Flowers on the Mersey (25 page)

She nodded, unable to speak for the tears that continued to well up in her throat, at the back of her nose and in her eyes. Instead she undid the buttons on his uniform with shaking fingers and fought for control of her emotions. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forgive them.’

‘Me neither. What are you doing?’

‘I want your jacket off. I need to see the wound.’

With her help he straightened up and she held his head against her breast while peeling off his jacket. Before she could do anything more, there was a knock on the window. Their Good Samaritan had moved fast and was outside with a tray.

Rebekah took it and thanked her. The woman gazed at Daniel. ‘You’ll need some different clothes, laddie. If you don’t mind my dead husband’s, I’ll get you them.’

‘I’d be grateful,’ whispered Daniel, looking paler
than before. The woman vanished from his sight.

Rebekah placed the tray on the seat and reached for her bag. She poured two tots of brandy into the tea and held Daniel’s cup to his lips while he drank. There were slices of buttered soda bread on a blue and white plate but he could eat no more than two bites.

She downed her tea swiftly, as well as a slice of bread, then set about dampening the bloodied shirt where it was stuck to his skin. To get rid of any dirt as quickly as possible was vital. The wound had to be cleaned and kept clean if septicaemia was not to set in. Knowing that she was hurting him made the task even more difficult.

She talked to try and keep both their minds from the task in hand. ‘What are you going to do about Shaun?’

‘Can’t do anything.’ The words were slurred. ‘All I care about is us getting out of this alive.’ He gritted his teeth as she pulled the fabric away from the wound.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’d get you to Liverpool if I could but I think that’s not on at the moment. Out of Dublin will have to do. Somewhere quiet in the country.’ She lifted him against her and took off his shirt, letting him rest against her for five minutes or so before going on to the next stage of the treatment which she knew would be difficult for them both.

‘Remember me telling you about Grandmama’s farm in Wicklow?’ She moistened some clean cotton
waste as she gazed at the bruised and bloodied skin about the punctured skin.

‘Green owns it.’ He pressed his lips tightly together as she began to swab the wound.

She kept her head bent. ‘He did. But I heard that it was set on fire. It’s still standing, though.’

‘How d’you know all this?’ His voice was faint.

Rebekah hesitated. ‘His lordship himself told me. That’s what Brigid calls Joshua.’

‘So you’ve been seeing him?’ Suddenly his fingers were on her chin, pushing it up so that she had to look into his angry eyes.

‘Papa made him my guardian,’ she said in clipped tones.

‘That explains a few things.’ His hand dropped and he leant back, closing his eyes. ‘We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Where’s Green now?’

‘America – on business.’

‘Good. We’ll go to that farm then. I can’t think of anywhere else right now.’

She nodded, praying that it would not be too difficult to get out of town if the Good Samaritan came up with those clothes. She put some gentian violet on his back and chest and bandaged him up.

The woman came back with a suitcase. ‘I hope they’ll fit.’

‘I’m grateful,’ said Rebekah, holding out a hand, knowing that she dare not offer the woman money again. ‘God bless you.’

‘And you, girlie. Try and get him to stay out of trouble.’

‘I will.’ Rebekah smiled and thanked her again.

It was a struggle getting the almost unconscious Daniel out of his uniform trousers and into a
tobacco-smelling
suit of too large clothes but she managed it, knowing that she would have to move soon because she had noticed several curtains twitching. She got out of the car and turned the starting handle. Her arm ached with the effort and at first the engine would not fire. Then it coughed into life and she raced to her seat.

Rebekah chanced going back to the hotel, paying her bill and picking up her clothes, and it was not so difficult after all.

She smiled brilliantly at whichever troops stopped them on the way out of town and put on a country Irish accent to pass off Daniel, slumped unconscious in the back, as her drunken merchant sailor brother. The fact that he smelt of alcohol gave a realistic touch to her tale.

She did not breathe easy, though, until she reached the top of a hill and paused briefly to ease her taut muscles – to look back on Dublin lying far below them and the Irish Sea beyond. Liverpool seemed a very long way away.

Rebekah’s memory was good but even so she would not have remembered the way to the farm if in the past her father had not pointed out, on various trips into the country, the roads and narrow lanes which led to his childhood home.

She stopped at Naas and left Daniel sleeping in the car while she filled the tank and the spare can with petrol, and bought food and some essentials. She was glad that the June evenings were long as she coaxed the car up a steep hill. She had put down the hood and the smell of honeysuckle sweetened the air.

Suddenly Daniel spoke. ‘Where are we?’

‘Nearly there.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘If you want to pinpoint it, Glendalough is a good few miles the other side of those hills to our right. I reckon we’ve got about a mile and a half to go.’

‘Let’s hope we don’t have any visitors.’

Rebekah wondered what kind of visitors he meant and was apprehensive. Joshua’s man might call. She turned the steering wheel and they went up a narrow rutted lane. They bumped along with leafy branches brushing the sides of the car and she prayed they wouldn’t lose a wheel. ‘It was pony and cart when I was last here,’ she called. ‘I hope we can go all the way along.’

They could, but had to leave the car in the lane because the turn into the farmyard was too sharp and steep.

Rebekah had to help Daniel down from the running board. She opened a rickety gate and they stood a moment, with him holding on to her, staring at the neglected vegetable garden and a vista of fields where the grass grew tall. There was a grey stone house and a couple of outhouses.

‘There doesn’t look like there’s been a fire,’ said Daniel. ‘No smoke on the walls and the windows are intact.’

‘Perhaps his man lied. Wanted out,’ murmured Rebekah, believing that it was Joshua who had been untruthful. ‘It looks empty. I don’t remember it being so desolate.’

They went towards the house and she remembered that there were no drains, no piped water. The door was not locked and they stepped straight into a kitchen with an open staircase running up one
side. It was almost as she remembered. There was a cavern of a fireplace with chains and a hook for the large blackened cooking pot that still stood there. Placed beside the fireplace was a stack of cobwebby peat, chipped wood and newspapers. There were cupboards and a table and two wooden chairs, as well as a dusty, leaking horsehair leather sofa. A couple of shelves with some crockery and a number of books hung above a stone sink with a single tap. Underneath there was a galvanised bucket.

‘It’s not Paradise.’ Her imagination had painted something better.

‘It’s not Hell either,’ said Daniel. ‘And it looks like sometimes it’s occupied.’

‘I don’t think so.’ She led him over to the sofa and he slumped down and closed his eyes. ‘I won’t be a moment.’ She went outside remembering that the privy was the outhouse with the rambling pink roses round the door. It looked like it had been some time since it had last been used. She would have to fetch water from the river unless – She looked up at the roof, remembering the tank to catch rainwater, and went back inside the house.

Daniel opened his eyes. ‘Lavatory?’

She showed him and wandered through the garden, gazing at the distant hills, shadowy neglected fields and the trees that shifted and whispered in the evening breeze. She thought of Joshua and was glad
that he had never brought her here. Not that he would have stayed in this house. It would have had to be his father’s mansion.

Daniel came out of the privy in the borrowed trousers and with a blue shirt flapping about his hips. His lean face was drawn with pain. ‘We’ll have to do something about that,’ he said, indicating the building behind him with his head. ‘But right now what are we going to do about food?’

‘I bought some in Naas when you were asleep. It’s in the car.’

‘Good girl.’ He managed a smile. ‘Lights?’

‘Grandmama used to have oil lamps but I didn’t see any, did you?’

‘No.’ He drew nearer, holding his left arm awkwardly. ‘At least the nights are short at this time of year.’

‘And it’s not really cold. We can have a go at lighting the fire tomorrow.’

‘You remembered matches?’

‘Yes. And firewood and a tin opener and a sharp knife. I even brought several newspapers. Are you hungry?’

‘A bit.’ He leant against the house wall. ‘I’d forgotten quiet like this existed.’

‘I’m not surprised. Do you want me to help you inside or do you want to look at the view while I fetch some things from the car?’

‘I’ll watch you.’

She smiled faintly and hurried to the car. Daniel was sitting on the ground when she returned with the box of food. She put it down and went over to him.

‘My legs aren’t as strong as I’d hoped.’ He pulled a face as she bent over him. ‘Don’t try and lift me! Give me another minute and I’ll get up.’

‘I’m not a weakling,’ she said, picking up the box and taking it inside.

‘I never thought you were.’ He looked up as she came through the doorway. ‘But we’d be stuck if your back went. Give me a hand now and I’ll get meself up against the wall.’

Rebekah did as he said, and taking it slowly together, soon had him on his feet. They went inside and over to the sofa once more. This time she ordered him to lie down. There was a back to the sofa but only one arm. She put her jacket under his head. ‘Now rest.’

She was aware of him watching her as she opened a tin of beef and cut bread, buttered it, opened a jar of mustard, and made thick sandwiches of the lot. Into two cups she poured a bottle of Guinness. Then she took them over to him and sat on the edge of the sofa. They did not speak while they ate and drank, but kept glancing at each other.

He looks older, thought Rebekah. There were tiny wrinkles round his mouth and eyes. His eyes! She had forgotten they were such a beautiful mahogany
brown. And his lashes were dark and thick like paint brush bristles. His hair was still curly despite the grey. No, it was dust, and there was blood making the front bit stick together above his nose. She had always liked his nose. Lovely and straight. And his mouth. She remembered how he had kissed her, and looking was not enough.

‘I’m sorry about your father and mother,’ he said. ‘At least, I presume she’s dead if Green’s your guardian?’

She nodded and drained her cup. ‘I was lucky. I had just gone into the cabin. What happened with Papa?’

He put the plate on the floor and told her, adding, ‘I’m sorry.’ There was a pause. ‘Did Shaun really tell you I was dead?’

‘He insinuated it.’ She laced her fingers in her lap. ‘I presume he told you I was dead too?’

‘Green had just told me you were, and when I asked Shaun he made out that it was true.’ Daniel stared at her and she stared back.

‘Your brother was against us going together from the start.’ She looked down at her hands.

‘And Green hated me as much as I hated him.’

‘I could have killed him when Brigid told me you were still alive. All that time—’

‘I know.’ His head dropped on to her coat and his throat moved.

Her own constricted and it was a minute before
she could say, ‘Brigid and I threw flowers on the Mersey.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Thanks.’

‘They were chrysanthemums. Yellow for remembrance.’

‘That’s nice.’ He smiled slightly.

Her fingers twisted round each other. ‘I stood on that spot at the end of the landing stage where you took me that first time we met in Liverpool. It wasn’t nice at all.’

There was a pause before he said, ‘I’ve stood there since.’

‘If only we’d seen each other.’

He nodded. ‘You’ve been living in Liverpool with your aunt?’

‘I did. Yes!’ She smiled with relief. ‘And Hannah! Remember Hannah the gorgon?’

‘You mentioned her when we first met.’ There was a silence.

‘It seems a long time ago.’

‘We only knew each other for just over a week.’ Her breath shivered in her throat. She wanted to hold him and keep on holding him and could not understand what was preventing her from even touching him.

He stared at her from beneath half closed eyelids. ‘I often wished I’d known you longer.’

‘So there were more memories.’ Her voice was quietly meditative. ‘It was such a short time we had.’

‘Now we have today.’ He stifled a yawn.

‘I hope we have more than today.’

‘Mmm!’ His lids closed.

Rebekah watched him, listened to his breathing, then rose and went outside to fetch the suitcases. When she returned, the room was full of shadows. She covered him with an overcoat and then sat at the table, staring through the small sash window at a silver and apricot-streaked sky being overtaken by the purply plum-coloured mantle of night.

Before it was completely dark she went upstairs and found that in one of the two rooms stood the bed that had been her grandparents’. There was also an old oak wardrobe with a large drawer in the bottom. Inside were a couple of well-worn blankets smelling of lemon balm and lavender. Instantly in her mind’s eye she saw her grandmother and memories flooded in. She smiled, remembering how she had always been happy in this house.

Rebekah took out the blankets and had to push the drawer hard to make it shut. It made a noise and strangely she half expected the house to come alive then, but the only thing that happened was that flecks of whitewash fell from the ceiling. She bent to pick them up from the wooden floor but they powdered under her fingernails. When she straightened she winced and put a hand to her back. It struck her suddenly just how much she had crammed into one day.

She dropped the blankets onto the bed and went downstairs feeling her way cautiously in the dark. Daniel was still asleep. She placed the back of her hand against his forehead. It was hot but not burning. For a moment she hesitated, considering whether to wake him and help him upstairs where he would probably be more comfortable. Then she decided against it and went to bed.

Rebekah woke early to the chatter and song of birds in the trees, and her name being called. She yawned, stretched, forced her eyelids open and crawled from beneath the blankets.

Daniel was sitting at the table with his shoulders hunched beneath the overcoat. He faced the window but turned at the sound of her footsteps. There was blood on his shirt and smeared down the side of his eye and on his cheekbone. He looked glad to see her. ‘I wasn’t sure where you were.’

‘You shouldn’t have got up.’ She tried to keep the worry out of her voice as she touched his face and shirt and was glad that the blood was dry. ‘I’ll have to get some water.’

‘You want the fire lighting.’

‘Yes. But you can’t do it.’

‘Can you?’

A smile twisted her mouth. ‘I’ll get the water.’

She tried the tap but all that came out was a thin brown trickle. ‘The tank must be blocked with
leaves. I’ll have to go to the river.’ She reached for the bucket and went outside.

The air was chilly because the sun was having a struggle to break through the mist that still clung to branches of trees and bushes and wove thin ribbons in the tall grass. She went through the gate, wishing she had paused to put on her jacket, and crossed the lane. She found the footpath that led to the river bank, a five-minute walk away, thinking about Daniel.

When she returned he had lit the fire and there was fresh blood on the shirt. ‘You’re an idjit.’

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

‘We’ll have to get that shirt off, and the bandage.’

He nodded and started to undo buttons. She looked away and into the blackened cooking pot, which was clean. She poured the water into it and went for more.

He was still sitting where she had left him when she returned but the lines about his mouth had deepened. He was in pain and she wished she could bear it for him. She must still love him. She poured half the water into the pot and then went over to him.

They went through almost the same rigmarole as they had yesterday with them both gritting their teeth as she eased lint and bandage away from his skin. Again she talked to try and make it easier. Commonplace things. ‘I think it’ll be a nice day when the mist lifts completely.’

He nodded, his eyes shut.

‘You’ll be able to lie outside in the sun.’

‘What about you? Are you going to rest?’

‘I want to find some sphagnum moss.’

He opened his eyes.

‘It’s supposed to have antiseptic properties, and it’s absorbent,’ she explained, starting to clean his face. ‘The Red Cross used it in the war.’

‘I didn’t know you were in the Red Cross.’

‘I was a junior recruit. Children helped to gather the moss.’

‘You’re going to be poking around bogs then? You could get stuck.’

She smiled. ‘That reminds me of a conversation we had once.’

‘On Seaforth beach.’

‘Yes.’

There was a brief silence before he said, ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘You won’t!’

‘I will.’

She opened her mouth to argue but changed her mind because of the expression on his face, and instead went and made tea.

They had bread and jam and a scalding sweet brew with tinned milk but she planned to make a good nourishing stew for dinner. After she had gathered some moss.

The mist had cleared, and the air was soft and warm. Bees and flies buzzed amid the sweet-smelling
flowers and grass that reached Daniel’s shoulders and were level with the top of Rebekah’s head. Today seemed to belong to a bygone age. A time of innocence before mankind started making its mark on the earth. If it had not been for worrying about his wound she might have relaxed completely, but she was made anxious by the fear of losing him again.

‘Why do you think the house still has furniture in it?’ she said, swishing the grass with the arm that carried a bag for the moss.

‘The occupier left in a hurry and nobody cares about the house or the land.’

She almost said, Joshua certainly doesn’t, but had no desire to bring him into the conversation. ‘You think he was threatened?’

‘Could have been, in these times. Does it matter? Whoever it was has gone, leaving it for us.’