Love Letters in the Sand Read online

  The house was situated not far from the library and sausage factory where Maisie worked, as well as being only a short walk to Seaforth and Litherland railway station that had once been linked to the Overhead Railway at Seaforth Sands.

  ‘So are you going to give it a few years and see if Lucia still fancies you when she’s grown up?’ asked Irene mischievously, hurrying along Bridge Road with its mixture of shops, some with mock Tudor designs fronting the living areas above, as well as terraced housing on the other side of the road.

  Jimmy glanced at his sister. ‘I’m not making plans. I just want to drift for the moment and enjoy myself.’

  Irene nodded. ‘She’s not bad looking, but Maggie Gregory is better.’

  ‘I thought you had no time for Maggie.’

  ‘I don’t. She likes herself enough for both of us. Besides, she used to be a real sneak and was horrible to her cousin Betty.’

  ‘Well that’s families for you, a mix of good and bad.’

  Irene agreed. ‘Remember the time Mam frightened the life out of you when she got that letter from her brother saying he’d met a girl and was getting married, so he wouldn’t be coming home?’

  Irene certainly had never forgotten it. The war had ended and their uncle had just been demobbed. The news had come as a terrible shock because Maisie had got it fixed in her head that she and her brother would live together as they had done since they were orphaned in early adolescence. She had been depending on him to help support his niece and nephew.

  ‘I was lucky she only managed to hit me with a couple of potatoes instead of the saucepan,’ said Jimmy, grinning.

  ‘She might have knocked you unconscious if you hadn’t got out of there on the double.’

  Fortunately, Irene had been on her way home from nursery school and had just crossed the Leeds and Liverpool canal when she and her teacher caught sight of Jimmy tearing towards them through the falling snow. He had blurted out that his mam had gone mad and he did not know what to do. Nellie Lachlan had dealt with the situation, just as Irene knew she would. From that moment on Irene decided that when she grew up she wanted to be just like her.

  Nellie had been widowed during the war and, after miscarrying her baby, she had helped out at the private nursery which Jimmy and Irene had attended until it closed down. After the war Nellie had married Michelangelo Gianelli, a half-English, half-Italian former POW, a widower with a small son. They and their children lived on the other side of the canal. They were a musical family and it was that interest in music which had led to Irene getting to know Betty Booth, who had become her best friend.

  Irene sighed, thinking about Betty and how much she missed her. She had married an American, Stuart Anderson, and now lived in California.

  ‘Are you listening to me, our kid?’ Jimmy asked, pausing outside the entrance to the railway station.

  Irene bit her lip. ‘Sorry, I was thinking of Betty thousands of miles away in San Jose.’

  ‘You should save up and go and visit her,’ said Jimmy, turning into the entrance and heading up the incline that led to the ticket office and railway platforms.

  Irene slanted him a look of disbelief. ‘How much d’you think I get paid? Even though I passed my exams and I’m a qualified nursery nurse now I still don’t get paid enough to save that much.’

  ‘OK! Keep your hair on! It’s you that wanted to train as a nursery nurse.’

  Irene dug her hands deep into her pockets and said quietly, ‘I love working with children.’ She increased her pace in order to keep up with her brother. ‘The kids at Fair Haven are so rewarding, especially those who have disabilities that might make them unattractive to prospective adoptive parents. They’ll have tougher lives than we ever had, despite us losing our dad when we were only little.’

  Jimmy said seriously, ‘I remember when you were a toddler. You wanted a doll, one whose eyes opened and shut.’

  ‘I didn’t get it, though,’ said Irene wryly.

  ‘I didn’t get the train set I asked for either,’ said Jimmy, reaching into a pocket for money. ‘If I ever have a son, the first thing I’ll buy him will be a train set.’

  Irene delved into her handbag. ‘You might have all daughters who’ll demand a walking, talking doll.’

  ‘They’ll have a train set and like it,’ laughed Jimmy, handing over money for their tickets.

  ‘Even Meccano won’t have a miniature Overhead Railway if that’s what you had in mind,’ she said with amusement in her voice.

  ‘More’s the pity,’ said a man behind them. ‘Me and hundreds of others working along the dock road really miss it. You do realize it used to run the whole seven miles of the dock road from the Dingle to Seaforth Sands, girl?’

  Jimmy glanced at the elderly man with the moustache. ‘Hello, Mr Murphy.’

  ‘Hello, Jimmy.’ He gazed in the direction of Gladstone Dock half a mile or so away. ‘This time last year we boarded it for the last time together.’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if they come to regret dismantling it,’ said Jimmy, handing a railway ticket to his sister.

  Her eyes lit up and she thanked him and put her money back in her purse. ‘Brothers have some use after all,’ she said.

  ‘So this is your sister,’ said Mr Murphy, eyeing Irene up and down.

  ‘Aye,’ said Jimmy, strolling towards the platform for the Liverpool train.

  ‘I remember her being born,’ said Mr Murphy, hobbling after him. ‘She’s grown into a good-looking lass. Your dad would have been proud of her.’

  ‘You knew my dad!’ Irene exclaimed.

  ‘Aye. If I hadn’t been sick that night during the Blitz, most likely I’d have been killed alongside him,’ said the elderly man. ‘He was a good worker and a brave man. I remember when we were both working at Gladstone Dock, just after it was built. The old king was on the throne then.’

  ‘You mean the Queen’s father?’ said Irene.

  ‘Naw! His father! Of course, before Gladstone Dock was built, Seaforth Sands was a popular place for day trippers, although yer had to be careful where yer walked.’ Mr Murphy stroked his moustache. ‘I remember my old mother having a nasty experience when she got stuck in a patch of sinking sand. I was only a kid at the time and was terrified we wouldn’t be able to get her out. She ruined a brand-new pair of white kid sandals and seemed more upset about that than the fact that she might have been sucked under.’

  ‘My mam would be the same,’ said Jimmy. ‘She likes to wear nice things. Still, she’s not really one for going near the water. Can’t swim.’

  ‘My mother didn’t swim either. It wasn’t considered the done thing in her day, taking off your clothes in public. As for the bathing suits they wear today …’ His bushy grey eyebrows shot up. ‘Me mam would have had a fit if she’d known what giving women the vote would lead to! Have you seen that picture in the newspaper of Diana Dors wearing a mink bikini?’

  Irene had seen it and wished she had the money to afford a mink bikini, instead of the ugly all-in-one woollen swimming costume that was no longer in her possession. She had chucked it in the bin after that fateful day.

  Jimmy touched her shoulder. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Just thinking.’

  ‘You think too much,’ he said frankly. ‘Does you no good. Anyway, here comes the train.’

  She followed him and Mr Murphy and several other passengers into a carriage, hoping to get a window seat because she enjoyed watching the scenery going past. It wasn’t as good as being on the Ovee with its view of the docks and the Mersey. Fortunately, because she was small and reasonably slender, she managed to squeeze in between two women who made room for her.

  Her thoughts drifted, even as she half-listened to Jimmy and Mr Murphy discussing the money that must be getting spent dismantling the Ovee – money that they felt should have been used to repair and renovate the cast iron structure of that most unique railway, which had opened in 1893 and soon earned itself the nickname of the Dockers’ Umbrella. I
t had been an ideal place for dock workers to shelter from the rain and some Liverpudlians had also attempted to shield themselves from falling bombs during the war, with varying success.

  ‘Everything is changing,’ she heard a woman say.

  ‘And not always for the better,’ said another.

  Irene thought about change. The trams were no more, and even the Punch and Judy show that had been a feature of Lime Street for years was no longer the attraction it had once been. Her mother blamed the television, which did not make sense to Irene because there were scarcely any children’s programmes on telly, although some of the three- and four-year-olds at the children’s home enjoyed Andy Pandy or Bill and Ben, the Flower Pot Men. On Fridays there was also The Woodentops.

  She wondered if she would ever have children of her own, although she was in no rush to get married and settle down. She wanted to have some fun, travel maybe. She would do what her brother suggested and try to save up and go to America and visit Betty. She thought of what she had seen of the States at the cinema and what Betty had written in letters about her new home in California.

  Irene was roused from her thoughts as the train drew up at Orrell Road station and a number of passengers departed, while others entered their carriage. To her surprise she heard a familiar voice greet her brother. She glanced up and smiled at the dark-haired Pete Marshall. He was the same age as Jimmy, although he looked older due to the lines that pain had etched on his face.

  ‘I didn’t know you used the train,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t normally,’ replied Pete, limping over to where she and Jimmy were seated. ‘I felt like a change. I’m surprised to see you here.’

  Neither made an effort to stand and offer him their seat, knowing he was touchy about being a cripple. ‘I’ve a couple of days off, so I’m going into town to book tickets for the pantomime,’ said Irene, smiling.

  ‘Don’t you wish you had a car, Pete?’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Not half,’ said Pete with a wry smile.

  He and Jimmy began to discuss the merits of various cars, although no doubt the most either could afford would be an old banger and, as neither knew much about the innards of cars, would cost them all their spare cash in repairs when it broke down.

  Pete was a clerk in a shipping office at King’s Dock. Before the accident that had crippled him, he’d had other ambitions. Irene thought of his twin brother, Norman, who was training to be a marine engineer. She could not help but feel sorry for Pete, who had once been a real daredevil, but it was that recklessness that had led to him falling from a first-floor window.

  The men’s conversation moved on to the subject of football and she stopped listening.

  The train pulled in at Sandhills and some passengers left while others climbed aboard. Irene glanced at one of the young men who entered and their eyes met. She would have looked away, only he was staring at her as if he could not believe his eyes. Her heart began to pound. She had the strangest feeling that they had met before, although she could not think where. Then an older man standing beside him spoke to him and he looked away. Irene now became aware that she was being stared at by someone else and realized it was Peggy McGrath. Irene smiled, expecting Peggy to speak before shifting her attention to Pete. The two had been seeing each other off and on for a long time. Their friends wondered if they would ever get married. To her surprise Peggy didn’t say a word and neither she nor Pete made any sign of knowing the other.

  Irene sighed, realizing that they must have broken up again. It was time they made up their minds one way or another about the future, she thought, willing Peggy to say something – anything – to Pete, whom she regarded as extremely vulnerable beneath his generally taciturn exterior.

  Then Irene realized that the younger of the two men who had got on the train with Peggy was staring at her again. He raised an eyebrow. To her annoyance she blushed. Hurriedly she turned to her brother and said the first thing that came into her head. He looked at her as if she had lost the plot.

  ‘What are you asking me that for? You know I’m going to be there. I’m playing guitar for the group,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, wishing she could sink through the floor. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. I meant to ask Pete if he was going to the party.’

  Pete nodded.

  She pinned on a smile. ‘I’m looking forward to it, aren’t you?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘We could shuffle around the floor,’ she suggested. ‘Soft-shoe shuffle as they danced it in the old days?’

  That brought a smile to his good-looking face. ‘Can’t wait.’

  ‘It’s Irene, isn’t it?’ Peggy broke in.

  The question caused Irene to stare at her as if she had now run mad.

  ‘Surely you don’t normally take the train into town for work?’ Peggy went on.

  Irene was aware of her brother grinning. ‘No, I work in the opposite direction,’ she said, deciding to play Peggy’s game. ‘I’ve a couple of days off from work in lieu of working Christmas and Boxing Day.’ She paused. ‘Didn’t you used to work with Jeanette?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Peggy smiled. ‘I haven’t seen much of her since she got married. What about you?’

  ‘Had a word with her the other Saturday when I was going up to Lenny’s place on Hope Street,’ said Irene. ‘Apparently she’s back working in the milk bar on Leece Street, part-time. I suppose once she starts with a baby she’ll give it up.’

  At that moment, the older man who had climbed into the carriage at the same time as the other two stood up. ‘See you tonight, Peggy,’ he said, and left.

  He was followed by several other passengers but the younger man who had been staring at Irene unfurled his newspaper and began to read the sports page on the back.

  ‘That was me dad,’ whispered Peggy, bringing her head down close to Irene’s. ‘I didn’t want him knowing I knew you three. He’d only demand to know all the ins and outs about how we met, where we met, what colour you are …’ She glanced at Pete and frowned before returning her attention to Irene. ‘So what’s this about a party?’

  ‘It’s at the Gianellis’ tomorrow evening,’ she replied.

  ‘I suppose Tony’ll be singing,’ said Peggy. ‘Fabulous voice! And Jimmy …’ She turned to him. ‘You’ll be playing the guitar, you said?’

  He nodded.

  Peggy smiled. ‘You remind me of Elvis with that quiff,’ she said.

  ‘He only copied it from Tony Curtis,’ said Irene who, unlike her brother, was not an Elvis fan. ‘I prefer Pat Boone and his “Love Letters in the Sand”.’

  ‘I used to like that,’ said Peggy, casting another glance at Pete.

  ‘Have you heard “Jailhouse Rock”?’ asked Jimmy enthusiastically.

  ‘No, but I’ve heard it’s a hit in America,’ countered Peggy. ‘Along with the film which will probably arrive here next year. I’ve a feeling I’ll probably prefer Elvis singing “Let Me Be Your Teddy Bear” that was out this summer.’

  ‘Well, you’re a girl, you would,’ said Jimmy. ‘A mate on one of the liners brought me the record of Jailhouse.’

  Irene glanced at her brother. ‘But you’ve the sheet music of “Teddy Bear”, haven’t you?’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘We’re going to have a go at it tomorrow evening.’

  ‘I’d like to hear you play,’ said Peggy, darting a look first at the man next to her, who seemed absorbed by the sports page, and then at Pete before giving Jimmy and Irene all her attention once more.

  ‘I’m sure Mr and Mrs Gianelli won’t mind you coming along,’ said Irene helpfully.

  ‘I’ll be there then,’ whispered Peggy. ‘What time does it start?’

  Irene told her.

  Peggy nudged the arm of the man standing next to her, almost causing him to drop the newspaper. ‘No saying anything to Mam and Dad, Marty!’

  Marty! Irene squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them and stared at him. Peggy’s brother! ‘You’re go
ing to have to tell them something, our kid,’ he was saying. ‘They’ll be expecting you home when the clock strikes midnight.’

  Peggy scowled. ‘Why should I have to be in by then? I’m not bloody Cinderella.’

  ‘Don’t swear,’ he chided. ‘I hate hearing a woman swear.’

  Peggy sighed heavily. ‘You swear! And you wouldn’t think the way Dad behaves that I’m over twenty-one. You’re not going to be at ours at that time, are you?’

  ‘No, but only because I’ve got to be somewhere else,’ said Marty, a shadow crossing his face. ‘It’s no secret.’

  ‘But with our Tommy having been gone for nearly four years now, Mam’ll want you to let the new year in,’ said Peggy. ‘You know he’s broken her heart. The swine.’

  ‘I’m no tall, dark stranger!’ Marty frowned. ‘I suppose Tommy could be dead. Bernie thinks he’s dead. Anyway, Mam’s got you girls and I can’t get out of the big family reunion on New Year’s Eve. The cousin is coming over from Ireland. He’s going to let the new year in. I could suggest he lets new year in at Mam and Dad’s, as well, if you like? That might let you off the leash.’

  Peggy’s face brightened. ‘That’s all right then. You getting off at Central?’ He nodded. ‘I’ll get off at Moorfields with Jimmy and change trains to St James Street,’ she said.

  Jimmy and Marty nodded at each other. Pete glanced at them but remained silent. Irene looked at him, wondering if he had caught this train hoping to see Peggy and straighten matters out between them. If so it didn’t appear that his plan was going to work.

  Jimmy and Peggy left the carriage as arranged and they’d hardly vanished from sight when Pete followed in their wake. Irene felt sorry for him but guessed there was nothing she could do to make things right for him and Peggy.

  She was suddenly conscious of the brother, Marty, staring at her again. For a moment she boldly stared back before lowering her gaze. She had seen enough to conclude that he was not what you’d call handsome but had nice blue eyes.

  At last the train arrived at Central Station and she wasted no time getting off and hurrying out of the station. Once on the pavement she hesitated before walking up Ranelagh Street towards Lewis’s, planning to gaze in the shop windows. Despite having no money to spare, she enjoyed window-shopping. The January sales would be starting soon and there were already mannequins dressed for the onslaught. She paused a moment and gazed at a powder-blue jersey wool dress and matching long cardigan on a dummy.