Midnight on Lime Street

by Ruth Hamilton

  While the men took the boys away, Babs dried her eyes and turned her torch on the privets opposite those from which the three had emerged. ‘I know you’re there,’ she spat, her voice still fractured by emotion. ‘And I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, you sneaky, twisted bastard. If you need a whore, try Lime Street.’ She parted the privets. The creature had gone.

  Eight

  Neil Carson could scarcely remember his journey into the stark outback of the Mersey plain; it was as if the bike had set its compass to arrive here, while he had been no more than innocent cargo. What was he doing in this place at this time? Angela wasn’t available; nobody was available due to circumstances beyond the control of the fat mamma, Eve Mellor. She didn’t like Neil, and the antipathy was reciprocated.

  He was restless to the point of scarcely being aware of his own actions. Preparations for his proposed move needed to be made, and he needed to reclaim his senses and start to imitate normality, at least. Oh, why had they come that night and why had they chosen him? There were millions of Catholics and millions of fireplaces . . .

  And who was the harridan in the lane, the one who had berated him so rudely? Where was Jesus when He was needed? Oh, how he wished his mind would stop or slow down a bit, at least. Tired and jumpy, he wondered who was pulling his strings. Perhaps Judas had a grim sense of humour – after all, he had drunk Neil’s beer. And if Judas was hanging around with Jesus, did that mean he was now a saint?

  Neil sat near bushes a bit further away from that rude woman, listening while the vehicle on the shoulder started up and pulled out onto the road. At last, he breathed. For how long had he held his breath without knowing it? Clearly, he must have taken in oxygen, but not all the way to the bottom of his lungs. That woman had scared the living daylights out of him.

  There was no safe place, not for him. Although things had quietened along the Dock Road, the police were doubtless continuing the search for the killer or killers of Jean Davenport and Dolly Pearson. Now it seemed that the mystery of the runaway schoolboys was about to be solved, though that was none of his business and was of no interest to him.

  ‘I have to see her, even if it’s only for a minute,’ he muttered, wondering whether it was possible for a man to fall in love with a whore. The girls lived in the kitchen at the back of the house – he had learned that much during visits to the farm. Leaving his bike where it was, he crept up the pitted dirt track and round the side of the house, his body in close contact with the building. Autumn was truly on its way, because it was almost dark by eight fifteen.

  She was at the sitting room end with some others. Without makeup and the special clothing she used for her role play, Angela looked like an ordinary woman. The whole group chattered and laughed while he, the outsider, eavesdropped through a slightly open window and read lips as best he could when laughter drowned a speaker’s words. She was leaving Meadowbank. Why hadn’t she told him she was going? But he must not get angry; perhaps she had discovered only recently a new place to live.

  The old woman who cooked shouted from the other end of the huge room, ‘Where is your sister’s wool shop, Ange?’

  ‘East Prescot Road, Knotty Ash,’ was the reply. ‘I’m having the upstairs flat. It’s not big, but it will do, I suppose. Beggars can’t be choosers, can they?’

  Neil knew Liverpool well, as did most who worked with mail. West Derby, Old Swan, Broadgreen, Knotty Ash – yes, he could find his way to that cluster as long as he had an address. And he had an address. After all, there wouldn’t be more than one wool shop along that stretch. So his journey had not been wasted, then.

  He stared hard at Angela, who had taught him that pain was the mirror of pleasure, that a collar and lead could make physical freedom so much sweeter, that flesh sensitized by a whip was always alive and eager for more. She reduced him to slavery, chained and cuffed him before allowing him to dominate her only during the final act, during which she appeared to experience such pleasure. Though he could never be sure, since it was part of her job, wasn’t it? Laura had never even groaned, had never said a word. His wife had done her duty, no more than that. ‘I want you,’ he mouthed silently. ‘And I’ll find you, because I know Knotty Ash like the back of my own hand.’

  One stark fact remained: Neil Carson missed his children. Lucy was quite the little lady, always prancing about wearing Laura’s jewellery and Cuban-heeled shoes, forever borrowing handbags, lipstick and scarves. She sang and put on plays in which she played all the parts, because her brother wouldn’t join in, since mucking about dressed up was only for girls.

  Neil allowed himself a tight smile. Matt was a clever boy, doing well at school, but mad as a hatter when it came to football and cricket. They were lovely kids, they were his, and he missed them. He remembered days in the park: the see-saw, the roundabout, a slide, the swings. He’d taught them to throw and catch, to swim at the baths, to ride bikes.

  But the reality was that he needed Angela more. He dared not tap on the window, could not entertain the idea of ringing the doorbell. And there she sat in jeans and a pale blue blouse, her hair loose and flowing, her attitude relaxed as she chattered to the rest of the . . . of the prostitutes. They were pretty; it was clear that Fat Mamma chose la crème de la crème.

  He backed away slightly into the shadows. The fact remained that he was supposed to be clearing away people like Angela and her colleagues, yet he was operating on the other side of the business altogether. He was a client. Enlivened by close contact with a clever if somewhat brutal woman, Neil was fast becoming addicted. But he wasn’t on the streets, was he? Nothing had been said about women who plied their trade indoors; the emphasis had been placed on the cleaning up of pavements where ‘ladies of the night’ sold their wares.

  Wool shop, East Prescot Road, Knotty Ash.

  He crept back to the bushes, picked up his bike and wheeled it out towards the main road. Tomorrow, he’d be moving to a decent house with windows that opened and a place to hang clothes well away from cooking smells. Things could only get better. Couldn’t they?

  He entered the city centre and pushed his bike towards the water. This was a place where people often stood staring out towards the bar as if waiting for a relative to come home after long service at sea. Two painted whores approached him and asked was he looking for business and did he fancy a threesome? He swept an eye over the pair. ‘No, thanks.’

  They wheedled, spelling out items on their menu and the prices for each function. One offered to remove her dentures to give him the experience of a lifetime, and he smiled kindly upon both of them. ‘Ladies, I am spoken for, but thank you.’ They were small, they were ugly, and they were on the streets. Furthermore, they were accosting men and offering themselves at very low cost. He wondered whether they might be diseased. But here, in the glare of city lights, he dared not react. Had they been further along the riverfront, he might have been tempted to do the work prescribed by the Lord.

  Tomorrow, he was on the two-till-ten shift. In the morning, he would stand at the school gates and look at his children while they played. At noon, Joseph would come for him, and the move away from squalor would be achieved.

  Back in that hellish attic room, Neil packed his cases, sat in the greasy chair and drank a small Guinness. A new page was turning; a new chapter was about to begin. Once he got away from this dump, his mind would settle and he would be in decent company and clean surroundings. And best of all, he knew where Angela was going.

  ‘Why are we standing here like two statues waiting to be bombed by pigeons?’ Tom asked, a grin decorating his handsome face. ‘It has to be done, Belle.’

  She swallowed nervously. ‘I don’t know. Why are we standing here like a pair of statues waiting for—’

  ‘It’s not a riddle, babe. You were the one who decided to wait to tell your mum and dad once the deed was done and you were out of Meadowbank. If you remember, I said they should have been told as soon as we’d made our decision.’

  ‘I�
�m a coward. And there are no pigeons in your house.’ She attempted a smile; he looked wonderful in good clothes and with a smart haircut. Max clearly shared their excitement by bringing his toys one by one and laying them at the feet of the radiant couple.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on, Belle.’ He went to do just that. ‘You did tell them the auditing firm was closing down, so they’ll expect you to be out of work,’ he called before reappearing in the kitchen doorway. ‘Cup of tea and a slice of apple pie, then we go together and do what has to be done. They like me, love. It’s not as if they’re going to hit the roof with their clogs on, is it?’

  ‘But they don’t know how long we’ve known each other, Tom. As far as Mam and Dad understand, I met you a very short time ago. Well, apart from seeing you in a jeweller’s shop. They’ll think it’s too soon.’ She raised her left hand and studied the rings. ‘And here I am, not just engaged, but married five hours ago. You told Eve you were talking possible marriage, but you never said we’d be done and dusted by four o’clock, did you?’

  Tom shook his head slowly. ‘Listen to me. If you think I went to all this trouble getting a wedding cake so that Frankie and Sam can have a taste—’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He strode across the room and kissed her gently on the mouth. ‘We are not a mistake, Belle. I still think we should have done this differently, but we can’t change what’s happened. We are not a mistake,’ he repeated.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘We’re made for each other. Let’s face it, three hands are better than one, and there’s always my hook.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then sit down, shut up, and I’ll get your tea and your pie.’

  After a lovely post-wedding meal, Belle wasn’t hungry, but she decided to follow her husband’s orders just this once. It would give her a little more thinking time . . . Oh, heck. Little Lisa didn’t know anything, either. ‘I’ve done this arse over tip, as usual,’ Belle muttered while her man made tea. He did very well with just the one hand, she thought, and she alone had the power to stop via massage the occasional acute pain in fingers that no longer existed.

  Three houses along the street, Mam and Dad were probably watching a bit of telly before bedtime. Lisa would be curled up fast asleep and completely oblivious of the fact that she had acquired a stepfather. Might she want to leave her grandparents and move in with Mummy and Tom? And how would Lisa’s grandparents feel if that happened? The child could choose. She could eat in one house, sleep in another, bring Amelia to either . . .

  Tom sat after handing her a small tray. ‘Stop worrying.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Well, take the rings off and stay with Sam and Frankie for a while.’

  Belle didn’t stop thinking. Lisa would want to be a bridesmaid, and the child’s grandparents would insist on attending a wedding that had already happened. She shook her head. ‘I’m telling the truth. Well, I’ll give them most of the truth, because I don’t want my family ever to know how I’ve been making my money.’ She gazed at him. ‘I still can’t believe you chose me, Tom.’

  He smiled broadly. ‘Oh yes, there was a long queue, eh? There were ten of them lining up wanting to marry me. I love you, you daft mare. Even if there had been a queue, I would have asked you and only you.’

  Belle fluttered her eyelashes. ‘That would be because I’m such a sweet, innocent young thing.’

  ‘You’re nearly ten years younger than me, Mrs Duffield. And we have our alibi, because you’ve done the audit for several jewellers who give me work, so we’ve seen each other before on several occasions. Ships that passed in the night, yet we recognized each other without realizing at first. We fell in love in my house while drinking tea together; we wanted no fuss, but we’ll have a church blessing if that’s what they’d like for us. Lisa could have a posh frock, and your mam would have an excuse to buy a new hat. Women like hats, don’t they?’

  She giggled, but she didn’t know why. ‘When I was a kid, Mam always used to say I had a giggle button. Trouble was, I couldn’t stop once I started laughing, then I’d get hiccups.’

  Tom drained his cup. ‘Thanks for that information. I shall take it down and use it in evidence against you. Come on. You can finish your pie when we get back.’

  Belle stayed where she was, firmly planted in the chair. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ she whispered.

  The master of the house paced up and down a few times. He would sort this out. ‘Right, Madam Butterfly, you can stop where you are – I’m going to fetch your parents.’ When she opened her mouth to reply, he held up a hand in the manner of a traffic policeman. ‘You just carry on fluttering about and I’ll bring the mountain here. Don’t worry, a neighbour will babysit Lisa. Just stay, for God’s sake. Married for less than half a day, and there’s trouble already.’ Giving her no chance to speak, he left the house.

  With her jaw dropping, Belle froze for several seconds.

  Pulling herself together, she ran to the front door, but she couldn’t shout, didn’t want to make a show for the neighbours to chatter about over supper or tomorrow’s breakfast. Tom was walking up the path to Mam and Dad’s front door. He was all dressed up in his wedding suit, a white rose wilting slightly in his buttonhole. Bugger. She closed the door and returned to the living room. ‘Come on, Isabella,’ she mumbled, staring at her reflection. She looked good in mid-blue taffeta with navy accessories, but she did a quick job in the makeup department.

  Silence ruled. Any minute now . . . any minute now . . .

  *

  At long last, Bill Tyler had found his way to the scout hut. He could have gone to his local police station first, but he preferred to visit the scene in case the boys were hanging about nearby. If they were, he could have a chat with them.

  Oh, hell on a butty, there was a uniform at the door and a couple in plain clothes with him. What should he do? He should ask about the lads he had seen that night, so he steeled himself. He was going to talk to police anyway soon, so why wait? The boys’ safety was his first priority, because Roy hadn’t been safe.

  After taking a deep breath, Bill squared his shoulders, straightened his spine and approached the scene, leaving his bike on the ground.

  ‘Stay where you are for a minute,’ Detective Sergeant Eddie Barnes called. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Are they all right?’ Bill shouted.

  ‘Are who all right?’

  ‘Them three lads. Has he killed them as well? I know he got arrested the other morning; it was on the wireless.’

  After a short conversation, the uniformed man ordered the boy to come closer. ‘You’re all right, lad. Say what you have to say.’

  So he spilled his guts accompanied by a few tears. Annoyed with himself for breaking down like a girl, he told them about the condemned house, the crop, the stolen electricity, and that his best mate, Roy Foley, had been a clever lad totally devoid of common sense. ‘We couldn’t manage all them plants,’ he explained nervously, ’cos there was hundreds of them, so Roy went down Halewood to get Boss and his gang. They said they’d do the harvest, then me and Roy went in one of the vans. They give us twenty quid each. There was two vans - one for people, the other for the grass plants. We helped to load at our end, then to unload at the other end.’ He paused. ‘Can I have a drink?’

  He was given a cup of lemonade. While the boy drank it, Eddie watched him. This was a lad at Confession; he had come here to unburden himself. ‘Feeling better? What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Bill Tyler. Roy Foley was me bezzie mate since nursery.’

  ‘Go on.’

  He went on as requested. ‘There was a great big barn and a house on its own, not stuck to any other houses, like. We put the plants in the barn, then we had to go to a shed near the house and get all these packets and pile them up in the van where our stuff had been. We were driven here, and the packets got hid under tents and stuff. There was three lads. Boss said he’d look after them with food and money if they’d mi
nd his property and promise not to touch it. They was them three what ran away from school.’ He paused. ‘Are they dead?’

  ‘We think not,’ Eddie said, his tone quiet and gentle. ‘What happened after the drugs were stashed, Bill?’

  Bill told them about having been taken home and ordered to work for Boss. ‘He said he’d come back for us the next day. He told me I had to deliver drugs to people, and he was taking Roy on as a member of staff was the way he put it. I told Boss I couldn’t do the job for him because I’m working with me dad now. We have to travel to other towns sometimes, cos it’s a big building firm. So I got let off and Roy got murdered. It was in the papers.’

  ‘Yes. Boss or one of his gang overdosed him. Boss is too clever for that, which means it was probably one of his sidekicks. So – anything else, Bill?’

  The boy stared at his feet. He was grassing, but he had no choice, had he? And with Boss in jail . . .

  Eddie prompted him again. ‘Bill?’

  This was another frightening bit. ‘He said he knew where our families were. The next thing I found out, Roy was dead. Then I started thinking about this lot who were living in the hut with the drugs. Where are they?’

  ‘We don’t know. But thank you for coming forward, son. You’ll have to make a formal statement, of course.’

  Bill felt the blood draining from his face. ‘Will I go to jail?’

  The uniformed man put a hand on Bill’s shoulder. ‘Listen, lad – we’ll put in a word. It took courage to come here and tell us all this stuff. Now, if you’d like to go with DS Barnes in an unmarked car, he’ll take you to the cop shop and you can write your statement.’

  ‘What about me bike? It’s not just mine— I have to share it with me brothers and they get mad when I bugger off without telling them.’

  ‘I’ll get the keys to the van,’ Eddie said before disappearing into the hut.