Winter on the Mersey(66)
Frank could hear the concern in her voice. ‘I’m so sorry, Sylvia. Of course you must see what happens. What a thing to have to think about, and when it’s almost Christmas, of all times.’
Sylvia nodded, and for a moment he thought she was going to lose her composure and start to cry, but she bit her lip and gathered herself together. ‘It’s not that I wouldn’t like to go to the pictures, Frank. Of course I would. It’s just I don’t think I’d be very good company.’
‘I understand, of course I do.’ Frank’s eyes were full of sympathy for her. He knew how hard she worked, and to have this worry on top of all that must be dreadful. ‘If you want any cheering up, you come straight to me. You will, won’t you?’
‘Thank you, Frank.’ Sylvia’s face was full of gratitude.
‘Oh, by the way. I meant to say before, but if you are free over Christmas then my mam says you’re to come over and join the family for dinner,’ Frank told her. Dolly had been most insistent – she wouldn’t have Sylvia being lonely on her own in her billet while the extended Feeny clan sat down to the roast turkey. ‘Mam will pull out all the stops; it’ll be just like there was no war on. She’s been saving bits and bobs for months.’
‘That’s very kind of her.’ Sylvia looked embarrassed. ‘I’d love to say yes, you know I would, and I think the world of your mum. Well, all your family. But under the circumstances, I don’t know … I don’t want to say yes and then to let her down. She’ll already have a crowd to feed, won’t she? Like Kitty and all her family too?’ Sylvia hesitated and an odd look passed over her face which Frank couldn’t read. ‘And what if I have to hurry back to Mum and Dad? I don’t want to put her to any trouble.’
Frank laughed. ‘Believe me, it will be no trouble. She always cooks enough to feed an army. I’m the one who’ll be in trouble if I don’t invite you.’ His eyes danced. ‘Pop will get out the rum that my brotherin-law Jack brought back when he had leave a few weeks ago; all the neighbours will be over. Then Pop’ll get out his accordion and we’ll sing the place down.’
Sylvia sighed and leant back against the wall. ‘Frank, that sounds lovely, but I don’t know if I can come. Best if I say I won’t.’
Frank shook his head. ‘Let’s see what happens nearer the time,’ he suggested. ‘You shouldn’t decide now, not when you’re all upset. You can come over if you feel like it, we don’t need advance notice. You’ll be very welcome, you know that.’
Sylvia looked close to tears again but then recovered. ‘Aye, Frank. I do know that and I’m right grateful. You tell your mum that.’
Frank nodded soberly. ‘All right. Can’t say fairer than that. You let me know how things are going and what you feel up to doing. It’s no fun feeling miserable when everyone around you is having a party. But in the meantime shall we make a date to go for a quick drink, even if you don’t feel you can go to the flicks? A trip to the Phil?’
Sylvia smiled ruefully. ‘Better not, or at least not right now.’ She turned to go. ‘Thanks, Frank.’
Frank made his way back to his pile of agendas. Poor Sylvia, she was obviously preparing for the news that her father had died. If times had been different she could have gone home and helped make his final days, or weeks, or whatever it turned out to be, more comfortable, sharing the burden with her mother. If he’d been a different sort of man he might have felt she was deliberately being cool with him but he reassured himself he had no need for such suspicions. War made everything so much more difficult and complicated.
He knew Dolly wouldn’t see it as a rejection of her hospitality. As long as she knew Frank had invited the girl, she would be happy either way. Frank knew half of Empire Street would be crushed into the parlour and kitchen. He was looking forward to it in some ways; Danny would be back, or that was the word in his unit. He’d be bound to want a tot or two of rum. And if Danny came, then so would Kitty, singing carols in that beautiful voice of hers. Frank thought there might be some advantage after all if Sylvia didn’t come, and then admonished himself for even conceiving of such a thing. There was no denying it, though – few could sing a carol as movingly as Kitty Callaghan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Violet, are you sure you should lift that?’ asked Ruby anxiously from behind the counter of the shop. ‘Here, you come and check the change in the till and I’ll do it. You must be careful.’
Violet straightened up slowly, rubbing her back. ‘Maybe you’re right. Thanks, Ruby. It’s getting so that I can’t bend over properly any more. It’s all I can do to kick my shoes off.’ She made her way heavily to the counter as Ruby slipped out into the aisle, and found she could hardly fit in her usual space. She moved the stool to give herself a bit more room and collapsed on to it. ‘I’m sure Rita was never this big. She didn’t have this trouble.’
‘I suppose everyone’s different,’ said Ruby uncertainly, rubbing her hands and then plunging them into the patch pockets of her faded apron. Growing up with only mean Elsie Lowe for company, she hadn’t known any expectant mothers. Rita was the only person she had to go by, and she’d carried Ellen in a neat bump, managing to work almost up to the birth. Violet was struggling in comparison.