Put Out the Fires (39 page)

“Is this some sort of a joke?” Ruth said eventually.

“It would be a pretty lousy joke if it were.”

“But it’s crazy. The whole thing’s completely crazy. I can’t believe it’s not a joke.” Perhaps it was April Fool’s Day? But that was long past. She began to fumble for her gloves, her bag. Almost in tears with embarrassment and irritation and the conviction she was being made a fool of, she again got up to leave, but once again Matt reached out and clasped her arm firmly to prevent her.

“It’s not a joke, Ruth, I assure you,” he said brusquely, “but you want to adopt a baby and you need a husband.

Jack Doyle told me.”

She could have killed Jacob on the spot if he’d been there. He was nothing but an old gossip, telling everyone about her affairs. And Jack Doyle wasn’t much better, nor Matt Smith, come to that. Yet men were always ridiculing women for gossiping.

“It’s a stupid idea,” she said flatly. “As if I’d marry someone I scarcely knew.”

Matt actually had the nerve to look impatient. “It wouldn’t be a real marriage, naturally. There’ll never be another woman for me after Maria. I would expect nothing from you, and all you’ll get from me is my name, my status as a husband, a father for your child. We can divorce as soon as the adoption papers have been signed, or we can stay married if that suits you better. It would be entirely up to you.”

“And what makes you so saintly?” She still felt convinced it was some sort of cruel jest. “There must be something in it for you.”

He frowned deeply, and after a while gave an almost imperceptible nod. “You’re right, there is. I hadn’t thought about it before, but I would feel of some use on this earth. I feel no use at all at the moment.”

“You’re much younger than me. I’m forty-one.”

He spread his hands, palms upwards, in a gesture that reminded her a little of Jacob. “I’m thirty-two, but what does that matter?”

She supposed it didn’t matter at all under the circumstances.

“Why would staying married suit me better?”

“Jack told me you were saving to go to America in search of your children. I wouldn’t mind visiting America myself, and it might be sensible, and easier, to go together.

I have dozens of contacts in the States, mainly refugee groups: religious, political, national.”

“Is there anything about me you don’t know?” she said irritably.

“I doubt it. Everyone seems to know everything about everybody in Liverpool. I have a terrible job myself, fending people off with lies.”

“I know what you mean,” she said drily. “Where would we live if we were married?”

“Where we’re living now. Nothing would change, except your name.”

“I would never want . . . I mean, I couldn’t bear to . . . ” She paused, embarrassed.

“Neither would I!” Matt Smith said emphatically.

Ruth put her elbows on the table and sank her chin into her hands. The whole thing made sense in a crazy sort of way. After all, she had nothing to lose and an awful lot to gain. It would be a married couple applying to adopt Michael, and according to Kate Thomas that would be the best possible thing. But even so, it was a tremendous step to take, marrying a man who was almost a complete stranger.

She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “It’s kind of you to offer, more than kind, but I’m afraid the answer’s no.

Eileen Costello was sitting with Jacob when Ruth arrived home, Michael fast asleep in her arms. Ruth seized him jealously. “How’s he been?” she asked.

“No trouble at all, except he’s half kicked me to death.

Going to be a footballer when he grows up, I reckon.”

“No, he’s not. He’s going to be a pianist.” Ruth hugged the baby fiercely. “Are you all right, Dad?” Jacob was half asleep and hadn’t even noticed she’d come in.

He blinked awake. “Oh, it’s you, love. I’d better get the tea ready.”

“It’s all right, Dad. I’ll do it in a minute.”

“I’ll put the kettle on, at least.”

Ruth watched worriedly as he shuffled into the kitchen, noticing the way he grasped the table then the doorpost to keep his balance. “He’s not been so well lately. He has good days and bad. There are times when he’s just like his old self, full of beans and mischief. Other times . . . ”

“I’ve noticed.” Eileen had been shocked at the deterioration in the old man, not quite so much physically, but mentally. When she first turned up, he hadn’t recognised her. Even now, it seemed to take an effort to remember who she was, and when he did, he kept asking about Tony. “Where is he? It’s a long time since we’ve played cards.”

“I’ll be off,” she said. “It was me who brought Michael home, and I thought it wise to stay till you got back, your dad being asleep like.” Ruth took exception to the baby being called Micky. “By the way,” she said, aware she was about to drop a bombshell. “Dai Evans called in not long ago. He wants to take Michael across the water to New Brighton tomorrow. Ellis and Myfanwy have gone to Wales for the weekend.”

Ruth’s reaction was even more shocked than Eileen had expected. “He what?” Every scrap of colour drained from her face. She squeezed the baby so tightly in her arms that he began to whimper. Jacob came shuffling back with the kettle and placed it on the hob to boil. He sank into his chair and immediately began to doze.

“C’mon, girl, sit down a minute.” Eileen led Ruth to the other armchair. “I’ll make you a cup of tea once the water’s boiled.” Ruth was almost too choked up to speak. “Is that how he put it?” she asked hoarsely. “He didn’t ask if he could take Michael, just said he wanted to, as if he had the right?”

“I suppose he did.” Eileen understood Ruth’s distress, but tried to sound reasonable. “After all, he is the baby’s grandad.”

“Even so, he can’t just demand to take Michael out whenever he feels like it.” Ruth was close to hysteria.

“Would Sheila let your dad take her children out if it didn’t suit her?”

“No, girl, but you see, Sheila’s their mam . . . ”

“And I’m not Michael’s! Oh!” Ruth began to unbutton Michael’s matinee jacket with trembling fingers. “I’ve got no rights, have I? Legally, he belongs more to Dai than he does to me.”

“What are you doing, luv?” asked Eileen.

“I don’t know.” Ruth burst into tears. “I don’t know.”

“Dai only wants to take Michael to New Brighton. He won’t be gone for long.”

“What if he gets drunk? He’s always drunk. What if the pram goes over the side of the boat? The pram!” Ruth looked triumphant. “That’s it! I won’t let him have the pram! I’ll tell him if he wants to take Michael out he must find his own pram.”

“That’s being silly, luv,” Eileen said gently. “You don’t want to start rubbing Dai up the wrong way. He’s just fond of the baby, that’s all. Michael’s his first grandchild.”

“He’s getting too fond. He sneaks in the back on his way to the pub almost every night and insists on picking Michael up, even when I’ve just got him to sleep. The other night, he came in again on his way home, drunk as a lord, and acted really maudlin. It was sickening.” Ruth wiped her cheeks with the corner of the baby’s shawl and looked down at him, eyes red with weeping. “I couldn’t bear it if he was taken off me.”

“Frankly, Ruth, I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.” Eileen didn’t, actually. She would have acted exactly the same in Ruth’s place, but felt it was best to try and calm the woman’s fears.

Jacob started to snore, entirely unaware of the drama taking place in his living room, just as Snowy, now fully grown, sauntered in from the parlour. He jumped on Jacob’s stomach and began to purr.

Ruth whispered, “What if Dai gets so fond of Michael, he talks Ellis into having him?”

“You don’t know Ellis, luv. There’s not much chance of that.”

But Ruth scarcely heard. “Grandparents would always be given preference when it comes right down to it.”

“Don’t forget, luv, it was you who Dilys wanted to have her baby, so you should be given preference over everybody else.”

“Yes, but there’s only my word for that!”

“In that case, you’d better find out where Dilys is and get it in writing. Did she say where she was going?”

“She intended joining the WRENs. I suppose I could write to the Admiralty in London.”

“The WRENs’d never take her,” Eileen said bluntly.

“She’s too bloody thick!”

“Then where is she?” Ruth cried frantically.

Eileen shrugged. “God knows! I suppose you could still write. If she applied, they might still have her address.

You could try the ATS and the WAAF, as well - not to mention the Land Army.”

“I’ll write everywhere I can think of,” muttered Ruth.

“As for tomorrer, I know what to do,” Eileen said triumphantly. “We’ll go out early, all of us; Michael, Jacob, you and me. Then, if Dai comes round there’ll be no-one in. If he says anything later, tell him you’d already planned a day out. Once Ellis is back, he won’t have an opportunity to ask for Michael again.”

“But you said Ellis had gone for the entire weekend. What about Monday? Dai might . . . ”

“No he won’t, because we won’t be here. We’ll stay away the entire weekend.”

“Where?” asked Ruth dazedly.

“Remember the cottage in Melling I went to at Christmas? It belongs to . . . to a sort of friend. He won’t be there, and he won’t mind us using it. We’ll spend the ‘weekend in Melling. I’ve been dying to go ever since I got back from Norfolk.’

Sheila decided to come with them when she heard the news, though only for the day. “We’ll all go to early Mass no, we won’t, we’ll go to Mass in Melling,” she said delightedly. “I love that little church. It’ll make a nice change, and it’s a real treat, going out on Easter Sunday.”

“We’ll have to go by train, what with all the prams. It means changing trains at Kirkdale for one to Kirkby, then it’s a bit of a walk through to Melling.”

“The kids’ll love that.” She looked even more delighted. “The little ‘uns have never been on a train before.’

On Sunday morning, the rising sun was hazy in a milky blue sky when Eileen Costello opened the blackout curtains. It was going to be a lovely day, though the air felt slightly chilly.

“Ne’er cast a clout till May be out,” she murmured to herself as she put a cardigan on underneath her coat.

To her joy, her dad came out of Sheila’s house when she called shortly afterwards with Ruth, Jacob and Michael already in tow.

“I thought I’d come and take a look at the garden,” he said gruffly. “It’s a shame to see all that land go to waste.

After all, we’re supposed to “Dig for Victory’, aren’t we?”

He’d been to the cottage before, last summer, to help get it ready for when she and Nick moved in.

“That’s right, Dad. Y’know, Nick would never mind if you tended the garden properly. You could go as often as you wanted.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about what Nick would and wouldn’t mind, considering you two have broken up!” he commented drily.

The children were almost delirious with excitement when they reached Kirkdale and discovered a steam train took them to Kirkby. It had little narrow compartments, when meant the party could have one all to themselves.

They flung themselves backwards and forwards against the plush seats, but their grandad put his foot down when Dominic and Niall began to swing from the luggage rack.

“Sit down, the pair o’yis,” he snapped. “Behave yourselves.

You’ll have people next door complaining the way you’re carrying on.”

“But there isn’t anyone next door, Grandad. The train’s almost empty,” Niall pointed out.

“Do what your grandad says,” Sheila said sharply, “else you’ll have us all thrown off.”

Ruth Singerman sat in the corner, keeping Michael’s head safely shielded from the boisterous children, determined that he would never behave so badly when he grew up, entirely forgetting that Simon had been much worse when he was Dominic and Niall’s age. Jacob, wide awake—it was one of his good days—stared out of the window, fascinated.

“Countryside! See, Mary.” He picked up Sheila’s youngest child and sat her on his knee. “See, green fields and cows. I never dreamt there was countryside so close to home. In all the years I’ve lived in Bootle, I’ve never been this far out before.”

The cottage looked neglected and unlived-in. Ivy had begun to creep over the front door and the downstairs windows, and the inside smelt damp. Eileen lit the fire, whilst Sheila put the kettle on, and the children poured out of the back door, whooping with joy, closely followed by Jack Doyle, who couldn’t wait to get started on the garden. When Eileen went into the back kitchen, he was already turning over the earth with an ancient spade from the outhouse, and Jacob was watching with interest.

“It might be warm enough to sit outside later on,” she said.

“I feel awful about Dai,” Ruth said when Eileen took her a cup of tea. “I really overreacted, didn’t I? Perhaps I should have put a note through the door telling him we’d already arranged to go out.”

“He’ll be taking advantage of Ellis being away and having a good lie-in to sleep off last night’s beer. You never know, he might have forgotten all about New Brighton.”

“I hope so. He really loves Michael. I know I’m being selfish, but at the same time, I’m terrified he’ll take him away.”

“Stop worrying!” Eileen chided. “Where’s Michael’s bottle? I’ll make it before we leave for Mass.”

“It’s all right, I’ll do it,” Ruth said quickly. “I know exactly how much evap and water to put in.” If Eileen made Michael’s bottle, she might want to feed him.

“There’s plenty of water in the kettle. It’s already boiled.”

“Will your father be going to church?” Ruth wanted a word in private with Jack Doyle.

Eileen burst out laughing. “Not likely! Me dad’s an atheist. He can only be persuaded to set foot inside a church for a wedding or a funeral. Soon after me mam died, he tried to talk our Sheila and me out of going, but it was too late by then. We’d already been brainwashed, as he put it.”

Later, Michael asleep in the single bed upstairs, and Eileen and Sheila and the children having left for Mass, Ruth went down the garden to see Jack Doyle. Jacob was standing in the middle of the garden, his hands in his pockets, staring around in wonder.