Winter on the Mersey(72)
‘Yes, come on, give us a tune,’ Danny chimed in, and Rita noticed her youngest sister flashing a glance at him. ‘Our Kitty will sing the words, won’t you, Kitty?’
Kitty protested. ‘Danny, I’m going to help with the washing-up in a minute.’ But she was shouted down.
‘The washing-up can wait,’ Dolly announced grandly, for once in her life not jumping to her feet to clear everything away.
‘We’ll do it!’ shouted Michael. ‘Then Auntie Kitty can sing!’
‘That’s very kind of you, Michael,’ said Dolly at once, ‘but you don’t have to do that. Like I said, it can wait.’ She didn’t want Michael and Megan trying to tackle the mountain of dirty plates. They were too short to reach the sink and, while she didn’t mind too much if her own plates got chipped, she didn’t want any of the borrowed china to suffer. Besides, they were young and deserved their fun, this day of all days. ‘There you are, Kitty, the children want you to sing too.’
For a moment it looked as if Kitty would protest again, but then Frank came through the door, from where he’d been setting out the rum in the parlour. ‘Did I hear that right?’ he asked with a smile. ‘Kitty’s going to sing for us?’ He gave her a straight look and everyone turned to her. The thought flashed through Frank’s mind that this was the most natural thing in the world, to spend an uncomplicated day with Kitty and their families.
Kitty gave in to the inevitable, standing and making her way out from behind the table, as Pop leant across to reach for his accordion. She glanced across at Frank, whose face was full of warm encouragement. She had been a bit surprised that there had been no sign of Sylvia today. She’d kept half expecting her to turn up at the door, but Sylvia hadn’t appeared and Frank hadn’t said anything about her not being there; he’d seemed perfectly cheerful at the big family gathering without her. Kitty had allowed a brief but guilty thought that they might not be an item any more, but then remembered she’d heard that the young Wren’s father was ill. So it might not mean anything, and she wouldn’t read anything into her absence. ‘What will it be, Pop?’
Pop thought for a moment and then played the opening bars of ‘Silent Night’.
The chatter came to a stop. The whole group of family and friends paused expectantly, and then Kitty began to sing: quietly but true, her gorgeous voice filling the room.
For a moment Violet, alone in the back kitchen but watching through the connecting door, turned away. Eddy’s favourite carol. Surely everyone would be thinking that – Pop would have chosen it deliberately. Her husband would never play it on the piano again. She wiped a tear from her eye with the cuff of her sleeve, wishing with all her heart he was here with them, waiting with her for their longed-for child to be born.
Frank watched Kitty as she sang; this was what Christmas was all about. He shut his eyes, blotting out all other thoughts, of the pressures of work, of the progress of the war, or of Sylvia. He let the tune float through his mind, all the familiar cadences, the age-old story, the harmony that someone – probably Pop – was humming. He wanted the moment to last for ever.
But then Pop broke into a livelier tune, ‘Run Rabbit Run’, and everyone joined in, breaking the magic spell. Kitty’s voice was just one of many, and he knew he had to let her go, to turn away from whatever it was that seemed to connect them, no matter how he tried to persuade himself otherwise. There was no getting away from the fact he was damaged goods, and maybe she’d always think of him that way.
‘Penny for ’em, Frank!’ called Danny, and Frank smiled and laughed and said he was miles away.
‘We know a cure for that – pass the lad another tot of rum,’ said Pop, and Frank accepted a glass and pretended he was in the best of spirits.
After they’d gone through all the old favourites, Dolly finally stood up and announced she was going to boil the kettle if anyone wanted some tea. She looked around the crowded room. ‘Where’s Violet? I hope she hasn’t started on the washing-up on her own. She needs her rest, that one, but she hates doing nothing.’
Rita moved towards the back kitchen. ‘I’ll check.’
She knew Violet couldn’t have come back through the kitchen proper without one of them noticing. Perhaps she’d gone to the privy and then stayed out in the yard as she’d said she wanted to cool down. Yet Rita was concerned, because the daylight had gone and it would be really cold out there now. Cautiously she pushed the back door open and called out. ‘Violet? Are you there?’ She could see her breath forming in drifting white puffs.
She gasped as she saw her sister-in-law, her friend, clutching on to the fence at the far side of the little yard. ‘Violet! What is it? Are you all right?’
Violet turned her face towards the open door and the light shining from it. ‘Oh, Rita. I don’t want to make a fuss. I’m not sure but … it’s early if I’ve counted right … perhaps it’s a mistake, but I think the baby’s coming. I feel very odd. It hurts.’
Rita rushed over. ‘Then you’ve got to come inside right away. How often does it hurt? What’s it like, is it all the time or on and off?’
Violet allowed herself to be led slowly across the yard, but as she reached the threshold to the back kitchen, she doubled over and gasped, bracing herself against the doorframe. It was several minutes before she could stand upright again.