Through the Storm Read Online Free PDF Page A

confused. ‘The way you spoke just now, as if you were annoyed.’
    ‘Me, annoyed? Never! I was worried, that’s all. You can see Sheila Reilly whenever y’like, y’don’t have to mind me.’ He winced and rubbed his knee. ‘It’s just that me legs have been playing up a bit this morning, particularly the right one …’
    ‘Oh, Dad, you should have said!’ It was just like him to suffer in silence. ‘Would you like me to make a hot water bottle to put on them?’
    ‘It doesn’t matter, luv,’ he said stoutly. ‘It’ll pass eventually, it usually does.’
    ‘Are you sure now?’ Kitty began to fuss around, taking the cushion from behind his head and plumping it up before putting it back carefully.
    ‘I’m sure.’
    ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. I got you ten Woodies.’ She fished in her handbag for the cigarettes.
    ‘What would I do without you, kiddo! Where’s the matches? I’m dying for a smoke.’
    Kitty brought a box of Swan Vestas and sat watching him indulgently while he lit a ciggie, took a deep breath and blew the smoke out with a long contented sigh. Their eyes met and they grinned at each other. All her previous resentment was forgotten. She knew that after he’d finished the
Daily Herald
they would have their dinner, bacon and beans, and he would suggest they play draughts or cards before he took his afternoon nap in the chair. Then they would listen to the six o’clock news on the wireless while they ate their tea. It being Thursday,
ITMA
with the Liverpool comedian, Tommy Handley, was on at half past eight, his favourite programme. Often Paddy O’Hara, his best mate, would come in and listen with them. Afterwards, they would go to the King’s Arms, Dad somewhat painfully on his sticks, and she would tidy up, fetch in the coke and kindling ready for morning, set the table for their breakfast, put the washing in to soak. Finally, she would make a butty for his supper and start preparing the cocoa.
    She told herself she was very lucky. All over the country, people had lost their homes or, even worse, their families. Kitty Quigley had a warm house to live in and a dad who loved her, and although there were more exciting ways of spending her days, she was better off than many young women of her age.
    Even when Dad produced a piece of paper on which he’d written down what to say when she went to the Labour Exchange on Monday, urging her to learn it off by heart so it would sound natural, Kitty merely nodded her head obediently and didn’t say a word.

Chapter 2
    The Labour Exchange in Breeze Hill was busy and an air of mild chaos reigned. The original office in Oriel Road had been bombed in May, and it appeared as if the staff had not yet settled properly into their new home. Although Kitty arrived early for her appointment, feeling somewhat nervous, it was almost half past eleven by the time she was told to go to the counter where an official, a beautifully made-up girl much younger than herself, was waiting impatiently as if Kitty were late. There was a little cardboard sign in front of her which told the world she was called Miss G. Ellis.
    ‘Where’s your form?’ she asked crisply.
    ‘I haven’t got a form.’
    ‘You’re supposed to have filled in a form while you were waiting.’
    ‘No-one asked me to,’ Kitty said humbly, feeling it was entirely her own fault she hadn’t filled in a form. She found Miss Ellis, in her navy-blue tailored suit with a crisp white blouse underneath, and with perfectly waved hair, rather intimidating, despite her tender years. She spoke dead posh in a forceful, staccato way, as if she was in a hurry to get the proceedings over with as quickly as possible.
    She tut-tutted and produced a form from behind the counter, snapping, ‘In that case, I’ll fill it in for you to save time. Name?’
    ‘Kathleen Patricia Quigley, but everyone calls me Kitty.’
    ‘Is that Miss or Mrs?’
    ‘Miss,’ Kitty said meekly.
    ‘Address?’
    ‘Twenty Pearl Street,