Beyond a Misty Shore Page 13

  ‘She kept me waiting and then I missed a tram and had to wait,’ Sophie said, taking off her hat and placing it on the dresser and then stooping down gave Bella a hug. Her small daughter looked decidedly mutinous. ‘Have you been a good girl while I’ve been out?’

  Bella scowled at Billy who was immersed in a copy of the Beano he’d borrowed from one of his mates. ‘Billy wouldn’t let me go with him to Charlie Blackley’s house.’

  Behind the comic Billy raised his eyes to the ceiling. He liked Bella but sometimes the way she followed him around embarrassed him, particularly as Charlie, who was almost a year older, had teased him about it.

  ‘I don’t know why you even wanted to go, I don’t like that Charlie. He’s got too much to say for himself, too hard-faced by half. Where’s Emily this afternoon, Bella?’ Lizzie asked, glaring at her youngest son.

  ‘Gone into town with her mam,’ Bella replied, her expression changing as Sophie handed her a new length of ribbon for her hair, which she’d been keeping as a little surprise.

  ‘So, how did you get on with the one who wanted the “afternoon frocks”?’ Maria demanded, grinning.

  ‘She was lovely and you were right, Aunty Lizzie. Those houses are big and it’s a nice area. She has dozens of lengths of material – her sister seems to have been a bit of a hoarder. Her sister’s dead now, as is her brother; she lives there on her own. I’m making her two to start with.’ Sophie smiled a little ruefully. ‘She seems to live in a different world to the rest of us. She goes out “for tea” to friends from the church and has probably never worked in her life.’

  ‘Lucky her! Maybe these friends of hers will want you to make things for them too, Sophie,’ Lizzie mused.

  ‘I hope so. I need all the work I can get if I’m going to try to make a living from dressmaking.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  SOPHIE HAD THE TWO dresses tacked and ready for fitting the following Saturday. She’d worked hard and it hadn’t been easy for she’d had to wait until the evening meal was over before she could commandeer the use of the kitchen table. The new Singer treadle sewing machine that Arthur had ordered and paid for had been delivered on Friday afternoon and now stood in a corner of his room. She wasn’t going to see Mrs Henderson until Sunday afternoon so she would have plenty of time to spend with Miss Foster or ‘Hetty’.

  To her surprise, when she arrived at the house in Laurel Road she found the old lady had a small table set with a starched white lace cloth and pretty flowered china. ‘I thought a nice cup of tea and some scones would be welcome, it’s so bitterly cold today. I do hope we are not in for more snow.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you but there was no need to go to all this trouble,’ Sophie said as she unbuttoned her coat after first unwrapping the two dresses, which she’d carefully parcelled up, first in tissue and then brown paper.

  ‘Nonsense, dear. You are not pressed for time, I hope?’ Hetty Foster carefully poured the tea, indicating that Sophie sit down.

  ‘No, not today.’ She sipped the tea gratefully for it was a bitterly cold afternoon. ‘Do you have any help in the house? I don’t want to sound as if I’m prying but it is a big house.’ And if this room was anything to go by there was an awful lot of dusting to start with, she thought.

  ‘No, poor dear Ada always said that a bit of housework and cooking never hurt anyone and it was a pure waste of money to pay someone to do it,’ Hetty Foster confided.

  ‘Poor dear Ada’ sounded as though she’d been a bit on the mean side, Sophie thought, although she just smiled.

  ‘Of course now a lot of the rooms are closed off. I just use this room, the kitchen, a bedroom and of course the bathroom.’

  The luxury of a proper bathroom, Sophie thought enviously. She’d never lived in a house that had a bathroom with an inside toilet, not even in Peel. The little fishermen’s cottages had had a privy in the yard, just as Lizzie’s house had.

  ‘And now, Sophie, tell me about yourself. Does your husband have work here in Liverpool, is that why you came over to live?’ Hetty offered the plate of scones.

  Sophie shook her head. ‘I’m a widow. Andrew . . . my husband was a fisherman, he . . . he was drowned. I have a daughter, she’s five. Her name is Isabella but we call her Bella. There is very little work on the island so we came here, to my aunt’s house: myself, Bella and my sister Maria. My mother is a widow too, so I couldn’t expect her to keep us all. I had to find work. I have a job as a machinist in a factory that makes overalls but . . . but I always wanted to work for myself. I love sewing and I’m good at it.’ She sipped her tea thoughtfully, wondering if she should broach the subject of hopefully obtaining some custom from Hetty Foster’s friends but decided against it. She didn’t know the old lady well enough.

  Hetty nodded. What a tragedy, she thought. Poor girl, so young to be left with a child to bring up. ‘And does your aunt live nearby?’

  ‘Not too far away, in Harebell Street.’

  As she refilled Sophie’s cup Hetty Foster frowned. Surely those houses were quite small? ‘Does your aunt have a family?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Her eldest son was killed in the war but John came through it without a scratch and there’s Katie and young Billy and she has a lodger. A very nice, middle-aged gentleman, Mr Chatsworth.’

  ‘Goodness, you must be very crowded.’

  Sophie laughed. ‘We are but we manage. That’s one of Aunty Lizzie’s favourite sayings: “We’ll manage”.’ She stood up. ‘Now, I’ll help you to tidy away and wash these dishes and then we’ll get on with the fitting.’

  ‘Oh, leave the dishes, Sophie. I have all evening to see to them. I’m very eager to see how my new dresses are coming along. It’s so long since I had anything new at all.’

  Sophie began to fold back the tissue paper. ‘I think you’ll be pleased with them and I’ll have them finished by next week, so when you next go out to tea you will look very smart indeed.’

  Frank hadn’t mentioned to anyone else his plans to go back to sea, but the more he thought about it the more optimistic he felt. Mingled with the feelings of relief at being able to escape, at least temporarily, from Nora and the Richards family was sadness at the thought that he wouldn’t see Sophie either for weeks, possibly even months. Even though he realised that any brief daily conversations with her were now out of the question, he determined that if and when he got a ship he would go and ask Lizzie if he could see her before he sailed.

  The clerk at the Pool, which was basically an employment exchange for seamen, was not very optimistic. ‘If you’d have been a sparks it would have been easier. Now everyone’s been demobbed, there’s a lot of competition for jobs as waiters and stewards on passenger ships.’

  ‘I’m aware of that but I’m a time-served joiner, not an electrician, so I don’t have much choice. I’ve my Royal Navy experience, but that was as a gunner.’

  ‘Not much call for that now, mate,’ the clerk answered morosely while leafing through a sheaf of papers.

  Frank didn’t reply but waited until at last the man pulled a sheet out from the pile. ‘There’s a vacancy with the Harrison Line but it’s for a very junior deck officer, which basically means it’s just a half a step up from a deck hand. Nothing at all for CP, Blue Funnel, Elder Dempster or Union Castle, and Cunard sail from Southampton now.’

  ‘Where does the Harrison Line go to?’ Frank asked. At least it was something.

  ‘Down to the Canary Islands, then the coast of East Africa, then South Africa and back again. Away three months. Pay’s not great but the weather will be.’

  Three months! Three whole months away from Nora, Frank thought, but it was also three months away from Sophie. ‘I’ll take it.’

  ‘Right, you’ll have to provide your own uniform and get a Discharge Book. You still got your service record and demob papers?’

  Frank nodded.

  ‘Bring them down here and we’ll get all the documentation sorted out.’ The clerk was busy writing something do
wn on the sheet of paper.

  ‘When do they sail?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Tuesday of next week. It’s the City of Exeter; she’s berthed at the Canada dock. Are you married or single?’

  ‘Married, unfortunately,’ Frank replied bitterly.

  ‘Like that is it, mate? Well, you have my sympathies but you’ll need to leave the missus an allotment, it’s the law.’

  Frank nodded with resignation. It would be worth it to be away from Nora even though he knew whatever he left would be spent on drink, cigarettes and cheap cosmetics.

  As he left the building and crossed the cobbled expanse of Man Island, heading for a tram to Park Lane and Greenberg’s, the naval outfitters, his step was lighter than it had been in months. This time next week he would be leaving Liverpool, heading for the warm waters and tropical climate of Africa. Nora could carry on as much as she liked, he couldn’t care less, but he was determined to see Sophie before he left, if only to explain where he was going. There would be no need to explain why he was going. She’d know.

  Lizzie had been expecting him for Martha had informed her of his decision to go back to sea, so when she opened the door late on Sunday evening she wasn’t surprised to see him standing there. Martha had also told her that Frank had no intention of informing Nora until the day before he was due to sail; the new uniform was hanging up behind a bedroom door in Martha’s house. At least there it would stay in pristine condition, she’d remarked, something that wasn’t guaranteed in Nellie’s house. Martha had said she was so relieved that Frank had taken this decision, it wouldn’t solve things but it would certainly help and she was far happier now to see him looking to the future with a bit more hope.

  ‘You’d better come in, Frank. She’s busy with the sewing in the front room but I expect Mr Chatsworth won’t mind the interruption on this occasion.’

  Frank nodded, relieved she hadn’t flatly refused to let him in but wondering how he and Sophie could have any privacy with Arthur Chatsworth in the room, or maybe that was Lizzie’s intention. Still, at least he would get to see Sophie and Lizzie’s house was so overcrowded there was seldom the luxury of privacy.

  Arthur Chatsworth looked questioningly at Sophie when Lizzie knocked and told her that Frank wanted to see her. Sophie’s machining didn’t disturb his reading, in fact he found the dull humming noise quite restful and Sophie didn’t chatter on while she worked; her task seemed to require all her concentration.

  ‘Aunty Lizzie, I don’t know if . . . if it’s wise . . .’ Sophie bit her lip.

  ‘I think you should see him, Sophie, this time, for it will be a while before anyone sees him again,’ Lizzie urged.

  Arthur got to his feet, looking perplexed, wondering what the lad had done now. Was he going somewhere? Was he finally leaving Nora? ‘I’ll go for a walk around the block, give you a few minutes . . .’

  ‘There’s no need for you to go out, Mr Chatsworth, it’s freezing. Come and sit in with us. What he’s got to say won’t take long,’ Lizzie said firmly as she turned and opened the door and beckoned to Frank.

  Frank stepped inside and glanced around. The room was neat and tidy although sparsely furnished but his heart began to beat faster as he looked at Sophie where she sat at the machine. A cloud of some kind of lavender material was spread over the top of the machine and cascaded down, half covering her skirt. She was wearing a jumper in a shade of rose pink that seemed to make her skin glow and her long dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders. He just stared at her for a few seconds, thinking he would carry this image of her with him in his mind for the next three months.

  ‘What is it, Frank?’ she asked quietly. She could see the longing in his eyes but knew there was something else. He must obviously have come to some kind of a decision for her aunt to let him in.

  ‘I came to say goodbye, Sophie. I’m going back to sea. I sail early on Tuesday morning.’

  She was taken aback. ‘You’ve gone back in the Navy?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not the Royal Navy. I’m sailing on the City of Exeter. It’s a cargo ship. I . . . I couldn’t stand it any longer, Sophie. Not being able to even speak to you . . .’

  Sophie pushed aside the lavender wool crêpe of Hetty’s new dress and sighed. ‘Oh, Frank, I . . . I thought it was for the best, for both our sakes, I really did. You know I don’t want to hurt you but . . .’

  He nodded. ‘It probably is, Sophie, but I couldn’t go on living just across the road, having to put up with Nora, and not—’

  ‘So, where are you going to?’ she asked, not wanting the conversation to become bogged down in the futility of their situation.

  ‘Eventually to South Africa. I’ll be away for about three months.’

  ‘It’s a long time,’ she managed to reply, feeling suddenly miserable.

  ‘I didn’t want a short trip. Can I . . . can I write, Sophie? Just something short, a postcard or two? To let you know I’m safe and well.’

  She desperately wanted to say ‘yes’, the seas and oceans of the world could be treacherous, as she knew well, but she shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t think it would be wise, Frank. I’ll hear from your mam how you are getting on. I know you’ll be writing to her now that you’ve patched up your differences.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I will.’ He couldn’t keep the hurt and disappointment from his voice. ‘I . . . love you, Sophie, and I’ll never give up hope that one day . . . one day . . .’

  She felt the tears welling up in her eyes but she fought them back. ‘I know, Frank, and I hope too that one day . . .’ The words caught in her throat.

  Instantly he was beside her and, heedless of the folds of lavender material, he pulled her to her feet and held her. ‘Oh, Sophie! I don’t want to leave you but I have to go . . .’

  For a second she clung to him, and then with an effort she pulled away. ‘Yes, you do, Frank. It’s best this way but . . . but take care of yourself, promise?’

  He smiled down at her ruefully. ‘I promise.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  AS SOPHIE WALKED UP Laurel Road that early April day she thought that at times the last three months seemed to have passed quickly and then at others they had seemed interminably long. Frank was well; she heard via his mother that he was finding life far more bearable now. Martha had even shown her a small snapshot he’d sent of himself and two other crew members taken at the top of Table Mountain. He looked tanned and fit and the sun had lightened his hair. When she’d commented on it, Martha had smiled and said she felt so relieved. It was a weight off her mind, she’d added, that he’d lost that terrible air of dejection, despair and neglect that had seemed to cling to him before he’d sailed.

  Sophie smiled ruefully to herself as she recalled Martha’s comments on the way Nora had acted up on learning of her husband’s imminent and totally unexpected departure. The girl had all but accused Martha of instigating what she chose to regard as Frank’s desertion of her. Martha’s reply had been cutting and to the point. Everyone knew Frank couldn’t stand the sight of Nora so it was only natural that he’d wanted to put a couple of thousand miles of ocean between them, and he wasn’t ‘deserting’ her. She should be very grateful that he was leaving her an allotment, for if she’d had her way Nora wouldn’t have got a brass farthing to waste on drink, cigarettes and the cheap tat she wore. And Nora certainly didn’t stay in pining for Frank. She was always going out, ‘dolled up to the nines’ like the cheap trollop she was, Martha had remarked cuttingly.

  In the time he had been away Sophie herself had become very busy. Two of Hetty Foster’s friends from the church had ordered dresses and Hetty herself had decided she needed a new coat and then a new costume for Easter. Arthur had urged her to place another advertisement, for, as he’d pointed out, she couldn’t rely totally on Hetty Foster and her friends for business. As she’d expected, Mrs Henderson hadn’t ordered anything further.

  The response to her second advert had been very encouraging, probably due to the better we
ather, and the fact that not only was there still not much choice in the shops but Sophie’s prices were very ‘affordable’, as Lizzie had remarked. She was in fact having difficulty in coping with the orders and had been forced to stay up well after midnight each night for the past two weeks. She had at last concurred with Arthur and Lizzie that it was time to give in her notice at Marsden’s.

  What was troubling her now was finding suitable lodgings for the amounts of material, trimmings and garments in various stages of completion that had taken over most of her aunt’s house – so much so that Uncle Jim had been heard to comment that it was like living in a dress shop. She needed two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room plus a room suitable for cutting out, sewing and fittings and so far she hadn’t been able to find anything.

  Hetty had the table set and the tea made. It was a ritual now and one the old lady looked forward to. Sophie was only bringing back a dress for which she’d made a new collar and cuffs, for Hetty felt she had enough new clothes to last her for years, but they had become friends and Sophie rarely missed her Saturday afternoon visit, even though at times it was very brief. On a couple of occasions Maria had accompanied her and once she had taken Bella as Hetty had asked to meet the child, declaring her to be the prettiest little thing she’d ever seen. Sophie had been on tenterhooks lest Bella, who was naturally curious, had broken something, but Bella had been on her best behaviour, most probably overawed by her surroundings.

  ‘Is it to be a brief visit, Sophie? You look tired, you’re working too hard, dear,’ Hetty chided, noting the dark circles under Sophie’s eyes.

  ‘I have been staying up very late to get things finished on time, but I gave in my notice yesterday, so I’ll have more time after next week.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. You are so gifted that you deserve all your success,’ Hetty beamed, passing over a china cup and saucer.