Meet Me at the Pier Head (32 page)

I loved her so much. She was gentle, kind, funny, an avid reader and a very beautiful woman. She was also terrified of other folk, so she kept herself very much to one side and was always
delighted when Dad and I came home, because we were her whole life. She had a limp. Whenever I asked about the weakness in her left leg, she told me it had happened as the result of a fall when
she’d been at school. She left school after the injury.

I still hear Dad almost growling at me whenever I spoke about Mom’s limp. He was very protective of his Lily-Mae, and she was clearly the love of his life. The chattering women
sometimes spoke about us; I knew that, because they would occasionally stop talking when I passed them. Our trailer was parked away from the others, so I figure people thought we considered
ourselves to be a cut above them. That was not the case at all. Mom needed to be some distance away from the rest because she was afraid, not proud.

I’ve spent twenty-eight years wishing we’d never gone to the Bella Vista Ranch. It had been a toss-up between two places, and this one was the nearer. Dad’s love of horses
might have been a factor; one of the beasts he tamed went on to win the Kentucky Derby. Dad backed it and won a bundle, but he’d rather have had Mom safe instead. He used his winnings to buy
a marker for her grave, white marble and beautifully engraved. Although he was preparing to remarry by then, he still adored my mother. She’d loved calligraphy, so we had her details on the
stone done in copperplate. I detest the weather in Georgia, but I visit her grave every time I go to America.

The ranch owner paid for her funeral and shot dead two of her killers. When I discovered the identity of those murdering bastards, my faith in humanity was seriously corroded. That day, I
saw two men dead and two crying; one weeper was my dad, the other was his employer. These were tough men, skin etched in deep furrows caused by sun and wind, well-muscled limbs and chests, teeth
stained by tobacco and beer, both harsh of voice, clear of eye, deadly with a gun. Yet they sobbed like babies on that day, the day my mother died.

I didn’t cry, or so I’m told. I just absented myself and was almost catatonic until some specialist or other snapped me out of it weeks later. So my inner pain was postponed, as
was Mom’s funeral because Dad, a far-seeing and somewhat primitive genius when sober, insisted that his son should see Lily-Mae buried. She was kept on ice, though not under the ground at
Bella Vista. The boss paid for all that, too.

So now, I approach the climax, the crux of the matter. Fortunately for me, Delia has just pulled up in that battered van, so I am reprieved once more. But I will get to it soon, Portia. I
love you, and you deserve to know the truth about my beginnings. And it is time for me to let this out anyway for the sake of my sanity, because anger isn’t healthy, especially when it
stretches over decades . . .

Tia was already on the driveway when Theo arrived. ‘Hello, stranger,’ she said to him. ‘I thought you’d left home.’

‘Home is wherever you happen to be,’ was his whispered reply.

She shivered in spite of the warm weather. Sometimes, the man of her dreams said the loveliest things. ‘Quite the romantic, aren’t you, Mr Quinn?’

A red-faced Delia climbed out of her metal Turkish bath. ‘I’ve been roasting in that thing,’ she complained, kicking the van before hugging her older sister. ‘I feel like
a Christmas turkey ready for the table. Where’s Juliet?’

‘Simon’s collecting her from the train. She’ll need help with luggage, and he has a bigger car. Izzy and Joan have gone shopping. And yes, you smell sweaty, my love.’

Theo opened the rear doors of the van and looked at its contents. ‘Hell’s bells and bloody murder,’ he exclaimed. ‘What have you got here? The contents of wardrobe from
Stratford-upon-Avon?’

Delia fixed him with a steely glare. ‘I don’t know, do I? I’m just the bloody courier, bring me, fetch me, carry me, Delia.’ Her hard stare disappeared, but it was
replaced by a wagging finger. ‘I’ve already helped to lift their junk at home when we packed the van, so I am now on strike, and that is official. My labour is withdrawn, and I need to
pee.’ She marched away.

‘See? It’s not just me, is it?’ Tia asked innocently.

‘What isn’t just you?’

‘We all have a tendency to misbehave, though Juliet’s not as confrontational. She says little, but does as she pleases.’ She paused. ‘Hey, do you have ten rooms? I have
only nine.’

‘No, I don’t have ten rooms, madam. If you’d open your eyes, you’d notice that my dining furniture is in the living room, so don’t start with the complaints,
because Mr Quirke needs a room for his body parts. I’m thinking of using the other bedrooms for something or other so I won’t need to have guests,’ he grumbled.

Tia looked into the van. ‘There are many items here, Teddy.’

He scratched his head. ‘I need to buy another house for this lot.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Tia held his hand. ‘Most of it will be in storage – it’s all arranged. Anything with spots doesn’t come into your house.’

‘I should think not. We’ve enough to manage without breaking out in German measles.’

Tia awarded him a look fit to curdle milk. ‘Get carrying,’ she snapped.

‘You’re too bossy,’ he complained.

‘I am not.’

‘And stubborn,’ he added.

‘I am not stubborn.’

‘You are.’

‘I’m not.’

He stepped away from her. ‘See? That’s stubborn. You stick to your guns even when they aren’t loaded.’

A decision was reached. Non-spotty containers would go into Theo’s spare bedroom, since Maggie and Rosie were sharing a room. Izzy and Joan could unpack at their leisure while he was at
work. ‘I don’t want to interfere with ladies’ underwear,’ Theo explained.

‘No comment,’ Tia snapped.

‘I mended the thing,’ he muttered. ‘And I did a very good job.’

‘After you broke the clasp. I was one up and one down for most of that evening.’

‘Don’t be coarse,’ he advised, and they both burst into gales of laughter.

Tia dried her eyes. ‘Are we leaving the spotty ones in the van?’

‘Bet your bottom dollar we are. I’ve been invaded, haven’t I? If I get a hernia, you can pay for the truss. OK?’

But Tia was too busy dragging out a couple of suitcases. ‘Shut up and take those in,’ she ordered. ‘Are Rosie and Maggie in the rear garden?’

‘With the animals, yes. Izzy and Joan will be back soon. Izzy’s feeding all of us.’

Tia dropped a heavy case. ‘I warned you. Don’t eat anything prepared by her. She’s lethal with food.’

He chuckled again. ‘It’s OK, she’s bringing a fish supper.’ He disappeared into his flat.

Tia threw out the last of the spot-free luggage. Members of her family were becoming a liability, and she hoped with all her heart that Teddy wouldn’t run out of patience. Until very
recently, he’d lived in a huge house with just a cat for company. Now, he had Maggie and Rosie downstairs, while she had three Bellamys including herself plus one Joan Reynolds upstairs.
Delia would be gone soon, but Ma and the rest might be here indefinitely. Oh, and Jules was on her way . . .

Theo returned. ‘Shall I send them to a hotel?’ she asked.

‘No. I haven’t had this much fun since VE day in London. I started off near the palace, but woke the next day in a house in Bow, no idea of how I’d got there, and no memory of
the householders. My father used to do that sort of thing quite often, and I was worried about becoming an alcoholic. But I failed alcohol and got a degree instead.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘The occasional glimpse of a pretend drunk was difficult enough.’ She stepped out of the van. ‘That’s it,’ she announced, ‘just
six cases. The rest have spots. The keys are in the ignition, so just secure the van while I visit my sweaty sister.’

She’s gone bossy again; would I like her to change? Not at all.

‘Why are you staring at me?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘Just imagining what fun taming you is going to be.’

‘Get a whip and a chair, Teddy. I’ll pick up my shotgun when we go to Kent.’ She turned on her heel and walked inside.

No, she mustn’t improve, because I would hate that. I’m sure the consummate actress within will come to the fore at school. She’ll be a great teacher, and I’ll be Mr
Quinn, the busy blackbird. Before all that, we’ve a small matter of kidnap to think about, and the essay I’m writing for my Portia and her lovely mom . . .

Martha Foster closed the door of their ground-floor flat. Reclaiming the ability to breathe, she stared at her brother. He was sitting on his low divan, the wheeled trolley
abandoned, as he had finished selling newspapers for today. Next to him lay his mouth organs, the instruments that earned him and young Rosie extra coppers for playing and singing at the Pier
Head.

‘Make us a cuppa, queen,’ he begged. It had never occurred to him that he might be questioned. Who would suspect that a man in his condition could be capable of murder? ‘They
won’t come back,’ he said as he stared at his sister’s ashen face. ‘Put the kettle on.’

She didn’t trust her legs. ‘Me legs have gone funny,’ she murmured.

‘I’ll swap you for mine,’ he answered. ‘If yours are funny, mine are bloody hilarious.’

‘Sorry, Harry.’ She leaned against a wall to steady herself. Two policemen had questioned them about Rosie. Had they known she was a victim of cruelty, that she’d been shut in
the coal shed, that her mother was a prostitute? Did they know a strong, tall man with a black beard, had they heard anything about the murderer? Did they know of anyone who might have hired such a
man to kill Miles Tunstall? Martha staggered into the kitchen and set the kettle on the hob.

‘They know nothing,’ Harry shouted from the living room, which also served as his bedroom. ‘They’re clutching at straws, Martha. It’s only because Rosie sings with
me and helps to sell papers sometimes. Half this city knew what Tunstall was, so there’s a long list of folk who might have killed him or hired someone to do the job. He was vermin and he
needed shifting.’

Martha arrived in the doorway, a hand clinging to the jamb in search of steadiness. ‘They asked about false legs,’ she said. ‘Everybody in your condition gets false legs. I
know you’re not the only one who didn’t manage to wear them regular, like, but the fact is that you used them and killed him, love.’

‘Apart from practising in here for Rosie’s sake, I never needed them except for . . . except for that day. My stumps were red raw, and they’re still a bit sore.’

‘The police know you have unusual strength in your arms and chest, Harry. They said it took a remarkably powerful pair of arms to do what was done to Tunstall. You’re powerful.
I’m an accessory and so are your mates Billy and Jim. They took your legs down to Billy’s house on Ivy Lane. They picked you up and got you ready in Billy’s house. And I knew
everything.’

‘Stop this now, love.’

‘I’m scared.’ She was near to tears.

Harry shook his head. ‘Martha, I have no prosthetic legs. They went in the muck cart years back.’

‘They didn’t, though. And that sergeant looked straight through both of us. Your legs are weighted down in the river or under a road somewhere.’

‘Yes, so they’re no longer here. There was no rain, and I stayed off the grass and the soil, so I left no prints in the park. Can you imagine what a laughing stock Liverpool police
would be if they accused me of murder? I put the legs and the beard on in Billy’s back kitchen, went to keep my date with Tunstall, did what I had to do, then walked as fast as I could back
to Billy’s. I even wore surgeons’ gloves. We dressed my poor old stumps and an hour later I was back in the middle of the city. The legs are gone, and my stumps are healing well, thanks
for asking.’

‘Sorry,’ she said again, turning towards the kitchen where a whistling kettle demanded her presence. Her brother had pretended to have access to cheap alcohol and tobacco; Billy and
Jim had arranged the hush-hush meeting between Harry and Tunstall. Martha scalded the pot and made the tea. Harry had saved Rosie by killing her evil stepfather, and he could hang for that.

They drank tea and sat staring into an empty grate. ‘She’s worth it,’ Harry said eventually. ‘Neither of us has a kid, and Rosie’s a real little star. I reckon
Quinn and Miss Bellamy will take over now, so she’ll be safe. Just try not to worry, and don’t get flustered if the cops come back. I can tell you this much, our little girl won’t
forget us, Martha.’

She offered him a slight smile. ‘Let’s hope the police forget us, Harry.’

Juliet threw herself at Simon Heilberg, kissing him on his cheekbone. Behind her, a porter struggled with a trolley bearing the weight of four large suitcases.

‘Simon!’ she exclaimed, ‘I have never in my life been so happy to see anyone. Pa says he’s leaving the country, but one never knows. Have the newspapers found Ma yet?
They were certainly looking for me in Canterbury.’

‘I think not. You are instructed – we are all instructed – to call your mother Izzy. For the time being at least, you must be an almost orphan. Delia will be there, too, so
you’ll be the Blyton Three for a few hours. It’s a case of heads down and attract no attention, I’m afraid. The press has been very noisy about your father’s behaviour and
the pending divorce.’

She shook her head sadly. She was beginning to see her mother’s point of view, since Pa seemed to have behaved very badly. ‘How’s Tia?’ she asked as they walked along the
platform with the porter on their heels.

‘She’s head over heels in love,’ he replied, trying to erase bitterness from his tone. ‘Not with me, needless to say. I was just her fallback chap in case she needed a
partner and didn’t meet someone more interesting. Still, at least she was honest about it. She ordered me not to come up north, but I’m as wilful as she is.’

‘Delia and I suspected as much. It’s her boss, isn’t it?’

‘Boss and landlord. Nice enough chap, born in America, but volunteered at the beginning of 1940 and joined the RAF, rear gunner, survived the Battle of Britain. After the war, he trained
as a teacher and was soon head of a school in Liverpool. He’s about twelve years older than Tia.’