the help of the chair leg. Nancy regarded him sadly. It was a shame that Sid would miss his son’s first steps – it wouldn’t be long now. Then George would be all over the place and she’d never have a moment’s peace. George had never known his father, and she had almost forgotten what he looked like herself. She glanced over at the picture on the mantle of them both on their wedding day. She smiled at the picture, admiring her own shapely figure and the way the fashionable dress hugged her curves. It suited her to ignore the memory of the swell of Georgie in her tummy and how it had taken several goes to zip up the dress, and the bitter tears she’d cried that morning over the revelation that Sid had been carrying on with a fancy woman in the run-up to their big day – if she hadn’t been in the family way then they’d never have made it up the aisle. Her smile drained away. Sid, well, he just looked like Sid, didn’t he. ‘Good boy,’ she said wearily. ‘Mummy’s just going to read her letters, then she’ll play with you.’
She opened the first envelope with its familiar handwriting. Mrs Kerrigan must never see this, must never know that Stan Hathaway was still writing to Nancy. The pilot’s looping script was instantly recognisable and it would be evident to anyone who saw it that the letter came from someone in the services – not something from a POW camp forwarded by the Red Cross. She hoped the postman could be relied on for his discretion, but she was far from sure he could. Her heart was hammering as she tore open the flap, careful not to rip the flimsy paper inside.
It was a short note, as Stan claimed he didn’t have much time. Still, he wanted her to know he was thinking of her – Nancy could just imagine the gleam in his eye as he wrote that and exactly what he was thinking of – and couldn’t wait to see her again. He wasn’t able to say exactly where he was, but he was being kept busy, defending the skies. He wasn’t sure when his next leave would be but maybe in another six weeks or so, if he was lucky. Nancy sighed with longing. She remembered how his touch made her feel, the sheer delight of being held by him making her reckless. Six weeks seemed like for ever. She didn’t know how she’d be able to sneak past the dragon-like figure of her mother-in-law but she’d manage somehow. She’d have to. Nothing could keep her from the warm embrace of the gorgeous Stan Hathaway. Carefully she folded the precious piece of paper and reached to tuck it in her skirt pocket. She’d hide it away in her bedroom later. Mrs Kerrigan would think nothing of coming into the parlour if she was out and snooping about to see what evidence of her daughter-in-law’s flightiness she could uncover.
‘Mmm-mmm-mm.’ Georgie reached for his mother’s pocket, keen to see what the fuss was about.
‘No, that’s not for you,’ Nancy said shortly. Then she saw her son’s face fall and the trembling of his chin that heralded another bout of wailing. Hurriedly she relented, bending down and scooping him up to place him on her lap. ‘Look what Mummy’s got. This is a letter from Aunty Gloria. Shall we see what it says?’
She opened the envelope with the huge handwriting on it and George snatched it from her, happily tearing it in two and stuffing one bit into his mouth. Nancy debated whether to take it from him, knowing that even used envelopes should be saved as paper was so scarce. Then again, it was keeping him quiet, and as long as he didn’t actually swallow it, it would probably do him no harm.
She unfolded the letter from her best friend, written on lavender-coloured notepaper and bearing a faint trace of Gloria’s favourite perfume. Even though there was a war on, she’d never gone short of it, as there had always been an eager queue of men willing to do anything to present her with a bottle or two, no matter how it had been come by. Nancy felt a twinge of jealousy. She knew she was pretty but Gloria Arden was something else, with her natural silver-blonde hair and her golden voice. She looked like a film star and carried herself like one, for all that her parents ran the Sailor’s Rest pub at the end of Empire Street. She had gone to London and been taken on by a leading impresario, who was arranging far more glamorous concerts for her than her old regular spot at Liverpool’s Adelphi Hotel.
Nancy skimmed the page and gasped. The concerts had been a roaring success, Gloria reported, and she’d been asked to do more and more. London just loved her. The impresario, Romeo Brown, was talking about getting her to make a record. In order to whet the nation’s appetite for that, he’d suggested a tour. She’d be heading up north, and a date had already been booked in Manchester. So she was going to persuade them to add a date in Liverpool. Then she would be able to stay for a while to see her family and, of course, her best friend.
Nancy was torn between the envy she always felt at Gloria’s success and anticipation of her visit, when she would be able to bask in her friend’s reflected glory. Life with Gloria was never dull, that was for certain. Trouble and adventure seemed to follow her around wherever she went. Nancy paused guiltily as she remembered that Gloria hadn’t had it easy these past few months, as her posh pilot boyfriend had died saving her, shielding her from a blast during an air raid. Giles had only just proposed and it should have been the happiest night of Gloria’s life, but tragedy had struck right at the moment of her triumph. So perhaps it was only to be expected that she would throw herself into her singing career.
‘Well, Georgie, things are going to liven up a bit at last,’ Nancy cooed to her son, as she retrieved the soggy paper from his mouth. ‘Let’s see what Granny Kerrigan says about that.’
And, she thought to herself, Gloria would know what to do about the other matter that was bothering Nancy. Not that there was really anything to worry about. But just in case it did turn out to be what she feared …
‘Winnie not well again?’ asked Vera Delaney, her lips pursed as she rubbed her finger along one of the shelves in the shop. ‘That’s a shame. Without her behind the counter this place is going to rack and ruin.’ Dramatically, she held up her fingertip, which bore a trace of dust. ‘Still, I suppose you’ve got more shelves to clean now there’s not so much stock.’
‘Well, there is a war on.’ Rita struggled to keep her welcoming smile in place. ‘What can I get you, Mrs Delaney?’
Vera hesitated. When Winnie was in charge she could get all manner of extras under the counter, but she was convinced nobody else knew about this, so she had no intention of asking Rita for any favours. She was all too aware Winnie distrusted her daughter-in-law. ‘I’ll just get my sugar ration,’ she said, pursing her thin lips.
‘Awful how it goes so fast, isn’t it?’ Rita said, trying to make conversation. She hated it when the atmosphere in the shop felt unfriendly.
Vera ignored her comment. ‘Still no sign of your husband, then?’
Rita looked up from the counter. ‘I’m sure Winnie told you, he went away to look after the children safely.’
Vera rolled her eyes. ‘Dodge conscription, more like.’ She reached for her sugar and handed over her coupon. ‘Don’t you try to lie to me, young lady. Word is out that your man is a deserter, plain and simple. I feel for Winnie, really I do, but when I think about what danger my Alfie is in down the docks it makes my blood boil.’
Rita didn’t reply as she took the coupon, even though there was plenty she could have said about Alfie Delaney. True, he had a job on the docks and was therefore in theory in the most dangerous place on Merseyside, but he spent most of his time appropriating goods for the black market, some of which found their way into Winnie’s cellar. He was far from the only dock worker helping himself to any extras that were available, but Alfie took it to a new height. When he wasn’t doing this he was usually skiving. Admittedly he had performed one heroic deed, saving Tommy Callaghan from a burning warehouse, but that had been months ago. Vera couldn’t resist mentioning this again.
‘And him pulling that young rascal from the flames, when he had no call to be there! Putting his own life at risk like that! That’s something we won’t find your husband doing, I’ll be bound.’
Rita smiled tightly, knowing that to say anything would be to give Vera even more ammunition. Somehow she had to ride out these snide remarks and hold her head high. She cursed Charlie for his cowardice. His reputation threatened to ruin her own, but she couldn’t let that show.
Vera drew closer. ‘Maybe