Daughters of Penny Lane

by Ruth Hamilton

  Nellie nodded, a smile plastered across her homely face. ‘All right, boss.’ She tutted. ‘Who’s the oldest?’

  ‘I am, love. By about a thousand years. It’s something to do with my otherness.’

  Nellie chuckled. ‘My Martin’s back, our kid.’

  ‘He was always planning to come back, Nell. He wanted you to get rid of Muth, but you just wouldn’t, so he’s done it for you.’

  The older woman’s grin faded. ‘She’ll be on her own.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘She’s never been on her own.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You have to stop saying, “I know”.’

  ‘I know.’

  Nellie slapped her little sister’s hand. ‘Let’s leave the washing up till afterwards and find a pattern. I need to look nice for me feller.’

  ‘I . . . won’t say I know. And you’ll look nice for yourself, Nellie. That’s the law.’

  Three

  Marie and Nigel Stanton lived in blissful chaos, in Waterloo, in a large mock Tudor house and in abiding love. When out shopping together they still held hands like the pair of teenagers they’d been over thirty years ago, and they didn’t give a damn about what people thought of them. Nigel’s oft-stated opinion was that he didn’t see the point in growing up, since adulthood brought little but worry about bills, about the state of an unforgiving world and about run-over dogs and their chances of survival in his busy surgery. Although a vet, like a doctor, needed to distance himself from his patients for the sake of sanity, he didn’t always achieve that sensible goal, and his wife loved him all the more for his attachment to animals, since she, too, was a lover of most creatures, though she wasn’t terribly keen on llamas. For this attitude, she had good reason.

  Marie was the second of Elsie Stewart’s seven long-suffering daughters and, at the age of fifty-one, had long abandoned the idea of motherhood. In order to lavish her surfeit of maternal affection on living, warm-blooded creatures, she had filled her enormous home with animals. Dogs, cats, birds and rodents shared space amicably, since she insisted on entente cordiale. Anyone not cooperating got the message after being stuck in isolation for a day, and Marie took joy from watching birds preening cats, rats playing with dogs and rabbits cuddling kittens. This was the perfect life.

  Many arrived too ill to fight, and incapacity made them accept the strange mix contained in the house known as Chesterfields. Marie Stanton welcomed them with open arms, an open mind, and a strong, loving heart. The only one she couldn’t say she loved was Larry the llama; she simply understood his attitude to humankind, which species he seemed to find wanting in many areas.

  Nigel Stanton, the vet who had offered to put down his wife’s mother, conspired with his beloved spouse to save the young, the weak, the elderly and the neglected in Chesterfields, which was one of the few houses in Liverpool North to have acreage. Young, weak, elderly and neglected were terms that described most comers, but Elsie Stewart, though old, was banned from the list (though Nigel had offered, out of the goodness of his heart, to stable her with Larry, whose manners were questionable).

  The Stantons sheltered instead of Muth a homeless Irishman in a large, heated and weatherproofed shed, kept him fed and watered like the rest of their rescued creatures, and allowed him one bottle of Irish whiskey per week. In return, he helped with the animals and cheered up the household with his attitude, which spanned amusing to curmudgeonly with many tram stops along the way. A dyed-in-the-wool itinerant, Tommy finally settled into the comparative luxury of his shed, from the vantage point of which he kept a weather eye on the outdoor animals. The war between him and Larry seemed to be permanently stuck like a game of tennis between two players of equal aptitude; it went from deuce to advantage back to deuce, and there was seldom a clear winner.

  The day Larry the llama staked his claim on the house would be emblazoned forever across Marie Stanton’s mind. Tombstone Tommy, the rescued Irishman, was hot on the animal’s heels, and his language was interesting. The gist of the intelligence he delivered was that the llama was evil, a sneak, and had been spitting liberally at anything that moved, as well as some stationary items. He and Larry burst into the hall, and Marie was left in the kitchen with her mouth hanging open. Oh, to be in Africa, she mused. At an edge of the Serengeti from which orphaned lion cubs were plucked after watching the murder of their mothers. That was her dream, and her husband shared it. ‘One day,’ she whispered. When Nigel retired, they would be off to the greatest place on the earth, and Tommy, or someone of his ilk, would work here.

  Nigel, currently operating on a beagle in the South Road surgery, was unavailable, so just Marie and Tommy were in charge, though Larry seemed to have other ideas when it came to management. With that arrogance etched into the face of every member of the camel family, he looked down on the two humans who were trying to control him. They really had no idea at all when it came to the negotiation of terms.

  Within seconds, every creature whose proper place was inside the house dashed past Marie and made for the back garden and the stables. Tombstone Tommy returned. Clearly out of sorts, he was breathing hard through his mouth, allowing a grand display of the items that had won him the nickname. Just two teeth remained in his lower jaw; they were stained by tobacco, spaced well apart, and represented small imitations of graveyard stonemasonry. ‘He’s in the glass room,’ he panted, referring to the conservatory, ‘and he’s in a mood similar to Hitler’s, so he is, always spits on me when he’s the wrong side of hell’s doorway. God damn him, that bloody animal will be the death of me, I swear.’

  ‘I know you swear – I heard you. Leave him to calm down, Tommy.’

  ‘Calm down? That thing is a bloody lunatic, missus. I’ve seen better behaviour from a gathering of men filled to busting on Uncle Michael’s poteen.’

  ‘I know.’ Marie sighed. ‘He ate my best blouse. Parachute silk, with some lovely pleating. Our Alice made it for me. But Nigel won’t let Larry end up in a zoo or a circus. I’ll go and try to get him in a better mood.’

  ‘A better mood? He’s in the son of Satan himself, and I think––’

  ‘Tommy, wait here.’

  When she reached the conservatory, she marched past the recalcitrant ruminant; eye contact might have made him worse, so she simply threw open the glass doors, stood back, and waited for him to leave. The animal stalked towards her, pausing for a moment so that this inferior two-legged creature might know its place, then left the house with his head held high. He was in charge, and they would have to live with that fact.

  Everything outside that should be inside ran into the conservatory because Larry was on the loose. Marie sighed heavily. Her husband would deal with Larry when he got home from his emergency. Nigel suffered many emergencies, including the two current residents of the laundry room. Marie grinned. They were the lucky ones, God bless them. She closed the doors and did a quick headcount – yes, five cats and seven dogs, all present and correct, if slightly disturbed by a loony llama. They all scattered to beds that lined the conservatory walls.

  Tommy was back. ‘I wonder what llama tastes like? A few roast spuds, some parsnips, plenty of gravy . . . and stuffing. Ah yes, we should be sure and have him stuffed, so. If we froze the meat, we’d get many a Sunday dinner out of that fellow, so we would.’

  ‘Stop it,’ she giggled. ‘We shall never know the answer to that one, because we’re not going to eat him.’

  ‘But missus – doesn’t himself threaten to turn Larry into sausages?’

  ‘My husband says a lot of things he doesn’t mean. I’ve been trying to work him out for well over thirty years, so don’t you bother – it’s a waste of time.’

  Tommy grinned broadly. ‘Are we fit for the job, then, Mrs Stanton?’

  ‘We’re as fit as we’re ever going to be, Tommy. Let’s get them fed.’ She picked up the necessities, including a key, and led the way to the locked laundry room.

  Within seconds, each human held a li
on cub. Rejected by their very young mother, the babies had been brought home by Nigel, who was one of the vets used by Chester Zoo. Once the lioness had been sedated, Nigel had entered the enclosure to rescue the unwanted twins. Falling in love with the cubs had been easy; the idea of saying goodbye to them hurt. ‘They’re like our children, but,’ Tommy murmured. ‘It’ll be like letting go of our own the day we have to lose them.’

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ Marie advised. ‘You know Nigel’s made up his mind, and he’s right. They deserve a chance to live where they belong, on the Serengeti. They’re lions, and they must be allowed to be lions – not pets. You know how Nigel feels about zoos, even though he works in one.’

  Marie’s husband had agreed to nurse and nurture these two, but they would not return to Chester; Hercules and Jason had their future mapped out. As soon as they could feed themselves, they would be shifted to a reserve on Jersey to mix with others of their kind before being shipped to specialists in Africa. They were going to be free. Suckling on very large bottles with very large teats, each animal kneaded the chest of its human as if encouraging the arrival of mother’s milk. They were hungry and beautiful, and parting would not be sweet sorrow, Mr Shakespeare.

  Tommy and Marie grinned at each other. ‘Let’s hope they learn what they need to know in order to survive,’ she whispered.

  ‘They will,’ Tommy replied. ‘There’s wisdom born in them. Ah, they’re beautiful, so. I hope no English aristocrat fires his gun at them.’

  When feeding was done, the mistress of Chesterfields opened an outer door so that the babies could play in their run, which was sealed off from the rest of the property. Standing side by side, she and Tommy watched them. They had old tyres, some very solid rubber balls and an ancient blanket that was now in several pieces. They tripped repeatedly over their own disproportionately huge feet, waging war about bits of blanket and ownership of other toys, snarling and purring all the time. ‘I love them,’ Marie whispered. ‘So beautiful.’

  ‘And so do I, missus. Remember that first night? Me asleep on a cot on the landing, you and mister taking turns with me for the feeding?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, and all that linoleum spread out to save the carpet.’

  ‘Didn’t work.’ Tommy grinned. ‘How to wreck a house in one night, eh?’

  Noises off began to reach their ears. ‘Marie? Nigel? Where are you?’

  ‘Stay with these two, Tommy. I think we’re being invaded.’

  She dashed through the house. In the hall stood Alice and Nellie. Both spoke at once. Used to disentangling messages from several sisters at a time, Marie gathered that Martin was back, and that Muth had been shown the door on Smithdown Road. Alice was living back on Penny Lane, and Martin was outside helping Dan with his crutches.

  As if on cue, the two men entered the house.

  ‘Here they come,’ Alice announced unnecessarily. ‘We’re calling them the crippled and the cruel. Martin’s the cruel one, because he threw Muth out today.’

  Marie clapped her hands in applause. ‘Well done, Martin. She’d better not come knocking here. I’m so glad you’re back – we’ve all missed you.’

  Nellie was worried. ‘Where will she live, though? I know she’s a nasty piece of work, but she shouldn’t be homeless at her age.’

  Marie’s lips tightened. ‘Dan, I’m happy to see you home with Alice where you belong.’ She didn’t want to think about Elsie Stewart, not even for a split second. The woman was a miserable old mare – no, that wasn’t true, because a mare would have been given a home here. Muth was a demon.

  ‘Nellie’s right, though,’ Alice said. ‘If Muth’s out there in all weathers, we’ll be the worst in the world when she gets ill or something. You can just imagine the jangling in the shops and down the bagwash about us leaving a woman in her seventies to die of the pneumonia.’

  Martin lowered Dan onto a monks’ bench. ‘She made Nell’s life a misery,’ he almost snarled. ‘What was I supposed to do? Our daughters are God alone knows where, and I’m told we have grandsons.’ He held up a hand against Marie’s joyful exclamations. ‘Don’t get all executed,’ he begged. ‘I’ve enough on with my Nell. If Elsie had demonstrated the slightest improvement in attitude, I would have kept her on in the shop and found her lodgings nearby, but she showed no symptoms of humanity. I’m sorry, but there it is,’ he said with a finality that precluded response.

  The ensuing heavy silence was broken by the clatter of claws on the parquet as Frank arrived. Even had he spoken English, he would have been unable to account for the previous five minutes of his life. He’d been chased by a thing. The thing was tall, nasty and four-legged. It spat. Breathing heavily, he sat among friends.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ Marie exclaimed. ‘So beautiful, he is.’

  Alice scowled at her. ‘You’re not having him.’

  Frank looked from sister to sister. What was the matter with them? Couldn’t they see he needed help? There was a thing outside that needed killing. It spat. It had a long neck and evil eyes, and no, he shouldn’t have worked hard to squeeze under the gate. But there’d been a scent, an exciting smell, not the reek of that article’s vomit.

  Marie and Alice dragged the reluctant boxer through the house to the animal bath, which was just off the laundry room. He stank of llama sick.

  The dog’s nose twitched excitedly. Before reaching the bathroom, Frank pulled both sisters into a right turn. The exciting scent was here! Shocked and rendered unsteady, Marie and Alice let the collar go, and Frank went off like a weapon from a crossbow. Tombstone Tommy was seated on the floor of the lion cubs’ outdoor run. Frank, slightly stained by llama vomit, leapt on the two babies. Using his nose, he rolled first one then the other over on the straw and sawdust covered floor. He then rolled himself, leaving behind most of the deposit donated by Larry.

  Tommy joined the sisters. ‘Would you ever take a look at that, now?’

  ‘The dog won’t manage them if he comes back in a few weeks,’ Marie said. ‘The cubs will be gigantic very soon.’

  Alice mopped her eyes. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she managed.

  Marie smiled. ‘And they know it.’

  A golden-and-white item with twelve legs wriggled about on the floor. It separated into three animals and began dashing round the run and the laundry room. ‘Chaos with a capital K,’ was Alice’s opinion. Marie delivered a quiet, ‘Bloody hell,’ while Tommy simply shook his head.

  Nellie hurried in. ‘There’s a thingy in the wotsname,’ she gabbled.

  ‘A what in the which?’ Marie wanted to know.

  But Nellie, having set eyes on the two cubs, was no longer with them. A lion was a lion whatever its size, and she flew back to the relative safety of the large hall. Changing her mind because the thingy remained in the wotsname, she backed into the kitchen and peeped out through a small gap in the slightly ajar door. ‘Our Marie’s got lions,’ she told the two men in a stage whisper. ‘Baby ones. The lions have got Frank.’

  Larry the llama, in the centre of the hall, turned his attention to Nellie. She was afraid of him. He hadn’t had this much fun since he’d got out at the front and frightened the milkman into dropping a full crate of bottles. That daft dog had been fun, too. Most dogs were fun when it came to chasing.

  ‘What is that s-animal?’ Dan asked. ‘A s-baby camel? And how have s-lions got hold of s-Frank? Alice will go crazy. She doesn’t like anything or anybody upsetting her Frank.’

  ‘Llama,’ Martin said. ‘Like a camel, but smaller. The lions will be cubs, Dan, don’t worry.’

  ‘It’s a s-bastard. I feel like a s-sitting duck here, can’t s-run away with crutches, can I? I’d like to see the s-lions. I want to s-hold a lion. How many times in s-life does a s-bloke get the chance to s-do that?’

  Nigel marched in through the open hall door. He glared at Larry. ‘Out,’ he snapped. ‘Go on, bugger off or you’ll be in next week’s meat pies. You’re looking well, Dan. Glad to see you’re back, Martin
. Clear off. Didn’t you hear me, mop head? Get lost. Piss off. Do a runner or you’re dead.’ He’d worked for hours on the poor beagle, and he needed this kind of trouble like he needed a knife in his back.

  The llama sauntered towards him. Knowing he didn’t dare spit at either of the truly in-charge humans, he decided to put a stop to the hunt. Nevertheless, he awarded Nigel a hard stare before leaving gracefully through the side door.

  Nigel followed the beast and called for help. ‘Martin? We must mend this gate.’

  ‘That’ll be s-Frank’s doing,’ Dan whispered as Martin left.

  A great deal of hammering and cursing ensued. Nellie came out of the kitchen to sit with Dan. ‘They’ve got lions,’ she murmured. ‘What the bloody hell are they doing with lions, Dan?’

  ‘Don’t worry, s-Nell. It’ll all be s-part of Nigel’s plan to save the s-wild. You know how much he loves s-Africa. They’ll be off again soon now the s-war’s over, saving young s-elephants and what have you. How s-big are these lions?’

  Nellie pondered. ‘You’re doing less essing now, Dan. Well done. The lions are smaller than your Frank, but there’s two of them. Feet like dinner plates, they have, and they snarl.’

  ‘Well, they would snarl, s-being lions. They must have s-no mother. Go and ask s-Nigel about them, eh? He’s outside with your Martin s-mending the gate. Frank must have broken it, and that’s how we got s-lumbered with the lunatic llama.’

  Nellie left.

  Inwardly, Dan prayed that she would stay away for a few minutes.

  Still on the monks’ bench, Dan plotted the building in his memory. Alice and he had been married from here, had lived at Chesterfields until they’d got the Bootle house. There was, at the back, a large kitchen. If he could get through that, he would reach the laundry room. That was likely to be the lions’ place. OK.

  He grabbed the crutches and heaved himself into a vertical position. But there remained the daft left leg. It didn’t seem to be connected to his brain, since it tried to wander off on its own, so he seldom allowed the left foot to touch the ground, swinging it along from the hip while depending on the right leg and his crutches. He felt a bit stiff in all his limbs, probably because of the journey to north Liverpool.