When he was nearing the Sailors’ Home, he ran into a large group of fellow sailors, including many of the lads from the Christina.
‘Come with us, Kiddo!’ one of them called out to him. ‘There’s a dance on tonight at Atlantic House.’
‘I’m not feeling very sociable.’
‘Get away, pal. You’ll feel a lot better once you’ve twirled a lass round the dance floor. They’re all nice girls. No tarts.’ The speaker was the second mate. ‘A good-looking fellow like you should be looking for a wife to settle down with, someone to come home to after a long voyage.’
‘What? Just like you, Fred?’ The second mate was unmarried.
‘Why do you think I’m going along? I live in hope!’
‘They’d have to be blind to pick you,’ said one of the crew to much laughter, which didn’t seem to bother Fred at all.
Maybe that was what Will needed – a bit of mindless banter among men he knew, a few dances with a pretty girl or two, then back to the Sailors’ Home for a good night’s sleep. Enough of the introspection, enough of the despair. The idea of music, laughter, and a soft-skinned, bright-eyed, smiling girl in his arms began to have appeal. ‘All right, lads. Let’s go!’
The sailors’ social club, Atlantic House, was a haven to crews in port. Run by a Catholic priest, the place welcomed sailors of all creeds, races and nationalities. The beer was cheaper than in the pubs and the regular dances were well attended by young women willing to spend some of their free time with lonely sailors. It was all above board, with strict rules of conduct – the girls were vetted by Father O’Driscoll and forbidden to date the men. Despite these restrictions, many courtships arose from encounters at Atlantic House, and many sailors went along in the hope that they might meet a future wife or girlfriend. Whether that happened or not, there were worse ways to spend an evening in port.
For the first hour, Will leaned against the bar, watching the dancing. The band was pretty good and the dance floor was packed. One of the attractions for the crew was the fact that the young women were all there because they believed it was their Christian duty and so rarely refused a dance invitation. Fred was red-faced and happy after dancing with one after another and was now enjoying his third dance with the same girl – a homely looking lass with generous proportions and twinkling eyes.
‘Looks like the Second’s got lucky tonight. That girl’s stuck to him like a limpet,’ said one of the seamen.
‘At least they won’t spoil two fireplaces,’ said one of the boiler men.
‘She’s not that bad. Give them a break.’ Will gave the man a gentle shove.
‘Go on then, Kiddo. Interrupt them and ask her to dance. Rescue the poor girl.’
Will shook his head.
Despite the crowds, the cheap beer, the pretty girls and the lively dance music, his mood remained dark. It wasn’t self-pity. Instead, he felt as though he were caught in a void, numb to the world. The past was a place he didn’t want to think about – his murderous brother, his father’s execution, his sister’s suicide. He didn’t want to confront these things. Most of all he didn’t want to think about Lizbeth.
The future stretched in front of him, vast and empty. He felt nothing, couldn’t imagine feeling anything again. Even fear would be welcome. Maybe if there was a war, he’d experience that, and right now he thought he’d embrace it – anything rather than this sense of passivity, of nothingness. What would it be like? To have fear clutch at his innards? Years ago, when he’d had to go underground in his father’s coal mine, terror had gripped at his guts, bringing sweat to his face, causing his stomach to lurch. He’d hated it but at least it was a sensation. Better than this hollow vacuum. He looked across the room and saw a girl sitting alone. In an instant he decided to ask her to dance. Maybe the music would wash away his melancholy – and the warmth of her body against his might breathe some life back into him.
He took another swig of beer, put his empty pint pot down on the bar and nodded to one of the crew members he was drinking with, a Nigerian. ‘Your round, Abuchi.’ Then he moved across the floor and approached the young woman. She was a freckled redhead with blue eyes. Nothing special, but pretty enough.
‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked.
The girl flashed him a smile, looked around her, uncertain for a moment, then said, ‘I promised the next dance to someone else. He’s gone to buy cigarettes and he hasn’t come back yet.’ She looked up at him and grinned. ‘Yes. Why not? Thank you.’
Will steered her towards the dance floor as the leader announced the next number – a tune called Harbour Lights – and the band struck up. She was a good dancer, moving naturally and letting him lead her. He relaxed into the dance and realised that right now, in this moment, he was actually enjoying himself. He looked down at the top of her head and asked her what her name was.
‘Peggy. Yours?’
He told her, and they danced on, one tune merging into another as they swirled around the floor. Lost in the beat, he allowed his head to empty of everything but the music, the feel of the girl against him and the sharp scent of the eau de toilette she was wearing. Then he felt a hand grab his shoulder and before he realised what was happening, he was spun around and separated from Peggy. A blow landed in the centre of his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him careening across the dance floor, cannoning into other couples, until he landed on his bottom, his back against a table, a sticky trickle of spilled beer running down his neck.
A familiar voice boomed out. ‘You fucking bastard, Kidd. You got me arrested. You stole my job. Now you’re trying to steal my girl.’
Cassidy’s eyes were narrowed, full of hatred, his words coming out like gun shots, his rage radiating off him like heat. There was a strong smell of drink. Several of the sailors, including the second mate, rushed forward and held him back as he tried to lunge at Will again.
Will scrambled to his feet as Cassidy struggled against the men restraining him.
‘Take your hands off me, you pommie bastards. Let me kill that ocker.’ Cassidy’s face was red and he spat in Will’s direction.
‘What in the name of heaven’s going on?’ Father O’Driscoll moved into the fray. ‘Stop that filthy talk.’
The red-headed girl was now in tears, her eyes darting between Cassidy and Will and back again. ‘All I did was dance with him. I did nothing wrong, Father.’
‘No, Peggy, you did nothing wrong at all. Go and sit down in my office and I’ll have someone bring you a glass of warm milk and see you home.’ The girl was led away by one of the other women.
‘Now who’s going to tell me what’s going on with you two fellas?’
Will started to answer but Cassidy cut in. ‘This man’s cost me my job. I spent last night in the police cells because of the lying bastard.’
‘Is this true?’ The priest turned towards Will.
‘We were on the same ship, Father. Last night he attacked me in a pub and we both ended up at the police station. They let me go this morning and told me they were detaining him in order to press charges.’
Cassidy was swearing like a trooper.
The priest rounded on him. ‘Shut that filthy mouth of yours, young man, before I shut it for you and summon the constabulary. You’ll be back in that cell in a flash.’ He looked around. ‘Anyone here who can corroborate what either of these two fellas is saying?’
By now, all the men present who were from the Christina had gathered around.
Abuchi stepped forward. ‘Bosun’s had it in for Kidd all the time since I came on board.’
‘He’s picked on him since Kidd joined the ship. Eighteen months ago. You’d think both being “diggers” they’d stick together,’ said another sailor.
The boiler man added, ‘I was in the Brown Jug last night and Kidd was having a quiet drink with one of the other crew when the bosun came in and landed a punch on him. Just like now.’
Several men were speaking at once and the priest held up his ha
nds. ‘One at a time. Who’s the senior man here? Any officers?’
Fred stepped forward. ‘Me, Father. I’m the second mate on the ship these lads came in on. It’s true what they’re saying.’ He turned to address the bosun. ‘I don’t know what’s come over you, Cassidy, man. Kidd’s done nothing to you.’
‘He only went and told the master I’d caused that darky’s death. It’s cost me my ticket.’ Cassidy’s face was flushed red and the sinews in his neck were standing out. As he spoke, he sent a spray of spittle into the air. ‘Now I’m out on bail and up before the courts next week. The fucking bastard has ruined me. I’m going to kill him.’ He jerked forward, his eyes bulging, but the crewmen held him back.
‘Sounds to me as if you need to wash out that dirty mouth of yours, fella,’ said the priest. ‘Unless you want to spend another night in the cells you’d better calm down. Where’re you staying tonight?’
‘What’s it to you?’
The priest took a step towards him, immune to intimidation. ‘I want to be sure you’ve a roof over your head, as if you’ve not, I’m sure His Majesty’s finest can offer you a cell tonight. What’s it to be, laddie?’
Cassidy took a gulp of air and seemed to calm a little. ‘I’m staying at my brother-in-law’s in Everton. Just off Scotland Road.’
The priest looked at the gang of men. ‘Anyone willing to walk this man home to the care of his family?’
Two of the crew members stepped forward.
‘Now, straight there, mind,’ said Father O’Driscoll ‘No stopping off at pubs along the way. Looks to me like he’s already had more than a skinful.’
After they had gone, the priest clapped his hands and called over to the band. ‘Let’s get on with the evening, boys and girls. And no more nonsense.’ He laid a hand on Will’s arm. ‘Take it easy now, fella. You all right?’
Will nodded.
‘Good. No harm done then. Get on and enjoy yourself. Plenty of nice girls here to dance with.’
But Will had had enough. His appetite for dancing had disappeared and after downing the beer Abuchi had got for him, he made his way outside and walked slowly through the streets back to the Sailors’ Home.
Chapter Seven
It was with a heavy heart that Will woke up in the Sailors’ Home the following morning. It was his last day of freedom before joining the crew of the Arklow. The run-in with Jake Cassidy, the force of the man’s malevolence, had weighed on him, keeping him awake for most of the night. Had he been unfair to the bosun? Had he really cost him his job?
For a few minutes Will doubted himself, then remembered that Seaman Ashok had lost his life in a pointless and cruel manner. And there was no doubting the violence in Cassidy. Two assaults in as many days indicated the man had an anger inside him that was irrational. Will was still at a loss as to why his fellow Australian hated him with such passionate intensity.
Rather than relishing his last day off, Will was restless and anxious to be at sea. He didn’t want to run into Cassidy again, and had a feeling that the bosun would not be content to let matters go. This last day of liberty was a frustration – there was nothing he particularly wanted to do, no one he knew in Liverpool. Again, that empty feeling he’d experienced the previous day washed over him.
After buying a few essentials from the shop inside the Home in readiness for his new ship, he went to the sitting room, where he settled down with a newspaper and caught up on the news. There was more about the growing threat of Hitler, matched by other columns declaring that the possibility of a future war with Germany must be avoided at all costs. He turned to the back pages and scanned the sports reports. Still restless, he decided to go to the pictures. Sitting in the dark of a cinema, he could doze off if he wished, and at least it would be warmer than walking the streets.
The first picture house he came upon was showing a film about a Royal Navy ship getting caught up in a coup in South America. That would feel like a busman’s holiday. He walked on and came upon another, grander, cinema. Here they were showing Young and Innocent, a thriller directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Will had enjoyed The 39 Steps by the same director a couple of years earlier, so he paid his shilling and went inside. The film proved a good choice, and he lost himself in the story of incompetent policemen hunting the wrong man for the murder of a movie star. Inevitably, the fugitive was helped by an attractive young woman with whom he, of course, fell in love. Everything was so simple in films – even a man wrongly accused of murder ended up with the pretty girl. Things like that never happened in real life. At least not in Will’s experience.
When it was over, he set off to walk back to the Sailors’ Home. He headed towards the Pier Head and stood smoking a cigarette as the crowds poured on and off the Mersey ferries. What would it be like to go to work in the same place every day, crowding onto ferries, trams and buses and slaving away in factories, on the docks or in an office? Better perhaps to be at sea. The life might be lonely but at least each day was different.
He decided to take the overhead railway to the Gladstone Dock, where the Arklow was moored. Although he wasn’t due to report for duty until the following morning, he wanted to take a look at the ship.
It was a short ride and as he walked away from the railway towards the ship, a young woman emerged from a rundown building. His first thought was that it was unusual to see women on the docks. There was something about her that made him study her as she approached. She didn’t look like a prostitute – her clothes were too modest, rather old-fashioned, her hairstyle simple, and her face unadorned with makeup. When she was within a few feet of him, Will’s heart missed a beat.
Elizabeth.
He stopped dead in his tracks, blocking her pathway and called her name.
The woman halted, looked him straight in the eyes, her face recording surprise. She hesitated momentarily, then skirted around him and started to speed up. He must have frightened her.
‘Please wait! I need to speak to you.’
She began to run. He could hear her taking in big gulps of air. He started to go after her, then sense prevailed. No wonder she was frightened. He was a stranger on a deserted dock front at dusk, and she was alone. He was a fool.
Of course, it couldn’t be her. He looked after her receding figure. By now Elizabeth must be in her forties and this woman looked as though she were barely out of her teens. Yet in every other respect she was the living image of the woman who had made such an impact on his life and been the cause of his lingering unhappiness.
Will remembered the last time he had seen his stepmother. Telling her about his feelings had been hard. Yet he’d nursed the tiniest hope of a sign that she felt something for him. But she’d broken his heart with the gentlest of words and made it clear that her feelings for him were only maternal. His face flushed at the memory of that humiliation.
But the girl he’d just seen had to be related to Lizbeth in some way. Her daughter? A younger sister? The resemblance was too strong for it to be coincidental. He had to find out.
The building she’d emerged from was a brick-built single-storey construction – a storage facility or office. Too small for a warehouse. There was a wooden sign above the door, its lettering faded by the years. Morton’s Coffee Importers Ltd.
Yes! There was a connection. Morton had been Elizabeth’s maiden name. And hadn’t she once told him she came from a town just north of Liverpool? It had meant nothing to him at the time – Will had never expected to visit England then. And now that he thought about it, she had mentioned that her father had been a coffee importer.
But he’d let the young woman get away, missing his chance to talk to her, to find out her relationship to Lizbeth. She’d been terrified, her eyes – Elizabeth’s eyes – telegraphing her fear. Will cursed himself. Why had he spoken to her like that?
He went towards the building and tried to peer through the filthy grime of the windows to see if there was anyone inside. An elderly man was sitting at a desk. Will pushed open the door
and went inside.
‘Excuse me. Are you Mr Morton?’
The man looked up. ‘There’s no Mr Morton. Not for many a year. It’ll be Mr Dawson you’re looking for and he’s not here. Can I help?’ His expression was dubious as he looked Will up and down.
‘The young lady I saw leaving here just now. I was wondering—’
‘Best not to wonder.’ The man scowled at him. ‘If he catches you asking about his daughter there’ll be trouble. If you’re a sensible man you’ll stay away. Miss Dawson wants nothing to do with the likes of you.’ The man got up from his desk and moved towards the door, holding it open. ‘Good day.’
Will had no choice but to leave.
That night Will cursed the fact that he had to sail for Dublin the next day. All he wanted was to go back and wait to see if Miss Dawson returned. At least he now knew her name and that she was unmarried. Her father must be Elizabeth’s brother-in-law. Lizbeth had never really talked about her family. It was as if the memories were too painful. He’d got the idea that she had been very unhappy before leaving for Australia.
These thoughts ran through his head until he drifted off to sleep, the image of the frightened young woman on his mind.
* * *
Hannah had always hated having to come to the office near the docks. She felt uncomfortable at being surrounded by so many strange men and didn’t like the way, when she walked past, some of them looked her up and down as though mentally removing her clothing. When her father wasn’t with her, they often wolf-whistled. Telling herself that most of them meant no harm didn’t make her feel any less vulnerable.
She’d tried to tell her father that she was nervous about being here on the docks, only for him to demand that she learn the 91st Psalm by heart and recite it to him until the words were burnt onto her brain. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust. But no matter how many times she repeated the verses of the psalm, it didn’t reduce her discomfort at those men looking at her. And Hannah knew from the books she secretly read, that words and prayers were not enough to stop the evil that was present in some men. She resented her father’s complacency, his insistence on wrapping her in the cloak of his religion yet leaving her unprotected against real potential dangers. Walking out of the docks in the hours of darkness unaccompanied would always be a source of fear, so, whenever alone, she kept her head down and walked home rapidly.
Storms Gather Between Us Page 8