A Sister's Duty Read online

  ‘You have several grandchildren,’ said Amelia, enjoying the moment. ‘They’re Joe’s, of course.’

  ‘The owld bitch! Begging your pardon for my French.’ His bushy eyebrows met in a frown and he took the still unlit pipe out of his mouth. ‘I’ve always liked kids. Me one big regret when I left was leaving our Joe behind, but she was a hard woman to live with and that’s a fact. I would have taken him with me but I were a sailor and it wouldn’t have been fair on the lad.’ He looked sad.

  ‘You do know Joe’s dead?’ she said gently.

  He nodded, shoulders slumping. ‘She told me last February. I was real upset. She would never let me see him when he was a kid, yer know? Moved house. Said I upset him. I’d see her on her pitch and ask after him. I even followed her once but she twigged and led me a merry old dance before I lost her. I gave up in the end and didn’t see her for years.’

  ‘But you’ve been coming here every Sunday recently?’

  Unexpectedly, he grinned, showing a mouth of strong-looking if yellow teeth. ‘I got a letter about a year ago saying she was going in for an operation and would I come and see her?’

  ‘How did she know where to get in touch if you hadn’t been seeing each other?’

  ‘A mutual friend who still lives down Great Homer Street. “Walter,” she writes, “I wants to make me peace before meeting me Maker.” Which surprised me, I can tell yer, because she never was one for churchgoing. So I visits her in hossie and I’ve been coming most Sundays ever since.’ He paused to light his pipe, puffing busily to get it going. ‘So where is she? Hossie?’

  Amelia caught the sound of movement in the kitchen. ‘No.’ She smiled. ‘If I’m not mistaken, she’s just woken up. Would you like to see her? Although you probably won’t understand a word she says.’

  ‘Right yer are! But I’m downright annoyed with her and I’m not pretending otherwise.’ He followed Amelia into the kitchen.

  ‘Whoshish?’ said Maggie, eyes fixing on Walter.

  ‘Yer know me, yer stupid woman,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I’m yer husband.’

  Maggie’s expression was wistful. ‘Hanshum.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Walter’s face was a picture. ‘Has she lost her marbles an’ all? She hasn’t called me handsome since we went to Morecambe for our honeymoon and that was before the Great War.’

  ‘Strokes do affect the brain,’ said Amelia, trying not to laugh.

  He flashed her a keen glance. ‘Yer seem to know something about it. Are yer some kind of nurse?’

  ‘No. Although I own a chemist’s shop and I’ve seen some sights. But my father had a stroke and I nursed him.’ Amelia sat down and waved him to a chair. ‘You said you liked children, Mr Kilshaw?’

  ‘Course,’ he said with a touch of scorn. ‘Help down at the boys’ club, don’t I? Teach them a bit of ju-jitsu and table tennis.’ He put his pipe back in his mouth and drew on it. ‘Where are these grandchildren of mine then? Can I see them? How many are there?’

  Amelia glanced at Maggie, who had not taken her eyes off Walter the whole time he had been talking, and wondered how much the old woman was taking in. She turned back to Walter and began to explain.

  When she had finished he shook his head, gazing at Maggie and muttering, ‘Yer owld bitch! Why didn’t yer let me know? Jealous, I bet. Yer never were any good at sharing.’ He glanced at Amelia. ‘Always had a temper, yer know. Threw a knife at me once. Didn’t like me giving anyone else any attention.’ He fell silent, puffing at his pipe.

  ‘Right now she doesn’t look like she could say boo to a goose,’ murmured Amelia.

  ‘Not herself, is she, though?’ he grunted. ‘Once she’s back to normal, she’ll be just as bad.’

  ‘She might never get back to normal,’ said Amelia, leaning closer to him. ‘And in the meantime Rosie is going to have her work cut out looking after her. It’s a lot for a girl who isn’t yet seventeen and has just started training for a secondary certificate in pharmacy. She’s a bright girl, Mr Kilshaw, and she’s working for me. I have high hopes for her, but how can they be fulfilled if she’s stuck here day after day, looking after your wife and working in that apology for a shop?’

  His eyes were wary. ‘Why are yer saying all this? Yer not thinking me and Maggie can get together again, are yer? Cos I’m telling yer now, queen, it’s not on! She wouldn’t like it and neither would I. Things aren’t that simple.’

  ‘Nothing ever is as simple as we would like it to be,’ said Amelia. ‘But you don’t work any more, do you?’

  ‘That’s right. Gave up the sea just before war broke out. But I don’t sit round twiddling me thumbs. I go down the Pierhead and watch the ships. Told yer about the boys’ club. And I meet me old mates in the park and have a chinwag. I feed the birds and go to the library and read the papers . . .’

  ‘You look like a man who keeps himself on the go.’ She allowed a note of admiration to creep into her voice.

  Walter’s chest swelled. ‘No, I’m not one to be lazing about. Might as well cock up me toes and die. Keep busy, that’s what I say.’

  ‘You’re like your wife in that if Rosie’s anything to go by. By the way, why did you carry on coming to see her, once you knew she wasn’t going to die, if the pair of you don’t get on?’

  He drew on his pipe, not looking directly at Amelia. ‘Still me wife, isn’t she? Only separated – never divorced. Although I did ask her once about that but she wouldn’t hear of it. So I stopped bothering.’

  ‘Then you do care what happens to her?’

  His bright blue eyes fixed on hers. ‘Yer could say that. But I’m not coming to live here, I told yer.’

  Amelia was not about to give up. She leant towards him. ‘Then what about helping out so Rosie can go to work?’ He kept silent but she persisted. ‘Just until Maggie can cope on her own. You’d be doing your granddaughter a real favour, Mr Kilshaw, so think about it. You owe it to Joe.’

  There was a long silence before he said, ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘I sent her and Dotty out for some fresh air. They’ll be back in an hour or so.’

  ‘Tell me more about them?’ he said, settling back in the chair. ‘And I wouldn’t mind a cup of char.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Amelia, hopes high, and put on the kettle.

  By the time the sisters returned, Amelia had done her work well. The sight of a spry but elderly gentleman reading the Sunday newspaper aloud to Maggie was enough to convince Rosie that here was just the right person to help her.

  ‘Rosie, Dotty!’ said their aunt. ‘This is your granddad, Walter Kilshaw.’

  Rosie stared at him. ‘But . . . I thought you’d gone for good!’ She darted a glance at her grandmother.

  ‘Naw, queen. That was her wishful thinking at one time.’ He bounced to his feet and seized both her hands. ‘I’m downright pleased to meet yer!’

  ‘And I’m pleased to meet you, too,’ said Rosie, scarcely able to believe what was happening. ‘But I don’t understand. How did you know to come right now?’ She gazed into his moist blue eyes and caught a glimpse of her father. It gave her a warm feeling but also filled her with sadness and regret.

  ‘I’ve been visiting here for the past year, girl, but I never knew you existed until today.’

  ‘Not at all?’ said Dotty.

  ‘Not at all, queen.’ He took her hand and squeezed it hard. ‘I’m bloo—blinking angry about that. But there, we’ve met now.’

  Rosie remembered how Maggie had chased her out every Sunday. Why had she done it? What had happened to turn her into the kind of person who didn’t want her husband to meet his own grandchildren?

  There was a brief silence and then Dotty made them laugh by saying, ‘What do granddads do?’

  ‘That’s a funny question,’ said Walter, a twinkle in his eye. ‘What would you like me to do?’

  ‘Be here, I suppose,’ said Rosie hesitantly.

  His expression changed, became suddenly sober. ‘Now that’s n
ot on, queen.’ He rested one gnarled hand on her shoulder. ‘But your aunt’s been telling me how well yer doing at her shop so I’ve said I’ll be around when yer need me.’

  She took his measure. ‘What’s that mean exactly?’

  ‘That I’ll spend some time here during the day, to look after your gran. Your aunt said some woman—’ He paused, trying to remember the name.

  ‘Mrs Baxendale,’ supplied Amelia.

  ‘Will put in an hour or two keeping her company as well. Together we should be able to manage while you’re at work.’

  Rosie could not have been more grateful. Here was the answer to her prayers. But God had sent not just any old body. He had sent a granddad who appeared to be kind and, unlike some old men she had seen, even clean. It was a miracle and she told him so. At that they all laughed, hearts much lighter than they had been a few hours ago.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rosie watched Amelia remove her overall. It had been a quiet day even before the fog had come down, and now, at three o’clock, it was a peasouper. Her aunt had started knocking off work at this time since Rosie’s return to the shop. ‘Perhaps there’ll be a letter when you get home,’ she said.

  ‘I hope so.’ Amelia frowned. ‘I’d just like to know where we are. Whether they’re coming or not. It’s almost two months since Iris last wrote. It’s funny that you haven’t heard from Babs either.’

  ‘It is worrying.’ Rosie wrinkled her nose. ‘They couldn’t be dead, could they?’

  Amelia smiled fainty. ‘I think we’d have heard. The trouble is, after you lose someone you keep expecting the worst to happen to other people you care about.’

  ‘Perhaps their letters have gone missing?’

  ‘But we’ve both written again so they’d know we haven’t received them.’ Amelia put on her coat and wrapped a green patterned scarf round her neck. ‘You haven’t mentioned the possibility of Babs and Harry living with you to your grandmother again?’

  Rosie shook her head, thinking how Maggie’s condition had improved over the last few weeks. She was walking unaided and could feed herself if someone cut up her meat for her. Dressing unaided was still beyond her but at Walter’s insistence Rosie had returned to work a few weeks ago. ‘I have mentioned it to Granddad, hoping he might come and live with us. But he says his landlady’s been good to him and he can’t just leave her in the lurch. Apparently she’s the mother of an old Army mate of his from the first war who was killed.’

  ‘It’s nice to think he’s so caring,’ murmured Amelia. ‘But carry on working on him. You’re his grandchildren and you have a greater claim on him.’

  She opened the door and a swirl of fog entered the shop. Quickly she closed it behind her and hurried along the pavement to the tram stop, thinking now of Peter. Since he had mentioned moving into her room, she had not been able to get the idea out of her head. She thought about it every day. Indeed she had visions of herself, clad in a satin negligee (flesh-coloured), lounging seductively on her bed, and of him covering the space between his and hers in one leap. He would smother her face and throat with kisses and . . . But she never got further than that. Somehow imagination failed her at the necessary moment. Amelia often wondered if it had anything to do with her being a virgin and Bernard’s having tried it on only once.

  She was still undecided about the reason for her own lack of imagination when she arrived home. She was so distracted that she trod on a letter before realising it. Hastily she peeled it off her shoe and recognised the stamp as Canadian. Hurriedly she slit the envelope with her finger, walking into the kitchen as she did so. She drew out a flimsy sheet of paper and read swiftly before allowing it to flutter to the floor.

  She went over to the window and gazed out, but the fog was a grey wall shutting her in with her dismal thoughts. Now that Iris had finally made her decision, where did that leave her and Peter and the move into her room? Would everything go on just the same as always?

  ‘They’re not coming.’

  ‘Who’s not coming?’ Peter glanced up at her. He was hunched over the fire, accounts book on his knee.

  ‘Iris and the kids, of course!’ She drummed her fingers on the mantelshelf. ‘Would you believe they’re going to America! Probably there now. She’s sold her share of the factory and has decided to head south. I can’t understand her! A woman on her own with two kids who aren’t even hers. It’s not like her.’

  ‘How black did you paint Liverpool?’ said Peter, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes.

  ‘I painted it sky-blue pink with a finny haddy border! What do you think?’ she said crossly. ‘Home, that’s what Liverpool should be to her, Pete. And no matter how humble, there’s supposed to be nowhere like it.’

  ‘she must think differently.’ His voice sounded husky.

  Amelia peered down at him and thought he looked flushed. ‘Have you got a sore throat?’

  His eyelids fluttered and he stroked his neck and jaw. ‘It hurts there. It’s been a hell of a week, with women and kids coming in all the time, coughing and sneezing.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ she said, smiling and touching his forehead with the back of her hand. She frowned. ‘You are hot! I’ll get you a couple of Aspirin. And keep away from the boys in case it’s ’flu.’

  She went into the hall. Chris was out again and the twins were playing darts. The board hung on the cupboard door under the stairs. Amelia had had visions of there being hundreds of holes where they had missed their aim but they weren’t that bad. Besides, Peter had said they had to have somewhere to play indoors, holes in walls or no.

  She came back with the Aspirins and a glass of water. ‘I’m not sure if you should go to work tomorrow.’ She felt his forehead again. ‘In fact, I think you should stay home.’

  He gave a faint smile. ‘You’re a bossy woman.’

  ‘Some men need to be told.’ She flushed, removing the accounts book from his lap, hoping that whatever it was would not go right through the family.

  By morning, Peter was complaining of being burning hot but had dressed and was planning to go into work.

  ‘You’re stupid,’ said Amelia, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘You’ll give half of Tuebrook your germs instead of keeping them to yourself.’

  He squinted at her from red-rimmed eyes. ‘They gave them to me in the first place.’

  ‘No need to take your revenge. Have a day off. Take two.’

  ‘OK.’ He sounded tired. ‘Any more and I’ll have to see the Post Office doctor. Will you still be going to the shop?’

  Amelia touched the curl that always seemed to hang loose at the nape of her neck, and sighed. ‘I need to see Rosie. Why? Do you think you need a nurse?’

  He swallowed painfully. ‘My ears hurt. Couldn’t you afford to pay someone else to help Rosie? I mean, you spoke of compensation the other month.’

  ‘Most of it’s in a trust until they’re either twenty-one or marry,’ she said, rapidly clearing their plates away. Peter had not eaten anything, she noticed. ‘I never got as far as telling you that. I thought it could be of more use to them when they’re older.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Surely some of that money was meant to help with their keep?’

  ‘I told you, there’s a little for emergencies but your having a cold isn’t that.’

  ‘What if it’s ’flu?’ He rested one flushed cheek on his hand. ‘I’m not happy about you going into the shop any more. And if you don’t need that money, then you could afford to pay someone in your stead.’

  She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’ll think about it. But not now.’

  He ran a hand over his tawny hair and rasped, ‘I should be supporting you and we both know it!’

  ‘If that’s how you feel, I’ll do something about it,’ she said emphatically. ‘Next week, perhaps. Now get back to bed. I’d best get the twins ready.’

  Peter pushed himself up. ‘Hi ho, hi ho, off to work you go. See you when you get back – if I’
m still alive.’

  ‘You’re not going to die just because I won’t be here, fetching cups of tea and supplying Aspirin.’ She smiled but felt guilty nevertheless at the thought of leaving him to fend for himself.

  *

  ‘What do you feel about them not coming?’ said Rosie, as soon as Amelia entered the shop.

  ‘So you got a letter, too?’ She sighed. ‘I’m really disappointed. I can’t understand our Iris going to America. She never had any time for the Yanks.’

  Rosie looked pensive as she put some change in the till. ‘She didn’t mention Sam in her letter to you, did she?’

  ‘Sam who?’ said Amelia absently, her mind having gone off at a tangent, wondering how Peter was.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Rosie. ‘Out of sight, out of mind. I suppose we can’t blame them. What have we got to bring them back for, after all? A battered old city and hardly anything in the way of the little extras that make life better.’

  ‘True,’ murmured Amelia. ‘Still, we’re all in the same boat. Have you remembered you’re going into town this morning?’

  Rosie brightened up. ‘No! Will I go now?’

  ‘Why not? Thomas’s at the back of Duke Street. That’s where you’re going.’

  ‘Right!’ Happily Rosie took off her overall.

  ‘And don’t be all morning,’ called Amelia, turning the sign on the door. ‘I want to leave early. Your Uncle Pete’s not well.’

  ‘What’s he got?’

  ‘A temperature and a sore throat. On top of that he wants me to give up the shop.’

  Rosie dropped her handbag and bent to pick it up. ‘You mean, sell it? But I’m only in my first year’s apprenticeship!’

  ‘No. He’s talking of me getting someone in to help you.’ She smiled. ‘My father started this business. I couldn’t get rid of it. Pete just wants me at home soothing his fevered brow like the rest of them.’

  ‘So what are you going to do? Give up and let him take over? Just think, Aunt Amelia, you could be a lady of leisure.’

  Amelia gave a sharp laugh. ‘You haven’t lived in our household as it is now. The only difference if I wasn’t coming here is that the floors would get washed more often and I’d catch up on the ironing and washing and still have a chance to breathe! Now get going, Rosie.’