“I got them from upstairs,” Flo said smugly. “There’s plenty more, if you’d like some. It’s like having a big shop up there all to meself.”
“I wouldn’t mind a few. I’m expecting Jock any minute, and it’d be nice to have the place looking Christmassy. Don’t forget you’re invited to Christmas dinner, will you?”
“No. And don’t you forget me party the Saturday before. I feel as if I owe the girls in the laundry a party. I never had the one that was planned for me twenty-first.”
Sally twisted her lips ruefully. “Mam was really looking forward to that. She was trying to get the ingredients for a birthday cake.”
“Was she? You’ve never mentioned that before.”
“I’d forgotten all about it.”
The sisters were silent for a while, thinking about Mam and Albert and how much their little world had changed over the past few years.
“Oh, well.” Sally sighed. “I’m on early shift tomorrer.
I’d better be getting home.”
It was a sad Christmas, full of bitter-sweet memories of Christmases that had gone before, made even sadder when a letter arrived from Bel to say that Bob had been killed in North Africa. “I only wish you two had met, Flo,” she wrote. “He was the dearest husband a woman could have. We were only married two years, almost to the day, and weren’t together for a lot of that time, but I’ll never stop missing him. Never.”
On New Year’s Eve, Flo slipped into the Utility frock that she’d bought especially for the Rialto dance, which would go on till past midnight. It was turquoise linen, made with the minimum amount of material, short sleeves and a narrow collar. She adjusted the mirror on the mantelpiece, took a sip of sherry, and began to curl her hair into a roll.
Would she meet anyone tonight? She was glad Christmas was over and it would soon be 1942. She and Sally had both agreed that they would put the past firmly behind them and start afresh. With a wry smile, Flo glanced at the fluffy blue bunny, still in its Cellophane wrapping on the sideboard. She’d bought it for Hugh, but hadn’t had the nerve to take it round to Clement Street, knowing that it would be refused. Anyroad, Hugh would be two in February and had probably grown out of fluffy bunnies. She still looked for him, walking up and down Clement Street two or three times a week. Nancy must have deliberately done her shopping when she knew Flo would be at work because there was never any sign of her out with Hugh. For a while, Flo was worried that she’d moved, but Sally said that Martha had taken Kate to see her.
She sipped more sherry, already slightly drunk and the evening hadn’t even started. She didn’t even know what her son looked like! How could she ever put the past behind her when he would still be on her mind if she lived to be a hundred? She hummed “Auld Lang Syne”, and told herself she was strong, a survivor. She wondered why she wanted to weep when she was getting ready for a dance where she was bound to have a good time.
“Because it’s not really what I want,” she told herself bleakly.
When someone knocked on the door she turned, startled. Sal was spending New Year’s Eve at Elsa Cameron’s with Martha. “If she’s come to persuade me to go with her, she’s wasting her time.”
A middle-aged man, sunburned, with hollow eyes and hollow cheeks, was standing outside the door holding a suitcase. He wore an ill-fitting tweed suit, and the collar of his frayed shirt was far too big.
“Yes?” Flo said courteously. She didn’t recognise him from Adam.
“Oh, Flo! Have I changed so much?” he said tragically.
“Mr Fritz! Oh, Mr Fritz!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “Am I pleased to see you!”
“I’m glad someone is.” He looked ready to shed the tears she’d so recently wanted to shed herself. He came into the flat and she pushed him into a chair, then stared at him as if he were a long-lost, dearly loved relative. He was much thinner than she remembered, but despite his gaunt features and the lines of strain around his jaw, he looked fit and well, as if he’d spent a lot of time working outdoors. His once chubby hands were lean and callused, but without his wire-rimmed glasses he seemed much younger. The more she stared, the less he looked like the Mr Fritz she used to know.
“Are you home for good?” she demanded. She wanted to pat him all over, make sure he was real, and had to remind herself he was only her employer.
He said drily, “After all this time the powers-that-be decided I wasn’t a danger to my adopted country. Just before Christmas they let me go.” His brown eyes grew moist. “I’ve been to Ireland, Flo. Stella wasn’t pleased to see me, and made it obvious she didn’t want me to stay. The younger children didn’t know who I was.
The others were polite, but they’re having such a good time on the farm I think they were scared I’d insist they come home.” He sighed. “They’re known locally as the McGonegals. Stella is ashamed of her married name.”
Flo had no idea what to say. She frowned at her hands and mumbled, “I always thought you and Mrs Fritz were very happy together.”
“So did I!” Mr Fritz looked puzzled. “I’m not sure what happened, but as soon as the war started Stella became a different person, bad-tempered, blaming me for things I had no control over. I couldn’t produce coal or sugar out of thin air as if I were a magician. I wasn’t personally responsible for the air raids. When the women left the laundry for higher wages, that was the last straw as far as Stella was concerned. It was a shock, after so many years, to discover she could be so unpleasant.”
“Perhaps,” Flo said hesitantly, “once the war’s over . . . ”
“No.” He shook his head wearily. “No, it’s too late, Flo.
I spent eighteen months in the camp. The other married men had letters from their families. Some wives travelled hundreds of miles to see their husbands for just a few hours. I had a single letter from Stella the whole time I was there, and that was to tell me she was back in Ireland and she’d left you in charge of the laundry and William Square.” There was a lost expression on his face.
Something had happened with which he would never come to terms. “You can’t be sure of anything in this life, I hadn’t realised that,” he murmured. “I never thought it possible to feel so very alone, as if I’d never had a family. I still feel like that—alone. Do I actually have a wife and eight children? It seems absurd. It’s even worse since I went to Ireland. We were like strangers to each other.”
“Oh, Lord!” Flo was horrified. He was such a dear, sweet man, who wouldn’t hurt a fly. She said in her kindest voice, which seemed rather thick and emotional all of a sudden, “You don’t seem like a stranger to me.”
For the first time he smiled. “That means a lot, Flo. It really does.” He glanced around the room and she hoped he wouldn’t recognise the decorations and all the other things she’d pinched from upstairs. “You’ve made this place very cosy. It’s a relief to have somewhere, someone, to come back to.” He smiled again. “But you’re obviously getting ready for a night out on the town. I expect you have a date with a young man. Don’t let me keep you.”
“As if I’d let you spend New Year’s Eve all on your own,” Flo cried. “I was only going to the Rialto by meself.”
Despite his protestations, she refused to leave. “I’ll pretend I got all decked up because I was expecting you,” she said, in the hope that it would make him feel less alone, more welcome.
Apparently it did. By the time she’d made a cup of tea and something to eat, he looked almost cheerful. She poured them both a glass of sherry and told him all about the laundry. “I hope you don’t mind but we changed the name to White’s after we lost a lot of business.”
He already knew. Stella had given him the statements Flo had sent. “It’s all I have left now, my laundry.” He sighed, but more like the gloomy Mr Fritz of old than the joyless person who’d just landed on her doorstep.
She described the staff. “You’ll love the twins. They can only manage one person’s work between them, but they only get one person’s wage, so it doesn’t matter.”
She told him about Peggy, who had to leave early for her lads’ tea, and Lottie and Moira who worked half a day each. “And, of course, you know Jimmy Cromer, he’s a treasure.”
“Jimmy will have to go now I’m back,” Mr Fritz said.
“You can’t sack him!” Flo gasped. “He’s a good worker, dead reliable.”
“But there’ll be nothing for him to do.” He spread his hands, palms upwards, a gesture she remembered well.
“I’ll be able to collect and deliver, won’t I?”
“Even so, you can’t sack Jimmy for no reason,” Flo said stubbornly.
“He’ll be superfluous to requirements, Flo. What better reason is there?”
“It seems very cruel.”
“It’s necessary to be cruel sometimes if you run a successful business. It’s what capitalism is all about. You can’t employ superfluous staff and make a profit.”
“And here’s me thinking you wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Flo said sarcastically. “I suppose you’ll be reducing the wages next, so you make an even bigger profit. Well, you needn’t think I’m working me guts out if everyone leaves.”
His eyes twinkled. “You’ve changed, Flo. You would never have spoken to me like that before.”
Flo tossed her head. “I’m not sorry.”
“Why should you be sorry for expressing an opinion? I like you better this way. But let’s have more sherry and save the arguments for tomorrow. It’s New Year’s Eve.
We’ll talk about only pleasant things. Tell me, how are your family?”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing pleasant to tell.” She explained about Mam and Albert being killed in the same raid that had damaged the laundry.
“So many tragedies.” Mr Fritz looked dejected. “Hitler has a great deal to answer for. I suppose I should consider myself lucky to be alive.”
As midnight approached, he noticed the wireless and suggested they listen to Big Ben chime in the New Year.
“Is that the set from upstairs?”
“I hope you don’t mind. I borrowed it,” Flo said uncomfortably, “You can have it back tomorrer.”
“Keep it, Flo,” he said warmly. “It will give me a good excuse to come down and listen to the news.”
“You mean I can stay?” She felt relieved. “I thought you might prefer to have the house all to yourself, like.”
“My dear Flo,” he laughed, “would I be silly enough to put my one and only friend out on to the street? Of course you can stay. What’s more, this furniture’s seen better days. There’s a nice little settee and chair in Stella’s sitting room that you must have. She’s not likely to use it again.”
“Shush!” Flo put her finger to her lips. “It’s about to be nineteen forty-two.”
As the great clock in London chimed in the New Year, they shook hands and Mr Fritz kissed her decorously on the cheek. “I’d expected it would be dreadful, coming back to the house without Stella and the children, Flo, but it’s not been nearly as bad as I’d thought.” He squeezed her hand. “It really is good to be home.”
He was still the same Mr Fritz, after all, who couldn’t hurt a fly. Once face to face with Jimmy Cromer, he couldn’t bring himself to dismiss the lad. “I’m a hopeless capitalist,” he confessed. Instead, he gave him a job in the laundry, which Jimmy said disgustedly was women’s work and got bored within a week. As a fit, able sixteen-year-old, he had no problem finding employment in war time, and he left quickly of his own accord.
While she’d been in charge Flo had got used to doing things her way. She had quite a task convincing Mr Fritz that her way was best. He got tetchy when proved wrong, she sulked when he was right, but they were always the best of friends again before the day was over.
He maintained that they provided a substitute family for each other.
“Mam would be pleased,” said Flo. “She always liked you.”
Life assumed a pleasant pattern. On Sundays, he would come to dinner, armed with a bottle of wine. On Saturday afternoons, Flo had tea upstairs, eating the thick, clumsily made sandwiches with every appearance of enjoyment.
During the week, she continued to go dancing, occasionally bringing home a young serviceman. Upstairs would be in darkness, so Mr Fritz remained ignorant of that part of her life. Not that it was any of his business, she told herself, but it was something she’d sooner keep to herself.
In July, Bel came home on five days’ leave prior to being posted to Egypt, and preferred to spend the time with her best friend, Flo, rather than with her horrible aunt Mabel.
Like virtually everyone else, Bel had changed. There was an added maturity to her lovely face, and her violet eyes were no longer quite so dazzling. Even so, she swept into the flat like a breath of fresh air, filling it with noise and laughter. She enthused over the brown plush settee and chair that had once belonged to Stella, the tall sideboard, which had so many useful drawers and cupboards, and was particularly taken with the brass bed from Mr Fritz’s spare room. “It’s like a little palace, Flo, but I hate the idea of you living in a hole in the ground.”
“Don’t be silly,” Flo said mildly. “I love it.”
The two girls attracted a chorus of wolf-whistles, and many an admiring glance, as they strolled through the sunlit city streets of an evening in their summer frocks: Bel, the young widow, with her striking red hair and rosy cheeks, and green-eyed Flo, as pale and slender as a lily.
Bel and Mr Fritz took to each other straight away and pretended to flirt extravagantly. On the last night of Bel’s leave, he took both girls out to dinner. “I wonder what Stella would say if she could see me now.” He chuckled.
“Every man in this restaurant is eyeing me enviously, wondering how such an insignificant little chap managed to get the two most beautiful women in Liverpool to dine with him.”
“Insignificant!” Bel screamed. “You’re dead attractive, you. If I was on the look-out for a feller, I’d grab you like a shot.”
Flo smiled. In the past, no one would have dreamed of describing Mr Fritz as attractive, but since returning from the camp he had acquired a gaunt, melancholy charm.
The twins claimed he made their old hearts flutter dangerously, and Peggy declared herself bowled over.
That night, Flo and Bel sat up in bed together drinking their final mug of cocoa. “I won’t half miss you.” Flo sighed. “The place will seem dead quiet after you’ve gone.”