Put Out the Fires (37 page)

She paused at the half-open door, more angry than she’d ever been in her life, but what a shame the anger was directed at Nick, the man she loved. “I’ve never lied to you, Nick. Me and Francis slept in separate rooms when he came home.” Now it was her turn to gesture around the room. “This can’t mean much to you, either, not if it seems to have completely slipped your mind we made love on Christmas Day. It’s your baby, Nick. You’ll be a father come September. Let’s hope the baby grows up to trust people better than its dad.”

She slammed the door and began to walk along the corridor. The door opened and when she turned, Nick stood there, stark naked. “Eileen!” he called desperately.

“I’m sorry. Come back, please, so we can talk.”

A woman was coming up the stairs. Eileen shook her head. “There’s no point. I’ve said everything I want to say.”

He made a move towards her and she laughed. “You’d better not come another step, Nick, else you might get arrested and end up spending the night in jail.”

Chapter 16

“So,” Jack Doyle said, “you’re back!”

“Seems like it.” It felt rather weird, thought Eileen, as she sat in the living room of her old house. The place seemed very small and cramped and dark, and she kept expecting the walls to close in on her. Through the window, the houses in the street behind seemed much nearer than they’d done before. She was worried she might never get used to it again, or Bootle, after the wide open spaces of Norfolk. Worst of all, there was no sign of Tony; no clothes, no toys, nothing to indicate her son had ever lived. She wasn’t sure if it mightn’t have been better if the things were still there.

“Sheila said we weren’t to expect you till Sunday night. I was surprised to hear you were home.”

“I decided to come yesterday, instead. I spent the night in London, and caught an early train. It wasn’t so crowded, and we weren’t delayed too much.” Last night, Friday, she’d rushed back to the hostel from the hotel, said a quick, tearful goodbye to the girls, and left hurriedly, in case Nick tried to catch up with her.

“How d’you feel?” her dad asked.

“Peculiar, and the house feels peculiar, too.”

“You’ll soon feel at home,” he said warmly. “The Scullys only left last week.”

“I know. I got Sheila’s letter the day I left. You were lucky, Dad. I was intending to plonk meself on you if they’d still been here.”

“I wouldn’t have minded. It seems very quiet without our Sean.”

Eileen glanced around the room. “It all looks very clean.

Nothing’s changed a bit.”

“George Ransome brought over the bits and pieces he was storing, and Sheila put everything back in place. That Scully girl scrubbed the place from top to bottom the day they left.”

Eileen looked at him, eyebrows raised. “That Scully girl?”

Jack Doyle flushed. “Well, she’s nice enough, Alice.

Looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but underneath she’s as hard as bloody nails.”

“I suppose she’s had to be,” Eileen said reasonably. “She sounds like the salt of the earth, looking after five younger brothers and sisters and bringing in the bulk of the money at the same time. Not only that, she’s got her mam ill.

According to Sheila, Mrs Scully’s not long for this world.

I’m surprised at you, Dad. I would have thought Alice is the sort of person you’d admire.”

He nodded. “I do. And I agree with every word you said. I hate to have to admit it, but I’m prejudiced. I just don’t want our Sean hooked with her, that’s all.”

“It might do him good, a bit of responsibility.”

“It might do him harm, an” all. He’s had no life. He’s not long eighteen, yet if he takes up with Alice permanent, it’ll be more than a bit of responsibility he’ll have to cope with.

He’ll have a ready-made family, and if he can’t get another house, Miller’s Bridge is a terrible place to live.”

Eileen laughed. “I hate to say it, Dad, but you actually sound snobbish, as if Alice Scully’s not good enough for our Sean.”

He flushed again, deeper this time. “It’s not like that at all. But everyone likes the best for their children. They want them to be happy most of all, and I can’t see our Sean being happy living in Miller’s Bridge with Alice Scully and her family.”

“Well, there’s nowt you can do about it,” Eileen chided.

“I hope you haven’t said anything about this to Sean. It’ll only make him stubborn if you do. Anyroad, does it look as if it’s likely to be permanent?”

“According to Alice, she’s already had two letters, which is two more .than he ever wrote his dad,’Jack said sourly. ‘But, still, you can never tell with our Sean. He’s a flighty bugger, allus has been. It might just be a flash in the pan. In a few weeks’ time he’ll have taken up with someone else.”

Eileen folded her hands over her stomach. “I suppose I’ll be meeting this Alice pretty soon, and I can make me mind up for meself Jack Doyle, only too glad to change the subject, noticed the protective gesture with her hands. It was something his late wife, Mollie, had done when she was expecting, long before her body showed any sign. “What does Nick think about the baby?” he asked.

“He doesn’t know,” Eileen said airily. She’d written to Sheila and her dad as soon as she’d found out she was pregnant, finding it easier to tell him, at least, in a letter. “I think me and Nick had already reached the end of the road long before I found out I was having a baby.”

“You were never any good at lying.”

Eileen tossed her head, irritated. “If you’re not prepared to accept a lie, I’m not prepared to tell the truth. Anyroad, it’s none of your business.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “Though I can’t keep up with you the last year or so. One minute it’s Francis, next minute it’s Nick, then it isn’t Nick, and . . . I don’t know, it’s like the bloody Hokey-Kokey. It seems to me you’re making a right ould mess of your life.”

“It wasn’t me that dropped the bomb that killed our Tony!”

He stared at her, wishing he could disappear through the floor. Christ Almighty! What a terrible, tactless thing for him to say! Her eyes were bright with anger, yet at the same time, she looked unbearably sad. She was a fine looking woman altogether, his Eileen, and she appeared ten times better than when she’d gone away so wan and pale. Although she’d lost some weight she looked healthy and there was a good colour to her creamy cheeks.

“I’m sorry, luv,” he said gruffly. He seemed to be making a right ould mess of things today. Perhaps it was time to change the subject yet again. He began to talk about something safe, his favourite topic, the war.

“I thought it was going to be all over by June,” Eileen said, after listening to a long tirade of complaints.

Apparently, Hitler seemed unable to put a foot wrong, whereas we couldn’t put one right. “Not that I haven’t heard that before. But people were putting money on it, if I recall.”

“Well, if they did, they wasted it,” Jack said bluntly.

“General Wavell made mincemeat out of the Italians in North Africa, but now the Germans have decided to put in an appearance, we’ve lost nearly everything we gained.

They’ve got a new man, the Jerries, a General Rommell, and although I hate to admit it, he’s a brilliant tactician.

That’s what the British need,” he finished in disgust. “A few German generals.”

“Oh, Dad!”

She settled down, ready for an argument, feeling at last that she was really home. This was one of the things she’d missed when she was away, a goodnatured discussion with her dad about the war, and she sensed he felt the same. But before they’d got much further, there was the sound of the key being drawn through the letter box, and Sheila Reilly came in carrying the most beautiful baby Eileen had ever seen.

“This is Micky Singerman,” Sheila said as proudly as if the baby were her own. “I already told you, I look after him during the afternoons when Ruth’s at work.”

“He’s lovely!” breathed Eileen, holding out her arms.

“And so big! How old is he now?” The baby stared at her fixedly with his dark blue eyes and began to wave his arms and legs with vigour.

“He’s only two months, but acts likes six. He’s never still a minute. None of mine were so active at that age.”

“Nor was Tony.”

Sheila glanced quickly at her sister, but Eileen was still smiling at the baby.

“Well, I’ll be off,” said Jack Doyle. He had no intention of listening to two women drooling over a baby.

“He’s not a bit like Dilys,” Eileen said after Jack had gone. “Has anyone heard from her, by the way?”

“Not a word. But he must have been a looker, the feller who . . . you know. According to Mr Singerman,” Sheila giggled, “he’s the image of Ruth when she was a baby. He even got a photo out once to prove it. He’s getting a bit muddled in his old age.”

“ I must pop over to see him later on.” Eileen chucked the baby under the chin. “Has Ruth done anything more about adopting him?”

Sheila shook her head. “No, she’s terrified of him being taken off her if she contacts anyone ‘in authority’, as she calls it.”

“I don’t know why she’s so bothered. If Dilys wanted her to have the baby, that’s all there is to it.”

“That’s what I keep telling her, but she won’t take any notice. She wants it all done properly, so he’s hers ‘on paper’, I think she said. Dai Evans, being Micky’s grandad, went with Ruth to have him registered, else she wouldn’t have been able to get a ration book without a birth certificate.”

“I’m surprised Ellis would let Dai do such a thing.”

“Ellis doesn’t know. Dai often pops in for a little visit on the quiet. It’s beginning to get Ruth down. She’s in ever such a funny mood lately, really happy because she’s got Michael, but at the same time, she’s an absolute bag of nerves.” Sheila stood up. “Well, I’d better get home and make the tea. I just took all the kids for a long walk around North Park, then I dumped my lot at home. I just thought you’d like a peek at Micky Singerman.”

“I’ll look after him for a little while, if you like, Sheil,”

Eileen offered. “Then you can get the tea ready in peace.”

“Peace! With six hungry children under me feet.”

“You know what I mean. Anyroad, I’d just like to cuddle him for a bit longer. Get a bit of practice in.” She felt reluctant to hand the baby back.

“If you like, luv. Bring him over in about half an hour and have your tea with us. I don’t expect you’ve had time to get any rations in yet.”

Eileen had completely forgotten about food. “I haven’t, which reminds me, I didn’t offer our dad a cup of tea, not ‘that I had any to offer if I’d thought about it.’

“I’ll lend you enough food to see you over the weekend, then you can get your own stuff in on Monday.

Well, tara, Sis. I’ll see you later. Oh, by the way,” Sheila called from the hallway, “have you got your special ration book yet? Expectant mothers have a green one, which entitles them to all sorts of extras, including milk.”

“I need a doctor’s certificate, and the only person I’ve seen so far is a vet! I’ll sort it out next week.”

Sheila departed, and Eileen was left with Micky Singerman all to herself. His tiny fingers fascinated her, so perfectly formed, with little wrinkles around the knuckles, just like an adult’s. She kissed his downy golden head. “In six months’ time, I’m going to have a little baby,” she told him, “except mine will be a girl. You never know, the two of you might get married when you grow up.”

The tea dance in Reece’s on Easter Saturday was particularly crowded. Ruth Singerman, seated at the piano, always found herself amused by the women who wore hats. There seemed to be more hats than usual today, and it was funny to see them bobbing around the floor, particularly the ones with feathers. Sometimes, in the middle of a complicated step, a hat would fall off and be kicked across the floor. All the women were smartly dressed, hat or no hat. Ruth had begun to feel rather drab lately, wearing only dresses that were over twenty years old, the rest brought up to date by a dressmaker she’d found in Marsh Lane. Perhaps it was time she bought one or two new outfits for work. She felt a little ashamed, turning up in the same old things month after month. On the other hand, she had less money in her pocket now there was another mouth to feed, and it was a while since she’d put anything in her bank account for America. If only Brenda Mahon would start dressmaking again, she thought wistfully, and would knock her up a few frocks really cheap.

A man dancing past winked at Ruth over the head of his partner, and she winked back. They were a married couple who came regularly and only danced with each other, so he wouldn’t read anything into the gesture. It was only right and proper that the pianist should look happy and be friendly, but until recently, her attempts to appear sociable had been mechanical and forced. Since Michael had appeared on the scene, however, her responses had been genuine; she was happy, more happy than she’d ever believed possible considering what had happened over the last few years. At the same time, there was the worry that he might not stay hers.

When the interval arrived, Ruth finished Two Sleepy People with a flourish. She stayed where she was, and as people began to disperse to their tables or disappear to buy refreshments, she started to play Liszt’s Liebestraume, one of her favourites. As the beautiful music began to flow through her fingers, Ruth forgot where she was for the moment, as she so often did during the interval. The people eating, talking and smoking in the background, seemed to fade into a grey mist, and she was in the sitting room in Ganz. The piano was situated close to the french windows, which were open, and the curtains were being lifted by a slight breeze. The scent of flowers wafted into the large, high-ceilinged room. A man was speaking to her. Benjy must be home . . .

“I said ‘hallo’.”

Ruth came down to earth, rather exasperated, and ready to dismiss whoever it was as tactfully as she could. Men frequently approached her during the break or after the dance was over to start a conversation which often ended with them asking if they could take her out.

There was something familiar about the tall, blond man who had spoken. Despite the fact the piano was on a dais, he was still tall enough to look down on her. It didn’t take her long to recognise who it was. Matt Smith. No, Matthew Schmidt, she reminded herself. Matthew Schmidt, the German!