The Leaving of Liverpool (5 page)

With expertise born of practice, she manoeuvred the door open and closed it gently with her foot. She placed the tray on the chest of drawers and looked around. Nothing in the room seemed to have changed and she grinned as she caught sight of the figure curled up in the bed. With a deft flick of both wrists she drew back the curtains and the bright rays of sunlight dispelled the gloom.

‘Mornin’, Miss Olivia. It’s nearly eight and I’ve brought your tray.’

A head appeared from beneath the pink silk eiderdown. A riot of copper curls spilled down over pale shoulders. Large grey-green eyes opened wide. ‘Phoebe-Ann, is that you?’

‘Yes, miss. I’m back.’

Olivia Mercer sat up in bed, wide awake now. ‘Oh! It is!’

Phoebe-Ann brought the tray to the bed.

‘I’ve had no-one to chat to! All I’ve had is an endless stream of useless girls! No-one who could do my hair or see to my clothes like you do! The last one was utterly, utterly useless! I know we all had to make sacrifices and Papa got to be so boring about that, but it was a terrible nuisance!’

Phoebe-Ann glowed at the intended praise. ‘And what will you be needing today, miss? It’s going to be warm.’

Olivia sipped the tea. ‘I don’t know. Life is very tedious just now and James is as dull as ditchwater. He lives in a world of his own. He’s no fun at all. Papa doesn’t really care what I do. He’s more interested in his damned ships and what sort of state they’re in now that the Government has finished with them!’

‘Oh, I’m sure he is interested.’ Phoebe-Ann plumped up the lace-edged pillows.

‘What shall I do today?’ Olivia mused. ‘I think I’ll go into town and do some shopping, maybe I’ll meet Dora or Katie and have lunch.’

Phoebe-Ann opened the doors of the ornately carved wardrobe and flicked expertly through the many garments. ‘You always look very nice in green, Miss. And it looks so cool and fresh I always think.’

‘Um.’ Olivia chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast. Maybe she would go and call on Marjorie. She was rather bold and could be extremely outrageous at times and life was so boring at present. ‘The green voile dress with the cream lace collar.’

‘I’ll take it down and give it a bit of a press after I’ve run your bath.’ Phoebe-Ann stroked the cream lace collar lovingly. She’d forgotten what beautiful clothes Miss Olivia had.

Olivia swung long, shapely legs over the side of the bed. ‘Oh, it really is good to have you back Phoebe-Ann!’

Phoebe-Ann remembered her mother’s instructions. ‘I hate to have to ask miss. But could I have a couple of hours off on Friday afternoon, please?’

Olivia’s brow furrowed in a frown. ‘What on earth for? You have your Wednesday afternoon off and every second Sunday?’

‘Could I change my Wednesday to Friday? It’s my mam. She’s getting married – again.’

Olivia’s eyes widened. ‘Who is she marrying?’

‘A Mr Davies. He lives at the corner of our street and has a sort of business.’ She didn’t want Olivia Mercer to think her mam would just up and marry anyone.

Olivia pulled on her wrap and tossed back her mane of hair. ‘What sort of business?’

‘He’s a carter. So, is that all right, miss?’

‘I suppose so. What are you going to wear?’

‘My Sunday dress and hat.’ Phoebe-Ann wished she had something as fine as the dress folded over her arm.

‘I suppose you haven’t had time to shop.’

Phoebe-Ann felt annoyed. She’d had neither the time nor the money to shop. At least if she’d gone to work at Tate’s she would have had the money. Sometimes Miss Olivia was so stupid. ‘I’ll run your bath, miss.’

Olivia smiled as Phoebe-Ann forgot her irritation and, smiling, left the room. She was quite a pretty girl, Olivia mused. Of course she didn’t have the clothes or the style to carry them off, but she had beautiful skin and hair. She ran her fingers impatiently through her own hair. Why did it have to curl so tightly? She hated it. Still, Phoebe-Ann could work wonders with it and, if she was to impress everyone at the theatre and then at the party her papa was giving later in the month to celebrate the Treaty of Versailles, she would need Phoebe-Ann’s help. She’d already chosen the materials and styles, for she was having two gowns made, and she’d had the fittings. But she needed gloves and shoes and hair ornaments. Maybe she’d get them today. She glanced at herself in the mirror of the dressing table and searched her memory for the quaint description Phoebe-Ann had once used when untangling her unruly locks. She’d thought it extremely droll at the time. Oh, yes. ‘Like a mop hanging over the banister.’ Phoebe-Ann did use some quite comic expressions, that was part of her charm. She was so down to earth, so . . . so common.

 

Richard Mercer glanced up from his paper as Emily brought in a pot of freshly made tea. His dark eyes watched the girl thoughtfully. At least that was one of his problems solved. The growing shortage of good domestic staff was causing much concern in many households. Most young girls now went into the shops and factories and those of Emily’s age were usually married with children. He looked perturbed. Widowed with young children would be a more apt description.

‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Good morning, Emily. Nice to see you.’

She dipped a curtsey. ‘We’re both glad to be back. Phoebe-Ann is up with Miss Olivia. Will Master James be down or should I make another pot for him?’

At the mention of his son, Richard Mercer’s heavy eyebrows rushed together. ‘He won’t be down just yet, Emily. He has to rest a good deal these days. Doctor’s orders.’

‘I see.’

She didn’t. Couldn’t, he thought. He didn’t see it very clearly himself. Oh, he’d heard how bad things had been. The whole horror had unfolded day by day, month by month in the newspapers, but didn’t James realize how lucky – no that was too mild a word – how miraculous had been his deliverance to come through with not so much as a scratch. He didn’t realize it and he had such mood changes; days and nights filled with dark depression, but he’d get over it. He must not be rushed, old Coleman advised. He wouldn’t even let himself think that there was anything mentally wrong with his son. Just a bit of shell shock, that’s what it was. A few more weeks and he’d be his old self again. Bright, confident and with a sharp mind and wit. ‘Is your mother well, Emily?’ he asked politely as she poured his tea.

‘Yes, thank you. She’s getting married again on Friday.’

She’d gained his full attention. ‘Indeed. Then you must convey my felicitations to her.’ He smiled. ‘I take it she won’t be amongst my army of willing workers who help to expedite the speedy turnarounds we at Cunard are so famous for?’

‘No, sir. Albert . . . Mr Davies, says she has to give up work.’

‘Quite right too. Woman’s place is in the home. If it’s at all possible,’ he added, not wishing to sound critical.

‘Is there anything else, sir?’

‘No, Emily. You get on.’

She dipped another bow and left and he sighed. She was a nice girl; quiet, willing, a good worker. He only wished Olivia had the same qualities, but then he shouldn’t blame her. After poor Adele had died he had indulged her shamelessly. He couldn’t now complain. He was reaping what he had sown.

He folded the paper and, taking his watch from his waistcoat pocket, checked the time against the black marble clock on the mantel. Time to go. Important decisions to make today. How much could the Company afford to spend on refitting the ships now being decommissioned? Would it be worth the expense to convert the twelve-year-old
Mauretania
from coal to oil? Speed was the all important thing. Speed and safety. She’d held the Blue Riband now for a dozen years but for how much longer? They had to move with the times.

T
HE AFTERNOON OF THE wedding was sultry. Even at six o’clock in the morning it had been warm, Emily had thought as she’d walked to work. ‘Headachey weather’ Mam called it. She and Phoebe-Ann had left Upper Huskisson Street just after twelve and were home by fifteen minutes past. The house looked oddly bare, Phoebe-Ann thought, glancing around. Emily had told her that most of the things they wanted to take had been loaded on to a borrowed handcart and moved four doors up. What had been left would benefit the new tenants who would move in that evening. They’d be glad of the stuff.

‘Mam’s upstairs,’ Jimmy stated as they walked in. ‘It’s too damned hot for this collar!’ he muttered, stretching his neck and running a finger around the stiffly starched collar.

‘It’s just too hot!’ Phoebe-Ann complained.

‘At least you don’t have to dress up like the organ grinder’s monkey!’ Jimmy mopped his face with his handkerchief.

‘Stop complaining. You’ll probably lead the stampede into the nearest pub once it’s all over,’ Emily chided, laughingly.

‘Fat chance of that! Mam would have a blue fit!’

‘He’s got beer in. I saw it last night,’ Emily confided.

‘Thank God for that, then! I was expecting it to be a “dry” house. Him bein’ Welsh, like. I ain’t never seen him in the pub. We’ll all be spittin’ feathers by the time we get back. You look nice, our Phoebe-Ann. Got a new frock then?’

Phoebe-Ann was leaning against the window ledge in the absence of any chairs. ‘Miss Olivia gave it to me. She said it’s not every day you get asked to your mam’s wedding. She thought that was dead funny. I don’t know why.’

Emily grimaced. ‘You explain it to her, Jimmy. I’m off up to see Mam.’

Jimmy, who was in no mood to explain away Olivia Mercer’s sarcasm, jerked his head at Emily’s departing back. ‘I’d get up the “dancers” with our Em. Mam’s gettin’ a bit airyated!’

Phoebe-Ann smoothed down the skirt of the blue and white print dress that Miss Olivia had told her was called an afternoon dress and patted the cream straw hat with the blue ribbon and decided to follow her sister. She had the distinct feeling that both Emily and Jimmy were poking fun at her.

‘Oh! Mam!’ Emily couldn’t hide the emotion in her voice as she caught sight of Lily. ‘Oh, Mam! You look lovely, you really do!’

‘You don’t think it’s . . . well, a bit too dressy?’ Lily stood up and turned around slowly.

‘If you can’t wear something dressy today then it’s a poor do!’

‘I got it at Sturla’s in Great Homer Street this morning. Albert gave me the money to treat myself. I felt so extravagant. I’ve never spent so much on a dress!’

‘It’s about time you thought more of yourself and less of everyone else. Here, let me fix your hat.’ Emily picked up the small grey hat and placed it on her mother’s head. It had a bow of plum-coloured ribbon that matched the plainly cut cotton dress.

Phoebe-Ann felt she was being left out and she was a little ashamed that she had caused such a fuss about the wedding. ‘Oh, give it here, Em! Let me do it. It looks like a pimple on a mount stuck on like that! You’ve no idea! No style!’

Emily and Lily exchanged glances and Lily smiled. ‘You always did have a way with hair and clothes.’ She could read both her daughters like a book and she’d seen the contrition in Phoebe-Ann’s face. And, even though she was nervous and getting more so by the minute, she had noted the new dress. ‘Did Miss Olivia give you that?’

Emily prayed that Phoebe-Ann wouldn’t tactlessly repeat Olivia’s remarks but her sister was too engrossed in finding the right angle for the hat and only muttered ‘Um.’

At last she stood back and admired her handiwork. ‘There. Her next door will have eyes like hat pegs when she sees you!’

‘Well, she’s about as happy as an open grave anyway,’ Emily added.

‘Mam! Are you ready? Our Jack’s going to lose ’is rag if he has to wait much longer! Says ’e’s goin’ down to the tram stop now! And this collar will ’ave wilted with the heat soon an all!’

Emily and Phoebe-Ann grinned. Jack wasn’t noted for his patience.

Lily glanced around the room for the last time and felt a wave of sadness engulf her. She’d come here as a new bride. It held so many memories. All her children had been born in this room. It had been in here that she’d cried brokenly when Joe had died, and when Harry and then Rob had been killed. She felt a hand on her arm and saw Emily looking at her with concern.

‘You’re not going to start crying are you, Mam?’

‘No, luv. I’m just being a bit daft, that’s all.’ She tilted her chin upwards. ‘Let’s get going or those two will have started without us and I wouldn’t put it past them to tell Albert I’m not coming!’

 

Albert was standing on the steps of Brougham Terrace as they alighted from the tram in West Derby Road and crossed over to the Registry Office. He had no relatives and no friend close enough to ask to be best man so Jack had agreed to stand for him. Emily would be the other witness.

‘We’re not late, are we?’ Lily asked, patting the side of her hat and feeling her stomach muscles contract.

‘Not at all. You look very . . . nice.’ He gave a little cough of embarrassment. He wasn’t used to paying compliments. In fact he wasn’t used to being the centre of attention. That was something he avoided like the plague. But she was smiling and, when he looked around, he realized everyone was and he felt more at ease.