The Old House on the Corner

by Maureen Lee

  Ernest didn’t answer and Anna went on. ‘We’ve a visitor coming tonight: Charlie.’

  ‘Charlie?’ He looked at her, puzzled.

  ‘Charlie Burtonshaw, your brother. Or, I should say, half-brother.’

  ‘You’ve rung him!’

  ‘Well, you asked me to sort it so that’s what I’ve done. You’d have heard me on the phone if you hadn’t been in the middle of a frightful sea battle.’ She made a face at him. ‘He sounds very nice. His Liverpool accent is much stronger than yours. He’s coming tonight, but not bringing his wife, she’s busy with something.’

  ‘Did you ask about Gaynor?’

  ‘Yes, she’s married and lives in a place called Ormskirk. He said he’d get in touch with her.’

  ‘So Gaynor might come too?’

  ‘There’s always the chance. Could you pour me another cup of coffee, darling? And hand us one of those ginger creams to dip in. They’re much nicer when they’re moist.’

  Ernest did what she requested, noticing that his hands were shaking slightly. He was wishing now he’d never mentioned wanting to see Charlie or Gaynor. The gap had been too long. He should have contacted them – and Mam – sooner, like directly after the war was over in 1945, not waited until the next century was more than a year old.

  *

  Marie re-read the postcard she had written before leaving the house. The heading was, ‘Computer For Sale,’ and she wondered if a hundred pounds was too much to ask? Or it might not be enough. She hadn’t liked asking the boys for their opinion as she felt slightly uneasy about selling theirs when Victoria was giving them a much better one and not expecting a penny for it.

  ‘I’d have given it away, willingly,’ she piously told herself, ‘but there’s no one to give it to. Sarah’s children are too young, and Ernie and Anna would have been welcome to it if they hadn’t bought a new one themselves only the day before. It’s too good to give to charity.’ Although Liam gave her plenty of money, another hundred pounds would always come in useful.

  There’d been cards advertising things for sale in the shop in Allerton Road where Sarah had bought the chocolate the day before: O’Connor’s it was called. Her lips curved in a smile when she thought about Sarah. Fancy having a nanny bring up your kids! Still, Sarah had been rather brutally thrust into the real world and was coping well.

  I’m glad we left London and came to Liverpool, she thought. In London, they’d lived in what she could only describe as an old converted warehouse where everyone had been dead posh. Wish them ‘good morning’ or ‘good afternoon’ in the lift or going in and out, and they’d look at you as if you’d asked to borrow money or had pleaded to become their best friend. Their lips had difficulty forming a reply. Victoria Square was a very different kettle of fish, everyone knowing the neighbours, just like in Ireland, north as well as south. There were a few she hadn’t met yet, like Gareth Moran’s wife and Kathleen Cartwright’s husband, but she’d see them at the barbecue on Saturday, which reminded her she must get a bottle of wine to take and ask Rachel if she wanted help with the food.

  She arrived at O’Connor’s and scanned the cards in the window in case there were other computers for sale and she could compare prices. There were plenty of three-piece suites, a garden shed going for free to someone willing to dismantle it, a couple of prams, loads of bikes, a few cars, and people offering their services as a window cleaner or plumber, but no computers. She looked the narrow shop up and down and went in. Inside was like an Aladdin’s cave: the small counter spread with newspapers at one end and a rack of chocolate bars at the other. There wasn’t a single inch of wall that wasn’t covered with something or other: jars of loose sweets, cigarettes and tobacco, magazines, birthday cards, bubble-wrapped toys, cheap videos. A pleasant, grey-haired woman of about sixty with an Irish accent was serving a small boy with a quarter of Everton mints. She then attended to a man who wanted to pay his paper bill and put up a fierce argument when informed how much it was. He paid up eventually and left the shop, grumbling under his breath.

  ‘They don’t realize how quickly time passes,’ the woman said to Marie. ‘With papers the price they are now – some of the Sundays cost well over a pound – in no time at all, they can owe as much as twenty. What can I do for you, luv?’

  ‘I’d like this card put in the window, please.’

  ‘How long for? It’s fifty pence a week, one-fifty for a month.’

  ‘A week’ll do.’ If the computer hadn’t gone by then, she’d leave it for another week, perhaps reduce it to seventy-five pounds.

  As she was handing over the fifty pence the woman said, ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ Her face broke into a smile of recognition. ‘You’re Marie Brennan, aren’t you, our Rita’s friend? You married me brother Enda’s best mate at Harland & Wolff. What was his name now – Mickey Harrison. Oh!’ The smile vanished. ‘Mickey was killed, wasn’t he? God rest his soul.’ She made a quick Sign of the Cross. ‘Enda said you’d gone back to Donegal to live with your mammy.’

  Marie stood frozen to the spot and stammered something incomprehensible. Hadn’t Enda said all the Kellys had gone to live in Birmingham? Perhaps he’d said most, not all.

  ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ the woman said kindly. ‘I’m Brigid O’Connor, used to be Kelly. If I remember right, you came to me and Edward’s wedding.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I’m not Marie Brennan. Me name’s Victoria. Victoria Jordan, and I’ve never been to Donegal in me life.’ Marie fled from the shop. Her face felt as if it was burning and she was sweating cobs as she strode back to the square. She had almost reached home when she remembered she’d left the card on the counter and it had their telephone number on. Luckily, she hadn’t included the address.

  I’d better tell Liam, she thought when she entered the house, but there was no sign of him. He must have gone out – they’d hardly spoken since Patrick’s outburst a few days ago. Danny would be well ensconced in Victoria’s by now, and Patrick had gone to a summer day school with Rachel’s daughter, Kirsty – script writing, or something.

  Marie sank on to the settee and took several deep breaths. Was there any need to tell a single soul? None of the Kellys would wish her or her children any harm. Weren’t they all on the same side, after all? Anyroad, hadn’t she denied she was Marie Brennan? Brigid Kelly, or O’Connor as she was now, would see no reason to disbelieve her.

  Even so, if someone rang about the computer, she’d say it was sold rather than give their address to a stranger. ‘None of this would have happened if you hadn’t been so greedy,’ she told herself, and tried not to think about all the nice things she could have bought with a hundred pounds.

  ‘You mean he actually tried the door?’ Sarah gasped. She was outraged and at the same time petrified by such unwelcome news. She and Victoria were sitting on the back step watching Jack paddle in the plastic pool, his blanket on his head. Alastair, wearing only a nappy, lay in the shade examining his toes and Tiffany was in Victoria’s house, playing with Danny on the computer. Sarah had been feeling exceptionally contented with the world until her neighbour had arrived to describe what she had witnessed in the early hours of the morning.

  ‘Well, he went up to the door,’ Victoria said. ‘I think he examined the lock. I couldn’t see all that well.’

  ‘And it was definitely Alex?’

  ‘I couldn’t swear to it – I only saw him for a minute the other day when he was being shoved into the police car, but there was a Rolls-Royce parked in the main road.’

  ‘I didn’t hear a thing. I would have phoned the police if I’d known he was prowling around outside.’

  ‘I was wide-awake and the window was open. I could hear their voices, but not what they were saying, I’m afraid,’ Victoria said regretfully. ‘As to the police, I should’ve rung them meself. I didn’t think fast enough.’

  ‘My window was open too, but I was fast asleep and so was Alastair – his tooth’s appeared. It’s like a little
white pimple on his gums.’ She felt inordinately proud, as if she personally was responsible for the tooth coming through. But there were more important things than Alastair’s teeth to think about at the moment. ‘What on earth am I to do about Alex?’ she cried. ‘He’ll probably come back tonight or another night, break down the door, snatch the children, and within an hour they’ll be on a plane to who knows where.’

  ‘Have they got passports?’ Victoria asked.

  ‘No, but that won’t stop Alex,’ Sarah said frantically. ‘He’s got his own plane, a little one with about six seats. I’ve never been in it, I was too scared. He only uses it to go to race meetings, sometimes in France.’ Once the children were out of the country, she’d never get them back.

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ Victoria bit her lip. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you all stay at mine tonight? You’ll have to bring your own bedding and Alastair’s cot. You and Tiffany and Jack can sleep in Gran’s old bed.’

  ‘Thank you, Victoria, that’s very kind of you and I’m very grateful. But we can’t sleep in other people’s houses for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘Of course you can’t,’ Victoria soothed. ‘Look, let’s put our brains together and we might think of something constructive we can do.’

  Sarah didn’t think she was capable of thinking constructively. She wondered if Daddy would still have sold her to Alex Rees-James had he known the way things would turn out?

  Kathleen and Steve had spent a blissful morning in bed. They hadn’t exchanged a single cross word.

  ‘This is how it ought to be,’ Steve said with a complacent grin when, at midday, they decided it was time to get up. ‘Perhaps we should stop talking to each other and just make love.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Kathleen smiled, lazily stretched her arms, then reached for her cigarettes off the floor. ‘Although, isn’t that rather a bad thing, that we only get on when we’re in bed?’

  ‘I suppose we’ve got to learn to live together,’ Steve said sensibly. ‘We did all our courting in bed. We hardly knew one another when we left Huddersfield.’

  ‘What if we don’t like each other out of bed?’

  ‘In that case, Kath, we’re in trouble. As from Monday, I’ll be working: a week nights, a week days, so half the time we’ll hardly see each other, let alone sleep together.’

  ‘And when I start working, we’ll see each other even less, and I’ll be on duty the occasional weekend.’ Kathleen wrapped her scarlet dressing gown around her and silently contemplated this rather bleak future as she went into the kitchen to make breakfast. ‘Do you want something fried?’ she called.

  ‘No, ta, just toast and cereal.’

  It was time they turned the bungalow into a proper home, she thought. All they’d bought so far were essentials. They needed curtains or a pretty blind for the kitchen window, pictures, plants, a rug for the front room, little pieces of furniture like bedside cabinets and a coffee table – oh, and a microwave and some lamps.

  Steve came strolling in wearing khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. His legs and arms were thick, but shapely. She felt a surge of desire.

  ‘Do you really have to take this security guard job?’ she asked. ‘Couldn’t you wait until one comes up with regular hours? You just said we must learn to live together, but we’re hardly likely to do that if we only see each other a few hours a day.’

  ‘That’s hardly my fault.’

  Here we go again, she thought impatiently. ‘I never said it was your fault, Steve,’ she said in as reasonable a voice as she could muster. ‘It’s the fault of the job. I was just wondering if you couldn’t get another where you worked nine to five, that’s all.’

  ‘Why do I have to change my job?’ he said truculently. ‘Why don’t you change yours?’

  ‘Because we only came to Liverpool because of my job.’ Reason fled and she gave a sarcastic snort. ‘I didn’t realize you wanted to make a career as a security guard.’

  ‘We’re fighting again.’ He sat down abruptly at the table.

  ‘I know.’ She caught the bread when it popped out of the toaster and began to butter it ferociously. ‘What are we going to do about it?’

  ‘I dunno. I think I must resent you.’

  ‘For what?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘You have a better job than me, had a better education, you’re better off than I am by a mile.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose you make me feel inferior.’

  ‘That’s good,’ she said encouragingly, pouring cornflakes into a bowl, milk into a jug, and putting them on the table in front of him.

  He raised his eyebrows questioningly. ‘It’s good that you make me feel inferior?’

  ‘No, that you’re putting your feelings into words. If we work through this together we might find what causes our fights and never have them again. Go on,’ she urged.

  ‘Me go on? What about you? Or am I the only patient in this psychiatric hospital, Doctor?’

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Is it only my fault that we fight?’ He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Believe me, Kathleen, you’re very different now than you were in Huddersfield. You never used to be so sure of your bloody self. You seemed softer then, insecure, as if you needed me. Now, all you want to do is piss me around. I daren’t open me mouth ‘case you jump down it.’

  ‘Who started this row, Steve? All I did was suggest you got a job with more convenient hours. Is that so awful?’ She poured the tea then lit another cigarette. She was smoking herself silly.

  ‘There was no need to rub in the fact that my job’s shit and yours is so bloody worthwhile. I knew that already. It was only going to be temporary, anyroad, till I found something better. Don’t you realize how important it is to me to bring some money into the house? I don’t want you keeping me.’ He picked up the tea and half drained the cup, returning it to the table with a thump. ‘You belittle me, Kath. I think that’s the word.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She realized his esteem was very low. She’d have to be careful in future. The rows were both their faults, hers as much as his. She picked up his hand and pressed her lips against the palm. ‘I love you. Shall we go into town this very minute and have lunch, then buy some things for the house? There’s no need to get changed, you look lovely as you are.’

  He nodded, smiling, and told her he loved her too, so she poured the cornflakes back into the box, threw away the toast, and went to have a shower.

  After she had dressed in her new black skirt patterned with roses and the top to match, she asked if he would mind if she just popped over to Rachel’s for a minute. ‘I won’t be long, it’s just to see how she is.’

  ‘Be as long as you like.’ He was by the kitchen window, looking out. ‘It wants planting with something out there: bushes’d be best, and perhaps a little waterfall in the corner. While you’re gone, I’ll work out what’s best to buy. Perhaps we could go to a nursery tomorrow and get ’em.’

  ‘Could we have some climbing roses?’ she said eagerly. ‘I love roses.’

  ‘What colour?’

  ‘Yellow. I like yellow best.’

  ‘Then yellow it’ll be.’

  As Kathleen walked across the grass, she could see Rachel sitting on the settee in the living room, apparently staring into space. She waved, but Rachel didn’t respond. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. The back door was open and she called, ‘It’s me, Kathleen. Can I come in?’

  There was no answer. She called again, but still no answer. Was it deliberate? Did Rachel not want visitors and this was her way of showing it? Somehow, Kathleen doubted it. She went inside and noticed the dirty breakfast dishes were still on the table in the kitchen, the white of an egg congealed to the plate. Two wasps crawled around the rim of an open jar of jam.

  ‘Rachel – oh, what’s the matter, love?’ Kathleen never called anyone but her immediate family ‘love’, it seemed patronizing, but the word just slipped out. Perhaps love was what this poor woman needed.

  Rachel’s fa
ce was like death, her eyes were dark and haunted with pain. She turned her head towards the visitor and said in a thick, dull voice, ‘Hello, Kathleen. How nice of you to come.’

  ‘Would you like me to make you some tea, Rachel?’

  ‘Yes, please. My throat’s very dry.’

  ‘I won’t be a minute.’

  Kathleen boiled the minimum amount of water, found the teabags and put one in a mug, took milk from the fridge. It was hardly a minute later that she took the tea into the living room where Rachel hadn’t moved an inch since she’d left.

  ‘Here you are.’ She sat beside the woman and put her arm around her shoulders. Rachel’s body felt unnaturally cold for such a hot day.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What’s wrong, love?’

  Rachel was a long time answering and when she did, she spoke like a child, almost petulantly. ‘I thought when we moved everything would be different, that we’d make a fresh start. But you can’t escape the past, can you? Your troubles travel with you.’

  ‘That’s true. Drink your tea, Rachel. It will warm you up a bit.’ Rachel obediently sipped the tea. ‘What’s brought this on? You seemed all right yesterday.’

  ‘Frank said something this morning. Please don’t ask what it was. It just made me realize that there’s no way out. I’m trapped.’

  ‘In what?’

  ‘Trapped in this life, this awful life.’ She stared at Kathleen, who wanted to shrink away from the haunted eyes, scared that she’d be contaminated by Rachel’s hideous, all-consuming grief.

  ‘Would you like me to help you up to bed? Perhaps you could take a tablet. You mightn’t feel so bad after a good sleep.’ Kathleen felt ashamed. She was trying to find an easy way out, not wanting to irritate Steve by staying too long, yet knowing she couldn’t possibly leave Rachel in such a state.

  ‘I’ll never sleep. I’m all right here.’ She leaned her head on Kathleen’s shoulder. ‘I’m glad you’ve come.’