Lights Out Liverpool (8 page)

Eileen took a long puff of her cigarette, blew the smoke slowly out and watched it disperse lazily upwards in wavy layers. It didn’t seem right, being so happy. On the other hand, there was a feeling of relief that the uncertainty, the awful waiting, was over and the country knew where it stood. But Eileen knew that wasn’t the real reason for her happiness. Francis had gone. She was alone in the bed.

She giggled, feeling slightly hysterical, and wondered if she was the only woman in the country who was glad to see the back of her husband. Now he’d gone, she’d get herself a job. He’d refused to let her work before, something she’d wanted to do since Tony started school last Easter. ‘I’m not having folks think I don’t earn enough to keep me family on me own,’ he said. But it wasn’t the money Eileen was thinking of – one good thing about Francis, in fact the
only
good thing, was he never kept her short of cash. He liked her and the house to look nice when people came to see him on Corporation business. He’d hand over a few quid, unasked, for her to buy a new frock or a pair of shoes, though he insisted on coming with her and picking out what
he
liked, rather than let her choose for herself. And she was even better off now than when Francis was home. The Mersey Docks & Harbour Board would continue to pay his wages, and she got an allowance from the Army. But Eileen wanted to work for different reasons, reasons she couldn’t quite explain, even to herself; she just felt there should be more to a woman’s life than cooking and cleaning. Annie felt the same. Even when her boys started work and there was no more need to go out scrubbing and cleaning, she’d got herself a part-time job in Woolworths and it wasn’t just for the money. Now that Terry and Joe were away, Annie was
considering
looking for a full-time job.

The door opened and Tony came in, his gun tucked in the waist of his pyjamas and his gas mask over his shoulder.

Eileen smiled. ‘You’re well prepared. God help Hitler if he invades Number Sixteen Pearl Street.’

‘I’ll kill him if he does,’ Tony said stoutly.

‘I know you will, son. Come on, get in bed for a minute while I finish this ciggie.’

His face lit up as he climbed in beside her. ‘Me dad would have a fit if he knew.’

‘Well, what the eye don’t see …’ She put an arm around his shoulders. ‘What shall we do today?’

He looked up at her, puzzled. ‘What d’you mean, Mam?’

‘Well, you’ll be back at school next week. Let’s do something exciting, like go into town.’

‘Honest, Mam? Honest?’ She could feel his body tense with excitement. ‘Can we go on the tram?’

Eileen groaned. ‘It’s much quicker on the train, luv.’

‘I know, but the tram’s more … more …’ He searched for the right word.

‘More noisy, uncomfortable and takes ten times longer?’ she suggested.

‘More
interesting
.’

‘Oh, I suppose so,’ she said with pretend impatience. ‘Now, let’s see. After breakfast, I’ll go over to Auntie Sheila’s and say tara to Cal and then nip round to the Co-op and buy some blackout material. Mr Singerman’s promised to run me curtains up on his machine. When all that’s done, we’ll catch the tram into town. If it weren’t for bloody Hitler, we could’ve gone to the pictures. Shirley Temple was on at the Trocadero in
The Little Princess
. Instead, we’ll go to Pets Corner in Lewis’s – after we’ve
had
our dinner in Lyons.’

‘Oh,
Mam
!’ he sighed blissfully. ‘We mustn’t forget our gas masks.’

‘We won’t,’ she said comfortably. ‘What frock shall I wear? The blue one or the green?’

‘I like the blue one best.’

‘The blue one it is.’ She stubbed the cigarette out in the saucer. ‘Come on, then, Tony Costello! Get your skates on. We’ve got a lot to do today.’

The Co-op appeared to have had a run on blackout material. There was none left in stock. Eileen stood in the middle of the shop, wondering where to try next. She preferred using the Co-op whenever she could. Twenty yards of material at one and eleven a yard meant quite a lot of divi being added to her account. She noticed Miss Brazier, alone and aloof in her cage, and smiled in her direction. The woman smiled stiffly back. Poor ould sod, you could tell it was only shyness that prevented her from being friendly.

Eileen crossed over. It wouldn’t do any harm to exchange a few words. ‘They’ve run out of blackout. I suppose I’ll have to try somewhere else.’

Miss Brazier nodded without speaking. Eileen turned to walk away, when she heard a noise. Miss Brazier was tapping on the glass with a coin. ‘I shouldn’t tell you this, Mrs Costello, because they’ve only got a small amount and they didn’t want a riot, but if you hang on another ten or fifteen minutes, they’ll be bringing out another couple of bolts of material that came in this morning.’

‘Thanks very much. I’ll just go and look at the wool. I want to knit our Tony a jumper.’

‘I’d advise you not buy the crepe. It’s got no give, the rib stretches after a single wearing.’

‘Thanks again.’ Close up, Eileen was surprised to notice that behind the ugly horn-rimmed glasses Miss Brazier’s eyes were quite pretty; a lovely blue, almost violet, with long dark lashes. If only she would do something with her hair and not wear those awful clothes which looked as if they’d belonged to her mother. Emboldened by such an unexpected display of friendliness from a person who normally kept herself very much to herself, she said, ‘Y’know, you’re always welcome to come around our house for a cup of tea on your day off, like, Miss Brazier?’

‘Thank you very much.’ The tone was cold. Miss Brazier seemed to shrink into herself. Eileen had gone too far.

‘And thank you – for telling me about the blackout and the wool,’ Eileen said cheerfully. ‘Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Miss Brazier. Tara.’

Ten minutes later Eileen paid for her material. The money whizzed across the shop in the little metal cannister. She waited for her change, watching Miss Brazier remove the two pound notes, tear off the top half of the bill, and put a handful of coppers back. The woman didn’t look up once. Eileen waved as she left, but Miss Brazier didn’t wave back.

When Eileen got back to Pearl Street, some sort of commotion was going on. Several women were standing outside and one or two were crying.

‘What’s up?’ she asked of nobody in particular.

‘Eh, Eileen!’ Agnes Donovan darted across and seized her arm, anxious to be the first to convey what was obviously bad news. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened. The
Athenia
’s been sunk.’

‘Oh, no!’ gasped Eileen, horrified. ‘What about Mary and Joey and the kids?’

‘No-one knows,’ Aggie said ghoulishly. ‘It was on the Harrisons’ wireless. Over a hundred people were drowned. I expect it was one of them torpedoes.’

‘Has anyone told our Sheila?’

‘I told her meself a while back.’

‘Cal only went back to sea this morning,’ Eileen snapped. ‘I wish you’d kept your big mouth shut for once, Aggie Donovan.’ The woman must have been in her element, running round the street, knocking on doors, telling everyone.

‘She had to know sometime,’ Aggie replied in an aggrieved voice.

‘Well, you should’ve left it to me or me dad to tell her.’ Eileen turned on her heel towards her sister’s house. Somehow, she’d never thought that war would touch them so quickly and so personally. She recalled the day of the party, what a celebration that had been. Someone had said, ‘You’re getting out just in time, Joey.’ But the Flahertys hadn’t got out quick enough. Still, maybe they were all safe and sound, but even so, it must have been a terrible experience and would put a blight on the new life they were so looking forward to.

Sheila’s front door was open as usual, and Ryan and Caitlin were playing in the hall. As Eileen struggled over the gate, she was surprised to hear the sound of laughter coming from the parlour and recognised Annie’s voice.

Eileen paused in the parlour doorway, blinking. ‘What the hell are they?’

Two monstrous contraptions, each made out of a combination of rubber and canvas with a little grille at one end and connected to an attachment similar to a set of bellows, stood on the polished table.

‘Baby gas masks! The District Nurse just brought them.’ Sheila could scarcely speak for laughing.

‘Gerraway! How do they work?’ Eileen approached cautiously. ‘They don’t half look complicated.’

‘They are. In case of an attack, I’ve to put Mary in one and Ryan in the other, like, then pump like bloody hell so they don’t suffocate.’ Tears were running down Sheila’s red cheeks. ‘Trouble is, I can only manage one at a time.’

‘Not only that, Eileen, but she’ll be wearing a gas mask herself.’ Annie was doubled up in mirth. ‘Never mind, Shiel, I’ll shoot over if there’s a gas attack and pump one for you.’

‘That’s if you’re not already dead yourself,’ gasped Sheila.

For some reason, this made them howl. ‘It doesn’t seem the least bit funny to me,’ said Eileen, mystified.

Annie rubbed her eyes. ‘I suppose, luv, it’s just a case of if you don’t laugh, you’ll only cry.’

Then Eileen understood. Cal had gone, Annie’s boys were gone, the
Athenia
had been sunk, and this was how her friend and her sister were coping with their grief, hiding it behind a display of unnatural high spirits over something which wasn’t funny at all. In fact, when you thought about it, baby gas masks were anything but a laughing matter

It was probably the finest kitchen in the finest road in Calderstones, the most exclusive area of Liverpool. Twenty-five feet square, the floors were tiled with cream stone, each square engraved with a brown fleur de lys. The freshly washed floor, the twin cream enamel sinks, the double draining board, the silver taps, all sparkled in the sunshine which came streaming through the long narrow lattice window and the lace curtain lifted gently in the soft afternoon breeze. A large cream refrigerator hummed noisily, a comforting, welcome sound. In pride of place
stood
the Aga cooker. Also cream, it served the central heating system, and a few coals glowed behind the thick glass door. Over the years, several people had come especially to see the Aga, curious to know how it worked before they bought one for themselves, and Jessica Fleming would explain its marvels before finishing off, ‘Of course, it was frightfully expensive.’ People would leave, impressed, not just with the Aga, but with Jessica herself. At forty-three, she was a magnificent woman with a milky, almost dazzling complexion, unusual dark green eyes, and a startling head of red wavy hair. The hair was slightly more red than it had been in her youth, as nowadays Jessica used henna to disguise unwelcome streaks of grey.

Now, sitting in the corner referred to as ‘the nook’, with its gingham-covered table and teak chairs, Jessica regarded her lovely kitchen with a feeling of unmitigated rage. Soon it would no longer be hers. Any day now, she would have to leave Calderstones and the five-bedroomed detached mock-Tudor house would be sold to someone else. Some other woman would soon be sitting here delighting in the sight of the Aga and the cream refrigerator, because the house had been mortgaged to the hilt and the bank wanted their money back.

It had come as a total shock. She hadn’t suspected a thing, but last night, when every other sane person in the country had been discussing the war, Arthur had confessed the company was on its last legs, he’d borrowed thousands. Everything had to go.

‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ she asked, dazed, and as yet uncomprehending of the full nature of their misfortune.

‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Worry me? And what’s all this if it isn’t worrying?
Maybe
I could have done something about it.’

She had a better head for figures than he had, but had thought him capable enough. After all, you didn’t need much of a feel for business to take over the running of a fully-fledged haulage company with several secure contracts and a dependable force of well paid drivers. Her father, who’d started the firm over thirty years ago with a single horse and cart and built it up until there were a dozen lorries, had scarcely any education at all. She stared at her husband with contempt. He was a good-looking man, perhaps more handsome now than when they married, though she’d always known he was weak.

‘I want to see the books, Arthur,’ she demanded angrily.

Jessica noticed his hands were shaking when he laid the books and a brown cardboard folder in front of her. She pored over the accounts for quite a while until she could make sense of things.

‘Why is there such a large amount for petrol? It’s nearly double last year’s?’

‘I don’t know.’ He looked vague.

‘But it doesn’t make sense,’ she said impatiently, ‘We’ve done less work, far less, yet used more petrol. Why, Arthur?’

‘I think some of the drivers have been thieving, siphoning it off,’ he replied eventually. His voice was subdued, ashamed.

‘Our drivers would never rob us.’ She was outraged. ‘Most are my father’s old friends.’

‘For Chrissakes, Jess,’ he said petulantly, ‘they left ages ago. They’re a different lot altogether now. After all, Bert’s been dead over ten years.’

Jessica took a deep breath and returned to the accounts. ‘Why have our insurance premiums leapt up? This is a colossal amount.’

He fidgeted with his Paisley silk tie. He was a conceited man, always concerned with his appearance. He had a penchant for silk; ties, shirts, underwear, and expensive hand-tailored suits. ‘We had quite a lot of claims last year,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Stuff went missing off the lorries …’

‘The drivers again?’ she remarked sarcastically.

‘I suppose it must have been.’

‘You didn’t consider sacking them?’

He squirmed in his seat, but didn’t reply.

‘Or fetching in the police?’

When he still remained silent, she demanded, ‘Why not?’ Then, in a harder voice, ‘Why not, Arthur?’

Incredibly, he looked close to tears. ‘To tell you the truth, I was scared. The drivers, they gang together, and they’re a rough lot.’

‘
You bloody fool!
’ she spat. Had she known, she would have wiped the floor with the drivers, every last one of them.