Child of the Mersey

by Annie Groves

  Holding the letter close to her body, Rita could not wipe the smile from her face. This was just what she had been longing for. At last she had something to look forward to.

  She did not want an invasion, but it seemed inevitable, going by the heightened talk on the wireless. The newsreel at the Sun Hall picture house even showed awful pictures of the ships being attacked in the Battle of the Atlantic. Merchant ships carrying food from America and being escorted by Royal Navy warships were being blown out of the water by German U-boats. The sight brought tears to Rita’s eyes. She knew now that this war, like the one that ended twenty-one years ago, would not be over by Christmas. The Germans were trying to starve them into submission.

  Nursing and all that it demanded of her would keep Rita occupied and stop her from fretting. As the sitting-room door opened behind her, Rita stuffed the letter into her overall pocket.

  ‘Rita?’ Mrs Kennedy said. ‘Is everything all right? You look quite flushed.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you, Mrs Kennedy, nothing to worry about.’ Rita did not want to discuss the letter with her mother-in-law. It was going to be difficult enough trying to get through to Charlie.

  Rita couldn’t quite make sense of what she was seeing in her little red Post Office book. The money in their account had disappeared. The last time she had looked at it there had been hundreds of pounds in there. Now there were barely a few pounds left.

  ‘Charlie, do you know what happened to the money in the Post Office? There must be some mistake.’

  Mrs Kennedy hadn’t sat down to dinner yet and Rita knew this would be her only chance to tackle Charlie. Charlie was reading the Echo and didn’t look up.

  ‘Charlie, are you listening to me?’ Rita stood in front of Charlie, challenging him to respond. ‘Something must have gone wrong at the bank. I’m going to go in there tomorrow and find out what has happened.’

  ‘Nothing has gone wrong at the bank, Rita.’ He still didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on the paper in front of him.

  ‘Then where is it?’ An uneasy feeling had started to creep into Rita’s stomach. That familiar clench that now materialised any time she and Charlie had something to discuss.

  ‘It’s gone.’

  ‘Gone where? There are hundreds of pounds missing – nearly all of it. That money was for our new house.’

  ‘There’ll be no new house, Rita. The money’s gone.’

  ‘I think at least you owe me an explanation.’ Rita couldn’t keep the shake from her voice. It had taken them years to save up the money and now they were back to square one. She could hardly take it in.

  ‘I owed money to Harry Calendar.’

  ‘Harry Calendar? But he’s a criminal, everyone knows that. Why on earth would you owe him, of all people, money?’

  For the first time, Charlie looked up from his paper, his eyes full of contempt for her. ‘Why do you think, Rita?’

  All of the whispers that Rita had half heard and chosen to ignore started to come back to her now. She’d enter a room and people would stop talking and Rita would have to pretend that she hadn’t heard the hints and rumours; that Charlie had a gambling habit and that he was too fond of women and drink. Rita had chosen to close her ears to such talk, knowing it would be another nail in the coffin of her marriage. But Charlie didn’t need any help in that department, he was doing a pretty good job of killing what was left of their marriage all by himself.

  ‘How could you, Charlie? That money was ours. I’d saved every penny I could, letting the children go without, thinking that it would all be worth it in the end.’ Rita was on the verge of tears, but this time, they were tears of anger and rage, rather than hurt and disappointment. She’d felt those emotions too many times already, but this news was almost too much to bear. How could she ever love Charlie after this? But a quiet voice at the back of her head told her, you’ve never loved him, Rita, have you? Not like Jack? Never like Jack.

  ‘No, Rita,’ Charlie goaded her. ‘That money was never yours. You’re just chattel, for better for worse, for richer for poorer – remember that, do you? With all my wordly goods I thee endow. That money was mine and I’ve done exactly as I pleased with it.’ Charlie mouth was twisted in an ugly sneer. ‘Now be a good wife and keep your mouth shut. I can hear Mother on the stairs. I don’t think we need to upset her with any of your histrionics, do we?’

  How Rita managed to keep even a mouthful of her dinner down she didn’t know. The boiled ham and pease pudding had gone cold on her plate and she pushed it away.

  ‘You’re not going to waste that, are you?’ said Mrs Kennedy, shrilly. ‘We’ve never let good food go to waste in this house and we’re not about to start now.’

  Mother Kennedy had scraped her plate clean and proceeded to scoff down the remainder of Rita’s dinner. All throughout the meal, Rita had had to listen to Mrs Kennedy on her usual teatime rant, running down the neighbours and other blameless people on Empire Street. Rita had tried her best to appreciate her mother-in-law, but this evening, watching her sneer at everyone, Rita was reminded just how alike her husband and his mother were, and how much she despised them both. The only thing that kept her going was the thought of the bombshell she was about to drop on their heads.

  ‘I’ve heard from the Infirmary,’ she said calmly. ‘They want me to report for duty. They need all the trained and trainee nurses they can get.’

  ‘You’re not going,’ Charlie said firmly as he finished his own plate. ‘Write and tell them you have an obligation to look after a member of your own family before you go looking after strangers.’

  Rita could hardly believe her ears. For seven years Mrs Kennedy had given her nothing except a hard time and ridicule. She had tried to belittle Rita at every turn. She had complained about non-existent illnesses and now Charlie wanted Rita to stay at home and care for her when brave volunteers, those defending the Home Front, might be kept waiting for the want of a good nurse. She looked up from her plate and the determined look in her eyes told her husband that this time she would do as she wanted, not what he told her to do. Why should she? What had this family ever done for her except cause heartache and misery?

  ‘I have an obligation to do my duty for my country.’ Rita’s dignity and the set of her face silently dared him to challenge her. How dare he tell her any longer what she could and could not do? Her children were gone; as far as she was concerned there was nothing stopping her doing exactly as she pleased.

  ‘What about me and Mother?’ Charlie asked.

  Rita looked at him. His arrogance and selfishness defied belief. He had only just given her the dreadful news about their savings. They now had no nest egg and Rita’s longed-for home of her own was an unattainable dream. However, that was not the worst of it. In the two and a half months the children had been away, Charlie had not visited them once. He had not even asked how they were doing. It was simply unforgivable.

  ‘What about you, Charlie?’ she asked quietly. ‘Do you honestly think I care? I’m going to do my bit in this war – do what I know I can, what I’m trained to do – and if you have any views on this I suggest you look to your own conscience.’

  Mrs Kennedy opened her mouth as if to speak, but Rita had the satisfaction of seeing her shut it again. Rita’s countenance brooked no argument and both Charlie and his mother were, for once, struck speechless.

  ‘There’s a factory on Derby Road making barrage balloons. They’re looking for workers.’

  ‘I hope it stays fine for them,’ Dolly said as she sat beside her husband at the tea table, ‘but listen to me good and proper, Bert Feeny. If you think our Sarah’s going to work in some barrage balloon factory you can think again!’

  ‘I didn’t say that, Doll,’ Pop defended himself. He was just about to tell his wife that things were looking serious when Dolly interrupted him.

  ‘And if you come into my house again wearing a gas mask, Bert,’ Dolly waved her knife and looked fierce, ‘you can turn around and go right back o
ut …’

  The gas mask had been his little joke, but Pop, realising she was worried, laughed and gave her shoulder a customary squeeze.

  ‘I’ve got the message loud and clear, Doll,’ he said as Dolly gently shrugged him off.

  ‘You’ve gone all pink, Mam,’ Sarah laughed, and Dolly gave her youngest daughter an old-fashioned look. Even after twenty-six years of marriage, Pop’s tactile show of affection in front of the children still embarrassed her. Rita, who just then came through the kitchen door, enjoyed seeing her parents so close. Her own marriage might be a sham but there was nothing like coming from a loving family.

  ‘I brought a couple of tins of those sardines Pop likes,’ Rita said, sitting at the table to enjoy the cup of tea her mother had just poured for her.

  ‘I’ll put them in the chest with the other tinned stuff, just in case.’

  ‘In case of what, Doll?’ Pop asked, giving his wife a smile, knowing she had been saving tinned goods since the war began.

  ‘In case we’re invaded in our bed,’ said Dolly, shrugging her burdened shoulders.

  ‘There’ll be no invading going on in our bed, old girl,’ Pop laughed. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’

  ‘Just you make sure you’ve always got your clean combinations on, Pop.’

  Rita and Sarah laughed, watching them now. They were like a double act.

  ‘I’d die of shame if we were invaded, and you got shot in yesterday’s long johns!’

  ‘Perish the thought, Doll.’ Pop gave her a little unabashed hug.

  Rita knew her father, now in his mid-fifties, was out in all weathers working every hour God sent to keep his family well fed and a decent roof over their heads. He often said that their love was the only comfort he needed – except for a little jam tart now and then.

  Rita’s dependable mother and father loved each other as much, if not more, than the day they married. It was obvious. They showed it in a thousand different ways: those little smiles, the looks they gave each other when they thought nobody was looking, and his inability to pass his wife without that split-second brush of his hand.

  Those little things that made the years fall from her mother’s caring face clearly showed the girl Pop had fallen in love with. Rita could only dream of such a love. However, life was not built on dreams, she thought sadly.

  She had tried so hard to emulate the love her parents shared. However, when it was not a two-way thing, it became harder. It was her children Rita pitied most of all. They were the innocent party caught up in the middle of the silent warring that had become part of everyday life.

  ‘How much do I owe you?’ Dolly asked, taking her purse from the pocket of her flowered crossover pinny, the familiar attire of the women around Empire Street.

  ‘It’s one and sixpence for the tinned stuff.’ Rita knew Winnie Kennedy charged more than any other grocer around the neighbourhood. ‘I could always put your name in the book.’

  ‘Indeed you will not.’ Dolly’s lips puckered with indignation. ‘I won’t have that Mrs Kennedy talking about me.’ Then, turning to Pop, she asked, ‘Would you lend me one and six until next Friday?’

  Pop could not stop the smile from creasing his weathered, nut-brown face as he handed over the silver shilling and sixpenny piece to his wife. ‘Keep the change, Doll,’ he chuckled.

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ Dolly said, laughing.

  Watching them together now, Rita knew theirs was a love story being lived to the full. The warmth and loving emotions that should be a part of everyday family life were anathema to Charlie.

  Rita could not recall the moment Charlie began to treat her like an unpaid servant. Nor could she remember when he stopped loving her. However, it wasn’t Charlie’s refusal to make love to her that hurt Rita the most. What made her feel worthless was the way he looked at her with almost lip-curling scorn. That look confirmed his mother’s attitude and told Rita she was only here because she had made the huge mistake of conceiving in the first place. Mrs Kennedy had made it plain in the early days that she thought Charles had married beneath him.

  Nevertheless, Rita was determined she would show them what she was. It will not always be like this. One day things will change. Rita wished she felt the conviction of her words. But for now, there was a war on and she was determined that she was going to do her bit, whether Charlie liked it or not.

  Gloria Arden looked in the mirror of her built-in wardrobe. She took the silk scarf and folded it into a triangle, dipping her head forward and wrapping the long end around the nape of her neck. She then flicked her head back and knotted the scarf, tucking in the short pointy bits at the front before expertly ruffling the blonde coiled fringe. ‘Would you look at the kip of me?’ She roared with laughter as Nancy, four months pregnant, sat in her printed smock, admiring her friend.

  ‘I can’t be bothered working in a shop when there is much more money to be made in the munitions factory, Nance,’ Gloria said. ‘It’s not the same since you left to have the baby.’ She also knew that since the nightclubs closed at the beginning of the war, there were now morale-boosting singing competitions in the munitions factories during something called ‘Workers’ Playtime’. ‘And,’ said Gloria, ‘they are judged by people in the profession. I could get a singing spot on a troopship!’ She threw back her head and let out a peel of laughter.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll make it, one day, Glor,’ Nancy said distractedly. She was worried about Sid, he being in the Territorials, she was anxious about having the baby and she was depressed about the war and living with Sid’s mother. She’d thought married life would be fun, the kind of gentle daily fun her parents enjoyed. It was turning out to be far from the case.

  Dressed in her smart red duster coat and straight black skirt, Rita had taken extra care over her appearance this morning.

  ‘Going somewhere special?’ Mrs Kennedy asked, folding the morning paper she had just taken off the top of the pile in the shop. Rita shook her head; giving Mrs Kennedy the means for a morning’s gossip was not a priority.

  She wasn’t going to let on to Mrs Kennedy where she was heading. Nothing was going to stop her now. This family had held her back long enough. Since she’d told them she had joined the Civil Nursing Reserve, nothing else had been said. She did not feel the need to remind Charlie or his mother that she was starting her job this morning.

  Pushing the thoughts from her mind, Rita made her way out of Empire Street, along the dock road, and up Church Street. She would just nip into the church and light a candle. Her beliefs gave her the strength to face the worst that life had thrown at her – the threat of invasion, her children living away from home and her husband’s betrayal when he lost their money – and she said an extra little prayer to give her the strength to stay in this loveless marriage instead of doing what she longed to do and get as far away from it as possible. She also refrained from praying that Charlie, like most men of his age, would be called up very soon instead of wasting all their money on illegal gambling. She didn’t feel it would be a very Christian sentiment, though she was sorely tempted.

  She lowered her forehead to her joined hands, resting on the pew in front, and she prayed. Please, Lord, keep my children safe. Do what you will with me, but spare them. She paused, lifted her head and, looking straight at Jesus on the crucifix, she said aloud, ‘As for Charlie Kennedy, Lord, make him see the error of his ways. For the sake of his children if not for me. And, Lord, please forgive me for my sin. I know I don’t deserve it, but I am trying to make things right.’

  Rita stood up, moved into the aisle, genuflected as she made the sign of the Cross and then went to Our Lady’s grotto beside the main altar. There was only one empty candleholder, as if the candle had been saved just for her.

  The clink of her copper coins dropping into the collection box told Rita that many other mothers had been here today already. With shaking hands, she took the long, thin taper and lit the white candle before placing it next to all the others. Then she
kneeled down to pray. After a while, she stopped shaking, filled with new strength.

  ‘Today is going to be a new beginning, Rita,’ she said, straightening her spine and pushing back her shoulders. Her words resonated around the church and bounced off the sandstone walls and stained-glass windows. Her determined footsteps echoed in the beautiful place of worship, her sanctuary. She imagined the spirit of all that was strong surrounding her now, and as she walked down the main aisle to the ever-open door, she knew there was still a lot to do.

  When she came out of the church and breathed in the chill of the morning air, she recognised a figure walking towards her. She would know that walk anywhere. The uniform of the Royal Air Force was not so familiar on him, though.

  ‘Jack!’ she gasped in surprise. ‘Is that really you?’

  ‘Your mam said you would be here. I didn’t want to interrupt you when you were …’

  ‘I was lighting a candle for the children … for everybody, really …’ There was a moment’s awkward silence before they both spoke together. Their ensuing laughter was uneasy and strained. He had been in Warrington for the last six weeks doing his training.

  ‘You first,’ Jack said, turning his cap between both hands. He looked so smart and a little uneasy in his new uniform, like the first day in long trousers at senior school, Rita thought, and her heart swelled. He was even more handsome now, standing tall and proud. His dark hair was tousled in the light wind that was blowing in off the river, but Rita barely felt the cold when his dark eyes looked at her with such concern.

  Suddenly the memory of a moment from the past flashed into her mind and she wanted him to tell her that she was the only girl he would ever love – just as he had years ago when they were so young.

  Then another memory came to her. Of Jack’s face the first time he had seen her with Charlie – and two little children in a pram – after he returned from his training in Belfast. Rita’s face had burned as she saw the look of shock and pain that flashed across his face. But there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t undo what had happened and this was her punishment. She had sinned and now she must pay the price. But Jack’s look had haunted her then and it still haunted her now.