and the radio could talk of nothing else but that evil man Hitler, with his silly moustache and his mad ravings. But as far as Kitty could tell, there was no taste for war in Empire Street. The memory of the Great War and the terrible toll it took on the country’s men was still felt and could be seen all around them. Women like Mrs Delaney who still wore her widow’s weeds. And men like poor Joe, with his one leg and half of his face missing, who sold matches on the street corner.
And what about her brothers Jack and Danny? The thought that they could be sent off to fight in some far-flung place horrified her – they were so young. And what about Dolly’s boys, Frank and Eddy, they’d have to go too, wouldn’t they?
Frank Feeny…
Kitty was unaware of the smile that played on her lips as she thought of Frank Feeny and the slight blush that crept into her cheeks. Frank had been like a brother to her and he surely only thought of her as a sister. So why had he started to creep into her daydreams with his deep blue eyes and his hair the colour of molasses sugar?
But her thoughts were interrupted and she quickly released her strong grip on Tommy’s collar when she heard the sound of heavy boots on the linoleum. To her surprise, a line of local men all entered through the front door that opened out onto the street and made their way through her kitchen towards the back door. Kitty’s mouth opened in a big O as the men filed quickly past her.
‘Sorry, Kitty,’ said Mr Donahue, who lived at the bottom of the street. He was followed by Danny and her father, who hurried behind him out of the back door, down the yard, past the lavatory and disappeared to the narrow alleyway beyond.
Pushing Tommy to one side, Kitty leaned her hands on the sink and, perching on tiptoes, looked out of the narrow window. Her heart was racing now. What had Danny and her dad been up to this time?
‘Sorry, Kitty.’ Sid Kerrigan, marrying Aunty Dolly’s daughter Nancy on Saturday and looking every inch the spiv with his Brylcreemed hair and his sharp suit, joined the moving line of men to the back door. He furtively dropped a pack of cards and a handful of coins into her pinny pocket, and Kitty guessed that an illegal gambling ring had been running. The bobbies must have got wind of it; either that or they’d stumbled across an illegal game of pitch-and-toss, usually played in the narrow alleyway, commonly known as ‘the jigger’, that ran between the Callaghans’ house and Pop Feeny’s stable.
Kitty’s suspicions were confirmed when, moments later, she heard another set of heavy boots running through the kitchen. She was furious that her home had been used as an escape route but she would rather have been struck down by a bolt of lightning than dob them into the police. You didn’t do that sort of thing on Empire Street.
A hefty police constable, looking as strong as one of those new air-raid shelters, his truncheon raised at the ready, hurled himself into Kitty’s scullery and nearly upended the three-tiered wedding cake that she had finished decorating only that morning. Trembling in all its white-pillared glory, it looked about to lose the tiny bride and groom that sat neatly on the top. Kitty, imagining her hard work was about to smash to the floor, saw red.
‘Here, what do you think you’re doing?’ She thrust out her hand and, in the blink of an eye, saved the cake from certain destruction. Having steadied it back onto the stand, she pushed her chin forward only inches from the bobby’s face and her determined expression told him he was out of luck if he thought he was going to take the shortcut to an arrest today.
Tommy stood watching, his face lit with delight. With a bit of luck Kitty would forget all about finishing his wash.
‘We have reason to believe—’ the bobby began.
‘I don’t care what you’ve got, you’ve got no right to come crashing into decent people’s homes. If you haven’t got a warrant you’re not going any further, so get out of my kitchen and leave us honest folk to our work, will you!’ With that, slightly built as she was, Kitty pushed back the surprised constable and urged him down the lobby and out of the front door. Slamming it shut, she dusted her hands and vowed that she would have more than a little word with Danny and her father when they deigned to show their faces again.
‘And you …’ Kitty arrived back in the scullery, looking menacingly at Tommy, ‘get those hands washed. Your tea will be ready in five minutes.’ Tommy washed his hands in double-quick time. He was not going to argue with Kitty when she was in this mood. If asked, he would not be able to describe the rising admiration he now felt for his sister. She was only a slip of a girl, but she had the courage of a lioness.
‘We were just having a game of pitch-and-toss in the back alley, there …’ Danny stilled the hunk of bread that was heading towards his mouth and nodded towards the wall that separated the house from Pop Feeny’s stable. Danny and his father had crept back into the house while Kitty got the dinner onto the table. It was a simple meal of beef suet pudding with boiled potatoes and cabbage. Money for food was often scarce but Kitty was adept at stretching her housekeeping money out and she had inherited her mother’s talent for cooking as well as for watching the pennies. She could often be found at the local market on a Saturday evening, haggling with the stallholders and usually getting the best prices.
Kitty hadn’t forgotten about the incident earlier but the worry over the housekeeping money was still unresolved and she bore down on her younger brother.
‘I don’t care about the game. What about the money in the tin?’ she asked Danny, who let out a long exasperated sigh.
‘That was just a loan, Kit. You know I’ll put it back before the rent man comes.’
‘It’s a bit late for that. He’s been and I’ve paid him and now I’ve got nothing left.’ Kitty knew this wasn’t true, thinking of the money that Sid had popped in her pinny, but she wasn’t ready to let Danny off the hook. Her hands were in their usual position on her hips and she leaned towards him. She wanted answers, not excuses.
‘You haven’t?’ Danny’s pale face was a picture of disbelief. Kitty nodded.
‘He promised he’d be our lookout, but he was nowhere to be seen.’ Danny nodded towards young Tommy. ‘I was on a winning hand when the bobbies came. Someone scooped all the stake money – I’m not sure who but I’ll soon find out.’
‘A fat lot of good that will do me.’ Kitty was angry now. ‘What am I supposed to do when I have to go into the shop and tell old-misery-on-the-hob Mrs Kennedy that I don’t have the money to pay me bill?’
Kitty would tell him about Sid Kerrigan dropping the money into her pocket later, but for now, he could sweat. Danny had a job as a stevedore on Canada Dock but he ducked and dived, did a little bit of this, and a little bit of that, and up to now he had stayed just the right side of the law, but sometimes only by the skin of his teeth. Kitty worried how long it would be before his luck ran out and there would be no going back. She noted her shifty-looking father, his head buried in the Evening Echo, making no attempt to meet her eyes. How was she ever going to instil some morals in Danny if his father only encouraged him in the opposite direction?
‘I’ll get your money,’ Danny said in a reassuring voice, trying to calm Kitty down. It wouldn’t do to get her all steamed up before he told them all his news. It was going to be bad enough once he told her. He was going to join up!
‘Well, you just make sure you do, Danny Callaghan, otherwise you’ll be going to visit Mam up in heaven – if they’ll have you! We do not have the money to throw away on fines if you are caught gambling, Danny.’ Kitty took the plate from under his nose, refusing to acknowledge his look of disappointment that told her he had been about to mop
