Queen of the Mersey (7 page)

She raised her head a few inches so she could see her hat, the straw boater she’d worn at school during the summer term. Ages ago, she’d removed the navy-blue band, and added different coloured trimmings to match whatever she happened to be wearing. Last night, she’d tied a cream georgette scarf around it, knotting it at the back, leaving the ends to trail. Her lace gloves had been mended for the umpteenth time. It was a pity her best shoes were brown and rather heavy, but they went with her only handbag.

Roddy turned over and mumbled something inaudible in his sleep. She stared at the back of his neck, thinking what a beautiful shape it was, longing to touch the short, blond hairs, wake him, lie in his arms for a while in the warm sunshine that poured through the window. They only had two more nights together.

Monday night she would sleep in this bed alone. She shivered and crept reluctantly out, let him sleep a little longer.

In the kitchen, she opened the door wide to take advantage of the sun before it disappeared, put the kettle on, and wondered what to make Roddy for his breakfast, having forgotten to replace the bacon and eggs she’d given Queenie the day before – she liked him to have something more substantial than cornflakes. She was still wondering when Roddy came in, still in his pyjamas, and asked, ‘Where’s my gas mask?’

‘Under the stairs,’ she told him.

‘And the suitcase?’

‘The same place as the gas mask.’

‘Right.’ He disappeared, but was back seconds later. ‘I forgot, you’ll want the suitcase, won’t you? I’ll find something else for my things. I won’t need to take much.’

‘Why will I want a suitcase?’

He gave her a steely look. ‘For when you and Hester are evacuated, of course.’

He disappeared again, but this time she followed him.

‘Roddy, I told you before, I’ve no intention of leaving this house.’

‘You’re being very selfish, Laura.’ He emerged from the cupboard with a gas mask in a cardboard case. ‘Once the air raids begin, Bootle docks will be one of the most dangerous areas in the country.’

‘I’m being selfish!’ She laughed sarcastically. ‘What about you?’

‘Please don’t start that again,’ he groaned. ‘I would have been called up eventually. I’m just going sooner rather than later. Forget about yourself for a minute and think about Hester. It’s not fair, letting her stay in a place where she could be killed any minute.’

‘There’s a shelter at the end of the next street.’

‘I know, I’ve seen it, and I can assure you, if it gets a direct hit, it’ll be no safer than this cupboard.’ His face was dark with a mixture of anger and fear. ‘And you’ve got some daft idea about going to work. What happens to Hester then?’

‘Vera will look after her,’ Laura said defensively.

‘And how will you feel if there’s a raid and you’re at work, knowing the docks are being pounded to bits and Glover Street might not be standing when you get back?’

She shuddered. ‘Oh, Roddy, don’t say things like that!’

He took her in his arms. ‘I don’t want to frighten you, Lo, but that’s the way it’s going to be. I’d feel happier, knowing my family are safely out of harm’s way.’

Hester came out of her room and immediately wanted to know where Queenie was.

She was despatched upstairs to fetch her in case she was too nervous to come of her own accord. She reappeared a minute later, leading a fully dressed Queenie by the hand. Laura sent the pair of them to the nearest shop for four eggs and a loaf. She’d make poached egg on toast for breakfast.

Agnes Tate’s ears would have burnt to cinders had she been able to hear the insults heaped upon her dyed-blonde head when Vera was told she’d walked out and left Queenie on her own.

‘The irresponsible cow!’ Vera screeched. ‘The bitch! She wants horsewhipping from one end of Glover Street to the other.’

‘I felt like strangling her myself,’ Laura conceded. ‘The thing is, I don’t know what to do about Queenie.’

Vera’s expression changed from anger to concern. ‘You’re awful young, luv, to have a girl of fourteen dumped on you.’

‘I feel about twenty years older, not just seven,’ Laura confessed.

‘As for Queenie, poor lamb. Aggie led her a terrible life. She’s better off without her, not that she’ll realise that for a while. She can come and live with us for now, the little pet,’ she said generously. ‘She’ll be a sister for our Mary. Once she’s got a job, she’ll be able to pay for her keep.’

Mary poked her head around the door. ‘I don’t want a sister, Mam,’ she whined, clearly jealous of her position as the only girl in the family.

‘You’ll have a sister whether you want one or not,’ Vera barked. ‘Anyroad, girl, you’d best be off if you’re going into town with your Roddy.’

‘I know, I’ve got to get changed. You don’t mind keeping an eye on Hester, do you? And Queenie too, I suppose. This is the first time Roddy and I will have been out together, just the two of us.’

‘And it’ll be the last for a long time,’ Vera said grimly. ‘Stay as long as you like, I don’t mind. I’ll feed ’em both. ’Fact, I’ll be cross if you come back much before it’s dark.’

She didn’t feel the least bit different when she emerged from the Registry Office in Brougham Terrace. In law, she was now Mrs Roderick Oliver, but she’d never really thought of herself as anything else. Two guests, a married couple, who had arrived early for the wedding after theirs, had acted as witnesses, and the man had taken a snapshot of them with his Box Brownie camera. Roddie had given him their address to post it to.

‘You both look awfully young,’ the woman had exclaimed.

‘I wonder how she would have reacted if we’d told her we had a five-year-old daughter,’ Roddy laughed when they were outside.

‘Shocked and disgusted, I expect,’ Laura replied.

‘Look, there’s a tram coming. It’s going into town. Let’s run and we just might catch it.’

They lunched in Frederick & Hughes in Hanover Street – known locally as Freddy’s – one of the most exclusive department stores in Liverpool. The restaurant was like a ballroom, with soaring oak-panelled walls and an elaborately moulded ceiling from which hung three magnificent chandeliers. Stained-glass peacocks in the centre of the tall windows cast brilliant spots of colour over the room. It was like being in another world, Laura thought. There was something faintly thrilling about the subdued clink of cutlery, the murmur of voices, the sound of the white grand piano being played by a man in a velvet jacket and a bow tie.

Ordinarily, they could never have afforded such an expensive place, but Colm Flaherty had given Roddy a two pound bonus when he’d left the day before. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do without you, boyo,’ he’d said with tears in his eyes.

‘Let’s blow the lot,’ Roddy said impetuously as they studied the menu. ‘That’s not exactly extravagant,’ he added when Laura made a face. ‘When my brother, Thomas, got married, it cost over two hundred and fifty pounds. There were more than a hundred guests and an entire orchestra played at the ball that night. I bet no one had as good a time as we’re going to have with our measly two, and that pianist is better than an orchestra any day.’

‘A three-course meal is only half a crown. We’d have to eat four each if we’re going to blow the lot,’ Laura pointed out.

‘But we’ve got the rest of the day to go, haven’t we? After this, we’ll do some shopping, then go to the cinema.’ He smacked his lips. ‘I’m having vegetable soup, lamb chops, peas and roast potatoes, followed by trifle. Oh, Lord!’ He sniffed appreciatively. ‘I can already smell the mint sauce. I think that’s what I’ve missed more than anything over the last few years, lamb and mint sauce.’

‘I’ll have vegetable soup and coq au vin, only because it’s something I’ve never had before and it makes it more exciting.’

He grinned boyishly. ‘It is exciting, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but Roddy,’ she said in a small voice, ‘do you mind having missed lamb and mint sauce and so many other things all this time? If we’d never met, by now you’d be a fully-fledged architect. You might be married. There’d have been more than a hundred guests and an orchestra at your wedding and you’d be living in a lovely house, like the one in Primrose Hill where you saw Thomas.’

‘Laura,’ he said gravely and with a touch of impatience, ‘if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t change a single thing. I am married, to the most beautiful girl in the world and have an equally beautiful daughter. And I’ll have you know that, although I may not be an architect, I’m a fully-fledged builder’s mate. So there!’ He stuck out his tongue and she giggled. ‘How about you? Would you do things differently if it were possible?’

‘You know I wouldn’t. What are you doing?’ she exclaimed when he took the stub of a pencil out of his pocket and began to write on the menu.

‘Just making a note of something.’

The waitress arrived to take their order. While they waited, Roddy said, ‘Remember the notes we used to write each other in that bookshop where we met?’

‘We used to leave them in Gibbons’s The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.’ The shopkeeper must have wondered how it became so well-thumbed, but had never been bought.

‘The first time I saw you through a gap in the shelves, I said to myself, “I’ve got to get to know that girl properly.” It was love at first sight.’

‘For me too,’ Laura said tenderly. ‘There was something familiar about you, as if I’d known you all my life.’ He was taller than her by a head, very attractive and debonair in his grey school uniform. It was Saturday and the fifth form of Burton College for Girls were on their weekly visit to Tunbridge Wells. Miss Lancing, the teacher, was keeping a sharp eye on her charges when the shop had been invaded by half a dozen boys from St Jude’s whom they’d been forbidden to speak to. Roddy had written a note, put it inside the Gibbons, and placed it on the shelf in front of her. ‘What’s your name? I’m Roddy Oliver and I’d like to see you again,’ it had said.

Laura had wandered away, clutching the note. When she was sure that Miss Lancing wasn’t looking, she wrote on the other side, ‘I’m Laura Conway and I’ll be here at the same time next Saturday.’

It had gone on like that for weeks. Sometimes there was no sign of Roddy; he’d had a rugger match, his note would explain the following week. Other times, the girls had choir practice or there was a hockey game. Laura wasn’t in the school team, she hated hockey, but was required to stay and cheer their side on. If there was no Roddy and no note, she’d leave one for him, and he did the same.

When he was there, they merely stared at each other, while Laura experienced all sorts of strange, pleasant emotions. She assumed he must feel the same.

The waitress came with the soup. It was very thick, no doubt nourishing, but much too filling. ‘I’ll never manage the main course if I eat all this,’ she said halfway through. Roddy had already finished his.

‘Hand it over. I’ll eat it.’

‘You’ll make yourself sick,’ she warned. She glanced around to make sure no one was looking before passing him her bowl.

‘I don’t care. It’s my wedding day and I’ll do as I like. I’m trying to make up for six years of starvation.’

‘There was a fat girl at school. We used to call her the human dustbin. She finished off everybody’s meals.’

‘I remember. Her name was Fiona. She came with you to that tea room and stole your currant bun.’

‘She didn’t steal it. I gave it her. How could I have eaten a currant bun with you sitting at the next table? But fancy you remembering that,’ she said, impressed.

‘I remember everything about that day. It was the first time we spoke to each other. I asked if I could borrow your sugar. You passed the bowl and our hands touched.’

‘Then you passed it back and they touched again.’

He must have noticed the girls went into Hunter’s Tea Room before they caught the bus back to school. He was there with another boy when they went in. It was just before the Easter holidays. ‘Where do you live?’ the note she had found earlier had asked. She had written her address on the back and left it in the Gibbons.

The following week, on Maundy Thursday, he’d turned up at her home, having caught a train from Guildford to Brighton, a bus to Eastbourne, then walked all the way to the village where she lived. It had taken two and a half hours.

Her father was in church, it was his busiest time of the year, and she was clearing weeds in the rose garden, which had been her mother’s favourite place.

It had a little iron bench in the corner where she used to sit and read. Her mother had been dead for four years and Laura still missed her badly. She felt closer to her in the rose garden than anywhere else.

She didn’t know what to say when he arrived, bowled over by how handsome he looked in an open-necked shirt, tweed jacket and baggy flannel trousers. His hair was very blond, very straight, and a mite too long. That was the day when everything had started for real. Within a fortnight, they were making love. It seemed so natural, so beautiful, that she could see nothing disgraceful about going to bed with a boy she hardly knew, but felt she had known for ever. Her father was busy with his duties as a vicar, and the housekeeper worked in the kitchen, out of sight, out of mind, out of hearing of the young couple in the bedroom under the eaves of the old vicarage.

She jumped when the waitress put the coq au vin in front of her. She’d been so engrossed in reliving the past that she hadn’t noticed the soup bowls had been removed. To her surprise, the woman also placed a bottle of wine on the table.

‘Compliments of Mr Theo,’ she said with a smile. ‘Congratulations to you both. I hope you’ll be very happy.’

As if on cue, the pianist began to play, ‘Here Comes The Bride,’ Roddy leapt to his feet and kissed her, and the other diners burst into spontaneous applause.

Everyone in the room was looking at her. Laura didn’t know whether to crawl under the table or burst into tears. ‘Who’s Mr Theo?’ she asked in a cracked voice.

‘The owner of Freddy’s, luv. He’s ever such a nice man. There he is, over there.’

Just outside the entrance to the kitchen, a handsome, foreign-looking man was watching them intently. He bowed courteously in their direction. Laura gave him a little wave. ‘Tell him thank you very much. It’s a lovely gesture.’