by Maureen Lee
She didn’t hear the lorry backing slowly through the fog and the gates of the Mystery. It hit her full square, flinging her forward, and the phantom figure of Tommy O’Mara was the last thing Flo saw before she died.
The lorry drove away, the driver unaware that he’d hit anyone.
It was a young lad on his way home from his paper round who found the body. He stared at the old woman lying face down on the path. Was she dead, or had she just fainted?
He knelt down and gingerly turned the old girl over by the shoulder. She was dead all right, he could tell, but, Jaysus, never in all his life before had he seen such a brilliant smile.
Millie
The church hall was an Aladdin’s cave of treasures; stalls with handmade jewellery, tie-dyed Tshirts, embroidered waistcoats, patchwork cushions, pottery, paintings, intricately moulded candles far too elegant to burn. But I’m sure I wasn’t prejudiced in thinking our Trudy’s stall was the most outstanding of all—and the cheapest.
Colin had added a shelf to the back of a pasting table so that the glassware could be exhibited on two levels.
Nightlights flickered in painted wineglasses and tumblers that had been placed between the taller bottles so that the flames glittered through the jewel-coloured glass, the patterns outlined lavishly in gold or silver. The stall was alive with every imaginable hue—“Like a rainbow on fire,”
I said, and sighed with satisfaction when everything was done. I’d come early to help Trudy set up.
Trudy was shaking, as if she was about to take the starring role in her first play. “What if I don’t sell a single thing?”
“Don’t be daft. I’ve got my eye on at least five bottles for Christmas presents.”
“I can’t take money off me sister.”
“What nonsense! There’s no room for sentiment now you’re a businesswoman, Trude.”
“Oh, Mill!” Trudy glanced left and right at the other stallholders, most of whom had finished setting up and were waiting impatiently for the doors to open at eleven o’clock. “I feel dead conspicuous.”
“You look perfectly okay to me. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“I’d love one. But don’t stay away long, Sis,” she called nervously, as I went towards the room behind the stage where tea and coffee were being served. “I can’t do this on me own.”
It turned out to be a day when the Camerons came of age, I thought afterwards, when we appeared to be just like any other family. James came at exactly half past eleven, as promised. Declan was already there, deeply interested in the process of tie-dying. Mum arrived at midday, her face red and bothered. Beads of perspiration glistened on her brow, although the November day was cold. I went to meet her. “Your dad turned dead nasty when he realised I was going out,” she panted. “He insisted I made his dinner first. I’ve put it in a low oven for when he comes home from the pub, but I daren’t think what it’ll be like by then.” She dropped her handbag, bent to retrieve it, then dropped the car keys and her gloves. “How’s our Trudy getting on?”
“Her bottles are selling like hot cakes. Half have already gone. She’s not asking nearly enough.” Trudy hadn’t even noticed I was no longer there. Flushed with confidence, she was coping with her busy stall on her own. I clutched my mother’s arm. “Mum, could you come back to Flo’s with me when this is over? There’s something I want to show you.”
“What on earth can that be, luv?”
“You won’t know till you’ve seen it, will you?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly, Millicent.
Your dad was in a terrible mood. It’d be best if I went straight home.” in that case I’ll come over tonight and fetch you,” I said firmly. “There’s something you’ve got to see.”
James had already been introduced to Trudy. It was time he met my mother. How could I ever have felt ashamed, I wondered, with a lump in my throat, of this warm-hearted, kind woman, whose face shone with pleasure as she said, “I’m ever so pleased to meet you, James, luv. Does your mam call you Jim or Jimmy?”
When Colin arrived with Melanie and Jake after dinner, Trudy’s stall was almost empty. Starry-eyed and triumphant, she’d taken over two hundred pounds. “I can’t believe people are actually willing to pay for me bottles. Just imagine, they’ll be on window-sills all over Liverpool.” She promised to paint more for me over the next few days. Mum was in her element. She wandered around, saying, “I see you’ve bought one of me daughter’s bottles. Aren’t they lovely?” If people were inclined to stop and chat, she’d tell them about her other daughter.
“That’s her over there,” I heard her say more than once. “That’s our Millicent. She works for an estate agent in Liverpool town centre. And that’s me son, the lad in the brown jersey. He’s going to college next year.”
To everyone’s astonishment, Gran turned up and bought the last of Trudy’s bottles, “I couldn’t very well not come, could I?” she grunted sourly. “Someone gave me a lift. I hope our Kate came in the car so she can take me home.”
I studied my grandmother carefully. This was the woman who’d given Flo’s baby to Nancy O’Mara. Oh, how I’d love to find out exactly what had happened. But this wasn’t the right time—would there ever be a right time to raise such an emotive subject?
We all went into the room behind the stage for a cup of tea. Trudy folded up her stall and joined us, which meant that there were three Camerons, four Daleys, Martha Colquitt and James—who were, inexplicably, having an animated conversation about football. The only person missing was my father, which probably accounted for the jubilant atmosphere.
“I never thought I’d witness this,” Colin whispered to me.
“Witness what?”
“Well, it’s almost a case of Happy Families, isn’t it? It’s the way you’d expect any normal family to behave.
Everyone’s had a great day, including the kids.”
When it was time to leave, I arranged to pick up Mum at seven o’clock and take her to Flo’s flat. My father would have gone out again by then.
“I wish you’d tell me what it’s all about,” she said.
“What is it all about?” James asked later. We’d driven into town in our separate cars and met up in a restaurant for a meal. “I’d hoped we’d spend the rest of the day together.”
I ignored the last comment. “It’s something truly amazing and wonderful,” I said happily. “Auntie Flo’s left her flat and all her money, nearly twenty-four thousand pounds, to Muni. I only found a copy of the will last night. I want her to be at Flo’s when she reads it for herself
When I drew up outside, the house in Kirkby was in darkness. Surprised, I went round to the back. The kitchen door was unlocked, which meant that someone must be in. “Mum?” I shouted. “Declan? Is anybody home? It’s me.”
A faint noise came from upstairs, a whimper. Alarmed, I switched on the light on the stairs and went up. “Mum?”
I called.
“In here, luv.” The voice, little more than a whisper, came from the front bedroom. I pushed open the door and reached for the light switch.
“Don’t turn the light on, Millicent.”
I ignored her. In the dim glow of the low wattage bulb, I saw my mother half sitting, half lying in bed. Her right eye was swollen, her lip split and bleeding. She had bruises on both arms. She looked utterly wretched, but despite everything, there was still that indefatigable look in her eyes, as though she was the most resilient victim in the world, who would survive whatever came her way. I was convinced that if a tank rolled over her, she would pick herself up and carry on as if nothing had happened.
“Mum! Oh, Mum, what’s he done to you?” Rage enveloped me like a cloak and I could scarcely speak. If my father had been there, I think I could easily have killed him.
“Close the curtains, luv. I don’t want people seeing in.”
I drew them with an angry nourish, and sat on the bed.
Mum winced. “It’s not as bad as it l
ooks,” she said. “I tried to ring you, stop you coming, but all I got was your machine.”
“I’ve been in town with James.” I forced myself to speak calmly.
“Mrs Bradley dabbed some TCP on it, and she bathed me eye an’ all. I’m just a tiny bit tipsy too. She gave me this great big glass of brandy. She wanted to call the police, but I wouldn’t let her.” Over the years, Mrs Bradley had frequently threatened to report Norman Cameron, but Mum had always stopped her. “I told her this was the first time he’d hit me in years, which is the God’s honest truth.”
“What brought it on, Mum?”
She shrugged, then winced again. “His dinner was ruined. I knew it would be, stuck in the oven all that time.”
“You mean this . . . ” I gestured towards the black eye, the split lip, the bruises—“ . . . is solely due to a ruined dinner?”
“Only partly. I was out an awful long time, Millicent, nearly four hours. And, oh, it was a lovely afternoon.”
Her eyes brightened when she thought about the day that had gone. “I really enjoyed meself, what with our Trudy doing so well, Colin and the kids being there, your gran turning up, you and Declan. James is ever such a nice chap, I really liked him.” She managed a laugh. “I even bought meself a pair of earrings to wear at your wedding—little red flowered ones to go with me best coat.”
“Oh, Mum!” I lightly touched her fading hair.
She sighed. “He could never stand me being happy. I daren’t ever come in with a smile on me face that I got from somewhere else, it always riled him. It makes him feel shut out, and he hates that. Today I just didn’t think.
I suppose I expected him to be pleased about Trudy and everything. “Stead, he just lashed out at me. He’d been getting more and more worked up the longer I stayed out.”
“He’s always been a miserable bugger,” I said acidly.
There was a long silence. Mum seemed to have drifted off into a world of her own. A motorbike growled to a halt outside. I got up and looked through the curtains. A girl from a house opposite came out, got on to the pillion, and the bike shot away. I stayed at the window, though there was no longer anything to see apart from the orange street lights, the still houses, the occasional car driving by.
A group of boys wandered past, kicking a football to each other. Then my mother spoke in a soft, far-away voice: “I remember once, I was only a titch, two or three. We’d been out for the day, your gran and me. It was late when we got back. Did I ever tell you we lived with Elsa Cameron for a long time? Anyroad, Elsa was out, and we heard noises coming from the cupboard under the stairs, terrible sobs. The poor little lad had been shut in there in the dark for hours. You never saw anything like his eyes, all feverish and bright, as if he’d have gone mad if he’d been left there much longer. He was only six.”
“Who are you talking about, Mum?” I asked perplexed.
“Why, your dad, luv. After that, your gran never left him alone with Elsa again. She had that illness, they call it purple depression or something now. She should never have been allowed to keep a child.”
I felt myself grow cold. I recalled the photo in Flo’s flat of the grim-looking woman with the beautiful baby on her knee, the baby that had become my father. I tried to visualise the monster who had conducted a reign of terror throughout our childhood as a terrified little boy of six. It was hard. “Why have you never told us this before, Mum?” I asked shakily.
“Your dad made me swear never to breathe a word to another soul. I suppose he felt ashamed. I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention to him that I’d told you.”
“It might have helped us to understand.” It only might have.
“I suppose things would have been different if I hadn’t let him down,” she said, half to herself.
“In what way, Mum?”
Her face went blank, as if she’d said too much. “Oh, it doesn’t matter, luv. It’s a long time ago now. Do you fancy a cup of tea? I’m dying for one meself. I haven’t had one since I came home.”
“I’ll make one straight away. Where’s Declan?”
“He’s not back yet. He went off with the couple who made them funny-coloured Tshirts.”
While I made the tea my mind was in a whirl. I had no idea what to think. No matter what had happened to my father, it was impossible to excuse the things he’d done. It wasn’t Mum’s fault, or his children’s, that his own mother had suffered from puerperal depression. Why take it out on us?
When I returned to the bedroom with the tea, Mum said, “What’s the big surprise for me at Flo’s? Or are you still not prepared to tell me unless I’m actually there?”
“I’d forgotten all about it!” I took hold of both Mum’s hands. “Prepare yourself for a shock. Flo’s left you her flat and all her worldly wealth. Twenty-three thousand, seven hundred and fifty-two pounds and elevenpence to be precise.”
I didn’t leave until my father came home. The back door opened, I kissed Mum goodbye, and went downstairs.
He was coming through the kitchen, unsteady on his feet, eyes blurred.
“If you lay a finger on my mother again,” I said, in a grating voice that made my ears tingle, “so help me, I’ll kill you.” He looked at me vacantly, as if he wasn’t sure where the strange voice had come from. “Do you understand?”
I persisted.
He nodded. I paused, my hand on the front door, feeling oddly perturbed by the look of naked misery on his face, which I probably wouldn’t have noticed before.
Then he said something that didn’t make sense, but nevertheless made my stomach curl.
“It’s all your fault.”
I was scratching through my mind, trying to think of a response, when I realised he was drunk, talking rubbish. I shook myself and left.
I’d tried to talk Mum into leaving there and then. Flo’s flat was ready to move into. Wasn’t it fortunate I hadn’t touched a thing? The place was exactly as Flo had left it.
“There’s no hurry, luv,” she said. “Your poor dad’ll be feeling dead sorry about things for a week or two. I’d sooner tell him, face to face, when I’m ready to go. I owe him that much, and I won’t be scared, not now I’ve got money and somewhere to live. It makes me feel strong.”
She still looked stunned, as if she couldn’t get over the news of her good fortune. “I remember saying to Flo how much I liked her flat when I first went there. I can’t believe it’s mine,” had been her initial reaction.
“Don’t tell Dad about the money yet,” I warned. “If he got his hands on it, every penny would go in no time on the lottery and the horses.”
“I may look a fool, Millicent, I’ve probably been a fool for most of me life, but I’m not that stupid.”
“Come and have a proper look round in the morning,”
I said excitedly. “I’ll take the day off work. I’ve still got two days’ holiday left, I was leaving them till Christmas.”
My mind was working overtime, sorting out my mother’s life. “You need only stay at Flo’s for a few months, then you can sell it and buy a similar place in Oxford.”
“Mmm, I suppose I could,” Muni said, in a dreamy, rather vague way that made me wonder if she could ever bring herself to leave Kirkby when it came right down to it.
“Do you still love him?” I demanded sharply.
“No, Millicent. I never loved him. The trouble is, you might find this hard to believe, but he loves me, he always has. I’m not sure how he’ll manage with me not here.” She laughed girlishly when she saw me frown “Don’t worry, I’m going. I’d already planned to, hadn’t I? It’s thirty years last Easter since we were married, so I’ve done me stint. You and Trudy have got your own lives, Declan will be off soon. Now, Alison comes first.”
“And you? What about you?” I was doing my best to hide my impatience. “Isn’t it time you put yourself first?”
“I’ll be doing that when there’s just me and Alison.”
Later, when I parked the car in Willi
am Square, I thought sadly that this would be one of the last nights I would spend there. But the place was staying in the family, at least for a while. Even if that hadn’t been the case, I could still come back to see Bel and Charmian. As I went down the steps to the basement room, I saw that the light was on and my heart lifted eagerly. I opened the door. Tom O’Mara was sitting on the settee watching television, his feet resting on the coffee table. Everything that had been good or bad about the day that would shortly end was forgotten.
“Hi,” he said. Our eyes met. “You’re late.”
“No, you’re early.”
“Whatever.” He stood up and took me in his arms and we locked together in a long, lingering kiss. I couldn’t wait for us to make love, I couldn’t wait a minute longer.
Neither could he. He picked me up and, still kissing, carried me into the bedroom.
Later, when it was over, Tom fell asleep, but I had never felt more wide awake, as if little electric currents were passing endlessly around my head. The affair had to end some time. He would never get divorced, and I didn’t want him to. Perhaps, now that I was moving back to Blundellsands, it was time to call a halt. But could I bring myself to turn him away? Would he let me? Had I the will to resist if he flatly refused to be turned away?
My restless brain refused to stop working. Would Mum be safe in Toxteth, even if it wasn’t going to be for ever? It hadn’t crossed my mind till now. I thought of the few people I knew who already lived here: Charmian and Herbie and their children, Bel, Peter Maxwell, nice, respectable, honest people, like Flo. Anyway, Mum would be safer anywhere in the world, including Toxteth, than with her husband.
