War Widow

by June Francis

  The fog lifted a moment and she could see several yards ahead, before it came down again and she was running blind. She hoped that she would not fall even as she experienced a feeling of exuberance that surprised her. Then she realised it was because it felt good to be tricking Kevin. Every time she thought of her sister’s lovely face, bruised and battered, she felt angry.

  Suddenly she heard the clanging of a tram and saw the glimmer of lights. She had reached the main road. Without hesitating she shot across it and managed to board the tram. It moved away just as Kevin reached it. He and Flora stared at each other through the window and she knew that he had recognised her. He shook his fist before turning and crossing back over the road. Weak with relief, Flora sat down, hoping that her sister was well away.

  Kevin was blazing mad as he ran across the road and back up the long street that led eventually to Flora’s house. He did not really believe that he would find Hilda there but he considered that George could easily be a substitute for his wife. He would murder him when he got his hands on him. The bloody little swine, tricking him like that!

  He paused to get his breath back and took out the flask he had been sipping from for the last few hours. He drained it. The fog was beginning to lift. He ran on, thinking that he would climb that back yard gate if he had to, and get inside the house even if he had to smash a window. Then he would give George the hiding of his life.

  To Kevin’s surprise the back gate was open. He kicked it wide, Just for the pleasure of hearing it smash against the wall. He strode through the back kitchen and sat down to wait. His fingers drummed on the arm of the chair and he began to sing a soldier’s song. He was on his third when he saw Vivien’s feet under the table. He laughed, and getting up he dragged her out. ‘Now, if it isn’t you, little sweetheart,’ he muttered.

  ‘Mam’s not here, Uncle Kevin,’ she stammered. ‘But perhaps if you ran, you might catch her.’

  Fury flashed in his face. ‘Little liar.’ He hit her with a force that sent her head back and she began to whimper. The sound did something to him. He changed tack as he gazed down into the face so like Hilda’s. It was marred by red weals. ‘Me and you used to be friends, kid. You enjoyed it when we played together, didn’t you?’ His voice softened. ‘Shall we play now?’ Vivien made no answer, staring at him with tear-filled eyes. ‘Tickle-ickle,’ he murmured, tickling her. ‘Laugh, Viv.’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ she cried, attempting to wriggle away from him, but he pinned her down with his knees. ‘Come on, kid, laugh!’ He tickled her until she shrieked.

  ‘Go away!’ She tried to push him but his fingers dug into her the harder, then suddenly he stopped.

  ‘Give your Uncle Kev a kiss. You’re a prettily littily thing now. Better than your mam!’ An ugly look twisted his mouth. ‘She’s a slut!’

  Tears rolled down Vivien’s cheeks. ‘Go away – leave me alone! You’re horrible. Aunty Flo will shout at you.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Fond of her, aren’t you, kid? And she loves you. She shouldn’t have left you.’ He shoved her down and pushed up her skirts, holding her down with one hand while he fumbled with his trouser buttons. Vivien screamed. Neither of them heard Flora coming in.

  ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ Her furious voice cut the air like a knife and she rushed to her niece’s side, giving Kevin a violent push that sent him sprawling sideways. His hand whacked the table leg.

  ‘Bitch!’ He spat the word at her as he stumbled to his feet, and swung a fist at her. The blow caught the side of her head and sent her flying, knocking a dining chair over. He was on her swiftly.

  Vivien, suddenly fearful for her aunt, stared wildly about her for a weapon and saw the poker in the fire. She picked up the knitted holder, wrapped it round the handle and pulled the poker out. ‘You leave my aunty Flo alone,’ she yelled.

  Kevin looked up and swore. He automatically parried the blow as Vivien brought the poker down. Its white-hot end burned through his sleeve. He yelped as the metal touched him, but his arm swung with such force that he knocked the poker out of Vivien’s hand and it fell on the rug, which began to smoulder. He staggered to his feet and hit her. She crumpled in a heap on the floor.

  Horrified at the way matters had turned, Flora tried to rise. Her face was throbbing and she felt dizzy. Kevin turned and grabbed her wrist. He twisted her arm up behind her back and forced her down on her knees, smiling as he did so. A scream escaped her as he shoved hard and she overbalanced, landing on the rug. She felt heat and smelt singeing, and forced herself to roll out of the way, patting her head with frantic hands-to stop her hair burning. The rug was on fire.

  Kevin seized her, and another scream rose in her throat but she had no chance to utter it because his weight was crushing her, wedging her under the table. ‘Fire,’ she managed to whisper. ‘Fire, you bloody fool.’

  He lifted off her slightly but made no move to do anything about the fire. Instead he tore at the buttons on Hilda’s coat. Overwhelming fear and panic seized her as he tried to force up her skirts. The smoke was in her nostrils and she wondered dizzily how he could ignore it. She struggled violently, clawed at his arms and screamed and screamed.

  ‘Shut up! Shut up!’ he yelled, and slapped her across the face.

  Then, unexpectedly, footsteps sounded in the lobby, above the hissing of the burning linoleum. Her head turned quickly in the direction of the door as George entered. ‘Oh, thank God,’ she sobbed. ‘George, George, help me!’

  But there had been no need for her to speak. He took in the situation quickly, his heart hammering madly as Kevin jerked back on his heels. The boy’s eyes searched for a weapon, and he picked up a tin of peas from the sideboard. He did not hesitate but lunged forward and brought it down on Kevin’s head with tremendous force.

  Flora flung herself to one side as Kevin toppled forward. Her eyes were watering and she began to cough as George hoisted her to her feet. ‘Get Viv,’ she croaked. ‘Get out of here quickly, both of you.’ The flames were running fast along the floor now.

  ‘And you, Mam,’ he said in a rising panicky voice, his face pale as he pulled on her arm, rubbing at his streaming eyes with the other hand.

  ‘I’m coming! I’m coming in a sec!’ She dragged her arm free and pushed him towards Vivien, who was gasping and trying to rise. He did as he was told and lifted his cousin to her feet, hustling her into the lobby and outside.

  Flora bent over Kevin and shook him, but he did not move. Her throat closed and a spasm of coughing overtook her. She hurried towards the lobby then stopped – to pull open the sideboard door with shaking hands. She dragged out her handbag and a green tissue-wrapped parcel. Without further delay she ran down the lobby and out into the still misty, cold air.

  George was coming to meet her, having dumped Vivien on the pavement. ‘What’ll we do, Mam?’ he stammered. ‘What about him?’

  ‘You can’t do anything for him. You’re not going back in there again. The whole kitchen’s in flames.’ Her voice broke on a sob. She took a deep breath and tried to gain control of herself.

  George put his arm round her and walked her down the step. ‘We’re all right, Mam. We got out. Keep your chin up.’ His voice kept breaking however hard he tried to keep it steady. He felt the shudder go through her and her head fell against his shoulder. ‘Best knock on next door and tell them,’ she whispered. ‘And you’ll have to phone the fire brigade.’

  ‘Yes, Mam.’ He left her sitting on the pavement next to Vivien while he ran to the corner shop to phone.

  The whole of the ground floor was a mass of flames, and smoke issued from the bay window upstairs. A crowd had gathered and their next door neighbour was screaming at her kids to bring out the furniture and clothes in case her place caught fire. Several people went to her aid.

  Flora, George and Viv were sitting on chairs on the pavement opposite with Mrs Jones’s blankets round their shoulders. Tears made streaks in their smoke dirtied faces.

&nbs
p; ‘There now, Flo girl, you take it easy.’ Carmel pressed a cup of tea into her hand. ‘Drink that while it’s nice and hot.’ Obediently Flora did. Vivien was clinging to her skirt and George had a hand on her shoulder. They needed her with them.

  By the time the fire brigade clanged down the street and the ambulance arrived, the upper storey was well alight. Flora knew that there was no hope of Kevin’s being alive. There would be questions asked and answers required and time was ticking away.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bearing in mind what Hilda had said about policemen being men, Flora did not tell it exactly as it was to the constable on the beat. Her brother-in-law had had a tiff with her sister, she said, and he had come to her house looking for her. He wouldn’t believe she wasn’t there and turned quite nasty. He had been drinking. Got violent. No, she wasn’t sure how the fire started exactly.

  Tears started in her eyes at this point and the policeman changed tack. ‘Do you have any idea where your sister is?’

  ‘No,’ said Flora honestly, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve, and realised that it was Hilda’s coat she had on. She only hoped that none of the neighbours who knew her sister would think to comment on it.

  ‘We could put a message out over the wireless,’ the policeman muttered, putting away his notebook. ‘If we draw a blank at her friend’s house.’

  ‘Perhaps if a report of the fire is put in the Echo?’ suggested Flora.

  The policeman eased the strap under his chin. ‘I don’t doubt it’ll be in tomorrow’s paper. The newshounds are already on the scene. Have you got some relative you can stay with tonight, Mrs Cooke?’

  ‘My father.’

  He stilled. ‘Your sister wouldn’t go to him?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Flora positively. ‘They don’t get on.’

  ‘A bit of a tartar is she, your sister?’ he said drily.

  Flora smiled slightly. ‘You could say that.’

  ‘You’ll be all right then?’

  ‘Yes.’ She wanted to get rid of him as quickly as possible. ‘Thank you, constable.’ She forced a smile. ‘Can you tell me the time?’

  He looked at the large watch on his wrist. ‘Five-thirty-eight precisely.’

  Her nerves jumped. ‘Thanks.’ He saluted her and walked away.

  Flora watched him cross the road to speak to the chief fireman standing on her littered front step, then she rose quickly from the chair. ‘Where are you going?’ Vivien came up with her, still clinging to her skirt.

  ‘Grandad’s. We’ll have to go to there,’ she informed the girl, hurriedly folding the blanket. ‘Kathleen, thank your mother for the tea and tell her where we’ve gone.’

  The girl nodded, watching as George got to his feet. ‘What’ll yer do, Mrs Cooke? Where’ll yer live now?’

  Flora opened her mouth to speak but George was before her. ‘America. Me mam’s going to marry Mike,’ he said roughly, kicking at a stone.

  Kathleen’s mouth fell open and she said shakily, ‘Yer not goin’ to America, George, are yer?’

  George looked at his mother and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I could live with me grandad,’ he said in a hard voice, and turned away and began to walk up the street.

  ‘I’ll go to America with you, Aunty Flo,’ said Vivien eagerly, perking up.

  Flora made no response, only seizing the girl’s hand and following in George’s wake. She caught up with him, ‘George Cooke! We are a family and we stay together,’ she said emphatically. ‘I haven’t got to America yet, and you’re not to mention any of this to your grandad. I’ll tell him when the time’s ripe.’

  ‘He still thinks you’re going to marry Stephen Martin,’ he muttered.

  ‘Well, neither of you is to tell him I’m not.’ Her gaze went from one to the other. ‘I’ve got to meet Mike at seven tonight. I haven’t got much time and if I start trying to explain even part of what’s happened to your grandad, I won’t make it.’ she hurried them along.

  ‘You mean – we’ve got to tell fibs?’ demanded Vivien. ‘What about the fire?’

  Flora gnawed at her lower lip. ‘Perhaps it’ll be best if I don’t come in. Just see you to the door. He’s bound to delay me. You can tell him anything you want. It’s probably better to stick to the truth.’

  George sighed heavily. ‘Why d’you have to meet him tonight?’

  ‘Because he’s leaving,’ she cried impatiently. ‘And I’ll have to be getting the tram soon to the Pier Head or I might never see him again. He doesn’t know I’m marrying him yet!’

  ‘He doesn’t?’ George stopped and stared at her, realising how it would be if she did not reach Mike in time, and had a moment’s struggle with himself. At least he preferred Mike to Stephen. A long sigh escaped him. ‘You’d better just see us across the main road, Mam. We don’t want you missing the boat. Me and Viv know the way to Grandad’s.’

  Flora was so touched she could not speak. When they came to the main road, she kissed Vivien. ‘You will be coming back for us?’ said the girl anxiously.

  ‘Yes,’ said Flora. Then she turned to George. ‘Thanks, son.’ She hugged him.

  ‘Get going, Mam,’ he said roughly, freeing himself. His brown eyes were moist. ‘There’s a tram coming.’

  ‘Across the road with you first, then, while I’m watching,’ she said.

  They ran, pausing to wave on the other side, and then they raced up the road. She wasted a few seconds watching them, then legged it to the stop.

  Once on the tram Flora was aware of a couple of curious glances, and pulled her scarf further forward. Delving in her handbag she took a small oblong mirror out of the pocket and looked at her reflection. She touched the swelling on her face; already it was purpling. There was no face powder in her bag but there was the tiny phial of Evening in Paris perfume that Mike had tied on the Christmas tree. She dabbed it behind her ears, determinedly concentrating on the happy times and not the horrors of the day.

  As the tram went down into the city Flora did what she had done a long time ago when she had gone to meet Mike in town. Her fingers rubbed a clear patch in the condensation on the window. It was dark and still a bit foggy and she imagined the pilot boat waiting on the Mersey – the tugs, the ocean liner California Star. Her stomach flipped over. What if Mike had meant it was sailing at 7 p.m.? Dear God! She sent up a prayer that it was not so. Time and tide waited for no man. Corny but true. She took out his letter. Why couldn’t he have written more? Perhaps she was assuming too much? Maybe he wouldn’t want her when she told him about the baby? He couldn’t be blamed if he was fed up with her. Hurry up tram!

  The Liver Building clock read a misty 6.45 p.m. when Flora stepped off the tram. Quickly she headed for the covered passengerway in company with a group of people. The tide was in, which meant the gangway sloped steeply upwards. By the time she came on to the floating landing stage, her legs were aching. The ferry from Birkenhead had just come in and she was jostled by a couple hurrying for it. She whirled to her right and began to run. Her scarf began to slide and she dragged it off and stuffed it in her pocket.

  A fog horn sounded mournfully on the river. Her heart was pounding and there was a pain in her side. Her foot slipped on the wet wood but she caught herself up and went on, past where the Isle of Man boats berthed, and on. She felt quite sick. Then she saw the ship and people milling around. Her pace slowed to a walk, and her head turned this way and that as she tried to spot Mike, but she could not see any man dressed in the uniform of an American airman. She could not believe that she had come too late and her eyes turned automatically to the Liver clock, but it was lost in the fog at this distance. She hurried and drew closer to the ship. Now she could read its name, and with a sickening jolt of disappointment discovered that it was not the California Star.

  Panic drove her on.

  Then she heard her name being called. Abruptly she stopped, not quite sure where the voice had come from, but she looked up at the next ship. Again she heard her name, and recognis
ed Mike’s voice. The relief was overwhelming. She turned and saw him hurrying towards her in the familiar uniform of drab green. ‘Mike!’ she croaked and ran to meet him.

  She fell into his arms, hugging and squeezing him. ‘I thought you’d gone! I thought you’d gone!’

  ‘And I thought you weren’t coming!’ His voice was muffled against her hair. ‘You went right past me and I didn’t recognise you at first in this coat. But you were running and I thought – you look familiar.’

  ‘It’s Hilda’s,’ she gasped. ‘It’s a long story and I won’t have time to tell you it. I’ll write, though. You do still want to marry me, don’t you?’

  ‘What d’you think that note was about, babe?’ He kissed her.

  ‘Thank God,’ she said weakly, as his mouth lifted. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘I thought you might be.’ His cheek rested against hers.

  ‘You did it deliberately.’

  ‘You let it happen.’

  ‘Yes. I think there’s madness in our family.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too. When d’you have to go?’

  He drew away from her, and taking her cold hand, placed it with his in his pocket. ‘I have a choice, but before I could make a decision I felt I had to shock you into making a choice too, Flora.’

  She stared at him and he quirked an eyebrow. There was a long silence. ‘I got very puffed,’ she said crossly. ‘It’s not good for a woman in my condition to be rushing through Liverpool. You’ve no idea of the kind of day I’ve had.’

  ‘You can tell me all about it.’ His voice was warm and soothing. ‘But will it make you feel any better if I tell you that Burtonwood isn’t closing down? With the way the situation is in Europe, the powers in charge think there’s still a need for it. We could stay on here for a while if that would make life easier for you.’

  It took Flora only a few seconds to take in what he was saying. ‘Yes,’ she said in a low voice, squeezing his hand. ‘Thank you, Mike.’