The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(96)


Rita felt the tears begin to fall, of pain, of relief, but also of sheer happiness at being in his arms again. She felt as if she would never let him go. ‘Jack, you’re back,’ she sighed against the warmth of his shoulder. ‘I needed help and you were there. My rescuer. Oh Jack, I can’t begin to tell you how glad I am you’re here.’

‘You don’t have to,’ he said, his breath warm and soothing against her ear. ‘I’m as glad to be here and to see you. I’ve dreamed and dreamed of seeing you again, and holding you close, showing how much I love you.’ He broke off, releasing her from his strong arms, leant back and smiled at her. ‘All right, I didn’t dream you’d be in such a state. But I don’t care – I’m back, and with you, which is where I belong, and now I’m going to fix you up.’ He glanced up as Ruby slowly made her way into the kitchen. ‘Here, Ruby, you sit with Rita for a minute. You’ll be right as rain, Rita, just you see.’ He kept his voice light and encouraging, not commenting on the weal on her face. From what Ruby had told him, he could well imagine what had gone on. But there would be time enough for explanations later. For now he had to make sure the woman he loved above all others was safe and protected.

‘Oh Jack, thank God you’re back,’ sighed Rita.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


Kitty bowed her head as the organ finished the final bars of the closing hymn. She was grateful for the support of Laura and Marjorie, who stood one either side of her, all three of them in their Wren uniforms. Now, if she could just keep control of her emotions as they formed up to leave the church and went into the graveyard, she would have managed to get through the public part of the day.

She wasn’t sure exactly what had changed her mind about going to Elliott’s funeral, but now she was glad she had done so. Thinking it over, as she had done incessantly for the past few days, she’d decided it was important to be there not only because of her relationship with him, but to represent how Elliott’s life had been in the period immediately before his death. All around were those who’d known him as a boy or a medical student, but there were few who’d known what he was like as a doctor in Liverpool – the kind, knowledgeable professional, widely respected and admired, who had loved her. Nobody could be spared from the hospital on Linacre Lane; they were under too much pressure now one of their key members of staff had been taken from them. So Kitty, Laura and Marjorie were there to remember him as he had been in his last months of life.

Mrs Fitzgerald, Elliott’s mother, had been keen for all three of them to come back to her house afterwards along with other family and friends, but Kitty had not felt able to accept. She kept remembering how she was to have gone to that very house for a celebratory lunch, and the contrast with reality was a step too far. So she had politely declined, saying that they were needed back on shift, and if Mrs Fitzgerald had detected the lie, she had been too discreet to comment on it. Kitty thought the woman was exactly how she’d imagined Elliott’s mother would be: elegant, courteous, dignified even in her grief.

Elliott’s father was a more remote figure who had retreated into silence as a way of coping with bereavement. Kitty had exchanged a handful of words with him, the briefest of condolences, but neither of them wanted to prolong the conversation. Kitty knew there was little point. They were unlikely to meet again. She registered the physical likeness between the man and his son, from the thickness and wave of the hair to the set of the eyes, but that was no surprise. Mrs Fitzgerald had assured her she must keep in touch and Kitty had smiled and thanked her but really did not want to. If Elliott had not been killed, she had no doubt that she would have got on well with his parents, but there was no reason to continue to see them now he was dead. The only thing they had in common was the wish that he hadn’t died, and it was too painful a bond.

Numbly she joined the others as they processed out of the church, following the crowd as they made their way to the grave site. It was almost over. She had dreaded this day, but now she was glad she had come because, just as people said would happen, it made her feel as if that chapter of her life had finished. Her grief was no less real, but she trusted that slowly it would fade – not vanish, but not invade every waking moment. Slowly her sense of self was returning. She was still Kitty Callaghan, still a Wren, still sister to Jack, Danny and Tommy. Even if she was no longer the girlfriend of Dr Elliott Fitzgerald, she would go on with her training; she had to throw herself into every opportunity that life offered, as a way of paying tribute to his loving trust and support.

‘Go on, it’s your turn.’ Laura touched her arm and Kitty realised she was expected to throw a little earth on to the coffin. If someone had told her even a day or two ago that she would be able to manage to do this without breaking down, while everyone looked at her – including Elliott’s former professor, father of his late fiancée – she wouldn’t have believed them. Yet she came forward and performed the necessary ritual without faltering and then returned to Laura and Marjorie’s protection. Sombrely she said a mental goodbye to Elliott, and she clutched her new handkerchief in her pocket. But she did not cry. She had finished crying. Now she would set her sights on the future – not the one she thought she would have, but a different one. She recognised that this year of knowing Elliott had changed her, and for the better. Now it was up to her to live the life he had helped to give her. Men and women like Elliott were making the ultimate sacrifice, both at home and many, many more on the front. Kitty knew it was up to her and thousands of people like her to make sure that it was a price worth paying – they’d show Hitler what they were really made of.

Annie Groves's Books