The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(6)

Kitty had been taken aback on arrival in the capital and had been glad to have the much more confident Laura to guide her to their new home in North London. Although she was well used to the bustle of Liverpool city centre, this place was on a different scale. The sheer number of people was overwhelming, many of them in uniform of one sort or another, all weaving around each other at baffling speed. Kitty had gripped her new friend’s arm, totally disoriented. Laura had taken it in her stride, mildly annoyed to find that holes in the road meant she couldn’t take the route she’d originally planned, but swiftly deciding upon a new one. She’d plunged into the Underground and Kitty had followed immediately behind, terrified at the thought of getting separated. That had been her introduction to the Northern Line.

Now Kitty glanced uneasily around the large room they were in, full of bunk beds in readiness for the arrival of trainee Wrens. She was used to sharing a house with her brothers, and not having a minute to herself, but her bedroom, basic though it was, had always been her sanctuary. She’d done her best to soften it with her eiderdown and the few bits and pieces that remained of her mother’s possessions. Here there would be room only for the most functional items. She wondered what sort of bedroom Laura had had and what her home was like – nothing like Empire Street, she was sure of that.

Laura appeared to have no such doubts and finished packing away the small amount of clothing they were recommended to bring in no time, somehow managing to cram in some very elegant-looking frocks as well. ‘This place must have been a school, just look at it. Certainly wasn’t made to sleep in.’ She glanced around at the huge windows and high ceilings. ‘Bet it’ll be freezing. Oh well, maybe they’ll work us so hard we won’t care. Can’t be as cold as up north, that’s for sure. I’m used to the wind howling over the moors so I probably shan’t even notice. How about you?’

Kitty smiled, remembering the force of the westerly gales that came in over the Atlantic with such regularity. ‘Oh, that won’t worry me,’ she said lightly. ‘We have to put up with that all the time in Liverpool. At least they’ll give us uniforms to keep out the worst of it. I’ve been wearing dungarees for work in the NAAFI and this uniform is much nicer – warmer too.’

Laura held up the bluette overall she’d been issued with. ‘It’s a bit stiff, isn’t it? It’ll be itchy as anything.’

Kitty grinned, thinking that her pretty new friend probably wasn’t used to anything but the finest material, and would not have had to wear anything practical, certainly not like the often-patched clothes she’d had to put on for scrubbing down the NAAFI canteen after it closed every day. She smoothed down the blue-and- white bedspread on her narrow bunk, running her hands over the anchor motif. She couldn’t help wondering what her brother Jack would be doing, out there on his aircraft carrier, facing God knows what.

‘Let’s go and see where that canteen is that they told us about,’ Laura suggested, hanging up the overall once more. ‘I shan’t wear that until I have to. If this is going to be my last day in my own clothes for a while, then I’m going to make the most of it. Two weeks of basic training and then heaven knows what we’ll be in for or what we’ll have to wear.’ She shrugged into her pale-yellow cardigan, which Kitty was fairly sure was cashmere. It perfectly set off Laura’s mop of beautifully cut blonde curls.

They made their way to the lower floor and uncertainly down an echoing corridor, trying to remember what the officer who’d welcomed them had said. There were so many doors – but then the unmistakable smell of cocoa hit them and they followed their noses to what might once have been the school refectory. A woman in her forties was standing by a large urn. She wore a bright turban on her head and Kitty reflected that up until a short while ago this would have been her, greeting the servicemen and sometimes -women who’d come through the doors of her own canteen.

‘Hello, girls,’ the woman said, immediately friendly. Steam rose from the urn. ‘I can do you tea or cocoa. What’ll it be?’

‘Cocoa,’ Laura and Kitty said immediately. Kitty couldn’t remember the last time she’d had cocoa. Before the war, at home in Empire Street, there hadn’t always been enough to go round; it was ironic that rationing meant that some people were better fed now than before the war. Kitty’s mother had died when she’d been a young girl, and Dolly Feeny, their neighbour, had been the closest thing to a mother she’d had since. Kitty’s father had liked a drink – too much sometimes ? often spending down the pub what was intended for the housekeeping. Thank God for her brother Jack, and for Dolly, who’d made sure that the Callaghan kids didn’t go without. The Callaghan and Feeny children had been as thick as thieves growing up. Eddy had been like a brother to her – and Frank, of course, though in the last few years, Kitty knew her feelings had changed into something deeper, something enduring. Kitty pushed thoughts of Frank Feeny from her mind again – he’d never see her as anything other than a little sister, and it was time to put away her childish dreams and look to the future. The smell of cocoa drifted tantalisingly up to her nose. This was a treat not to be missed.

Gratefully they warmed their hands on their cups as they made their way to a battered wooden table next to a window. Through it they could see a curving drive and, beyond that, down the hill, London was spread out beneath them. Kitty took a tentative sip to see how hot the drink was and smiled. ‘Delicious. Haven’t had that for a while.’