It Had To Be You (4 page)

‘You’ll have to, miss. I’ve done a first aid course and would like to have a butcher’s at your ankle and foot and then put it in cold water. That should help to get the swelling down.’ He glanced at the shopkeeper. ‘What about it, Mr Mason? Can you fetch a bowl of cold water for the young lady?’

‘Certainly. As long as there’s no mess made on my shop floor.’ The newsagent disappeared through a curtained doorway into the back.

The constable removed his helmet, revealing fair hair cut in a neat back and sides. After placing his headgear on the counter, he lowered himself onto one knee and took Emma’s foot into his hands.
‘Now, scream if I hurt you,’ he said.

Emma thought if he had intended raising a smile from her, then he had succeeded. ‘I’ll try not to.’

He glanced up at her and grinned. ‘I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humour. So what’s your name and where d’you come from?’

‘My name’s Emma Booth and I live in a village near Clitheroe. I came in search of my stepmother and half-sister as I mentioned to you earlier. The last address I had for them was that derelict house.’ She drew in her breath with a hiss as he eased off her shoe.

‘So you mean to tell me that you’ve come all the way from by Pendle Hill to find them?’ His fingers moved gently over her ankle and foot.

She trembled with the effort of not crying out and gasped, ‘You know it?’

‘Lovely scenery. Good walking country. I think you’ve only sprained it but I’ll know better after the swelling’s gone down.’ He placed her foot on the floor. ‘The house of the garden you were in didn’t receive a direct hit, from what I remember being told, but was caught in a bomb blast.’

‘Are you saying that those inside might not have been killed?’ asked Emma eagerly.

‘Could be.’ He straightened up. ‘I don’t come from round here and I wasn’t a policeman during the Blitz.’

She gazed up at him with a hopeful expression
on her face. ‘C-can you help me find out what happened to them?’

He rubbed his nose. ‘I suppose I can try. Tell me their names.’

Her spirits rose. ‘My stepmother was a Mrs Lizzie Booth and her daughter’s name was Betty Booth. I’ve never actually met them. My mother died before the war and my father remarried, only to be killed at Dunkirk. My grandparents brought me up and now they’re dead.’

‘Tough luck! My dad was killed at El Alamein.’

Before she could commiserate, there came footsteps and a voice said, ‘Here’s your water, Constable. How’s it looking?’

‘Well, she’s not going to start quickstepping around the Grafton dance floor any minute now,’ he replied, taking the bowl from Mr Mason and putting it on the floor. ‘Now, Miss Booth, you’re going to have to take off your stocking if you’re to place your foot in here.’ He indicated the bowl on the floor. ‘Mr Mason and I will look away.’

‘Thank you,’ murmured Emma, blushing as she hastened to undo her suspender button and remove her stocking. She gritted her teeth against the pain as she did so and then gasped at the coldness of the water as she placed her foot in it.

The policeman turned his head and watched for a few moments before speaking to the shopkeeper in a low voice. Emma attempted to wriggle her
toes, which proved difficult, and wondered how long she was expected to keep her foot in the water. How was she to get home? She should never have come to Liverpool but stayed safely in her cottage, thought Emma, feeling woebegone.

The constable’s voice interrupted her thoughts and she looked up at him, thinking again what lovely blue eyes he had. ‘I’ve asked Mr Mason here, Miss Booth, if he remembers your stepmother and her daughter but he wasn’t here during the war,’ said the constable, adding gently, ‘It is eleven years since the Blitz in Liverpool.’

‘I realise that now but I just didn’t think about Liverpool having been bombed before I set out,’ said Emma, withdrawing her foot from the water, only to submerge it again when the policeman raised his eyebrows. ‘I should have stayed at home,’ she said gloomily. ‘My bag was stolen with my purse in it as soon as I set foot in Liverpool and now this had to happen.’ Her voice shook.

‘It’s not your day, is it, Miss Booth?’ said Mr Mason, shaking his head.

‘That’s an understatement if ever I heard one,’ muttered the constable. ‘I tell you what, Miss Booth. When you feel able to make a move, I’ll take you to the police station. You can report the theft officially and we’ll see what we can do to get your bag back.’

‘I doubt you’ll be able to get it back,’ said Emma,
grimacing. ‘How far is it to the police station?’

‘A mile or so. I have my bike locked up not far away. I’ll be off duty soon and can fetch it and give you a ride there. It’ll be warm in the station and you can have a nice cup of tea and a bite to eat. I’ll strap up your foot and then we’ll sort out how to get you back home.’

Emma was not going to argue with him, despite wondering how she was going to stand when her ankle still hurt and her foot was half-dead with cold. Perhaps he would sweep her off her feet again. The thought brought a flush to her cheeks and a warmth to her body. She could only mumble how much she appreciated all he had done for her. She told herself that he was only doing his duty but she had never received so much attention from an attractive young man before and was rather looking forward to a ride on his motorbike.

An hour or so later, when Emma caught sight of the constable’s bike, she was lost for words because it proved to be only a pushbike. She did not have the nerve to ask how she was supposed to get comfortable on it as he lifted her up onto the crossbar. Whilst she clasped her shoe and stocking with one trembling hand and the bar with the other, he swung up into the saddle and pushed off from the kerb. The bike swayed and Emma almost dropped her shoe as she made a grab for his tunic. His front lamp sent a shaft of light through the fog
and she clung to him with her heart in her mouth as he pedalled off down the road into what she thought of as ‘the Unknown’. Presumably he knew exactly where he was going, but she could not help wondering what would happen to them both if they were to crash into a vehicle. Was what he was doing legal? She felt even more anxious when they reached the end of the road and she could see lights from moving vehicles shining through the fog.

To her relief he dismounted but kept a hand on her back to steady her as he waited for an opening in the traffic. Then he ran with his bike to the other side of the road, whilst she prayed fervently that a vehicle wouldn’t suddenly appear out of the fog and hit them.

When he mounted the bike again, it occurred to Emma to question whether he did this kind of thing often. He seemed quite competent, so perhaps she should stop worrying and have some faith in him. They spun round a corner and then suddenly he was pedalling smoothly and humming a tune beneath his breath. It took her only a couple of moments to realise that the song was ‘A Bicycle Made for Two’. If the day had not already begun to take on a dreamlike quality it would have done so then. Never mind what Mrs Ashcroft might think of such antics, what would her grandparents have had to say about her riding through the fog on a policeman’s crossbar? She felt a giggle rising up
inside her, reckoning that if her granddad had still been alive and she had told him of the events of her day in Liverpool, then he would have said that there had been some real dramatic moments. Perhaps she should relax. No doubt once she returned to her village, life would resume its usual humdrum routine.

Emma sat in front of a roaring coal fire with a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a sausage butty in the other. Her foot was propped up on a stool, and as she alternately sipped the tea and took bites from the butty, she was mesmerised by the flickering flames in the fireplace. She was glad of this moment alone. Her ankle felt so much better now and she was able to wriggle her toes and rotate her foot a little, despite it still being painful.

The door opened and the constable entered. From a conversation she had heard earlier between him and the desk sergeant, she now knew that his name was Dougie Marshall. ‘So, Miss Booth, how are you feeling now?’ he asked, smiling down at her.

Emma felt a flutter in the region of her heart and was glad she had bought a new frock. It was of black broadcloth with a detachable pleated white gilet and a black tie and there was plenty of material in the skirt. ‘Much better now, thank you.’ She wanted to add that she didn’t know what she’d have done without him. If he hadn’t come along
and rescued her she might have frozen to death. He was her hero! But she felt too shy to say so.

What she did say was, ‘I-I’m wondering what happens next. I have my return ticket home but I think I might find it difficult getting on and off the different trains. And what about my stepmother and my half-sister? Do you think you’ll be able to find out what happened to them?’

‘I’ll certainly try,’ said Dougie. ‘Some of the locals might be able to help out. Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do. You said that your stepmother’s name was Lizzie Booth?’

She thought what a good memory he had. ‘That’s right. You’ve taken my address in case my bag is found, not that I’m holding out much hope. I don’t know what the librarian will say about my library book.’

‘You’ve reported it stolen to the police, and if you give the copy of the form I gave you to the librarian, you shouldn’t have to replace it,’ he said. ‘Now, I think it’s probably best that you stay here for the night. With a bit of luck the fog will have dispersed by morning. The way you moved your foot just then, your ankle should be much better in the morning.’

‘You mean I-I’ll sleep here in the p-police station?’ she stammered.

He grinned. ‘Yeah! We can give you a nice warm bed in a cell. I can’t see you having any
villains for company tonight the way the weather is. It won’t cost you anything and we’ll even give you breakfast.’

She decided there was no point in worrying about having no nightie or toothbrush and thanked him. Her only concern was the hens and Tibby but no doubt they’d survive her being away for just one night. As for herself, she’d been fed and was warm and safe and she was going to have a heck of a lot to tell Lila when she saw her.

Emma eased herself down from the carriage and limped along the platform to the ticket barrier. Her ankle throbbed, but at least she had managed the trains and there was only the walk from the station through the village to her cottage. Then she’d probably need to relight the fire in the range before she could make herself a cup of tea and put her feet up. She was feeling cheerful despite not having found her sister and her shoulder bag being stolen.

She had spent the journey feeling slightly euphoric. Dougie Marshall had accompanied her to Lime Street station and had told her he would definitely be in touch. She couldn’t get him out of her head. Every time she thought of his blue eyes
smiling kindly into hers and his sweeping her off her feet she felt a warm thrill. Surely she couldn’t have fallen in love at first sight? She told herself she must not read into his behaviour more than his simply doing his job as a policeman. And yet he had held her hand after he had helped her into a carriage for what had seemed longer than was necessary. Perhaps he was attracted to her? She sighed; she must get him out of her head because she had so much else to think about during the coming weeks.

Emma had not gone far after leaving the station when she was hailed by Lila’s mother. She wished she could pretend not to have seen her because she was in no mood for an interrogation, but already Mrs Ashcroft was crossing the road towards her.

‘You’re limping, Emma. What’s happened to you? Lila dropped by at your cottage last night and found it all in darkness,’ said the older woman. ‘She let herself in and stayed for a while, hoping to see you. When you didn’t arrive home she fed the cat and hens.’

‘That was kind of her,’ said Emma, grateful to her friend. ‘I had a fall and had to stay in Liverpool, so if you don’t mind, Mrs Ashcroft, I don’t want to stand about.’

‘Perhaps I should come with you,’ said Lila’s mother, gazing down at Emma’s foot. ‘Twisted your ankle, did you? It looks a bit swollen. Maybe
I should take a look. I don’t suppose you had it X-rayed?’

‘No. A kind policeman saw to it for me,’ she replied casually.

‘A policeman!’ exclaimed Mrs Ashcroft sharply. ‘I knew you’d get into trouble.’

Emma had an overwhelming urge to shock Lila’s mother. ‘Aye. He took me to the police station and put me in a cell.’

Mrs Ashcroft gasped. ‘You never were!’

‘I were,’ said Emma, forgetting her grammar. ‘Now if you don’t mind letting me get on? I need to rest my ankle.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Mrs Ashcroft, taking hold of Emma’s arm. ‘You lean on me.’

Emma was driven to say, ‘What about Mr Ashcroft? Won’t he be waiting for you at home? And what about your job at the hospital?’

‘I don’t have to be in work until later. Your grandparents would have wanted me to look after you, now you’re all alone. A young woman of your age is vulnerable to all sorts of temptations and dangers.’

‘I don’t think anyone is going to attack me here,’ said Emma firmly.

‘Were you attacked in Liverpool?’ asked Mrs Ashcroft, sounding as if she would almost enjoy hearing that Emma had suffered an assault.

Emma gave her a look and changed the subject.
‘You haven’t asked me if I found my stepmother and half-sister.’

‘If they’d welcomed you with open arms, then I doubt you’d have come limping home. You would have stayed there for a few days to recuperate,’ said Mrs Ashcroft.

Emma hoped that was what would have happened if her stepmother and half-sister had been there. ‘The house was derelict,’ she said. ‘Constable Marshall said it was bombed during the Blitz.’

‘They’re dead, then,’ said Mrs Ashcroft with a jerk of the head. ‘It’s probably just as well, Emma. You’ll be able to settle down here again now.’

Emma frowned, not liking her family written off so easily. ‘The house was still standing and Constable Marshall believes they’re alive. He’s going to try and trace them for me.’

Mrs Ashcroft looked put out. ‘Was this policeman a young man? You sound like you’re going to be relying on him rather a lot.’

‘He’s in his twenties and it’s part of his job to help the public find missing persons,’ said Emma coolly.

‘There’s no need to take that tone,’ said Mrs Ashcroft, sounding affronted. ‘I’m only thinking of what’s best for you, Emma. Can you really afford to be going back and forth between here and Liverpool if this Constable Marshall finds your stepmother and half-sister?’

‘Surely that’s my business,’ said Emma.

Two spots of colour appeared in the older woman’s cheeks. ‘You sound just like your mother and look what happened to her.’

Emma was really annoyed by that remark. ‘She met my father, that’s what she did. I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t gone to Liverpool and married him, so I’m grateful that she did.’

‘But she brought you back here,’ said Mrs Ashcroft promptly. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind she believed this village to be a healthier place to live and she hoped to make a recovery. Your father might have followed her here but he didn’t stick around, as you know.’

‘Perhaps that was because Gran didn’t make him welcome. If his great-grandparents once lived here, maybe the two families quarrelled and Gran couldn’t bring herself to accept my father. She could be stubborn and found it difficult to forgive a slight or a wrong done.’

‘What an imagination you have,’ said Mrs Ashcroft with a sniff. ‘But don’t go expecting too much of strangers, Emma. They can let you down.’

‘If you mean Constable Marshall,’ said Emma, ‘he was kind to me, so naturally I think the best of him.’

‘As long as that’s all you do, Emma. You’re far too young to know your own mind yet when it comes to choosing a husband.’

‘A husband!’ Emma gasped. ‘That’s a bit of a leap! I hardly know the man. You’re being ridiculous to suggest that I’d be thinking about marriage so soon, even though I’m not as young as you like to make out!’

‘Don’t be insolent!’ Mrs Ashcroft’s eyes flashed. ‘When a girl is on her own, with very little money, it can be very tempting to accept the first man who asks her to marry him.’

Emma tilted her chin. ‘I intend to support myself and not trust to a man to do it for me, even if it means pawning the coat on my back and every stick of furniture I have.’

Before Mrs Ashcroft could respond to that comment, Emma limped away. She was still angry when she reached the house. It was a relief to get inside out of the cold and go into the kitchen. Instantly, she heard Tibby mewing outside the back door. She let her in, but when the cat stropped Emma’s legs she picked her up. ‘Now you must be careful, Tibby. I don’t want to be falling over you and I need to get the fire lit,’ she said, placing the cat in the front room and closing the door on her.

Emma took a pair of walking socks out of her boots by the back door. She removed her shoes and put on the socks and an apron over her new frock before setting about lighting the fire. Within the hour the kitchen was feeling much warmer; even so, Emma had draped about her shoulders
the shawl that she had made for her grandmother’s birthday before she died. The old woman had called it her ‘Joseph’ shawl because Emma had used up oddments of leftover wool to crochet the garment. She had kept it for sentimental reasons and because it really was warm.

She made a pot of tea and let the cat back into the kitchen. There was no fresh milk but fortunately she found a tin of condensed milk in the larder. Her granddad had been partial to it spread on bread, and Emma remembered her grandmother making coconut ice for the church fete. She was hungry and fancied some coconut ice but had to make do with a slice of stale bread toasted and spread with homemade blackberry jam.

She poured herself a cup of tea and stretched out on the sofa. Instantly Tibby jumped on her lap. Emma was glad of her company. She had calmed down now but she could not forget what Mrs Ashcroft had said about her parents’ marriage or of her seizing hold of the first presentable man. She thought of Constable Marshall and felt a warm glow.

Then she frowned. For all she knew he could already have a serious girlfriend. He could even be married, although she doubted that young married men went round giving girls rides on the crossbar of their bikes. What would it feel like to be kissed by him? She imagined the feel of his mouth on hers and
recalled the strength in his arms. Then she thought of all the jobs that needed doing in her cottage and how handy it would be to have a man about the place. How practical was her Liverpool policeman?

She pulled herself together. What was she thinking? She must stop such thoughts right away. It was Mrs Ashcroft’s fault for putting romantic ideas into her head. She found herself wondering if Mr Ashcroft had been the first man to propose marriage to Lila’s mother when she was no longer a spring chicken, and she had accepted him because she was on the shelf. Or perhaps they had been in love and blissfully happy once upon a time, but the war had destroyed that happiness? She thought about what Mrs Ashcroft had said about her parents and her mother coming back home with her. What could have gone wrong with their marriage? How long had they been married before Emma was born? Where exactly had they tied the knot? Emma would like to visit the church or the registry office where they were married. No doubt, somewhere in Liverpool, there would be a record of the marriage and her birth.

Emma knew she had to visit the city again but right now she must find more work and so needed to place an advertisement in the
Clitheroe Advertiser and Times
. Reluctant as she was to go out in the cold again, she must write a piece out today and post it, as well as do some shopping.

Emma was frying potato scallops that evening when she heard a rat-a-tat on the back door. ‘It’s not locked,’ she called.

Lila opened the door and stepped inside. Her expression was a mixture of concern and excitement. ‘Are you all right? Mam said you’d hurt your ankle and spent the night in a police cell. What on earth happened?’

Emma chuckled. ‘I tripped over in the fog, but fortunately this gorgeous policeman came to my rescue.’

Lila’s eyes widened. ‘Gosh. What was he like? Tall, dark, handsome …?’

An imp of devilry seized Emma. ‘Very tall. He made me feel like a shrimp. Especially when he swept me off my feet and carried me to the nearest shop,’ she said, her eyes sparkling. No doubt this information would find its way back to Mrs Ashcroft.

‘You’re pulling my leg,’ said Lila.

‘It’s the gospel truth!’ Emma was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘He even gave me a ride on his bike. I sat on the crossbar and I had to hang on to him very tightly in case I fell off. He was really strong. I’d never experienced anything like it. We could only see a few feet in front of us. It was thrilling, frightening and exciting all at the same time.’

‘How old is he?’

‘I’d say only a few years older than us.’

Lila sighed. ‘Gosh, I wish we had a bobby like him around here.’

‘It would probably be too quiet for him with it being just a matter of making sure none of the men are drinking after hours or day trippers driving too fast through the village.’

‘You’re forgetting about sheep and hen rustlers,’ said Lila with a giggle.

Emma smiled. ‘You’re right. I should tell him that it’s a bit like the Wild West out here but he knows Pendle Hill, so will be familiar with the area and would guess I was telling a fib.’

Lila pulled a face. ‘Shame. Anyway, I expect he’ll be looking for something more exciting in terms of crimes to solve and criminals to catch. Maybe he’ll want to be a police inspector.’

‘No chance of doing that here.’

‘Will you be seeing him again?’

‘He said he’d be in touch. Did your mother tell you that I didn’t find my stepmother and
half-sister
?’

‘Aye.’

‘The house was derelict, but Constable Marshall is going to try and trace them for me.’ Emma began to flip the scallops onto a plate. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘I’ve eaten. Is that all you’re having?’

‘I had a big breakfast at the police station,’ said Emma.

‘That must have been hours ago.’

‘So, I need to lose some weight.’

Lila stared at her. ‘You’re short of money after buying a new frock and going to Liverpool, aren’t you?’

‘I’m fine. Nothing for you to worry about,’ said Emma lightly. ‘It’s just that I have to make my money last until I get some more work.’

Lila sat down and rested her arms on the table. ‘If Mam didn’t make me hand over me wages, I’d give you a loan. So what else happened? Did you get to look in any of the shops?’

Emma shook her head. ‘I told you it was foggy, and I’d lost my bag, so I had no money. You know, I never gave any thought to Liverpool having been bombed before I went there. Stupid of me. I didn’t get to see the River Mersey either. I’m going to have to go there again but it might not be till summer.’

She was thoughtful as she ate her supper.

‘And if your policeman gets in touch?’

‘Whether he gets in touch or not,’ murmured Emma. ‘There are things I need to find out about my parents.’

Lila frowned and stood up. ‘Why can’t you leave the past alone?’

‘Because I’m curious!’

‘It was curiosity that killed the cat,’ said Lila, shaking her head. ‘I’ll have to go. Is there anything I can get you? You’ll be wanting to rest your ankle.’

‘It’s good of you to offer but I’ll manage,’ said
Emma. ‘By the way, thanks for coming in and feeding the hens and the cat.’

‘It was the least I could do. See you soon.’

Emma saw her friend out and then, after she had gone, switched on the wireless so she wouldn’t feel so lonely. She listened to
The Goon Show
, remembering how her granddad had enjoyed the adventures of Neddie Seagoon. He was always falling prey to the schemes of Hercules Grytpype-Thynne and Count Moriarty. She could almost hear the old man’s throaty chuckle as he laughed at the antics of Spike Milligan as Eccles and Peter Sellers as Bluebottle in their attempts to rescue Neddie. She must visit the family grave again soon.

It was to be more than a week before Emma was able to visit the churchyard. She knelt on a sheet of newspaper by the family plot and removed dead greenery before emptying the dregs from the water container. Then she half-filled it with fresh water before placing the first of the daffodils from her garden in the container. She spent several minutes, thinking of her grandparents and her mother, before getting up from her knees and wrapping the dead plants in the newspaper. On her way to the church gate, she passed the verger who was pasting a sheet of paper on the church noticeboard.