A Sister's Duty Page 17

  He grinned. ‘That’d be the day. But you wouldn’t mind if I had a go?’

  ‘Why should I? It’ll keep you out of mischief,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Then I will,’ he said positively. ‘It’ll make a difference, having someone who believes in me.’ He continued undoing the buttons.

  Amelia almost fell as he released her and clutched at the bed post before lowering herself on to the bed. The corset dug into her ribs and she drew in a sharp breath.

  ‘You OK?’ He looked concerned.

  She straightened her back, thinking she would rather die than mention the corset. Besides, she did not want him seeing her wearing just a chemise. ‘Fine. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ He smiled and dropped a kiss on top of her head. ‘And thanks, Lee. You’ve been really encouraging.’ He closed the door and she eased herself further on to the bed and lay flat, imagining herself still encased in the corset next Sunday when Rosie arrived. His touch had made her feel all peculiar.

  Her stomach rumbled and Amelia rolled off the bed and hung up the dress, padding back downstairs in her petticoats and camisole – only to stop short in the doorway of the morning room at the sight of Peter, sitting at the table, a doorstep-sized sandwich in his hand. ‘I thought you’d gone to bed?’ she said.

  ‘I was hungry. Besides, I thought you might still need my help to get out of that armour.’

  Suddenly, the whole thing seemed ridiculous and Amelia laughed, feeling younger than her thirty-two years. ‘The latest in chastity wear!’

  He put down his sandwich and smiled. ‘I can understand modesty but have a bit of commonsense, woman.’

  ‘I’ve loads of commonsense, as you should know.’

  ‘You should have said.’

  ‘I was shy and embarrassed. And I’m starving.’ She eyed his sandwich hungrily.

  ‘I was feeling a bit nervous myself.’ He got up and offered her his sandwich. She took a bite of it and closed her eyes in ecstasy. ‘It’s only plum jam,’ he said, eyes dancing. ‘You don’t have to look like it’s best chicken! But you finish it and I’ll make another.’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said, a warm feeling inside her.

  They ate and drank in companionable silence. Then he said suddenly, ‘Remember that picture on the dangers of VD?’

  She looked at him in surprise and he flushed. ‘I know you saw it because Tess told me.’

  Amelia nodded. ‘The sexes were segregated because it was considered too shocking. It’s still a scourge, as is TB. Is that why you’re mentioning it? Or—’ She blushed. ‘You haven’t got it, have you?’

  ‘Hell, no!’ He looked shocked. ‘I was just thinking, it reminds me of our situation. You go one way and I go another upstairs.’ He stood up. ‘Come on. I’ll undo your stays.’

  Amelia shook her head in bemusement and followed him upstairs.

  It was pure joy once she was free from the corset and she kicked it into a corner. ‘My mother was heroic.’

  ‘I’m glad I’m not a woman,’ said Peter, shaking his head at her. ‘I wonder if my great-great wore one like that.’

  ‘Not if she had any sense. It was torture!’ She winced as she felt her ribs beneath the chemise.

  ‘Yet you still wore it. You’re crackers!’ He grinned. ‘I hope you sleep well. Goodnight again.’ Quietly he closed the door behind him.

  Amelia dragged the chemise over her head and took a pair of pyjamas from beneath her pillow, wondering how many women were still virgins the morning after their wedding night. It was hardly a subject for gossip so she guessed she would never find out. She pressed her cheek into the flock pillow and fell asleep – to dream she was planting potatoes while a soldier in a red uniform stood at the bottom of the garden watching her. Then he pulled her to her feet and kissed her passionately and they made love on the soil.

  Sunday was a quiet day. She went to early Mass on her own and then made breakfast. The dream was very much with her as she weeded the garden after Sunday lunch that afternoon. Chris had gone to the farm and the twins were rearranging their room. Peter was writing. There was a peculiar feeling to everything she did that day because she was unsure how to behave towards him.

  The only example she had of how married people acted towards each other in the home was that set by her parents. Her mother had always called her father ‘William’ and he had called her ‘my dear’. He had always read the morning paper at the table and none of them was allowed to talk during that first meal of the day.

  Her parents had always been polite to each other and Amelia had never overheard them exchange a cross word. When they had lived in the flat, her mother had helped in the chemist’s below. It was only when they had moved out to West Derby that she had stopped working there.

  Amelia wondered how long she could get away with putting most of the day in at the shop. She guessed she would have to wait and see how things went.

  ‘You going to the shop this morning?’ said Peter, breaking the breakfast silence on Monday.

  Amelia glanced across at him. ‘You haven’t changed your mind?’ she said defensively.

  ‘No.’ He looked surprised. ‘I just wondered if you’d be home for lunch.’

  ‘Father always came home for lunch. I’ll be here if you want me to,’ she said, prepared to bend a little.

  ‘No. A sandwich will be fine,’ he said amiably. ‘I ask because I’ve our ration books and I was wondering how you’re going to manage shopping with queuing and everything when you’re going to be in the shop. I found it hell. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Chris and the corner shop, we’d have lived solely on—’

  ‘I’ll ring and they’ll deliver,’ interrupted Amelia. ‘It’s what I did when I had Violet’s children here and when Father and Iris were around. I don’t always get what I’d like but it works fine most of the time.’

  ‘Doesn’t it cost to have things delivered?’

  Amelia had never thought about it. She had taken the delivery boys on their bicycles for granted but of course their wages had to be paid. ‘It’s worth it,’ she murmured.

  He did not argue. ‘We’re going to have to talk about money, Lee. Work out costs and figures. Do a little book keeping.’

  She put a hand to her mouth. ‘You’ve reminded me! I didn’t do the weekly accounts, what with the wedding.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall and hurried into the kitchen, placed the breakfast dishes in the sink and hurried back to the table.

  Peter was slicing bread. ‘I cut my finger once,’ said Tom, chin on hand.

  ‘Elbows off the table,’ said Amelia automatically, nudging them off.

  ‘When was that?’ said Peter.

  ‘Mam wasn’t feeling well and had gone to bed. There was blood everywhere,’ said Jimmy with relish.

  ‘I thought it was never going to stop,’ said Tom. ‘But I put a bit of newspaper on it and that stuck.’

  ‘Sounds hygienic,’ murmured Amelia, aware of Peter’s stare but glad of the boys’ chatter because it made it easier for her to manage the situation somehow. ‘I hope you washed it first.’

  ‘The newspaper?’ said Tom, smiling in a way that reminded her of Peter.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, returning the smile. ‘Now eat up. The two of you need to be on your way soon.’

  ‘I could do the accounts for you?’ said Peter, putting on his jacket.

  ‘Oh, they’re no trouble,’ she said, handing him a packet of sandwiches, wrapped in newspaper.

  ‘Don’t you trust me, Lee?’

  ‘Trust?’ Her brow creased. ‘What’s that got to do with it? It’s just that I’ve always done them, even before Father died.’

  ‘But you’ve got me now. Let me help?’ he urged. ‘I deal with figures all day, and you’re going to have a lot on your plate until Rosie finishes school. Then there’s the school holidays and Dotty coming here. You can’t leave the twins to their own devices. You heard them.’

  ‘Of course I heard them. Bu
t I like doing the accounts myself. I’ll do them this evening. Besides, you’ve got your story to write.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ he said roughly, and left without saying goodbye.

  Amelia stared after him and then turned to see the twins watching her. She frowned, thinking she had hardly any privacy at all now. ‘What are you two staring at? You shouldn’t be hanging around.’

  ‘What are you going to do when it’s school holidays, Aunt Lee?’ said Jimmy, looking slightly anxious. ‘Will you be here or at the shop?’

  She hesitated, wondering about Dotty. ‘I’ll sort something out so don’t be thinking you can run wild. Now hurry up and get your blazers on or you’ll be late for school.’

  *

  Amelia stumbled bleary-eyed into the bathroom. Then drew back hastily when she saw Peter in vest, trousers and bare feet, shaving in front of the mirror. ‘Sorry! Wrong place.’

  ‘You’re OK.’ He wiped off the remains of the shaving soap with a flannel and brushed past her pyjama-clad figure.

  She went out after him and into the toilet, remembering to shoot the tiny bolt. With eyelids barely open, she eased herself down on to the lavatory – only to jump up again at the cold touch of porcelain. She groaned and gingerly put down the wooden seat. There were some things she was never going to get used to!

  A minute later someone tried the handle of the door before hammering on it. ‘Please, I want to go. I’m desprite!’

  ‘You’ll have to wait. Go away, twin.’

  ‘But—’

  Amelia opened the door. The twin ducked under her arm fumbling with his underpants as he went. Too late she realised she had not put the seat up. ‘Oops,’ she heard, along with a pattering sound on the linoleum.

  ‘Blast!’ she muttered. Another job to see to.

  She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. ‘Don’t forget to wash your hands!’ she called, as she heard the lavatory door opening and closing. A twin sidled round the door and she guessed it was Jimmy. Tom would just have marched in. ‘Use the bath tap,’ she said.

  Jimmy did as told and crept out again.

  Amelia washed and made for her bedroom just as she had every morning for the last month. She closed the door and lay face down on her bed, wishing it was Sunday. Yet even on the so-called day of rest she was up early. There would be meals to cook and dishes to wash and she would have to go to Mass, having missed last Sunday. But should she confess the lurid thoughts and dreams she had been having? The priest would not approve, especially if she told him she was not sleeping with her husband. No, she would have to keep quiet about everything. At least she would not need to get the twins’ school clothes ready because the school holidays had started.

  There was a knock on the door and a voice said, ‘Aunt Lee, I’ve wiped up the mess.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, wondering whether he had used the flannel like last time. And why was it that when the twins were going to school she had to wake them up and when they weren’t they were always up early?

  She asked Peter his thoughts on the subject when she met him in the kitchen later. ‘Never thought about it,’ he said, opening the Daily Post. ‘I only know I was the same. What are you going to do about the school holidays and the shop?’

  ‘Rosie’s starting today full-time but I’ll still have to go in for a while. I’ll take the twins with me. They can play in the yard. Dotty’ll be all right here on her own.’

  ‘That’s OK then,’ he murmured, not looking up from his newspaper.

  Amelia wondered about the kind of conversations other newly married couples had over the breakfast table. Did they whisper sweet nothings and play footsie? It was proving much harder sharing a house with him than she had reckoned, but at least having the children to talk about cut down on the awkward silences that sometimes rose between them. Even though they also caused some of the awkward silences.

  ‘Liverpool’s got its first woman MP,’ said Peter.

  ‘All the votes in from overseas, I take it?’

  He lowered his newspaper. ‘Yes. Eight Labour and three Conservative. Sir Maxwell got in at West Derby as you’d expect.’ He dropped the newspaper on the table and spread jam on a slice of bread. ‘It says the people are saying something by voting in a Labour government.’

  ‘Of course they are.’ She sipped her tea. ‘They want change. They expect miracles. They want their dreams to come true.’ Her tone was more vehement than she’d intended.

  Peter stared at her. ‘You reckon it won’t happen?’

  ‘The country must be bankrupt. We’ve been through two wars in less than thirty years. They don’t come cheap. But at least now the working-class women of Liverpool will have a woman speaking up for them. I presume bouncing Bessie Braddock got in at Exchange Ward?’ He nodded. ‘Good. I’m sure she’ll fight for any money there is.’

  Peter eyed her with interest, leaning back in his chair so that the front legs lifted. ‘I know plenty of women who don’t have any trouble speaking up for themselves.’

  His words surprised her. ‘Are you referring to me? I thought I’d been very restrained, lately.’

  ‘Because you haven’t reminded me this week that this is your house?’

  She reddened. ‘Do I do that? It’s not intentional. And it’s ours now.’

  ‘I know. I’m paying the mortgage.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’m sorry too. I know how hard it is to kill off a habit.’ There was a glimmer of that smile in his eyes which had not been so noticeable lately.

  Her legs suddenly seemed to turn into India rubber, such was its effect on her. She rushed into speech. ‘Toilet seats being left up annoy me,’ she murmured.

  ‘Now that’s more serious than who owns the house. I’ll speak to the lads.’ There was a tremor in his voice.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He picked up his newspaper. ‘If you’ve a minute, perhaps you could change my sheets this week or they’ll be walking?’

  ‘Has it been that long?’ Her voice rose on the last two words and she felt guilt-ridden. ‘It’s probably because I don’t go into your room. And what with being behind with the housework, I just forgot.’

  ‘My room’s not out of bounds, you know. I’m not your lodger, Lee,’ he said mildly.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘We are married.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He lowered the newspaper and she saw that he was frowning. ‘Yes! No! Why don’t you add “three bags full, sir”? Why are we always so polite to each other? For God’s sake, it’s not natural!’

  She was so surprised by his outburst that she was startled into saying, ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No!’ he said with even greater vehemence.

  That took her aback and she stood up, resting both hands on the table. Somehow that made it easier for her to give more emphasis to her words. ‘If we’re not polite to each other, what will happen?’

  ‘You tell me?’ His eyes were dark and unfathomable, like pebbles in a peaty stream.

  ‘I should think we would argue,’ she said. ‘And that’s not good for children. My parents were always polite to each other.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ She bridled, not liking what she saw as implied criticism of her parents.

  ‘You don’t know how to relax, Lee! All work and no play . . .’

  ‘Makes me a dull girl? Is that what you’re saying?’ She could hardly contain the anger that erupted so unexpectedly. ‘Well, you try being me for a day – or better still for a week or a fortnight. This year hasn’t exactly been easy for me, you know!’

  ‘I wouldn’t argue.’ He threw down the newspaper and stood up.

  ‘And you said you were happy for me to work as long as you had a clean shirt and there was a meal on the table when you came in.’ She flung the words at him like darts.

  ‘I was a fool! You’re not managing. The shop, the house, the twins . . . And it’
ll be worse now the school holidays are here.’

  ‘I managed perfectly well before you came along when I had Violet’s children,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  ‘So it’s me that’s the problem?’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘We shouldn’t have married. It was a daft idea. I should have known it wouldn’t work.’ He reached for the jacket slung over the back of his chair and put it on. ‘I’ve got to get to the Post Office. Did you do my sandwiches?’

  ‘No, I was tired last night.’ Tired with not sleeping thinking ofyou. Or when I did fall asleep, dreaming of you. It’s not fair, she thought rebelliously.

  ‘You’re overstretching yourself.’ He shrugged on his jacket.

  ‘You make me sound like a piece of elastic.’

  ‘Now you’re being silly. Accept you can’t do everything and remember why we married.’

  ‘I know why we married.’ She folded her arms. Her blazing eyes were at variance with the coldness of her voice. ‘We did it for Tess and for the children. I haven’t forgotten.’

  ‘You’ve made that clear.’ He made for the door.

  She thought that was the end of it but it was not. ‘The twins will need watching, with having hours on end to fill. You can’t just ignore them like you can the housework.’

  Amelia was hurt and angry. She forgot how his smile made her feel, the urge to please him. ‘I do not ignore the housework! And you don’t have to tell me my duty,’ she said passionately. ‘That is something I know about.’ She did not wait for him to answer but stalked into the kitchen to lean against the sink, gazing unseeing out of the window, struggling against tears. She would be damned if she would give up working in the shop altogether. It had kept a roof over her head and food in her stomach for years. Somehow, with Rosie’s and Dotty’s help, she would show him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rosie eyed the twins, standing side by side, arms behind their backs, dressed in identical pale blue short-sleeved shirts and navy-blue shorts. Both had a question-mark-shaped curl dangling on their forehead and looked as if they had just arrived with a stamp of approval from Heaven.