Winter on the Mersey(39)
Now the pressure was off and everyone was thinking about northern France and not getting poisoned by some bad meat, Alfie judged it safe enough to return to the Merseyside docks. His connections, principally local gang boss Harry Calendar, had ensured the process was smooth, and he was due to begin back on the Gladstone Dock next week. His mother had been delighted. He knew he could always rely on her. She’d written every week while he was away, regular as clockwork. That’s how he’d known Kitty was back.
Alfie wiped the sweat from his forehead as he thought of Kitty Callaghan. She’d always taken his eye, back when they were all kids playing in the street. She was pretty, and her hair curled in a way that had fascinated him when a boy. He would stare at it until someone noticed, but he had been too bashful when younger to do anything more than gaze from afar. Kitty had looked after her brothers ever since she was eleven, and everyone knew she was a wonderful cook. What else could a man ask for? Admittedly his mother had written to tell him she’d come back because of some sort of promotion, and people were saying she’d done well for herself, but after all it was only the Wrens. It wasn’t like a proper man’s job – how hard could it be? She’d still be the shy, gentle Kitty he remembered, he was sure of that.
However, it didn’t hurt to take some precautions and do some background research. That was why he was dragging himself down this godforsaken country lane in the middle of nowhere, trying to find a farm. Some people might think this was a mad thing to do, but he wanted to cover all eventualities. His mother had mentioned that Tommy Callaghan had been evacuated out to Freshfield and was on the same farm as those horrible brats who had lived above the corner shop. Alfie reckoned it was time to renew their acquaintance. Tommy owed him. He’d saved his life a couple of years ago when the boy had been messing around in a warehouse that had caught fire. Alfie had basked in the glory of being a hero, even if his reasons for being down at the warehouses weren’t quite as pure as he made out. He wanted to remind Tommy of how grateful he should be. Also, when Tommy was recovering in hospital, Alfie had gone to the trouble of obtaining some new football boots for the boy at Christmas. It wasn’t a selfless gift; he’d made sure Danny knew it was so they were in his debt. Even if Danny wouldn’t falsify the medical examination, he’d know that he still owed Alfie that favour. And owe him he did, big time.
Just when he thought he couldn’t stand the heat much longer and would have to find a pub in which to slake his thirst, Alfie passed a milestone on which he could just about make out the carved letters for Freshfield. Of course, getting around anywhere now was a blasted nuisance, what with all the proper road signs having been taken away in case the Germans invaded. At least now he knew he was in the right place. There was the farm, just as his mother had described it. It had been a leap of faith coming here like this, as Vera had only got the description third-hand, from her late friend Winnie, whose son Charlie had come here now and again. It was unmistakable, though: the chicken coop around the back, the stable with the doors painted blue. Alfie paused to take in the scene and to plan his next move. He didn’t want simply to barge in and demand to see Tommy. That would alert the farmer and cause suspicion.
The place was so quiet after Glasgow and Liverpool that it took some getting used to. Somewhere above a bird was calling, and a cow mooed long and low. Insects buzzed in the heat and a fly landed on his face but he swatted it away in irritation. He could almost feel sorry for those city kids, stuck out here with nothing to do. There was a goat running around in the enclosure near the farmhouse – it looked vicious. Give him a run-in with Harry Calendar’s rivals any day.
His ears pricked up at the sound of a horse’s hooves clip-clopping, and before long the animal appeared around the corner of the lane, pulling a cart. An old man sat on the driver’s seat, reins in his hand. He nodded to Alfie as he approached.
Alfie decided to abandon any idea of a cover story and to make a direct enquiry. It was too hot to think straight, and he didn’t want to get caught up in a web of lies if he didn’t have to. ‘Good morning,’ he began, smiling and hoping he looked trustworthy.
The cart driver’s expression didn’t alter. ‘Morning,’ he said in a strong Lancashire accent.
Alfie kept the smile in place. ‘I’m looking for a young friend of mine and I was told he’d been evacuated out here. Tommy Callaghan. Do you know him?’
The man shifted in his seat. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘Oh, my mother was a great friend of his auntie’s,’ said Alfie, stretching the truth, as Dolly wasn’t actually Tommy’s aunt and she couldn’t stand Vera at the best of times. ‘My mam’s dead now and I wanted to get back in touch with them all, you know, for old times’ sake. I was passing this way and thought I could make a start with young Tommy, if he’s here.’
The man stared at him dubiously. Then he seemed to make up his mind. ‘Aye, fair enough,’ he said. ‘But you’ve just missed him. He used to help out on the farm, so you got that bit right, but he’s left now he’s old enough to have finished school.’
Damn, thought Alfie, of course Tommy would be older now – was he really fourteen? He supposed it was possible. ‘That’s a shame,’ he said, trying to sound suitably disappointed and not as annoyed as he actually felt. ‘I don’t suppose you know where he’s gone?’