Daughters of Penny Lane

by Ruth Hamilton

  But he loved her with all his heart, and Harry had better watch himself. Knowing that Dan was crippled and slow, the neighbour might think Alice was unprotected, but her husband had a good imagination. ‘I’ll put a stop to him,’ he mumbled under his breath. Where there was willpower, there was always a way.

  The front door crashed inward and what sounded like an invasion arrived in the hall. Most carried straight on, but Alice broke away and turned right into her husband’s room. He wasn’t there, so she followed the others into the kitchen.

  ‘Dan, she’s going to be all right.’ Tears tripped down her lovely face. ‘She woke up and took charge, started telling everybody what she wanted, tried to get out of bed and blamed the hospital for everything. She’s got very little hair, and there are still some bits of dressings on her head, and she’d no teeth. But she’s herself, Danny Boy – thank God.’

  ‘Don’t cry, love.’

  She dashed drops of saline from her cheeks. ‘Happy tears, these are. It could have been so different, couldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I know. If he’d used the s-cutting side of the axe––’

  ‘Oh, don’t say it. I don’t want to think about it.’

  ‘Will she be out in time for the funeral, Alice?’

  She had no idea, and she said so. ‘The hospital knew she was a battered wife, but police won’t interfere in domestic problems, which is stupid. It has to go as far as severe injury or death before the law gets involved. That needs changing. Anyway, she’s got plenty of energy in her tongue, as usual, but none in her legs, so they’ll probably keep her for a few days to build her up. I think they might find a reason to keep her in until Jimmy’s six feet under.’

  Without asking, she moved his crutches out of the way and fastened his dressing gown. She smiled at him, kissed him on the forehead and, after getting him to sit up straight, went off to help Peter with the meal. She ignored Harry and returned to the table with beetroot and red cabbage. ‘You’re doing great,’ she whispered, kissing Dan’s cheek lightly before straightening cloth and cutlery. She knew Harry was watching; hoped he was looking and learning.

  He was watching, but he suddenly remembered an appointment. An old friend of his father’s had died and, having been mentioned in the will, Harry had been invited to meet the older of two sons. Of course, it didn’t have to be done today, but he wanted to get out of here. Alice was standing by her husband, and he admired her for it, yet he wanted her.

  ‘Going?’ Dan asked, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Yes. If you’ll just feed these two lads, I’ll be grateful. I should be back before seven.’ He went off to find out what the poor old chap had left for him.

  The front door closed. Alice served up her famous scouse and handed out soda bread. ‘How’s Olga?’ she asked mischievously.

  ‘Fine,’ was Peter’s sparse answer.

  ‘And Leo Tolstoy?’

  ‘Fine.’

  She sighed pseudo-dramatically. ‘Isn’t it lovely having visitors, Dan? All this stimulating conversation’s great.’

  Tony put down his spoon. ‘If you’re going to make the best scouse ever, it’s your fault that we’d rather eat than talk, isn’t it, Neil?’

  Neil, his mouth full, just nodded.

  ‘Shall I tell them about the arsenic?’ Dan asked.

  ‘No, love. Another spoonful?’ And she ladled out more of Liverpool’s famous dish.

  Harry drove back home, because old Joe Foley had left him a rather nice Austin, a set of encyclopedias and . . . Oh, God. What the blood, guts and Southport sand was he supposed to do with two dozen pigeons, one of them a prizewinner named Blue Lady with squabs? Were the squabs old enough to be moved? ‘I should never have shown an interest I didn’t feel,’ he told the windscreen, ‘but his sons couldn’t be bothered, and here I am – lumbered with a blue lady and all her babies.’

  The birds could stay where they were for now; he would drive down, let them out, feed them – but how might they be settled in Penny Lane? He needed to build a loft in the back garden and . . . He parked outside his house and, just before leaving the car, noticed an envelope pinned inside the driver’s door.

  He opened it and found detailed instructions, with a note just for him. ‘God love him – Joe knew he was dying.’ A second sheet held information regarding the movement of pigeons from one loft to another. ‘So I leave them where they are for now . . . pick up the mesh-fronted transfer cages from Joe’s shed, bring them here and clean them . . . let the birds out while they’re still living in Joe’s loft, feed them . . . blah, blah . . . build a loft here.’

  Right. The birds would be carried to Penny Lane, a few at a time, in Joe’s old bird basket. They would live here in the wire-fronted cages for a few days without being allowed out to fly. The cages were to be placed so that the pigeons could see their new loft. On release from said new loft after transfer, they should not be fed when returning to the old place. He must carry on bringing them home till they realized which side their pigeon feed was buttered. It promised to be complicated and time-consuming, because he had to build one loft and destroy another.

  He had jobs on. He was training Tony Corcoran in the art of plumbing. He didn’t want the bloody birds, but he’d been left this car, and he must play fair. ‘You trusted me, Joe, and my dad trusted you right through thick and thin, so I’ll see to your birds, don’t worry.’

  As he entered his house, it occurred to Harry that he hadn’t thought once about Alice since arriving at the Foley house. Was he about to break free? He had a car. When Vera got out of hospital and bucked up, he would take her somewhere for a rest and a holiday, and the boys, too, deserved a break. Peter Atherton would need some training in caring for pigeons, but that should present no real problem. Everything was sortable, and he could go back to living his normal, lonely life. But she would still be next door . . . To hell with it; he needed an early night, and the lads could see to themselves.

  It wasn’t far to Dudley Street. Alice picked up her tape measure and yardstick before bidding her husband goodbye for now. ‘I won’t be long,’ she promised, ‘just a couple of windows to measure – oh, and I’ll have to look at the material, see if there’s a repeat pattern. I should be back before Peter shows up.’ She made sure he had his books, his newspaper and the reading glasses he had needed since the second stroke. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘I am. Are you?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You’re blushing,’ Dan accused her. ‘It’s not a sin to start enjoying being in bed with your husband. We had our first really good night, didn’t we? There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘I know.’

  He took pity on her and changed the subject. ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘Just Dudley Street. I replied to a letter and said I would measure today.’ She didn’t tell him that Harry had offered to run her there in his car because he was finishing early, and the lads were at college learning paperwork. There was still awkwardness between her and Harry, and she wished she could come to terms with it. Could a woman love two men? It wasn’t about the word ‘could’ – it was more about ‘should’, wasn’t it? Was it right for her to love her husband to bits and desire the bloke next door? The situation was ridiculous, and she was staying with Dan, because she’d made promises before God, and––

  And there was Harry standing next to the car he’d inherited yesterday. ‘How’s Dan?’ he asked while polishing a headlamp.

  ‘He’s quite well, thanks.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want a lift?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re sure?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve been stuck in the house all day, and the walk will do me good. It’s not too far away from here, so I won’t be gone long. Go in and sit with Dan – I’ve left the snick on. Peter won’t be here till nearer bedtime.’

  He couldn’t work her out. Until a few days earlier, she’d seemed uneasy, almost unhappy, and restless, bu
t she suddenly appeared to be settled and less needful. Anyway, he wasn’t thinking about her, was he? What with apprentices and pigeons, he had enough on his plate – or in Joe Foley’s back garden. Ah, she was smiling. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Take him out, Harry. Take Dan for a ride round the city – Pier Head, Liver Birds, cup of coffee, whatever he wants. Drive past St George’s Hall – Dan thinks it’s the most beautiful building in the world, and he likes to see Victoria and Albert and the horses. Make him important; just make him special, please. As long as you have enough petrol.’

  ‘All right.’ He shrugged. ‘See you later, then.’

  As she walked away, she could feel his eyes boring into her back. Oh, if he and Dan would be friends, how much easier life might become. They could play cards with Peter, though Peter seemed to prefer the company of Olga these days – and who could blame him? She wore prettier clothes lately, and her hair was often looser – such a handsome woman, she was. Would there be a wedding in the near future?

  It was further than she’d imagined, and she took wrong turnings twice, because she seemed not to be concentrating. All these streets round Wavertree looked the same, so she stopped and sat on a garden wall while she re-thought the route. Yes, it was two streets away from the main road, and she was nearly there. Her feet seemed reluctant, as if they wanted to go somewhere else, but she was a professional woman, and a job was a job.

  At last she arrived – Dudley Street. The bed and breakfast place was on a corner, and it looked well cared for: newly painted and with nice potted plants here and there under the front bay window. Alice closed the gate and walked up the short pathway to the front door. As she raised a hand to the knocker, she felt a breath on her neck, so she turned and found no one near. Oh, God, not now, please. Her heart slowed, and she lowered herself until she was seated on the step. An outside otherness? Had she ever experienced one before? Perhaps that day at Olga’s shop things had begun outside, but why here?

  And somewhere, nowhere, everywhere, a baby cried.

  Negotiations were over. Martin dashed into the shop, lifted the flap and picked up his wife. ‘Nellie,’ he joked, ‘you’ll have to get some weight off before I do myself a mischief.’ He put her down. ‘I’ve done it. Not a mischief – I mean I’ve done what I set out to do.’

  ‘Have you, now? Anyway, I thought you liked me cuddly.’

  ‘Yes, and I like picking you up. Anyway, we’ve got it. Turner’s is ours.’

  ‘That’s great news.’

  The idea was that their daughters’ husbands could use the place for storage or as a shop when they started their new business. The garage was paying its rent, just about, but petrol was as scarce as hens’ teeth, as were some car parts. ‘We’ll go and tell them.’

  Nellie frowned. ‘Are we becoming a pair of nuisances, Martin? We’re all due at Marie’s in a couple of days, so won’t it keep till then?’

  ‘Let’s give them the news in private, Nellie. They’ll need to get their heads round it and talk about what they’re going to do. Will they let the garage go till petrol comes off ration and car parts are easier to come by? Or should they keep both businesses ticking over? It’s not the sort of subject you’d discuss at a big do, is it? We need to get phones, I think.’

  She agreed. ‘There again, Martin, they might want to use that big shed as storage and run the shop from here. That would be great.’

  Over lunch, they discussed the possibilities. They, as elders and as well-known shopkeepers on Smithdown Road, might run the business belonging to their sons-in-law part time; Kevin and Paul could take it over, or one might run the garage while the other collected, sold and delivered second-hand goods. Nellie got excited. ‘If the girls run it, I could have Simon and Keith upstairs.’ Another thought visited her. ‘What about the flat above the Turners’ shop?’ she asked.

  Martin pondered. ‘There may not be one, love. Instead of letting it as a flat, they might use it to store smaller stuff, things that are easy to carry. It might turn out to be the answer for them until we’ve all got through these post-war years. Depends how successful the business turns out to be, I suppose. I know they’re thinking about restoring furniture. I reckon them two could turn their hands to just about anything.’

  ‘It’ll be a success, whatever they decide.’ Nellie’s mind was made up. ‘All right, we’ll go and tell them tonight.’ She went to make a brew.

  Olga closed the shop, locked the door and hung up a BACK IN ONE HOUR notice. He was standing behind her, and she knew what to expect after she pulled down the door blind. ‘Peter,’ she chided. ‘This is all being new for me . . .’

  ‘It’s OK. I’ve had some experience in these matters, though I’ve never been engaged before. Don’t worry, I’ve told nobody.’

  ‘This is good, because a virgin of forty-seven does not advertise.’

  ‘I’m sixty-three,’ Peter grumbled.

  She nodded sagely. ‘So I marry soon a very old man.’

  ‘With no money and no royal blood, princess.’

  She took his hand. ‘Come. I must learn these things. Leo will stay here.’ And she led her man upstairs.

  Peter grinned to himself. Whatever happened, his Olga would always be the same – sensible, pragmatic, intelligent, in charge and just lovely. ‘Er . . . no danger of pregnancy, is there?’

  She turned and looked at him as if he’d developed a second head. ‘None. I am see doctor in England after Batya die. In family, we have haemophilia, so I was getting tied up in the baby parts. Also, I think I am now too old. Come.’

  His jaw dropped little by little as he watched her undressing. She had managed, by some miracle, to retain the body of a woman in her thirties. ‘You’re lovely.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘Olga?’

  ‘Yes, Peter?’

  ‘I’m not lovely.’

  She took her hair down, allowing it to fall over her breasts. ‘Then I close eyes.’

  When she was under the covers with her eyes closed, he tore off his trousers and shirt before joining her. He was about to deflower a princess of Russia. God, what would his mother have said about this? But he was given no opportunity to think any further, because that same Russian princess was very, very hungry.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’ Annie Meadows leaned over the young woman who sat on her doorstep. ‘God, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Come on, girl, get yourself up and I’ll put the kettle on. Go through the first door on the left – that’s been turned into the lodgers’ dining room since we started doing evening meals as well as breakfasts. They have their breakfasts in their rooms on trays.’ She tutted to herself. ‘Listen to me going on when you’re not feeling well.’

  ‘I’m all right now, thanks,’ Alice said, though she wasn’t.

  ‘Just give me a minute while I make some tea.’ Annie left the visitor alone.

  The day was warm, but Alice began to shiver. Why had she heard the baby here, in Dudley Road, the baby who had possibly grown up to be Callum? This was a mile or more away from Penny Lane, and the baby belonged there in that front bedroom. Even Frank no longer heard him, because the baby was there for Alice, just Alice. Something was going on. Things were developing, changing, becoming more intense. Soon, she would know the truth, and she sensed that she wouldn’t like it.

  Old Joe had bequeathed to Harry not just books, pigeons and car, but plenty of petrol in the tank. Even so, Harry used it sparingly. After a quick trip through Liverpool’s centre, he drove the Austin to the Pier Head where the two men sat and gazed at a scene that had been the focus of many during Liverpool’s long-term relationship with the Mersey. ‘My grandma used to stand here waiting for Granddad’s ship,’ he commented in an effort to fracture a silence that had developed during the ride.

  ‘Merchant?’ Dan asked.

  ‘Captain, yes. He used to say he’d climbed all the way to the crows’ nest – he meant it was hard work overseeing a crew. Sailors can be a bit wild, or so I’m told.’ This was a daft situation.
What the hell was he doing in the middle of Liverpool with the husband of a woman he loved?

  ‘I’m sure they can be wild; I met a fair few when I was working on the docks. We handled munitions. The services wouldn’t have me because of flat feet, so I was civilian, but it was an essential job. That’s where I had the second stroke.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I. The first happened when I was digging Alice out of our bombed kitchen. Still, never mind – I’m getting there now. Well, I hope I am, for her sake.’

  ‘And for your own sake, Dan.’

  ‘Well, yes.’ He paused. ‘We’re trying for a baby.’

  Harry knew that this was his neighbour’s way of delivering a warning, because the undercurrent was doing its best to rise to the surface. Dan knew. He knew that Harry had feelings for Alice. ‘Shall we get back?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Yes. Alice will be home soon.’

  Thus ended a conversation that never happened. It never happened at a city’s edge guarded by a pair of mythical birds atop a beautiful building.

  Harry drove home. ‘Do you like living on Penny Lane?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m happy wherever Alice is.’

  The message was loud and clear; Alice was untouchable. Probably . . .

  Peter’s tsarina was tousled. Tousled suited her, but everything suited Olga Konstantinov. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered.

  She smiled. ‘So this is what I was missing. It is good. Now we must marry. I am citizen, so we can. Just register office, me, you and for witness we bring Alice and Dan. Is good?’

  ‘Is good.’

  And that was that.

  Outside, the man in black clothing watched the shop. He had found her.

  Alice measured windows in the lodgers’ dining room and in one upstairs bedroom. She checked the material and found no pattern to match, picked up her bundle and made for the front door. ‘This will easily do both rooms,’ she said. ‘Do you want them lining?’

  ‘No, they’ll do as they are.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll be off, then.’ She still felt uneasy in this house, and could scarcely wait to be on her way home.