The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(94)

Just as she made herself climb the first step, there was a noise from the shop, several voices shouting at once.

Winnie emerged from the storeroom, a big cloth bag in her hands, which she was struggling to lift. ‘What was that?’

Charlie swung around, releasing Rita so swiftly that she fell into the wall. ‘You bitch, have you set me up?’ he snarled frantically, grabbing the bag from his mother. ‘Come on, we’re leaving.’ He took his mother’s elbow and shoved her towards the door to the back yard. ‘You’ll be sorry for this, Rita, I’ll make you pay. You won’t see Michael again – until he’s lying in his coffin.’

‘I didn’t do anything, I don’t know anything!’ Rita cried in desperation, but it was too late, the door slammed shut behind a fleeing Charlie and Winnie.

Before she could tug her jumper properly back into place, three men in military police uniform burst through the internal shop door. ‘Where is he?’ the first one demanded sharply, then softened his tone as he took in the state of Rita, leaning against the wall, her clothes crooked, bleeding from the leg and a vivid red weal across her cheek. ‘Where is Charles Kennedy? We know he is here.’

Wordlessly she pointed to the back door and two of the men ran through it. The final policeman stayed to question her. ‘And what is your name?’

Rita shuddered as she told him. ‘If you don’t catch him, he’s going to kill my son,’ she added, her mind racing in fear, while trying to work out what had happened. ‘Why are you here? How did you know? I had no idea he would come, I haven’t seen him since before Christmas.’

‘We had a tip-off,’ said the man. He had kind eyes but they were sharp with determination. ‘Somebody got in touch to say your husband, a deserter, would be on these premises at ten o’clock today. So it wasn’t you?’

‘No, I don’t know anything about it. It’s just chance I was here. I should have been at work but I swapped shifts … I was just going about my housework …’ Rita gave a sob, the shock of the morning’s events beginning to hit her, but she knew she had to hold herself together and find out where Charlie had gone. She wouldn’t be safe until she knew he’d been apprehended.

‘Then I must follow my colleagues. We will probably need to question you further later on, Mrs Kennedy.’ The man made for the back door. Rita followed him, still bleeding, but more concerned to learn Charlie’s fate than for her own injury. That would have to wait. She urgently had to know if Michael was going to be safe or not.

The policeman crossed the back yard, bending to avoid the washing flying in the breeze, and went through the gate. He seemed uncertain which way to go, but Rita pulled him around the corner and out on to the top end of Empire Street, as she could hear that something was going on further down. Sure enough a small crowd had gathered in front of the ruined fa?ade of what had been Mrs Ashby’s house. She half ran, half limped the short distance to where they stood, while the man hurriedly went to join his colleagues, who were standing outside the remains of the front door.

One of them stepped forward and called through the broken door. ‘Come out, Mr Kennedy. There is no point you hiding in there – we know where you are. You must come with us.’

Rita stared in horror as Charlie’s face briefly appeared through the shattered panes of one of the upstairs windows. He must have dragged Winnie in there too, although maybe she wasn’t fully aware of what was going on if she’d been on the sherry since breakfast. Still, they couldn’t hide away in there for long. The houses on that side of the street had no back alley, so the only way out was via the front.

The first policeman banged on the doorframe to emphasise his point, and immediately there was a sound of something falling, a clattering, from inside.

‘It’s not safe!’ cried Rita, pushing to the front. ‘That house got damaged in the air raids, it caught fire round the back. It’s not safe.’

The policeman with the kind eyes turned to her. ‘All the more reason for you to stand back, Mrs Kennedy,’ he said firmly. ‘Your husband and motherin-law are in there, but we must get them out before they come to serious harm. We don’t want you added to the casualty list – any more than you already are.’

Rita had all but forgotten her own pain now. She was filled with foreboding, the sense that a tragedy was about to unfold before their eyes. She had to try to stop it somehow. She hadn’t loved Charlie, and she’d hated what he’d done to her, how he’d threatened her and the children, but she didn’t want his life to end here in the dereliction of a bombed-out house. ‘Tell your colleague not to bang on the doorframe …’ she began, but before she could finish there was a deafening crash from inside the house and dust billowed from the gaps in the broken door and shattered windows. Then the remains of the door fell in and everyone could see what had happened. The upper floor had given way, and everything from the bedrooms had crashed to the ground floor – the burnt furniture, the bricks and plaster, an odd assortment of Mrs Ashby’s pathetically old personal possessions, and, underneath all of this, two bodies.

‘Stand back!’ shouted the first policeman, urging the crowd away, but Rita broke free of the group and ran inside. ‘Mrs Kennedy, leave the premises at once!’

‘I can help, I’m a nurse,’ she called back, as she began to scrabble through the rubble, hoping she could somehow pull Charlie and Winnie clear. Ignoring the pain in her leg, she worked as fast as she could, joined now by two of the police while the third stood guard at the door. Rita hoped the sherry had dulled the impact for the old woman; that she hadn’t been fully aware of what was going on. Gradually they threw aside the debris and uncovered the faces of mother and son, lying silent and still on their bed of plaster and bricks. There was no sign of life in either of them.