The Seven Streets of Liverpool (20 page)

Doria’s baby was a tough little thing. He looked more like an Albert or a Tommy than a Theo; Eileen refused to say the name in full. He didn’t cry much, but used his fists and feet a lot, forever punching and kicking the air as if he was having a battle with it. His tight little face bore a permanent scowl, but she knew that very soon he would smile. Doria expressed the opinion that he was ugly.

‘And I didn’t think about it before,’ she said, ‘but I would have much preferred a girl, so I could dress her in pretty clothes. I might even have been able to make her a frock, but I can’t manage little boys’ clothes.’

Eileen wished with all her heart that Doria would soon go and take her baby with her. She was gradually falling in love with Theo, and Nicky was becoming fond of him too.

‘Is he my brother, Mum?’ he enquired.

‘No, love.’ Eileen felt forced to deny it, even though in reality Theo and Nicky were half-brothers. She wondered if Nick would be in contact with Doria to enquire about the baby he had fathered, but of course he had no idea where she was living. Eileen had telephoned Peter, in Wimbledon, to tell him he had a nephew, and he had promised to let her know should Nick try to get in touch with Doria there.

‘I miss you,’ he’d said. ‘It’s ages since we’ve seen each other. I don’t fancy coming while Doria’s there.’

She wanted to see him too. She hadn’t forgotten how handsome he was, and rather fancied a bit of romance in her life, even if it wasn’t the passionate, breathless sort she had known with Nick. It would be a change to have someone tell her she looked pretty, someone who wasn’t Brenda or Sheila; someone who admired her dress or the way she’d done her hair.

As the days and weeks passed, she continued to pray that Doria would soon disappear from her life, yet all the time she became fonder of Theo. She loved the way he snuggled his little head against her neck, just below her ear, and she could feel his baby heart beating near her own.

If only life would stop being so confusing!

It was August, and Phyllis had already received a Government Works Order requiring her to present herself at the Labour Exchange in Renshaw Street the week before her birthday. She arrived promptly for her appointment at 2 p.m., and announced that it was her wish to join the forces.

‘The army is my favourite,’ she emphasised to the fifty-ish woman behind the counter. ‘I’d love to be posted to Normandy.’

‘I’m afraid it’s nothing to do with me, Miss Taylor,’ the woman informed her. ‘But wherever it is, and whatever you end up doing, it’s bound to be interesting. I wish I were young enough to join up,’ she said longingly. ‘I wouldn’t care where I was sent.’

‘Well neither do I, not really,’ Phyllis said. ‘Anywhere will do.’ She signed the appropriate forms and was told she’d hear back within a fortnight.

She was leaving the Labour Exchange when she came face to face with Doria, who was coming in. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she gasped.

‘I have an appointment. I’m joining the army, like you.’ Doria grabbed her shoulders, twisted her around and they did a little jig. ‘I told you ages ago, didn’t I, that that was what I intended doing. When you told me you’d made an appointment, I telephoned and made the one after yours.’

‘But I never dreamt you
meant
it. What about Theo?’

‘Eileen has agreed to look after him – we had a long discussion the other day. It’s only until the war is over, then I’ll come straight home, collect Theo, and we’ll go and live somewhere in London; it’s my favourite place.’

‘And Eileen doesn’t mind?’

‘No, she adores Theo. Have you seen the look on her face when she nurses him?’

‘Yes.’ Phyllis thought it very sad. She wasn’t surprised that Eileen had agreed to have Theo, even if it would only be for a matter of months. But she would find it even more difficult to part with him then than she would now. For all Phyllis considered Doria to be her best and closest friend, she thought she was being opportunistic, taking advantage of the woman who had offered her sanctuary in the last weeks of her pregnancy.

‘Shall I wait for you here?’ she asked outside the Labour Exchange.

‘Yes
please
,’ Doria said eagerly. ‘Then we can go somewhere and have a coffee.’

They went to the Kardomah in Bold Street. ‘I asked the woman behind the desk at the Labour Exchange if we could be sent to the same place to do our training,’ Doria said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Gosh, no. I think it would be marvellous if we stayed together.’

‘She said it wasn’t up to her, but as we were joining the army at exactly the same time, it was likely that we would.’ She rubbed her hands together excitedly. ‘I’m really looking forward to it. It’s been a horrible year.’

‘I wouldn’t call it horrible ending up with a baby like Theobald,’ Phyllis said primly.

‘That’s because you’re so much nicer than me, much kinder, less selfish. But the day will come,’ Doria said happily, ‘when I shall be an absolutely perfect mother.’

‘What about being a perfect wife as well?’

‘A perfect wife, too.’ Doria still had a few secrets her new friend had yet to learn about. ‘Oh, and please don’t mention to anyone about me joining up, will you? Eileen wants it to be kept a secret until it actually happens. She’s worried that people might try and talk her out of it. And don’t you speak to her either. She’ll be annoyed I’ve told you.’

Phyllis promised she wouldn’t breathe a word to a soul.

It was terribly sad. Sad that Winifred was obliged to move back to Beverley a few days before her daughter’s birthday in August; sad for Lena Newton, who would only have Phyllis staying with her for a few days when she’d hoped she would be there for weeks. It was sad for everyone except Phyllis herself, who had received her call-up papers and was really looking forward to a new life in the army. She had to present herself at Colchester barracks in Essex in ten days’ time before being directed to the place where she would be trained.

Doria had also received her call-up papers with the same instructions, but Phyllis was the only one who knew.

Nick Stephens had been living in a single-storey bed-and-breakfast establishment on the lonely Norfolk coast for close to six weeks. It was called Windward Ho and was run by a retired white-bearded naval man called Clarence Baines and his daughter, Mary, who was a potter. Her skilfully made vases, ornamental plates and statues were on sale in a shop-cum-studio at the rear of the premises. Customers could choose what to buy while watching Mary at work. She was a hefty, shapely woman with short curly hair that Nick had once witnessed her cutting herself without a mirror. He presumed she just wanted it short and didn’t care what it looked like. Her face might have been regarded as beautiful if it hadn’t been for the skin that had been roughened by too much sun, wind and rain over the years. She never wore make-up, and Nick doubted if she ever had. The contents of her wardrobe consisted of half a dozen home-made dirndl skirts, some hand-knitted jumpers and a man’s pea jacket for when the days were chilly.

On sunny days, tables and chairs were set out on the shingle beach outside the shop, where tea, coffee, sandwiches and scones were on sale.

In the darkness of the night and when the sun rose and there was no one about, the tide could be heard coming in or going out, racing through the stones, making a subtle rattling noise that Nick found soothing, though he could imagine there was a time, only recently, when the noise would have driven him mad, because it never stopped; never.

In all the weeks he had been there, not another soul had taken advantage of the bed-and-breakfast side of the business. He had been the only guest, though plenty of holidaymakers visited the shop to buy Mary’s attractive ornaments or partake of the refreshments.

‘When will you be thinking of moving on, Nick?’ Clarence enquired while they were having their evening meal one day late in August.

‘I wasn’t thinking of moving on.’ Nick felt a moment of panic. Was the establishment closing for business now that the holiday season was nearing its end? He couldn’t ever imagine wanting to leave this peaceful place.

Clarence hastened to reassure him. ‘I was just expecting you to be off somewhere on your travels one day.’ He had a faint Yorkshire accent, but had never talked about his past. Neither had Nick.

‘One day, maybe; but not yet. I’m perfectly happy here.’ Not ecstatically happy as he had once been with Eileen and Nicky, but quietly happy; relaxed.

‘Well, me and Mary are perfectly happy having you.’ Clarence held up a bottle of whisky, inviting Nick to have a sup, as he called it.

‘No thanks.’ In London, he had almost become a drunkard as his troubles piled on top of him. Now, looking back, the troubles didn’t seem all that onerous. He worried, slightly, about his wife and son, but there were plenty of friends and relatives to care for them should they be needed. As for Doria, the Christmas he had spent with her in Wimbledon had shown that her parents were actually pleased that she was expecting his baby. He wondered if she’d had a boy or a girl, but didn’t dwell on it for long.

Mary now spoke in her low, husky voice. She had made the meal, an extremely tasty fish pie with boiled potatoes and carrots. Although a plain cook, she was very good at it. ‘Would you like another helping, Nick, or just a pudding?’

‘Just a pudding, please. If I had second helpings every day, I’d be as big as a house in no time.’

At that, a hint of a smile came to her weather-beaten face. As far as Nick was concerned, she didn’t possess an ounce of sex appeal. Indeed, he considered her rather mannish. ‘Just a pudding, then.’ She ladled jelly and custard into a bowl and handed it to him. Clarence accepted a second helping of fish pie. He was a small, slight individual who gave the impression of being half starved despite eating like a horse.

The meal over, Mary cleared the table, taking the dishes into the kitchen to wash. Clarence lit two oil lamps, placing one on a small table beside Nick and the other beside himself. He produced a book and began to read, and Nick did the same – a library book borrowed from Cromer library called
The Antiquary
, by Sir Walter Scott; it was his intention to read all twelve of the author’s Waverley novels. Mary didn’t return, and the two men hardly exchanged a word until almost ten o’clock, when Nick put a marker in the book, closed it, and announced that he was ready for bed.

‘Good night, lad,’ Clarence said. ‘See you in the morning. Oh, and don’t forget to take that lamp with you in case you want to read upstairs.’

‘I will,’ Nick replied. They had the same exchange every single night. ‘Good night, Clarence. And say good night to Mary when she comes back.’

Eileen woke to the sound of a baby crying. Unsurprisingly, it was coming from the next room, where Doria and Theo slept. She lay for quite a while wondering why Doria hadn’t picked her son up to comfort him. It wasn’t like her to sleep in.

Nicky had woken up too. ‘Theo’s upset, Mum. Can I go and talk to him?’

‘All right, luv. We’ll both go.’

She got out of bed and took Nicky’s hand, and together they knocked on the door of the adjoining bedroom. Theo stopped crying for a second or so, then began again, even louder, when nothing happened. Eileen opened the door and they went in to find Doria’s bed empty.

‘She must be in the bathroom,’ she muttered. In Nicky’s old cot, Theo’s little arms and legs were waving furiously and his face was red with anger. He ceased crying the minute Eileen picked him up and he buried his head in her neck.

‘You little treasure,’ she whispered.

‘Was I a little treasure once, Mum?’

‘Yes, and you’re a bigger treasure now,’ Eileen told her son. ‘Let’s try and find Doria.’ She knocked on the bathroom door, but there was no answer and when she opened the door, the room was empty.

She was about to close the door, but paused. The bathroom looked unnaturally tidy and her heart lurched when she realised that all Doria’s bits and pieces had gone off the windowsill, her jars and bottles of this and that, and her towel was no longer hanging on the hook behind the door.

She hurried back into the bedroom to find that most of Doria’s clothes had gone too, as well as her suitcase. All that was left were the maternity clothes, which had been left in a heap in the bottom of the wardrobe.

Doria must have crept away in the middle of the night, leaving her baby with Eileen. When Eileen went downstairs, she found a note on the dining room table confirming her suspicious.

Dear Eileen, I hope you don’t mind, but I have joined the army with Phyllis. We should be halfway to London on the train by the time you read this. I promise I shall return for Theobald the very minute the war is over.

With love and thanks for all you have done for me.

Doria. xxx

‘And all I am about to do,’ Eileen added in a whisper.

‘What a flaming cheek!’ Sheila gasped when Eileen showed her the letter about two hours later. ‘Would you have said no if she’d asked?’ she enquired.

‘Of course I would!’ Eileen said indignantly. ‘I’m not a bloody nursemaid. I wondered why she kept getting up early – she claimed she was waiting for a letter. A couple came, but she didn’t say who they were from.’

‘He’s a lovely baby, though,’ Sheila said. She reached out and chucked Theo under his little round chin.

‘He is,’ Eileen agreed. ‘It’s just that he’s not
mine
. I’m already half in love with him. How will I feel when madam turns up in a year’s time wanting him back?’

‘There is that,’ her sister agreed. ‘Can I hold him a minute?’

‘You can have him for more than a minute,’ Eileen said. She transferred the baby to her sister’s knee and immediately missed the weight, the feel and the smell of him. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Give us him back. I feel I want to move somewhere like Australia so we won’t be around when Doria comes to collect him.’

‘It’s an awful thing to happen,’ Sheila said soberly. ‘Messing about like that with your own kid’s life. I suppose Phyllis must have known what Doria was up to. They became bosom friends within the first five minutes and they’ve joined up together.’