by Annie Groves
‘I’ve had enough, Pop,’ said Frank. ‘For two pins I’d go over there and take her out of here.’ He could not bear to watch her dealing with this lot.
‘She won’t thank you for butting in, lad,’ said Pop with an admiring smile. ‘She’s got an independent spirit. There are worse places than the NAAFI.’
‘Fancy a dance, Kit?’ another Jack-the-lad asked as he waltzed an imaginary partner around the floor, letting off harmless steam before pushing on to who-knew-where. Frank involuntarily clenched his fist, remembering a time when he waltzed Kitty around Empire Street, the day Nancy had married Sid. He loved the innocent, malleable grace of her body, the sweet scent of her and the warm softness of her skin against his.
‘Not tonight, sunshine!’ Kitty smiled. ‘My feet are on fire.’ All she wanted was to go home and soak them in some Epsom salts.
‘Told you she wouldn’t fancy going dancing,’ Pop said, but Frank wasn’t listening, he was too engrossed in the way these young men thought they had a right to flirt with her. They’d soon know about it if he didn’t have these bloody sticks to contend with.
Rene went to turn the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ and began emptying the tea urn while Kitty went round to remove used plates.
‘Tara, lads, see you all tomorrow.’ She expertly edged the stragglers towards the door as she spoke. ‘Come on now, I’ve still got a floor to wash.’ She opened the door, making a sweeping gesture with her hand, showing the young men the exit. One cheeky chap kissed her cheek.
‘Happy birthday, Kit, you ravishing beauty.’
‘Oi – cheeky,’ Kitty laughed. ‘You’re only after a free breakfast.’
Frank was always happiest when he was engaging in banter, but watching Kitty now, he felt like he was on the outside looking in and that Kitty was as far away from him as she could possibly be. He could never be a part of her life now, and he was glad he had come here today. Seeing her here, confident and beautiful, only reinforced his feelings that she deserved someone without all the baggage that he would bring. There was no way that he would ever ask her out unless he could dance her around Orrell Park Ballroom. And that would never, ever happen.
‘Come on, Pop, it’s time we headed back, or Mam will have our guts for garters.’ Frank gave a brief and cheery wave and Pop turned to give Kitty a sympathetic smile as they turned in the direction of Empire Street.
Kitty’s heart ached with frustration. She had hoped Frank would ask her out on her birthday, but he hadn’t, and the disappointment made her feel a little drained. She looked at the clock. ‘Another hour,’ she said. The clearing up seemed such an effort all of a sudden.
‘Oh, leave all that for now,’ Rene said half an hour later. ‘It’s your birthday; you get off and I’ll lock up.’
‘If you don’t mind, Rene? That would be lovely,’ Kitty said. It had been a long day.
She pulled the blackout blind on the door before wearily leaning against it as Rene washed the dishes ready for the next day.
‘You go and get your glad rags on, girl. It’s not every day you’re twenty-two.’
‘It’s not every day you’re twenty-three or -four, for that matter,’ Kitty laughed, ‘and I’ve been running our home since I was eleven!’
‘Well, no matter,’ Rene laughed. ‘You’re a woman of the world and the world is your oyster – if you know what I mean. Why don’t you pop into the Sailor’s Rest on the way past and get yourself a drink?’
Kitty tapped her forefinger. ‘For one, I would never go into a pub and buy myself a drink,’ then her middle finger, ‘and for two, I feel as if I’ve been married since I was that high, without the compensation of a loving husband to go with it. I’ve two fellas at home who’ll be waiting for their teas.’
Rene laughed and nodded.
Kitty slipped her hand inside the second-hand herringbone coat she had bought from Cazneau Street market the week before. ‘I wouldn’t mind joining one of the Forces, though,’ she said dreamily. ‘The Waafs and the Wrens have got so much confidence; they are always laughing …’
‘Aye, well, don’t dwell on it now. You go home and treat yourself to something fancy for your birthday. Here, have a steak and kidney pie!’ Rene pushed the warm dish into her hands and the two of them looked at each other for a moment, before they exploded with laughter. ‘An American ship was in dock yesterday.’ Rene looked a little sheepish. ‘Let’s just say the cook was a very generous man who liked his home cooking – no questions asked.’
‘Pull the other one.’ Kitty was already drooling at the thought of a nice bit of steak and kidney pie. Danny and Tommy would do cartwheels when they saw this. ‘I can’t think of a better birthday present.’
‘If you were expecting diamonds or pearls from me you were going to be disappointed, Kit.’ Rene wiped the clean plate that topped the pie with the cuff of her cardigan before taking it back from Kitty and wrapping the lot in a newspaper.
‘The pie is just as precious, Rene. I’ll be off then. See you tomorrow, Rene, and thanks for locking up.’
‘Be off with you!’ Rene gave her a hug before lifting the galvanised bucket of boiled water laced with thick ‘Aunt Sally’ disinfectant, ready to mop the floor.
For the last few weeks, on her day off, Rita had caught the train to Southport and walked the avenues and boulevards of the elegant seaside town in her quest to find Michael and Megan. She called out when she thought that perfect strangers were her own offspring and the sense of desperate frustration when she realised the little ones were not her own made her weep. Only last week, she had seen a little girl in a coat just like Megan’s and, rushing forward to take the child’s hand, she turned the auburn-haired infant to face her.
The child’s face blanched with fright and her mother asked Rita what she was doing, whilst cradling the frightened child in her arms.
No amount of apologies could make up for the terrible fright she had caused both of them and Rita could not get off the tree-lined boulevard of Lord Street quick enough!
This morning, after a fruitless search of the streets at an hour the children would be going to school, Rita slipped into one of the seaside resort’s quaint teashops where the small tables were adorned with lace tablecloths. She sat at a window where she could watch the world go by. The war might have been in another country. It certainly seemed not to have reached here.
However, the high-class shops, fountains, municipal gardens and elegant buildings of Lord Street held no fascination for Rita right now. Exhausted by her quest, wondering where else she could look that she had not searched before, she was too distraught to take in the surroundings.
She feigned interest when the waitress, dressed in black with a white frilled apron, her stiff white cap perched neatly at the back of her Victory Roll, took her order and then brought a tea tray. The delicate china teapot matching the cup, saucer and tiny milk jug, and the pristine linen napkin, the likes of which Rita had not seen since before the war, completed the air of genteel respectability.
‘Sorry, we’re all out of sugar.’ The waitress put the tea things on the table. ‘There is saccharine, if you prefer your tea sweet, although we do advise our regulars to bring their own, what with there being a war on,’ she said in a friendly manner. Rita smiled and shook her head – she had not taken sugar in her tea for years.
This genteel tearoom was a world away from the dock road, the cranes, the warships in port, the soot-blackened buildings … the barrage balloons, the constant noise … Day and night, Bootle was busy, ships bringing supplies always coming in, trains taking supplies always going out.
Rita knew she was not at her most approachable. However, it did not stop the waitress informing her that Napoleon the Third was rumoured to frequent this tearoom, as he had lived in lodgings on this very street before becoming Emperor of France in 1852. Rita wondered, hypothetically, if Hitler’s troops would have marched in and taken over the country if Napoleon had still been alive.
‘Oh, yes,’
the waitress said, hugging her little pad and pencil close to her bosom, ‘the idea for those wide, tree-lined boulevards of Paris was fashioned from Napoleon’s love of Lord Street. Pity the Germans have gone in and messed it all up.’
‘It won’t always be like this,’ Rita said, almost trying to convince herself.
‘I do hope you’re right, dearie,’ the waitress said as she excused herself and went to answer the telephone.
Rita had no intentions of eavesdropping but her attention was piqued when she heard the waitress say, ‘Tell Mrs Lowe her bread will be delivered as usual tomorrow morning … Yes, I will add another brown loaf to the order … Goodbye.’ She scribbled something and, ripping it from her pad, she hung the order on a nail behind the counter.
Mrs Lowe. Rita had heard that name before. She was sure it was the name of Charlie’s elderly landlady! Finishing her tea, she went up to the counter and took out her purse.
‘Oh, you should have called me, dearie; I would have come over to the table with your bill.’
‘It’s no bother,’ Rita said, squinting at the order hung behind the counter while the waitress was getting her change from the till.
‘I’ll just go and get some change, dearie,’ the waitress said, heading to the back of the shop. This gave Rita a chance to take a closer look at the order. It was a long shot – something you read about in a novel. She had seen something similar in The Thirty-Nine Steps at the pictures. However, she never thought she would see the day when she would steal behind the counter of a quaint tearoom, and try to find out where her husband had taken her children. Sandy Avenue. There was no number written down but at least Rita might now have the right street. She’d be bound to find someone to ask when she got there.
But Rita’s quest to find the house was fruitless. The children were in school at this time of day. Birds tweeted in the trees and she could smell the tang of the sea on the stiff westerly breeze, but there was not a soul she could ask. It was as if the whole place was deserted. A shiver ran down Rita’s back and even though a weak autumnal sun was shining, she felt a sudden chill.
At least she had somewhere she could return to another time, in the evening, maybe – when people were at home. Slowly, reluctantly, she made her way back to the train station. She would try again on her day off next week but she prayed that Charlie would write or even telephone the shop in the meantime, anything to let her know where they all were.
Frank waited in the snug of the Tram Tavern. Even though he had vowed that he would stay out of Kitty’s life, he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He’d been unable to settle at home and had told Mam and Pop that he needed a little tipple down at the pub but he’d been unable to settle there either. He tipped his cap to the barman and, picking up his crutches, he made his way to the dock road, quieter now after a busy day, but still packed with men loading and unloading the waiting ships, knowing the turnaround had to be fast. Looking at his watch he saw that Kitty would be out from work in no time. He had no thought in his head of what he was going to do or say when he saw her, but he would be returning to his desk duties tomorrow and the thought that he wouldn’t see her again was too much to bear.
He leaned against the unlit lamppost, opposite the NAAFI. Even though he could not see the dark forbidding alleyways between the warehouses, he had lived around here long enough to know every inch of the dock road. His eyes adjusted to the blackout as a tug sounded a plaintive moan on the river.
From his vantage point, Frank could hear, rather than see, Rene unlocking the door to let Kitty out and he let her walk a bit further up the road. He didn’t want her to think he was following her or keeping an eye out for her. However, he did not like the idea of her walking home alone in the dark either. Having been away for a while, he now realised how much he truly missed Kitty.
Kitty knew she would never have managed to tackle the canteen floor, so tired did she feel. They didn’t even have time to have a bite to eat today, the canteen was so busy. All she wanted now was to have her tea and put her feet up. She did not hear the footsteps behind her as she headed towards Empire Street deep in thought.
Suddenly she felt a leather-gloved hand clasp her mouth while another dragged her into a deserted alleyway beside some bombed-out buildings. Kitty tried to scream but the force of the leather against her crushed lips blocked any sound. She began to kick but it was no use. Whoever had hold of her was far stronger than she was.
‘Think you’re someone now, don’t yer!’ growled the angry male voice. ‘Manageress of the NAAFI now, is it?’
Kitty felt light-headed, her airway blocked by the huge hand. The wedge-heeled shoes that she had bought second-hand from the market were scraping along the icy ground and she could feel the dirty, freezing water splashing up the back of her legs. She was powerless to stop whoever it was from dragging her halfway down the pitch-black alley.
Oh my God, please help me! a voice inside her head begged. The scream lodged in the back of her throat and her eyes were wide with terror. Kitty tore at the hand clamping her mouth shut but it was no good. He dropped his grip for only a moment to push her face and body up against the wet alley wall, scraping it against the soot-blackened brick. She could feel the water seeping through the front of her coat. He clamped her mouth again when she took a huge breath to enable her to scream and she choked back a sob when his weight jammed her against the wall. He was pressing himself against her.
‘So, you call the shots?’ he rasped.
Kitty felt her legs buckle with fear. Nevertheless, she could not allow herself to faint. Not now! No … Please not now!
Adrenalin charged though Frank’s veins like bolts of electricity when he heard Kitty’s terrified voice across the road. Moving slower than he would like, he felt as if he was wading through mud in his efforts to keep up, and not for the first time he cursed the war that, in his estimation, had made him less of a man than he had once been.
His eyes adjusted to the gloom and he could just make out the figure of a man grunting in his effort to pin Kitty to the wall. Frank’s heartbeat was pounding in his ears and the adrenalin now gave him something of the agility he used to have. No longer could he feel the tin leg grating and slowing him down. He could do anything he had to do to save Kitty. He would not let her down.
Frank took the attacker completely unaware, his steel grip knocking the man off balance.
‘Get away from her, you sewer rat!’
Kitty sank to the ground as the heavy weight was released from her chest. One side of her face felt wet and it stung when she touched the place that had scraped against the jagged red-brick wall. She half turned to see the huge figure of Frank Feeny. He was bearing down on her shadowy assailant. Even though he had the full use of only one leg, Frank had learned well how to utilise the other and he moved with the confidence of a lion going in for the kill. Remembering his boxing training, Frank adopted a combative stance and his strong, muscled arms lifted Kitty’s attacker off the ground, throwing him from the alley into the street, where he landed in the gutter like a bundle of rags.
The street was silent save for the thud of the body as it hit the ground. Frank uttered not one word as he dragged the struggling man to his feet and slammed his enormous fist into his jaw.
Kitty could still feel the heavy weight upon her body, the gloved hand pressing against her lips, causing them to bleed, and she knew that had it not been for Frank’s intervention there was no telling what this evil man would have stooped to.
It was only when she drew in a lungful of icy air, making her light-headed, that she realised she had hardly breathed since he laid his filthy hands on her. She made a super-human effort not to faint. Her heart was beating wildly, her legs felt like jelly and she could barely stand.
Kitty could just make out the determined set of Frank’s jaw and the angle of his drawn-back powerful arm that he was ready to slam into the man’s face. She knew Frank’s clenched fist could deal a hefty blow, and she also knew that he co
uld get into serious trouble – if he were caught.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ the young buck cried, trying to shield his face from Frank’s hammer blows and Frank suspected that this was the upstart who had been larking about in the canteen. ‘It was my mistake, mate.’ How pathetic he looked now, Kitty thought, as she heard the man who had scared her witless grovelling in the freezing hail of the November blackout, begging for mercy.
‘It was a mistake, mate! Honest. I thought she were someone else.’ The low voice was insistent now. ‘It won’t happen again, mister, honest! It were a mistake, mate!’
‘I’m not your mate,’ Frank growled through clenched teeth.
Kitty heard the man’s body slamming against the wall. She worried that Frank might lose his balance although it sounded like he was doing exceptionally well.
‘Put it this way – it would be the biggest mistake you ever made to go anywhere near her again.’ Kitty heard a sickening crack and imagined it could be the other man’s head hitting the wall. Frank’s voice grew ever more intimidating. ‘Have you got that – mister? If I ever see you around her again, mistake or not, I will knock you into the middle of next week. Right?’
At close quarters, Frank could see his face. He was right, it was the young upstart who had been full of bravado in front of his pals, and had obviously taken umbrage when Kitty put him in his place.
‘I thought she were someone else.’ The young squaddie’s hand guarded his face as he tried to stay out of the way of Frank’s powerful left hook.
‘So that makes it all right?’ Frank’s growl became lower, almost a whisper. ‘You think you can come around here and treat a woman like that?’
‘No, I thought she were just some doxie, walking the dock road – some o’ them like it rough …’ He didn’t have time to shield his face completely from the blow that came too fast to register, sending him reeling across the dock road and only narrowly missing being run over by an oncoming tram.
Kitty heard him squealing like a stuck pig as he landed in the gutter. Frank limped over to him, muttering something too low for her to hear.