Queen of the Mersey (15 page)

‘It was a dream,’ she told herself. ‘Just a dream.’

The raids over Liverpool were getting heavier and more frequent. As soon as she’d delivered the girls to school, Queenie would immediately make for the Post Office where Mrs Jones would regale her with the latest news; the Customs House had been hit, Edge Hill Goods Station, Dunlop Rubber Works, Tunnel Road Cinema, the list was endless. The number of casualties was increasing at an alarming rate.

‘My nephew said it looked as if the entire city was on fire,’ Mrs Jones declared in a dramatic voice one morning, clearly enjoying her role as the purveyor of ill tidings. ‘He reckons there were at least two hundred German planes in the sky.’

Laura didn’t know Queenie was being kept up to date with the bombardment of Liverpool. Her letters made it appear as if little was happening.

The siren goes nightly, waking everyone up, and we daren’t go asleep again, just in case, but usually it’s just a false alarm. Vera and I will come and see you as soon as we can, but we’re both terribly tired, losing sleep like nobody’s business, yet we still have to get up for work. We’ve been saving our sweet coupons and have sent a parcel of chocolate bars. To avoid an argument, the Fry’s Chocolate Creams are for Hester and the Mars Bars for Mary. I’ve included some Turkish Delight for you, Queenie, dear, because you are so sweet!

Queenie didn’t feel sweet. She felt sour and bad-tempered. Miss Larkin had to remonstrate with her for shouting at a little girl who was having difficulty learning to read.

‘Losing your temper will get you nowhere,’ she said coldly. ‘In fact, it will only make things worse. Nora won’t learn a thing if you frighten her. Teachers have to be patient, even if they want to scream inside.’ Her voice softened.

‘This isn’t a bit like you, Queenie. You usually have the patience of Job. Is something bothering you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Queenie said distractedly, which was a most unsatisfactory answer.

At the end of October, Laura came to see them, accompanied by Albert instead of Vera. It was his first visit.

‘Your mam’s exhausted, so I thought I’d take her place for once,’ he told Mary, who didn’t mind who came so long as they made an enormous fuss of her.

There wasn’t an opportunity to tell Laura about Carl Merton and what he’d done –

or might not have done. Anyway, it was almost two months ago and Queenie was doing her best to forget about it. But she was finding it awfully hard. The only place she felt safe was in the den, her head buried in a book, engrossed in a world that was completely different from the dark, dangerous one outside.

Laura said Roddy was now stationed in a place called Colchester, which was on the opposite side of the country to Liverpool. She hadn’t seen him since he’d been evacuated from Dunkirk and had been given an entire week’s leave. Since then, he’d only been allowed twenty-four-hour passes, not nearly long enough to come home. ‘I’d go and see him one weekend, but it means getting a train to London, then catching another.’ She sighed. ‘Trains are so unreliable these days. Even if you manage to catch one, you’re quite likely to be turfed off halfway if it’s needed for the troops. I could be days late getting back to work, which just isn’t on. My job’s too important to lose time.’

‘This war’s turned people’s lives upside down,’ Albert said gloomily. ‘Vera’s a nervous wreck, worrying about the lads.’ Two of the Monaghan boys were in the Army, and Dick had joined the Royal Navy. Nobody had a clue where he was.

Gwen reported, with a touch of relish, that Mrs Merton’s pottery factory was on its last legs. Most of the staff, mainly young women whose job it had been to hand-paint the finished products, had left Caerdovey for better paid work.

Anyway, hardly anyone went on holiday these days and the market for china replicas of Harlech or Caernarvon castle or ashtrays proclaiming they were a Present from Barmouth was virtually nonexistent. In an attempt to keep the business afloat, the few remaining staff were producing mugs on which Winston Churchill smoked a fat cigar and bore the message ‘Good Luck to our Boys’.

To add to her employer’s woes, the petrol ration was a mere six gallons a month.

‘She’d prefer Carl had the coupons,’ Gwen said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, ‘so she’s decided to walk to work and back. I can’t say I envy her, not on such dark mornings. There’s no street lights and she can’t use a torch.’

Mrs Merton’s troubles were increased when she was knocked down by a lorry. It was only crawling along in the thick white mist that had rolled in from the sea overnight, making visibility virtually impossible. The lorry continued on its way, unaware it had hit anybody, and Mrs Merton limped back home, one side of her body badly bruised. She went to bed after telling Gwen to send for the doctor.

The mist was still there when it was time for school, cloying and claustrophobic, turning Caerdovey into a ghost town, a place of disembodied voices and eerie footsteps. Hester and Mary tried to wave the mist away with their arms, as if it were smoke, but it stubbornly refused to move.

‘Why don’t you stay with us today, Queenie?’ Miss Larkin suggested when they arrived at the Councillor Jones Hall. ‘It seems silly to make the journey twice in this awful weather. I’m sure I can find things for you to do.’

‘I’d love to, but Gwen will be worried if I don’t come back.’ She didn’t fancy walking on her own but, with Mrs Merton having taken to her bed, Gwen already had enough to worry about.

‘Nip over to the Post Office and ask Mrs Jones to give Gwen a ring.’ As well as her duties behind the counter, Mrs Jones was in charge of the switchboard dealing with calls coming in and out of the town, listening in quite shamelessly and knowing everybody’s business. She already knew about Mrs Merton’s accident.

‘She’s just called her son in Manchester. Terrible bruised she said she was.

Isn’t this fog awful, lovey? Yet a couple of miles away there’s no sign of it.’

Queenie spent a pleasant day tidying cupboards and mending damaged books, carefully sticking the loose pages back in. She kept looking at the windows to see if the mist had lifted, but all that could be seen were hazy white clouds pressing against the glass.

School let out at half past three and Miss Larkin told everyone to walk in single file and to never lose sight of the person in front. ‘And stay on the pavement,’ she warned.

The walk seemed to take twice as long as usual and they nearly went right past The Old School House. Mary recognised the rickety fence just in time. It looked very peculiar, stuck on its own, the house to which it was attached no longer in sight.

Mary must have thought she was entitled to a favour. ‘Can we go straight to the den?’ she asked. ‘We can light the candles. I love it when the candles are lit and you tell us stories, Queenie.’

‘All right, but first I want Gwen to know we’re home. You’re not to light the candles until I come.’ She’d forbidden them to touch matches. They ran off, giggling happily.

There was no sign of Gwen in the kitchen. Voices could be heard upstairs, one of them a man’s, which she assumed was the doctor. She hung around, waiting for Gwen, and when she didn’t appear, went up to see for herself. Gwen and the owner of the voice were coming out of Mrs Merton’s room. It wasn’t the doctor, but Mrs Merton’s son, Carl.

Terror rose like a ball in Queenie’s throat. She could hardly speak, think, breathe, just wanted to scream and scream at him to go away, never come back, forgetting entirely that this was his house and he could come and go as he pleased.

‘Queenie!’ Gwen hurried towards her. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Come on, lovey, let’s go downstairs. There’s tea in the pot and you look as if you need it. Isn’t this fog terrible! I’m glad I didn’t have to go out.’

As Gwen led her away, Queenie looked back. Carl Merton was watching her across the landing, eyes half-closed and brooding. It had happened, it hadn’t been a dream and, if she stopped blocking it out and concentrated hard enough, she’d be able to remember every single detail.

‘I can’t stay a minute,’ she mumbled as soon as they reached the kitchen.

‘Hester and Mary are in the den, waiting for me.’

‘Just get this nice hot tea down you, lovey. You’ll feel better for it.’ Gwen rolled her eyes, unusually animated. ‘You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. Mrs Merton’s had me up and down them stairs like a yo-yo. Then Carl arrived, only an hour ago. He must have driven like the wind. He only came to see how his mother was. He’s going back later.’ She cocked her ear towards the door that opened on to the hall. ‘What was that?’

‘I didn’t hear anything,’ Queenie said dully.

‘I heard a creak, as if someone was outside. It’s probably just my nerves. This fog would get anybody down. What did you do with yourself at school? Mrs Jones rang to say you weren’t coming home. It was very thoughtful of you, Queenie. I told Mrs Merton what you’d done. I told her you were a proper little lady.’

‘I’d better get to the den.’ With an effort, Queenie pushed herself to her feet.

‘Don’t stay long, lovey. It’ll be cold out there.’

‘No.’ She went into the garage and was surprised that the girls were being so quiet. There wasn’t a peep from either of them. She’d have expected them to be in the middle of a fierce argument by now. She was about to call their names, but thought better of it. They might have fallen asleep on the bed, in which case she’d leave them. She’d appreciate being left with her own thoughts for a little while.

She crept up the ladder and had almost reached the top, when a hand reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her upwards. She screamed, and would have fallen had not the hand been holding her so tightly.

‘Hello, Queenie,’ said a smiling Carl Merton. ‘I got here just in time. Are you pleased to see me? Are …’

Queenie would never know what he was about to say next, because the smiling face, so close to hers, was no longer smiling. The sleepy eyes had opened wide and, for some insane reason, were dark with fear. All of a sudden, he toppled head first out of the cavity and on to the concrete floor, taking Queenie with him. The last thing she remembered hearing was a sickening, cracking noise followed by a bloodcurdling groan.

The nightmare was dreadful. She was lost in a thick, dark forest, where the mist swirled in and out of the trees and the leaves met overhead so that the sky was invisible. Strange, half-formed figures danced around her, getting closer and closer, until she could have touched them, until they were touching her, their slight bodies brushing against her skirt, nipping her arms, poking her face, tugging at her hair. Her eyes searched desperately for a way out, but there wasn’t a glimpse of daylight anywhere.

‘Ouch!’ she cried, when there was a particularly vicious tug at her hair.

‘Ah!’ a voice said cheerfully. ‘You’re awake at last.’

Queenie opened her eyes. She wasn’t in a forest, but lying in bed in a small white room where a woman of about forty wearing a white apron and a strangely shaped cap was bending over her. She had cheeks like apples and warm friendly eyes.

‘I’m Sister Thomas, love. How are you feeling?’

‘I dunno.’ The mist had entered her head and she couldn’t think. ‘Where am I?’

It seemed a sensible question to ask.

‘Caerdovey Cottage Hospital.’

‘Why?’

‘For two reasons,’ Sister Thomas said practically. ‘First, you were badly concussed following your accident. Second, your arm was broken for the same reason. It’s nicely set and there’ll be someone along in a minute to put a plaster on, so try not to move till then.’

‘Which arm?’ Queenie mumbled.

‘The right one, love. You’ll be pleased to know it’s nice and straight again.

Doctor Owen came all the way from Llangollen to set it. He said it hadn’t been set properly when it was broken the first time. He was extremely shocked. We both were.’

‘I didn’t know it had been broken before. You mean, it isn’t twisted any more?’

She must have misunderstood. It seemed too good to be true.

‘That’s right, Queenie.’ The nurse looked pleased. ‘It’s just like new.’

The mist in her head was beginning to clear. Details of the ‘accident’ Sister Thomas had mentioned were gradually coming back. She remembered the wide-eyed, horror-struck face coming towards her, the body hitting the floor with a strange thud. ‘What happened to Carl Merton?’ she asked.

‘I think I’ll leave that for your friend to tell you.’ Her knee was given a comforting squeeze. ‘She’s outside now. I’ll call her in. Now that you’ve safely returned to the land of the living, I can see to my other patients. We had a new baby last night, two burns and a heart attack.’

Minutes later, Sister Thomas had been replaced by Gwen Hughes, looking very grave. ‘That fog’s cleared at last,’ was the first thing she said.

‘How long have I been here?’ Queenie had lost all sense of time. She looked at the window and it was dark outside. There were flowers on the bedside cabinet; chrysanthemums with tousled heads, a lovely tawny brown.

‘Just over twenty-four hours. A doctor came from Llangollen to set your arm.’

‘Sister Thomas told me. She said it’s straight now. I can’t imagine what it’ll feel like, straight.’ She’d have to learn to write again, do all sorts of things the proper way.

There was a pause, then Gwen said in a terse, hushed voice, ‘Queenie, did you know you were pregnant?’

‘What?’

‘You were expecting a baby, lovey. You lost it when you fell off that ladder. I cleaned you up while we waited for the ambulance. No one here knows.’

Queenie felt tears rush to her eyes. ‘I didn’t know, no.’

‘It was Carl Merton, wasn’t it? When he was home during the summer. Oh!’ she cried, shaking visibly in her distress. ‘I told Edna Davies it wasn’t safe to leave you and the girls, not with him around. He raped you, didn’t he?’

Queenie didn’t know what raped meant. ‘He got into bed with me one night,’ she muttered. ‘I was never quite sure what he did. Whatever it was hurt, but I kept telling meself it was just a dream.’

‘Oh, lovey!’ Gwen wept. ‘You should have told me. I should’ve kept you all under lock and key. He’s done it before, raped a girl. It was on the beach, behind the Town Hall. Someone, an old man, Ernie Preston, saw him hanging round, but Mrs Merton swore blind he’d spent the night at home, with her. The police believed her, rather than Ernie, who was never all that sober. He’s dead now, poor soul,’