The September Girls (51 page)

At night, with the bombing of Liverpool merely a distant rumble, she and Kitty slept soundly, waking up to the sound of birdsong and the passing of the occasional bus or car. The days passed slowly by and it would have been a simple matter to go to Liverpool for the day and come back to Kirkby at tea-time, but Cara relished the quiet and tranquillity of the little flat, although she knew she would soon get bored with nothing to do but go for walks.

It might have been instinct, or just a sudden longing to be home, that she returned to Parliament Terrace the day the raids stopped, although not for ever. Cara had enjoyed her short holiday, but now it was time for things to return to normal - or whatever what was considered normal when there was a war on.

 

Brenna’s life had also assumed a vestige of normality. Cara and Kitty came to see her a few times a week, and Brenna often took Joey to Parliament Terrace where he’d fallen in love with Nancy. As soon as Eleanor had heard about Maria and Mike, she’d come rushing round to Shaw Street to sympathize and now they were friends again - she and Oliver Chandler had spent the raids in the shelter at the bottom of the garden with the battery wireless blasting out Radio Luxembourg, singing along at the top of their voices with every familiar song.

Life could hardly be called sweet, but it was the best she could manage under the circumstances, so when Colm confessed he’d been having an affair with Lizzie Phelan and she’d had his child, Brenna decided enough was enough. She had Joey to look after, as well as an inconsolable Tyrone, and she had to stay strong for them. She took Colm’s confession, if not calmly, then with a certain amount of resignation. They’d been growing apart for some time - at least, he’d been growing apart from her.

‘Ah, well, if that’s how you feel, Colm,’ she said with a shrug when he told her that from now on he would be living with Lizzie in Kirkby. She had a strong feeling that it was only temporary, that one day he’d be back. Their marriage wasn’t over, just put to one side for a while.

 

It was his fault,
his
fault. If he hadn’t pinched that bloody ring, then Mam wouldn’t have gone in search of Dad to see if he’d taken it. She’d have been at home when the siren went and there’d have been no need for Maria to take the lads to the shelter. His wife and son would still be alive and well. He would never stop blaming himself if he lived to be a hundred. And now Mam and Dad had split up and, although common sense told him it wasn’t anything to do with him, for some reason he felt faintly responsible.

The day after the raid, he’d chucked the ring into the bedroom. It hit the wall and fell to the floor where Mam had found it. ‘How on earth did it get there?’ she gasped and stuffed it into a drawer. ‘I never want to see it again. If it hadn’t been for that . . . ’ She didn’t finish, but Tyrone knew what she’d been about to say.

Out of curiosity, he’d gone round to the Black Horse to see if the Irish men were still around - they could break his legs, break his whole body, and he wouldn’t care - but the landlord said they’d been arrested. ‘Apparently, they were involved with the IRA and were in Liverpool to raise funds or something. In their spare time, they circulated the pubs with a set of marked cards tricking customers into playing with them and making loads of lolly, although anyone with half a brain would have recognized they were con men from the start. Still,’ he shrugged philosophically, ‘they say a fool and his money are soon parted.’ He frowned at Tyrone. ‘Aren’t you one of the ones who was taken in, lad?’

Tyrone shook his head. ‘I never play cards for money.’

‘Smart feller. Stick to that and you’ll never go wrong.’

Now he was drinking himself to death, drowning in alcohol, hardly eating, going straight from work to the pub and refusing to let Fergus come with him because he wanted to be alone in his misery. He churlishly ignored anyone who tried to engage him in conversation and only left when they shouted last orders and he went home to his bed and cried himself to sleep.

It was a month since he’d lost his wife and child, and he was in a pub where he’d never been before, where he knew no one, figuring he’d be more likely to be ignored, when the bench he was on creaked and someone sat beside him. ‘Can I get you a drink, mate?’

Tyrone groaned inwardly. ‘No, ta,’ he said rudely.

‘You look as if you need bucking up a bit. How about another pint? I need bucking up a bit an’ all. Perhaps we can do each other a favour. I’m Kevin, by the way.’

‘Oh, all right. I’m Tyrone.’ He couldn’t be bothered arguing. He watched the man go to the bar and order the drinks. Thirtyish, not very tall, his face was deeply tanned. He looked healthy and fit and was neatly dressed in navy-blue trousers and a snow-white shirt. He returned with two pints of brown ale.

‘Me boat only docked this morning,’ he said, shoving a glass in front of Tyrone, ‘and I went home to find me house had disappeared in the blitz and me ould ma was dead and buried.’ He made the sign of the Cross.

‘I’m sorry.’ It wasn’t as awful as Tyrone’s own misfortune, but it was awful all the same.

‘I’ll miss her, Ma,’ Kevin said reflectively with a sad smile. ‘She’s the only one I had left in the world. Me da did a bunk ages ago, tuberculosis took one of me brothers when he was only little and a U-boat caught the other, our Bertie, last year when he was halfway across the Atlantic.’

‘Was he in the Navy?’ Despite himself, Tyrone was interested.

‘The Merchant Navy, same as me. Ma used to worry about me something rotten, but in the end it was her who hopped the twig first.’

‘I’m
really
sorry.’ Tyrone felt as if he could easily cry. So many tragedies, so many needless deaths, so many people left to mourn.

‘Ta, mate.’ Kevin patted the duffel bag on the bench beside him. ‘I’d brought some washing home for me ma. I can easily get it done on the ship, but ma missed doing washing so I always fetched her a bit. Look, Tyrone,’ he said persuasively, ‘if you want to get something off your chest, I’d be a willing listener. I’m already feeling a bit better meself, having talked to you, like.’

But Tyrone’s own tragedy was too raw to relate to a stranger. He’d sooner talk about something else. ‘Where had you been on the ship?’ he asked.

‘Haifa,’ Kevin replied. ‘That’s in Palestine, thousands of miles away’ he added when Tyrone looked at him blankly. ‘We carried a cargo of arms for the troops out there. A Messerschmidt 109 had a go at us when we sailed through the Suez Canal, but,’ he chuckled, ‘we managed to shoot it down.’

‘You mean you were armed?’

‘Sure thing. Two Oerliken anti-aircraft guns for’head and a fourincher aft.’

‘What sort of ship were you on?’

‘Just an old coal-fired tramp steamer, mate,’ Kevin explained. ‘If you want to know the truth, I was looking forward to spending a few days on shore with Ma, but now I can’t wait to get back on board. Takes your mind off things, it does, particularly since the war started and you’re taking your life in your hands every time you sign on.’

Tyrone, who never read a paper or listened to anything on the wireless if it wasn’t accompanied by music, had no idea that the Merchant Navy was actually involved in fighting the war. He had always imagined rusty boats sailing to and fro between foreign ports transporting spices, tapioca, carpets and other unimportant stuff.

‘Could someone like me join the Merchant Navy?’ he asked Kevin.

‘Well, I don’t see any reason why not.’

‘Do you get given a medical? I’ve got summat wrong with me heart, although it doesn’t give me any bother.’ Tyrone sniffed dejectedly. ‘That’s why I’m not in the forces.’

Kevin looked him up and down. ‘You look fit enough to me, and they don’t give you a medical, no. Just go down to the pool and sign on.’

‘Without any training?’

‘I did me training as an apprentice, but you’re too old for that. Have you got a trade, Tyrone?’

‘I’m an electrician.’

‘Well then, there you go. They’ll take you on as an electrician in the boiler room.’

Tyrone’s heart began to race. It was that easy! ‘Would you like another drink, Kevin? Then you can tell me more about the Merchant Navy.’

 

Next day, Tyrone didn’t go to work, but walked as far as the Dock Road where the ‘pool’ was situated, in other words the office where the men called in for their pay at the end of a trip and signed on and off their various ships. It turned out to be a dusty building, still intact after the raids. He marvelled at how busy and alive the Docky was despite its recent pounding, the evidence of which was everywhere: heaps of debris all over the place, craters and skeletons of buildings waiting to be demolished because they were unsafe.

In the office, he was given a form to complete. ‘That’s if you can write,’ said the bluff, red-faced man who handed it to him.

‘Of course I can write,’ Tyrone said indignantly.

‘Don’t get the hump, lad,’ he was severely told. ‘Some men can and some men can’t and I have to give the buggers a hand.’

‘Have you got your papers with you?’ the man enquired when the form had been completed and he had admired the writing.

Tyrone produced the papers to prove he’d completed his apprenticeship - Kevin had advised him to bring them.

The man gave them a superficial glance, then said, ‘Right, well, the SS
Mimosa
’s due to dock in five days’ time - she lost her electrician in Port Said, got murdered for some reason,’ he added ghoulishly. ‘She’ll be sailing in another five days for New York, calling in at Glasgow on the way to pick up a consignment of Scotch whisky.’

‘New York!’ Tyrone said faintly.

‘New York. Does that suit your lordship?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s a relief,’ the man said sarcastically. ‘Now you need a uniform. You look a normal shape, so you can probably buy one over the counter rather than have it made. The best place to go is Danny’s in Howe Street. Tell him Barney sent you and he’ll see you all right. Have you got the money for it?’

‘Not a penny, but someone told me you can take it off me pay.’

‘Then someone told you right. Five quid should do it. You’ll need a couple of sets of whites an’ all.’ He opened a drawer, produced the notes and gave Tyrone a receipt to sign. ‘Oh, and tell Danny you’ll be a third officer so he’ll know exactly what you want.’

 

‘Is someone upstairs?’ Brenna shouted when she came in with Joey and could hear muffled sounds coming from the front bedroom.

‘Yes, Mam, it’s me,’ Tyrone shouted back. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

‘All right, lad, take your time. Come and help your gran make the tea,’ she said to Joey. ‘Then we’ll play cards until your Uncle Fergus comes home. I’ve never known anyone as good at snap as you are, darlin’, you beat me every time.’

Joey looked pleased. He was healing much more quickly than his father, although Mrs Murphy, his other gran, didn’t help, weeping and wailing and covering the lad with sloppy kisses every time Brenna took him to her house. An amnesty had been called between the two women, although Brenna didn’t think it likely it would last long, as she had a burning desire to thump the woman every time she opened her mouth.

‘Would you like a biccy, darlin’?’

‘Yes, please, Gran.’

‘Mam,’ Tyrone called from the living room.

‘Coming. Oh!’ she cried, pausing in the doorway, astonished. ‘Oh, son, you look wonderful! Where did that suit come from? It looks dead expensive.’

‘But that’s not all. Look, Mam.’ From behind his back, Tyrone produced a navy-blue peaked cap with a gold badge and put it on. ‘What d’you think of your dad now, Joey?’

‘You look the gear, dad.’ Joey’s eyes were like saucers. ‘Is that a uniform or something?’

‘It’s a Merchant Navy uniform, son, and your dad’s a third officer.’

‘An officer!’ Brenna breathed. Eleanor was always complaining about Jonathan not being promoted and now Brenna could boast that Tyrone was a third officer. It sounded desperately grand.

‘I’ll be sailing to New York in ten days, Mam.’

Brenna opened her mouth to protest, but changed her mind just as quickly. Trying to run her children’s lives had already caused enough trouble and it could only be for the best - it was years since she’d seen Tyrone look so full of himself. And Joey didn’t protest, just looked proudly at his distinguished dad.

‘Will you bring me a present back from New York?’ he asked.

‘Ten presents,’ Tyrone said promptly. ‘Come here, son.’ Joey ran into his arms and the two hugged as they’d never done before. ‘You don’t mind me going away, do you, son?’ Tyrone asked in a muffled voice. ‘You can take care of your gran for us.’

‘No, Dad, not if you’re going to fight Hitler. And I’ll take care of Gran, don’t worry.’

Tyrone looked over the child’s shoulder at his mother and Brenna didn’t think she’d seen so much suffering on a face before. ‘I haven’t forgotten, you know, Mam,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll never forget until me dying day.’

‘I know, darlin’,’ she said gently. ‘I know.’

 

Cara wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. She was pregnant again! She must the most fertile woman who ever lived. Making love with Marcus had been the last thing on her mind when she’d gone into his room, alerted by his groans, the night before she went to London. Quite innocently, she’d slipped into bed with him and all of a sudden they were making love, despite the fact he was in pain. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to stop him, yet she hadn’t.

Why not? she asked herself.

Because you quite enjoyed it, came the reply. Even though you only married him for Kitty’s sake, in a way, you loved Marcus Allardyce, even if you weren’t
in
love with him.

That’s true, Cara conceded, and she cried for a long time because Marcus was dead, then dried her eyes and began to laugh because she was thrilled to be having another baby - a little brother or sister for Kitty. Mam would go through the roof, Eleanor would be shocked beyond words, Fielding would wink lewdly and say something rude. Only Nancy would take the news calmly because nothing that people did surprised her.