The Leaving of Liverpool (22 page)

Both Todd and Edwin wandered aimlessly between the counters as Rhys deliberated between a pair of fancy gloves embroidered on the back and fingers with tiny flowers, and a smart-looking pink, lilac and white scarf which the assistant assured him was ‘genuine imported French chiffon’.

‘Well if it’s French it would ’ave ter be imported, wouldn’t it? Unless we’re in the wrong country,’ Todd stated and encountered an icy glare from the assistant before he wandered back to Edwin.

Edwin had bought Emily a small brooch which Todd admired and then reluctantly passed over the appropriate number of dollars for a similar one for his mother. ‘I feel a right dope wanderin’ around ’ere,’ he commented. ‘People might get the wrong idea. ’Ope no-one sees me.’

Edwin laughed. ‘Who’s going to see you and besides, if they do, they’ll be here for the same reason as us. Getting things to take home.’

‘I just wish ’e’d make up ’is mind, that’s all. Wastin’ good shore leave with all this shoppin’.’

‘Oh, leave him alone. It’s his first time away and he’s really smitten with Phoebe-Ann and she’s giving him a hard time.’

‘Oh, aye! Playin’ ’ard ter get?’

Edwin nodded.

Todd brightened. ‘Wouldn’t bother me ’ead then if I were ’im. ’E should give ’er a wide berth. Eh up! There’s a turn up for the book.’

‘What?’

Todd managed to look grave and mischievous at the same time. ‘Somethin’ yer never likely ter see again.’

‘What are you going on about now?’

Todd jerked his head in the direction of the next counter but one. ‘Jake Malone. Sober an’ buyin’ women’s stuff.’

Edwin followed his gaze and was amazed to see Jake Malone neatly turned out and indeed sober and with no less than two assistants parcelling up what looked like a dress, and a dress made of bright blue, filmy material edged with silver fringe. ‘You can bet that won’t be for his ma,’ he remarked with amusement.

‘Must ’ave got ’imself a tart, like. She must be off ’er rocker whoever she is, or as ’ard as nails!’ Todd hissed.

‘He must know her quite well. I mean a dress is sort of personal.’

‘Of course it’s personal; it’s somethin’ ter wear, isn’t it.’

‘You know what I mean. It’s something you’d buy your wife, not your girl. It’s sort of like buying underwear. Not really “proper” unless you’re married.’

Todd grinned. ‘Maybe ’e ’as gorra wife on the side, that no-one knows about.’

Rhys, who had finally settled on the scarf, also stood watching the spectacle until Todd nudged him and said, ‘Look at somethin’ else. We don’t want ’im ter think we’re spyin’ on ’im. Ger ’im dead narked an’ ’e’ll start on us, an’ yer don’t want that.’ He directed his last words at Rhys.

They all began to take a close interest in a counter on which a variety of haberdashery was displayed. Rhys thought it strange that Malone hadn’t mentioned the fact that he had a girl, but then why should he? He belonged to the ‘opposition’ and, besides, whenever women were talked about it was with such coarseness that it shamed him to think about some of the terms they used. Then he remembered Edwin’s remark. No, it wasn’t decent to buy clothing for a woman, except gloves, bags and such like, unless it was for a wife or mother and the blue dress certainly couldn’t have been for Ma Malone.

 

‘You’re off your head Phoebe-Ann Parkinson, and besides that your mam will kill you!’ Alice stated in shocked tones as they sat in the warm sunshine in St John’s Gardens at the back of St George’s Hall on Saturday afternoon.

Phoebe-Ann tossed her head. ‘I don’t care! I like him. I know people say awful things about him but he’s not like that with me.’

‘Just because he took you home in a taxi an’ left me on me own, lookin’ like a fool.’

‘I’ve said I’m sorry about that, but I had no choice, did I?’

‘So, what went on then for you to get all soppy over a Malone?’

‘Nothing “went on”. I’m not like that!’

‘You’re probably the first girl he’s had who isn’t!’

Phoebe-Ann didn’t want to think about other girls. Jake had been so eager to please her, she had been very flattered. When she’d asked him to drop her at the bottom of Lonsdale Street he hadn’t made a fuss. He’d just gazed at her and asked could he see her before he sailed or would she go and see him off. That request she’d refused because she knew Albert, Emily and her mam were going to see Rhys and Edwin off.

He’d looked so hurt that she’d kissed him on the cheek and said, ‘I will think about being your girl, Jake.’

‘I’ve never met anyone like you, Phoebe-Ann, an’ that’s the truth. An’ if yer were my girl I’d spend me last farthin’ on yer. Nothin’ but the best of everythin’.’

She’d let him kiss her and she’d been surprised by the feelings that his lips evoked. Instead of being completely in control of the situation, she’d found herself trembling and clinging to him. With surprise and regret she’d drawn herself away from him, murmuring that she dare not be late in.

‘Just wait till yer see what I’m goin’ ter bring yer from New York, Phoebe-Ann. Will yer come an’ meet me when we dock?’

‘If I can. I might be at work, but I’ll try. I promise,’ she’d said as she alighted from the cab on the corner of Bloom Street.

She’d had to steady herself before she’d gone in, in case Lily saw that there was something amiss. They had all been engrossed in getting Rhys packed up and she’d slipped upstairs almost unnoticed. She did like Jake. She liked him a lot and she had tried to analyse her feelings, something she wasn’t in the habit of doing very often. Was it because he was so unlike Rhys? Was it because he, who was feared by so many, treated her like a princess – a feeling that gave her immense pleasure? Or was it that she was attracted to his raw masculinity? Could it be that she was falling in love? Really in love? she’d asked herself. Only time would tell.

‘So, when are you goin’ to see him again?’ Alice asked.

‘I said I’d try and get down to meet him when he comes back, if I’m not at work that is.’

Alice shook her head. Phoebe-Ann was mad. Even her mam, who wasn’t half as fussy as Mrs Davies, would go absolutely crackers if she were to announce that she had taken up with Jake Malone. ‘They’ll kill you, and you know what old Ma Malone is like. The whole street is terrified of her.’

‘I’m not going out with Ma Malone, am I?’ Phoebe-Ann shot back, but she knew Alice was right. Mam would kill her. ‘You’re going to have to help me, Alice.’

Alice looked suspicious. ‘How?’

‘By backing me up. I’m going to have to tell them I’m out with you, or around at your house.’

‘Don’t go getting me involved! I’m not getting blamed!’

‘Oh, Alice! Don’t be mean!’

‘I’m not being mean! My mam will batter me. Your mam will batter me an’ all, that’s after she’s killed you first!’

She could see that Alice was going to be awkward. ‘I’m not asking you to do much. You never come round to our house and Mam never sees your mam. It’s just in case. I’ll give you my new headband and I’ll even help you make a dance dress.’

Alice faltered. What Phoebe-Ann said was true. She probably wouldn’t be called on to verify Phoebe-Ann’s whereabouts by Mrs Davies, she never went to Lonsdale Street, and she did so much want a dance dress. She’d seen some lovely material and fringe. ‘Oh, all right!’

Phoebe-Ann smiled at her. ‘Come on then, we’ll get to Blackler’s before they close if we hurry and we can get it cut out tomorrow.’ She was expansive with her enthusiasm. After all, what else was there to do until the
Maury
came home?

 

For five days Phoebe-Ann occupied the thoughts of two men in the stokehold of the
Mauretania
. Rhys laboured and sweated in the bunker, shovelling coal down the chute into the barrow of the cantankerous Billy O’Rourke. He pictured Phoebe-Ann’s face when he gave her the scarf, all done up in its pretty wrapping paper. He’d ask her out that very night and he’d take her somewhere ‘posh’, like he’d promised. He could just see her eyes light up and she’d give him one of those dazzling smiles. It was a hope and a dream that sustained him through the brutal shifts and one he took with him to his narrow metal bunk.

Jake Malone’s thoughts were running far ahead of those of Rhys, as he braced himself against the searing heat of the furnaces, part of his mind intent on the sound of the gong. When he finished his shift, he often went up on deck for some fresh air to clear his head of the stink of sulphur and coal gas. Up on deck, back against a ventilator, head and chest bared to the Atlantic wind, he pictured Phoebe-Ann dancing in his arms in the blue dress. She was like a vision, something he thought he’d never have for his own. He remembered the soft feel of her skin and her lips, the perfume that clung to her hair, and he felt dizzy with longing. But it was a longing tinged with a strange tenderness. He prayed that she’d meet him when he docked, that she’d say she would be his and then . . . Then he’d ask her to marry him. That realization had shocked him. He’d never considered marriage to anyone. All life had consisted of was work and then getting into a stupor to obliterate the brutality of that work. All he’d ever known was hard work, harsh words, blows and he’d learned all three from a tender age. There had been no gentleness in his life. But there was now and he wanted to protect it, to own and cherish it.

As the cold wind whipped through his dark hair, he let his imagination, constrained for so long, run riot. He could see her in a white satin dress, her face framed by a cloud of tulle and orange blossom, smiling up at him. He’d take her back to their own little house, which would be clean and bright and would smell of her perfume. Simple, childlike dreams he thought, nothing too grand or complicated. Their own little house, unlike the only home he’d ever known. It was always untidy, dirty and overcrowded and filled with the smells that clung to them all, and the stench of boiled cabbage and the midden in the yard. No, nothing like that would do for Phoebe-Ann. A nice little place of their own. No Vinny, Seamus, Peader and Franny swearing, arguing, belching, snoring or Ma shrieking like a harpy and swearing with the best of them when she felt like it and snoring as loudly too, after a few bottles of stout. His vigils became a habit that he looked forward to. The pictures and dreams became more vivid and Phoebe-Ann became more deeply entrenched in his heart.

 

Phoebe-Ann had scoured the
Echo
each night for news of the
Mauretania
, so much so that Lily had remarked on it. She’d also remarked on the fact that Phoebe-Ann was spending a great deal of time at Alice Wainwright’s house to which Phoebe-Ann replied, ‘I told you I’m helping her make a dress. We’re not out on the town or anything like that. Honestly, Mam, you’re never satisfied. If I’m out too often you complain and if I’m not you still moan.’

‘Oh, I suppose you’re right. At least it’s a harmless pastime.’

‘Is it for anything special?’ Emily intervened.

‘Not really. She had her heart set on a new dance dress and she couldn’t afford to buy one. Not a really nice one, that is. She saw one in the window of George Henry Lee that she likes.’

‘You’ve got her as bad as yourself. George Henry Lee’s, I ask you! What’s the matter with C&A or Sturla’s? They’re good enough for me and your sister.’

Phoebe-Ann hadn’t answered. She had no wish to antagonize her mother over such a simple thing when she might well have to face much bigger issues in the future. But she wouldn’t dwell on that either.

Lily picked up the discarded newspaper and scanned the lines of print. She never read the society column but a small photograph caught her eye. ‘Well, fancy that!’

‘What?’ Emily asked.

‘Miss Olivia Constance Mercer . . . engaged to the Honourable Edward Arthur Wakeham,’ Lily read aloud, skipping the more eulogistic description.

‘She was bound to marry someone like that, an honourable or a sir,’ Albert interrupted.

‘Is he handsome?’ Phoebe-Ann enquired, pleased for her former mistress, yet thinking how much Olivia’s future would differ from her own.

‘He looks as though his shirt collar is choking him,’ Emily commented, peering over her mother’s shoulder.

‘It does, doesn’t it? Makes his eyes look sort of froggy. And he looks so old!’ Phoebe-Ann giggled. He must have pots of money for she was certain that Olivia Mercer would have fallen in love with someone much younger and far more handsome and dashing.

‘Don’t be such a cat, miss! He’s probably the steadying influence she needs. Unless she’s changed, and I doubt that. Probably it’s been “arranged” by her father.’

Phoebe-Ann said nothing, determined not to upset Lily.

 

To her delight she found that the docking of the
Mauretania
coincided with her lunch break. The passengers would disembark at the Pierhead and then the ship would tie up in the Canada Dock. It would be a bit of a rush but she’d make it, even if it were only for five minutes or so. She couldn’t let him down.

She changed out of her overall in the toilets, took off the turban and brushed out her hair. She’d told the supervisor she had important family business but that she wouldn’t be late back. Both the tram and the train seemed interminably slow and she gazed out of the window as the train rattled along above the dock road. There was a fine view of all the docks, the river and even the Wirral bank of the Mersey, but she didn’t notice it. She could just make out the time on the five-sided clock tower and breathed a sigh of relief when she alighted at the Canada Dock.

She ran from the station to the dock gate where she was stopped by a policeman.

‘Sorry, luv, can’t let you through.’

‘I’m meeting my . . . boyfriend.’ She looked up at him with what she hoped was her most appealing smile.

He grinned. ‘That’s what they all say. You’ll have to wait here. Got my orders.’

She glared at him. He probably thought she was one of the ‘Maggie Mays’ who hung around the dock gates. The thought infuriated her. Couldn’t he tell the difference between a decent girl and one of
them
? She looked around and for the first time hoped that Albert hadn’t decided to come to meet Rhys. There was no sign of him or his cart and she was relieved. Two women, with young children clinging to their skirts, stood on the other side of the gate. They were poorly dressed and the children had runny noses and shabby clothes. Obviously wives she thought, sniffing disdainfully. Fancy coming to meet anyone looking like that, and they could have cleaned the kids up too. It didn’t occur to her that these women came to meet their men to try to wrest a few shillings from them before it was wasted in the pubs that could be found on every corner along the whole length of the dock road.