Lights Out Liverpool (22 page)

He’d come home and find a major new item of furniture or kitchen appliance, bought without any reference to him. Of course, it was her money, but he would have liked to have been asked for his views.

‘You never showed any interest.’

‘I might, if asked,’ he said lightly. ‘Anyway, about the stove …?’

Her smooth white brow puckered in a frown. ‘I’m in a bit of a quandary,’ she explained passionately. ‘I’d like the wiring done before I buy a stove because I want an electric one, but that means the whole house will need redecorating afterwards, and I want decent wallpaper this time, not that horrid distemper. And while it’s being decorated, I may as well have a new fireplace put in at the same time, I haven’t saved up enough yet,’ she finished breathlessly.

It was obvious, from the intense way she spoke, that her mind was consumed with alterations to the house. The world might be at war, ships were being sunk, the daily news offered little hope for peace, but all Jess could think about was wallpaper and wiring and stoves. And it was all ‘I’. ‘I want’, ‘I need’, never ‘we’. Nevertheless, he felt sorry for her. ‘How much have you got?’ he asked.

‘Just over twenty-five pounds, with the money off my musquash,’ she answered, adding proudly, ‘I earned over two shillings in commission today.’

‘Good girl,’ he said approvingly.

She looked at him sharply. ‘Are you being funny, Arthur?’

‘Of course not!’ he assured her, though it
was
funny when you thought about it. A few months ago, she would have tipped a waiter two shillings without a
second
thought. ‘Perhaps I could put a bit to it,’ he offered. ‘Say ten bob a week.’

‘Ten shillings,’ she corrected automatically.

‘Ten shillings, then.’

‘That would be awfully nice of you, Arthur.’ She smiled at him for the first time in months.

Later on, she got out a notebook and began to do calculations, and he left for the King’s Arms.

It was a strange thing, he thought, entering to a welcome chorus of ‘Evening, Arthur, what are y’drinking?’ but the poor were far more generous than the rich. He’d noticed straight away, how no-one tried to get out of paying when it was their turn for a round. The poor had their pride. Some would sit with a single pint all night, rather than be termed a scrounger. Even if pressed, they’d refuse a drink if they couldn’t buy one back.

He ordered a pint of Guinness and Paddy O’Hara said, ‘That’ll put lead in your pencil, Arthur,’ which, he thought, was the last thing he needed at the moment. Jess had slept in a separate room for months. There was no way he’d force her, but he missed her warm body desperately, though even in bed relations had grown colder over the years. He recalled the passionate love-making of their Paris honeymoon, the creamy voluptuous body yielding to his slightest touch, her little cries of ecstasy. It was a long time since they’d made love with such natural, unreserved pleasure. Instead, he got the impression she was merely doing her wifely duty, that’s if she hadn’t cried off with a headache first!

Going home, he wondered hopefully if the extra ten shillings might have patched things up a little and she’d be waiting for him in the double bed where she properly belonged, but when he got in, she was already fast asleep in the back bedroom.

‘Perhaps I should have made it a pound,’ he thought wryly.

Eileen Costello hated being on the afternoon shift. She saw hardly anything of Tony, just half an hour in the mornings before he went to school. After he’d gone, the time seemed to fly by and before she knew it, it was one o’clock and she was due to leave to catch the bus to Dunnings. When she got home, Tony was fast asleep – Annie waited until he dropped off before going home to bed herself. Eileen would listen to the wireless for a while or read a book, feeling the day had been most unsatisfactory. She was therefore relieved when the week drew to a close and she could look forward to the early shift again.

On Monday, the younger women compared notes on the various dances and parties they’d been to that weekend. Pauline and Doris had been to a dance at the Rialto, where they’d met a couple of French sailors.

‘My chap kept saying, “wee”, so I thought he had the runs or something,’ Doris complained. ‘I kept showing him where the men’s lavvy was, but it turned out “wee” is French for “yes”.’

There was a screech of laughter and Doris went on, ‘Trouble was, later on, I said “wee” in the wrong place after he took me home. He had his hand up me skirt like a bleeding shot, and there was me, screaming, “Non, non, non”, all over the street, till me dad came out and told him to bugger off back to France.’

‘What happened with your one, Pauline?’ Eileen asked, fascinated by their goings-on. She’d never been to a proper dance, and regretted having missed out on what seemed a uniquely enjoyable experience.

‘Oh, he was all right,’ Pauline sighed. ‘He was satisfied
with
a good old snog. I enjoyed meself, I suppose.’

‘Why don’t y’come with us one Saturday, Eileen?’ Doris suggested. ‘Since the war began, dances are really the gear. With all the servicemen around, there’s always far more fellers than girls, and they’re queuing up to ask for a dance and pleading to take you home.’

‘I’ve got a husband in the army, Doris. I couldn’t possibly let anyone take me home!’ Eileen replied, pretending to be shocked. She’d given the girls no hint of her domestic situation.

‘Get away with you, girl! While the cat’s away, the mice do play, that’s what they say, don’t they? Have a good old time, Eileen, while he’s gone,’ Doris advised sagely. ‘As long as you keep your hand on your half-penny, you’ll be all right.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ laughed Eileen.

Later on, at lunchtime, one of the girls asked, ‘Aren’t you going outside today, Eileen?’

‘It’s too cold,’ she said, and wondered if Nick Stephens would be there, waiting, in his corduroy suit and funny fisherman’s hat. She’d thought about him a lot last week, but still stuck to the decision made that Sunday in Southport not to see him again. It wasn’t just that the feelings she had were so disturbing and she was a married woman – at least a sort of married woman, who’d yet to work out in her muddled brain exactly what her position was, but Nick Stephens was a scientist from London, someone who ordered groceries over the telephone, and she couldn’t for the life of her see what they had in common. It was nothing to do with class. No daughter of Jack Doyle would consider herself worth more, or less, than anybody else. Eileen Costello was as good as the Queen of England. Even so, there had to be a meeting point somewhere between two people, and there was none
between
her and Nick Stephens.

She didn’t go out the following day, either, but thought about him, and wished there was a window she could peep through to see if he was there.

On Wednesday morning, during the tea break, something occurred which the girls talked about for days. The foreman came in, grinning from ear to ear for a change, and carrying a large bouquet of red roses wrapped in cellophane. He was greeted by a chorus of catcalls and Lil began to sing, ‘
Here Comes the Bride
…’

‘Aye aye, Alfie! Getting married are you? Who’s the lucky feller?’

‘D’you want me to give you away, Alfie?’

‘Bagsy me the first night, Alfie. I’ll show you a thing or two.’

The foreman came up to Eileen and laid the flowers on her lathe. ‘Someone left these for you at the front desk.’

‘For me!’ She knew immediately who’d sent them. There was no need to read the white card tucked inside the big red satin bow.

‘Eileen’s got a secret admirer!’

The girls crowded round, eyes shining with curiosity.

‘Get away, youse lot,’ Eileen said, embarrassed.

‘Who are they from?’

Eileen plucked the card out of the bow, curious herself to know what it said. The message was written in a large untidy scrawl.
Where are you? N
.

‘Who’s “N”?’ demanded Doris, reading over Eileen’s shoulder.

‘It’s Neville. Neville Chamberlain’s got a crush on Eileen Costello!’

Carmel was counting the roses. ‘Two dozen. They must have cost a fortune. You’re a dark horse, Eileen. C’mon, who sent them?’

‘I’m not telling you.’ If she so much as dropped a hint, the entire workshop would go out for a look after dinner. Despite their repeated demands, she flatly refused to reveal the identity of the sender.

Fortunately, no-one seemed to notice at dinner-time when she slipped away after a half-eaten meal.

Nick was sitting on the bank directly opposite the canteen door, waiting for her, his large dark eyes dancing with merriment. He was hatless, and his fishing rod was on the ground behind him.

Eileen sat on her side and regarded him thoughtfully. The fluttering sensation had returned to her stomach. ‘You’re a bloody idiot,’ she said eventually.

‘How about, “Thank you for the flowers, Nick”?’ he prompted, grinning broadly.

‘Thank you for the flowers, Nick. But you’re still a bloody idiot. You’ve got the girls going wild in there, wondering who they’re from. I’m a married woman, you know, and I’ve got me reputation to consider.’

In that case, why did she burst out laughing? He seemed to have a perverse, unnatural effect on her.

‘I know you’re a married woman, and you’ve got a little boy called Tony,’ he said with mock gravity. ‘I only sent the flowers because you didn’t come out on Monday and Tuesday as promised. They were a reminder, that’s all.’

‘I didn’t promise any such thing. Anyroad, why didn’t you speak to me the other week when I came out every day?’ she demanded.

‘Because I was in a terrible black mood. That’s why I come fishing, to calm myself down.’

‘Are you in a terrible black mood now?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re here.’

She laughed again. ‘That’s awful funny logic.’

‘I’m an awful funny fellow.’

‘You’re that all right,’ she said dryly. Suddenly, she shivered. She’d forgotten to bring her coat and had nothing on under the overalls except her bra and pants.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, and the concern on his mobile, sensitive face sent her stomach haywire.

‘I’m cold. I forgot me coat.’

‘There’s a pub around the corner. It’s just opened. We could go and have a drink?’

‘No, ta,’ she said quickly. A lot of men from Dunnings went to the pub. If she was seen with Nick, it would be around the factory in a flash.

He must have sensed the reason for her prompt refusal. As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, ‘Why are you so concerned about what other people think?’

Somewhat confused, she replied, ‘Well, you have to be, don’t you?’ She shivered again and to her further confusion, Nick came leaping across the narrow stream, his boots splashing in the rippling water, and sat beside her. Removing his jacket, he placed it around her shoulders.

‘There! Is that better?’ he asked gently. His arm remained, heavy across her. The jacket felt warm from his body.

‘You’ll freeze to death yourself,’ she protested. To her utter consternation, she felt close to tears. No man in the past had ever been so caring and considerate.

‘This is stupid, anyroad,’ she said helplessly.

‘What’s stupid?’

‘Oh, God, I wish you’d stop asking me questions I can’t answer,’ she said impatiently. ‘
This
is stupid.’ Eileen pointed to the jacket. ‘Sending me flowers is
stupid
. Asking me to come out and see you is stupid. There’s no point to it. No point at all.’

‘You’re right, there’s no point to anything.’

She was taken aback by the sheer hopelessness in his voice. Still struggling to hold back her tears, she asked, ‘What d’you mean?’

He laughed bitterly and removed his arm. ‘You should know. It was you who made the observation first.’

‘I meant there was no point to
us
, not … not to the world in general.’ Eileen realised the words were inadequate, but somehow she didn’t have the vocabulary to express her thoughts coherently. She looked at Nick, who was sitting, arms on knees, his head cupped in his long brown hands, staring gloomily at the water.

‘What’s the matter?’ she whispered.

‘What else? The bloody war, that’s what’s the matter.’ He grabbed a tuft of grass and began to examine it closely, as if it held a vital secret. ‘You know what I used to do?’

‘You’ve never told me, have you?’

‘No, I’ve never told you, have I?’ he said in a tight voice. ‘I was building an electronic brain …’

‘A what?’

‘An electronic brain, a machine that thinks. Of course, I wasn’t the only one. There were a dozen of us working on it, and there were other people in other countries doing the same thing. It was so exciting, so worthwhile. We were going to transform the world; alter the way people communicate with each other in a way previously unthinkable. Everyone, everything would benefit; medicine, education, commerce …’ He looked down at her, eyes shining with enthusiasm. Then his expression became contemptuous. His mouth twisted and his anger and bitterness were almost palpable. ‘Do you know what
I’m
doing now?’

‘No,’ said Eileen in a small voice.

‘I’m making booby traps.’

‘Booby traps! D’you mean for animals, like?’

‘No, for people. Bombs disguised as toys, pens, torches, packets of cigarettes. Innocuous little items which will explode when picked up by some unsuspecting German, possibly a child.’

Eileen said in a horrified voice, ‘I wouldn’t have thought our side would sink so low. I can imagine Hitler doing things like that, but not the British.’

Nick smiled sardonically. ‘Where war’s concerned, both sides reach the lowest common denominator. They have no choice. I bet you there’s a secret establishment somewhere in Britain where poison gas is being made.’

‘Never!’ she breathed.

He pulled a face. ‘I told you, there’s no choice. Whatever the enemy has, we must have the same, no matter how evil, in fact, the more evil the better. I suppose you could even say it was a good thing. It’s a deterrent. The Germans won’t drop gas on us if we can drop it on them.’