Queen of the Mersey (9 page)

‘She didn’t tell her daughter, either. She just went, leaving Queenie behind.’

‘Poor kid. What’s happened to her?’

‘We’ve been looking after her for the last few days. I didn’t know Mrs Tate had gone myself until Thursday. While you’re here, I’d like to show you something.’

She took him upstairs and pointed out the damp on the ceiling of the top landing, then threw open the door of Queenie’s room so he could see the mould in the corners.

‘All she had to do was tell us and Mr Granger would have had it fixed straight away. He’s very particular about keeping his properties in good repair. There’s probably a few slates loose on the roof and bricks that might need repointing.’

They went back downstairs. On the way, Edgar took a look at the other rooms and remarked how spruce they were.

‘That’s all due to Queenie,’ Laura told him. ‘She’s a dab hand with a duster and polish.’

She gave him the seven and sixpence rent and asked if it would be all right if Queenie slept upstairs until the new tenants arrived. Edgar said he was sure Mr Granger wouldn’t mind. ‘It’s no skin off his nose, is it, Mrs Oliver? He won’t be looking for new tenants until that damp’s been sorted. Which reminds me, doesn’t your husband work for Colm Flaherty? Perhaps he’d like to make a few bob on the side and do the work himself. Mr Granger would pay well.’

She was amazed at how even and steady her voice was when she replied, ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr Binns. My husband has joined the Army. He only left this morning.’

That afternoon, she made sandwiches and took the girls to North Park for a picnic. Mary and Hester seemed friends again, though they argued incessantly.

When they reached the park, they made straight for the swings, Queenie too. At first, she didn’t quite know what to do, but in no time she was swinging higher than the others, dangerously so, a look of pure daring on her peaked face. Laura had to tell her to slow down a bit.

‘You might hurt yourself, dear.’

‘All right, Laura.’ She’d been told to call her Laura, not Mrs Oliver. Laura preferred to be regarded as an elder sister rather than a substitute mother.

Queenie was gradually coming out of her shell, getting more outgoing by the day.

It must make a change, to be treated with kindness, aware that people cared, and have two little girls fighting constantly for your attention. Over the last emotional few days, Laura had grown very fond of her and wasn’t too keen on letting her live with Vera. She’d very much like Queenie to stay. Mary wouldn’t be too pleased, having decided, after all, that she wanted Queenie for a sister, but only to spite Hester. They seemed determined to rub each other up the wrong way. Till she’d met Mary, Hester had been a docile child. It was rare she’d played with other children, but when she had, they’d got on fine. Laura hoped she wasn’t being unfair by placing the blame for the fights on Mary, who’d been completely spoiled by Vera and Albert and her eight big brothers. She seemed to regard Hester as a rival, rather than a friend.

Laura sat on a bench where she could keep an eye on the girls and wondered what Roddy was doing. He’d probably already been issued with a uniform, his worldly possessions transferred to a kit bag, and be on his way to a training camp, which could be anywhere in the country.

There was a rumbling noise from behind and she turned to see an Army lorry entering the gates. It stopped and half a dozen soldiers leapt out and unloaded a large gun. Vera had said there would be an ak-ak battery in the park, and she thought it obscene that a gun had been placed so close to where children played.

It was from this very spot that Bootle would be defended when enemy planes attacked.

Laura glanced fearfully at her daughter. Hester was swinging gently, eyes closed, her face dreamy. Am I being selfish by wanting to stay? she asked herself. She didn’t want to be evacuated, spend the war sheltering in the countryside with nothing to think about except Roddy. It would be much more bearable if she had a job to occupy her mind, which undoubtedly was selfish. She was putting her own needs before those of an innocent child. Hester would be given no say in the matter. Her safety, whether she lived or died, was entirely in the hands of her mother. Laura groaned and supposed she had no choice. She wasn’t prepared to let Hester be evacuated on her own and if she stayed and was killed, she would never forgive herself and doubted if Roddy would either.

Laura had become addicted to the wireless, listening to every news bulletin, praying that war would somehow be averted, but each bulletin only seemed to bring it nearer. On Tuesday, it was announced that place names visible from the air had to be removed, including the names of railway stations. By Thursday, it appeared the country was on the very brink when the government ordered evacuation of the population living in unsafe areas to start the very next day.

She ran across to see Vera, who looked very grave, having just heard the news on her own wireless.

‘I haven’t packed a thing,’ Laura wailed. ‘I don’t know where to go, what to do.

I don’t know who’s organising the evacuation, where we’ll be sent. I don’t know anything.’ She’d put off finding out, hoping there would never be the need.

‘The WVS are arranging it, the Women’s Voluntary Service,’ Vera said calmly. ‘Be at St Joan of Arc’s by nine o’clock tomorrer and they’ll put you on a bus to Wales.’

‘But Wales is the back of beyond!’

‘That’s the best place to be in a war, luv. I’ve a favour to ask.’ Vera leaned forward in the chair, shoulders hunched. Laura sensed that what she was about to say had taken a lot of thought. ‘Me and Albert talked about it last night. We’d like you to take our Mary with you. At least we’ll know our girl will be safe, if not our lads.’

‘Of course I will. Oh, but I’ll miss you so much!’ She wanted to fling her arms around Vera’s neck and have a good cry.

‘And I’ll miss you, Laura, luv.’ Vera sniffed pathetically. ‘So many people leaving! It’s as if the whole world’s going away. One good thing, Queenie can have Mary’s bed and there’ll be no need to move things round.’

‘She went after a cleaning job this morning, Queenie. Some doctor’s house in Merton Road.’ Laura wrinkled her nose. ‘She could do better than that, but no one will employ her because of her arm. They think she won’t be able to cope, yet it hardly bothers her at all – her handwriting is far better than mine.

She’s very intelligent and responsible too, though I wish it was me going after a job, not her.’

‘Why not …’ Vera paused and shrugged. ‘Oh, never mind, it was a daft idea.’

‘Tell me what the idea is and I’ll judge if it was daft.’

‘I just thought,’ Vera said, slightly embarrassed, ‘why not let Queenie go with the girls instead of you?’

Laura didn’t answer for a moment, letting the idea sink in. ‘That’s not daft,’

she said eventually. ‘That’s not daft at all. In fact, it’s a marvellous idea!’

Her enthusiasm mounted. ‘It would solve all our problems. I mean my problems. I can stay in Liverpool and do my bit. Hester and Mary will be thrilled. It would be like an adventure for them – and Queenie. Oh, Vera, you’re a genius! Why didn’t I think of it?’

‘Because,’ Vera said smugly, ‘you’re not a genius like me. Mind you, you’d better ask Queenie first. She mightn’t be as taken with the idea as we are.’

Queenie returned, very forlorn. She was wearing Laura’s school frock that she’d long grown out of. The hem had been taken up and the waist made smaller. It was still too big, but at least she’d looked respectable for the interview if you ignored the tattered plimsolls. ‘The lady didn’t want me. She was very cross and said I was wasting her time.’

‘She doesn’t sound a very nice lady.’ Laura wanted to run as far as Merton Road and give the woman a piece of her mind.

‘No, but it was a job. I’ll never get one at this rate.’

‘Come in the kitchen. I’ve made tea. I want to talk to you about something.’

Queenie followed, dragging her heels. Laura sat her down, put the tea in front of her, and said, ‘I have a job for you, if you’re willing to do it.’ To her astonishment, the girl looked annoyed before she’d had a chance to explain what the job entailed.

‘I couldn’t take money off you,’ she said stiffly. ‘If you want me to clean, I’ll do it for nothing.’

‘It’s not cleaning, dear. It’s not even a proper job, and all you’ll get is a bit of pocket money.’ She told her what she and Vera had in mind. ‘Of all the people we know, you’re the only one we’d trust to look after Hester and Mary. I understand Wales is very pretty and it shouldn’t be for long. They say the war won’t last more than a few months and then everything will be back to normal.’

‘But you won’t be coming with us?’

‘I’ll be staying here. I want to start work as soon as I possibly can.’

Laura was startled when Queenie burst into tears. ‘I’d sooner stay with you,’

she sobbed. ‘I don’t care about the bombs. As long as I was with you, I wouldn’t care.’

‘But Queenie, love,’ Laura put her arm around the girl’s thin shoulders, ‘that’s not possible. If you don’t go with Hester and Mary, I shall have to go myself.’

‘Then why can’t I go with all of you? Why can’t you work in Wales?’

‘Because, because …’ It was a perfectly reasonable question and Laura couldn’t think of an answer other than the plain, honest truth. ‘Because, love, I don’t want to. I want to do war work, not stand behind the counter of the village shop, that’s if they’d have me. It’s why I’m asking you to take my place. And I’d like to think you’re safe too.’

Queenie sniffed a few times, then suddenly nodded, very grown up. ‘All right, I’ll go. But when we come back,’ she said shyly, ‘can I stay with you? I don’t want to live with Vera. She’s nice, but their Tommy makes fun of me arm every time he sees me. Most children do, but he’s one o’ the worst.’

‘There’ll always be a place for you with this family, Queenie. Oh, come here!’

She took the girl in her arms and gave her an affectionate hug. ‘Now, drink your tea. We’ve a lot to do if you and Hester are to be ready for Wales by morning.’

There were two more frocks in the wardrobe that she’d grown out of and had been keeping to cut down for Hester. She altered them to fit Queenie instead and wished she had a sewing machine. It would have taken a fraction of the time.

Her mind was racing as she sewed. Queenie badly needed new underwear. She only had one of everything and they were mostly in rags. And those disgusting plimsolls needed replacing. Did she have a coat? Laura picked up her purse and stared at the contents, biting her lip as she wondered when the allowance from the Army would arrive and how quickly she would get a job and earn money of her own. She could just about afford to pay for the underwear, but not shoes. It would be some time before Queenie needed a coat.

Vera arrived, panting, to ask if Laura had a suitcase.

‘Only a big one. It would be too heavy to carry once it’s full of clothes. I’ve been thinking about that myself. I suppose we’ll have to make parcels and tie them with string.’

‘Right. I’ll sort out some brown paper.’

‘We’ve got plenty of string.’ Laura groaned and stretched her fingers, they were becoming stiff. ‘I’ve been sewing too fast. I was just about to despatch Queenie to buy herself some vests and pants and a couple of petticoats.’

‘Lord almighty!’ Vera gasped. ‘I’d forgotten all about that. She needs kitting out, doesn’t she? She can’t possibly go wearing them old pumps. What’d people think? I’ll take her along Strand Road, buy her a few odds and sods meself. I’ll get our Mary some new knickers at the same time.’

‘And I’ll buy a bottle of Tizer and make sandwiches for them to eat on the way.

Oh, and I must make a little dolly bag for Queenie to put the ration books and identity cards in.’

Two coaches stood in the blazing sunshine outside St Joan of Arc’s next morning when the small party arrived, to find a queue of mothers and children slowly making its way into the school playground. Just inside the gates, two uniformed WVS women were seated behind a trestle table taking down particulars of would-be evacuees.

‘Queenie Tate, Hester Oliver and Mary Monaghan,’ Laura said crisply when their turn came.

‘Address?’

‘Queenie and Hester are twenty-two Glover Street, Mary’s number seventeen.’

‘I can’t guarantee they’ll all be put together.’

Vera pushed her way forward. ‘They’d better had be,’ she said threateningly. ‘If they’re not, then they’re coming home. You’d better make a note of that on your list.’ She turned to Queenie. ‘If they try to separate you, you’re to come back straight away. You’ve got enough for the fare.’

‘Yes, Mrs Monaghan,’ Queenie whispered. She’d looked wretchedly miserable all morning. Waves of guilt washed over Laura. She was still being selfish, foisting the onus for keeping her daughter safe on shoulders far narrower and weaker than her own.

‘Perhaps I should go with them,’ she muttered. ‘We could go tomorrow instead.’

‘No, luv.’ Vera shook her head. ‘If you’re worried about Queenie, she’ll be far better off in a nice place looking after two little girls than cleaning some uppity woman’s house. The responsibility will be the making of her, you’ll see.’

‘I do hope so, Vera.’

‘Will mothers kindly say goodbye to their children now, then wait outside the gates, please?’ a WVS woman called.

Laura bent and kissed Hester’s excited face. She looked very sweet in her straw bonnet and best frock, her gas mask over her shoulder and a little crocheted purse looped over her wrist.

‘Here’s your clothes, sweetheart.’ Laura had plaited the string handle to make it easier to carry. She and Mary seemed to think they were going on an extended holiday. ‘Look after each other, won’t you? And be good for Queenie. Oh, Lord!’

She wanted to weep. Something she had thought impossible had happened. Within the space of a few days, she was losing her entire family. ‘I’ll come and see you as soon as I can.’

‘I’ll be very good, Mummy. I promise. You’ll tell Daddy where I am, won’t you, so he can send me a letter? Queenie will read it to me.’

‘Of course, sweetheart.’ She gave her daughter a little shove, and put her arms around Queenie, pressing the girl’s head against her breast, unable to speak.