‘Shut up.’
Pam closed her mouth in a grim line and shoved Andrew’s note under her friend’s clenched fist. ‘Semper fidelis,’ she muttered between gritted teeth. Then she stopped gritting her teeth. ‘Please your bloody self, Mary, but like I said before, he’s gorgeous. And that semper fidelis bit translates to always faithful, which means he’s slowed down, cos he’s had a few nurses according to Joan. That would be part of his training, I suppose, part of getting ready for the real thing. You.’ She left the room, vase of roses held at arm’s length.
Mary blinked stupidly. These things didn’t happen except in films, daft books or women’s magazines. Nobody real met somebody real for the second time and declared undying love with an implicit proposal of marriage mixed in with other unstable ingredients like foolhardiness and hot-headedness. Her mouth felt bruised and lonely. Well, the lips had each other, so they’d have to be satisfied. He was a brilliant kisser, not invasive, not yet.
She jumped up. Not yet? Not yet implied a future, and there couldn’t be a future. She felt dizzy. Postural hypotension, shock, idiocy? Or a mixture of all the above? Fresh air. She let herself out via the back door and strolled up the side of the house. Hell’s bells and buckets of blood, there he sat in his car, head resting on the upper curve of the steering wheel. She stepped back into shade, peering through a balding part of the privet hedge. The man was one hundred per cent incredible. He was mad, absolutely crackers.
Was he intending to spend the night here? Oh, heck. Was he preparing to become a liability? She strode out to the pavement and knocked on his windscreen. His hair was tousled. He looked like a gigantic five-year-old who’d just tumbled out of bed.
He opened the passenger door. ‘Sit,’ he said.
‘Woof,’ she replied before climbing in beside him. ‘You must go,’ she advised him. ‘A few ladies of the night have started to pick up trade along here, and you might be mistaken for a kerb-crawler.’
‘And you might be mistaken for one of those ladies.’
They sat in silence for a few beats of time. Then he picked up her hand and began to kiss it. Mary tried to ignore the shivers that crept up her arm. ‘Please try to behave yourself, Andrew. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Stop acting like a teenager.’
‘And a half.’
‘What?’
‘Twenty-two and a half. So I’m almost grown up. I’ll go home now so that Mummy can put me to bed. I live in Rodney Street, by the way. And I want you to have my babies. Off you go, sweetest girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She climbed out of the car and watched him drive away. He was funny, intelligent, mercurial, as mad as a hatter and absolutely adorable. He was also in reverse. ‘Come home with me,’ he begged after slewing to a halt. ‘My kitchen’s better than yours.’
‘So it should be, Mr Sanderson.’
‘I have dolly mixtures.’
‘Tempting.’
‘Custard creams? Oh, and a friend named George. Rather thin, and not much to say, but he knows his place. We won’t be disturbed.’
‘Go home, Andrew.’
‘Or he can join in if you’d prefer.’
‘Bugger off, you mad clown.’
‘Can I press you to a jelly? With custard?’
It was in this, the silliest of instants, that she felt truly alive. She had met her other half, and she would never escape him. What was more, she didn’t want to escape, because he was her heart’s home.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Emily asked. Her son with a cylinder vacuum cleaner made an unusual picture.
‘I’m cleaning my flat,’ he answered. ‘I’ve done the one in Dad’s house.’
She was stunned. For years, he’d changed his address every time his rooms got out of order, since he had no time for cleaning. ‘Why?’ she asked.
‘I’m bringing a visitor. Her name’s Mary Collins, and I have plans for her.’
Emily folded her arms. ‘You’re about to seduce a young woman under my roof?’
He put down his burden. ‘Something like that, though my intentions in the long term are honourable. She’s the most beautiful girl ever, so you have been shifted, sine prejudice, to second place.’
She blinked. ‘Isn’t all this rather sudden, darling?’
‘Compared to what?’
Emily shook her head. ‘Don’t nitpick, Andrew. When is she coming?’
He sat on the stairs. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t told her yet that she’s coming.’
‘Shouldn’t that be asked, or invited?’
‘No. I’m training her to do as she’s told. I believe in starting the way I mean to go on. She’ll walk in my shadow, have too many children, make excellent meals, and be decorative at all times.’ He glared at his mother. She was doubled over in laughter. No one took him seriously. Ever.
‘But first,’ he continued determinedly, ‘I have to strip her of one dark sapphire and two diamonds.’
‘She’s engaged?’
‘A detail,’ he said. ‘It’s like . . . well, I think it’s a bit like you and Geoff. It overrides every sensible cell in my skull, Mother. You and he should understand what I mean.’
Emily sat next to her son on the wide staircase. ‘Tell me about her.’
‘I warn you, this is my best subject pro tem. She’s tiny, probably a couple of inches over five feet in height, shapely, with dark hair and eyes the colour of mine. Good skin, perfect bone structure, excellent legs, amazing ankles, straight teeth, full lips, beautiful smile and a—’
‘Tell me about the contents, not the box.’
‘Ah. Well I picked her up – literally – outside the Cavern to prevent her death by stampede. We went for coffee and stared at each other while pretending not to. And we just knew. She’s a nurse at the Women’s, where she’s much appreciated. Top marks in all her exams, cheeky, opinionated and has a tendency to tell me to bugger off.’
‘I like her already,’ Emily said.
‘Thought you might. Where are you going?’
‘To clean your rooms. I can’t have my daughter-in-law seeing the flat in its current state. Oh, and one more thing.’
‘Yes, Mother?’
‘When you clean a room, it’s not just about the floor.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘Are you mocking me, Andrew?’
‘Ye— I mean no, Mother.’ He went off to practise the Grieg in A Minor, a particularly difficult piece for piano. He was to be backed by music students, plus several members of the Liverpool Philharmonic, one of the oldest orchestras on earth. But that didn’t account for his nerves. She did. Little Miss Bugger-off with her cheeky grin and lustrous hair.
The day flew, as is the way when a person is nervous about evening. He hoped he could cover his mistakes, hoped she wouldn’t laugh at him in his black tie and tails, hoped she would come, wished she wasn’t coming. As the final performer, he took advantage and left his silly suit in the dressing room. After placing his three parents in the front row, he slammed a Reserved sign between Dad and Mother. ‘I’ll bring her to you,’ he said.
‘Bring who?’ Joe asked, but his son had disappeared, so Joe got the story from Emily.
Andrew stood outside the door of the Philharmonic Hall. The charitable arrived in their droves, and he decided that everyone was far too tall. She could be lost somewhere in the middle, and he might have to do another Mathew Street job so that she wouldn’t get trampled.
But no. Here she came, taller in high-heeled shoes and more beautiful than ever. Under a brown jacket, she wore a simple linen dress in a warm, creamy shade. He went to meet her. ‘Come with me, miss. I’ve reserved your place.’ And he led her by the hand to the front, where he reclaimed his sign before introducing her to his three parents and leaving Mother to explain.
His nightmare began. He heard laughter, cheering and applause, and began to doubt his ability because he didn’t practise regularly. Was he good enough to provide a dec
ent finale? Why hadn’t he chosen something simpler? Why hadn’t Grieg made the piece easier to play?
The orchestra clattered into place before beginning their tune-up. They needn’t have bothered, because he felt completely out of tune with himself. The MC delivered his two penn’orth, introducing a young man who had refused a place at the Royal School in order to attend Liverpool University’s Faculty of Medicine.
Then some evil swine pushed him, and he was on stage, black tie and tails, with a monstrous full grand staring at him. Ebony and ivory; he felt sick. He sat, flicking out the appendages on his coat, trying to look professional, since he had no chance of sounding in the least way adept.
The conductor raised his baton. When Andrew struck those early, dramatic chords, Mary grabbed Emily’s hand. This beautiful, clever creature at the piano was hers for the taking. The music hurt, but she didn’t know she was weeping, didn’t realize that she was squeezing the life out of his mother’s fingers.
Emily looked down at the tiny, powerful left hand. The ring had gone, though a line of white flesh betrayed its existence. Of course, Mary had arrived not knowing that this splendid boy could have been a concert pianist rather than a doctor. She noticed that during his pauses when the orchestra played, Andrew was gazing in Mary’s direction. The auditorium was dark, and he was spotlit, so his chances of noticing details like tears were few, thank goodness.
Edvard Grieg’s final triumph poured its majesty into the hall. As one man, the audience rose to its feet, applause threatening to shatter the whole place. The small orchestra took a bow, Andrew took another and another before urging his colleagues to stand once more.
The wags were in from medical school. ‘Go, Andy,’ and ‘Encore, encore.’
So he sat and played for her the most beautiful piece he knew, one he had played since childhood. The orchestra sat back, as they were not needed. His delivery of ‘Für Elise’ was faultless and moving. Again, they rose and shouted for more, but he bowed, left the stage, and returned with two bunches of red roses. ‘For the two women in my life.’
The lights went up. Emily collected the flowers, as Mary was now in floods. ‘You made her cry,’ she told her son, mouthing the words over yet more applause.
The auditorium began to empty. Small groups of friends and relatives waited for performers to appear, but the majority of the audience left. Andrew dashed in, still dressed à la penguin, as he described his attire. He picked Mary up and carried her to the outer door. ‘I must break this habit,’ he told her. ‘If you gain weight, I shall get a hernia. Tears now. From how many more situations must I rescue you? Where are your roses?’
‘Your mother has them.’
‘Good. That’s a bit less weight for me to carry.’
He was lovely. She kissed him on the cheek.
‘Right.’ He placed her in the passenger seat of his car. ‘We’re going for a light supper. At my mother’s house. And I didn’t mean to make you cry. As a matter of fact, Grieg and Beethoven did it. I was just their carrier pigeon.’
‘You’re good.’
‘I know.’ He winked. She remembered the wink. It meant he wanted sex. Well, she thought it might mean he wanted sex. She didn’t know him, but if he was as good at sex as he was at the piano . . .
He climbed in and started the car.
‘Andrew?’
‘What?’
‘You should be a concert pianist.’
‘Are you saying I’ll be a poor doctor?’
‘No.’
He explained that concert pianists travelled all over the world, and he didn’t want that. He wanted a wife, children, a nice house and a good job. ‘I like bones,’ he explained. ‘The human skeleton beats the Sistine Chapel as a work of art. I shall probably be a sawbones because of my history in carpentry.’
‘Is there anything you can’t do?’
He thought about that one. ‘Fly,’ he said. ‘I can’t fly.’
Mary laughed. Where had he been all her life? And she was so happy to have missed seeing the Beatles. John Lennon, Paul McCartney – who the hell were they? She should write and thank them for having fans insane enough to perform in a rodeo without wild animals. ‘Have you always played the piano?’
‘Well, never while asleep. But I think I played every day until I left school. These days, I don’t practise enough.’
‘You were wonderful.’
‘Thank you. I must give you a sample of my other talents. But I was terrified, mostly because you would be there. I wanted you to come, and wanted you to stay away in case I made a mess of the music.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘I know, but I was still scared.’
He wasn’t the type to make a mess, Mary thought. The man probably knew his limits and would leave alone things that didn’t suit or interest him. Rugby, soccer and motorbikes were unlikely to be his scene – too many broken bones. ‘I took the ring off.’
‘I noticed.’
‘Do you ever miss anything?’
‘Meals,’ was his swift reply. ‘And when my glucose level plummets, I’m a monster.’ He pulled up outside his mother’s house. ‘Gladstone was born over the road there. Queen Victoria hated him, said he talked to her as if addressing a public meeting. The Stanley who said, “Dr Livingstone, I presume?” was from Rodney Street. But shall we save the education and questions and answers until later? I have a comfortable double bed.’
But Mary had decided that this was going to be a serious relationship, and should be treated as such. ‘I have to tell John first. And he won’t be home till next month. I’m sorry, but that’s the way I am.’
Andrew already knew the way she was. Decent, honourable, amusing, beautiful and his. He could wait. It wouldn’t be easy, but he’d do it.
The light supper was very civilized for such an eccentric household. Mrs Sanderson fed both her husbands while they chatted together about kitchens and infantile diabetes. Andrew, sitting opposite her, was not civilized. He removed a shoe and ran his foot up and down her legs. ‘Stop it,’ she said.
‘What’s he doing?’ Joe asked.
‘He’s getting familiar under the table.’
Joe clouted his son rather gently across his head. ‘Can’t hit him any harder, love,’ he said. ‘Brain’s scrambled enough as it is.’
Geoff studied his stepson. ‘You always have to push it too far, don’t you, Andrew?’ He turned to Mary. ‘His skeleton, George, gets put to bed every night. Andrew says standing up all the time is too stressful for the joints.’
Mary tried not to choke on her sandwich. No wonder her beloved-in-waiting was mad. The whole crowd was mad.
Emily sighed. ‘All I wanted was the ordinary life.’
Mary laughed. ‘Be grateful. The ordinary life can be tedious.’ He was doing the foot-on-the-leg thing again. She awarded him one of her collection of dirty looks, but it didn’t work. Nothing worked. Nothing would ever work, though there would be no inequality, not with this man. Underneath the brashness, a gentle soul resided.
The phone rang, and Emily went to answer it. When she returned, her face was grey, and she held out her arms to Joseph, the rejected husband turned best friend. He stood and walked into the offered embrace.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ Emily said. ‘That was Betsy’s sister. Betsy had a stroke while out shopping. She didn’t make it, Joseph.’
Geoff joined them, and all three clung together.
‘Daisy,’ Joe sobbed. ‘What will happen to her now, Em?’
‘I don’t care what we have to do,’ Geoff said. ‘We’ll see she’s catered for, Joe. Daisy belongs to all of us now.’
The foot-on-the-leg business stopped. A lone tear crawled down Andrew’s cheek. ‘My half-sister,’ he explained to Mary. ‘She needs constant care.’
So Mary and Andrew were left alone in the huge house while the others went to St Helens. He told her about Dad and how he had hated him. He told her about Marty Liptrott’s suicide and the part he felt he had
played in it. ‘I was so damned rude and arrogant, Mary. He hanged himself, and the house set on fire because he’d left the chip pan bubbling away. Drunk, of course, but still a grieving human being.’
‘So your mother found someone else because of your dad playing away?’
He shook his head sadly. ‘No, nothing like that. Mother was assistant almoner at Bolton Royal. She and Geoff were like you and me – an accident. It was hard for me to understand the dynamics of their situation, because at first Dad was angry with Geoff. But it’s impossible to stay angry with Geoff; he’s such a genuine, decent bloke. And Mother never stopped loving Dad, but their relationship had shifted towards brother and sister before Geoff appeared. Now, they’re a family.’ He shrugged. ‘I have two dads. I also have a handicapped half-sister who must be looked after. God, life can be hard.’
She took his hand. ‘I’m here for you, Andrew.’
He told her about Mother’s history, the marrying for land plan, her escape, her swift marriage to Dad, who had no land and no family. This ran into the plot he had concocted, his meeting with the grandparents, their joy at being reconciled with their daughter. ‘And they all lived happily ever after,’ he concluded. ‘But it’s no fairy tale, Mary. Life still happens, as does death. Poor Betsy, poor Daisy. She is the most incredibly beautiful girl who walks and grunts, but she can’t look after herself, of course. Betsy dedicated her whole life to her daughter, and I’m not surprised about the stroke, because she had a difficult time of it. Dad always took care of them financially, which was all he could do, really.’
‘And I thought life down Scotland Road was stressful. Mam and Dad won a few bob on the pools and buggered off to Cornwall last year. They’d moved to Kirkby, and they were all right, but they love Cornwall. It’s a tiny stone cottage in the countryside, just a few miles from the sea. They’re happy, though they miss their kids. Six of us in a two-bedroom flat above the shop. Mam and Dad slept in the living room so that the girls could have one bedroom, while the boys had the other. Pam lived a few doors along in the flat above another shop. She’s the one who put you in the kitchen. My best friend, is Pam.’
A Liverpool Song Page 27
