The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(2)
So why was she so full of doubt? Kitty mentally gave herself a shake. She should be grateful. She’d survived the bombings where so many hadn’t. She’d been lucky to meet the kindest man in the midst of all the chaos at Linacre Lane hospital, where Danny and Tommy had been treated. Dr Elliott Fitzgerald was so far above her in social station that she sometimes had to pinch herself that he’d even talked to her, let alone taken her to a posh dance at the Town Hall and seen her whenever his rare time off from the wards coincided with her being off shift from the canteen. He’d been immediately encouraging about her joining the Wrens. Plenty of men would want the woman with whom they were developing a relationship to stay close at hand, but not Elliott. He believed she could do it, and be a success. He’d held her hand, looked into her face with his beautiful blue eyes, and said that she would be wonderful and exactly what the country needed. Just having him next to her made her feel more confident, more assured.
So why wasn’t that enough?
Because, said a little voice in her head, he isn’t Frank Feeny.
Suddenly the train jolted to a halt. Shaken, Kitty peered out of the window, but of course all the signs at the station they’d just drawn into had been removed, for security. She’d never been this far from home before and didn’t recognise anything.
‘It’s Crewe,’ said the baby-faced private, but the corporal dug him in the ribs.
‘Shut up, Parker. You know you’re not meant to say that.’
‘Only trying to be helpful,’ said Parker, rubbing his side. ‘That hurt, that did.’
‘I’ll give you more than that to complain about if you don’t watch your mouth,’ warned the corporal.
Just when Kitty thought it could be getting nasty, the door to the compartment opened and a young woman stuck her head through the gap. ‘I say, could you shove up? Thanks ever so.’ Without waiting for a reply she swung herself in and hoisted a very elegant case on to the overhead rack. Kitty only had sight of it for a moment, but that was all it took for her to recognise its quality, so very unlike her own shabby one beside it.
‘I’m so glad to have a seat,’ the woman went on, giving the occupants of the carriage a dazzling smile. ‘I simply dreaded standing all the way to London. Now let me make amends for disturbing you by offering you some gingerbread. Mummy asked Cook to bake extra for this very reason.’
The soldiers immediately broke off from their quarrel and looked brighter. Kitty masked a grin. Maybe this journey wouldn’t be so bad after all. It was a sign, she told herself. Push all thoughts of Frank Feeny firmly away – he thought of her as a pesky little sister, that was all. She was better off in so many ways now that Elliott had come into her life. And, while she was nervous about what the coming weeks of training would bring, there was something else too. Excitement. Ambition. This was the start of something completely new, and she owed it to her family, her friends, but most of all herself, to make the very best of it.
CHAPTER TWO
‘So why aren’t you out helping Mam down the WVS?’ Rita Kennedy, née Feeny, demanded of her younger sister Nancy. They were in the kitchen of the family home, even though neither of them lived there any more since their marriages. Then again, both marriages had turned out very differently to how they’d expected, and they both preferred the comfort of their mother’s warm and welcoming kitchen to just about anywhere else on earth.
Nancy planted her elbows firmly on the old chenille tablecloth and sipped from her cup of tea. ‘Because I’m minding Georgie. He’s still having a rotten time with his teething. The last thing they’ll want is a howling baby shouting the place down.’
Rita raised her eyebrows, knowing full well that Nancy would do anything to get out of hard graft. While their mother was a mainstay of the Women’s Voluntary Service, as well as organising salvage collections, cookery classes, make-do-and-mend classes and being the auxiliary fire warden for Empire Street, Nancy rarely lifted a finger if she could help it. She was perfectly happy to let somebody else mind her young son – usually their sister-in-law Violet, who, having no children of her own yet, liked nothing better than entertaining young George, who was not quite a year old. That suited Nancy down to the ground. Now she pouted at her big sister – a look she’d practised for many a year.
‘You needn’t be like that about it.’
‘I didn’t say a thing,’ Rita pointed out, pulling out a wooden chair and sinking gratefully on to it. She’d been on her feet all day.
‘You didn’t have to,’ Nancy complained. ‘Your sour look gave it away. Someone’s got to look after Georgie, and now Violet’s thrown herself into the WVS as well, it’ll have to be me.’
‘What about Sid’s mam?’ Rita asked innocently, waiting for the firestorm that would follow. She wasn’t disappointed.
‘That old witch! I wouldn’t trust her with a baby.’ Nancy was incensed. ‘It’s bad enough having to live under her roof – we don’t want to spend any more time with her than we have to. I don’t know how she does it, but she manages to be a proper busybody and a big streak of misery at the same time. I mean, Sid’s been a POW since Dunkirk, but every day she goes on and on about it like it’s only just happened. It’s as if nobody else has lost anyone in this blessed war. It’s all about her, what a martyr she is, how it’s destroying her health. It’s enough to get your goat.’