‘A thrupenny bit is all I’ve got – you won’t get a penny more.’ Danny brought a handful of loose coppers from the pocket of his heavy corduroy trousers and handed the little coin to his brother.
‘I suppose that’ll have to do.’ Tommy, though careful not to sound eager, was satisfied. He only wanted three pence in the first place. And even though their Danny was generous to a fault, Tommy was surprised at the ease with which he got it.
‘Here, you little Shylock.’ Danny handed Tommy a twelve-sided copper coin. ‘Here’s your pound of flesh.’ After Tommy’s hospital scare last Christmas, Danny and Kitty didn’t want him evacuated again. Not since he had walked all the way home from Southport and arrived half dead, then collapsed in the yard from diphtheria. Only the Good Lord knew how Tommy had managed the journey.
‘I’ve got enough for a Comic Cuts and a Dandy – if they’ve got any in the shop.’ Tommy laughed and ducked as Danny flicked the back of his hand towards his ear, deliberately missing; nobody ever laid a hand on Tommy in this house.
‘Who’s this Shylock, then?’ Tommy asked, leaning on the doorframe while shoving the coin down one of his grey, concertinaed socks, knowing he had holes in the pocket of his knee-length woollen trousers due to carrying all the treasures their Kitty called rubbish, like his peashooter and his catapult, and odd bits of shrapnel, which were a bit of a curse because the sharp bits ripped your pockets.
‘Shylock’s a character in some posh play called The Merchant of Venice and was written by a bloke called William Shakespeare.’ Danny spoke with some authority and Tommy was transfixed. He looked up to his older brother, who was dead clever. If Danny said something was right then Tommy believed him.
‘If you ever go back to school – when the teachers come back from evacuation – you can tell them your big brother taught you that. Oh, and by the way, Shylock was a moneylender.’ Danny looked very pleased with himself.
‘Like you, Dan?’ Tommy said innocently, knowing his brother loaned money to people in need – and he charged less interest than Mrs Kennedy. He was great, their Danny.
Kitty gave an exaggerated look of surprise that Tommy should know such things. Danny shook his head, laughing now and eager to change the subject. ‘I read that in a magazine when I went to the doctor’s about me chest.’ He did not tell them he had been for one of his regular check-ups to see the heart doctor at the Royal Infirmary in town. Kitty had enough on her plate worrying about Tommy. However, Danny did have a few worries, too. Alfie Delaney was still poking around trying to get him to take the medical examinations for ‘businessmen’ who had the wherewithal but wanted to duck out of military service. Danny did not want to go anywhere near that caper. That was fraud and it was immoral. Danny believed in fighting for your country and not trying to dodge your duty when other men were dying for what they believed in.
Tommy knew school was never high on the list of family priorities when times were hard, their Kitty had told him often enough, not when a few earned coppers here and there were more important to their survival. Danny’s ability to make money and the money that Jack gave them had seen them all through many hard times.
‘Listen, Tom,’ Danny said, pointing his finger in the little fella’s direction, hardly able to suppress his amused grin, ‘I know a lot of stuff, and I’ll tell you this for nothing: I won’t always be poor either. People will look up to me one day.’
‘Just as long as it’s not the bottom of your feet,’ Kitty said, knowing their Danny was not averse to the odd not-strictly-legal skirmish.
‘O ye of little faith …’ Danny scoffed as he headed back towards the lobby.
‘Does she have to stare at me like I’ve grown another head?’ Charlie Kennedy sat in his usual seat at the table facing the bay window of number thirteen Sandy Avenue, so he could keep his eye on the long tree-lined thoroughfare. He didn’t trust his mother to keep his address secret. If Rita turned up here it would not be good news.
He was addressing Elsie Lowe, landlady of the boarding house his mother owned, though this was something Winnie chose to keep to herself.
The younger woman, Elsie’s constant companion, stared at him, her gaze steady and impenetrable. He wriggled under the doll-like stare. Charlie never used Ruby’s name and acknowledged her even less. She was nothing to him. Elsie, on the other hand, was a good sport and far more accommodating in every way than Rita had ever been.
Charlie found it hard to decide how old Ruby was. She could be anywhere between fifteen and forty years old. She said little – answering any questions with just a nod or the shake of her head – unless the children spoke to her and then she was quite chatty.
‘Ruby’s not used to you, that’s all.’ Elsie, a well-preserved and attractive woman who was cagey about her own age, gave the young woman a wide, reassuring smile. ‘She takes a while to get used to strangers. She’ll come around, you’ll see.’ Ruby was not Elsie’s daughter but the older woman had reared her from a baby.
No matter. Charlie’s only concern was Rita; he didn’t want her ever to find out this address or his whereabouts. He was doing everything he possibly could to dodge being called up for duty. He was thinking of writing to the authorities saying he was a conscientious objector and he expected to attend a tribunal or somesuch. He did not intend to be killed fighting.
If Rita knew where he was staying she would shop him as soon as possible. However, he had heard that if a woman had children under fourteen she was exempt from war work. Maybe the law was the same for the fathers. He was not going to go to the trouble of finding out. No point in stirring up questions for himself. To the neighbours he was in a reserved occupation, which could not be talked about – job done.
He had taken a transfer to the insurance office in Southport. They hadn’t asked any questions; with the war, staff were thin on the ground and the insurance business was booming.
He didn’t want Rita mooching around sticking her neb in and causing net curtains to flutter. That nosy old bat next door was always on the lookout for a bit of gossip, too. People like her looked innocent enough but who knew what they did with the information?
He did not miss Rita one bit – why should he when he had Elsie to keep his cockles warm?
The first couple of years with Rita had been good. Well, he hadn’t known her sneaky ways then, had he? But Ma saw them straight away. Watch her, she’ll take you for every penny.
He did watch her from then on and he did not like what he saw. Rita was too fond of nipping into her mother’s next door. He’d hear them laughing over the wall and his blood would boil – sure they were laughing at him. His mother had been right all along when she said Rita was no good.
The children were settling in well. Well, Michael was. Megan would take a little longer. She still cried for her mother at night but taking a tough hand was the way to go. No sense in mollycoddling the children. Rita had done too much of that already and spoiled them. He’d written to his mother and told her that he had enrolled them at the local school where there were other evacuated children and they were making friends. Perhaps he would – but not now, he didn’t want any nosey parkers prying into his private affairs.
Yes, Charlie thought. This was going to work out just fine. He went back to watching the street and tried to ignore Ruby, still directing her inscrutable gaze in his direction.
‘Roast beef?’ Winnie Kennedy gave a false laugh, her voice overloud as Sarah Feeny walked into the corner shop. ‘You’ll be lucky, Vera! Don’t you know there’s a war on? We’ve not had roast beef in here for weeks …’
Sarah did not fail to notice Mrs Kennedy thrust something that looked suspiciously like a large joint of roast beef under the counter, and it was obvious by Vera Delaney’s shifty appearance that they had been discussing something they did not want made public.
‘Oh, hello, Sarah love, how’s your