It Had To Be You (30 page)

Suddenly she smelt burning and hurried downstairs. Without thinking she picked up the kettle, only to drop it with a scream. She switched off the gas, unlocked the back door and flung it open to let out the smoke. Then she turned on the cold tap and thrust her hand beneath it. She swore beneath her breath, telling herself that she was stupid. Butter, she needed butter to put on the burn.

She went into the larder and brought out the butter dish; she removed the lid, ran a finger through the surface of the butter and spread it on her blistering fingers. Her heart was thudding in her chest and she knew that she had to sit down. It really hurt! She pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. It was then she realised that the kettle was still on the floor, where she had dropped it. Most likely it would have cooled down by now. She got up and bent down to pick
it up. As she did so she heard a slight sound. The next moment she was sent sprawling on the floor. She groaned and attempted to push herself up, only to feel something slam into her back and crush her to the floor.

‘How does it feel, Elsie, to be down and unable to get up again?’ said her husband.

Her heart banged against her ribs. ‘Is that you, Teddy?’ she gasped.

‘Who the hell, d’you think it is? You’re going to rewrite that will, Elsie, or you’ll regret it, girl.’

She could not believe this was happening. He must have been spying on them to have been able to get in just at that moment. Well, she was not going to do what he told her. ‘Go to hell!’ she wheezed.

‘That money is mine. Your Lizzie should have married me. I asked her often enough, but she was forever throwing my words back in my face.’

‘I didn’t know that!’

‘No? Well, she got her comeuppance. I lost my rag one day and went for her. She hit me in the face and then ran out of the house. Bloody fool! I would have made her a good husband. I really wanted her, but instead she ran straight in front of a car.’

‘You were responsible for our Lizzie’s death?’ gasped Elsie.

‘I didn’t mean for her to die, but that’s life, isn’t it? We both grieved for her. Betty was so like her mother. Bloody hell, did she put up a struggle
on New Year’s Eve, but I enjoyed that. She was a fighter, just like Lizzie.’

Elsie felt such a rage building up inside her. She placed her hands flat on the floor and tried to push herself up in an attempt to throw him off and get her hands on him. But it was too much for her and she collapsed onto the floor.

The back door slammed against the wall, causing Teddy’s head to swivel round. In the doorway stood Maggie. ‘What d’you think you’re doing, you pig? Get the hell off Mum!’ she said, charging towards him.

He scrambled to his feet and gazed at his niece and the youth who had limped in after her, leaning on a stick. ‘Not you two again,’ he muttered. ‘Get out of my way, both of you. Elsie’s blacked out and she needs a doctor.’

Maggie glanced at Pete.

‘You go for the doctor and I’ll stay here and watch him.’ Pete slid his hand further down the stick and grasped it midway, his face hardened as he stared at Teddy.

Maggie backed away from her uncle and turned and left the kitchen. Then she ran. As she reached the front gate, she saw her sister and Billy McElroy coming towards her. ‘Thank God,’ she said, running straight for her sister and falling against her. ‘Uncle Teddy’s in the kitchen. Pete’s watching him. He was on top of Mum and she’s
blacked out. I’m going for the doctor.’

‘Well go then!’ cried Dorothy, pushing her sister in the direction of the main road before running towards the house.

‘Get out of me bloody way,’ snarled Teddy. ‘Or I’ll knock you down, lad, and you’ll never get up again.’

‘Try it,’ said Pete, gripping his walking stick with both hands. ‘I hate your bloody sort, picking on women and girls.’

Teddy went for him. Pete swept his feet from beneath him. As the man went down his head hit the floor, but he managed to grab one of the youth’s legs. Pete toppled backwards against the wall. Teddy groaned and staggered to his feet and stumbled out of the kitchen, only to find Dorothy blocking his escape.

‘G-get out m-me way,’ he stuttered.

‘What have you done to Mum, you swine?’ she asked, pushing him hard in the chest.

‘Sh-she’s my wife an-and sh-she had it coming.’ Teddy blinked at her. ‘Sh-she’s dead. Now out of my way!’

Dorothy’s face went blank with shock. ‘I don’t believe it!’ She barged past him in a hurry.

Teddy staggered forward, only to find his way barred now by Billy. ‘Come on, little man,’ he said, beckoning him with a crooked finger.

Jared was coming down the road and had just reached the gate, so he saw what happened next, but at the inquest he was unable to tell the coroner exactly what it was that caused his uncle’s knees to buckle and for him to collapse onto the ground. He swore that Billy did not touch him. One thing was for certain, Uncle Teddy never got up again.

Sadly, neither did his mother.

Emma was only half-listening to one of her favourite radio programmes,
Journey into Space
, because she was unable to take her eyes from the envelope propped up against the clock on the mantelpiece, beneath the painting her father had done of her as a child. The envelope had come that morning, and as it had SWALK where it had been sealed, she had decided to leave opening it until tomorrow.

She had known it was from Jared as soon as she picked it up from the coconut mat. It wasn’t the first time he had written to her since they had parted in Lime Street station. His first letter had arrived on Christmas Eve, along with the parcel containing her father’s painting of her. The letter
had informed her that he was putting his house up for sale. By then she knew of the deaths of his mother and Uncle Teddy, because Betty had arrived on her doorstep within days of that eventful Saturday. Emma had been at a low ebb, feeling that she should not have run away but remained with Jared and faced his mother.

But it had been too late for that, and she had sat listening to Betty, who was full of the news. She had talked incessantly, until Emma’s head had ached even more than it did already. It was obvious to her that neither Jared nor Dorothy had told Betty that William Booth wasn’t her father. At least Emma could be glad of that, and also that none of them had to worry about the uncle any longer. Yet knowing Betty was no sister to her had still felt like a bereavement. Despite being extremely fond of her, Emma could not help but feel differently about her. She hoped in time that she would get over it, but for the moment she had to consciously pretend that nothing had changed between them.

Emma’s feelings towards Jared, however, had not gone away. If anything, she missed him more than she had done when she had been ignorant of the fact that his aunt and mother had used money that rightfully belonged to her. Despite still loving him, she had felt the need to keep a distance between them: that meant he stayed in Liverpool and she in her village, although she had written to
him several times, thrilled that he should have sent her the portrait of herself.

It had seemed like a long winter and it was not over yet, but the snowdrops were flowering in her garden and the days were lengthening out. Now here, on the mantelpiece, was what she felt certain was a card, not a letter. She longed to open it and read what he had written but had decided to wait until St Valentine’s Day. The radio programme came to an end and, switching it off, her patience suddenly snapped. She was unable to bear the suspense any longer. She reached for the card and slit it open.

A red satin heart bordered by flowers was on the front, as well as the words
To my Valentine with love
. She opened it and did not bother with the printed words, her eyes going immediately to those in Jared’s handwriting. She laughed because the two lines of verse were so corny, but her face was soft with tenderness as she read them:
Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet and so are you. Can we meet
?

She had wanted to send him a Valentine card but the difficulty was that he had sold his house despite her having told him that she did not wish to deprive him, Dorothy and Maggie of their home. She had received a letter in January saying that it was too late for that and he already had a buyer.

Emma turned the card over to see if there was
a new address on the back; suddenly she was disturbed by a rat-tat-tat on the back door. Swiftly she shoved the Valentine card behind the cushion and got up. At the back of her mind was the hope that it might be Jared, but on opening the door, it was Lila who stood there.

‘Why didn’t you come?’ asked Lila, looking upset.

She had obviously been rushing because her cheeks were flushed and her hair was in a tangle. ‘Come in! You’re getting my house cold,’ urged Emma, dragging her inside. ‘What did I forget?’

‘You’re hopeless,’ said Lila, shaking her head as she shrugged off her coat and hung it up. ‘Your bridesmaid’s dress! You were supposed to be coming for a final fitting.’

‘Sorry,’ said Emma guiltily. Perhaps she had forgotten because what she wanted was to be a bride, not a bridesmaid. ‘Anyway, the dress fits me perfectly. I’m not on a diet like you.’

Lila rolled her eyes. ‘The excuses you give for not doing things. You know you’ve lost weight, without even trying. It’s time you made up with Jared.’

‘But I haven’t fallen out with him,’ protested Emma, putting the kettle on. ‘Cup of cocoa?’

‘Thanks,’ said Lila, plonking herself down in a chair and closing her eyes. ‘I never thought that getting married and moving house would be so exhausting. Only a month to go.’

‘If I was getting married, I’d want to be a June bride,’ murmured Emma.

Lila opened one eye. ‘But you’d lose tax perks if you did that.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Emma, smiling.

‘That’s because you’re coming into money. I am glad for you, although I am the teeniest bit envious, as well,’ said Lila wryly.

‘Well, you’re going to have a husband with a good steady job and a nice police house and I will buy you a smashing present,’ responded Emma, spooning cocoa into cups.

Lila smiled. ‘Thanks. I will miss you. Will you miss me?’

Emma stared at her. ‘Of course I’ll miss you − and your dad – although I don’t know how long I’ll be here myself.’

Lila sat up straight. ‘You mean you’re going to sell up and get a bigger place with your inheritance?’

‘It depends how things work out. If they don’t, then I’ll get a damp course put in and an extension built on the back here,’ said Emma, gazing out the window. ‘But before I do any of that, I’ll need to write a letter to Betty.’

Betty stared out of the window, and as soon as she saw the van park on the other side of the road in the shadow of the cathedral, she went downstairs. Jared and Maggie got out and Betty skipped across
the road, wearing pants with the bottoms rolled up and a thick Aran sweater, that Emma had knitted her, over a pink blouse.

‘I have a letter for you,’ she said, brushing Jared under the chin with it.

He snatched it from her, gazed at the address on the envelope and grinned. He placed it in his overcoat pocket. ‘I hope you’re not going to be too overcrowded with our Maggie’s stuff, Betty.’

‘It’s only temporary, so I think I can cope,’ she said, hugging herself. ‘How long, Jared, before the rest of the lovely dosh comes through?’

‘Not much longer,’ replied her cousin, going round to the back of the van and opening the doors. ‘Come on, you two, I’m not lugging all this upstairs myself.’

Maggie, who had lost some of her bounce since her mother’s sudden death, hurried to help him. He locked the van and followed the two girls across the road, carrying an almost brand-new Voice of Music ‘Playtime’ record player that had been Maggie’s Christmas present from him and Dorothy, and a cardboard box of records. The player had been meant to cheer her up but it had only partially succeeded. Hopefully, living with Betty would do the trick.

They were all feeling the loss of their mother, but it had been worse for Maggie, because she had been the closest to Elsie. It came as a relief to hear the
girls twittering like a couple of birds as they went upstairs ahead of him.

Only when he entered the bedsit did he gather that they were talking about the jukebox that had come straight from America, and had pride of place in Betty’s favourite snack bar. Apparently there was also the promise of watching the students from the university jousting with mops this coming Saturday to raise money for the hospitals.

He didn’t linger because he wanted to read the letter from Emma, so he said, ‘Ta-ra,’ and left the two girls to sort things out and returned to the van. He slit open the envelope and read what Emma had to say. It was brief and to the point.
How can I meet you, if I don’t know where you are?

He smiled faintly and dropped the letter on the other seat, started the engine and drove off, whistling ‘No Other Love Have I’, which had been a hit for Perry Como the previous year. Once he’d had a word with Dorothy, he would go to the post office and send a telegram to Emma.

Emma was reading about meat and bacon coming off the ration at the end of July and felt even more cheerful than she had done earlier. Her eyes skipped the next article to the news that hundreds had fainted at the queen’s garden party in Sydney. She glanced through the window at her rain-soaked garden and tried to imagine such heat, but couldn’t.

The door knocker sounded and she got up and went to see who was there. Perhaps it would be Jared? But it was the telegraph boy and her heart flipped over. ‘Telegram for you, Miss Booth,’ he said, holding out a yellowish envelope to her.

She took a thruppence from her pocket and handed it over, thanking him. This, despite her belief that telegrams were generally bad news. She went into the kitchen, tearing open the envelope and extracting the sheet of paper inside.

So she was going to have to go to him, thought Emma with a twist of the lips. Yet, how could she refuse when he had chosen a place in Liverpool that she longed to return to? He had still not given her an address, so he must be trusting her to turn up. She began to think about what she should wear for her date with him. If only it had been summer, then she could have worn something light and feminine, with lots of material in the skirt and a shiny, black patent leather belt to cinch in her waist. Instead, she decided on slacks and sweater and her thick winter coat, woolly hat and gloves. The next two days seemed to drag by. It was a relief when Saturday dawned and she was able to set out for Liverpool.

Jared had arrived at the meeting place too early, impatient to see Emma. He feared that perhaps she might not come after all. He need not have worried, because she turned up at ten to two, sensibly clad. He felt a rush of love and moved towards her, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. ‘Hello, you,’ he said.

‘Hello, yourself,’ she said, returning the pressure of his fingers.

He brushed his lips against hers and then they both turned and gazed at her father’s painting of the ships on the Mersey. ‘You do realise that it was your dad who really brought us together,’ said Jared. ‘If he hadn’t stayed in Liverpool and eventually married Aunt Lizzie, we would never have met.’

‘I see what you mean,’ said Emma. ‘When I look at this picture, I see what was important to him. He loved this city,’ she said.

Jared turned to her. ‘And how do you feel about it?’

‘It’s where I was born,’ she murmured. ‘Can we go down to the river?’

He smiled. ‘If that’s what you want. It’ll make it easier for me to bring up an idea of our Dot’s.’

‘And what is that?’ asked Emma.

His dark eyes were serious as he brought her close to him, not caring about the other two people in the gallery, who glanced their way. ‘You do still want us to spend the rest of our lives together?’

‘Aye, and I know that will mean us being where your work is.’

Relief spread across Jared’s face and he brushed his lips against hers, before taking her hand once more and leading her downstairs. They paused a moment on the steps, flanked by the statues of Raphael and Michelangelo, and gazed across at the Wellington Monument and St George’s Hall, and then down past the Mersey Tunnel and the roofs of the buildings of the city’s business centre towards the river, where the Liver birds could plainly be seen. Then he said, ‘Come on, I’ve a lot to tell you, and hopefully, you’ll agree that our Dorothy’s idea is a good one.’