Having retreated discreetly to the toilets when the barracking began, Eppie now returned to the stage. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please. It gives me the most enormous pleasure to bring, for your delight and delectation, a young and budding talent from your very own Salford. Be prepared to be thrilled and excited, to tingle with pleasure as you listen to the uplifting music of this amazing sixteen year old from Ordsall. Friends, put your glasses down and your hands together to give a big, warm welcome to the superb Bert Berry and his Banjo Band.’
The crowd clapped and roared, stamped their feet and whistled to welcome the young players on to the stage. Unable to resist the infectious music, Liam did a brief jig, bent as if to kiss Cyril Whitehouse’s wife, who reached her face up in readiness, but planted his lips firmly, instead, on the head of the huge bricklayer. ‘I think you are a big pet as well,’ he told the deflated Cyril. ‘Would you like to have a dance with me?’
‘Sod off, Murphy. I’ve come out for a quiet pint and what do I get? I’ve got her down my ear on one side, now you being a bloody nuisance on the other.’
‘Oh, he’s such a miserable old grump,’ Cyril’s wife said, getting to her feet. ‘Come on, darling, we’ll show them how it’s done.’ She grabbed hold of the surprised, but not unwilling, Liam and they twirled and jigged around the tables as the rapt crowd clapped their hands to the driving beat of the Dixieland music.
‘Well done, mate,’ Eddie said, handing his now exhausted friend a welcome pint as he rejoined him at the bar.
Smiling, Liam placed his foot on the brass rail and found a dry patch on the wooden surface for his elbow. ‘Something had to be said. It was turning a bit nasty and the poor little sod was frightened to death. You had to admire his guts for standing up and doing it.’
‘I didn’t realise that it was the same fella.’
‘No. It only clicked with me when he called her Dorothy de Vine and I remembered Big Charlie telling me that it was her stage name. Did you notice the woman who dragged him off at the end?’
‘Not really,’ Eddie said. ‘I was watching Cyril’s face. ‘He’s really had the stuffing knocked out of him.’
‘Aye, it’ll keep him quiet for a bit. Look, that’s her now, talking to Tommy.’
‘I can’t say that I recognize her. Who is she?’
‘It’s Beattie Bountiful. Don’t you remember? She made an important contribution to our formative years; at least, she did for mine,’ Liam said.
Edward watched as the buxom lady turned to the audience. She was striking in a handsome sort of way, heavily made up and wearing inexpensive, flamboyant jewellery. ‘Oh, wasn’t he forceful, eh girls?’ she called out, looking across the room to the suddenly uncomfortable Liam. ‘Wouldn’t mind scrumming down with him for a bit, would you? Mind you, I probably have done already; he did look a bit familiar. I don’t know about you, ladies, but I always did prefer the oval balls.’
The stout lady screamed with laughter and almost choked on her porter. ‘I don’t know about that, Beattie. Prefer a bit more meat on them myself.’
‘Eh, big is not always beautiful, love, but I suppose that it is in the eye of the beholder; isn’t that right, Cyril? Come on then, Tommy. Give us a note and let’s have a bit of fun.’ Tommy obliged with a cheerful introduction and Beattie launched with unabashed enthusiasm into a raunchy music hall song. Her deep, expressive voice and her exaggerated gestures ensured that no innuendo was missed, no double-entendre overlooked, and she ended her song with a widely applauded shimmy. She then heaped poignancy into her rendition of Second Hand Rose, almost suffocated an old man as she pressed his face into her bosom whilst she sang I’m Just Wild About Harry, before hugely enriching the possible interpretation of the words of Ma, He’s Makin’ Eyes at Me.
Drinks began to appear on top of the piano, which both Beattie and Tommy gulped at, whilst others were placed on the table in front of Elsie, for which she rewarded the waiter with a nervous smile and an almost inaudible ‘thank you.’
Liam turned his back to the singer who was now taking her risqué performance direct to her audience, first stroking the bald head of one then tickling under the chin of another, before sitting on the knee of the now completely crushed Cyril Whitehouse. ‘She could probably find a lot of them in here on her list of previous conquests,’ Liam said drily.
‘Well, I’m pleased to say that I wouldn’t be one of them,’ Eddie said, ‘and I don’t think that you would really qualify as a conquest.’
‘No. More a valiant attempt, I suppose. How are things going at the warehouse?’
‘They’re not. I have been laid off. There’s not enough work – especially with the dockers being out again. I’ve been out on the picket lines with them this afternoon. Some of them are getting really down but they can’t afford to take another pay cut like the owners are asking them to do.’
‘I’ve been meaning to ask you a bit of a favour, Eddie. If you’ve got a bit of spare time, you know, is there any chance of giving me a hand at the yard? Just for a couple of hours a day, if you can manage it.’
‘Well, I’ve not much else taking up my time. Things picking up a bit are they?’ Edward said, encouraged to think that the prospects might be finally improving for his friend.
‘It’s not bad. I’ve just got another couple of shops on board and I’m struggling to get round with the handcart. I’m thinking of getting a horse but then you need the stabling, the tack and another cart.’
‘Don’t bother, mate. Go the whole hog and get one of those motorised lorries. You saw how good they were in France. Move the stuff in no time.’
‘That’s a bit of a dramatic move, Eddie. Going from a handcart to a lorry. I mean, apart from the £300 that it would cost, which I obviously haven’t got, the one thing about horses is that they don’t break down. They might get knackered in the summer but they don’t just stop in the middle of the road.’
‘No, but you’ve got your Callum who can help out there. He’s got no match when it comes to engines. As for the money, you could have a word with that Captain Brown who sorted the shop out for you. I believe that he’s helped out a few of the lads to get a business started through his father’s bank.’
Beattie had finished her performance and Tommy was now thumping out a stirring rendition of Mademoiselle d’Armentieres with the audience bellowing out the chorus line, Parlez vous.
‘That’ll take a bit of thinking about, Eddie. I’m only just getting on my feet and that seems a big step.’
‘Go for it, mate. I will come and give you a hand but you have a word with Bridget and then go and see Brown. I believe that there are some cheap wagons on offer at the Drill Hall. They are those Crossleys that have just been shipped back from France. You could take your Callum with you to have a look at them. He’ll sort a good one out for you.’
Liam’s face lit up. ‘You know, Eddie, you might be on to something there. I could get Brig to visit the greengrocer shops in Hulme. We haven’t tried them yet and she’s brilliant at talking them round. She dazzles them with her smile, tells them her husband was in France and then persuades them to try some of the produce. I’ll drink to that one. It’s worth a go.’
He raised his glass to celebrate the embracing of this bold idea, but gave a startled cry and beer spurted out of his mouth as he felt a hand, firmly but fondly, grasp his buttock. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the brightly flowered dress and his moment of elation quickly dissipated. ‘I remembered who you were, you strapping bundle of muscle and sinew. It’s Liam Murphy isn’t it?’ the smouldering voice murmured in his ear. He felt the heat rising in his body as the hand gripped him more tightly. ‘Cross Lane Market wasn’t it?’ Beattie asked. ‘Didn’t we have a bit of unfinished business to talk about, Liam?’
‘Long time ago that, Beattie. Just a part of my apprenticeship. Thankfully, I never did sign any indentures so you’ll have to finish it with someone else.’
Beattie sighed. ‘It seems to be my lot in
life. Disappointed by every man I meet.’
Liam eased himself out of her fondling grasp. ‘Keep optimistic, Beattie. Mr Right will come along one day.’
‘Come along one day? Eh, love; he’s come along and gone again on so many days that I’ve lost count. But if you ever need those aching muscles massaging, you know where to come.’ She gave Liam a quick kiss on the cheek, wiped the smirk off Eddie’s face with a kiss on his lips and shimmied across to the startled Cyril Whitehouse, cutting off his escape to the gent’s toilets by grabbing his braces and dragging him over to the stage. There she entertained the audience and embarrassed Cyril even further with a modified version of Hold Your Hand Out You Naughty Boy.
Liam took out his handkerchief, wiped his perspiring forehead and blew his nose. ‘Bloody wars. Good job there wasn’t too many of those came out of that mould.’
Edward picked up his beer and drank deeply. ‘There are some old friends of yours, mate, which I think I would prefer not to be meeting. Did you not have any respectable girlfriends before Bridget?’
‘You know, Eddie, I’m not sure that I could answer that. That bullet wound that I had in the head, I think that it might have wiped out some of my memory. There are things that I remember as if they were yesterday, yet other things seem to have completely gone.’
‘Things such as what? Or can’t you remember?’
‘Things such as this, for example.’ Liam took the small painting from his pocket and removed the protective paper tissue that he had wrapped around it. ‘You remember this picture that I showed you. This woman, who is she? It’s driving me mad trying to remember. There’s something familiar about her but I just can’t put my finger on who she is. And if you knew somebody who looks like that, how could you possibly forget virtually everything about her?’
Edward looked over at the photograph. ‘Well, that’s obviously you.’
‘I know that, but who is the woman? I think that Brig thinks that I might have been playing fast and loose, even though she says that she can’t believe it.’
‘Aye, well it certainly looks that way, doesn’t it? You were going with Brig when you were eighteen and both you and the mystery woman look older than that on there. That’s another one that you kept secret.’
Liam held the painting higher to gain greater benefit from the inadequate room lighting. ‘I’m going crazy, Eddie. There’s something about the face that touches a chord deep inside my brain but I can’t get it out.’
They were surprised by a loud and anguished groan behind them and Liam turned to see the tortured, white face of Epiglottis gaping with open-mouthed shock over the shoulder of Edward. ‘Are you alright, mate?’ he asked the quaking man. ‘You look as though you have just seen Marley’s ghost.’
‘Oh, my heart, my heart,’ the ageing thespian cried, bringing his hand to his chest with only a fraction of his normal flamboyant exuberance. ‘My Helen, my Desdemona,’ he wailed, ‘my Juliet, my Cleopatra.’ His body shook with a wracking sob as he stared with glistening eyes at the picture. He reached out and touched the image of the beautiful woman and whispered in an untypically quiet, pained voice. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?’ he began falteringly. ‘Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’ Tears were flowing freely down his cheeks now and Liam looked quizzically across at Edward, who just gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. ‘Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date.’ The tragic man stared at the picture and his head fell forward. ‘All too short,’ he whispered, ‘and in the winter you were gone.’ He stepped back from the bar, pulled his cloak round his cowed shoulders and fled the hotel, leaving Liam and Edward staring after him in disbelief.
Chapter 16
Hooking their arms together, Amy and Pippin bowed their heads into the biting cold wind that was driving freezing specks of snow into their faces. They pushed their way through the group of men who were huddled round the corner of Cross Lane, their caps pulled down to their eyebrows, jacket collars turned up, hands thrust deep into their trouser pockets and cigarette ash dropping onto the white scarves tied round their throats. Amy nudged aside a youth who was cheekily blocking her progress. ‘I might be thin, Harry Johnson, but I’m not invisible. Just learn some manners.’
‘Did you see that silly grin on his face?’ Pippin giggled. ‘He fancies himself as a bit of a ladies’ man.’
‘I suppose that he’s not bad looking but he’s certainly no Rudolf Valentino. Do you think that your Mother will be in, Pip? I do need to talk with her urgently.’
‘She should be. Our Edward was going out with his mates and the others will still be at Sunday School. Dad will be in but he will be having a lie down. He wasn’t so good with his coughing this morning. What do you want to ask Mam about, anyway?’
‘Oh, it’s a problem with my granny. I’ll tell you when we get inside.’
They walked under the ornate, cast iron arcade of the Palace Theatre where a one legged man, supporting himself on a filthy crutch, sang outside the glass panelled swing doors. A cardboard box that he held shakily out to passers by bore the legend Injured on the Somme. Wife and 5 kids. The girls averted their eyes as they passed him and turned into Myrtle Street, where the wind quickly abated.
Pippin’s mother sat them down near the fire and poked the coals into spitting flames; the big black kettle rewarding her with a wheezing response. ‘Take your coats off and I’ll mash the tea.’ She put two scoops of leaves into a large brown teapot and put it into the oven at the side of the shining black range. ‘That won’t take long. We’ll soon have you warmed up. I’ll just be getting on with some baking so you two can sit and have a chat. Your dad has been playing around with the crystal set but can’t get it working. You might have been able to listen to some nice music.’
‘Mam, can you leave the baking for a minute? Ames wants to have a talk about her granny. She’s having a problem with her.’
‘Oh dear. That sounds serious,’ Laura said, pulling a chair from under the table and sitting between the girls. ‘Grandma is not ill is she?’
‘I… I don’t think so,’ Amy answered, ‘unless being ill includes going soft in the head.’
‘Why do you say that, dear? Has she been acting strangely?’
‘I don’t know about acting strangely, Mrs Craigie. I just think that she might be going a bit cracked, you know, the way that she’s behaving.’
‘Oh, Amy. You shouldn’t say that about your Grandma. She’d be very hurt if she knew that you thought that.’
‘It’s true, Mrs Craigie. It’s ever since she bought that long brown coat off you. You remember, the one with the fur trim round here.’ Amy indicated with a sweep of her hand the position of the fur trim, round the collar and down the front. ‘I think that it has put some funny ideas in her head. She is going out with a fella.’
‘Ah, I see,’ Laura said. ‘Well, she has been on her own for some time now. She might enjoy a bit of company.’
‘Mam, she is an old woman now,’ Pippin said indignantly.
‘Yes, she is,’ Amy agreed. ‘She is fifty two now and old women shouldn’t be going around getting boyfriends.’
‘You should go and see her, Mam, and tell her that it is not right.’
‘And that everybody will be talking about her,’ Amy added.
‘Tell her that you will give her the money back for her coat if that is what is causing the problem,’ Pippin said fiercely.
‘Now, hang on a minute, girls. Don’t get too worked up about this. I must admit that I have heard it mentioned that your Gran has got herself a friend but he is certainly no boy. In fact, I know who it is and he is probably a couple of years older than your Gran.’
‘But that proves it, Mam. You already know so it’s true, everybody must be talking about her.’
‘Well, I only know because he is a friend of your dad. He goes in the Railway for a drink.’
‘So even the men are talking about her?’ Amy asked incredul
ously. ‘That is really bad. What’s my Mam going to think? Everybody in Salford will be talking about her.’
‘Amy, try not to feel so anxious about their friendship. Pip’s dad only mentioned it because he said that it was the first time in years that he can remember the man smiling. He does work for a company of Funeral Directors so I suppose that sort of thing could make you a bit mournful.’
‘He is called Mr Blenkinsop and he goes round nearly every night after work for a cup of tea,’ Amy said emphatically. ‘And sometimes, Mrs Craigie, he stays until after nine o’ clock.’
‘But all that proves is that they do enjoy each other’s company,’ Laura reasoned soothingly. ‘I have not heard anybody saying anything unkind or critical about the arrangement. I mean, if something happened to your dad, God forbid, then I might want to get married again. Would that be so bad?’
‘Mam,’ Pippin cried, still sensitised by Aunt Sarah’s revelations of the marital intimacies that produced children, ‘that would be disgusting. How could you say such a thing? If you did something like that I would never speak to you again.’
‘When you get older, Pip, you will have a family of your own, God willing, and they will be burden enough for you. You shouldn’t want the worry of me as well. Times are changing now and you girls will see a different world than we have had. Older people don’t have to be stuck in a corner, fed regular cups of tea and told to shut up.’
‘I know, Mam, but it’s about being respectable, and old people behaving like that; well that is just not respectable.’
‘What is not respectable about having a friend for company when you are a bit older? Better that than she becomes one of those meths drinkers up on Chapel Street.’
Rags, Bones and Donkey Stones (Sequel) Page 14
