A Mersey Mile

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘I need to talk to you about Elaine Lewis. May I come in?’

  Frank stepped back. ‘I can’t stay; I have to get back to my fiancée, because she isn’t very well.’

  Bob placed his cards on the table both literally and metaphorically. ‘That’s my work number, and the other’s my house phone. She’s dangerous. I suspect that you’ve been on the receiving end of her attentions. I went through her files to find you. Have you been singled out for her special treatment?’

  ‘Yes, I have. What about you, Mr Laithwaite?’

  ‘Bob. I was foolish enough to bed her. Big mistake. On top of all her other little foibles, she seems to be a rampant nymphomaniac. There’s something very wrong with the woman.’ He eyed Frank up and down. ‘We look similar, could be brothers. Anyway, to cut the opening paragraph short, my uncles are the senior partners in the firm, both bachelors who consider her to be the greatest discovery since the wheel. Nothing will persuade them to be rid of her. I don’t know what to do. And I can scarcely put my finger on the truth, because it’s just so hard to explain.’

  ‘I know. She’s not right, yet she’s always correct. It’s like trying to convince yourself and others that Michelangelo made a pig’s ear of David. Look, Bob, I have to go and make sure Polly’s all right. We’re waiting for a phone to be installed so that I can talk to her without driving home, but there’s a bit of a queue for phones. Come here for lunch tomorrow, one o’clock. We’ll get privacy in the upstairs flat.’

  ‘Thank you. I know you were her real target and that I was her second choice.’ He opened the door. ‘I’m a bit scared of her.’

  Frank felt his shoulders sagging with relief. Someone else knew, and that someone else was a lawyer. ‘See you tomorrow, Bob.’ He repeated the ritual, snick down on the Yale, bottom, middle and top bolts shot home, all because of that bloody woman. And halfway up the mile, that stretch of Scotland Road owned for the most part by the Charlesons, the best girl in the world waited for him. He was late, and to hell with Elaine bloody Lewis. Polly mattered. While lights still blazed upstairs, he left his property by the rear door and walked towards his hidden van. What a life.

  The cafe was closed, but full. Inured to the vagaries of Scotland Road residents, Frank parked his van in a disused stable and used his key to let himself in. Oh, no. Polly would have his guts for garters, because he’d forgotten a meeting of the Turnpike committee. In Polly’s list of commandments, this was mortal sin. He smiled sheepishly before finding a chair near the door.

  She was in charge, of course, standing at the front with her full teapot and her cheeky attitude. ‘Did the wind change and blow you in the right direction, Frank? Glad you found time to be here before the end.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed, pleased to see Cal occupying an ordinary cafe chair. The committee had grown again, because ordinary members were too nosy to stay at home. Ah well, this was democracy.

  ‘We’ve decided we can’t do anything till next year,’ Polly told him. ‘I’m going nowhere till this baby’s a few months old, and our Cal agrees about his and Linda’s baby. You could all do it without us, I suppose, but the march started off as my idea, cos I was the only one who took the trouble to look at the history of this road. So we reckon October or November next year. Hattie?’

  Hattie stood up. She’d canvassed one side of the road with all adjacent streets, while Ida had done the other side. ‘Children will go to school halls for minding. Every teacher from every school has volunteered to look after kids. Each street has to elect two or three mums to cater for children too young for school.’

  ‘And the old folk?’ Polly asked.

  ‘The same. They won’t be neglected, you can bet your bottom dollar on that.’

  Ida stood up. ‘Can I say something?’ she asked.

  ‘Can we stop you?’ was Hattie’s reaction.

  ‘Well, it’s good news. Father Foley’s been in touch with three firms that run charabanc trips. They’ll need the date well in advance, but we’ll have every coach and two drivers in each, because we’re not stopping in London. This is the good bit – they’ll do it for free and bring us home the same day. Well, I mean the same night, I suppose.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Polly said. ‘That leaves us with money for food.’

  ‘No need,’ Jimmy Nuttall shouted. ‘Those of us who sell food will cater and charge only cost. We don’t want anybody losing out money-wise because of a march that shouldn’t need to happen. And don’t forget, we march on Liverpool after London. We’ll need no food or transport for that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Polly said. ‘Now, all who have a business on or near Scotty, signs will be made for you. Each condemned business will identify itself in writing. Every street will have a sign, as will all churches and schools. Older children will carry those. We’ll probably have priests with us, too, plus a few family members from Ireland and Scotland. Let’s hope and pray that Father MacRae doesn’t bring his bagpipes and drummer, because we want absolute silence. Let them think of us as louts, and let us teach them something.’

  Hattie chimed in. ‘As well as us not being louts, we’re reminding them that they’re liars and murderers. How many grannies and granddads will survive the clearances? How many have been told that new houses will be built here for them in time? The killing of Scotland Road was promised by the Home Office over thirty years ago, but we’ve no concrete proof. And concrete’s what this bloody government needs; we should bury them in it.’

  ‘Before they’re dead?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Either way,’ snapped Hattie.

  Polly looked at the watch Frank had bought her. ‘Any other business?’ she asked.

  And he simply couldn’t do it. Frank had intended to bring up the subject of Elaine Lewis, but there stood Polly with a child in her womb, and Frank’s throat was suddenly paralysed. He would need to tell individuals, and he would require a photograph of Elaine. Oh, that bloody woman! Why him? Why Bob Laithwaite, who’d seemed decent enough during their short encounter? Once again, Frank felt powerless. But he looked at his girl with her shining eyes and glowing skin, with her attitude and her cheeky little smile, and he felt emboldened. Together, they could overcome anything, please God.

  The front window rattled. Frank rose to his feet and went to see who had dared to be later than he had. Pete Furness fell in, fingers curled round the collar of Billy Blunt’s winter coat, which item was still attached to its owner. ‘Mrs Blunt?’ the constable called.

  ‘I’m here.’ Mavis folded her arms. ‘Back to normal, is he?’

  Pete fought for air. ‘Tell you what, missus, this here lad can’t half shift.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘I’ve put both our names down for next year’s Derby, and neither of us will need a horse.’ The accent continued to advertise his status as a son of inland Lancashire.

  Billy’s mother stood up. ‘What the hell’s he been up to this time?’

  ‘Jumping buses,’ was the reply. ‘Jumping on while they’re moving, jumping off while they’re moving. There’s a gang of these daft kids. I know how Chicago felt during prohibition, because we need eyes in the backs of our heads. The conductors are sick to their wisdom teeth, and the drivers daren’t get any speed up in case a jumper dies. Everybody on board will be late home, dinner dried up, wife as mad as a cat shut in the dustbin with next door’s poodle.’ He released the young offender. ‘One more time, Billy, and you’re down the station for a caution.’

  Billy, wearing a dark scowl and clothes that needed readjustment due to rough handling, tidied his outerwear. ‘There’s nothing else to do.’

  Mavis bridled. She wasn’t a big woman, but she bridled well. ‘Constable Furness, there are other offences to be taken into consideration.’

  ‘Oh?’ Pete removed his helmet. ‘Such as?’

  ‘Fruit nicked from Paddy’s Market, a new collar for Daniel the spaniel – don’t know where the heck he got that—’

  ‘Spending money I saved,’ Billy shouted in eager self-def
ence.

  ‘Shut up,’ his mother ordered. ‘Drinking his dad’s beer, throwing stones at what’s left of bombed houses, getting stuck in one of the cellars and needing folk to dig him out. Isn’t that trespassing? And giving cheek, too. You’ve no idea of what we have to put up with.’

  ‘Terrible,’ Polly said, fighting a giggle.

  Pete scratched his head. ‘No wonder I’m losing hair, what with this daft hat and all the worry about bus jumpers and the like.’ He winked at Mavis. Her dreadful child was on the mend, and that mattered more than any of the lad’s crimes.

  Frank followed Pete Furness out of the cafe and took him into the doorway of Hattie’s shop. ‘We have a problem,’ he began. Without missing the slightest detail, he related the almost incredible story of Elaine Lewis. ‘I don’t know how far she’ll go, Pete. There’s another chap involved now, a workmate who got dangerously close to her. She’s crazy enough to follow me here when she finds out I’m not living in the flat. People on Rice Lane are walking about with their eyes on stalks, worried about anything from broken windows to arson. She was there earlier, watching her mother and my mother in the shop. She won’t like that. She’ll think we’ve been talking about her.’

  ‘Is she paranoid?’

  ‘From what I’ve read, more narcissistic, thinks the sun shines out of her own belly button. I’ll get you a photograph. See, few would believe me, because she’s a brilliant lawyer, beautiful, well dressed, too bloody perfect to be true.’ He paused. ‘I fear for her mother. Her mother’s always supported her, like most mothers do. If Elaine thinks Christine’s stepped out of line . . . People often hurt or kill those they love and trust most.’

  ‘You shivered then, Frank.’

  ‘Yes, so would you if she set her sights on you. It’s a bit like hearing the purr of a big cat and waiting for it to change to a growl, then a lunge. She sees, she wants, she gets. What worries me is what happens when she doesn’t get. Boiling anger? Retribution? Destruction?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Frank. Can’t you find a normal problem like pests leaping on and off buses? All I get from you is beaten kids, a murdering priest and a madwoman. And from your best mate, Billy Blunt’s dreams.’

  ‘I know. It’s a hard life, eh?’

  ‘It is. Get back to your lass. She’s looking great.’

  Frank nodded. ‘Call in on her in the morning when she’s heaving in the bathroom. She’s very noisy with it.’

  ‘She’s lovely, Frank.’

  ‘She is. I’ll go and tell her you said so.’

  Christine came to a halt in Norma’s car, parking it as close as possible to the house. Elaine’s car was already here. For a few seconds, Christine sat still and simply breathed. She had to become an actress, needed to carry on as if there was nothing bothering her, as if she’d been on an exciting journey of discovery with Norma Charleson. ‘Come on,’ she urged herself. Norma had wanted to accompany her on the last short lap of the journey from Rice Lane, but, since that might have been judged by Elaine as unusual, Norma had been decanted at Brookside.

  When a degree of equilibrium had been achieved, Christine forced herself to become an excited child. She left the car, dashed to the house and threw open the front door. ‘Elaine?’ she called. ‘Elaine, come and look at my find.’

  Several beats of time staggered by on weary feet. ‘Elaine?’

  ‘Coming.’ The younger woman descended the stairs slowly. ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll need help,’ Christine gabbled. ‘It’s small, but solid.’

  They walked to the boot of the car, and Elaine opened it. ‘Isn’t that a beautiful thing? It’s what Victorian ladies bought when engaged to marry, a sewing chest. The pedestal’s hollow for larger items, and there are lots of compartments under the lid for buttons, threads and so forth.’

  ‘Nice inlay on the top,’ Elaine managed. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘Ah, I’ll tell you about that once we’re inside. It was quite an adventure.’

  When the sewing table had been placed in a corner away from all windows, they straightened themselves and looked at it. ‘Better there,’ Christine said. ‘We don’t want the wood bleached by sunlight.’

  Elaine’s eyes slid sideways towards her mother. ‘Where were you? You’re always here when I get home.’

  Christine almost stumbled at this first fence. ‘Darling, I have a life too, you know. You’ve been missing for many evenings and I’ve had to throw away good food twice. We’re both free women.’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘Yes, we are.’ Christine sat down; her legs felt weak. ‘Frank Charleson has opened a shop on Rice Lane – oh, but you know about it, don’t you?’

  ‘I did the conveyancing, yes.’

  ‘Well, there was an advertisement in the local newspapers with a photograph of Frank in the doorway. He called the business Aladdin’s Cave. Norma mustn’t have seen the advert, or she would have said something. So I pretended we needed a small table for an empty corner, and managed to persuade Norma to come with me to look at the shop. She didn’t know I was taking her to see Frank.’ Lying didn’t come easily, yet it had to be done. ‘I got them back together, Elaine.’

  ‘So that was your adventure?’

  ‘Well, yes. Norma was up in arms about his engagement and stopped talking to him. As you and I already know, he stormed off and left home. It was beginning to look as if they’d never communicate again. We had a cup of tea in the upstairs flat, and they talked. She’s going to the wedding.’ Her beautiful daughter was not beautiful at present. That lovely face wore a creased, angry expression.

  Elaine placed herself in the chair opposite her mother’s. ‘What did they talk about?’

  ‘I didn’t ask.’

  ‘But you were there.’

  Christine shrugged lightly. ‘No idea apart from the awkward greeting at the start. I took my tea downstairs and rooted about till I found this little gem.’

  ‘In the dark?’

  ‘What?’

  Elaine blinked rapidly. ‘Er . . . I was there in my car. I’d been working on a will for a Rice Lane resident and was completing my notes. The lights were on upstairs, though not in the shop. Days are short in October.’

  A quick answer was required. ‘I was in the rear storeroom, Elaine. He keeps better pieces out of the public gaze, saves them for customers who want something special. When I went back upstairs, the two of them were chatting as if nothing had been wrong. So I’m very pleased about that and about my lovely table.’

  Elaine announced her intention to cook a meal, left the room and began to peel vegetables. Mum was nervous. She’d been chattering away like a monkey striving to be freed from its cage. This had been one hell of a day. When questioned about the lighting in Frank’s shop, Mum had blinked rapidly. Mum knew. She knew the will was a lie, knew that Elaine had embarrassed herself by throwing herself at Frank Charleson. ‘I’m seeing Bob Laithwaite from work, Mum. We’ve kept it quiet because his uncles don’t know yet,’ she called.

  ‘Isn’t he a partner?’ Christine asked.

  ‘Junior, yes.’ She wasn’t seeing him. He, too, had rejected her. ‘So that’s where I’ve been in the evenings.’

  ‘Right. Will you be bringing him home?’

  ‘Early days. I’m looking for another position, because having a relationship with someone in the same firm can be awkward.’

  ‘I suppose it might be, yes.’

  Something in Mum’s tone failed to ring true. Elaine set the vegetables to cook and placed two chops under a slow grill. Right. The decision made itself. ‘There’s a flat in town,’ she called. ‘It’s above some offices on Hope Street. The sale fell through during conveyancing, something to do with a mortgage. I think I’ll take a look at it and grab it if it’s still available. Two bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen and a large living room. Time for me to set out on my own journey.’

  She walked to the doorway, knife in her right hand. ‘I need my own place, Mum. I hope you understan
d.’

  Christine swallowed a lump in her throat. She mistook it for sadness until she realized very suddenly that it tasted of relief. Carefully, she answered, ‘Well, I shall miss you.’

  ‘I’ll visit.’

  ‘I hope you do, dear. And bring your young man.’

  ‘If it works out, I shall do that, of course. It’s just that I’m not sure yet. He’s very keen, but I need to meet more people, don’t I? Like the old saying goes, there are shoals of fish in the sea.’

  The mother looked at the adult child, the perfect daughter. And she saw ice in the eyes, felt the chill on her own skin where Elaine’s gaze rested. ‘Don’t worry about me. As long as I know you’re well and happy, I’ll be quite content.’

  ‘Good.’ She went to turn the chops. There was a hollow quality to her mother’s voice, as if the woman had switched to automatic. Was she lying? ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Someone’s been following me. In fact, I think more than one person’s involved.’ Once again, she stood in the doorway, but the knife had been replaced by a tea towel. ‘Even though I’m working in litigation now, I’m scarcely dealing with society’s underbelly, since I don’t do criminal cases, so it won’t be hit men. I wonder who would want to have me followed?’

  Christine tutted. ‘I don’t like the idea of that. Who might it be? Does Mr Laithwaite want to find out whether you’re being unfaithful?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  Although her daughter’s eyes seemed to be boring into her head, Christine maintained her poise as best she could. ‘People look at you wherever you go, Elaine. You should be used to it by now. I’ve told you before to get a portfolio together. Fashion modelling pays well, and you’d have another string to your bow even if you played on it just occasionally.’

  Deep in thought, the young woman returned to the kitchen. She should get out of Liverpool altogether, go to London where life was bigger, where a person could do exactly as she pleased without being noticed. Yes, there were decisions to be made.