The Corner House (37 page)

The woman in the chair closed her eyes. It had happened, then. Bernard Walsh and Theresa Nolan lived in the same city, probably used the same shops. They must have bumped into each other at last. So, had Theresa found out about Katherine? Was that the reason for the sudden decision to come home and grab Jessica? No matter how hard she tried, Eva could not relax the muscles of her neck and shoulders. She was tense to the point of rigidity.

Jimmy came in and wondered where his dinner was. ‘It’s half past twelve,’ he complained jovially. At half past twelve on a Friday, the table usually boasted a steaming plateful of finny haddy with a poached egg on top. ‘Where’s me yellow fish, love?’

Eva shrugged. ‘In the Yellow River, go and catch it.’

He sat down at the bare table. ‘What’s up?’

Eva shrugged. ‘Go and get a fish dinner from the chip shop.’

Jimmy wasn’t budging. ‘I’ll not shift till you tell me what’s going on,’ he insisted.

The shoulders raised themselves again. ‘We’ve lost Jess.’

‘Lost her? She’s in the butcher’s.’

‘I know. We’ve lost her for ever.’

‘Oh.’ He scratched his head. Jessica was a grand lass. He’d never forgotten how she’d cheered him in the sanatorium. ‘She’s a big girl now,’ he said. ‘She’ll not forget who her friends are. Anyroad, how could that Ruth touch her? Even if Theresa died … Is she dead?’

Eva shook her head.

‘Then how can Ruth go for custody when Theresa placed Jessica with you?’

Eva turned and faced him. ‘I’ve said nowt about Ruth, so stop jumping to conclusions. Theresa’s given up her job. I got a letter this morning. She’s buying a house in Bolton, then somebody called Maggie is going to mind Jessica when Theresa’s not well.’ She swallowed audibly. ‘I reckon Theresa’s found out about the other child.’ Theresa was about to remove Jessica. At last, Eva Coates was at the receiving end. It was no more than she deserved, an inner voice told her.

‘Ah. Bernard Walsh’s lass?’

‘That’s the one.’

The carpenter glanced down at his work-scarred hands. He was a lucky man. He’d lost everything, then gained everything all over again. He had a good wife, a nice home, a job. And Jessica. Jessica had always been a large factor in the equation that added up to everything. ‘Well, we’ll miss her,’ he said.

Eva rounded on him, jumping up from her chair and balling her fists. ‘It were all done for the best,’ she yelled. Jimmy didn’t deserve an ear-battering, but Jimmy was the only person available. ‘She’d never have managed. Both them babies would have ended up in an orphanage except for me. Two would have overwhelmed her. One were bad enough, ’cos it took Theresa weeks to get back on her feet proper.’

‘Calm down, love—’

‘Katherine’s been doted on. She’d never have had such a good life if I hadn’t—’

‘Shut up,’ said Jimmy.

Unused to being chided, Eva stopped talking.

‘Eva,’ said Jimmy softly. ‘Eva, love. For a kick-off, you could be wrong. You only think Theresa’s found out about Katherine. Now, even if she does know the truth, you’ll have to hang fire. Don’t go crashing about like a bull at a gate, because that’ll get you nowhere. Be patient. Wait for Theresa to talk to you. If she knows owt, she’ll speak out. If she knows nowt, she’ll say nowt.’

Eva sat down again. ‘Thanks,’ she breathed.

‘That’s all right.’ He got up and gave her a hug. ‘Eva?’

‘What?’

‘Where’s me finny haddy?’

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘It’s cod and it’s in Foster’s chippy.’

Jimmy shook his head. ‘Service round here’s gone bloody terrible,’ he grumbled.

‘Jimmy?’

‘What?’

‘Shut up and get gone.’

He shut up and went.

Ruth was almost surprised, though she did her best to hide the fact. Three people on her doorstep and she hadn’t donkey-stoned it for months. Still, they might have brought cigarettes or beer, so she would make an effort to be pleasant. ‘What do you want?’ she asked her sister. And who were these other characters? There was an older woman draped from head to foot in three shades of purple, then a bloke who seemed to be bowed down by the cares of the world, almost hunchbacked, trying to double in two.

‘We stayed at a bed and breakfast last night,’ explained Theresa. ‘These are my friends from Liverpool.’ She turned first to Maggie, then to Monty, speaking their names. ‘This is my sister, Ruth,’ she told them.

Ruth, still taken aback, tried to keep pace with the thoughts in her head. Irene would be so jealous if Ruth had company. ‘Do you want to come in?’ Irene had already caused so much trouble up Bury Road that she and her poor, gentle husband had been forced to move. Ruth held the door wide. ‘Excuse the mess,’ she said. Visitors. Irene would be green with envy.

Theresa hesitated before stepping into the lobby. She had not entered this house since her father had thrown her out. It was a dark, sombre place with
brown paintwork and green walls. Nothing had changed. Dad’s coat and trilby hung in the hall, while his walking stick remained in a corner. Theresa shivered. ‘Go through,’ snapped Ruth with her habitual lack of patience.

In the rear living room, Dad’s rosary hung on a nail next to the black-leaded grate. His pipes, a set of six stinking black holes, sat in a rack on the mantel. Above the fireplace, a wax version of the Last Supper overlooked the whole area. Theresa shuddered again. ‘He’s watching you,’ Dad had used to say, a nicotined finger pointing at the soon-to-be-betrayed Christ.

Ruth looked hopefully at Maggie. ‘Have you got a spare ciggy?’

Maggie obliged and won a smile from the recipient of one Senior Service for now, plus one for later.

Ruth set light to her cigarette, using a spill held to the meagre fire. ‘I’ve not much coal left,’ she said.

Monty and Maggie exchanged looks. The house promised to be as warm as Ruth’s so-called welcome.

‘We need somewhere to stay,’ explained Theresa. ‘I’ll stop at Eva’s, but can you find room for Monty and Maggie?’

‘Separate rooms,’ interjected Maggie, her tone prim.

‘What about Christmas?’ asked Ruth between frantic puffs.

‘Have you got plans?’ Theresa asked.

Ruth laughed mirthlessly. ‘Plans? With that bloody rat of mine? Depends which road out she is, I suppose. She might invite me if she’s got something to show off, same as a new carpet or a couch. Or she might bring me summat on a plate, or she might just leave me to stew. Not that I’ve got owt to put in a
stew, like. She doesn’t give a damn about me, our Irene.’

Theresa nodded thoughtfully. The monster created by Ruth would probably seek vengeance for the rest of her life. With her breath suddenly shortened, Theresa dropped into her father’s scratchy horsehair rocker. She was like Irene. She had become a monster, had been invented by three drunken men, and she was acting just like Ruth’s horrible daughter.

‘Are you all right?’ Maggie asked.

Ruth blew out a stream of grey smoke. ‘She’ll never be all right. She’d a bad fever when she were little, then she got herself—’

‘That’s enough,’ gasped Theresa. ‘I’ll be fine in a minute.’

Maggie perched on a dining chair while Monty, plainly ill at ease, fiddled with his hat near the dresser.

‘So all I’m saying is there won’t be much of a Christmas in this house.’

Maggie tut-tutted. ‘Of course there’ll be Christmas. Monty and I will buy food – won’t we, Monty? And we can all go to Eva’s, share the expense. Monty?’

Monty nodded.

Theresa stood and walked to the door. ‘I’m going down to Eva’s to see Jessica. Ruth will make you a cup of tea.’ She let herself out of the house, hoping against hope that her sister would have the makings of a brew.

Outside on View Street, Theresa surveyed the town for the first time in years. Chimneys of solid brick poked their nostrils into a sky that seemed permanently stained. The Town Hall clock oversaw the area of civic business, while rabbit runs of small
houses sloped their blue-slated roofs down Daubhill. A film of ice caused Theresa to slither and slide her way along to Eva’s house. She intended to do nothing, to say nothing until after Christmas. Jessica’s holiday must not be spoilt.

She was greeted by an enraptured daughter and a very quiet Eva.

‘Let your mother sit down, Jessica,’ instructed the older woman, her soft tone betraying uncertainty. Theresa didn’t look at all well. Her face was pasty-white, while the lips had a decidedly blue tinge.

Jessica detached herself. ‘Are you home for ever?’ she asked.

Nothing was for ever, and Theresa’s time would not stretch far. ‘We’ll get a place. The house will be in your name,’ she advised Jessica. ‘That way, you’ll get a better start in life than most. And no, I’ll not be going back to Liverpool.’

Eva felt her hands shaking, so she busied herself with teapot and cups. ‘Where’s your friend?’ she asked.

‘She’s stopping at our Ruth’s.’

Eva dropped a spoon. ‘You what? You’ve left her with that bad bu—’ She pulled herself up in the presence of the child. Jessica was a young lady, a grammar school girl, and she shouldn’t hear words like ‘bugger’. ‘You’ve left her there? All the kids are feared to death of yon place, specially since Ruth put it about that it’s haunted. And by your dad, of all people.’ Eva had no time for Michael Nolan, dead or alive. She retrieved the spoon and shoved it into a pocket of her apron.

‘Maggie isn’t on her own,’ said Theresa. ‘Monty’s with her. He wanted a break from Liverpool and—’

‘Your gentleman friend?’ asked Eva.

Theresa held on to her patience. It was clear that Eva felt threatened, afraid of losing Jessica. ‘He’s a friend and a gentleman, but he’s not special to me.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Eva lifted a batch of scones from the oven. ‘So.’ She tipped the scones deftly onto a cooling rack. ‘You’ll be taking young Jess away from me and Jimmy. Who’ll see to her if you’re …’ She glanced at Jessica, decided that she didn’t want the girl worrying about her mother’s health. ‘If you’re busy working or not up to scratch?’

Theresa looked hard at the woman who had helped her for so many years, the woman who had stolen a baby and placed her with a good, hard-working fishmonger.

Jessica sensed the tension in the room. ‘I’ll go and get my school books,’ she told her mother. ‘Then you can see how hard the work is.’

Alone, Eva and Theresa stared awkwardly at one another. ‘Are you feeling really ill?’ Eva asked. Did Theresa know? Did she?

‘I’m tired. My heart’s a bit wonky again.’ Really, Eva had played a large part in the lives of both twins, because she’d looked after Jessica for ages.

Eva arranged the scones in rows. ‘Dr Blake still comes round asking about you.’ She lifted a circle of marzipan and stuck it on top of her Christmas cake. ‘Once Jessica leaves this house, he only needs to follow her from school and he’ll find you.’

Theresa watched while the woman who had delivered her twins spread thick, uneven icing on top of the marzipan. ‘I’m not bothered any more,’ she replied at last.

When a Father Christmas and a snowman sat among miniature peaks of sugary snow, Eva laid
down her palette knife. ‘Are you still going after them three?’ she asked.

Theresa shrugged.

‘Because if your mind’s set on punishment, you could end up in jail. Then what happens to Jess?’

‘Maggie will see to her.’

Eva picked up a red ribbon. ‘I’ll put that round it when the icing’s set. Very nicely decorated, even if I say it myself.’ She prodded a couple of puddings with a skewer, withdrew the implement and checked that it was clean. ‘Done and dusted,’ she declared. ‘Full of sixpences and milk stout.’ She looked straight into Theresa’s eyes. ‘Would you pour the tea?’ she asked.

Theresa poured.

‘Am I not good enough any more?’

The visitor’s hand stumbled, bled milk onto the tablecloth. ‘I’ve saved for Jessica, Eva. I don’t know how long I’ve got, and I want her secure. I’m giving her the deeds to a house. Maggie … well, she’s nowhere to go and nobody to care for her. You’ve got Jimmy.’

‘I’m not bothered about me.’ Eva clattered a spoon in a dish of home-made mincemeat. ‘It’s Jessica that matters. Hasn’t she had enough changes?’

Theresa agreed, though she said nothing. But how could she leave Jessica to the mercies of a woman who had stolen a baby?

‘Theresa?’

Eva’s guest sipped tea. ‘If anything happens to me – when it happens – Jessica can live with Maggie and visit you if she wants.’

‘When she wants. Whatever I’ve done and whatever I am, yon lass loves me.’ Eva caught sight of pain in Theresa’s eyes, a look that advertised hurt tinged
with anger. Theresa knew about the other child. Then Theresa smiled and Eva wasn’t sure. ‘Will your friends want to spend Christmas here?’ she asked.

‘Possibly. They’ve offered to chip in with some money or food.’

Jessica ran in with a pile of books. She babbled on about French and history, complained about geometry, declared that algebra made no sense at all.

‘You say they’re sleeping at Ruth’s?’ Eva asked when Jessica slowed down.

Theresa nodded absently, her eye fixed to a page filled with foreign words. ‘Jessica?’

‘Yes, Mam?’

‘Do you understand all this?’

Jessica nodded.

‘You’ll have it all, love,’ said Theresa, contentment and pride softening her speech. Jessica was beautiful. She was getting an education, too, and she would soon own a modest house. ‘Use it well,’ she advised.

‘I’d not send me worst enemy to sleep there,’ continued Eva.

Theresa settled down to drink a second cup of tea. Perhaps she hadn’t done such a bad job after all. She had earned a living, had kept this precious girl at a safe distance, had saved enough to give Jessica a toehold on the future. The other one – Katherine – the child who lived a lie, was also gaining an education. Liz and Bernard Walsh had sent Jessica’s double to private schools, so she, too, had promising prospects.

‘And if that Irene turns up, they’ll be wanting the bishop round to bless the house. Who in their right mind wants to spend a lifetime messing about with dead folk?’

Jessica turned to Eva. ‘But she isn’t in her right mind. Can I have a scone, please?’