A Kiss and a Promise (4 page)

He agreed eagerly and when Stella emerged from the doors he was standing waiting, his hat tilted to the back of his head. She felt rather shy but her embarrassment soon dissipated when they entered a quiet dining rooms on Deane Street. Despite her objections, he insisted on buying her meal, which was as well, Stella reflected, since she had very little money on her. Over their food, she told the young man, who introduced himself as Peter Brett, all about her family and their lives. She would have liked to tell him about Michael but felt that this would be rather tactless since the last thing he would want to discuss would be the wretched, miserable war. He told her a little about himself; he had been to a very good school, had started at university but had volunteered for the army upon hearing of the death, in action, of one of his oldest friends.

‘It seemed the right thing to do at the time, but now I think I must have been mad,’ he said ruefully, between mouthfuls of pork chop and mashed potato. ‘Still, what’s done is done and everyone’s getting war-weary. I don’t imagine it will last much longer. Now tell me some more about your life outside Grundy’s department store! Do you play tennis? Enjoy country walks? Knit for the troops? Or do you perhaps help at one of the local hospitals when you have time to spare?’

Stella laughed at the idea of spare time. ‘I work six days of the week at Grundy’s and on four of those days I am kept back to do stock checking, shelf stacking and the like, so I don’t get away until eight or nine in the evening,’ she told him. ‘I’ve never played tennis in me life but I enjoy going to the picture house and seeing the film stars and I love the theatre. As for country walks, I think I would enjoy them. I used to like it when I were a kid and Lizzie took me on the tram to Fazakerley and we would walk out into the countryside. We took a carryout so’s we could stay away all day and we used to pick great bunches of wild flowers, and paddle in the streams and catch tiddlers with a flour bag on a split cane. It were the loveliest thing we ever did – it’s why I always wanted to live in the country, I suppose.’

‘Well, there you are then,’ Peter Brett said rather obscurely. He and Stella finished their meal almost simultaneously and both refused coffee, Stella glancing slightly anxiously at the big clock which hung above the door leading to the kitchen premises. They had not yet visited Lewis’s or Bunney’s and she dared not risk being late back after her break. To be sure, the war had made jobs easier to find, but Stella did not like change and besides, she was happy at Grundy’s. Miss Murrell was her best friend – outside shop hours she was Gwen to Stella – and she got on equally well with the supervisor and the floorwalker. She had no intention of losing her nice job, not even to help a young officer who would be travelling back to the trenches on the following day.

‘Thank you very much for a delicious luncheon, Mr Brett,’ she said formally as they left the dining rooms. She added, mischievously, as they turned towards Lewis’s: ‘I know I said I’d pay for meself, but I don’t ever go out for a meal and I hadn’t realised how expensive it would be. When you’ve only got nine-pence in your purse, you can’t offer to shell out one and six.’

They laughed together over Stella’s cash shortage as they entered Lewis’s and headed for the handbag counter.

It was an icy cold January day and, once more, Stella was waiting for Michael’s ship to dock. It was freezing down by the water and she knew that Michael’s time ashore was liable to be short but, nevertheless, she was aglow with excitement, for this leave would be different from either of the others she had shared with him. This time, they would have somewhere to go, somewhere where they could be alone.

The fact that Lizzie and her mother constantly voiced their disapproval of her friendship with Michael had made both his previous leaves difficult, to say the least. Now that Lizzie was in Birkenhead, she was not always present when Stella brought Michael home, but Mrs Bennett did not attempt to make the young man welcome. In fact, she was so cold and unpleasant that the two young people felt they had to make themselves scarce as soon as they could and spent their time together walking the city streets, tucked up in a picture house when they had the money, or wandering round the markets, and making cups of tea in little cheap cafés last as long as possible.

Michael had always stayed at the Sailors’ Home but he had a friend on board ship, called Toby, who lived in the city and on the last day of Michael’s previous leave had suggested that, next time his pal was in Liverpool, he might like to have the use of the small back bedroom in his mother’s house. ‘You could bring your young lady there,’ he had suggested and, seeing Michael’s expression, had added hastily: ‘No funny business, old feller. But it would be somewhere for the pair of youse to be together, like. I know her folk don’t approve – she’s awful young – but if you’re set on marriage, and I know you are, what’s the harm in being together in comfort?’

So now, Stella could look forward to Michael’s leave without having to worry about her mother’s attitude. Like a dutiful daughter, she would take him home to tea either today or tomorrow, depending on what time his ship docked, but if Mrs Bennett treated him as anything but an honoured guest, Stella had determined that she would warn her mother that they would not return to Victoria Court again. When he was in Liverpool he usually called for her at the house since he did not like her hanging about outside the Sailors’ Home, but now he would have an address of his own, a place it would be perfectly proper for her to visit and she intended to do so.

She had hoped that her mother might be more amenable after Lizzie had left for her new life in Birkenhead, but this had not proved to be the case. Mrs Bennett snubbed Michael whenever he was present and had been known to refer to him as ‘that bog-trotter’ when he was not. Gentle Stella had never told her mother what she thought of such rudeness but decided now that she would simply have to do so, for she and Michael meant to go and see the priest about a wedding. Not Father McKay, because he knew her far too well and might refuse to marry her – she was only seventeen after all – but a priest attached to a small church in the suburbs who, it was said, would marry you without too many questions asked. Stella sighed and rubbed her hands briskly up and down the sleeves of her shabby black coat. Why were parents so pig-headed? She and Michael loved one another deeply, she would not leave him for the richest and handsomest man in the land, so why could not her mother acknowledge this and wish them happy?

The docks were crowded as usual, but presently Stella was sure she could see the
Thunderbolt
nosing into a berth. Her heart began to bump unevenly. Soon, very soon, she would be in his arms again. She began to push her way towards where she hoped the gangway would be lowered.

‘Phew!’ As they left the small house in Victoria Court, Michael let out his breath in a long whistle of relief and put his arm round Stella’s shoulders, giving them a comforting hug. ‘Your mam must have got out of bed on the wrong side this morning! I don’t think it was anything I said, because I scarcely opened me mouth. Why, she even snapped at you when you said we might go to see a film later.’

Stella took his hand and squeezed it. She felt both miserable and guilty over her mother’s attitude, yet she could not quite suppress the excitement which came over her whenever she thought about the little room towards which they were now heading. She had not seen it because when Michael’s ship had docked the previous day there had not been time to catch the tram out to Bootle. However, Michael had met her in her dinner hour and had waxed positively lyrical over the charms of the small room. ‘’Tis on the third floor – it’s an attic really, but Mrs Williams has got it done up ever so nice,’ he told her. ‘It were Toby’s sister Margaret’s room when she were at home, but she got married and moved out last year. Mrs Williams let it to a young couple for a bit but they got a place of their own and she’s not bothered to fill it again yet. It’s got flowered curtains at the windows and a flowered counterpane on the bed. There’s a little paraffin stove what the young couple used to keep the place warm and to cook their meals on, though they had a share in the kitchen, like. And there’s two little easy chairs, a wardrobe for your clothes, a washstand and a cupboard for food. It’ll be just like a home of our own I’m telling you.’

But right now, Stella must make Michael see that Mrs Bennett was not against Michael as a person. She simply did not want him marrying her daughter and taking her away from Liverpool.

She tried to explain this to Michael as the tram clattered its way through the city, heading for Bootle, but though Michael gave her a squeeze and said he quite understood, she thought that he, too, was looking forward to their sharing of the small room and was not as unhappy about her mother’s attitude as he might otherwise have been.

They got off the tram at the junction of Stanley and Strand Roads and Michael looked consideringly at a fried fish shop which was doing good business. ‘We could take some in for our supper,’ he said. ‘I know we had a good tea at your mam’s, but you’ll be hungry again before bedtime. We could heat them up over the oil stove, I dare say.’

Stella cast a quick glance at him then hastily looked away. Surely he did not expect her to stay until his bedtime? She knew he would take her home, which meant they would pass the fried fish shop and might buy themselves a paper of chips to eat on the tram. So she shook her head and assured him that she would not be hungry again before bedtime. Then, arms linked, they continued to hurry towards Marsh Lane and their goal.

It was a lovely room, even nicer than Michael’s description had been, and Stella bustled about, pretending to be a housewife in her own little home, examining everything from the mugs in the cupboard to the sheets and blankets on the beautiful double bed. She had met Mrs Williams and had thought her an admirable person, for the older woman had seemed to take it for granted that she and Michael were a couple. She said she hoped to see plenty of the younger woman when the
Thunderbolt
went back to sea, and when she left them, Stella felt she had made a friend.

It was midnight before she got back to Victoria Court. She half expected to find her mother waiting up for her but, clearly, Mrs Bennett had taken it for granted that her daughter would be home when the show at the picture house finished and had not bothered to wait up. As she undressed and climbed into her own little bed, a daring plan formed itself in Stella’s mind. Michael would only be ashore for another three days and she decided there could be no harm in spending almost all of those three days with him. She could prepare and cook them meals in the Marsh Lane room, which would be considerably cheaper than eating out. In fact, she decided she would stay with him almost all night, and catch the first tram back to Victoria Court in the morning. Since Lizzie had left home, Mrs Bennett had got into the habit of remaining in bed until Stella had made the breakfast porridge, brewed the tea and cut her carryout. Then Stella would shout up the stairs: ‘Breakfast’s ready, Mam,’ and her mother would come fumbling down in her voluminous nightdress, draping a couple of thick shawls around her shoulders and declaring that she would pay Stella back for making breakfast by preparing a high tea fit for a king. So, if Stella was careful, her mother would never know that she had not slept at home but would simply assume that her daughter had come in fairly late after the pictures or a dance and seeing Michael off back to the Sailors’ Home.

All day at work, Stella smiled brightly at the customers and sang beneath her breath as she tucked away gloves, scarves, umbrellas and similar articles in their appropriate places. When her working day was finished, she met Michael outside the staff entrance and the two of them returned to Marsh Lane with the makings of a meal which Stella had bought in her lunch hour. So it was over steak pie and mash that she outlined her plans and was gratified to see Michael’s delight, though she wondered a little when he began to tell her that he would take great care of her, that nothing would go wrong and that she was the dearest creature on earth, so she was.

In addition to their supper Stella had bought three brown eggs and half a loaf of bread. The first tram next morning would be clattering along Stanley Road at about six o’clock, heading for the city, and Stella meant to be aboard it, but she intended to cook her man a good breakfast before she left him, even if it did mean getting up at five o’clock. She knew that Michael owned an old alarm clock and decided she had best set it for five otherwise she might oversleep. She meant to insist that Michael slept in the bed whilst she would snuggle down on the two little easy chairs, pushed together. After all, he was bigger and heavier than she and was paying rent for the room, so it would be very unfair if she occupied the bed and left him trying to sleep in his bedroll, laid out upon the floor. The weather was still bitterly cold, and snug though their room was when the oil stove was lit, she guessed that it would get pretty chilly once the fire was out. Up on the chairs, with Michael’s bedroll round her, she would be warm enough, but anyone lying on the floor would feel draughts both from the long, sloping attic window and from the ill-fitting door. No, no, it simply would not do; she would insist that Michael slept in the bed.

It never occurred to her for one moment that they might share it.

Three days later, Michael and Stella said a sad farewell to their little room and caught the tram together, but this time Stella did not go straight home to rumple her unslept-in bed and make her mother’s porridge. She would go to the docks first and see Michael aboard the
Thunderbolt
, and then she would make her way to Victoria Court. If her mother discovered she had been deceived, then there might be trouble, but nothing on earth, Stella decided, would stop her from saying a proper goodbye to her man.

For now she felt truly married to Michael, even though no banns had been called and no ceremony of marriage had been performed. Ever since that first night, when Michael had gathered her up in his arms and carried her to bed, she had known only exquisite happiness and an overwhelming feeling that she was doing the right thing. Oh, she knew that, morally, what she and Michael were doing was very wrong, would have horrified everyone had they known, but it no longer seemed to matter. They meant to marry, but because of her family’s objections they could not do so yet. Well, if she was going to have a baby as a result of being with Michael, then she knew her family well enough to anticipate their reaction. Everyone, even Father McKay, would insist that she and Michael married immediately. ‘For the child’s sake,’ they would say severely, and folk would count up on their fingers and maybe smile slyly at one another when the baby was born, but they would not call it a bastard nor, in their hearts, think any the worse of her and Michael.