The September Girls (40 page)

‘I’m Connors and I’m to drive you to London, Euston Station to be precise. I understand you’re heading for Liverpool?’

Cara nodded. Connors was small and dark and remind her very much of Mac. She felt the urge to cry, but tightened her lips, determined not to. ‘That’s right.’

‘We’ll go when you’ve finished your tea, there’s no need to hurry.’

Connors never stopped talking the whole way to Euston Station. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to mind if he received a reply and seemed quite satisfied with Cara’s occasional accommodating grunts.

The station was crowded to the point of suffocation, as if the entire population of an overheated London had decided to leave the capital, all at the same time and in the same direction. The air smelled of soot and smoke. Cara identified the Liverpool train and her heart sank when she saw it was packed to capacity, with passengers stuffed like sardines in the corridors.

‘You’d better get on quick, luv,’ a porter warned. ‘It’s leaving in a minute.’

A door opened and eager hands reached to pull her on; soldiers, a whole regiment of them. Cara gulped; she wasn’t in the mood to spend an uncomfortable few hours with a pile of raucous soldiers who’d flirt with her and expect her to flirt back. But she had no choice. She was about to allow herself to be yanked on board, when a man in railway uniform caught her arm.

‘Come and sit in the guard’s van with me, luv.’ He led her towards the dimly lit van. ‘I noticed you before. You look like death warmed up, if you don’t mind me saying. Feeling a bit under the weather, are you?’

His name was Cecil and he came from Liverpool. ‘Anfield, right next to Liverpool Football Club. Trouble is, I support Everton.’

Cara travelled home in the company of two dogs in a cage, a rabbit in a hutch, several bikes, two large prams and Cecil, who shared with her the flask of cocoa made by his wife, then left her alone to wallow in her misery. ‘You don’t look as if you feel much like talking, luv.’

It was the last thing she felt like doing, along with virtually everything else she could think of.

Nancy Gates was fast asleep after an exceptionally hectic day. Since the war started, Nancy had twice as much to do. At the outset, she had given up her political activities and joined the Red Cross, the Townswomen’s Guild and had, recently, the Women’s Voluntary Service. Apart from looking after Marcus, she gave First Aid lessons once a week, having gained a certificate, attended sewing days with Brenna and Eleanor, knitted socks for servicemen and could now turn a heel without looking at the pattern. This particular day had been spent pushing a handcart round Toxteth, knocking on doors asking for salvage.

‘Anything will do: paper, metal, old tyres, jam jars, old light bulbs, batteries and books - the books are for the forces, not for scrap.’

The main response had been: ‘I’ll have a look, luv. Call back again tomorrer and I’ll let you have what I’ve got.’

Not normally one to go to bed early, no matter how exhausted she might be, Nancy had nevertheless thought it wise to turn in before her usual time of midnight, as it seemed tomorrow was likely to be as hectic as today.

She had no idea how long she’d been asleep when she became aware that someone was hammering on the basement door. She considered ignoring it, telling herself it was probably a drunk come to the wrong house, when a woman’s voice called, ‘Nancy.’ The woman sounded desperate.

Groaning, she staggered out of bed, put on the thick woollen dressing gown that she wore winter and summer, pushed her large feet into a pair of men’s slippers and went to answer the door.

At first, she thought there was no one there until her eyes got used to the dark and she could see a woman sitting on the bottom of the basement steps. Her heart turned over.

‘Brenna!’

‘It’s me, Cara. I was beginning to think you’d gone away.’

‘Lord Almighty! You gave me quite a turn, pet. I couldn’t see you were wearing a uniform and it’s almost twenty years since I opened the door and found your mam sitting in exactly the same position.’

‘I’m sorry, Nancy. Can I come in?’

‘Of course, pet. What on earth are you doing here?’ she asked when the door was closed and a thick curtain pulled over it so not a chink of light would show. Automatically, she filled the kettle and switched it on. There was plenty of tea as she’d managed to convert Marcus from tea to coffee so he hardly used any of his ration.

‘I don’t know where to start,’ Cara whispered. The poor child looked done in. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale and her long neck drooped like the stem of a dying flower.

‘Try the beginning, pet,’ Nancy suggested gently. She couldn’t begin to guess what had brought Cara back from Malta to the house in Parliament Terrace or why hadn’t she gone straight to her mam’s.

‘The other day,’ Cara said tiredly, ‘I was going to get married, but the . . . the man got killed the night before and now I’m expecting his baby and I don’t want Mam to find out. Sybil said you’d know what to do.’

Nancy could hardly believe her ears. Her heart turned over a second time. ‘You poor girl! What a terrible thing to happen.’ She put her arm around Cara’s thin shoulders and led her to a chair. ‘You really need your mam at a time like this, pet.’

‘No!’ Cara shook her head emphatically. ‘Mam will shout and scream and I couldn’t stand it, not right now. I want to be somewhere quiet. I’ll face Mam when the baby’s born, I’ll feel stronger then.’ She began to cry, hard racking sobs. ‘Kit’s dead and I’ll never love another man again.’

‘How did he die, Cara?’

‘It was a bomb, it tore his face off. Oh, Nancy, I can’t get it out of me mind.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I can see him now, lying in the road, Mac too, and Fielding. One of her arms had been torn off.’

‘Cara, my poor, dear girl.’ Nancy felt like crying herself. That Cara, so sweet and blameless, should suffer such a tragedy only confirmed her long-held belief that there was no such person as God. A halfway decent God would never allow such an horrific war to start in which young men had their faces blown off and innocent people were slaughtered in their thousands. Any God worth his salt wouldn’t let someone like Hitler be born into His world, let alone permit him to flourish.

There followed a long silence during which Nancy could think of nothing to say and Cara seemed to fall asleep, yet remained sitting up in the chair. Nancy wondered how long she’d been travelling. Outside, there wasn’t a sound to be heard. It used to be possible to hear the trams hurtling along Upper Parliament Street, but these days they just crawled along like ghosts in the blackout, their lights hardly visible until they were right on top of you. On any normal midsummer night, there’d still be plenty of people about, singing at the top of their voices as they made their way home from the pubs and picture houses, but things were no longer normal. Nancy wondered how long it would be before they were, and hoped she’d be alive to see the day.

Cara whimpered in her sleep and she wondered what on earth she could do for the girl. She was right about her mother. Brenna had a kind heart, but couldn’t control her temper and would be no good for Cara the state she was in. The poor girl would be inundated with questions and more questions, castigated for being pregnant, given no peace. She needed a quiet place to grieve for the man called Kit and think about her future with Kit’s child.

Well, there’s nothing I can do right now, Nancy thought. Perhaps I’ll think of something tomorrow. In the meantime, she’d ask Marcus if it was all right if Cara stayed the night. The old Marcus would have thundered a derisive, ‘No,’ but she felt the new one would be quite amenable to the idea. Like her, he kept late hours and would almost certainly be listening to the wireless in his study.

 

Marcus listened to every single news bulletin in the hope Malta would be mentioned, although it rarely was. He recognized the strategic importance of the island, knew that the Italians had been bombing the place since May, but that was all. He was worried about Sybil, wishing she would write more often. Cara Caffrey wrote to her parents regularly and Nancy supplied him with any news there was.

He sighed, turned the wireless off and stared at the virgin-white blotter on his desk. He couldn’t remember when he’d last done work in his study and was even losing interest in the factory, as it ran quite smoothly without him. The workers that were left were fully occupied with producing asbestos sheeting for the Navy; new business was no longer required and neither was he. He kept meaning to get involved in the war effort, but it meant mixing with other people when he’d far rather be alone, yet at the same time he felt utterly sick of his own company. ‘There’s no pleasing you, Marcus,’ his mother used to say, he couldn’t remember for what reason.

There was a tap on the study door and he called, ‘Come in, Nancy.’ He quite welcomed a visit from his housekeeper. Lately, they’d been having quite interesting discussions about the war, although not usually at such a late hour, just past midnight, he noticed, glancing at his watch.

‘I’ve got someone downstairs, Mr Allardyce,’ Nancy announced. ‘It’s Cara Caffrey and she’s in terrible trouble, poor child. I wondered if she could stay the night? I always keep the bed in Eleanor’s old room aired, in case we have an unexpected visitor, like.’

‘What sort of trouble?’ he asked. He was astonished that Cara should be under his roof when he’d assumed she was in Malta with Sybil.

Nancy explained Cara’s situation with a great deal of dramatic waving of her big hands, finishing with, ‘She’s asleep now and I don’t know what to do with her. If necessary, she can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch, but seeing as there’s beds to spare upstairs . . .’

‘Put her in Eleanor’s old room, but what about tomorrow? Where will she go then?’

Nancy shrugged. ‘I dunno. It seems it was Sybil who sent her to me, so I’ll just have to think of something, won’t I? Oh, and don’t mention this to anyone, will you? Cara doesn’t want Brenna to know she’s home.’

 

It took quite a while for Cara to deduce where she was when she woke up in an opulent bedroom with black lacquered furniture and a turkey-red carpet. She sat up, head thudding, and took in the cream, satin-striped wallpaper, the red velvet curtains around which daylight glimmered. A fancy white-and-gold clock on the wall showed it was quarter past nine.

Was this a dream? Had the whole thing been a dream, including Kit? She pressed her hands against her swollen eyes and remembered that she’d left Malta early the previous day. The plane had landed in Suffolk and a young airman called Connors, who’d been very like Mac, had driven her to Euston Station where she’d caught the train to Liverpool, then had walked through the blackout to Parliament Terrace to see Nancy.

That’s
where she was, in the Allardyces’ house and it wasn’t a dream, but real. She faintly remembered Nancy helping her upstairs, helping to take off her uniform.

‘You can sleep in your petticoat. It won’t hurt for once. Now, come on, pet, into bed you get. You’ll feel better in the morning.’

And Cara
did
feel better, although only in her body, not her head. She would never feel better in her head, but she felt fitter after a good night’s sleep in a quiet room where she felt completely safe and cut off from the world and everyone in it except for Nancy Gates - Mr Allardyce would have gone to work by now. Where she would sleep tonight was a different matter altogether.

She wondered if it were possible to have a bath. She got out of bed, pulled back the curtains and gaped at the sight of the tall building, very close, that blocked out any chance of sunlight reaching the room. It was the Protestant cathedral, she remembered, still not finished after almost thirty years. The room must be at the back of the house.

Her suitcase was on a chair beside the bed. She opened it and pulled out her red dress. It was badly creased, but she put it on all the same and went to look for Nancy.

 

Marcus was wandering around the house wondering what to do with himself, whether or not to go into the factory, or shut himself in the study, when he met Cara coming down the stairs. They both jumped; he’d forgotten she was there and no doubt she’d thought he’d be out by now.

‘How are you feeling today?’ he asked.

‘Better,’ she said bravely. ‘Much better.’

‘I’m sorry about what happened, Nancy told me about it.’

‘So am I. Thank you very much for letting me stay in your house last night. Oh, in case I forget, Sybil said to give you her love.’ He doubted that very much; she was just being kind. ‘I was just about to ask Nancy if I could have a bath.’

‘Of course, there’s plenty of hot water and there’s a bathroom next to the room where you slept.’

‘Cara? Is that you, pet?’ Nancy must have heard them talking. ‘There’s a pot of tea made down here.’

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’ She looked at him with her big blue eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘Will you excuse me?’