Roy sat with his head in his hands. Because he had the advantage of a slight distance between himself and Rosh’s children, he was able to view them not quite dispassionately, but sensibly. He had never been an outsider, even when Phil had been alive, yet the qualities of these young people were not clouded in his mind. Alice was going to terrify everybody, because her brain, scarcely apparent while everyone treated her as the baby, would burst forth like a dandelion clock in the wind once the other children had left home. She would make an excellent teacher, he decided.
Kieran, now, was a different bag of tricks. Apparently totally focused on a future in the medical profession, he remained open to suggestion and receptive to all learning. Through Roy, he had explored law, particularly the criminal aspect. Fiercely opposed to capital punishment and aware of several innocents who had hanged, he rather fancied the idea of defence work. He liked having Roy around, because he had been buried beneath the weight of females since the death of his father, and Roy seemed to understand him.
This left Philomena. Strange that Rosh and Phil should have chosen to name a girl Philly after her father. Philly resembled neither of the other two. She was quiet, naturally refined, and completely engrossed in music. In other subjects she performed adequately, but music was her soul. With a borrowed viola, she had progressed in weeks from delivering sounds reminiscent of a cat in agony to playing her own compositions. She performed well on clarinet and oboe, but keyboards were her main passion. And something in the girl’s eyes informed the world that yes, she would go all the way to the top. Thus far, she lacked the arrogance of the self-absorbed diva, yet she would probably gain it later in life. The love demanded by genius came not from a partner, but from a crowd that kept its distance. In fact, broken relationships often formed a trail of debris behind those owned by an audience, the public, the world.
Roy raised his head. Did she have that special quality, the rogue element that separated the few from the many? And why was he, a mere stepfather, so engrossed in his wife’s children? Couldn’t he sit back like most incomers did, let their mother do the work and the worrying? No, he couldn’t, because Phil and Rosh had been his best friends since school, and he loved her. Her troubles were his troubles, yet hers would always be the final decision.
He followed in her footsteps to their bedroom. She was crying. ‘I can’t let go yet, Roy. The fault’s in me.’
He stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, his eyes fixed on her face in the dressing-table mirror. ‘We have to go and meet the vicar. And we need to see this Royal Academy place. She’s old enough in her head, Rosh.’
‘But I’m not.’
‘No mother’s ever ready to let go. If she’d turned thirty and was about to walk to the altar, you wouldn’t judge any man fit to deserve her. It’s never a good time.’
‘You want her to go?’
‘No, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t. She’ll be with others of her own age, other musically gifted kids. Rosh?’
‘What?’
‘Are you going to take a dangerous chance here? If she doesn’t forgive you, can you ever forgive yourself?’
The tears dried. She hadn’t looked at it from that viewpoint. Because of her nature, Philly hadn’t leapt for joy when the offer had arrived. For a girl in her teens, she was very much in charge of her emotions. ‘I think she cried herself dry when Phil died, Roy. Then she turned to my mother, because I was in a state …’
‘And after that, she minded Alice,’ Roy said quietly. ‘I am not criticizing you, babe. You were bloody devastated. She grew up very fast, because she’s like you, sense of duty and all that. And Kieran changed, Alice changed – we all changed. But if you put a stop to her now, she might finally react. Or, if you want to look at it a different way, we can sell the shop, the café and this house. We can all go to London. Your mother and Mr Collingford can sort out his upstairs dry-cleaning business.’
Her jaw dropped for a split second. Uproot the other two as well? ‘Kieran’s at a critical age, and as for Alice—’
‘Kieran has brains enough for Harrow,’ Roy said. ‘He’ll survive no matter what. Alice is young and would settle eventually, don’t let her fool you. Houses are expensive, so we’d probably need to get a flat, but—’
‘And uprooting everyone is the answer? Oh, no.’
‘It’s an interesting city, Rosh.’
‘The Lake District’s interesting, but we’re not going to live there, either.’ She knew the ball was in her court. When it came to decisions like this one, the ultimate responsibility would always be hers. What would Phil have said? How would he have reacted? Rosh closed her eyes and concentrated. ‘First, we talk to her,’ she said at last. ‘It’s her life.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then, if she’s determined to go, we make an appointment with the Academy, then with the vicar. She’ll need permission from the bishop to attend a non-Catholic college and to live in a vicarage.’
‘Where does that come in the list that gave Moses a hernia?’
‘It’s a law of our Church.’
He nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Do you know why? They want our money in their collection plates. “Contribute to the support of our pastors”? That means don’t encourage other Christian faiths, don’t try to see a different viewpoint, go through life with sand in your eyes, no ecumenical movement, no space for thought, no thought for education. Well. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a definite case of no permission required.’
‘Is your sermon finished?’ she asked. ‘Send the plate round, because I think I’ve a bent halfpenny somewhere and a couple of shirt buttons.’
He laughed at her.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I know what you mean. You’ll be a lovely dad.’
He grinned. ‘Alice loves me.’
‘They all do.’ It was too soon to tell him that she thought she had a little foreigner on board, one that might arrive with Made in Cornwall stamped on its rear end. Roy deserved to have a child of his own, but she knew it wouldn’t be easy for her. The delivery of Alice had been difficult and, since Cuttle’s attack, internal scarring might interfere with the birthing process. Caesarean section?
‘What are you thinking about now?’ he asked.
‘Not much,’ she replied. Which was true enough. An invisible bundle of cells wasn’t much. Was it?
The weeks flew by like a wind off the Irish Sea, and the big occasion was upon them. Maureen rolled up her sleeves and marched through the living room. ‘I’ll kill him,’ she pronounced. ‘I’ll wring his flaming neck.’
Tom lowered his newspaper. ‘You said that yesterday, but he’s still walking about somewhere. What’s he done this time?’
‘What’s he done? What’s he done?’
‘That was the question, love. Do I get an answer?’
She continued to the front door and threw it open. ‘Seamus?’ she yelled. The first syllable emerged on a note towards the middle of the scale, but the ‘mus’ was thrown high into the air like a pigeon being released from confinement. Each child knew the call of his or her mother. Seamus, probably on the run, failed to put in an appearance.
‘Maureen?’
‘Five. He’s buggered off with five Cornish pasties. I’m up to my eyes in sausage rolls and vols-au-vent, and he’s nicking stuff faster than I can cook it. We might as well have a prayer meeting instead of a reunion, because there’ll be nothing to eat. It’ll be known as the day of the starving Rileys.’
This was Tom’s afternoon off. The Co-op closed at lunch time on Saturdays, and he came home for rest and relaxation. Some chance of that in the current climate. Should cooking while moaning become an international sport, his Maureen would be on the winners’ podium with the best. Some of the baking was going on at Scouse Alley, but Maureen and her mother were working from home. It was all right for Kevin. He’d escaped to Paddy’s Market, and good luck to him.
‘He can’t eat five himself,’ she said now.
‘How much are you prepared to bet on that?’ Tom asked. ‘Anyway, you’ve got him all wrong this time, missus.’
‘Have I?’
‘Oh, yes. I gave him and four friends a pasty each, and they’re decorating. You know he’s good at that, because he does the room up every Christmas for the pensioners. So in future, before you kill him, ask me first.’
Maureen blinked. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because you weren’t here. You were next door having a row with your mother. These houses may be well built, but I reckon they could hear the two of you in Glasgow and London. I got every word through the party wall.’ He raised the newspaper and continued reading while his dearly beloved flounced off back to her baking.
At the kitchen table, Maureen lit a rare cigarette. The argument with Mam had been about Reen. Maureen’s only daughter, who had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer, was failing in the pregnancy stakes. All her friends had babies, and Maureen had discovered a stash of baby clothes and equipment in Reen’s spare bedroom. If the girl wasn’t held back, there’d soon be a cot, pram and high chair with no baby to occupy them. Poor Reen. She was truly broody, and her sadness showed in the way she moved, the way she failed to hold up her head, the way she talked to the floor. It was almost as if she couldn’t face people because she was infertile, abnormal, less than a woman.
Maureen dashed away a tear almost angrily. Special classes for reading, extra arithmetic homework, Finbar and Michael having to protect their sister from the taunts of her peers – little Reen had never been lucky. She now had a good job in a factory canteen, where she had risen from the ranks to hold the post of deputy manager. Her skills had been picked up from her mother and grandmother, sometimes at home, often in Scouse Alley. She was capable of calculating the amount and cost of food required, yet she couldn’t have managed long division even had her life depended on it.
Maureen’s idea of tackling the problem was to go via the medical route, but Paddy disagreed. ‘If the good Lord wanted her to have babies, she’d have them. She can scarcely take care of herself and the house, Maureen. She loses interest. I wouldn’t trust her not to forget the child, leave it at the shops, and come home wondering what she’d mislaid.’
From there, it had all gone downhill. Both women had stuck to their guns, and both were frazzled from cooking for endless hours. Maureen insisted that her daughter had every right to children, and that an investigation into the couple’s breeding equipment would do no harm.
Paddy, however, was not convinced. In her loudly expressed opinion, this was God’s way of telling the family that the girl should not be a mother, since she would not be an adequate one. ‘What if her slowness of mind gets passed on?’ Paddy had screamed. ‘And the eejit she married isn’t up to much, is he? All he’s bothered about is Liverpool Football Club and beer. Leave things alone, Maureen.’
It was stalemate. Fortunately, Reen and Jimmy had gone out for the day, so they had heard none of this.
Tom stood in the doorway. ‘Come on, love. We’ve got this big do tomorrow, and your mother’s talking rubbish. We’ll do all we can for Reen and Jimmy. They may not be a pair of clever clogs, but you saw how they were in Rainford with Finbar’s Beth and Michael’s Patrick.’
Maureen’s face brightened. Her two older sons had decided to stay in Rainford, where they had a huge window-cleaning round and a pair of ancient stone cottages side by side with pretty rear gardens and beautiful interiors. In a way, they were like dolls’ houses, especially when her tall sons entered by ducking under door lintels. The properties, already over two hundred years old, had been built for the Earl of Derby’s farm workers, all of whom must have been no taller than five and a half feet.
‘Maureen?’
‘I heard you, love. I was just thinking about our boys and their families. It’s nice where they are, isn’t it? Thank goodness for Mrs Kray, eh?’
‘And for your mother. Don’t forget her part in it. She’s different from us, and a lot older. Her faith begins and ends with the Catholic Church and that makes her difficult. Look at it another way, though. By setting off on her own to London in poor health, she proved she cares. But in this case, I’m with you. I think our Reen would find her feet as a mother. It would be the making of her.’ He paused for a few heartbeats. ‘Go and make friends with your mam. Go on. We’ve a big day tomorrow.’
The phone rang. Unused to the new intruder, both jumped. ‘Bloody hell,’ Maureen breathed, one hand pressed to her chest.
Tom went to deal with the offending instrument. ‘Hello?’
He was quiet for several seconds. ‘You what? Can you say that again, please?’
Maureen waited impatiently while whoever it was repeated whatever they’d already said.
He covered the mouthpiece. ‘It’s Maggie from Scouse Alley. She says the place is full of nuns.’
‘What does she mean?’
‘What do you mean, Mags?’ He listened before covering the mouthpiece once more. ‘She says there’s two of them, but it feels like a crowd.’
‘It would do,’ Maureen replied. ‘Ask what they’re doing.’
‘What are they up to? … Right … right, I see.’
‘Well?’ Maureen’s hands were on her hips.
Tom shrugged. ‘Mags says they’re putting signs up.’
‘What signs?’ She started with the foot-tapping business. Nuns had no right to put signs up in Scouse Alley. ‘If it’s the Sermon on the Mount, they can take it down again.’
Tom smiled. ‘Oh, hello, Seamus. You what? OK. Well done, lad. Yes, yes, I’ll tell your mother.’ He replaced the receiver.
‘What’s going on now?’ Maureen demanded.
‘He says nuns can do curly writing. So they’ve made two signs, one for the door and one for inside. The door one says Riley Reunion, and the inside one says Bless This Family. Seamus asked them to do the signs in curly writing.’ He walked towards her. ‘All’s well, you see.’
With the wind fast abandoning her sails, Maureen sank. Fortunately she landed in a chair. ‘Well,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘it just goes to show there’s more to that little monkey than meets the eye.’
‘There must be, love. He’s got what he refers to as a pair of penguins decorating the room. Maggie was frightened to death. For her, seeing a nun’s like walking under a ladder – bad luck. Let’s hope her roast beef survives the shock.’
Maureen began to laugh.
‘What’s funny?’ her husband asked. His flies were fastened, he wasn’t wearing bits of lavatory paper after a disastrous shave, and he wasn’t making funny faces.
She pulled herself together. ‘Bless this family? I’d better go and see my mother. You can’t have a family with no mam.’
Rosh cuddled up to her man. Asleep, he was lovely, because he had disgracefully long eyelashes that almost rested on his cheeks. In fact, if she took the curl out of them, they probably would …
‘Oi,’ he shouted after his rude awakening. ‘What are you doing now, madam? Trying to poke my eyes out?’
‘Just messing about,’ she answered. ‘Are you properly awake?’
‘I am. Blind, but awake. You want me to make tea, don’t you? You want a poor old crippled man, blind in one eye, to struggle down the stairs without waking the Three Musketeers, make tea, let it brew, pour it into cups, and—’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re cruel.’
‘I am.’
He went. On Sundays, he always did morning tea. This was a special Sunday, because Rosh was about to mix with members of her extended family, as were the children and Anna. He was looking forward to meeting Tom again, and Rosh could scarcely wait to see Maureen.
Roy chuckled to himself. Never in his existence had he experienced such contentment. The house he had sold was happy at last, too, because it contained newly-weds who were expecting their first child. Taken all round, life was good. With his tea tray, he went back upstairs.
Rosh was brushing her ha
ir at the dressing table. ‘Now, Baxter,’ she said. ‘About … things. I’m mended enough for the making of babies, but not enough for squeezing them out.’ She swivelled round. ‘You’re going to be Daddy to a Caesarean section.’
Items on the tray wobbled a bit, so he placed it on the bed. ‘Erm …’ Had he heard right?
‘Sit down, Bax,’ she ordered.
He perched on the edge of the bed. ‘I brought your tea.’
‘Yes.’
‘And your hair’s like a halo.’ What a stupid thing to say.
Rosh grinned impishly. ‘You’ve gone white. Don’t go showing me up by fainting in front of my relatives.’
Roy swallowed. ‘A baby?’
‘That’s what humans usually have.’
‘My baby.’
‘No, it’s the milkman’s. Well, I think it’s the milkman’s.’
He had always been sure that he would never have a child of his own. But here he was, married to the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, and she was— ‘They have to cut you open?’
She nodded.
‘Because of Cuttle?’
‘Scar tissue or something. Yes. Forget about him. All that matters is this baby.’ She stared hard at him. ‘I’ll be all right. Oh, for God’s sake, you can stop dripping tears. I’m not turning up with you all red-eyed, either. Red eyes, white face – all we need is a bit of blue and we can call you Reunion Jack.’ She sat next to him and drew him close. ‘Don’t make me start crying, or we’ll be going nowhere.’
‘Isn’t three enough?’ he managed.
‘I’m being given a fourth. Don’t worry. Some poor women go through this half a dozen times and right into their forties. Four’s a nice even number. I’ll miss Philly, but I reckon Alice will step up to the plate.’ She paused. ‘We’ve done the right thing, haven’t we? The vicar’s lovely, and he has a nice family.’
‘And a big organ.’ Roy groaned when she dug him in the ribs.
‘The Academy people talked posh, but they were all right too,’ she added.
The Liverpool Trilogy Page 118
