LITMIR.BIZ

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to the bus stop after the recent ill-fated dance, she hadn’t really been able to get a proper impression of him. Now the broad light of day confirmed he was every bit as good-looking as she recalled, and his face was even more friendly. ‘What would you like – we’ve still got some soup, or there are Spam sandwiches, and there’s always tea.’

      ‘Of course. This is England. There’s always tea,’ he echoed, but not in a teasing way, and he smiled to show he meant nothing by it. ‘There’s no rush, Miss Kerrigan. Look, here comes your friend with something for you.’

      Mrs Moyes placed a deep bowl of soup in front of Nancy, along with what these days passed for a bread roll. Nancy thanked her gratefully, even though she knew the roll would taste like sawdust. You just couldn’t get proper flour any more, just the low-grade type that everyone had to put up with but which made the bread tasteless and grey. She didn’t care. She was used to it – they all were – and it would fill her up until she could get back to her mother-in-law’s house. ‘It’s my break,’ she explained, wondering if she should postpone it; whether Gary Trenton would think the worse of her for not being on her feet, serving behind the counter.

      ‘You don’t have to apologise to me,’ he said at once. ‘I tell my men, make sure you take your breaks while you can. You’re not much use to me if you’re too darn tired to put one foot in front of the other. Reckon it can get pretty busy in here, with all my fellow countrymen arriving.’

      Nancy swallowed a mouthful of the soup. It was mixed vegetable, as it often was, and it didn’t always do to ask which vegetables were in it, but she was past bothering about that. Then she nodded. ‘It can. It sure can.’ She attempted an American accent.

      ‘Not bad.’ Trenton grinned in appreciation.

      ‘More and more of them every day,’ Nancy went on, then left the sentence hanging. She’d noticed the increase in numbers, they all had, and the rumours were spreading about something big in the offing. She wondered if her new friend could be persuaded to talk, but quickly realised he hadn’t got to staff sergeant by gossiping.

      ‘If you say so,’ he replied amiably. ‘Pretty crowded city, ain’t it? Pity about the hollowed-out church up the road.’

      Nancy nodded as she nibbled at the dry roll. ‘You should have seen it before the blitz. St Luke’s was lovely.’ She paused ruefully. ‘We lost so many buildings in just a few days. Most of the rubble has been cleared away now, but you could hardly walk around because of the bricks and stones and glass, and the smell, oh boy, you don’t ever want to come across such a thing again. Burning and all that.’ She sighed at the memory of that terrible, frightening time, and then grew quiet, figuring that if Trenton and his men were over here, then they would most likely be called to take part in equally grim scenes, or possibly worse. She had better shut up – the men came to the canteen to take their minds off such things, not to be reminded of what they were about to face.

      ‘Everyone says it was a great city,’ Trenton said.

      ‘Still is,’ Nancy replied robustly. ‘There’s nowhere better, and you’d better believe it. We might not have that church or our cathedral, we haven’t even got a proper John Lewis any more – that’s a store, a lovely big department store – but you won’t find our spirit’s been broken.’

      Trenton smiled even more broadly and nodded in approval. Nancy couldn’t help notice he had very fine hands, with tapering fingers and clean, square-cut nails. She wondered how strong his grip was, or how delicate his touch could be. Maybe if he were to touch her … She shook the thought from her mind. ‘You said it, Miss Kerrigan,’ he agreed. ‘That’s what everyone tells me. The people of Merseyside won’t be beat.’

      ‘No, sir.’ Nancy swiftly wiped the last of her roll around the dregs of the soup and popped it into her mouth. She was too hungry to leave any food, good-looking staff sergeant or not, but then she shook the crumbs from her fingers and swiftly pushed back her hair. She flashed him her best Rita Hayworth smile.

      ‘So how does a person get to see the real Liverpool?’ Trenton asked now. ‘I can’t say how long I’m around for, but I kinda think I should get to know the city while I’m stationed here.’

      Nancy pushed her bowl away and sat up straighter. ‘Well, the WVS has been known to run tours. Just short ones, as a way of helping our visiting servicemen find their way about the place.’

      ‘Ah.’ Trenton nodded. ‘See, that’s sort of what I had in mind, but as I already know my way about, I was looking for something more … customised. Something special. The Liverpool most visitors don’t get to see, that kind of thing.’

      Nancy nodded, enjoying the way this was going. ‘I think I get your drift, soldier.’ She looked him right in the eye. ‘A personal guided tour, you mean? Was that what you were after?’

      ‘Depends on the personal guide,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

      ‘One might be available in about an hour when she finishes her shift,’ Nancy informed him. ‘She knows the place like the back of her hand, she was born and bred here, and could probably tell you a thing or two you couldn’t begin to imagine.’

      ‘Sounds just the ticket,’ he said, eyes alight with humour.

      Nancy rose to her feet, not wincing as her swollen toes hit the ends of her shoes once more. She wouldn’t think about them. This was too good an opportunity to miss. It would most definitely take her mind off the trials of the morning, and if it meant her mother or sisters ended up looking after Georgie for a bit longer, well, serve them right, since they were so keen on babies and childcare. ‘In that case, why don’t you have a cup of tea or something, and wait here? Your own very special personal guide will be with you in no time at all.’

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      Violet stood at the parlour window, twitching the carefully starched net curtain. She’d always vowed she would never turn into one of those women who did this, nosy old gossips with nothing better to do, but today she couldn’t help herself. Eddy was due home this afternoon and she couldn’t stay still. If it had been a few degrees warmer she would have been standing out in the road waiting for him. The early April sunshine flooded the tired room with light, making the faded wallpaper almost golden, although Violet would never like it – the tangle of green stems that formed the pattern had always made her feel queasy. It added to her nerves. It had been so long. Would they find anything to say to each other? What if he’d changed?

      Violet had worked in the shop that morning, opening up and dealing with the first rush of customers so that Rita could have a lie-in, knowing she would have been up half the night with Ellen. It had taken her mind off things, forcing her to concentrate on giving the right change, which she was never very good at, and picking up on the general mood of the dock workers. They were murmuring about a big offensive that was being planned – or that was the story they’d gathered from recent arrivals of overseas service personnel. Violet didn’t know how much truth there was in it but it was impossible to ignore – every man had had his pennyworth to add to the rumour mill. It made her uneasy, but then again she was all jitters today.

      Rita had taken over at just after midday, placing little Ellen just behind the counter in a wooden drawer lined with plenty of cosy blankets. True to form, the baby had been sleeping peacefully when Violet left, taking a careful peep under her little bonnet. It was just the hours of the night that she didn’t like to slumber through.

      Violet had run upstairs to her room, Eddy’s room as was, and got changed from her worn corduroy skirt with its frayed hem into her best frock. Even that was old now; she’d got it just before war broke out. The buttons had been replaced and Dolly had kindly altered it as food rationing had made everyone lose weight. Violet hadn’t had much to lose to start with, but at least the frock hung as flatteringly as possible on her lanky frame. She brushed her shoulder-length brown hair, as straight as if she’d ironed it, and took off her horn-rimmed

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