She began to pace about. Yes, he ate like a pig, and yes, she had often wished he would bath more frequently, but he was a human being. He was the father of her children. And he hadn’t been merely the boss of the company – he was just as likely as any labourer to come home stinking of cement. The man had never been afraid of work. He didn’t deserve death, yet he needed to develop a backbone, since any life he might win after surgery would have to be alcohol-free. ‘He must be strong, has to become determined. God knows what he’ll need afterwards, but he must have the chance of some kind of future.’
She dried her eyes and picked up the phone. After talking to a woman at the clinic, she wrote down a number. One of the rewards Alan had earned for drying out was a private phone in his room, but she had never asked whether she might speak to him, had managed not to care. Why care now? And why was she phoning him? Guilt? She hadn’t been a bad wife. She hadn’t been a wife at all in recent years, since he had sought solace elsewhere.
Lizzie answered. ‘Mr Henshaw’s room. Liz Henshaw speaking.’
‘Hello, sweetheart. Do you think your father will talk to me?’
There was a short pause before Lizzie spoke again. ‘I’m sure he will. Just a moment.’
Seconds ticked by. The first thing she heard was his shallow, quick breathing. ‘Calm down, Alan,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to say this. For tomorrow, I wish you all the very best – and I mean that. When you get out of there, we’ll talk. I won’t break my promise. You know I don’t do broken promises.’
A worse sound came across the miles between them. ‘Please don’t cry,’ she begged. ‘I’ll find you something to live for. I will, Alan.’
‘Piss off,’ he managed. ‘Leave me alone. You’ve done enough damage.’
The phone clattered and banged, then Lizzie spoke. ‘He’s scared, Mother.’
‘I know. And I haven’t helped, have I?’
‘You may have. I’ll talk to him. Bye now.’
Lucy sat back. With Lizzie, it had always been ‘Mother’, never Mum or Mums, never Ma. Mother. ‘Have I killed him now?’ she asked the cat. ‘Have I pushed him towards that final heart attack? I shouldn’t have phoned. Everything I do these days seems to cause a mess. Perhaps I should keep my mouth shut.’
Smokey swept the rug with his large, bushy tail. He retained his carefully created air of superiority, and was beginning to come to terms with the fact that his mistress – well, his servant – had placed a wire lid on the back garden. The louder and more prolonged complaints were less frequent these days, though he seemed to be living with his thermostat on simmer. He missed his space, the carp, the freedom and the old kitchen. And he certainly made his feelings plain whenever addressed by Lucy.
‘Shut up,’ she said now. ‘Sorry I asked.’
The doorbell sounded. She checked in the over-mantel mirror, dabbed at wet cheeks and went to answer the door.
A large bouquet of flowers was thrust into the hall. ‘Thank you,’ she managed as she took the offering. ‘They’re lovely.’
David followed the roses through the door. She’d postponed his visit for weeks, because the house had been under repair, and her children had only today managed to be all in the same place at the same time. She had asked them about Tallows, he hoped. ‘You’ve been crying.’ The tone was accusatory. ‘Louisa, what’s the matter? Look at me.’
‘Don’t you start,’ Lucy replied. ‘It’s bad enough when the cat tells me off. I’ve had a strange day. Lizzie’s fallen in love. It took all of half an hour, about a dozen phone calls and a visit to the Royal in Liverpool. I expected her to have more sense.’
‘She went to hospital for treatment?’
Lucy had to think about that one. ‘She needed osculation and possibly minimal manipulation.’
He laughed. ‘You do realize you’re talking to a doctor?’
‘Yes. Surrounded by the buggers, I am. I have four next door, now you in here. All right. She went for a kiss and a cuddle. Head over heels, she is. And now she’s visiting Alan, who gets a several-way bypass tomorrow. There’s so much wrong, the surgeon’s been using Spaghetti Junction as a map.’ She sat down. ‘He could die. There’s something in me that needs him not to die. It’s probably for Lizzie’s sake.’
‘Please don’t be upset. You look wonderful, by the way.’
‘And you look tall. Take a seat. I can’t stop thinking about him. You see, if I’d treated him differently, it might not have come to this.’
‘I suppose you could have sent him to charm school, but—’
‘No, David. I should have stood up to him.’
‘And I should have been there for Tim when Anne died. So many things to regret, Lucy.’ He smiled at her. ‘Did you dress up for me?’
‘I did indeed. It’s an occasion. There’s champagne on ice, and I’ve done some nibbles. Tallows is yours for the foreseeable future. No rent, but you pay the bills. I shall become a fundraiser.’
He punched the air with a closed fist. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’
‘No need to go overboard. And you’re allowed only one glass of shampers, because you insist on driving back.’
Still laughing, he shook his head. ‘Look at you. Do you remember how boyish you were, how you fell out of every tree, fell into all the puddles and streams, fell out with anyone who treated me badly? Try to think about something less depressing than Alan’s condition. He got into that state all by himself. Where’s the naughty Louisa we all knew and loved?’
Yes, she had been a tomboy. Diane had been more ladylike and delicate, though she’d held her own in many an argument. ‘I suppose I was a bit rugged,’ she admitted. ‘So. When do you invade my beautiful house? Because there are still bits and pieces belonging to me and the children – shall we say a month? Six weeks? A couple of months?’
‘A lot longer,’ was his reply. ‘We’ll be scrutinized every inch of the way. These are very sick children, and we can’t move them around willy-nilly like a few dozen sacks of spuds.’ He paused. ‘I’m so grateful to you, Louisa. You always had a generous nature, but this goes beyond the bounds of reasonable expectation.’
She noticed that he couldn’t quite look her in the eyes. ‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ she said. ‘About the accidental kiss, I mean.’
David leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. ‘For me, it was a happy accident.’
He was waiting for an answer. Why did everything happen at once? Life could be monotonous to the point of tedium, then all the buses arrived at the same time. Alan was due in theatre in a few hours, Lizzie was embroiled with the boy next door, Moira lived with difficulty and in hope, Richard wanted God alone knew what, while this man … this man was lovely. ‘It started as an accident,’ she said carefully. ‘But it was pleasant. We’re both free agents, David, though I can’t get a divorce until Alan’s through surgery.’ She swallowed. ‘If he doesn’t come through, I shan’t need one. If he lives, I won’t abandon him completely, you know.’
He nodded. ‘It would be against your nature.’
She jumped up. ‘I’ve had a thought. This is supposed to be a bed and breakfast place, though three rooms have been commandeered by the kids. However, there are three more. I know you said you wanted to go home, but, unless you have an early start, let’s drink all the champagne and to hell with it, because you can sleep here. I insist.’
He had no early start, so they began the business of enjoying themselves.
‘Daddy, you have to listen to me. For once in your life, pay attention to someone who isn’t talking sand, cement and timber. You’ve known your wife for a very long time. She will not let you down. She’s not the type to let anyone down, and you know it. Mother’s the kind of person who always does what she—’
‘I’m not living in her house. I can’t stand the bloody woman. I never could be doing with saints. She makes me feel as if I should be crawling on my belly like a snake or a slug. Too much of the lady for my liking.’
Liz
thought about the attractive woman she had left in that beautiful house on the banks of the Mersey. Contained in a little black dress, Lucy had appeared to be ready for a very long night on the tiles. But Liz couldn’t describe the changes, dared not tell him that Mother had blossomed once away from him. ‘She’s always been fair and loyal, Daddy. Let’s just get through tomorrow, and we can talk again when you’re better.’
‘If I live. If that bloody Welshman doesn’t treat me like a leg of lamb.’
She heard the sharply honed edge of fear in his tone. A man on the verge of heart surgery should not be placed under any further stress. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Come to London and stay with me for a few months when all this is over. I don’t share, and there’s just one bedroom, but I’ve a sofa bed in the living room. I’m near a couple of parks, and not far from museums and art galleries. Have a break. A change. Just till you get your strength back.’
Alan almost smiled. ‘That would be good for your social life, eh? When they realize you’ve an invalid in the house, your mates will desert you in the blink of an eye. Who wants to hang about with the bag of bones I’m turning into?’ He held up an arm. ‘Look at that. My granny’s knitting needles had more meat on them. I’m dying a bit at a time. No. I’d be in the way, Lizzie. And I don’t like London enough to stay for any length of time. It’s a weekend place, not a permanent address.’
‘We go out all the time. My place isn’t big enough for a crowd, so we hang about in various union bars.’
‘And your love life?’ he asked.
‘My love life isn’t in London.’
He attempted another smile. ‘Tell me about him.’
So she indulged her father, weaving a fantasy about a relationship that had endured the passage of time and the distance between her and the chosen one. ‘Funnily enough, he’s going to be a cardio-thoracic surgeon. In a few years, he’ll be doing operations like yours.’
‘Nothing funny about my operation, Lizzie.’
‘Strangely enough, then.’
He agreed with strangely. He was being cut open by a man who came from a country where slaughter was a daily occurrence. ‘Bloody sheep farmers,’ he cursed. ‘They’re all male voice choirs and talking Welsh when there are English folk within earshot. You should see the way he looks at me. He could well let me die on purpose.’
Liz wasn’t going to upset him by arguing. Normally, she would have floored him for judging a whole nation in such a negative way, but he was ill, so the Welsh would have to wait – they were more than capable of surviving the rantings of one sick old man, anyway. The main thing was to keep Daddy settled and hopeful.
She’d never before thought of him as old. But years of beer, whisky, pies and chips had walked all over a face which, since the weight loss, had started to collapse inwards along lines that were suddenly very deep. He was beginning to look like the surface of some faraway planet, peaks, valleys, and deeper crevices where tidal rivers might have flowed in the long-distant past. She wished she’d brought her camera, because this might be the last time— No. A camera would have been wrong – almost macabre if the worst happened.
‘You go now, love,’ he said. ‘You’ve got that park thing again tomorrow, haven’t you?’
‘Yes. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m a fourteen-year-old prostitute with a heroin problem.’
‘Typecast, then?’
‘Definitely.’ She kissed him before leaving the room rather quickly, eyes so full of tears that she almost collided with a man in the corridor. ‘Sorry,’ she said, a tissue to her face. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
He moved away, stopped mid-stride and turned to face her. ‘Are you his daughter? Mr Henshaw, I mean. Look, whoever you are, come into my office until you’ve composed yourself. You should sit down for a while.’
Liz mopped her face again. ‘Yes, he’s my father.’
‘I’m his surgeon. The sheep-lover, he calls me, but I’m really Evans-Jones.’ He drew her into a small room on the other side of the corridor. ‘I just popped in to find some notes. So glad I bumped into you. His family should be aware of what’s going on here. Don’t get too upset, my dear. I do the impossible several times a week, miracles slightly less frequently. But I do have a rather good track record, so try to stay calm.’
She sat down. ‘Sorry,’ she repeated. ‘About the sheep, I mean.’
He started to dig through a pile of paperwork. ‘I’ve been called a lot worse, I can assure you. And a lot of your father’s behaviour is bravado – he’s terrified of me, of tomorrow, and of life after tomorrow. The bigger personalities are often the first to crack when they see the surgeon’s tools. Women, of course, are much braver. Your father’s been a very sick man, my dear. Even now, he’s scarcely in the best of health.’
‘And he’s a bit yellow. Is he going to make it, Mr Evans-Jones?’
‘I assure you, Miss Henshaw, that we will do our absolute best to drag him screaming through this. But his liver is struggling, and that affects other areas of his body. One thing is certain – if he does come through, he can never drink again. His life will have to change completely, though the main factor is, of course, the alcohol. He knows that. But whether he’s prepared to be sensible is another matter altogether.’
Liz thought about that. She couldn’t imagine her father going a full day without a drink. He’d done it in this place, but there had been no choice. Would he carry on behaving himself when there were no bars on windows, no locks on doors? ‘Tall order,’ she said eventually. ‘He’d have to be watched twenty-four hours a day. Even visits to the bathroom would need to be supervised. It’s beyond the reach of mere humanity – none of us can provide what he requires. He isn’t great when it comes to willpower. My mother is the exact opposite – very restrained and controlled. But Daddy’s always been a drinker, and he’s got worse in the last few years.’
‘Yes, I know. And I understand – my family’s had its fair share of alcohol-dependent members. Your dad’s condition isn’t great. But it’s a darned sight better than when he was admitted.’ He paused for a couple of seconds. ‘Your mother has never visited. I’m assured that she phones every day to ask after him, but she hasn’t been here.’ He found the item he had sought. ‘Bingo,’ he said quietly.
‘She’s left him. They don’t get on. Looking back, I suppose they seldom did get on.’
‘Ah. But she’s paying for all this?’
‘And offering to get him on his feet afterwards.’
He touched her arm briefly. ‘Phone at about one o’clock tomorrow. Try not to worry – I make no promise, but we’ve saved people in conditions worse than his. Often, it’s the ones who look worst that survive, while someone with a cleaner bill of health doesn’t make it. Just be aware – I’ll be fighting for your father’s life, as will the very good team I lead.’
‘Thank you.’ They left the room, and Liz watched as the man walked away. At one o’clock tomorrow, she would be painting her face with fives and nines, would be walking with the pseudo-confident gait of a teenage whore touting for business. She believed in getting into her characters, but she wondered how professional she really was. Because a true pro would make sure the show went on, come war, weather or a dead father. But she had to make that phone call, had to find out whether her father had survived a complicated procedure that would test the strength of younger, cleaner-living people.
She sat in her car for a long time. Mother’s friend would be at Stoneyhurst by now. The two of them were to have champagne and fancy nibbles to celebrate the fact that Tallows was about to be handed over to a charity. Yet Liz knew that her mother was worried about Daddy. ‘God, I feel so alone,’ she whispered. ‘I never felt so bloody lonely in my life.’
She’d seen her father, and she’d spoken to Mother, and Mother was not available at present. There were friends, of course, but she couldn’t speak about the current situation to people who were miles away, many abroad, some working. Simon? He was on call. Her brothers wer
e out on the town with the girls next door, and Liz felt terribly isolated. She was supposed to return to her digs in Manchester, a large house lent to community players who were currently performing in the parks. But some actors never stopped acting, and she didn’t want fake sympathy from anyone.
Acting was definitely in her. Blood and bone, she was a performer, but she didn’t actually like many of her fellows. The ‘mwah’ crowd, as she termed the fussier members of her profession, were difficult to know. It was almost as if they had no true self, no core. Perhaps they had deliberately wiped the hard drive so that they could ‘be’ whatever was asked of them. Most of her favourite companions were studying at various colleges attached to London University, and they covered a range of subjects from sciences to politics and right through all the arts. They were the true people, but they were all part of her other life, the one that was totally unconnected with the north, with her family and all its problems.
But yes, the show had to go on. She looked at the building that contained her male parent, turned the ignition key and drove out of the car park. Sometimes, a person had to bear aloneness. Sometimes, one had to become an adult. But oh, how she wanted her mother.
Champagne loosened tongues and clothing. David removed his jacket, took off the tie, undid his cuffs and rolled his sleeves to the elbows. Lucy kicked away her shoes and threw a pearl choker on the mantelpiece. She would not be beaten at Scrabble by a visitor whose young life she had saved so many times that he should be grateful. And he was cheating. She was absolutely sure that he was pulling the wool. Well, almost absolutely sure, that was. She saw a gleam in his eyes that bragged about superiority of mind and the ability to fool his companion.
This was serious business. Locked in mortal combat, they sat on either side of the kitchen table, each glaring at the other.
‘Challenge if you wish,’ he said. ‘But those are true medical words, I can assure you. This one’s a fungus closely related to thrush—’
‘Starling?’ she suggested. ‘Crow, blackbird?’
The Liverpool Trilogy Page 12
