Through the Storm (33 page)

‘I’d like my own transport,’ he said, ‘and there’s plenty of gas available on the base.’

‘I bet I could have my own garage in the States and they wouldn’t blink an eye,’ she said to Jack Doyle one Saturday morning. There was little to do and they sat talking in the office. Penny was fast asleep on Jack’s knee. ‘America’s full of opportunities. No-one’s ashamed of making money, not like here.’ She knew this would irk him and didn’t care. She was becoming increasingly fed up with their hole in the corner affair, though she was as reluctant as he to allow it to become public.

‘They’re not ashamed of folks dying with hunger on the streets, either,’ Jack grunted predictably. ‘It’s each man for himself over there. You’re either a winner or a loser, there’s no in between.’

That would have suited Jessica down to the ground. She was a winner and always would be.

A man popped his head into the workshop at that moment to ask about the dark green racing bike outside. Jessica went to see to him and returned five minutes later with thirty shillings in her hand.

‘Another sale!’ she sang, though she was frowning. ‘I haven’t had any fresh bikes for a fortnight. I’ve only got ten left and I’m beginning to worry the market has dried up.’

‘Oh, dear!’ Jack said sarcastically. ‘You’ll just have to go to work like everybody else.’

Jessica ignored him. ‘You know,’ she mused, ‘there’s other things apart from bikes that there’s a shortage of; prams, for instance. I bet all sorts of women have got prams and pushchairs tucked away that they’ll never use again.’

‘You’ll end up a rag-and-bone merchant like your dad.’

She still took no notice. ‘Toys are something else I could sell if I could get my hands on them; big toys, like scooters and pedal bikes. And I might advertise for cars – you never know, the Yanks might snap them up.’

‘Yanks!’ spluttered Jack with loathing. He couldn’t stand the way they’d arrived, two years late as far as he was concerned, with the frequently declared intention of saving li’l old England from the Germans. ‘I hope you don’t intend fraternising with …’ He paused, he’d nearly said the enemy. ‘With that lot,’ he finished lamely.

‘Oh, don’t start, Jack,’ Jessica said impatiently. ‘They’re mostly young boys who are lonely and miss their moms and pops.’ She felt unreasonably irritated with him, with herself, with bikes and cars, and with the world in general.

On Monday, she arrived at the garage to find the upstairs flat quiet for a change, and noticed the curtains were still drawn. There was no sign of Rita all morning and Jessica assumed she’d gone away for the weekend, which she did occasionally. The weather was springlike and Penny was able to play, well wrapped up, in the tiny garden. Jessica felt at a loose end, with nothing to do except sell the occasional gallon of petrol, keep one eye on Penny and the other on the forecourt in case someone wanted to buy a bike. Someone did, which left only nine. The telephone rang soon afterwards; a woman was moving
from
her house in Aigburth and had three rusting, ageing bikes in her cellar which she didn’t like to leave for the new occupants.

‘You can have them for nothing if you’re willing to collect them,’ she said. ‘I just want them out of the way.’

Jessica promised to come that evening. Feeling slightly cheered, she decided to clean the office and give the workshop a good brush. She put Dennis Mott’s overalls on over her clothes and tied a scarf around her hair. Penny came in to help and Jessica sang at the top of her voice; ‘Red Sails in the Sunset’, which had been her father’s favourite. She really must find out about troop concerts, and now there was something else called Workers’ Playtimes in which concert parties entertained factory workers during the lunch hour. She’d been too busy to do anything so far, but it seemed a shame to waste a voice like hers.

‘Ma’am!’

Jessica jumped. A man was standing at the entrance to the workshop, glaring at her unpleasantly, a stocky American, powerfully built, and at least twice as old as the ones she’d met so far.

‘Yes?’ she said coldly. How dare he look at her like that, as if she was something the cat had just dragged in from the street? Penny clutched her mother’s leg nervously.

‘What went on here last night?’ He was clearly unwilling to step inside, and was arrogantly waiting for her to approach him.

Jessica didn’t move. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t give me that, ma’am.’ The contempt in his voice made Jessica’s blood boil. ‘I’ve two men in hospital, so something pretty serious occurred in that apartment upstairs and I’d like to know what it was.’

‘How do you know the men were in the apartment upstairs?’

‘Because,’ he said with forced patience, ‘it’s where our MPs picked them up after the local police were alerted that a fracas had occurred. The locals then contacted the base at Burtonwood.’ Clearly frustrated at the idea of conducting a conversation from so far away, he came into the workshop and stood in front of Jessica, saying accusingly, ‘It’s no use trying to evade the issue, ma’am. I’m not trying to get you into trouble. I merely want to know what happened.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Jessica. ‘I wasn’t here.’ She liked him even less close up. He had hard blue eyes behind rimless glasses, a tough mouth and smooth tanned skin with a suggestion of growth on his firm round chin, as if he needed to shave twice a day. His close-cropped hair, what she could see of it underneath his cap, was silver. His uniform was impeccable, his bearing stiff and formal. He didn’t look capable of relaxing for a moment.

‘Ma’am,’ he said, and there was a steely edge to his deep voice, ‘the men reported a red-headed woman was the hostess of the … the party last night.’

Jessica hid a smile. He would clearly have preferred to say ‘orgy’. She was beginning to enjoy playing with him. She removed her scarf so he could see even more of her hair, fluffing it out with both hands tauntingly. ‘I never realised you Americans were so uncivilised,’ she said, pretending to yawn.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It’s common in this country for people to introduce themselves when they first meet. Who exactly are you?’

His lips tightened. ‘Major Henningsen, Provost Marshal’s Office, Eighth Army Air Corps, Burtonwood,’ he said stiffly.

Jessica stuck out her hand. If he didn’t shake it, she’d hit him. ‘Jessica Fleming, Bootle, proprietor of this garage, who doesn’t live in the flat upstairs but somewhere else, and has absolutely no idea what happened
last
night because she wasn’t here – which she has already told you.’

He gave her outstretched hand a brief, hard shake. ‘But they said a redheaded woman?’ He obviously didn’t believe her.

‘There’s more than one redheaded woman in Bootle. I think you may be looking for Rita Mott. She’s not in at the moment. I’ll tell her you called when she arrives.’

‘I’ll wait,’ he said grimly.

‘In that case, wait outside. I’m busy.’

‘Don’t like man,’ Penny whimpered. ‘Naughty.’ She gripped Jessica’s leg harder.

Jessica picked her up. ‘Never mind, darling, he’ll soon be going.’ She turned to Major Henningsen and said tartly, ‘By the way, don’t bother to apologise. After all, maybe you Americans don’t know what an apology is. In this country, it means saying you’re sorry when you’ve made a mistake.’

‘I made a mistake, I’m sorry,’ he said in a clipped voice.

He didn’t look particularly sorry, more irate that she’d dragged it out of him.

‘Apology accepted, goodbye,’ Jessica said sweetly.

Major Henningsen turned on his heel and marched out of the workshop without another word. A few minutes later she heard the sound of an engine starting up and went to look. A jeep was parked on the pavement outside and he drove away, tyres screeching. He must have decided not to wait for Rita. He was several hundred yards down the road, when he braked, reversed the jeep at top speed and backed into the forecourt.

‘What does he want now?’ Jessica asked Penny, who responded by hiding her head in her mother’s shoulder when the uniformed figure got out of the vehicle and approached.

‘I wonder if you would do me a favour?’ he said.

Jessica took a step backwards. Although the Americans she’d met so far had been nice boys – apart from Major Henningsen, that is – rumour had it they were only after one thing. ‘What?’ she said warily.

He laughed for the first time, an unpleasant bark. ‘Jeez, lady, don’t worry, you’re not my type.’ Before Jessica could come up with a suitably crushing response, he went on, ‘It’s Mothers’ Day on Sunday. A few of the boys, the very young ones, are pining for the home country. Would you be willing to have a few over for a meal? The food will be provided, of course.’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Jessica replied through gritted teeth. She couldn’t very well refuse. But not his type! What an arrogant, obnoxious pig! He was as far from her type as any man she’d ever met.

‘Thanks.’ He returned to the jeep and climbed inside. ‘The boys only need a bit of motherly attention,’ he shouted, ‘and your granddaughter might remind them of the kid sisters they left at home.’

Jessica was still smarting when Rita came limping home, having spent the night in a police-station cell. She sported a magnificent black eye and her green silk dress was torn in two places.

‘What happened?’ Jessica demanded in a shocked voice.

‘I met these two black Yanks and brought them home,’ Rita explained tiredly. ‘They were ever so nice, Jess, proper gentlemen. Then a crowd of white Yanks turned up unannounced and were as mad as hell to find the black ones there. They tried to throw them out, but I wouldn’t let them, which is when I got this.’ She pointed to her half closed eye. ‘Someone passing called the Bobbies, one thing led to another, and they ended up arresting the lot of us.’

Jessica shook her head worriedly. ‘Perhaps you should keep your head down for a while,’ she suggested.

‘Of course I will. I don’t want anyone to see me looking like this,’ Rita said indignantly.

‘What I meant, Rita, is that if GIs are turning up unannounced, it looks as if your place is getting a bit of a reputation.’

‘Do you honestly think so?’ Rita looked so pleased that Jessica gave up. ‘You’ve had a visitor,’ she said, ‘a major from the Provost Marshal’s office in Burtonwood.’

‘A major?’ Despite her pitiful state, Rita perked up. ‘Was he good looking?’

‘I would have thought you’d be more interested in what he wanted, not what he looked like.’

‘I merely wondered if he’d like to come to one of my parties, that’s all.’

Jessica guffawed. ‘Ask him and see!’

Jessica asked Kitty Quigley if she would come to tea and help entertain the visitors on Sunday. ‘You’re young and single and used to dealing with young men. I won’t know what to say.’

‘I’m not sure if I will, either,’ said Kitty. ‘Would you like me to bring someone else from the hospital? There’s this girl, Lucy. She’ll soon make them feel at home.’

Lucy was aching to go out with a Yank. It was rumoured that hundreds of girls hung round on Central Station waiting to be picked up when the GIs poured in from Burtonwood, but Lucy didn’t quite have the courage. ‘If me dad found out, he’d kill me.’

She was thrilled to bits to be invited to tea. ‘Tea sounds dead respectable. I won’t tell me dad about the Americans in case he won’t let me come.’ She patted her dark hair and said thoughtfully, ‘They like blondes best, don’t they, Yanks?’

The GIs arrived in a jeep at four o’clock, Major Henningsen having telephoned Jessica at the garage to ask for her address. ‘I forgot to ask where you live,’ he said in his cold, clipped voice.

She told him, equally cold, ‘How many are there coming? The house is rather small.’

‘Will three be all right?’

‘Yes. What time?’

‘Four.’

‘Right.’

‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye,’ said Jessica, slamming down the phone.

‘Jaysus, Mary and Joseph!’ remarked Sheila Reilly who, in common with the rest of the street, was watching through the parlour window when the jeep drew up outside number 10 and three young lads alighted. ‘They’re scarcely out of nappies.’ Her heart twisted when she thought about their mams, thousands of miles away in America and almost certainly worried sick about their boys. Dominic and Niall and a pile of other kids were hanging starry-eyed around the jeep. Say if the war continued another ten years and they were called up! ‘I couldn’t bear it,’ she whispered.

The driver of the jeep, a young man in his twenties with a fresh open face, was talking to the kids, chaffing them along, and they were all grinning. He handed them a little packet each.

‘I bet that’s gum,’ thought Sheila. ‘I hope they didn’t ask, because I specifically told them not to. The Yanks’ll think we’re all beggars in this country!’

The driver leapt out and said something to three GIs who were standing mournfully on the pavement, and all four started to unload boxes from the back of the jeep.

‘I wonder if that’s the food?’ Sheila’s mouth watered. She’d been eating herself to death since Christmas, mainly butties, as bread was the only thing there was plenty of. The trouble was, food seemed a solace when Calum was away. She already couldn’t fasten the brassiere which Eileen had bought her for Christmas. She watched as the lads returned to unload more boxes. ‘There’s enough there to feed an entire army.’

‘We’ll never eat all this!’ gasped Jessica when every surface of the kitchen was covered with cardboard boxes. She opened one and found an entire leg of pork, already cooked. In another, a piece of ham as big as Major Henningsen’s head. There was a catering-size tin of strawberries, another of cherries, a huge jar of fresh whipped cream, an equally huge fruitcake, boxes of
biscuits
, boxes of fresh fruit; oranges, bananas, pears. ‘And peaches!’ she exclaimed, close to tears. ‘Look, Penny, this is a peach. Doesn’t it feel beautiful?’

‘Everything’s ready to eat,’ said the young man who appeared to be in charge. He’d introduced himself as Sergeant Dale Tooley, and the boys were Gary, Frank and Wayne. ‘There’s potato salad and some fresh greens in one of the boxes. Well, I’ll leave you to it, ma’am. The boys’ll help you set the table.’