His mother must have helped him. He stopped what he was doing and straightened up, his expression full of contempt for her.
‘I know of a little boarding house in Southport.’
‘How?’ Rita asked. ‘We don’t have any family there.’
‘It’s run by an old lady Mother knows, Elsie Lowe …’ Charlie looked away again and shut the lid of Michael’s suitcase.
‘Is this your mother’s doing? She’s never liked the children being here. This would be her way of getting them out from under her feet …’
‘You were the one who said they should come back here to the Luftwaffe’s playground,’ Charlie said, his unwavering stare boring into her. ‘It was you who put them in danger, remember that.’
‘There were no raids when they came home!’ Rita tried to remain calm, but was finding it difficult. What was Charlie up to? She knew Michael and Megan should be somewhere safer but why wasn’t he taking them back to the farm?
‘If anything had happened to them last night, it would have been your fault, Rita. Yours! Nobody else’s.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘What kind of mother puts strangers before her own kids?’
‘It is my duty as a trained nurse to serve,’ Rita answered, knowing he had made no great shakes to oblige his country in any capacity yet, and by the look of it he had no intention of doing so now.
‘It’s also your duty to look after your children. But you can’t do that with your precious work so I will be going with them.’
Rita tried a different tactic; if she fought him he would become even more determined. ‘Of course you are right, as always.’ His shoulders relaxed just a little. ‘But, as you know, when people started calling it “the phoney war” it seemed ridiculous to keep the kids away from home.’
‘Well, it’s not so phoney now, is it, Rita?’ His shoulders stiffened again, indicating his mind was made up.
Rita told herself any mother would have brought her children home when there was no threat – and a lot of children had come home, like Tommy, Kitty Callaghan’s little brother just up the street. Rita had begged and begged for her children to be allowed to come back, but Charlie refused her pleas until it suited him. Until then, Rita had had to make do with monthly visits; it was all her shifts at the hospital could accommodate.
Rita was starting to lose control of her emotions. The words came out like gunfire.
‘You’ve never cared about the children. The only reason you brought them back was because you wanted to get me back into the marital bed again. You don’t give a damn for their wellbeing – all you care about is yourself!’
Rita tried not to think about the terrible events following Sonny Callaghan’s funeral. Charlie had found her with Jack Callaghan and, though they had done nothing wrong, he had viciously attacked and forced himself on her, though Rita knew her marriage was in tatters before then. Charlie’s squandering of their life savings had seen to that, but this had been an unspeakable act. Rita had sworn that she would never let him near her again, but the high price for getting her children home was moving back into the marital bed. After he and Rita had married, Charlie had ceased to show any interest in her sexually and Rita knew this wasn’t normal. But since Charlie had attacked her that time, he got a perverse pleasure from his cruelty and bedtimes were something that she now dreaded.
‘On the contrary, Rita, everyone thinks that it’s you that doesn’t give a damn for your children, so maybe you should have thought harder before you went off to play Florence Nightingale!’
Rita had lost the battle to stop the panic rising in her voice. ‘There’s no way I’m letting you take my kids away to God knows where with God knows who. I’ll give my notice at the hospital and I’ll go with them.’ Rita knew she was clutching at straws.
‘You have work to do here. Remember?’
‘I can get a transfer; they need nurses in other hospitals too.’
‘We are moving somewhere safer; to a better-class neighbourhood.’ Charlie’s voice dripped scorn and Rita knew that he’d made his mind up. There was something dangerous about his mood, too – she’d seen him like this before. When he behaved this way he could turn and either lose all control or terrorise her in that low, underhand way. His cold eyes were a familiar indication of the depraved depths to which Rita knew her husband could sink.
Charlie, menacing now, edged forward. ‘Poor Rita. Going to miss your children, are you? Or is it really me that you’re going to miss?’ Rita felt her parched tongue slide over the roof of her mouth, now paper dry with fear. He was between her and the door. She would not get out this time without a struggle.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Her voice was low now, sticking in her throat. Don’t show him you’re scared, Rita, that’s what he wants.
‘I know how you really like it, Rita, just like at the beginning, flaunting yourself like the slut you are.’ He gave a small contemptible laugh. ‘You never thought I’d cotton on, did you … you tricked me into marrying you and caught me good and proper …’ His face twisted into something ugly now. ‘Take me, Charlie … I need you, Charlie … we are good together, Charlie!’ he jeered.
‘I did not say those things!’ Outrage replaced Rita’s fear.
‘You threw yourself at me,’ Charlie spat accusingly, ‘just to get a husband …’
Rita remembered only too well what had happened between her and Charlie. It was seared indelibly on her mind. Even when his hands were all over her she knew it was wrong … The eau-de-Cologne scent of gin still made her retch even now. Charlie was right, she had tricked him. But not for the reasons he thought. Charlie never allowed her to forget she let him ‘have her’ before marriage. Once – just once – but it was enough and she had paid for it every day since. If Charlie ever found out why she’d allowed it … the thought of it alone made her feel sick.
‘I could have been out of this lousy street long before now.’ Charlie made a sudden movement with his hand, making her flinch. She could see her nervousness amused him by the way his lazy grin made his thin yard-brush moustache bristle. Any fond feelings she had had for him at the beginning of their marriage were now dead. He’d seen to that. Rita thought she could change him into a more caring person when they were married. She had been a fool.
‘I didn’t marry you because I loved you … I married you to stop you marrying Jack Callaghan.’ His callous words were snarled low, for her hearing alone. ‘The great Jack Callaghan, the pride of Merseyside. The love of your life.’ Charlie looked at her with something akin to hate now when he said, ‘Don’t think I didn’t see the way he looked at you, or the way you looked at him when you thought nobody could see. Well, I saw! I saw plenty. But I’ll tell you this for nowt – you’re mine now … remember that!’
With mention of Jack Callaghan, Rita had a sudden vision of him, his kind eyes and strong face looking into her own. I’ve always loved you, Rita. You know that, don’t you? If only Jack were here now. He’d never let Charlie treat her this way. But she had married Charlie instead of Jack. She had been a deceiver and this was the price she was paying. All the same, the thought of Jack and his words gave her strength.
‘I know you, Charlie Kennedy, you’re up to something.’ Even in her anxious state, something was niggling away at her.
Charlie was still managing to evade conscription but that wouldn’t last for ever. Men were being called up all over Liverpool and Charlie’s turn would come. Was leaving with the kids some way of avoiding his duty? He couldn’t look at the children most days, let alone show them affection. Were the children to be solely in his hands, she feared for their welfare. And what about his job? How could he look after Michael and Megan when he was working all day? Questions tumbled inside her head.
‘The appeal of marriage soon wore off when you got the gold ring on your finger … Prim and