The Leaving of Liverpool (25 page)

‘Well, I’m just so pleased and happy for both of you that whatever you decide I’ll agree with. A big do or a quiet one.’

‘I don’t want a big do, Mam. Just something simple.’

‘Aye, leave all the grand stuff to Phoebe-Ann when it’s her turn,’ Edwin added, seeing the look of apprehension in Emily’s eyes. He didn’t want to rush her.

‘Oh, no doubt she’ll want a showy affair. Probably want to invite the whole street,’ Emily laughed.

‘Then she’d better start saving up for it instead of spending all her money on clothes. Clothes mad, she is, and nothing but the best since she and Alice Wainwright got into this dressmaking.’

When Jack returned it was with Jimmy, Rhys and Phoebe-Ann who looked decidedly put out.

‘Try and look happy for your sister,’ Lily hissed.

Phoebe-Ann was annoyed because she’d planned to meet Jake outside the Gaumont cinema and she’d had to beg Alice to go and tell him she’d been called home for some emergency and Alice hadn’t been too happy about it. She selfishly wondered why Emily couldn’t have waited until tomorrow to announce her engagement but she smiled and kissed her sister on the cheek and said the appropriate words and admired the ring. She was happy for Emily, of course she was, she just wished she could have told them all about herself and Jake. Especially as she’d seen the look of disapproval on Rhys’s face. She’d been tempted to but Alice had talked her out of it. If they would just give him a chance they’d see how he’d changed she’d argued with Alice.

Alice had grimaced. ‘He might have changed but the rest of them haven’t.’

 

The following night, when she met him and told him of Emily’s engagement and the fuss that was being made he’d put his arm around her and had drawn her closer to him. ‘You wait, Phoebe-Ann, we’ll show them all.’

‘What do you mean, Jake?’

He cleared his throat. ‘When we get engaged.’

She looked up at him. ‘Will we?’

‘Of course we will. I want to marry you Phoebe-Ann. I love you. I want to give you everything. We’ll have a place of our own, all fixed up posh, like. You’ll have a ring with real diamonds in it and . . .’

She caught his enthusiasm and her heart was singing. ‘And a white satin wedding dress and a long white veil and we’ll be so happy!’

He held her tightly. Yes, she’d have all that and more. ‘I know what we’ll do. We’ll go and see Ma, right now.’

She drew back. ‘Now?’

‘Yes. I’m fed up with the others taking the mickey out of me and me ma poking fun with her sly digs. Once they see you Phoebe-Ann they’ll know, and they’ll learn to watch their tongues in future.’

She was very apprehensive. Ma Malone had a fearsome reputation and yet if she was going to marry Jake then she’d have to face the old harridan sooner or later. She supposed it might as well be sooner. ‘All right, let’s get it over with. Do you honestly think she’ll like me, Jake?’

‘How can she help it?’

 

When he walked into the kitchen with Phoebe-Ann, it was as though Jake was seeing his home for the first time and with new eyes, especially as Phoebe-Ann shrank closer to him.

She was trying not to show the disgust and shock she felt. The room was not only untidy but dirty. The curtains at the window were grey, the battered sofa and chairs were stained and greasy, and the oilcloth on the floor was broken and cracked and could have been either brown or grey. The table was covered with sheets of old newspaper, stained with tea. The range was filthy and the overmantel crammed with all kinds of odds and ends, covered in a thick film of sooty dust.

Only Peader and Vinny were at home. Vinny was asleep, slumped over the table, an empty jug of beer at his elbow. Peader looked up at her with blood-shot eyes.

‘Ma, this is Phoebe-Ann. Me girl.’

Ma Malone looked at Phoebe-Ann, taking in the fashionable clothes, the short blond hair and the look of disgust that Phoebe-Ann couldn’t hide. ‘An’ what kind of a name is that? I can’t remember no saint bein’ called that.’

‘Don’t you start, Ma!’ Jake warned.

‘I’ll start if I want to. It’s my house an’ you remember that!’

Phoebe-Ann made an effort. ‘It’s nice to meet you Ma . . . Mrs Malone. Jake has told me so much about you all.’

‘Sure is that right? Isn’t that a wonderful thing altogether? Do yez hear that Peader, yer eejit brother has been tellin’ the whole world about us all.’

Jake glared at his mother. ‘Me and Phoebe-Ann have come to tell you somethin’.’

‘An’ what’s that then?’ Ma Malone faced them both, her hostility apparent in her voice and demeanour.

Phoebe-Ann clutched at Jake’s arm. ‘Maybe we’d better wait for a more . . . suitable moment.’

Jake, having resolved to inform his mother of his intentions and having steeled himself for her reaction, shook his head. There would never be a
suitable
moment.

‘Is it struck dumb the pair of yez are?’ Ma demanded, having taken an instant dislike to the smartly dressed girl at her son’s side. So, this was the one all the fuss was over and not just in the matter of clean shirts either. She quickly deduced that Phoebe-Ann was one of those women who were determined to ‘improve’ their man. In her eyes that would be to reduce Jake to a silent, awkward, timorous man in a very short period of time indeed; to shame him in the eyes of his family and make him an object of fun or pity to the neighbours. Well, this bold, painted rossi would have to deal with her first and there was no way she would allow any son of hers to be ‘improved’ in such a way.

‘We’re gettin’ engaged!’ Jake blurted out.

‘Good on yer, lad! Let’s ’ave a bevvy on that!’ Peader cried, then cursed as Ma belted him across the side of his head.

‘Shut yer gob an’ yez has ’ad enough ter drink!’ she yelled at him, snatching the jug away from him. She placed her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. ‘Is that what yez ’ave come to tell me? Well, let me do the tellin’ now! If yez think I’m goin’ to be doin’ a jig wit delight yez can think again! I’m havin’ no painted Orange hussy in my house!’

‘I’m not Orange!’ Phoebe-Ann shot back with some spirit.

‘Well yer not one of
us
! Yer a bloody Proddy an’ it’s the same thing!’

Jake was shaking with anger and humiliation. ‘You’ve not set foot in church for months an’ it’s bloody years since yer went to Mass, so you’ve no room to talk like that!’ he yelled.

Ma took a few steps forward, wagging her forefinger menacingly at them both and, despite his anger, Jake stepped back a pace while Phoebe-Ann clung to his arm. ‘That’s got nothin’ ter do with it. She’s one of
them
an’ what’s more she’s trouble. Yez ’ave only got to take one look at the face paint an’ the skirt halfway up ’er arse, showin’ everythin’ she’s got, ter see she’s trouble!’

All Phoebe-Ann’s resolve drained from her at the coarse description. She tugged at Jake’s arm, tears pricking her eyes. How had she ever been stupid enough to believe that Ma Malone would have been even halfway civil to her? She was a horrible, crude, common woman and she hated her.

‘Ah, leave the ol’ bag! Take no notice of ’er, we’re gettin’ out of here!’

‘Aye, go on the pair of yez! Gerrout of me house! Get yer Orange hussy out an’ don’t bring ’er ’ere again!’ Ma screamed after them as Jake slammed the front door with such a force that it echoed down the entire street.

Phoebe-Ann burst into tears. ‘I tried, Jake! I did try! Why did she have to say all those . . . terrible things about me?’ she sobbed.

‘Ah, don’t let the old bitch upset you, Phoebe-Ann.’ Jake felt he could have murdered his Ma. He must have been mad to have taken Phoebe-Ann home. What had he expected? ‘I’m sorry. I really am.’

She sobbed harder for, as well as the realization that she had not been welcome in the Malone household, she was aware that Jake would not be welcome in hers either, but for very different reasons. ‘What will we do, Jake? My Mam won’t like you either but not because you’re a Catholic,’ she added, reminding him, as if he needed reminding, of his Ma’s shrieked bigotry.

‘We don’t need them – any of them! You’ll have your own place, like I promised you, with all the fancy stuff you want.’

Phoebe-Ann’s dreams of floating down the aisle in a cloud of white satin and tulle were disappearing. ‘But what about the wedding? No-one will come.’

‘Me brothers will, even if it’s in the Registry Office.’

She remembered Lily’s wedding and the grim austerity of Brougham Terrace and she felt cheated. ‘We could go to St Nathaniel’s. It would be quiet and I know our Emily won’t let me down.’

Jake seized on her words, still smarting from Ma’s insults. ‘And what about that bloke that works with the O’Rourkes? That Welsh feller? Rhys. Aye, that’s his name.’

‘No, no, he won’t come but our Emily’s fiancé, Edwin Leeson, might.’

‘There you are then. There’ll only be my Ma and yours missing. You’ll have your big day and we’ll show them. Together we’ll show them all!’

She raised her tear-streaked face to his. ‘Yes, we’ll show them.’

 

The following week Miss Nesta gave Emily a sovereign.

‘But you haven’t won anything.’

‘I know but I want you to have it. An engagement gift if you like.’

‘Oh, that’s very kind of you, miss.’

‘Now don’t tell Millie. All she’s worried about is you leaving us.’

‘I won’t be doing that for a long time, miss.’

‘Good. Now run down the path with this.’ She pressed the familiar envelope into Emily’s hand.

Emily grinned to herself as she pushed the paper under the bootscraper, looked around and then went back inside. She hoped she would be ‘lucky’ for Miss Nesta today; she was a sweet old thing.

She’d only just reached the kitchen when the sound of the door knocker reverberated through the house. She frowned. Who on earth was that? And was it absolutely necessary to hammer like that, loud enough to wake the dead?

Her heart dropped and her stomach turned over when she opened the door and was confronted by ‘Black Jack’ Costello and two burly, grim-looking men. She knew instinctively they were plainclothes policemen.

‘Do you know this man, miss?’

Emily started to stammer. ‘I . . . er . . .’

‘We’ve been watching both of you for a while now. Very interesting little pantomime it has been too. And what’s today’s choice?’ He waved the envelope at Emily and she blanched. ‘China Clipper was it?’

‘Emily! Who is at the door?’ Miss Millicent Barlow’s curt demand galvanized Emily. ‘I’m not quite sure, ma’am,’ she called, praying that she could think of some excuse or explanation.

Miss Millicent was not to be fobbed off. She pulled the door wide open and glared at the three men. ‘All hawkers and tradesmen round the back! Can’t you read?’

‘We’re policemen, ma’am. Detectives.’

‘Well what are you standing on my doorstep for and who’s he?’ Miss Millicent pointed at Costello.

‘I think we’d better come in, ma’am.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘It’s to do with your maid. We don’t want a public scene, do we, ma’am.’

‘Emily, show them into the back parlour. The
small
back parlour.’ She was not being intimidated in her own house.

As they all walked in Miss Nesta appeared.

‘No need to fuss, Nesta. They’re the police. At least, two of them are. You’d better come too.’

Nesta Barlow gave a little cry and clapped her hand over her mouth.

As they filed into the room Emily looked with trepidation at Miss Nesta. It was a serious offence they faced.

‘We have reason to believe that your maid and this person, one Jack Costello, known as “Black Jack” Costello, have been engaged in illegal gambling.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Miss Millicent interrupted.

‘We have been watching them, ma’am. A uniformed officer first brought them to our notice. She puts the bet under the bootscraper, he picks it up and if there are any winnings he puts them under the said bootscraper, she comes out and collects them. And here’s the proof. Caught red-handed.’ He thrust the envelope at Miss Millicent.

‘Not Emily! I don’t believe it!’

Emily bit her lip. How could she inform on Miss Nesta?

Costello looked sheepishly from Emily to the detective. It didn’t matter much to him if she denied it or not. He’d been nicked and that was that. Occupational hazard.

‘Oh, dear! Millicent, it’s all my fault,’ Nesta Barlow blurted out, twisting her hands together.

‘Don’t interrupt, Nesta!’

‘But Millie, it is! You see it’s not Emily’s fault at all. They’re my bets.’

Millicent Barlow looked at her sister as though she’d gone mad, the detectives looked mystified but Emily’s relief was obvious.

‘It’s true, Millie.’

‘You mean . . . you . . . you’ve been . . . ?’ Miss Millicent stammered.

‘Tom taught me how to do it and I had such fun and I know Papa hated it and that he’d be turning in his grave . . .’

‘Nesta Barlow! You . . . you wicked, wayward . . . Oh, the scandal!’ Miss Millicent sat down abruptly.

The two policemen looked at each other. This was turning into a nice mess. The sergeant cleared his throat. ‘So, let me get this straight: your maid, Emily Parkinson, was acting on your instructions?’ he inclined his head towards Miss Nesta.

‘She was.’

‘Nesta Barlow! How could you?’

‘Oh, it was easy, Millie. Mr Costello and I had an “arrangement”.’

‘We know that, ma’am, but did you know it was illegal?’

‘I think so. I never kept the money though.’

Miss Millicent who had been leaning back, her hand over her eyes, sat upright. ‘What money? Oh, don’t tell me you compounded everything by actually winning money!’

Emily thought Miss Millicent was about to faint, but Millicent Barlow was made of sterner stuff.