The Mersey Daughter Page 19

  The sound of the accordion had stopped and now the door to her parents’ house swung open and Pop stepped out, his silver hair vivid against the dark brickwork. With a huge rush of relief, Rita ran across to him, waving eagerly. ‘Pop! I was just coming to see you.’

  He looked up with a big smile on his face and held out his arms. He’d never been shy of showing affection to his daughters, and Rita, with her courage and steadfastness, held a special place in his heart. ‘Coming to see your old dad, were you?’ he grinned, giving her a hug. ‘How can I help you?’ He took a closer look at her face. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, everything’s fine.’ Then she stopped herself. ‘I’m being silly and imagining things. I thought for a moment someone called my name back there, but there’s nobody about.’

  Pop looked at her with affection. ‘You’re probably just tired,’ he said. ‘We all know how hard you work. You hold everything together, don’t think we can’t see what effort it all takes.’ And that feckless husband of yours hasn’t helped, he thought to himself, but didn’t say out loud. At least when the man wasn’t here, he couldn’t mistreat his beloved eldest daughter. ‘What can I do for you today, then?’

  Rita could feel herself relaxing from her moment of fear. ‘I was just wondering about when I could go to the farm next …’

  Pop put his strong arm around her shoulder and ushered her through the front door. Behind the opposite wall, a figure let out an exasperated breath and swore softly.

  ‘I call it the Curse of Cavendish.’ Laura strode angrily across the dormitory and glared out of the window at the fading skyline. ‘Do we see any enemy aircraft? No. Any ack-ack guns? No. Any burning buildings, even? No. Not a trace. And yet it’s an emergency, and yet again I am to give up my precious evening off for Captain Blooming Cavendish and his ever-insistent desire to be ferried across our capital city.’

  Kitty sighed in sympathy for her friend. ‘It’s rotten luck, Laura, but you can’t do anything about it. That’s the lot of being a driver. He must rate you highly, if he asks for you specifically so often.’ Sometimes she envied Laura her job – she got to see the world outside, different things every day. But in truth she wouldn’t have swapped. She prided herself that she had got the hang of being a telephone operator now, keeping calm under pressure to connect heavy loads of calls, knowing how to prioritise the urgent ones, and always remaining cool and polite, no matter what the parties on the other end of the line demanded – and being discreet if the calls were of a confidential nature connected with important war business, which made her feel trusted and in a position of responsibility. Also, even though her shifts were long, she knew she was highly unlikely to get called back in when she’d planned an evening off – not like her friend.

  Laura shook her head and her blonde hair swung about in the light from the low-watt bulb that dangled from the ceiling. ‘Can’t get anyone else fool enough to do it, more like,’ she snapped. ‘The rest must be better at avoiding the summons. It’s always me, always.’

  ‘You’d better pin back that blackout blind,’ Kitty pointed out. ‘Otherwise we’ll have the ARP complaining, and then it’ll be even worse for us.’

  Laura muttered under her breath but tucked the harsh black fabric back into position. ‘There. I’m only doing it for you, mind, because I don’t want to get you into trouble. If I got taken away by the ARP warden, then Captain Killjoy would have to find somebody else, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘For me, and because you really don’t want the building to get blown up by a passing bomber,’ Kitty said cheerfully. There had been no raids for what felt like ages, and she was cautiously optimistic that this would continue. ‘Maybe he wants to go to see his girlfriend. That would count as an emergency.’

  ‘Girlfriend!’ Laura snorted. ‘No, because that would mean he’d have to have a heart. He hasn’t, believe me. He has no normal feelings. It’s all work, work, work, and the blessed call of duty. Don’t look at me like that, I know there’s a war on, but this man is something else. He never lets up, and doesn’t understand that not everyone else is like him.’

  Kitty shrugged. ‘I’m sorry but he really doesn’t seem so bad. Pretty handsome, in fact. Look on the bright side – he could be one of those grizzled old chaps. You must be doing something right if you’re in such high demand, so serve you right for being good at reversing into small spaces. Anyway, you’d better be off. Wear something warm, the evenings are getting chilly.’

  She shivered for effect, but she felt deliciously warm inside. Elliott’s latest letter had said he was planning to come to London again towards the end of October, and he would love to introduce her to his parents. They were so keen to meet the woman who had stolen his heart and brought joy to his life after the death of his fiancée. Kitty had held out all summer when he’d suggested it, fearing it was still too soon, but now she knew how he felt about her, she was ready to take the next step. It filled her with trepidation and yet she was excited too. She wasn’t afraid of making a fool of herself any more, or that they would look down on her for not being out of society’s top drawer. Now she was confident she could hold her own, as the valuable work she was training to do placed her at the centre of the war effort, and she knew she was as good as anybody else. All right, some people still saw things differently, imagining they were superior and automatically worthy of deference from the likes of her, but she was sure Elliott’s parents would not be like that. They couldn’t be, having produced somebody as kind and generously supportive as he was.

  ‘Marvellous,’ snapped Laura, rooting around in her drawer before pulling out a scarf. ‘This should do it. It’s not regulation, but he can’t seriously expect me to freeze to death while he’s out saving the nation single-handedly once again. Do you like it? It was a present from Freddy actually.’

  Kitty started; it had been ages since Laura had mentioned her missing brother. She’d never let her guard down since that day many months ago, although Kitty was aware that the sorrow was never far away, bubbling beneath Laura’s bright surface. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, gazing at the length of green-and-cream fabric. ‘Is that cashmere?’

  ‘Certainly is,’ Laura replied, jauntily wrapping it around her neck. ‘Let’s see if the captain dares complain about it.’ She pulled on her uniform jacket. ‘Rightio, best be off. Don’t wait up.’

  ‘Hope he doesn’t keep you out too late,’ Kitty said, meaning it, and yet perversely glad that she would have an evening alone in which to reply to Elliott. She’d tell him how much she looked forward to meeting his family, in the full knowledge of how much that would mean to him.

  Laura fumed silently as she expertly guided the captain’s car through the nearly empty streets, accustomed as she was by now to driving in the blackout. She was surprised there weren’t more incidents. When the blackout had first been imposed, more people had died in accidents than in enemy attacks. Now most people avoided travelling around if they could do so. That was all very well for those who had the option, but she couldn’t exactly say no when faced with a direct order. At least Captain Cavendish hadn’t commented directly on her non-uniform scarf, which was still wrapped very deliberately around her neck, and a fine job it was doing of keeping her warm too. He’d raised his eyes when he first saw it, but then just barked, ‘Reform Club, Fawcett,’ and made no further remarks as she’d taken him to Pall Mall.

  She was quietly furious. So he was off on some social jaunt to meet a stuffy old friend, probably someone as supercilious as he was. Reluctantly she conceded that Kitty and Marjorie might have a point, he was actually pretty good looking, but that was of small comfort to her as she had been stuck outside the club in the cold and dark, while he no doubt enjoyed himself inside – if he was capable of doing anything so frivolous. He’d kept her waiting for half an hour and then had emerged, shaking hands with someone she could tell – even from a distance and in the brief glimpse of light from the open doorway – was in the uniform of a very high-rankin
g naval officer indeed.

  He’d offered no explanations when he’d got into the back seat, but she thought she detected a change in his expression, from anxious – although he’d tried hard to hide it – to satisfied. ‘Return to where we started, sir?’ she’d queried and, instead of biting her head off for stating the obvious, he’d simply nodded and said, ‘Much as I’d love to think the world was our oyster, Fawcett, pressure of work dictates that you convey me to my billet as swiftly as possible. Within safe limits, naturally.’

  ‘Very well, sir,’ Laura had said, thinking this was as close to skittish as she’d heard him. She caught his eye in the rear-view mirror, registering that he looked positively light-hearted, but looked away as his eye caught hers – and held it for a touch longer than she felt comfortable with. Was that the beginning of a smile on his lips? Whoever the gold-braid-covered superior officer had been, he’d put the usually curt captain in an uncharacte‌ristically good mood. She briefly wondered which way to go, and then decided to head through the residential back streets of Camden, as direct a route as she could follow back to the northern reaches of the capital. She zigzagged neatly through the deserted roads while the captain retreated into his usual taciturn silence.

  Some fifteen minutes later she was privately congratulating herself on a good job when the dull beam of a shaded torch waved at her and she realised somebody was flagging her down. She wound down the window and looked up at the shadowy figure, his armband marking him out as an ARP warden. ‘Can’t go down there, miss,’ he said. ‘The UXB boys are seeing to a little present Jerry left behind. Best to double back on yourself and keep a wide berth.’ His voice was calm but she could tell he was deadly serious. She shivered involuntarily. Those service personnel who dealt with unexploded bombs had the shortest life expectancy of anyone in uniform, fighter pilots included, and faced the prospect of death at every call-out. She shifted the gear stick into reverse and began to back into the narrow mouth of an alley to turn around.

  ‘Good show, Fawcett,’ muttered the captain, and Laura almost smiled to herself as she’d imagined him falling asleep after his successful meeting. But then, before she could complete the manoeuvre, there was an immense explosion and the ground beneath them shook.

  For a moment she lost her sense of where she was, and wondered if there had been an earthquake. Lights were flashing and there was a smell of burning, of brick dust, and something sharper. Oh no, those poor bomb disposal boys, she groaned, as the realisation struck her of what must have happened. Her hand flew to her mouth and only then did she realise she’d spoken the words aloud. Swiftly she tried to marshal her thoughts and check if the car was intact, that the windows hadn’t broken in the shock wave from the blast.

  ‘You all right, Fawcett?’ She couldn’t tell if the captain’s tone was perfunctory or concerned.

  ‘Perfectly all right, sir.’ She hoped that was true. Then, in the light of the fierce blaze, she saw that debris had fallen across the road, blocking their way. ‘Bit of a problem with the route back, though. We might have to walk.’

  ‘Good thinking, Fawcett.’ The captain didn’t sound shaken at all. She supposed he’d been through much worse on active service. ‘Let’s get on with it before something else goes up. Not much we can do here. They’re bound to have evacuated the residential buildings already.’

  They got out of the car and Laura drew her scarf across her nose to try to block out the smell and the smoke that was now billowing down the street between the tall terraced houses on either side. Some of them had lost their windows and glass cracked underfoot. She almost fell on some and Captain Cavendish automatically slipped a hand under her elbow to steady her. ‘Careful, Fawcett. No sense in adding to the casualty total.’

  ‘No indeed, sir.’ She couldn’t tell if he was trying to make light of the situation or not, but she registered that his hand was very strong and could sense the warmth of it against her arm, which she hoped wasn’t shaking. For a moment she thought he was going to keep it there. Then he dropped it.

  They edged around the debris and could make out a clear path to the next street, but then a scream pierced the air. A woman was running towards them, her distress plain to see in the firelight. She was pointing at one of the houses at the other end of the row, closer to the fire.

  ‘My baby!’ She was beside herself in grief, in panic. She pushed past them as Laura tried to reach out to calm her. ‘Let me through, my baby’s in there!’ She broke free and ran towards the building, just as they saw the roof begin to catch fire. Sparks were flying all around now, and Laura instantly hit one that landed on her sleeve.

  ‘Stop!’ cried the captain. ‘The authorities have cleared the buildings, your baby will be safe.’

  The woman turned and screamed in anguish. ‘He isn’t, they didn’t know he was there. My neighbour was watching my kids and the older ones are with her, but they left the baby, they left him … she thought I’d taken him with me but I hadn’t, he’s in there still. I’m going to get him.’

  Cavendish didn’t hesitate. ‘You hold her back, Fawcett. She’ll do no good in that state. I’ll go in and check. Which floor?’ he shouted at the woman, who was now half collapsed and clinging to Laura.

  ‘T … t … top floor,’ wailed the woman, almost incoherent through fear and despair.

  The captain ran faster than Laura could ever have imagined, and plunged through the door of the building, the windows of which were smashed. Laura thought she could hear a wailing from inside, but the noise of all the spreading fires and breaking glass was so great she couldn’t have. She had no time to fear for the captain; all her attentions had to be on keeping the mother out of the way and as calm as possible.

  ‘Now there’s no need to worry,’ she began, though her teeth had started to chatter with stress, ‘Captain Cavendish is the best there is and he’ll get your baby out. We must get you to the nearest ARP post. Do you know where that is? Is it behind us?’ She dreaded to think what had happened to the kindly warden who’d spoken to them what must have been only a few minutes before, but he ought to have colleagues somewhere.

  The woman was whimpering and Laura couldn’t make out what she was saying. She asked her again, and finally worked out where to head for, half carrying the anguished mother, who was dragging her feet in the shards of glass. Laura was finding it harder and harder to breathe through the combination of exertion and smoke, and had never been so thankful to see a policeman rushing towards them. Quickly she explained what had happened.

  ‘I’ll take care of this,’ he said. ‘Madam, you must come with me. You too, Miss.’

  Laura was about to follow his suggestion, when she realised she could not leave the captain to his task alone. Who else would know exactly where he had gone? It was her duty to return to ensure he emerged safely with the baby, and tell him where the mother could be found. ‘I must find my superior officer,’ she told the policeman quickly and then, before he could stop her, she turned and sprinted back down the street. More roofs had caught fire, and now she was surrounded by blazing buildings, the smoke thicker than ever, the glass crunching beneath every footstep, but she didn’t halt until she got to the woman’s house. Her face was streaming with sweat and her throat was sore as she shouted ‘Sir?’ as loudly as she could. She hoped against hope he had found the child and got to a lower floor, as the flames were licking the shattered windows of the topmost, and nobody, not even the athletic Captain Cavendish, could survive there. ‘Sir?’ she shouted again, desperately listening for any kind of response. ‘Sir! I’m out on the street right in front of the house! Can you hear me?’ But all she could hear was the roar of the fire and the crash of collapsing buildings and the sound of breaking glass. She swatted at falling sparks and strained every nerve to catch a trace of him, but the fire drowned everything out.

  ‘Sir!’ she tried again. ‘Captain Cavendish! Can you hear me?’ She racked her brain to remember his first name. She knew she’d seen it written down somewhere
, although of course she would have been forbidden to use it to his face. What was it? Something from the Bible. Matthew, Mark … Peter, that was it. ‘Peter!’ she shouted desperately, ignoring the searing pain in her throat. ‘Peter, are you in there?’

  Then, just above her, in the window of what might have been the ground-floor flat’s living room, she saw a shape and it was him, pushing aside what remained of the glazing, then turning and bending down. The next moment he was there again with a small bundle in his arms. ‘Fawcett!’ he bellowed, his voice hoarse but still strong, ‘Fawcett, is that you? Are you out there?’

  ‘Sir! Peter! I’m right here, just beneath you!’ A gust of wind briefly blew the smoke clear, and they could see each other, lit in the bright orange of the searing flames that were getting ever closer by the second.

  ‘I’m going to pass you the baby!’ he shouted. ‘Stand just beneath me and stretch up your arms. Can you reach? Not quite? Well, I hope you are good at catching. I’m going to drop him into your arms. On the count of three.’

  Laura didn’t hesitate but got as close as she could to the burning building, ignoring the first-floor windowsill now alight and dropping splinters of burning wood on to her. ‘Sir!’

  ‘One. Two.’ Another, larger, piece of burning wood crashed down and almost hit her. ‘Three.’ He dropped the bundle and she struggled to hold it, the weight more than she had counted on, but somehow she grasped it and held it to her chest, unable to tell if it was alive or dead. The flames were playing about the top of the ground-floor window now, the frame smouldering, the sparks coming thick and fast.

  ‘Sir! Get out! Peter, don’t wait, jump!’ she cried, backing away so that the precious bundle wouldn’t catch fire as well. ‘Do it now!’ For a terrible moment she thought he hadn’t heard, as he seemed frozen to the spot in the window, the flames now burning erratically around the top of the frame. Then he sprang into action, his blond hair bright in the ghastly orange light, climbing on to the sill, pausing for balance, and then leaping through the smoke and fire to land heavily at her feet. His uniform jacket was undone and his shirt, she noticed, was torn. There was a bloodstain down the front, too, but he was alive. Hefting the bundle on to one shoulder, she reached a hand down to help him up.