That Liverpool Girl (23 page)

‘Not that sort of ill,’ Philip snapped. ‘She went crackers. The thought of coming to live out here drove her mad.’ It was enough to drive anyone crazy, Philip believed. This dump was hell on earth, and Kitty Maguire had realized that. Sensibly, she had shuffled off before being landed with grass, cows, more grass, pigs, hens, goats, horses, more grass, walls, and a post office that sold paper, envelopes, stamps, matches, lamp oil and candles. Apart from all that there were hills with sheep on them. And a lot of grass.

‘She was afraid,’ Hilda said.

‘She was right to be afraid,’ Philip insisted. ‘Because if me and our Rob have to live here much longer, we’ll be out of our minds too.’ He folded his arms defiantly. ‘It’s horrible here, Miss Pickavance. The only good thing is the food, but we can’t sit eating all day, can we?’

Hilda pursed her lips and thought for a moment. ‘We’ve found you a school. It’s two miles away, and that’s no distance on a bicycle.’

‘Or a horse,’ Bertie cried.

‘It’s a school for older children,’ he was informed. ‘You’ll stay here with me. And when you do go to school, there’ll be no stable for Pedro, so forget that idea. Now, look at me, all of you.’ She waited until all the scuffling and whispering had ceased. ‘You are silly, ungrateful and petulant boys. Not you, Bertie. You are safe here, all three of you. Have you any idea of what is about to happen in Liverpool, especially near the waterfront?’

‘No,’ the older pair chorused.

She continued. ‘Since the reign of King John, Liverpool has been the gateway to the Atlantic. It’s the biggest docks in the world. Weapons and ammunition will be brought there for distribution. Germany will be aware of that, and bombs will be dropped. Do you want to die?’

They shook their heads.

‘I can tell you now, only London will be harder hit than Liverpool. You are here to stay alive. Now, go to your room, because I have things to do.’

When the boys had left, Hilda sat and gazed into the fire. She remembered that thin, almost toothless young woman who had lived across the street, three children clinging to her skirts, two girls, one boy, all dirty and with tangled, curly hair. The husband had come home from time to time, then his brief appearances stopped when he drowned in drink and the River Mersey. Kitty had finally got her teeth, and Dr Bingley had paid for them to be made more comfortable. Dead. All three children dead, the mother hanged in a back bedroom. Horrible.

She missed Nellie. There was something so solid and comforting about the woman, as if she knew everything there was to know about life. But poor Nellie was in shock, so she, too, clearly had her limits. One good thing had come from this dreadful mess. Eileen and Keith were together for a little while. They were well suited. If anything decent were to come from this war, a marriage between those two would be a clear winner. It was a match made in heaven, though hell had to be visited first.

Mel took it badly. Keith watched two beautiful women trying to comfort each other and, after deciding there was little else he could do, took over the cooking. Eileen picked at her meal, Mel made no effort, and Nellie slept through it, though Miss Morrison was complimentary. ‘Not just a pretty face, then, young man. How are they?’

Keith gave the best account he could manage.

‘So no one’s eating?’

‘No.’

‘Put it all in the larder. We can’t waste good food while there’s a war on. I need the pills marked five o’clock, and ask Eileen to come in when she’s in a better state, poor girl.’

While washing dishes, Keith realized how easy it was when a person lived alone: one cup, one plate, a few items of cutlery. Even so, he’d give up his freedom in a flash if Eileen would have him. Perhaps she would have him. After the war, after her youngest had had a few more birthdays, after Mel had gone to Oxford, Cambridge or wherever. Mel was a gorgeous girl, but he wondered whether she would ever match her mother for beauty. He didn’t doubt for one minute that no one could be as beautiful as Eileen. Could he possibly be prejudiced?

Mel went upstairs, Eileen sorted out Miss Morrison, and Keith found a book on the history of Crosby, amazed to discover that there was still a manor house in which the descendants of Blondell the Viking lived, that a person had to be a Catholic to have a cottage in Little Crosby, that any minerals found anywhere on any land reverted to the Blundell family. ‘It’s still feudal,’ he muttered. ‘The only completely Catholic village in England. All that’s changed is the spelling, from Blondell to Blundell. Well, we live and learn.’

Eileen entered the kitchen. ‘They want toast,’ she said. ‘Miss Morrison’s asleep, but Mam and Mel have ordered toast and tea.’ She passed him the toasting fork. ‘You hold that in front of the fire and I’ll find you some bread to stick on the end of it. I wish . . .’ She started to cut the loaf.

‘Wish what?’

‘That you were staying permanently. I feel safe with you here.’

For now, this had to be enough. She wanted him in her life, and he toasted her bread.

Eileen was a bad woman. She was sitting on the stairs holding a lighted candle and wearing no more than a thin nightie, and she knew he was just feet away. What the scouse with pickled beetroot was she thinking of? Was she nursing a vague idea that if she gave herself to Keith, Tom the Torment would disappear in a puff of smoke? No. She wasn’t quite that daft. ‘I’m an honest woman,’ she told the banisters. She had kept herself to herself since the death of Laz, and—

His door opened. ‘Eileen?’ he whispered.

‘What?’

‘Are they all right?’

‘Yes.’

He came to sit next to her.

‘Hello, Julius,’ she said. ‘Or are you et tu Brute?’

‘Keith will do, thanks. Are they asleep?’ He hung on to his sheet. ‘No pyjamas,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t wear them anyway, but I would have brought some with me if I’d known. Are they asleep?’ he repeated.

‘Both doped,’ she told him. ‘Mam had a double dose. It said on the bottle two at night if required.’ He was virtually naked, as was she. ‘And Mel was crying, so I knocked her out, too.’

‘The Crosby poisoner,’ he breathed. ‘And you’re wide awake.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re the same. Why?’

Keith chuckled quietly. ‘Only the guilty answer a question with a question.’

‘I can’t work out what’s the matter with me,’ she said. ‘But it’s as if I’ve known you all my life. A woman I cared about died today, and all I can think about is being with you.’

Yes, here she came, the girl he loved. The honesty that always shone in her eyes was pouring softly from lips he wanted to devour, but he continued to hold on to his sheet. Eileen was capable of naughtiness. This delightful trait, coupled with intelligence and humour, was all he wanted in a wife. ‘I won’t take advantage,’ he declared.

‘No, but I might.’

‘You mustn’t.’

She looked him full in the face. ‘Never tell me what to do or what not to do. I’m contrary. You’ll notice the same stubbornness in my sons, and in my daughter. So.’ She touched his hand. ‘You don’t want me?’

‘Don’t talk daft.’

‘You do want me?’

‘Stupid question.’

‘You’re as bloody-minded as I am.’

‘Yes. I don’t want to face you tomorrow if you have regrets.’

Eileen stood up, climbed the top few stairs and entered the room she was currently sharing with her mother, who snored. She wondered whether Keith snored. If she spent the night with him, she might find out. In the interests of research, a person needed to gain as much information as possible in order to compare and tabulate results. Who was she kidding? She had met her Waterloo and her second husband. The boys would do as they were bloody well told, and that would be an end to their shenanigans. ‘I may be in love,’ she told her sleeping mother. ‘And if you wake, you’ll know where I am.’

Mam didn’t approve of sex outside marriage, but Eileen nursed the suspicion that an exception might be made in this case. Everyone liked Keith. Even Mel, who’d been terribly upset about the Maguire family, had voiced her approval. As for Tom Bingley, he could hang himself out to dry, because his luck was running out fast. Hang himself? She shouldn’t have thought those words, because poor Kitty . . .

In the bathroom, Eileen cleaned her teeth for the second time tonight. She washed her face, combed her hair and walked into his room where she pressed herself ham-actress-fashion across his door. ‘I must tell you something,’ she said in a voice that wasn’t a bad imitation of some Hollywood queen. ‘I have stretch marks.’ She blew out her candle.

A small night light burned on the mantelpiece, and the pair gazed at each other in the glow of its meagre flame.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

‘You can look at them if you like.’

‘Eileen!’

‘What?’

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘Yes. There’s something about you I can’t ignore, as if we’ve met before. And I know you feel the same, so why wait? The worst that can happen is a baby, and we’d cope. Don’t worry, I think I’ve already decided to make an honest man of you, Keith Greenhalgh. I’ll still respect you tomorrow after I’ve had my wicked way.’

‘Come here.’

So for once, Eileen did as she was bidden. She perched on the edge of the bed and on the hemline of sin while he looked at her sternly, as if he were her father. ‘What’s the matter?’ she mouthed softly.

‘Dr Bingley is the matter. And don’t bother asking how I know, because I felt the change in the tone of your letters. Also, he made it perfectly plain today that he regards you as his property. Don’t mess me about, Eileen Watson. You’re beautiful, and you know how I feel about you. But the world is not your oyster. This is a difficult moment for me, and it can’t be easy for you, because you know how beautiful and desirable you are, so rejection’s something you won’t expect. Yes, I love you; no, I won’t share you.’

Eileen stared down at him. He was in even deeper shadow now, since she sat between him and the candlelight. She was angry, mostly with herself.

‘You have to work out whether you want to be a rich man’s mistress, or a working man’s wife.’ He sighed. ‘He stood in that kitchen today and looked at me as if I were rubbish.’

She rose to her feet. ‘You don’t know me at all. There’s been no one since Laz, because I respect myself too much. Tom’s a pain in the neck, but I’m used to that kind of thing. But you?’ She raised both hands in a gesture of despair. ‘I decided, very foolishly, that you were probably right for me.’

‘So go away and lose the probably.’

‘Did you wonder about Tom when you kissed me?’

Keith considered that. ‘No. I thought about this moment, all the time knowing that it shouldn’t happen yet. Courtship takes time. Because of the way I am, love comes suddenly and not often. You’re female.’

‘You noticed.’

‘Yes. Females calculate. If you watch the animal kingdom, the males have to work themselves silly. Their mates think long and hard, because they’re the ones who get invaded and impregnated. Humans are the same. Do your thinking. If you need to sleep with him, get it over with, but don’t try me for size first.’ He paused and smiled. ‘That wasn’t intended to be vulgar.’

For a while, she didn’t know what to say. He was sending her away, and she hadn’t expected that, but, as a Liverpudlian woman, she needed the last word. ‘I wasn’t intending to give you a reference, or marks out of ten for performance. I came here because the probably had begun to disappear. Big mistake, eh?’

‘Eileen?’

‘What?’

‘I love you. I love you too much to lose you by that mistake.’

With that, she was forced to be satisfied. Back in her own room with a snoring mother for company, Eileen spent a sleepless night. How could she meet his eyes in the morning? Why had she placed herself in such an embarrassing position? But that was just pride. The fact was that Tom flaming Bingley was stamping on her life, and nothing this side of death seemed enough to put a stop to him. Keith, an old-fashioned type with Victorian values, was too sensitive for his own good. There was no probably. The probably had died while she’d read his letters, because their minds had met. Which fact didn’t mean they would always agree, but the fights would be fun.

When morning came, she went down to prepare the coddled egg and milky tea that were her patient’s usual breakfast. She carried in the tray, placed it on a bedside table, and found Tom Bingley on her heels. ‘I’m here to see your mother,’ he said. ‘Good morning, Miss Morrison. How are you today?’

But the old woman was concentrating her attention on Eileen, who didn’t seem right. Frances Morrison leapt from her bed with surprising alacrity just as her carer fell in a dead faint. ‘Pick her up. Put her on my bed. See if her heart’s good.’

‘Just exhaustion,’ he said after a brief examination. ‘She probably didn’t get enough sleep.’ He listened to Eileen’s heart. ‘Yes, she’ll be fine. I’ll leave a tonic.’ Had she been kept awake by Keith Greenhalgh?

Frances Morrison had seen and heard enough lately. She had to do something about this situation. ‘Now, I don’t want you to take offence, but in future I’d like to be attended by Dr Ryan. I think you know why.’

‘What? No, I don’t know why. Have I neglected you in some way?’