The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(88)
He returned with the lemonade for her and a pint of bitter for him, which he set steadily on the highly polished table. Really, if you hadn’t known, you couldn’t have spotted the injury, she thought. He was good – and that was after the walk, when he’d gently held her arm and made her feel special and protected. She’d feared it would be too much for him but not a bit of it.
‘Thank you.’ Sylvia grinned up at Frank, enjoying how his eyes sparkled in the lights of the colourful bar.
For a moment Frank’s mind flashed back to his rushed visit to Empire Street; he’d wanted to check for himself that everyone was all right. There were broken windows everywhere, loose or missing tiles on many roofs, and what had remained of old Mrs Ashby’s house was in a sorry state. His mother had regaled him with what had happened at the shelter and the fate of poor Ruby, which had offended his innate sense of justice, but fundamentally they were all in one piece. Then Dolly had told him about Elliott.
He had gone through a swift mixture of emotions at the news. He was hugely saddened to learn that the gifted young doctor had died; he knew as well as anyone that his skills had been desperately in demand and that he would be dearly missed. He knew too from his sister Rita that the man had been widely liked as well as admired. Most of all he could scarcely bring himself to imagine what it must have been like for Kitty to hear about the tragedy. Who would be looking after her now, far away at her training centre in London? Part of him wanted to leap on a train and comfort her. Then again, he had enough self-knowledge to admit that comfort wasn’t all he was thinking of. Kitty was free now. She would be emotionally available once more.
He’d told himself to stop considering any such idea. He would write, as an old friend, with condolences, which would be the most suitable thing to do. She’d made her break from Empire Street, and the very fact that she hadn’t once been back to visit told him where her priorities lay. He was no longer the man she had known; she would inevitably judge him by what he had been like before, everything he had been able to do that his impaired mobility now prevented. She too would be different now – more sophisticated, more educated. He must put aside all romantic thoughts of her, no matter how it cut him to the quick to do so. As he’d struggled through the bomb-ravaged streets between Bootle and the centre of the city, he’d resolved to forget about her. She belonged to his past, not his future. If she had dreamed of a future with her doctor, then she would see her life heading in a very different direction and it would not feature Frank Feeny. He had to be strong and turn his back on his dreams.
Sylvia was untainted by memories of his past. They shared a close bond in the present, through their secret war work, which was demanding, exhausting, and yet deeply fulfilling too. Now she was sitting opposite him in The Phil, her expression bright and keen. Frank smiled back and felt himself relaxing a little at last as he sank into his comfortably padded seat. For a moment he could almost believe the war wasn’t happening. Here he was, in this friendly and beautiful historic pub, with a good-looking young woman who seemed to want to spend her precious time off with him. He sipped his beer with relish. He was going to make the most of this evening. They both deserved it; it had been one hell of a week.
She could be his future, if he dared to think that far. Sylvia, not Kitty. He raised his glass to her and she raised hers in acknowledgement. ‘To happier times,’ he said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Kitty went through the next days in a trance. She hardly noticed if she ate or drank and wanted only to sleep. However, when she tried to do so she would jerk awake again and sit up in confusion, knowing that something was wrong but not what it was. Then she would remember and the whole nightmare would begin again.
This would usually wake Laura, who still had the top bunk above Kitty. Mindful of how caring her friend had been when she’d confessed about her brother, and also when Peter had been so ill, Laura would slip down from her bed and rescue Kitty, walking her up and down the corridor outside the darkened canteen, letting her sit and cry if she needed to. There was little she could say. Nothing would alter the facts. The wonderful Elliott was gone, and there would be no more trips to exclusive Soho nightclubs for them all. Laura knew that Kitty had begun to hope that there would be so much more to come in their future together; she would never have agreed to meet his parents if this had been a flash in the pan. Now that had all been taken away from her.
Laura couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, as Peter was visibly improving every time she managed to go to see him, which was almost every other day. She knew Kitty wouldn’t begrudge her this, but it was such a contrast to how they had been just a short time before. Now their positions were totally reversed. Kitty was devastated, trying to come to terms with her loss, knowing that Elliott had died in an unforgivably cruel way and that everyone thought he was a hero. Peter had survived the crisis and was coming on in leaps and bounds. Whether they would have any sort of future together, Laura still didn’t know; she wasn’t going to force the issue while he was still bedridden. But they had moved far beyond distant captain and reluctant driver. They had a connection nobody else could understand as they had been through the fire together, an experience that she knew had changed her and suspected had changed him too. Now she was content to see where this led them – but at least she would have the chance to find out.
Wearily she trod the familiar path up and down the corridor, letting Kitty lean on her. ‘Do you want to sit down for a bit?’ she suggested finally. ‘We could try the canteen; it’ll be empty and there are loads of chairs.’