Back Winter on the Mersey
Chapters (41)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Table of Contents
  5. CHAPTER ONE
  6. CHAPTER TWO
  7. CHAPTER THREE
  8. CHAPTER FOUR
  9. CHAPTER FIVE
  10. CHAPTER SIX
  11. CHAPTER SEVEN
  12. CHAPTER EIGHT
  13. CHAPTER NINE
  14. CHAPTER TEN
  15. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  21. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  22. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  23. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  39. Also by Annie Groves
  40. About Annie Groves
  41. About the Publisher

She fell silent. It had been a shock, she could hardly pretend otherwise, when she had finally felt able to leave her bed after the attack to come downstairs and hear the latest news. Apparently Alfie had attempted to flee from the police who’d come to arrest him by jumping into his car and driving off, even more drunk than he’d been when he’d broken in to the room where she’d been sleeping. Having left Empire Street, he had spent hours in the pub, leaving Georgie locked up in the outhouse, staying on without realising the little boy had been rescued. The publican, when questioned, had claimed he’d had no idea that the little boy had been in there. He’d thought nothing of it – just the return of a regular customer, who’d often used the yard to park his car. It wasn’t any of his business, as long as Alfie paid for his drinks. He’d been as surprised as anybody by the police arriving and accusing Alfie of his crimes.

Alfie had done a runner and sped off in his car, weaving erratically through the narrow streets. Inevitably his car had crashed, fortunately not involving any other vehicles, but he hadn’t stood a chance. He’d died there behind the wheel of his beloved car, the bonnet buckled into the windscreen, and him not yet thirty years old.

Sarah shook her head. ‘I know we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but nobody’s going to miss him, are they, with the exception of his mother.’

‘It was no more than he deserved,’ said Danny hotly. ‘He was a bully, a coward, a drunk and a fool. I for one won’t miss him. To think he could have had Georgie in that car with him when he crashed. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘It seems cruel,’ Sarah went on, ‘to feel so little emotion. But with all the other deaths in the war, those who’ve paid the ultimate price for serving their country, I can’t bring myself to mourn him.’

Danny stroked her fingers. ‘You’re always so kind, Sar, you see the good in everyone. Even when there’s not much to see.’

‘The things you say, Danny Callaghan,’ she protested, but she didn’t move her hand.