by Sheila Riley
When she didn’t answer, he caught her more skilfully in his arms. Connie could see the troubled look in his eyes.
She should pull away, but she couldn’t. The strength she needed failed her. She dared herself to look into his eyes, and in doing so a rush of emotion stormed through her body. Her skin quivered to his touch.
‘Connie, please tell me what’s wrong?’ Angus brushed her cheek, and all the love he ever thought he had experienced disappeared, replaced with a newer, deeper emotion he had not known before now.
‘I can’t talk here,’ she said. She was going to take the rest of the day off. She didn’t want Mim to see Angus until they had sorted this thing once and for all. She had intended to go for a walk. Somewhere quiet where she could make sense of it all. Make plans for a future that did not include Reckoner’s Row. Or Mim. Or the father of her unborn child…
‘Let’s go for a drive,’ he said, as if reading her thought.
‘A drive?’ Connie asked. She hadn’t been on many of those since she came back from overseas. ‘You have a car outside?’ He nodded, and she went over to the window and looked down to see a gaggle of awestruck children, headed by Bobby Harris and Lucy Kilgaren, milling around a shiny black Austin, which he had collected from head office in nearby Strand Road.
‘We don’t get many of these coming into the Row,’ Connie said, watching the wide-eyed street imps examining every inch of, what would seem to them, the height of luxury. They stroked and cooed, unable to take their eyes off the beast that took up the front of a house.
‘I thought we could go for a countryside drive. I gave Bobby and Lucy threepence to look after the car for me,’ Angus had something important to say, and didn’t want to discuss it in the confines of the Liverpool backstreet pub.
‘Nobody will touch your car, Angus,’ Connie answered, a little put out. ‘It’s safe down there.’ He’d had everything he could get from Reckoner’s Row, Connie thought. Information. Good leads. And her! Her mind in turmoil she wondered if he had come back for the few belongings he had left behind, and…? What then? A slow drive in his shiny motor, while contemplating a quick goodbye? Never to be seen again. Off to seduce the next gullible woman who would fall for his charm.
‘I didn’t mean to cause offence,’ Angus said, as if she was a customer whose drink he had just spilled, and she raised a cynical, shaped eyebrow. Biting back a sceptical retort.
She had never been as a pushover, as known by the male population of the dock road. Earning the respect of the customers because she knew when to keep shtum or when to speak out. She was competent. On hand when wives went into labour or a kid cut his knee. And, the most important thing of all, Connie thought, she was not dependent on a man for her entire existence! So what the bloody hell was she doing, swooning over a married man who would hightail it out of here before she could say, last orders, please!
Tying a silk headscarf under her chin, Connie slipped into the front seat next to Angus. So close. Yet so far. They travelled in silence until they reached the greenery of the countryside.
‘I have got nothing against Reckoner’s Row,’ Angus said breaking the long silence between them and knew immediately he had said the wrong thing. ‘It’s friendly – once people accept you, and they’ve got a heart as big and full as the Mersey.’ He was wittering, making no sense, but for the love of all that was sacred, he wished he knew what he had done to upset her so much.
‘No, Angus,’ Connie said, turning to look right at him as he drove through the countryside, ‘this place is grimy, it’s peopled with suspicion, and you could live here until you were ninety and never be accepted. Not once they find out you are a bizzy. Reckoner’s Row isn’t the kind of street a policeman like you would live, given the choice.’
‘Connie,’ he asked with caution, ‘is something wrong? Have I upset you?’ He had expected his usual warm welcome, expecting to hold her in his arms, in his bed.
‘Upset me?’ Connie asked, with a nonchalant wave of her hand.
Why was it so hard to tell him she knew his wife was alive? Gazing out of the car window taking in the thatched cottages and lush pastures, Connie tried to hide her devastation. If she was being honest, somewhere, deep down, she knew the mammoth revelation would spell the end of their relationship, and she wasn’t sure she could handle not seeing him again.
He had become the centre of her universe in the short time he had been here, but she was not going to beg him to stay and help raise their beloved, much wanted child. Because when Angus cleared out his room and out of her life. She had plans of her own.
32
‘I like kids,’ he said, ‘you can learn a lot about yourself from kids – they see things in black and white. No grey areas to muddle everything up. They don’t overthink things and decide two and two make twenty-two. It’s just four. Plain and simple.’
‘The kids around the dockside are a canny bunch, Bobby Harris might look as if butter wouldn’t melt, but, like his mother, he can make a penny scream.’ She smiled for the first time that day. ‘He’ll go far, I’m sure.’
‘His uncle owns the Carters’ yard, I believe?’ Angus said, and Connie nodded.
‘Aye, Jack Kilgaren works there, too. Old Man Skinner keeps himself to himself, unlike his sister.’
‘Ahh, the indomitable Mrs Harris.’ Angus was relaxed as they sat in front of a roaring fire in a little country inn. Connie wondered how he could be so blasé knowing he was hiding such a huge lie. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to broach the subject of his wife. Angus was taking in the relaxing ambiance, a world away from the Tram Tavern.
‘I bet you’d love to run a place like this, Connie?’ Connie shrugged, admiring the inglenook fireplace and horse brasses polished until they gleamed. ‘But I’m sure it would be far too quiet for Mim out here.’ He looked awkward.
His eyes roaming the snug room instead of looking at Connie as he spoke, and she realised he had brought her here to give her the brush-off, and she wanted to put off the dreaded moment as long as possible.
‘You’ve found all you needed in your investigation?’ she asked, determined not to show Angus the turmoil that was making her feel sick. He nodded and picked up his drink, while hers remained untouched.
‘I was wondering—’ he said, but Connie didn’t let him finish when she blurted.
‘So, is it Darnel behind the warehouse robberies?’
‘Yes, and much more, but—’
‘Oh, right,’ Connie said, moving on, ‘so when do you think you’ll be making an arrest?’
‘He’s as slippery as a wet fish,’ Angus said. ‘I’ve got to be certain my evidence is water-tight. And talking of water, we know he didn’t kill Rene.’ Connie’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened in surprise. ‘He didn’t?’
‘No, he was behind bars the night it happened, drunk and disorderly.’ Angus looked around to make sure he wasn’t being overheard, and Connie’s ears pricked up. She would have laid money on Darnel being Rene’s killer.
‘Oh, poor Rene!’ Connie gasped. She knew the barmaid liked a laugh and enjoyed herself when she could, but she wasn’t a woman who would go off with a stranger for no reason.
‘We found her shoe near a frozen part of the canal.’
‘Blimey!’ Connie whispered. Fascinated at the things they could find out with nobody saying a word.
‘We also got a perfect imprint of a man’s shoe in the frozen mud,’ Angus said. ‘Not your usual kind of shoe, thank goodness, not common at all.’
‘How can you tell?’ Connie asked pushing away the gin, the smell making her feel nauseous.
‘Size twelve. Brown. Expensive,’ Angus answered succinctly.
‘How do you know all that?’ Connie couldn’t help but ask more questions, she found the whole thing fascinating. ‘That is amazing.’
‘Rene had brown polish on the side of her navy-blue, peep-toe shoes,’ Angus said, ‘and also on the toe of her nylon stockings. So she got close to whoever she was with.�
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‘Lots of men wear brown shoes,’ Connie said, ‘are you going to arrest them all?’
‘Wearing brown shoes is not an arrestable offence,’ Angus said stretching his legs to reveal his own brown coloured brogues. ‘However, the shoemaker’s name, Cordwainer and Sons, was stamped into the sole of the male shoe.’ Angus looked very pleased indeed. ‘Lucky for us the area had been frozen up until we found Rene’s body and a quick-thinking bobby managed to gouge the imprint out of the mud.’ The shoes were hand made by a family firm in Northampton.
‘Handmade?’ Connie gave a low whistle, which made Angus frown.
‘Average cost, six months’ wages of your local docker.’
‘Blimey!’ Connie’s eyes widened as she tried to take in the news. Darnel didn’t murder Rene. She didn’t drown. And slight of build, she wouldn’t stand a chance against a man with size twelve feet! ‘Any idea who killed her?’
‘Let’s not talk about all that now,’ Angus said, taking hold of Connie’s hand across the table. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
Here goes. Connie hardly dared breathe, deciding whether to let Angus continue before she gave him the news of her own. ‘Angus I think I know what you will say, and I want to say… I knew this day would come.’ She pulled her hand free, ‘and I won’t think any less of you, for doing what you say you will do…’ She was babbling. She sounded like Mim. Shut up, woman!
Angus benevolently let Connie have her moment, knowing she would wind down to a full stop, given time. There was no point butting in, because he doubted he would get a word in edgeways. When Connie stopped, he opened his mouth to speak and she started all over again.
‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you, but I don’t want you thinking I’m trying to push you into a corner, because I know that’s not right, and I wish you’d told me from the off that you had a wife and you’re not a widower after all, like you said you—’
‘What wife?’ Angus looked puzzled. ‘I am a widower.’
‘But Mrs McCrea telephoned, and she asked Mim to pass on the message about the house you were buying together.’ Connie slowed to a stop.
‘Well now,’ said Angus when she finished. ‘First of all, yes I will buy a house.’ Connie failed to suppress the small but sharp intake of breath. ‘But she is not my wife. I brought you here, so I could show you something. A chocolate-box cottage, some might call it. I want your opinion.’
‘Oh,’ was all that Connie trusted herself to say.
‘Come on, let me show you.’ He got up from his chair and went over to the wooden stand to collect Connie’s pale coloured duster coat and helped her put it on, before she picked up her handbag and followed him to the car.
They travelled in silence on the short journey to the village, the centre of which was a beautiful lake complete with a small family of swans gliding on the water. Connie stood transfixed.
‘They mate for life, you know…’ Angus said, following her line of vision.
‘They’ve got more sense than humans, I’d say.’ Connie’s tone was harsher than she intended. But she was fed up. Why did everything have to be a mystery. It surprised her when he took hold of her hand and led her towards a cottage that, as Angus so rightly said, would not have looked out of place on the lid of a chocolate box. Taking a key from his pocket, he opened the door and led the way.
‘Here,’ she said when she entered the cosy cottage, ‘I hope you haven’t brought me all the way out here to have your wicked way.’
‘Is that what I do?’ he asked with a smile and a glint in his eyes. ‘Have my wicked way with you – and here’s me thinking I was showing you my undying love.’ Connie, looking out of the window, turned and looked at Angus. Really looked.
‘You are full of surprises today, that’s for sure,’ she said trying to keep her voice steady as an all-encompassing heat rose from her neck to her cheeks. Angus had never told her about his undying love before.
‘See this woman,’ he said picking up a framed photograph from the mantelpiece, ‘she is Mrs McCrae, but not the one you think she is.’ He handed Connie the picture frame. ‘This Mrs McCrae is my brother’s wife…’
‘Your brother who was…’
‘Killed at Dunkirk, yes.’ His lips stretched into a straight line. ‘This is Liza, his wife who with my help has been putting her affairs in order, so she can move back to Scotland.’
‘Oh, Angus.’ Connie felt very foolish.
‘But that isn’t the reason I brought you here, I’m buying this cottage and I wanted to know what you think.’
‘Why does it matter what I think?’ It wasn’t like she would visit.
‘Is it the type of place you would ever consider living in?’ Angus asked when she didn’t offer an opinion.
‘I think it’s beautiful. Perfect. Like something you see in books or on the pictures. I’m not sure Mim would like to live here though.’
‘That’s good,’ said Angus with a cheeky grin, ‘because I wasn’t thinking of asking Mim to live here… I only want you.’ This time Connie didn’t even try to stop her mouth from gaping.
‘You mean you want me to…’
‘Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife, Connie?’ Angus had hardly got the words out before she stood on the tip of her toes and flung her arms around his neck. Connie could feel the warm flush of happiness radiating through her whole body as tears of elation ran freely down her cheeks. She could not be happier.
‘Yes Angus, yes, yes, yes.’ This day had turned from one of her worst to the best ever.
‘You know when you said you only wanted me to live here with you,’ Connie said a little breathlessly and Angus nodded. ‘Would it be a problem if somebody else came along, too, do you think?’
‘You’re not thinking of kidnapping young Bobby Harris, are you?’ Angus laughed, knowing how fond she was of the young whippersnapper. But he was not laughing when Connie told him her news. He couldn’t. His heart was too full of love and pride at this miracle they had created together.
‘A baby!’ Angus repeated the words over and over, worrying Connie with his quiet astonishment.
‘I won’t pressurise you, Angus… You don’t have to marry me. I didn’t think I could have children but…’ Connie’s voice failed her, and silence hung like a curtain between them. Angus tried to make sense of what she told him.
‘I’ll be a father?’ A slow smile creased the corners of his sparkling eyes. ‘My love, you could never give me a more precious gift.’ Angus calmed a little, took her in his arms and held her so very close. Moments later, in a muffled voice Connie said, ‘Angus, I really would like to live long enough to give birth to this child.’
‘I am so sorry my darling, but it’s the shock – I never thought I would be a father.’
‘Me neither,’ Connie answered. ‘A mother, I mean.’
‘I know what you mean. Here sit down. I’ll make you a cup of tea. Do you want something to eat – you’re eating for…’
‘No thank you, Angus.’ Connie said firmly. ‘I am not eating for two. I’ll share, until she’s born.’
‘A girl? How do you know?’ he asked, and Connie laughed.
‘I don’t know, but let’s call it women’s intuition.’ She liked the thought of raising her child here, in this beautiful village where swans sailed outside their very own window. It was a long way from sooty Reckoner’s Row. She had only one worry…
‘Married?’ Mim whooped with delight when Connie told her later. ‘Married! I thought you would never give me an excuse to buy a new hat!’
‘Don’t you mind me leaving here?’ Connie said, to which Mim replied.
‘Mind? I’ve prayed for it… Now I can have my beloved tavern back again.’ It was Sunday and they were having afternoon tea of ham sandwiches, jam scones, and homemade shortbread biscuits courtesy of Angus’ sister-in-law.
Angus bit back the question of where the jam had come from, knowing Mim had put on a nice spread and didn’t i
ntend to spoil the happy atmosphere with officialdom. The old girl had taken the news well. He knew how clingy she was where Connie was concerned.
She was up to something. He could tell.
It was Friday afternoon and the dockworkers had all been paid the night before, so the bar was hectic this dinnertime, keeping Connie so busy she did not give her mother’s dying duck act a second thought.
‘It was good of you to stay on and help me out behind the bar, Evie,’ Connie said as they cleared out the last of the stragglers at three o’clock. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
‘I’m sure Mrs Harris would have helped,’ Evie said, re-filling the sink and washing the remainder of the glasses and ashtrays that only moments earlier had littered the tables.
‘You wouldn’t catch Ada serving, she thinks it’s the divil’s stomping ground behind this bar. She went upstairs to see Mim a few minutes ago and – oh, look out, here she comes.’ Connie noted that Mrs Harris looked none too pleased either.
‘Call yourself a nurse?’ Ada Harris asked Connie, prodding the bar with her forefinger. ‘Call yourself a good daughter?’
‘What are you waffling on about, Ada?’ Connie asked, flicking a damp bar towel and putting it across two pumps. But her concern hit the roof when she saw Ada’s anxious expression.
‘You’d better go upstairs and have a look at your mother, she’s not well!’
‘Mim’s a good actress, you know, Ada,’ Connie said, ‘but I’ll give her the onceover. Put her mind at rest.’ Heading to the stairs, Connie wondered how long it would be before Mim started her old tricks. The best form of Mim’s defence was her ailments, they could get her anything she wanted. But not anymore, Connie thought. She would not, could not, cancel her wedding to Angus, in three weeks’ time. If Mim didn’t like the idea, then she shouldn’t pretend she did and then feign another illness.
‘Don’t be coming the old soldier with me, Mim!’ Connie said when she took her mother a cup of tea. Mim was sitting up in bed, resplendent in a crocheted bed jacket, her hair still in pin-curls and a hair net at this hour. Connie found it unusual, because no matter how ill her mother pretended to be, she still made sure her immaculate, S-shaped waves were in place.
