looked rather boyish. ‘Is that a good or a bad thing?’
‘I suppose it depends on the circumstances,’ Jessica shrugged. ‘In my case, it couldn’t have turned out better.’
‘You mean you had Penny?’
She felt her face turn scarlet and the kettle nearly dropped from her hand. ‘How did you … I mean, what made you say that?’ she stammered.
It was his turn to shrug. ‘You told me it was fate who decided you should have Penny. I put two and two together …’
Jessica put the kettle on the hob and turned it over the fire. ‘Are you shocked?’
‘Surprisingly, no.’
Before the conversation could go any further, the back door opened and Sheila Reilly came in with Penny in her arms. Her eyes glanced mischievously from Jessica to the visitor. ‘I would have kept Penny longer if I’d known you had company, Jess, but she’s longing for a nap and it’s like bedlam in our house.’
Jessica introduced her to Major Henningsen.
‘Call me Gus,’ he said amiably, shaking hands.
Sheila promptly invited him to Melling on Saturday afternoon. ‘Our Eileen, that’s me sister, is having a party in the garden to raise funds for Russia.’
To Jessica’s surprise, he graciously accepted, and even offered them a lift in his jeep. ‘Ta, but I’ve got six kids and they’ll never fit in,’ Sheila said regretfully. ‘Take Jess and Penny, though. A few people from the street are going, so I won’t be short of company on the bus.’
After reminding Jessica they would have to leave the garden party no later than four o’clock in order to be on time for the concert that evening, he chucked Penny underneath the chin and left.
‘He’s a striking looking man, Jess,’ remarked Sheila when Jessica returned to the living room after showing the major out.
‘He reminds me of Mussolini,’ Jessica said dismissively. ‘How are you feeling today? You shouldn’t be carrying Penny in your condition. She’s a ton weight.’
As a result of Cal’s short visit at Easter, Sheila had been delighted to find herself pregnant. ‘I feel on top of the world,’ she crowed. ‘Not like last time when I had a miscarriage. Having babies must be catching, mustn’t it? First Alice, then Theresa Quigley, now me! Oh, well, I’d best get home and make the tea. My lot are dying of starvation, as usual.’
Penny decided she was no longer tired and insisted her mother read her a story. Jessica knew her favourite almost off by heart, and, as she read, it was other words she kept hearing in her head. ‘Having babies must be catching, mustn’t it?’ ‘If only it was,’ she thought. She was a fortnight late with her period, but she was forty-six, well past the age when women usually bore children, an age when she could expect her periods to go haywire. It might be the change. She’d thought it was the menopause the last time, but it had turned out she was expecting Penny. ‘I’ll try not to think about it,’ she decided. ‘Then I won’t be too disappointed if it turns out to be a false alarm.’
Jessica kissed her daughter’s silky hair. ‘Would you like a little brother or sister, sweetheart?’ she whispered, but Penny wasn’t interested. ‘No, Mummy, want biccy,’ she said.
‘You’ve left something out,’ said Jessica sternly.
‘Want biccy, Mummy, please.’
Chapter 16
Saturday dawned dull and misty; feathery grey clouds flitted swiftly across the sky, occasionally revealing a brief, tantalising glimpse of the yellow sun behind.
In Melling, a mist still hung in the air at two o’clock, when the garden party was due to start. There were stalls at the front manned by several local women: one stall for handicrafts, the other laden with an inviting selection of home-made cakes and jam, jars of pickled cabbage and beetroot, and strawberries and rhubarb from Eileen’s garden. A stone hot water bottle, two rarely seen and highly desirable lemons, and a set of notepaper and envelopes, comprised the raffle prizes.
By half past two, both front and back gardens were crowded and the stalls were almost bare. Trestle tables had been set up on the lawn at the back, and Eileen was busy in the back kitchen making tea.
‘Where did all this stuff come from, luv?’ Jack Doyle asked when he saw the heap of sandwiches and scones.
‘The committee made it, Dad, the Melling Aid to Russia committee. I joined a few weeks ago. It seemed the least I could do, seeing as how that’s where Nick is.’
To Jack’s relief, she looked more her old self than she’d done for a long time. She wore a nice white blouse and a flowered skirt, and her blonde hair was tied back with a pink ribbon. Her cheeks, so pale and drawn recently, were flushed, and her big blue eyes were bright with excitement. She’d heard from Nick a few days before, and although the letter was three months old, at least it meant that in March he’d been alive and well, though he couldn’t stand the cruel Russian weather.
‘There’s some nice hand-knitted gloves on the stall at the front, Dad,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you buy yourself a pair for the winter?’
‘I’ll think about it, luv.’
Jack wandered off. He’d only come to keep an eye on the garden and make sure no-one walked on his vegetables. He thoroughly disapproved of such events as garden parties, fêtes and the like, because it didn’t seem right to raise funds for the suffering masses in Russia whilst you had a good time on the side. If folks wanted to donate, then let them hand the cash straight over, not stuff themselves with scones and sarnies and cups of tea and make out they were being charitable. What would the starving people of Leningrad and Sebastopol think if they knew their plight was being used as an excuse for an afternoon out in an English country garden?
Two elderly straw-hatted ladies at a table nearby were discussing the recent Bomber Command raids on Cologne and Essen.
‘Over a thousand planes!’ one remarked. ‘It seems terribly immoral. Cologne is such a beautiful city, or at least it was.’
‘It was the slaughter of civilians that bothered me,’ said the other. ‘It means we’ve sunk to the barbaric level of the Germans. We’re just as bad as they are.’
‘Very true.’ The first woman nodded her agreement. ‘It said on the wireless the other day that they estimate at least twenty thousand people were killed.’
‘How shameful!’
Jack couldn’t stand it a second longer. ‘Who the hell started the bloody war?’ he demanded angrily.
The old ladies stared at him, blinking nervously. ‘Why, the Germans,’ one stuttered.
‘And who were the first to bomb civilians?’
‘The Germans,’ they conceded together.
‘In that case, d’you expect us to conduct the war like gentlemen? We’ve got to be not just as bad as the Germans, we’ve got to be worse, much worse, else the war’ll go on for ever and bloody ever.’ Jack could feel his temper rising. For months, people had been bemoaning the fact the Government wasn’t doing enough. Now, just when they’d got their act together and were hitting back with a vengeance, they were being criticised for doing too much. ‘How dare you sit there cramming your gob with me daughter’s home-made scones and call this country barbaric and immoral?’
‘I made some of these scones myself …’ one of the old ladies began indignantly.
‘Stuff your effing scones!’ Jack said scornfully. ‘We’ve got to do everything we can, bomb the whole of Germany to smithereens if necessary, in order to win this war. If we don’t, there’ll be Nazi stormtroopers marching all over the place, and you won’t be free to criticise it then. Oh, no, you’ll be taken out and bloody shot!’
‘Oh, dear!’ The elder of the ladies began to cry.
‘Now see what you’ve done,’ the other said accusingly to Jack.
‘She’ll be having something
worth crying about if the Nazis get here!’
‘Grandad!’ Jack’s grandchildren threw themselves at him. Sheila had arrived, along with a few of the folk from Pearl Street.
‘What were you saying to those old women, Dad?’ asked Sheila worriedly. The old ladies had decided to go home, both by now in tears.
‘Just telling them a few home truths,’ Jack replied smugly.
‘I’ll give our Eileen a hand.’ Sheila disappeared, and the six children began to play havoc amongst the guests.
Jack sought out Paddy O’Hara and took his arm. ‘Come on, Paddy, mate, and I’ll take you round the garden. You can have some fresh strawberries straight off the bush.’ Apart from his children, Jack had never been more proud of anything than his newly found garden.
‘Is there nothing to drink, Jack, other than tea and lemonade?’ Paddy asked plaintively.
‘Nah!’ Jack said disgustedly. ‘There’s an alehouse not far along the road, but there’s no way I’m leaving here, not with me taters so close to the grass. Some idiot might tread on ’em.’
Paddy was left sitting contentedly beneath the apple tree with a cup of tea, a plate of sarnies and Rover, enjoying the unfamiliar scents of the summer countryside in full bloom.
Jack prowled the garden, glaring at everyone, wishing they would go home and leave his vegetables in peace, but they were all having far too good a time raising money for the starving Russians to leave. He was almost glad the day was such a dull one, as it would probably take a bit of the edge off their enjoyment, but, at that very moment, the sun perversely decided to put in an appearance and the entire garden was drenched in vivid golden light.
Somewhere, a woman laughed, and the sound was instantly recognisable. Jess Fleming! Jack turned swiftly. She had obviously just arrived and was standing outside the back door talking to Eileen, wearing a clinging green dress that showed off her red hair and her voluptuous figure to their best advantage. But what made Jack draw in a swift breath of ugly jealousy was the fact that she was with a burly American, an officer, who was carrying Jack’s daughter, Penny, in his arms.
He would never have taken Jess for a liar! She had many bad qualities, but dishonesty wasn’t one of them. When she’d told him she wanted to call it a day because of Arthur, he’d believed her, yet all the time she had a Yank stashed up her sleeve ready to take Jack’s place.
Penny was looking at the chap coyly. He put her down and she ran off to join Sheila’s girls, who were playing house underneath one of the tables, much to the annoyance of the people sitting there.
Jess disappeared inside the cottage and the Yank was immediately surrounded by a crowd of admirers, Aggie Donovan to the forefront. Jack had to concede he didn’t have the same grinning, self-confident air that most Yanks had, as if he owned the place. In fact, he scarcely smiled at all. He was a tough-looking geezer, as broad as Jack, though not quite so tall, with stern, stubborn features and a forbidding gaze.
Jack went over to the edge of the admiring crowd and listened. ‘And what do you think of England, Major?’ someone asked.
‘I think it’s a very charming place, ma’am,’ the American replied courteously.
‘We were all terribly relieved when your country entered the war.’
‘Is that so, ma’am.’ He looked rather uncomfortable, and kept glancing at the back door as if hoping Jess would come and rescue him.
Jack wanted to ask if he knew one end of a gun from the other. The bloody Yanks hadn’t been involved in a war for decades, yet Major General Dwight Eisenhower, who had never fired a shot in anger in his life, had just been appointed commander of the US forces in Europe. He was trying to think of a truly awkward question he could pose, when Aggie Donovan asked, ‘What did you do before the war, luv?’
Jack was slightly taken aback when the Yank replied, ‘I’ve been a regular soldier all my life, ma’am.’
‘Aye, but you’ve never seen battle,’ Jack put in sourly.
‘Yes sir, I have.’ Behind the rimless glasses, the man’s cold blue eyes met Jack’s. ‘I volunteered for the last great war on the day I turned eighteen. I saw battle, as you put it, in the trenches of the Somme.’
‘So did I,’ Jack muttered. He realised this was a Yank he could find no fault with, so slunk back and leaned against the wall of the cottage, scowling. The major continued to field questions with a sort of polite embarrassment. All of a sudden he paused mid-sentence, his audience forgotten, as his eyes fixed on something way across the garden. Jack followed his gaze. Jess Fleming was crossing the grass with a tray of cups and saucers. One of her high heels twisted on the uneven ground and she almost stumbled. The major made a tiny move, as if he was about to go and help her, but Jess recovered her balance, laughed, and took the tray over to a table. The major relaxed and continued with whatever he’d been saying.
But this tiny, insignificant gesture told Jack the whole story. The American was in love with Jess!
Jessica was washing the last of the dishes when the huge figure of Jack Doyle appeared at the back door. ‘Eileen’s upstairs seeing to Nicky,’ she said. It was the first time they’d come face to face since the day she’d got the telegram to say Arthur was dead.
‘It was you I wanted to speak to, not our Eileen.’
The dishes washed, Jessica picked up a teatowel. ‘This is sopping,’ she murmured. ‘I wish I’d known, I would have brought a couple.’ She began to dry the dishes, saying brightly, ‘Go ahead.’
Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets and frowned at his boots. ‘I’m dead disappointed in you, Jess.’
‘Why?’ demanded Jessica, amazed. She paused, a wet plate in her hand. ‘What have I done?’
‘I don’t like being fooled and lied to,’ Jack said hotly. ‘I think I’ve a right to have been told the truth.’
Jessica looked indignant. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Jack. I’ve never lied to you.’
‘What about the American?’
She looked flabbergasted. ‘What American?’
Jack felt unsure of himself. Her puzzlement seemed totally sincere. He jerked his head towards the garden. ‘The one outside, the major,’ he said.
‘You mean Gus?’
‘I don’t know what his name is, but there’s obviously something going on.’
Jessica’s green eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘You’re too suspicious for your own good, Jack. There’s absolutely nothing going on between me and Gus. I doubt if we could even be called friends.’
‘But he brought you!’ Jack floundered.
‘That’s right, and he would have brought your Sheila, too, if all the kids would have fitted in the jeep.’
‘How did you get to know him?’ Jack persisted. Jessica was becoming annoyed. She recommenced drying the dishes with an angry flourish of the tea towel and said coldly, ‘It’s really none of your business, Jack. You’re behaving like a jealous schoolboy. If you must know, he came to the garage after there’d been trouble with some GIs in the flat upstairs. Following that, he asked me to sing at a concert. I’m singing at another one tonight.’ She tipped her chin and glared at Jack, as if challenging him to try and stop her.
‘I see.’ Jack stepped outside. The American was at the bottom of the garden talking to Paddy O’Hara who’d lost his eyesight in the war to end all wars. They were no doubt chinwagging over their experiences in the trenches. The man looked up, then turned away, uninterested, when he saw it was only Jack who’d appeared.
Jack gave a bitter smile. ‘You may think there’s nothing between you, Jess,’ he said, ‘but I doubt if the major would agree. It’s obvious the chap’s mad about you.’
Jessica was quiet for most of the way to Burtonwood. She’d decided at the last minute to take Penny, instead of leaving her with the Reillys as originally planned. Penny sat on her knee, sucked her thumb and stared shyly at Gus Henningsen. She seemed to be acquiring a crush on him.
As they drove through the narrow streets of Rain
hill, Jessica’s mind was in a turmoil. It was Jack, not Gus, who was mad. Why else should he have come up with such an outrageous suggestion? Why, Gus had told her plainly on two occasions that she wasn’t his type, and he’d done absolutely nothing to indicate the opposite. ‘And he’s not my type either,’ she thought, ‘so there’s no reason why I should be bothered whether he’s mad about me or not. I don’t care for bossy, arrogant men like Gus Henningsen.’
She glanced across at him surreptitiously. He was relaxed at the wheel of the jeep, which he drove very fast and with great skill. She noticed his pale eyebrows were finely drawn and his lashes thick and short. His powerful frame, his strong-willed brow, the leather-gloved hands gripping the wheel, everything about him emanated strength and iron determination.
Quite out of the blue, a thrill of excitement coursed through Jessica’s veins. Perhaps someone like Gus Henningsen was just the sort of man she needed. ‘I’ve only ever known Arthur and Jack. I could wrap Arthur round my little finger, and I only wanted Jack for one purpose. He was strong, but much too conventional. There’s something daring and unpredictable about Gus.’
The silence between them was comfortable and entirely without strain. They were almost there when Gus said, ‘How are you going to make a few bucks now the garage has gone up in smoke?’
‘I haven’t given it much thought,’ Jessica confessed. ‘I’ve enough to live on, but I’d like to start another business. I’d be bored silly stuck at home with nothing to do except housework.’ From now on, the income from the properties would be hers. Responsibility for the debts incurred when the business went bankrupt had died along with Arthur. Jessica might have felt bound to honour them had the bank had more respect for her at the time they’d decided to call in their debts, but they seemed to think that, as a woman, she had no right to a say in financial affairs. It was the bank which had allowed Arthur to borrow more and more without any reference to Jessica, even though the haulage company was technically hers. Therefore, the bank could suffer the subsequent loss of the debts still outstanding. In other words, the bank could get stuffed.