Neighbours within earshot froze for a few seconds. They knew Anna Riley of old, and she wasn’t one to allow anyone else the last word. But it seemed that she had finally met her match, because she simply laughed and blew Eric a kiss. The party revived, and Philly began to play a medley of wartime ballads.
Under the cover of the inevitable sing-song, Roy and Rosh slipped into the hall where they found an extremely odd-looking man. Rosh picked up the wedding gift she had wrapped so carefully for Mam and Eric, but she kept her eyes fixed on the intruder. ‘Yes? Can we help you?’
‘Well, I seem to have come to the right place at the wrong time.’
‘We’re in the middle of a party,’ Rosh said. What a strange way for a grown man to dress. He wore a Stetson, a fringed jacket and denim jeans. He dressed very adventurously for a person so clearly on the brink of middle age.
‘But it’s the right place, because you are the spitting image of Tess Compton.’
Rosh dropped her package and thanked goodness that she’d bought bedlinens instead of glass or porcelain. ‘The hysterectomy,’ she replied almost without thinking. ‘I was in a single room because of … because of what happened.’
He held out his hand. ‘Joe Dodds. Private detective looking for Rileys and anyone related to Rileys. You are one hundred per cent Riley.’
She shook the proffered hand. ‘Fifty per cent only. My mother was an O’Connor, then a Riley, now a Holt. I was a Riley, then an Allen, soon to be a Baxter. Mam and I are working our way through the alphabet. This is Roy Baxter, my current intended.’
Joe’s mouth twitched. Of one thing he was certain: they were all characters. ‘So your dad’s dead, I take it?’
‘He is. And this is my mother’s wedding reception. Let’s go across the road, because she doesn’t do surprises. The party’s enough – she couldn’t be doing with much more excitement.’
As soon as they had settled in his front room, Roy spoke. ‘There’s a Tom,’ he said. ‘His wife’s Maureen, and she’s an older version of my Rosh. Tom has a job at the Co-op. His ma-in-law feeds dock workers during the week and runs an Irish club some evenings.’
Joe burst out laughing. ‘Oh yes. That’ll be Paddy. She’s a star turn. Took over an old building that used to be owned by Lights – they made lampshades and the like. Paddy added a section on, turned it into an L-shaped building, but she keeps the newer bit partitioned off while she feeds dockers. So Lights is its evening name, and they call it Scouse Alley during the weekdays. Maureen is Paddy’s daughter, and she married Tom. Yes, I’ve met them.’
Rosh was taking it all in. ‘Then Paddy must be my mother’s sister-in-law.’
Again, Joe laughed. ‘I couldn’t possibly make a family tree. I think you’ll all have to work on that after the reunion. We’ve decided to hold it at Lights some time in late spring or early summer. Are you game for that?’
‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with our wedding. Don’t do anything before the middle of April. We’re having a honeymoon down south, probably Cornwall.’
‘Right you are.’ With a flourish, he handed her something. ‘My card.’
Rosh looked at it. ‘Injun Joe?’
‘That’s me, ma’am. I’m an honorary member of two tribes, and blood brother to several native Americans.’
‘How exciting,’ she exclaimed. ‘So you go and live with them sometimes?’
‘I intend to retire there. It’s a life worth living and, of course, my wife’s there. Daughter of a chief, no less. We have two children and wonderful neighbours. Most of my income goes to my family. Anyway, I must let you get back to your party.’
Roy and Rosh waved him off.
Across the road, Anna was waiting at the door. ‘Who on God’s good earth was that? Looked like he’d stepped out of a silent movie.’
‘It’s Hiawatha, I think,’ Rosh mused aloud. ‘Or was Hiawatha a woman?’
Roy wasn’t sure, and he said so.
But Anna was too excited to listen. ‘We’re going on a train and a boat,’ she announced proudly. ‘Isle of Wight, where the old queen died. Mr Collingford has a house there, so he’s lending it to me and Eric for our honeymoon. They’ve got servants.’
Rosh tried to imagine Mam with servants, though the exercise was a complete failure. For Anna Holt, the kitchen was her natural habitat. Servants? They might well be sent packing with little spotty red handkerchiefs on sticks over their shoulders, plus instructions about never darkening certain doors again. The Collingfords could lose their staff. ‘That’s lovely, Mam,’ she said. ‘I believe the Isle of Wight’s a pretty place.’ God help the Isle of Wight. Was it big enough for her mother’s personality?
‘And thank you, Roisin,’ Anna continued. ‘We’ve really enjoyed ourselves. I’m that proud of our Philly – she’s been playing something called rack man enough. It was very fiddly, but her fingers flew like butterflies over the keys. A gentle touch, she has. Of course, she’ll have got that from me, so.’
‘It was Rachmaninoff,’ said a voice from behind her. The words came from Eric, of course. ‘As for the gentle touch …’ The invisible man sighed heavily.
‘Isn’t that what I was after saying? Rack man enough?’ She stood back to allow Roy and Rosh to enter the house. ‘And Alice all settled – she never had asparagus syndrome, did she?’
Rosh shook her head in despair. Mam still refused to employ the real word. And the reason? It was the Irish choice, this marked tendency to make light of frightening situations, the decision to laugh in order to stem the tears. It was a strange form of bravery, yet it was courageous in its way. While Anna feared for her younger granddaughter’s welfare, she refused to show it. ‘She probably hasn’t got asparagus, Mam.’
Wicked eyes fixed on Rosh. ‘Are you taking the wotsit out of me, Roisin Allen?’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it. And I’m glad you enjoyed your party.’
The expression on the older woman’s face softened. ‘You’re a good girl, and you’ve a good man alongside of you.’
‘I know. So have you, Mam.’
‘Ah, he’s manageable.’
Eric winked at his new daughter. ‘That’s what she thinks. She knows the rules, Rosh. Stay off my allotment, let me read the paper in peace and leave me to have a lie-in on a Saturday. I love her, but she’ll not walk over me.’
Anna bit her lip and looked at the ceiling.
Rosh kept her face straight. Something had happened to Mam, and this man seemed to be the one who had interfered with her determination to retain the throne. ‘Be happy,’ ordered Roy.
Anna and Eric walked away.
Rosh took her good man’s hands in hers. She wasn’t forgetting Phil. She could never forget that wonderful husband. There were things about him that she’d always remember – like the way he tilted his head when pretending to tell her off, his beautiful smile and his terrible toast. It was always either anaemic or black as hell. ‘I’ll never be sorry I married him, and I’ll never be pleased that he died,’ she said before pausing for thought. ‘But I’m glad I have you. Do you understand? Do you know you’re very special to me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t get too cocky, though.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Or I’ll deal with you.’
‘Right.’
She stared at him. ‘Are you laughing at me, Baxter?’
‘I wouldn’t bloody dare.’
He was laughing at her. He was laughing at her inside, where it didn’t show. Because of the party, she couldn’t do anything. Yet. ‘Just you wait,’ she mumbled before leaving him where he was.
Roy chuckled. Would it be a wet dishcloth across the head? Or might certain privileges be withdrawn? Worse still, would she set her mother on him? A black cat wove itself round his ankles. This dark character already felt sorry for him. ‘Oh, Lucy-Furry,’ he whispered. ‘You know, don’t you?’ It was going to be the dishcloth again.
Seamus was now a cat on bricks so hot that they must h
ave been manufactured in hell. She was going. She was going tonight, but he felt sure in his bones that she would be leaving a note for Granddad. According to Mam, her parents’ marriage was the best ever, so there had to be a note.
A stair creaked. Her suitcase was under the stairs, brown with scarred corners, an old belt strapped round its middle in case the jumpy bits snapped open again. Blackpool. Out of the house by nine in the morning, cruet threepence a week, baths to be booked a day in advance, and don’t come back into the house before half past five, because the evening meal began at a quarter to six. A big woman in flowered aprons and navy carpet-slippers, overfed on her own importance, face twitching when the smallest suitcase burst open and Gran’s unmentionables deposited themselves in the lobby. The key was lost, so a belt of Granddad’s was promoted to a new position as guardian of Gran’s bloomers.
Another creak. Seamus wrapped a pillow round his head, willing his grandfather to stay asleep. New houses shouldn’t creak, should they? Dad had explained about timbers expanding and contracting in response to temperature fluctuations, but somebody should have found a cure by now. They – whoever they were – had dealt with diphtheria and were on their way with smallpox, so surely a creak could be eliminated? It wasn’t much to ask.
He replaced his pillow. Even the silence seemed loud. There was probably no such thing as complete silence, anyway, what with cats and dogs fooling about, and drunks on their way home from a night on the ale. Granddad was snoring. Sometimes, he woke himself with a very loud snore, but he’d better not do that tonight.
Seamus wasn’t sure about God. Being unsure about God was probably a sin, but only if there was a God. So just in case there was a God, he apologized for being uncertain and begged for Granddad to stay asleep. The longer he slept, the further away Gran would be, and what she was doing probably needed doing. Finbar and Michael would want to come for a visit and bring their children, even if one was only a girl.
It was possible to leave the house without slamming the front door. All you needed was to keep the key in the Yale, hold it turned to the open position, then allow the lock to slide home with barely a click. She’d gone. She must have gone, because the London coach was due to leave in half an hour, and it was quite a walk to town.
Then there was Mam and Dad to think about. They’d been to a play or a concert, then on to a restaurant. Oh, God. If there was a God. Mam and Dad would be closing in on Gran now. She knew their car; she knew them. And how would Mam take the news that she was about to follow the London coach all the way to – where was it? Victoria, that was it. It wasn’t a train station; it was a bus depot. He needed sleep, because tomorrow was a school day, so he stretched out and counted rabbits because sheep were boring. And it was already tomorrow. And Granddad would hit the roof.
Fifteen
Tom couldn’t say anything in the restaurant until the meal was over and he’d taken a discreet indigestion tablet. Eating hadn’t been easy, though he’d managed a bit of soup and an omelette, while Maureen had consumed enough to keep the average carthorse going for a fortnight. He had steered his lovely wife away from Guinness, but she’d managed two glasses of red wine with her steak, and a healthy flush was beginning to stain her cheeks. It wasn’t just the black stuff, then. She was probably capable of getting inebriated on just about anything – with the possible exception of dandelion and burdock or household bleach.
‘Drink your coffee, love,’ he suggested. ‘We need to be off soon.’ He was off already, he told himself inwardly. He was right off his head for even considering this London business. It could even turn out to be dangerous, and he wasn’t armed this time; neither was his wife. Daniel entering the lion’s den must have felt almost as scared.
Sometimes, Tom imagined that he had never truly regained his sanity, and this was one of those occasions. Only the mad would jump into choppy waters without a lifebelt. One of his eyelids suddenly developed a twitch, and he hoped it wouldn’t be noticed. She never missed stuff like that, never missed much when he came to think. Like her mother, his wife was becoming Eyes and Ears of the World, though compared to Paddy this one here was a mere apprentice, still wet behind the lovely little ears.
Maureen was taking her time, savouring every moment, every last drop of the cream that had accompanied her lemon meringue pie, every mouthful of coffee. But she clearly remembered where she was, since she refrained from licking the pudding dish. He had to smile in spite of the situation. This wife of his certainly liked to taste life, preferably in large chunks.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘A few minutes won’t make much difference. Seamus is next door with Mam and Dad, so he’s safe enough. Let’s hope they are, because he’s been like a cat on hot bricks this past week.’ She looked round the restaurant. It was definitely the poshest place she’d ever eaten in; in fact, it was probably the most expensive restaurant in the whole of Liverpool. Her new suit looked wonderful, so she was as well dressed as any other woman, and probably prettier than most.
Sighing happily, she sat back. Oh, she could get used to this, all right. She might work in Scouse Alley and on Paddy’s Market, but she could hold her own in any company. That was one of the benefits granted to beautiful people. ‘Why do you keep looking at your watch, Tom?’ He was beginning to remind her of their youngest son, all fidgeting and anxious glances. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked. ‘What with you and our Seamus, it’s been like a circus in our house. I nearly sent for a safety net last night in case I hit the roof, because you were both getting on my nerves. Come on, you. Out with it. And your eyelid’s twitching a bit.’
Could he tell her in here, or should he wait till they were in the car? In the car, she might clatter him with her bag, and they could well be too late to follow the London coach if she required restraining. This upmarket place was almost empty, but they might be thrown out and banned for life if she kicked off in here. And if police were summoned … Yet he was desperate, so he waded in because there was no time to test the water. ‘We’re not going home tonight,’ he said quietly. ‘And I’m warning you just once – any loud noise out of you, Maureen, and I’m going through that door on my own. Do you understand?’
She didn’t understand, but she nodded.
‘We’re driving to London in about twenty minutes, so get used to the idea.’
Her jaw dropped for a split second. ‘In the dark?’
‘In the dark. The coach just off Lime Street leaves at midnight, and we have to be on its tail. Don’t start. One false move out of you, and I will definitely go on my own. I’m taking no nonsense this time. Whatever you want to do, I’m off to London.’
‘On the coach?’
‘In the car.’
‘But why do you—‘
‘No buts, girl. For once in your life, just do as you’re told. I’ve no time for questions and mithering. It’s like when you had to …’ He looked round and decided that the other late-night diners were far enough away. ‘Like when you had to give me the gun at the wedding. It was an executive decision I felt forced to make. Now, I’ve paid the bill and left a tip, so let’s be having you.’
She blinked stupidly. ‘What’s the coach station got to do with it?’
‘Your mother.’
‘Eh?’ Maureen’s voice raised itself.
‘Don’t shout,’ he said sternly. ‘Your mother’s going to London overnight. A man from some Irish club’s meeting the bus in the morning and taking her to see Mrs Kray somewhere in the East End.’
Seconds ticked by. ‘Why?’ she asked eventually.
‘To get our two sons out of whatever difficulty caused our Reen’s wedding to turn into a bloodbath. The Krays are on our side. Your mam’s trying to get some help so our lads can come out of hiding. They can’t spend the rest of their lives keeping a low profile, and your mam knows that.’
She folded her arms. ‘She’s been ill. Look, you can drive round to Lime Street and drag her off the coach. Her chest isn’t right, and she shouldn’t be
taking all this on herself, should she? I mean, she could end up with double pneumonia, and that’ll do nobody any good, will it? She could end up in hospital for weeks, and we don’t want that.’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘We don’t want that. She may need looking after tomorrow when she gets where she’s going. That’s why you’ll be paying a visit to the Kray house with her. I’ve a feeling it’ll be something like a mothers’ meeting, so I’ll stay in the car. Come on. I’ve put a few things in the boot in case you and your mam decide to sleep over.’
Maureen rose to her feet. Surely this was some kind of dream? She needed to wake up and push herself back to normal. ‘Why don’t I just travel on the coach with her?’
‘You think she’d allow that? Look, she’d go mad, you know she would. Paddy will put herself in danger, but she wouldn’t want you doing the same. She would get off the bus and bugger off home. Then she’d go through it all again, and we might not manage to stop her or keep up with her. But when we get to London tomorrow, it’ll be too late for her to kick off.’
‘Oh, my God. I can’t believe all this has gone on behind my back and—’
‘Go to the ladies’ room,’ he ordered. ‘It may be a while before we get another chance. I’m off to the men’s. We’ve a long night in front of us. That coach makes more stops than the bus to Southport.’
When they met up again, Maureen was toe-tapping in the open porch. The weather wasn’t good, and her breath hung on the air each time she exhaled. What if it snowed? Worse still, what if they hit frozen fog? He’d packed her bag without telling her. How long had he known about Mam and London? Who’d told him? Why hadn’t he told her? It was her mother, after all.
As he approached the double doors that led to the exterior, Tom noticed the foot. The foot was not a good sign; toe-tapping had been known to act as harbinger for handbag-swinging, words that should never see the light of day even on a dark night, and broken windows. If she broke this lot of glass, it might cost hundreds to replace. But she didn’t have a cast-iron frying pan, so the chances of smashed panes were minimal. He, however, might get a thick ear, and he didn’t fancy driving through the night in pain. She needed dealing with immediately, before she got completely out of hand.
The Liverpool Trilogy Page 112
