‘That won’t be necessary. How much is it with its carpets and curtains?’
‘And light fittings,’ she added. ‘I forgot about them.’
‘How much?’ Don repeated.
‘Nineteen hundred. It’s got a nice new kitchen. There’s another house for eighteen, but that has a tiny kitchen and no soft furnishings included.’
‘Or light fittings?’
He was making fun of her. ‘Or light fittings,’ she answered obediently.
‘OK. Write the address down, and I’ll get it looked at. Is your deposit returnable if there’s anything wrong?’
‘Naturally.’ She changed needles. Did he think she’d arrived in the last shower of rain? He knew only too well that she was a damned good businesswoman, that she’d fought every inch of the way to make a decent home. Everything here was hers, right down to table mats and cruet. For a minute or so, she stopped knitting and wrote down the details of the house. ‘There you are. She’ll have taken down the For Sale sign.’
Don picked up the sheet of paper. ‘What are you making?’ he asked.
God! Surely he wasn’t attempting to start a conversation? ‘A jumper for me,’ she replied. ‘Isn’t the wool a lovely colour? It matches my eyes.’ Pick that gauntlet up, she said in her head. You’ll find no one with eyes prettier than mine.
Don’s thoughts ran on similar lines. Tess was the best-looking woman for miles. Her eyes were stunning, as was her body, while her legs stopped many a man at work. Builders, glaziers, window cleaners and coalmen showered her with attention, but she’d ceased to notice. Had she ever noticed?
Tess turned her temper down to simmer level. The other woman needed to be left out of the recipe until the deeds of that house were parked in the vault of her bank. He was staring at her. She couldn’t be sure of his expression without looking directly at him, but he wanted her. All men wanted her. Even Anne-Marie’s Rocker gave her the eye from time to time.
‘Tess?’
‘What?’
He paused for a while. ‘The sofa’s killing me.’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Then come back to bed. I’ll have the sofa.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Did he see? Did he really? ‘I have to use the sofa if you use the bed, or we’ll be giving mixed messages to Sean and Anne-Marie.’ The welt of her knitting needed at least another inch. ‘It’s time to talk to them, Don. We should do it tonight after the meal.’
He had no idea why he was suddenly prevaricating. He didn’t love her, did he? And even if he looked at it from a pragmatic viewpoint, Molly was paying for the house. Without Molly, there would be no move, no change … He was being bought, as was Tess. For under two thousand pounds, Molly would become his owner; for the same sum, Tess would get the house. What was the matter with him? Molly was a joy to be with, while this one was … she was a challenge. A part of him of which he was less than proud still wanted to tame his legal wife. Just once, he needed to make her scream with joy. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t relax, was incapable of physical excitement— Good God, he still desired this cold, calculating woman.
‘Shepherd’s pie,’ she said apropos of nothing at all. ‘A bit of salad on the side, I thought. Weather’s still just about warm enough for salad.’
Don almost grinned. He was thinking about sex while she concerned herself with lettuce and tomatoes. That was probably the case in most households. Men pondered the wonder of orgasm while women knitted and made sure the family was adequately fed. Molly wasn’t brilliant with food, but she was great in bed. And on the floor. And in the car. ‘Tess?’
‘Yes?’
‘Did you ever have a climax?’
She was studying her pattern. ‘No,’ she said eventually. She would not be ruffled; no matter what Don said or did, she would be ruffle-free. But the flame under her temper was suddenly burning at a slightly higher temperature. She must not allow the mixture to bubble; it needed ice.
‘You pretended.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
She shrugged and swapped her needles again. ‘It seemed the polite thing to do.’
‘Then you turned your back on me and allowed me to help myself.’
At last, she put down the work and looked him squarely in the face. ‘I’m sorry. Anyway, it’s too late now, isn’t it? You’ve made your decision. I was frightened before getting used to the idea.’ In that moment, she realized that she did want the house more than she wanted this place and him. ‘I suppose you could move with us if you wanted to.’
He couldn’t. He couldn’t take Molly’s money and abandon her. There was no real endowment policy, and there was no turning back, because Molly was the pretend policy. No. He was having doubts about radical change, about losing his children, this road, familiar faces and places. ‘I don’t want to talk to them tonight,’ he said carefully. ‘I’d rather wait until we know your house is steady. I know you need to get a house at this end of the avenue, because you’ll have to be near the launderette. But there’s no point getting Anne-Marie all excited about living on John Lennon’s street if it all falls through.’
It wasn’t a street, it was an avenue, but she must not correct him. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Whatever you like. Now that you mention it, that would be better. The house is near his, by the way. I wonder if it’s wise to take her there, because those boys attract some wild ones. She’s daft enough without getting involved with a rampageous fan club.’ Hold on, she advised herself. Don’t erupt, or you’ll destroy this lovely new wool. Do what you always do; sit on your temper. In all these years, he’s never seen you in full flood.
A sliver of sunlight pierced the window and illuminated her hair. Like molten gold, it glowed, providing a halo above a perfect face. Even now, she fed something in him. Yes, she was selfish, careless and unforgiving, but the Irish in her kept her young. Tess was like poetry. She sat there on her own page of life, but if you looked closely, she was a piece of art. There was elegance in her movements, in her stillness, in everything she did or didn’t do. ‘Tess, I did love you.’
She raised her chin, and the halo moved so that it was behind her whole head. And suddenly, the fuel that fed her temper leaked and engulfed her. ‘You don’t even know me; you never did know me.’ In a trice, she was gas mark nine, and she was shouting. ‘I am a determined protector of myself and of my children. You weren’t there. You didn’t lie cold in a wooden caravan, didn’t starve for three days in a row, didn’t see your daddy drunk every other night on cider and poteen. You never saw your mammy all bloody with a baby hanging out of her. You weren’t there,’ she screamed. ‘You didn’t help bury that little dead thing in the orchard. I was four years old with a baby’s corpse in my arms, and I didn’t know whether it was a boy or a girl. It wasn’t even a person, just a doll in a dirty towel in a cardboard box in a hole in the ground. I swore even then, at the age of four, that my children would thrive.’
Don blinked stupidly. There was fire in her, and he could hear it now. But she’d kept it all inside, the fear, the memories, the need to save her own two from anything approaching deprivation. ‘I knew your family was poor, but I’d no idea that you’d been through so much.’
‘I don’t advertise,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t parade my past and serve it up with custard. It’s not because of shame; it’s because I will not cry. I will never again be broken by life, by you, by that lot out there on the streets, by tramps who offer an apple if I’ll take my knickers off.’ She stood up. ‘Fortunately, we had apples of our own, and we often lived on them, so I hung on to my knickers. Do not ever assume that you know me, Don Compton. But I’ll allow you this much. Should you or anyone harm my kids, I will kill. And bugger the panic attacks.’ She stormed off into the bedroom.
Don shook his head in near-incredulity. He believed what she said, but he had never heard her swear until now. As her anger had grown, the slightly Scouse accent had shifted nearer to southern Irish, and her eyes had blazed like blue flame in a
winter fire. This was the source of her panics, then. She would never have peace, would for ever look over her shoulder to see if her monsters were closing in. And every monster had been a man.
Could he leave her? Could he really walk out on a woman whose children were almost ready to fly the nest? She wasn’t right, wasn’t fit to be alone. Dr Byrne had broached the subject of some kind of electrical therapy, but she wasn’t bad enough for that, surely? Don didn’t know her? He now had insight enough to understand that nothing would ever be enough to fill the hole created by an almost total lack of childhood. I’ll give you an apple if you take your knickers off. Small wonder she was frigid if her little body had been judged at the price of a Cox’s red.
Her father had dried himself out, though he’d certainly been a drunk when young, and he’d slipped back into the habit after a few dry years. And her mother had been in no condition to protect, care for and feed the ever-expanding family. So the child had become her own parent, and no one would ever break through to the Tess inside.
He left the building in as much of a hurry as his old injury would allow. Tess wasn’t the crazy one; he was. It was becoming clear that there were several psychological mechanisms over which he had little or no control. Was everyone the same, or did he need locking up? No one could keep two women. One was enough bother for any man. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
The car made the decision for him. It took him in the direction of a female who was eight years his senior, who was wife, friend, sister and mother all in the one package. Molly was the only person in whom he could confide without worrying about gossip and the trouble it caused. However, the weight of the parcel he needed to deliver might just break her back. He was probably about to lose her. But he didn’t want to see Anne-Marie stuck at home with an ailing mother who couldn’t be left; wasn’t prepared to place a heavy burden on the shoulders of either of his children.
Oh, Molly. She was slimmer these days, quicker off the mark in a chase, especially when running from a disabled man. Her latest decision was that she would remain a poor cook, since the serving up of the inedible would help her reach her goal of nine stone, as long as people ignored her when she begged for fish and chips.
He parked in a lane that led to her house. She would be home by this time, since most business was done in the mornings. Almost absently, he rubbed the knee. Driving affected him and sometimes caused pain, but the bigger discomfort was in his soul today. God, he was tired. He leaned a weary head on the steering wheel. This day promised to continue unhappy, as he would be disappointing both his women. Could he live without Moll? Could he live with a furious Tess who was about to lose a big kitchen, fitted carpets, good curtains and some light-shades? A mortgage? Who would allow him one, and how could he keep up payments? Yet the trimmings Tess had found on Menlove Avenue were what she needed. They were scaffolding, distractions, dressings for a fevered mind. When the novelty wore off, she would probably drift once again in the direction of discontent.
For the first time, Don entered Molly’s domain in dread. He wasn’t afraid of her, but he didn’t want to see her upset. And the shredded remains of his feelings for Tess kept snagging the wheels on his train of thought. Then there were the kids to think about …
Molly sat him down and gave him a cup of hot, sweet tea. ‘Now, Don Compton. You’ve a face on you that might win a knobbly knee competition at Blackpool, but it doesn’t match me décor. These days, men get picked to fit in with the furniture, so buck up. What happened? Is somebody ill?’
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes for a few seconds. ‘Oh, Molly,’ he managed finally. ‘I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. She’s found her house and left a deposit, but she’s fit for nothing. She boiled over this afternoon, and we both got burnt. In all the years I’ve known her, she’s never lost her temper, not completely. If she gets the house and moves, she’ll be happy till the kids disappear, then the electric shock treatment might become a reality. And I don’t want my daughter giving up her apprenticeship to look after Tess.’ He sighed before taking a few sips of tea.
‘What do you mean by boiled over? Are you talking about an accident with the milk pan?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Well, it erupted that way, as if the stuff inside her had found a crack in an outside layer, and she went up like a rocket. At first, I thought she was talking a load of nonsense, but she wasn’t. She said I didn’t know her, I’d never known her. But when she finally started to come out with it – and I know there’s a lot more – it was bloody heartbreaking. She’d nobody as a kid, Moll. They were starving hungry and cold at night. She … oh, my God.’ He was weeping.
‘Don? Sweetheart?’
‘Buried a dead baby. She was four, Moll.’
‘Hell’s bloody bells. Who killed it?’ Molly asked.
‘Born dead. That’s just the start. I can’t leave her. I can’t come here and live with you, because she’s still full of that stuff, and someone has to be there to listen and make sure she takes her pills. I don’t want her in a mental hospital or stuck with nurses drifting in and out of the house night and day. She’s the mother of my kids, after all. And I’m not going to let anything spoil their future.’ He paused and took Molly’s hand. ‘So we’ll have to stay in the flat, my love. I just can’t leave her. I can’t be happy here with you while I’m waiting for a phone call to say she’s strung herself up or taken an overdose.’
She squeezed his fingers. ‘You don’t know me, either, do you? There’s a cheque on that sideboard made payable to you. It’s for three grand, and that’ll cover the cost of a semi on her favourite avenue.’
‘But Molly—’
‘But nothing. I’m a rich woman by most standards, so I’ve no price, Don. You move with her. I’m quite happy with things as they are, and I’ve nobody to put in my will, have I? Get her settled and sorted, but don’t forsake me. You can’t just walk away from Tess, lad. You’d get no respect from me if you did.’ She stood up. ‘Now, I’ve a bit of ham salad lingering in the back of me Frigidaire. It’s been looking at me funny all day, and I’m sure it’s going to ask for its old-age pension if I don’t shape. Do you want a bit of pickled beetroot with it?’
She was priceless. Pickled beetroot, a large cheque, ham salad, all the same to her.
In the kitchen, Molly rattled about and heaved a secret sigh of relief. She loved the bones of the man, but she’d found herself a bit unsettled of late. It was nice having a younger chap who came and made her laugh, yet she prized her independence. Everything would have to change if and when he moved in. Could she let him see her ready for bed, night cream pushed into wrinkles, hair in a net to keep it grease-free, Sam and Uke on the bed, a Georgette Heyer propped on that little reading slope? And the reading glasses sliding down her nose?
Molly prided herself on her sense of fair play. She’d been angry with Don when he’d left his wife on the day of the big panic attack, so she would probably be scared to death if he abandoned altogether a woman who might become suicidal. It sounded as if Tess had guarded so fiercely the child inside herself that she had failed to mature emotionally.
Then there was the other point, already considered. Molly wouldn’t be able to mooch around in a towelling robe for hours on a Sunday morning. Her experimental cooking, which had been a source of hilarity thus far, would surely cease to be funny once Don became a permanent fixture. She needed to do a course in scrambled eggs on toast before inflicting her culinary disasters on any man. Matt hadn’t minded, because he’d loved to cook, and many meals had been eaten in restaurants.
Also, that poor woman deserved her new house. Don didn’t sleep with his wife, so he would still be coming here for an hour or two of light relief, doggy company and a bit of a sing-song with accompaniment on the ukulele.
Meanwhile, Don sat with his head in his hands. Had he been completely honest with Molly? Somewhere, deep inside himself, a small flicker of love for Tess tried hard not to be extinguished.
And he remembered from moments earlier that brief yet recognizable expression of relief in Molly’s eyes. She wasn’t ready. And three thousand pounds was so small a sum in her book. He had to accept it. Tess needed the move; Molly needed time to collect her thoughts and wave goodbye to aloneness. She wasn’t lonely, since she always found somewhere to go, a pub to sing in, a friend to lunch with, a course to take in the evenings. He was doing no wrong.
In the dining room, he found the cheque resting beside his plate. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
Molly speared a slice of beetroot. ‘It’ll all work out,’ she said. ‘You and I do very well as we are.’
He managed a smile. ‘I need two thousand, not three.’
‘Furniture,’ she replied smartly. ‘And a better car. That bloody thing sounds like it’s got whooping cough or a bad case of diphtheria. And look at me now. Beetroot vinegar all down me new blouse. Twenty-nine and eleven in the sale, that cost.’
Don relaxed slightly. A thirty-bob blouse, a cheque for three thousand – all of similar value according to Molly. He needed to go and face the shepherd’s pie, wanted to make sure that Tess said nothing to the children, but he couldn’t just pick up the money and run. A degree of discomfort continued to plague him. The part of him over which he seemed to have little control wanted to stay with his family, needed to care for Tess, even win her affection. He shivered. Someone was stepping on his grave, and that someone was Don Compton.
Worse was to come. The dogs were outside, and he and Molly had the freedom of the house. While they played on the floor, the face above his changed for a split second, and he saw Tess with a halo blazing behind her head. Bloody hell. If this state of confusion carried on, he would end up in the hospital with his poor wife.
He drove home with the cheque hidden in his breast pocket. Tomorrow, it would go into the bank, and Tess would have no clue about its point of origin. It was from an insurance company, and he must try to shake off the embarrassment he felt while in the company of this small piece of paper.
The Liverpool Trilogy Page 89
