Some Sunny Day (16 page)

Inside her own parcel was a generous length of the same soft wool, in the prettiest shade of soft
lilac blue Rosie had ever seen. It would be perfect for her colouring. She pressed her face against it, loving its softness and loving even more the knowledge that her dad had touched it too. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that he was here with her, ready to give her a birthday hug.

‘Sylvia’s going to get herself into a lot of trouble, if she doesn’t watch out, not coming in to work yesterday and not sending any message to say why not. Mind you, if you want my opinion, she’s bin getting a bit above herself since she started seein’ that Lance. It’s Lance this and Lance that all the ruddy time,’ Enid declared sharply, coming into the workroom. ‘Mrs Verey’s just bin asking where she is and she’s said, seeing as how you and Sylvia are friends, Rosie, you can finish a bit early tonight and go round and find out why she hasn’t come in to work.’ Enid gave a disgruntled sniff. ‘If you was to ask me, I’d say that Mrs V. is being too soft, and that if Sylvia wants to go meking a fool of herself over someone like Lance, then she’s welcome to do so. I’ve heard that he allus keeps two or three girls on the go at the same time, boastin’ that there’s safety in numbers.’

Rosie gave her an uncomfortable look, not wanting to say that Sylvia had fallen out with her. Instead, she nodded in acceptance of this charge, even though she had already planned to go up to Edge Hill after she had had her tea to fulfil her promise to her father that she would call on her
aunt and make sure that she was all right. The truth was that she was anxious on Sylvia’s behalf and worried about her not coming in to work, despite the fact that they had fallen out.

Knowing her Aunt Maude as she did, Rosie had already taken the precaution of writing to her to make sure that her visit was convenient. Originally she had hoped to call and see her the previous Sunday afternoon but her aunt had told her that she was too busy and demanded instead that Rosie call on a day and time of her own choosing. Rosie knew that if she tried to alter it now there would be a terrible fuss. It was just as well she had only planned to have the last of the vegetable soup she had made from the root vegetables she had been given in return for having done some sewing for a neighbour whose son had an allotment.

‘Oh, and she said to tell you that Mrs Simpson has been on to say that her daughter won’t be needing that wedding dress now. Her fiancé’s plane was shot down over the English Channel last week.’

Rosie’s face paled. ‘Oh, no! They looked so in love. Oh, that poor girl.’

‘Aye, well, she isn’t the only one,’ Enid reminded her brusquely. ‘My cousin’s lad was with the BEF and he was her only one, and then Phyllis’s brother was killed when that bomb dropped on Central Station in September, never mind all them sailors that’s bin lost.’

Rosie gave her an unhappy look. She hated
being reminded about how vulnerable her father was to Hitler’s torpedoes.

Even though it was only four o’clock, the dank day was already fading into semi darkness as Rosie stepped off the tram and turned into the street where Sylvia lived. Mrs Verey was a kind employer and she had allowed Rosie plenty of time to get round to Sylvia’s in work hours to find out why Sylvia hadn’t come in to work.

The sight of a queue outside a butchers had tempted Rosie to join the end of it on the off chance that she might be lucky and get something for dinner, but her conscience had refused to let her use her employer’s time for her own ends, so instead she had headed for the tram and the dock area.

It was one of Sylvia’s sisters who opened the door to Rosie’s knock, giving a brief wary look up and down the street before inviting her in.

‘It’s all right, our dad’s gone down the docks to see a mate of his, and he’ll probably not be back now until the pubs close, with it being a Saturday, otherwise I’d daresn’t let you in, seein’ as how our Sylvia’s gone and told him it was on account of you that she’s bin seein’ this Lance.’

‘What? But that’s not true,’ Rosie protested before she could stop herself. ‘What I mean is…’ She stopped uncertainly. She wasn’t sure how Sylvia would react to her visit, and whether or not she would welcome her.

‘Oh, it’s all right. Me and Bertha didn’t believe it
anyway. We’d both already warned her about what was going to happen if our dad caught her sneaking out behind his back. Given her a real pasting, he has. Her backside will be black and blue – just like her eye. Daft, she was, to think she could get away with it. She might have known that someone would see her, carrying on like she was. Only went and got herself caught in a doorway three streets away, doin’ what she shouldn’t, for anyone to see.’ Clara snorted in derision, oblivious to Rosie’s shock.

‘You wait here,’ she told Rosie, showing her into a shabby cold front parlour lit by a flickering gas mantle that hissed and smelled.

Her mother might not be much of a housewife, but Rosie had grown up watching Maria and Bella’s mother take a pride in keeping their home not just clean and polished but in making it homely with flowers and ornaments, and she had automatically absorbed their homemaking skills so that the little house she and her parents shared shone with love and care, unlike Sylvia’s home, which smelled of neglect and dust, Rosie recognised, wrinkling her nose against the odour of the gaslight and averting her gaze from the dust on the linoleum and the mantelpiece.

The apprehension she had sensed in Clara had transferred itself to her and she jumped nervously when the parlour door opened, half expecting to be confronted by Sylvia’s irate father but instead it was Sylvia herself who stood there, a large bruise swelling her cheekbone.

‘Oh, Sylvia…’ Rosie whispered sympathetically, whilst Sylvia’s eyes filled with tears that spilled down her face.

‘Oh, I’m right glad you’re here,’ Sylvia sobbed as she threw herself into Rosie’s arms. ‘And I’m sorry for what I said about you and Lance. Oh, Rosie, I’m that upset. I haven’t seen Lance since me dad caught me with him. But I’ve written to him and he’ll be round here quick as a flash to get me, you can be sure of that.’ Cos now that we’ve bin together proper like, it means that we’re a couple, and anyway he said the last time I saw him how much he loves me.’

Rosie’s heart sank further with every betraying word Sylvia recounted. Couldn’t Sylvia see what was happening, and what Lance was?

‘When me and Lance are wed, it’s me dad who’s going to be sorry because I won’t want anything to do with him. And when we have money, then he’ll be sorry.’

The hysterical outburst continued, Sylvia pouring out her feelings. But although she was angry with her father for having told her that she wasn’t to see Lance again, and obviously cowed by his physical punishment of her, so far as Rosie could tell Sylvia felt no remorse or discomfort over the situation she had been caught in.

‘Mrs Verey wants to know what’s wrong and when you’ll be coming back to work,’ Rosie informed her as soon as she could get a word in.

Sylvia shook her head. ‘I won’t be coming back
to the shop. Me dad has said that I’ve got to find another job as brings in more money. And besides, he wouldn’t let me come back anyway because of you.’

‘Clara said something…’

‘Yes. He thinks it was you as encouraged me to go out with Lance,’ Sylvia told her. When she saw Rosie’s expression she defended herself, saying quickly, ‘Well, I had to tell him summat, didn’t I?’

‘But I was the one who told you not to get involved with him,’ Rosie reminded her.

Sylvia gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Me dad’s told me that I’m not to see Lance again but I will. And we can be married, and I won’t have to bother about what me dad says no more.’

‘Sylvia, you’re only sixteen; Lance is close to thirty. You’re too young to get married.’ Rosie didn’t want to upset her by suggesting that marriage was probably the last thing on Lance’s mind, but at the same time she felt that she had to try to warn her.

However, to her dismay, Sylvia tossed her head and said, ‘Well, as to that, Lance has already promised that he will wed me, so there.’

The door opened, causing Sylvia to give Rosie a warning look as Clara came in.

‘You’d better go,’ she told Rosie, ‘just in case our dad does come back, otherwise we’ll be for it – me included for letting you see our Sylvia. Has she told you that he’s said that she’s not to go
back to the shop?’ she asked as she left Sylvia in the parlour and escorted Rosie to the front door.

Rosie nodded. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Verey.’

As shocked as she was by Sylvia’s father’s violence towards his daughter, she was equally shocked by what Sylvia had done. What was it about women like Sylvia and her mother that led them down the path towards the wrong men? Sylvia was young and naïve enough to believe that Lance really would marry her, but her mother already had a husband and from all accounts had been around the block…

An hour later, when she let herself into the cold kitchen of her own home, her mother’s behaviour was on Rosie’s mind again. On the cold air of the empty room she could smell quite plainly the strong smell of the Brylcreem used by her mother’s lover – she had smelled it that night she had discovered them.

How could her mother continue to behave so badly? Rosie wondered miserably. She hardly saw her now that Christine was working nights, and Rosie couldn’t banish the suspicion that her mother had chosen to work those hours not so much for the money as the opportunity it could give her to have the house to herself whilst Rosie was at work.

‘I’m lonely, Rosie,’ she had defended her actions when Rosie had challenged her. ‘And Dennis is good company. He makes me laugh and I have fun with him.’

Fun! How could her mother even think about
having fun when brave men like her father were losing their lives every day, fighting to protect their country and those they loved?

Tears stung Rosie’s eyes as she heated up what was left of the soup.

Rosie had just got off the bus on Wavertree Road, when she heard the warning wail of the air-raid siren. Automatically she looked up towards the sky, crisscrossed now with the dazzling bright glare of the searchlights. She was close enough to her aunt’s to feel it would be safer to hurry there and join her in the small shelter she shared with her neighbours, installed at the bottom of their garden. Breaking into a run, Rosie prayed not to see the dreaded shape of the green parachutes attached to the deadly bombs the Germans had started to drop on the city at the beginning of the month.

When she reached her aunt’s house she was surprised to be told that her father’s sister had no intention of going to any air-raid shelter.

‘Unhygienic, that’s what they are,’ she sniffed as she let Rosie in and instructed her to take off her shoes so that she didn’t tread any dirt onto her pristine floors.

‘But, Aunt Maude, it isn’t safe for you to stay here when there’s a bombing raid on,’ Rosie protested, mindful of how concerned her father would be if he knew the risk his sister was taking.

‘I’ve got me cupboard under the stairs. That’s plenty safe enough for me. Besides, the Germans
won’t drop any bombs here in Wavertree. It’s the docks they’re after,’ she told Rosie almost complacently, as if the Germans wouldn’t dare bomb somewhere she lived.

‘I wasn’t sure you’d be coming so I hope you’ve already had your tea, because I’ve nothing to spare. You’d better come into the kitchen.’

It was just as well she was used to her aunt’s peremptory manner and hadn’t been expecting a warm welcome, Rosie acknowledged ruefully.

‘So what’s this I’ve been hearing about that mother of yours?’ her aunt demanded as soon as Rosie was sitting down – in the chair furthest from the fire that heated the back boiler, Rosie noticed, as she tried not to shiver as her aunt blocked the heat from her.

Rosie tensed, her heart sinking. Surely it wasn’t possible for Aunt Maude to have discovered what her mother was doing.

‘A fine thing, her taking on night work. It isn’t respectable! Not for a married woman. What’s going to happen when my poor brother comes home on leave and needs looking after if she’s out all night at some parachute factory?’

So it was her mother working nights that Aunt Maude was objecting to. Rosie felt shaky with relief.

‘Mum is just doing her bit for the war effort, Aunt Maude,’ she shouted out to her aunt above the noise from the bombers overhead and the fire from the ack-ack guns protecting the city. ‘Our
men need the parachutes the factory is making.’ Another time Rosie admitted that it would have amused her to see the way her aunt was struggling to find some way of criticising her mother whilst refraining from denying that parachutes were badly needed. But she wasn’t convinced her mother was doing it for the best motives herself.

‘I really think we ought to be in a proper shelter,’ Rosie told her aunt. ‘I’m surprised your air-raid warden hasn’t been round to tell you that.’

Every air-raid warden had a list of all those living in his area and was responsible for making sure they reported to their shelters.

‘Mr Dawson knows better than to try to tell me what to do,’ Aunt Maude responded sharply. ‘There’s no telling what a person might catch in one of those places.’

‘But you’ve got a shelter next door that you only share with your neighbours,’ Rosie pointed out.

‘I did have, but they have her cousin and her children billeted on them,’ her aunt sniffed disparagingly. ‘And they aren’t the Wavertree sort at all.’

Rosie gasped as several planes roared so low overhead that she actually ducked her head and then tensed as several seconds later they heard a tremendous explosion, which caused the china on her aunt’s kitchen dresser to rattle.

‘It will be the docks,’ her aunt declared, but Rosie wasn’t convinced. ‘It sounded much closer than that, Auntie.’

It was gone ten o’clock before the sound of the
planes died away and Rosie finally felt it was safe enough for her to make her way home. Her aunt didn’t press her to stay, but, if she was honest with herself, Rosie decided she would feel safer taking refuge in one of the public shelters than staying with Aunt Maude.