A Daughter's Choice by June Francis Page A

ask for you, unless it has something to do with your going to the Arcadia that time?’
    â€˜Do you want to talk about it?’
    â€˜I couldn’t! I’d have to –’ She pressed her lips tightly together. Although they had become friends in the nursing home, she had never told Rita she had had a baby but let her presume she had lost someone in the blitz, just as Rita herself had.
    â€˜Have to what?’ asked her friend gently.
    â€˜Nothing. Give me the pass keys, I’ve finished here.’
    Rita handed them over without a word and as one of the guests came out of the dining room and approached the desk, no more was said between them.
    Celia went upstairs and as she worked, the words ‘Mick’s alive!’ kept repeating themselves in her head. She had forgiven him when she had believed him dead but now she was angry with him all over again. Why hadn’t he come looking for her? Her life could have been so different if he had. She could have been married and had a little house and Katherine with her and maybe more children. She would never have had to work so hard in this place. The letter … That must be the reason why Ben had come looking for her. Her heart quailed inside her and her hands shook. But why Ben? Was there something wrong with Mick as well as Katherine? What should she do?
    Celia asked herself that question over and over during the next few days, half expecting Ben to return to the Seaview, but as the days passed the waiting became unbearable and in the end she decided to take her courage in her hands and visit Liverpool. She felt thoroughly ashamed of herself now for sending that letter and wanted nothing more than to explain it away.
    On her next afternoon off Celia put on her best frock, checked her seams were straight and brushed her hair neatly. As a booster she dabbed on some face powder and applied lipstick, a rare thing for her, and with her raincoat over her arm, set off to catch the train to Liverpool.
    It was raining as she made her way across the city centre and now she was having second thoughts. Part of her hoped she might get away without being recognised but she knew she could not bank on that because surely once she started asking questions about Mick and Katherine, they would want to know why she was interested.
    She came to the Arcadia and her stomach churned as she gazed up at the building. It looked different from when she had last seen it; then tarpaulin had covered the hole in the roof and the shattered windows had been boarded up. Now it was all cream and primrose-painted, and the brass doorknob and name plate gleamed beneath a splattering of raindrops. She peered down the area steps wondering which way to go in, then decided if the whole family were down there she did not want to face them en masse. It was Mick and Katherine she wanted to talk to, and them alone.
    Moistening her lips Celia mounted the steps to the front entrance and went inside. It was a relief to be out of the rain and she dragged her wet scarf from her head and stuffed it in her raincoat pocket. A girl who looked to be about eighteen stared at her from behind the reception desk and for a moment Celia’s heart seemed to stop beating inside her breast. Was this Katherine?
    â€˜Can I help you?’ said the girl.
    Surely she wouldn’t have an Irish accent? thought Celia. She cleared her throat. ‘I’m looking for Mick Ryan.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, he’s out.’
    That was a blow and Celia could not hide her disappointment.
    â€˜I could fetch his mother,’ said the girl. ‘I’m sure she won’t mind being disturbed. It’s quiet here today. Otherwise she wouldn’t be letting me do Reception. She’s just having a rest.’
    â€˜No, no. It – it’s OK. Is – Mick well?’
    â€˜He’s fine. Haven’t you seen him for a while?’
    â€˜Not – not for a long time. Do you think he’ll be