‘I’m not sure whether I should head home,’ I say. And I mean it. My honesty today has surprised even myself.
Adam considers this, then tilts his head to one side. ‘Fancy a Bloody Mary first?’
We walk down to the Magdala Pub, where Adam seems to know the bar staff. Once we’re ensconced in a booth, he informs me that this is the pub where Ruth Ellis shot her lover.
‘Who?’
‘Ruth Ellis. The last woman to be hanged in this country.
You can see the bullet holes in the wall somewhere.’
‘She was shot?’
‘No, she shot him. She was hanged.’
‘God, my brain’s not in gear today.’
‘They made a film about it. Dance with a Stranger.’
‘I got confused, sorry. I thought Ruth Ellis was that swot who went to Cambridge when she was about nine.’
‘Oh, that was Ruth Lawrence.’
‘Wasn’t she in Starlight Express?’
‘No, that was Stephanie Lawrence. She died.’
‘Really? How?’
‘I think she drank.’
‘Oh God. Don’t say that.’
I lift my Bloody Mary up, and we clink glasses ironically. ‘Cheers!’ I’m slowly starting to feel human again.
‘Such a sad story.’
‘Starlight Express?’ I mean it as a joke, and he chuckles.
‘Ruth Ellis. Hanged. Then her dad hangs himself. And her son. And her daughter. Years later, mind.’
‘Really?’
‘Suicide. The ultimate taboo.’
I nod.
‘Did you see how the word was never even mentioned yesterday?’
I nod again.
‘Just . . . the euphemisms. A tragic accident. A terrible accident. An incident. I suppose people aren’t ready yet.’
This conversation is making me nauseous.
‘Why d’you think she did it, Kath?’
I sigh. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘Maybe she did have a conscience after all. Maybe it caught up with her and . . . did you hear, the police said she had a phone call from someone ten minutes before she died? From a phone box in Liverpool. Near the Wavertree Technology Park.’
‘That’s right by where we grew up.’
‘I wonder who it was?’
‘Maybe it was her mum.’
‘Why would she use a phone box, though?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Who else d’you think it could’ve been?’
I really don’t want to go there. Not now. Saved by the bell, Adam’s mobile rings. He pulls it from his pocket, pulls a face to show he doesn’t know who’s calling, and answers.
‘Hello?’
I like this Bloody Mary. It feels like a meal. It’s so warming and filling, and they’ve even put a stick of celery in it. Surely with the tomato juice, this is two of my five a day.
Adam is nudging me. He mouths the word ‘Ross’ to me. I take more of an interest. He’s nodding a lot, making a few ‘aha’ noises. Everything is in the affirmative.
‘Sure. Of course. No, of course we will, that’s no problem. When do you go?’
Go? Where is Ross going?
‘Yeah, no problem. I can come over Friday. Pick the keys up. OK, Ross. No, honestly, it’s fine. Absolutely fine. Don’t you worry about a thing.’
When he eventually hangs up, he stares at his phone.
‘What? Where’s Ross going?’
‘Fucking Dubai.’
‘Blimey.’
‘He’s going over to Jocelyn’s on Friday to take away all the stuff he wants. Wants us to meet him there.’
‘What, do it all in a day?’
He shakes his head.
‘He wants us to go through the rest of her stuff while he’s away.’
‘On our own?’
He nods again. ‘Talk about reneging on responsibility. He just wants us to do his dirty work.’
I take this in. Me and Adam. On our own in Jocelyn’s flat.
I’m not sure what to make of that really.
‘Same again?’
Well, it would be rude to say no. ‘Can I have two sticks of celery this time? Then it’s like we’re having lunch.’
He laughs and heads to the bar.
Liverpool, 1985
‘I thought you were going to school?’
‘I don’t feel well.’
‘You only left the house twenty minutes ago. Did you give Jocelyn her cake?’
‘Yes. No. I dunno. We gave it to her mam.’
I was walking like I’d strained something. I had. My heart.
‘Well, what’s the matter?’
‘I don’t feel well. I’m going back to bed.’
‘But I’ve got to go to work.’
‘I’m sure I’m not gonna die.’
I sloped off up the stairs as Nan stood, incredulous, hands on hips, watching me go. I stood in my bedroom and kicked off my shoes, then dived onto the bed. Actually, the last thing I’d said might not have been true. What was true was that I did actually want to die.
I’d never wanted to die more in my entire life.
Jocelyn and Mark. Mark and Jocelyn.
My mind raced. Was I overreacting? Had she just dropped by the church to say hello? No. She was hugging him. I bet he was kissing her. I’d wager there were actual tongues involved. She was climbing out of the vestry window. She had pulled her skirt down and done something to her knickers. Whether they had actually had sex or not, it didn’t matter. Well, it did – but they had clearly been up close and personal, and . . . well, her mum said she hadn’t stayed at their place last night, so it made sense that Jocelyn had spent the night, all the night, with Mark in the organ loft. And I bet he wasn’t just showing her the pipes.
A brick of pain pushed its way up through me, and I thought I was going to be sick. I wasn’t. But I did burst out crying. I tried to swallow the tears but that was impossible, their force was too strong, so I tried to muffle them into my pillow. That seemed to work. And once I heard the front door go, and I knew that Nan had gone to work, I came up for air and lay gasping for breath on the bed. It was like I’d been winded, had a punch to the stomach. I never knew it was possible to feel this bereft.
She knew I liked him. I’d told her. Adam had told her. She knew. And yet she went and did that.
So much for the Loft Club.
I kept seeing images of them at it in the loft. He was on top of her, rolling about. I didn’t really know what sex looked like; I’d seen bits on the telly and in dirty magazines that me and Adam had found down the back alleys – but that seemed to be dolly birds with loose elastic and even looser morals, spreading their legs and hiding their vaginas behind empty goldfish bowls. Still, my imagination didn’t let me down, though I wish it had. It was all slippery lips and hands kneading flesh like dough, it was Jocelyn looking to the ceiling and gasping ‘Oh Mark!’ in a Minnie Mouse voice. A voice she probably didn’t even have. It was him being a dirty bastard and not being able to say no. It was black on white. They liked exploring their difference, and . . .
How did it happen? How did it start? Had it been going on for ages? I’d told him she was a Tory, for God’s sake! How could he?
I knew he was sixteen, but if they’d done it last night, she’d only have been fourteen. She was so loose, and I’d had no idea! I had assumed she was like me, saving herself for marriage. Her mum was so strict! Stricter than my nan! She’d told her she’d have to work twice as hard as a white girl to prove herself. I felt like going round to her mum right now and telling her what her precious daughter had been up to last night. And this morning. And to think, me and Adam helped make it happen. We’d made the organ loft like a second bedroom, Mark’s second home.
I felt like going round to his dad’s and telling him where his runaway son was. Not that he’d seemed to be that bothered. There were hardly missing persons posters up everywhere. The whole thing stank. Of him and her. And the smel
l made me sick.
I felt words bubbling up inside me. They wanted to spill out. I had to tell someone what had happened. I wanted revenge, pure and simple. I wanted to climb on my high horse, enjoy the view, then expose Jocelyn and Mark for what they were.
But what were they?
They might have been two people in love. I’d not stopped to consider that.
But they’d only known each other five minutes. Jesus, did he jump into bed with every girl who sang a song that was vaguely in tune for him?
Maybe I should tell the vicar just what was going on above the organ in that sacred place. Vile, vile, vile.
I heard the front door go. Why was Nan back? Had she returned to check I was OK? Oh God, was she bunking off work because I had told her I was poorly? I’d have to keep it up. She’d be losing money for this inconvenience.
Still, I’d not asked her to miss work.
I still needed to talk.
Stuff it. I didn’t care. I was upset, I was in shock. I would go downstairs and tell her everything that had happened. She’d be angry with me for hiding a fugitive . . . God, listen to me, treating him like he was on the run, like in that movie . . . but she would be furious when she heard what had gone on. She always said Jocelyn’s family were trouble. I should’ve listened to her in the first place. Nan was so often right.
I hauled myself off the bed. I would go down there and tell her what was what. And it’d be good. Because she’d make me swear never to go near Jocelyn McKenzie again. And a good job it would be, too. I’d get Adam round tonight and she could tell him as well. He’d do it if she told him to. He respected her. Oh, this was going to be good, this was going to be perfect. Finally, he’d see Jocelyn for what she was. He’d kick her out of the nativity, install me in the lead role, get some other sap to play Abigail-Jade and the Archangel Gabriel, and stardom would be mine. Nan was right, I could hold a tune: why couldn’t I be Mary? And then I’d have Adam back all to myself.
I stomped down the stairs.
‘Nan?!’
I walked into the back room, and nearly jumped out of my skin. A huge mountain of a man was stood in the doorway between the back room and the kitchen. He had Nan’s biscuit barrel in his hand and was sloppily eating a Rich Tea. Didn’t he know it was rude to eat with his mouth open? His sleeves were rolled up and he had an odd circular tattoo on his leg-o’-lamb arms that didn’t seem to mean anything. I looked up to his eyes. Who was it?!
‘All right, Princess?’
It was my dad.
We sat drinking tea by the electric fire. He looked different from my memory of him. The Rockabilly quiff had gone, and his hair was shaved all over like an American conscript or Action Man. His hands were still massive and they clasped his mug, dwarfing it, making it look like he was sipping from a thimble. His once-cute dimples were hidden by a week or so’s growth of beard. He looked older. Not so much Jack the Lad as Jack the Dad. Only I’m not sure he was that paternal. He’d not even asked why I wasn’t in school. That’s what dads were meant to be concerned about, wasn’t it? That, and the football. And no lads ever going anywhere near you. But then, unlike most dads, he had been locked away from society, so maybe he didn’t know what the Dad Protocol was.
‘How was it?’ I asked tentatively.
‘What?’ His voice was still gentle, like I remembered it.
‘Where you were?’
‘Where did your nan say I was?’
‘The North Sea.’
He nodded, taking this in, a smile crossed his face like he was impressed.
‘On the oil rigs,’ I continued.
He sighed and took a sip from his mug. Like a giant at a tea party. I felt tiny and vulnerable in his presence. I took in his nose, almost for the first time. Why wasn’t it big like mine? How come he got a flat one and I had one that could shield a glacier? Did my mum have a big one? Is that where I got it from? And then I realized that the reason his was so flat was that it had been broken, on more than one occasion maybe, over the years.
Maybe I should’ve got into more fights.
‘You don’t sound like you believe her,’ he said.
I shrugged. I didn’t want to get into an argument. But from what I remembered about this man, he very rarely raised his voice.
‘Where were you?’ I asked, sounding for all my life like Jocelyn. Direct, to the point. As Adam had taken to saying recently, in an American accent no less: Don’t fuck with me, fellas. This ain’t my first time at the rodeo! I had no idea why he said it, but every time he did it made us wet ourselves with laughter.
‘You know where I was, Princess. I was inside.’
‘For what?’
‘All sorts. List as long as your arm. Moonlighting when I was signing on, taking and driving away, armed robbery.’
‘Armed robbery?!’ I gasped, sounding almost impressed. That was Big Time. Yikes!
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m not a very good armed robber. That’s why I got three years.’
I was so glad Nan wasn’t here. I was so glad I’d chosen to bunk off today. In a way I was even glad that Jocelyn had slept with Mark and it had upset me so much, because for once someone was being honest with me, being a grown-up. And it felt comforting. I knew that Nan only ever lied to try and make me feel better. But that counted on me never discovering the truth, and round here that was impossible to avoid.
I remembered Nan telling a story about growing up in the war. How she and her brothers and sisters had seen the May Blitz. How all over Liverpool bombs were going off and buildings blazed, lighting the sky up a million different colours. Her sister had asked her what was going on. And Nan had replied, ‘Don’t worry, Lily. They’re just fireworks.’
And that’s what Nan had done to me. Tried to make me less scared by saying the bombs were only fireworks.
‘How long you back for?’
‘As long as me mam’ll have me.’ And then, as an afterthought, he added, ‘And you.’
‘You can stay as long as you want as far as I’m concerned.’
Well, at least he wasn’t back-stabbing me. Unlike some.
I stared again at the tattoo on his arm. Only now did I realize it was in fact a bruise. And it looked angry. It looked new. It looked like someone had been grabbing onto his arm. Maybe he’d been helping an old dear across the street and she’d fallen? Though it was more than likely he’d got into a fight. Typical Dad, getting into trouble so soon after getting out. He saw me looking, and he quietly rolled down his shirt sleeve to cover it.
‘You’ve been in the wars,’ I said.
‘I bruise easily,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing.’
That’s how I felt, come to think of it. I bruised easily too.
He went for a bath, and there was a knock at the door. Adam was stood on the doorstep, arms folded and steam coming out of his ears, practically.
‘Well, I phoned the vicar. Told him he had squatters. He’s fuming!’
And he barged his way in. He was so wrapped up in what had gone on that he didn’t notice Dad’s bag or coat strewn across the couch.
‘He’s gone round there, mob-handed.’
‘Mob-handed? He’s about ninety!’
‘Yeah, well, he’s taken backup.’
‘Backup?!’ What did he think this was? Cagney and Lacey? ‘Who’s he taken?’
‘Jean who irons the surplices, and Peggy who does his cleaning. I told him he may as well call the police. I also impressed upon him the fact that this had to sound like an anony.’
‘Anony?’ I knew that Adam called anonymous phone calls ‘anonies’ – but what was he on about now?
‘Anonymous tip-off.’
He paced the room, arms still folded. He was so on edge. This had really got to him.
‘Why’s it got to you so much, Adam?’
‘We gave that lad a home. A home, Kathleen! And look how that gobshite REPAID us!’
And as he said ‘repaid’, he really banged the table. The noise shocked even him.
He fell onto a hard-backed chair. He couldn’t look at me. I could tell he was crying, eyes transfixed on the window.
Time for some truth-telling.
‘Adam?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Do you fancy Jocelyn?’
He swung round.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Kathleen! Are you thick?’
‘No, I’m not!’
‘Then open your frigging eyes!’
‘I don’t get it!’
‘I fancy fucking Mark!’
He looked away, back out of the window, and we both sat there in silence. Well, I say silence; he kept making little whimpering noises, like a puppy wanting to be let out for a wee. Eventually he spoke.
‘And I’ll tell you something else.’
Oh God. The penny dropped.
‘Are you gay, Adam?’
He gave me a look as if to say, ‘ha ha, very funny’ – although actually I was being deadly serious. ‘That Jocelyn . . . is a fucking slut. I wash my hands of her. And I’ll tell you something else.’
‘You’re not gay?’ I was so confused.
‘If she thinks she’s playing Mary after this – the VIRGIN Mary – she can go and fucking swivel. Virgin, my hoop. She’s had more pricks than KerPlunk by the looks of it.’
Dad came down from his bath shortly after. He was wearing a damp towel and an old T-shirt. I immediately became embarrassed. Not only was it alien to have such an inescapably male presence in the house, at once casual but at the same time all-pervading, but I worried that the display of male leg might be intoxicating for the newly gay Adam. Well, newly gay to me. Dad announced he was going to go into town for a look around, and did I want to come? I jumped at the chance. He was the lifebuoy to which I was able to cling after the stormy events of the morning. Adam declined, saying he was going to seek solace in the sweet shop. But he told me to mark his words, he had decided to wash his hands completely of that church, that nativity play, the whole shebang. Too many painful memories. I thought this was a bit of an overreaction, and didn’t really believe he’d see it through.
How wrong I was.
Adam and I resigned from the choir and the production, which caused consternation amidst the flock. Who would play Joseph now? Adam said he had to leave because of artistic differences. He just never said who those differences were with, or what they were.
The History of Us Page 8
