by Sheila Riley
This is bad, he thought, seeing Lucy’s drawing of her good shepherd for the first time. The face in the picture flashed into his memory but, like a dream he couldn’t quite grasp, he needed to think. If he stared at it too much, the fleeting memory would disappear like a snowflake in sunshine. He couldn’t look at it again. He wouldn’t look at it again. The face brought back emotions long buried. Loud voices. Anger. Threats. Danger! Then it dawned on him. The man in the picture was the one who brought him home and dumped him in the freezing snow outside his own front door.
He was the man who shot him!
29
‘No! He can’t be,’ Evie gasped. Lucy had gone to call for Bobby Harris and was well out of earshot. Jack lowered his head, to get a better look in his sister’s tear-filled eyes.
‘Evie, tell me. Who is he?’ Evie took hold of Jack’s hand, the way she did all those years ago when he and Lucy left for Ireland. The gesture told him to be strong.
‘Lucy was just a babe in arms when he was killed.’ Evie had taken little notice of the picture when she first saw it. She had too much on her mind. But now… the face was thinner. The hair sprinkled with flecks of white. The eyes were… The eyes brought back memories she had long since buried.
‘Love… is a cold wind that blows nobody any good.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Those were his last words to me.’ There was a lengthy pause when neither of them spoke. She had forgotten much about her father, except his aloof words, which now came back to haunt her.
Ever practical, she pulled a frayed handkerchief from the sleeve of her cardigan, wiped her eyes, blew her nose and said, ‘Lucy must have seen a picture, somewhere…’
‘Then how can you explain me seeing him?’ Jack asked and for a moment, Evie didn’t understand what he was talking about. Jack’s words dawned on her, and she hoped she was wrong. The dock? The gunshot?
‘Maybe after all the upset with Mam, you were mistaken?’ She tried to make sense of it all. ‘You were half-starved. Frozen to the bone. It was dark!’ Her voice rose with each heightened explanation, until it reached a disbelieving squeak. ‘How could you see who anybody was?’
‘Since they found Mam, I’ve been trying to make sense of it all. I only managed a quick glimpse of the gunman. But it was enough…’ Jack left the explanation hanging in mid-air. He had no wish to upset Evie any more than she had already been. He knew what he saw that night. And nothing or nobody would sway him to believe otherwise.
Connie was clearing the bar of the last few glasses when she stopped what she was doing.
‘You’re leaving?’ she said simply when Angus came into the bar carrying his suitcase.
‘Not yet. Tomorrow. Early,’ Angus said. ‘I can’t say when I’ll be back.’ He was sitting on the stool Connie thought of as his own. She didn’t ask where he was going. That was not fair. Because there were things that had to be kept secret because of his job, and she did not want to put him in the position of refusing to tell her. She always knew this day would come but that didn’t make it any easier.
‘I’ll come back,’ Angus said, not his usual chirpy self. Something was troubling him, she could tell. He hadn’t said a word all evening. ‘Of course you will.’ Connie forced a smile. She didn’t believe a word. This was their time and it was quickly slipping away.
Before he arrived, she was existing. She knew that now. Going through the motions of work and sleep. Putting up with everything her mother pushed her way and complying without complaint. So much wasted time…
Do this, Connie. Do that. Fetch this Connie. Did you get my wintergreen? Library book? Did you find yourself a life while you were at the shops? Don’t find love, Connie! Don’t leave me on my own!
She had given all of herself to Angus without a second thought. But now he was so distant. Preoccupied. He had lost interest. She wasn’t naïve enough to think theirs would be the all-consuming romance of a lifetime. But she cared for Angus and thought he felt the same way for her. She loved everything about him. His company. His easy charm. He even flattered Mim’s insatiable ego and lit up the room just by walking into it. For the first time in years she felt good about herself and gave thanks every day for having him in her life.
What she did not expect, was this creeping dread of the day when he would say goodbye forever. She was not the woman who threw herself at a man. There was a name for women like that. And she wasn’t one. Quite the opposite. But Angus had woken something inside her that was more than desire. Optimism. Anticipation. Love. And most of all that inner strength that made anything, and everything, seem possible.
During the war, there were good-time girls. The ones who went for anything in trousers because their men were away so long and moved on to the visiting servicemen when they arrived.
Married or not. The women didn’t care. They lived for today, it may be their last. All they wanted was to feel alive.
Connie watched from afar. Not passing judgement when the old women, such as Ada Harris, tut-tutted.
Nurses weren’t allowed to wear powder and paint, so Mrs Harris approved, not that Connie needed her approval, and certainly never asked for it. But she was Mim’s friend and self-styled housekeeper, which made Connie feel less guilty when, the first chance she got, she was posted overseas to nurse the troops.
But it wasn’t all bombs and bullets. She had a good time too… The divil makes work for idle hands, tra-laaa! But Mim made her feel so guilty for going away and doing her duty. Cementing her into an honourable, soul-destroying situation where her long-suffering hypochondriac of a mother was the most important person in her own world.
Connie accepted her lot without complaint. She would like to think it would horrify Mim if she knew the emotional turmoil that she had foisted upon her. But she knew Mim was far too self-absorbed. And now, Angus, her illumination on a gloomy day, was leaving.
Connie raised her chin. Her days of doing her mother’s bidding were numbered, she thought, and without a shadow of doubt, when Angus left here, she was leaving too. She had no intentions of chaining herself to a life behind the bar.
She and Angus slept in the same bed all that night. Connie didn’t care if her mother found out. All she wanted was to feel his strong arms around her, holding her, loving her. She lost herself in his lovemaking, savouring every moment. If she could have burrowed under his skin, she would have. Anything to keep him close.
When Connie rose the next morning, Angus was gone. The note propped up on the sugar basin next to his room and board money made her heart constrict. A pain, like nothing she had ever felt before.
Dearest Connie,
Didn’t want to disturb you. Catching the 8.45 from Lime Street. See you soon.
Love, Angus xx
She read those brief words a thousand times. He could not have said less. Opening the door of his room Connie stepped inside, closing it behind her. This room was Angus. And even though he had been meticulous, she could still see small details of his presence.
The ruche of the bedcover where he had sat, fastening his shoes. Connie stroked the cover and sat where he had sat. The room had a lingering trace of pipe tobacco.
She lifted his pillow, pressing it to her cheek and inhaling the fragrant oil he used to tame the abundance of dark, silver-flecked hair, knowing this was where he lay his head.
Did he ever dream of her, she wondered?
The mocking whine filled her head. It told her she was not good enough to sustain a proper adult relationship and made itself known in moments of overwhelming heartache.
What on God’s earth gave you the idea he would stick around? the mocking voice asked. Throwing yourself at him so, is giving him permission to pick you up and drop you whenever the mood strikes! Connie swallowed hard, refusing to allow herself the luxury of a good cry. That would be too easy. She had been a fool. And would suffer the consequences…
‘Have you fallen asleep up there!’ Connie recognised the note of impatience in her mother’s voice.
‘Coming!�
�� Connie called, stripping the plain white pillowcase from the feather pillow and taking it into her own room, swapping her pillow for his. It was the closest she could get to being close to him now.
She wept tears of love and longing for Angus McCrea.
Talk about up shit creek without a paddle. Her thoughts were a maelstrom of confusion, jumping from one subject to another, and not finding a solution to any of them. It thrilled part of her. But it devastated another part. She was four weeks late. And Connie didn’t need her expert medical knowledge to know she would not see her period again for a long, long time.
The sudden piercing ring of the telephone gave Mim a jolt. They hardly used the contraption except to put an order through to the brewery. She approached it like a time-bomb about to go off. It was ten-thirty in the morning. Nobody ever rang at this hour.
‘Good morning. Tram Tavern. Miriam Sharp, landlady. To whom am I speaking?’
‘Their money will have run out by the time they get to speak, Mim,’ Connie said, heading through to the bar, ‘and you’re not the landlady – it’s my name over the door.’ Mim was beginning to irritate her because she didn’t get much sleep last night. Mim pulled a face and concentrated on the call.
‘May I speak with Angus McCrae please?’ Mim heard a voice that had the same crisp, Scottish tone as Angus, except this one was female.
‘Mr McCrae is not available at this time of the moment.’ Mim had meant to say time of the morning, or moment in time, in her best telephone voice, but the whole thing got jumbled. She did not like answering the telephone at the best of times, the blasted thing made her words come out all wrong.
‘I am Mrs McCrae. Mrs Eliza McCrae…’
With a pencil poised to take a message, Mim rocked to her fur-lined ankle boots. ‘Mrs McCrae…?’
‘Would you ask Angus to ring me… on the usual number.’
‘Mrs Eliza McCrae?’ Mim, awestruck, looked through the open doorway of the bar where her daughter was talking to Evie, both preparing for opening time. Connie and Angus had become friendly of late, and even though Connie didn’t suspect, Mim would have to be blind not to see the way Angus’ eyes followed her daughter’s every movement.
‘I wonder if you would tell him I have found the most marvellous house.’ Eliza McCrae broke into her thoughts. ‘I want him to see it as soon as possible. He’ll be thrilled.’
Mim didn’t need to write the message. It was seared into her brain.
‘Give him my love and tell him I shall see him on Friday, as usual.’
‘I will do that thing.’ Mim got the words out before the low purr followed the click on the other end of the line. Still holding the receiver to her ear, Eliza McCrae’s words danced through her head. He’ll be thrilled. I’m sure.
So, Angus wasn’t a widower. Mim felt the same all-consuming fury as the day the enemy blew up the two houses at the end of Reckoner’s Row, killing all inside. How dare that man treat her daughter like this?
Connie did not wear her heart on her sleeve. She was so particular. But Mim knew her daughter had a particular fondness for the softly spoken Scotsman.
‘Well, this is a fine kettle of cod,’ she said, replacing the handset. Angus was not the knight in shining armour after all. He was another weak-willed man, out for what he could get! Mim had seen plenty in her time behind the bar. They stood out a mile to the trained eye. But Angus had hoodwinked her good and proper!
‘You snake!’ Mim said through her teeth as Evie passed through to make the morning pot of tea.
‘I beg your pardon!’ Evie’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Did you say something, Mim?
‘I was thinking out loud,’ Mim said, flustered, following Evie into the small kitchenette they used as a staff room, to make tea.
‘Thinking?’ Evie asked, filling the kettle.
‘What will Connie say about this latest event of turns,’ Mim answered, not wanting to give too much away. ‘Maybe it’s best I say nothing. What do you think?’ Mim answered her own question. ‘Yes. That’s it. I’ll keep it to myself. Say nothing. It’s for the best.’
‘What’s for the best?’ Evie asked putting the loose-leaf tea into the pot.
‘That phone call,’ Mim said nodding to the hallway. ‘You’ll never guess who that was on the other end? Angus’ wife!’ Mim nodded again as if to confirm her words and Evie dropped the lid of the teapot into the sink, luckily it didn’t break. ‘I thought Angus was a widower?’
‘Well, that phone call was from Mrs McCrea,’ Mim said. ‘She told me she found them a lovely house, and she wants Angus to see it straight away.’ The news was out of her mouth before Mim realised Connie was standing behind her.
Watching the colour drain from Connie’s face, Evie felt herself shrink a little. Connie should not have found out that way.
‘Excuse me…’ Connie put her hand over her mouth, headed for the bar and into the ladies’ lavatory.
‘Give her a minute,’ Mim said, looking contrite. ‘I didn’t think she’d take it so hard!’
‘She’s bound to,’ Evie said, wishing she had said nothing.
‘I’ll make myself scarce,’ Mim said, ‘I’m always putting my foot in my mouth and saying the wrong thing.’ Evie watched Mim hurry upstairs, leaving her to face the music and wondered what she could say to Connie when she came back. A short while later, Connie took her usual seat at the small round wooden table in the bar.
‘You look a little green around the gills. Is everything all right?’ Evie asked, stirring her tea, not in the least bit shocked to see tears running down Connie’s face. She had never seen Connie like this. She was the strong one who held everything together. The person everybody depended on in a crisis.
‘Not much shocks me anymore, you know,’ Evie said pushing back her chair and putting her arms around her friend. ‘Come on, you can tell your Aunty Evie.’ Her remark had the desired effect when Connie managed a teary smile and she realised, last year the roles had been reversed, and to prove they were both thinking along the same lines Connie sniffed into her hanky.
‘The tables have turned,’ she said drying her eyes. ‘Now I’m crying on your shoulder.’
‘Well, I’ve cried on yours often enough,’ Evie said, ‘glad to be of service.’
‘Mim’s news couldn’t have come at a worse time,’ she said. Evie was dying to ask, but she had no intentions of prying. If Connie wanted to tell her worries, she would do it in her own good time.
‘But what did I expect?’ Connie said as if talking to herself. ‘His wife may have died during the war, but Angus is not a man to remain unattached forever.’
‘I’m sure there’s a simple explanation,’ Evie said. ‘He always struck me as the honest sort.’
Connie sighed. ‘It’s too late to worry about that now.’
Evie wondered if Connie was imagining Angus’ neck when she twisted the damp handkerchief in her hands. She was not so naïve she didn’t suspect. Connie’s morning sickness. Her emotional outbursts.
‘Oh Evie,’ Connie said. ‘I’ve been such a bloody fool!
30
Angus stepped off the Irish ferry at Gladstone Dock and headed towards the nearest pub, popular with sailors of every nationality. It was their first call as they stepped off their native ships with pockets full of money, which the female clientele were always eager to relieve them of. It surprised him to see Sid Harris behind the bar. Unable to return to the docks, Sid was now a floating barman who did the odd night behind the bar of the Tavern, give Connie the night off, or if she was extra busy.
‘It was chocka-bloc that night in the tavern, and a large group of sailors came in,’ said Sid as Angus listened. ‘It led to good-humoured banter, you know what the locals are like when a new ship comes in.’
‘I know,’ said Angus, taking mental notes.
‘Sometimes you get the odd skirmish, but nothing serious as you know, nothing I can’t handle.’ Sid grinned when he took a baseball bat from behind the counter and str
oked it.
‘Quite,’ Angus said. He wasn’t a disciple of brute force or cracked skulls but agreed that the threat produced an amenable house. ‘What happened then…?’
His journey on the Irish ferry had been rough, the first pint didn’t touch the sides. He had learned a lot on his trip and hoped he could glean a little more.
As he headed towards Reckoner’s Row the golden glow of the setting sun cast a warm glint over the Mersey and Angus felt like a man who had everything he ever dreamed of. Even, the possibility of an answer to who killed Rene Kilgaren he thought with a satisfied smile. But first he must find out more about Lucy’s good shepherd who, as it turned out, could be more than a figment of the child’s imagination. And not as saintly as Lucy thought he was.
31
‘Angus! I didn’t expect you to come back.’ Connie’s pulse raced when she lifted her head and saw Angus walk into the bar. The sight of him put a giggle in her belly that disturbed her. She thought she had seen the last of him.
‘I told you I would come back.’ His quizzical expression told Connie she worried for nothing. But she was wrong. She gave the barmaid instructions to take over the bar and motioned for Angus to follow her upstairs.
He had another woman in tow and had the barefaced gall to walk into her pub like there was nothing wrong. Giving herself credit for sizing up a charlatan at first sight, she now knew she had never been more wrong. Angus, like a sailor, may have one – or even two women in every port.
Cool as you like, thought Connie wriggling from his thwarted embrace. Not a word about where he had been, or who he had been with.
‘Connie, have I done something wrong?’ Angus asked from the far side of the living room.
