Some Sunny Day (7 page)

‘Well, I reckon it’s daft to start thinking that all Italians living here are Fascists because they’re not.’

Everyone turned to look at the young man Rosie had been dancing with earlier. He was facing Lance with an expression of dogged determination on his face that said he wasn’t going to be bullied into backing down. Rosie felt her heart lift as she smiled at her unlikely champion.

‘Alan’s right,’ another young soldier chipped in. ‘We’ve got several Italian lads in our unit and they’re as British as you and me.’

‘Come on, Lance, let’s go and dance,’ Nancy demanded, bored now, grabbing hold of her cousin’s hand and tugging him in the direction of the dance floor.

‘He gives me the willies, that Lance does – those eyes…’ Evie shuddered after they had gone. ‘You did well standing up to him like that, Rosie.’

‘It wasn’t me, it was Alan,’ Rosie replied, giving him a grateful smile.

Perhaps everything would work out after all, especially if there were more people like Alan around.

It had been an enjoyable evening, all the more so when Nancy and Lance had gone over to another table to join some of Lance’s friends, Rosie admitted as she put her key in the back door of number 12. Alan had offered to walk her home but she had walked back as far as Springfield Street with Evie’s cousins instead. She had liked Alan but it didn’t do to go encouraging lads, not even the shy ones, though she was looking forward to telling Bella all about him…

Her smile abruptly disappeared. Ever since Maria had told her that it would be best if she stopped calling round, Rosie had been trying to push her unhappiness about the situation into a corner of her mind where it wouldn’t keep bothering her. But of course she couldn’t. She and Bella had been friends all their lives. They had been best friends practically in their cradles, playing hopscotch together, learning to skip, riding the tricycle that Maria had bought
second-hand for them to share, taking it in turns to pedal whilst the one who wasn’t pedalling stood on the back. Then had come their first day at school, when they had stood hand in hand together. If she closed her eyes, even now she could recall the stickiness of their joined hands in their shared nervousness, just as she could recall the loving warmth of Maria’s cuddly body next to her own on her other side. Her own mother had been working and so it had been Maria and Sofia who had taken the girls to school.

Then later she and Bella had walked there together, holding hands, and giggling over their shared secrets and jokes. Then had come ‘big’ school where their friendship had remained as strong as ever. There had hardly ever been a cross word between them. They were as close as sisters – closer. Or rather they had been. Rosie had never imagined that could ever change, but now it had and her heart felt sore and hurt.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the kitchen, quickly closing the door to block out any light that might attract the interest of a watchful ARP patrol.

The first thing she saw was her father’s jacket hanging on its peg and the second was her father himself, propped up asleep in one of the kitchen chairs.

‘Dad!’

He woke immediately at the sound of her excited voice, a smile splitting his face as he looked at her.

Rosie almost flew across the kitchen, flinging herself into his arms, half laughing and half crying. ‘When did you get back?’ she demanded breathlessly.

‘We docked just turned midnight, and they let us off more or less straight away. The Port Authority don’t like us docking until it gets dark just in case the ruddy Luftwaffe teks it into its head to have a go at bombing the docks, so that meant we’d bin waiting out on the other side of Liverpool bar since early this morning. It made me feel right bad being so near but not being able to come and see you straight away. Let’s have a look at yer, lass.’

Obediently Rosie let him hold her at arm’s length whilst he scrutinised her. They had always been close, and Rosie often felt guilty that her love for her father was stronger and went deeper than the love she had for her mother.

‘Summat’s botherin’ you,’ he pronounced shrewdly, his inspection over.

Rosie shook her head in rueful acknowledgement rather than in denial of his judgement.

‘What is it?’

‘Has Mum told you what’s happened to the Grenellis?’ she asked.

She could see him start to frown. Her father was not part of the close friendship she and her mother shared with their Italian neighbours. This was, Rosie had always believed, because he was away so much and had therefore not had the chance to get to know them in the same way. But he was also a quiet man
who valued his own fireside when he was not at sea. The busyness of the Grenellis’ kitchen, with people constantly coming and going and voices raised in lively conversation and sometimes equally lively argument, was not something he would enjoy.

‘I haven’t seen your mam yet. She’s out somewhere,’ he muttered.

‘I think she’s gone to the Gaiety, with the others from the salon,’ Rosie told him, ‘and then I expect she went back with one of them for a bit of supper. You know what she’s like about not wanting to be in on her own.’

‘Aye, your mam’s never bin one as has enjoyed her own company,’ Rosie’s father agreed. ‘So you’ve bin worrying that soft heart of yours about the Grenellis, have you? I heard summat down at the docks about the Italian men being taken off.’

‘Dad, it was so awful. There were riots, and then the police came and took the men away. La Nonna was dreadfully upset, and Sofia as well.’

‘They haven’t got anything to worry about if they haven’t done anything wrong,’ her father said reassuringly.

‘Of course they haven’t done anything wrong,’ Rosie immediately replied.

Her father’s expression softened. ‘I know it must be hard for the families that have got caught up in this, Rosie, but it won’t do them or you any good you worrying yourself about it, lass.’

‘I can’t help it…’ She paused and shook her head. ‘Giovanni is nearly seventy-six, Dad, and he
doesn’t always understand English properly even though he’s lived here for so long. I can’t understand why the government hasn’t released men like him already.’

‘Governments have their own way of doing things, Rosie, and they don’t allus make a lot o’ sense to ordinary folk like us. How’s your mam taking it?’

‘She hasn’t said much. She went up to Huyton when they first took the men there, but…’

‘But what?’ her father pressed her gently.

Rosie shook her head. ‘I don’t know really, Dad, only that Sofia’s taken everything really badly and there’s been a bit of a falling-out. Mum hasn’t been round to see them since the men were taken and Maria’s asked me not to go until things are sorted out.’ Rosie’s voice thickened, her eyes suddenly filling with tears at being separated from close friends. ‘It made me feel so bad when she said that. I know we aren’t Italian, but we’ve always been friends, and now it’s as though…’

‘It won’t be easy for them, Rosie. Maria’s a good woman and she won’t have intended to hurt you. But sometimes it’s best to stay close to your own when things like this happen. Like to like, kin to kin.’ He gave her a warm hug. ‘You have a good cry if it will make you feel better.’

Rosie gave him a wobbly smile. ‘What a way to welcome you home, Dad – Mum not here and me crying all over you about other people’s problems. I’m so glad you’re home, though. I think about you
all the time and I say a special prayer every night that you’ll be kept safe.’

‘You’ve always had a soft heart, you have, our Rosie. Don’t ever lose it. I’m going up to Edge Hill tomorrow to see your Auntie Maude,’ he told her, changing the subject. ‘Why don’t you come with me? She’d like to see you.’

Rosie seriously doubted that but tried not to look unenthusiastic. She knew how strongly he believed he owed his sister for looking after him when their parents died in an outbreak of cholera when he was only twelve years old, and she knew too how much discord it caused between her parents when her mother refused to go and see Maude.

‘Of course I’ll come with you,’ she assured him, and was rewarded with a smile and another hug.

‘I’m for me bed,’ he told her as he released her. ‘I only waited up on account of you not being in.’

‘Don’t you want to stay up for Mum?’ Rosie asked him.

‘No. If I do that I could end up staying down here all night. I didn’t send word to her that we’d docked, and you know your mother…if she’s had a few drinks like as not she’ll stay over with her pals and not come home until morning.’

He said it quite dispassionately but Rosie’s tender heart couldn’t help but feel sad for him. By rights her mother ought to be here waiting to welcome him home but, as they both knew, Christine just wasn’t that sort of woman.

There was a joke in Liverpool that with each intersection a person crossed as they walked up from Edge Hill through Wavertree, the houses got larger and the accents got ‘posher’.

Gerry Price’s elder sister might live closer to Edge Hill than the poshest part of Wavertree, with its tennis club and its smart big houses, but she certainly acted as if she was something special, Rosie acknowledged as she got off the bus with her father and crossed the road to turn into Chestnut Avenue.

Since it was a summer Sunday it was no surprise that the avenue’s inhabitants, especially its children, should be out enjoying the sunshine. Rosie was grateful for the warm smile one of a trio of young women, their gas masks slung casually from their shoulders, gave her as they walked past. The other two young women were both wearing smocks and were obviously pregnant, one of them holding on to a pretty little girl.

Rosie suppressed the sharp pang of envy she felt
for their friendship. The one who had smiled at her had her arm linked with the one without the little girl and it was obvious how close they all were.

‘Come on, June,’ Rosie heard her saying. ‘We’d better be getting back, otherwise Dad will wonder what’s happened to us.’

There had been no word at all from Bella since Rosie had last seen her, although to be fair she had heard that she had been spending most of her time at Podestra’s, helping the family keep the chippie open. Rosie had tried to mend the breach between them. She had slipped a note through the Grenellis’ front door, asking Bella if they could meet somewhere, and she had told her how much she missed them all and how much she would like to hear any news they had had of the men, especially Giovanni. She had waited eagerly, convinced that Bella would get in touch with her, and then when she hadn’t done, Rosie had become very downcast and upset. After that rebuff she had told herself that she had too much pride to go running after a ‘friend’ who didn’t want her friendship any more, but then her pride had crumpled and she had been so desperate to see Bella and have news of the family that she had gone to the chip shop and waited outside, hoping to catch Bella when she left work. However, when Bella had eventually come out, she had been with her intended, and his parents. Rosie had felt so uncomfortable about stepping forward when Bella was surrounded
by other people that she had ducked back into the shadows, creeping away once they were safely out of sight.

She told herself that Bella knew where she was if she wanted to see her, but deep down Rosie grieved for the friendship she had lost, and found it hard to understand how Bella could neglect it either. She had tried to put herself in Bella’s shoes and to imagine how she might have felt had their circumstances been reversed, but she just couldn’t imagine ever not wanting Bella to be her friend.

Maude Leatherhall lived at number 29, one of a row of three red-brick houses that, like the rest of the estate, had been built by a private developer at the beginning of the century.

Heavy lace curtains shielded the interior from the curious stares of passers-by whilst, Rosie suspected, still allowing her aunt to keep a watch on everything that was going on. A privet hedge enclosed the small front garden and its immaculate ‘rockery’ of a few pieces of soot-lined limestone brightened by pockets of brightly coloured annuals, planted with regimented precision. The window frames and the front door were painted cream and green, and twice a year Maude summoned Rosie’s father to come round to clear out her gutters and wash down her paintwork.

As they drew level with the gate, the ARP warden coming towards them slowed down, obviously wondering who they were. Since it was his responsibility to know the occupants of all the houses in
his area, Rosie wasn’t surprised to hear her father informing him easily, ‘We’re just visiting m’sister.’

‘Thought I hadn’t seen you around before,’ the other man responded.

The path was so narrow that Rosie had to walk up it behind her father, but the front door opened so quickly after their knock that Rosie knew she had been right in thinking that her aunt kept a beady eye on the goings-on of the avenue from behind her lace curtains.

‘Oh, you’ve brought Rose with you, have you?’ Maude sniffed.

‘It’s a good while since you last saw her, Maudie, and I thought that with it being a Sunday and her being at work during the week, it would be a good opportunity for her to come along with me.’

‘You’d better come in then,’ was her grudging response as she led the way into the back parlour.

The house smelled of polish and pride. The parlour was cold, as though the sun never warmed it, the back door closed, unlike the door of the adjoining house, which Rosie could see through the window was propped open, as though in invitation to anyone who might want to call.

‘I can’t offer you a cup of tea, I’m afraid, not with this rationing.’

Rosie saw her father smile and reach into his pocket. ‘You get that kettle on, Maudie,’ he insisted, giving her a wink. ‘I’ve brought you a bit o’ summat you can put in your teapot.’

‘I hope this isn’t off that black market, Gerry.
You know I don’t approve of that kind of thing, not like some I could name,’ Maude answered disagreeably. But Rosie saw that she still took the packet of tea and the small bag of sugar her father was handing her.

‘It’s not black market. I bought the sugar in New York and traded the tea with another sailor.

‘So how’ve you bin keeping, Maude?’ he asked when she had filled the kettle and lit the gas.

‘Well enough, I suppose, seeing as there’s a war on, and I’m living on me own with no one to care what happens to me. A poor frail widow, that’s what I am now, without my Henry. It takes all me strength some days just to get meself out of bed and dressed.’

Her aunt certainly didn’t look or sound the slightest bit like a frail widow, Rosie reflected. She was a well-built woman, with a slightly florid complexion and a steely expression that made her look rather formidable. When war had first been announced Rosie had heard her mother saying to her father, ‘Well, we won’t need no tanks to defend Liverpool, not when we’ve got your Maude, what with her being built like one.’ Rosie could see just what she meant.

‘It was nice to see the young ’uns out in the street having a bit of fun when we walked up,’ Rosie’s father commented. ‘This war is hard on them.’

‘I’ll thank you to remember that this is an avenue, not a street, if you please, Gerry, and if you ask me these modern youngsters have far too much fun. They make far too much noise as well. Of course,
I blame the mothers. It’s not like it was in our day. I was saying as much to one of me neighbours the other day. Widowed like me, she is. Only she’s got a son. Mind you, he’s not going to be much comfort to her now he’s gone and got himself married. She was telling me about all the trouble she’s bin having with her daughter-in-law and now there’s a baby coming. No sense of responsibility, some people haven’t. You’d think the girl would know that a widow needs her son to look after her, especially now.

‘Put me in mind of how Christine persuaded you into getting married before you’d known her five minutes. Which reminds me, there’s a house just come up for rent at the other end of the street. You should go and have a word with the landlord, Gerry. It’s a pity you didn’t move up here years ago like I wanted you to, especially now that there’s bin all that trouble with them Italians. Of course, it was bound to happen. Foreigners. Fascists. I’ve never understood how you could go on living down there instead of wanting to better yourself a bit.’

‘Christine likes it…’

Rosie saw the way her aunt’s whole face tightened, and her own stomach did the same as she anticipated what was going to come next.

‘Well, you know my opinion, Gerry. You’ve let Christine have far too much of her own way. It’s the man who earns the wages, and pays the bills, and if Christine hasn’t got the sense in her head to know that you’d all be better off living up here,
then you should put your foot down and make her see sense.’

‘It doesn’t seem fair for me to be telling Christine where she should live when I’m away at sea so much. Besides, Gerard Street’s handy for the docks.’

‘Yes, and it will be handy for Hitler’s bombers when they come over as well, but I don’t suppose she’s thought of that. I don’t suppose she thinks of anything other than doing her hair and painting her nails and going out spending your money. When was the last time she had a hot dinner waiting on the table for you when you got back from sea? I’ll never know why you married her in the first place.’

Her father was looking red-faced and uncomfortable, and no wonder, Rosie thought angrily. Aunt Maude had no right to speak about her mother like that, but neither could she really blame her father for not trying to defend her. Somehow she didn’t think that Aunt Maude would have been convinced. No wonder her mother had likened her to a tank. And no wonder too that she didn’t want to come and live up here close to her sister-in-law. Rosie didn’t blame her one little bit. Did her aunt ever have a good word to say about anything or anyone? Rosie wondered. She hoped they wouldn’t have to stay for very much longer. Already she was longing for the visit to end.

‘You didn’t have much to say for yourself at your auntie’s, Rosie,’ her father commented when they were on their way home.

‘I’m sorry, Dad, but I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d say the wrong thing. I know she’s my auntie and your sister, but it isn’t right the way she’s always finding fault with others, and especially with Mum.’

Her father sighed. ‘No, they’ve never got on, and your mother doesn’t help matters, acting the way she does when she does see her.’

Rosie gave him a swift look. ‘Mum’s always said that Aunt Maude didn’t want you to marry her and that she didn’t think she was good enough for you.’

‘Aye, well, to be honest they never hit it off right from the start. I suppose with your Aunt Maude looking after me from being a nipper she was more like a mother to me than a sister, and I dare say she wouldn’t have thought
any
girl was good enough for me. Of course, your mum doesn’t see it that way. She reckons she’s the one that could have done better for herself.’

‘Well, I certainly don’t think she could. No one could be better than you, Dad,’ Rosie told him, rubbing her face against his shoulder. ‘You’re the best dad in the world.’

She could see the fine lines, put there by years of wind and salt spray, crinkling out from the corners of his eyes as he smiled. ‘Go on with you, trying to soft-soap me.’

‘I’m not. It’s the truth. There’s no one I would rather have as my dad than you.’

He looked down at her. ‘Aye, well, there’s no
lass I’d rather have as my daughter than you, Rosie.’

‘It’s just as well that I am then, isn’t it?’ she teased him, before raising herself up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. ‘Come on,’ she urged him. ‘I’m getting hungry.’

‘Well, your auntie was right about one thing: your mother won’t have a dinner waiting for us.’

Rosie laughed. ‘We can call at the chippie on the way back and get some pie and chips.’

‘It’s Sunday,’ her father reminded her.

‘Podestra’s will be open. They always open on a Sunday,’ Rosie told him, giving him her sunny smile and linking her arm through his.

‘Rosie,’ he suddenly stopped dead right in the middle of the road, reached out and took hold of her hand, ‘if anything was to happen to me, I want you to promise me you’ll mek sure you keep in touch with Auntie Maude. For my sake.’

Rosie stared up at him, the horror at what he was saying showing in her face. ‘Don’t talk like that, Dad,’ she begged him fiercely. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let it…’

‘Oh, well, if you won’t let it then of course it won’t,’ he laughed, teasing her. ‘I’ll tell that Father Doyle that you’ve got the ear of God, shall I?’

‘Don’t talk daft,’ Rosie smiled.

‘I meant what I said about your Aunt Maude, though. Promise me, Rosie,’ he repeated quietly, seriously.

‘She doesn’t like me, Dad. She loves you but she
doesn’t even like me. And as for Mum…But all right, I promise, just for you,’ she gave in.

‘You’ve only got three days’ shore leave, so why you have to go and spend one of them with your ruddy sister, I don’t know,’ Christine complained angrily before lighting a fresh cigarette and pacing the small parlour. ‘All on me own, I’ve bin, all afternoon.’

‘You could have come with us.’

‘Huh, if you think I’m going visiting that old battleaxe you’ve got another think coming. I suppose she was calling me from here to New Brighton, was she, Rosie?’

‘She never mentioned you, Mum,’ Rosie fibbed.

‘So what did she have to say for herself, then?’ Christine demanded with narrowed eyes.

‘She didn’t say much at all, only that she wished we’d move up to Edge Hill.’

‘Oh, I might have known. She won’t rest until she’s got you living up there and back under her thumb, Gerry. If you had anything about you you’d put her in her place good and proper.’

‘She’s me sister, Christine.’

‘And I’m your wife. Wives come before sisters, and it’s time you made sure she knows that.’ Cos if you don’t, one of these days I will. You’re just not man enough to stand up to her, that’s your trouble. If you were a proper man you’d tell her that it’s not up to her to say where we live.’

There was a bottle of gin on the table, and Rosie felt her heart sink as she listened to her mother’s
complaints. Christine often talked wildly when she’d had a few drinks.

‘We brought you some pie and chips back,’ she told her mother. ‘It’s in the oven, keeping warm.’

Christine had been out when they had got back and so they had eaten their own meal together without waiting for her. However, it seemed there was no pleasing her. Instead of being grateful that they had thought about her she burst out bitterly, ‘Pie and bloody chips! If you was any sort of a man, Gerry, you’d make sure we had something a bit better than that on the table.’

‘Like what?’

‘A decent bit of meat, for a start.’