Through the Storm Read Free Page B

emerged from the newsagent’s. ‘They’ve got baked beans in Costigans.’
    Sheila Reilly had been in the same class as Kitty at school. She’d been Sheila Doyle from Garnet Street in those days, but had moved to Pearl Street when she married Calum Reilly, a merchant seaman who was away most of the time.
    ‘I know, I got some. I got one for Nan Wright, too. Did you know Ernie Johnson’s got ciggies?’
    ‘I’ve already bought a packet for me dad. He’s a dirty bugger, that Ernie. The things he asked me to do!’ She stopped the pram and fanned her face with her hand. ‘Phew! I’m sweating like a cob. Here, put your bags in the pram, Kit. That’s why I bring it. Our Mary’s two and Ryan’s three and they’re far too big to be pushed round, but it saves having to carry all me shopping. There’s no way I could cart home seven tins of beans, along with everything else.’
    ‘Mam!’ the children complained in unison as Kitty gratefully planted her two bags on their feet.
    ‘Shurrup, youse two, else I’ll make you walk,’ Sheila told them severely. She smiled at Kitty. ‘Kids!’
    Sheila had six children; the older four were at school. The two women had been good friends once, though nowadays Kitty avoided her whenever she could as long as it didn’t involve being rude. Sheila Reilly with her vast family made her feel uncomfortable, like a dried-up old maid. Sometimes, Kitty felt it wasn’t just the war which was passing her by, but life itself.
    ‘How are you doing?’ Sheila asked as they walked back home. ‘I haven’t seen you for a natter in ages. Why don’t you pop in for a cup of tea now’n again? We could talk about old times.’
    Because they’re the last thing I want to talk about, thought Kitty. It would only remind her of the hopes and dreams she’d once had, that the three of them had had; Brenda Mahon, Sheila and Kitty. They’d stayed friends after they left school at thirteen and went out to work. They’d done the First Fridays together, made the Stations of the Cross each Easter, gone to the pictures, giggled breathlessly over boys. She muttered something about how she’d love to pop in for a cup of tea, but her father always kept her busy.
    ‘Remember us hanging round North Park when it was dusk waiting for the Parkie to lock up? We used to have a fine ould time with the lads. We even had a bet once on which of us would be kissed first.’
    ‘I remember,’ Kitty said shortly.
    ‘You won. You were the best looking and drove the lads wild. Me and Brenda always thought you’d beat us getting married by a mile …’ Sheila paused as she turned the pram into Pearl Street, as if aware of how tactless she was being. Kitty Quigley had been stuck at home with her dad for ten whole years and denied the opportunity even of meeting a man, let alone marrying one. ‘Still,’ she finished lamely, ‘marriage isn’t the be-all and end-all of a woman’s existence, is it?’
    ‘I didn’t particularly want to get married, did I?’ Kitty did her best to sound cool and unperturbed. ‘I wanted to be a florist. I intended having me own shop eventually.’ She’d been working in Garlands in Stanley Road for nearly a year learning the trade, and distinctly remembered the day someone came running in to say her dad had been taken to Bootle hospital. Kitty left immediately to go and see him, never dreaming at the time she was leaving for good.
    Sheila began to manoeuvre the pram down the back entry. ‘That’s right, so you did. You were always the artistic one at school.’
    Though Kitty had assumed other things would be on the cards eventually; a husband, children, a home of her own. When they reached the Quigleys’ back door, she put her hand on the latch to go in.
    ‘Y’know,’ Sheila said, looking at Kitty thoughtfully, ‘I’ve often wondered what would have happened when your dad was hurt if you’d been a boy? Would you still have been expected to give up your job to look after