But he found something at last, an interest apart from his research into childhood cancers. He discovered Chillex, one of the Price Partners clubs. It was great. The exercise side was superbly equipped, while the chill-out areas were brilliant. They had good, healthy food for normal people, for vegetarians, for vegans, and for the poor souls who needed gluten free. It was like a nightclub, though open all day and without booze.
There was Chatterbox Chill-out, Library Chill-out, TV Chill-out and Games Chill-out. He looked round, spotted the check-in desk and found a beautiful woman in charge of membership. Well, she wasn’t as lovely as Kate, but she was more than simply pretty. ‘I’m Giles Girling,’ he said.
‘Amber Simpson.’ She tapped her name badge. ‘We offer a free trial for your first session, just to give you the chance to get to know the place and the people who work here – also, feel free to talk to our members. Here’s the form. Go to the library area – it’s quiet in there. While you fill in your details, I’ll find a trainer to do your assessment. Welcome to Chillex, Mr Girling.’
He wasn’t a mister yet – he was still a mere doctor, but he didn’t put her right. With the form, he found a brochure. They offered sauna, a massage service, hot stones, reflexology, physiotherapy, skin treatments, hair removal, facials, makeup lessons, manicure, pedicure – the list seemed endless. The basic price for a year’s membership was low when compared to London facilities, although the list of extras meant more on top, but he could pick and choose whether or when he needed or wanted those treatments.
As he walked back to the reception counter, he watched the body language of Amber Simpson. She straightened her stance as he approached, and a hand raised itself to check on perfect hair. Her lips seemed to have received an extra application of gloss, so she was reacting to his presence. Promising, he thought. ‘Here you are.’ He placed the form on a counter, and she ran her eyes over it.
‘Ah, you’re a doctor,’ she said, smiling at him.
‘For my sins, yes. I’ll be a general surgeon one day, though my interest lies in childhood cancers, particularly those originating in the bone marrow. Cancers of the blood.’ Was he saying too much? He should keep his cards closer to his chest, perhaps.
Amber closed her eyes for a moment. ‘My twin sister died of cancer when we were four,’ she said, raising her eyelids. ‘Are you at Alder Hey?’
‘I am.’
‘Then I wish you every success. Here’s Drew.’
Drew was a mountain of a man with that very rare very black skin. He looked like a statue carved from an impossibly enormous piece of jet; muscular, flawless and as bald as a coot. Hair might well have spoilt his appearance, because the shine on his skin made him a black god. He led Giles past the small restaurant to the changing rooms. ‘I’ll wait for you near the treadmills,’ he said.
Twenty minutes later, the doctor knew exactly how fit he wasn’t. His heart was pumping like a pneumatic drill, and he felt exhausted. ‘I’m a wreck,’ he managed between gulps of air.
‘You’re a fit man,’ was Drew’s reply to that. ‘I pushed you hard because I can see you’re in good shape. Go back on the mill and walk, because we don’t want lactic acid settling in your legs. I’ve stuck it on its lowest level.’ He nodded. ‘Get on with it. If you’re a wreck, God help the thirty-stoners I have to deal with. Your massage will be free today. It’s behind the blue door. If you think I’m pushy, wait till Big Babs starts knocking you about.’
‘Big Babs?’ Giles asked as he followed instructions.
‘One of our masseuses. She’s vicious.’ Brilliant white teeth were allowed to show, courtesy of a huge smile.
Giles discovered that Drew had not exaggerated, but following the treatment from Big Babs he was walking on air. After a shower, he packed up his sweaty training clothes, dressed and approached the desk once more.
Amber looked up. The doctor was walking towards her. During her break, she had re-fixed her makeup and dealt with one or two wilful strands of hair. He was attractive and had a promising future. Closer to the point, he was single, and a surgeon was paid well. Yes, a doctor would be quite a catch. She flashed him a bright, expectant smile. ‘You survived,’ she commented.
‘Drew accused me of being fit, Amber.’ He noticed a slight dilation of pupils when he spoke her name.
‘Will you join?’ This was a question she had never before asked.
‘I think so. The hours at the hospital are not regular, but I’ll be here as often as I can manage.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. You got Big Babs, then?’
‘Yes. It hurt at the time, but she’s a miracle-worker.’
‘I’ll tell her you said that.’
‘Thank you.’ He walked towards the door, stopped, and returned to the reception desk. ‘Might you consider having dinner with me some time?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Yes, indeed, she told herself. The ball was in the back of the net, and she could begin her plan to win the game. She would show Mrs Kate Price how well she could do by catching a doctor in her net.
This had been a good day. The flat was hers, and he was hers for the taking; any day with a plan in it was excellent.
Ten
It’s been emotional. I have just stolen a line from Vinnie Jones – in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, I think.
While we listened to the recording, I held Alex’s hand, which went limp occasionally, as if he were responding again to the hypnotist’s voice. All that blood, the lawn in his bad dreams turning from green to a muddy brownish red . . .
I stand and switch off the machine. Turning back, I kneel in front of him, and he places his hand on my head, threading his fingers through my cropped curls.
Finally he manages to speak. ‘You’ve heard the nightmare; now, I must give you the real thing.’ He pulls me up, and I return to my place next to him on the sofa. ‘Aside from Tim Dyson, you’ll be the first to know my terrible truth.’
I nod; this is a huge deal for him. Here it comes. I am ready for this. I have always been ready.
It was a bright, white day with a blazing sun so Alex closed the curtains, returned to the sofa, stretched out and placed his head on Kate’s lap.
‘It wasn’t a great marriage,’ he began carefully. ‘Dad was silent, while Mum was quite the chatterbox when she took us out to parks or to the seaside – as long as he didn’t come with us, Mum was great. She was extraordinarily beautiful, often compared to a star called Maureen O’Hara, a big name in old films, round about the middle of last century. Mum had long, wavy hair in a lovely shade of auburn; it hung down her back and shone like satin. I suppose her face was perfect when she was happy, but she was never happy at home.’
Kate stroked his head, gently scraping fingernails against his scalp.
‘About once a month, Dad came home slaughtered, too drunk to get his key in the door. The shouting and subsequent arguing always woke me and Stephen. Strangely, I was devoted to Dad. He taught us to ride bikes, play cricket, swim, dive, catch fish, dribble a ball across a field.
‘What neither of us knew was that he hit our mother.’ Alex felt Kate’s legs stiffening. ‘Yes, darling, you’re not the only one. My mother, anxious not to worry us, never screamed or cried. We found this out only after our father died. The doctor probably broke all the rules by telling my big brother the truth, but the person he was talking about was dead, so perhaps it was OK for him to speak.’
Kate stroked his forehead, found it damp, and patted it dry with a tissue.
‘So our mother was quite the stalwart. Then Susan was born. At first, she did what all babies do – she suckled, cried, dirtied her nappy. She was late to walk. One of her legs seemed stiff, and she dragged it about from the hip for a while. Susan didn’t speak. Mum’s hair started to turn silver in streaks among the glorious auburn. She wore it shorter, and people asked where she got it coloured.’
‘Oh, God,’ Kate breathed.
‘Or Satan,’ Alex replied. ‘Susan’s tantrums began.
They were so loud that the noise probably travelled from Darwen Road all the way to Manchester. By the time she was five, my sister was in a residential school for special children. My mother’s hair was almost completely silver before she hit forty.’
Kate looked into his eyes. ‘He did it?’
‘Yes. The man I adored kicked my mother in the belly while she was carrying that baby girl. But Stephen and I didn’t know that until later.’ This was becoming difficult, yet he planned to motor on regardless. It had to be done. ‘Just give me a minute, Kate.’
‘Of course.’ She kissed a finger and placed it on his mouth.
He managed to pick up where he had left off. ‘We boys always had breakfast before our parents sat down for theirs. Dad was self-employed, and could work when he chose, as he had staff. We would go off to school and leave them to it, though we knew the score because of weekends and school holidays. She would sit, then he would place himself opposite her with the Daily Express hiding his face. He was a loud, sloppy eater, and the noise made her tense.
‘We were not allowed to speak about Susan. He never accompanied Mum on her visits to the school, though we went with her several times. There was very little improvement in our sister until we started with the teddy bears.’ He gulped audibly. ‘When she smiled, she looked very like our mother. I was afraid of beautiful women after what Mum did.’
‘Do you want to stop?’
‘No, no. There’s just one big course to this meal, so digest it as best you can, sweetheart.’
‘I love you.’
‘Back at you, kiddo. I got a place at Bolton School, my father’s alma mater. I was in my first year, eleven and a half years old, when the unthinkable happened. Another tissue, please, my love.’ He sighed while she dried his fevered brow.
‘Better?’ she asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’ He visited once again that fateful day. ‘I forgot my rugby kit, so was allowed to go home for it straight after assembly. As I got off the bus, I spotted Tim Dyson on the opposite side of the road. He was waiting for the bus back to school after visiting the dentist. Tim was thirteen, older and bigger than I was. He crossed the road and followed me into the house when I told him I would be just a second because all I needed was my sports bag.’
Alex groaned. ‘My parents were still having breakfast. My mother didn’t notice me. She was concentrating on the back page of Dad’s newspaper, her mind clearly focused on what . . . what she knew she must do.’ He swallowed again.
‘I’m here,’ Kate whispered. ‘I’ll always be here.’
‘She took the Sunday carving knife, stood, pushed back her chair very quietly and thrust the weapon through the Daily Express and into my father’s chest. I heard later that she used enough force to skewer him to his chair.
‘The blood poured and spurted. She pulled in her own chair, sat back down, and continued to eat her toast. I couldn’t move. Tim stood behind me, trying to shift me. I can hear him to this day; his speech was fuzzy because of the dentist’s anaesthetic. He finally managed to drag me out to the hallway.
‘We watched while Mum carried the cat upstairs. A bedroom door closed. It made no sense at the time – I can only suppose that she didn’t want to leave her pet in the company of a corpse. She went into the bathroom and I heard a toothbrush scraping across her teeth, heard her spitting out the toothpaste. Water ran; she was washing her hands and face.
‘Finally Tim got me out to our front garden, pushed me down on the grass and sat on me. I was trapped. The front door was wide open, and we watched her at the hall stand. She put on a bit of makeup, donned her best hat and coat, picked up her gloves and her handbag, and walked down to the gate. If you can believe it, she still hadn’t seen us.’
‘She was in shock, Alex.’
‘As was I . . . as was Tim. I remember wondering why she’d chosen her best outdoor clothes on a weekday. They were usually reserved for church or for special outings, though there were very few of those. Tim allowed me to stand and ordered me not to return to the house. We watched as she walked into the little police station on the corner across the road. It’s no longer there.’
‘I think she had tunnel vision that day, Alex.’
He sighed heavily. ‘My father was dead, of course. The place swarmed with police and forensics people. Tim and I had to make statements.’
‘Oh, Alex.’
‘She killed him because of Susan. As far as he was concerned his daughter was already dead, because she wasn’t fit for purpose.’
‘And your mother had no gun, of course. Can’t you see that I did the same but more suddenly? I killed Jim so that he could never, ever hurt my baby again. The anger in your mother grew until she could contain it no longer. He virtually killed your sister, just as my husband almost killed his own daughter. We both carry the same memory. That’ll be why we’re drawn to each other.’
‘Damaged people,’ he whispered.
‘To hell with that. We’re the two pieces that complete the jigsaw. What happened to you after that terrible day?’
He told her about his paternal grandparents and about his mother’s slide towards insanity. ‘I went home to Mum at weekends, but the place became uninhabitable. Stephen didn’t seem to care about the conditions; he stayed with Mum, though he was out at work during the day. But an uncle arrived from Australia and managed to get permission to take Stephen over there. My brother was sixteen by then and could speak for himself. So our mother lost all three of her children.
‘She never cleaned, seldom ate, and her personal hygiene was appalling. My grandparents got help, though that never worked out, since no cleaner would stay for more than a few days. After a while, I even gave up trying to start a conversation with her. Eventually, I was forbidden to sleep there any more, and one of my grandparents took me to visit her once a week. It was a nightmare. In the end, my mother committed suicide. She had no reason to continue living.’
Alex sat up and clung to Kate.
‘Tim stuck by my side all the way through school until he left. Other boys started making comments about our relationship as the years passed, but that didn’t bother either of us. He took good care of me, and I was grateful, and I remain grateful. Of course, the name-callers backed off when prefects told them to stop. It was and is a good school; bullying doesn’t go ignored.’
She realized after a moment or two that her face was wet, and she wasn’t crying. The hot baptism of tears poured down her face, and she simply let it happen, because he had to allow the pain to pour out; he shared it with her, and she felt privileged. When the door opened, she didn’t even look to see who was there. ‘Not now,’ she ordered, her tone quite sharp.
The door closed softly. Holding him gently, she allowed the child to grieve, hoping that this catharsis would allow the man to let go of things he could not change. The only words she spoke were ‘I love you’.
When the weeping stopped, she forced him to lie down and waited until he slept. Now, she could do her own crying.
In the kitchen, she clung to tiny Mrs Bee and allowed her heart to break. ‘Bloody life,’ she sobbed. ‘Why do terrible things happen to good people?’
‘Oh, love, has he told you all of it? Has he had the sense to let the truth out?’
Kate nodded. She was running out of words and crying too hard to say much anyway.
‘Sorry I disturbed you before. See, I know just bits, and I don’t want to learn any more bits. He loves the bones of you – you do know that, don’t you?’
Again, the taller woman nodded.
Brenda swallowed hard. ‘Go on holiday, queen. Take him to France and pick up your little girl. Alex likes fishing, and they live near a river, didn’t you say? For God’s sake, start looking after yourselves for a change.’
Another nod.
‘See, I’ll make you a cuppa. Get yourself sat down and try to take your mind off it. Where’s Alex?’
‘I’m here.’ He was standing in the doorway. ‘Hello, Other Mother. Kat
e, don’t cry for me.’
‘Argentina,’ Kate managed.
He shook his head. ‘Always the last word.’
‘Too bloody right,’ Brenda told him. ‘Just look at the pair of you, both been bloody whingeing. I’ve got madam upstairs knitting for her baby, keeps running down for me to sort her dropped stitches. My Brian’s got bellyache, and he’s blaming my potato hash. I ate the same and there’s nothing wrong with me. Them flaming dogs have took his other work boot, but he reckons they might as well eat the pair, so thank God Bolognese sauce looks after itself, or I’d be up the pole with a nice fireman.’
She stared at Alex, then at Kate. ‘That’s all I need, isn’t it? You two getting the historicals. There’s not much to laugh about, anyway. Oh, Monica was on the phone saying there’s a nice Victorian fireplace for sale up Southport and Kate might like to see it. Sit down, Alex. You cast a long shadow.’
‘She’s gone poetical,’ Alex grumbled as he joined Kate at the little breakfast table. ‘It doesn’t happen often, but she always makes a meal of it. And you’ve been crying,’ he accused his beloved.
Brenda continued. ‘Pour your tears on a bright red rose, then see how your garden grows.’
He sighed. ‘And the poet was?’
‘Me,’ the bustling keeper of the house answered. ‘I made it up.’
‘Write it down,’ Kate cried.
‘Don’t encourage her,’ was Alex’s response. ‘I don’t fancy eating burnt Bolognese while my housekeeper goes all Walter de la Mere. Come on, let’s take the dogs up the coast and let them pee on Gormley’s men.’
When they had left, it was Brenda’s turn to cry, but her tears didn’t last long. Pete would be back soon with little Troy, and when it came to household staff, Brenda and Brian were the deliberate best. Alex’s problems would be kept safe, as would the sauce. She extinguished the burner and washed teacups and saucers before peeling two enormous baking apples. Crosby beach would make them hungry, and she would do a crumble with fruit from his garden. That always cheered him up.
For the Love of Liverpool Page 18