Alfie Delaney rubbed his hand over the top of his head and cursed that his hair was thinning and receding so quickly. It was a good job that everyone in the services had to keep their hair short to regulation length, and some went even further and had it cut as tightly to their scalp as possible, so his near-baldness didn’t stand out too much. Not that he was in any of the services. He’d managed to avoid that, by claiming he was in an essential job on the docks. When he’d had to get out of Merseyside after the contaminated meat incident, he’d got himself taken on in Glasgow, but unfortunately they’d made him work so hard he’d almost regretted dodging the call-up.
The sun was beating down on him and he could feel his head getting burnt. He hadn’t thought to bring a cap, which was careless, he realised now. In the city there was always shelter and shade. Out here in the countryside it was relentlessly hot and there was nowhere to hide from the sun’s merciless rays. He hoped the trip would be worth it.
In the end he’d avoided being called up without the help of Danny Callaghan, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten Danny’s refusal to go along with his scheme. All the man had had to do was to take Alfie’s medical test for him and it would have been so easy, but no, Danny had to go all law-abiding and preachy and insist it was wrong. It would have been no skin off his nose, nobody would have guessed, and Alfie could have rested easy knowing his records would forever show he had a dicky heart and was unsuitable for everything but the lightest work. He certainly wouldn’t have had to put up with the Clydebank conditions, which were nothing short of hard labour, he convinced himself. He would have had a nice indoor desk job – like Danny Callaghan had managed, so he’d heard. A lovely safe, warm, easy desk job. He’d harboured his resentment of Danny all the time he was away, until it had grown to the proportions of a grand betrayal.
Now the pressure was off and everyone was thinking about northern France and not getting poisoned by some bad meat, Alfie judged it safe enough to return to the Merseyside docks. His connections, principally local gang boss Harry Calendar, had ensured the process was smooth, and he was due to begin back on the Gladstone Dock next week. His mother had been delighted. He knew he could always rely on her. She’d written every week while he was away, regular as clockwork. That’s how he’d known Kitty was back.
Alfie wiped the sweat from his forehead as he thought of Kitty Callaghan. She’d always taken his eye, back when they were all kids playing in the street. She was pretty, and her hair curled in a way that had fascinated him when a boy. He would stare at it until someone noticed, but he had been too bashful when younger to do anything more than gaze from afar. Kitty had looked after her brothers ever since she was eleven, and everyone knew she was a wonderful cook. What else could a man ask for? Admittedly his mother had written to tell him she’d come back because of some sort of promotion, and people were saying she’d done well for herself, but after all it was only the Wrens. It wasn’t like a proper man’s job – how hard could it be? She’d still be the shy, gentle Kitty he remembered, he was sure of that.
However, it didn’t hurt to take some precautions and do some background research. That was why he was dragging himself down this godforsaken country lane in the middle of nowhere, trying to find a farm. Some people might think this was a mad thing to do, but he wanted to cover all eventualities. His mother had mentioned that Tommy Callaghan had been evacuated out to Freshfield and was on the same farm as those horrible brats who had lived above the corner shop. Alfie reckoned it was time to renew their acquaintance. Tommy owed him. He’d saved his life a couple of years ago when the boy had been messing around in a warehouse that had caught fire. Alfie had basked in the glory of being a hero, even if his reasons for being down at the warehouses weren’t quite as pure as he made out. He wanted to remind Tommy of how grateful he should be. Also, when Tommy was recovering in hospital, Alfie had gone to the trouble of obtaining some new football boots for the boy at Christmas. It wasn’t a selfless gift; he’d made sure Danny knew it was so they were in his debt. Even if Danny wouldn’t falsify the medical examination, he’d know that he still owed Alfie that favour. And owe him he did, big time.
Just when he thought he couldn’t stand the heat much longer and would have to find a pub in which to slake his thirst, Alfie passed a milestone on which he could just about make out the carved letters for Freshfield. Of course, getting around anywhere now was a blasted nuisance, what with all the proper road signs having been taken away in case the Germans invaded. At least now he knew he was in the right place. There was the farm, just as his mother had described it. It had been a leap of faith coming here like this, as Vera had only got the description third-hand, from her late friend Winnie, whose son Charlie had come here now and again. It was unmistakable, though: the chicken coop around the back, the stable with the doors painted blue. Alfie paused to take in the scene and to plan his next move. He didn’t want simply to barge in and demand to see Tommy. That would alert the farmer and cause suspicion.
The place was so quiet after Glasgow and Liverpool that it took some getting used to. Somewhere above a bird was calling, and a cow mooed long and low. Insects buzzed in the heat and a fly landed on his face but he swatted it away in irritation. He could almost feel sorry for those city kids, stuck out here with nothing to do. There was a goat running around in the enclosure near the farmhouse – it looked vicious. Give him a run-in with Harry Calendar’s rivals any day.
His ears pricked up at the sound of a horse’s hooves clip-clopping, and before long the animal appeared around the corner of the lane, pulling a cart. An old man sat on the driver’s seat, reins in his hand. He nodded to Alfie as he approached.
Alfie decided to abandon any idea of a cover story and to make a direct enquiry. It was too hot to think straight, and he didn’t want to get caught up in a web of lies if he didn’t have to. ‘Good morning,’ he began, smiling and hoping he looked trustworthy.
The cart driver’s expression didn’t alter. ‘Morning,’ he said in a strong Lancashire accent.
Alfie kept the smile in place. ‘I’m looking for a young friend of mine and I was told he’d been evacuated out here. Tommy Callaghan. Do you know him?’
The man shifted in his seat. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘Oh, my mother was a great friend of his auntie’s,’ said Alfie, stretching the truth, as Dolly wasn’t actually Tommy’s aunt and she couldn’t stand Vera at the best of times. ‘My mam’s dead now and I wanted to get back in touch with them all, you know, for old times’ sake. I was passing this way and thought I could make a start with young Tommy, if he’s here.’
The man stared at him dubiously. Then he seemed to make up his mind. ‘Aye, fair enough,’ he said. ‘But you’ve just missed him. He used to help out on the farm, so you got that bit right, but he’s left now he’s old enough to have finished school.’
Damn, thought Alfie, of course Tommy would be older now – was he really fourteen? He supposed it was possible. ‘That’s a shame,’ he said, trying to sound suitably disappointed and not as annoyed as he actually felt. ‘I don’t suppose you know where he’s gone?’
The man shifted again, looking down directly into Alfie’s face. The strain of trying to look open and pleasant was killing him, but he didn’t let down his guard, grinning away for all he was worth, playing the part of fond friend of the family.
‘Bootle,’ the man said shortly. ‘That’s where they’re all from, isn’t it? He’s gone back there.’ With that he gee’d up the horse and moved off, the cart swaying along the lane past the farm and beyond it around another corner.
Alfie was left standing there, hotter than ever, and now cursing his luck. His eye twitched a little in frustration. He’d come all the way out here and Tommy sodding Callaghan had been just around the corner after all. Typical bloody Callaghans, sitting pretty while everyone else did all the work. But no, that wasn’t fair. Kitty wasn’t like that. He gritted his teeth. He mustn’t give up; only fools were afraid to take what was theirs by right. He’d just have to go back home, find Tommy for a moment on his own in Empire Street and ingratiate himself that way. Yes, he told himself, it would be worth it in the long run. He had to keep his eyes on the prize: Kitty.
Dolly tried to summon up the enthusiasm to go to her make-do-and-mend group, but she just couldn’t. To begin with the group had met in her parlour, but it had outgrown the modest room and now gathered at the church hall. Dolly was the leader, encouraging young wives to try different ways of sprucing up old clothes, using upholstery fabric for dressmaking, unpicking or patching or generally producing purses out of pigs’ ears. They needed her with her years of experience, the result of raising five children and keeping them warmly clothed. She knew it, but she felt as if she didn’t have it in her to leave the house, let alone make it as far as the hall.
The news about Eddy had floored her. It had been so unexpected. Like Violet, she’d been on tenterhooks for all those years that he was dodging the U-boats, but had relaxed and assumed he was safe now most of that was over. She had had no idea that he could have been part of D-day. Looking back, she realised that Frank had gently tried to warn her, without giving away what he knew, but she had brushed his vague words aside. Her Eddy – her baby boy. It seemed no time at all since he was a toddler, always trying to catch up with his big brother, putting up with little Nancy’s tantrums, never making a fuss but always having his own way of doing things. She didn’t know how she could go on without him.
Some people tried to be kind, pointing out that Frank was safe in his position, and that she still had her girls, so she should be thankful. It didn’t help. For one thing, Frank had lost his leg on active duty, and you still couldn’t say for sure that Liverpool city centre wouldn’t be a target again. Rita’s hospital had been attacked in the past – look at what had happened to Elliott, killed by a bomb just after leaving his shift. Or when Sarah’s colleague had died just outside their nursing station during a heavy raid on the docks. Even Nancy was at risk. Besides, the fact that you had other children didn’t take away the pain of losing one. Eddy was irreplaceable. He wasn’t a younger version of Frank; he wasn’t just a brother to his sisters. She missed him as if she’d lost a limb. There was a permanent ache, a sense of something out of balance, a gaping wound.
She tried not to show it too much around the house because everyone was feeling devastated, everyone wrestling with their own sorrow. Dolly had managed to get to the church to see Father Harding, who had been a tower of strength, explaining that this was a test of her faith. He had helped her back when news had come of her parents dying, and also when Pop’s parents had died, all of them over in Ireland, at respectable ages. That had been scant practice for how Eddy’s death had hit both her and Pop. She was glad they had each other, even though Pop didn’t, or couldn’t, say much. But she knew he was feeling the pain and also sympathising with hers. They both had done their best to comfort their daughter-in-law, who was so dear to them.
Poor Violet would never know that support from her husband again. The young woman moved through rooms like a ghost, barely speaking, her face pale and her body shaking as if she was cold all the time, even though it was the height of summer. Much of the time she stayed in her bedroom. It was as if the old Violet, the one who never kept still but was always helping at the shop or the victory garden or the WVS, had totally disappeared. She hardly spoke. The only times she seemed at all lively were when Georgie or baby Ellen were in the house. Then she would stir herself and try to play with them like she used to, but it wasn’t the same. Georgie had picked up that something was wrong, but Dolly couldn’t find the words to explain to him. He was only four, and he had barely known Eddy, after all.
There was the sound of movement upstairs and then the creaking of the stair boards. Dolly looked up, pushing a lock of greying hair out of her eye, as Violet came into the kitchen, walking slowly and stiffly, her shabby dress hanging off her always-lanky frame. She said nothing as Dolly tried to catch her eye, but went straight through to the back kitchen and out of the back door, before Dolly heard the slam of the privy door. Then, although she tried not to listen, there followed the unmistakeable heaves of someone being sick. Poor Violet. But what had happened to her was enough to make anyone sick. Wasn’t it? Dolly thought dully that for two pins she’d join her.
After a few minutes the back door opened again. Dolly could see Violet fetching a glass of water and sipping it standing at the sink. She set it down and held on to the draining board, as if she didn’t have the strength to stand unaided. Dolly’s heart went out to her.
‘Come and sit down, love,’ she called, hauling herself to her feet. ‘What can I get you to help you feel better? How about a nice cuppa?’
Violet gulped but tried to smile. ‘No thanks, Mam. It’s too hot, really it is.’
Dolly pondered what else she might have to offer. ‘We’ve got some peppermint cordial somewhere. Or our Frank brought over some ginger beer the other day.’
Violet shook her head then changed her mind. ‘Maybe some ginger beer.’ She managed to drag herself into the main kitchen, leaning on the cupboards for support, and collapsed into the saggy armchair.
Dolly went to the big slate larder shelf, where even in July she could keep foodstuffs cool. In behind the milk and precious ration of butter she found the ginger beer, and brought it through with a glass. ‘There you are, my girl. That’ll set you right.’
Violet sipped it gratefully and Dolly watched her with concern. The young woman was deep in grief, anyone could see that. But she was now wondering if she’d missed something, something that her mother’s instinct would surely have picked up sooner if they hadn’t heard the tragic news about Eddy. She shut her eyes briefly. How stupid she’d been, too mired in all their misery to recognise the signs. A healthy person like Violet, too tired to get out of bed, sick in the mornings, losing weight. Yes, losing Eddy would have thrown her out of kilter and caused physical symptoms, but those particular ones? Her eyes went to Violet’s hunched figure, to see if there had been any change apart from the weight loss. Or maybe it was too soon.
Violet looked up from her glass and noticed her mother-in-law’s expression.
‘Violet,’ said Dolly steadily, ‘is there something you haven’t told me? This isn’t the first morning you’ve been sick. I know you’re still in shock and it could just be that, but even so …’
Violet set down her glass and slumped lower in the chair. ‘I don’t know, Mam. I feel so poorly. I think it’s finally hit me, what it all means, you know. That I’ll be on my own and he’s never coming home.’
Dolly’s heart went out to her and she moved across the room to stand beside the old chair and pat Violet on the shoulder. ‘I know, love. It’s hard. It’s so unfair, you two being so right together. He was a lovely lad and there’s never been one like him.’ She paused to sniff back her own tears. Now was not the time to break down. It wouldn’t help Violet – and she had to find out the truth. ‘What I wondered, though – and don’t take on if I’m wrong – I just thought, there might be another reason you’re sick?’
Violet looked up at her blankly.
‘Violet, think,’ said Dolly, trying to get through to her daughter-in-law. ‘Eddy was back in April, wasn’t he? Easter week, it was. Now it’s July. Count back, love. Can you remember if you’ve had your monthlies since then?’
Violet almost dropped her glass. She gasped and her hand went to her belly. ‘My … hang about, I don’t … did I …’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, Mam, I don’t know, but I don’t think so. What with all the restrictions and everything, I stopped bothering to check.’
‘And you’ve been giving extra food to Georgie off your own plate for ages, don’t think I haven’t seen,’ said Dolly, mock-sternly. ‘You practically starve yourself, my girl. Well, that has to stop. Think, Violet. This is important. If I’m right, we’ve got to get you eating proper whether you feel up to it or not. There might be more than just you to consider.’
Violet slowly pushed herself to her feet. It was as if she was waking up from a dream. ‘Maybe. Let me try to remember. Easter week … well, I know I had the monthlies in March because they were painful as can be and Sarah made me a special herb tea, but perhaps …’ She looked at the smoke-yellowed ceiling as if the answer might be written there. Moments passed. Then she shook her head again. ‘There’s been nothing like that since. I’m sure now. To be honest I was tired out before we got the news that he’d died and I thought it was just one of those things. I’d forgotten that. Yes, I was like this before.’ Her face changed and she turned to Dolly. ‘Do you think it can be true, Mam? I might be carrying Eddy’s baby? Really? Is that why I’ve been so poorly? If that’s what it is, I don’t care. I’ll be sick all the time, I’ll never complain. I can’t believe it.’ She started to cry, a mixture of sorrow and joy. ‘Oh, Mam, we talked about having children all the time. I so wanted to have his children.’
‘I know, love. I know.’ Dolly went to hug her, carefully now.
‘It wouldn’t make up for losing him,’ Violet went on, ‘but this way I’d still have something of him; he’d be living on through his baby. It would be wonderful.’
‘It would,’ Dolly agreed, blotting out the fears that it would be hard for a young woman on her own to raise a child without its father. Well, she would just have to make sure Violet didn’t have to cope alone, that all the rest of the family would help out – just as Violet had helped out up to now. ‘And that means, my girl, that you really are going to have to start eating properly. Never mind being tired, you have to think about that child on its way. We’ll have to get your rations sorted too. You’ll get clothes points, you know.’
Violet huffed. ‘That’s the least of my worries, Mam. I can borrow Rita’s things when I get big, I know she’ll let me. I haven’t felt like eating for weeks though.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Dolly firmly. ‘That growing baby needs nourishment. It’s our job to see that it gets it. So you finish that ginger beer and then let’s see what we’ve got in the larder. You, my girl, are going to have a slap-up lunch, whether you like it or not. And I’ll join you. At last we’ve got something to celebrate.’ Her voice caught, despite her best efforts to be positive, because whatever happened, Eddy wouldn’t be here to see it. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye. Then she resolutely dashed it away. He’d be looking down on her from the Heaven he most surely was in and he’d be expecting her to take care of Violet and the child when it came. She couldn’t let him down.