Child of the Mersey

by Annie Groves

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dolly marshalled her family with such military precision that even Mr Chamberlain would have been proud. She busied herself polishing glasses and arranged the flowers that Kitty had brought on the top table.

  Pop poured whiskey into glasses in readiness for the male guests and a nice schooner of sherry for the ladies, knowing some of the alcohol would gladly be consumed before the wedding cars arrived.

  The bride-to-be, having steadfastly refused to go to the church in her father’s horse-drawn cart, even with the promise of white ribbons tied to it, waited in nervous anticipation in her bedroom upstairs.

  ‘Just as well I budgeted for a bridal car,’ said Dolly, handbag over her arm, her hat perched at a fetching angle on her marcel-waved hair.

  ‘What would we do without you, my sweet?’ said Pop. Dolly’s face, wreathed in smiles, was a picture of motherly pride.

  There was a slight tap on the door of Nancy’s bedroom. Taking a deep breath, she called lightly, ‘Come in if you’ve brought forty per cent proof.’

  ‘You’re in luck,’ Rita said smiling as she put a glass of sherry on the dressing table. ‘Mam said I’d better bring you one up.’

  ‘I would have preferred a whiskey,’ Nancy said tightly.

  ‘Is everything all right, Nance?’ Rita was concerned her sister was getting the pre-wedding jitters. Nancy shook her head and was quiet for a moment longer. Rita knew her sister was going to make a lovely bride, with her rich red curls and fresh, perfect complexion. How could she fail to make an impression? But Nancy, considered the prettiest of the Feeny girls, looked pale and drawn now.

  ‘Put a bit more rouge on your cheeks, Nance, you look too pale.’ Rita knew her sister could have had any man she chose, and she had to go and pick Sid Kerrigan. What did Sid possess that the line of countless past boyfriends did not? ‘You’re not getting last-minute nerves, are you?’

  Nancy shook her head and gave a small nervous laugh. ‘I always worried I might end up an old maid, like Miss Taylor.’

  Miss Taylor, in her thirties, came from London and had recently moved in with her widowed aunt across the road. ‘She doesn’t look like an old maid these days – have you seen her?’

  ‘No,’ said Nancy, not really interested as she drank the sherry in one gulp before wrinkling her nose and coughing.

  ‘She’s had a perm,’ Rita said. ‘It’s made a real difference to her.’

  ‘Super.’ Nancy’s voice was flat; she did not care one way or the other.

  ‘It’s going to be the happiest day of your life,’ Rita replied. ‘Sid’s a lucky man.’

  ‘He’s in the Territorials; he’ll be called up first, won’t he?’ Nancy said suddenly. ‘I’ll be on my own.’

  ‘You and every other girl in England,’ Rita scoffed. ‘Anyway, he might not as he’s on the docks; it’s a reserved occupation so who knows if and when a call-up will come? You’ll soon get over being alone if there’s a dance on the go.’

  ‘There’s something I’ve got to say, and I know you’ll give me a straight answer, Rita.’

  ‘Go on,’ Rita smiled, thinking nothing her younger sister did or said could shock her.

  ‘Do you remember Stan Hathaway from Strand Road? He worked in Accounts, his mam and dad owned the pork butcher’s on Derby Road … You remember them?’

  Rita’s brows pleated and she slowly shook her head.

  ‘His mother was very pound-note-ish … a bit like Mrs Kennedy …’

  ‘Oh, I remember now,’ Rita laughed. ‘He was tall, good-looking, went to university …’

  ‘That’s him!’ Nancy’s eyes were dancing now and she nodded enthusiastically. ‘Well, you’ll never guess what.’

  ‘Come on, spit it out.’ Rita sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘I saw him in town the other day. We hit it off straight away. He said he had never forgotten me.’ She did not look at her older sister now. ‘He told me I’d got better looking since the last time he saw me.’ She lifted her chin and viewed her profile in the dressing table mirror from a head-tilted angle.

  ‘And you are nearly a married woman,’ Rita smiled, knowing Nancy liked nothing better than a good compliment. It cheered her up as nothing else would.

  ‘He’s joined the air force,’ Nancy said, ignoring her sister’s well-intentioned sarcasm, ‘which is a bit of a coincidence because Gloria’s chap is in the RAF too.’ She tried to keep her voice as casual as possible.

  ‘They might know each other,’ Rita said drily, thinking her sister had something she needed to get off her chest and, judging by the way she was hedging around the subject, it must be something quite serious.

  ‘Oh, he did look handsome in his uniform,’ Nancy said, ignoring Rita’s little barb. ‘I nearly had thoughts of cancelling the wedding.’ She threw back her head and let out an exaggerated deep-throated laugh. ‘And he only asked me to write to him!’ Her eyes were wide now and she nodded as if to affirm her revelation. ‘What do you think of that?’

  ‘I hope you told him you’re getting married!’ Rita, although not a prude, did not want to see Nancy mixed up in anything that could complicate her life with Sid.

  ‘It’s not that kind of friendship.’ Nancy laughed, but something was not right, Rita could tell. She put it down to nerves; her sister was a nice girl.

  ‘Did he give you his address?’ Rita suddenly felt uncomfortable. She knew Stan had always attracted Nancy with his easy-going charm.

  ‘Only of his Forces mail. What do you take me for?’ Nancy answered, colouring noticeably.

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ Rita sighed. It had not taken much in the past for the good-looking lad to turn her sister’s head.

  ‘Anyway,’ Nancy said innocently, looking down at her perfectly painted fingernails, avoiding Rita’s gaze, ‘what harm would it do?’ What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, she thought, still angry with Sid.

  ‘Have you lost your senses, Nancy?’ Rita shook her head, hardly able to believe that her sister could be so naïve. ‘You’re getting married!’

  ‘Don’t you think I know that? I don’t need you to remind me.’ Nancy, obviously vexed, turned away from Rita. ‘But that doesn’t mean I have to go around like a blind nun.’

  Rita could see that there was something deeper at the heart of Nancy’s state of mind.

  ‘Nancy, come on, you can tell me, what’s the matter? You do want to marry Sid, don’t you?’ Rita had heard from Sarah that there had been some rumblings of discontent over the last week, but her mam hadn’t seen fit to divulge any of the details as yet to her eldest daughter. Rita figured there must be a reason why it was all so hush-hush.

  Nancy hesitated before speaking. ‘What’s it like, Rita? Being married to Charlie? I know he hasn’t really taken to our family and likewise, but you love him, don’t you?’

  Maybe it was last-minute nerves, thought Rita. But what on earth could she tell her sister about her own marriage? It wasn’t a good day to ask. Rita could hardly think of one single positive thing to say about Charlie.

  Rita took Nancy’s hand in her own. ‘Look, Nance, every marriage is different from the next and what makes a marriage work can’t be bottled. The most important thing is that you love Sid. You do, don’t you?’

  Nancy’s bottom lip started to wobble. ‘I’m not sure, Rita. I know he’s been messing about with other girls and well … I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing.’

  ‘Then why on earth have you let it get this far?’ Rita could see tears welling behind her sister’s eyes.

  Nancy didn’t answer but her hand moved towards her belly where Rita could now see the barely perceptible bump that she hadn’t noticed before. The penny dropped.

  ‘Oh, Nancy, how did that happen?’

  Nancy gave her sister a look and both of them laughed despite the weight of the situation.

  ‘Silly question.’ Rita looked at Nancy steadily. They both knew that it was too late now to back out. Rita�
�s heart went out to her younger sibling and despite the fact that Nancy could be immature and self-centred, Rita knew from bitter experience that this was no way to start a marriage. Nancy and Sid were as bad as each other and both of them were going to have to grow up if they had a chance in hell of making this work. But Rita judged that this wasn’t the time for lectures or tough talking.

  ‘Nancy, no matter what Sid may or may not have been up to, you can see he adores you. He’s probably just got the last-minute jitters himself. You wouldn’t have given yourself to him in the way you did if you weren’t certain that you wanted him for a husband, now would you?’

  Nancy dabbed at her eyes. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Exactly. You and Sid have got as good a chance of having a happy marriage as anybody and I can tell you now that as soon as that baby comes along, he or she will be the apple of their daddy’s eye and he’ll love you all the more for giving him a much-loved child.’

  ‘Do you think so Rita?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. Now come on, get yourself together, stop thinking about Stan Hathaway and what might have been and let’s give Empire Street the wedding that everyone will still be talking about at Christmas.’

  ‘Oh, Rita – thank you!’ and with this, Nancy gave her sister a heartfelt hug. The Feenys weren’t a very touchy-feely family, but they could rise to the occasion when it mattered.

  ‘Right, where’s Mam and Sarah?’ Nancy was fussing now. ‘My hair’s not finished and I still haven’t seen me posy!’

  With this Nancy dashed out of the room, all anxieties seemingly forgotten. Rita caught sight of herself in the mirror of the dressing table. She could see the glistening tears in her own eyes and dashed them away hurriedly.

  Rita thought about what she had said to Nancy. She hoped that every word she had said was true, but suspected it wasn’t. I gave myself to someone because I thought we’d be together for ever and look where it’s got me.

  ‘Pull yourself together,’ she whispered to herself out loud. That ship had sailed.

  Since April, England had responded to Hitler’s threats of aggression in Europe by summoning her fittest and bravest young men. Danny Callaghan was not slow to want to do his bit. He had dreams of sailing the world and, like the Feeny brothers, conquering evil marauders. They knew he was fervent about standing up for what was right, even if the rest of Empire Street did think he was always up to no good. Danny, with his fearless attitude, intended to fight for his country and come back to these shores a national hero. Kitty, long-suffering as she was, would be so proud.

  All his life he had the urge to make good. It had not been easy, and he had narrowly squeaked out of trouble with little to spare many a time. However, he did not want to bring worry and heartache to the door, for Kitty’s sake, and in respect of the memory of his much-adored mother.

  Danny balled his fists and pushed them deep down into empty threadbare pockets, his cap at a jaunty angle on the back of his head. Whistling, he walked with his head held high along the dock road towards the centre of Liverpool with the urge to make good his vow at his mother’s graveside that he would make this family proud of him come what may.

  Even if there wasn’t a war, he thought, he would join the Royal Navy anyway. He’d see the world, bring back exotic presents and tell tales of places that Kitty and young Tommy could only imagine. The voyages would be a dream come true. The best time of his life. Articulate, intelligent, Danny wanted to reach beyond the limits forced upon him by his poverty-stricken upbringing. He wanted to be successful, to provide for his family. He wanted people to look up to him, as they looked up to Dolly Feeny’s boys. He wanted to grab life by the scruff of the neck and live it.

  Removing the tattered envelope from his pocket once more, he checked the address. This was it: the Royal Navy Recruitment Centre. His heart gave a little flutter and he felt almost breathless with excitement. This was the last stage of the enlistment procedure. The medical. Then he would get his date to start training. He could not have felt more proud.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Danny said confidently to a matelot dressed in an immaculate navy-blue uniform, his gaiters pristine white and his boots so shiny he could see his face in them. Observing these boots, Danny could only gasp in admiration. This was it. He couldn’t wait to tell everyone later at the wedding. They’d be speechless.

  ‘Speech!’ Sid Kerrigan called, sitting at the top table, tapping one of Dolly’s best gold-rimmed champagne glasses. Dolly, watching him, silently flared her nostrils in disgust. Sid was making a right show of himself and, if she were not mistaken, he had been drunk before the service at St Mary’s church had even begun. The Kerrigans were sitting further up the table, looking at Sid as if he were a little king. Pop had been round to see Mr Kerrigan the previous night and had made his feelings about Nancy’s condition very clear, he’d said. Dolly was aware of a slight frostiness coming off both Mr and Mrs Kerrigan, but Sid had to do his duty and that was that. No point in anyone blaming anyone else. Neither Nancy nor Sid were children any more and they would just have to grow up.

  Rita, sitting between her husband and her two shiny children, looked on proudly as Nancy, looking every inch the radiant bride, smiled and acknowledged the good wishes of her guests. She’ll be fine, Rita thought. It was a case of having to be now, she supposed. Nancy had taken the plunge and was going to live with the consequences. She would have to put all thoughts of fighter pilots out of her head.

  ‘I’ll do the honours, Sid,’ Frank said in a jovial tone, standing up and addressing the guests sitting expectantly around the room. Their Rita looked pensive and his mam looked as if she wanted to give the groom a piece of her mind, he thought as he waited for complete silence. Under the sociable surface of bonhomie and good cheer, there were storm clouds brewing and it was not just the new groom causing them. All this talk of war was doing funny things to people’s nerves.

  Frank had a little speech prepared. It was not a long speech as he’d known the assembled guests would be eager to tuck in, and most of it comprised good wishes and reading telegrams from absent friends and family. He enjoyed the laughter that his little jokes invited. However, unbeknown to his loving family, Frank was on stand-by. If he got the call to return to his ship it would mean only one thing. He hoped he could get through the speeches without that happening.

  From his vantage point, as he spoke he was admiring the way Kitty Callaghan nipped in and out of the parlour with the huge teapot, making sure the guests had everything they needed. She had done Mam proud, he thought, looking at the table with its pristine tablecloth, a pure white background on which to show off his mother’s fine china, crystal glasses and silver cutlery, usually locked away in the bow-fronted glass cabinet and brought out only on special occasions.

  Kitty had done a smashing job of bringing up little Tommy, Frank thought, as well as looking after the rest of her family, and, from an early age, keeping a house going on very little. She deserved a medal for putting up with it all.

  Poor Rita – Frank’s attention turned to his sister. She was smiling now, passing a dainty cup on a matching saucer to her husband. Charlie was laughing at something the priest was saying, totally ignoring his wife. She put the cup and saucer down beside his untouched plate while looking a little embarrassed. She certainly danced attendance on that smarmy bugger, thought Frank.

  Nevertheless, it was none of his business unless his sister asked him to speak up for her, and that would never happen. What was it Pop used to say: ‘Never trouble trouble, till trouble troubles you’? The wise words certainly had not done Pop any harm. Frank smiled, as he put his delicate china cup to his lips and discovered he had emptied it already.

  ‘More tea, Frank?’

  Frank turned to see Kitty standing with the huge pot in her hand. He noticed she did not wear a scrap of fake, no lipstick and powder to mar her natural beauty like some of the ‘girls’ who frequented the dock road ale houses.

  Girls! That was a laugh. Adam was a lad
the last time some of them were girls, Frank knew. They were a common sight in every port. He had never succumbed to the charms of these doxies, no matter how much the other tars tried to tempt him.

  ‘Thanks, Kit.’ His voice was low as he caught her eye and the pink tinge that suffused her cheeks only added to her beauty when she smiled back. As honest as the day was long, Frank thought; it was a shame that life had dealt her such a cruel blow, especially when others, more worldly wise, knew how to keep the wolves from the door.

  ‘I’ll have a top-up too, love.’

  Frank watched Alfie Delaney, a dock foreman, rattling his cup on his saucer, and felt an uneasy stirring in his gut. He did not like the way Alfie was looking at Kitty. It reminded him of the way a dog looked at a bone. Kitty, nodding, smiled at Alfie, and for the first time Frank realised that what he was feeling towards Kitty wasn’t purely neighbourly concern. Men found her attractive. It was with surprise that he realised that he found her attractive too. He had no claim on Kitty, so why did he suddenly feel the urge to tell Alfie to keep his eyes off her?

  ‘I’ll just go and put some hot water in this pot, the tea is getting a bit strong.’

  ‘Like me.’ Alfie laughed and winked, while Kitty blushed. Frank bit his tongue to prevent a quick retort. How he would like to wipe that grin off Alfie Delaney’s face. Not backward in coming forward, Delaney had always been cocksure and never short of a girl.

  When Kitty returned to the parlour, Frank could not help but notice Alfie’s open approval of her. Her coal-coloured curls had escaped the triangular scarf knotted at the nape of her neck and, feeling strangely protective, Frank watched her work her way around the table, a smile and a friendly comment for everybody.

  He liked the way she wore her naturally waving hair loose beneath the bandana and he admired her trim figure in a black skirt and cardigan worn over a perfectly laundered white blouse all covered with a white starched apron.

  The stark hues of the outfit did nothing to diminish the golden glow of her perfect skin and, teamed with her dark hair and kind eyes that danced when she smiled, it gave her a European elegance. Spanish, maybe Italian, he could not make up his mind … what would it be like to hold her in his arms …?