The September Girls (23 page)

She heard the latch go on the back-yard door and a few seconds later Eleanor shouted, ‘Yoohoo! It’s only me, Bren.’

‘I’m making the beds, I’ll be down in a minute,’ she shouted back. ‘Put the kettle on while you’re waiting.’

‘I’ve just been to see Nancy,’ Eleanor said when Brenna appeared and turned the wireless off. ‘She said Sybil’s also gone to Renshaw Hall to join up or sign on or whatever it is you do. She must have made up her mind very suddenly, as she didn’t mention it when she came on Sunday. Apparently, Marcus is terribly upset - he hasn’t said anything, but Nancy can just tell. Sybil’s been at school in London for three whole years and he was expecting her to stay home for a while. I suppose he’s lonely, what with Anthony settled in America and showing no sign of coming back.’

‘I wonder if Sybil and our Cara will be in the same regiment,’ Brenna mused. ‘Do women go in regiments?’

‘I’ve no idea. Oh, Bren!’ Eleanor said tearfully. ‘This war when it starts is going to be perfectly horrible. Last night, Mr Chandler warned we might go short of food and would I mind if he started growing vegetables instead of flowers in the greenhouse. I agreed, of course.’

‘I could do with going short of food for a while.’ Brenna patted her expanding midriff. Lately, all her clothes had started to feel uncomfortably tight and her mirror reflected a distinctly matronly figure. She looked enviously at Eleanor whose shape at forty-two was still that of a young girl.

‘It’s not funny, Bren.’

‘Do you see me laughing?’ Brenna asked indignantly. ‘Any minute now, our Cara will come home and announce she’s an admiral in the Navy or something and our Tyrone will be called up, although they’ll never take Fergus, not with his poor eyesight - I never thought I’d be pleased the poor lad has to wear glasses. There’s gasmasks under the stairs along with rolls of tape to stick on me winders to stop them shattering ’case a bomb drops outside, ration books and identity cards in the sideboard, and the other day I bought Lord knows how many yards of blackout material for Nancy to make into curtains.’ She paused for breath. ‘Colm’s already become an air raid protection warden - as if he didn’t have enough to do already - and the Townswomen’s Guild is helping to organize the evacuation of children when the war actually starts.’

‘I know, Bren, aren’t I helping with that, too?’

‘Of course you are, darlin’, I hadn’t forgot,’ Brenna assured her with a gracious wave of her hand, adding grimly, ‘That eejit Hitler has turned the whole of Europe upside down, so he has. He needs putting over someone’s knee and given a good spanking - I’d do it meself if I could get me hands on him.’

‘I’m sure you would, Bren,’ Eleanor said dryly. ‘Have you noticed we no longer say, “if war starts,” but “when”? Oh, I wish women ran things instead of men. If we were in charge, no one would know the meaning of the word “war”.’

 

It was all quite dreadful, Eleanor thought, shuddering, as she passed the newly built air raid shelters and sandbagged buildings on her way back to Tigh Street.

War! The last one had been bad enough, but this new one would involve civilians on the ground. She looked up at the blue sky and tried to picture it filled with enemy planes and bombs raining down on the innocent people below, but it was quite beyond the bounds of her imagination. Twenty-five years ago she’d lost Geoffrey and now she was faced with the fear of losing her darling Jonathan. He was only seventeen and still at school, but in a matter of months the schoolboy would be considered old enough to fight for his country. And he was such a delicate, sensitive young man she wasn’t convinced if he could stand up to life in the forces.

She arrived home to find Oliver Chandler in the greenhouse looking thoughtful. ‘I shall have to buy a gardening book,’ he announced. ‘All I can think to plant is tomatoes.’

‘Tomatoes would be very useful,’ Eleanor said, glad to have something mundane to talk about. ‘They can be eaten fresh, bottled, or made into soup or chutney.’

‘What an enterprising lady you are, Mrs Allardyce!’ Mr Chandler gave her his charming, whimsical grin. He had only been living there for six months, her fifth lodger since Ernest Fulton had retired and gone to live with his sister in Morecambe. Fortyish, slightly built, with smoky brown hair and eyes to match, as well as an irresistible grin and a posh accent, Eleanor was a tiny bit in love with him. She wasn’t on the lookout for a lover or another husband - she was still married to Marcus - but wouldn’t have minded having a mild flirtation with Mr Chandler, and accompanying him to the pictures or the theatre once in a while, but he’d never asked and she had no intention of dropping hints. He was the perfect lodger, never complaining, cleaning his own room and even cooking the occasional meal. He and Jonathan got on well and he frequently helped the boy with his homework. His own work was highly secret - he worked for the Admiralty in an office down by the Pier Head.

She was about to leave him to his musings in the greenhouse, when he said, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask, Mrs Allardyce, if you would be willing to let out your spare bedroom? One of my colleagues will shortly be transferred to Liverpool from London and will be looking for somewhere to live.’

It had never crossed her mind before to let the fourth bedroom. Until Oliver Chandler had come along, she’d never been keen on lodgers, considering them an intrusion into her life, but she’d needed the money and her various lodgers had provided more than enough.

‘I’ll need to think about that, Mr Chandler,’ she told him. She wondered if the colleague was a woman and there’d be all sorts of hanky panky going on under her roof, but remembered she had indulged in quite a bit of hanky panky herself, even if it was quite a while ago. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve made up my mind.’

‘If it helps, make up your mind, that is,’ he said, flashing his appealing grin, ‘the chap concerned is a brilliant mathematician with a PhD from Cambridge University. His name is Lewis Brown and, like me, he is a perfect gentleman.’ He grinned again and Eleanor was lost.

‘Oh, all right,’ she smiled. ‘When will he move in?’

‘In a month or so.’

‘There’s hardly any furniture in that room.’

‘That’s all right, Lewis will bring his own.’

 

The manager of Boots hadn’t minded Cara and Sheila taking time off for such a patriotic reason. On the way back, they nipped into the Kardomah in Bold Street and treated themselves to a cream tea to celebrate their imminent departure from Liverpool for a life of excitement, adventure and possibly a dash of danger on top.

When she arrived home, there was a mouth-watering smell coming from the kitchen and she realized she was starving, the cream cake having not dulled her appetite a jot - Mam claimed she had the appetite of a horse.

Mam was hovering in the living room and threw her a glowering look. ‘Did you do it?’ she asked sharply.

‘Yes, Mam, I did.’ Cara threw herself into a chair, her long slim legs stretched out, creating a hazard for everyone to trip over. ‘Sybil Allardyce was there and hundreds of other women. I’m not the only girl in Liverpool who wants to do their bit.’ For some reason, Mam was dead set against her joining up.

‘You can do “your bit”, as you call it, here at home,’ Mam said in the same sharp voice. ‘There’s no need to go scurrying off to some foreign country.’

‘She mightn’t be sent to a foreign country, Bren,’ Dad said reasonably. He was sitting at the table reading the paper as he waited for the meal to arrive. Fergus was also there, looking very fed up: lately, he looked fed up all the time.

‘Oh, but Colm, she could be sent to Timbuctoo or somewhere,’ Mam wailed. ‘It’s not fair. I’ll be desperately worried about her every minute of every day. You expect your sons to go off and fight, but not your one and only daughter.’ At this, Fergus winced.

‘She won’t do any fighting either, Bren. They won’t be sending women to the front line.’

‘Any road, Mam, we’ve all got to have medicals and I might not pass.’ She only said it to calm her mother down a bit, but it had the opposite effect.

‘
You
,’ Mam snorted loudly, ‘
you
not pass a medical! You’re as fit as a fiddle. I’d have something to say to any doctor who dared turn you down.’

Dad glanced over the paper and winked at his daughter. ‘She’s a bundle of contradictions, your mam.’

‘And what about that nice boyfriend of yours? What’s he got to say about you joining up?’

‘Mam!’ Cara burst out laughing. ‘Last week, you claimed Richie Larkin wasn’t nearly good enough for me. This week he’s “nice”. He doesn’t care if I join up or not. We weren’t intending to get married or anything.’ So far, Cara hadn’t met a single man she wanted to marry.

‘Are we having anything to eat tonight or not, luv?’ Dad gave Mam a pained look. ‘Something in the kitchen smells awful good and it’d be interesting to see if it tastes as good as it smells.’

‘It’s beef stew with dumplings,’ Mam said, looking flustered. ‘I’ll fetch it.’

She returned with the stew in a big serving dish, plonking it on the table with a too-loud thud. Taking off her pinny, she sat down with another thud. ‘There’s two dumplings each, so no one’s to take more than their fair share,’ she barked, and Dad said there was no need for anyone in the house to join the forces as they had their very own sergeant major on the premises. Mam said if he wasn’t careful she’d give him a thick ear and Dad hit her with the rolled-up paper. With that, everyone started laughing, but they didn’t laugh for long, because at that very minute the back door opened and Tyrone came bursting in.

‘I’ve left Maria,’ he announced in a flat voice, ‘and this time it’s for good.’

Cara sighed, Fergus groaned and Dad said, ‘Not again!’

‘I only wish it were for good,’ Mam said angrily, ‘but knowing you, you’ll go back the very second Maria snaps her fingers.’

‘Don’t interfere, Bren,’ Dad muttered, which was just about the worse thing he could have said.

‘Don’t interfere!
Don’t interfere
!’ Mam shrieked. ‘Maria Murphy tricked our son into getting married and you tell me not to interfere?’

‘She was expecting his baby, Bren. I wouldn’t exactly call that a trick.’

‘He was only eighteen,’ Mam countered.

‘So was she,’ Dad countered back.

Tyrone ignored the argument, sat down, reached for the ladle and helped himself to stew.

Cara wondered how they were to share eight dumplings between five. Feeling rather saintly, she took just one, leaving the others to sort out the remaining seven.

Five years ago, all hell had broken loose when Annie Murphy had come to the house in flaming temper and announced her daughter, Maria, was expecting a baby and it was all the fault of their Tyrone.

‘It can’t possibly be our Tyrone,’ Mam had spat. ‘He’s only a lad and he’d never do such a thing.’

‘Lad or not, our Maria’s up the stick and it was your Tyrone who put her there.’ Mrs Murphy had folded her arms stubbornly. ‘They’ll just have to get married - she’s already three months gone, so the sooner the better.’

‘He’s much too young to get married! It’s all a trick. Your Maria’s no better than she ought to be. Our Tyrone would never go with her - he’d never go with anyone, he’s been too well brought up for that.’

‘He wasn’t well brought up enough to stop him from going thieving with our Squinty,’ Mrs Murphy sneered, ‘or breaking into cars if there was something worth nicking on the back seat. If you like, Mrs Caffrey, I’ll give you a whole list of the things that lad of yours has been up to, despite him being so well brought up.’

Mam’s answer had been to slam the door in the woman’s face, then collapse in Dad’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. ‘She’s lying, isn’t she, darlin’? Our Tyrone would never do any of those things.’

‘I dunno, luv,’ Dad said miserably. ‘We’d better ask him when he comes home.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He’s taken some girl to the pictures,’ Fergus supplied.

It turned out that Tyrone was indeed the father of Maria’s baby and guilty of a whole host of crimes. ‘I only did it for fun,’ he explained, as if Mam and Dad would understand. ‘I’ve been going straight since I was sixteen.’

Mam was too upset to rant and rave, but somehow managed to blame Mrs Murphy for everything, even the thieving. ‘That Squinty lad led Tyrone astray - his mam never even tried to control him - and Maria’s got a terrible reputation. Our Tyrone’s such an easygoing lad, wanting to please everyone.’

Tyrone and Maria had got wed straight away, but the two mothers had been sworn enemies ever since. It took Mam a long while, but she eventually grew to like Maria, who in fact was very pleasant, extremely pretty and nothing like the good-time girl she’d been made out to be. The marriage wasn’t a happy one, even though the young couple loved each other very much. Tyrone’s head had held all sorts of plans for the future that didn’t include having a wife and child at eighteen and had ended with him becoming very rich, and Maria had confessed to Cara that she’d had every intention of going to Hollywood to be a film star. ‘But now I’m stuck living in me gran’s parlour with a baby and another on the way, and no hope of a place of our own, not on Tyrone’s wages.’ Tyrone had had to give up his electrician’s apprenticeship, where he earned only shillings a week, and take up labouring, which paid a little bit more. Mam and Dad had felt obliged to dip into the money they were saving for a new fireplace to buy a pram and a cot and the hundred and one other things that a baby needed.

Now Tyrone was twenty-three, father to two little boys, Joey and Mike, whom he loved as desperately as he did Maria, although would never admit it, and still living with Maria’s gran and an unmarried uncle who was a penny short of a shilling. About once a month, he left his little family and came home to be petted and fussed over by Mam, or Maria would take the boys and go to stay with her mother. Dad said it was nothing to be alarmed about: they were living in too close quarters and just needed a rest from each other now’n again. They usually returned to each other within a day.