Daughters of Liverpool. Annie Groves

      Heaven knows what would have happened if Bella and Alan’s house hadn’t been bought for them by Bella’s father, who had kept the deeds in his own name.

      Now Bella was dependent on her father and she really could do with a larger allowance.

      Her mother, having finally exhausted the subject of Charlie’s bravery, much to Bella’s relief, changed the subject.

      ‘I want you to come back with me and help me decorate the Christmas tree, Bella. I’m so glad your father managed to get that new set of lights last year. You just can’t buy them now.’

      ‘I’ve got the tickets for us for the big Christmas Dance at the Grafton. I decided I might as well get them sooner rather than later, seeing as you’d given me your money,’ Carole told Katie.

      They were in the cloakroom at Littlewoods, getting ready to go home, having finished work for the day. Katie pulled on her beret but didn’t speak. She might have been working with her new friend for only a few days but it had been long enough for her to learn that Carole was a chatterbox who steamrollered over anyone’s attempt to get a word in edgeways once she was in full flood.

      ‘You’ll need to get a bit dressed up. Proper smart, the Grafton is. And everyone will be wanting to look their best, seeing as it’s Christmas. I’m going to wear me pink. Had it for me cousin’s wedding the summer before last. It’s got a net petticoat and there’s little silver stars embroidered on the skirt when I was her bridesmaid. It’s my favourite colour, is pink. What will you be wearing?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Katie told her truthfully.

      ‘Well, you must have summat a bit fancy, seeing as you was always going out to them posh places with your dad.’

      Katie had been obliged by Carole’s persistent questions to tell the other girl at least something about her family, but now, just like the Campion twins, Carole seemed to think that Katie had lived a far more glamorous life than she had, despite all Katie’s attempts to explain to her that her life had not been glamorous at all.

      Mentally Katie reviewed the contents of her wardrobe. When accompanying her father she had worn either a plain black dress or a black skirt with a white blouse – very dull indeed. Her mother had kept all the stage costumes she had ever worn, and had a wardrobe full of the kind of clothes that Katie suspected Carole would expect her to wear, but Katie wasn’t the sort who had ever wanted to wear sparkly sequined things, or in fact any kind of clothes that made her stand out in a crowd. She had grown up dreading standing out because it normally was as a result of some kind of embarrassing behaviour on the part of her parents. Being a little stoic with two artistic parents hadn’t always been easy. Katie could laugh at herself, of course. She had grown up to feel fiercely protective of her parents and yet at the same time she was rather relieved finally to be able to ‘be herself’ and be judged accordingly. She couldn’t, for instance, imagine anyone as down-to-earth as Jean Campion having a cosy chat with her dramatic mother.

      Katie liked Jean. There was a warmth about her that made Katie feel happy to be going ‘home’ to the Campions after work.

      She missed her parents, though, and she was looking forward to returning home for Christmas, even if she would have only a couple of days with them. Not that she wasn’t enjoying her work or happy in Liverpool. The girls were a good crowd who had made her welcome, and Anne’s calm manner brought a steadying presence to their ‘table’. So far there had been nothing remotely suspicious in any of the letters Katie had read, and Anne had informed her that this was the case with most of the letters.

      ‘But we still have to be vigilant,’ she had warned Katie, ‘because you never know, and we don’t want any spies sending letters that might get our lads killed or help Hitler to drop bombs on us, do we?’

      * * *

      ‘There you are, Katie; I was just beginning to worry about you,’ Jean greeted Katie when she knocked briefly on the back door and then stepped into the kitchen. Jean had told Katie that she must treat the house as her home and that there was no need for her to knock, but Katie still felt that she should.

      ‘I’m sorry I’m late, only I saw people queuing, and someone said it was oranges so I joined the queue thinking that you might like them for the twins for Christmas. They’d almost gone by the time I was served, but the grocer let me have four.’

      ‘Oh, Katie, bless you. You are thoughtful. Did you hear that, Sam?’ Jean called out. ‘Katie’s gone and managed to get some oranges for the twins.’

      Sam was more reserved than his wife, but he was a kind man and he gave Katie a warm smile.

      ‘There’s a letter arrived for you, Katie. Looks like your dad’s handwriting.’

      Thanking Jean, Katie took the letter from her. It was indeed from her father. A familiar mix of happiness and apprehension tightened her stomach as Katie opened it. So far her father’s letters had contained nothing but complaints about how hard his life was without her, and how surprised he was that she had not thought of this before taking on her war work.

      This time, though, her father’s mood was more positive. He had, he wrote, bumped into an old friend – a musician who had done well for himself, who lived in Hampstead and who had invited Katie’s parents to spend Christmas with him and his wife.

      So there’s no need for you to bother coming home, Katie – the Durrants haven’t got any children and since your mother and Mae Durrant were on stage together as girls, we’re both looking forward to having a splendid Christmas reminiscing about old times.

      ‘Katie, are you all right? It’s not bad news, is it?’ Jean’s concerned voice made Katie look up from her letter.

      ‘No. Not at all. My parents have been invited to spend Christmas with some old friends and so my father has written to tell me not to bother travelling all the way back to London to see them.’

      Jean’s maternal heart filled with indignation. That poor girl. Fancy her parents doing that to her. It was obvious to Jean how upset she was. She was only a girl still, for all that she behaved in such a sensible grown-up way.

      ‘Well, never mind, love,’ Jean told her sympathetically. ‘You’re welcome to spend your Christmas here with us. In fact I don’t mind admitting that I’ll be glad of an extra pair of hands, especially with our Grace going down to spend Christmas with her in-laws-to-be, and me having invited a couple of elderly neighbours who’ll be on their own to have their dinner with us. Mind you, I dare say the twins will plague you to death, especially when they find out that their brother has gone and bought them both some new records. I’m hoping that he’ll be home for his Christmas dinner as well – our Luke.’

      As yet Katie hadn’t met the Campions’ son, or their eldest daughter, Grace, and her fiancé, Seb, but she was looking forward to doing so, given how kind Jean herself was.

      ‘Now come and sit down and have your tea, Katie love, before it gets cold.’

      As Jean said to Sam later in the evening when Katie had gone upstairs at the twins’ request to tell them more about the famous dance bands her father had conducted, ‘I felt that sorry for her, Sam. Her face was a picture although she didn’t so much as say a word against her parents. If you ask me that girl hasn’t had an easy time of it at all, for all that the twins keep on about how lucky she is.’

      ‘Well, she’s lucky enough now, having you to take her under your wing, Jean,’ Sam told his wife lovingly.

      ‘Oh, go on with you, Sam. She’s no trouble to have around at all, kind and thoughtful as she is. I admit I was a bit worried at first when she started saying how her mother had been on the stage and her father conducted dance bands, knowing what the twins are like, but I reckon it’s doing them good having her here to tell them what it’s really like, and not all glamour and excitement, like they seemed to think.’

      ‘Well, you’ve got your Fran to thank for them thinking that,’ Sam reminded her.

      Jean