The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(52)

Yet something made him say, ‘What are you up to this evening then, Sarah?’ He thought she was looking at him a little differently, as plenty of people were starting to do now he was recognisably part of the navy.

She shrugged her shoulders, nonchalantly. ‘I fancied a bit of fresh air. Who knows how long this weather’ll last?’

‘You probably deserve it,’ he said warmly. ‘Word is you’ve been the backbone of the nurses’ station.’

‘Nonsense.’ But she looked pleased, he thought.

‘Don’t suppose you fancy joining me for a quick drink, Sar?’ he asked impetuously.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Sarah wasn’t used to going into pubs. She wasn’t quite eighteen and had no interest in mixing with the men who were seen walking in and staggering out of the Sailor’s Rest or Bent Nose Jake’s down at Canada Dock. But she didn’t see much of Danny any more as he was so busy with his new job. She liked his company and still felt rather protective of him, knowing more about his health than most. ‘Don’t tell Mam, will you? She’ll only worry,’ she said, her unease mixing with her pleasure at the thought of spending time with Danny.

‘I don’t want to worry your mam,’ Danny assured her. ‘We’ll see if the bench out in their back yard is free; we can sit out there, catch the sun’s rays and cool down over a beer – or a lemonade if you’d prefer,’ he added, catching sight of her expression. ‘If there’s no room out there, then we’ll just go for a wander.’

‘Then that would be lovely. Danny Callaghan, I accept.’ Sarah fell into step beside him and they made their way down the street, which bore signs of the Luftwaffe’s visits: boarded-up windows, sandbags around front doors, and old Mrs Ashby’s house standing forlorn and empty, still marked by the damage from the smoke that had killed her. There was dust everywhere, baked dry by the heat of the day. Remnants of the damaged houses were still blocking up the gutters.

They were in luck. The Sailor’s Rest was yet to fill up at the end of the week with the dock workers who hadn’t joined up, and the crooked wooden bench propped up in the back yard was free. Cyril Arden, Gloria’s father, was polishing the pumps, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Nobody was playing the piano in the corner, and the few early drinkers were chatting peaceably over their pints. No one paid any attention to them as they entered via the sturdy porch and Danny made sure Sarah was settled before buying the drinks. He had just elbowed the back door open and was halfway through when he heard a voice. He almost dropped the glasses.

‘Evening, Cyril,’ came the brash tones of Alfie Delaney.

Danny cursed under his breath. He hadn’t seen the man since the day down at the warehouses when he’d thought Alfie had set him up. Now Danny no longer worked on the docks their paths hadn’t crossed, which was yet another reason he was pleased with his new position. He would be happy if he never saw the bumptious, malicious coward ever again. Now it seemed his luck had turned. He placed himself so that he could hear the goings-on and see some of the bar, but Delaney couldn’t see him.

Sarah looked up and mouthed ‘what?’ Danny carefully set down the drinks and put his finger to his lips.

They could hear the background low-level noise in the half-empty bar die down as Alfie went on to order a pint.

Danny squinted for a view between the edge of the door and its frame. He could just make out the figures through the narrow gap.

Cyril laid down his polishing cloth and turned to his latest customer. Although far from in the prime of his youth, he wasn’t a man to be messed with. He’d run this pub for over twenty years and prided himself on needing no outside protection to keep troublemakers from his door. Now his brow creased. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said firmly.

‘What d’you mean, Cyril?’ Alfie was taken aback.

‘I mean what I say,’ said Cyril. ‘You’ll get no more pints from here, Delaney. Now sling your hook. I don’t want to see you on my premises again. If you’ve got any sense, you’ll stay away from the whole area. That would be best for you and best for me.’ He glared hard at the young man.

Alfie’s expression turned sour and he ran his finger around the inside of his collar. He was still in his dock worker’s clothes although, as Danny knew all too well, he never did much work unless he was forced to. ‘You threatening me, Cyril?’ he said, and laughed mirthlessly. ‘You think you can tell me to keep away, when my own mother lives round the corner? Pull the other one. Remember who I know, and count your lucky stars I haven’t clocked you one yet.’

Cyril shook his head but didn’t back down. ‘It’s no good, Alfie. We know what was in that last batch of goods you touted round here. It’s bad enough when you said you had chocolate for the kiddies and it turned out to be laxatives. Now we find that you’ve been selling poisoned food. Several people round here have been took bad. That was after you came in here last week with what you said was fresh pork. Weren’t no such thing. We reckon it had been condemned. Good job nobody died of it – you’d have been wanted by the coppers then.’

‘You’re lying,’ said Alfie, his eyes cold. ‘Don’t you go spreading tales about me. I could get your pub done over just by clicking my fingers.’ He moved closer to the bar.