It Had To Be You (5 page)

‘How are you getting on, Emma?’ he called. ‘Still missing ol’ Harry?’

‘Aye, but he’d want me to get on with my life.’
She brushed back a strand of chestnut hair. ‘At the moment I’m waiting for a reply to an advert I put in the
Clitheroe Times.
I need more bookkeeping work.’

He nodded. ‘No doubt you’ll also be waiting for a letter from Liverpool.’

His knowing about her trip to Liverpool came as no surprise as there was a flourishing grapevine in the village. ‘That’s right.’

‘Well, I can’t help you there but I’ll have a word with the vicar, if you like, and see if he knows anyone who needs a bookkeeper when he’s visiting in the parish.’

Emma had not forgotten the vicar’s offer to provide her with a reference, but she had never thought of asking for his help in finding a job. She thanked the verger and then hesitated before asking, ‘Do you remember my mother?’

‘Of course I remember Mary. We were at school together. She was right pretty and had a way with her that had us lads vying for her attention. She had a lovely singing voice and was often chosen to perform solos.’

‘I never knew that,’ said Emma, astonished. ‘In fact I know very little about her. My grandparents hardly ever spoke about her after she died.’

‘Perhaps it was too painful. She had an ambition to sing professionally but they didn’t want her to leave the village.’

‘So she ran away,’ said Emma softly.

‘Aye, well, she had a determined nature; she wanted to be somebody.’

‘Things mustn’t have worked out for her on the stage if she married my father,’ said Emma.

‘You mean she must have given up her dream,’ said the verger, looking thoughtful. ‘That’s not necessarily true. She left when she was only eighteen and didn’t return until several years later. I remember seeing a poster up outside a theatre in Manchester, advertising a variety show and she was on the bill.’

Emma’s eyes widened. ‘Did my grandparents know?’

‘I didn’t keep it a secret, told my mam about it. You can bet the news went round, but your grandmother wouldn’t have gone to see her. According to my mam, she didn’t hold with the stage. Singing in church was one thing, but going around the country, performing in public and for money was quite another.’

‘That’s sad,’ murmured Emma. ‘What a shame Gran couldn’t have been proud of her. I imagine, though, that Granddad would have gone to see her perform if he’d been able to.’

‘Aye, well, it would have been more than his life was worth to go against your gran.’

Emma knew what he meant. ‘At least Mother came back here with me when she was ill and was
allowed to stay, so Gran must have forgiven her.’

‘Or ol’ Harry put his foot down. She brought them a granddaughter. I remember Mam saying that must have gone a long way to healing the breach.’

Emma could see why that could be true and smiled. ‘I mustn’t keep you from your work any longer but I’m glad we had this conversation.’

He grinned. ‘It brought memories back – but you don’t want to go delving into the past too much, lass,’ he warned. ‘You don’t know what you’ll find and you can’t change matters. You’re only young and you’ve your life ahead of you, concentrate on that.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ She waved and went on her way, knowing that, despite his advice, she still intended finding out more about her parents if she could.

She was halfway along the street when she noticed a tall, fair-haired man standing outside her front door. She felt a stir of excitement. Could it be Constable Marshall come to visit instead of writing her a letter? She quickened her pace.

He must have heard her footsteps because he turned his head and watched as she approached. ‘Constable Marshall, I didn’t expect to see you here,’ she called.

‘I fancied a trip into the country, Miss Booth. I see your ankle is much better now,’ he said, smiling.

‘Aye, it’s fine now.’ She smiled up at him in
delight. ‘Call me Emma,’ she added. ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long.’

‘No.’ He watched her as she pulled the key through the letter box. ‘That isn’t very sensible, you know.’

‘No one is going to break in here,’ said Emma. ‘I’ve nothing worth stealing.’

‘Even so, it’s no fun discovering someone has been in your house and rifled through your things,’ he warned.

‘OK. I get your message,’ said Emma, opening the door. ‘You’ll come in, of course, and have a cup of tea,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’ve been baking, so I can offer you fresh scones with home-made jam.’

He grinned. ‘Sounds good to me, and you can call me Dougie. Why stand on ceremony? I don’t know when last I tasted a home-made scone. Mam goes out to work and she doesn’t have time for baking.’ He wiped his feet on the mat and followed her inside.

Emma didn’t doubt for a moment that some of her neighbours would have spotted this new arrival and could imagine that, before nightfall, the news would be spread all over the village that Emma Booth had entertained a strange man in her cottage. The thought made her chuckle.

She led him through into the kitchen and offered him a chair before putting on the kettle. Then she sat down and stared at him expectantly. ‘So what
news have you for me?’ she asked.

He had been gazing about the room, but now he gave her his full attention. ‘The bad news is that Mrs Lizzie Booth was killed in a road accident a couple of years ago. The good news is that your half-sister was not involved.’

Emma was thankful about her half-sister being safe but felt sad that she would never get to meet her father’s second wife. ‘What happened to my half-sister after her mother’s death? Was she put in an orphanage?’

‘No. Mrs Booth had a sister. At the time of her death she and your half-sister were living with Mrs Gregory and her children.’

‘So Betty is living with her aunt and cousins?’

He nodded and took out a notebook. ‘Her aunt is a Mrs Elsie Gregory. She was widowed six months or so before her sister’s death but has since remarried her husband’s brother. She has a son who’s away doing his national service and there are two daughters, one’s working and the other is still at school.’

Emma was relieved that Betty hadn’t been left all alone in the world. ‘Do you think her aunt will allow me to see Betty?’

‘I didn’t get to meet the family,’ said Dougie. ‘I received the information from a police station in Bootle. I can’t see any reason why she shouldn’t.’

‘So where are they living?’

‘Out past Bootle, which is north of Liverpool. In an area called Litherland, near Seaforth. You might have heard of Seaforth …’ said Dougie, his blue eyes meeting Emma’s.

‘No,’ she said.

He looked surprised. ‘But you’ve heard of Gladstone?’

‘Aye. He was a prime minister in Victorian times.’

‘Well, his family had a big house in Seaforth. In fact, there’s a big dock there called Gladstone Dock, named after his brother.’

‘I see.’ Emma frowned. ‘So the Gregorys live near the docks?’

Dougie shook his fair head. ‘No. I just thought you might find it interesting about the dock and the Gladstone family. It’s history, isn’t it?’

She smiled. ‘Aye, it is. Where do the Gregory family live exactly?’

‘A mile or more from the docks, the other side of the Leeds-Liverpool canal, in a large Victorian house with a garden,’ said Dougie, leaning towards her. ‘I went and had a look for curiosity’s sake. If I were you, I’d write to the aunt, introducing yourself, and say that you’d like to meet your
half-sister.
’

‘You think writing is better than going there?’ she asked, getting up and removing the kettle from the heat.

‘Think, Emma, what happened last time you went in search of your half-sister. It’s not a good idea to spring surprises on people you don’t know. I’ve heard of cases where the last thing people want is the past being dragged into the present. It can ruin some people’s lives.’

Emma wondered how many times people were going to tell her to leave the past alone. ‘How can I ruin Betty’s life? I only want to meet her, not take her away from her family.’

‘I’m just giving you my opinion, you don’t have to take notice of it,’ he said stiffly.

She flushed, realising she had offended him. That was the last thing she wanted to do after he had been so helpful to her. ‘Of course, thank you. I really do appreciate what you’ve done for me in coming all this way to tell me,’ she said awkwardly. ‘If you give me her address, I will write to Mrs Gregory.’

He smiled. ‘Sensible girl. That way you’re less likely to get hurt.’

Emma was not so sure about that, because she knew that if Mrs Gregory wouldn’t allow her to see her half-sister, then she would be hurt. She spread blackberry jam on scones and then made tea.

‘These scones are good,’ said Dougie, after taking a bite out of one. He looked surprised.

She flushed with pleasure and offered him another and sat opposite him to drink her own tea. ‘I should have given you a napkin,’ she said.

‘It doesn’t matter, as long as you don’t mind crumbs on the floor,’ he said. ‘What are you planning on doing if Mrs Gregory allows you to meet her niece and you’d like to see more of her? Will you stay here or consider moving to Liverpool?’

Emma did not know what to say as the last thing she had in mind was to leave the cottage that had always been her home. ‘I don’t know yet; so much depends on my getting enough work to support myself. I’m a freelance bookkeeper and have just a couple of small-time clients. That was all right when Granddad was alive and we had his pension and savings, but without them …’ Her voice trailed off.

‘You haven’t thought of making money from baking scones?’

‘You are joking!’ said Emma, smiling.

‘No. These scones are good. May I have another one?’

She offered him the plate, flattered by his comments. ‘There’s already a perfectly good bakery in the village,’ she murmured, ‘and there’s also the Co-op.’

‘Never mind them,’ said Dougie, leaning forward. ‘I was thinking more of you doing what you are doing now. Providing tea and scones for visitors in your own home.’

‘What visitors?’ she asked, taken aback.

‘Tourists who come to the area to visit the ruins
of the abbey and walk the fells,’ he replied. ‘I bet there’ll be quite a number of motorists visiting the countryside from Easter onwards. You’re nicely situated here.’

She found it difficult to take his idea seriously. ‘I’d have to sell an awful lot of teas and scones to make a living from it.’

‘Part-living. You’d have your bookkeeping, as well, don’t forget.’

‘Even so …’ Suddenly she remembered what was written in the deeds of the cottage about the house having being used as a shop and tea room. ‘What if I decided to move to Liverpool?’

‘Finding somewhere to live in Liverpool would be difficult. Lots of homes were damaged or destroyed in the Blitz.’ Dougie swallowed the last of his scone. ‘Anyway, this is a lovely place and surely you have friends here? Still, you have to make your own decision. Do you bake anything other than scones? Are you any good at cakes, and in particular, Lancashire specialities?’

Emma was touched that he should be so keen on helping her with suggestions to support herself, but a bit hurt that he wasn’t encouraging her to move to Liverpool closer to his home. ‘I can make Chorley and Eccles cakes, but I’d have to save enough coupons to buy the dried fruit needed. That’s one of the difficulties with your idea – so many commodities are still on ration. Sugar is
just one of them.’ She sighed. ‘Before the war my grandmother used to make the best coffee-and-walnut cake I’ve ever tasted. It didn’t taste the same once she ran out of coffee and had to use Camp coffee with chicory.’

‘What about Lancashire hotpot?’

Emma did a double take. ‘It’s a big step from providing visitors with tea and scones to a hot meal.’

‘I’m thinking of the walkers who, after tramping the fells in the rain, are cold and wet, as well as being as hungry as a hunter,’ he said, his hand hovering over the last scone. ‘They’d be made up with a bowl of steaming hotpot.’

She passed the scone over to him. ‘I don’t know if it’s feasible. I have a roof that leaks and need money to repair that before I could spend out on tables and chairs and the like.’

He nodded. ‘I understand that, but if you really want to have a go, then you have to make it happen. Life doesn’t hand things to us on a plate. We have to work for them.’

‘I don’t mind hard work, Dougie,’ she said earnestly, ‘but I do need capital to finance this venture and I don’t have any money to spare.’

He frowned. ‘It’s a blinking shame. But I wouldn’t forget my idea, because you never know what’s round the corner. Now, how about showing me your village?’

‘It would be a pleasure, Constable Marshall!’ She knew that all eyes would be upon them but did not care. She would be proud to be seen with him. She collected the crockery and carried it over to the sink, thinking she would wash up later.

Once outside Emma hesitated, wondering which way to take him first. ‘When you walked from the station, you’ll have seen how small my village is compared to Liverpool,’ she said.

‘Yes, but I haven’t seen all of it. Do you have a cinema?’

She nodded. ‘And an assembly room for dancing and concerts. During the war the wounded soldiers used to be brought over from Calderstones hospital. The villagers would put on entertainment for them. I remember thinking how it really brought the war home to me. Up ’til then it didn’t seem real because we weren’t a target for the bombers and we seemed so far from the action going on elsewhere. You must have seen so much in Liverpool.’

‘The port lost a lot of men in the Battle of the Atlantic.’

‘But your father wasn’t one of them.’

‘No, I remember him telling me that he hated the sea.’

‘I love the river here, especially when it freezes over and there’s skating,’ she said dreamily.

‘So you can skate.’

Emma nodded. ‘My grandparents loved to skate. Have you ever been on the ice?’

He grinned. ‘Not wearing skates. Went through the ice on Stanley Park lake for a dare when I was a kid. I fell through it and thought I was a goner.’

‘That must have been scary,’ said Emma.