Liverpool Angels

by Lyn Andrews

  He trudged the last few yards towards Albion Street panting a little for all the streets on Everton Ridge were very steep – some even had handrails to aid pedestrians – but as he rounded the corner he thought that it was quieter than usual. At this time of the day usually there were kids playing football on its cobbled surface with a makeshift ball of rags, or swinging on a rope tied to an arm of a streetlamp, or playing marbles in the gutter. In warm weather like this the doors usually stood wide open, the women inside preparing whatever they’d managed to scrape together for the evening meal – which was never very much, although Maggie and Beth usually managed better than most on the money he left and whatever wages Billy hadn’t spent on drink.

  Webster’s corner shop was still open and busy, he noted, but as soon as he drew level with the house a feeling of foreboding crept over him. Something was wrong. The door was firmly shut, the windows closed and the bleached sacking that served as curtains were pulled tightly across them.

  Maggie was waiting for him in the dark narrow lobby. She’d gone up to the top of St George’s Hill earlier and had watched the Campania steam up the river, come alongside and tie up. She’d known he would be home soon. ‘John …’ she started as he opened the door, and then the words failed her.

  He dropped the kitbag and headed for the stairs, his heart hammering sickeningly against his ribs.

  Instantly she ran and grabbed his arm. ‘John! She … she’s not … Beth isn’t …’ The tears were pouring unheeded down her cheeks.

  Suddenly he felt sick and dizzy and clung to the banister rail for support, fear as cold as ice creeping over him. ‘No! Oh, God, no! Maggie … tell me!’

  Maggie fought for control of her emotions. ‘There was nothing anyone could do, John. It … She took the fever, the childbed fever. She was fine at first, exhausted … it was a long, hard labour but we thought she … she would soon recover but then …’

  John sank down on the stairs, his legs unable to support him any longer. She was telling him that Beth was dead. He covered his face with his hands and sobbed like a child. His Beth, his beautiful, gentle Beth … He’d never see her smile again, never hold her in his arms, feel the softness of her hair against his cheek, the sweetness of her lips; she’d never again hold out her arms to welcome him home.

  Her brother’s grief broke Maggie’s heart. It was so terrible to see her big, strong, amiable bear of a brother huddled on the stairs, devastated by grief. She put her arms around him and held him tightly and he clung to her. ‘She went peacefully in the end …’ she would never tell him of the hours Beth had spent thrashing in agony and delirium ‘… on Friday afternoon. Agnes’s mam was with me. I – I couldn’t … wouldn’t let her be buried until you … Oh, John, I’m so sorry!’

  His sobs were slowly diminishing but he felt numb, completely numb, his mind refusing to accept the immensity of the tragedy that had overtaken him.

  Maggie helped him to his feet, drawing on the depths of her courage to give him all the facts so that maybe … maybe somehow he would feel a little easier in his mind. ‘Billy went to the register office and everything is arranged for Thursday. I’ve seen the vicar and Mr Thompson has been very helpful. He … he’s taken her to his chapel. I’ll come with you now, if you want me to, to see her. She looks so … peaceful.’ She did, she thought brokenly, but she also looked so cold and unlike the Beth he’d loved.

  He didn’t reply so she guided him into the kitchen.

  ‘Ah, John, what can I say except that we’re all so desperately sorry,’ Billy said, getting to his feet and thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers, feeling both embarrassed and shocked. He’d never really got on well with his brother-in-law. If the truth were told he was a little afraid of him, but he was away more often than he was at home so they rubbed along well enough. But to see him now looking so … broken was disturbing. ‘Will I go down to the pub and get him a drop of something?’ he muttered sotto voce to Maggie.

  ‘No, but thanks. Sweet tea is best for shock,’ she replied. She took a deep breath as she gently pushed her brother down into the armchair Billy had just vacated. ‘But the baby is well. You have a daughter, John.’

  He just stared into the fire in the range. He hadn’t thought about the child and now he didn’t even want to. He got to his feet again. ‘I’m going out, Maggie. I … I have to walk. I have to try to … think …’

  ‘No! John, please!’ Maggie cried, but Billy laid a hand on her arm.

  ‘Let him be, Maggie. He needs time, luv. Time on his own, away from this house.’

  She couldn’t stop him but she was frantic with worry about him and knew she wouldn’t rest until he returned – safely – to the house.

  In later years he could never remember how long he’d walked or what streets he’d stumbled along that night, or maybe he’d just blanked it from his mind. Eventually he’d made his way back and had found his sister waiting up for him, her face drawn and anxious. He’d slumped down on the sofa and fallen into a deep sleep, a sleep of utter mental and physical exhaustion. She’d brought a blanket and covered him before she’d finally gone to bed.

  The next days passed in a blur. He didn’t want to eat; he didn’t want to see or speak to the neighbours, not even Agnes, with whom he’d grown up. He realised that there was a baby in the house but he hadn’t been able to bring himself even to ask about her, never mind go to look at her. He’d made up his mind that he would go back to sea on Friday – for what would be the point of staying here now? Maybe hours engrossed in the repetitious, physically demanding work of shovelling coal into a furnace would block out the memory of Beth’s pale, cold face and the pain of his loss. He could only hope.

  He was as much in control of himself as could possibly be expected when Beth was buried. Beside him Maggie had dabbed at her eyes, sobs shaking her, but he’d remained dry-eyed. It had been a moment of darkest despair when on that bright sunny morning he’d watched his beloved wife’s body being lowered into the dark earth. There had been a decent crowd in the church, which had touched him, and the vicar had been very sympathetic, but he’d never been much of a believer and was even less so now. There were so many truly bad people in the world: why had one of them not been struck down with a fever? Why someone as gentle and good as Beth? he’d thought bitterly.

  After the burial the family went back to the house, accompanied by Agnes and Bertie and some of the neighbours for the traditional ‘funeral tea’, although John had excused himself, saying he needed some time alone. Mrs Webster had taken Eddie over to the shop with the twins.

  At length Agnes and Bertie went home to put all three boys to bed. Eddie was too young to understand what had happened to Aunty Beth but Agnes felt the child sensed there was something wrong. He’d been quieter of late, and when she’d mentioned it to her mam she’d concurred and agreed that it would be better if the little boy stayed the night. John would sail tomorrow and then maybe some sense of normality would return.

  When John returned Billy looked at him hopefully. ‘Will you come down for a drink with me, John?’ he enquired. ‘It’s been a desperate day altogether and you’ll be away again tomorrow.’ Billy hadn’t had a drink for days and he thought the atmosphere in the pub would help to cheer them both up. He didn’t fancy sitting here for the rest of the evening; the gloom was almost palpable.

  John shook his head but thanked him. ‘Thanks, but I’ve never been one for the drink, Billy, you know that. And I’ve an early start tomorrow.’

  Maggie sighed, seeing her husband was anxious to get away. ‘Oh, get off with you, Billy. Go and have a drink. You’re right, it’s been a desperate day.’ Even though she was bone-tired she wanted to talk to her brother about Mae and she didn’t want Billy chipping in.

  ‘I’ve your clothes washed and dried and ready to put in your bag,’ she said to her brother. ‘You are sure this will be the best thing to do? Go back to sea?’ she asked again.

  John nodded. ‘I … I can’t stay
, Maggie, I just can’t! Maybe filling my days with sheer hard slog might help me to … to get through.’

  ‘At least I’ll know you’re being well fed,’ she replied. He’d hardly eaten at all since he’d been home but the gruelling physical work would bring back his appetite and the long hours would ensure he slept. She prayed that when he returned home next time his raw grief would be less acute.

  ‘I’ll leave you the usual amount of money, Maggie. You still have bills to pay and I don’t suppose you can rely entirely on what Billy earns.’ He’d had a bit saved up but that had gone on the funeral expenses – not that he’d begrudged it.

  Maggie nodded her thanks and got up and gently took the sleeping baby from her crib, a deep drawer lined with a blanket. ‘It’s about time you held her, John. You’ve barely looked at her and her mam was so … so proud of her, she told me so the evening before the fever took hold.’

  At first he hesitated but, thinking that Beth would have been upset if she’d known, he took her gingerly from his sister. She was so tiny, he thought. Her head was covered with a soft down of silvery blond hair and her mouth was like a miniature rosebud. Gently she stirred in his arms, slowly opening her eyes and looking up at him with a wide deep blue gaze. A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips. She was so like her mother it was uncanny, he marvelled, feeling the first stirrings of affection. Beth would never be truly gone from his life, he realised, for each time this little one looked at him he would see his wife. Tentatively he reached out to touch her soft little cheek with his index finger and her tiny fingers curled around it, callused and rough as it was. The smile grew and slowly spread across his face. ‘Mae. What a pretty name. You’re just as beautiful as my Beth too.’

  Maggie smiled too, relief surging through her. It was the first time he’d spoken Beth’s name and she’d feared that he would totally reject his daughter. ‘I promised Beth I’d bring her up, John. That I’d love her every bit as much as Eddie and try to make sure she never wanted for anything.’

  ‘Thank you for that, Maggie, but I’ll do whatever I can to help. She is my child and I … I do love her.’

  ‘I know you do. We’ll both do our best for her, John, for Beth’s sake.’

  Some semblance of normality did return to Maggie’s life as the days passed. She was constantly busy for her time was taken up with the household tasks, the shopping, the cooking, the washing, but it all seemed harder now, for Beth had always done her fair share of the chores and there was Mae to look after now too. She was struggling with morning sickness and although she remembered how she’d blurted out the news of her pregnancy to Billy he’d not made any mention of it at all. She decided that she would confide in Agnes before Mrs Webster’s sharp eyes detected her increasing girth.

  ‘I thought you’ve not been looking at all well lately, Maggie, but I put it down to everything that’s happened and all the stress and strain and the broken nights with Mae,’ Agnes said as the two friends were sitting beside the range in Maggie’s kitchen that evening, nursing a mug of tea each. ‘I’m amazed Mam hasn’t already guessed; she always says there is a certain “look” about a pregnant woman’s face,’ she mused. ‘Are you pleased?’

  Maggie nodded and managed a smile. ‘Of course I am. I wouldn’t mind a girl this time.’

  ‘I’d like a daughter too. Make a nice change from those two little hooligans of mine, but I’ve told Bertie not for a few years yet. I’ve enough to do as it is,’ Agnes confided, a note of firmness in her voice.

  ‘And what did he say to that?’ Maggie asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Agnes grimaced. ‘Not a lot. I was adamant though. I’m determined I’m not going to be like some women in this street, ending up with hordes of kids and worn out by the time I’m forty.’

  They both fell silent, thinking of the recent tragedy: childbirth was dangerous and Beth wasn’t the first woman in this street to lose her life. Maggie felt a frisson of anxiety pass over her. She might consider going into hospital this time, for her confidence in Mrs Kemp had been seriously undermined.

  ‘Have you told Billy?’ Agnes asked, watching her friend’s face closely and wondering just what reaction Maggie would have had from him at the news.

  ‘I blurted it out when we had a bit of a row, the night Mr Thompson came.’

  ‘And?’

  Maggie sighed and frowned. ‘He just hasn’t mentioned a word about it since, Agnes. I sometimes wonder if he’s even realised. He’d had a few drinks when I told him.’

  Agnes raised her eyes to the ceiling. That was typical of him. ‘Was he very drunk?’

  ‘No, just merry, but that mood didn’t last long.’

  ‘Then he must realise. Do you think he’s keeping quiet because … well, because he’s not pleased?’ If he was displeased then he had no right to be, he’d had no small part in the matter, Agnes thought.

  Maggie bit her lip and gazed into the fire. There was very little she and Agnes didn’t share. They’d always confided their hopes, dreams and anxieties to each other. ‘Lately he doesn’t seem to be very happy about anything and it’s got nothing to do with Beth. In fact I don’t think he was too upset over her death at all.’

  Agnes pursed her lips and refrained from saying that in her opinion the only person Billy McEvoy really did care about was himself. ‘Is it because he often can’t get regular work?’ she asked. It was depressing but he wasn’t the only man in this city who didn’t have a steady job – far from it.

  ‘That and he … he just seems sort of offhand with me now. He never wants to stay at home with me and Eddie. He never offers to take Eddie out anywhere. Oh, I know he doesn’t have the money to spend on the child but he could take him down to the river to see the ships or for a trip on that new overhead railway, or even on the ferry now the weather’s getting warmer.’ Billy seemed different lately from the cheerful, easy-going lad she’d married. She wasn’t sure just when he’d started to change and she really didn’t know what was wrong with him; she sometimes wondered if it was something she’d done or said. Times were hard but she didn’t complain. Had she changed? She didn’t think so.

  Agnes understood only too well how there was never enough money for treats for the kids. It was hard enough to feed and clothe them but at least Bertie did spend time with the twins when he got home from work. Billy McEvoy was just selfish in her opinion. ‘So, will you tell him again that he’s going to be a father or will you wait until you’re showing and he won’t be able to ignore the fact?’

  Maggie reached for the teapot to refill their mugs. Now that she had told Agnes of Billy’s silence on the matter she felt hurt, as if talking about it had made her face the fact that he didn’t seem to have any interest at all in the baby. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I’ll tell him again, Agnes, just to make sure he did understand when I yelled at him.’

  Agnes decided it was time to change the subject for she could see by Maggie’s face that it was upsetting her to talk about it. ‘Did you hear that Nancy Ellis from number sixteen is going to marry that lad, Tommy Farraday, from Northumberland Terrace? Her mam was in the shop today, jangling with my mam. She’s not very pleased about it at all.’

  ‘Is she “having” to get married?’ Maggie asked, thinking that Nancy had always appeared to her to be a bit on the flighty side.

  ‘No, although she was always a one for chasing after the lads. It’s the “intended” that her mam’s objecting to. He’s on the same ship as your John. Apparently he’s a trimmer.’ Agnes rolled her eyes.

  ‘God help her then. I think our John is the only one of that lot who doesn’t get blind drunk, spend his wages and end up in a fight at the end of each trip. They work damned hard but you know what kind of a reputation they’ve all got.’

  Agnes nodded. ‘That’s just what her mam said. That she’d never have a penny to her name, she’d have no guarantee that he’d treat her well, might even belt her when he’s had a drink, probably leave her struggling with a gang of kids. But apparently
Nancy won’t be told, says he loves her and doesn’t he bring her fancy trinkets and things.’

  Maggie sighed. Nancy wasn’t the first or the last who would make a big mistake by marrying the ‘wrong’ man.

  When John returned home two weeks later Maggie could see that he was more himself and she was relieved. There was still a look of pain in his eyes, a note of sorrow in his voice when he spoke of Beth, but overall he was brighter and he’d brought a beautiful shawl from New York for Mae to be christened in.

  ‘It’s so delicate!’ Maggie exclaimed, fingering it carefully and thinking that it was far too fine for everyday use. She’d wrap it in tissue paper and store it away after the visit to the church on Saturday.

  ‘She’s grown in the short time I’ve been away. How have you been managing, Maggie?’ he asked as he sat cuddling the baby, who was waving her little fists in the air.

  ‘Fine. Oh, babies are always hard work but well worth it,’ she said, thinking of her baby who had quickened only yesterday. ‘Do you know a lad called Tommy Farraday?’

  John frowned and nodded. ‘I do, he’s a trimmer. Why?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just that he’s going to marry Nancy Ellis from down the street and her mam’s not very pleased about it.’

  ‘I can’t say I blame her. I certainly wouldn’t allow my Mae to get involved with the likes of him. If there’s a fight, and there usually is, he’s always in the thick of it. No, I want far better for her – when the time comes, of course.’ He managed a smile.

  Maggie smiled back – he was clearly so proud of the baby.

  ‘Has Billy been able to get work?’ he asked, for there was no sign of his brother-in-law.

  Maggie shrugged. ‘On and off. He’s been very down lately but he went out early enough this morning; I was just getting up. He hasn’t come back so I suppose he’s been taken on somewhere.’

  ‘He knows I’m home today?’

  ‘Yes, I reminded him last night. Now, pass her over to me, she’s due a feed so she’ll start yelling any minute now. I need to get her down to Annie’s.’