Love Letters in the Sand Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  A Selection of Recent Titles by June Francis

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A Selection of Recent Titles by June Francis

  IT HAD TO BE YOU

  SUNSHINE AND SHOWERS

  PIRATE’S DAUGHTER, REBEL WIFE

  THE UNCONVENTIONAL MAIDEN

  MAN BEHIND THE FAÇADE

  MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS *

  IT’S NOW OR NEVER *

  LOVE LETTERS IN THE SAND *

  * available from Severn House

  LOVE LETTERS IN THE SAND

  June Francis

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published 2015

  in Great Britain and the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2015 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2015 by June Francis.

  The right of June Francis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Francis, June, 1941- author.

  Love letters in the sand.

  1. Man-woman relationships–Fiction. 2. Liverpool

  (England)–Social life and customs–20th century–

  Fiction.

  I. Title

  823.9’14-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8487-9 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-593-3 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-644-1 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,

  Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  Prologue

  July 1957

  She was going to die! Panic threatened to choke her and her head felt as if it were about to explode. If she tried to take a breath, her lungs would fill with water. A voice in her head cried, ‘Don’t give up! Keep going!’

  But it was such a struggle and her arms felt like chunks of lead as she fought to raise her upper body above the surface of the water. At last she managed to gasp some air, only to choke on seawater. Her head went under again and strands of sodden hair clung to her face like ribbons of seaweed.

  Frantically she attempted to claw it away and break the surface once more. The saltiness of the water stung her eyes so she could hardly see. She had lost all sense of direction. Where was the beach? The horizon? The sandbank? Was she imagining her mother’s voice yelling, ‘You stupid bloody fool, this isn’t the time to play the hero!’

  Irene went under again and this time her terror was so paralysing that she could not move her arms or legs. Then she felt a tug on the back of her bathing costume and hope soared inside her. But almost straightaway, it struck her that the someone who had come to her rescue was having difficulty lifting her. Was that because her swimsuit just soaked up water? Why couldn’t her mother have bought her one of those new bikinis instead of this old thing? It was going to drag them both down!

  Then with a mighty heave and a noise like a plunger in a blocked sink, she was sucked up and her head broke the surface. She recognized the face of her stepfather, although she could not see him clearly. Then his expression altered and his normally cheerful fat face convulsed and it was obvious he was having trouble breathing. She cried out to him and it was now her turn to try to keep him afloat.

  Oh my God, St Jude and Our Lord, she prayed as he began to sink, dragging her down with him. She wanted to believe it was only a dream. Then she felt a stinging tug at her scalp and she was being hauled to the surface once more. Frantically she tried to hold on to her stepfather but to her horror he slipped from her grip.

  She could breathe again. She was flipped over on to her back and she felt herself being towed. ‘Make an effort, love,’ an unfamiliar Scouse voice panted. She wanted to say I’m trying! but speaking was too difficult.

  At last they reached the shallows and her feet scrabbled to get a grip. Waves lapped her goose-pimpled thighs and her curling toes gripped the wet sand. She collapsed on top of him. For several moments they just lay there, panting. Then he pushed her off him and she rolled on to the sand. It took an effort for her to turn her head but she had to see this man who had saved her life. Her eyes were sore from the seawater and his face was blurry and indistinct, but she could tell he was staring straight at her.

  Then abruptly he heaved himself on to all fours and water trickled from his half-naked body into the sand. ‘Think twice before you do anything so stupid again,’ he rasped. ‘You don’t take risks with the currents and tide here!’

  ‘But I saw a child with a dog on the sandbank and I knew there were patches of soft black sand between the channels and the tide had turned.’ In her head the words had sounded loud but in reality they were slurred and barely above a whisper. And her rescuer seemed to vanish from sight.

  Then, from a long way off, she heard her mother’s voice ringing out. ‘Where’s Terence?’

  Irene could only shake her head and weep.

  ‘Yer bloody fool, do you realize what yer stupidity has cost us? Yer should have kept yer eye on the tide,’ her mother screamed.

  It was true. The tide had washed away the castle Irene had been helping the orphan children to build the day before, and gone too were the love letters written in the sand by her friends Pete Marshall and Peggy McGrath. The tide was also to wash up her stepfather’s body further along the Lancashire coast the next day and Irene’s life was never to be the same again.

  One

  December 1957

  ‘Are you deaf, girl?’ cried an exasperated voice, shaking Irene’s shoulder. ‘Time yer were up! I’ve got to go out and I want yer to do something for me while yer still here.’

  Irene Miller lifted her head from the pillow and blinked up at her mother. For a mo
ment she could only stare at her and then she groaned. ‘I dreamed I was drowning again.’

  Maisie’s lips tightened. ‘It’s God’s punishment on yer. Yer could have been responsible for that young man’s death as well as my Terence’s because of yer daftness. Although who he was we’ll probably never know. He didn’t stop around to be thanked.’

  Irene flinched, thinking how many times she had heard those words before. Her mother’s accusations were the last thing she needed. Her guilt was punishment enough. ‘I wish I could have thanked that young man. But you’re not being fair, Mam. I’m a good swimmer and I’d always been told it was safe swimming in the sea when the tide was coming in. Besides, there really was a child on that sandbank playing with a dog.’

  ‘Well, if yer were telling the truth, girl, then yer should have mentioned it to one of the lads and let them go.’

  ‘I was already in the sea and thought it would be quicker if I went to warn her of the danger.’ Irene flung back the bedclothes and climbed out of bed.

  ‘There were no reports of a missing child, so someone must have been keeping their eye on her or she had the sense to head for shore,’ said Maisie. ‘If you’d done the same thing, Terence would still be here.’

  ‘I’ve said before dozens of times and I’ll say it again,’ said Irene emphatically, ‘I’m really, really sorry Uncle Terence died. He was a lovely man and a real hero. If it hadn’t been for him keeping me afloat that bit longer, that bloke would never have been able to save me.’

  Maisie sat abruptly on the pink candlewick bedspread. ‘But it was all too much for Terence at his age! My husband gave his life for you!’ Her mother’s tone, once again, indicated she did not believe her daughter worthy of such a gift, though had her brother Jimmy been in her position she wondered if her mother would have felt differently. Jimmy had always been their mother’s favourite.

  Irene removed and folded her flower-sprigged flannelette pyjama top before popping it under her pillow. ‘Do we have to go over this again?’ she said wearily. ‘Although he’d retired, Uncle Terence was a policeman to his very core and still saw it as his duty to rescue people. That it happened to be me in difficulty that time was just one of those things.’

  ‘You should have thought twice before behaving like you were that girl who went to the rescue of those people who were shipwrecked years ago.’

  ‘You mean Grace Darling,’ muttered Irene, who had not thought anything of the sort at the time.

  ‘The last thing I wanted was to be widowed again. It was bad enough losing yer dad in the war.’ Maisie rose to her feet and went over to the dressing table to gaze at her reflection in the oval mirror. ‘I like a man about the place,’ she chunnered on. ‘And I can’t see our Jimmy staying around much longer. I suspect he’s got a girl but is keeping quiet about her.’

  Irene froze. ‘What makes you say that?’

  Maisie whirled round and stared at her only daughter. ‘I’m not daft! Our Jimmy never used to bother with Brylcreem until recently.’

  Irene swallowed a laugh. ‘That’s not much to go on! The group are being asked to play at more functions these days and he doesn’t want his hair flopping about. They’ll be playing at the Gianellis’ New Year’s Eve party tomorrow. You’re still going, aren’t you?’ She reached for her flesh-coloured brassiere.

  ‘I don’t know. I mightn’t be in the mood,’ Maisie muttered.

  Irene stared at her and suddenly noticed something that she should have been aware of earlier. ‘You’ve put off your blacks!’

  ‘And what if I have?’ Maisie snapped. ‘Black really isn’t me colour. It leeches the roses from me cheeks. Besides, it’s time I saw a bit of life again. I’m only thirty-nine. I need to start making the best of meself. Terence wouldn’t have expected me to mourn forever.’

  Forever! Irene thought cynically that it wasn’t even six months since Terence had drowned and, despite the fact that theirs had been a marriage of convenience, her mother had certainly played the part of the grieving widow for all it was worth. Yet suddenly now here she was talking about moving on and starting over.

  Irene felt uneasy as she fastened her bra and put on her vest. Was her mother thinking of marrying again? She considered Maisie to be a good-looking woman for her age – she had more or less kept her figure and she had no grey in her hair. It was only when she opened her mouth that the first impression was spoilt.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ asked Irene. ‘What bit of life d’you want to see?’

  Maisie did not reply but headed for the door. ‘Don’t forget to wash the back kitchen floor for me.’

  ‘I won’t forget, but I was planning on going into town early,’ said Irene, taking a clean pair of knickers from a drawer. ‘I’ve only got two days in lieu.’

  ‘I’m not asking much of yer,’ snapped Maisie. ‘I am yer mother and since I brought yer up almost single-handed, you ought to show a bit of gratitude, girl.’ She hurried from the bedroom.

  Irene pulled on a jumper and went after her. ‘When will you be back?’ she called down the stairs. ‘Where are you going so early?’

  ‘Ask no questions and yer’ll get told no lies,’ retorted Maisie from the lobby as she shrugged on a maroon, fur-collared coat.

  ‘I’d never get to know anything if I didn’t ask,’ said Irene. ‘I don’t know why you have to be so secretive all of a sudden, Mam.’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ Maisie muttered. ‘And don’t forget I want the back kitchen floor scrubbed on yer hands and knees! Don’t yer be just wiping the tiles over with the mop.’

  Irene sighed and gazed after her mother’s retreating figure as she slammed the front door behind her.

  Jimmy appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing navy blue trousers and a thick navy blue sweater. ‘Will you be long?’ he called upstairs.

  ‘No! That was Mam going out. Did she mention to you where she was going?’

  ‘No. Didn’t ask. Will you hurry up? I don’t want to be late,’ Jimmy replied.

  Irene returned to her bedroom and finished getting ready. She combed her blonde hair and tied it in a ponytail before hurrying downstairs. As she passed through the kitchen, she asked Jimmy to pour her a cup of tea. He opened his mouth to speak but changed his mind as she whizzed into the back kitchen.

  She ran the cold tap and reached for the block of Lux toilet soap and washed her face, neck and hands. She wished they had a bathroom like the one in her stepbrother Billy’s modern house in Formby, but chance would be a fine thing.

  She dried herself on a clean towel before returning to the kitchen. ‘Have you noticed Mam’s stopped wearing black? She said she wanted to see a bit of life and make the best of herself. I think it’s because she’ll be forty next birthday.’

  Jimmy grinned. ‘Who does she think she’s kidding? She was thirty-nine three years ago. What is it with women and reaching forty?’

  ‘The same as with men, I suppose,’ said Irene moodily, sitting down at the table and reaching for the bread knife. She cut herself a slice from the loaf. ‘Anyway, are you almost ready to leave?’

  ‘Of course I am, you ninny, otherwise I wouldn’t be wanting you to get a move on. Are you sure you want to go into town this early?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Irene firmly. ‘I don’t want to miss out on getting tickets for the pantomime at the Empire next week. “Cinderella” was great last year.’

  ‘OK, as long as you’re ready to leave in ten minutes,’ said Jimmy, taking a comb from his pocket and reaching for the jar of Brylcreem in the sideboard cupboard. ‘Remember this time last year we could ride on the “Ovee”? Alderman Braddock never did manage to save the Overhead Railway despite his determination to keep it open.’ He placed a dab of hair cream on the palm of his hand and moved to the fireplace, gazing at his reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece. He spread the Brylcreem into his light brown hair before combing the front into a quiff and the sides back into a DA.

  Irene watched him as s
he reached for the cup of cooling tea he had poured. She took a mouthful, grimaced and reached for the sugar. ‘It’s going to take them ages to dismantle it,’ she said, sugaring her tea before spreading plum jam on her bread. ‘By the way, Mam thinks you’ve got a girl.’

  Jimmy whirled round. ‘What makes her think that? You haven’t been saying anything, have you?’

  ‘There’s no way I’d mention Tony Gianelli’s cousin Lucia having a crush on you. She’s far too young and we both know it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t argue. But she’s a good kid and has an old head on her shoulders. Still, I’m no cradle snatcher.’

  Irene changed the subject. ‘I’d like to know where Mam’s gone and how long she’ll be. She’ll have a face on her if that floor’s not scrubbed when she gets back.’

  ‘You worry too much about her. Daft, when you’re hardly here.’

  Irene knew he was right but it was a habit from back when she did live permanently at home. She ate the last of the bread and jam and drained her teacup before going into the back kitchen and cleaning her teeth at the sink. Then she ran upstairs for her handbag, reappearing shortly after to find Jimmy wearing a donkey jacket and sailor’s cap.

  Irene dragged a woolly Fair Isle hat from the pocket of her green tent coat and pulled it over her hair. She drew a couple of blonde curls from beneath her hat so that they dangled in front of her ears. ‘I wonder if I should get my ears pierced,’ she murmured. ‘Although Matron probably wouldn’t approve.’

  Jimmy rolled his eyes. ‘Stop titivating and let’s get going.’

  ‘You’re one to talk with your Tony Curtis quiff!’ she teased. ‘If only you had his good looks.’

  ‘Watch your tongue, kid,’ he said, elbowing her out of the way as they both attempted to get through the doorway at the same time.