The Four Streets Saga

by Nadine Dorries

  Stanley had been a wreck since he had read the news of the priest’s murder. He had hardly slept since. His mother had commented over breakfast that morning that he was looking sickly.

  ‘They work you too hard at that hospital. Look at the state of youse. Mind you, I always say it must be harder working with them sick kids. Why don’t you see if you can transfer to the Northern hospital or somewhere where it’s adults, like, rather than them poorly littl’uns?’

  Stanley stared at his mother. What would happen to her if she ever knew the truth?

  The thought churned his stomach as he pushed away his plate of bacon and eggs.

  ‘I’ve just got a bug, Mam, I’m OK,’ he said with a hint of irritation.

  Last night Stanley had walked into the kitchen to find his mother standing in front of the television with a tea towel in her hand, staring at the screen.

  ‘I’m just plating up yer dinner, lad,’ she said, without even turning round to look at him. ‘They’ve got no one for this murder of the priest, yer know. Bloody shocking it is. I reckon there’s more going on in there than they are telling us.’ She nodded at the television, as though the investigation were taking place somewhere inside.

  Stanley looked at his place set at the table and the folded-up copy of the Liverpool Echo, which his mam left for him to read as he ate.

  The headlines glared at him. ‘POLICE SHOCKED BY EXTENT OF INJURIES IN PRIEST MURDER AND APPEAL FOR WITNESSES TO COME FORWARD.’

  The now-familiar hand of fear caressed his neck and shoulders as he shivered slightly and took his seat. It slithered down his spine and lay heavily on his chest, pressing down hard, making him work to draw breath.

  Not again, he thought, as his face became hot and flushed, and pins and needles ran down his arms, but this time he was spared. His breathing slowed and he didn’t pass out. His mother had walked in and, with one eye still on the TV, placed his supper in front of him. She had noticed nothing.

  Eventually, Austin ran across the yard, the tan-brown tails of his porter’s coat flapping in the wind. His round, dark-framed glasses were as opaque and as greasy as his grey Brylcreemed hair, which was slicked back and hadn’t been washed for weeks.

  Not for the first time, Stanley wondered how Austin could see where he was going.

  ‘Come on, there’s no one in the porters’ lodge now,’ said Austin, ‘let’s have a brew.’

  Stanley tipped up the sack trolley, shuffled the next cylinder into place and ran across the yard into the wooden lodge with Austin, who placed the kettle on top of the electric ring.

  ‘Have you seen last night’s Echo?’

  ‘I have,’ said Austin.

  Stanley stared at his back. Was the man mad? How could he be so calm? Did he not realize the danger they were in?

  ‘What are you being so fucking calm about, eh?’

  Stanley had almost shouted at Austin, who now turned round with a look of anger.

  ‘I’m not fucking calm, I’m fucking working hard to make sure no one knows I am terrified of looking up and seeing the coppers walk in through the door, which is more than you are doing. All you need is a fucking sign on your head saying kiddie fiddler, priest’s friend, police, please arrest me.’

  ‘Have you collected the photographs?’ Stanley asked as he handed Austin a mug of Bovril.

  ‘Yes, of course I have. Did you want me to leave them sitting there, you stupid twat?’

  Austin put his hand into his top pocket and handed Stanley a white envelope with his share of pictures inside. Tailored to his taste.

  ‘Arthur is in a bit of a state. Wants us to see him after work tonight. I don’t reckon that is a good idea. We need to disperse. It is only a matter of time before they get to us. We can sit here and deny everything or do a runner. I am going to stay put. I’m too old to run.’

  How could Stanley run? Austin thought to himself. It would kill his old mam.

  ‘I will stay put too,’ Stanley croaked. He took a sip of the steaming-hot Bovril, which burnt his insides as it went down.

  ‘I think Arthur is taking off tomorrow. Locking up the flat and visiting his sister in Cornwall. He will stay away until everything dies down. The PO Box is registered to him. They have nothing on me or on you. We will be all right, Stan.’

  Stanley took another sip and then, taking a deep breath, looked up at Austin. He almost cried with relief. He had been the one who had let the priest into the children’s ward at night, but only the three of them – the priest, Austin and himself – knew that and now one of them was dead.

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘I do. They have nothing that can lead to us and we didn’t bloody kill the priest, so stop acting as though we did, soft lad.’

  Stanley felt much better as he opened the envelope and began to look at his pictures.

  ‘There’s a new little girl arrived on Ward Four this morning,’ said Stanley to Austin. ‘She’s really lovely.’

  Austin smiled. ‘Is there now? Well, me and me Kodak Brownie need to visit Ward Four today, to check the oxygen cylinders, eh, lad?’

  6

  TOMMY WALKED BACK up the steps from the dock to Nelson Street with a lighter heart than he had for days. The men were often louder on the way up than they were on the way down.

  Whilst the others chatted about football, Tommy made plans in his head for the weekend.

  Since the dark night, he had been planning non-stop.

  ‘Got to keep busy,’ Tommy had said to Maura. He had to ensure his brain was occupied, holding at bay the images he would rather not see, suppressing them somewhere in the back of his mind.

  He had already taken the boys to the baths in Bootle. They were the only boys on the four streets ever to have tasted chlorine.

  Little Paddy was sad that his best friend Harry was deserting him. ‘Learn to swim?’ he said to Harry. ‘Why would I want to do that? I’m never going to need to swim. Are ye not playing footie on the green, then?’

  Harry would much have preferred playing footie on the green. Everyone at home had been behaving in a very strange way and this thing Tommy was doing, taking them to the swimming baths and then to the shore for a walk afterwards, was odd behaviour indeed.

  It was no different for the girls. Maura had taken them to the jumble sale at Maghull church, Maura’s own secret shopping haunt. She had cannily obtained, for nothing more than a shilling, the entire contents of a new brown-leather holdall, including the holdall itself, which the kindly stallholder threw in for free to pack the clothes in, so that they could carry them home on the pram.

  The jumble sale was at a Protestant church, but Maura didn’t care.

  ‘I like going to the Proddy church, the women in there don’t look down their noses at ye like the women in the pawnshop do. They can be very superior indeed and who knows what for? I have no need to work in a shop.’

  Maura had spent years hiding from the other women, and from Father James, the fact that she went to the Proddy church sale in Maghull.

  Now that the priest was dead, she no longer cared a jot.

  Besides, Maghull was a posh area and some of the clothes in the jumble sale were very decent. Maura was particularly pleased with the coat she had bought for Kitty, which was cream with large wooden buttons and a wide belt around the hips. It looked almost brand new. Maura thought it would do for Kitty later on, too, although she wouldn’t mention this to her just yet.

  Kitty also had two skirts, a pair of brown boots that were exactly her size and fitted well, which Maura had promised she wouldn’t have to share with anyone else, two jumpers and the coat. It was a couple of sizes too big, but Kitty didn’t care.

  ‘I will keep this all me life, Mammy,’ said Kitty, as she tried it on. ‘’Tis is the grandest coat I have ever seen, it is so gorgeous.’ Kitty stroked the coat across the front and up and down the arms.

  Maura laughed.

  Angela had a fresh pair of leather boots in shiny leather that was all the r
age. The heels and the soles were worn down, but Maura knew the boots would be as good as new for a trip down the cobbler’s. They were slightly too large, too, but Angela could put on a second pair of socks.

  ‘And, sure, won’t ye grow into them in five minutes now,’ said Maura to hush Angela’s grumbling.

  After the jumble sale, Maura had taken the bus with the pram wedged onto the front platform and then walked Kitty and Angela the rest of the way into town. The twins were out with Tommy and they had no rush with time. As they alighted from the bus, Maura had what she thought was a brainwave.

  ‘Let’s make it a really special day and stop at a café for our lunch shall we?’

  Neither Kitty nor Angela had ever heard the like or ever been to a café before.

  ‘Why is Mammy acting so crazy?’ Angela whispered to Kitty.

  Kitty shrugged her shoulders and made no comment, causing Angela to look at her strangely.

  Angela drooled as the meat and potato pies that Maura had ordered for them, with bread and butter and a large pot of tea, arrived at the table.

  Whilst they were eating, Maura announced that they would be buying new underwear for Kitty.

  ‘God almighty,’ said Angela so loudly that everyone in the café turned to look at her. Kitty had taken the first mouthful of her pie at just that moment and it hit her stomach like a hot rock. The familiar feeing of nausea gripped her. She stopped eating and stared at the table in shame.

  ‘Why is she getting all this stuff and clothes and the like, and I’m only getting a pair of boots?’

  Angela had yet to be told that Kitty would be taking a holiday to Ireland with Kathleen and Nellie. Maura felt her temper snap.

  ‘Hush now, ye cheeky article, and if ye don’t, I’ll make sure ye won’t sit down for a week. Only a pair of boots? They are of the highest fashion and ye are damned lucky to have them. Now shut ye big ungrateful mouth.’

  Then she turned towards the window. Kitty watched Maura take out her handkerchief and wipe her eyes.

  Maura cried.

  Maura smiled. Maura laughed. Maura cried.

  No one knew these days what Maura was going to do next.

  Kitty stared at Angela. They had never seen Maura so mad. Angela looked scared stiff. She didn’t utter another word of complaint for the rest of the shopping trip.

  Woolworth’s on Church Street was bright and busy and the perfect place to buy toiletries.

  As they walked in through the door, Kitty was amazed to see display after display of lipstick and hand cream, perfume and a huge variety of different soaps.

  Maura bought Kitty a pale pink washbag and soap box, patterned with sprigs of white and darker pink carnations with delicate green leaves. This was almost more than Kitty could take in. She felt incredibly grown-up, having her own possessions.

  Inside was a bar of lilac soap that smelt like lavender, a toothbrush, a pink facecloth, toothpaste and a tin of talcum powder.

  Maura’s spirits had lightened. She had become overcome with sympathy and love for her eldest daughter. She wanted to spoil her. To shower her with treats in order to cushion the blow of the knowledge she had to carry.

  Maura went mad in Woolworth’s and bought Kitty a small tub of lily-of-the-valley scented hand cream and a bottle of Pears shampoo. Kitty left the store with a bag full of belongings, never before owned by anyone else. What was more, they were hers and she didn’t have to share them with Angela.

  Back at home, Kitty had sat on her bed and looked again and again at her fancy possessions.

  When the twins and the girls arrived home from school, Kitty made them sit on the bed with the baby propped up between them, as she took everything out to show them, one gift at a time. The four boys, who could not have been more bored if they tried, began to make their own amusement.

  ‘Look at me, oh la-di-da, I am a very posh English lady,’ said Malachi, the most mischievous of the four, as he grabbed the talcum powder, opened it and shook it all over himself, filling the room with a grey cloud that smelt of peaches.

  ‘Mammy,’ screeched Kitty down the stairs, ‘Mammy,’ as she chased Malachi round the room to grab back her beautiful white tub of talc.

  Malachi, throwing the cannister down the stairwell, took the stairs two at a time all the way down and burst into the kitchen as Maura tried to intercept him on his way to the back door.

  ‘Malachi, would ye come here now, you little divil, while I slap yer legs, ye horrible child, ye. Leave Kitty alone, do ye hear me, now leave her alone.’ Maura was screeching down the back entry as Malachi was long gone and already sprinting across the green.

  ‘God, that lad will be the death of me,’ she said to Peggy, who was in her own backyard, putting her sheets through the mangle.

  None of the children knew why Kitty was being treated so and Maura couldn’t explain.

  On her return from town Maura had said to Tommy, ‘I’m plain worn out, Tommy. We don’t have to keep filling every minute with things to do because of what happened. We will both be exhausted and broke at this rate.’

  Tommy sighed. ‘But I do, queen. I do.’

  Tommy couldn’t rest in the house. He hadn’t placed a bet on his precious horses or read the Echo. He couldn’t concentrate long enough to read past the first few lines.

  He had to keep busy.

  Daisy Quinn stood at her window that night, watched the lights extinguish in number nineteen and then slipped into her own bed. It had been a long and tiring day and she was exhausted.

  The bishop had arrived as promised and had brought with him all manner of activity to the Priory.

  Daisy couldn’t help thinking that she had never in her life heard the sister talk so much in one day nor with as much agitation as she now did. She had always liked Sister Evangelista, who had been an efficient but kind Reverend Mother.

  Daisy knew what had made the sister mad. It was the photographs in the drawer. Daisy had seen them too, lots of times.

  She was sitting outside the sister’s office, when she heard her on the phone to the bishop, asking him what she should do.

  ‘I have already called the police, of course I have. These pictures are the devil’s own work and surely they must have something to do with his murder. How can they not? Bishop, ye need to get here, fast.’ Daisy heard the sister lower her voice even further as she hissed, ‘They include one of our own children, taken in his office, so help me, God, it is a depraved picture. Ye will not believe it or understand what I am talking about until you see for yourself.’

  Again, there was a long silence before the sister replied.

  ‘Yes, Bishop. I will say nothing to the police until you get here and see the pictures for yeself, but what will I say to the police? I will always protect the Church, Father, yes, Father, I will, Father. I have to speak with you, though, urgently.’ Her voice dropped even further to a rasp. ‘I will send them to the Dohertys’. Daisy says the father spent a lot of time there and I swear, as God is true, the daughter Kitty is pregnant, but I’ll not tell the police that, now, shall I?’

  Daisy heard the sister replace the receiver and let out a big sigh, just as the police car pulled into the drive. Daisy peeped through the door and saw the sister wiping her eyes on her hankie, just as both doors of the police car clicked shut.

  An hour later, when the police had left, Daisy boldly and nervously asked her own question.

  ‘Can I stay here, please, Sister, at the convent?’

  ‘Stay here, Daisy? Are ye mad, girl? The bishop will need somewhere to stay. He has to be looked after. Do you think it would be proper for him to stay at the convent, now?’

  Crestfallen, Daisy looked down at her hands folded in her lap and replied with a voice loaded with sadness, ‘No, Sister.’

  ‘No indeed, Daisy,’ said Sister Evangelista. ‘Now, off ye go back over to the Priory, there’s a good girl, Daisy, and I will pop back myself later with the bishop.’

  Daisy was in the Priory kitchen, peeling pota
toes for the bishop’s supper, when he and the sister rushed in through the front door.

  There had been a great deal of banging of doors, and of drawers and cupboards opening and closing.

  The sister had brought the convent car, a Morris Traveller, to the front and she and the bishop ran in and out, loading up the back with one box after another.

  Daisy couldn’t help noticing how anxious they appeared and that there was little conversation between the two. They were very brisk with Daisy, shouting at her to go away when she went into the room to offer them tea.

  Before the sister left, they told her that tomorrow the bishop would be receiving the police at the Priory and that they might want to ask Daisy questions, like the ones the sister had from time to time since the other day, and hadn’t Daisy found that all very easy now?

  Well, the truth was, she hadn’t.

  Daisy’s head was hurting with the amount of questions she had been asked today and she thought it was funny no one had asked her any that she could answer without breaking the rules. Daisy saw a lot of what went on outside the Priory, but no one had asked her about that.

  Whilst the sister and the bishop banged and clattered about the Priory, Daisy made the bishop his supper, and dusted and aired his room.

  Later that evening, when the bishop returned from mass, the police were waiting for him. After they left, he had asked for his supper to be served in the small sitting room, on a tray in front of the fire, which Daisy had lit for him, with the television news on very loud.

  When she entered the room with his tray of hot lamb scouse and steamed jam pudding and custard, he did not even look at her, fixing his gaze on the television screen. He said, ‘Thank you, girl.’ He said thank you, girl, often.

  Just as she always had every meal since Mrs Malone had died, Daisy ate her dinner alone, in the vast basement kitchen at the big wooden kitchen table.

  The bishop thought Daisy hadn’t seen the bottle of whiskey on the floor, hidden down by the side of his chair, with the glass half full of the amber liquid tucked behind it.