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Authors: Katie Flynn

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BOOK: A Kiss and a Promise
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‘I’m pourin’ it this instant,’ Mrs Bennett said. ‘Truth to tell, queen, I feel a bit oozy-dozy meself. I reckon it’s the excitement … but now you know your feller’s safe you’ll be able to enjoy today, same’s I shall.’

Michael stood on the deck of the frigate
Viola
and watched as the shoreline grew closer. His heart gave a lurch as details became clear. The Liver birds, wings upraised, looked down on the shipping, which was crammed into the Mersey so closely that it was difficult to see a passage of clear water, and Michael, in his borrowed clothing, felt the excitement growing in him. The war was over, his child had been born, and very soon now, he and the girl he loved would be married. All right, it was the wrong way round, he knew that of course, but there was no need for his parents to know that he and Stella had jumped the gun. The Gallaghers were set in their ways. Michael thought they would have condemned Stella as a fast girl, a bad girl, if they had known that the baby had come before the wedding. But there was no need for them to know. He would carry Stella and the child back to Ireland, introduce them as his wife and child, and his parents would never question the order in which things had happened. So, he concluded, as the ship began to nose into the dock like a rabbit seeking its burrow, they would be able to start their married life in Kerry without having to fear spiteful gossip.

He supposed that they would have to spend some time in Liverpool before he could take them back to Ireland, but he had no intention of settling there, not even for a few months. No, he wanted his home now; his real home, and he wanted it for Stella and the child as well. The great city was no place, to his way of thinking, in which to bring up a family – and he was sure that he and Stella would have other children as well as … what had they named her … the small Virginia. He grinned to himself at the fancy name. Never mind, if it was what Stella wanted, then it was good enough for him.

The dock was getting nearer but Michael had no gear to pack so he stayed where he was, leaning on the rail, watching the people going about their business on the crowded quayside. He wondered what his mother-in-law to be would say when he told her that he was carrying her beloved youngest back to Ireland just as soon as possible. He guessed she would not welcome such plans, but then until his last leave she had never scrupled to show him how much she disliked and disapproved of him, so she would just have to accept that the ‘bog-trotter’ had every right to live in his own country, and to take his wife and child along with him. Yes, he had heard that muttered ‘bog-trotter’, more than once, on Mrs Bennett’s lips when she thought him too far away to catch her words, and had resented it. He would take his Stella home to Ireland without a pang of conscience after the way the old witch had treated him.

But he had best ask if he could go ashore, for already the gangway was being lowered and seamen, kitbags over their shoulders, were queuing up to leave the
Viola
. Michael took one last look at the crowded dockside – but it was too much to hope that Stella would know upon which vessel he had come home, let alone when she was due to dock – and went below. Not long now and you’ll hold her in your arms, he told himself exultantly. Not long now.

Michael thundered down the gangway, crossed on to the Goree and Strand Street and came to Canning Place. From there it was a quick journey up the Duke Street hill until he turned right into Rathbone Street. He was on fire with anticipation, could not wait to see her face when he burst into the kitchen. He was quite breathless by the time he reached the court; nothing mattered now but seeing her, holding her …

It was the middle of the afternoon, and a chilly December day. He was surprised by how quiet the street was, and the court itself … well, without even thinking about it, he had expected crowds of small kids, people coming and going, all the usual bustle of an overcrowded, rundown area in a large city. There were four or five children, dirty and ragged, playing some game on the big, filthy paving stones, and a woman with a shopping bag passed him and grinned, showing a number of grey, uneven teeth, but other than that the court was quiet.

Michael slowed down, puzzled. He was outside the Bennett’s house now, and saw that they had somehow acquired new curtains. The windows were veiled in white … in
white
? Now that he came to look more closely he realised that they were not curtains. Someone had hung bed sheets across the windows … now what on earth could that signify? He went up to the front door and, suddenly, he remembered a scene from his last return when he had noticed white sheeting hung across someone else’s window, and had asked Stella for an explanation.

She had looked at him for a moment as though he was completely mad, but then she had relaxed, shaking her head at him. ‘Customs are different, I suppose, in all countries, even though we speak the same language. It’s mourning, chuck. Poor Minnie’s Joseph was killed last week.’

God, it meant a death in the family, of course! Pictures flashed through his mind. His baby? Surely not. Stella had told him how healthy and beautiful she was. But Mrs Bennett was old … it must be Stella’s mam. He was very sorry, of course he was, but these things happened. He hurried across the paving stones and knocked on the door. He was shaking, which was ridiculous …

He could hear footsteps. Dragging footsteps. They sounded as though someone very old was coming to the door. Michael was suddenly aware that he felt sick and dizzy, that he hardly dared look up but was keeping his eyes focused on his shoes. When the door opened and Mrs Bennett stood framed in the doorway he simply stared at her, wetting dry lips with a tongue suddenly almost as dry. In her turn she stared at him without a word before standing aside and gesturing him into the house. Michael did not move but looked a desperate, unbelieving question.

‘It were only two hours ago that she died,’ Mrs Bennett said huskily. ‘They’re both gone, my girls. Lizzie went yesterday … she come over to help nurse Stella as soon as I gorra message to her, sayin’ the poor child had got this terrible flu what the troops has brung back from France. She were pulled down by breastfeeding, I reckon, ’cos there were no way she would let me give the kid a bottle. Why, this mornin’, she dragged herself out of bed to change the kid’s nappy, though she was hot with the fever and so trembly that I had to fasten the pin for fear she’d pierce the kid’s stomach. Oh, you poor feller, an’ you never even knew she were ailin’! Wharra homecomin’!’

Michael went on staring. It was a dream – no, a nightmare. This could not be happening. He must have misunderstood the old woman … she meant that Lizzie, poor, kind maiden-aunt Lizzie, was dead of the flu. He knew that Mrs Bennett had never liked him; she was simply trying to test him out in some cruel, twisted way. She was not serious, could not possibly mean that his darling girl, the mother of his child, his dearest Stella, was …

‘Dead? Stella?’ It was his own voice, slow and cracked, incredulous.

The old woman standing in the doorway nodded. Her hair hung down in witch locks, her skin was grey; she looked – oh, a hundred years old, a thousand. And suddenly he knew that she was telling him the plain, unvarnished truth. He took a couple of steps away from the house and put his face in his hands. And felt the slow, hot tears in his palms …

He began to walk, stumbingly, back out of the court and along Rathbone Street. He had no plan in mind; he just wanted to get away from the house which had once held his love. But a hand caught his elbow, tugging him to a stop. A large, urgent hand. He turned to jerk himself free and saw that it was George Bennett, the only male member of the family he had ever met. George’s face was tear-blubbered, swollen, and it made Michael realise that no matter how bad he felt, he must not just turn away from the grief-stricken family. Stella would not have wanted it. He could almost hear her gentle voice in his ear, telling him that he must stand by them, must give them what support he could for her sake, for the sake of the wonderful love they had shared. But George was speaking.

‘I’m real sorry, old feller. It’s been a terrible shock for all of us, but we’ve known it were – were on the cards after Lizzie died. I came ashore four days ago and I did me best, honest to God I did. I gorra doctor for the pair of ’em, but it weren’t no use. Lizzie went in the early hours of the morning. I think Mam had snoozed off; you can’t blame her because until I came ashore there were only her to nurse the pair of ’em. Neighbours have helped, of course, doin’ the messages and the cookin’, washing and dryin’ the sheets and so on, but until I got back Mam did all the real nursin’ herself. Come on in, old feller, you’ve had a terrible shock and you should sit down whiles you take it in. Then you’ll want to see Stella … and the kid, o’ course.’

George was a big man, as tall as Michael and a good deal stouter, but had he been the puniest feller on the face of the earth Michael would have gone with him. Indeed, he was glad of the other man’s company, especially when he was led up the stairs and into Stella’s small bedroom. He stopped in the doorway, then went forward and stood by the bed, looking down at Stella’s small, pale face, surrounded by a cloud of black hair and looking so gentle, so peaceful, that for one wild moment he thought she only slept. Then he touched her cheek and it was cold and another glance told him that this was no longer his Stella. There was a look of cool remoteness about the small face which it had never worn in life, and Michael bent and kissed the cold forehead, then turned away. Two hours! If he had come just two hours earlier, he might have been able to tell her how much he loved her, but regrets were useless. Two hours earlier, his ship had not even docked; he had come as fast as he could and now all he could do was to bear his grief as bravely as possible and do whatever he could to help old Mrs Bennett over the next few days.

At his side, George cleared his throat. ‘Your little daughter’s not here right now. The gal what worked with our Stella has took her out in the perambulator. She’s gettin’ the messages for me mam and seein’ the babby gets fresh air at the same time. It seems they’re quite willing to give her an hour or so off each morning since the flu is sweepin’ the whole city and customers is short.’

‘The baby’s all right then?’ Michael said, without much interest. The baby, which had meant so much when Stella had been alive, now simply seemed an additional burden. He found himself wishing devoutly that it had been the child who had died, but such thoughts were wicked as well as useless, so he turned to George. ‘I’m awful sorry, George, because you’ve lost both your sisters an’ I know you were real fond of ’em. Don’t you think it would be better if I booked into the Sailors’ Home? The way things are, I’m just a reminder for your mam and truth to tell, she never wanted Stella and meself to marry, so though I’m willing to help in any way I can, I’d be glad to make meself scarce if you give me the nod.’

They had descended the stairs by this time and were standing in the narrow hall, George with his hand on the kitchen door. When Michael finished speaking George said roundly that Michael was welcome at No. 17 and would be for as long as he chose to stay. ‘The thing is, our mam had big ideas for Stella and Lizzie encouraged her. They wanted to see the poor gal married to a duke or an earl – some chance – so no ordinary feller could possibly have been good enough. But that’s all over now and you’re welcome to stay wi’ us for as long as it takes.’

Accordingly, Michael followed the older man into the kitchen, sat down at the table and was given a large tin mug of tea and a slice of dry-looking currant cake. He drank the tea thirstily but when he tried to eat a piece of cake, he choked and found that he could not swallow, and presently he got to his feet. ‘I’ll have to go back to my ship and find out what’s to become of me and when I’m needed,’ he said gruffly. ‘I think they’ll send me back to Ireland as soon as they can because they’ll not be wantin’ me, not now the dear old
Thunderbolt
’s forty fathoms under the waves.’ He sketched a salute at the two Bennetts solidly munching cake. ‘Do you want me to nip into Waugh’s undertakers on the Scottie to – to make arrangements, like?’

But mother and son assured him that this would not be necessary, that they would handle it, and Michael left them, immensely relieved to be out of the house and away from the dreadful presence of what lay quiet and still in the small room upstairs.

Outside, a light rain had begun to fall. Michael turned up the collar of his duffel coat, ducked his head and was almost out on to Rathbone Street once more when a skinny girl, pushing a large, old-fashioned perambulator, came round the corner at a trot. She was wearing a big mackintosh, with a waterproof hat pulled well down over her eyes, and did not see him, with the result that the pram hit him in the shins, causing him to give a protesting gasp. The girl stopped short, then began to apologise, pushing back her raincoat so that she might see him better.

‘Oh Gawd, I’m ever so sorry, mister,’ she gabbled. ‘I didn’t see you because I had me head down – did I hurt you very much? Oh Gawd, look at me messages!’ The collision had been violent enough to send a number of bags and packages spilling out on to the puddled paving and both she and Michael bent to retrieve them, knocking their heads sharply together as they did so and causing the girl to stagger back with a squawk. ‘There, an’ all you was doin’ was trying to help,’ she said remorsefully. ‘I’m not usually so clumsy, but I’ve had a terrible day. Me best friend’s died of this here flu, leaving a little baby – the one I’ve got in the perambulator – so Grundy’s have give me time off to help out. Me pal’s mam is real old and …’

Michael interrupted. ‘I’ve just come from the Bennetts’; you must be Stella’s friend,’ he said. He bent over the perambulator and peered in but could only see a small mound beneath the blankets. ‘Is she – is she anything like Stella?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ the girl replied. She leaned into the pram and pulled the blankets off the baby, propping it up against the pillows. Michael stared in total disbelief. So far as its face went, the baby looked like all babies, but it had a great plume of bright ginger hair and eyebrows and eyelashes so white as to be almost invisible. There must have been some mistake, Michael thought wildly, still staring at the child. This could not possibly be his baby, the baby to which Stella had given birth, not with hair the colour of a bunch of new carrots. Why, he himself had hair the colour of coal, and so did Stella. They both had eyes so dark that they were almost black, but this child’s eyes were round and blue. He turned and looked dumbly at the girl beside him, not knowing what to say, but she seemed to notice nothing strange.

BOOK: A Kiss and a Promise
5.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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