Winter on the Mersey(91)

He could just about make out that the door to the back bedroom was closed. He turned in the narrow corridor and traced his way along the wall till he came to the door that he was sure belonged to Kitty’s room. He opened it carefully, and could immediately pick up the sound of somebody’s deep, regular breathing inside. So he was right; she had gone to bed and was asleep.

He waited until his eyes were fully accustomed to the dim light. All he could really see were vague outlines, but that was enough to work out where the bed was. He could hardly believe it – he was finally in Kitty’s bedroom and that shape under the blankets was her. Any moment now she would be his. Swiftly he moved across the room and shook her shoulder. ‘Kitty, wake up, come with me,’ he muttered, not quite able to keep his voice as soft and persuasive as he’d planned. He shook her more strongly. ‘Wake up, I said. You’re coming with me.’ Now he was growing frustrated at her lack of obedience. ‘Come on, stop fooling around, get your things, I’m here to take you away.’

The shape groaned and shifted under his grip. Alfie lost his patience and threw back the bedcovers, grabbing wildly underneath them. The shape screamed and half sat up.

‘Shut up, Kitty. Come with me and look sharp about it. I can’t wait all bloody night.’

He grabbed again, connecting with what might have been a nightdress, gripping the flesh beneath it, pulling her further out of the bed. She screamed again, resisting him, twisting away, and he lashed out, furious now that she wasn’t agreeing with him fast enough. Didn’t she realise this was her way to a better life; that he could give her all the things she wanted, if only she’d do as he told her? He hit out again and felt something bony. Maybe her nose. His hand came away wet – he’d drawn blood. He put out his hand to check and felt her hair, long and straight.

Even in his befuddled state, he realised something wasn’t right. Kitty had curly hair, in a short bob. It was one of the reasons he liked her so much, her pretty dark hair. Had she changed it somehow? Had he made a mistake? Had he actually hurt her, when he hadn’t meant to do that at all? What sort of pickle had he got himself into now? Or was this an imposter? That might be even worse. Nothing was going to plan and it didn’t make any sense. Blind rage took over.

‘What have you done with Kitty, you bloody bitch?’ he shouted, lashing out.

Whoever it was made a gulping noise as if it was in pain and couldn’t scream any more. Angrily he shoved his victim back against the bed and aimed another punch at her to shut her up. Then he plunged back towards the corridor, ignoring the low moaning from behind him. A shaft of moonlight lit up the narrow hall as the door to the back bedroom swung open.

A small figure came out. ‘Aunty Sarah?’ It was a little boy. ‘Aunty Sarah, I woke up. There were strange noises and I didn’t like it. Can I have a drink?’

Alfie was nonplussed for a moment. Kitty didn’t have a kid. What was this boy doing here? Then he decided it didn’t matter. In his confused state, all he wanted was to punish her for not being here, for thwarting his intentions, which had all been for her own good. But she’d rejected him, by not being here. Whoever this kid was, he must be important to her and therefore she’d want him back. And he had to make the kid shut up, or else he might start kicking up a fuss and waking the neighbours. Whatever else happened, he didn’t want to alert Pop.

‘I’m not your bloody Aunty Sarah,’ he snarled. ‘But you’re coming with me. I’ll give you a drink all right.’ He swept forwards, grabbed the child, slamming his palm over his mouth, and raced down the stairs, out of the back door and through the yard, not thinking any further than getting the boy bundled into the car and far away from here. He’d work out the rest as he went. The child managed to squirm away from his hand and screamed piercingly into his ear, but he shut it out, concentrating on running, putting as much distance between himself and the house as he could before whoever it was who’d pretended to be Kitty woke up the entire street.

‘Kitty.’

It was barely there but she was certain it was her name. It had to be Frank. The rubble distorted the voice but it had to be him.

‘Frank, is that you?’ she shouted.

‘Kitty!’ It was him. She couldn’t tell how close he was. ‘Kitty, are you hurt?’

She almost sobbed again in relief and the sheer delight that he was alive. ‘I’m stuck under rubble,’ she called, ‘and one arm is painful, but otherwise not too bad.’ She forced herself to sound cheerful. She didn’t want him to worry about her. ‘What about you?’

‘Not too bad either.’ He coughed. ‘I’m caught under some stones but I can move one arm. Hold on.’ There was a scrabbling noise and then the sound of something moving over to her left. Suddenly she could hear him much more clearly. ‘Is that better? I’ve managed to shift a brick or something like that.’

‘Frank, that’s much better. I can hear you properly now.’ She breathed out slowly. ‘Are you really not hurt? Can you see anything?’

‘Only a patch of light coming from behind somewhere. I can’t twist around to see any more, though. Not because I’m injured, more because I’m pinned down and don’t want to move any more stones in case I set off a rock fall.’

‘I’m the same. I hope it’s daylight but I don’t know. How long have we been in here, do you think?’