Tilly's Story

by June Francis

  Tilly’s Story

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Part Two

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Copyright

  Tilly’s Story

  June Francis

  To my eldest son, Iain, without whose sterling work as my researcher this book would not have been written. Having the knack of finding fascinating snippets of information is a gift and has provided me with plot ideas and often much amusement.

  Part One

  June-December 1920

  Chapter One

  Tilly Moran frowned as she folded the telegram and tapped it against her teeth. Would she be able to make it to Liverpool in time to be there to greet Don Pierce when the liner from New York docked – or would meeting her father as she had promised make her much too late? She had not seen Don since just after Armistice Day. She had considered the American quite crazy when he had said he wanted to marry her and was prepared to wait until she had grown up. At the time she had been grateful to him saving her brother-in-law, Seb’s life after finding him half-buried and left for dead on the battlefield after the German spring offensive.

  Don was a photojournalist and, having returned to America, he had kept in touch by letter. These were always interesting and often made her laugh out loud. If there was a way that she could meet her father and see Don, as well, then she would do it. She concealed the telegram beneath the white cotton bust bodices in a drawer of her dressing table, along with the invitation to Mrs Black’s wedding. Her sister, Alice, would hit the roof if she knew about the latter. She had always despised the widowed medium and healer – just as she did their father.

  Tilly closed the drawer and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. For a moment she was motionless, knowing that if she were to meet Don it would be a close run thing. Then she reached for the large-brimmed straw hat, trimmed with yellow ribbon and a cluster of artificial daisies, and placed it on her red-gold, curtain-styled hair. She glanced in the mirror as she drew on tan gloves, pulling a wry face at the sprinkling of freckles on her nose and cheeks. She would have dearly loved to have tried one of the remedies advertised in Alice’s women’s magazine to get rid of freckles, if only she could afford it.

  Picking up the shopping bag, she tip-toed across the room. She carefully turned the door knob and stuck her head out, glancing this way and that along the landing. To her relief there was no one in sight but the murmur of voices could be heard coming from below. She closed the door gently behind her and crept along the landing and down the stairs. She prayed that she would be able to leave the house without being seen and had managed to reach the front door, unnoticed, when the telephone rang and the knocker sounded. She groaned inwardly before wrenching open the door.

  On the step stood Clara, a dark-haired young woman who had stolen the heart of Freddie Kirk, whom she had married four months’ ago. Tilly had been a little in love with Freddie since she was a child but from the moment he’d clapped eyes on Clara, the easygoing relationship of their childhood had vanished. The happy couple now lived a few doors away in an apartment above that of Tilly’s half-brother and his family, and when she saw them together she almost envied their newfound intimacy.

  ‘You look nice. You meeting someone special?’ asked Clara, smiling.

  ‘Dad! But don’t mention it to Alice,’ whispered Tilly. Hearing the sound of the sitting room door opening – presumably either Seb or Alice coming to answer the telephone – Tilly added hastily, ‘Sorry! I can’t stop.’

  She brushed past Clara and hurried down the path to the front gate, only to pause when she heard her sister calling her name. But she decided to pretend not to have heard her. It could simply be that Alice wanted her to accompany her nephew and niece to the birthday party they had been invited to that afternoon; any other time Tilly would have done so willingly, but not now. She was through the gate and running along Victoria Crescent in the direction of Queen’s Park Road. She needed to catch a tram that would take her to Overleigh Road, where her father would be waiting. She knew he was likely to work himself up into a state if she was late.

  As soon as Tilly climbed down from the tram, she could see Mal pacing the ground. He was clutching a bunch of red roses in a large, gnarled hand. He must have heard the tram because suddenly he looked up and she saw the relief in his still handsome, weather-beaten face as he caught sight of her.

  For a moment Tilly thought of Don, knowing she would not be able to rush away and meet him as she had hoped, and felt a deep pang of regret. It would have been fun to have spent time with him and been brought up to date with his latest assignment. They could have discussed her writing plans, too.

  She let her mind drift towards the possibility of a future with Don Pierce. She was far too young to be tied down, of course, but she thought that if any man would support her in her career choice after marriage it would be Don Pierce. She could not imagine any other man being inclined to allow her to carry on with her writing once that gold band was on her finger.

  She sighed and then pinned a smile on her face and waved to her father. Immediately, he came shuffling towards her. As they drew closer she noticed the beads of perspiration on his forehead beneath the brim of his old tweed cap. She was instantly concerned because he had made no concession to the heatwave and was wearing a starched collar and tie and a waistcoat beneath his brown tweed suit. He might end up having a stroke if he wasn’t careful. Although he was still very active and physically strong he had, of late, had an air of frailty about him which worried her. Having only come to know him during the past year or so, she really couldn’t bear the thought of losing him so quickly.

  ‘I was starting to think yer’d changed yer mind, lass,’ he said, reaching out to her.

  She clasped his callused hand and pressed it gently. ‘I promised I’d come, didn’t I?’

  ‘Aye. But I know how difficult it is for yer to get away and meet me. Alice wouldn’t like it if she knew.’

  Tilly linked her arm through his and said cheerfully, ‘Let’s not talk about Alice.’

  ‘I can’t help it. I think of her every time I set eyes on yer, lass.’ Mal sighed heavily. ‘She was a pretty girl, just like you. Yer know, I thought she would have forgiven me when I saved her little Flora from that gunman last year. After all, she did invite me to yer sixteenth birthday party. But I was mistaken.’

  Tilly realised they were going to cover the same old ground again. ‘I know, so did I. But she still might change her mind. I keep telling her it was the lead-poisoning that made you do those mad things when she was little.’

  ‘I’m getting on, lass, and she might leave it too late,’ he muttered. ‘That thought grieves me.’

  ‘I know.’ Tilly squeezed his arm. ‘Anyway, let’s just concentrate on finding Mam’s grave right now.’ The last time she had visited the plot was with
Alice and the children and she could only hope that she would remember where it was without her sister leading the way.

  ‘It’s a long time since I’ve been inside this cemetery,’ mumbled Mal, swotting a midge that landed on his neck. ‘Pesky insects! I’ve been plagued by them in the garden these last few weeks.’

  ‘It’s this heatwave. I hope it keeps fine for Mrs Black’s wedding next month.’

  ‘The ground needs the rain. I reckon the garden at her new house in Liverpool is going to keep me busy for months. A right jungle it is.’

  ‘But you enjoy being a gardener, don’t you, Dad?’

  ‘Aye.’ His face lit up. ‘I don’t have to make conversation and worry about what people think of me. I like feeding the birds and watching the vegetables and flowers grow. These roses are from Eudora’s garden at Eastham.’ He held the bunch out to her with a flourish. ‘She said I could pick them when I told her where I was going. She was always concerned about yer mother, yer know, despite what Alice believes. If only yer mother would have agreed to consult her as a healer, then our lives might have been different.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Fatalistic, that was Flora. Her condition was God’s will and she believed it was her cross to bear, just like I was.’

  ‘She said that to you?’ asked Tilly, disturbed by this information.

  ‘Aye.’ His face darkened. ‘It drove me mad but I can forgive her now because she was always willing to forgive me. I wasn’t an easy man to live with and I still regret that she died the way she did.’

  Tilly tried to reassure him but she guessed he would always be racked with guilt about the past. She changed the subject. ‘When were you last here, Dad?’

  He glanced about him as they strolled along a path. ‘Not since yer mother and I visited yer grandmother’s grave. I’m glad yer reminded me it was yer mother’s birthday today. I used to buy her red roses every birthday before I went off ma head with the lead.’ His brow furrowed. ‘But yer don’t want to hear about all that.’

  ‘I’m interested in anything to do with your past, Dad,’ Tilly replied honestly, recognising a marble angel. Thank goodness, they were going the right way.

  ‘I’ll tell you how the roses came about then,’ he said, sounding pleased. ‘I’d been reading Rabbie Burns’ poem, My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose. It was Burns’ Night and Flora loved poetry.’ His lined face grew soft with the reminiscence.

  Tilly thought, How romantic, loving the sound of her father rolling his Rs and wondering what Alice would have made of this information.

  ‘I wish there was a way of Flora knowing that I was paying my respects and bringing her red roses again,’ muttered Mal.

  ‘Who’s to say she doesn’t?’ said Tilly, slowing her pace to match his shuffling gait. ‘Surely you haven’t worked for Mrs Black all these years without believing in the possibility of an afterlife?’

  Mal’s face was sad. ‘I can’t see me getting into Heaven and being with the women I loved.’ His eyes glistened with tears. ‘I was wicked. I don’t deserve yer affection, lass, and that’s the truth. Yer can’t know how happy I’ve been this last year since yer went out of yer way to get to know me. Eudora speaks well of yer, too. She says yer can come and visit me any time after the move to Liverpool.’

  ‘I’ve been invited to her wedding, too. I must admit I was surprised.’

  ‘She says yer kind and yer’ve got courage, and it’ll give you the chance to see where the house is. Yer do realise that it’s going to be a registry office do? Mr Bennett has been divorced, yer see. Although, there’s to be a service afterwards at the Spiritualist church.’

  Tilly nodded. ‘Mr Bennett was once married to Alice’s mother-in-law, so I knew he was divorced.’

  ‘I didn’t know that, or if I did I’d forgotten.’ Mal looked thoughtful and absently swotted another midge. ‘Are we near your mother’s grave yet?’

  Tilly had been keeping her eye out for landmarks and guessed they were nearly there. She was right. While Mal read the words engraved on the pink granite headstone, she removed the dead flowers from the black and chrome container and emptied out the stagnant water. Then from her shopping bag she took a lemonade bottle of fresh water and poured that into the flower container. She asked her father for the roses and he handed them to her. For a moment she sniffed their heady perfume, reminded of the Attar of Roses talcum powder Alice had given her last Christmas. Don had sent her a card and a photograph of himself. Her brow furrowed, wondering whether the liner had docked and he had disembarked. Perhaps he was looking out for her on the landing stage at the Pierhead at this very moment.

  ‘I wish I could have had some words written on her stone,’ said Mal loudly, rousing Tilly from her reverie.

  She stared at the gravestone and read her grandmother’s details and then her mother’s name and the dates of her birth and death, and, below, the inscription: Beloved mother of Alice and Tilly, ‘The Lord, their God shall be their light, and they shall reign for ever and ever’.

  ‘I suppose it could be done,’ she mused. ‘But it would cost money. Do you have that kind of money, Dad?’

  He looked vague and did not answer, only saying, ‘Yer don’t think Alice would be angry?’

  ‘I’m sure she would have something to say but you are our dad, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t have some words on her gravestone.’

  ‘I’d like that but I bet Alice won’t want me buried here,’ he muttered. ‘But that’ll suit me because I want to be buried next to my first wife, Janet. God rest her soul.’

  Tilly thought, Well, knowing that will save an argument when the time comes. Not that she wanted to dwell on the thought of her father dying. ‘Tell me more about your life in Scotland with Janet when Kenny was little.’

  Mal smiled. ‘She’d laugh and sing and dance with him round the kitchen. I used to laugh a lot myself in those days. She brought me out of myself and made me feel I wasn’t useless. Yer grandmother didn’t approve of her at all because she hated anyone to be happy. She was a bitter woman. My father left her and she never forgave him. I worry in case Alice is turning into yer grandmother. She has that same conviction that her way is the only way.’

  His words made Tilly uncomfortable. ‘I wouldn’t argue that Alice won’t budge from what she believes is right, but she’s also caring and wants the best for people.’

  ‘Her best,’ said Mal dourly. ‘I don’t want to criticise yer sister. She has good reason for hating me. I was a violent man in those days, but I wasn’t all bad.’ He smiled suddenly, ‘But you, lass, remind me of Flora. She was a fine woman, forgiving me over and over again.’

  ‘She forgave you far too much,’ said a grim voice behind him. ‘What are you doing here?’ Tilly dropped a rose and her heart began to pound as she looked up into her sister’s face, trying not to show her dismay at being caught here with her father.

  Alice was a woman in her early thirties, smartly dressed and with a good figure. She had flaming red hair and it could be argued that her temper could be fiery, too. In her hand she carried a bunch of pink carnations.

  ‘D’you really believe I would forget Mum’s birthday? Why didn’t you stop when I called you? I’m disappointed in you, Tilly, going behind my back and bringing him here. This is a sacred place to me. I don’t want him desecrating it with his presence.’ Her green eyes were as hard as glass.

  ‘That’s a bit harsh,’ said Tilly, her own temper flaring. ‘He’s not the devil incarnate, you know.’

  ‘I know exactly what he is,’ snapped Alice. ‘I’ve told you but will you listen to me? Will you heck!’

  ‘I have a right to choose whether I see my own father or not,’ cried Tilly. ‘Anyway, how did you get here so swiftly?’

  ‘I was going to ask you to come with me in the motor after I took the children to the party. That was what the telephone call was about.’

  ‘You left it a bit late mentioning it to me,’ said Tilly, picking up the fallen rose and placing it in the container.


  ‘I had other things on my mind,’ said Alice. ‘The telephone went again just as I was coming out. Seb said it was Don.’

  ‘Don?’ Tilly’s heart seemed to flip over.

  ‘Yes. Seb’s gone off to Liverpool in a hurry to see him in your place.’ Alice’s face tightened. ‘Now, who bought those roses? You or Dad?’

  ‘Neither,’ replied Tilly, glad at least that Don would be meeting Seb. Hopefully, her brother-in-law would put in a good word for her.

  ‘What do you mean by that? One of you must have bought them,’ said Alice.

  Tilly forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. ‘Mrs Black said Dad could take them from her garden.’

  ‘You mean—’ Alice’s chest swelled with indignation.

  ‘They’re roses, Alice, not deadly nightshade.’

  ‘I don’t care what flowers they are. You can damn well take them out of my container,’ ordered Alice, almost choking on the words.

  ‘No,’ said Tilly firmly. ‘It isn’t just your container. Kenny paid half the cost. I’m sure Mam would be pleased if she knew Dad’s roses and your pink carnations nestled together in it.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about what pleased Mam! I hope he goes to hell for what he did to her.’ Alice bent down and her hand fastened on the roses in the container and she wrenched them out. A yelp escaped her and she dropped the flowers. ‘See what you’ve done?’ she cried, lifting a bleeding finger to her mouth and sucking it.

  ‘What I did?’ protested Tilly, gingerly picking up the scattered roses so as to avoid pricking a finger herself. She plunged them back into the water. ‘You did it to yourself with your bad temper. Dad regrets the past and is desperate to make amends.’

  ‘And you think that a few red roses now she’s dead can do that? You’re an idiot! You’re letting him fool you into believing that he’s changed his ways but leopards don’t change their spots. Now throw those roses away and don’t you be meeting him again behind my back.’

  Tilly shot to her feet. ‘I wish you’d stop speaking to me as if I were a child! I’ll be seventeen next month and Dad’s not getting any younger. Have some pity instead of being so judgemental.’