Lights Out Liverpool (23 page)

Eileen made a determined effort to be cheerful. ‘Well, you never know, it might be over by Christmas.’

Nick shook his head. ‘Haven’t you heard today’s news? Russia invaded Finland this morning.’

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I didn’t know.’

‘Anyway, Eileen Costello, there’s the reason for my black moods. I wouldn’t have minded being called up. In fact, I expected to be. I was in the University Air Squadron at Cambridge. I’m a qualified pilot. There’s something honest and decent about fighting for your country.’ He slapped his knees and, to her relief, smiled
broadly
. ‘I used to go fishing in the Thames with my grandfather when I was a child. We only went to get away from my parents who rowed incessantly. Fishing means peace. I never have a hook on the line. Who wants to kill poor innocent fish when you’ve spent the night constructing neat little contraptions which will kill poor innocent people?’

‘I’m sorry, Nick. It must be terrible for you.’ Impulsively, she laid her hand on his. He laid his other hand on top of hers. He felt cold. She’d better go back inside soon and let him have his coat back.

‘You will keep coming out, won’t you? Just to talk,’ he said urgently. ‘When I saw you, I longed to speak, but when the depression grips me, I feel as if my throat is locked tight. Nothing will come. That’s why I was so glad when I saw you in Southport.’

‘Of course I will,’ she promised. There was concern in her voice as she added, ‘You shouldn’t let it get you down so much.’

‘Is there something wrong with me?’ He looked at her, bewildered, a little lost boy expression on his face that reminded her of Tony. ‘None of the chaps at work let it get to them.’

‘Perhaps it’s them that aren’t normal,’ she suggested gently. ‘Or perhaps they’re hiding how they feel. I remember the first day I came out here, I thought how pretty it was, and how obscene that I was making parts for planes that would drop bombs on Germany.’

‘Maybe your planes will drop my bombs!’

‘Oh, come on,’ she urged. ‘Try and snap out of it. I’ll have to go back in a minute.’ She stood up. ‘What are you going to do with yourself all afternoon?’

‘Read a book. I’m in the middle of
War and Peace
. Then I’ll go to bed about six and snatch a few hours’
sleep
. I don’t need much.’

‘Couldn’t you read something a bit more cheerful?’ Eileen had never heard of
War and Peace
, but it didn’t sound the right sort of book for someone in his frame of mind.

‘I’ll read a P.G. Wodehouse, instead,’ he grinned.

She hadn’t heard of that, either, but wasn’t going to admit it. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said wisely. ‘Anyroad, I’d better be going.’ She handed him his jacket. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘I’ll be waiting.’

‘Y’know, Eileen, I reckon you’ve got a feller tucked up your sleeve. You’ve been all starry-eyed ever since those flowers came,’ Doris observed later that morning.

‘You’re talking through the back of your neck,’ Eileen told her, trying valiantly to look miserable, but not managing.

‘Look at you! Grinning like a bleeding Cheshire cat. Have you noticed, girls?’ Doris yelled. ‘This one here’s in love. It’s written all over her face.’

‘Honest to God, you don’t have any privacy in this place,’ Eileen protested, feeling her face flush crimson as the women whistled their agreement.

Just before the hooter went to signal time to go home, she went round the workshop and solemnly handed a single rose to everyone. She couldn’t possibly take them home. Sheila, Annie, everyone, would demand to know where they came from, and she wouldn’t be able to brush them off the way she’d done the girls.

When Alfie came in, she tucked a rose in his buttonhole and the foreman winked. ‘I was by the front desk when the flowers came,’ he said. ‘He seemed a nice enough young feller.’

‘Thanks for not saying anything.’ The more she got to know Alfie, the more she liked him. His taciturn manner hid a heart of gold. ‘I’d give you a kiss, if I didn’t think it would send tongues wagging.’

Alfie winked again. ‘I wouldn’t mind, not if it was you and me they were wagging over, luv.’

‘Let’s go upstairs, Helen. It’s much more comfortable in bed.’

He already had his shirt and vest off. They were on the settee in the parlour and he stood up and went to the door. Helen Brazier followed reluctantly. She hated doing it in the bed she’d slept in with her mother, where she had the unpleasant sensation of being watched. Although she’d told Lou, he didn’t seem to care.

He noticed her hanging back and said crossly: ‘Your mother’s dead, Helen. How many times do I have to keep telling you?’ Lately, she’d got the impression she was getting on his nerves.

‘I’m coming.’

The waning moon illuminated the bedroom enough for her to see Lou was already undressed by the time she arrived. He was lying on the brown cotton coverlet, his arms behind his neck. She shivered when she saw his rampant nakedness.

‘You can’t wait for it, can you?’ he said softly.

She shivered again, imagining mother’s eyes watching from the dark corners, scandalised at her daughter’s shameful behaviour. She began to fumble with her blouse, already half undone, then her lockknit petticoat, her liberty bodice, the short sleeved vest …

‘Why don’t you buy yourself some decent underclothes, Helen? They’re real passionkillers, that lot. Did they belong to your mother, or something?’

‘Well, yes.’ It seemed a shame to throw them away. ‘Waste not, want not,’ Mother always said.

‘You should get yourself something a bit more modern, like. Something with a bit of lace on.’

‘Perhaps I will.’ She’d do anything to keep him. She’d already started wearing make-up and combed her hair out of its rather old-fashioned bun, worried it was her appearance that had prevented Lou from taking her to the pictures as he’d promised.

‘After all, I bet you can afford it. I reckon you’ve got a bob or two stashed away?’

‘I don’t need much to live on.’ Just food, coal, the gas bill. She’d been putting a pound away each week, sometimes more, in the tin box in the sideboard ever since Mother died. She removed her knee-length bloomers, undid her suspenders and rolled her stockings down, unlaced her stays.

‘Christ Almighty! Talk about a strip tease!’ Lou said exasperatedly. His tone changed when she was as naked as he. ‘Come here,’ he said roughly, reaching for her, and she slipped eagerly into his arms. He began to touch her and her insides turned to liquid. She forgot about Mother, forgot about everything except the thrill, the sheer rapture and excitement of a man being inside her. She gave a little cry when they finished, coming together, and clapped her hand over her mouth, worried the neighbours might have heard.

‘You’re a proper good screw, y’know that, Helen?’ Lou sat up and reached for cigarettes out of his trouser pocket.

Instead of feeling offended, the coarse words sent a delicious shiver down her spine. He began to stroke her full breasts with his free hand, as she lay exhausted beside him.

Oh, God! She’d been so easy. A virgin for thirty-four years, you’d think she would have needed some persuasion, but it had been only on his second visit that she’d capitulated to Lou’s coaxing charm. Now, he met her every night and came back for what he jokingly referred to as, ‘a cup of tea.’ To her delight and consternation, he’d actually turned up one Sunday afternoon when it was still daylight, and she’d glanced frantically up and down the street to see if anyone was watching before letting him in.

She’d tried to be firm, as far as she could be firm with Lou, that he must only come when it was dark. He’d pretended to be offended. ‘Are you ashamed of me?’

‘Of course not!’

‘How else are a courting couple supposed to meet?’

A courting couple!

‘There’s nowt wrong with a gentleman calling on his lady friend,’ he went on. ‘I could be just coming for me dinner. In fact, I wouldn’t mind some grub. I don’t know what me sister does with me wages, but there’s never much to eat at home.’

She’d made him bacon and eggs and fried bread, and since then he always had a meal when he came.

He stubbed his cigarette out on the marble-topped wash stand and immediately reached for another.

‘I bought you some ciggies today,’ she said.

‘What sort?’

‘Capstan. That’s what y’like, isn’t it?’

‘They’ll do. I prefer Senior Service. How many did you get?’

‘Twenty.’

‘Thanks, luv.’

She’d already bought a hundred pack of Capstan for his Christmas present. She’d change them
tomorrow
for Senior Service.

He sighed. ‘It’s lovely and peaceful here. Such a nice change from home. Me sister’s kids are a right handful. It wouldn’t be so bad if they could go out and play.’

‘Why can’t they? she asked lazily.

‘I told you, me sister’s a terrible manager. They’ve only got one decent pair of shoes each and they’ve got to be kept for school. Once they’re in, that’s it for the night, and it’s hell on earth, the noise they make, I can tell you. Anyway, luv,’ he slapped her arm playfully, ‘that’s none of your worry, is it? Is there any grub lined up? I’m starving.’

She climbed off the bed and took her dressing gown from behind the door. The dressing gown had also belonged to Mother and was brown plaid trimmed with cord, sensible and mannish. She noticed Lou’s nose wrinkle as she put it on and decided to take a look at what the Co-op had in stock on Monday. ‘I did some lamb chops last night,’ she said. ‘I’ve only got to warm them up with a few ’taters.’

‘Is there any mint sauce?’

‘Y’can’t have lamb without mint sauce, can you?’

‘Me sister can. She’s no idea how to make a decent meal. Not like you, Helen.’

She flushed at the compliment and went down to get the meal ready. When Lou appeared, she said, ‘I hope you won’t take offence, but I’d like to buy shoes for your sister’s children.’ She handed him five pound notes. ‘There’s enough for Wellingtons too, for when it’s raining.’

Lou’s long thin face darkened and Helen felt full of trepidation, worried she’d hurt his feelings. He groaned and said, ‘I’ve no right to take your money, Helen, but I suppose I should put me niece and nephews before me
own
feelings. Thanks a lot. Now, all they need is a good warm coat each, and they’ll be set up for the winter.’

It was bad enough, people complained bitterly, that their country seemed to be suspended precariously between a state of limbo and a state of war, but to make matters worse, the weather during the winter of 1939 turned out to be the bleakest in living memory. For some reason no-one was able to understand, the press was forbidden to publish details, which only increased the contempt of the population for a government that seemed to think people were so stupid that they couldn’t feel for themselves the sub-zero temperatures, or observe the thick, dense snow which fell day after day, week after week; a government which dropped paper on the enemy instead of bombs and dithered over sending troops to the aid of gallant little Finland when Russia invaded – to such a degree that Finland had surrendered before the troops left British soil, though many brave Finns continued fighting. Wiser heads thought despairingly that even to have considered taking on the might of Russia, as well as Germany, would have been an act of total madness.

Lack of reporting about the arctic weather only led to wilder and wilder rumours. It was said that in the countryside birds froze on the trees, and that elsewhere, old people and babies were found perished to death in their beds; that cars and buses travelled on rivers of solid ice which were safer and more passable than the roads.

Those who could afford it spent lavishly on fur-lined boots and thick coats, on extra blankets and tons and tons
of
coke or coal, which resulted in a shortage of fuel for those who could only buy one sack at a time. In Pearl Street, for the first time the Harrisons’ coalyard was swept clean. There wasn’t a single cob to be seen, and Nelson was left to munch his oats in idleness, since no deliveries could be made. In the shops, there was a shortage of hot-water bottles and portable electric fires sold out like hot cakes.

Being a cul-de-sac, there was scarcely any traffic, and the snow piled up in Pearl Street. The silvery drifts against the railway wall gradually got higher and higher. Whooping children emerged each morning to try and climb the wonderful white mountain at the end of their street, and were soaked to the skin before they left for school.

Eileen Costello found her dishes frozen to the draining board, and hastily lagged her pipes lest they freeze too. Although it was an extravagance, she sometimes lit a fire in the unused parlour to keep the house warm and stop the parlour from feeling like the North Pole, and unearthed the chamber pot from the washhouse for use in the middle of the night. One morning, she opened her door to find a three-foot snowdrift, which stayed there, frozen solid, even without the door to prop it up.

The bus for Dunnings arrived late almost every day, particularly in the mornings, when it encountered fresh snowfalls, and the men would get out and attempt to clear the roads and create a fresh channel for the buses following behind. Although the heating system in the factory was quite efficient, the girls no longer removed their clothes, only too glad to feel warm, if sticky.

‘Sweating’s a luxury in this bleeding weather,’ Doris declared.

Eileen met Nick on her morning shifts in December
and
they walked along the bank, trampling through the smooth, virginal snow or sliding on the frozen stream like children.

‘The girls think I’m completely mad, coming out like this,’ she told him.

As Jessica Fleming trudged home from Veronica’s, she thought longingly of her old house with its central heating, though had to concede that, once the fire was banked up, it was quite cheerful, even cosy, in Pearl Street. When she couldn’t find a hot-water bottle to buy anywhere in the shops, Arthur advised her to heat bricks in the oven and wrap them in a cloth to take to bed. ‘Someone in the King’s Arms told me that.’