Anyway, Lucy, too, was married. He found himself hoping almost desperately that she would not return to Bolton, that she would stay and continue her friendship with Moira, who was definitely benefiting from the new contact. It didn’t matter as much for him, he repeatedly told himself. Moira enjoyed and needed Lucy’s company. And that was all there was to it.
Alan Henshaw, who was a substantial figure of a man, had shrunk considerably. Or perhaps it was all the tubes, wires and machinery that made him smaller. The equipment seemed to be the size of a small symphony orchestra, while the soloist at the centre of it all was diminished by the plethora of pipes and bells with which he was surrounded. His heart was being monitored, and his blood pressure was taken automatically at set intervals. Fluid dripped into his body from above, and trickled out into a bag fastened to the side of his bed. Many of these appliances gave out beeps, alarms and ticking sounds, while the person at the centre of all the drama never so much as blinked.
Freddie Mercury singing ‘I Want to Break Free’ popped into Liz’s head from time to time. Her dad was in there somewhere, and he needed to break free. His stomach had been pumped and, after tests and close examinations, the liver had been declared fit to be used to sole shoes. It didn’t look too promising. She didn’t want Daddy to die.
His nurse, a plain-spoken woman, arrived to make a routine check. ‘Don’t worry, love,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen worse than this walk out on its own two feet after a few days. Mind you, if he doesn’t come off the sauce, he’ll probably bleed to death. Get him to sign into a clinic. He needs weaning off before he goes into a proper nosedive. Cholesterol’s in the hills, heartbeat irregular but settling, and he has a chance if he avoids booze and stress.’
‘Then that’s no chance,’ Liz replied. ‘He has a first class honours in stress, and while he’s awake and breathing, he drinks. Looking back, I can scarcely remember an evening at home when he didn’t have a whisky tumbler in his hand. Hopeless.’
The nurse wrote something on a chart. ‘Aye. It’s a bugger, isn’t it, love? I married a boozer, but I soon got shut. He was more pickled than a jar of silverskin onions, and nasty with it. He came home one night, put the chip pan on, forgot, fell asleep and burned my house down. I was on nights, fortunately. They got him out. The insurance covered the mess, but I wasn’t insured against him, was I? So I got rid. Of him and the chip pan.’ She left the room.
Lizzie stared down at the creature on the bed. This used to be her father. This used to be the man who’d taken her and her brothers to Alton Towers, to Blackpool, Southport, the Lake District, Florida, France, Italy and Spain. Mother had just tagged along like a nanny, while he had provided all the entertainment. ‘Mother read a lot,’ she said to the figure and all his machines. ‘She stood back and let you take the credit for all of it. But Paul and Mike weren’t taken in. They knew she was head and shoulders above you. But I love you. I shall always, always love you. Silly man. You have to wake eventually. You have to face up to what’s happening, Daddy.’
Being a woman wasn’t easy. The first man in a girl’s life was eternally forgivable, but suitors and husbands weren’t. ‘If a man treated me like you treated her, I’d be in jail ten times over.’ She was starting to think deeply about her mother for the first time ever. How had she coped? How had she kept all that anger inside, all that frustration so well hidden? And why had she taken all the money, why had she mortgaged a house so precious to her? It was all so … extraordinary.
‘Have you been telling us lies, Daddy?’ she asked.
A light came on, and a loud, continuous note sounded. Lizzie found herself out in the corridor. The crash trolley was rolled in, and staff shouted orders like ‘Clear’, and ‘Charging to two hundred’. They were bringing him back. Well, they were trying to. The child in Lizzie sat with a bunched fist pushed against her mouth, because she would not scream. Brave little girls didn’t scream when in hospital, at the dentist’s, at the doctor’s surgery. ‘Don’t leave me, Daddy. Please don’t go.’
The plain-spoken nurse appeared. She looked hot, as if she had been in a Turkish bath. ‘He’s back, love. Go home. Get some sleep.’
‘I can’t,’ she replied. ‘I just can’t do that.’
The nurse sat down next to Lizzie. ‘Your brother didn’t stay long.’
‘No.’ Liz inhaled deeply. ‘He’s one of a pair of identical twins. The other one fell into a river – he’s in the Countess of Chester.’
‘Bloody hell! More than your fair share of trouble, then. And your mam? Where’s she?’
‘No idea, but if she’s heard about what’s happened she’s probably at the Countess of Chester with Paul and Mike. She ran away, you see. Just upped and offed with her clothes and every penny in the bank. No warning. It was like a magic trick but without the smoke.’
‘I don’t blame her. I told you what happened to me, eh? Women don’t bolt unless they’re pushed into it. You’ve got to start thinking about it from her point of view, love. Your dad will either live or die. He’s committing slow suicide. She’s probably wanting some space for thought, a break while she starts divorce proceedings.’
‘Divorce?’
‘Aye. She’s gone to start a new life, sweetie. Some women just go – they need to get away from whatever. They go when they’re in the middle of making dinner, ironing, washing or some such drudgery. Usually younger than your mam, though. Mid-forties, is she?’
Liz nodded.
‘So she’s not running from, she’s running towards. But I’ll bet you a pound to a penny she thinks she’s run away rather than towards.’
‘Towards what?’
The nurse shrugged. ‘If she’s thought on this for a while, and if she’s taken money, she’ll be after a new start. Without realizing it, she’s gone for a fresh beginning. I reckon your dad’s behaviour has been like water dripping on stone. It takes a while, but the stone starts to get affected. Your mam was being worn down bit by bit, you see.’
Alone once more, Liz went outside to try to reach Mike on his mobile. He answered. ‘Lizzie, Paul’s all right.’
‘Is Mother with him?’
‘Yes. She’s been given a mattress to lie on, and she’s taking him home tomorrow. Well, home to her new place.’
‘Where?’
‘Liverpool.’
‘Oh. And where are you?’
‘Standing right behind you.’
She turned and punched him playfully. ‘So you’ve brought my car back, at least.’
‘And how’s the real invalid, Lizzie?’
‘He died again, and they brought him back again.’ She paused and put away her phone. ‘Somewhere along the line, a huge amount of truth has gone for a walk. She’s protected us, and in doing so she’s protected him. Well, something like that.’
It was plain that Lizzie was coming round to her brothers’ way of thinking. ‘You’ve been aware all along,’ said Mike. ‘But your daddy made you into a princess, and that blinded you. I know you’re not a lot younger than us, but we’ve been privileged, because we each had the other to talk to. We worked him out a while back. He uses cheap labour and cheap materials. When the houses start to fall down, he’ll wish he had died, because there’ll be a lot of people on his tail.’
‘That’s horrible, Mike. We don’t want him to die. Do we?’
He shook his head. ‘But we want Mums to survive. He’s been drinking her life blood along with his Scotch for long enough. I know now, Lizzie. Mums and I went for a coffee, and she told me. Everything. She was her usual self, no anger, no resentment. The facts are plain. He stole every penny left by the Gramps. He acted exactly how they had expected him to act when they warned her not to marry him.’
Liz gulped.
‘He mortgaged and remortgaged the house.’
‘How?’
‘Forgery. He forged Mums’s signature and probably some of the witnesses’ too. If he lives, he has a lot to face. He has a ton of unpaid bills. The land he bought at Bromle
y Cross may just cover his debts, mortgages included. That was why she let him keep that project. Even then, at the end of her marriage, she looked after him.’ He hugged his sister. ‘There is no woman in the world like her. With the exception of you. We are fortunate. God gave us our mother’s temperament.’
Lizzie sat on a bench, and her brother joined her. Both remained deep in thought for several seconds. Then Lizzie spoke. ‘I wonder what she’ll do with Tallows? It’s a lovely place, and it shouldn’t be left to rot.’
He shrugged. ‘I was talking to a bloke in the car park at the Countess of Chester. He was going to take her … home, but she asked me to tell him she was staying the night with Paul. Richard Turner, lives next door to her, has a disabled wife. Mums gave her a massage, and it helped. He’s a doctor. He told me Mums is starting a bed and breakfast business. Seems she’s no intention of going home to Tallows.’
Lizzie nodded thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps she’ll do the same with Tallows – turn it into a hotel of some kind.’
‘Who knows, sis? The only thing that’s plain to me is that she won’t live with Dad again. All those years she just waited and said nothing – Jeez.’
‘Then she took her money back.’
‘She did. And she took into account inflation, the wages he never paid her for handling paperwork, the damage he did to her standing in the community. She says he built new slums with her dad’s money. There’s no lack of brain in her. She just bides her time.’
‘She knows he’s ill?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she doesn’t care?’
He thought about that. ‘She does – that’s the daft part. She phoned the Bolton hospital at least twice from the Countess of Chester. But she did say he’s his own worst enemy. Very plain, she was. She said a man who drinks like that, who eats like that, and has sex all over the place can’t expect to see old age.’
‘Phew. That is plain for Mother.’
He stood up and opened a door. ‘Come on, kid. Let’s see if the lion’s started to roar again.’
Three
Mike and Liz returned after a further couple of nights to a very bare-looking Tallows. Liz, who had tried hard not to think about the emptying of the family home, burst into tears when she saw the results of her hasty action. ‘I shouldn’t have done it,’ she moaned. ‘Just look at it – two chairs and a sofa. It looks like an empty barn. Poor, abandoned old house. It’s as if no one loves or wants it.
‘I hope you left the beds and bedding,’ he said drily, a twinkle in his eye. ‘After sleeping on a mattress on the floor for two nights, we need proper beds. And, now that Dad’s managed to live for forty-eight hours without the need for jump-leads, perhaps we can have a bash at getting back to normal. Come on, sis – no need for tears.’
Normal? Liz could scarcely remember what the word meant. Her father was a cheat, a fraud and a liar. He was very ill, could die at any moment and, if he did live, would be able to do next to nothing. Mother had bogged off because he’d stolen all her inheritance and mortgaged a valuable house. How could anything ever be normal again? About one thing only she was certain. Whatever happened, she would carry on at RADA. She wanted Royal Shakespeare, and nothing less would do. She dried her eyes and grinned. Who was she trying to kid? Anything would do as long as there was an audience. Even a TV advertisement for pile cream would—
‘Beds, Lizzie? You know – the things people sleep on? Do we have some? Or have you mothballed them, too?’
‘Oh, sorry. The bedrooms are exactly as they were, apart from some of Mother’s French stuff and a couple of armoires and things from the guest rooms. But it looks all wrong upstairs as well. It’s strange. It’s not home any more, is it? You think you’re grown up, then stuff like this happens, and you realize you’re still a kid that needs its comfort blanket. What sad and sorry creatures we are.’
‘It will be all wrong without Mums,’ he said. ‘OK, so my car’s in Chester, as is Paul’s, because Mums took him back to her other place – he says it’s great, by the way. Anyway, you’re the only one who’s mobile. Tomorrow, we bring our mother home. We can’t leave this place empty. It needs her – let’s face it, Mums is Tallows.’
Liz sat down. ‘Be careful, Mike,’ she said. ‘Whatever you do, try not to take her for granted, because she’s changed, and that change has taken a lot of doing. She’s achieved it quietly, slowly and secretly. Don’t for one moment imagine that you know what’s best for her. You sounded like Daddy just then. Being a man doesn’t mean you know what’s right. She’s been walked over all her life, and I feel ashamed, because I should have noticed. Since she fled, I’ve been thinking about her, about the life she’s led, her patience, the way she tolerated Daddy. She’s a bloody good woman, Mike. Give her respect. Respect means not telling her what to do. Understood?’
He placed himself in the other chair. ‘She can’t let him live here.’
‘Look, she can do exactly as she pleases. If he gets out of hospital in one piece, Mother will decide what to do – if anything. She owes him very little. It’s the other way round, isn’t it? He owes her. That quiet lady we lived with is still there. But behind the softness there’s a brain, and she planned all this. Not the heart attacks – she wouldn’t harm a flea. But the great denouement was arranged by Mother.’
Mike allowed a tight smile to visit his face for a second or two. ‘Denouement? Anyone listening might think you were a drama student.’
She jumped to her feet suddenly. ‘Oh, my God,’ she yelled. ‘I’ve an audition tomorrow, so I can’t come with you. I’ll be in Manchester – Summer Theatre in the Park, which means it will probably be a very wet affair. You see, I need it for my portfolio, real experience. Someone fell ill, and I’m trying for her part. Sorry, mate. I’ll drop you off at the railway station, but I can’t go to see Mother and Paul. The best thing might be for you to go to Chester by train, get your car, then drive to Liverpool. But I can’t come. I have to take every chance. Mums drummed that much into me.’
‘Good thing I reminded you then, airhead.’
She wagged a finger at him. ‘You start telling my mother what to do with her life, and you’ll have me to answer to. I’ll deal with you, I promise, and I won’t be kind. We may have inherited her temperament, but I think I’ve got his temper without the “ament”.’
‘Fate worse than death, being dealt with by you, little sis,’ he remarked as he left the room. ‘I promise I’ll be good,’ he called over his shoulder.
Liz stayed where she was for a while. Tallows was a house that could never have been termed cosy, because it was rather grand. Robbed of much of its furniture, it was about as welcoming as an oversized cold store in the middle of winter – what the heck was Mother going to do with it? It was becoming plain that an ideas woman had sat behind the docile wife, just waiting for the right time, the right chance. ‘Tallows can’t be left to rot,’ Liz whispered. ‘And she’ll know that. She’ll think of something, I know she will.’
She walked through four huge reception rooms, on to orangery, library, kitchen. By most people’s standards, this was a huge house. The entrance hall alone could have accommodated a sizeable family, and the Henshaw children had taken for granted that games of hide-and-seek were special in their young lives. Paul had once spent the best part of a day in a bedding chest on a landing. He’d been discovered only when he’d come up for air.
‘Wonderful house for children,’ she whispered. But was it? Whenever she thought about marriage and a family, she saw herself in a more conventional place, hopefully in London and near to a park in which children could play. She liked tall, thin, London terraced properties with the kitchen in a basement below those tortuous flights of stairs, a walled rear garden, bedrooms on two upper floors above the living rooms.
After digging in her capacious bag for an elusive bit of paper, she found tomorrow’s instructions. Prostitute, heroin addict. Murder victim. Act one only. Oh, well. If she didn’t survive to act two, there wouldn
’t be a lot to do, and the script gave her just a few pages to learn. It was work, and she was determined to have it. In her game, actual employment meant more than any qualification. A curriculum vitae, along with a few photographs, carried a great deal of weight when it came to auditions.
Upstairs, she found a faded denim skirt of which her parents had never approved. Daddy called it a handkerchief, and had been heard to opine that if the skirt were any shorter, Lizzie would need to wash behind her ears. Mother labelled it a pelmet, so it was eminently suitable for the part. A once-white top that failed completely to cover her midriff was also chosen, along with shoes and boots high enough to require planning permission. She would decide about footwear in the morning.
Later, Liz lay in bed. Should she go up for the part? What if she got it and Daddy died and she needed to take time off? And shouldn’t she be with him while he was so ill? Her brothers might start persuading Mother to come home. No. She mustn’t worry about that, because Mother seemed to have found her backbone at last.
Track marks. What did they look like? Would the girl have them on her arms? Liz leapt up and retrieved a longish-sleeved purple jacket from her wardrobe. That should do it, because it just about covered her arms to below the elbow joints. God, this acting lark was a nuisance. But she wanted to do it. She had always wanted to do it. How far up and down an arm would track marks go? Perhaps she might draw some on her skin with one of those indelible pens. No matter how small the part, every detail must be considered, because this was her future. Acting was everything.
Mother’s sister had been the same, though she’d been dead for a long time now. Mother had supported Liz’s dreams, whereas Daddy had taken a very minor interest. It was time to thank the woman who had always been there for her. It was time to grow up. Daddy’s little girl no longer existed. But oh, how she hoped he would live.
The Liverpool Trilogy Page 6
