That Liverpool Girl (40 page)

At the house named Willows, he was introduced to Miss Hilda Pickavance, whom he recognized from Kitty’s funeral, a Jean from Home Farm, a Gill from the gatehouse, a babe in arms called Maisie, also from the gatehouse, several evacuees, and Elsie Openshaw from the post office. She looked far too large for one of those diminutive houses, and she had a great deal to say for herself. The cacophony was deafening. Nellie threw out the evacuees, told Elsie to shut up, sat down and asked for a cup of tea for herself and her chauffeur. ‘The lads are still asleep in the car,’ she said. ‘Right, doc. You tell ’em what’s happening to Liverpool.’

So he was forced to repeat all that he had related to Nellie at the start of their journey. Apart from little Maisie, everyone in the room was quiet. Unimpressed by tales of arson and bombardment, she continued to coo. Her belly was full, so all was well with the world.

‘And you’re going back to all that, Nellie?’ Elsie asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Nellie replied. ‘I mean Crosby’s safe enough. But there’s a bit of family business going on, and Eileen might want to tackle it herself. Only there’s Keith’s job and his house, you know—’

‘Safe,’ pronounced Miss Pickavance. ‘If they have to remain in Crosby, so be it.’

Nellie glared at Tom. None of this would have mattered had he been able to keep his son in order. But she had to admit, however grudgingly, that Mel had probably taken after her mother, who liked and desired close male company. Peter Bingley wasn’t the only spoilt brat in the mix. Nellie had spoilt Eileen, and Eileen had been too easy with Mel. Tom Bingley might be a weak man, but the Kennedy/ Watson clan was far from perfect.

‘I were looking for’ard to that,’ Elsie complained. ‘Goin’ t’ Crosby, seein’ ’ow t’ other ’alf lives.’

Nellie straightened her spine. ‘For’ard? For’ard? Ah mun tell thee now, Elsie, tha were terrified when I asked thee.’

Elsie started to laugh. Nellie’s attempt at Boltonese wasn’t half bad. In fact, she was picking up a gradely way of talking if she’d shape a bit better and concentrate. ‘Tha’s passed th’ exam,’ she roared. Her body shook like a giant jelly. It was clear that she had no ongoing relationship with corsetry. Perhaps she wore it on special occasions, and this occasion was far from special, since rolls of blubber collided all over her very ample body.

Tom thought of Marie and smiled. She had her corsets made by a lady named Mrs Wray,
the
corsetie`re extraordinaire of Crosby, Liverpool. Now that Marie was more relaxed, she had made her husband laugh about corsets. ‘No woman can taste true happiness unless she experiences the intense joy of those few moments after her release from whalebone. Freed flesh itches, and scratching is ecstasy.’ Yes, Marie was coming along nicely, and he wished with all his heart that he had never met Eileen Watson.

A young boy entered through the back door. Behind him, a polite, blond-headed pony put his head into the house. ‘Stay,’ ordered the boy. ‘Good boy. I’ll get you a carrot.’

Tom grinned. At least Eileen’s youngest hadn’t placed the animal on a draining board. ‘Are you Bertie?’

‘Yes, I am. Did you bring Gran back?’

‘I did. She has your presents, but you can’t open them before Christmas Day. So you’re the horseman.’

Bertie fed his best friend. ‘Or a vet if I’m clever enough.’ He turned and looked at Tom. ‘Are the Germans knocking Liverpool down?’

‘Some of it, yes. We will rebuild it, son. Nothing will ever make our city lie down completely. Just you remember to say your prayers. That’s all we can do for now.’

Bertie nodded thoughtfully. ‘Gran said on the phone you go down sometimes and rescue people. She says you’re a very brave man who couldn’t go to war because of two left feet and a duff ear.’

Tom found himself laughing. ‘I’m a bit old for war, Bertie. So I do what I can.’ He felt strangely pleased because Nellie had praised him; like a schoolboy who had been given a star for getting his homework right. Hell’s bells, he was a doctor, a diagnostician, a saver of human life. Yet he blushed because a loudmouth with a punch like a heavyweight boxer had expressed approval of him. ‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘Patients to see, things to do.’ He accepted gratefully gifts of four chickens, two dozen eggs, two pounds of butter, some cream and an assortment of vegetables. These items were to be split between his household and Frances Morrison’s for Christmas. When the sleepy boys had been evicted from his car, he waved to the gathered crowd. It was a crowd because Elsie was there, he supposed. He liked her; she was a good laugh.

As he drove away, he looked again at the idyll spread all round him. Even in the dead of winter, the moors were spectacular. Frost lingered to decorate fields and skeletal trees. This was a Christmas card begging to be photographed. He should have brought the camera to make cards for next year. He could have taken shots of the house she’d be living in soon. If she came back here, that was. He could not imagine her walking away from Mel at the moment.

Outside her house in Willows Edge, he stopped the car. These cottages were beautifully built, though probably not much bigger than those in Rachel Street. But they were pretty because they were constructed of stone, had gardens, paths, gates and solid front doors. Yes, this was a long way from slum territory. He had to forget her. He’d scarcely given her a thought throughout the adventure he had shared with his newly resurrected wife. ‘I’m an animal,’ he said aloud. Sometimes, he felt thoroughly ashamed of himself. This was one of those times.

Mel watched Gloria and her mother leaving their house and heading for the village. After hanging around in the cold for twenty minutes, she was not in the best of moods, and her teeth were chattering madly. But she had to see Peter, needed to warn him of her mother’s intentions regarding their schools. Dr Bingley was in Bolton with Gran and the boys, so Peter was finally alone when his mother and sister left to do the shopping. Mel was still walking up the path when he opened the front door. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘They’ll be back in about an hour.’ He led her through to the dining room, bent to give her a kiss.

But she pulled away from him without understanding her action. ‘How’s your back?’ she asked. Did she love this boy? Did she?

‘Sore. Too sore for fun. And I can’t live like this, Mel. Gloria in excelsis and I have never had a great deal in common, but hatred’s hard to take, especially at Christmas.’ He paused and tapped his fingers on the table. ‘We have to teach them all a lesson.’

So she informed him of her mother’s intention to visit the head teachers of Merchants Girls’ and Boys’ schools. ‘You don’t know what my family’s capable of, Peter. And my mother will do just about anything to keep us apart. She may look all sweetness and light, but she’s powerful. Quiet, yet lethal. I suppose it’s because we’re poor. If I throw my chance away, it will break her heart. She wants all her children to have the best possible chance in life.’

Peter, too, had news to divulge. His sister had already blackened Mel’s name with just about every girl in their year. ‘She’s been phoning everyone except the school cat. You’ll be lonely when term starts,’ he said. ‘She’s told everyone we’re doing it, that we were caught doing it by my dad and your stepfather in a house off Scotland Road. You have no idea how angry she is.’

At one time Mel could not have imagined Gloria in a temper, but she had felt the edge of it very recently, and that edge was honed to perfect sharpness. Isolation, unpleasant though it might be, did not frighten her. But if anything affected her work, she would surely become distraught. There might be whisperings, even ‘accidental’ collisions in corridors, elbows in her ribs. ‘That’s that, then,’ she said. ‘We have to finish.’

‘No.’

‘There’s no other answer.’

‘Really?’ He outlined the plan. They would collect clothes, money and a little food. A friend in Rainford had been taken by his parents to a ski resort in Switzerland. The family would not return to their house until the day before school was due to reopen, and there was always a spare key behind the shed in a pot near the raspberry canes. ‘A short ride up the East Lancashire Road, and we’ll be there.’

‘I can’t do that to my mother, Peter.’

‘Look what she’s willing to do to us,’ was his swift response.

Another valid point fell from Mel’s lips. ‘You’ve got stitches.’

‘Yes, and if they weren’t in my back, I’d snip the buggers out myself. You can do it.’

‘I wouldn’t dare.’

‘Then you don’t love me.’

She heard the petulance, caught a brief glimpse of the child in him, dismissed the thought instantly. She was still capable of being infantile and silly, and he was the same age. ‘I am not taking your stitches out. Your dad will do it in a few days.’

His jaw dropped slightly. ‘What? You are condemning me to Christmas in this house with Gloria the glorious, with a sulking mother and a father who wishes he could touch you the way I did? As for you, how will you feel in the company of a mother who’s willing to betray you to top brass? Well?’

‘My mother’s . . . different. She’s dead straight, that’s all. I can do something about the damage your sister’s causing, and my parents will make sure I get a good Christmas. My mother’s said her piece, and she won’t drone on. Gran’s the droner. My mother’s quiet most of the time.’ And Eileen was happy. It was important to Mel that her mother was happy. ‘I’m not running away with you. I’m not putting Mam through that pain.’ A feeling akin to relief flooded her veins. She probably didn’t love him at all.

They argued back and forth for the better part of the allocated hour, at which time he asked her to leave. And she refused.

‘What?’ he almost screamed. ‘They’ll be back.’ Panic invaded his chest. He needed to talk to Mel, needed time away from here so that he could express himself and his fears to the one person he trusted.

‘Exactly.’

‘And?’

‘And I’m going to be a lawyer.’ She definitely didn’t love him. It was all sex, and sex was a powerful thing. ‘It’s over. You and I are no longer an item.’

‘What?’

The front door opened. Mel rose gracefully from the table, abandoned her erstwhile boyfriend and walked into the hall. ‘Gloria Bingley,’ she said plainly. ‘I am going to see Dr Ryan to ask for an internal examination, which will prove me a virgin and you the biggest fair-weather friend since Judas. You have not only betrayed me; you have also told a massive untruth which is a slander. My name is blackened at school, and I shall see you in court. Or perhaps you would like to settle out of court once I prove my intactness?’ She was glad she’d read that law book of Miss Morrison’s just out of interest. ‘Ask your father to let the moths out of his wallet and give me my start at Cambridge. And your brother can go to hell. He’s a spoilt, whining brat. I’d sooner lie down with the rag-and-bone man.’

Gloria burst into tears and ran upstairs. She should have realized that Clever-Clogs Watson would get the better of her, because the girl never lost an argument. In the debating society, she’d even carried a motion on communism being a good thing for Britain.

Marie stared sadly at Mel. ‘Please, Mel.’

‘Please what, Mrs Bingley? I think it’s time I pleased myself as far as your family’s concerned. You’re married to a dirty old man . . .’ She shouldn’t have said that. ‘And your son’s a weak, spineless waste of space. Gloria broadcast an enormous lie about me and her brother, so can you blame me for asking my doctor to give me written proof of my status?’ She would be the barrister, she decided in that moment. There were few females called to the bar, but she would improve that number by one. Arguing was second nature to her.

‘Mel, you are cruel. Please stop,’ Marie begged again.

But the girl remained in the saddle of a very high horse. ‘Once. Once I allowed him to touch me, because he’s handsome and . . . and desirable. But it was just touching.’ The back door slammed. ‘There he goes. Your little boy has left the house, Mrs Bingley. Perhaps he needs a playpen.’

Marie placed her shopping on the floor. ‘Slander works both ways, you know. Would you like it if Tom took you to court for describing him as a dirty old man?’

Mel tutted. ‘Prove I said it.’

‘There were ear-witnesses.’

Mel shook her head. ‘Family. My witnesses are a couple of dozen girls who have been informed by your daughter that I am misbehaving with your son. No contest. And, being a family doctor, your husband has to remain squeaky clean. Remember the no smoke without fire saying?’

A few seconds of deadlock followed. ‘Wait here, then.’ Marie turned on her heel and walked into the office. Alone in the hall, Mel could hear Gloria sobbing in her room.
I didn’t know myself till now. When it comes to making stuff happen, I am in my element. Parliament? High Court? Certainly not Mrs Peter Bingley, that’s for sure.

Marie returned with a cheque and pushed it into Mel’s hand.

‘Ah. Thirty pieces of silver.’ Without looking at the scrap of paper, Mel tore it into tiny flakes that floated like snow down to the parquet floor.

‘That was three hundred pounds!’ Marie gasped. ‘You asked for money.’

‘Three hundred pieces of silver, then. I’m not purchasable, even at that price.’

‘But you said—’

‘I say a lot of things, Mrs Bingley. Now, I am off to see my doctor. You will tell her upstairs to telephone all those she has misinformed. Let her say it was a dare or something of that nature. As for your son – well, I can only wish you the best of luck. If he comes anywhere near me, have your sutures ready.’ She walked out of the house.