That Liverpool Girl (44 page)

‘Only doing our job, ma’am.’

‘And he’s only surrendering. You’ll find his mate somewhere outside Chester – he’s dumped his plane, too. Their gunners baled out, but they are Nazis. These two pilots should have a bloody medal, never mind flaming guns pointing at them. You want to watch yourselves, you do. Jessie Turnbull’s husband from the Edge went AWOL and finished up in the loony bin. He wasn’t fit to fight, but did you care? Tried to kill himself. His mam lives down yonder, and so does his wife. Yous lot want talking about.’

Leaning on Phil, Heinrich hopped across the room. He held out his hands to be cuffed. ‘God save your King,’ he said.

‘Are you taking the wee-wee?’ the taller redcap asked.

Hilda decided to be in charge. ‘No, he is not. His grandfather is part Jewish, and although this young pilot’s Jewish blood is greatly diluted, he can’t in conscience take part in the war. The top brass had a meeting, or so I’m told, and decided to allow some part-Jews to be Germans. He’ll have been forced to swear an oath. For him, that oath was a lie. I am proud to know him. Our own royal family are part German.’

‘You what?’ The civilian policeman was scratching his head.

In Hilda’s unspoken opinion, some people didn’t deserve an education. ‘When you have done with your questions, you may return him here if you wish. I will vouch for him, and for his friend, should you find him.’

Heinrich nodded. ‘Günter Friedmann near Chester. He does what I do.’

When they had left, Hilda and Nellie sat close to the fire. For over ten minutes, neither spoke. Then Nellie, who had been thinking hard, aired her opinion. ‘He’s just another evacuee, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, dear. That’s exactly what he is. They had better be good to him, that’s all I can say. He was just a boy, Nellie. Their children are killing our children, and vice versa.’

‘Merry blooming Christmas, eh, Hilda?’

‘I think we deserve a small brandy, Nell.’

‘Don’t bother. Just bring the bottle and a couple of straws. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be unconscious after all that.’

Mam had gone all evangelical. Was that the right word? She’d delivered a sermon down the phone this morning, and its title had been ‘Germans Are Not All Bad’. She’d met a German with a face like an angel, he’d ditched his plane on purpose in the middle of a field, and there were several yards of parachute silk, did Eileen want it? Oh, and happy Christmas Eve.

Eileen chuckled and shook her head in mock despair. She remembered lecturing her mother on this very subject, and Nellie Kennedy’s opinion had changed completely. Mam got worse, she really did. She’d been going on about writing to Mr Churchill regarding the attitude displayed by members of the military police. The words still echoed. ‘Police? Bloody police? They couldn’t direct traffic, couldn’t organize a kiddy’s birthday party. Have you got Mr Churchill’s address?’

‘We gave up corresponding for the duration, Mam,’ had been Eileen’s reply. ‘He’s in a bunker somewhere down London way. Oh, and he’s a bit busy these days.’

Spoodle yapped. Twenty-four hours in this house, and he’d already worked out how to get the two-legged to open the back door. His method of egress seemed unique. Having failed thus far to find his centre of gravity, he had fallen off the step a few times and landed on his head. So he shuffled round, allowing his fat little bottom to hit the ground first. Eileen could not believe the cleverness of so young a creature. Seven weeks old, and he knew already when to turn his back on a cruel world.

He waddled off into his pen, did his duty, returned to the back door. Coming back in was not dignified. He scrabbled and struggled until the woman lifted him in. But he would manage it soon; he was nothing if not dogged in his determination. It was all right here, warm, plenty of grub, nice naps on the old lady’s bed. He panted a smile at Eileen and went off in search of trouble.

Right. It was now or never. Keith had gone to help builders who were still propping up a few houses down the road. Mel was upstairs writing about all the bombs that had fallen in the river last night. Keith had heard it from one of the carpenters; last night had been Manchester’s turn for the bigger, nastier bombs. Now, Eileen would go and do what she had always done for her children – her best. She removed her apron and smoothed the front of her best green suit. The blouse, made from remnants bought by Keith from Bolton Market, was a triumph in pale cream. Her face was on, her shoes were polished; she was ready. The skirt’s waistband was a bit tight, but she’d manage.

She went upstairs to inform Mel that she was in temporary charge of Miss Morrison. ‘Sit and talk to her. I’ll be back in time for tablets. Take Spoodle in with you. She likes Spoodle.’

‘Where are you going, Mam?’

‘Last minute shopping,’ was the delivered lie.

‘Have we any food points left? Or any coupons?’

‘A few.’

‘Right.’ Mel jumped up and stated her intention to find the dog. ‘You should have called him Colander instead of Spoodle. And don’t lie, Mam. You’d never go shopping in those clothes. You’re going to see Gloria.’

‘Get yourself downstairs,’ Eileen said. ‘You’re in charge, and I’m off.’

Outside at last, Eileen straightened her hat and strode determinedly towards her goal. There were things that could be sorted out only by a woman, but this time she was going to hire back-up. She needed Marie. His car wasn’t there. ‘Thank goodness for the sick,’ Eileen muttered as she opened the gate.

Marie answered the door. ‘Hello, Eileen.’ At least they were now on first name terms. They often met in shops, and Eileen delivered her knitting to the WVS on a regular basis, so they were in contact quite frequently.

‘Is Gloria in?’

‘Upstairs.’ Marie widened the doorway to allow her visitor to enter. ‘Perhaps you and I should talk first. What a mess this is, and at the so-called festive season, too. Come through, I’ve made you a small Christmas cake. Don’t ask about ingredients, or I might end up in jail.’

They got through the niceties in seconds – the lovely cake, the weather, rationing, bombs, the propping up of houses. Marie took a sip of tea. ‘She’s as miserable as sin up there in her room.’

‘Snap.’

‘And Peter’s no better. Our girls were such good friends, Eileen. I even had a dream that Gloria would pull up her socks and go to university with Mel. They’re so suited, and they could look after each other. Then Peter put a spanner in the works. Oh, I do hope he’s not going to be like—’ She cut herself off abruptly.

‘Like his father?’ Eileen finished on behalf of her hostess.

Marie nodded sadly. After a brief silence, she decided to fill Eileen in about all that had happened in recent months. She had learned about her own past and was now aware of all the facts. An uncle, long dead, had stolen her childhood. Marriage had not suited her, and Tom had been a brute. ‘He wanted you. It was written all over his face that first day – remember? We had Madeira cake?’

Eileen lowered her head for a moment. Denial would be completely inappropriate; this was an intelligent woman who deserved truth. ‘Sorry about your childhood, Marie. And yes. He nearly got me, but I value myself too highly because of my family, mostly my kids. He is a very attractive and desirable man. My opinion is that he’s never been technically unfaithful to you, because he wouldn’t risk his standing in the community. Selfish, isn’t he?’

Marie’s smile was almost radiant. She had found pleasure. She was now using him just as he had used her. ‘I do love him,’ she admitted. ‘But sometimes I don’t like him one bit.’ She hid her blushing cheeks with both hands. ‘Now I’ve learned the mechanics of everything, I enjoy him.’ These words were blurred slightly by her fingers. ‘And I think he’s aware that I’m inwardly critical of his performances. There’s a chance I might start awarding marks out of ten.’

Eileen made a remark about a shoe and a foot, and both women had to stifle their laughter when Marie became rather anatomical and almost vulgar. She had never before enjoyed the kind of bawdy chat so treasured by females when free of their partners. Men were supposed to be the ones with crude minds, while women were expected to be gentle, careful and sweet.

‘. . . so she booked him in at the vet’s.’ Eileen was nearing the end of a ridiculous Scotland Road fable about a man whose body was unusual. ‘Their name comes up, and they go in the surgery. Finally, soft lad sees all the pictures of dogs and cats on the walls, and realizes he’s not in the doctor’s. And she says to him, “Look, either that goes or I go. There isn’t room for three in our bed.”’

‘So what happened?’ Marie asked.

Eileen shrugged. ‘Some say the vet did the job, some say the wife did it with pinking shears – well, she didn’t want his wotsit to fray, did she? I’ve heard he emigrated to Australia, that he joined a freak show, that they got divorced.’

Marie threw her pinafore over her head and howled. Women could do this talking thing. They didn’t need to be propped up in the corner of a taproom, pint of ale in one hand, cigarette in the other. All she and Eileen required was tea and the comfort gained from opening up minds and hearts at a dining table.

Eileen was enjoying herself. She’d seldom had a close personal friend, because, like ugly people, the unusually pretty were to be avoided. Today, she had come to plead for her daughter, and she had gained something for herself. ‘You’ve come on a lot, Marie Bingley. From mouse to lioness is quite a stride.’

‘I have an admirer, too,’ Marie whispered. ‘He’s pleasant, older than God, on the plump side and with beautiful pianist’s hands, but he’s very, very boring. Tom is never that. In fact, he’s probably the most exciting creature I’ve ever known, because I’m never sure. I don’t know where he’s been, what he’s done, who he imagines I am while we’re making love. Since I finished the treatment, I manage not to mind, because I can be selfish. It’s my turn now.’

‘Not before time.’

‘Are you sure? Am I not being terrible?’

Eileen shrugged. ‘No. Like I said, the shoe’s on a different foot.’

‘Don’t start that again. You know where that shoe took us a few minutes ago. If I laugh any more, I’ll need to rearrange some underwear.’

‘Oh, I know what you mean. I once laughed so hard my waters broke. And I wasn’t even pregnant at the time.’

Gloria walked in to gales of laughter. She stood in the doorway, folded her arms and glared at not one but two out-of-order mothers who didn’t care in the least about her tragic life. Her very, very best friend had let her down in the worst sense. Her brother, her twin brother, was an oinker, a pig who had tried to have sex with said very, very best friend. And people thought it was funny?

Marie mopped her eyes. ‘Sorry, darling. I know you’re miserable, but we were just letting our hair down a little. We’re feeling the strain, you see.’

‘Sorry about that.’

Eileen stood up. ‘Right. Coat on, please. You’re coming with me. You have to meet Spoodle, who’s gorgeous, and I’m sure my daughter, also gorgeous but sulking, would love to see you.’

‘Then why didn’t she come here?’

The visitor marshalled her thoughts. ‘She’s looking after Miss Morrison and trying to train Spoodle. I came here to fetch you because you have more sense than Mel does. She might be brainy, but she can be daft.’

Both women held their breath while Gloria chewed thoughtfully on a fingernail. ‘Then you go and change places with her; tell her to come here.’

The mothers looked at each other. ‘Gloria, you will go with Mrs . . . Mrs Greenhalgh. She didn’t need to come here, you know. She could have left us with a completely rotten Christmas. As things are, your brother’s here, and you don’t want him listening while you try to mend a broken fence.’

The girl started to fiddle with her hair. It was a habit repeated whenever she was perturbed. ‘I did a bad thing.’

‘I know,’ chorused Marie and Eileen. ‘Miss Clever Clogs will have an answer to that,’ continued Mel’s mother. ‘God knows she’s got one for everything else. I’m sick to death of getting educated by my own daughter. She’s into silly ancient laws now, Marie. Anyone in Chester can kill anyone from Wales as long as they do it with an arrow at midnight on a Sunday – something like that. Can you imagine shooting straight in pitch black? And why stop at the Welsh, for God’s sake?’

A strange noise emerged from the youngest member of the meeting. Gloria was trying not to laugh. She turned hurriedly and quit the scene.

Marie put a finger to her lips. Like most people, she knew all the sounds belonging to her house, and could identify and explain the slightest creak. Her shoulders relaxed. ‘Getting her coat,’ she mouthed.

‘Now for chapter two,’ came Eileen’s quiet reply.

‘Onward Christian solders. I’ll put your cake in a box.’

Betty was a boon. She was as quiet as the grave, had been in service since leaving school, and seemed able to do the job of a gallon while furnished with just a pint. When asked about her excellent cooking, she replied by saying that she made it up as she went along. Except for Mr Collins’s meals. Mr Collins’s allocated points were pinned to the wall next to the oven, and they became known as Betty’s Bible.

Furthermore, she cared about ‘her’ family, even going so far as to travel to Bolton to collect tins of National Dried for Maisie, who had been drinking her mother dry. She took complete charge of the binding of Gill’s breasts with bandages and, when Gill was tempted to remove these supports, it was Betty who stepped in. Yes, the breasts were hard and sore, but Maisie was fine on powdered milk, and that was going to be an end to it. ‘Time you stopped feeling like a cow wanting milking. I’ve done this for my mother several times. You’ll get through it.’