A Mersey Mile (24 page)

‘Ah, but they take just about anybody in there, Frank. They’ve let me in a couple of times, which goes to show how low are their standards.’

‘Will you shut up and listen? I’ve slept with Polly twice. Once was just sleep with some giggling and a sore hand from hitting Brennan, the second allowed certain additional
privileges.’

‘And? So this is Confession? Will I get my stole and a rosary so you can do your penance?’

‘Oh, give up, please. I wanted to say it’s different when you love the woman. Better, more meaningful.’ He let it all pour: his feelings, Polly’s borrowed knickers,
Ellen’s engagement ring, his mother’s nastiness. ‘I was on my way out of Brookside anyway, if I’m honest. I’ve been collecting stock for ages, tucking it away in a
unit near the Dock Road. But all Polly could see was the woman who murdered Ellen. Old Moo didn’t exactly take a knife to her, but she was always buying her cleaning products –
‘‘do try this on mirrors and windows, dear’’ – or cookery books. Ellen shrivelled and died. She would have died anyway, but perhaps not quite so early – who
knows? My mother gave her every encouragement to shuffle off this mortal coil.’

Chris poured two doubles into tumblers. ‘There you go, lad. I know you don’t want
ego te absolvo
, so this will have to do. Sins shrink when you’re inebriated –
take that from a serial offender. There’s nothing like a drop of Irish to help you feel saintly. Just drink that, and I’ll polish our haloes later while you tune the harps.’

Frank stared into the amber fluid, twisting the crystal in his hand so that light bounced off it. ‘Elaine Lewis practically placed herself on a Sunday serving platter with garnish, roast
spuds and three kinds of veg.’

‘No apple in her gob?’

‘No. She reminds me of a film star. Very polished.’

‘Like glazed ham?’

‘Shut up.’

Chris sighed again. ‘I remember young Kathleen O’Gorman, so I do. She was lovely. Brown as a berry from the summer sun, blonde streaks in her long, flowing hair, that special twinkle
in her bright blue eyes, lips like rose petals, and the way she walked . . . oh, she was nearly the death of me, but.’

Frank offered no comment, as he didn’t want to stop the flow.

‘We were engaged, you know. And we’d lie there in her bedroom planning a future to embrace at least four children, one a priest, one a nun, the rest teachers.’ He lowered his
head and shook it sadly. ‘But it was not to be, Frank.’

‘Because you gave yourself to Christ?’

The head continued to move from side to side. ‘Not at all.’

‘Then why?’

‘Because her mammy was our babysitter, and we were all of six years old. When she heard us talking about bridesmaids, she fell in a heap laughing and moved me into another room. We were
the talk of the town for weeks, all the biddies standing about gossiping, pointing at us and laughing. So we broke off the engagement. Oh, life was a vale of tears for at least a week, perhaps ten
days to a fortnight. Then I met Tildy Byrne, whose brother owned a real cricket bat and wickets.’

‘You were a philanderer in your youth, then.’

‘Indeed, I was fickle. Then at eighteen, I saw the light. Well, I thought I did, but it might have been just a full moon, and me in a mad phase. And here we are now drinking the good stuff
and worrying about your lawyer and the buttons on her blouse. In my considered opinion, the world does not improve.’

They sat for ten or fifteen minutes in the silence of Chris’s unimproved world. These two outwardly very different men existed on the same wavelength. For both, faith was a shot in the
dark at best, a curse at worst. Frank had walked away, but Chris struggled on, fighting to believe, urging his flock to trust and love a God with whom he often lost patience. He broke the silence.
‘I should have been a train driver,’ he declared.

‘Why?’

‘Well, it’s the same thing entirely. You shove a load of people into pews and drive on. There’s no choice, no diversions unless some great decider shifts the points. And you
carry on with the gauge set for you, the lines fixed for you, onward all the way to the buffers. And if you try to change direction, every part of the train is derailed, and you’re all
buggered. I am that driver.’

‘A shepherd often leads from behind.’

‘With a dog to help him. You know, I fancy a Kerry Blue bitch.’

‘Who’s she? One of your bridesmaids?’

‘It’s a dog, you fool. Good Irish stock, strong and pigheaded like meself, but with a better sense of humour altogether. And better hair, too.’

Frank grinned. ‘I hear young Billy got a pup.’

Chris borrowed the same grin. ‘He showed me when I went round there.’

‘Did he?’

‘Aye, he did, so. Proud as Punch, the lad was. Nice little thing, the puppy, a leg at each corner, waggy little rudder at the back, friendly face. Spaniel, I think. They’re talking
of having it neutered. You might like to consider that yourself if the soliciting continues.’

Frank laughed. ‘It’s the betraying of Polly that bothers me. I have an over-developed sense of guilt and duty.’

‘She turned you down, man.’

Frank eyed his companion harshly. ‘Are you encouraging fornication?’

‘I am not. All I’m saying is there are worse things, like killing a brother with a crucifix. Anselm was his chosen name. I bet they’re all starving in Broughton Abbey, because
he was the cook.’

‘Damned shame. Still, they won’t have to eat your burnt toast.’

‘Frank?’

‘That’s me.’

‘Just live your life, try to pray, try to accept your mother and attempt to get her to treat Polly with some respect. As for your other problem, do no harm. I’m ten or more years
older than you, and I have a different perspective. Like all the other animals, we were given a powerful sex drive for a reason.’

‘So we’re animals?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘With souls?’

‘Apparently.’

Frank drained his glass. ‘What do you believe in, Chris?’

‘Like I said, start by doing no harm, then try doing some good. This priest business is no walk in the park, believe me. As you said, I’m the shepherd. But some members of my flock
are holier than I am.’

‘No, I asked what you believe in, not how you function.’

The older man pondered. ‘God’s there and He’s good. All the bad in the world is created by man, because he makes the wrong choices. Jesus is Messiah. Mary’s His mother,
but I hope she went on to live the normal life until she found her Son pinned to a tree, bless her. It’s some of the other stuff I have trouble with. We should all have a degree of
difficulty, or our faith would be too easy, and God gave us brains. If He’d manufactured us to sit back and accept, that would have no value, so He forced us to think and worry and
choose.’

‘Get us another drink before we turn serious or sober. But first, what do you think of Rome?’

‘The Sistine Chapel has a lovely ceiling to it. It certainly wasn’t painted by Liverpool Corporation. Other than that, no comment. Give me the glass, and it’s my turn to tell
you to shut up.’

They talked well into the night about baptisms, swiftly followed by Extreme Unction and death for mother, child or both, God’s involvement with such tragedies, abortion, war, birth control
and Polly Kennedy. Polly seemed to be Frank’s best subject.

‘So you’ll be asking her again to marry you, I take it?’

‘Yes, once I’ve established myself on Rice Lane. Or maybe before that. I’ve been carrying the ring for weeks. I thought I might turn some of the downstairs storage into a place
for Cal, somewhere more spacious for his wheelchair and so on. It’s very cramped in their living room, you see.’

Chris sipped his whiskey. ‘You haven’t heard what’s happened, then?’

‘Heard what?’

‘The lad’s stumbling about on his feet again, leading his sister a merry dance. Mind, Polly’s wonderfully happy about it. Oh yes, he’s making grand progress. Frank? Dear
God be my witness, I never meant you to cry, son. But don’t be ashamed, because men do cry. If you’d seen the shape of me at the end of
Brief Encounter
, you’d have
screamed for a lifebelt. As for Charlie Chaplin’s
Limelight
, an ambulance turned up with police outriders and the lifeboat was launched.’ He crossed the space between them and
placed his left hand on his friend’s head, blessing him with the right.

‘Sorry, Chris. Polly told me there was a chance, because of him celebrating pain in the legs.’ He dried his eyes. ‘Sorry about that,’ he repeated. ‘I’m glad
for him.’

‘Away with your bother. This is an emotional time for you. Callum Kennedy’s a better man than most of us, and he deserves to get well. Polly should be on the receiving end of better
fortune, too. I never saw anyone working harder than she does. And there’s a young woman on the scene, a nurse from the physiotherapy ward at the hospital. I think romance is in the
air.’

‘You’re right, of course. Men do cry. I saw my dad cry more than once. Mother’s fault, no doubt. Thank you, God. While you’re at it, do you do removals? Only I’ve a
pile of stuff needs shifting from the Dock Road up to Rice Lane.’

Chris chortled. ‘Is this you praying at last?’

‘It is.’

‘One-nil to me and the Almighty, then, for this was a match played on God’s own ground.’

‘You cheating again, Father?’

‘I never cheat.’

‘Of course you don’t.’

Chris laughed. ‘I have to get my fun some way, Frank. That’s my excuse, and you must live with it or leave me to it.’

‘Another drink?’ Frank asked.

‘No, for I must away to my bed, or I’ll be staggering about at tomorrow’s early Mass as drunk as a lord after the hunt ball. Get to bed yourself, forget the blouse buttons and
concentrate on your one true love and her brother. Goodnight and God bless.’

Frank sat for a while. Polly had turned him down because of Mother’s treatment of Ellen; she had been worried about the possible undermining of her brother’s positivity. Mother was
in the past, and Cal was recovering. ‘All I have to do now is get settled and make money. Easier said than done, but I’ll give it my best shot.’

Norma Charleson was improving at a steady rate of knots. Moving more easily and becoming markedly more level in temperament, she seemed to react well to her diabetic diet. The
silly doctor was pleased with her; he had also informed her that chocolate, poisonous to many animals, was equally toxic for humans if consumed in large quantities. ‘Well,’ she said as
she and her companion looked through rails of garments, ‘the poison must be out of my system by now. What do you think of this skirt? Oh, never mind, I’ve bought one very similar in
brown, haven’t I? There’s no point in going wild until I’ve lost another couple of stone.’

She and Christine Lewis were in Southport at a shop on Lord Street that catered for larger women, as Norma had reduced her weight to the point where she needed a different size of clothing. But
since she was only halfway to her goal, she intended to provide herself with just a few items which would form what she termed her interim wardrobe. ‘I hope it’s worth it, Christine.
God knows I could kill for a cream cake and some chocolates. Diabetes is so restricting.’

‘Yes, I have to admit that it seems difficult.’

When the purchases had been made, they went to a rather nice coffee house for elevenses. As elevenses was just coffee, they didn’t stay long. ‘Even my shoes feel bigger,’ Norma
complained. ‘But they’ll have to do. I’ve spent enough for one day.’

Christine drove. Christine did almost everything these days, but her wages had increased, so she tolerated the extra burdens. She cooked, cleaned, washed, ironed, shopped and collected rents.
But she was tired and ill-prepared for Norma’s mood changes which, fortunately, were becoming less dramatic as her dependence on chocolate decreased and she began to take some pride in her
appearance. Underneath the rolls of fat, a good-looking woman was fighting to get out.

‘Shall we pop into Liverpool, Christine? We could wander round the Walker Gallery.’

‘If you like.’ The ‘Norma’ still grated slightly, but she was practically forced to use it. Christine Lewis was in another difficult position, too. Elaine was doing
Frank’s conveyancing, but she couldn’t say a word about where. Elaine was also trying to capture him, but not for keeps, since she intended to marry someone dull from the business
sector; or a doctor might do. So Frank could well be hunted, caught, used and released. Like Norma, Christine had just one child, and that child danced to music few could hear.

‘You’re quiet,’ Norma said.

‘A little tired. Don’t worry, I shall buck up shortly.’

‘Do you want to turn back?’

‘Oh, not at all. Driving is a pleasure.’ Norma had not treated Frank well. He had been a poorly paid servant, no more than that. But there was no excuse for Elaine, since she’d
been treasured from birth, yet she was turning herself into a person scarcely recognizable by her own mother. There were no arguments, but Christine found that she was becoming increasingly uneasy
in the company of her daughter. Like Norma Charleson, Elaine owned what Christine termed calculating eyes.

‘Let’s just drive round for a while,’ Norma suggested a little too casually. ‘It’s such a lovely day, too nice for lingering in an art gallery. Let’s watch
the world as it goes by.’

The driver shrugged internally. This woman was looking for Frank again. For the third or fourth time, the car would circle the city, a suburb or two, Scotland Road and the Everton area. So Frank
was missed by his mother. Although she had failed to appreciate the true value of her son, the newer Norma Charleson appeared to be developing the ability to feel for someone other than herself.
‘He’s a big boy, Norma. He’ll be all right. Don’t waste time worrying about a man in his late twenties.’

Norma sniffed.

‘He’ll be fine,’ Christine repeated reassuringly.

‘Oh, I suppose he will. It’s just that I’d like to know where he is. There’s something very unsettling about not knowing where the offspring is. You’re sure
he’s not with Polly Kennedy?’