Lights Out Liverpool Read Online Free PDF Page B

found this difficult to believe. Nobody, not even Hitler, could be so wicked.
    ‘I’d better be getting back. I’m holding you up.’ He struggled to rise, but she put her hand on his sleeve, noting how thin, almost skeletal, his arm felt.
    ‘Don’t go, luv. Stay and have another cup of tea. I’ll be making a bite to eat soon and they said there’d be more news at eight o’clock.’
    He looked grateful. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind, Eileen?’
    ‘I wouldn’t ask if I minded, would I?’ She managed a grin.
    ‘You’re very kind. This is the sort of day people shouldn’t be alone.’
    ‘You’ll never be alone in Pearl Street, Mr Singerman,’ Eileen chided. ‘Anyroad, I expect Paddy O’Hara’ll be along any minute wanting to know what the latest news is, along with one or two other folk who haven’t got a wireless. I’ve felt a bit like the BBC meself during the last few days.’
    ‘I’m surprised your Francis isn’t down yet.’ The old man had begun to look a little more cheerful.
    ‘He’s having a bit of a lie-in this morning,’ she explained. ‘He was out late last night with his mates.’
    ‘That was a fine thing he did, Eileen, joining the Territorials. He’s a fine man altogether, is Francis Costello.’
    ‘Everyone says that, Mr Singerman,’ Eileen said. Then she sighed. ‘I’ll just pour you another cup of tea, luv, then get dressed. There’ll be lots of visitors today, and it’s about time I made meself look respectable.’
    ‘You look lovely, Eileen. You always do.’
    ‘Why, thank you, Mr Singerman.’
    She poured a cup for Tony as well and took it up to him, though Francis wouldn’t approve if he knew. The room was bright with sunlight and Tony was already awake, his glasses on, reading a comic. Eileen hadn’t bothered with blackout in his room. It had been daylight when Tony had gone to bed and she’d instructed him on no account to switch the light on if he woke during the night. ‘Otherwise we’ll have one of them ARP wardens banging on the door.’
    ‘Has the war started yet?’
    Her hand, outstretched to stroke his fine blond hair, stopped in mid-air. The question took her by surprise, the expression on his face even more so. He looked quite animated, as if he hoped her answer would be in the affirmative.
    ‘No, it hasn’t,’ she said sharply. Instead of stroking his head, she shook his shoulder impatiently.
    ‘We’re going to beat bloody hell out of them Jerries, just like we did the last time,’ he said complacently. ‘I’m keeping me gun under me piller, just in case.’ He produced a tin pistol. ‘Gosh, Mam, it’s awful exciting.’
    ‘Don’t swear,’ she said automatically. ‘And it isn’t exciting one bit. If it happens, it’ll be bloody terrible.’
    He smiled at her cheekily. He could only be cheeky with his mam. ‘Don’t swear.’
    She had to smile back. ‘Come on, you little monkey. Drink the tea and get up. Mr Singerman’s downstairs. Don’t forget to bring your best jersey and trousers down. It’s Sunday.’
    ‘All right, Mam.’
    Eileen crept into the front bedroom. Francis was still snoring. With the door ajar, there was enough light to see the clothes she’d left on the chair the night before. She scooped them up and took them out onto the landing where she quickly got dressed. Later on, when Francis was up, she’d change into her best blue crepe de Chine. In the meantime, the white blouse and fawn cotton skirt she’d worn yesterday would have to do.
    Downstairs, Mr Singerman appeared to be dozing off in the chair. Eileen made her face up in the little spotted mirror over the sink in the back kitchen – a touch of rose-pink lipstick, a quick dab of face powder – and combed her long fair hair, tying it back neatly with a white ribbon. Her cheeks looked pale and she wished she had a bit of rouge to rub on them. Later on, she might go over to Sheila’s and borrow some. She thought about her recent conversation with her son.