The Leaving of Liverpool Read Online Free PDF Page B

sincerely.
    His face clouded and he nodded curtly. He had no wish to look back over the last four years. ‘Poor Master James wasn’t so lucky.’
    ‘What’s the matter with him? He wasn’t wounded, was he?’
    He moved the dishes around and pretended to study their layout more closely. ‘No, he wasn’t, but he’s not the same. He’s changed. A lot of men have.’
    She sensed his reluctance to discuss it further. ‘And what about Miss Olivia and the Master?’
    The old grin was back. ‘Oh, aye, they’re still the same. The Master’s getting older and a bit more portly and as for Miss Olivia . . .’
    ‘Still spoiled rotten.’ It was a statement not a question.
    ‘I don’t envy the man that gets her. He’ll have a dog’s life unless he can control her. Any of those feeble-looking blokes she calls her “friends” just couldn’t cope. She’d have ground them down in no time.’
    ‘Is there anyone special then?’
    ‘No. You know her. Flighty. Can’t think of anything other than what’s she’s going to wear and who she’s going to meet and will she have any fun!’
    Emily gave the knife a last polish and placed it down. ‘That makes two of them then,’ she muttered, thinking it was an apt description of Phoebe-Ann.
     
    Phoebe-Ann had made up the bed and had arranged her brush, comb and hair pins neatly on the washstand, next to her soap and toothbrush and towel. Her few clothes she had hung up in the oddly-shaped cupboard under the sloping eaves. She’d stood on tiptoe and peered out of the tiny window that gave a wonderful view right over the city and the river. Then she’d readjusted her cap and peered at herself in the tiny, speckled mirror on the wall, the only concession to adornment in the room. She rubbed an imaginary smut from her cheek. Maybe she’d buy a picture or one of those fancy calendars with paper lace threaded with ribbon she’d seen the street pedlars selling for a penny. That would look nice. She sat down on the bed and looked around. It wasn’t the height of luxury but then it was hers and she’d never had a room to herself in her entire life. The thought pleased her. Perhaps she’d get a small vase and put some flowers in it and change the curtains for something prettier and the bedspread. Then she shrugged. What was the point? She wouldn’t spend much time in here. She was getting carried away with herself. Any money she got would be spent on clothes.
    The realization that she wouldn’t have much time to spend in her room dampened her spirits. Up at five in summer, six in winter, working all day and most of the evening, she knew from past experience that she’d fall gratefully into bed at night without even noticing chintzy curtains or vases of flowers. She could earn twice as much and have more free time if only Mam had let her try for one of the factories. And she’d have had lots of other girls and women to chat to, laugh with, confide in. Maybe Mam would change her mind later on. She wished now she hadn’t been so hasty about deciding to live in. She’d waited for one of them to say something, to try to coax her to change her mind and last night it really wouldn’t have taken much effort, but the subject hadn’t even been mentioned. All Mam had said was ‘Make sure you ask for the time off to come to the Registry Office’. And that had been that. Oh, blast them all! It must be time to take Miss Olivia’s tray now. She brightened up and went down to the kitchen.
    With expertise born of practice, she manoeuvred the door open and closed it gently with her foot. She placed the tray on the chest of drawers and looked around. Nothing in the room seemed to have changed and she grinned as she caught sight of the figure curled up in the bed. With a deft flick of both wrists she drew back the curtains and the bright rays of sunlight dispelled the gloom.
    ‘Mornin’, Miss Olivia. It’s nearly eight and I’ve brought your tray.’
    A head appeared from beneath the