Her fight to remain upright when walking had almost caused a riot, since she played to the gallery by exaggerating her difficulties. Staggering along singing ‘I Belong to Glasgow’ had been one of her favourite tricks until the ward sister had put a stop to it. Undaunted, Vera had made her way through ‘Underneath the Arches’, ‘Burlington Bertie’, ‘Me and My Shadow’ and ‘Abide with Me’, which was reserved for evensong on the Sabbath.
On the Sunday of the Stantons’ party in Waterloo, Vera got her marching orders. ‘She’s been nothing but trouble,’ the sister told her sons and Harry. ‘Keep her away from your dad’s funeral and make sure she walks every day. She’s a nuisance.’
‘I know,’ chorused the two boys.
‘The funeral’s done with,’ Harry told the sister. ‘Under the circumstances, we were allowed a rush job, even though there had to be an inquest.’
Vera looked at Tony, at Neil, and finally at Harry. ‘I hope you didn’t bury him in his good clothes, that three-piece suite with waistcoat included.’
‘I’m afraid we did,’ Harry replied. ‘It was the only decent stuff we could find.’
‘Then you can bloody well dig him up and put him in one of them long frocks – a shrewd.’
‘Shroud, Mam.’
Vera glared at her son. ‘Shrewds were good enough for our fallen soldiers, so they’d do for that bugger. I could get a few quid for his good suite. On top of all that, you got me hysterical novels from the library again.’
‘Historical, Mam.’
‘Depends on how you look at them.’ Vera’s tone was dry. ‘Hey, I just read how they cut Anne Boleyn’s head off and she never done nothing. Dirty old bastard, that fat King Henry was. She had six fingers on one of her hands.’
‘Behave yourself,’ Harry said, though he was used to her non sequiturs. ‘And nobody’s being dug up. Come on, I’ve got a car. We’re going to have a bit of a holiday in a few weeks to help build you up, Vera.’
‘Good,’ she snapped. ‘Because these nurses have been trying to poison me, I swear. And this lot here – they all snore.’
‘So do you,’ accused the nursing sister. ‘Oh, take her away, will you?’
‘Charming.’ Vera dragged the bag of clothing from her son’s hands. ‘Thanks, Tony.’
Sister puffed out her cheeks. ‘Mrs Corcoran, please get dressed and go home. If you don’t, we’re going to park you down the side of the hospital with the rest of the stuff we don’t want. Refuse is shifted every Monday morning, so think about that. You’ll be taken away with the bins tomorrow.’
Vera grumbled under her breath.
‘She’s chunnering.’ Harry dragged a hand across his face. ‘I’ve found it’s best to avoid women when the chunnering kicks off. Sorry, lads – I learned that one off Peter Atherton. He’s a Lanky.’
Once dressed, Vera made a meal of saying goodbye to each individual on the ward. They were given advice on post-operative ‘infestions’, instructions on how to dispose of inedible food without the staff noticing, and a pile of magazines. ‘They’re not much good, but they’re better than nothing.’
‘Vera!’ Harry called.
She turned. ‘Come on, then. What are you three doing stood there holding me up? Get a move on.’ She winked at the nearest patient. ‘Always keep them on their toes, and always make them know everything is their fault.’ She swept out of the ward with three males at her heels.
As they walked to the car, Harry found himself grinning and shaking his head. Vera, her almost bald scalp covered by a scarf, walked with her head held so high that she might have been at a Buckingham Palace garden party. She was finally free of a brutal drunk, and she even begrudged him the suit he was buried in.
‘Ooh, get you,’ she exclaimed when she reached the Austin. ‘Come into some money, have we?’
He told her about old Joe, the car, the books and the pigeons.
‘Then I’m getting a gun. I don’t want pigeon shit on me tablecloths.’
Harry chuckled to himself. She would always be contentious, amusing, irreverent and outspoken, but the girl he had once known had been buried alongside a feckless drunk who had tried to kill her.
She sat in the passenger seat. ‘What about petrol?’ she asked. ‘Is there any petrol?’
‘I’ll get a bit of an allowance because of my job, and I have my sources. Don’t ask.’
‘I won’t. But where are we going?’
‘Home.’
‘Somebody mentioned a holiday, soft lad. Where?’
‘No idea. It’ll be in a few weeks, anyway. I’ll drive till I stop, and that’ll be our holiday.’
She muttered a few words that were scarcely audible before taking an interest in the life of Liverpool. It bustled. Soon, she could become a bustler, because her enemy was dead. ‘It might be spoilt now,’ she announced as they pulled into Penny Lane.
‘What might?’ Harry asked.
‘The three-piece suite,’ Vera snapped. ‘If he’s started to rot in it, then it––’
‘Mam!’ Neil shouted.
‘Behave yourself,’ ordered their driver. ‘We’re here.’
‘We’re not here – we’re there.’
He sighed. ‘All right, then, we’re there.’
‘But we should be here.’
‘We are here.’
She muttered under her breath, though all could hear her complaining that she was neither here nor there, and some people with no sense of direction shouldn’t be allowed to drive cars when they didn’t even know where they were going.
Harry alighted from the car and walked round to the passenger side. ‘Madam?’ He crooked his right arm. ‘If you’d kindly accompany me . . .’ He led her to Alice’s house.
‘I told you we should be there, not here,’ she grumbled. ‘This is not our house – it’s Dan’ and Alice’s.’
‘We’re here and we’re there.’ He turned. ‘Come on, lads.’
In Dan Quigley’s bedroom, people waited. The French door was open so that the party could spill out into a sunlit garden. On a table with the leaves up sat a WELCOME HOME VERA cake, and she was overcome.
‘Hello,’ she said softly, ‘Alice and Dan, Peter, Olga, my lads and Harry.’ She beamed through tears. ‘I’ve got a big family,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve got yous lot as well as my sons.’ She looked at Tony and Neil. ‘Sorry I couldn’t stop him; sorry you had to lose your dad, but he couldn’t live without the drink.’
Tony surprised the whole company by putting an arm across his mother’s shoulders. ‘We’ll be all right,’ he said, ‘so don’t cry.’
Dan, the constant observer of life, knew that Tony was near the truth. Without Jimmy Corcoran, Vera would thrive and improve herself, while her sons were already showing promise in their designated areas of work. Harry was glancing sideways at Alice, but Alice’s eyes were fixed on the cake whose ingredients had been acquired by begging the length and breadth of Penny Lane and all adjoining streets.
Dan made a decision. As from tomorrow, Peter Atherton could dress his client each day – shirt and trousers like everybody else. Dan looked at Vera as she sat on the floor, the huge, kindly Frank at one side of her, a ridiculously playful Leo Tolstoy at the other. In spite of her injury and the hair loss, she seemed so happy. She’d been through hell yet was keeping up as best she could, so the least Dan could do was to wear normal clothes all the time and start walking up and down outside. And he would make a friend of Harry. Surely a friend wouldn’t try a move on Alice?
Alice stood in the doorway. ‘Right, anybody who wants to come to our Marie’s – we’ll be leaving in about half an hour, so get yourself ready because our Marie’s got a posh house.’
Vera touched her scarf. ‘I don’t think I want to go without my hair,’ she said. ‘I feel a bit naked like this. And is it not just family?’
‘Open house,’ Dan answered, ‘and my Alice has got you a wig. It’s a kind of dark blonde, but it’ll do the job. Keep your hair on, get your face do
ne and enjoy yourself, love.’
The two women ascended the stairs. Vera looked round the main bedroom. ‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean your house is arse over tip, Alice.’
Alice explained about the new arrangement. ‘So this is my sitting and work room, and I’ve made you a dress. Olga had this nice piece of pale green taffeta – come on, let’s get you sorted, missus.’
Fifteen minutes later, Vera stared at the stranger in the mirror. ‘Are you sure this is me?’ She blinked quickly. ‘Is that massacara?’
‘Mascara, yes. And the green dress suits you lovely. Here, try my black patents on – I’ve a bag to match. As for the wig, nobody would know it wasn’t real.’
Vera slipped her feet into her neighbour’s shoes. ‘I feel like a millionaire,’ she said. ‘What are they celebrating tonight?’
‘Our Nellie’s liberation. She’s got rid of Mam and found two daughters, two sons-in-law and two grandsons. Marie’s friends and neighbours will be there, too.’
‘Sounds a fair swap,’ Vera said. ‘Seems as if you don’t like your mam much. Bit of a tartar?’
‘She’s horrible. I might tell you more tomorrow, when we’ve got time. But Vera, this is dead serious, so keep your gob shut, all right? My mother is the nastiest woman I know, so don’t gossip about her.’
Vera had the good grace to blush. ‘I know what folk think of me round here, Alice. I was . . . I had a bad life, and talking about other people took my mind off . . . off him. Things are different now, and I have to make sure them two lads grow up decent. Trust me. I won’t say a word.’
‘All right. Now, we’re off to the zoo.’
‘You what?’
‘Nigel’s a vet, so the house is full of orphans.’
‘Orphans?’
‘Yep. And two of them are lions. He works for Chester Zoo, and a young lioness got pregnant before she should have, God love her. So when she had the two cubs, she didn’t know what to do with them. Nigel and Marie are rearing them, then sending them to be wild in Africa.’
Vera swallowed hard. ‘Er . . . are they dangerous?’
Alice giggled.
‘I’m serious, girl. Are they dangerous?’
‘Not yet.’ Alice put her arms round her neighbour, a woman she had sought to avoid after their first encounter. ‘Don’t be frightened any more, Vera. He’s gone. He will never, ever hurt you again. When you meet people – or even animals – take them at face value. Oh, Larry the llama spits.’
‘Llama?’
Alice nodded. ‘Spits vomit.’
Vera shivered. ‘Can my boys come?’ She would feel safer if Tony and Neil were nearby.
‘Course they can. The three of you can go in Harry’s car. Dan and I will go with Nellie and Martin; Olga and Peter are getting a taxi. You’re free, love. This is what freedom tastes like. And Harry says he’s taking you and the boys away for a week.’ She reclaimed her arms. ‘Never start out afraid. You’re as good as anybody, and that wig suits you. Come on.’
It was party time.
Olga was waiting for Peter. Across the street, a man in black stood staring at her shop, at her home. Who was he? Didn’t she have enough to contend with while Terry Openshaw sulked his way through meetings? Whenever the chance arrived, the butcher cornered her, begged her to reconsider his proposal. Peter wasn’t good enough. If she married himself, their meat would be at cost, and they could live well. Now a second man was watching her place of business and her home. Should she tell Peter? She would think about it.
Peter might react and get into trouble. She studied the man who lingered on the opposite pavement. He looked Russian – well, she thought he did.
Peter came in. ‘Ready, love?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Come along. I shall throw you to the lions.’
It all happened in the blink of an eye, or so it seemed when Elsie thought about it. A phone number in the Echo, a swift interview via the telephone lines, the ordering of a taxi, the packing of clothes and, by eight o’clock in the evening, Elsie was on her way to Brighton-le-Sands.
Brighton-le-Sands was a tiny village on a minute slice of land strangled almost to death by Blundellsands on one side and Waterloo on the other. One of Elsie’s daughters lived in Waterloo, so she got the driver to take her past the house, a huge black-and-white affair built in the good old mock-Tudor style with balconies, solid front door and leaded windows. ‘Stop,’ she ordered.
The driver applied the brakes.
‘Reverse a bit,’ she suggested, her tone gentler. ‘I think I know the people who live there.’
He applied the handbrake. Some of these elderly lady fares could be a pain in the backside.
They were all there. Elsie saw Nellie and Marie immediately, straightening her spine when her seventh daughter put in an appearance.
‘They must have a bob or two,’ the driver remarked.
‘Oh, they have. He’s a vet, with his own practice as well as working for Chester Zoo.’ She was staring at Alice, her lastborn, the one whose birth had caused Elsie so much pain. Childbirth was supposed to get easier, though Elsie’s experiences had been quite the reverse. Nellie and Marie, numbers one and two, had been nothing to write home about; the final birth had been hell on wheels.
‘Shall we go?’ the driver asked. ‘I’ve more fares soon.’
They carried on for about half a mile, and Elsie was finally deposited with her luggage near a large, grey house outside which her new employer waited. She was to have a small ground-floor flat, and she would be responsible for tenants in five bed-sitting rooms.
‘Sorry for the rush, Mrs Stewart,’ he gushed. ‘Only like I said, Mrs Murphy’s in the hospital, and she’s not going to be well enough to come back as caretaker. Her daughter will take care of her.’ He looked Elsie up and down. ‘Are you sure you’re fit enough for this month’s trial? If there’s any trouble, use the pay phone in your room and I’ll have somebody here in minutes. The lodgers can use the phone, too, as long as they ask you and if they have the money.’ He paused. ‘How old are you?’
‘Sixty-two,’ she lied, ‘and as tough as old boots. No need to worry about me, Mr Blake. I’ll collect your rents, and there’ll be no trouble. If I can’t get you, we always have the police if anything gets out of hand. Now, you just go and enjoy your holiday with your family.’
‘Collect rents on Fridays,’ the owner of the property said. ‘Catch them on their way back from work and before they’ve had time or chance to spend money. One week’s non-payment and you give them a talking-to. Two weeks, send for me and I’ll get them out, or somebody will. All right?’
‘Fair enough.’
Elsie stepped into new territory with her employer, who carried her bags. ‘You’re better off than the rest,’ he told her. ‘You have the separate kitchen and a little bathroom; the rest have everything in just one room, and they have to share when it comes to bathrooms.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d best be off, or the wife will have my guts for garters.’
Alone, she dropped into a seat. She had three easy chairs, a bed, a wardrobe built into a recess next to the chimney, a bookcase and a small dressing table. At the end of the bed stood a chest of six drawers, so Elsie Stewart considered herself amply provided for. But the main factor was that there were other people in the building. In spite of her determined attitude to life, she feared being completely alone; she dreaded the nightmares.
Deciding to unpack later, she tidied her hair and took herself off to meet her five new neighbours. She had managed to calm down in Annie’s house, and she must do her best to settle here quickly. Standing for a few moments in the doorway to her own domain, she remembered what her employer had said. Her predecessor would be looked after by her daughter. ‘And I won’t,’ she mouthed silently. God help her if she ever became seriously ill. For now, she was in good health, and her little flat came free. She would need to use some of her inheritance for food and bills, but s
he was sheltered here. It was half past eight – time to face her fellows.
Alice was getting just a bit fed up with all her otherness occasions. Quite early on at the party in Marie’s house, she suffered a rather prolonged one. It was centred round Muth. Muth was sneaking out through a rear doorway, and Alice felt sure that the property in question belonged to Miss Meadows, the lady who wanted new curtains. Elsie Stewart was carrying cases. A taxi was parked in a rear street. What was Muth up to? Had she informed that poor woman that she was leaving? Perhaps Miss Meadows needed to be told about how lucky she was to be rid of Elsie Stewart.
Marie joined her sister in the hall. ‘Bugger,’ she muttered as she led her practically catatonic sibling outside. Opening the garage door, she pulled Alice inside. ‘I remember getting you tested while you were living with us,’ she mumbled. ‘The docs said you had petit mal, a mild sort of epilepsy, but we knew different, eh?’ She expected no reply, and she got none.
There was a car. Alice, in her otherness, was seated with a second passenger in the rear seat; she believed it to be a taxi. ‘Callum?’ she whispered. Turning, she saw her mother sitting next to her. She was staring. Following the direction of Elsie’s gaze, she looked through the window across the road and saw herself, Marie, Nellie, Harry, plus many people she didn’t know. She wondered how she could be here and there at the same time, almost smiling when she remembered Harry’s account of Vera’s statements when she’d returned from hospital. But thinking about reality didn’t help her to escape the otherness. She wasn’t really with Muth; no, that was the otherness, because she was in Marie’s house, wasn’t she?
Marie had heard the single whispered word and wondered who the hell Callum was, but she knew that this pretty little sister of hers had stopped hearing anything real minutes ago. Yet she tried once more, just as she always had years earlier. ‘Alice? Can you hear me?’
Inside the otherness, although aware that she was with Marie, Alice saw Muth, and she concentrated hard. Mother and youngest daughter were parked together in the back seat of a cab outside Marie’s house. Impossible? So was invisibility.
Daughters of Penny Lane Page 14
