Free The Seven Streets of Liverpool by Maureen Lee Page B

She had no intention of begging and making herself sound pathetic. That wasn’t the sort of relationship they had. If she couldn’t talk to him – write to him – as if she was an equal partner in the marriage, then she wouldn’t write to him at all.
    In the letter, she merely asked, calmly and politely, what was going on – was something going on? She didn’t ask if she had offended him, or he had gone off her – that would have been demeaning. Just a simple question: what, if anything, was wrong?

    Her father had left and Sheila wouldn’t be coming over today; there was something happening at Sunday School that her children and Brenda’s girls were involved in. Eileen would have gone to Bootle to see them, but there was always a chance that Nick might turn up unannounced, as he had done before.
    She had no alternative but to stay at home with her son for company. In fact, Nicky was jolly good company, but short on conversation. They went outside and sat on a bench together, and in a very short time, Nicky laid his head on her knee and fell asleep.
    There was no getting away from it: despite the little paradise in which she now lived, she missed Bootle, where she had lived cheek by jowl with her neighbours, where the only thing that met her eye when she drew back the curtains was a brick wall, where everyone knew her business. Were she still living in Bootle, there were at least a dozen people she could have called on and the same number who might have called on her. Had Nick turned up when she was out, someone would know where she had gone and would tell him. Paradise could be lonely at times.
    She’d get a lodger, she decided. She’d let out the second bedroom where Nicky usually slept; he could sleep with her for the time being. There was a munitions factory in the village. She had been working there herself when she’d met Nick, and it was where one of her best friends, Kate Thomas, was employed. Kate was in charge of the welfare of the female workers, who came from all over the country. She found them places to live and dealt with their various problems. She was bound to know someone who needed somewhere to live.
    She felt guilty at the idea of taking in a lodger for company rather than out of compassion, but she would leave the woman, whoever she was, entirely to her own devices. It was just the idea of another person living in the house that attracted her.
    Eileen had almost fallen asleep herself when she became aware that someone was knocking on the front door. She carefully removed Nicky from her knee and laid him on the bench, then went to see who was there.
    At first, she didn’t recognise the young man standing outside, though his blond hair looked familiar.
    ‘I’m awfully sorry,’ she stammered, ‘but …’
    ‘It’s Peter Wood,’ he said helpfully. ‘I was at your garden party.’
    ‘Oh, I remember, yes.’ She stood aside to let him in. ‘Have you come to Melling to see your uncle again – is he at home this time?’
    ‘Yes, but he’s got friends there, so I thought I’d come and see you – and your sister with all the children – how many is it?’
    ‘Seven. She has about one a year. But she wasn’t able to come today. Look, would you like to go into the back garden? Nicky’s out there, asleep. If he wakes up, he’s likely to fall off the bench.’
    She led him through the house, putting the kettle on to boil on the way. Peter Wood might prefer a cold drink, but she was more than ready for a cup of tea.
    ‘Do you have just the one child?’ he enquired.
    ‘Now I do, yes. I had another son, Tony, but he was killed in an air raid when he was six, along with my first husband.’ It upset her and probably embarrassed people when she said that, but she wasn’t going to deny Tony’s existence for anyone’s sake.
    ‘I’m so sorry.’ He sounded as if he really meant it.

    Peter disliked using an alias, deceiving her. He tried to remember why he wasn’t able to use his real