Winter on the Mersey: A Heartwarming Christmas Saga. Annie Groves
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to catch up on, running round like you did practically until that child was born. Is Ruby minding the shop?’
Rita glanced towards the internal door that led to the shop. ‘Yes, she’s getting better all the time. I think it’s because beforehand she always knew that if things went wrong you or I would be there to sort it out. Now I’ve got Ellen to see to, and you’ve been over at the victory garden, it’s all been down to her. I stick my nose in now and again when you aren’t around, but she’s been forced to speak to people and she’s found they don’t bite after all.’
Violet shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s been a long time coming, that has. I’ll just put my nose round the door and see if she’s happy with Spam fritters.’ She carefully shut the door to what used to be Winnie Kennedy’s breakfast room, which Rita had turned into a cosy sitting room now her ex-husband’s mother was dead. The once stuffy, over-formal space was now warm and inviting, as Rita had collected scraps of fabric and made patchwork cushions and rag rugs, even if there was no new furniture to be had. She had stored away Winnie’s favoured dark, heavy pieces and kept only the softer, lighter ones, and had begged some tins of paint off Danny Callaghan to brighten the walls and woodwork. Danny, in his former occupation down on the docks, had been able to get hold of the most surprising items, and he still had the odd few tucked away. Usually Rita disapproved; but for this – making a home fit for her new baby – she’d made an exception. Ruby had as much of a claim to the place as she did, but hadn’t objected. Hardly anyone knew but Ruby was actually Winnie’s unacknowledged daughter, but the mean old woman had gone to her grave keeping the secret of who the father was. Charlie had never so much as indicated he’d known this was his sister, either. He’d gone to his own grave despising Ruby as much as Winnie, their mother, had.
Violet pushed open the door to the shop and saw Ruby was out in front of the counter, not hiding in the account books for a change. There was a man there, not young but not elderly either, in a faded brown overall and peaked cap. He looked familiar but Violet couldn’t place him.
‘Oh … oh, hello, Violet.’ Ruby jumped back. She was a little red in the face. Violet supposed it had taken a considerable effort for the shy young woman to talk to the customer, and forgave her the nervousness.
‘Ruby, I’ve just come to see what you’d like for your tea,’ Violet said directly. She turned to the man. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t quite place …’
The man stepped forward and she could now see that he must be about forty. His hair, or what was visible of it, was beginning to grey and he had wrinkles around his eyes, but his expression was friendly. ‘James. Reggie James. It’s Mrs Feeny, isn’t it? My dad told me about you.’
Violet nodded as the penny dropped. This must be the son of old Mr James who’d been so helpful when they’d first started work on the victory garden and hadn’t really known what they were meant to be doing. There behind him were some boxes of vegetables. He must have brought them to be sold in the shop. ‘Very pleased to meet you,’ she said. ‘Your father was very kind to us, you know. We would have been stumped without him. Has Ruby been sorting you out?’
‘Oh … yes. Yes, she has.’ The man seemed suddenly at a loss for words and Violet wondered if he was one of those men who didn’t know what to say to women – some didn’t like to see women running a business, even if it was a corner shop and all the men had been called up or kept in reserved occupations like down on the docks. She noticed he didn’t stand quite straight and wondered why that was. He saw her looking and got in his explanation before she could ask.
‘I was wounded at El Alamein,’ he said, slightly self-consciously, rubbing the top of his leg like a reflex. ‘Some folks think I took a Blighty, but it wasn’t like that. I’d never have dodged my duty by deliberately injuring myself, but it means I can’t go back into active service.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I wasn’t as young as most of them and it takes that bit longer to heal at my age, you see. Anyway, now I’m up on my feet again I’m going to help Dad out on the allotment, and do a little sideline in vegetables when I can.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that’s a good idea,’ said Violet hurriedly, a little embarrassed to have been caught staring. She couldn’t imagine for one moment that any son of trustworthy old Mr James could have hurt himself on purpose to avoid further action in the war. ‘We can always sell fresh vegetables, can’t we, Ruby?’
Ruby nodded mutely, seeming to have regressed now that there was someone else to do the talking.
Violet remembered why she’d come in the first place. ‘So, Ruby, Spam fritters for your tea tonight?’
Ruby looked at her feet and then appeared to snap out of it. ‘Yes please. Thank you, Violet.’
‘I’ll leave you two to it then,’ said Violet, turning back towards the living quarters, but not before registering the glance that Ruby exchanged with Reggie James. Then she told herself not to be silly. Ruby had hardly any friends, and sometimes could scarcely say hello to people she’d known for years, she was so withdrawn through sheer habit. She would be far too hesitant to make a new friend of an unfamiliar acquaintance. It must just be that she was pleased with the new business arrangement. Ruby liked the numbers to be in order. That could be the only explanation.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to go to Lyons Corner House?’ asked Laura as she met Kitty off the train at Victoria. ‘Somewhere nice and warm?’ She was in civvies, and even though clothing was rationed and generally hard to come by, she’d somehow managed to look devastatingly fashionable as ever, with her swing coat and little matching hat on her beautifully cut blonde curls. Heads were turning as she swept along the concourse but Laura blithely paid no notice.
Kitty had come in her Wren’s uniform. Now she no longer shared a billet with Laura, her chance to borrow her friend’s clothes had gone, and she hadn’t felt like turning up in her slightly battered tweed coat, now several years old and looking it. Besides, she was proud of her uniform. She’d worked hard to be worthy of it, and she appreciated the approving glances it won from many of the other passengers whirling around them. She took her friend’s arm.
‘I’d really rather go for a walk, if you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m cooped up inside most of the time, you know.’
‘Of course, I completely understand,’ said Laura at once. ‘But surely there are plenty of places to go walking where you are? What else is there to do, frankly? Count the cows?’ She glanced down at her feet. ‘Good job I didn’t wear my high heels. I found some divine ones in Peter Jones, did I tell you in my last letter? Anyone would have thought they were just waiting for me.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Kitty, meaning it. ‘Just don’t try driving your lorries in them. Tell you what, if we wander across Green Park we could find a Lyons after that. I don’t want to deprive you of your teacake.’
‘Come on, then.’ Laura led the way, weaving through the press of people, many in uniform, some carrying kit bags over their shoulders. Some were saying goodbye to families and loved ones. Others were waiting, maybe for a long-hoped-for reunion. Despite the ever-present threat of disruption to the trains, nobody appeared to be complaining. Kitty had been lucky; she’d come up from her small local station without a problem for once. It meant she had most of the day to spend with her old friend. Almost without realising it, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Confiding in Laura always made her feel better and she knew the feeling was mutual.
As they passed through the streets and headed towards the park, the crowds thinned out, but there was still a sense of bustle and activity. Kitty grinned, relishing being back in a big city. It was where she felt at home, jostling around people, being in the thick of it. Growing up on Merseyside had made her feel that this was normal, and it was where she was comfortable, despite knowing rationally that big cities were more dangerous, being targets for the enemy’s attacks. Yet she couldn’t shake off the sense that