The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(15)

He couldn’t stand the thought that everyone was out doing their bit for the war effort when he was confined like this. He wasn’t usually given to self-pity or despair, but if he allowed himself to think too far ahead he could feel all hope draining from him. He was young, he was enthusiastic, he didn’t know the meaning of fear, and yet all because of a ridiculous twist of fate he wasn’t allowed to fight for his country’s freedom. It hurt him bitterly.

Sighing, he drew the newspaper towards him. This was his one regular piece of routine: ever since coming out of hospital he had made himself do the crossword every day. He’d never seen the point of it before, but during the long, empty hours convalescing on the ward, a fellow patient had introduced him to the challenge of filling in the gaps, solving the complicated clues. He’d bonded with the older man and somehow their shared interest had overcome the difference in their backgrounds. It turned out that the man was a high-ranking officer, who’d now returned to some shadowy behind-the-scenes, hush-hush role, whereas of course Danny had never been able to join any of the armed services, thanks to his damaged heart. But for those few moments the two men had been united in tracking down the perfect solution, and Danny had been bitten by the crossword bug. He’d made himself do one a day ever since. It was strange in some ways. He’d been no slouch at school, but had been too restless ever to settle down and make the most of his studies. He knew he had a good brain but had preferred to use it coming up with the latest scheme to make money or have some fun while working on the docks. Now all that was denied him, for the immediate future anyway, he took refuge in the pastime of thinking for its own sake.

He was absorbed in what he thought must be an anagram when there was a knock at the door. He almost jumped, he’d been staring so intensely at the arrangement of letters, willing them to form a recognisable word. He shook himself and shouted ‘come in’, as the door opened anyway and Sarah Feeny stepped inside.

The youngest of the Feenys, Sarah shared the no-nonsense, get-up-and-go attitude of her mother. She’d taken to her VAD nurse training like a duck to water, despite being so young. There wasn’t much that shocked or surprised her – having all those older brothers and sisters meant she’d heard it all before. Now she looked about her and grinned. ‘Blimey, Danny, it’s as quiet as a church in here.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Danny made a face. ‘Cup of tea? The pot’s around somewhere.’

‘Oh, I can see it, I’ll do it,’ Sarah offered at once.

Danny rose. ‘I’m not dead yet, I can still make a pot of tea,’ he told her, more sharply than he’d intended.

Sarah’s face fell. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t. I was just trying to be helpful.’

Danny groaned inwardly. He knew he was over-sensitive to everyone trying to molly-coddle him, and that’s why he hadn’t told anyone about his condition in the first place – anyone apart from Sarah, who’d found out. She was the last person he wanted to snap at and he felt bad about it, but that’s what came of spending too long on his own with only his puzzles for company.

‘I know,’ he said, his face softening. ‘But it’ll do me good to stretch my legs a bit. You make yourself comfortable, you must have been rushing round all day. Take the weight off your feet, I’ll only be half a mo.’

Sarah sank gratefully into the chair that until recently had been Kitty’s. ‘It’s so nice to have a bit of peace! No, don’t look like that, I mean it. People have been shouting at me all day at work and my head’s fit to burst with all the things I’m meant to remember. Then I come home and there isn’t a spare inch of space. Nancy’s in a mad flap because Gloria’s coming back for a visit and she hasn’t got anything to wear if they go out. Rita’s there because Mrs Kennedy’s driving her round the bend. Violet’s going on and on about the victory garden – you’d think she’d been a farmer or something before she married Eddy. Mam’s got piles of old rags everywhere, which she says are for her make-do-and-mend classes. Mam and Pop are bickering like they always do. It’s like a madhouse.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, don’t listen to me, I don’t mean it. I love them all, you know that. But sometimes it gets to me, I can’t help it.’

Danny smiled. ‘A bit of a contrast to here, which is like a monastery. You’re doing me a favour keeping me from going crackers rattling around here on my own.’

Sarah beamed. ‘Good, I’ll put my feet up then. Don’t suppose you’ve got any sugar? I know we aren’t supposed to have any in our tea now as it’s not patriotic, but some days it’s the only thing that’ll keep me going.’

Danny turned to the corner cupboard. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve got a secret stash of it in here. What’s the point of working on the docks if you can’t sweeten your tea now and again?’ He passed it across. ‘Just don’t make a habit of it, all right – it might have to last for the rest of the war, however long that’ll be. My contacts aren’t what they were, not since the fire.’ He smiled ruefully.

‘Don’t worry, this is a treat,’ said Sarah, stirring the precious sugar into her drink. ‘I’m not encouraging you to go on the black market, Danny. Not like that Mrs Kennedy, we all know what used to go on in her shop.’