Alec saw Kathy flush scarlet at the remark but made no comment himself. When they regained the road, however, Kathy said shyly: ‘Sorry about that, Alec, but I’ve known Mr Dickinson all my life, and you know how it is, some folk leap to conclusions. But I was wondering . . . well, if you’re not too busy, if you’d like it . . .’
She broke down in confusion and Alec put an arm round her shoulders to give her a squeeze. ‘Whatever’s the matter, old girl?’ he said gently. ‘I can’t imagine myself taking offence at anything you could say. Where’s your self-confidence, Kathy? Do I look as if I eat little girls for breakfast?’
‘No, of course not,’ Kathy said with an embarrassed laugh. ‘It’s just that it seemed such a cheek . . . but I’ll ask you anyway! I don’t have brothers, apart from Billy, so I don’t know anyone in the services. Oh, I know Jimmy and fellers who were in my class at the Daisy Street school, but they’ve all got families and girlfriends and so on. I – I just wondered . . .’
Alec was wondering, apprehensively, whether she was about to proposition him, when Kathy took a deep breath and started again. ‘Would you like me to write to you?’ she said, all in a rush. ‘You needn’t write back if you didn’t want to, only I’d like it most awfully if you did. You see, it would mean we’d keep in touch, know how each other’s lives were going on. What – what d’you think Alec?’
‘I think that’s a grand idea, and of course I’ll write back,’ Alec said heartily. It was a grand idea, too, because it meant that, if the two girls stayed together, he would know what was happening to Jane as well. He knew that Kathy and Jane had been friends all their lives, knew that they hoped to join the WAAF and knew that, even if they were sent to totally different parts of the country, they would still keep in touch. He looked down at Kathy as he spoke and caught her looking up at him with eyes full of an emotion which he had no wish to identify. Oh, Lord, the bloody girl’s falling for me, he thought, dismayed. He had not meant it to happen, had merely treated her as he had treated other young women, but somewhere along the line – perhaps because she was so inexperienced – she had decided to fall for him. But next moment, she had looked down, letting her long sweep of bright brown hair fall, concealingly, across her face, and when she looked back up at him again there was only friendship in her large hazel eyes.
‘Good!’ she said joyfully. ‘I felt ever so out of it, not having anyone to write letters to, apart from my mother’s lodgers, and they’re really more like a couple of uncles than friends. Well, now that’s settled, we’d best go back to Daisy Street and join the others. Thanks ever so much for saying you’ll write; you are so kind.’
When they entered the Kelling kitchen they found Jane preparing a scrap meal which Jimmy declared was plenty, breakfast having filled them up. ‘We won’t need nothin’ more till supper time,’ he assured her. ‘I s’pose you two are going to be busy all afternoon, bakin’ and makin’ jellies an’ that for Friday? Can we help or would you rather we made ourselves scarce?’
‘We’d rather you helped,’ Jane said promptly. ‘Many hands make light work, you know, and I thought if we got through in time we might give ourselves a night off and go to the flicks. There’s a good film showing at the Metropole, and if there’s a raid it’s almost next door to the Co-op, and there’s a huge shelter there. What d’you say, fellers?’
The fellows thought it was a grand idea and offered to buy the girls a meal either before or after the show. When their bread and jam was eaten, they began to make fruit jellies – Jane had wheedled some sheets of gelatine out of a friendly grocer – pies and other edibles which would be placed in the pantry to await the funeral tea on Friday. The task kept them occupied for the whole afternoon and all of them were looking forward to a meal which they had not cooked, though Jimmy warned them that he would probably disgrace himself by falling asleep in the cinema.
‘Never mind,’ Jane said gaily. ‘Unless the film is very exciting, we’ll probably all fall asleep, because Kathy and I went to the shelter last night, and it were awful noisy. Oh, won’t it be grand to see a film – it’s been ages, or it feels like ages, since we’ve been out on the spree.’
The girls had worked hard at cooking and preparing food all afternoon, and when Jane announced that she meant to go home and put on her best dress and decent winter coat Kathy was quite glad to have a chance to clean herself up and consult her wardrobe. In the end, she decided on a navy blue flannel suit of her mother’s. Mam won’t mind, seeing as it’s a special occasion, she told herself, reaching the suit down from her mother’s cupboard and admiring the brooch on the lapel. It was a golden bird and looked really nice against the dark blue, but in the end she took it off and put it carefully in her mother’s dressing table drawer. Better not wear it. Suppose she lost it? The brooch had been a present from her father; she would never forgive herself if it was not in her mother’s little jewel case to welcome her when she got home.
So Kathy put on the navy blue suit with a pale pink blouse beneath it, then covered her borrowed finery with her old navy blue mackintosh and perched a pink beret on her smoothly brushed hair. She thought about a ribbon – to tie her hair back in a tail or to wind round her head in order to pin her hair round it, a popular fashion – but decided in the end to let it stay as it was. She wanted to look her best, as Jane did, but thought, ruefully, that simplicity was sometimes the best thing if your hair was not either a wonderful golden blonde or naturally curly. Jane’s hair, needless to say, was both . . . lucky Jane!
Kathy ran down the stairs and glanced up at the clock over the mantel. She had plenty of time so perhaps it would be as well to spend some of it in putting the food she had prepared into the tins Jane had borrowed from various neighbours – if it was cool, that was. She tested a couple of cakes and several trays with baking spread out upon them, and was just beginning to transfer some of it to the tins when a knock sounded at the back door.
Kathy frowned. Odd! If it was Jane – or any other member of the O’Brien family – they would have knocked, then barged in. Another glance at the clock told her that it was rather late for anyone such as the insurance man, or a coal deliverer. Sighing, she went across and opened the back door.
A limp-looking figure stood in the yard, leaning wearily against the linen post. The light was behind him, and it was a moment or two before Kathy recognised her caller. ‘Mr Philpott!’ she exclaimed sharply. ‘Oh, goodness, I didn’t know you were coming home this week, and I don’t think Mam knew, either. Oh, I’m sorry, do come in and sit down. You look exhausted!’
It was true. Mr Philpott was pale and travel stained and Kathy remembered, as she hurried over to the stove to pour hot water on to the tea leaves already in the pot, that her mother had told her they would not be seeing much of Mr Philpott since the homeport of his latest ship, the
Clwydian,
was Southampton.
She said as much, in an apologetic tone, and Mr Philpott reached eagerly for the mug of tea and took a long drink before replying. ‘Aye, your mam were right. But the poor old
Clwydian
were torpedoed two days out from New York on convoy duty. Some of us – the lucky ones – were picked up by a frigate, the
Godetia,
whose homeport is Liverpool, so they brought us back here. We were told to go to the sailors’ home and await further instructions, but I explained that I – I lived in Daisy Street and they said I’d best come home. They’ll send a telegram when they’ve sorted out where they want us next.’
‘I see,’ Kathy said uneasily. It occurred to her now that her mother should have let the lodgers know that she and Billy had moved down to Rhyl. After all, Sarah had not known that Jane had moved in with her. She, Kathy, might easily have been placed in a difficult position had she been alone in the house when Mr Philpott had returned. Not that folk would be that censorious in wartime, she supposed. After all, poor Mr P. had come home after having his ship sunk under him to wait until he was sent to another vessel. He could scarcely be blamed if he found her, Kathy, alone in the house! And besides, the chances were that the only person to sleep in the house that night would be the lodger, for she imagined that she and Jane would be sleeping – or at least spending most of the hours of darkness – in the shelter once more.
‘Is – is everything all right, Miss Kathy? . . . With – with the rest of the street, I mean. I heard about the
Hood
. . . young Reggie Dwyer was aboard her at one time. Did he . . . was he . . . ?’
‘He died,’ Kathy said gently. ‘Old Mr Dwyer was very bitter, planned to do all sorts to the first Jerry he could lay his hands on, he told everyone. Then, last Saturday, he never came home – he was fire-watching and they found his body, or some of it, a good way from where he should have been. A mate of his said they saw a landmine floating down on its green parachute and the old feller seemed to go mad. He said it were a Jerry invasion. He – he kept an old First World War bayonet tucked inside his boot and his pal said he set off at a gallop towards the ’chute, shouting that he’d soon settle the Hun’s hash. The mine exploded on impact . . . blew him to bits. They only knew it were him by the bayonet tucked inside the boot.’
‘Dear God, that’s terrible,’ Mr Philpott muttered. ‘But where’s your mam . . . and where’s Billy? I disremember ever comin’ into this kitchen without seein’ the Meccano set out on the table, or Billy’s lead soldiers . . . or are they out visitin’?’
‘Mam’s taken Billy down to Rhyl, on the coast, to be out of the raids,’ Kathy said, taking the fireside chair opposite Mr Philpott. ‘I’m sure she meant to let you and Mr Bracknell know just as soon as she could, but you know what communications are like in wartime, especially to foreign parts. And of course, she knew your homeport was Southampton so she wouldn’t expect you to come back here. But it doesn’t really make any odds, because . . . well, have you heard how Liverpool’s been blitzed this past week? I’ve been sleeping in the shelter most nights, with Jane and all the others, so probably you’d best follow our example. You might get a couple of hours’ kip before the warning goes,’ she added. ‘But then you have to go to the shelter, or at least we’re told it’s sensible, and I suppose it is.’
She was watching Mr Philpott as she spoke and saw the deep shudder which shook his thin frame. He had always been thin, she remembered, but surely not quite as skeletal as he seemed now? And surely not as nervous, either? But he was speaking, his voice scarcely audible, so she leaned nearer.
‘I’m not goin’ in no shelter,’ he was saying. ‘I don’t like bein’ closed in, don’t like the feelin’ that there’s tons and tons o’ water waitin’ to burst in on me. I’d feel just the same if it were earth all round me, an’ a great slab o’ concrete an’ steel above. No, I’ll take me chance in the house, if you don’t mind, Kathy. I’m sure it’s as safe here as anywhere.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Kathy said. ‘Oh, but whatever am I thinking of? Here, I’ve just done some baking . . . have a couple o’ sausage rolls and some bread and margarine. I’m so sorry it isn’t a proper meal, but Jane and me’s going out tonight with a – a couple of pals. It’ll be late by the time we come back, so we may go straight to the shelter under the Co-op . . . if there’s a raid, that is, and there’s been one every night for what feels like a lifetime!’ She put the food down in front of him, glancing uneasily up at the clock on the mantel as she did so. ‘I’ll have to go, Mr Philpott. I’m so sorry, on your first evening home, but I said I’d go round to the O’Briens’ house by half five, and it’s past that already.’
‘It don’t matter; you’re young, you should go out when you get the chance,’ Mr Philpott said vaguely. He picked up a sausage roll and took a bite, then chewed it solemnly, watching her as he did so, his eyes black and haunted looking. ‘I never thought you an’ Billy an’ your mam might leave Daisy Street, though I’ve seen it often enough in Southampton. I suppose they ain’t trekkin’, are they? That means goin’ away each night and comin’ home each mornin’,’ he added, as he saw Kathy’s puzzled look.
‘No. They’ll stay away for the duration, I reckon,’ Kathy said at once. ‘But it’s all right; I’m going away myself in a while. I’m joining the WAAF . . . but it won’t be for a bit yet.’
‘The WAAF?’ Mr Philpott considered it for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose girls feel they want to do their bit . . . what’ll happen to the house, then?’
‘Oh, we’ll go on paying our rent,’ Kathy assured him, though in fact she had not even thought about the fate of the house. ‘Mam and Billy will come back as soon as it’s safe to do so. But I suppose it won’t be much use to you – or to Mr Bracknell for that matter – so it might be best if – if you did go to the sailors’ home next time you’re in port.’
‘I’ll probably be back in Southampton next time,’ Mr Philpott said rather gloomily. He sighed, then took another pull at his tea. ‘It’s a pity you’re goin’ out, but I never were a very lucky feller. It’s just that . . . well, I’ve dreamed of comin’ back, seein’ Daisy Street again, and – and yourself, of course.’ He stared at her, his eyes suddenly very bright. ‘But you’ll come back here after your – your outin’? All I want, I swear it, is just to talk to you. If – if you came back we could sit by the fire and I could tell you . . . oh, all about the Navy, and me job, and . . .’
It seemed little enough to ask and Kathy, remembering some of the dreadful stories she had heard from seamen about the horrors of war in small ships, was opening her mouth to say that of course she would come back to the house when there was a bang on the door. It flew open and Jane, Jimmy and Alec tumbled into the room. ‘Kathy, wharron earth are you doin’?’ Jane asked. ‘We said half five at my place but it’s near on six, so we thought we’d best come and fetch you otherwise we’ll miss the big picture.’ Her eyes fell on Mr Philpott and she looked somewhat taken aback. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Philpott! I’m awful sorry, I didn’t see you sittin’ there, only we’re off to the cinema. There’s a Cary Grant film showing . . . come
along,
Kathy, or we’ll bleedin’ miss the start and I hate goin’ in halfway through a performance with everyone cursin’ you as you push past them.’