by Lyn Andrews
‘What’s that for?’ Franny asked, eyeing the bowl of water.
She studiously ignored the look of horror on Jake’s face. ‘To wash his dirty arse, unless you want to do it? He’s been sitting here since lunch time so he’s bound to be in a nice mess. Here!’ She shoved a piece of old towelling towards Franny, who shrank back.
‘Are you all so bloody squeamish that you can’t take the sight of the mess?’ She dragged the old piece of blanket from across Jake’s knees; she was past caring how he felt. She pushed his hands away and tried to unbutton the old trousers he wore, faded almost to white by the constant washing and bleaching. Her eyes bored into Jake. ‘Tell them to get out now or so help me I’ll not see to you for a week!’ she hissed.
‘That’s enough. Come on, we’re going. You’re not going to humiliate him like this, you hard-hearted bitch!’ Seamus snarled.
Phoebe-Ann straightened up. ‘Get out! Go on, get out of my house and if any of you set foot in here again then I’ll have the law on you!’
‘You ugly, evil, whore! I should have killed you! I should ’ave bloody killed you when I had the chance!’ Jake screamed at her, beside himself with shame and hatred.
Phoebe-Ann turned back to him. ‘Pity you didn’t. It would have been worth it, knowing you’d swing at the end of a rope and then you’d burn in hell for ever!’
‘You’d better watch yourself, girl. We’ll not forget this,’ Seamus growled from the doorway.
Phoebe-Ann picked up the bowl and threw the contents at him. He cursed as the water drenched him and then he stormed out.
She didn’t even bother to clean up the mess, she just slammed into the bedroom and threw herself on the bed. Oh, God! What had happened to her? She’d just acted like Ma Malone. Screaming and swearing and threatening to humiliate Jake like that. Where had all her decency, her sensitivity gone? She knew the answer. When she had started to sink into the mire, becoming like them. She was lowering herself to their level, the gutter, but how had she let herself become so degraded? Again she knew the answer. It had all begun the day she had taken up with Jake Malone. When she’d started lying and deceiving everyone, herself included. When she’d married him despite everyone’s attempts to stop her. And her mam had paid such a high price for her determination to try to spare her the utter misery she now endured.
‘Oh, Mam! Mam, I’m sorry! What’s going to become of me, Mam? How can I go on like this?’ she sobbed into the pillow.
Albert saw them walking back up Myrtle Street and he’d wondered where they’d been. He ignored the taunts and jeers but kept his eyes ahead and flicked the reins to make the horse hurry on. For a second he wondered savagely why the horse couldn’t have bolted now and trampled the whole tribe of them beneath its hooves. It would have been good riddance. Then he sank back into the apathy that plagued his waking hours.
He was halfway up Lonsdale Street, his chin on his chest, deep in melancholy thought, so he didn’t notice Franny Malone lurking on the corner of Bloom Street. Franny grinned to himself. They were all the same that lot, looking down their noses at everyone. No wonder she was such a bitch, that Phoebe-Ann. He’d bring them down a peg or two. At least he’d bring the old feller down. His fingers closed over the ball bearings in his pocket. He always carried them in case a game of penny and two farthings was in the offing. As the horse drew level, he threw them into the road and turned and ran quickly off down Bloom Street.
The animal slipped twice, reared up, plunged down and slipped again, falling heavily on its side with a high-pitched scream of pain. Albert, taken completely by surprise, was flung from the driving seat of the cart and landed on the cobbles. He cried out as the pain shot through his right leg.
The neighbours came running from their houses and Florrie Harper went for Emily.
‘What happened? Did anyone see what happened?’ Emily cried, bending over Albert whose face was white.
‘It was no bloody accident!’ Bill Withington said grimly, holding up a ball bearing. ‘Who ever did it needs a dozen strokes of the cat.’
‘Will someone help me to get him inside?’ Emily begged.
Two men stepped forward. ‘Better get an ambulance, don’t think we should really move him,’ one advised.
Emily looked up imploringly. ‘Then will someone get one for God’s sake!’
Bill Withington hurried off towards the emergency phone at the bottom of the street and Florrie came out with a grey blanket.
‘Put this around him, love, he’s shakin’. By, but the shock could kill him. The wicked sod should swing! ’Ere, Fred Murray, go and get someone to put the poor ’orse out of its misery. Don’t stand there gawpin’, shift yerself!’
Someone had gone for Edwin and he arrived at the same time as the ambulance, the vet and the police. The whole street was out and he had to push his way through the crowd.
‘How is he, Em?’
‘Oh, thank God, you’re here! I think he’s broken his leg and I don’t know what else.’ She was kneeling on the cobbles with Albert’s head in her lap.
‘The ambulance is here and . . .’ His words were cut off by the single crack of a pistol shot as the vet put the writhing animal out of its pain.
Emily shuddered and he put his arm around her.
They got Albert into the ambulance and both Emily and Edwin followed.
‘Can I take some particulars, miss, please?’ The policeman stood beside Emily.
‘What?’
‘Can’t you leave it until later? You can see how upset she is,’ Edwin said curtly.
‘I’ll give yer some!’ Bill Withington shouted.
The constable turned, getting out his notebook.
‘Someone put ball bearings in the road. It was deliberate and I think I saw one of the Malones legging it down Bloom Street.’
‘Oh, aye, which one?’
‘Couldn’t be sure. It might have been the youngest, Franny, or Vinny.’
‘Franny is the youngest,’ Florrie Harper interrupted.
‘You couldn’t be absolutely certain about it?’ the policeman pressed.
‘Not absolutely but it was one of them.’
The constable closed his notebook.
‘Well, aren’t yer goin’ round there to arrest him? Mr Davies could ’ave been killed,’ Florrie demanded.
‘No proof.’
‘I said I saw him!’
‘But you can’t be absolutely sure. That’s no use, it wouldn’t stand up in court. I’ll go round and see that lot, though; bloody pests the whole tribe of them. I’ll come back later to get a statement, miss,’ he said to Emily.
‘Neither use nor flamin’ ornament!’ Florrie muttered, glaring at the retreating back of the constable.
Albert was kept in overnight to be sure he wasn’t concussed. His leg had been set and he’d been given something for the pain which made him drowsy.
‘Can we take him home tomorrow?’ Emily asked the sister.
‘Come tomorrow morning. I think he’ll be fine. It’s the shock though at his age.’
‘He’s not that old. He looks it but he’s not.’
The sister smiled. ‘Then he should get over it.’
As they left the hospital and walked down Pembroke Place Emily shook her head sadly. ‘What harm had he ever done anyone? Why do a terrible thing like that?’
‘If it was one of the Malones then they don’t need reasons. They’re just bad through and through. Rotten to the core, all of them. Inflicting pain and suffering on an old man and a poor dumb animal. Someone should horsewhip them!’
‘He didn’t need this. He’s never been right since Mam died and now . . .’ She turned anxious eyes to Edwin. ‘Now I’m afraid of what this will do to him.’
‘He’s strong, Em. In body, I mean, so let’s hope everything will turn out right. Let’s get you home, you’ve had a shock yourself.’
‘Do you think I should call in and see our Phoebe-Ann? To see if she knows anything about this, why they did it.’<
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‘No. She’s got enough to cope with and besides they’ve never set foot in Liffy Street to see him, so it can’t have anything to do with him or Phoebe-Ann.’
Emily nodded. What he said was the truth. She felt so weary. Poor Albert, why did he have such rotten luck? He’d never hurt anyone.
Chapter Twenty-three
ALBERT RECOVERED SLOWLY AND Emily was worried about him. He just seemed to have given up, she told Edwin. At least he had been doing a bit of work and he had been more cheery, but the accident had pushed him back to where he’d been just after Lily had died.
‘Why don’t you write to Rhys? Maybe if he came to see him he might be able to do something? I know what you’re thinking, Emily. That I just want Rhys to take him back to Wales and off your hands, but that’s only a part of it. You’re worrying about him and waiting on him hand and foot and it’s wearing you out. What are you going to do for money?’
‘We’ve been managing on what he had saved up, that and what you’ve given me. You don’t have to leave me an allotment you know.’
‘I’d sooner leave you something. At least then I know you aren’t going short.’ What he didn’t say was that by leaving her the ‘allotted’ amount it would ensure that, if he was lost at sea, she would have a small pension. She’d wanted to use the money Richard Mercer had invested for her but he wouldn’t hear of it. ‘With Christmas nearly on us, I don’t want you having to scrimp and save. But think about writing to Rhys, will you?’
She’d nodded, but as she watched Albert become more withdrawn her anxiety for him made her sit down and pen the letter to Rhys.
The following week he arrived and came striding up Lonsdale Street.
‘Rhys Pritchard! Why didn’t you let me know you would be here so soon?’ she cried as she opened the door to him.
‘I wanted to surprise you.’
‘Come on in, don’t be standing on the step. You look very well, quite prosperous in fact.’ She smiled, noting the good quality cloth of his suit and topcoat.
‘I touched lucky. I’m in business now. Didn’t Albert tell you?’
‘I think he mentioned something about you changing your job, but that was all. What sort of business?’
‘Undertaking.’
She looked at him with astonishment. ‘Never! How did you get into that? Isn’t it . . . morbid?’
‘Old Mr Hughes died and his brother, Mr Dylan Hughes, wanted an assistant. They had no family, see. Mam was speaking to him after chapel and she asked him would he be willing to train someone and he said it would depend. The long and short of it was that Mam talked him into training me. It’s not morbid really; you learn to detach yourself from that side of it and you’d be surprised how interesting it is.’ He laughed. ‘No, I’m not going to give you a detailed account. At least I’ll always have work. It’s a service everyone needs in the end.’
‘I suppose it is. Anyway, it’s good to see someone getting on.’
‘How is he?’
‘Not good. He just doesn’t seem interested in anything. I have a terrible time getting him to eat.’
‘Let’s see if I can cheer him up. I may even be able to talk him into coming back with me.’
She led him into the kitchen where Albert sat staring into the fire, a rug over his knees.
Rhys was shocked by his appearance. He would hardly have recognized him. He looked like an old, old man. His hair was nearly white and his face so lined and careworn that it made his heart bleed for him. ‘What’s all this I hear about you not wanting to eat, Albert Davies?’
Albert looked up and a smile spread over his face. ‘Rhys! Rhys, lad, it’s good to see you!’
‘How are you?’
‘It shook me up that fall, it really did. My leg is stiff and the doctor says I’ve got rheumatism. You’re looking very well. Your mam wrote to me about you, but I can’t remember what she said.’
Rhys grinned and proceeded to fill Albert in on the details of his new career, while Emily made some tea, smiling at them both. It was good to see Albert looking so bright and Rhys looking so well. Edwin had been right. Rhys’s visit might well be the making of Albert. She knew she shouldn’t think so, but she couldn’t help but wish that Rhys could persuade Albert to go back. She wasn’t being selfish, she told herself. She was sure that Albert would be happier with Megan, away from all the painful memories here, back in the place he’d grown up in, in a close community bound by a common language and culture. And now that Rhys appeared to be quite affluent, Albert would have a better lifestyle than she could afford.
Later that night when Albert had gone to bed, Rhys broached the subject of Phoebe-Ann. ‘How is she, Emily? I want the truth.’
‘The truth,’ she repeated as she sat down opposite him. ‘The truth is hard, Rhys. She manages to get out on a Sunday evening for a few hours but the rest of the time she spends working, worrying and looking after him. How she copes I don’t know. They hate each other but are tied to each other. He, because no-one else will look after him, his Ma stuck it for a while then she got fed up and dumped him on Phoebe-Ann – and she is his wife. “In sickness and in health”,’ she finished.
‘How do they manage for money?’
‘She works for Miss Millicent and Miss Nesta and I help out when I can, but that’s not often these days. I really don’t know how she makes ends meet. He refuses to go on the Parish and I can’t say I really blame him. There are times when I feel sorry for him.’
‘You feel sorry for him after what he did to her?’
‘It must be awful to have to be washed and changed like a baby.’
Rhys didn’t want to think of Phoebe-Ann having to do such menial and disgusting chores. He thought of her small, soft hands, her sweet curving mouth, her beautiful hazel eyes and her shining blond hair. No, she shouldn’t be tied to a monster like him and have to do everything for him. ‘Do you think I could go and see her?’
‘Wouldn’t it be better if she came here?’ She was thinking of Jake and of Phoebe-Ann. What effect would it have on them both? Rhys, tall, straight, handsome and well dressed, going to see those depressing rooms and what Phoebe-Ann had been reduced to.
‘Will she come?’
‘We can ask. I’ll go tomorrow lunch time. She comes home to see to him twice a day.’ She stood up. ‘She’s changed, Rhys. It was something she couldn’t help. Not with the kind of life she has.’
‘Is that a way of warning me, Emily?’
‘Yes. Don’t expect to see the girl you knew.’
He sat staring into the fire long after Emily had gone to bed. It was so ironic, he thought. Now he could offer her a good home, pretty clothes, security, but she was tied to Jake Malone. When Jake had been able to give her those things he had had to send most of his money home. He sighed, getting to his feet. Tomorrow he’d try and persuade Albert to go back and he’d see Phoebe-Ann, probably for the last time, and he’d have to hide his feelings and not betray by a look or a word that he’d noticed any change in her.
Albert proved to be stubborn. He thanked Rhys for his kindness and that of Megan. He knew they could give him a good home and he sometimes thought it would be good to go back, but then he’d think of Lily lying in Toxteth Park Cemetery and he couldn’t leave her.
‘But she’d understand, Albert. She would only want the best for you and she’s not really there.’
‘She’ll always be there.’
‘What I meant was that only her body is there, her soul is with God and she’ll be watching over you. She’d be happy to see you at home amongst your own people. People who care about you, people you grew up with.’
‘I just can’t, Rhys. I can’t explain it. But I can’t leave Liverpool.’
‘And what about Emily? It’s time she and Edwin were married. They’ve waited long enough. She won’t leave you, she cares about you too much. Edwin would get a place near Southampton, he wouldn’t have to waste two days of his leave travelling, but she won’t hear of it.’
Tears sprang to Albert’s eyes. She was a good girl, Emily. More loving than any natural daughter and he was so fond of her and that was another reason why he didn’t want to go. But, as Rhys put it, he was being a selfish old man.
‘Won’t you even think about it?’ Rhys pressed.
‘I will. I’ll think about it.’
Rhys smiled. ‘Don’t be too long about it. I’ve only got a couple of days before I have to go home.’
He didn’t have any degree of success with Phoebe-Ann. She came the following night after supper and he was shocked by her appearance, nor could he hide that shock. Emily had warned him but he’d never expected to see her looking so old and downtrodden. Her hair was clipped back and it was lustreless and untidy. Her skin had the unhealthy pallor of malnutrition. The corners of her mouth drooped down and there was a tracery of lines at the corners of her eyes. Between her brows there was a deep, horizontal line caused by the constant frown she wore. Her clothes were drab and shabby and her hands were rough, red and workworn. His heart went out to her when she tried to smile. Emily had tactfully left them alone.
Phoebe-Ann stood twisting her wedding ring around nervously, trying to be cheerful, trying not to let him see how ashamed she was of her appearance.
‘I don’t need to ask how you are, Phoebe-Ann,’ he said gently.
‘Then I won’t say I’m just great, Rhys. I’m not. I’m tired and weary and I’m so sick of being a drudge.’ She sat down by the fire and turned her head away from him so he couldn’t see the incipient tears. ‘I don’t want to sound as though I’m whining either. It was all my own fault.’
He sat opposite her, longing to reach out and take her in his arms, to hold her, to say she would never have to worry again, that she would never have to spend her days and nights working. Instead he asked, ‘Is there no-one who can give you a break?’
