Christmas on the Mersey. Annie GrovesЧитать онлайн книгу.
say to get that, I wonder.’ Dolly sounded a bit put out.
Nancy followed her into the back kitchen. ‘I wouldn’t mind, but she was on her last knockings! She must have been at least forty,’ she said with a nod of her pin-curled head.
‘That doesn’t say much for your ancient babysitter, Nance,’ Dolly answered, putting some thinly peeled potatoes into just enough water to cover them. On top of them, in place of a steamer, she put her colander containing diced carrots and peas and covered the whole lot with a tin lid. ‘I just hope that you know what you’re doing, that’s all.’ She would not want to see Nancy getting herself into any kind of trouble.
‘Did you know that the dull surface of a pan absorbs heat more rapidly than a shiny one?’ Dolly asked, changing the subject.
Nancy did not look interested one way or the other. ‘Have you been reading those leaflets you deliver again, Mam?’ she laughed, knowing women of the Home Front, as it was now being called, were being advised on all things domesticated to eke out the rations and save waste.
‘Gert and Daisy mentioned it on the wireless this morning.’
‘I learned everything I know from you, Mam; you could teach the Ministry of Food a thing or two.’
‘We mustn’t waste fuel that is needed for the war industry.’
Dolly knew when she was being soft-soaped. Nancy was always free with the charm and the compliments when she wanted her own way and Dolly knew Nancy could wind her old mother round her little finger. ‘I’m going to start a make-do-and-mend club with Mrs Ashby. Come on now, get out from under my feet. If you’re going out then get going, before I change my mind.’
A dry, strangled sound escaped Rita’s lips when Charlie’s narrowed eyes signalled her to be quiet. He stepped forward, his manner threatening. She knew that this time she had nothing to lose.
Rita was determined she would not let him intimidate her. If he dared to come anywhere near, so help her she would not be responsible for her actions. You can whip a dog only so much before it turns, she thought.
He edged closer.
Her blue-green eyes blazed and her fingernails dug deep into the palm of her hands. She was no longer that meek young girl who had married him back then. So young and terrified of bringing disgrace to Mam and Pop that she had panicked. However, Rita had plenty of time to regret her decision; for over three thousand days she had woken up and regretted her choice. Why couldn’t she have been more like Nancy, who lived each day as if it were her last?
Rita matched his cold stare now, daring him to cross her. The thought of her family gave her courage and she knew if he laid one finger on her this time, she would fight him all the way! Lifting a defiant chin, she could feel cold perspiration break out on the back of her neck as he drew closer.
Charlie’s tread was slow, ominous, his eyes never leaving hers. They were wary of each other now, like two cats after the same mouse. In a trice, he was standing in front of her and, as if in slow motion, she watched him lift his hand. His eyes softened.
For one fleeting moment, her guard was down and Rita thought he was going to caress her cheek. His hand shot to the nape of her thick auburn curls and he gripped them so tight her head was forced back.
‘You will do as you are told.’ He stressed every word. His face was so close to hers she could see white foamy saliva gather in the corner of his mouth. The smell of stale whisky and tobacco fumes on his breath made her stomach heave. ‘And you will like it.’ Awful memories flashed through her mind making her feel soiled. The last time he was like this … The last time …
Rita prayed for the strength to extinguish the sickening gleam of control in his eyes. What did she have to lose? Charlie was taking the children. But in the eyes of the law, he had every right. The realisation hit her with such force she did not care what she did next.
She lifted her hand to strike him but he was faster and his grip was a damn sight stronger. But Rita Kennedy was brought up in the rough, tough streets of Bootle, where a girl had to be able to look after herself. She brought her knee up sharply to his groin and her action was quick and it was effective. He doubled up in pain, clutching at his injured parts.
Shaking her fiery mane free, Rita summoned all her strength, using the full force of her slight frame to push him away. Where she got the strength from she would never know, but the element of surprise was hers now and the shocked and pained expression on Charlie’s face sustained her. She felt triumphant, but her sense of achievement was short-lived when Charlie, gathering himself with a quickness that surprised her – and apparently no longer worried if his mother heard or not – scorned her little triumph.
‘You can take the girl out of the dirt,’ he sneered, ‘but you can’t take the dirt out of the girl.’
‘At least my dirt washes off, Charlie,’ Rita was breathless now with the exertion of her achievement, ‘but yours never will!’ Not for the first time, she wished she had had the courage to walk out on him years ago. But she could never abandon her children and he would never let her take them.
Better now they had somewhere safe to go while she regrouped and decided what to do next. No matter what she thought of Charlie, she believed that deep down he loved his children and she didn’t think he would put them in harm’s way. She had to trust in that – for now at least. She would bide her time. This place where there were people his mother knew should be easy enough to find. Charlie couldn’t hide her children for ever and she would find them, that was for sure. He would never tell her, but she had friends and she had family. They would find a way.
‘Charles! Charles … Look at the time!’ His mother’s screech echoed up the stairs and Rita and Charlie looked at each other, no longer husband and wife, but sworn adversaries.
‘You will pay for your little victory,’ Charlie said, his voice dripping menace as he turned from her with a small suitcase dangling from each hand. In a flash, she was between him and the bedroom door. She rested her back against it.
‘I swear, Charlie, as God is my witness that if any harm comes to those children, you’ll not only have me to reckon with but the whole of the Feeny family. I’ll find my children whether you want me to or not and I’ll make sure that every single person in Empire Street knows what a guttersnipe you are. Everyone will know, from the bakers round the corner to the Sailor’s Rest, that you are a dirty, perverted, lying, cheating bastard. They’ll whisper it as you walk past and soon neither you nor your mother will be able to show your faces in Empire Street again, Charlie. And that’s a promise.’
Rita watched as Charlie’s smug expression turned from one of triumph to something much darker. Her words had hit home, she could see, but she was too slow to anticipate his hand as he struck out at her and she barely felt the sharp corner of the chest of drawers as it sliced into her scalp.
Rita put her hand to her head and felt the warm damp spot where the gash had broken the skin. Blood trickled down her cheek from the wound. Charlie looked over his shoulder as he opened the bedroom door.
‘Dear dear, Rita, what a clumsy woman you are. You should get a plaster on that cut, it looks nasty.’ He shut the door behind him.
Rita was damned if she was going to give Charlie the satisfaction of taking her children away from her without even a goodbye. Despite feeling slightly woozy, she rushed over to the chest of drawers and poured some water from the jug onto her hankie. Dabbing at the cut, she fished out a headscarf from the top drawer and hastily tied it in a turban, the way that women doing their housework often did. Then she hurried to the front bedroom from where she could see Charlie loading up the car. Charlie’s job as an insurance salesman meant that he had one of the few cars in the area – a recent acquisition of which he was tremendously proud – and today it was the only one on Empire Street. She raced out of the bedroom and down the stairs to find Mrs Kennedy bundling the