Winter on the Mersey(24)
‘Ah.’ Trenton nodded. ‘See, that’s sort of what I had in mind, but as I already know my way about, I was looking for something more … customised. Something special. The Liverpool most visitors don’t get to see, that kind of thing.’
Nancy nodded, enjoying the way this was going. ‘I think I get your drift, soldier.’ She looked him right in the eye. ‘A personal guided tour, you mean? Was that what you were after?’
‘Depends on the personal guide,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.
‘One might be available in about an hour when she finishes her shift,’ Nancy informed him. ‘She knows the place like the back of her hand, she was born and bred here, and could probably tell you a thing or two you couldn’t begin to imagine.’
‘Sounds just the ticket,’ he said, eyes alight with humour.
Nancy rose to her feet, not wincing as her swollen toes hit the ends of her shoes once more. She wouldn’t think about them. This was too good an opportunity to miss. It would most definitely take her mind off the trials of the morning, and if it meant her mother or sisters ended up looking after Georgie for a bit longer, well, serve them right, since they were so keen on babies and childcare. ‘In that case, why don’t you have a cup of tea or something, and wait here? Your own very special personal guide will be with you in no time at all.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Violet stood at the parlour window, twitching the carefully starched net curtain. She’d always vowed she would never turn into one of those women who did this, nosy old gossips with nothing better to do, but today she couldn’t help herself. Eddy was due home this afternoon and she couldn’t stay still. If it had been a few degrees warmer she would have been standing out in the road waiting for him. The early April sunshine flooded the tired room with light, making the faded wallpaper almost golden, although Violet would never like it – the tangle of green stems that formed the pattern had always made her feel queasy. It added to her nerves. It had been so long. Would they find anything to say to each other? What if he’d changed?
Violet had worked in the shop that morning, opening up and dealing with the first rush of customers so that Rita could have a lie-in, knowing she would have been up half the night with Ellen. It had taken her mind off things, forcing her to concentrate on giving the right change, which she was never very good at, and picking up on the general mood of the dock workers. They were murmuring about a big offensive that was being planned – or that was the story they’d gathered from recent arrivals of overseas service personnel. Violet didn’t know how much truth there was in it but it was impossible to ignore – every man had had his pennyworth to add to the rumour mill. It made her uneasy, but then again she was all jitters today.
Rita had taken over at just after midday, placing little Ellen just behind the counter in a wooden drawer lined with plenty of cosy blankets. True to form, the baby had been sleeping peacefully when Violet left, taking a careful peep under her little bonnet. It was just the hours of the night that she didn’t like to slumber through.
Violet had run upstairs to her room, Eddy’s room as was, and got changed from her worn corduroy skirt with its frayed hem into her best frock. Even that was old now; she’d got it just before war broke out. The buttons had been replaced and Dolly had kindly altered it as food rationing had made everyone lose weight. Violet hadn’t had much to lose to start with, but at least the frock hung as flatteringly as possible on her lanky frame. She brushed her shoulder-length brown hair, as straight as if she’d ironed it, and took off her horn-rimmed glasses for a moment, but then put them on again as she couldn’t see herself in the mirror without them.
The face staring back at her could never be described as conventionally pretty, but she had a rosy complexion today, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. Normally she was sallow, but the thought of seeing her Eddy gave her an inner glow. It’ll have to do, my girl, she told herself. After all, this was the face that Eddy had fallen in love with. That had come as a bolt out of the blue. She’d known as soon as she clapped eyes on him that he was the one for her, but the fact he’d felt the same was like a miracle. She hadn’t been able to believe it. Yet here she was, several years later, married to him and waiting for him to come home.
Even Nancy had caught the excitement and lent her a rare bottle of nail polish, but Violet hadn’t wanted to use it until she’d finished in the shop in case she chipped the varnish when shifting boxes of stock. Now she realised her hands were trembling with nerves and she wouldn’t be able to paint it on properly. She would leave it. It didn’t matter in the wider scheme of things.
Now she drummed her unvarnished nails on the window frame, its once-white gloss turned cream with age and years of smoke from the parlour fireplace. What if something had happened to him at the last minute? You heard of these things. A person would be waiting at home for a loved one’s return and instead of the husband, or son, or brother, it would be the telegram boy at the door … No, she mustn’t even think it. He hadn’t said a specific time. Just that it would most likely be this afternoon.
This was no good. She couldn’t stand still here. She walked swiftly across the room, over the threadbare rug and linoleum worn by three generations of Feenys, and flung herself out of the door and into the street. She didn’t care who saw her. She caught a flash of movement in the house across the road, which must mean that Kitty was back. She had been due to return yesterday, Rita had said, but they’d heard her train got in late at night and nobody had seen her yet. Under different circumstances, Violet might have gone across to say hello to this woman she’d heard so much about but scarcely knew, but that could wait.