When the Clouds Go Rolling By by June Francis & June Francis

Author:June Francis & June Francis
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781911591405
Publisher: Canelo Digital Publishing Ltd
Published: 2017-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Clara covered her nose and mouth with her scarf and hurried along Boundary Lane. Earlier that day the sun had shone in a clear blue sky but round about four o’clock the fog had descended. In the distance she could hear the foghorns issuing a warning to shipping in the Mersey and pitied those sailors having to navigate in such weather. She thought of Freddie and wondered if he had returned to sea yet. A sigh escaped her because she had not heard from him and she was starting to believe it was as Tilly had said – that he flirted with all the girls.

She felt miserable and lack of contact with Freddie and the weather were only partially to blame. Not only had she still not heard from her aunt but, worse than that, the Palladium had closed down again. She had scarcely been able to believe it when it happened. But several members of the orchestra had gone down with the flu, as had she, herself, two of the usherettes, Mr Walsh and his wife, as well as his nephew, Teddy, and the projectionist. Sadly, the usherette, Iris, had died, and so had Teddy. The projectionist and Mrs Walsh were still very ill. Luckily, Clara was feeling a lot better now, but it had really brought the danger from this unseen enemy very close. The death toll in Liverpool now stood at a hundred and sixty, and twenty schools in the city had closed down. Her grandmother had also suffered a scary bout of bronchial trouble. Clara had called out the doctor, believing she had passed on the flu to her, but he had soon washed his hands of the old woman when she swore at him. He had told Clara bluntly that Bernie would be dead within the week for refusing his advice.

Concerned that her gran might die without seeing her daughter, Clara had written another letter to her aunt. She was still waiting to hear from her. By some miracle, her grandmother was still hanging on to life, and Clara now reckoned that Bernie might not have had the flu at all, but just her old trouble with her chest. Even so, her grandmother had refused to take to her bed, so Clara had brought down blankets and pillows and pulled the sofa close to the fire so she could lie there in the warmth, as they could scarcely afford to keep one fire going, never mind two. Their stock of winter coal was nearly all used up and she could only hope that spring would come early that year.

The Chinese laundry loomed up through the fog and Clara’s heart lifted. She was nearly home. A gas lamp glowed yellow and the sound of her boots echoed eerily on the pavement. Besides making familiar sights appear mysteriously alien, the freezing fog penetrated one’s clothing. She could not wait to get in and make herself a hot drink. She took a short cut through an entry into their street.

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