Maria’s always—’
‘Oh, Maria’s well enough,’ Christine stopped her. ‘But ruddy Sofia, she’s allus had it in for me. I’ve warned Aldo many a time not to let Sofia go dragging him into that Fascist lot with her Carlo. Well, I just hope that Aldo’s listened to what I’ve bin saying to him and not got hisself involved, now that there’s all this trouble brewing and folk taking against Italians. Did you try the chippie on Christian Street?’ Christine finished.
It was typical of her mother that it was her hunger she was thinking about and not the fact that she, Rosie, could have been in danger if there had been another outbreak of violence, Rosie accepted ruefully.
‘I’m not going back out again tonight,’ she told her firmly. Other girls with stricter mothers might have been wary of being as outspoken as she was. She was a gentle girl, not normally argumentative, but she knew with her mother she had to stick to her guns – or risk being bullied into doing whatever it suited Christine to have her do.
‘I’ll be glad when Dad gets back,’ she added.
Since Rosie had overheard her father discussing his ship’s near miss, she had prayed extra hard, not just for her father but for all those men who had to make that perilous journey across the Atlantic to be kept safe. War was such a very dreadful thing but, as her father had told her, they had no option other than to stand up to Hitler and to fight as bravely as they could.
‘Well, if I’m not goin’ to get me supper I might as well go to bed. Pity we didn’t get a bit of sommat at number 16. We would have done an’ all if bloody Sofia hadn’t started havin’ a go at me like that.’
‘I don’t think she liked the way you were with Aldo,’ Rosie told her mother uncomfortably.
Christine dropped her cigarette, cursing as it burned a hole in the thin carpet. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You should have let Maria be the one to greet him first. She is his wife, after all.’
Christine gave a dismissive shrug. ‘We all know that. Old Giovanni had both Aldo and Carlo shipped over from the old country so as he could have husbands for his daughters. Mind you, it were the only way he could get them wed. Maria’s that saintly she should have been a ruddy nun, and as for Sofia, she’s got that sharp a tongue on her, the Grenellis don’t need no knife-grinder comin’ round.’
‘Mum …’ Rosie objected. It disturbed her to hear her mother running down the two women who were surely her closest friends, but she knew better than to take Christine to task when she was in this kind of mood.
Rosie plumped up her pillow and tried to get comfortable. There was silence outside in the street now, but the earlier violence had left her feeling on edge and unable to sleep, even though she was bone tired. Right from being a little girl, Rosie had been afraid of the dark. Then she had been able to creep into her parents’ bed when her father was at home, seeking reassurance. She couldn’t do that now, of course, but no matter how much she tried to rationalise away her fears, the blackout was something she hated.
Further up the street she heard footsteps and then the sound of a knock on a neighbouring door. Silence followed, suddenly broken by a woman’s screams of anguish. Quickly Rosie slipped out of bed and hurried over to the window, easing back the blackout curtain.
Several doors down from them she could see four burly policemen marching seventy-odd-year-old Dom Civeti away from his front door whilst his wife pleaded with them not to take him.
Rosie couldn’t believe her eyes. Everyone knew and loved Dom Civeti, who was the kindest and most gentle man you could imagine. He trained the singing birds that so many Italian families liked to keep, and he was also famous throughout Liverpool for his accordion playing. Rosie could remember how Dom had always had barley sugar in his pockets for the street children, and how he would patiently teach the young boys to play the accordion.
As her eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness, she saw that there were other men standing at the end of the street under the guard of the unmistakable bulk of Constable Black, a popular policeman from Rose Street police station. Having escorted Dom to where Constable Black was standing, the other policemen turned back down the street, heading, Rosie recognised with a lurch of her stomach, for the Grenellis’.
She let the blackout drop and raced to pull on her dressing gown as she hurried into her parents’ bedroom, switching on the light and demanding urgently, ‘Mum, wake up.’
When there was no response from the sleeping figure, Rosie gave her mother a little shake.
‘What the … Turn that ruddy light off, will you Rosie?’ Christine objected grumpily, rubbing her eyes and leaving streaks of mascara on her face. Christine claimed that it was a waste to clean her mascara off every night when she was only going to have to put fresh on in the morning, and she often derided Rosie for her insistence on thoroughly removing nightly what little bit of makeup she did wear.
‘It’s the Grenellis,’ Rosie told her mother. ‘I’ve just seen the police going to their door.’
‘What?’ Christine was properly awake now, pushing Rosie away and sitting up in bed, the strap of her nightgown slipping off her shoulder. Several of the rags she had tied in her hair had come out whilst she had been asleep, leaving tangled untidy strands hanging round her face. The air in the room smelled strongly of cheap scent and, despite her anxiety for their friends, Rosie was guiltily aware of how much she wished that her mother was different and more like other girls’ mothers.
‘Are you sure it was the Grenellis’ they were going to?’ Christine demanded.
‘Yes …’ Rosie tensed as they both heard the sound of angry male voices outside in the street.
‘Pass us me clothes then, Rosie. We’d better get dressed and get over there to find out what’s going on,’ Christine asserted. ‘No, not that thing,’ she refused when Rosie handed her her siren suit, as the unflattering all-in-one outfit everyone was urged to keep to hand to wear in case of an air raid in the night, was called. ‘Over my dead body will I go out in that. You’d better go and get summat on yourself,’ she added, when Rosie had handed her the discarded skirt and twinset Christine had been wearing before going to bed and which she had simply left lying on the floor.
Five minutes later they were both dressed and on their way to the Grenellis’.
There was no question in Rosie’s mind about any risk to their own safety. The Grenellis were their friends and if they were in trouble then Rosie and Christine should be there to help them if they could, or share it with them if they couldn’t.
‘What the bleedin’ hell … ?’ Rosie heard her mother suddenly exclaim sharply, both of them coming to an abrupt halt as they saw Constable Black shepherding Giovanni, Carlo and Aldo out through the Grenellis’ front door.
Rosie’s stomach tightened with shocked disbelief when she saw Giovanni, the once proud head of his household, looking so shrunken and old and, even worse, so very frighteningly vulnerable. As she and her mother hurried up to them Rosie could see the tears on his lined cheeks.
‘What’s going on?’ Christine demanded as she ran forward and grabbed hold of the policeman’s uniformed arm.
‘You
