Child of the Mersey

by Annie Groves

  ‘It’s been very nice,’ Vera called back. ‘Lovely spread.’

  ‘She sounds disappointed,’ Rita remarked, and Kitty laughed, feeling herself relax. She had not realised she was so tense.

  ‘Enough’s as good as a feast, I always say.’ Mrs Delaney sniffed loudly from the other side of the yard.

  ‘Your Alfie looks as if he’s been filling his boots too,’ Rita answered, watching Alfie sway under the influence of too much whiskey.

  ‘He’s just tired, he’s been working hard. He’s not greedy, you know!’

  ‘It’s just as well, missus,’ said Cyril Arden, the pub landlord, who had come over to the party when the Sailor’s Rest had shut for the afternoon at three o’clock. He knew these good people would spend a fair whack over his bar tonight. ‘There’ll be no such thing as a large quantity of anything if the Boche get their way.’

  Mrs Delaney tutted and patted her waved hair. ‘I don’t take no notice of that scaremongering talk,’ she said. ‘They said the last war would end all wars, and that’s good enough for me.’

  ‘What they say and what they do are two different things,’ said Pop, filling the hot summer air with plumes of pipe tobacco, his eye-patch, a dark contrast to his shock of thick white hair, a constant reminder of his service with the Grand Fleet in the last war. ‘You mark my words, Vera, we’ll have another war, and my Rita will be back where she belongs on the wards.’ He was proud that his eldest daughter had been training as a nurse before she married Charlie Kennedy. ‘When the enemy comes they will be crying out for good nurses. You see if they don’t!’

  ‘Don’t let Mam hear you talking like that, Pop,’ Rita laughed, knowing Dolly did not approve of her husband discussing politics in public, and certainly not in his own back yard.

  ‘Every man’s home is his domain, isn’t that right, Cyril?’ Pop looked to the proprietor of the local, who nodded amicably. ‘I’ll have you know,’ Pop said, waving his pipe, ‘it’s my own decision not to talk about politics – or religion – when my good lady wife is around.’ Everybody laughed, knowing Pop would never do anything to upset Dolly, if he could help it.

  ‘We know who wears the pants in your house, Bert,’ Vera Delaney said with a sniff.

  ‘Aye, we certainly do,’ replied Pop good-naturedly. ‘My Dolly, every time.’

  Rita rolled her eyes. She loved her old dad, who was the fount of all knowledge and wisdom. Moreover, with Empire Street nestling precariously in the docklands, she was glad her father had expertly directed the conversation away from any more worrying war talk.

  It was far too early on their Nancy’s wedding day to listen to negative views and the people of Empire Street were anticipating a good old knees-up. However, Rita said to Kitty, ‘I can’t understand why Mr Chamberlain doesn’t have this lot in his Cabinet. If he wants a solution to Hitler’s threats all he has to do is come here to Empire Street where any one of them will be only too pleased to show him how the country should be run.’

  ‘That girl is talking sense,’ Cyril Arden laughed, ignoring Rita’s sardonic tone.

  ‘They’ve dug up our bowling green,’ Pop said to Cyril sadly, shaking his head, ‘and those big silver elephants are flying all over the docks,’ he added, referring to the barrage balloons that were erected to deter low-flying enemy aircraft. ‘Not to mention the sandbags around the Town Hall and those ugly great shelters being built in every other street.’

  ‘They haven’t dug up all that lovely grass?’ Vera Delaney looked genuinely shocked.

  ‘I’m telling you, missus.’ Pop, was getting in the mood for a good old natter now. Rita could see trouble ahead if her mam came out. ‘Furthermore,’ he pressed his forefinger into the palm of his hand to stress the point, ‘a factory on Derby Road has taken an order of silk and patterns for those flying elephants. I should know, I delivered them.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Mrs Delaney shook her head, bewildered.

  ‘Well, you believe what you like, missus, but I am telling you,’ Pop said, puffing on his pipe, filling the yard with the mingling aroma of St Bruno and timber from the nearby wood yards.

  ‘That Heil Hitler reminds me of Charlie Chaplin with the bit of ’tache stuck under his nose,’ Mrs Delaney said.

  ‘Well, I can’t imagine him doin’ much harm with a face like that, can you?’ Cyril’s eyes twinkled, as he rolled his shirtsleeves past his elbows. A whiff of sooty smoke from the dock meandered up the yard and lingered in the hot sunny yard.

  ‘Maybe you should ask the good people of Poland if they think the same as you, Cyril,’ Pop said in exasperation.

  ‘Well, it’s a long while since I’ve seen so many advertisements calling for men to join up as there are now,’ said Cyril with a curl of his lip. ‘Plastered over every wall, they are.’

  ‘When there’s no work about, what is there for a man with plenty of verve and energy to do but join up? There’s a method in their madness, I’d say,’ answered Pop.

  Mrs Delaney did not sound too sure when she said, ‘My Alfie’s got a good job on the docks. I’m a widow woman …’

  ‘Oh, well, in that case you’d better write and tell them; see if he can be spared,’ said Pop with a healthy dose of astonishment. ‘Not much point in having a war when Alfie’s heart’s not in it.’ He puffed a cloud of pipe smoke into the air. Stupid woman.

  ‘But don’t forget, missus,’ Cyril joined in, ‘with all that pent-up energy going spare, young, virile man have got to find an outlet somewhere.’ He tapped the side of his nose.

  ‘I’ll thank you to keep your lewd comments to yourself, Mr Arden.’ Vera Delaney was outraged. ‘My son is a gentleman, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘Ah, enough of this war business, let’s have a singsong,’ said Pop, breaking into a rousing rendition of ‘Run Rabbit Run’, which soon had everyone joining in, even Kitty, who was normally a bit shy. Pop seemed determined to keep up the party atmosphere.

  For the next couple of hours as the guests wandered in and out of the Feenys’ ever-welcoming household, there were singsongs and jokes told and plenty more forthright exchanges of views.

  Kitty’s main concern, apart from putting food on the table, was her father’s welfare. He had to rely on casual work at the docks and she knew a day’s work, let alone a week’s, depended much on the mood of the charge-hand.

  Alfie Delaney was the man who hired the workforce to load and unload the ships, and the one who did the firing. Kitty had overheard her father talking about how Alfie wasn’t above lining his own pockets by taking bribes from decent men who were desperate for work. More often than not, he favoured his own cronies over other hard-working folk, but it didn’t do to get on the wrong side of Alfie because most families had one or more men who relied on the employment. It wasn’t so long ago that men were queuing round the block for a bowl of something hot from one of the soup kitchens. Things had improved slightly but no one was sure what war could bring.

  Alfie lurched towards her now and Kitty felt a little vulnerable since Rita had gone to find her own husband, who had been missing for ages.

  ‘D’ya fancy coming dancing with me tonight?’ Alfie’s eyes were all over her as he slipped a huge hand around her waist. He was quite drunk and Kitty baulked at the stale smell of whiskey and cigarette fumes. She neatly wriggled free of his grasp.

  ‘I think you need to go home and sleep it off before you try dancing, Alf,’ she said amiably, knowing he might turn nasty in drink and not wanting to chance it. If it had not been for their Jack, they would have been completely beholden to the likes of Alfie Delaney. Kitty shuddered at the thought of keeping him sweet for the promise of work for her father.

  ‘Are you all right, Kit?’ Frank asked, coming out of the back door.

  Kitty breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. ‘I’m just going to go in to make those sandwiches,’ she said quickly. Saved by Frank – again. It was funny, Kitty observed, that more than once today he seemed to have come along at just the right
minute.

  ‘More tea, Aunty Doll?’ Kitty asked. She was starting to really enjoy the day now. It was hard work but very rewarding. Everybody had commented on the lovely spread, and the cake had brought gasps of admiration. Kitty felt so proud. Not much had ever come good in her life so far but one thing she could be sure of: she could always bake a good cake and knowing that made her feel a little more secure. Everybody liked cakes.

  ‘You could certainly be a comfort to a man on a cold, dark winter’s night.’ Alfie Delaney’s hands rubbed the thin fabric on the shoulder of Kitty’s blouse as he sidled up to her in the front parlour. There was no mistaking the look of hunger in his eyes and Kitty knew it was not cake he was after. She half turned away from him but to no avail as he made a fresh attempt to put his arm around her slim waist and pull her towards him.

  Everybody had been drinking and some were the worse for wear, but Kitty was stone-cold sober and she did not like being pawed by the likes of Alfie Delaney. She felt a bump and she was jolted forward slightly.

  ‘Sorry, Kit!’ Frank laughed as he swooped her into his arms. ‘How’s about a dance?’

  ‘Be my guest, Frank.’ Alfie’s lip curled but he didn’t dare challenge Frank. ‘After all, we’re here to have a good time.’

  ‘Just say the word, Kit, and I will floor that bastard … Oh, sorry, Kit, I should mind my language!’ Frank’s slip of the tongue embarrassed him more than it did Kitty, who had never been so relieved to be whisked off her feet.

  ‘He’s drunk,’ Kitty said, thrilled to be in Frank’s arms for whatever reason; she did not care as long as they were close together.

  ‘He’s not as drunk as you think,’ Frank informed her. ‘I’ve seen his type before: they blame all their bad behaviour on being drunk and get away with it.’

  Frank whirled Kitty round and round the room and Kitty wasn’t sure if it was the heat and the smoke, or if it was being so near Frank, but she felt a little dizzy and nearly lost her footing.

  ‘Oops-a-daisy,’ said Frank, holding her firmly by the waist and steadying her.

  Kitty suddenly realised that the only thing she could smell on Frank was the clean fragrance of soap. There was not a hint of alcohol … Alfie might be drunk but Frank certainly wasn’t! She leaned back and looked at him now and his eyes were dancing with mischief.

  ‘Do you think I could blame my bad behaviour on being drunk, Kitty?’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean, Frank? You’re not drunk,’ she answered uncertainly, but good-naturedly, carried along by the mischievous look in his eyes.

  ‘No, Kitty, I’m not drunk.’ Frank looked at her steadily, grinning, but Kitty saw something else in his blue eyes, something she had never seen before, something that made her heart beat faster in her chest and that almost took her breath away. Then, right there, in the middle of the gathered guests in his mam’s front parlour, he took Kitty in his arms and he kissed her. The feel of Frank’s soft, warm lips on her own gave Kitty a delicious tingling feeling somewhere near the top of her legs. It was a sensation that she had never experienced before, but it was a rush of pleasure that seemed to radiate throughout her whole body, from the tips of her toes right up to the hairs on her head. It was heavenly, but over so quickly.

  Frank let her go and pulled away from her, laughing shamelessly. ‘Sorry, Kit, I couldn’t resist.’

  Kitty didn’t know where to look. Frank had only been teasing her, but now Kitty thought that the whole room must be able to see the blush that she felt sure must have crept over her face. She tried to laugh to cover her embarrassment.

  Frank looked over to Delaney to see a slow, thoughtful grin widen his adversary’s fleshy lips. Frank felt his blood rise when Alfie said, ‘I’ll sit this one out and just admire the view.’ He raised his glass and took a swig of free whiskey. Frank felt that if Delaney so much as tried to go anywhere near Kitty he would tear him limb from limb!

  As much as he would not normally give a damn what anyone else thought, Alfie was wary of the calculating look Frank Feeny was sending his way. He had to tread carefully here. He knew the lad, a few years younger than he, had always been quick on his feet. He boxed for the navy, now, apparently. Alfie would not take kindly to being on the receiving end of a quick dig from one of Feeny’s powerful left-handers. The sailor would be a dangerous man to cross.

  Raising his glass, Alfie nodded his regard to his adversary. He liked to know what he was up against in battle … However, he never could get the measure of Frank Feeny, even though he had known him all his life.

  Frank knew Delaney was a fool and certainly not worth upsetting his sister’s day for. He turned his attention to his younger brother, Eddy, when Kitty disappeared into the back kitchen, sitting himself at one end of the table while Eddy took the other.

  ‘We sail next Friday, what about you?’

  ‘Monday morning,’ Eddy answered, ‘off to Montreal unless the wind changes.’ They both knew that he meant in the event of the announcement of war, which, both brothers had been warned, could be any day now. They were allowed leave only on the understanding they would be able to get to their ships at short notice. As luck would have it, both ships had docked at Gladstone, less than ten minutes’ walk away.

  However, their conversation was cut short when Mrs Kennedy, wearing a felt tricorn hat that matched the colour of her fox fur, said, ‘Sailing on a Friday?’ She shook her head, and grimaced at Frank. ‘I’ve heard it’s bad luck to sail on a Friday.’

  ‘You’d better stay at home then, son.’ Dolly, neatly elegant in her new blue dress, knew nautical superstition was prolific around here. ‘I don’t know what the Admiralty would say about it, mind.’

  ‘Sarah, you look as if your corset’s too tight,’ said Eddy, the quiet joker of the family, laughing at his younger sister sitting on a straight-backed chair while the tables were being set against the parlour walls to make room in the centre for people to dance if they wanted to. Sarah looked around, making sure Nancy was not within earshot, before plucking at the sleeve of the taffeta dress. ‘I want to take this off. It’s cutting in,’ she hissed.

  Eddy smiled. ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘I’m uncomfortable and it’s too hot. I’ll have to go outside to cool down.’

  ‘If she hangs on a few years, I might take her to a dance or two.’ Delaney was swaying slightly now. Frank sighed. For Nancy’s sake, he knew it would do no good if he threw the groom’s best friend out on the street, no matter how much he wanted to.

  But Eddy, the quieter of the Feeny brothers, seemed to have no such reservation when he said, ‘You lay one finger on my sister and I’ll swing for you, Delaney.’

  ‘Well said, brother,’ Frank laughed. Rumour had it Delaney had been dropped on his head when he was little and that was why he was prone to violent outbursts. However, Frank did not believe that. He thought Delaney was one of life’s bad ’uns, who got a depraved kind of enjoyment out of seeing other people suffer. It was a power thing. There were some here today who had to keep the foreman sweet for the want of a day’s work, but not the Feenys. They were not in Delaney’s pocket, nor would they ever be.

  Frank felt he had been a decent amount of time in the parlour entertaining guests by now.

  ‘Excuse me, ladies,’ he said to his appreciative audience in that polite way his mother had instilled in him. He left the ageing aunts smiling before wandering out to the back kitchen where he considered Kitty might need a hand with the washing-up.

  Standing in the doorway, he silently watched her for a moment as she removed the triangular scarf and lifted her glossy, ebony curls to allow the faint breeze to waft over her slender neck. It was a movement so unusually sensual that it made his pulse race. Frank had an overwhelming urge to go and lift those curls and kiss her on that delicate spot on her neck. However, the self-assured audacity he displayed earlier had somehow deserted him.

  Frank was a man of the world. He’d had plenty of girls in his life and knew the sort of treatment
they liked from men, but how was it, he wondered, that all of his confidence around women seemed to have deserted him now? Kitty Callaghan had been a mainstay in his life for as long as he could remember, from the very day when they had brought her home after her mother had died and she had sat in their parlour wrapped in his mother’s arms. Frank had wanted to protect Kitty then. What did he want now? Something more than all of the other girls had to offer. But Frank checked himself. It wouldn’t do to race ahead of things. He was about to set off to sea and who knew when he would be back? War was coming and every man would be needed to head off the threat of the Nazis. He could be gone for months, years even. Frank could see that Kitty was caught up in her own thoughts. Her soft eyes gazed off into the middle distance and Frank thought that her features, caught in repose, had never looked so beautiful. I’ll keep this picture in my head, thought Frank. No matter what the future holds, I’ll think of Kitty and she’ll be the face of home for me.

  ‘Can I give you a hand with anything?’ His voice came out unusually hoarse, making Kitty whip around quickly.

  ‘I … erm … No … You mustn’t,’ she stammered. ‘You’ll get your uniform ruined.’

  ‘It’s fine. Let me get these for you; we’ll have them done in no time.’ Frank picked up a stack of gold-rimmed plates and plunged them into the enamel bowl of hot soapy water. ‘You wash and I’ll dry.’

  Kitty looked at him as if he had gone quite doolally, and with her hands resting on her slim hips, her hair loosely inviting and her dark eyes flashing she said with the hint of a smile, ‘They’ve already been washed and dried.’ They looked at one another and a bubble of laughter rose simultaneously in their throats, rendering them both helpless with hilarity.