She’d hated every minute of the dances. ‘I can’t go back to that. I wonder if I could join the forces?’
The prospect of becoming a Wren or a WAAF was rather appealing. ‘That’s if they’d allow me to leave the hospital.’ She was already working in an essential occupation. Nowadays, you couldn’t just up and leave a job without permission from the Government.
‘Hello there, kiddo.’ Jimmy came into the room looking happily exhausted.
‘Where’s the boys?’
‘I left them playing with some other kids outside.’ He gave Kitty a pretend punch. ‘Are you enjoying yourself, luv?’
‘Much better than I expected,’ Kitty conceded with a smile. ‘I’m having a lazy ould time, but me head’s been hard at work trying to sort me life out.’
‘That bloody Yank!’ swore Jimmy. ‘I’d like to kill him.’
‘It taught me a lesson, Dad.’ She no longer thought, ‘How could he do this to me?’ but ‘Why did I let it happen?’
‘Aye, but not a lesson y’needed to learn. I’d like to see you married, girl, with a family of your own.’
It was an effort for Kitty not to smile. He’d done his level best for ten years to make sure that didn’t happen. ‘I know you would, Dad,’ she said gently, ‘but I can’t see meself getting married for a long while.’ That’s if she got married at all. Out of the blue, a sense of desperate loneliness swept over her, more keenly than it had ever done before. Staying with Jessica was only supposed to be temporary. If she carried on as she was, she would end up living alone, a spinster in an unskilled job with only the memory of an unhappy affair to keep her company in bed at night.
Kitty made up her mind there and then. The minute she got back to Bootle, she would do something drastic. Somehow, in some way, she’d set her life on an entirely different course.
The Dorchester Hotel was widely used by American servicemen and Jessica continued to meet Gus there for dinner once or twice a week. The staff in the Provost Marshal’s office in Burtonwood had the hotel number and knew where to contact him if he was needed. He refused to stay for long in Pearl Street. ‘You haven’t got a phone, Jess. Say there’s an emergency?’
‘There’s an emergency,’ said Jessica the first time he complained.
‘It’s not funny. It could be something crucial.’
‘You should have more confidence in your staff. You should delegate more.’
‘Is that Jessica Fleming, businesswoman, speaking?’ he said coldly.
Soon afterwards he left, looking annoyed. Jessica was slightly put out, feeling
she
should be put first, not the American Eighth Army Air Force, but eventually came to the conclusion that if he’d stayed, she would have thought less of him. Gus wasn’t going to dance to her tune like Arthur or be coaxed around like Jack. Gus was his own man, which was what had drawn her to him in the first place. She would have to get used to not having her own way, at least not all the time!
She was humming happily to herself one night as she got ready to meet him. Kitty had offered to look after Penny. After her holiday, Kitty had gone through yet another metamorphosis. Whereas she’d once never been in, now she was never out. She didn’t exactly look happy, but she appeared quite calm and never mentioned Dale Tooley.
‘Are you putting on weight, Jess?’ Kitty asked. ‘That skirt looks awfully tight and it never used to.’
‘It must be all the dinners with Gus,’ Jessica said lightly. She showed surprisingly little for nearly five months pregnant, unlike with Penny when she’d grown as big as a house. Perhaps, now she was beginning to show, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to marry Gus immediately and move elsewhere. She hadn’t given it much thought before, she was too thrilled at the idea of being pregnant, but Pearl Street wasn’t exactly a good place to be an unmarried mother. Even good friends like Sheila Reilly, so religious, would disapprove once they found out, and Aggie Donovan and those of her ilk could well give her a hard time. Jessica remembered the way some had turned on Eileen Stephens when a rumour flashed around that she was having an affair: the women had accosted her in the street, screaming their disapproval.
‘I’ll tell Gus tonight,’ she thought as she went upstairs to change into a fuller, less revealing skirt. ‘I’d like to get married secretly and not tell a soul.’
There was no sign of Gus when she reached the Dorchester. She asked the waiter if there was a table booked for Major Henningsen, but was told no. Jessica felt mystified. It was unlike Gus to be late and not to have reserved a table in advance. She ordered a dry martini and waited in the bar. After nearly half an hour, she had just decided to telephone the base, when the girl who worked evenings as a receptionist approached.
‘Mrs Fleming? Major Henningsen’s office has just called. They said they’re sorry, but the major has been unavoidably detained.’
‘Did they say why?’
‘No, Mrs Fleming, just that he’s been detained.’
‘It wasn’t Major Henningsen himself who spoke to you?’
‘It was a young man. I would have recognised the major’s voice.’
‘Thank you.’
The girl returned to her desk and Jessica remained in the bar, sipping her martini and feeling annoyed. How dare he cancel a date right at the last minute? Was this what married life would be like with Gus Henningsen? Would he turn out to be the sort of man who always put his job first? At least he could have telephoned himself and asked to speak to her personally, not got some lackey to do it for him. Her anger grew, and after a while she went over to the receptionist and asked her to put a call through to Burtonwood.
‘If you’d like to go into booth four, Mrs Fleming, I’ll transfer the call as soon as I’m connected.’
Jessica’s rage increased as she stood waiting in the booth. The nerve of the man! The second the telephone gave a brief ring, she picked up the receiver and demanded the Provost Marshal’s office.
A young voice answered and Jessica asked to speak to Major Henningsen. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but the major’s not taking any calls at the moment,’ she was told.
He was there! ‘What do you mean, he’s not taking calls? This is Mrs Fleming, a friend of the major’s, and I want to speak to him immediately.’
‘Sorry, but that would be more than my life is worth. The major’s incommunicado. He doesn’t want to see or speak to anyone.’
Jessica’s rage swiftly melted. There was something wrong. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘What’s happened?’
There was a pause before the young man said cautiously, ‘I shouldn’t really tell you this, ma’am, but he can only shoot me once, can’t he? The major got the news a couple of hours ago. His son’s been reported missing, believed killed, in Papua New Guinea.’
She had to get to him! She told the young man to inform the sentries on the gate that she was coming, otherwise she would be refused admission. ‘Don’t forget now, it’s Mrs Fleming, Jessica Fleming. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
Jessica slammed the receiver down and ran out of the hotel into the road. ‘I’ll catch a taxi to Burtonwood!’ she decided swiftly.
The nights were gradually drawing in, but it was broad daylight at half past eight. There was no sign of a taxi, so Jessica began to run down Brownlow Hill, wishing she’d worn different shoes because her heels kept catching in the spaces between the flags and twice she nearly fell. She felt angry again, but a different sort of anger this time. Why had Gus shut her out? Surely she was the first, perhaps the only, person he would want to see as soon as he heard about Peter? Her heart twisted when she thought about the big, outwardly unemotional man, grieving alone in his office. He wasn’t the sort of man who would cry, not like Arthur. Gus was tough and kept everything inside.
Her heel caught again and this time she did fall, right onto her knees. She cried out in pain.
‘Hey, missus!’ A man came hurrying up and helped her to her feet. ‘You’re in a hurry, aren’t you! Look what you’ve done to your stockings! They’re all torn.’
‘I have to find a taxi,’ Jessica panted, the pain already forgotten. She had to get to Gus.
‘Lime Street Station, luv. You’ll find a whole row there.’
As the man had predicted, there were several taxis lined up outside the station. ‘The American base at Burtonwood,’ Jessica panted as she climbed into the one at the front.
‘That’s a long way, missus! If you don’t mind, I’d like to see the money first.’
Money! She’d forgotten all about money. Fortunately, her purse contained one pound and several ten shilling notes. She shoved the open purse under the driver’s nose. ‘Will that be enough?’
‘Plenty.’ He set off and veered the taxi into the traffic. ‘I’ve got to be careful. There’s girls asked me to take them as far as Burtonwood before, and they offered something other than money for the fare once we got there.’
‘I’m not likely to do that!’ Jessica said coldly.
‘No, but as I said, I’ve got to be careful.’
She didn’t answer next time he spoke, and the journey to Burtonwood was made in total silence. It was almost dark by the time they arrived and Jessica was surprised to see a crowd of girls hanging around the gates. She paid the driver, but didn’t tip him, and he said sourly, ‘At your age, you’ll look out of place amongst that lot.’
It took some time to convince the soldiers on the gate that she was expected. ‘The Provost Marshal’s office should have told you I was coming. If you haven’t got my name, please ring them. It’s Fleming, Jessica Fleming. I’ve come all the way from Liverpool.’
‘Lady, there’s girls over there who’ve probably come
all
the way from Timbuctoo. I could spit as far as Liverpool.’
‘It’s all right, corporal,’ another soldier called. ‘Her name’s in the book, Fleming. She’s expected.’
Jessica knew the way to the Provost Marshal’s office; Gus had pointed it out when he’d brought her to the concert. She started to run again, but the effort made her sick. She’d already run too much that night for a pregnant woman of forty-six.
The young soldier she presumed she’d spoken to on the phone was in the outer office. He blinked in amazement when the wild dishevelled figure of Jessica came storming in.
She closed the door and leaned against it, gasping for breath. ‘Is he still here?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ The soldier looked nervous. ‘I should tell you, he took a bottle of Jack Daniels with him. It was full.’
‘Right.’ Jessica nodded. ‘Is the door locked?’
‘No. There was no need to lock it. The major knows only too well no-one’d be foolhardy enough to go in if he told them not to.’
‘I’m not brave,’ said Jessica, ‘but I’m going in.’
The room appeared to be in total darkness, but perhaps Gus had got used to the lack of light, because when Jessica felt for the switch, a gravelly voice snarled, ‘Leave it!’
‘Gus, it’s me, Jessica.’
‘I know. What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to be with you. Oh, Gus! Why didn’t you tell me about Peter?’ As her own eyes grew accustomed to the darkened room, she could see a dim figure behind the desk. There was something different about the wide, strong shoulders. They sagged hopelessly. Jessica could actually feel his pain. He didn’t answer and his hoarse breath was laboured in the ensuing silence. ‘Why, Gus?’ she repeated.
‘Do you really want to know, Jess?’
‘Of course I do.’ If only she hadn’t run all that way! She wasn’t sure if she could remain upright any longer. Her eyes searched for a chair. She saw one against the wall and almost staggered towards it.
‘I’ve been crying,’ he said dully. ‘That’s why I didn’t tell you. I’ve lost my boy and it made me cry, but you don’t like weak men, do you, Jess? You don’t have much time for men who cry.’
‘Gus! I love you, I don’t care if you cry.’ She’d said it! For the first time in her life, she’d told a man she loved him and meant it. She felt almost dizzy with the knowledge that she was in love, but perhaps it was something else that was making her feel dizzy. Sitting was no longer enough. She felt an urgent need to lie down and it was all she could do not to slide off the chair onto the floor. With an enormous effort, she managed to say, ‘Peter’s only missing. You never know, he might still be alive.’
‘Missing, presumed dead, they told me.’ Gus’s voice was so thin she could scarcely hear him. ‘My boy’s gone.’
‘Please don’t lose all hope, darling …’ Jessica paused as a tearing pain swept through her gut. Warm liquid oozed down her legs and she screamed, ‘Gus, the baby! I think I’m losing the baby.’
There’d been announcements in the paper for days, and children were told about it at school. The army were organising a major invasion exercise the following weekend to test co-operation between their forces, Civil Defence workers and the Home Guard, and also to judge how the civilian population of Merseyside would react to the arrival of the enemy.
People were instructed to stay indoors so the military would have the free run of the streets. The city and the surrounding area would become a war zone for two days.
As the weekend grew nearer, interest magnified. No-one had any intention of staying inside and missing out on all the excitement. Paddy O’Hara was only one of hundreds of veterans of previous wars to unearth his medals and set out early on Saturday morning to share the fruits of his experience with present day troops. He was shortly followed by Sheila Reilly, Brenda Mahon, and all their children who were going just to watch. It sounded better than a pageant or a May Day procession. Aggie Donovan borrowed a trestle table and set up a refreshment stall outside the King’s Arms.
As the supposed invaders advanced on the city and the defenders took up their positions, instead of deserted streets, both sides found themselves surrounded by admiring groups of civilians who demanded they explain the workings of their machine and mortar guns.
When
both sides met up and indulged in hand-to-hand fighting, the crowds fell about laughing, formed a circle and spurred the combatants on with cheers and shouts of encouragement.
The ‘enemy’ were asked what direction they were taking, and told how to avoid a waiting ambush by taking a short cut through a back entry. Dominic Reilly saw a long-awaited opportunity to become involved in the war and offered to act as a spy. When his services were rejected by one side, he offered them to the other, and sulked all day when he was turned down a second time.