When the Clouds Go Rolling By

by When the Clouds Go Rolling By (retail) (epub)

Bert thought back to when he first became aware of Lenny Marks. A nervous talker who just wouldn’t shut up, Bert had absorbed enough of his life story to prove useful. A single man, Lenny had grown up in an orphanage, so had no relatives waiting for his return. It had been easy to step into his shoes after he had been killed by an exploding bomb and exchange their identities. But not so easy staying alive as Lenny in the horrors of the fighting that followed.

  Still, Bert had survived and Lenny’s demob payout had proved useful, but it wouldn’t last. After the lousy life he had led for the last nine years, he now envisaged a more comfortable lifestyle for the future. Having served his time as an apprentice engineer in a Chester company that specialised in hydraulic-powered hoists used for coaling steamships, he had done a similar job here in Liverpool in the last years of the old king’s reign, and then had come prison. His eyes were bleak as he remembered those times. No wonder he had volunteered to fight. He shuddered inwardly at the memory.

  Yet Bert felt intense pleasure knowing those responsible for having him locked up were going to suffer. Believing him dead, it would drive them mad trying to puzzle out who was behind what he had in mind. When the bombs were exploding on the field of battle, he had imagined each one of the men who had worked against him having their bodies torn apart. The women had haunted his dreams too, but he’d had something different in mind for the them. Yet now, having seen Alice’s children, he had settled on something that would hurt her far more than anything else he could imagine.

  He grinned, thinking of the man he had seen loitering in Victoria Crescent a couple of times. Bert had been careful not to be seen when he had gone there. He had recognised the middle-aged man as Mal Moran and his plan would punish not only Alice and her husband but the man whom Bert held responsible for causing his mother brain damage years ago. It had been a bit of a shock to see him there, and the same where his younger brother was concerned. It was years since Bert had seen Freddie and he had hoped that he might have been killed in the war. Although he bore no responsibility for Bert having been jailed, he’d been an annoying little sod as a kid and Hanny had often dared to tear a strip off Bert for chastising the pest. He wondered about the identity of the young woman he had seen with Freddie. Quite a goodlooking girl; possibly there was something between her and his brother.

  But he was allowing his mind to wonder and must concentrate on the matter in hand. While in prison, he had listened to some of the old lags talking and picked up enough information to know what not to do to get caught if he took to a life of crime. First and foremost was not to be known by the local bobbies. Second was not to let your victims get a look at your face. Third, don’t steal stuff you’ll need a fence to get rid of and who’ll take a fair whack of your ill-gotten gains. Leave jewellery and stuff to someone else and go for the money.

  He stared in the window again at wigs of varying styles and colour. There was a rusty coloured one that would be just the job to convince Alice and the rest of them that it was Mal Moran who had abducted her daughter. Still, perhaps he should consider having several wigs for his life of crime. It would cause confusion when a bobby took out his notebook and asked for a description of the thief from a witness. Bert felt for the gun in his pocket, a war souvenir, and chuckled to himself before opening the door of the wig shop and stepping inside.

  * * *

  ‘You’ll never believe this!’ said Tilly, glancing up from the Liverpool Echo that evening. ‘A gunman walked into a wigmakers’ shop yesterday and stole several wigs and emptied the till.’

  ‘Was he bald?’ asked Alice, kicking off her shoes and wriggling her toes. She had been up early sewing and then on her feet most of the afternoon baking for the christening party in the morning.

  ‘The owner said he wore a trilby and didn’t even try on any of the wigs,’ murmured Tilly.

  ‘So it was a snatch and grab,’ said Seb, glancing at Clara as she entered the drawing room with Georgie. ‘Did you get them?’ he asked.

  She nodded with a smile and handed him the brown paper shopping bag by its strings containing Easter eggs for the children. ‘What’s this about a snatch and grab?’ she asked.

  Tilly said, ‘You can read it yourself,’ and gave Clara the newspaper.

  She read the piece and then looked up. ‘What’s the world coming to when robbers are using guns? And what strange things to steal – wigs!’

  ‘I agree. It’s scary,’ said Alice.

  Clara and Tilly exchanged glances and giggled.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ asked Alice, looking surprised.

  ‘It being scary stealing wigs,’ said Tilly, her eyes dancing with mischief.

  ‘You know perfectly well what I meant,’ said Alice, enjoying the joke.

  ‘Oh look,’ said Clara, who was reading a short article just beneath that item. ‘They’re starting battlefield tours. A party of British women are visiting France next week.’ She looked up. ‘I suppose there’ll be lots of women wanting to see where their menfolk died and to visit their graves.’

  ‘Would you want to visit your dad’s grave?’ asked Tilly.

  Clara’s brow knitted as she gave that some thought. ‘I’m sure if Mam was still alive she would want to go. Maybe one day I’ll go if I can afford it. There’s times when it still feels unbelievable that he is dead. It’s different with Mam, because I was there when she died and I know where she’s buried.’ The others gazed at her in silence. ‘Sorry, not a cheerful subject, is it?’ She pulled a face.

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ said Seb roughly. ‘Why shouldn’t you talk about how you feel about your father’s death? I hope you can go there one day. Maybe I could go with you. I might never have known your father in life but I’d like to pay my respects at his graveside.’

  Clara was touched. ‘I’d like that,’ she said sincerely.

  ‘I suppose they’ll have a reporter writing up the first tours,’ mused Tilly, swinging her foot. ‘I wish I could grow up faster. If only I was older I could have gone out there.’

  ‘Stop wishing your life away,’ said Alice. She smiled up at Clara. ‘Can I have a look at the paper?’

  Clara passed it to her and then sat down next to Tilly, who asked, ‘So what are you wearing tomorrow for the christening?’

  Clara parried the question with one of her own. ‘What are you?’

  ‘Depends on the weather,’ said Tilly. ‘If it’s nice then I’ll wear a yellow and green frock. It’s not new but I’ve taken up the hem and I have a matching bolero to go with it.’

  Alice looked up from the newspaper. ‘That sounds like the outfit I made for you last year. I notice here in the newspaper that TJ Hughes are advertising dress gingham for one shilling and nine pence halfpenny a yard. I wouldn’t mind some of that to make Flora a new frock. Too late for an Easter christening but it would be nice for Whit.’ She glanced at Clara. ‘Which reminds me… if you’ve a minute, I’ve something I want to show you. It’s upstairs.’

  ‘OK,’ said Clara, wondering what it could be as she rose to her feet.

  Alice and Seb exchanged a smile and then she led the way upstairs and into their bedroom.

  ‘It’s just a little something I made for you,’ said Alice, going over to her dressing table and lifting a hat from it. She held it out to Clara. ‘Try it on. If it doesn’t fit I still have time to alter it. I thought you might like a new Easter bonnet to wear to church,’ she added, her green eyes sparkling.

  Clara could not conceal her delight. The hat was made of deep pink buckram with paler pink flowers sewn onto the crown. It had a stylish narrow brim and a white ribbon tied into a bow at the side. She put on the hat with great care and was delighted when it fitted perfectly. ‘How did you know my size?’ she asked, admiring her reflection in the mirror on the dressing table.

  ‘Experience.’

  ‘I should get my hair cut short,’ murmured Clara.

  ‘I’ve been thinking the same thing recently about mine and Flora’s,’ said Alice. ‘Long hair
takes such ages to dry. Short hair wouldn’t have looked right with the big hats before the war, but I think you could get away wearing that hat with either long or short hair.’

  ‘Thanks for making it for me,’ said Clara, giving her an impulsive hug.

  ‘I enjoyed doing it and your reaction even more. It does my heart good.’ She hesitated. ‘I do have a pink costume that might fit you and will go perfectly with the hat. I last wore it before I started with Georgie and I’ve put on some weight since then. If you’d like to try it on I’ll get it out. There’s plenty of wear in it.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I should have had more sense than to buy that colour material with my hair, but you can have it if you want.’

  ‘I’d love to try it on,’ said Clara, her brown eyes shining.

  Alice looked pleased and went over to the wardrobe and produced the costume almost immediately. Clara undressed and tried on the skirt, blouse and jacket and could not believe the vision that gazed back at her was really her.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said. ‘I’ve never had anything this good.’

  ‘It’s almost a perfect fit,’ said Alice, gazing at her measuringly. ‘Just a few inches off the hem.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ said Clara, thinking that she could not wait for Freddie to see her in her new outfit.

  It was twenty-four hours since she had last seen him and most likely she would not see him again until tomorrow as he was helping out with a job at the yard. Her thoughts returned to their day out. It had been almost perfect. The only downside was when they had arrived at his mother’s house and discovered that a window had been broken. There had been no damage inside but it was obvious that someone had slept there and used some of the stores left in the larder. They both agreed that most likely it had been a tramp. Freddie had found a piece of wood in the small lean-to and nailed it inside so that it covered the broken pane. After that, he had left his motorbike round the back and they had walked across the flat coastal expanse with its scattering of trees bent double with the strength of the winter winds from the sea, the Leasowe lighthouse visible in the distance. They had ended up running hand in hand towards the sand dunes and the sea beyond but they did not have the seascape to themselves – some cocklers and fishermen had arrived there before them. They picnicked on the beach and splashed in the sea and talked about their childhood. Freddie had kissed her once again, but that was only when they had returned for the motorbike before heading back to Chester.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ asked Alice, rousing Clara from her happy thoughts.

  She focused once more on her reflection and smiled at herself, thinking what did it matter if her shoes didn’t match when the rest of her did. ‘I think it’s perfect. Thanks very much.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Alice, smiling. ‘Roll on tomorrow.’

  * * *

  Surprisingly, when Easter Sunday morning dawned, Clara woke feeling a little depressed. She put that down to the thought that, after the party, her break in Chester would be over and she would have to return home. Which meant she would see less of Freddie. How could she possibly expect him to make the journey daily to see her? She was so unsure of herself that it occurred to her that maybe he might just have been flirting with her and they would see little of each other in the future. Determinedly, she put a damper on such thoughts and remembered her new Easter bonnet and the costume that Alice had given to her. She had to make the most of this day.

  The christening service that followed at St Mary-without-the-Walls might not have gone off without a hitch but Clara found it fascinating. She had never been to a Catholic baptism before, never mind a Protestant one, and the liturgy being in English instead of Latin proved of great interest to her. Seb and Alice, Freddie and Joy were standing as the twins’ godparents, so Clara and Tilly had charge of the other children.

  Baby Allan cried when the holy water was sprinkled on his forehead and, from behind, Clara heard a man’s voice say sotto voce, ‘That’s the devil coming out of him.’ She was tempted to look behind her but at that moment Georgie pulled a prayer book off the ledge and dropped it.

  It was only as they were making their way out of church that Tilly, who was looking extremely pretty in the yellow and green frock with matching bolero, whispered, ‘Did you hear what that man said about the devil?’

  Clara turned quickly to face her. ‘I wasn’t sure you heard.’

  Tilly nodded and said thoughtfully, ‘I don’t really believe in children being born in sin. I suppose you do, being a Catholic?’

  ‘It’s not something I spend my time thinking about,’ replied Clara, recalling her grandmother’s words about not getting involved in a religious debate.

  ‘That man obviously did. I wonder who he was. I didn’t recognise his voice and I’ve been to this church with Kenny and Hanny several times.’ Tilly gazed about her as if looking for the man.

  ‘He’s probably someone who only comes on high days and holidays,’ suggested Clara.

  ‘You could be right,’ agreed Tilly, still looking about her. ‘Oh, there’s Freddie talking to Seb. I must have a quick word with him. Will you keep your eye on the kids until Alice comes for them? She’s talking to Emma at the moment.’ She hurried off.

  Clara frowned as she watched the younger girl seize Freddie’s sleeve and whisper in his ear. She experienced a stab of envy and realised that she was still having difficulty coming to terms with the closeness between them. She wondered again if Freddie was just flirting with her and whether there was any future for them together. Then James and Flora ran off before she could prevent them in the direction of Emma’s children, so that Clara was left with just Georgie to keep in hand. The party had begun to move off so she followed them. They did not have far to go to Hanny and Kenny’s apartment. Joy suddenly turned and looked at Clara. Her expression was serious as she beckoned her to catch up. She swung Georgie up into her arms and hurried towards Joy.

  ‘So how have you enjoyed your time at Alice’s?’ asked Joy.

  ‘Very much. But I’ll be going home this evening.’

  ‘Freddie seemed to think you’d be going in the morning,’ said Joy surprised.

  ‘I had thought of it, but I actually start work tomorrow, so don’t want to be rushed,’ said Clara. ‘He doesn’t have to take me, I can catch a train.’

  ‘That’s up to you,’ said Joy, slowing her pace, ‘but I think he’s planning on taking you home. By the way, he mentioned what your gran said about wanting a visit from Mrs Black. She’ll be home in a couple of days, so I’ll broach the subject once she’s settled in.’

  ‘Gran’s got a cheek asking,’ she said indignantly, ‘but do you think Mrs Black will come?’ Clara stopped a few feet away from the front gate to Hanny and Kenny’s home.

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me, but you might have to wait for it to happen. There’s a lot of dates written in her appointment book.’ Joy frowned as she watched the rest of the party go up the path. ‘Looks like we’re here,’ she said. ‘I just hope Mother behaves herself and doesn’t go on about Bert again.’ Joy’s attractive plump features were baffled as she led the way through the gate. Clara followed, with Georgie in her arms, up the path and through the front entrance. She closed the door firmly behind her.

  An hour later Clara was finding the noise and the crush in the drawing room a bit too much, so made her way out through the french windows onto the balcony outside. She’d had little time to speak to Freddie as he was helping serve drinks while Tilly was taking plates of food around to the guests.

  Clara rested her arms on the wrought-iron ledge of the balcony and gazed down over the garden. She could see Georgie’s dark head and Flora’s auburn one, as well as Emma’s elder daughter’s soft brown hair. Then her searching eyes wandered to the Dee and the footbridge. There were plenty of day trippers on the river as, although, the weather was cloudy, it was not threatening rain. Then she saw someone who appeared familiar. He was shuffling along the bridge and was wearing a cl
oth cap over rusty hair that stuck out from beneath it. She watched him, convinced more than ever that he was the man she had followed that day she had visited Mrs Black.

  She was about to turn away and go in search of Freddie when a child’s scream drew her attention to the garden below. She could scarcely believe her eyes when she saw a man tucking a struggling Flora beneath his arm. Then, as she watched, he hit the little girl across the head and she fell silent. ‘Oh my God,’ whispered Clara, scarcely aware of Georgie, with his fingers in his mouth, staring after the man heading for the path that led round the side of the house. As for Emma’s daughter, she had started to whimper and look about her for her mother.

  Clara delayed no longer but hurried into the drawing room. She knew that if she stopped to explain the man would get away. She forced her way through the throng and out onto the landing, where, to her relief, she almost collided with Freddie. ‘There’s a man!’ she cried, seizing hold of his arm, almost causing him to drop the tray he carried.

  Freddie gazed down into her distressed face and instantly placed the tray on a convenient chair. ‘What man?’

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way,’ she said, ‘Outside.’ She hung on to Freddie’s arm as he moved towards the stairs. ‘He’s taking Flora away. He looked like Mr Moran but I’m sure it’s not him because I’ve only just seem him crossing the bridge.’

  Freddie didn’t wait to hear any more but hurried downstairs. They were just in time to catch sight of the back of the man and Flora’s dangling legs as he went through the gate.

  ‘Hoy, you!’ roared Freddie, running down the path.

  Clara followed him and then almost ran into the back of him because he stopped abruptly. She realised why when she saw two men, similarly dressed and with the same rusty hair and caps, a couple of yards away. The kidnapper still had Flora wedged beneath his left arm but in his right hand, he held a revolver. He was standing with his back against a garden fence so that he faced both Freddie and the man Clara presumed was Mr Moran.