Jimmy stared at her resentfully. What right had she to look and sound so bloody happy, when he felt as
miserable
as sin? She had another feller, a Yank, Dale something, though so far he hadn’t graced them with a visit. At the rate she was going, she’d end up on the streets before long. He’d already decided, working back, that it was all Kitty’s fault things had turned out the way they had. If she’d put up a better show when she’d gone to the Labour Exchange last September, she wouldn’t have been sent to work at the hospital and they’d still be living the same comfortable life as they’d done for the previous ten years. Considering the way things had turned out, Jimmy wasn’t sure if getting married again had been such a good idea.
‘Is it all right if I make a cup of tea, Dad?’
‘I expect so,’ he said grudgingly, because he fancied one himself.
Since Theresa had taken over the housekeeping, there were no more endless pots of tea, and Kitty, conscious that the completely re-organised back kitchen was no longer hers, felt too uncomfortable to make a pot herself, even when she was dying of thirst, though she also contributed towards the housekeeping and part of the rations were hers.
A few minutes later, Jimmy was supping his tea. Kitty made a better cup than Theresa, who was inclined to make it a bit weak for his liking. Kitty ate her dinner, washed the few dishes, and sank into her old chair with the latest Vogue pattern book on her knee. It was time she had some summer clothes made. Dale liked her best in blue. She turned the pages, noting how plain and simple the styles were, and the skirts were much shorter, scarcely below the knee. This year, she would have enough money to buy new sandals – white, and perhaps a white cardigan, and a white handbag would be nice …
‘What’s that you’re reading?’ Jimmy asked.
‘It’s a pattern book, Dad. Brenda lent it me. I’m going to have a couple of new frocks made.’
‘Are you now!’ He searched his mind for something to say which would take her down a peg or two. She was getting on his nerves. It seemed thoroughly unfair that she should sit there picking frocks out, spending money like water, whilst he killed himself on the docks. He thought of something that would put her in her place. ‘By the way, girl, Theresa and me were talking the other night and we decided it would only be right and proper if the lads moved into the back bedroom and you had the boxroom.’
Kitty stared at him in disbelief. ‘But Dad, the boxroom’s not big enough for an adult! And there’s no room for me wardrobe and chest of drawers. Where would I keep me clothes?’
‘Perhaps if you cut down on the clothes a bit, you wouldn’t need so much space to keep them,’ Jimmy replied nastily. ‘Anyroad, you’re hardly ever in, so I wouldn’t have thought it mattered which room you had.’ He felt a bit disconcerted when her hazel eyes filled with tears, having entirely forgotten how much he loved her. Still, a few tears wouldn’t hurt. She needed reminding there were other things in the world besides Yanks and the pictures and having a good time. He’d lost control of Kitty since she’d started work. He felt a surge of the old power, knowing he was still able to affect her life. If she pleaded with him, he was only too willing to go back on the suggestion that she move into the boxroom. He hadn’t meant it, anyroad. It was a lie that he’d discussed it with Theresa. She probably didn’t give a toss where the lads slept.
But instead of pleading, Kitty didn’t say a word. She slammed the pattern book shut, so hard that Jimmy jumped, and sat staring into the fire. After a while, she said, ‘I’m just going along the street to see Sheila.’
Sheila was kneeling in the middle of the floor getting the
smaller
kids ready for bed. Jess Fleming was there, a sleepy Penny curled on her knee.
‘What’s up with you?’ Sheila demanded when Kitty walked in. ‘You look as if someone’s just hit you with a lemon.’
Kitty tearfully relayed the gist of the conversation she’d just had with her dad.
‘The cheeky bugger,’ Sheila gasped. ‘The boxroom’s scarcely big enough to breathe in. It’s not fair, Kit, particularly when you give them so much money.’ She turned to Jessica. ‘Y’know, Jess, she hands over more than half her wages every week.’
‘What are you going to do, Kitty?’ asked Jessica.
Kitty shrugged. ‘I haven’t much choice, have I?’ She threw herself into a chair. ‘The thing is, I’ve slept in that room me entire life. When Theresa has the baby, perhaps they’ll shove me in the washhouse. I feel as if I’m gradually being squeezed out.’
‘Oh, Kit,’ Sheila said sympathetically. ‘Keep still, Mary!’ She gave her youngest child a cat’s lick with a flannel. ‘Off you go to bed now! I’ll be upstairs in a minute to tuck you in. Where’s our Ryan?’ She dragged the little boy from under the table by his heels. ‘C’mon, you little bugger! Oh, I don’t half wish our Cal was home more often to give me a hand with this lot!’
‘Why don’t you move out altogether, Kitty?’ Jessica suggested.
‘Where would I go?’ asked Kitty, startled.
‘With a regular income, you should be able to find yourself a little flat somewhere which would cost far less than half your wages.’
‘If you do, Kit, don’t go far, will you?’ Sheila warned. ‘I wouldn’t half miss you if you weren’t around.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ murmured Kitty. ‘It seems an awful big step to take.’ The idea terrified her.
‘You couldn’t possibly be more miserable than you
are
now, could you?’ Sheila fought with Ryan to wash his face.
‘I don’t suppose I could,’ Kitty conceded miserably.
‘And whilst you’re looking,’ said Jessica, ‘you’re welcome to stay in my spare bedroom. Neither of us are in much, so we’d scarcely see anything of each other. You could come and go as you pleased.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ promised Kitty, though she felt convinced she would never pluck up the courage to leave home for good.
She woke up and slowly opened her eyes. There was a sheet tangled around her legs and her body felt pleasantly languid. At first, she wondered where she was when she saw the ugly black wallpaper patterned with big pink cabbage roses. Her face grew hot when she remembered. This was the hotel room where she and Dale had just made love!
‘Where shall we go?’ he’d asked after a long loving kiss when he met her off the train at Exchange Station – they hadn’t seen each other for two whole days. She’d come straight from work, because it was Saturday and he came off duty at midday.
When Kitty didn’t answer straight away, Dale suggested helpfully, ‘Your pubs aren’t open yet, so shall we take in a movie? We can eat later on.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Kitty began hesitantly. She felt more than usually aware of his arm lying heavy on her shoulder. He seemed bigger than usual, stronger, and there was something alien about his American uniform. She suddenly felt as if she didn’t know him at all.
‘Been thinking what, honey?’ he asked, grinning, when she went no further. He paused in the middle of Clayton Square, turned her face towards his and kissed her gently on the lips. In that instant, he became the Dale she knew so well, the man she was in love with.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said in a rush, ‘that perhaps we should go to that hotel you’re always on about.’
He paused again and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Are you sure, Kitty? Are you sure?’
Kitty nodded her head vigorously. ‘I’m positive.’
He found a place in a street behind the Adelphi, a shabby four-storeyed building, the sort commercial travellers used. Kitty quaked in case the manager asked for their wedding lines, and hid her hands so he wouldn’t see she didn’t wear a ring. The man, however, showed no interest once Dale had paid for the room in advance. He slid the key across the counter of the cramped reception area and said brusquely, ‘Room seven, fourth floor.’
The wallpaper was hideous, none of the furniture matched, though the bedclothes were clean and the room smelt of polish. Kitty stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Dale had turned into a stranger again and for the first time since they’d met, seemed stuck for words.
She sat on the edge of the bed and began to undo her coat, but her fingers had turned into thumbs and she couldn’t manage.
‘Let me do that,’ said Dale. He knelt in front of her and helped her with the buttons. ‘There!’ he said, when the coat was removed. He placed his finger under her chin and drew her towards him and they kissed for a long time, only their lips touching. Then, as the heady sweetness swept through her body until she felt completely, and only too willingly, helpless against anything he might do to her, or want of her, Kitty slowly leaned backwards onto the bed. Only then did Dale take her in his arms. She could never remember afterwards them taking their clothes off, but they must have done, because suddenly Dale was naked on top of her, touching and kissing every inch of her own bare flesh. With each kiss, their passion increased until the
world
outside ceased to exist altogether and they were aware only of themselves and their burgeoning delight.
‘I’m a woman now!’ she did recall thinking at the end when he thrust himself inside her. It hurt at first, and there was no particular sensation, except the exultation that she’d been possessed by a man, and the man was Dale Tooley, who she loved, and would always love for as long as she lived.
It was still daylight when Kitty woke, and as soon as she had established where she was and what had just happened, she saw Dale was standing profiled by the window, fully dressed. He was smoking, one hand in his pocket, and looked as if he was thousands of miles away from the shabby hotel in Liverpool.
‘Perhaps he won’t want me any more now,’ Kitty thought fearfully. According to the nurses, as soon as a chap had got his way, he was off in search of fresher prey.
‘Dale,’ she whispered.
‘Kitty!’ He turned eagerly at the sound of her voice and came and sat beside her on the bed. The expression on his face was of total and absolute commitment as he bent and kissed her. She felt ashamed that she’d thought he might not want her any more. ‘I thought you’d never wake up,’ he complained.
‘What were you thinking about just now?’
‘Home – but now I’m thinking how beautiful you are.’ He ran his hand along her thigh and Kitty shivered.
‘Why are you dressed?’
‘I’m longing for some food. I thought we could go out and have something to eat, then we’ll …’ He paused and grinned.
‘Then we’ll what?’
‘Then we’ll come back and do this all over again!’
Theresa was snoring like Vesuvius by his side, and no matter how hard Jimmy tried, he couldn’t get to sleep. Apart from the snoring, he was worried about Kitty. It
was
well past midnight and she still wasn’t in. For more than an hour, he’d been listening for the sound of her heels on the pavement outside, and at the same time kept glancing at the phosphorus fingers of the alarm clock to check how late it was.
At last! He heard footsteps and the front door opened. He slipped out of bed and went downstairs. She was already in the living room and in the process of turning the gas mantle up.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he snarled.
She turned and smiled, oblivious to his anger. ‘Oh, hello, Dad. I’m sorry I’m late, but I missed the last train. I managed to catch a tram and it seemed to take for ever in the blackout.’
There was something different about her. Her eyes were huge and luminous and her face glowed with an expression Jimmy had never seen before. She wasn’t in the room with him, but elsewhere, a place where something wonderful had happened, which was still happening in the deep recesses of her mind. Jimmy could tell straight away what she’d been up to: he could almost smell what she’d been doing with her American. He was concerned, partly because she was his daughter and he didn’t want her hurt. At the same time, he felt choked with jealousy at the sight of her radiant face. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair.
The jealousy was predominant as he said in an ugly voice, ‘This is my house, girl, and whilst you’re under my roof, you’re to be in by eleven o’clock. D’you hear?’
‘Mmm,’ Kitty murmured vaguely.
‘And tomorrer,’ he went on, determined to get through to her, ‘we’ll sort your things out and you can move into the boxroom.’
‘There’s no need to bother, Dad,’ she said with a vivid smile. ‘As from tomorrer, I won’t be in your way any longer. I’ve just decided, I’m moving in with Jess Fleming.’
The garage had begun to lose its thrall. Jessica couldn’t be bothered advertising for other things to sell. Jack Doyle had put her off in any case, by suggesting she’d end up a rag-and-bone man like her father. The supply of bikes had virtually dried up and she hadn’t touched a car in weeks, apart from putting in a gallon or two of petrol. When the private fuel allowance was abolished in a few weeks’ time, there’d be even less of that to do. The business was almost back to the situation at the start, when she’d barely made enough to pay the rent.
Jessica sighed as she wheeled the few remaining bicycles outside. Penny ran behind trying to reach the saddle so she could push.
‘Mind the spokes,’ her mother warned.
Lately, it had seemed almost pathetic, selling secondhand bikes. How could she possibly have thought it such a great idea? Even if bikes were pouring in by the minute, it still seemed pathetic, and a rather second-rate way of making a living.
She dated her feelings of discontent back to the night she’d sung at the Dorchester. By making her feel cheap, Major Henningsen had caused her to wonder what she was doing with her life. When she’d lived in Calderstones, such a thought had never entered her head. She was happy buying clothes, filling the house with the latest gadgets, throwing dinner parties, cocktail parties, playing Bridge. Now she wanted something else and she wasn’t sure what it was, apart from another child which
she’d
virtually given up on. Last week, she’d turned forty-six, though she hadn’t told a soul.
‘Perhaps I need to be in love!’ she muttered. She felt envious of Kitty Quigley who’d moved into the spare bedroom a few weeks ago. Jessica had only made the suggestion because she felt in need of occasional company, mainly late at night after Jack had gone and Penny was fast asleep – and the extra money was useful. Kitty was obviously completely enamoured with her American, Dale Tooley. She’d brought him back for tea last Sunday, and Dale was clearly equally smitten. The pair kept exchanging glances, touching hands, and Jessica had felt excluded in the face of their total fascination with each other. She could tell they’d made love, and there seemed something remarkably innocent about it, so different from her relationship with Jack Doyle which seemed almost sordid in comparison.