by June Francis
‘Was he a good kisser?’ Jeanette was remembering how David Jones had kissed her so unexpectedly.
Hester’s smile deepened. ‘It didn’t last long enough for me to tell, even if I’d had any experience to judge it by. It was my very first kiss, so I’ve never forgotten it. Anyway, that was the last time I saw him because Aunt Ethel came and took me back to Liverpool shortly after.’
‘And you never heard from him again. What a shame!’
‘I know the city was in the north, so maybe he came from Bolton or Blackburn.’
‘And you thought Mrs Jones might have been able to help you trace him?’
Hester shrugged.
Jeanette was fascinated by this glimpse into her half-sister’s past. ‘The farm could still be there, you know. You really should go and see if you can find him.’
‘Don’t be daft! He’ll have forgotten about me.’
‘You haven’t forgotten about him.’
‘No, but men and women are different. Besides, I mightn’t be able to find the farm. I remember blackberrying and gathering hazelnuts along the hedgerows nearby, but there are plenty of lanes like that around Whalley.’
‘Whalley? I’ve heard that name somewhere else recently.’ Jeanette frowned in thought but could not remember, adding, ‘You shouldn’t give up, you know.’
Hester looked amused. ‘It’s not a matter of giving up. I never got started searching for him.’
‘But he could have been the one fated for you,’ whispered Jeanette, suddenly aware that people were listening to their conversation.
‘I don’t believe that there is one man in the world destined for one person,’ said Hester.
‘But you read Mills & Boon,’ protested Jeanette. ‘Isn’t that what they’re all about?’
Hester did not answer.
The conductor came for their fares and after they had paid they were silent, wrapped up in their own thoughts as the vehicle made its way into town.
Suddenly there was a loud bang, startling them so much that the sisters clung to each other. Through the window they saw a car hurtling across the road and onto the pavement where it shuddered to a stop.
Eight
Their bus came to a halt and, without a second thought, Hester forced her way past the people standing in her way. Determined not to be left behind and wanting to be of help too, Jeanette followed her, guessing that, as a policewoman, Hester saw it as her job to see if she could be of assistance. They soon realized that another bus had skidded to a halt near Erskine Street and was blocking the way. A couple of men, one wearing a soldier’s uniform, were already making their way towards the car.
Jeanette clutched Hester’s arm as she caught sight of an unconscious woman hanging out of the passenger side. Her legs were pinned by the door so that she could not move.
The two men managed to open the door wider and lift the woman out. Hester hurried round to the other side and opened the door. The driver’s face was grazed and he looked blank when she spoke to him. She eased him out of the driving seat, talking to him in a calm manner.
Jeanette’s insides were quivering as she went to the rear door. With the help of two passers-by, she assisted the two female passengers from the vehicle onto the pavement. She was aware of a bus driver hovering a few feet away. ‘It . . . it was my bus that caught the side of the car. It . . . it seemed to come out of nowhere,’ he stammered.
‘It happens,’ she found herself saying to comfort him. ‘What’s important is to help the injured.’
‘None of my passengers are hurt so . . . so we could take these two women over to my bus where they can sit inside until an ambulance arrives. It’s bloody freezing and it will be warmer in there than out here for them.’
Jeanette agreed that his idea was a good one. Between them, they helped the women onto the bus. Then she returned to see how Hester was getting on with the more seriously injured. Straightaway she realized that the woman was in a far worse condition than the male driver. The two men who had lifted her out had laid her on the ground. Blood was trickling from her mouth and she was still unconscious.
Hester spoke to the two men and the soldier nodded and looked serious. The other man surprised her by saying with a smile, ‘I’m in the police force. It’s handy that you are, too.’
‘Now there’s a coincidence,’ said Jeanette, winking at Hester.
Hester gave her a reproving look and told her to get out of the way. Jeanette did as she was told, watching as the woman was carried onto the bus. She noticed her hat on the ground and, picking it up, hurried after Hester. Handing the hat to her, she asked, ‘What should I do next?’
‘You’re not needed now,’ said Hester absently, gazing down at the woman. ‘You might as well get on the bus that was taking us into town and go to work. I’ll have to wait for the ambulance to arrive and get statements from a couple of people who saw what happened.’
Jeanette was full of admiration for Hester, but baffled as well. How could she be so calm and controlled in such circumstances and yet get into a tizzy when having to confront their great-aunt? ‘I’ll see you this evening. I hope that woman will be all right.’
‘So do I,’ muttered Hester, and roused herself to watch Jeanette climb aboard the bus that was revving up. As it drove off, Hester turned and went to speak to the soldier to whom she’d given little attention. He seemed now to be in a tearing hurry. He described what he had seen succinctly, and gave her a name and address before hurrying off, saying he was late for an appointment. Only then did she turn to the policeman and found herself thinking, Now wouldn’t it be lovely if he was the one for me . . . He had a swarthy, handsome face and the darkest eyes she had ever seen.
He held out his hand and smiled. ‘Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. I’m PC Cedric Dobson. I’m with the Bootle division.’
‘PC Hester Walker. I’m stationed here at Liverpool headquarters and I’ve been seconded to the CID these last few months,’ she said, shaking hands. She forgot that there was work to be done and could only stand there, returning his smile like a fool, clinging to his hand until he reminded her that they had best get on with the job. The job! Probably that’s all this was to him. She recalled how only a short while ago she had been telling Jeanette about the Lancashire lad. Now here she was, feeling slightly starry-eyed over this policeman: it was time to pull herself together.
It was only after she and Cedric had left the hospital and telephoned both their headquarters to explain the situation that he asked Hester if she would like a bite of lunch. ‘That’s if you’re not in a rush to go anywhere?’ he said, stroking his cheek with the side of his left index finger.
‘No. I’d like that, but I need to report in by quarter past two at the latest,’ she replied.
He looked put out. ‘Then we’ve only just over an hour.’
She flushed. ‘Sorry about that but you know how it is. Orders are orders. Maybe we should forget lunch and just have a coffee and a cake?’
He agreed and they went to the Kardomah cafe in Church Street. Despite it being a busy time of the day, they managed to get a table without any difficulty. He ordered and, while they waited, asked her what had made her decide to join the police force.
‘My father’s a policeman and so is my brother. It seemed a natural course to take.’
He could not conceal his surprise. ‘What did your mother have to say?’
‘My mother’s dead.’
‘So who does the housework, shopping, cooking?’ he asked, leaning back in his chair and looking her straight in the eye. ‘Or is there enough money for you to hire a housekeeper?’
‘We’re not wealthy,’ said Hester, not having expected such a conversation. ‘My father’s aunt lives with us.’
‘So she’s taken over your mother’s role.’
‘I wouldn’t say that! She hasn’t a maternal bone in her body, but for years she’s tried to rule the roost and keep us girls in particular in our place. For a short time I had a stepmothe
r who was lovely.’
‘I presume your stepmother was never a policewoman?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Hester toyed with her fingers. ‘You don’t approve of women in the force, do you?’
He leaned towards her and covered her hands with his. ‘I didn’t say that. You did a good job back there. I just like a woman to fulfil the role that God intended.’
Hester withdrew her hands from beneath his. ‘I don’t believe God ordained that every woman should be a wife and mother, if that’s what you’re getting at. There are plenty of working women in the Bible. Lydia in the New Testament, for instance. She was a seller of purple, an expensive dye.’
He tapped his fingers on the table. ‘There’s no need for you to get on the defensive. My taste doesn’t run solely to the “little woman” who takes care of the house and her husband, brings his slippers, cooks his meals and looks after his children. I like strong, independent women, as well. So, do you enjoy chasing criminals?’
She found him baffling. ‘I don’t often do any actual chasing.’
‘Typing reports?’
‘Some of the time.’
‘Perhaps you joined the force because you thought you could influence women who broke the law?’
His words surprised her. ‘If that was so it wasn’t consciously. It was my brother’s suggestion that I join.’
Cedric smiled. ‘You’ll have had training in self-defence?’
‘Of course.’ His questions continued to surprise her.
‘So what rank do your father and brother hold?’
She felt as if she was being cross-examined and slightly resented it. ‘My brother’s a detective sergeant and only received his stripes in spring. My dad is also a sergeant and plans to retire next year.’
‘So is it your aim to become a sergeant, too? Because, if so, you’d better get your skates on. I should imagine someone with your looks won’t remain single for much longer.’
Hester flushed. ‘You flatter me. I’m not that special that I have men fighting over me.’
‘So you don’t have a boyfriend?’
‘I’m a career girl. I enjoy my job and, yes, I would like promotion. I know it can happen sooner than with you men because a lot of WPCs do leave to get married after only a few years in the job.’
His dark eyes held hers. ‘Don’t you want to marry and have children?’
The colour in her cheeks deepened. ‘There’s more to life than marriage. I don’t see anything odd about a woman wanting a career. It’s what Mrs Pankhurst and other women of her ilk fought for. Women having the vote and equal rights and pay with the men.’
‘You misunderstand me,’ said Cedric, covering her hand with his again. ‘I agree that marriage isn’t for everyone.’
‘I’m not saying that I’ll never marry. I’m just not in any hurry.’ She attempted to free her hand but his fingers curled round hers firmly.
‘Why don’t you come out with me on Thursday evening? We could go dancing. No strings attached.’ He released her hand.
She hesitated. ‘Let me think about it.’
He frowned. ‘What’s there to think about? Is it that you don’t trust me?’
The question surprised her. ‘Trust has nothing to do with it. It’s just that I never know when I might be needed with my being seconded to the CID. It’s not easy having a social life.’
‘We could still arrange to meet, and if you don’t turn up then I know the job’s got in the way.’
She hesitated and then nodded. ‘OK, and if you don’t turn up I suppose I can assume the same?’
‘Yes,’ said Cedric, and arranged a time and a place to meet.
Only after they parted did Hester realize she had no idea where he lived. She had deliberately withheld her address because she did not want him trying to get in touch with her at home. She found him physically attractive but was unsure whether she liked him or not. What he thought about a woman’s role was not so different than a lot of men, though. Not for one moment did she really believe he approved of strong women. Still, she was looking forward to going dancing. She just hoped Jeanette would not mention him to anyone at home.
Only when she arrived at headquarters did she remember the letter from Myra. Despite being in a hurry, she slit open the envelope and read what she had to say. Sadly Myra’s husband had died, but she was delighted to hear from Hester. She herself was keeping in good health, except for a touch of rheumatism. Her nephew David Jones was working in a factory in Blackburn, and he and his wife came to visit her, bringing their little girl, once a fortnight. She visited them occasionally and once a year she went on holiday with them. She asked Hester to keep in touch.
Hester decided that she must try and visit her, but knew that it wouldn’t be easy finding the time. One thing was for sure: it was highly unlikely Myra’s nephew was Jeanette’s David Jones.
Jeanette was late getting into work that morning, but as the boss had not arrived either, she only had to explain to Elsie what had delayed her. After that they discussed the strike. There were hundreds more dockers out, and not just on Merseyside but in London, Manchester and Southampton. The dispute had something to do with overtime, and the TUC were condemning the strike, saying ‘it was bringing the union movement into disrepute’.
‘So what do we do, Elsie?’ asked Jeanette, not bothering to remove her coat.
The other typist shrugged. ‘Perhaps we’ll be sent home when the boss comes in.’
‘Unpaid leave. I don’t fancy that,’ muttered Jeanette gloomily.
As it turned out they were not sent home that morning but were set the task of writing letters to some of their customers. That afternoon they left early and were told to come in at eleven o’clock the next day as hopefully, by then, the strike might have been settled. On the way home Jeanette read the notices on all the newspaper stands blazoning the news that the Queen’s scheduled tour of Liverpool had been altered, so as not to include a visit to the docks. It looked like the police were going to have their hands full dealing with all that was happening in Liverpool at the moment.
‘I’ve a bone to pick with you, girl,’ said Ethel, seizing hold of her great-niece’s shoulder as soon as Jeanette entered the house.
‘Ouch, that hurts,’ said Jeanette, attempting to shrug off Ethel’s hand, thinking the old woman had fingernails like talons. ‘Let me go, I must have a word with Dad.’
‘Not so fast,’ said Ethel, seizing the back of Jeanette’s cardigan as she struggled to get free. ‘I want answers, girl.’
‘What about?’ asked Jeanette warily.
‘I’ve kept quiet so far because our George said you’re nearly eighteen and you work all week and so you’re entitled to do what you want with your free time Saturday afternoons, but I want to know what you do then because you’re never in, so where are you going and who with?’
Jeanette had, of course, been wondering when the old witch would raise this matter and was still reluctant to give her an honest answer, so she decided to answer her with a question. ‘You don’t think I’ve a boyfriend, do you?’
Ethel hesitated before saying, ‘I might think that if I saw you dollying yourself up in front of the mirror.’
‘But you haven’t, have you?’ said Jeanette promptly.
‘No, I have to admit I haven’t,’ replied Ethel grudgingly.
‘Well, there you are, Aunt Ethel, nothing for you to worry about. I’m not going to get myself in to trouble if I haven’t got a boyfriend, am I?’
Ethel glared at her and her grip on Jeanette’s cardigan tightened. ‘No, but you still haven’t answered my question, girl!’
Jeanette sighed. ‘If you must know, I meet some friends in town and listen to music.’
Ethel thrust her face into Jeanette’s. ‘Where? You don’t have money to spend.’
Jeanette jerked back her head. ‘People have houses where they play music. I go to one of those,’ she lied.
‘That’s not a good enough answ
er. Where?’
Jeanette was beginning to get really annoyed. ‘How well do you know Liverpool? I mean . . . I was wondering the other day where you were born? You don’t speak like a Liverpudlian.’
Ethel sniffed. ‘I should hope not. Terrible accent. I was born in Manchester, if you must know.’
Jeanette was taken aback. ‘Was Dad born there as well?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Of course it is! He’s my father. What brought you to Liverpool?’ she asked.
‘That’s none of your business either,’ snapped Ethel, giving her a push in the direction of the kitchen.
Despite her curiosity, Jeanette wasted no time hurrying into the kitchen. There she found George, sitting at the table, eating his supper.
‘You OK, Dad?’ she asked, putting an arm about his shoulders, thinking he looked tired.
‘Don’t like this weather. I see our Sam and Hester are both still out. What about you, Jeannie? How badly is the dockers’ strike affecting you?’
She had been about to mention the crash that morning, but changed her mind and sat down opposite him. ‘I must admit the strike is a pain. I just hope to God it finishes soon. Were there many strikes when you were young, Dad?’
He put down his knife and fork. ‘There was the police strike in 1919.’
The police strike she already knew about. ‘Any strikes earlier than that?’ she asked.
He looked thoughtful. ‘Could be that you’re thinking of the transport strikes of 1911. I was only a kid then, but I remember the riots and the fighting between the strikers and the police here in Liverpool. It started with the seamen and then the railwaymen and dockers. The army was brought in and there was a naval ship in the river because the government was convinced anarchy would break out if they didn’t put on a show of strength. A couple of civilians were killed and hundreds of people injured during the sectarian fighting that followed. Several bobbies ended up in hospital.’ He picked up his fork and stuck it in a morsel of stewing steak. ‘That was bad. It’s not that I blamed the workers. Wages were low and the conditions some of the poor lived in were terrible. The women in particular suffered, often going hungry themselves to feed their children. It was a good thing that their better off sisters decided to do something about it.’