Across the Mersey Page 19

  ‘Here’s your Dad back,’ Jean told Grace unnecessarily as they both heard the squeak of the side gate into the garden from the passage. ‘It will have to be a scratch supper tonight if I’m going to get everything finished here in time for the Midnight Carol Service.’

  ‘By, it’s cold out there,’ Sam complained as he came in. ‘I was talking to one of the old chaps from the allotments earlier and he reckons we’re in for a bad winter.’

  ‘Sam, them are hot. I’ve not long since taken them out of the oven,’ Jean warned as he reached out for one of the mince pies cooling on a wire tray on the table. ‘It will serve you right if you burn your tongue. They’re for tomorrow, not for now.’

  ‘That’s if Father Christmas leaves us any,’ Grace joked, straight-faced.

  Bella looked towards the Tennis Club bar where Alan was standing drinking with some of the other men.

  She was wearing the new dress he had bought her by way of a making-up present. It was red silk and very sophisticated, and a copy of one that Vivien Leigh had been photographed wearing, the owner of the dress shop had told her. Bella knew it showed off her pale skin and the nearly but not quite faded bruises on her arm where Alan had grabbed her. Those other bruises, on her ribs and her stomach, were of course hidden, like the tender spot on her head.

  A group of young men and women on the other side of the dance floor were laughing at something and jostling one another, as they played some sort of noisy game. Alan had stopped drinking to watch them. Trixie emerged from the middle of the mêlée, flushed and laughing, and triumphantly clutching a man’s handkerchief.

  ‘Oh, I say, well done, Trixie,’ one of them congratulated her whilst the others all clapped.

  Three older couples were occupying the table next to their own and Bella heard one of the women saying indulgently, ‘Dear Trixie, such a good sort. She runs the local Cub pack, you know, and all the boys adore her.’

  Bella gave Trixie with a sour look. She was the one everyone ought to have been fussing around and praising tonight, not Trixie. She was, after all, the only young bride here; Trixie was just Trixie, a dull boring maypole of a girl without looks or style. Trixie couldn’t hold a candle to her and yet somehow and very unfairly she had managed to make herself the centre of attention, whilst she was left here alone as her husband stood at the bar and the other two couples they were seated with made excuses to go and get some supper. Bella could feel the sharp prickle of unwanted tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

  This time Alan just better have bought her those pearls she had shown him in the jeweller’s window, that was all. Otherwise …

  She stood up and made her way to the bar, giving Alan a doe-eyed look of still newly married adoration as she put her hand on his arm and stood close to him, before pouting and then reaching up to fuss over him and straighten his tie, and whisper just loud enough for the others to hear, ‘It’s lonely at the table without you.’

  ‘I always said you were a lucky chap, Alan,’ one of the older men told him.

  A couple of the other men laughed and warned him teasingly, ‘Just you wait until you’ve been married for a few years; she’ll be waiting for you with a hard rolling pin then, not soft words.’

  They might be talking to Alan but it was her they were looking at. Bella revelled in being the focus of their attention, clinging to Alan as she laughed and pouted and flirted, and made sure that they saw her as an adoring young wife whilst Alan saw how much he was envied by his friends for being married to her.

  This was what she had expected and wanted from her marriage: this attention and admiration; this knowledge that other men thought she was more attractive than their own dull wives, and her own husband’s recognition of his extreme good fortune.

  What had been merely a fiction when she had come to join Alan was now, as she basked in the attention, fact. She was what she had wanted to be. How all the still unmarried young women must envy her, especially poor Trixie.

  Bella preened and posed, her eyes sparkling and her lips readily parting in a smile. She was the first of their set to become a wife. Others would follow her lead, but she had that lead and she intended to keep it.

  Yes, she was feeling very pleased with herself, Bella decided half an hour later, standing in front of the mirror in the crowded powder room, reapplying her lipstick.

  Two girls, whom she knew vaguely, were standing next to her, one of them admiring the other’s engagement ring, whilst she spoke breathlessly of being in love with her fiancé.

  Deliberately Bella looked at her own wedding ring and smiled at them, interrupting their conversation to say complacently, ‘Personally I don’t think it’s possible to know what love truly is until one is married. Being a wife is so very different to being a fiancée.’ She gave them a smile that said she was in on a secret from which they were excluded, showing off her married status.

  Trixie was standing behind her, her plain face looking even plainer and her brown eyes stark with misery. Good, let her be miserable. Bella was sick of hearing Alan’s mother and everyone else going on about how wonderful Trixie was, as though somehow she had something that she, Bella, did not, which was obviously ridiculous and impossible.

  ‘Alan’s sooo flattering about how happy our marriage has made him. He never stops telling me how much he loves me. He’s always begging me to promise that I’ll never stop loving him. He says that he couldn’t bear it if that happened. But of course it won’t. Nothing would ever make me stop loving him or make me leave him,’ Bella smiled indulgently. ‘Men can be such silly boys at times.’

  * * *

  They had been late leaving for the Christmas Eve midnight service because the twins had insisted on putting out mince pies and milk for Father Christmas, and when they had got there the church had been so full that they had only just managed to squeeze in.

  Every pew contained families with someone in uniform, or so it seemed to Jean, tall broad-shouldered young men standing with their parents and their siblings. The fate of a nation rested on those shoulders and their bearing revealed their awareness of that responsibility.

  Tears pricked at her eyes when the congregation sang the familiar Christmas hymns, words written to be sung with joy and awe at the coming of a Saviour. It was to these young men in their new uniforms that the role of saviours would fall, and Jean prayed that they would not have to bear the cross of pain and death that the child whose birth they were celebrating now had borne.

  Luke was one of these young men. She turned towards Sam. He had lost some of his pride and stature these last weeks. He carried with him the shadow of his own pain even though he refused to admit that he felt any.

  The vicar spoke of hardship and endurance, and the triumph of right over wrong, good over evil, love over hatred. There were special prayers for those who must fight, and prayers too for those men sailing convoys across the Atlantic, through its storms and the relentless pursuit of Hitler’s U-boats to bring safely into port much-needed supplies.

  There could, of course, be no joyous pealing of the church bells to ring out across the cold clear night air symbolically clamouring the news of the gift of a special birth, because church bells could be rung now only in emergencies.

  After the service families and neighbours lingered outside the church, stamping their feet against the sharp cold, speaking in low voices of this, the first Christmas of a new war.

  How many more would there be before it ended, Jean wondered starkly as they made their way home, and how many families would be changed for ever by it? It was bad enough that Luke wasn’t here, but so very much worse because of the way he and Sam had parted. It would have made such a difference if she had been able to turn to Sam and share her fears for Luke with him, just as they had always shared their fears for their children.

  This bitterness with Sam had put a barrier between them that separated them, now making it impossible for her to reach out to him for comfort as she so longed to be able to do, and to offer him com
fort in return.

  The kitchen welcomed them with the smell of cooking and warmth, and before Jean could stop the twins were reaching for the mince pies.

  ‘It’s too late to go eating pastry now,’ Jean warned them, pushing the tray out of the way. ‘You’ll end up with indigestion. Besides, if you eat them now we won’t have enough for tomorrow.’

  ‘Aww, Mum, we’re hungry,’ Lou protested.

  Jean sighed. ‘Very well then, you can have those we put out for Father Christmas, but don’t blame me if you do get indigestion.’

  As the twins hurried into the parlour she said to Grace, ‘I just hope this goose is going to cook properly. It only just fits in the oven. Now what is it?’ she demanded when the twins came rushing back into the kitchen.

  ‘The mince pies have gone,’ said Lou.

  ‘And the milk,’ said Sasha.

  Grace looked at her sisters, knowing how much they enjoyed playing tricks. ‘You mean they have now that you two have had them,’ she suggested wryly.

  ‘No, Grace, they’ve really gone, honestly. Come and look.’

  They all trooped into the front room where all that remained of the mince pies was a few crumbs.

  Sasha and Lou had crept close to one another, their arms linked.

  ‘Sam, do you think someone could have got in?’ Jean asked uneasily, and then broke off as they all heard someone coming down the stairs.

  For a moment no one moved, and then Sam strode to the door and wrenched it open, Jean and the girls clustering nervously behind him.

  Looking back at them from the stairs was Luke, his hair tousled and his eyes blurred with sleep.

  ‘Luke!’

  It was Jean who spoke, hurrying into the hall to her son.

  ‘Sorry I missed church, Mum,’ he apologised wearily. ‘They didn’t tell us we were getting leave until the last minute and then the ruddy train crawled all the way from Euston. I couldn’t let you know I was on my way.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Luke love, but your Christmas presents are on their way to France,’ Jean apologised ruefully as they all trooped into the front parlour in their dressing gowns, following the family tradition of opening their presents around the tree, which she and Sam had begun when they were first married.

  Sam had put a match to the fire he had laid for her yesterday and Grace, bless her, had been up before all of them, bringing her and Sam tea in bed.

  ‘Well, nursing’s certainly changed you,’ Sam had teased Grace. ‘Getting up before anyone else.’

  Now they were all gathered in the front room, the sound of Christmas carols from the wireless adding to the festive morning atmosphere. Frost had iced patterns on the windows and Jean was glad of the warmth of her dressing gown as they all started to hand out presents to one another, Grace hiding her smile at the disappointment on Lou’s face as she handed her her gramophone record disguised as a large box.

  Luke’s gifts stood out from everyone else’s. They were all wrapped in fancy paper and tied with pretty ribbons. They also had gift tags on them saying ‘A present from Paris’.

  ‘We had to come back through Paris so one of the lads suggested we did our Christmas shopping there,’ he explained cheerfully.

  ‘Paris?’ Jean exclaimed with maternal anxiety. ‘You mean that Paris, where all them French mademoiselles are?’

  Over Jean’s head, Luke and Sam exchanged exclusively male looks.

  When Luke nodded his head, Jean protested, ‘But how could you go shopping there? You can’t speak French.’

  ‘They have signs outside some of the shops saying “English spoken”,’ Luke soothed her, adding with a grin, ‘Mind you, it weren’t exactly “English” as we speak it here in Liverpool.’

  ‘Come on, Mum, take a look. It isn’t going to bite you,’ Luke teased Jean as she looked at her own present, unwilling to open it because it was so prettily wrapped. For all his grown-up manner, Jean could still see in his eyes the eager anxiousness of the little boy who had carefully made her past Christmas presents at school.

  Quickly she unwrapped her gift, her eyes widening when she saw the glass bottle of scent inside the elegant box.

  ‘It’s some of that Chanel No. 5,’ Luke told her. ‘I got some for Grace, an’ all. Only a small bottle mind,’ cos it’s pricey, but our sergeant was with us and it was him that told us to buy it.’

  Chanel No. 5. Now Jean and Grace exchanged exclusively female looks, their eyes shining with thrilled awe.

  ‘Luke, you shouldn’t have gone spending your money on summat so expensive,’ Jean’s voice trembled. Normally if she wore scent it was something like Yardley’s – a bit of Lavender or White Violets, and she bought it herself, Sam not being the type to go buying things like scent. In fact, Sam preferred to give her the money to go out and buy her own present, which meant she normally ended up spending the money on everyone else, as mothers do.

  ‘Look, Sam.’ Her hand trembled slightly as she held out the bottle so that he could see it, whilst Grace flung her arms around Luke’s neck and hugged him tightly.

  ‘I’ll wear it on New Year’s Eve. It’s ever such a lovely present, Luke.’

  ‘What have you brought us?’ Lou demanded eagerly.

  ‘Open your presents and see,’ Luke told her, then turned to Sam. ‘This is for you, Dad.’

  Jean held her breath as Sam unwrapped his gift. No mention had been made of the manner in which they had parted, and Luke was obviously doing everything he could to mend things between them, to Jean’s relief.

  The twins were unwrapping their presents, so Jean pretended to be watching them, although in reality her attention was on Sam, who was being maddeningly slow as he unwrapped his. Finally the paper fell away to reveal a leather wallet.

  Sam had been using the same wallet for as long as Jean could remember. He had had it before they were married and over the years the stitching had had to be repaired many times.

  ‘Have a look inside, Dad,’ Luke was urging.

  Sam opened the wallet. Inside it, in gold lettering were printed the words ‘From your loving son, December 1939’.

  Tears blurred Jean’s eyes. Luke was trying to tell his dad how much he regretted their falling-out, she knew. She could see that he was waiting for Sam to say something to show that he knew it too, and she could see too the hurt in his eyes when, instead, Sam merely said curtly, ‘You shouldn’t have gone wasting your money. I’ve already got a wallet.’

  Then he got up and walked out of the room and up the stairs. Torn between wanting to comfort Luke and go after Sam, Jean was obliged instead to admire the pretty silk scarf Sasha was holding up.

  ‘Mum, look,’ she demanded happily, and then flung her arms around Luke’s neck to thank him.

  Upstairs the bathroom door closed and Jean sighed. Sam would no doubt closet himself in there for hours.

  Grace reached for her last present. She had been saving it for last deliberately since she had seen already that it had a card on it from her parents, and it looked tantalisingly different from anything she had been expecting, even if it was wrapped in paper she recognised her mother must have saved from last Christmas. They would be doing a lot more making do and mending from now on.

  The twins were squabbling amicably over which of their records they wanted to play first, and her mother was saying something about needing to go and check on the goose, but Grace was oblivious to both conversations, her eyes widening and her hands trembling slightly as she smoothed the familiar silk of the green dress. Her mother had folded it in such way that Grace saw the insert of pretty cream lace immediately, and knew what it must mean even before she had shaken out the frock and held it up in front of herself.

  ‘Oh, Mum!’ she exclaimed emotionally.

  ‘I took it to Mrs Noakes, who used to work for that posh dress shop on Bold Street before she retired, and it was her that suggested putting a piece in it. She said it’s as good as new now.’

  Grace hugged her fiercely, and was just folding t
he dress up again when Sam came back in.

  Jean knew that what Grace had done was wrong, and that Sam would probably have disapproved of what she, Jean, had done to make the best of it, saying that Grace shouldn’t be rewarded for her crime, but Jean was a loving mother and very practically natured. She just could not stand by and see such a lovely dress go to waste. Besides, Grace had learned her lesson, there was no doubt about that.

  ‘I’ve brought some French stamps back with me for Jack,’ said Luke as he helped Jean to clear up the wrapping paper. ‘I know he likes collecting them. He’ll be back home for Christmas, I expect?’

  ‘No. He’s staying with the family he was evacuated to. I wrote to Vi asking her where I should send the little bit of summat I’d got for Jack and she wrote back saying to send it to her and she’d put it in with what she was sending to him. She said there was no point in unsettling him by bringing him home just for a few days. Poor little lad, I feel so sorry for him.’

  ‘He might be happier with his evacuation family,’ said Sasha, pulling a face. ‘Imagine having to live with Auntie Vi and Uncle Edwin and stupid Bella …’

  ‘Sasha!’ Jean rebuked her.

  ‘Bella isn’t living with them now. She’s married, remember,’ Lou corrected her twin.

  ‘I’m never going to get married,’ said Sasha.

  ‘Yes you will,’ Lou insisted. ‘Everyone gets married. I bet Grace will be next.’

  ‘No I won’t,’ Grace assured them. ‘I’d have to give up nursing if I did, and I don’t want to do that.’

  ‘What about that Teddy you went to the pictures with, then?’ Lou demanded.

  ‘Teddy is just a friend,’ Grace told her firmly, and to her own delight she didn’t even blush.

  Christmas dinner had been eaten, the table had been cleared and the washing up done, and thankfully the twins were for once not playing their gramophone records too loudly.

  In the front room a small group of men – neighbours and friends who had somehow or other got to hear that Luke was home – were discussing the war and what was likely to happen next, and treating Luke with a new deference and respect now that he was a serving soldier just back from France. But it hurt Jean to see the way that Sam was holding back from the conversation, determined not to give an inch nor to show any pride in Luke’s bravery in volunteering.