by Maureen Lee
Danny gaped. The lad, only five years old, was actually studying an arithmetic book. His heart swelled with pride. Wait till he told Phyllis and his mates in the pub! ‘Need any help, son?’ he enquired, though beyond the twelve times table he needed help himself.
‘What’s that word?’ Cormac turned the page and pointed to the heading.
‘Multiplication. It means . . .’
‘I know what it means, Grandad. It means “times”. I didn’t know how it was said. The next page is “long” something. I don’t know how that’s said either.’
‘Long division, son.’ He was beginning to think his grandson was a genius. ‘Can you do all these things – the long division and the times?’
‘Only with little figures,’ Cormac confessed sadly.
‘Can the whole class do them?’ Danny asked.
Cormac shook his fair head. ‘Acshully, Grandad, school’s a bit fed-upping. I wish it weren’t so dead easy.’
He should be moved up to a higher class, Danny thought indignantly. He’d have a word with Alice when she came in.
Not far away in Irlam Road, Bernadette Moynihan also felt indignant. To think that all these years she’d been sweet on such a rampant misogynist! Even when she’d been married to her darling Bob she had continued to find Danny Mitchell slightly disturbing.
It had started when his wife died and Danny had appeared so devastated. She was eight, same as Alice, and had resolved to marry him, take care of him, when she grew up. He was only twenty-nine and, as Bernadette grew older – became twelve, sixteen, twenty – in her eyes Danny remained the same. One of these days she’d catch up with him, he’d notice her and ask for her hand in marriage. She had spent many happy hours imagining what it would be like being Danny Mitchell’s wife. This was one of the few dreams she hadn’t confided to Alice, who might not care to have her best friend as a stepmother.
Then Bernadette had met Bob Moynihan and all thoughts of Danny Mitchell had fled from her mind – except when she met him in the flesh, when her knees were still inclined to grow weak and her cheeks to turn pink. She used to pray Bob wouldn’t notice and he never had.
But now! Now she had completely gone off him. ‘You can’t chuck a man out of his own home no matter what he’s done,’ he’d actually said. Oh, really! She’d have flattened John Lacey with a frying pan if she’d been in Alice’s shoes, then dragged him outside and had the locks changed so he couldn’t get back in.
She hated men, every single one of them, and she hated Danny Mitchell the most.
At the next table a black man had pulled a girl on to his knee and was touching her breasts beneath her green jumper.
The girl laughed and pulled away. Her face was orange with powder and her mouth a vivid scarlet. She had a green bead as big as a marble dangling from each ear. ‘Eh, mate. I don’t usually let fellas do that for free.’
The man leered, showing large, very white teeth. ‘How much you charge?’
‘Five bob and I’m all yours for half an hour.’
‘Where we go?’
‘Outside, I’ll show you where, but give us the five bob first.’
The couple left and John Lacey felt something stir in the pit of his stomach. After ten chaste months and half a dozen pints of ale, he was badly in need of a woman. In the past the idea of using a prostitute would have disgusted him, but right now perhaps it was the drink that made him consider the idea not all that repugnant.
Jaysus! Did he really intend to sink so low? Well, why not? To have set foot inside this den of iniquity wasn’t the act of a man who cared how low he sank. There’d already been a fight – two men had produced knives and gone for each other. They’d been thrown out, leaving behind quite a lot of blood. The fight had been over a woman, a gaunt young woman with hollow cheeks and vacant eyes who had followed them outside.
The place was called the Arcadia and when he’d first set foot inside the large, square room with its worm-eaten pillars, the low ceiling blackened by age and smoke, it had made him think of a scene from hell. The wooden floor was scattered with sawdust, the tables long, full of stains and cigarette burns, with benches either side. It was packed, as he had expected. Noise assaulted his ears, hurt them. Men and women shouted at each other in order to be heard above the din – the women’s shrill voices seemed the louder. Directly in front of him a man with a black patch over his eye swept his arm across a table and dozens of empty glasses smashed to the floor. There was the pungent odour of dirt, unwashed bodies, cheap scent. The smoke that hung in the air smelt musky and sweet – it wasn’t just tobacco.
His first instinct had been to turn on his heel and leave, but he remembered he’d wanted a place where no one would know him. What did it matter where he got plastered? Two hours later he knew his first instinct had been right. He was only half drunk, he had forgotten nothing and the ale had made him feel even more depressed. The tragedy that was now his life seemed worse, more insoluble, even less bearable, than ever. In such alien surroundings he found it hard to believe he was a married man with a lovely wife and four equally lovely children.
Another thing, sex had been furthest from his mind when he came in, but now he could think of little else. He had tried to, but couldn’t, take his eyes off the grotesquely painted women in their tight frocks and short skirts. He imagined doing things with them that he had never done with Alice. He thought about what the black man was doing with the girl in the green jumper and felt himself swell.
A woman slid on to the bench opposite. ‘Like a spot of company, luv?’ she asked in a coarse, gruff voice. She was twice his age, with hair dyed an unnatural red, almost purple, and a gaudily painted face. John’s eyes were drawn to the breasts that swelled over the top of her black blouse, the nipples prominent through the thin, gauzy material. She was wearing nothing underneath.
He shook his head, though his heart was pounding and he longed to reach out and touch the bulging breasts. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Just come for a gander, have you?’ she sneered and went away, muttering, ‘Filthy bugger.’
All it needed was courage. Men and women kept disappearing and reappearing half an hour, an hour, later. All he had to do was approach a woman – he didn’t even have to say anything, just show the money and nod towards the door. But he was terrified that even these women, the lowest of the low, would turn him down because of his face. Even worse, they might take his money with the same expression of distaste on their faces that he’d seen on Alice’s, though she flatly denied it.
Someone older might be less choosy. He regretted sending away the woman who’d asked if he wanted company – clearly, his face didn’t bother her. He wondered where she’d gone so he could say he’d changed his mind. His eyes searched the packed room for her red head, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Then he saw the girl. She was two tables away, sitting demurely with her hands clasped on her lap, head bent, as if she was closely studying something on the table. Her hair was long and straight, and so fair it was almost white. Even from this distance John could see the long, pale lashes surrounding a pair of large grey eyes. The girl raised her head, as if aware she was being watched, and through the crowds their faces met – the faces of the man with the melted skin and the girl who would have been pretty if it hadn’t been for the ugly hare lip.
Her name was Clare he learnt after they had made love. She’d written it down because he couldn’t understand the strange, gutteral sounds that came from her mouth. She had a cleft palate, no roof to her mouth. She gestured a lot, her face fierce with concentration, pointing to herself, to him. When he asked her age, she wrote ‘twenty’ in the air with her finger.
John liked her. He liked the fact that she never smiled, because he himself hadn’t felt much like smiling in a long time. He sensed that she found life as burdensome as he did. He admired her for not painting her face or wearing revealing clothes – she had on a plain black frock and flat black shoes, no jewellery. She was very clean and her room, on the top f
loor of a narrow three-storey house just round the corner from the Arcadia, was neat and tidy.
He hadn’t done the disgusting things he’d imagined with the other women. He made love to her as he would have done to his wife – gently, with some passion, quite satisfyingly. Other than wrapping her legs around his waist, she didn’t respond, but nor did she give the impression she found the act objectionable.
When they had finished he felt as if a great load had been lifted from his shoulders. For the first time since he’d been fire-watching and that damned ship had gone up in flames, he was able to relax. He lay beside her on the bed, watching the cold moon shining through the small window. Stars twinkled in the dark sky.
‘Do you want to go back to the Arcadia?’ he asked after she had answered his questions as best she could and they had lain there for a while. He was stopping her from earning her living.
She shook her head and pointed to the door, indicating that he could go if he liked.
‘D’you mind if I stay? I feel dead tired.’
Closing her eyes, she gave a tiny sigh, which he understood to mean she was tired too.
John reached out and touched her twisted lips with his finger. ‘You’re very pretty.’
There was surprise in the intelligent grey eyes when she turned towards him. She seemed to hesitate, then lifted her hand and stroked his melted cheek. He decided he could quickly get used to her painful pronunciation when she said in her awkward way, ‘You’re very handsome.’
Alice had been cross the night before when she came home and discovered that, unusually for him, John had gone out, which she didn’t mind, but he shouldn’t have left Cormac on his own.
Her dad thought he’d almost certainly gone for a drink. ‘Do him good, if you ask me.’
‘Yes, but he might have said.’
Danny left, rather late, to meet his lady friend. The girls came home. Alice made cocoa and several rounds of toast, and they sat round the fire, giggling helplessly, telling each other silly jokes. They made so much noise that Cormac came down to see what was going on and told the unfunniest joke of all: ‘Why did the chicken cross the road?’
‘To get to the other side!’ everyone screamed.
‘Oh,’ gasped Maeve, bent double with laughter. ‘It’s a pity Dad isn’t out more often. It’s much better fun without him.’ She went very red and everyone fell silent as they contemplated the truth of this remark.
‘Well,’ Alice said eventually, ‘I think it’s time we went to bed. I’m fair whacked and I need to be up early tomorrer to let the man into Myrtle’s with the lino.’ There didn’t seem much point waiting up for John. Since last Thursday they’d hardly exchanged a word.
‘Lacey’s,’ Fionnuala reminded her.
‘Oh, yes, Lacey’s.’
Alice fell asleep immediately on the uncomfortable settee and was woken by the sound of clinking bottles. The milkman had arrived. She went into the living room in her nightie and felt cross again when she discovered John hadn’t lit the fire as he normally did before going to work – he’d used to wake her up with a cup of tea, but those days were long gone.
She lit the fire herself, made tea, woke Cormac, then the girls. ‘I’ll have to be going in a minute,’ she told the three sleepy faces. I’ll trust you to make sure your brother eats his cornflakes and that he’s properly dressed for school. He’s inclined to forget his vest if you don’t watch him.’
‘OK, Mam,’ they chorused, and she thought what lovely children they were and how nice and cheerful last night had been without their father’s brooding presence.
Perhaps he’d go for a drink more often, she thought hopefully.
The linoleum had been dead cheap and the man cut it into shape in no time. ‘It’s not going to last all that long,’ he warned, ‘not in a hairdresser’s with so much traffic.’
‘It’s only temporary,’ Alice assured him, ‘just to make the place look respectable until I can buy some of that inlaid stuff.’
He wished her luck, promised to recommend Lacey’s to his missus and Alice tipped him sixpence.
‘You’ve worked a miracle, Alice,’ the first customer gasped when she arrived for her nine o’clock appointment. ‘Mauve, white and black go together perfect.’ Throughout the day, customers continued to express their astonishment at the transformation that had taken place in Myrtle’s – now called Lacey’s, Alice informed them. She didn’t feel the least embarrassed when a few asked to use the lavatory. At least it was clean and as soon as she could she’d paint the walls.
Late in the afternoon Mrs O’Leary popped her head round the door to ask if their Daisy could possibly be squeezed in for a trim. She regarded the salon with amazement. ‘It looks lovely and bright, like a grotto. After Christmas Eve, I swore I’d never set foot in here again, but now I’m glad Gloria’s in Marsh Lane were too busy to take us. Our Daisy’s got a concert tomorrer night and she needs a trim dead urgent.’
Daisy tossed her auburn curls. ‘I’m an elf,’ she announced.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit.’ Alice was halfway through a perm, and there was a customer under a dryer who would shortly need combing out. She was doing the work of two women and felt worn out.
‘You look puffed,’ Mrs O’Leary remarked as she sat down. ‘What you need is an assistant.’
‘I know. I keep meaning to put a notice in the winder, but I’ve been too busy all day to write it out.’
‘I’d apply meself, but our Kevin’s only five – he started school with your Cormac – and I’m not prepared to let him and Daisy wander the streets until you close, and on Saturdays an’ all. Me neighbour’s got Kevin at the moment, but I couldn’t ask her every day.’ She pulled a face. ‘I could do with the money. The cost of Daisy’s dancing class went up in January and her costumes cost a mint. Me husband claims we can’t afford it and keeps threatening to make her stop. The thing is, the dancing teacher ses she’s got talent.’ She chucked Daisy under the chin. ‘You want to go on the stage when you grow up, don’t you, luv?’
‘Oh, yes, Mam,’ Daisy concurred.
‘Mmm,’ Alice said thoughtfully. Mrs O’Leary was always nicely dressed, and she had a warm smile and a pleasant manner. She used to get on Myrtle’s nerves, boasting incessantly about Daisy and her dancing, but Alice could do much worse for an assistant. She said, ‘Actually, the job would only be during school hours. Our Fion’s helping out the rest of the time. In fact, she should be here any minute. Ah, here she is now.’
Fionnuala burst into the salon, eager to start work properly as a hairdresser. She pouted when her mother told her to sweep the floor. ‘Oh, Mam!’
‘Just get on with it, luv. You’re not ready to give a perm just yet.’ She turned to Mrs O’Leary. ‘What do you say, about the job, that is?’
‘I’d luv it,’ the woman said breathlessly. ‘When can I start?’
‘Tomorrer wouldn’t be too soon.’
‘Tomorrer it is. Me name’s Patsy, by the way. You can’t very well call me Mrs O’Leary and me call you Alice.’
I might as well be invisible, John Lacey thought sardonically when he arrived home from work and realised no one had noticed he’d been out all night. As far as his family were concerned he didn’t exist.
He’d spent the night with Clare, feeling guilty, but at the same time hoping Alice would worry herself sick – he’d worried himself enough over her. He had concocted a story – he’d met a mate, drunk too much, gone back to his house and fallen asleep. But the story wasn’t necessary. All Alice did was rattle on and on about hairdressing and the marvellous day she’d had, and you’d think Fionnuala had given Queen Elizabeth herself a shampoo and set from the way she spoke, when all she’d done was wash some woman’s hair.
‘I’m going out,’ he said in a surly voice after he’d finished his tea.
‘Have a nice time, luv,’ Alice said brightly.
John saw Orla wink joyfully at her sisters as he left the room and longed to turn r
ound, tell his family how much he loved them, make everything better. But it was too late. They hated him. He’d passed the point of no return.
Cormac had followed him into the hall and John wondered if the divil now possessed his soul. How could he have thought his little lad could hate anyone, let alone his father?
‘Got ten out of ten for me sums today, Dad. I’ve brought the book home to show you.’
Tears stung his eyes as he sat on the stairs and lifted Cormac on to his knee. ‘Let’s have a dekko, son.’
‘They’re add up and take away.’
‘So I see. Gosh, that’s dead neat writing.’
‘The teacher said it’s the best in the class.’
He stroked Cormac’s soft cheek. ‘I bet she did, son.’
Alice poked her head round the door. ‘I was
wondering if you’d gone or not. I didn’t hear the door
slam.’ John put Cormac down and reached for his coat. ‘I’m going now. By the way,’ he said gruffly, ‘you have the bed from now on. I’ll use the settee.’
The Docky was always busy. The offices of the shipping merchants, the importers and exporters, were closed and there was less traffic than during the day. But at seven o’clock the pavements were still full of seamen and sailors of myriad nationalities. Behind the high walls of the docks activity could be heard – the shouts and thuds as ships that could have come from anywhere in the world were being loaded or offloaded in the bright glare of floodlights.
Particles of ice were being blown crazily about, this way and that, by the bitter wind that blew in from the Mersey. John could hear the water slushing noisily against the walls of the docks. He drew up his scarf around his neck.
He arrived at the Arcadia, where two small children, a boy and a girl, were cuddled against each other on the steps outside, shivering in their thin clothes. He gave them a penny each.
‘Thanks, mister,’ the boy said with remarkable cheerfulness.
Clare was sitting at the same table as the night before, her back to him. John’s heart lifted and he began to push his way through the crowded room. He’d been looking forward to this moment all day, a day when he’d felt at ease with himself for the first time in months. He slid on to the bench beside her. ‘Hello, there.’
