Through the Storm by Maureen Lee Page B

suit and a collar and tie.
    ‘Jess’s home,’ sang Sheila. ‘She’s moved into number ten, Miss Brazier’s old house. And this is Penelope. Isn’t she lovely? And it’s ever so strange, Dad, but from certain angles, she’s the image of our Siobhan.’
    Jack blinked and came shuffling awkwardly into the room. ‘Where’s Arthur?’ he growled, directing his question at Sheila, as if the red-headed figure in the blue dress were invisible.
    ‘Arthur might come later,’ Sheila explained.
    ‘What happened to the Grahams?’
    ‘Dai Evans said the rent collector told him they were bad payers – they both had the same landlord. They were chucked out. I already told you that, Dad.’
    ‘That’s not fair,’ Jack exploded. ‘There were five kids in that family and Alfie Graham hasn’t worked in years.’
    ‘Only because he didn’t want to,’ Sheila argued. ‘There’s plenty of work for everyone since the war began.’ She regarded him with a certain amount of disapproval. ‘You’re dead rude, Dad. You haven’t said hello to Jess.’
    ‘Hello,’ he said grudgingly.
    ‘Hello, Jack,’ said Jessica. Her face was as expressionless as his, disguising entirely the thrill of excitement that coursed through her.
    She’d loved Jack Doyle since she was twelve, when he had come to the yard to complain bitterly because her father had given only coppers to some old lady for a family treasure which was worth far more. He was eight years older than she was, already courting, and barely aware of Jessie Hennessy’s existence. Anyroad, he wouldn’t be interested in someone like her, the daughter of a capitalist, a man who made his living like a leech on the backs of the poor – or so she’d heard him yell at her father on more than one occasion.
    After they left Pearl Street, she still had hankerings after the young firebrand who’d been the bane of her father’s life for so many years, though gradually, as time passed, the memory faded and if she thought about him at all, she regarded him as part of a working-class past long out-grown. She married Arthur. She was happy living in Calderstones, surrounded by every luxury money could buy. Her wardrobe was stuffed with the latest fashions, they owned the latest car, the kitchen was fitted with the most modern appliances. Jessica Fleming wanted for nothing.
    At least she told herself she was happy. There was always a sense of sadness that she’d never had children. At times, she felt she would have given everything, the clothes, the car, all the equipment in the kitchen, if only she could conceive a child of her own. Of course, it was her own fault. There was something wrong with her. Jessica Fleming might well be the epitome of womanhood, with her broad hips just made for childbirth, and full breasts waiting to be filled with milk, but inside she was barren …
    ‘Jess!’
    Jessica came to. Sheila was standing over her, a cup and saucer in her hand.
    ‘You were miles away,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve poured you another cup of tea.’
    ‘Thanks. You’re right, I was miles away.’
    ‘With Arthur?’
    ‘I’m not quite sure where I was.’
    Penny had been transferred to Jack Doyle’s knee while Jess was in her daydream. She was standing, exploring his face with her hands, whilst he stared at her, a curious, almost mystified expression on his craggy features. When Penny pulled his ears, he couldn’t resist it, he smiled.
    The smile transformed his rather sombre face. He was still a good-looking man, Jack Doyle, thought Jessica, perhaps better looking now than when he was young, with a rugged, almost exaggerated handsomeness and eyes that were a vivid blue. Both his daughters had inherited the same colour eyes. He wore the cheap suit with a sort of rough elegance that better-dressed men might have envied. He was so very different from Arthur, who was delicately boned, much thinner, with small, almost feminine, hands. Jack’s hands were like spades, workman’s hands,