‘To calm him down, of course.’
A few ticks of time strolled by. ‘Nigel calming down in a fridge?’ Alice almost shrieked the question.
‘No, the bloody snake, soft girl. Nigel has to force-feed him.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t have the bloody details, do I? All I know is that a Burmese python is cousin to a boa constrictor, so it squeezes its prey to death. It needs to be as cold as possible to get it dozy and stop it killing a vet. And don’t worry – there’s another daft man with him.’
Alice stood up. ‘Well, that’s me done, our Marie. It’s been a weird day.’
‘You can say that again. Ta-ra, love.’
‘Ta-ra, Marie. See you soon. As long as he doesn’t bring the snake home.’ She stopped in the doorway. ‘Hey, our kid.’
‘What?’
‘Tell him to put the snake with Muth. They should suit each other.’
‘It might kill her.’
‘Yes.’ Alice grinned. ‘That as well. Good point, Mrs Stanton.’ She left.
If Harry handled another length of two by four, he would use it to smash something. He’d made fourteen compartments, plus a large, full-length one at the top, and he’d smoothed most of it down, and—
And here she came, probably to deliver yet another lecture. Although the walls were low, she had to stand on a chair to look into his garden. ‘Pigeons,’ she snapped.
‘Don’t you kick off again,’ he answered tersely. ‘I’ve had the Empress of Moscow, Peter and you going on at me since the crack of dawn.’
‘But I wasn’t telling you off about pigeons before,’ she whispered.
He shrugged and picked up a new sheet of sandpaper. ‘How’s Dan’s headache?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, because he’s emigrated.’
Harry blinked stupidly.
‘They left me a note,’ she explained.
‘And?’
‘He’s emigrated to Olga’s to get away from your noise. They’ve taken the wheelchair, and Peter will carry him upstairs with the help of Yuri.’ She grinned. ‘Mind you, Yuri looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over.’
Harry dropped the sandpaper. ‘Come and look at my work,’ he said.
‘No.’
‘You know you want to.’ He winked at her.
She did want to. She knew she almost needed to . . . ‘I’m off to Olga’s. There’s a row brewing with her and the bank in town.’ Olga had gone totally royal and was listening to no advice.
‘Why?’ Harry asked.
‘I can’t say.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Both. You’ve got your curtains and that’s that.’
Another head joined Alice’s at the great divide between two houses. ‘Hey, you,’ Vera began. ‘What the Carter’s Little Liver Pills has got into you? Pigeons? I thought we were going away on holiday, but I’m not travelling with no pigeons.’
He repeated yet again, ‘I was left them in an old man’s will. He left me the car, too. If the birds go back, so does the car, and your holiday won’t happen, so you’d better shut up.’
‘I don’t care.’ She stuck out her chin. ‘I’ve got a lodger ready to move in, so there’s stuff to be done. No time for holidays.’
‘A lodger? Who?’ Harry asked.
Vera wiggled her glasses about. ‘Just a minute while I think. It’s that Russian feller – I remember. He’s called Urine.’
Alice stared into Harry’s eyes while he stared into hers. They exploded simultaneously, as if their reactions had been choreographed. Tears poured down Alice’s cheeks, while Harry dragged a rather disgraceful handkerchief from a pocket, covering his mouth when laughter turned to coughing.
‘What the bloody hell’s up with you two?’ Vera demanded to know. She stared at Alice. ‘Pull yourself together,’ was her suggestion.
Harry won the fight for oxygen. ‘Is she taking the pi— the pickle out of us, Alice?’
Alice continued to weep her way through a mixture of pain and glee.
‘What’s going on?’ The glasses were slipping again, so Vera’s wonky eye made a move towards her nose.
‘Urine is wee,’ Harry announced eventually.
‘Is he incompetent as well as Russian?’ Vera asked.
This extra malapropism caused near-hysteria, so Vera huffed her way out of Alice’s back garden, slamming the gate furiously.
‘Poor Yuri,’ Alice murmured. ‘And they’ve taken my Frank. Yes, the dog’s emigrated, too.’
He nodded. ‘He’s only gone as far as Olga’s.’
Their eyes remained locked long after the laughter had ended. She tried to break the connection, but failed completely. The lightest of touches smoothed her cheek, and Callum whispered to her. ‘I promise you everything will be all right. After the sadness of loss, there will be great joy.’
‘Alice?’ There was worry in Harry’s voice.
She looked at Harry. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking.’ And in that thin slice of time, the possibility that Dan was going to die hit her hard. Was he? She jumped down, turned on her heel and fled into the house. Now sobbing because of fear and confusion, she blamed Callum.
‘I’m here,’ he whispered.
‘Oh, good.’ Her tone was sharp. ‘You told me.’
‘I had to.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ Callum said. ‘And yes, I read your thoughts. Nothing you can do, my love. He won’t feel a thing. This one next door will look after you better than the king gets looked after. Bide your time, and be as good as possible to Dan when he gets difficult.’
Harry entered the house. ‘Are you all right?’
She nodded before using a tea towel to dry her face. ‘Don’t say anything to anybody,’ she begged, ‘because he doesn’t know and mustn’t know.’ She would leave her otherness out of this; it was time for quick thinking and fast talking. ‘Dan’s not quite as well as he pretends to be. It . . . it might not be long, Harry. He’s had no life, anyway, since he dug me out from under that table.’
He sagged against the sink. ‘How do you know you’re going to lose him?’
‘Doctor,’ she lied. ‘And I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘I’ll be here for you – both of you. Does Dan know what’s going on, that he’s not going to make old bones?’
She shrugged; she knew Harry would be there for her. Oh, Dan. Poor Dan. ‘He has no idea. But you have to leave me alone.’
‘Yes. I’ll do my best.’
‘Go on, then. I’m off to get my husband and my dog.’
For two or three seconds, Harry Thompson indulged himself by drinking in the sight of the woman he loved. Then he left to carry on with the job. He had pigeons to cater for.
Ten
Well, this was a cabinet meeting in more than one sense.
Alice, having entered the shop from the back yard, walked through the storeroom and up the stairs, but that was as far as she got before encountering difficulties. Olga’s flat was packed to bursting. Alice compared it to government business because it looked like a cupboard – a cabinet filled with people and raised voices. The two dogs threaded their way through and around several pairs of legs and shot past the latest arrival, scurrying their way down the stairs. They would be OK because the back gate was now bolted. There was nothing else for it, so Alice emitted a shrill whistle.
The talking stopped while people steadied themselves after being shifted by two escaping boxers. One man wriggled a finger inside an ear, since the sound made by the newcomer was enough to loosen wax. Alice took a small step and studied the scene. Dan was wedged in a corner near the window, his chair filling a small space. Oh, Dan. She swallowed hard. Was Callum right? When would Dan die? She shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to see the future.
Olga, feet planted firmly apart, arms folded, expression stern, stood her ground in front of the fireplace. She had borrowed the attitude of a president on the brink of declaring war. Peter, who was sl
ouched in an armchair, appeared bored, sleepy and slightly grumpy. Judging from his appearance, Alice decided that his beloved had indeed taken up weapons; he was thrumming his fingers slowly on an arm of the chair in which he sat. Peter was clearly not best pleased.
The rest of the area was filled by four large men, plus one small one who boasted orange hair and a strong Scots accent. He was speaking quietly to himself; it was clear that this strange creature was agitated. He glanced at Alice. ‘You’re the other witness for this wedding?’
‘Alice Quigley, yes.’
‘Och, will you get the lady to see some sense?’ the bank manager begged.
Olga spoke to the girl who had become her best friend in a matter of weeks. ‘All I ask is to wear tiara. Earrings, brooch, necklace and bracelet, no – is too much. I have ring to match tiara, and everyone will think this is green glass. I will wear. Auction will be after wedding.‘
‘But—’ McLeish said no more, because Olga’s stern expression shouted him down. He backed off and collided with a member of his security team.
‘These jewels are Romanov. In my blood, from my mother, I am Romanov. I am last in family to wear the emeralds, and I am no longer afraid of being caught and shot. Mr McLeish, what is my bank manager, knows we want small wedding, just me, Peter, and you with Dan for witness. But no, we are to have these big men and Mr McLeish because I will wear my mother’s tiara. He brings them now to introduce to me and Peter.’ She turned on the Scot. ‘Now, you will go. All your men, too.’
At last, Peter spoke. ‘Olga?’ There was an edge to his tone.
‘What?’
‘Shut up. I can’t be doing with all this mawping and moaning. You are getting on me nerves and on everybody else’s, too. You can’t wear it.’
‘But I—’
‘He’s right,’ pronounced one of the huge men. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘And we’ve all had enough, love. Dan’s sitting there because he has no choice, and Alice has only just got here. I’m betting she wishes she’d stopped at home. Listen to me, flower. I’m sick to death of your bloody emeralds and your Romanovs, God rest them. Mr McLeish?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘That room in your bank where you showed us the jewellery.’
‘Aye?’
‘Do it up a bit. Hang like satin curtains on one wall and buy the contents of a florist shop. White or cream satin – I’ll pay for that, and for all the flowers. We’ll have wedding photos done in the bank, so she can wear everything in turn, earrings, brooch – the flaming lot.’ He turned once more to his wife-to-be. ‘And that’s the end of it; we want to hear no more on the subject.’
Olga took umbrage; she was good at umbrage. ‘Peter, I want to be married in tiara what was worn by my mother.’
‘Tough. It’s not happening. You listen to me, young lady.’ He glanced at the four large guards. ‘This is not personal, but say one of these big chaps needed money. No offence, boys. What if their families know where they are going next Saturday? What if somebody has a gun? Use your loaf for once.’
The bride blinked. ‘Loaf is for sandwich.’
‘Yes, and some of us are bloody starving.’
She glared at him.
‘Me stomach thinks me throat’s been cut,’ he complained before turning back to Mr McLeish. ‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow. If she behaves, I might bring her with me. I’ll try to talk to her before she lets her gob go roaming off. That’s where her family name comes from – Romanov means Roamingoff.’
Alice might have smiled at this point. Here was another who went creative when it came to Olga’s surname. But she couldn’t manage even a flicker, because all she could think about was the predicted death of her husband, the man who loved her, who had saved her life before suffering a stroke that might become partially responsible for his own demise.
The bank manager and his four well-built companions left the scene. Olga followed them in order to make sure that Frank and Leo didn’t get out of the yard.
Peter spoke to Dan and Alice. ‘My Olga is a lot of woman to manage. She’s tall, strong, mouthy and proud. I couldn’t do without her now, but she’s been a nightmare about this tiara. She has to learn to compromise.’
Dan chuckled. ‘It’s nothing to do with her being Russian or royal, Peter. This little wife of mine puts her foot down in cement, and there’s no shifting her.’
Alice blinked hard. ‘I love you, Dan Quigley, but shut your mouth before I change my mind. Where’s Yuri?’
It was Peter’s turn to laugh. ‘Urine? He’s with Vera, looking at the room he’s going to rent from her. Olga will make sure his rent’s paid, because he’s had it rough these twenty-five years or so, poor bloke. Childhood friends, you see. He’s setting himself up as a gardener and window cleaner, so he’s not feared of graft. Mind, he looks as if he might collapse under the weight of a big ladder.’
Olga re-entered the room. ‘Yuri is doing exercises each day, so he will get stronger. Peter, please go and bring back Harry the noise maker. He will help you get Dan down the stairs.’
Peter stood. ‘See? Her Royal Doodah-ness plans everything. Don’t be fooled by the humble lady ironmonger who escaped the revolution with her dad and her granddad.’ Grinning broadly and shaking his head, he left the scene. ‘It’s called hiding in plain sight,’ he called over his shoulder.
Olga smiled at last. ‘To hide me in sight was our only choice. I am like sore thumb. See, I do know some of your crazy sayings. A woman nearly six feet from heel to head not easy to hide. Russia produced many good things; I am one and vodka is another.’
Alice stared hard at her tall friend. ‘Are you going to do as you’re told, then? Because I might hang a few flags out if you start obeying orders.’
‘Yes. Piotr will be my husband, and I do as he wishes. I was being not sensible again. We have the ring, therefore I have my mother. See.’ She opened a drawer and picked out a framed photograph. ‘Mama. In last century, they wore every piece they had.’
Alice took the photograph so that she and Dan could look at it. Olga was right; her mother wore a wedding dress and the full suite of Romanov jewellery. ‘She looks every inch the princess,’ Dan said, ‘and you’re very like her.’
Olga nodded sadly. ‘Yes. She lose her boys from bleeding disease, and I carry that, so no children for me. This made me grieve. Now is too late for having baby, so I can marry my Piotr and we will be happy.’
‘She’s made her mind up. If she says they’ll be happy, Peter will have no choice – he’ll be happy, won’t he, Dan?’ Alice smiled. ‘Won’t he?’
Dan laughed. ‘If you say so, sweetheart.’ He studied her. She seemed troubled and tense. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Muth. Need I say more?’
‘Well, at least you found her.’
She nodded. ‘I just followed my nose and told her to leave everybody alone. She’s afraid of me, scared of my otherness. I think she’s finally realized that I’m not a medium.’ Placing a hand on her belly, she grinned. ‘I’m more of a small.’
‘Titch,’ Dan teased.
Alice stiffened. He was here. She felt movement in the air, but managed to hold on to her smile. ‘It’s a boy,’ she heard. ‘Call him Callum.’ And he left on a breeze felt only by Alice.
‘Well,’ she managed, ‘I believe I put Muth in her place at last.’ She was pregnant. O God, let him live until this child arrives. ‘As long as she stays away from Nellie, I’ll be satisfied. She has too big a heart, our Nellie.’
On their way home, Harry pushed Dan’s chair. An uncomfortable silence hung over the trio until Alice broke it. ‘Is anybody speaking to you, Harry?’
‘No. I’m in Coventry with two dozen pigeons and everybody’s washing. I’ve never been to Coventry before; don’t much fancy the Midlands.’
‘Can’t you sell the birds?’ Dan asked.
‘No.’
‘I’ll get a gun,’ Alice announced.
‘I’ll warn the n
eighbours and tell the police,’ was Harry’s reply.
Dan decided to change the subject. ‘Where’s Frank?’ he asked.
‘On a sleepover with Leo.’ Alice laughed. ‘I forgot to pack his pyjamas.’
As they reached their two homes, Vera emerged from her house with Yuri. She glared at her neighbours. ‘He’s Yuri, not Urine,’ she snapped. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘We did,’ they chorused.
But Vera motored on. ‘I’ve been calling him a rude word, a lavvy word.’
‘We know,’ Dan said. ‘And we told you a few times.’
‘It is fine,’ Yuri chuckled. ‘She knows now.’ He tipped his hat and walked homeward to Olga and Peter. Life had dealt him a good hand at last. After more than two decades in Siberia, he was finally home. Liverpool had a quality that almost defied description. It was . . . happy; it was welcoming, and few people commented on his accent. Was this because of all the comings and goings of ships from many nations? That seemed a fair enough assumption. They didn’t judge; they joked and laughed a lot, but he never felt like a victim. Yes, he was home.
Now there was Vera. He liked her. She was an ordinary, if rather amusing woman, and her house was comfortable. Her sons, noisy but hardworking, brought life into the place, and Vera cooked well. Although he wasn’t looking for a partner in the conventional sense, he believed that he and she would do very well together. She was kind; like himself, she had endured a cruel and difficult adulthood. For all of this, he was thankful to Olga, the girl who had grown into a tall, elegant woman. She hadn’t even chided him for breaking into her house when he’d been penniless and desperate. He would live out his life here, on Penny Lane, he hoped.
Alice watched the little Russian as he walked away towards the ironmongery shop; there was an ounce or two of pride in his stance, a modicum of self-assuredness in his stride. It seemed that Yuri was going to be all right, and that idea pleased her.
‘Tell Dan about the baby,’ Callum whispered. ‘It’ll cheer him up.’
She ignored him; she would talk to her husband later. In recent days, her uncle had become a more or less permanent fixture in her life. Dan was . . . she blinked rapidly . . . Dan was temporary. Was he going to die soon – tonight, or tomorrow, or next week? Could a ghost be mistaken?
Daughters of Penny Lane Page 19
