Meet Me at the Pier Head

by Ruth Hamilton

  Clearly unimpressed, the kitten yawned.

  In the front garden, she stood by the new grave. ‘The other Tyger,’ she said. ‘We don’t even know how old he was, because he belonged to the house, you see. Now, you’ve been chosen by a very special man, so look after him. I think he gets a bit sad.’

  ‘Do I?’

  She swallowed hard. He’s behind me. This is like bloody pantomime, but without the audience to warn me. I never heard his car arriving because I was at the back of the house. I’m blushing again. This is beyond embarrassing.

  Tia turned and there he stood. He had been listening; how much had he heard? ‘Sorry,’ was all she managed at first. She drew herself up to her full five feet and nine inches. ‘I was showing him his territory.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I watched you from my kitchen window.’

  She thrust the kitten at him. ‘He did his duties for Delia, then for me. He’s had two tiny meals, and he likes Charlie, my blue rabbit. Perhaps I’ll buy him a soft toy.’

  ‘That would be appreciated, Tia.’

  Was he laughing at her? ‘Are you laughing at me?’

  He nodded. ‘You remind me of me. I’ve talked to animals all my life, and it’s good to know I’m not the only idiot on the planet. Will you come in for a sandwich? I seldom make it home for lunch, but I wanted to see Tyger-Two. Thanks for taking care of him.’

  This is not going to be as easy as it might have been, Portia Bellamy. He’s stunning; you’d better start looking for somewhere else to live. What’s the point, though? You’ll be working with him. Stop staring, for goodness’ sake!

  ‘Tia? A sandwich?’

  ‘Er . . . no, thank you. Delia will be back shortly with her drums.’

  Theo raised an eyebrow. ‘Drums?’

  ‘She won’t practise here. I shall make sure of that.’

  ‘Pity. I play a few chords on the guitar, so she might like to try the drums out in my flat. This evening, perhaps? The house is detached, so we’ll disturb nobody.’

  ‘I’ll ask her.’

  ‘Do that. Come with her if you think you can tolerate the noise.’

  She hesitated, opened her mouth, closed it again.

  ‘Well, Miss Bellamy?’

  ‘I have a great deal to do,’ she said after the long pause. But might Delia speak out of turn to him? ‘I’ll come down tonight if she gets some drums. She’s very particular. Oh, and skiffle is somewhat noisy.’

  Theo nodded. ‘Right. I’ll raid the wine cellar.’

  ‘You have a wine cellar?’

  ‘Of course, and it’s well stocked. It’s called Warburton’s. It’s on the main road, wedged between fish and chips on one side, haberdashery on the other.’

  If he pulls my leg any harder, it will drop off. You like a man with a sense of fun, Tia Bellamy. You like a man with good musculature, generous lips, square jaw, dark hair, warm chocolate eyes . . . Stop this now, you damned foolish woman.

  Delia broke the strange and uncomfortable spell by rattling onto the driveway and up the side of the house with her group’s disreputable and noisy vehicle. She alighted and ran round to the front garden. ‘Got some,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Scotland Road was brilliant once I broke through the language barrier. Hi, Theo.’

  He grinned at Delia. With her face illuminated by excitement, she was almost pretty. ‘Bring them into my place,’ he said. ‘You don’t want them stolen from the van.’ He turned to Tia. God, why do you have to be so bloody perfect? ‘I’ll see you both at about seven this evening. Delia, I play the guitar, so we’ll have a session.’

  ‘Great. Give me a hand, please.’

  Once more, Tia was in charge of Tyger while the drums were carried into the ground-floor flat. We are the three Ts. Theo, Tia and Tyger. I should have taken the post in St Helens. I should have found a different flat. No, I like this one. And he fascinates me, but I’ll get used to it because I must. Simon will be my shield – is that cruel?

  Theo reclaimed his kitten. ‘Thanks, Tia. Miss Ellis says if you want to come in for a couple of hours tomorrow, she’ll show you the ropes. Not that we make a habit of hanging our kids, but punishment is sometimes necessary, and you need to learn how to tie the knots.’

  Tia found herself grinning. ‘So that’s where you get your body parts?’

  ‘Young meat is tender. And I also use hospital morgues, because sometimes I need bigger bits. They require simmering for several hours.’

  She nodded thoughtfully. ‘That chicken salad you gave us – was it really chicken?’

  ‘Oh, Miss Bellamy, I never answer such questions. You enjoyed the food, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I made the pie with apples from my own trees.’

  ‘It was good.’

  ‘Thank you. See you later, then.’ He took Tyger from her and walked away.

  Determinedly, Tia climbed the stairs, found nails and hammer and began arranging pictures on her walls. Life wasn’t all about pretty kitties and handsome landlords. She sorted through books, dusted their covers and arranged them on shelves at each side of the fireplace in her sitting room before repositioning furniture to suit her own idea of comfort and order. The dining room was easy – one table, four dining chairs, two carvers and a sideboard. She sorted out the kitchen and found that Theo had thought of everything from a fish kettle to cruets. He was rich, far too wealthy for a headmaster of an infant and junior school. She found decent cutlery, moderately expensive dinner and tea sets, good table linen, substantial pots and pans.

  Delia dashed in. ‘He’s going to phone people from his office – trying to get messages to skifflers.’

  ‘Is he, now?’

  ‘Two Johns, a Benny and a Steve. And a few more, including a chap called Corkscrew. He can bite the tops off beer and wine bottles, apparently, though he has lost teeth when opening champagne.’ She sidled up to her older sister. ‘I told Theo you can sing.’

  Tia was unpacking a heavy-bottomed frying pan while Delia delivered that sentence. ‘And?’

  ‘And that you know Lonnie Donegan’s work.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  Tia raised the weighty pan. This is like pantomime again, no you didn’t, yes I did . . . ‘Have you any idea of the damage I might inflict on you with this cast-iron pan?’

  Delia shrugged. ‘Do your worst, then. I’m prepared to die for my art.’

  ‘Art? Two washboards, a tea chest, a set of false teeth and a whistle?’

  ‘Listen, your royal bloody highness, we take everyday things and make them musical. We even twang one of Ma’s garters – we call it the B-E-S-O – the Bellamy Elastophonic String Orchestra. We had it fine-tuned especially. With the right tension in a cool room, we can hit top C.’

  Tia sank onto a stool and began to laugh. Having a mad sister could be trying, but it was also fun. ‘OK, OK, I give up.’ She was going to be embarrassed; singing in the presence of her boss with a skiffle band whose members she had never met wouldn’t be easy. She knew Delia, of course. And him. Him. He won’t mind if I mess it up; he likes me, I know he likes me.

  After all her labours, Tia took a second bath. She washed her sun-streaked hair, dried it, brushed it and left it hanging like a shining waterfall almost to her waist. Right – clothes. She found three-quarter-length blue jeans with striped turn-ups that hugged her shins, some white socks, blue canvas shoes and a crisp, sleeveless, blue-and-white striped blouse. Skiffle was casual, so she would be casual.

  At seven o’clock, she was applying makeup so skilfully that it appeared not to be there at all. Delia had already gone downstairs after washing dishes used during their evening meal. People were arriving; Tia heard them talking and laughing as they carried their instruments into the ground-floor flat.

  She descended the stairs, locked her outer door and walked down the side of the house. Nervousness was new to her. She knew about stage fright; it was an essential part of theatre. Anyone who felt nothing before
stepping onto a lighted stage was not an actor, but this was different. A practice with Delia’s band was fun, no more and no less, so why did she feel so edgy? Because, Portia, you’ve been window-shopping, and he may not be for sale. Yes, he’s easy on the eye, but you don’t know him, and he’s too old for you. Go inside and get this over with.

  Furniture had been pushed against the walls. Delia was keeping company with her new drums, while Theo tuned his guitar. He stopped to introduce Tia to the rest. There were the two Johns, one with washboard and metal thimbles, the other carrying a banjo. Corkscrew sat with an autoharp on his knee; he was clearly going to hold it like a zither, as this position probably made it easier for him to disable strings he wasn’t using. A Pete had a twelve-string guitar, while a Steve with severe acne held a kazoo in his right hand. Everyone seemed friendly.

  ‘Here’s our singer,’ Theo announced. ‘It seems I’ve been demoted.’

  ‘You sing if you want to,’ she said. ‘I’m quite happy to listen.’

  Banjo John thrust a microphone at Tia. ‘Stand near him,’ he said, pointing to Theo. ‘Then you can both sing.’

  Washboard John joined Delia and discussed rhythm, then all the musicians played through ‘Puttin’ on the Style’. They worked at it until some semblance of cohesion was achieved, after which miracle Tia began to sing. She had a voice that covered two octaves, and while the upper eight were delivered clear, the lower end of her range was husky. After the first verse, her companion sang with her, and she descanted over him in parts. She began to suspect that she was actually enjoying herself.

  A Benny arrived with his tea chest bass. He complained loudly about having been refused access to two buses because of his instrument. The Lonnie Donegan song died while Benny waxed Scouse-lyrical about the state of the bloody country and bloody bus conductors who thought they had God-given power over travellers. ‘It’s only a sodding box,’ was his final stab at Liverpool’s transport personnel. ‘You’d have thought it was a bomb.’

  Theo turned down the amp. ‘Hi, Benny. This is Tia, and her sister on drums is Delia. They’ve escaped from Kent.’

  Tia giggled. Theo was joking, yet he had hit the nail so hard on its head that it was buried in a wall.

  ‘Well done,’ Benny grumbled. ‘Just don’t take anything bigger than a matchbox on a Liverpool Corporation bus.’ After delivering this piece of advice, he surveyed the company. ‘What a motley crew,’ he pronounced. ‘We’ve got a third of the Travelling Turnarounds, half of the Skiffling Skittlers, Quintessential Quinn, two birds from Kent and a Quarryman. Who let you in, Lennon?’

  ‘Nobody,’ answered Banjo John. ‘I just materialized.’

  When Benny had settled down next to Delia, the band made its less-than-perfect way through ‘Rock Island Line’, ‘Lost John’, ‘Diggin’ My Potatoes’ and ‘Gamblin’ Man’. By the end of the set, they were beginning to sound something like a band.

  They had a beer-and-crisp break during which Theo had the opportunity to study covertly his tenant/probationary teacher. He wondered whether her hair felt as silken as it looked, noticed that her eyes were less violet and nearer to blue, as if they reflected the colour she had chosen to wear. She was stunning, perfect figure, beautiful face – and she could sing. Theo, you have dug a hole where your heart used to be, but are the sutures refusing to hold?

  Just once, she turned away from Banjo John and looked at Theo, their gazes locking across the room. He smiled at her; she raised her beer bottle at him. Corkscrew, now trained not to bite through bottles when ladies were present, also had his eyes pinned to her. She was used to this, was becoming inured to it, though Theo was . . . different, noticeable, sad even now. Be brave, Tia. Go and talk to him.

  She followed her own orders. ‘This is fun,’ she told him. ‘He plays the banjo and the guitar.’ She waved her free hand at Banjo John. ‘Such a talented man.’

  ‘And you’re a good singer.’

  She smiled. ‘We sing well together, don’t we?’

  ‘We certainly do.’

  Tia studied a map of old Liverpool on the wall behind his head.

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured, feeling that they were talking about something else altogether. Changing the subject, she asked about the various bands represented here.

  ‘Liverpool’s full of them,’ he told her. ‘We move about sometimes to practise or just for fun, but a couple of the groups are established and doing well. I play and sing for charities, but it’s not my life.’

  ‘Teaching’s your life, then?’

  ‘For the most part, though I do have an extra string to my guitar.’

  Tia grinned. ‘Body parts? The locked room?’

  ‘Precisely.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Right, boys and girls. Let’s have another go at murdering “Rock Island Line”.’

  Four

  He was Uncle Miles. Uncle Miles was always nice to me till he stopped being Uncle Miles and started being Daddy. If I forget to call him Daddy, he gets mad. I am getting adopted by him, so he’s my pretend daddy. I never had a real one.

  We used to live somewhere called Everton, not far from here, and we moved to the Lady Streets when Mammy married him. The rent’s cheaper here. I have learned the Lady Streets cos I am clever. Nana told me I am a clever girl, cos I could read before I was three and I am five now, nearly ready for school.

  The Lady Streets are Elizabeth (like the queen), Muriel, Myrtle, Barbara, Isabel, Clementine, Annabel and Jessica. I live on Isabel Street; we came here a few weeks ago when I started being five. Mammy made me a big birthday cake, chocolate with five candles. He got me a scooter, but I can’t play out on it yet till the heat dies down. Even after teatime when the sun isn’t hot, I have to wait till the heat dies down.

  We live in the end house. Mr and Mrs Atherton live next door to us. They are kind and nice and old and Mrs Atherton is making me a green cardigan for when I start school in September. She says bottle green is a bugger on her eyes, but she never shouts. Sometimes, they give me food. Mammy forgets to make dinners because of gin. He hits her. He hits me. I know somebody hits him, cos he comes home battered and bleeding and drunk. I try hard not to be frightened, but I am by my own self in the coal shed so much, and it’s scary and dark. The coal is in there. Some of the coal is sharp and it cuts me and the black dust goes in the cuts. He just tells me to be more careful, but he hurts me worser than what the coal does.

  The jumping up and down started after we came to this house. Auntie Flo, who’s not my real auntie, is upstairs and Mammy is in the front room downstairs. They lie down and men jump up and down on top of them. That’s when I go in the coal shed. The coal shed gets black in the night. It has no windows. Sometimes, things run about in there, mice or rats.

  Nana lives in Clementine Street and I have to stay away from her. Nana is Margaret Rose, shortened to Maggie. She leaves secret Nana parcels with Mr and Mrs Atherton. The parcels have pasties in them or pies and cakes and biscuits. Mrs Atherton makes me fried egg butties or toast and jam. Once she made me a smiley bun with a happy face on top. She did the happy face with icing. Mr Atherton leaves the food tin under a piece of black cloth in the coal shed.

  My name is Rosemary Tunstall. It was changed from Rosemary Stone.

  He hits me mostly where it doesn’t show like the tops of my legs. When he’s drunk some beer, he misses and it does show. My writing arm is nearly better now, but my chest is still sore from kicking. He has big feet and I am a small person. If Mammy isn’t drinking gin, she tries to stop him and he hits her. She can’t have the jumping up and down men when he hits her, so Miles gets very mad cos the jumping up and down men give him money.

  I have been to school for a visiting day. The headmaster is Mr Quinn and he wears a black cloak like a witch, but he is nice. Miss Ellis is nice, too. She is retiring. Retiring means going home and staying at home, so there will be a new teacher. Mr Quinn looked at my bruises and cuts and he made Miss Ellis look as well. She blinked a lot, like me when I am trying n
ot to cry. I told them I fell downstairs. That’s what I have to say when I get asked.

  The Lady Streets are near town. I like town. There is a library and a museum and a place with paintings in it. Looking at the paintings makes me happy or sad or just peaceful. Town has shops. There is a lovely kind man with no legs who is my friend. He sits on a low trolley with wheels on and moves about by using his hands on the floor. On his hands he wears thick gloves. He has to do that or else his knuckles would bleed. People call him Harry the Scoot and they like him.

  I asked what happened to his legs and he said the Krauts got them. I looked under my bed for Krauts who steal legs, but Harry meant Germans.

  One day, Harry asked me to sing. I am a good singer. I did ‘White Cliffs of Dover’ and ‘Long Way to Tipperary’ while Harry played his mouth organ. We got loads of pennies and even some threepenny bits and a sixpence. He made me divide the money into two parts, both the same, and he called me a special girl. We had chips and one fish between us, no peas cos we ate with our fingers. He takes his gloves off to eat. Harry keeps my money in a Rosie box at his home. I am saving up. Harry is my best friend in all the world.

  We have fun. He sits me on his legs; his legs go nearly to his knees, then they stop. He showed me how to cross roads, look right, look left, look right again and never stop listening. I am as light as a feather, so he can give me rides. We went to the Pier Head where Liverpool ends and the water begins. We went to his house which is all downstairs. Martha is his sister, and she looks after him. She has ordinary legs. She showed me the Rosie box with my money in it and she made me jam butties and a cup of tea. Martha is my second best friend in the whole world. She is teaching me money sums. Twenty pence is one and eight, thirty pence is two and six, forty pence is three and four, fifty pence is four and two, sixty pence is five shillings.

  Harry is teaching me tables. Not tables with chairs; these are times tables. He says I have to have a head start and stay in front of everybody else cos I am disadvantaged. That’s a big word. He must have learned it in the first war before the Germans blew his legs to kingdom come. I asked where kingdom come was and he said only God knows, because Germans know nothing about anything, and the armed forces is full of stuffed shirts. Harry says some funny things, but he is kind.