That Liverpool Girl (41 page)

Her legs didn’t match any more. Stumbling like a recovering alcoholic who was having a slight relapse, Mel staggered to the end of the road. She had to make a better job of this walking business, because he would be waiting round the corner. Yes, there he was. Peter Bingley was beautiful. He was the sort of creature who might have given Michelangelo’s David a run for his money. Not that statues could run, of course. Why was she having daft thoughts at a time like this when her reputation was in tatters?

She stopped and stared at him. He was across the road, frozen like a rabbit caught in headlights. ‘Stay away from me, Bingley,’ she roared at the top of her voice. Curtains fluttered. Two old ladies on opposite sides of the road ambled to their gates, shawls clutched as protection against the bitter cold. ‘Go home,’ Mel shrieked. ‘Go home to your disgusting sister.’ He ran, and she found herself smiling.

But when she reached her own lodgings, Mel was no longer proud of herself. Gloria was a friend of long standing. She was upset because Mel had not confided in her about Peter, and although her behaviour had been bad, she was probably deeply hurt. It must all be put right. But first, there was an appointment with Dr Ryan.

Tom brought in the food from Home Farm. He made two trips from car to house, because a couple of chickens and all the vegetables took some shifting. ‘Nearly as big as turkeys, those things,’ he said. ‘Where’s Keith? Where’s Mel? And how’s your Miss Morrison?’

‘As excited as a child because she won’t be alone at Christmas. She’s a love. We sit and talk to her every day, but she tires.’ Eileen gave him a cup of tea and a bit of date and walnut cake. ‘To answer your question, Keith’s gone to buy me a collar and lead. That’s what he said, anyway, but really he’ll be looking for my Christmas present. And Mel’s gone to see Dr Ryan to prove she’s a virgin.’

‘What?’ He almost choked. Cakes seemed dry these days, probably due to all the rationing. How lucky were the people who lived out of town . . . ‘To prove she’s a virgin?’

Eileen bit her lip. But it all had to be said. ‘Gloria has been busy on the phone. She’s told the whole class that Mel and Peter have had full sex. It was a nasty lie to tell, Tom.’

‘What?’ He leapt to his feet. Gloria was a sweet girl who wouldn’t damage a fly. He couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Gloria? My Gloria?’

Eileen nodded. ‘Yes, the very same. Sit down and hear me out, Tom. You know I have a temper?’

‘Of course.’ He sat. ‘I explained away the evidence of your most recent assault as something that happened during the retrieval of our children. A falling brick if I remember correctly.’

‘Well, my daughter has a temper, too. She’s gone through your household today like a hot knife cutting butter. Peter is damned to hell, while Marie took the full blast, including the information that my headstrong girl thinks of you as a dirty old man. She regrets saying that, though she has told me on at least one occasion that you look at her in a certain way.’

‘She reminds me of someone.’

‘Yes.’ There would be no nonsense. If she glimpsed the fringe of trouble, he would be out of this house in a trice. ‘My daughter will be derided at school because of Gloria. So Mel made a scene, demanded compensation, bullied your wife into writing a cheque. Madam tore it up and stormed out. She then made another un-pretty scene outside. It involved Peter and she has ended her relationship with him.’

Tom remembered life pre-Eileen. It had been boring, but peaceful. ‘Three generations of angry women; there’s your mother, then you, then Mel. She got more than your beauty. I’m convinced that the brain came from your mother, via you.’

She told him the rest of it. At first Mel wanted to get a solicitor and apply for permission to print in the Crosby newspaper a statement saying that the gossip was malicious and untrue. But a calmer period had ensued, and Mel was missing Gloria already. ‘So I don’t know what to do,’ Eileen concluded. ‘You know what they’re like at this age – up one minute, down the next.’

Gloria hadn’t been like that, but he didn’t say anything. His daughter had been good, perhaps too good. Of the two, Peter was the more unpredictable, and Tom had wondered of late about the boy’s true nature. He was a better than average sportsman and a successful scholar, but there was a gentleness that went a little too far for Tom’s comfort. He dismissed the idea yet again from his mind. Some heterosexuals were gentle, some homosexuals vicious. And some doctors were confused, because Peter had proved his sexuality by messing about with Mel.

‘Tom?’

‘What?’

‘He has to stay away from her.’

The visitor sipped his cooling tea. ‘How far did they go?’

‘About as far as you and I did on one unfortunate occasion.’

He smiled.

‘What’s funny?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’ He could not tell her that the smile was a demonstration of relief about Peter. ‘I suppose we all react differently when we realize that our children are almost adult. One minute it’s a high chair and Farley’s rusks, and the next they’re experimenting with the opposite sex.’

‘We have to get the two girls back together, Tom. Gloria’s a steadying, sensible influence, and Mel keeps her optimistic. And I don’t want Marie hurt. I mean, look at the man she married – isn’t he trouble enough?’ It was her turn to smile.

Mel came in, stopped in her tracks when she saw Tom, recovered quickly, and slammed an envelope on the kitchen table. ‘Virgo intacta,’ she said. ‘And will you tell that daft daughter of yours that she’s the nearest thing I have to a sister? I’m lumbered with three brothers, and she’s stuck with Peter. I can’t manage without her.’ She stalked out.

‘Going to be a barrister now,’ Eileen said.

Tom picked up his trilby. ‘It’s enough to make you pity the criminal fraternity,’ he said sadly before leaving the house.

Alone in the kitchen, Eileen found herself chuckling. He was perfectly correct. Mel would go onward and upward as long as nothing stood in her way. If anything did threaten to impede her progress, she would talk it out of existence. Hilda Pickavance, God bless her, had put away a sum that would support Mel through university. The bank book was to be Mel’s Christmas gift from that lovely woman. If only the damage Gloria had done could be put right . . . ‘What the—?’ Keith had just entered the house. ‘What’s that?’

‘I told you I’d get you a collar and lead.’

She stared hard at him. Once again, he was acting as daft as a brush. ‘But . . . there’s a dog fastened to all that tack.’

‘Is there? I never noticed.’

‘And what’s our landlady going to say?’

Keith grinned. ‘She’s in on the act.’

A diminutive black and white animal wagged a sad string of tail. ‘What make is it?’ Eileen asked.

‘It’s a spoodle, so it might not shed.’

She refused to ask.

‘I made up the spoodle bit. Cross between a spaniel and a poodle, and she was cross, too, that woman. Her poodle passed its exams for dog shows and the spaniel got at her.’

Eileen could resist no longer. She picked up the pup and held it close to her chest. Keith was complaining about the bloody dog getting the best seat in the house, but his wife scarcely listened. ‘Your mummy was got at, babe,’ she said. ‘I know how she must have felt, because I’m got at all the time.’ The little animal was a bundle of soft and silky curls. ‘I never had a dog, Keith.’

‘I know.’

‘Always wanted one.’

‘I know.’

‘Will it be all right with our baby? Will it kill your chickens?’

‘Yes and no. He’s from a farm in Lydiate, and he’s been handled by children since he was five days old. His mother’s very intelligent – all giant poodles are – and his dad’s a spaniel. Spaniels are daft, clever, soft-hearted and loving. He’ll be fine for both my babies – you and the passenger. As for chickens – he’s been pecked to buggery and nothing died.’

‘I love you.’

‘I know.’

‘And if you say “I know” again, I’ll hit you.’

‘I know. What’s for tea, love?’

‘Right.’ Sister Pearson intended to teach Jay Collins a sharp lesson very soon. The man would not listen; therefore, he would not learn. He was refusing some of his food, kept complaining loudly about anything and everything, and was currently making a song and dance about yet another substandard cup of tea. Did he not understand that even a cuppa was part of the intake that would balance injected insulin? How would she get through to him? This primed and prepared audience might help. She sighed heavily. Anything was worth a try, she supposed.

She folded her arms and tapped an irritated foot on the floor. ‘This delightful patient, ladies, is beyond the pale. He’s been driving me perpendicular, the cleaners round the U-bend, and even the doctors are having to see a doctor.’ She glared at Jay. ‘Listen, you. There is nothing wrong with that cup of tea. It’s the same as everyone else’s, and nobody has complained.’

Jay arranged his features to express deep hurt. ‘One look at you, and they daren’t bloody complain. This tastes like somebody’s peed in it.’ He slammed the green cup into its green saucer. ‘Disgusting.’

‘Oh, I see. So you’re used to the taste of urine, are you?’

‘I work on farms. We see, smell and taste all sorts. Can’t be helped, cos muck gets everywhere. Wouldn’t suit you. You’ve got that ants in the pants illness, haven’t you? Always scrubbing your hands – no wonder they’re red. Stick a bit of Vaseline on them. You want to slow down, you do.’

Sylvia Pearson addressed her small entourage of cadets, first years, a second year and, bringing up the rear, a man with a bucket. She didn’t know who he was, but she felt marginally better with a man in tow. If all else failed, he could threaten to hit the impatient patient with said bucket. ‘This is all deliberate and for attention,’ she advised the group. ‘A sure sign of a bored man. He is on the mend after a mere twenty-four hours. Remember, some men are children, and they’re naughty when well.’

‘Yes, sister,’ chorused her minions. The man with the bucket scratched his ear. He had work to do, but he’d been swept up by this crowd somewhere between beds eight and seven. He’d gone with the flow, because the flow had happened to be going in his direction, but he felt a right fool standing here with his second best bucket while the mickey got taken out of the bloke in bed three. This woman certainly went on a fair bit. She was opening her mouth to let the next lot of words see the light of day. He wished she’d hurry up, because it was nearly time for his tea break, and somebody’s mam had sent in a chocolate cake. There’d be very little chocolate and no eggs in it, but it looked a bit like a cake.

‘Why, oh why did you have to get a chronic illness?’ the sister asked. ‘A broken leg, traction, a bit of dysentery – all those things are soon sorted out. But no. You have to develop something that needs surveillance, and you don’t look after yourself. You’ll be doing the hokey-cokey here for years, in, out, in out. And you’ve been told how to manage. You’re even one of the first in this country to test the home hypodermic.’

Jay grinned cheekily. ‘Isn’t she lovely when she’s angry? Did anyone ever tell you, Sis, that behind the evil frown there’s a gorgeous, sensuous woman? The staff, patients and visitors here say you park your broomstick in the bike sheds, but they’re not being fair. And it’s Christmas. You should get treated better at Christmas.’ He was going home. If he had to steal clothes, drug staff, and walk ten miles north, he would be with Gill and Maisie by Christmas Day. In fact, he might seriously consider murder if it would get him away from Bolton Royal Infirmary.

Sister Pearson turned to her group of students. ‘Monitor this one while you can,’ she advised. ‘He’s not the first to cause this kind of bother. On paediatrics, you’ll find similar behaviour in the under tens. The man is emotionally retarded.’

Jay continued unimpressed. ‘So a Christmas kiss is out of the question, then? Or a quick fumble in the linen store?’

She needed to laugh, but she wouldn’t. He would be missed. The man was a nuisance and a troublemaker, but her ward would be as dead as a path lab without him. He was attractive too, and she was sorry about the diabetes. If he carried on in denial, he would age very suddenly, lose his looks, his sparkle, a limb, a kidney, his life. ‘Mr Collins, if you don’t take your illness seriously, Maisie will walk up the aisle without you. In fact, she might even start school with just a mother at home. You don’t want to die, not yet.’

She was being serious, Jay decided. Her tone was softer, and she cared enough to warn him. He felt warned.

Sister Pearson was getting a bit bored with the bucket man. He was like a spectator at some tennis match, head moving from side to side whenever she or Jay spoke. ‘What do you want?’ she asked finally. ‘I wasn’t aware that you were a member of my staff.’

‘Hospital maintenance,’ said Bucket Man. ‘I’m on a job when I can get to it.’

‘Oh?’ She looked him up and down. ‘Why, precisely, are you here?’

‘Precisely, Sister, it’s him.’ The bucket was waved in the direction of the patient. ‘He wants me to take the air out of his pipes. Says he’s an emergency.’

Everyone burst out laughing. Even the poor little cadets in their gingham uniforms had a good giggle.

But Jay didn’t laugh. He fixed Sylvia Pearson with a steely stare. ‘There is nothing more painful than trapped wind. I can’t sleep because of it. He’s come to bleed my pipes.’