Down Daisy Street (33 page)
Kathy decided that she would rather try to get a good night’s sleep in her own home and presently the two of them made their way upstairs in a rather constrained silence. Kathy glanced sideways at her friend as they entered the main bedroom, for they meant to share the double bed rather than the two singles in the room Kathy had shared with Billy. She and Jane had never, in all their long friendship, seriously fallen out before and it was silly that they should quarrel over a young man who would leave Liverpool in a couple of days and probably never return. Alec was very good looking; he had a good figure, being wide shouldered and narrow waisted, and Kathy admitted to herself that she had hoped he might want to keep in touch with her, but of course the hope had crumbled to dust when she had seen him kissing Jane. Kathy was a realist; she had taken her friend’s golden good looks for granted since the first day they had met, so it was absurd to feel slighted by Alec’s complete lack of interest in herself. She knew she should expect nothing else, because boys had been ignoring her for years, always smitten by Jane’s looks into not noticing Kathy.
But as she snuggled down in the big bed, Kathy admitted that this time it was different. She had never met a man whose opinion truly mattered to her until now. But she really wanted Alec to think well of her, wanted him to suggest that they might go out together, meant to ask him, before he left for Church Broughton once more, whether she might write to him. That way, she hoped they could remain in touch without his guessing how she felt. Because I won’t give up without a fight, she found herself thinking. Jane’s beautiful and I’m not, but Jane isn’t free, and I am. I won’t, I
won’t
just give up meekly and let Jane take the only man I’ve ever met who means anything to me.
won’t
just give up meekly and let Jane take the only man I’ve ever met who means anything to me.
And on that thought, she fell asleep.
Chapter TwelveAlec and Jimmy had enjoyed a restful night since they were so tired that they slept straight through the alarms and excursions that happened in the early hours of Wednesday morning. What was more, when they did awake, Mrs McCabe was already up, having fed the children and packed them off to school. ‘I doubt there’ll be any lessons but at least it’ll keep ’em off the streets, and the streets is dangerous wi’ buildings still smouldering and masonry tumbling whenever a heavy vehicle goes past. I’ll have to do me messages later,’ she added. ‘Unless you fellers fancy a bit o’ shopping?’
Jimmy said, rather discontentedly, that he supposed they would have to do her shopping and Alec, who had wondered why on earth Mrs McCabe should want them to take messages for her, realised that this was yet another piece of scouse talk, and grinned to himself. The first time Jimmy had offered to mug him to a beer, he had thought he had misheard, but Jimmy had explained, patiently, that this was scouse and meant that he would pay for the beer.
‘Oh, I
see,
’ Alec had said as light dawned. ‘I reckon we’d say we’d treat you. That’s a right queer language you speak, old feller.’
see,
’ Alec had said as light dawned. ‘I reckon we’d say we’d treat you. That’s a right queer language you speak, old feller.’
Jimmy had replied with spirit that at least he didn’t refer to a young girl as a mawther, nor call a snail a dodman. ‘And nor I don’t have a mardle wi’ me mates, when I mean I’m having a crack,’ he said, causing Alec to give a hoot of laughter; clearly Jimmy was not aware that in most parts of the country a crack did not mean a gossip.
‘I’m a-going to write you a list, because there’s a deal o’ stuff we’ll need for the wake,’ Mrs McCabe said now. ‘It’ll be on Friday, after the funeral. We’ll have it here and all the neighbours will give a hand; you know how it is.’ She turned to Alec. ‘I dunno whether you’ll still be here but I fancy you will. Me cousin Bertha’s boy is in the army; she’s a widder so they’ve sent him home to give a hand. Her house is awright but there’s several been bombed in her terrace and the government are sayin’ we need all the help we can get. So I reckon they’ll let you stay.’
‘I’ll ring again once I’ve had me breakfast,’ Jimmy said, causing Mrs McCabe to clap a hand to her mouth.
‘Honest to God, Jimmy, I think I’m goin’ round the bend, so I do. Kathy popped in earlier and said would you go round to her house for breakfast. She said her mam had give her a bag of eggs and a lovely loaf of homemade bread, so she’s goin’ to scramble ’em – the eggs not the bread – and thought you deserved a share for helpin’ her yesterday.’
Jimmy’s face brightened. It was clear that any chance to see Jane was a welcome one, and Alec himself hoped that sharing breakfast might mean that the four of them would spend the rest of the day together. After all, Mrs McCabe had made it plain that the neighbours would all rally round to help with the funeral tea and that would surely include Kathy and Jane? True, they did not live in Crocus Street, but Jimmy was always saying that the flower streets stuck together. What was more, Kathy and Jane would need to get shopping for themselves since it seemed they would remain in Kathy’s house now for a while, at least.
Alec was very soon proved right. They went round to the Kellings’ home to find Jane sitting at the table, writing a shopping list to Kathy’s dictation whilst Kathy herself broke eggs into a white china basin, whipped them with a fork and added salt and pepper. Both girls momentarily suspended their tasks as the young men entered the kitchen and Kathy pointed to a pile of bread slices and asked Jimmy to shovel them under the grill whilst she scrambled the eggs. ‘I’ve had to use a bit of dried milk because no one’s delivering fresh at the moment,’ she said, carefully pouring her mixture into a saucepan. ‘Alec, can you mash the tea? These eggs won’t take a minute, so if you make the tea and pour it, we’ll be having our breakfast in no time.’
The meal was a good one, for Mrs Kelling had been generous and had given Kathy at least a dozen eggs. As soon as it was over, the girls got their coats and headscarves, picked up their shopping baskets, checked that they had money and coupons, and set out for the shops, the boys beside them. They had agreed to pool their shopping efforts, though for such essentials as butter, sugar and bacon they all had to go to the small grocer’s shop on Stanley Road with which they were registered. After that, they split up, each taking a copy of the list and agreeing to buy whatever they could from it. If more than one of them should purchase plenty of potatoes, or an extra loaf of bread, it would not matter nearly as much as being unable to buy such an item.
Alec knew, of course, that food was rationed, but he was considerably surprised at how little was actually available for sale. Many shops had been destroyed but even the ones that remained seemed to have empty shelves, and Alec thought wistfully of home. His mother grew enough onions, potatoes and the like to feed the farm labourers as well as the Hewitts, and although they had to cater for the land girls as well as themselves there was still food to spare. Every possible niche in the farmhouse was filled with apples from the one remaining tree in the old orchard which had survived the flood, and bottles of fruit which his mother had picked from the young bushes they had planted in the autumn of ’39. Lately, she had mentioned in her letters that they were having to mount guard over the garden and always brought the dairy herd in at night, though once it would have been easier to leave them to graze in the meadows. He had not thought it particularly important at the time but now, searching the shops without success for onions, cooking apples, a couple of pounds of rice, any dried fruit which could be used in a cake, and some golden syrup, he realised how incredibly difficult was the life of a housewife in a big town. She would spend far longer searching for ingredients than in preparing a meal and he found himself thankful that his parents lived in the country, even if they did have to guard their vegetable plot against thieves. He knew there was a black market in almost everything that was on ration or scarce and hoped that the spivs, who were willing to steal as well as to sell for exorbitant prices, would not gain access to his parents’ acres.
Jimmy had rung their CO and he had told them they might both stay in Liverpool until the weekend and travel back on Sunday, if it was possible to do so. Jimmy had pointed out that the railways used Sundays to service engines and check track, but added that they would hitch-hike if that was the only way they could return to Church Broughton by Sunday evening. This seemed to satisfy their CO, who merely said he would like them back on the course by Monday at noon, if it was at all possible. ‘You have a duty to support your mother and the rest of the family until they are over the worst, but young Hewitt does not. However, with the bombing so heavy, you are both probably more useful there than here. Just do your best, McCabe, and keep me informed.’
So now, trudging through the Liverpool streets in search of something as prosaic as an onion, Alec had the time to look about him. He had watched Jane and Kathy, armed with ration books, disappear into a grocery shop, and then examined his list. It would be a feather in his cap if he got even half the things Jane had written down, but though Stanley Road had been a thoroughfare, lined with shops and cafés, it was easy to see that they suffered from perennial shortages. Most of the smaller shops had empty packets or pictures of the goods they usually stocked in their windows, and though folk went in and out they did not seem to emerge with bulging shopping bags. Still, you had to admire the way the shopkeepers continued to trade, with broken glass littering the pavements, bombed out buildings still smouldering, and nothing very much to buy or sell. He also admired those he passed in the street. They had cheerful faces and a smile for everyone, despite what they had endured in the blitz. Folk in shops were friendly, and also inquisitive, because they could tell the moment Alec opened his mouth that he was not local. They mentioned the raids, seeming to take it for granted that now the Jerries had got their measure they would be back, but they did not appear to have any particular fear of what might come. I suppose everyone thinks that he or she is somehow special and won’t get in the way of a bomb or a bullet, Alec told himself, joining the queue outside a fruit and veg shop, whose window held only turnips. Kathy had said that the theatres and picture houses had remained open throughout and he supposed that since most cinema showings finished by half past ten or so, and the worst of the raids occurred after midnight, this was not as silly as it had first seemed. Folk had to keep their spirits up and what better way was there than to transport themselves to the imaginary world of Hollywood – though he thought that the Pathé News, which was always shown between the main and the second feature, would bring them down to earth rather abruptly.
‘Alec, Alec!’ Kathy arrived beside him, breathless but cheerful. ‘How are you doing? It’s awful hard, but we’ve managed to get most of our stuff.’ She peered inquisitively ahead. ‘What are you queuing for? Have they got some fruit?’
‘I dunno,’ Alec admitted, feeling extremely foolish. ‘I saw a queue and joined it, just in case they’d got something good. I mean all these women wouldn’t queue just for turnips, would they?’
Kathy laughed. ‘That’s the real wartime spirit; you’ve caught it, Alec! Next thing we know, you’ll be wearing a turban on your head and a wraparound apron and asking the woman next door how to make an egg and bacon pie when you’ve got no eggs and no bacon! Hang on, though, Mrs Bullivant is in the queue ahead; I’ll nip up and ask her what they’ve got.’ She was back in seconds, her eyes rounded, her face sparkling with mischief, and Alec thought, once again, that she was really rather fetching . . . that is if it hadn’t been for Jane . . .
‘It’s oranges,’ she hissed as she rejoined him. ‘Two different sorts, Mrs Bullivant says. The nasty bitter ones you make marmalade with and the lovely big juicy ones you eat in your hand. I think we ought to wait, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I suppose we ought,’ Alec said, as the queue shuffled forward a foot or two. ‘Where’s Jane and Jimmy though? And how much did you get of the stuff that’s on the list? I got most things but not the golden syrup . . . and do you think I could find cooking apples? No one actually laughed, but that was because they felt sorry for me! And as for onions . . . well, if I’d known they were like gold dust, I’d have nicked a few from the stores on the station. I’m sure they wouldn’t have missed an onion or two.’
‘Oh, onions never seem to be in the shops. I wasn’t that keen on them before the war, but now I dream about being given a heap of fried onions, all crispy and golden brown, and being allowed to eat and eat. Then there’s bread and honey. I used to love bread and honey when I was a kid, but now it’s disappeared, like the onions.’
‘Aye, and like tablets of soap, razor blades, toothpaste and – and oranges,’ Alec said, grinning. ‘Someone said that things were either rationed or unobtainable. It’s easier for us in the services, because our shopping gets done for us, and if the food’s boring – which it usually is – at least it’s served up regularly so that all we have to do is eat it. Never mind. It looks as though we might get something here, at least.’
The queue seemed to edge forward with incredible slowness but when they reached the head of it they were glad that they had waited. The fat, brown-coated greengrocer sold them two oranges, though he was forced to tell them, regretfully, that the Seville oranges, used in the manufacture of marmalade, had run out. ‘But I do have a lemon still left,’ he said in a conspiratorial whisper, producing a fruit so wizened that it fell like a stone into the bag. ‘You can have that for nowt and use the extra sugar that you’re allowed for marmalade to make a nice big jug of lemonade. Tell your mam it’s with me compliments an’ I hopes as how she and Billy are both doin’ fine.’ He eyed Alec curiously. ‘You’ve got yourself a young feller, I see! Hope you enjoy your oranges.’
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