The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(28)
Slowly, Nancy stood, and Gloria helped her across the expanse of deep-pile carpet back to the bed, carrying more towels with her to mop up any more blood. She wondered if they should call a doctor, but Nancy didn’t seem to be feverish or anything. Gloria knew several women from the stage who’d had similar experiences, and they’d said the best thing was to sleep it off and then carry on. Well, so much for a glamorous night of cocktails at the Adelphi, she thought. It wasn’t the reunion she’d planned. But then again, if Nancy was no longer pregnant by that good-for-nothing Stan Hathaway, maybe it was a good night after all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘It’s good of you to give up your afternoon off like this.’ Violet paused to wipe the sweat from her forehead and pushed back the faded old scarf she’d tied around her hair to control it in the stiff breeze. ‘Honestly, you must be worn out. I know for a fact you are. Yet you still came.’
‘Said I would, didn’t I?’ Rita rested on the handle of her spade. ‘I’ve got to learn how to do this sort of thing. I never tried before, but who knows what we’ll have to get used to while this war continues?’
Violet smiled grimly and plunged her spade into the earth. ‘It hurts in muscles I didn’t even know I had. Still, can’t wait around for the men to come home, can we? My Eddy will want some feeding up when he gets back.’
‘Can’t say the same for Charlie. I bet he’s doing all right for himself wherever he is,’ Rita said bitterly. She didn’t usually even speak about him, she was so mortified at having a deserter for a husband. Somehow with Violet it was different, though; her sister-in-law hadn’t known Charlie, hadn’t seen what a dance he’d led them all in. It was a relief to be able to vent her frustration. ‘Not that we have a clue about that.’ Her thoughts flew to Jack, out in the Atlantic, eating who-knew-what rations, and unable to say either exactly what he was doing or when he’d next be home. He’d written that he’d try to give her some notice when he might come back, but realistically she knew that might not be possible.
‘We’re all having to manage without our men,’ Violet said stoically. ‘I miss Eddy so much it hurts, but moaning about it won’t make it any better. I’m just going to concentrate on learning new and useful things for when he’s back. For when we have a house of our own with a garden and I can grow healthy fruit and veg for our children.’ She paused. ‘Listen to me. Pie in the sky, isn’t it? But a girl can dream.’ Her face set in determination. ‘Here, Rita, pass me that hoe. These weeds between the rows of carrots are little blighters. After all that work of putting down extra protection against the spring frosts, nothing is going to stop these beauties from growing. We’ll have our home-grown carrot cake if it kills me.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Rita passed the hoe across. ‘Don’t even joke about it.’ She grinned to take the edge off her comment. ‘I don’t know how we’d manage without you, and that’s the truth.’ She wasn’t exaggerating. She’d come to rely on Violet in the shop. The customers loved her. Now that they’d got used to her strong Mancunian accent and abrasive laugh, they accepted her – of course it helped that she was married to Eddy, from the popular Feeny family, and everyone knew the risks he was taking every day. But people had warmed to her. She was very good with the older customers, never tutting when they took ages to find their change, or counted it all out in small, carefully hoarded piles of coins, or became confused with their ration books. Mrs Ashby in particular had come to rely on her, as it brightened her lonely day to have such a chatty soul around. Violet jollied them along and left them feeling better for their trip to the corner shop. Unfortunately she was terrible at working the till and often made mistakes – but Rita told herself nobody was good at everything and she couldn’t complain. Winnie had almost given up entirely and was a liability rather than an asset when she did help out. God only knows there was little margin for error in the shop’s profits – they were hanging on by a fingernail.
‘So what shall we take back this evening?’ Violet wondered, looking along the neat rows that were now practically weed-free. ‘More salad? Everyone likes a fresh lettuce. Gives anything a bit of a crunch.’
‘Winnie doesn’t,’ sighed Rita. ‘I don’t know why I bother. She looks at it as if I’m trying to poison her. Seriously, if I was going to do that, I’d be a bit more efficient than giving her a lettuce. How about those spring greens? I could use them in a stew. Put them with some barley to bulk it out.’
‘Good idea. Georgie will like that.’ Violet bent to pick some to put in her trug.
‘Have you got Georgie round again?’ asked Rita.
‘He never left,’ said Violet. ‘Nancy was taken ill on her night out with Gloria.’
Rita raised her eyebrows in disbelief. ‘That’s what she calls it nowadays, is it?’
‘No, she really was in a bad way.’ Violet had no illusions about her younger sister-in-law, but she’d been moved to pity by the girl’s white face when she’d eventually got back. ‘I felt sorry for her, really I did. She’d been looking forward to her friend coming home for ages and then their big night out never happened. She was lucky to get back; that raid hit the big ship down the docks last night.’