Put Out the Fires

by Maureen Lee

The sooner you get back, the better. The minute you’ve drunk your milk and eaten your butty, you can sod off.

  Have you got enough money for your train fare?”

  “I’ve scarcely got a penny. I hitched a lift all of the way home.”

  “In that case, I’ll give you a couple of quid. You can catch a train from Marsh Lane Station. It’s not yet midnight, so they’ll still be running.”

  Sean looked at his sister anxiously. “You won’t tell me dad I’ve been back, will you?”

  “Of course I won’t, and I won’t tell Sheila, either. Unless they hear it from someone else, it’ll be a secret between the two of us.”

  “Ta, Eil.”

  She felt her heart contract as he rapidly ate the food and then forced himself to stand. He was clearly exhausted.

  “Oh, luv!” She pressed her cheek against his and said cautiously, “This would never have happened if you’d taken up with a different sort of girl.”

  “I know, Sis, but it’s Alice I love,” Sean said simply.

  Eileen nodded. “So you do! As for going AWOL, or whatever it’s called, as far as I’m concerned, I’m proud of you, Sean Doyle. I hope you don’t get into too much trouble.” If the telegram had been a test, then Sean had passed with flying colours. Her little brother had become a man that day.

  “I just wish Alice had been a bit more pleased to see me,” he said sadly.

  So do I, Eileen thought. She said, “She probably was, deep down. She’s a good girl at heart, is Alice Scully.

  You’ll do well with her.” She took his arm. “C’mon, leave by the front way and I’ll close the door quiet, like.

  Oh, and another thing, Sean,” she said when he was on the pavement. “You’re not to be scared of our dad any more. You’re eighteen, you’re getting married at Christmas, and you’re fighting for your country. If Dad ever dares raise his voice to you again, then tell him to go to hell!”

  For some reason Sean looked as if he was about to cry.

  “All right, Eil,’he said.

  She watched him till he turned the corner, looking stooped and old, then closed the door and burst into tears herself.

  Next morning after breakfast, Eileen went round to the Scullys’. As soon as formal condolences had been offered in the presence of several neighbours who sat drinking tea and smoking around the table, Alice dragged Eileen into the back kitchen. Her huge grey eyes were anxious with worry. “Did Sean turn up at your house last night?” she demanded, agitated.

  “He did, too. I fed him, gave him some money and sent him on his way.”

  “Was he all right? Oh, I’m terrible, me,” Alice wailed. “I threw him out I was so annoyed, and as for our Tommy, I could have killed him!”

  “I understand you nearly did!”

  “Fancy sending a telegram like that! As if I couldn’t have coped meself.” She thrust her tiny chin forward and said haughtily, “I’ve no intention of being a burden, you know.

  That’s what you’re all worried about, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not worried a bit,” Eileen replied reasonably, “though seeing as we’re being straight with each other, I must say your temper bothers me. Poor Sean had been travelling all day and he was dead tired. I reckon a warmer welcome wouldn’t have come amiss.”

  Alice started to cry. “No, it wouldn’t, would it? If only last night could happen again, then I’d throw me arms around him, honest.”

  “Never mind, luv.” Eileen patted the girl’s shoulder.

  “Please don’t cry, else you’ll have me crying with you. I’m in that sort of mood, I’m afraid. Anyroad, who am I to criticise? I’ve done the same thing meself before now, lost me temper, then been sorry when it was too late.” She’d walked out on Nick just because he said something tactless, and had regretted it ever since.

  Alice stopped crying. “Would you like to say tara to me mam?” she sniffed. “She’s all laid out in the bedroom.”

  Eileen nodded, though saying goodbye to a dead woman was the last thing she felt like doing at the moment.

  When she got home, Pearl Street was full of children enjoying their last few days of freedom before they went back to school on Monday. Most of the boys were kicking a football against the railway wall, though a few clambered over the ruins of the three demolished houses and threw bricks at the walls that still remained. Aggie Donovan came out and shook her scrawny fist at them.

  “I’ll fetch that bloody Hitler to you if you don’t sod off, the lot o’yis!” she screeched. “Little buggers,” she said as Eileen waddled past. “Don’t know what sort of homes they come from.”

  Eileen checked hastily to see if Dominic and Niall were there, but her nephews were playing football. The boys disappeared from the ruins, and as soon as Aggie slammed the door, they returned, whooping. The girls whizzed up and down the street with their skipping ropes or played hopscotch on the pavement.

  “I used to love hopscotch when I was a little girl,”

  Eileen said wistfully. Siobhan and Caitlin had chalked the grid directly outside her house, or what used to be her house!

  “Would you like a go, Auntie Eileen?”

  “No, ta,” she grinned. “I’d have a job picking the stone up, wouldn’t I?” She thought nostalgically about her own school holidays. The weeks seemed to stretch ahead into infinity when you first broke up in the summer, and going back was a bit like starting a life sentence.

  Nowadays, time seemed to flash by. It seemed like only yesterday that the holidays had started, yet it was nearly six weeks! Before you knew it, it would be Christmas and 1942!

  The dad’s home,” Caitlin called as Eileen was about to go inside.

  “Hello, luv.” Calum Reilly kissed his sister-in-law on the cheek. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, I must say.

  When’s the baby due?”

  “In about ten days.”

  “I bet you can’t wait.”

  Sheila emerged from the back kitchen, all starry-eyed and flushed. “Cal’s brought you a prezzie, Eil. Where is it, luv?”

  “On the mantelpiece.”

  “A scarf!” Eileen cried. “Oh, it’s lovely, Cal—and real silk, too! I love the colours.” She draped the pastel patterned scarf around her shoulders. “It’s ever so big, more like a shawl than a scarf.”

  “Where’ve you been?” Sheila asked.

  “Miller’s Bridge. Mrs Scully died the other day.”

  “God rest her soul, poor woman.” Sheila blessed herself.

  “I’ll buy a wreath and send it round.”

  “Perhaps it would be best if you took it yourself, Sheil.

  It’s about time you got to know Alice better. She’s marrying Sean at Christmas, and from then on she’ll be one of the family.”

  “Aye, I suppose you’re right.” Sheila nodded reluctantly.

  “We’ll take it together, luv,” Cal said. “And I can introduce meself to this Alice.”

  “As long as you promise to watch your manners,”

  Sheila said grimly, “else she’s quite likely to give you a clout!”

  “I’m gasping for a cuppa, Sis. Is there any tea made?”

  “I’ve just put the kettle on. Now, come on, Eil, sit down and put your feet up. Move that stool over, Cal.

  You shouldn’t have walked all the way to Miller’s Bridge, not in your condition.”

  “If you mention my condition again, Sheila Reilly, it’s you that’s likely to get the clout!”

  Eileen gave a little sigh of satisfaction when she went into Brenda Mahon’s parlour, where Brenda was bent over her sewing machine, her mouth full of pins. There were lengths of material strewn everywhere and the picture rail was hung with more garments than it had ever been before.

  “It’s nice seeing the place the way it used to be,” Eileen remarked. “I really missed it when you stopped sewing all that time. Even when I wanted nothing made, I loved it in here. It always reminds me of Aladdin’s cave.”

  Brenda gave a little pleased n
od. “I hope you don’t want nothing made at the moment, Eil,” she said through the pins, “because I’m dead busy.”

  Eileen began to wander around the room, examining the finished and half-finished clothes. “I do, actually, but I’m not in any hurry. Remember that dress you made me, the lavender one with the high neck and long sleeves?”

  “Of course I remember. In fact, I was just finishing the hem when Carrie Banks turned up. What about it?”

  “I wondered if you could make another exactly the same in a different colour? I can’t try it on, obviously, but if you went by the first, it’s bound to fit once I’ve had the baby.”

  Brenda frowned as she eased a sleeve into the bodice of a green brocade frock. “Okay, though what about a V neck instead of high, just for a change, like?”

  “Anything you say, Bren,” Eileen said easily. “This is lovely! Did you make it?” The long red sleeveless dress hanging from the wall was lavishly decorated with silk embroidery and sequins down the front.

  “Nah! I’m going to shorten it and make sleeves out of the piece I cut off, just so’s it’ll look different. I’m doing a lot of alterations lately,” Brenda said happily. “Since coupons came in, all the posh women are having their old clothes re-modelled. I love turning old things into new.”

  Eileen pointed to the green brocade draped over the machine. “What’s that you’re making?”

  “A dance dress, but you’ll never guess, Eil, this is an old curtain. You wouldn’t believe the things I’m given to make clothes from. See that length of wine silk on the settee? It’s only a bedspread! And I’m going to turn those two old costumes hanging on the wall into one.”

  “What’s this?” Eileen picked up a round piece of cream felt with a brim of large pointed petals.

  “What does it look like? It’s a hat, of course.”

  “Can I try it on?”

  “If you like. It’s not finished yet. It needs a little veil.”

  Eileen tucked her hair behind her ears and placed the pillbox hat on the side of her head. “What d’you think?”

  Brenda regarded her thoughtfully. “It looks dead nice.

  I got the idea in the middle of the night and I couldn’t wait to get started this morning. I’ve never made a hat before. It’s not for anyone in particular, like, just an experiment.”

  “Where did you get the felt?”

  Brenda grinned. “It’s Xavier’s old fedora.”

  “He’ll kill you if he finds out!”

  “Huh! Xavier can jump in the lake as far as I’m concerned.”

  “D’you ever hear from him?” Eileen asked curiously.

  “He writes from time to time, but I don’t bother to open his letters. I just throw them straight onto the fire.”

  “Good for you, girl!” Eileen said warmly. She looked at herself in the mirror, transferred the hat to the back of her head and asked casually, “What about that Vince?”

  Brenda frowned again as she turned the second sleeve.

  “Who?”

  “Vince, you know, your boyfriend.”

  “He never was my boyfriend, Eil,” Brenda said indignantly.

  “He was just a friend, that’s all. Actually,” she leaned on the machine and rested her chin in her hand, “now’s I come to think of it, I haven’t seen Vince in a while.

  He must have got fed up coming round and always finding me so busy.”

  “Who needs men, eh?”

  “You’re dead right, Eil. Who needs ‘em?’ Brenda regarded Eileen exasperatedly as she began to root through the material on the settee. ‘Is that all you’ve got to do? As I already said, I’m dead busy, and you’re getting on me nerves, hovering round like a wasp. I feel as if I’d like to swat you.’

  Eileen cleared a space and sat down with a deep sigh.

  Brenda winced as the settee creaked underneath her weight. “To tell the truth, Bren,” she complained, “I’m bored to tears and our Sheila won’t let me do a bloody thing. I can’t read a book or listen to the wireless, because it’s like bedlam over there, the kids are in and out by the minute. Not only that, Cal arrived home this morning, and I don’t half feel in the way. I don’t know what to do with meself at the moment.”

  “What about the WVS? I thought you still lent a hand there?”

  “I did until recently. They suggested I gave it up for a while. Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked eagerly. “Start on the dinner, or something?”

  “You must be joking! Your Sheila would have a fit if I let you. I tell you what, why don’t you go along to Stanley Road and buy the material for your frock? What colour did you fancy?”

  “Can I have this hat?”

  “If you like.”

  Eileen was getting the distinct feeling she wasn’t wanted and Brenda would have agreed to give her almost anything to get rid of her. “I’ll pay you for it, of course.”

  “You can have it for free. I’ve got a bit of net somewhere.”

  “In that case, I’d like me dress in cream as well, though I can’t buy the stuff today, it’s half day closing.”

  “Take a bit of felt to match it when you do.” Brenda picked up the remains of the fedora off the floor. “I didn’t half enjoy cutting this to pieces. I might well do the same thing with the other ten.”

  “Ta. Oh, by the way, will you make something smart for our Sheila? She hasn’t had anything new in years—and perhaps a frock each for the girls.”

  “Of course I will, but Sheila hasn’t mentioned anything about it.”

  “That’s ‘cos I haven’t told her yet. It’s a surprise.’

  Although Brenda didn’t know it, she’d just been asked to make Eileen’s wedding dress. Once finished, the dress would be hung in the wardrobe of the cottage where Eileen would be living in a few weeks’ time, ready for when Nick came home and they got married.

  Eileen stood outside Brenda’s house wondering where to go next. She decided to call on Ruth Singerman, but no-one answered when she knocked on the door, and she remembered, it being Wednesday, Ruth would be at Reece’s.

  “Damn!” Eileen muttered. “I feel a bit like a waif and stray with no home to go to.” There was no-one else she felt like talking to, and if she went home, Sheila would only insist she put her feet up and did nothing and she’d feel a bit like a wallflower with Cal there.

  A football landed at her feet. She aimed a kick at it and missed. “They wouldn’t take me on at Everton, would they?” she said to the boy who collected it.

  “Not bloody likely!” the boy said cheekily as he dribbled the ball around her feet.

  “Don’t swear,” she said automatically, but the boy was already out of earshot.

  She thought about going to the matinee at the pictures, but she’d only cry if it was a sad film—she could well cry if it was funny—and, anyroad, she’d never been to the pictures by herself before, and it would feel peculiar sitting all alone.

  “I know! I’ll go down the Docky!”

  It must be almost a year to the day since she’d last wandered along the Dock Road and met Donnie Kennedy.

  Francis had just arrived home, and she remembered how utterly wretched she’d felt, thinking about how she’d let Nick down.

  She crossed over to Number 16 and poked her head into the hall. “I’m going down the Docky, Sis,” she yelled.

  A muffled reply came from the parlour and she noticed the door was closed. “Don’t go too far now, luv, not in your condition.”

  It was as if someone had removed the heart from the city and beaten it to a pulp, yet the heart stubbornly refused to die, refused to stop pumping the vital lifeblood to the body it had sustained for more than two centuries, and continued to throb and beat, gradually getting stronger, greater, and more vibrant than it had ever been before.

  Eileen Costello’s own heart swelled when she turned into the Dock Road, which seemed to be literally pulsating with people and traffic and noise in the tingling Liverpool sunshine. Funnel after funnel ro
se majestically above the remains of the great walls, and cranes turned to and from the enormous loads swinging precariously as they were loaded on or loaded off the ships.

  Eileen smiled as she began to stroll in the direction of Liverpool. She walked past the gates of the Gladstone Dock, where she and Sheila used to wait for Dad when they were little. Life had seemed so uncomplicated in those days, though she supposed the grown-ups had a struggle to exist from day to day. She could scarcely remember the Great War, when her dad had fought in France, and wondered if the whole country had been turned as upside down as it was now. Everything, everybody, seemed to have been touched by the conflict in some way or other.

  She passed a group of sailors wearing strange uniforms with big white floppy collars, rather girlish in their way.

  One of them made a huge circle with his arms and called something in a foreign language and his mates laughed. A man in front of her in a formal black suit and wearing a trilby, who was about to go inside a ship’s chandler’s, paused, his hand on the door.

  “He said you were an adorable and magnificent mother!”

  Eileen, embarrassed, muttered something incomprehensible in reply.

  There were sailors everywhere, of all different nationalities and in the most peculiar get-ups. She paused and watched as a great horde of them came pouring out of Alexandra Dock looking around them excitedly, as if they’d only just arrived in Liverpool, the greatest port in the world. She felt as if she were standing at the very hub of the universe, the place where everything began and ended.

  And then a voice whispered in her ear, “Penny for them!”

  “Nick!” she said faintly.

  She turned abruptly, stumbling, and found herself caught up in a pair of strong, familiar arms, and there he was, looking down at her with his lovely brown eyes and grinning from ear to ear.

  “Nick?” she said again. She grabbed his shoulders.

  There was actually real flesh and bone underneath her fingers. She had thought she was having hallucinations on top of everything else. “You’re real!” she breathed. “I thought I was seeing things.”

  “Oh, my love! My dearest girl, my darling Eileen.” He rocked her back and forth, regardless of the passersby who were glancing with amused indulgence at the tall, handsome RAF officer embracing his very pregnant wife-well, somebody’s wife. “You look beautiful, big and very beautiful. I knew you would!”