Midnight on Lime Street (11 page)

‘Did you?’

‘Who is he?’

‘Oh, it’ll be Duffy,’ Frankie said. ‘Tom Duffield. Lost a hand, then his wife and children. She couldn’t bear the sight of his stump, or so I’ve been told, so
she upped and offed back to her mam, took the little lads with her.’

Belle gripped the door handle. ‘Does he live near you?’

‘Number forty-two,’ Frankie replied, ‘just three doors down that way. He’s a . . . oh, what is it? A voluntary social welfare worker for a few hours once a week, helps
people who’ve had bits amputated.’ She stopped dusting and looked at her daughter. ‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, babe.’

Belle mouthed her next words quietly. ‘I’ve got a pram for Lisa. I think I’ve walked too far, Mam.’

Frankie grinned broadly. ‘Where is it?’

‘In the old lav shed down the yard. Where is she?’

‘She’s in Amelia’s house, so you don’t need to whisper. It’s opposite us, blue door, blue and white flowers in tubs under the bay window. Go and get her.’

‘Will you do it, Mam? I’m exhausted after steering that pram from the bottom end of Rice Lane, and my back aches.’

While Frankie went to fetch her granddaughter, Belle sat and pondered. Was this the time for truth? Should she tell her parents about what she really did for a living? She shook her head.
They’d already accepted their daughter’s illegitimate child. The rest of the facts might kill them, and even if they survived, the truth would reside thereafter in this house with Lisa,
who must never find out. But the situation was already on top of Lisa, because Tom Duffield was living within spitting distance. ‘I’ll visit him,’ she muttered. ‘If I plead
with him, he’ll keep my secret, because he’s suffered himself and he’s not unkind.’

Frankie entered with Lisa. ‘Ask your mam,’ Frankie said. ‘She’s the one with the surprise.’

Belle gazed fondly at the love of her life, such a pretty little thing, blonde curls, a sweet face currently wearing a huge smile. ‘It’s somewhere,’ she told the child.
‘You’ll have to find it.’

Lisa jumped up and down on the spot. ‘What is it, what is it?’

‘A surprise. If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?’

‘Is it a book, Mummy? I can read some words, cos I’m nearly four now.’

‘No, not a book.’

‘A toy?’

‘It might be. But you find it. No more questions, Lisa.’

For about five minutes, the little girl tore round the house like a whirlwind, finally returning to the kitchen. ‘Is it a little surprise?’ she asked, ‘cos I can’t find
it anywhere, even in drawers and under beds and behind furniture.’

Frankie grinned. ‘It’s not little.’

Belle couldn’t bear her little girl’s tension. ‘If it’s not inside the house, it must be outside – not at the front, though. If it had been at the front, it might
have got stolen.’

Lisa ran to the window. ‘There’s nothing in the back yard.’

‘Go and look where Granddad keeps his brush and shovel and tools.’

The child disappeared at speed, returning without her prize. She stood in the doorway between scullery and kitchen, blue eyes huge and watering. ‘Oh, Mummy. It’s the bestest present
I ever had, betterer than Amelia’s.’

Belle blinked hard. No matter what, no matter how, her days as a working girl must end sooner rather than later. She had to get away from Meadowbank Farm. ‘I’m glad you like it,
love. I’ll bring it out of the shed, because we don’t want it scratched. Then you can take it across the street and show Amelia. What are you going to call your new dolly?’

‘Louise or Lulu.’

‘They’re both nice names, sweetheart. Wait here.’

Belle went to retrieve the item from her dad’s small brick shed. On shelves stood the tools of his trade; there wasn’t much Dad couldn’t do when it came to improving houses.
He’d worked damned hard every year of his life, as had Mam. ‘I’m a disgrace,’ she told herself.

She wondered what Smelly Nellie meant about finding her a job. What could Nellie know about jobs? If she knew about jobs, why had she never found one for herself? Whatever, Belle needed to find
work somewhere not in Liverpool, and start all over again, because her Lisa deserved a decent mother. For the time being, a beautiful Silver Cross pram would have to suffice. And the kettle was
whistling.

*

As is the way with most groups of women, differences were usually forgotten when it came to a true parting of ways. Another common factor was bawdiness, at which skill females
are definitely as adept as (if not better than) males.

The party was held at brunch time, since Eve closed her premises only at Christmas, New Year and Easter, so all the girls would be working in the evening. Two very excited part-timers were to
take on the duties of Babs and Sal very soon, but they were not invited to the party. Belle, too, was absent, and Babs was sorry about that, because Belle had been her best friend until Sally had
arrived.

The love between Babs and Sally was celebrated, as it was not uncommon for girls on the game to turn to each other. All the women present discussed the opinion that some lesbian feelings are
formed in childhood. Most agreed that fear or distrust of men could be a factor when a girl clung to someone of her own gender.

When Kate wasn’t looking, Angela Whiplash poured vodka into the fruit punch. Kate, the eternal invigilator, worked quietly at her end of the kitchen while the girls occupied the
comfortable side. Angela winked at Babs. ‘Hey, remember that bloke who made you wear a nappy?’

Babs almost choked on her drink. ‘Don’t remind me, Ange. I was OK till he told me to pee in it. That was when I ordered him out. It was a brand new towel, too, and one of the nappy
pins shot open and went through my hip. I was in a bad mood with the daft bugger, I remember that much.’

Sally stepped in. ‘Did any of you get Weigh Anchor?’ she asked, her face as innocent as only she, at seventeen years of age, could manage. ‘Or was it just me? He usually
shouted “Hoist the mainsail” when he was ready for the main event, then “Weigh anchor” when he was finishing. I think he used to be in the merchant navy or something. When
he was getting dressed to go home, I thought about thanking him for leaving me lost at sea in the crow’s nest. Was it just me, then?’

‘Yes,’ the company chorused.

‘Belle had Mustard Man,’ Cynthia told them. ‘She has all these lovely perfumed oils, lavender, vanilla, geranium and all that jazz, and he wanted Dijon mustard, the soft
sod.’

‘On his frankfurter?’ Angela asked.

The whole room was filled by howls of raucous laughter.

‘Well, she did kind of drop some accidentally on purpose. I got the feeling that she didn’t like him. He had to sit in a big bowl of cold water till the pain stopped. She never saw
him again.’

‘I wonder why?’ Kate shouted from the other side of the kitchen.

‘What was your daftest one, Angela?’ Sally asked.

‘Ye gods – that’s not an easy question, girl, because I specialize in domination. There was Nick the Vick – he doesn’t come any more. Actually, he never came at
all, because I had to beat the wickedness out of him every time his body showed a flicker of interest. He was a vicar, read the Bible while I whipped him till I all but drew blood. Mad as a hatter,
he was. I mean, he’s supposed to lead us all to heaven, but he’s too busy fighting his own hell.’

‘Any more?’ Cynthia asked.

‘Erm . . . oh yeah, there was U-Bend. He was a very funny shape, and he wanted me to straighten him out. So I tied his hands, strapped him to my bicycle pump, stripped, and let nature take
its course. I bet they could hear his screams in Manchester. There was one who wanted me to cut him, but I got rid – no way was I having that. Then Snowflake. He got painted in watered-down
glue before having a pillow fight with me. Too time-consuming, that one was, cos he needed a long bath to lose his feathers, and he could have blocked the drains. Oh yes, I get them all, everything
from gentle flagellation to brutal punishment. Never mind – the exercise keeps me in shape. Though old age is catching up on me, but we carry on, don’t we?’

Mo spoke of a client who was useless unless Beethoven’s Sixth was played on the Dansette, and another fascinating chap who ate bananas to keep his strength up. ‘We tried without,
only he went as limp as washed lettuce. But listening to somebody chewing a banana right down your ear hole isn’t my idea of fun, so I told him to bog off. Eve soon replaced him with one who
used the rhythm method.’

‘Isn’t that for Catholics?’ Babs asked.

‘Not with him, no. He liked traditional jazz, so he was a fast mover, thank goodness. By the time the saints had marched in, he was done and dusted.’

When the laughter died of exhaustion, Judy, who took her job rather seriously, produced a diagram of a foot. ‘Every metatarsal takes its own path,’ she announced with the air of one
delivering a lecture at the university. ‘Nine times out of ten, I go for the ball of the foot behind the middle toe.’

Sally gaped. ‘What’s a meta-thingy?’

‘A row of bones,’ Judy snapped. ‘Small, circular strokes at the ball end of the foot just below the toe should travel the neural path and give the client strength to perform.
With some, it’s the toe next to the little one.’

Babs nodded sagely. ‘So if every doo-dah takes its own path, why does the foot walk in a straight line?’

Judy rolled her eyes heavenward. ‘I might as well talk to the wall.’

Cynthia, though pressed by the others, told no tales. As the busiest and best paid, she kept her clients’ secrets to herself. Unlike the rest, she accepted the truly unusual, and the men
she entertained trusted her to keep their confidences. ‘Sorry,’ was all she said when urged on by her colleagues. ‘Let’s just say some of them have a lot to lose, and they
trust me.’

‘Professionals?’ Angela sneered.

‘Some are, yes.’

‘Don’t you mean most?’

Cynthia shrugged. ‘Leave it, Ange. Ask Kate or Eve why I keep quiet, because you’ll hear the same from them – nothing. I’ve signed papers. My lot don’t arrive in
the van – they make their own separate ways here, and sometimes in disguise. And to be honest, I’ve no idea about what any of them does for a living. I’m not allowed to ask, and
they keep the truth to themselves.’

Kate studied the group at the sitting room end of the enormous area. Although Babs had a temper, her amusing side would be missed. Sally was a sweet little thing, so nobody wanted to see the
back of her, but this was karma. Things happened, and life had to go on.

Eve came in. ‘Kate,’ she snapped, ‘they’re pissed.’

‘It’s just fruit juice,’ Kate replied defensively.

The large woman strode across the floor. ‘Vodka,’ she announced after dipping in a finger and tasting.

Angela laughed. ‘How did Don Crawford take the news about Babs and Sally being in love?’

‘None of your business,’ Eve hissed. ‘Did you put vodka in the juice?’

Angela nodded. As the establishment’s sole dominatrix, she felt secure.

‘Don’t kid yourself about being irreplaceable,’ Eve said as if reading Angela’s mind. ‘I know of at least three who’d be happy to take your place, and
there’s new stuff out there, stuff they’ve been bothered to learn about. You’re in a rut, Angela, so take this as a warning.’ The boss turned. ‘Kate, come and pour
this rubbish away, please. Drunken clients we have to deal with, but the girls stay sober till business is over.’

Angela’s jaw hung slack when Eve had left the scene and the vodka punch was being emptied down the drain. ‘Shit,’ she cursed after a few seconds. ‘You know what, girls? I
am not being spoken to like that, not at my age.’

‘She’ll calm down,’ Babs said.

But Angela was boiling mad. ‘I am out of here.’ She quick-marched her way through the room with Kate hot on her heels.

‘Oh, bugger,’ Babs exclaimed. ‘I’m no fan of Angela’s, as we all know, but I don’t want to worry about her being out on the streets. Cynthia, go and talk to
her. There’s a loony wandering about killing working girls.’

Cynthia shrugged. ‘It’s all right, because she has a plan. Her sister runs a wool shop down Knotty Ash way – it’s a lock-up with a flat upstairs. The tenant’s gone,
and Ange was already thinking of setting up her own business. She’s turned forty, love, so she’s old enough to know what she’s doing.’

‘But does her sister know what Angela does for a living?’ Sally asked.

Cynthia shrugged; she had no idea.

Upstairs, war had broken out. ‘I don’t need to work notice,’ Angela screamed at Eve. ‘I’m going. If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll blow you sky-high to
the cops.’

‘In that case, I’ll take you down with me,’ was Eve’s quiet response.

Kate nodded in agreement. ‘One down, all down,’ she mumbled.

Eve took a step in Angela’s direction.

‘Stalemate,’ Angela snapped in the boss’s face. ‘It’s all falling apart, isn’t it, Eve? You’ve two rookies taking over from Babs and Sal, and you need
to persuade an educated dom to come and live happily ever after in the middle of nowhere.’

Eve stood her ground. ‘You have to stay till I choose somebody.’

‘I was planning on leaving anyway, and I’ll be paying rent on a flat, five quid a week. It should be a lot more, but I know the owner.’

‘I’ll pay that,’ Eve said, realizing that this was an admission of defeat. Between Babs and this one, she’d been well and truly cornered.

‘Spit on it,’ Angela suggested after a pause.

Each spat on her right palm before shaking the other’s hand.

Back in the office with Kate, Eve said. ‘I feel as if everything’s coming apart.’

‘We’ve weathered storms worse than this, Eve.’

‘Yes, but we’re not getting any younger. Sooner or later, we’ll have to let the girls go, clear the place of all evidence and sell it, or make it into a B and B.’

‘Not yet, Evie.’

‘No, Kate. Not just yet. But there’s too many changes for my liking.’

‘I understand that better than most. We have to keep going because it’s what we know. Safety first, Evie. This bit of trouble will pass, and we’ll be up and running as per
usual.’

When Kate had gone, Eve sat with her elbows on the desk, head in her hands. Where the hell was she going to find another dominatrix? For all her clever talk, she was in a pit dug by Angela
Whiplash. ‘I’m a fool,’ she told herself. ‘When will I learn to keep me gob shut? And oh, blood and bullets, when will I learn that nothing lasts for ever?’