Across the Mersey. Annie Groves

always gone over to her on our birthday.’

      ‘Aye, we have, but that doesn’t make it right,’ he agreed, giving her the same smile that had caught at her heart all those years ago when she had first fallen in love with him. ‘You’re a softie, lass, and you allus have bin,’ he told her affectionately.

      Ignoring her husband’s comments about her twin – after twenty-three years of marriage it would be a fine thing indeed if she didn’t know that he didn’t much care for her sister’s husband or the way in which they lived – she straightened his tie, which was new, like his worsted suit. She had bought it in the half-price sale at Blackler’s Department Store, along with a new suit for Luke. Forty-five shillings apiece they’d cost, not that she’d told Sam she’d spent that much, but she’d had a bit put by and the suits had been too good a bargain to miss, even though Sam had grumbled that it was daft buying him a suit when he only ever wore one for church and his last one, bought five years ago, still fitted him. She stood back to check that Sam’s tie was just right, her head on one side.

      There was one thing for sure, she admitted proudly, whilst her twin sister might have the posh house ‘over the water’, as the local saying went, on the other side of the River Mersey in Wallasey, where the well-to-do folk lived, and a husband who by all accounts was making more money that he knew what to do with, her Sam still was and always had been the better man of the two, and not just because even now, at forty-seven, he still stood six foot tall and had a good head of thick dark hair on him. Vivienne’s Edwin might have the money and his own business, and all the fine new friends he was making now that he had put himself up for the council, but her Sam had the nicer nature. He was a good husband and a good father too, even if the elder two had started complaining that he was more strict that he needed to be and that other youngsters their age were allowed more freedom.

      Jean knew perfectly well that by ‘other people’, Luke, who was coming up for twenty, and Grace, who was just nineteen, were referring to their cousins.

      There was no getting away from the fact that whilst she and Vivienne were twins, and as alike as two peas in a pod on the outside, twenty-three years of marriage to two such very different men meant that they were now very different on the inside.

      Family was still family, though, which was why she had bullied and cajoled hers into a state of freshly scrubbed neatness and their best clothes, ready to make the journey across the Mersey, from their pin-neat three-storey terraced house on Ash Grove in Wavertree to the much larger house on Kingsway in Wallasey Village, where her sister and her family lived. The Borough of Wallasey might include New Brighton and Seacombe, but as Jean’s sister was fond of saying, so far as she was concerned, it was Wallasey Village that those in the ‘know’ recognised as the ‘best’ address in the borough.

      At last they were ready to leave, the back and the front doors were locked and they were free to set off down towards Picton Road to catch the bus that would take them to the Pier Head and the landing stage for the ferry terminal at Seacombe, from where they could catch another bus inland to Wallasey Village itself.

      ‘Ta, thanks, love.’

      Jean shared a proud parental look with Sam, as Luke gave up his seat on the Royal Iris, one of the two ferries that sailed every quarter of an hour between Liverpool and Seacombe, to a harassed-looking young woman holding a young child and both their gas masks.

      Jean was proud of all her children, but there was no getting away from the fact that your first always had a special place in your heart, she acknowledged.

      Whilst Luke took after his dad, and had inherited his height along with his thick dark hair and bright blue eyes, Grace took after her side of the family, and had inherited the same petite, shapely figure, rose-gold curls and dark blue eyes as Jean’s younger sister. The twins, though, Louise and Sarah, with brown hair, hazel eyes and freckled noses, were herself and Vi all over again.

      It was a perfect August day with warm sunshine, and so it was no wonder that the ferry boats ploughing their way across the Mersey to the sandy beaches of New Brighton had their full complement of two thousand passengers apiece, Jean acknowledged.

      Their mother had always joked that her twin daughters had chosen to make their appearance on the hottest day of the year. Mam had been dead for nearly ten years now, worn out by looking after a husband who had never recovered properly from being in the trenches, and the birth of a third child when she had been in her late forties. She and Vi had been in their teens when their sister, Francine, had been born. Francine was closer in age to their children than she was to them.

      The ferry was approaching the Seacombe landing stage. As always the thought of seeing her twin was filling Jean with a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. Pleasure at the thought of being with the sister she had been so close to as they grew up, and discomfort at the thought of being with the person that sister had become.

      ‘Lou, just look at you,’ she complained to the younger of her twins as Sam gathered his family together. To one side of him Luke mimicked his father’s proud stance and protective eye for the girls’ welfare as they queued to get off, all of them holding on to the gas masks the Government had issued, and which they were supposed to carry at all times.

      ‘Where’s your hair ribbon?’ Jean asked Louise. The twins were devils for losing their hair ribbons, no matter how tightly she tied them on.

      ‘It’s in my pocket.’

      ‘What’s it doing there? It should be on the end of your plait.’

      ‘Sasha pulled it off.’

      ‘No I didn’t,’ her twin defended herself immediately, giving Louise a swift nudge in the ribs.

      ‘Grace didn’t fasten it properly,’ Louise amended her story, both the twins giggling as they exchanged conspiratorial looks over this patent fib.

      ‘I don’t know!’ Jean shook her head with maternal disapproval. ‘No one looking at you would ever think you were grown-up girls of fourteen. The minute we get off here, I’m going to have to redo that plait of yours.’

      Luke looked so handsome in his new suit, navy blue just like his dad’s. Sam might have shaken his head, but she’d reminded him that Luke was young man now – old enough to be called up to do his six months’ army service in a month’s time when he reached his twentieth birthday. He’d been apprenticed to an electrician friend of Sam’s since he’d left school and as soon as he was out of his apprenticeship Sam was going to put him forward for a job with the Salvage Corps. That couldn’t happen soon enough for Jean. Working in the Salvage Corps was a reserved occupation, and so he wouldn’t be sent off to fight.

      Not that the men in the Salvage Corps didn’t face danger. In the last year alone, three men Sam worked with had lost their lives in the course of their work.

      The ferry finally docked, allowing the passengers to stream off. Everywhere Jean looked she could see happy families determined to enjoy themselves, the girls and the women in their best summer frocks and the men in their suits, whilst the children were equipped for the beach with their buckets and spades.

      ‘Do you remember when we used to bring our four here for the beach?’ she asked Sam nostalgically.

      ‘How could I forget? They took that much sand back with them, you’d have thought they were building a second Liverpool bar,’ he laughed, referring to the sand bar beyond the docks.

      ‘Do you remember that time you put Luke up on that donkey and it ran off with him?’

      ‘Scared me to death, but he managed to stick on like a regular little trooper,’ Sam agreed.

      ‘And then when the twins buried their doll and couldn’t find it?’

      ‘I remember when that sister of yours turned up with her two and little Jack, and he wandered off. She didn’t half give him a pasting when she found him.’

      A sudden sadness clouded Jean’s eyes, causing Sam to touch her arm and mutter awkwardly, ‘Sorry, love, I wasn’t thinking.’

      Jean