Beyond a Misty Shore Read online

  ‘Of course. I’ll be pleased to show you them,’ she’d replied.

  When Sophie reached Dodd’s corner shop she didn’t stop to chat, she just waved to Maggie who was sweeping the floor, the rush of the day now over. Thanks to Mr Phillips the dresses were coming along well. Maria had got the materials – she’d even managed to get a bit of a discount too – and she and Katie had worked hard, pinning and tacking. Sophie had done the cutting out herself and after a few mishaps Katie had soon mastered the tacking.

  Aunty Lizzie had been astonished by their expertise, especially by that of Katie who she declared had never threaded a needle in her life before, and she kept up a constant stream of conversation while they worked. Sophie smiled to herself. Maria said it would give you a headache listening to her, but Maria didn’t have to work all day in the sewing room at Marsden’s, that really did give you a headache.

  Her reverie was interrupted by shouts and laughter and she caught sight of a group of children, who appeared to be dragging a large piece of wood towards the bombsite where she could dimly make out a growing pile of other rubbish. She frowned. If Billy and Bella and Emily Taylor were amongst them she’d certainly have something to say to all of them – and Aunty Lizzie as well. They shouldn’t be still out at this time and they’d be filthy dirty too.

  She turned off the pavement and quickened her steps, peering into the gloom, trying to see if Bella was with them, and so didn’t see the small pile of blackened bricks until she tripped over them. She fell sprawling, dropping both her bag and the parcel and uttering a cry of pain.

  ‘Oh, damn!’ she exclaimed, realising she’d grazed both her shins and her hands.

  ‘Are you all right? That was quite a fall. Here, let me help you up.’

  Sophie looked up into a pair of brown eyes that were full of concern and then a strong arm was around her, helping her to her feet. ‘Thank you. I’m fine, just a few grazes I think.’

  He retrieved her bag and the parcel as she examined her ruined stockings and tried to brush some of the dirt from her coat.

  ‘You’re Frank Ryan, aren’t you? Aunty Lizzie pointed you out to me.’

  He nodded and smiled at her. ‘That’s me, the neighborhood pariah, and you’re Sophie Teare. I’ve seen you a few times going in and out of Lizzie’s. You’re sure you aren’t hurt?’

  She smiled back at him. You couldn’t help but like him, she thought. He was tall and quite well built with dark auburn hair, brown eyes and pleasant features. In fact she thought he was quite handsome. ‘No, I’m just a bit shaken up. I saw those kids and wanted to see if Bella and her friend Emily Taylor were with them and I tripped over some bricks.’

  ‘Lucky I was only a few steps behind you then.’ He looked across to where the little group was now adding the wood to the pile. ‘They’re building a bonfire for Guy Fawkes’ Night.’

  ‘Is that what they’re at,’ she replied as they both walked back towards the road. He’d handed back her bag but he was carrying the parcel.

  ‘We always had a big bonfire in our street and fireworks on November fifth, before the war. Us lads spent weeks begging and . . . er . . . “purloining” stuff to build it.’ He smiled ruefully, remembering his carefree childhood. ‘There haven’t been either bonfires or fireworks for the past six years so the kids are enjoying themselves.’

  ‘I expect there were quite enough “bonfires” and “fireworks” during that time in this city for most people to contend with.’

  He nodded grimly. ‘There were indeed.’

  They walked for a little while in silence and then Sophie turned to him. ‘I heard you were in the Royal Navy.’

  ‘I was. I was with Johnny Walker’s lot, God rest him. He was a fine captain.’

  Sophie didn’t miss the note of pride mingled with sadness in his voice. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Died of a heart attack, but he was a casualty of the war just the same. He was a young man but he never stopped to rest, never spared himself. We were known as the “hunter-killers” and German U-boat captains hated and feared us – with good cause.’

  Sophie nodded, a pang of grief tugging at her heart. ‘You sank submarines?’

  ‘We did, scores of them, and took pride in doing it. They’d sent too many good ships and fine men to the bottom of the Atlantic.’

  ‘They killed my husband too. He was a fisherman and the boat was dragged down by its nets. He went out one evening in June three years ago and . . . and never came back. The weather was fine, there was no wind, and U-boats had been spotted just north of where the Girl Sophie was last seen. There was no other explanation.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said sincerely.

  ‘Oh, there were some folk who said it could possibly have been an accident. That the U-boat’s crew might not have realised the nets were caught in the rigging or on the conning tower . . .’

  He shook his head. ‘They’d have known. They had sonar and they’d done it before, off the Scottish coast.’ He felt sorry for her. She was young to be left a widow with a child to bring up, but then there were thousands like her now. ‘Was the boat named after you?’ he asked to try to lighten the conversation. He certainly wasn’t in any rush to get home. He hated having to return to that house every night.

  ‘No. Andrew didn’t own the boat. It was just coincidence. Mr Austin Quirk owned it and his wife was called Sophie too.’

  ‘I thought most skippers owned their boats. I presume your husband was a skipper?’

  She smiled and nodded. She instinctively felt he understood, having been in the Navy, and she felt a sort of gratitude that he’d been instrumental in the destruction of the U-boats. ‘He was. He felt it was just as important to try to keep food on people’s tables as to join up.’

  ‘It was and just as dangerous, as sadly you both found out.’ They’d reached the bottom of Harebell Street and he slowed his steps even further. He’d much sooner stay talking to her than face Nora and her slovenly mother. Bertie Richards would still be in the pub.

  Despite the fact that she wanted to get home and bathe the cuts, which were now smarting painfully, and have a cup of tea to steady her, Sophie remembered that there would be no warm welcome or decent meal waiting for him. She sighed; he seemed so kind and patient. ‘The Manx system is different to others, I think. The catch is divided into shares between the owner of the boat, the owner of the nets, the skipper and the hands. It’s a fairer way of doing it because it means the skipper and the hands can earn more. Oh, the owners and net owners can make a fortune, they have shares in lots of boats, but it does mean that a good skipper is a real asset and is usually well treated. They all work together; it’s in everyone’s interest. The skippers always inform each other of the whereabouts of the herring shoals, no one would speak to them if they didn’t.’

  ‘Your Uncle Jim gave it up to come here to work, didn’t he?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘Mam said he couldn’t stand all the superstition that went with it.’ She managed a little laugh. ‘Manx people are very superstitious, especially fishermen.’

  He smiled down at her. She was a very attractive young woman, he thought. Not as strikingly lovely as her younger sister but more what people called a ‘classical’ beauty.

  ‘What do you do now, for a job?’ Sophie asked. She’d noticed the overalls beneath his jacket.

  ‘I’m a joiner. I’d just finished serving my time when war broke out.’

  They had finally reached Lizzie’s house and Sophie stopped. ‘Here we are. Thank you, Frank, for helping me and . . . and I’ve enjoyed talking to you.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed your company too, Sophie.’ He hesitated a little. ‘I walk home from the tram each night about this time. Maybe I’ll see you again?’

  ‘Perhaps, Frank. Well, goodnight.’

  Reluctantly he turned away and crossed the road, feeling more miserable and frustrated than ever. He liked Sophie Teare very much and he made up his mind to try to see her again as she walked home. He’d
even wait by the tram stop for her.

  ‘In the name of God, what happened to you?’ Lizzie cried as Sophie came into the kitchen. Sophie was relieved to see that Bella and Emily were sitting at the table, heads bent over a book.

  ‘I fell over some bricks on the bombsite. I saw some kids and thought these two were with them. They were building a bonfire for Guy Fawkes’ Night.’

  Lizzie tutted. ‘Sit down while I find the Dettol. We’d better clean those grazes or they’ll turn septic.’

  Sophie nodded. ‘I’d sooner have a cup of tea first, Aunty Lizzie.’

  ‘You’ll not get much sewing done tonight with those hands,’ Maria commented, examining the palms of her sister’s hands.

  ‘I won’t have to if you and Katie can finish tacking Bella’s dress. I can get it machined in my break tomorrow. I managed to get most of Aunty Lizzie’s and yours done today. Do you think you can manage the hems? These cuts should be much better by tomorrow.’

  Maria nodded. ‘We’re well on the way to having them ready by Bonfire Night. I hope it won’t be really freezing, I don’t want to have to wear a cardigan or worse still a jacket over mine. I’ve seen a lovely pair of earrings at work that will set it off and they don’t cost a small fortune.’

  ‘Those glittery black ones we were looking at today?’ Katie queried. They’d spent their lunch break searching for cheap but smart accessories. Maria’s dress was of scarlet material (what kind neither of them was really sure), and hers was of emerald green and royal blue check. They were two colours that Maria said really suited her and she was delighted with it, even though it wasn’t quite finished.

  Maria nodded. ‘I’ll put my hair up, that way it might not go too frizzy.’

  ‘It’s never frizzy! It’s always gorgeous,’ Katie enthused, wishing her own hair curled like her cousin’s. Maybe Maria would put her hair up for her; she had a way with things like that.

  ‘Will the pair of you give poor Sophie a few minutes’ peace, for heaven’s sake! Maria, get her a cup of tea while I see to these cuts and Katie, you’d better start dishing out that scouse, your da and John will be in any minute now. Emily, luv, I think it’s time you went home for your tea too. Your mam won’t be very happy if she has to keep it warm for you,’ Lizzie instructed as she bustled about with the Dettol and a pad of cotton wool.

  Sophie sipped her tea thankfully and said no more. She had the distinct feeling that she shouldn’t mention Frank Ryan or the fact that he’d helped her up and walked home with her.

  Chapter Six

  OVER THE NEXT COUPLE of weeks Sophie walked home with Frank Ryan most nights. If she was a little later leaving work she found him waiting patiently in the cold for her to alight from the tram. He was pleasant and she found it easy to talk to him; her liking for him grew steadily.

  They talked mainly about her. He asked her all about the island, her childhood, what life had been like before and during the war and in turn he told about growing up here in Harebell Street, his school friends and his time in the Navy, but the party was nearly upon them before she finally plucked up courage to ask him about Nora.

  He frowned, thrusting his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket. He’d known that sooner or later she would ask. Any other girl would have questioned him long before now, he thought, but that was not Sophie’s way. She had more tact and sensitivity.

  ‘I was young and stupid. I fell for her in a big way, even though I’d grown up with her and knew the kind of family she came from. One day I looked at her and she . . . she just seemed different. Oh, Mam was furious and so was Da, but I was pig-headed and stubborn, I wouldn’t listen – at least, not at first. But then things . . . things started to change. I still don’t know why I changed my mind about her but I did. I suddenly began to notice how . . . coarse and brassy she looked and how loud and bad mannered she was. She’d bleached her hair and wore too much make-up and she drowned herself in cheap scent.’ He paused. It was painful and humiliating but no doubt she’d heard both his mother’s and Lizzie’s version of events. ‘I wasn’t even sure if she was being truthful when she swore she loved me and only me. There had been a couple of rumours but I’d refused to believe them. When war was declared, I joined the Navy. I thought that it would all sort of . . . fizzle out, but then I found it was too late. I had to pay for my mistakes. She said she was expecting so I did the decent thing and married her, even though I then found that . . .’

  Sophie listened in silence to his words but she realised how much it was costing him to tell her all this. She laid a hand on his arm. ‘Frank, you don’t have to go on. Everything . . . else . . . is between you and Nora. I got the general idea of the whole terrible situation from Aunty Lizzie.’

  He nodded, but he was determined to tell her everything. ‘I bet you did, but you may not know that Nora told me a pack of lies to trap me into marrying her. She said she’d made a mistake; that she’d honestly believed she was and had panicked, and only discovered she wasn’t pregnant after the wedding. I didn’t believe her and after that things just got worse between us, and while I was away she—’

  ‘I know all about that too and I’m so sorry,’ she interrupted. ‘Is there really nothing at all that you can do? Life must be—’

  ‘Pure hell!’ he cut in bitterly. ‘I made a mistake, Sophie. A big mistake, but I’ll just have to live with it.’

  ‘I really am so sorry, Frank,’ she said, and she meant it.

  ‘I suppose you think I’m a fool?’

  She shook her head vehemently. ‘No. You did make a mistake, but no one goes through life without doing that. You were lied to, trapped into marriage, betrayed and . . . and haven’t much of a future now, but I think it takes a great deal of courage to go on paying for that mistake to spare your parents more shame.’

  He turned his head away so she wouldn’t see the tears that sprang to his eyes. She was the first person who had tried to understand. She didn’t condemn him or think any the worse of him; she’d even praised his courage – and it did take courage to go on day after day, month after month living a life that was so completely hateful to him. In that moment he knew that what he felt for Sophie Teare was the love and deep affection he’d thought he felt for Nora, and he was tied for ever to Nora. Nora who was everything Sophie Teare was not. He prayed that he could find the courage to live with the reality now.

  It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Sophie and Frank were becoming increasingly friendly. Lizzie had been informed of the fact that they walked home together each night by Mary Seddon when she had been in Maggie Dodd’s shop and the news hadn’t pleased her one bit. She’d passed the information on to Jim who had cautioned her not to say too much on the subject.

  ‘It’s for her own good, Jim. She’ll get talked about, you know what people are like.’

  ‘Sophie is no fool, Lizzie. She’s fully aware that he’s a married man.’

  ‘And look what he’s married to! I don’t want her being associated in any way with that lot, she’s a decent girl.’

  Jim had sighed. ‘I’ll have a word with her, Lizzie, but we can’t stop her just talking to him on the way home.’

  ‘I wish you would, Jim, she might take notice of you and she’s got to think of Maria’s reputation too. We don’t want people gossiping and speculating about either of them.’

  Jim had pointed out to Sophie that people had begun to talk.

  She had expected it; she’d seen the curtains twitching. ‘But I just chat to him, Uncle Jim, I know full well he’s married. He’s lonely; everyone shuns him, even his own mother, and his life is far from easy.’

  ‘I agree, Sophie, but the women around here do gossip,’ he replied.

  ‘Then it’s a pity they haven’t got more to occupy them than to be criticising me for just being friendly! I think he’s a nice, decent man who just made a mistake.’

  He’d nodded. She’d hit the nail exactly on the head but her attitude wouldn’t please either his wife or Martha Ryan.

>   Fortunately for Sophie both women were becoming fully occupied with the preparations for the forthcoming party and Sophie herself was desperately trying to finish the last new dress, which was her own, so the matter wasn’t referred to again.

  Despite the rationing, tins of corned beef, Spam, pears and even pineapple chunks materialised, which had been acquired either from the departing American troops or from a broken crate on the dockside. Such damaged goods had always been regarded as the dockers’

  ‘perks’ and the foremen and the dock police usually turned a blind eye, unless greed took over and the thefts became too large and too blatantly obvious to ignore.

  The red, white and blue bunting was got out again and strung up, and the Caldwell girls, with the help of Katie and Maria, had made a huge banner with the words ‘Welcome Home Our Brave Boys’ in black letters, which was also hung across the street. All the younger children were terribly excited and ran up and down the road and in and out of everyone’s houses until they were chased out by their mothers with dire threats of ‘no cake or jelly unless you behave’.

  Bella was particularly over-excited for not only had she never been to such a big party before but she had a new dress too, and Aunty Maria had bought her a length of red velvet ribbon for her hair. It matched her dress, which was by far the nicest she’d ever had. Mam had unpicked one of scarlet velvet that she’d bought in a second-hand shop; the frock was unsuitable but she’d said the material was perfect and of good quality and had made a dress for her from it. It had long sleeves with lacy cuffs so she wouldn’t be cold, a white lace collar, a full skirt and a wide sash. Emily had said she’d never seen anything as grand in her life. Bella would look like a princess, she’d said enviously. Mam had polished her black shoes until they shone and the red ribbon matched the dress perfectly.