‘Thank you very much. I’ve always wanted to spend time with the criminally insane. He eats clothes, you know. And rugs.’ She stood in the doorway, a scarf tied turban-fashion over her hair, polish in one hand, a cloth in the other. ‘The trouble with puppies is they’re gorgeous, so you have to forgive them.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, all right, off you go. I’ll mind the terrible twins.’
‘Thanks, Mam.’
‘And from me, too. Come on, son.’
Chris and Billy disappeared while the going was good. If Daniel sank his teeth into another valued item, Billy’s mum might just call her son back. Priest and child turned right at the bottom of Dryden Street and continued along Scotland Road. ‘We can go in the front door, as we have no dogs,’ Chris said.
Lunch was over and the cafe door was locked. Chris knocked, and they were welcomed by Polly. ‘Hello,’ Chris said. ‘I’ve brought the young man you asked for. His poor mother’s stuck with two mad puppies, God help her.’
‘Come through, children,’ she said before putting an arm across Billy’s shoulder. ‘There’s jelly,’ she told him. ‘And cake and biscuits and ice cream.’
‘Whose birthday is it?’ Billy asked.
‘Nobody’s. It’s Cal and Linda’s engagement party, but we wanted to make a fuss of you, too.’ She showed her ring finger to Chris. ‘Frank got me an eternity ring so that I wouldn’t feel left out.’
‘I should have brought my sunglasses,’ Chris complained. ‘That’s bright enough to blind a man. I may require compensation.’
The small living room was crowded. Ida and Hattie were perched on Cal’s hospital-height bed. Cal and his fiancée sat on dining chairs at the table, while Frank and Polly dished out the food.
‘Hello, Billy,’ Cal called. ‘We’ve a favour to ask. Polly?’
Polly squatted down in front of the boy. ‘We don’t want any bridesmaids,’ she explained. ‘We decided against silly girls in daft, frilly frocks, but we’d like you to carry the rings. No stupid clothes, by the way. You’ll be in a grownup suit with long trousers and shiny shoes. Will you do that for us?’
‘Can I have jelly without eating what Mam calls sensible food first?’
‘Yes.’
‘And ice cream without having butties?’
‘Definitely.’
‘And you won’t tell Mam that I’ve not ate real food?’
‘Promise. Cross my heart, Billy.’
‘All right, then.’
So it was settled.
Only Chris Foley, Polly, Frank, Cal and Linda were familiar with the full truth. The weddings would be soon, because both women were pregnant. Ida, who had not quite managed to rid herself of the tendency to air her views loudly and in public, came out with the obvious. ‘What’s the rush?’ she asked. ‘You in the club?’
‘Yes,’ the girls replied in unison.
Ida blinked. ‘Linda as well?’
‘Linda as well,’ Polly said soberly.
Ida chewed on her lip for a moment. ‘But Cal can’t do the . . . I mean, he’s not been able to . . . how can she be when he’s . . . ? Are you sure?’
Cal shook his head very slowly. ‘Ways and means, Ida. I might not have been able to, but she could. And soon enough I’ll be back to—’
‘Shut up, Cal. Small boy, big ears.’ Polly pointed at Billy.
But small boy with big ears had discovered three colours of jelly, ice cream, Carnation Milk, condensed milk and cake. He was busy inventing rainbow trifle in a glass bowl big enough to hold several pints and was in a world all his own, though he was having difficulty in layering the jellies in a satisfactory fashion. Concentrating hard, he allowed the tip of his tongue to protrude from a corner of his mouth.
‘Well, he’ll be sick when he gets home,’ Linda warned.
Ida continued undeterred. ‘So your legs were good enough for carrying on before you were ready for walking proper, then?’
Polly stared at the ceiling. The damp patch that looked like a map of Africa had developed a few islands, and concentrating on it was vital in order to manage not to laugh. Ida was often funny, though she seldom intended to amuse an audience.
Cal’s face was set in determined mode. ‘Things can work in more ways than one, Ida.’
‘Can they? Not in my day, they couldn’t.’ She sniffed in a disapproving fashion.
A strange noise arrived from a space next to the sideboard. Chris Foley, who was Father Foley today as the dog collar was in situ, was sliding down the wall like something out of a Charlie Chaplin film.
Frank folded his arms. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you now?’
The cleric continued on his downward journey.
‘You’re worse than a kid,’ Frank told him.
‘I was just thinking of the time I was encouraged to take up a missionary position. Like Cal, I was forced to decline.’
‘I’m not inviting you to anything else. This party’s for our ring bearer, isn’t it? You shouldn’t be let out of your house.’
Ida had no idea about what was going on. Billy scooped lime jelly off the floor and dropped it into the mess he was creating. Hattie dug Ida in the ribs and advised her to shut up. ‘Don’t say any more.’ She lowered her voice. ‘They did it with her on top.’
‘No!’
‘Ida, one more word, and I’ll clock you with my handbag.’
‘I never heard of such a thing.’
‘Shut up.’
‘But I—’
‘Shut up.’
Ida shut up.
Chris struggled to his feet. ‘The reproductive process alone is proof enough of God’s sense of humour.’
This time, Frank crossed the small room. ‘Listen, you,’ he hissed. ‘Any more clever talk, and you’ll be banned from the premises.’ He grinned. ‘Mind, I suppose you’re right.’ The last five words were whispered.
Ida turned to her best friend. ‘Do priests know about that sort of thing?’ she mouthed.
‘Course they do. Pull yourself together. You’re making a show of me again.’
‘Sorry, but I—’
‘There’s more than one way to peel an apple, love.’
‘Oh.’
‘And no gossiping about them expecting. If they wanted the world to know, they’d put it in the paper.’
‘Under articles wanted?’ Ida smiled, pleased to have asked a clever question. ‘I won’t say nothing.’
‘Good.’
Billy’s concoction was not a success. ‘How do you make trifle?’ he asked innocently.
‘Not like that,’ the females chorused.
Cal took a more serious attitude. ‘You get sponge fingers or stale cake, raisins, put a bit of booze in to plump up the raisins and soak the cake, a few almond flakes, jelly if you like it, custard when the jelly sets, then cream on top.’
‘Will you make one and let me watch? I don’t mean today, like.’
‘Course I will.’
The child fixed his eyes on Polly, then on Linda. ‘In the club means babies,’ he stated flatly. ‘When are they coming?’
‘In late spring or early summer,’ Linda answered.
‘Both of them?’
‘Yes.’
The boy picked up a sandwich, forgot about babies, and ate sensible food. The news was out; in time, and if or when he remembered, Billy would spill the beans.
Resurrection from the dead was extremely painful. ‘And friend to friend in wonder said, the Lord is risen from the dead.’ Where had he read those words? He wasn’t the Lord; he wasn’t even a decent human being, because he’d lost his temper to the point where he had killed a brother in Christ. No, he hadn’t taken his medicine and yes, he might have acted differently if he had swallowed the pills, but he’d put Billy Blunt in hospital before all that, hadn’t he? Now that he could control his intake of drink, he was able to see what he had been, how he had been for many years. Had he married and stayed in farming, he might never have resorted to alcohol.
Strangely, he had t
urned to God lately, thanking Him for Gladys, thanking Him for a successful harvest, for returning Brendon Hall to the path he should have followed thirty years earlier. For the first time since childhood, he was happy. But the story was front-page news once more, with a young Brother Anselm’s photograph sitting next to an image of Eugene Brennan: fat, unsmiling and a priest.
Gladys bustled in with scissors. ‘You all right, Don?’ she asked.
‘I’m just looking at the Herald. Did you manage to get some kippers?’
‘I did, love. Isle of Man, boned and ready. They’ll do nicely for breakfast tomorrow with a bit of bread and butter.’
‘Well, don’t give your dad any. He could choke on even a small bone.’
She loved the way he cared for Dad. ‘He’ll have egg in a cup mashed up with crumbled bread and butter, as usual. As if I’d give him fish. Did you say you wanted me to cut your hair? Come on, let’s be having you over here, mister.’
He sat still and obedient while she wrapped an old tablecloth round his shoulders and began to trim his hair. She liked sideburns, so he went along with her wishes and wore a stripe in front of each ear. His crowning glory was now completely grey, and that helped greatly when it came to disguise.
‘Can you imagine a priest killing a monk, Don?’
He shrugged. ‘Priests are people. People have limits, and he was an alcoholic. A shame about the brother, though.’
Gladys sighed. ‘Anyway, as long as he doesn’t come here, eh? The whole of Derbyshire’s on the lookout for a fat man with an Irish accent. I don’t know about Derbyshire, but we get Irish travellers all over Cheshire looking for seasonal work. Some folk moan about them; I don’t. Any man who’ll do a day’s work for a few bob and a dinner is worth his weight in dolly mixtures. And they’re usually good for a laugh, being Irish.’
He belonged here. He was good with animals, great on the land, happy with his lover. Gladys was gentle, caring and undemanding. She accepted his ‘wife’ in Sunderland, was sad that he couldn’t be divorced, though she was very happy with him. Her Don had been as nervous as a new groom, but she’d sorted him out and had told him repeatedly that she couldn’t imagine living without him. This was the life, and he didn’t want it threatened.
‘Are you having your whiskey now?’ she asked. The man was like clockwork; he drank two doubles every night, said his prayers, slept like a baby and was more than happy to help with chores in the house and garden once morning came and milking was completed.
‘Yes please, dear.’
He swallowed a bubble of fear. He was well established at Drovers, and he blended in very well. As Gladys’s ‘husband’, he was accepted in the village and neighbouring hamlets, always ready to lend a hand with a broken tractor or a hard birth if there was no vet to hand. In fact, he was treated as something of a genius in agricultural circles, since he seemed to know soil just by touching it and sniffing at a handful.
Gladys handed him his glass of Irish. ‘So, miracle man, we’ll be knee-deep in honey next year, will we?’
‘What?’
‘Oh, you’ve gone into one of your dreams again, have you?’
He swung round to face her fully. ‘Am I talking or crying in my sleep?’
‘No. I meant your daydreams.’
‘Ah.’ He took a swig of whiskey. ‘Let me know if I start with the nightmares, will you? I’ve had them since I was a small child, and you’ll have no sleep if they start up again. I know your dad’s on morphine, but he’d be awake, too. I get loud.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep the caravan bed made up for you, and if you start shouting, I’ll throw you out after I’ve pulled the little bit of hair I’ve left you with.’
He had to smile. Gladys was one of those people who made a person happy even if he was miserable. ‘You’re good for me, young lady. You’ve given me a job, a home and a reason to live. I’ve never before been so happy.’
‘Then what’s worrying you?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. I’m just a little bit tired is all. And your father’s talking about his death and the hymns he wants at the service. It will be soon, he says.’
Gladys sat in the chair opposite his. ‘He’s been saying that for a while, but he is in the final stages now.’ Her face blanched. ‘I’ve never lived without my dad. He’s been a massive part of my life and I can’t bear to think of him dying. I just go from one day to the next hoping it won’t be yet. It’s just lying to myself, but that’s how I get by.’
‘We all have our mechanisms, our rituals that help us travel through the day. But remember, you’ll still have me.’ But would she?
‘What’s your mechanism?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I’ve several. You, the whiskey, the land, taking your father out, reading to him, being with you like an ordinary family man, no more running.’
‘Running? Were you running?’
‘No, no. I mean travelling.’
‘I see.’
‘We were chased off many a time. Some of the high-faluting farmers don’t want gypsies on their land so yes, we ran. But here in the cooler evenings with a nice log fire and a good woman, this is perfection for me.’ Gladys wasn’t pretty, but she glowed and looked beautiful when he said certain things. She was small, round, strong and rosy-cheeked from years of toil. Except for her accent, she could have been the wife of any decent Irish farmer.
‘I’m glad you came here,’ she said before picking up her knitting. It was a cardigan for him, of course. Just like Mammy, she put him first, cooking his favourite foods, buying him new clothes and even cutting his hair. He was the husband she should have had, the child who had been denied her.
They made love that night. Gladys, grateful for any attention, was comforted, while he gloried in the joys of the flesh, however fleeting they might be. Whatever, it helped him sleep. But just as he drifted towards unconsciousness, a realization hit him. He loved this woman and didn’t want to leave her. It would all be fine, he reassured himself, because he looked nothing like Eugene Brennan. Gladys was his beloved, and nothing but death could separate the two of them.
Frank was hanging pictures on the rear wall when the shop door opened. ‘I’ll be with you shortly,’ he called. He descended the ladder, turned and saw her. She was, without the slightest doubt, the most stunning woman he’d ever seen in the flesh. Like a Hollywood queen, she was beautifully attired; her makeup looked great and not too heavy, while the shoes and bag must have used up a month’s salary. ‘Ah, Elaine,’ he said resignedly.
She stepped towards him. This was the day on which she would take the bull by the horns, because the tension was killing her. He had to want her.
Feeling threatened without quite knowing why, he backed away a pace. He did know why, he reminded himself inwardly. This woman kept popping up all over the place, and he was one hundred per cent sure that she was one hundred per cent crackers.
‘I thought I’d let you know that my company will be briefing prosecuting counsel in the William Blunt case against the Catholic Church,’ she said. ‘As far as litigation is concerned, I’m the new boy, so I do the legwork.’
The legs, too, were magnificent. She was a work of art, no less and no more, because the eyes expressed little. What had made her like this? Short of tearing her clothes off and lying on a huge bed surrounded by flowers, she could not have done much more to advertise herself as available to him.
‘And I’ve taken on board all you said about lawyers becoming specialists in the area of ill-treated or deprived children. My seniors are considering that suggestion. I may take up arms myself in that discipline.’ Every man wanted her. Why should this one be different?
‘Good.’ He wiped his hands on a damp cloth. She was mad. Although she was a good enough actress, she could not conceal her insanity from him.
‘So we must have a meeting some time. And I need to see three teachers, a police constable and his sergeant, then a Mr Davenport.’
Frank dried his hands on the front of his
overall. ‘Fair enough, though we’re rather tied up with wedding preparations just at present.’ He watched the eyes again, and they seemed to glint slightly, like the surface of a dull, flint-type element. ‘It’s to be a double wedding. Polly and Cal are twins, you see.’
She pretended to study a few articles in the room. ‘I like your tantalus. Perhaps I’ll buy that some time for a present.’ Turning, she asked, ‘When’s the wedding going to be?’
‘Three weeks.’
‘Ah. Will your mother be there?’
‘Not by invitation, though she wouldn’t be turned away. She doesn’t approve of my Polly.’
His Polly. Elaine must not allow her contempt for that wretched woman to show. This man, this beautiful example of humanity, was meant to have been Elaine’s first. She had chosen him, but he refused to respond. ‘You don’t like me, do you, Frank?’
He felt riveted to the spot. ‘What?’
‘You don’t like me.’
He shrugged. ‘What gives you that notion?’
‘You do. You give me that notion.’
He hated her. He hated her for making him nervous, for forcing him to be careful here, in his own property, especially when Polly was visiting. ‘I have no strong feelings for you either way,’ he lied. ‘You’re just someone I happen to know.’
‘I always get the impression that you wish me far away.’
‘Oh?’ She was never far away, and that was the trouble.
‘Yes.’ She smiled, though the eyes remained cold.
‘Elaine?’ He arranged his words carefully. ‘You may be the centre of your own universe, but you’re not even a B road or a crease on my map. Polly is my life, and I’m no cheat.’
Laughter that bordered on the hysterical bubbled from her lips. ‘You think I want you? Go and marry your greasy-spoon girl, because if that’s what you want, that’s all you deserve. I just considered you for a while as a possible source of entertainment, nothing more. But if you’re so wrapped up in Miss Egg and Black Pudding . . .’ she shrugged, ‘then fun time is over before it began.’
‘If you need to play, try Lime Street. You’ll even get paid for it. Now, tell your employer that I will not talk to you. He must make me an appointment with someone else.’ There, the gauntlet had been thrown down.
A Mersey Mile Page 27
