by Annie Groves
‘Just go to sleep.’ He had never been one to raise his voice, as that would show he had feelings he could not control. Control meant everything, and Rita knew he simmered constantly. His resentment bubbled away but never erupted into a full-scale shouting match, like some of the people around here. Passionate people, who got things off their chests, and got on with their lives. They did not harbour grudges and resentments. They certainly did not feel sorry for themselves.
As her mind drifted back and forth, sleep eluded her. She wanted to do something out of the ordinary … Make love in a huge verdant field, sandwiched between the earth and sky, feel the scratch of sand on her back, or wallow in the crash of waves. She wanted to …
Oh, what is the use of having those feelings now? Rita silently raged, throwing herself onto her stomach. Nothing would come of it. How she yearned for strong arms to hold her and to hear soft words whispered in her hair. She was only twenty-four yet she felt as undesirable as a dried-up shell of a woman. Rita knew that she could make Charlie happy if only he would allow it. But she must try harder to stop thinking about Jack.
‘Ta, love,’ Rita said without lifting her head, as the flat-capped dockworker handed her the coins for his Daily Mirror. Quickly she continued on to the next customer impatiently waiting to be served.
‘I see all the lights are on at number four.’ Mrs Kennedy was looking out of the wide shop window and doing not much else.
‘It’s not unusual for the light to be on in Mrs Faraday’s parlour this early,’ Rita answered, serving the morning papers two at a time now, knowing the dockers were eager to be on their way. ‘She’s always pottering about at odd hours.’
‘But isn’t it strange that she should have every light on, upstairs as well as down?’
‘I don’t know.’ Rita nodded her thanks to another customer. ‘I haven’t got time to stand around and ponder.’ Last night’s interruptions had left her feeling unsettled. Charlie had not looked worried by what had indeed turned to be an intruder. In fact, thought Rita, when she looked out of the window some time later he and the intruder looked quite friendly, laughing as he passed something to Charlie. However, having overslept, neither she nor Charlie had time to discuss it this morning. Rita was getting through the customers in record time. She had been serving them so long she knew by heart what they wanted, which was just as well with Madam Kennedy too busy gawping out of the window to help her.
The men were all racing to get into the queue for work on the dock, situated at the bottom of Empire Street. There were always more men than there was work for them. Like cattle, they would be wedged into the shed-like building, known as the Pen, hoping to be hired for the day. If they were not lucky they would be back in the afternoon to go through the process all over again.
Empire Street’s three-up, three-down terraced houses were the last in a long line of streets leading down to the dock road. The air smelled of soot even in summer, mingled with the odours of imported Canadian lumber from the nearby dock and timber yards, petroleum products, heavy horses, and foodstuffs from countries all over the globe. The River Mersey was the gateway to the world. From the shop Rita could hear the derricks and cranes that swung over ships and the heads of men who toiled for a pittance, loading and unloading the vessels of every shape and size.
As she worked she could hear the sounds of ships coming in and going out again, of tugs blowing on the river, while disinterested gulls screamed disdainfully overhead, swooping for any bits of food they could get. The sound Rita loved best of all was the clip-clop of hoofs on cobbles as huge, heavily laden carts were pulled by powerful horses over the uneven setts between the castellated walls along the dock road. Pop was a carter and this was the sound she had grown up listening out for.
Rita, rushed off her feet with trying to get everybody served and out of the shop as quickly as possible, could see that her mother-in-law was doing nothing to help, and nor was she looking after her children. The thought of her children now tore at Rita’s heart.
If war was imminent, and the children were to be evacuated, away from their mother for the first time, should she not be spending every possible precious moment with them?
‘Next!’ she called, not raising her head, already folding the morning paper while reaching for Old Holborn tobacco.
‘D’ya think Chamberlain has saved the day?’ Pop said, hurrying into the shop.
‘I’ll tell you what, Pop,’ said one of the dockers. ‘I would not trust that Hitler any more than I’d trust my missus to open me wage packet.’
‘Put that on my slate, girl,’ Pop said, picking up the Daily Post as he hurried towards the shop door. Rita’s eyes rolled to the cracked white ceiling, from which hung naked electric light bulbs on twisted cables, when she heard her father’s ready laughter dissolving into the warm summer air as he hurried out to his team of two huge Clydesdale horses waiting patiently outside.
‘You haven’t got a slate!’ Rita called to his disappearing back, knowing her mother would have an apoplectic fit if she ever thought her husband was getting credit from her nemesis, Mrs Kennedy.
‘Good luck in the Pen, love, hope you get a start today …’ Rita said as the fingers of the clock stole around to five to seven. She watched the blue-grey cloud of tobacco smoke rise from the departing dockworkers like steam from restless horses as the air resonated with the beat of steel toe-capped boots. Preparations for war, a subject never far from the lips of every hard-working customer lately, were all around them now, with brick shelters built in the middle of streets. Gladstone Dock was a base for transatlantic escort ships and minesweepers, which were now gathering, and Rita heard men talking of an anti-U-boat fleet based here, too.
Whatever would become of them all? Few families around here harboured romantic ideas of the sea, surviving unquestioningly by their wits. They were resilient because they had to be. Rita was proud to be among these people, with large, loving, exuberant families, with ties that were strong. They could rely on good neighbours and sometimes the Church. Being tough was not only a way of life but also an obligation. To care for their neighbours came as naturally as breathing. She knew instinctively how important this would be if war came.
‘It says here Mr Chamberlain’s gone to America today,’ a man waiting his turn said.
‘Good on him,’ said the impatient docker ahead of him. ‘D’you think ’e’ll bring a few jobs back for us?’
‘Good morning, Rita.’ Jack Callaghan, head and shoulders taller than the last man to leave the shop, smiled at Rita as he neared the counter. Jack did not have to stand in line in the Pen like the others. His time in Belfast meant that as a shipwright he was highly qualified and his job was full time.
‘Morning, Jack. Tell your Kitty I’m ready to slice the ham when she wants to bring it over.’ Rita was determined that she would remain in control of herself around Jack. It was time she grew up and stopped dwelling on the past. Her life was with Charlie now.
‘Will do, Rita,’ Jack smiled. He knew that Rita had a new life now and despite Charlie being a wrong ’un – Jack was no stool pigeon, but he would love to tell Rita the things he had heard about Charlie Kennedy … If Kennedy ever hurt her, Jack thought, as he picked up his usual packet of Woodbines with his morning paper, he would hunt him down like the cheating dog he was.
‘Can I get you anything else, Jack?’ Rita’s hand brushed his as she gave him change. Jack smiled and, looking into her eyes, he shook his head. It was nothing, Rita thought. She had touched many gnarled and calloused hands this morning. However, none of them left the tingling fingertip sensation that Jack Callaghan’s did.
‘Our Frank’s home, Jack!’ Dolly called as she passed the shop doorway. ‘I’m just on my way to the butcher’s to get some nice steaks. Oh, I’m so glad he made it home in time for the wedding.’
‘Glad to hear it, too,’ said Jack. ‘Tell him I’ll be over at dinnertime after my shift.’
Dolly nodded. Frank and Jack had been lifelon
g friends so she ventured into the shop and said in a low whisper, ‘He told us last night he could be called back to sea at any time. I’m beside myself with worry …’
‘He’ll be fine, Dolly,’ said Jack as he walked towards the shop door. ‘Only the good die young.’
‘Oh, go on,’ cried Dolly theatrically. ‘You’ll be worrying the guts out of me.’
Rita knew her mam was thrilled to have her sons home together but also worried at what was ahead of them, and Rita could only imagine what she was going through.
Jack laughed and said in an upbeat voice that made them feel a bit better, ‘Tell the boys I’ll be in the Sailor’s Rest after tea. We’ll give Sid a good send-off on his last night of freedom.’
‘Boys, indeed!’ Dolly said, laughing as her attention wandered to Mrs Kennedy, who was leaning on the counter reading a magazine. ‘Does she ever do any work?’
Rita laughed, too, knowing that standing idle was anathema to her mother.
‘Shh, Mam, she’ll hear you.’ Rita straightened the remains of the morning papers.
‘Can I get you anything in the butcher’s?’ Dolly could not let go of the motherly reins completely.
‘We’re having fish, because it’s Friday,’ Rita said pointedly, and her mam gasped with shock. Catholics did not eat meat on a Friday.
‘Oh, Rita, why did you have to go and remind me? My head’s all over the place with this wedding.’ Dolly gave a disappointed sigh. ‘I was looking forward to a nice bit of steak, too. Now I’ll have to have finny haddock.’
‘And Dad?’ Rita asked as Mrs Kennedy gave a disdainful sniff at the interruption and took her magazine to the private sitting room on the other side of the adjoining shop wall.
Dolly waited until the woman, not much older than herself, climbed the three wooden steps with exaggerated difficulty and closed the connecting door behind her. ‘Given that he’s got an elasticated conscience, he’ll still have the steak but pretend it’s Thursday.’
‘You’d better hope Father Harding doesn’t decide to visit,’ Rita grinned.
‘Your father will do his usual disappearing act out the back door as the priest walks in the front,’ Dolly answered, ‘and he’ll take his steak with him. Oh, well, fishmonger’s, here I come.’
‘Ta-ra, Mam,’ Rita called, watching through the large glass window as her mother scurried away. With so much going on, Rita did not have the heart to heap any more worry onto her mother’s shoulders so she kept her worries about the children being evacuated to herself.
There was just one possible bright star on the horizon, however. Rita knew Dolly would be thrilled if she took up her nursing career again, and maybe – just maybe – that could happen. It was too early to say anything yet but Rita hugged to herself the knowledge of her application for a nursing job. War was looking increasingly likely and, as she’d already had some training, she felt it would be her duty to do what she could. In fact, she would relish the opportunity. If war did break out it would give her a chance to get out of here.
Later, Sarah nipped into the shop and asked Rita if she would go next door and have a look at Mam’s new suit. ‘She thinks it’s too young for her.’
Rita was keen to see it. The kids were having the tea she had made earlier and Mrs Kennedy was resting her imaginary bad leg – again.
‘Mrs Kennedy, can you keep an eye on Charlie’s dinner; I just have to go into me mam’s for five minutes?’ Rita put her husband’s dinner of mashed potatoes, cheese pie and peas onto a pan of gently simmering water and put another plate over it to keep it hot.
‘I’ll look after it, Rita,’ Mrs Kennedy said as Rita left for her mother’s house, reasoning that Mrs Kennedy was helpful when she put her mind to it. Rita wished her good moods were a bit more frequent, that’s all. If her mother-in-law was as easy-going in front of Charlie, he might be able to relax more.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘Gloria!’ Nancy Feeny’s hereditary titian-coloured curls bounced in the afternoon sunshine as she hurried down the street in white, peep-toe wedge-heeled sandals. They would certainly have got her into trouble with her supervisor in the exclusive George Henry Lee haberdashery department if she wore them for work. However, she was not working today because of the imminent wedding and was just setting off to go into town.
Nancy was sure Gloria had heard her and she waved to her best friend. Gloria had obviously not been in work, and by the look of her evening gown and swish jacket, she had not even been home last night. Detecting a whiff of gossip in the hot afternoon air, especially if that notoriously nosy Vera Delaney saw Gloria, Nancy hurried over. For a moment, she felt a pang of envy at her friend’s freedom to do as she pleased.
Nancy admired the blush-coloured square-shouldered ‘swing’ jacket, lavishly embellished around the neck with diamanté, that swayed around Gloria’s slim hips, a gorgeous contrast to the navy-blue skirt and cardigan, teemed with a plain white blouse that they were obliged to wear to serve behind the elegant counters at George Henry Lee.
‘I’m just going into town if you fancy coming with me?’
‘Shh!’ Gloria put her finger to her lips and pointed to the open upstairs window at the Sailor’s Rest. Already undoing the jacket, she beckoned Nancy to follow as she headed towards the side door of the public house, where her father had been the proprietor for the last twenty years. ‘I’ll have to change out of these first.’
‘You have been out all night, haven’t you?’ An incredulous laugh laced Nancy’s words. ‘You dirty stop-out … Tell me everything!’ Gloria’s silky blonde shoulder-length hair, which framed her flawless features in a becoming Jean Harlow style, still looked as immaculate as always.
Nancy wished her own despised auburn waves were as gorgeous, and hoped Gloria, her lifelong friend and chief bridesmaid, would not steal her limelight tomorrow. With an inimitable giggle in her voice and a natural wiggle in her hips, Gloria was never short of male attention. Men said they wanted to protect her, although Nancy could not think why, given that Gloria, brought up over a pub, could take care of herself very well.
‘I miss us going out together,’ Nancy said wistfully. Sid was the jealous kind. He did not like Nancy and Gloria spending their evenings together. Gloria liked to go to late-night jazz clubs in town, which was harmless fun really. She just enjoyed singing, and she had a smashing voice. Nancy was flattered Sid loved her so much he wanted to be with her every night he was not working shifts on the docks, and he had made it clear Nancy was not to go dancing without him. She could see Sid’s point of view, too. What kind of a husband let his wife run around town at all hours of the night? Not that she ever would now. Not in her condition.
He did not mind Nancy going to see Gloria when he was having a pint in the pub, though. Gloria lived upstairs, and lately they would spend the evening going over the wedding preparations and listening to the wireless.
‘Did you see Sid last night?’ Gloria asked, her tone unusually abrupt.
Nancy’s eyebrows puckered. ‘No, he’s working nights on the dock.’
‘Oh, is that what he told you?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Nancy asked. It was not like Gloria to be sarcastic or even annoyed usually. They could tell each other anything. Except … Nancy placed an almost protective hand on her abdomen …
She and Sid had decided that they would keep the news of her pregnancy to themselves. Nancy knew how people talked and he’d asked her to marry him ages ago. There was no point in filling people’s mouths with gossip when they were already getting married.
‘I couldn’t have a man telling me what to do,’ Gloria answered. ‘You want to put your foot down and tell him it’s not the Victorian days and he doesn’t own you.’
‘He doesn’t tell me what to do … well, not always.’ Nancy was confused. She knew there was no love lost between Gloria and Sid. Gloria thought he was overbearing and domineering, telling Nancy what she could and could not do, and Sid thought Gloria was fast and hea
ding for trouble in a big way. But this display of waspish criticism was surely due to her best friend being jealous. After all, who would have thought Nancy would be the first to get married? She remembered the night of Sid’s proposal vividly.
Nancy told Sid she was staying in and washing her hair because he was doing night work on the docks when, in truth, she and Gloria had made plans to go to the local church dance. They had spent all their dinnertime discussing what they would wear. Getting dressed up was half the fun. Nancy favoured the Rita Hayworth look and Gloria was the image of Jean Harlow.
Nancy remembered she had just finished waltzing with Stan Hathaway from Accounts when she caught sight of Sid standing at the church door. She was rooted to the spot. Sid glared over to where she was, still in Stan Hathaway’s arms. He had always had his eye for her and said so as they danced … Poor Stan, thought Gloria. He’d have to be prepared for fisticuffs if Sid got angry. She watched as Sid separated the dancers like Moses parting the Red Sea. Everybody knew how possessive he could be.
They were waiting for him to drag her out of that hall like some kind of Neanderthal. Nobody was more surprised than she was when he just took her hand and they walked silently out of the dance hall together. The next day she was still in raptures over Sid’s gentlemanly conduct, slipping his arm around her waist like that and walking her home. Then Gloria spoiled it all by saying, ‘Stan was bigger than him, though, let’s be honest.’
However, Nancy soon wiped the smile from Gloria’s face when she told her that Sid had asked her to marry him, adding that he’d told her he wasn’t letting her get away that easily.
Now, though, Gloria was being all tetchy and disagreeable, and Nancy did not have a clue why. Gloria snatched a sudden intake of breath as if she were about to say something else. Then she stopped. Nancy realised that it was going to be hard for her best friend to give up their time together. Nancy would go her own married way; her life would change as she made a home and a new family with Sid, and poor Gloria would be left all on her own … It was understandable that her best friend felt no longer wanted; like a once-favourite cardigan that was no longer of any use.