Wearied by all this farming talk, Sheila wandered across the room, where she lingered by Vicky’s photograph. ‘Have you heard from her yet?’ she asked casually, a knowing smirk on her face.
Leonard took offence at the tone of her remark. ‘Heard from whom?’ He knew who she meant all right, but he wanted some measure of respect when she mentioned his wife’s name.
Sheila feigned surprise at his question. ‘Well, Vicky, of course.’
He stared her out. ‘For all I knew, you could have been talking about the cat.’
Shrugging her shoulders, she smiled sweetly. ‘I’m sorry, Lenny. I didn’t realise you would be so sensitive.’
Sensing an atmosphere building, Thomas intervened. ‘Have you heard from Mother?’ he asked worriedly. ‘Has she been in touch?’
Composing himself, the man took a deep breath. ‘No. Not a word, I’m afraid.’
‘Hmh!’ Sheila made a snorting noise. ‘You shouldn’t be too surprised,’ she said peevishly. ‘I’m not. I mean, when all’s said and done, she did leave you high and dry. In fact, she left all of you high and dry. What decent wife or mother would do such a thing? If I were you I wouldn’t even want to hear from her.’
Leonard retaliated angrily. ‘It’s just as well that you’re not me, then, isn’t it?’
With an exaggerated tut, and a sharp click of her heels, his daughter-in-law slammed out of the room. ‘She didn’t mean all that,’ Thomas said wearily but he was beginning to tire of defending her, especially when she seemed to take pleasure in hurting people, himself included.
Leonard was no fool. ‘Oh, she meant it,’ he assured the younger man. ‘But it doesn’t matter, because I know your mother will contact me when she’s cooled her heels for a while longer.’
‘Do you really think so?’ If Sheila hadn’t been constantly goading him about how shocking it was for a mother to walk out on her family and not even tell them where she was, he might have started wondering whether he and his brother and Susie had been too harsh on her. As it was, he held fast to his belief that Vicky had let them all down badly.
‘If you really want the truth,’ Leonard said quietly, ‘I can’t say for certain that she will ever come back. All I know is that life is unbearable without her. I miss her dreadfully, and I want her home again the sooner the better.’
‘So you don’t know where she is?’
‘Not yet, no,’ Leonard said woefully. But he intended to, he thought. However, he wasn’t certain whether Thomas would approve of him hiring a detective to find his mother.
‘Can I ask you something, Tom?’
‘Ask away.’
‘Do you think I was wrong in not telling her about your father?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’ Thomas had asked himself that same question many times, but as yet he had found no answer. ‘I’m not sure about anything any more,’ he confided. ‘You have always been a man of your word, and you gave your word to our father when he asked you to promise never to tell Mother, or any of us. You kept that promise. How can a man be blamed for that?’
‘But that isn’t the only reason why you sided with me, is it?’ Leonard could understand their bitterness, but he wanted it to end. ‘Oh, Tom, how I wish you could forgive your father for not confiding in all of you! He was a very ill man, desperate to ensure you had the chance that was taken from him. You must believe that he loved you all above anything. He wanted his family to embark on a new life; he wanted to be with you all every step of the way but he couldn’t – and that was not his fault.’
It all came back to Leonard, the night he found Barney in the woods, curled up in pain, not knowing which way to turn. He was a special man, a special father and husband, and Leonard wanted his family to appreciate that. ‘Please, you must try to understand his motives. Don’t belittle the awesome sacrifice he made. Make Susie and Ronnie understand why he did what he did. Barney did not tell you about his illness, because he knew you would never leave him. The last thing he wanted was for you all to stay and watch him fade away, in pain, filled with regret because he had stolen your only chance of starting a new life.’
Thomas considered his words, and they made some sense. But the anger in his heart was strong as ever. ‘Susie and Ronnie feel the same way I do. We’re angry and bitter. We feel we were tricked into letting him down, when all we wanted was the right to be there for him, just as we’ve always been there for each other.’
His voice trembled with emotion. ‘Dad should have told us! We had a right to know … to make the sacrifice for him, just as he made it for us. He was dying, and we should have been with him. But he took away that right, and I don’t know if I can ever forgive him!’
Leonard despaired. ‘If you can’t forgive Barney, then how is your mother ever going to forgive you?’
‘At least she has a choice.’
Thomas’s jaw was clenched hard. He looked at Leonard a moment longer, before in a harsh voice he told him, ‘I miss her, of course I do. We all love her and want her back. But she has to accept the way we feel. She’s already forgiven Father. We probably never will and, like I say, we were robbed of the chance to look after him to the end, to show him how much we loved him and always would. But all that’s gone forever – just like him!’
He squared his shoulders. ‘So, we’ve chosen to side with what you did in not telling Mother, because it was all too late by then. But as to forgiving and forgetting how Dad lied and deceived us, sending us away hating him, sick with pain and disgust at what he had done to us … to Mum, not knowing how ill he was, that it was only a year or two before he would be gone …’ The big man was crying now, unashamedly.
As he turned to leave, Leonard asked, ‘Have you seen Susie?’
Thomas shook his head. ‘She’s not back from the fashion show in Paris.’
‘And Ronnie?’
‘I don’t know where he is – off gallivanting somewhere, I expect, as usual. You never know with him, but he’ll turn up. He always does.’
‘I worry about him,’ Leonard admitted. ‘He seems to have no purpose in life.’
Thomas gave a wry little smile. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘What Dad did has affected us all in different ways. I don’t sleep well and I’m riddled with guilt at the terrible things I said to my father; Susie throws herself heart and soul into building the business, so she can’t remember how it was, and Ronnie … !’ He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Poor old Ron is so mixed up, I wouldn’t know where to start unravelling him!’
Leonard bade him goodnight. ‘Think about what I said,’ he pleaded. ‘Talk with the others. See if you can bring them, and yourself … some kind of peace.’
‘Goodnight, Leonard. I’ll get the ball rolling on that combiner,’ Tom sighed. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing for him to talk about with the others.
And so the two men parted company, firm friends, each hurting in different ways, because of one man, and the bittersweet legacy he had left behind.
Chapter 19
THOUGH SHE HAD come up in the world and was now Bridget’s right-hand woman in business, Amy’s modest home on Penny Lane reflected her true personality.
Bright and cheerful, with the firegrate burning merrily on a winter’s night and filled with flowers in the summertime, the house was a cosy little place. There were pretty pictures hanging on the wall, chubby armchairs and flowery curtains, and a rag rug all colours of the rainbow set in front of the hearth. A gleaming coal-scuttle sat next to a companion set of tongs, poker and a little brush to sweep the fireplace free of ash.
When on this drizzly February morning, Bridget rapped on the door and walked in, it was as if she had strayed into the most glorious summer’s day. The warm colours and smell of new-made bread filled her senses. ‘Amy? Are you there?’ she called.
Following her nose through to the kitchen, she found Amy in her cosy old candlewick dressing-gown holding a toasting-fork to the range fire.
‘Would you like some toast?�
�� Amy asked, removing the slice and dropping it on a plate.
Bridget shook her head, then she licked her lips. ‘Oh, go on then. Just the one piece.’
Cutting another chunky slice off the loaf, Amy placed that on the fork and held it up to the flames. ‘You can make a pot of tea while you’re waiting,’ she told Bridget. ‘And don’t make it too strong … remember, it’s two level spoons of tealeaves to the pot.’
Bridget pointed to the loaf. ‘The smell hit me as soon as I came in,’ she said happily. ‘That can’t be above a few hours old.’
Amy chuckled. ‘You’re right! Madge next door used to be a baker. Since she gave up work a few weeks back, she bakes every day … scones, muffins, bread and cakes of all kinds. She gives the stuff away to anybody who wants it; the baker ran out on his rounds a few weeks back, so he bought half a dozen barm-cakes from Madge. Folks liked them so much, the baker and Madge came to an agreement, so now she’s baking, and earning as well.’
When the tea was made and four slices of toast cooked to perfection, they sat down to enjoy it. ‘What do you want anyway?’ Spreading her butter over the toast, Amy licked her fingers when it leaked through the bread and melted all over her plate. She dug into the pot of Gale’s runny honey and drizzled it over the butter.
‘Well now!’ Bridget had taken a bite of her toast and little bits of bread flew out of her mouth as she spoke. ‘Sure, that’s a nice way to welcome an old friend, I must say.’
Amy chided her. ‘Don’t talk with your mouth full.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘I can’t believe it!’ she cried. ‘You’ve actually made a decent pot of tea.’
‘Of course, and why wouldn’t I?’
‘You still haven’t answered my question.’
Selecting a cheese triangle from the round cardboard box on the table, Bridget spread it on her toast and with a sigh of satisfaction, took another huge bite of her bread. ‘Mmm – delicious. What question was that, then?’
Amy groaned. ‘You’re a mucky heathen, aren’t you? Just look at you … spitting bread all over the place and butter running down your chin. You’re worse than a bairn. I’m thinking I should have got you a bib!’
Bridget snorted. ‘Away with ye! I’m really enjoying this. You tell Madge from me, she bakes the best bread I’ve ever tasted.’ She looked at Amy with a frown. ‘What’s the matter now?’
‘There’s nothing at all the matter with me. All I want to know is, why are you here? It’s Saturday, my day off, and you’re supposed to be going to the races with your precious Oliver. So, what’s gone wrong this time? Fallen out again, have you?’
Bridget rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Sure the man will never learn! I don’t mind having it off in the back of a cramped car, and I don’t even mind rolling about in the long grass with the ants biting my arse. But I told him, I draw the line at being fondled when there’s a thousand eyes all looking at us, instead of watching the horses.’
She tutted. ‘I might not be the world’s most dignified person, but I have not made, and never will make, a spectacle of meself!’
Amy tried hard not to giggle but the laughter broke through and she was obliged to apologise. ‘Are you telling me he tried it on at the races, in front of everyone?’
‘Bold as ye like, so he was!’
‘And you walked out on him?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘And that’s why you’re here?’
‘It is.’
‘So, what do you expect me to do about it?’
‘I expect you to finish your breakfast and we’ll go shopping.’ Bridget glanced at the mantelpiece clock. ‘You’ll have to be quick or the shops will be shut. It’s already half past twelve, and you just out of bed, you lazy article!’
They wolfed down their toast and tea, then Bridget put the guard round the fire, and washed the crockery in the sink while Amy went away upstairs to get ready.
An hour later, the two women got off the bus in the centre of Liverpool, with an appetite to shop and purses at the ready.
Two hours after that, weary and spent out, they made their way to Kenyon’s, a delightful café which served hot pies, toasted muffins, and lots of other tasty snacks.
‘Jaysus, Mary and Joseph!’ Dropping her shopping-bags to the floor, Bridget fell into a seat. ‘I’m that parched, my tongue is stuck to the roof of me mouth.’
‘I don’t see how it can be stuck,’ Amy quipped. ‘It hasn’t stopped you from grumbling, has it? You moaned and groaned all the way through town, and you’re still at it now.’
Bridget wagged a finger. ‘Don’t you get clever with me, my girl,’ she chided. ‘Just be a darlin’, why don’t ye, and fetch that lazy idle waitress over here … Will ye look at what she’s up to, the dirty wee devil!’
She drew Amy’s attention to the girl behind the counter. ‘Filing her nails, so she is … and all the food lying uncovered.’
While Bridget ranted on about health and hygiene and ‘bone-idle eejits who’ve forgotten what it’s like to do a day’s honest work’, Amy went to order. ‘A pot of tea for two, if you please, nice and hot?’ she said politely.
‘Do you want anything to eat?’ The girl carried on doing her nails. ‘We’ve some teacakes just in, nice and fresh they are.’ Having filed her nail sharp enough, she then blew away the residue.
‘HEY!’ Bridget’s voice sailed across the room. ‘Don’t fetch me none of them iced buns!’ she told Amy. ‘Sure, the dirty little bugger’s just covered them with nail filings.’
The girl looked up, her face contorted in a frown. ‘What’s she say?’
Preferring a peaceful life, Amy didn’t want to get involved, so she smiled sweetly and explained, ‘She said she’d love one of your nice fresh teacakes. Me too, if you don’t mind.’
The girl put her file in her pocket. ‘A pot of tea for two, two teacakes – with butter and jam?’
Amy had visions of the jam clotted with nail-filings. ‘No, thank you. Just plain teacakes, and we’ll put our own butter on if that’s all right.’ She intended to examine the butter before it got spread over the teacakes, just in case the girl had been plucking her eyebrows in the kitchen.
When they arrived, the teacakes were fresh as the girl promised, the tea was piping hot, and the butter was clear right through. ‘Thank you, that all looks very nice,’ Amy told her.
Bridget glared at her, and said nothing.
‘That one’s a miserable git,’ the waitress told her young assistant, scratching her bottom as she spoke. ‘What d’you reckon … she’s lost a pound and found a penny?’
The other girl shook her head. ‘Don’t know, I’m sure.’ Her eyes shifted to the iced buns, all covered in nail filings, and she made a mental note never to eat anything here that wasn’t covered or fresh in.
The café soon began to fill up. ‘There must be a train just in,’ Amy remarked as the customers entered carrying suitcases and bags, and rolled-up newspapers under their arms.
Two loud, painted dolls who couldn’t stop giggling placed their order. ‘Two teas and two o’ them iced buns, and be quick about it, ’cause we’ve a train to catch,’ said the taller of the two.
‘Pink icing or white?’ The waitress had taken an instant dislike to this arrogant pair.
‘Pink … no, white. No, hang on!’ She called to her friend who had sat herself at the table. ‘Joyce, what’ll you have – pink or white icing?’
‘One of each, Sandra, and have you told ’em we’ve a train to catch?’
‘I’ve told ’em, but they don’t seem to be shifting themselves.’ Turning to the assistant who was making the tea, the girl snapped, ‘Are you deaf or what? I told you we were in a hurry. Get a move on, will you?’
‘We’re going as fast as we can!’ The waitress was losing her temper now.
‘Pair of bloody slowcoaches, that’s what you are.’ Turning to her friend, the one called Sandra sniffed, ‘I could bake the cakes and a tray of loaves as well, in the time it’s taking t
his lot to serve us!’
When the assistant saw how her boss was ready to explode, she stepped forward and, placing a large teapot and two cups on a tray on the counter, she reached into the cake section and took out one pink and one white iced bun. ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘That’ll be ninepence for the two teas. The iced buns are on the house.’
The girl thought she’d won the day. ‘That’s more like it,’ she declared, fishing ninepence out of her purse and dropping it onto the counter. ‘Took your time though, didn’t you?’
Taking a huge bite out of the pink iced bun, she put it back on the tray, and carried the whole lot over to where her friend Joyce was sitting. ‘You have to put them in their place straight off,’ she told her loudly. ‘Else the buggers’ll walk all over you.’
Behind the counter, the waitress was threatening to take the cost of the buns out of her assistant’s wages. ‘What on earth did you go and do a thing like that for?’ she asked crossly. ‘I was just about ready to throw that pair out onto the street.’
‘Ah, you don’t want to go doing that,’ came the sly answer. ‘Look how much they’re enjoying their buns.’ She watched them licking the icing off the buns before greedily wolfing them down. It did her heart good to see it; especially when she had chosen the ones that were positively littered with nail filings.
A few minutes later, the two girls left after swigging down their tea. As they rushed out, a tall, well-built man in his forties stepped aside to let them by. It was Barney’s younger son, Ronnie, looking well and more confident than he had done in a very long time.
He didn’t speak. Instead he merely nodded to the girls as they looked him up and down; a good-looking man was always an attraction to these two, never mind if he was older than themselves.
Having arrived in Liverpool a few weeks back, Ronnie had trudged the streets daily, hoping he might see his mother walking about, or in a shop, or even getting on a bus. So far, he had seen neither hide nor hair of her. But he wasn’t about to give up just yet. He had come here with the intention of finding her, and find her he would. And it didn’t matter to him how long it took, or whether she would not be too pleased at him coming all this way. None of that mattered. He just needed to know that she was all right. He felt he had treated her badly, but he still believed his father had done wrong in not letting them take care of him in his final illness.
Journey's End Page 21
