Winter on the Mersey(21)
‘I’m sure Violet will understand,’ Dolly said. ‘She’s not one to take offence. Look what a hard time some people gave her when she first arrived and they didn’t know who she was. She ignored them and they soon stopped their carping. I wouldn’t think you’d have to worry about her.’
Rita gave a little shrug of acknowledgement. Violet had arrived out of the blue, as Eddy hadn’t told his family he’d got married, and everyone had had to get accustomed to her strong Mancunian accent and braying laugh, which could shake the walls. Her lanky frame and general resemblance to Olive Oyl from the Popeye cartoons made her an easy target for gossip to begin with, but it had soon died down, particularly when she had begun to help out in the shop. Now she was accepted by all but the most petty-minded, such as the occasional older dock worker, who pretended he couldn’t understand what she was saying.
Dolly was sure what she was saying was true, but she kept to herself her other thoughts. She knew, though she never mentioned it, just how desperate Violet was for a family of her own. Violet had never talked about it but, with her sharply honed instinct, Dolly could tell. It was the way Violet looked after little Georgie, never complaining; always ready to play with him even when she was dog-tired. Or the way she was with Michael and Megan on their rare visits, never too busy to listen to them and their stories of life on the farm. Dolly recalled how, when she’d first arrived, Violet hadn’t told them about her real background, letting it be known she was an only child, the orphan of a respectable vicar and his wife. In fact she was too ashamed of the real version, that she was one of eight. It was true her father was dead, but her mother had still been alive then, an alcoholic married to an abusive second husband. Violet had visited her mother for the final time just before a bomb had killed her. So now Violet was genuinely an orphan with nowhere else to go, but she had found her true home with the Feenys.
‘I do hope not,’ Rita said, pausing to drain the last of her tea. ‘I couldn’t do without her help, you know. I’m glad you think I’ve made the right decision.’
Dolly nodded vigorously. ‘And besides, she can be godmother next time,’ she suggested. ‘You’ll not be stopping at little Ellen here, now will you?’ She raised her eyebrows and smiled.
‘Honestly, Mam!’ Rita didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or cross or pleased. She ended up a mixture of all three. ‘I’ve barely given birth to this one; it’s far too soon to be thinking of any more.’
‘Well, you never know,’ said Dolly, who had never regretted having five children, her heart full of love for all of them, even though she couldn’t remember when she’d last had a minute’s peace. A large family was a blessing. She’d known far bigger families back in Ireland, and five seemed nothing in comparison. Her children were the centre of her world, and she wanted nothing more than for them to have the chance to feel the same.
‘We’ll see,’ said Rita, calm again. ‘First let’s see if we can come through this war, and then I can have my Jack back with me all the time. He hasn’t even seen Ellen yet. He’s counting the days until Easter – he can’t wait to meet her.’
‘Of course he is!’ said Dolly, with extra enthusiasm to hide her secret worry that Jack would have his leave cancelled at the last minute, as so often happened. If Rita was openly concerned that Eddy wouldn’t make it back on time, then the same risk must apply to Jack. She would have to keep her fingers crossed that both young men would manage to get the leave they’d been promised. ‘Anyway,’ she said with a sly note, ‘by the time you have the baby after that, Sid might be home and then he and Nancy can be godparents to that little one.’
‘Hmm. Maybe.’ Rita knew she must not speak ill of a prisoner of war, but if he was still the same old Sid, then there was no way on earth she’d entrust a child of hers to him. Then again, he would be changed by his experiences when he came home – if he came home.
Dolly patted Ellen’s back, through the layers of knitted blankets wrapped around her, at least one of which she’d made in her make-do-and-mend class. ‘So you’ve got Kitty and Sarah as godmothers,’ she said. ‘You’ve got Danny as the godfather. That’s not right, is it? Don’t you want another godfather, even if you can’t have Eddy?’
‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ Rita shook her head. ‘I must be getting forgetful with all the lack of sleep. It’s already been settled ages ago. We’ve asked Frank, of course.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nancy Kerrigan was spitting with suppressed fury, with nobody to vent it on. ‘Hurry up and boil,’ she muttered at the tea urn, which Mrs Moyes had asked her to see to while she herself made sure everything was ready to open up in the WVS canteen in the city centre. The urn refused to do so, making what was already a bad morning even worse.
First, Georgie had started coughing again, leading her mother-in-law to be even more unpleasant than usual, implying Nancy was a bad mother, when anyone could see she was trying her best, and with precious little help from the miserable old woman. Nancy had debated leaving him at home in her care, he sounded so bad, but she decided that wrapping him up warmly and rushing him round to Dolly was the lesser of two evils. At least she’d know he was cosy and well fed with her. She wouldn’t put it past her mother-in-law to forget to keep an eye on the little boy, she was so mired in her own sense of the world doing her wrong.