‘Good enough reason.’ He wandered off towards the church.
To think she had been afraid of leaving Liverpool. Life here was good, the people were great; even the priest was a nice man. She would never go back. There was still a slight pain in the hole where Liverpool had sat, but she couldn’t manage to miss it badly any more. There was something about the villages surrounding Bolton, and that something was probably natural beauty. Movement in the land, soft, gentle slopes in velvety greens, made the area desirable. Patchwork was held together by stitches shaped out of dry stone – it was a wonderful area for picnics. Unlike West Yorkshire, Lancashire was not sudden. It had no steep climbs into the Pennines, just these lifts and falls that looked so peaceful and inviting.
‘I am home,’ she whispered to her inner self. Had anyone told her twenty years ago that she would be living among Woollies, she would have scoffed. Liverpool had been everything to her, and she owed this new life to Chas’s brother. He had been caught; Chas had been lucky. With no record, he had been able to obtain the licence required to sell wines, spirits, beer and tobacco. ‘Thanks, Robbo,’ she mumbled before going home. ‘Thanks for not grassing on my Chas.’ Robbo seemed to have done something good after all.
‘I can’t just go off as and when I please,’ Babs told her companion. ‘Tonight, we have a babysitter, because Lee – Lily – is doing a wedding, so a woman from the village is minding Cassie.’
‘Short for Cassidy?’ he asked.
‘Cassandra. Lily chose it.’
‘Really?’
Babs nodded. ‘She did a lot for me, Pete. It could all have turned out a great deal worse than it did, but she stood by me once she was fit. With the way things are now for her, Cassie’s as near to a child of her own as she’s going to get. Damned shame.’
Pete agreed. ‘It was a terrible thing that happened to her. Must take time to get over stuff like that.’
Babs placed a hand on his arm. ‘One point. She doesn’t like being talked about. It makes her a bit paranoid, and very frightened. Lily trusts very few people. In fact, I am the only people she trusts, so that’s just one. Don’t try to get her to talk. It’s all over, and she wants to leave it in the past. She needs to bury it.’
‘That’s her privilege,’ he said. ‘So. When are we going to have our first date? When I met my wife, it took me over six months to ask her out. Six months is a long time at my age, so I’m beating round no bushes.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘Since she died, I’ve concentrated on the kids and the job, but it’s time I put on my dancing shoes. What do you say?’
Babs grinned. ‘I’ve got your mobile number. Lily will sit, but let’s get this big wedding over with. I promise I will phone you.’
He stood up. ‘No rest for the wicked. Back on duty in just over an hour.’ He placed a hand on Cassie’s head. ‘Look after your mam for me, babe.’ Then he kissed Babs’s hand and walked back to his car.
She sat for a while, her skin tingling because he had touched her. Feeling like a teenager, she separated Cassie from her playmate and walked back across the road into the shop. Lily was placing wreaths for a funeral just inside the door. ‘Hi,’ said Babs.
Lily looked at her. ‘Don’t let Cassie near these,’ she said. ‘They have to be just right – funerals deserve respect.’
Babs scooped up her daughter. ‘Are you in a mood?’ she asked her friend.
Lily shrugged. ‘It’s your business, Babs, but don’t go jumping into love. Falling is an accident, but jumping is asking for trouble.’
Babs stood very still and tried to hold on to her temper. It got the better of her, though she did not raise her voice. ‘Lily, just because you’ve decided to be a recycled virgin doesn’t mean I have to go all straight-lipped and sad. I like him. He likes me. It doesn’t mean I’m going to jump, does it? I’m not old enough to give up, not young enough to be completely daft. Please don’t look at me like that, because it makes me angry.’
‘It’s your business. But please, please—’
‘Don’t talk about you. I promise, Lee. He’s a cop, so he knows enough, but he’s not interested.’
‘Interested in you, though?’
‘Yes.’
Lily managed a half-smile. None but the hardest heart could possibly remain angry with Babs. ‘Then he isn’t a complete fool – he clearly has good taste. And yes, I will mind young Madam while you go out with him, so get up those stairs, put on some don’t-matter clothes and wait for Philly Gallagher. What with weddings and funerals – ain’t life fun?’
Babs breathed easily again. It was true that for Lily life had to be tackled in bits, or in baby steps, as she put it. No sudden changes for this girl, not yet, anyway. And none of it was Lily’s fault, just as none of it was Babs’s fault. Lily’s head was fully furnished, but her soul remained bruised. Whatever, the Lancashire air seemed to suit her, and Babs would pray for a good outcome.
‘No good clothes, babe,’ Lily shouted up the stairs. ‘And put a mop and bucket in the van, will you? Sewing kit as well – you never know.’
‘Well, bugger me.’ Enid looked up at her son as he walked in with her lunch. ‘Did you see that carry-on outside? Bloody disgrace, I call it.’
He made no reply except to tell her what was on the plate. ‘Bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich, and one of Philly’s fruit tarts.’
Enid glanced at the ceiling. ‘So you saw nowt?’
‘Nothing worth writing home about, Mother dear.’
The old woman picked up her binoculars. If only she could lip-read, she’d have a much fuller story. ‘Five minutes, she’s been moved up here from wherever, that Babs one. And there she was, bold as brass, sat on a bench with a man. Hard-faced in my book.’
She never read books. Dave had noticed the couple, and had smiled. Little Babs and her lovely daughter were pleasant additions to Fullers Walk. He hoped they might help bring Lily Latimer out of her shell, because she’d looked very down in the dumps since arriving in the north. ‘Were they actually fornicating, Mam?’
Enid blinked. Her son didn’t use such words. Her son did as he was told, though he’d stepped just a whisker out of line lately. ‘No. But she was throwing herself at him. Acting like a tart if you ask me.’
Dave didn’t ask. He poured her tea. She moved to the dining table, groaning with each step, because melegs hurt today. He sat down opposite her, placed his elbows on the table, and rested his chin in his hands. ‘You know, Mam, I’ve had just about enough of you.’
She paused, sandwich suspended in mid-air. Shocked, she could not manage to put her tongue in gear.
But Dave didn’t stop. ‘When I was a kid, you had man after man in your bed. I heard it all and saw too much for a lad of tender years. Money changed hands. Did my father pay? Did he?’
The sandwich dropped onto the table, spilling tomato seeds and shredded lettuce all over the cloth.
‘And you sit here, day in, day out, making nasty remarks about folk who are just going about their business. She’s not a whore. She’s just a young woman, possibly a widow with a child, and she’s looking for friendship – even for love. But there’ll be no money left behind a clock for her. Because she’s something you’ll never be, and that’s decent.’
The silence that followed was weighty. Enid clutched at her thin chest, a small groan emerging from thin, pale lips.
‘You hit me repeatedly. You used me as a servant and you locked me in a cupboard. These days, I could go and report you to the police, but things were different when I was a kid. You are a nasty piece of work, madam. I don’t care what you do – I’m not staying here. You can rot, for all I care.’
Enid closed her eyes. She didn’t remember the past in quite the same way. She’d been firm, but . . . ‘You hate me, don’t you?’
‘I don’t like you. I despise you for what you are, and most of this village feels the same way. You’re my mother, and I’ve tried to look after you, but I’ve had more than my fill. So.’ He picked up the tra
y on which he had carried up her lunch. ‘So, I am moving out.’
Her eyes flew open. ‘You’ve nowhere to go.’
Dave smiled grimly. ‘Don’t fool yourself, old woman. Everybody round here knows what I have to put up with. There are plenty of spare beds in Eagleton. Someone will take me in, because they understand. They remember how you were downstairs, so they’re on my side. You’d better get yourself a new slave, because this one’s escaping.’
‘Over my dead body,’ Enid spat.
‘That can be arranged,’ he replied before leaving the flat. On the stairs, he paused for thought. What had happened lately to push him so near the edge? Why was he suddenly strong? Or perhaps strength was something he had lost, an element he used to employ during the years when he had tolerated her. Had his skin been worn so thin that his feelings had begun to show? And where was he going to sleep tonight?
Downstairs, three people were arguing over the computer, while a couple sat at one of the far tables doing the Telegraph crossword. Philly was brewing a new pot of tea. He beckoned, and she followed him though to the shop.
‘You don’t look right,’ she told him.
‘I’m not right.’ Dave inhaled deeply. ‘I’ve just told my mother to get lost.’
‘Oh.’
‘My feelings exactly. I’ve got to get out of here, Phil. Do you think people would talk if you took in a male lodger?’
She snapped her jaw into the closed position. ‘Erm . . . Father Walsh might want the spare room when the presbytery’s sold.’
He nodded. ‘And he’s a man. But he won’t need you, because Lily’s giving him some rooms in the house – that’ll save him being disturbed.’
‘Oh,’ she repeated.
‘I won’t beg,’ he said. ‘But I need somewhere. Tonight, if possible.’
Philly organized her thoughts. He was a nice man, but she had never shared a bathroom with a male. It could be embarrassing, because she often spent evenings wearing pyjamas and dressing gown . . . ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Just till you find somewhere a bit more permanent.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘Doesn’t she own half of the business?’
Dave nodded. ‘Without it, she’d have only a small pension to live on. Anyway, there’s a plot on.’ He told Philly about Valda’s mother-in-law. ‘She’s coming to see her soon, so they may get on OK and live together.’
‘Shall I make you a brew?’ she asked.
‘Please.’ He watched her as she walked away. There was something different about Philomena Gallagher these days – what was it? Ah yes, it was her hair. It had been cut and it shone like silk. He had better behave himself. He needed to be a model lodger.
The business of acquiring the presbytery proved to be fairly plain sailing. There were a few problems, including aged rainwater goods, a chimney that needed stabilizing and a couple of patches of damp. But the house was in good condition for its age, and Lily enjoyed measuring and planning and imagining her future. The garden was the biggest attraction, as it seemed to go on for ever, and she was always finding nooks and tables, sundials, broken benches, and paths that led nowhere in particular.
She was sitting nowhere in particular when she had her next encounter with the priest who would soon become a sitting tenant.
‘Who’s minding the shop?’ he asked.
Lily jumped. ‘For goodness’ sake, you’ll give someone a heart attack creeping about like that. Babs is minding the business, while Cassie’s in the Reading Room with Philly Gallagher. She’s teaching her to read.’
‘Good,’ he said, dropping to the ground beside her. ‘It’s time Philly had a few lessons. I’m fed up with her singing all the wrong words.’
Lily awarded him a glance designed to wither. ‘I love this place. It reminds me of that children’s story – The Secret Garden. Every time I come, I find another surprise.’
‘So do I,’ he answered ruefully. ‘I think I sat on a nettle.’
Another withering glance crossed the small space between them. ‘Put some purple stuff on it and call yourself Bugs.’ At least there was no wildlife involved this time, no danger of staining her new cream blouse with gentian violet.
She had humour, then. She was different here. It was as if the main road separated one Lily from the other, and she relaxed in the wildness behind the house. Even in repose, a slight smile betrayed a deep contentment. This place would be loved and cared for. ‘I’ll help you with the garden,’ he said.
‘Just tidying,’ she ordered. ‘Don’t change a thing. I love the wildness. My grandparents had a farm. Mixed arable and stock – it was great.’ She paused. ‘My grandpa worked like a dog, saved, speculated, owned bulls other farmers coveted to the point of sinfulness. It’s thanks to him that I can take your home from under you, Mr Priest.’
‘And did the farm have a wild bit for you?’
‘It did.’
At last, the smile was completely real. In that moment, her expression was not pinned in place, was not a garment stuck on to cover nakedness. The woman loved the land, loved nature, loved Babs’s child. He’d watched her trying not to interfere, had known that she was fighting her feelings for Cassie. What on earth had happened?
‘I had a secret garden,’ she told him. ‘It was walled, and only Grandpa and I had keys. Oh, that was a magic place. In the summer, I would read in there. No one ever found me. I expect they knew where I was, because no one was allowed to worry. He thought worry was a sin of self-indulgence.’
‘He had faith?’
‘Meeting house. He was Quaker, but not rigid. There was no standing barefoot on cold kitchen floors for morning prayers in winter.’ Again, she smiled. ‘My friend Josie told me that her gran’s teeth were set in ice on the windowsill, yet they had to stand and pray before breakfast, even on the most vicious of days. No shoes allowed. The fire couldn’t be lit until prayers were over. No, my grandfather was brilliant. I would have been named Charity or Sarah had he been a dictator, but he allowed my mother to name me Leanne.’ She stopped. ‘Lily is my second name.’
‘Ah. You have a lot of ells in there. Leanne Lily Latimer.’
‘Bloody ’ell,’ she answered. Then she giggled.
Michael studied her. The giggle was slightly rusty, as if it needed oil after long neglect. ‘You should laugh more often,’ he advised. ‘You’re very pretty when you laugh.’
Something touched Lily’s spine. It wasn’t real, wasn’t visible, yet she felt a cold finger at the small of her back. ‘Pretty can be a curse,’ she said softly.
‘Ready to talk?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘When you are . . .’
‘Yes. If I am ever ready, I’ll let you know.’
Philly burst through the bushes, Cassie in her arms. ‘Lily,’ she cried. Then she noticed the priest. ‘Oh. Sorry, Father. I didn’t know you’d be here – I thought Lily was measuring.’
‘I am,’ answered Lily. ‘I’m measuring how peaceful the garden is.’
An expression of confusion sat on Philly’s face. ‘Stay, please,’ she begged when Michael stood up. ‘He’s asked me again.’
Lily turned to her male companion. ‘Philly’s been babysitting for Babs, so we’ve come to know each other. Dave Barker’s walked out on that cantankerous mother of his, and he’s asked to move in with Philly.’
He smiled. ‘Is that all? I’d have done the same if you hadn’t offered me a few rooms here. What’s the matter?’ Philly and Lily. Rhyming names, two very different women. ‘Philly, for goodness’ sake—’
‘He’s a man,’ she cried, cheeks burning. ‘And I’m a woman.’
‘She’s right so far,’ Lily said. ‘You can’t deny any of the above, Father.’
Michael laughed. ‘You’re worried about what people will think? Honi soit qui mal y pense. That means shame on those who think evil of others. Dave Barker is one of the most decent men I know. He’s survived a harridan of a mother by all accounts, though it’s rather unchristian of me to judge her. Ther
e’s no harm in him. And you know he loves your cooking.’
Philly’s face continued pink. ‘I never lived with a man.’
‘Your dad?’ he asked.
‘Don’t remember him. He died when I was small. Oh, Lily—’
‘Just take one day at a time,’ Lily advised. ‘That’s what I do.’ She stood, scooped up the child and went off to demonstrate the wonders of her garden.
‘Father?’
‘What, Philly?’
‘They will talk. And I’m not used to that, not ready for it.’
Michael placed a hand on her head and blessed her. ‘Go in the love of Christ and live your life. Take no notice of gossip, I beg you.’ He walked back to the house.
Philly sat and pondered. They were right – Dave was a nice man, and he deserved a chance away from his cruel and thoughtless mother. It would be all right. She would make sure that it would be all right.
Maurice was trying not to listen to Paul. As usual, the man was indulging in gossip, and he seemed to be developing a tongue far sharper than Enid Barker’s was reputed to be.
‘Worms always turn,’ Paul announced to his captive audience, a woman from the south end of the village. ‘I said to Mo – didn’t I, Mo? I said she had it coming. Anyway, he no more than ups and offs and moves in with Philomena Gallagher, the holiest Roman in history.’
Maurice gave no answer to Flapgob – his nickname for Paul. Many gays were total bitches – Mo had met enough of those on the cabaret circuit – but Paul was in a class all his own. ‘Do you want a spray of lacquer?’ Mo asked his customer. The answer arrived in the affirmative and, as he sprayed, Mo wished the mist could be directed into the face of his partner.
‘No backbone, some men,’ continued Paul. ‘Should have gone years since. No way would I have stayed. These high-and-low lights need doing again if you’re going to keep up with them, so shall I book you in?’
Mo knew he would have to do something about Paul very soon. As senior partner, Mo had the final say, but Paul, being a gobby type, always seemed to hack into discussion and get his own way. It would soon be time to terminate Paul’s contract. Sally was a dream, but she wasn’t a hairdresser, and there was enough work for two stylists. Where would he find a replacement?
The Reading Room Page 7
