The Leaving of Liverpool (29 page)

She grimaced at the dirty curtains, the tarnished knocker, peeling paintwork and dirty step. The woman had no pride in her home, that much was obvious. She was thankful she knew few people in Mona Street, but most of the houses were well tended. Like everyone else, there wasn’t much money coming in and their homes did not boast fancy furnishings, but what they had was kept clean and if there wasn’t meat on the table every day, their steps were donkey-stoned as were the flags in front of each terraced house. It must be dreadful to have the Malones for neighbours, she thought. She rapped smartly on the knocker and folded her arms. If needs be the whole forthcoming conversation would be held on the doorstep. At least then the whole of Mona Street would know of her opposition to this mismatch.

After knocking again and waiting she became impatient. She was certain there was someone in and she hadn’t steeled herself to come here and not get a reply of some sort. She walked up the street, around the corner and down the entry until she came to the back door, swinging on its broken hinges. She pushed it open and looked at the yard with disgust. It was full of rubbish: bottles, an old cushion, bits of rags and old newspapers. Ashes and clinkers from the range were scattered around, the midden was full to overflowing and here and there were bits of food in various stages of decay. The place must be alive with vermin, she thought with a shudder as she kicked a rotting cabbage stalk out of the way.

The back door was open and she could hear sounds from within so she hammered on it loudly. ‘Mrs Malone! Are you in there Mrs Malone?’

Ma Malone appeared, her hair hanging in greasy untidy strands around her face, her grubby blouse sleeves rolled up to the elbows and voluminous black skirts covered by a very dirty and wet apron. ‘What do yez want? I’m doin’ me washin’. Who let yez in ’ere?’

At least she did wash things Lily thought, although judging by the state of the apron it was after a fashion that couldn’t be compared to her own wash. She tried not to notice the smell wafting from inside the house. ‘I want to talk to you. I tried the front door but got no answer so I came around the back.’

‘Oh, did yez now? An’ who the ’ell are you?’

‘I’m Lily Davies. Phoebe-Ann’s mother. You do know that our Phoebe-Ann and your Jake are planning to get wed?’

Ma looked at her with hostility. Snooty-lookin’ bitch she was. Now she knew who that toffee-nosed little hussy took after. ‘So?’

‘So, I’ve come to talk to you about it. I don’t suppose you’re any happier than I am about it, though she’s too good for him.’

‘Is she now. An’ what about my lad? Workin’ ’is fingers to the bone so he can buy ’er fancy stuff. Never bought ’is poor old ma anything like that.’

‘That’s as may be, but I’m not having it.’

‘You’re not ’avin’ it! You’re not ’avin’ it! What do I get out of it then? A bleedin’ toffee-nosed, painted Orange floosie, that’s what I get!’

Lily’s temper began to boil. ‘We’re not Orange! We’re Church of England!’

‘It’s the same thing. Yez all the bloody same. Proddies! Orangemen! God blast the lot of yez to hell an’ back!’

Lily was hanging on to her temper and her dignity. ‘I didn’t come here to discuss religion.’

‘Well, I’m discussin’ it an’ no-one asked yez to come and yez standin’ on me step so I’ll say what I like! She’s a tart and an Orange one at that!’

‘My girls are not tarts! If Phoebe-Ann seems like one then it’s because she’s been associating with the likes of him! Trash! Drunken, ignorant, Irish trash the lot of you! I pity your neighbours that I do.’

Ma took a step forward, her eyes glittering malevolently. ‘Gerroff me step before I take me brush to yez!’

The fact that she was on Ma Malone’s territory and not her own increased Lily’s anger. Why had she come here? She must have been mad to have thought she could reason with this old harpy. Bog Irish trash she was. ‘And you can tell our Phoebe-Ann she can get herself home unless she wants to live in the sty with pigs like you, you low, dirty, bad-mouthed old fool!’ She turned away, shaking with fury, not caring if the whole of Mona Street were in their back yards listening.

Ma Malone started to laugh, a horrible, cackling sound full of derision and venom. ‘Go on get out wit yez! Yez is too late anyway.’

Lily had reached the door but she turned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she yelled.

‘Yez has come too late. They’re married. Two days ago an’ there’s nothin’ yez can do about it, so bugger off and leave me alone! It’s bad enough that I’ve got a flamin’ Orangeman’s daughter in me family without yez comin’ ’ere blackguarding me and mine! Bugger off!’

Lily fled into the entry. It wasn’t true! Phoebe-Ann couldn’t have been such a fool. Not her dainty, fastidious Phoebe-Ann married to that monster! She slid on some rubbish and fell, grazing her hands and knees, but she got up and hurried on. The quicker she left Mona Street the better. All she wanted to do was to get home. Home to Albert. He’d know what to do now. Home to her clean and tidy house before her heart broke in two.

Albert had been thinking about her proposed visit all morning. And the more he thought about it the more he told himself he had been a fool to let her go alone. Even the old woman had a terrible reputation. What if she attacked Lily? It had been known to happen. Ma Malone’s neighbours could testify to that. There was a fresh wind coming off the river that threatened rain, but he hadn’t noticed as he’d unloaded the cart at the dockside and then loaded up again.

As he drove between the city and the dockside he pondered the situation more deeply. If Lily’s attempts failed, he’d just have to try and talk her round to accepting the fact and try to make the best of it for he was certain that, once the initial novelty had worn off, Jake Malone would revert to his old ways, if, indeed, he had abandoned them. Phoebe-Ann wouldn’t know how to start to cope with such a husband and would need all the support she could get. The one blessing was the fact that Jake Malone would spend most of his time at sea. He prayed that maybe the honeymoon period would be extended because of that, if they managed to get to the altar, and he sincerely hoped they didn’t.

It was nearly lunch time when he’d finished his last load. He looked up at the lowering sky and the heavy, scudding clouds. He’d go back for some dinner. Lily would probably need some support. He had no load to pick up until two o’clock when the Harrison boat would be in. He’d go via Mona Street. He might just be able to judge what kind of success, if any, Lily had achieved. A lot could be gleaned from the faces of women standing on their doorsteps jangling with their neighbours.

It had started to rain heavily by the time he reached Myrtle Street and the wind was whipping up the litter and debris. He pulled his cap lower over his forehead and turned the collar of his coat up, fumbling for the piece of old sacking he kept under the seat for such occasions and regretting that he hadn’t taken notice of Lily and got one of those oilskins the deck hands on the ferries wore. He’d be soaked by the time he got to Lonsdale Street.

There were no gossiping women on their doorsteps in Mona Street and, as he turned the corner into Faulkner Street, some pieces of old newspaper blew across the road. With a high-pitched whinny, the horse reared up in fright. The next instant he was being thrown from side to side as the horse bolted, its iron-shod hooves slipping on the wet cobbles and adding to its terror.

He tried desperately to get control of the terrified animal, dragging on the rein until his shoulders ached, yelling at the top of his voice as people scattered for safety. At the corner of Bloom Street and Upper Canning Street a policeman threw himself bodily into the road and, risking life and limb, hung on to the bridle for grim death. The horse was a Clydesdale, capable of pulling three times its own weight and Albert knew from experience that unless stopped it would career on until exhausted. Runaways were frequent with so much horsedrawn traffic.

He was still being flung about but he could see that the policeman hadn’t lost his hold and he prayed that the pressure on the bit would slow the horse down. He heard the copper shout, he heard the scream, he saw the tangle of arms and legs and the blur of dark blue material and he flung himself across the foam-flecked, heaving flanks until he caught the edge of the heavy collar. He dragged on it with all his strength and gasped with relief as he felt the animal’s pace slow. Hanging on to the coarse black mane with one hand he managed to grasp the head-collar and jerk it back sharply. He was thrown backwards, his head jolting painfully, but it had stopped. It stood shaking and quivering and covered with sweat. He slid down from its back, throwing the rein to a man who had run from a shop doorway.

He was panting, his chest tight with the exertion, as he ran back to where a crowd had gathered around the figure on the ground. Two more policemen were running up the street, their capes flapping behind them in the wind. He hoped the poor copper wasn’t too badly hurt.

He pushed his way through the crowd and as he saw the shocked faces turn away, he knew his hopes had been dashed. He stared down at the crumpled figure and with a cry of horror fell to his knees. It couldn’t be! It couldn’t be! His hand shook as he reached out and drew the limp and broken arm away from the battered, bleeding face. ‘Lily! Oh, dear God! No! Lily!’

His cry brought tears to the eyes of all those watching.

One of the policemen pushed forward. ‘All right, move away now. Who is it?’

A woman standing at the front of the crowd shook her head, tears coursing down her cheeks. ‘It’s his wife, lad! It’s his own wife!’

 

Jimmy came for Emily and as soon as she saw him standing on the doorstep, his cap in hand, she knew something terrible had happened. He’d told her bluntly. There was no other way.

She clung to his arm all the way home, quietly sobbing. It had been Miss Millicent who had put her own coat around Emily’s shoulders and told Jimmy to get her home at once.

‘Our Jack’s on his way home, too.’

‘Oh, Jimmy, where’s Albert? Is she . . . where is she?’

‘At home, Em, and so is he. Even the scuffers couldn’t make him leave her.’

‘But how . . . why?’

‘I don’t know, Em. They just came running up the street for me, I was on my way back. His horse bolted.’

She went straight into the parlour for that’s where they had laid Lily. Albert was kneeling beside the sofa, his face white and drawn and he was clinging to her hand. A policeman stood by the empty fireplace. Her hand went to her mouth as she took in the scene. Her mam. Her poor mam lying there all broken, her face bleeding. Her best blue coat all torn and dirty. ‘Mam! Oh, Mam!’ she cried softly.

Jimmy put his arm around her and he was fighting back the tears. It was a few minutes before she dragged herself away from him and bent down beside her stepfather. ‘How . . . ?’ She covered his hand with hers and he looked up at her with haunted eyes.

‘Bolted . . . didn’t know . . . thought it was a . . . copper . . .’

‘Where had she been?’

He just shook his head. He couldn’t think of anything except the fact that she was dead and he’d killed her.

‘Try and get him upstairs, miss. Get the neighbours in to see to your mam,’ the policeman urged her.

She couldn’t see him for the tears that were blinding her. ‘Come with me, Albert, please?’

‘I’m not leaving her. I can’t leave her! It was me . . . it was my fault!’

‘No it wasn’t, man. You tried but you couldn’t stop the blasted animal. It was an accident. A terrible accident. You can’t blame yourself. For God’s sake, get him out!’ the constable hissed at Jimmy.

It took both Jimmy and a devastated Jack and the constable to get him to his feet and upstairs, while someone went for the doctor and someone else went for Mrs Heggarty who would lay Lily out.

Emily sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, her throat rough and dry, her eyes burning. Mrs Harper stood beside her, patting her shoulder ineffectually, too stunned herself to believe what had happened. Mrs Rowe from further down the street was making a pot of strong tea.

Emily couldn’t conceive that her mam had gone. That she’d never hear her voice again. Never see her smile or laugh or cry. She sobbed into the tablecloth until the policeman came downstairs.

The three women looked at him expectantly.

‘The doctor’s given him something to make him sleep. We’ll need to get a proper statement from him later on, when he’s a bit more himself, like. The woman from down the road is in with your mam and these ladies will stay with you, love, won’t you?’

Mrs Harper and Mrs Rowe nodded.

Emily’s vision was blurred. ‘What . . . what was she doing there?’

‘Don’t know, love. Is there anyone else you want us to get in touch with?’

How could she think clearly at a time like this? Her mind was in shock, her whole body numbed.

‘Well, I’ll get off then. I’ll come back in the morning or maybe tonight.’