Mary Kate shook her head. She couldn’t yet trust herself to speak in case she burst into tears and embarrassed herself further.
They all turned as a car pulled up behind the cab. Dr Marcus jumped out with his Gladstone bag in his hand. The lady from the tea hut who’d carried the teapot recognised him immediately.
‘Oh hello, Doctor, fancy it being you. I’ll pour you some tea an’ all.’ She was hoping he might take a look at her varicose veins when the drama was over.
Dr Marcus turned Mary Kate’s head one way and then the other as he held her eyelids open and shone a light into her eyes. He smiled at her. ‘I think you’ll live. You’ve had a nasty shock, though, and you’ve sustained an injury. He knocked you with some force on the back of your neck, judging by the size of the red mark. It’ll be a nasty bruise in the morning and very painful.’
Mary Kate could hold it together no longer. The horrible mugging, the doctor’s kindness, the tea lady’s sympathy, the office worker who was holding her hand, the cabbie keeping guard, it was all so confusing. Good people appearing from nowhere, rushing to her aid. And the rawness of her failure to keep her purse safe, her overwhelming sense of having let Daedio down. The pain and the shame, it was all too much. She promptly burst into tears.
The lady from the office wiped her cheeks with a handkerchief. ‘You poor love,’ she said.
‘I know. What a rotten welcome to Liverpool,’ said the tea lady. Turning to Dr Marcus, who was packing his torch back into his bag, she half whispered, ‘Eh, Doctor, if I could slip me stocking down behind the cab, could you take a look at my varicose vein? It’s killing me, it is. I know you said I had to put it up for an hour a day to drain it, but how can I? I’ve got a job and our kids – I never get a minute.’
The policeman’s voice rose authoritatively above the others, who turned to look at him. ‘Can I ask her a few questions, please, Doctor?’ he said deferentially. ‘There appears to be something of a pattern here. This young lady is the fifth mugging in broad daylight on the fifth day in a row. They’ve all been young ladies stepping off the boat and carrying a handbag or a purse.’
‘Really, is that so?’ said Dr Marcus with a hint of irony in his voice. ‘Could you tell me then why you were inside your hut when you would have been of more use outside it, watching passengers as they disembarked, acting as a deterrent to would-be muggers? You should have been standing at the bottom of the landing, keeping your eyes peeled until everyone was safely away from the Pier Head. And why is there only one of you?’
The policeman looked confused and then had the good grace to look embarrassed.
The waitress was pulling her stocking back up and fastening her suspender, her dignity assured by the cab door and by Mary Kate, who was blocking her from public view. Dr Marcus wrote out a prescription for the waitress on his pad, ripped it off and handed it to her. ‘Here, Doctor, have a cup of tea now,’ she said as she retrieved the pot from the front seat of the cab.
Dr Marcus made Mary Kate lie down on the seat of his car for ten minutes, to recover from the shock. She drank her tea, which was full of sugar, in line with his instructions. Despite her trauma, she was already feeling physically better, but the shame had robbed her of her voice and her eyes remained downcast.
Slowly, the drama of the girl who had nearly been ‘knocked dead’ on the Pier Head subsided, and the police officer, having taken his statement, retreated to his hut. ‘Right, well, I have your aunt’s address,’ he said to Mary Kate as he made his quick exit. ‘Any news and I will come and see you, miss.’
‘Aye, that’ll be the day,’ said the cab driver. ‘Go and have a lie down first though, eh – you’ve had to work hard today.’
The policeman scowled in response.
‘I have to go back to work now, love,’ said the office worker.
Mary Kate turned to Dr Marcus and thanked him. Her face was dirt-streaked and pale. Her blue eyes shone bright with unshed tears and her hands were still shaking.
‘Can you take this young lady to her destination?’ the doctor asked the cabbie.
The cab driver shook his head. ‘I’d love to, Doctor, I would, but the boss clocks every mile against the money at the end of my shift. If I do that, he’ll think I’ve nicked the money.’ He blushed and looked mortified.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Dr Marcus. ‘Waterloo Street isn’t far. I was on my way to a lunch at the hospital, but I’ll be too late now anyway. Could you wait with the young lady for a moment while I run to a phone box and make a call to Matron? She cannot abide bad manners and I’ll be in trouble if I don’t.’
The taxi driver saluted the doctor as though he were his senior in the army, and the doctor smiled and saluted him back. In a moment, the doctor was gone. Mary Kate watched his retreating back. Despite the warm day, he was wearing a trilby hat and had put his overcoat back on, which flapped about his legs.
‘Isn’t he handsome,’ said the waitress. ‘Everyone loves him, they do. Can’t get to see him for love nor money. I reckon his list is full of women and the men can’t get a look in. Right, I’m off to pop this into the chemist’s. You seem all right now, love. Good luck and all that, and remember, it can only get better, eh? You know where I am if you ever want a cuppa.’ She gave Mary Kate a wink, and she was gone.
Mary Kate’s bottom lip trembled. There had been safety in the number of people who had gathered round, but now that it was back to her and the cab driver, she felt vulnerable once more. She removed her case from the boot of his car. ‘I can walk, you know,’ she said with a warble in her voice.
‘No, you cannot. And anyway, Dr Marcus won’t let you. He’s a good man.’
Mary Kate, the most trusting of people, felt suddenly as though she would never like or trust anyone again.
‘You can depend on him. Did his medical training up here, then went down south for a while and came back with a wife. He has his own practice on Princess Avenue and his reputation is bigger than he is. You are in the best hands, little lady, and there’s a lot of women around here would envy you – can’t say I blame them though. Good job I’m not a jealous man, eh?’
For the first time, Mary Kate felt relief wash over her. The doctor would take her to Bee’s and then at last, after what felt like a very long day, she would be safe. Bee would know what to do.
Dr Marcus threw his Gladstone bag into the back of his Morris Traveller with little ceremony, removed his overcoat, folded it carefully, laid it on the back seat of the car, took off his trilby and placed it on top.
‘Don’t worry, Doc, I’ll put her bag in the rear,’ said the cab driver as he went round to the back of the car.
Mary Kate watched them both and noticed the doctor’s features for the first time. His good looks were undeniable, but it was his air of kindness that was his real attraction. His hair was the darkest brown and pushed over to the side, and his eyes were the same colour. She thought they seemed sad, mournful. He had olive skin and his face was thin and angular. His nose was almost too large for it but somehow accentuated the symmetry of his good looks, and his cheekbones were sharp enough to slice cheese. Mary Kate thought that if Granny Nola ever met him, she would want to sit him down and give him a good feed and a bowl of her own butter to take home with him.
As he walked towards her, he smiled. ‘Feeling any better now? You mustn’t worry. You’ll feel dreadful because it was such a nasty shock, but physically you’ve made a full recovery. We just need to keep an eye on you. I fear it’s your pride that is the most injured.’
Mary Kate couldn’t quite manage a smile back, even though she tried. He was right; she was smarting from having been unable to protect herself from the thief, who had obviously listened to every word she’d said to Mrs O’Keefe and had marked her as his prey. She wanted to hit herself, never mind the thief. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and tightened her band. It had become dishevelled, and it was a sign of her recovery that she wanted to look halfway pr
esentable for her Aunty Bee. She couldn’t turn up at her door looking as she did now.
‘Do you need a bathroom?’
Her head shot up. Had he read her thoughts? ‘I do, I’m afraid.’
‘It will be the shock, and you’ll want to freshen up too. I’ll take you to a café. I’ve missed my medical lunch now, so I need feeding, otherwise I’ll turn into a version of Frankenstein’s monster very soon.’ He opened the car door. ‘In you get.’
Despite her predicament, she smiled at the thought of him turning into a monster; it was impossible to imagine.
He walked over to the cab driver and wrote something down, then joined her in the car. ‘I’ve told him to keep an eye out and let me know if this happens again. I play golf with the chief superintendent and I’ll have a word with him if it seems it’s not being taken seriously.’
In the side mirror Mary Kate saw the cab driver raise his hand in farewell. If she ever had the chance, she would come back and in some way thank him for his kindness.
An hour later, Mary Kate was sitting in Trapasso’s Café, her plate of egg and chips now cleared away, her face washed, her ribbons tied and her cheeks flushed once more.
‘There now, doesn’t everything feel a lot better?’ Dr Marcus leant back in the wooden chair and lit a cigarette.
She had to admit, it did.
He slid his silver cigarette case across the yellow top of the Formica table. ‘Would you like one?’
She shook her head.
He flicked the lid of his Dunhill lighter, inhaled, and with his elbows on the table, clasped his hands together and peered at her through the smoke. She smiled at him. She felt warm inside, and it wasn’t just because of his kindness, or the fried eggs and chips. She had never in her life set eyes upon a man such as he. She thought of Roshine’s father, the only other doctor she knew. Big, burly and brusque. Locals would rather drink a bottle of goat blood, blessed by a tinker, before they ventured into his surgery. This doctor was nothing like him.
‘Now, tell me, why are you here in this big, bad city?’
‘Oh, that’s an easy one to answer. My Aunty Bee has asked me to come.’ She told him something of her life, about her mother’s death, and Rosie, and her father, and Finn. He was entranced by her description of Tarabeg – the coast, the village, the river, the party and her slipping away in the night.
‘Good Lord, it sounds like you’ve run away from heaven. You do know that Waterloo Road isn’t the most salubrious area of Liverpool, don’t you?’
Mary Kate blushed. She had no idea where it was.
‘I’m not sure why your aunty would have seen that as a better place for you. I’d have thought getting more training and then finding a suitable job would have been a preferable option – it would have given you a purpose and somewhere to go. We have a lot of girls coming over to Liverpool to train as nurses, and very fine nurses they make too. I’ve worked with lots of them.’
Mary Kate was despondent. ‘I suppose, because Aunty Bee asked me—’
‘Did she? I’m not sure that was good advice. Here, let me see the letter.’ He held out his hand and Mary Kate obediently passed it over. He read it, frowned at her, folded it and handed it back, then stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Come on then, let’s go. I have a surgery starting soon.’
Mary Kate was disappointed. She’d expected a more enthusiastic response, an endorsement of the fact that Aunty Bee had meant what she said, that it was a message just for her.
A mere ten minutes later, they were on Waterloo Street. Their progress down the wide Dock Road had shown Mary Kate another world, noisy with the bustle of foundries, drays, ships and cranes. She’d blinked in the sunshine as she took it all in. They drove past some children playing on bombed-out wasteland and down a street with only one side intact; the other side had been razed to the ground. ‘A direct hit during the war,’ said Dr Marcus, and Mary Kate blessed herself. She wondered how many families had lost their lives.
When they turned into Waterloo Street, the sun almost disappeared. Redbrick houses, blackened by soot and coal dust from the docks, lined both sides of the narrow, cobbled road. There were children playing in the street, some only half dressed, and women leaning up against windowsills, smoking and dipping their heads to look inside the car and see who was visiting. The children began to run behind the car, chasing it and squealing, and dogs raced alongside, trying to bite the tyres.
‘The dogs in Tarabeg do that too,’ said Mary Kate.
‘Ah, well, the dogs in Waterloo Street are as unfamiliar with cars as the dogs are in Tarabeg, I’d imagine. They’ll very rarely see one around here, unless it’s a Black Maria. Ah, here we are, number twenty-seven.’ He slowed the car to a halt, jumped out and opened Mary Kate’s door for her.
Mary Kate slid out of the car, hurried to the front door and banged on the knocker, aware that a small crowd of children was forming around her. Her heart was beating wildly with the anticipation of seeing her Aunty Bee again. She could hear her mother’s voice in her ear, a more elusive memory. She swallowed hard; her mouth was dry and her eyes bright.
There were no answering footsteps on the opposite side of the door, so she knocked again.
Several of the women who’d been gossiping in the street, their hair in curlers and all wearing the ubiquitous uniform of a floral wraparound apron, slowly moved towards her. She noticed another woman, three doors down, who was kneeling on the pavement, scrubbing her step. The woman shook her head at Mary Kate as she leant back on her heels and dropped her scrubbing brush into her pail. It clattered against the side as dirty water slopped over the top. ‘Cat!’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘Cat, there’s someone at Bee’s.’
‘No one’s there, missus. They’ve left,’ said a little boy with dirty hands and knees, scruffy hair, and threads hanging from his jumper. He had pushed to the front of the crowd of children. He was the smallest by far, but the most vocal.
Mary Kate felt sick. ‘Gone? Gone where?’
‘Cat! Come here,’ an older boy shouted to a woman who was running down the street carrying a shopping bag.
‘Move, would you, the lot of you,’ she shouted as she approached. Waving her string bag, she clipped the older boy who’d shouted her across the head. The apron-clad women clustered around her. ‘Who do you want, love?’ the woman asked as she folded her arms and looked Mary Kate up and down suspiciously.
Mary Kate clung to her letter. Had she got the address wrong? Dr Marcus was standing by his car, leaning against the bonnet, keeping his eye on the dozen or so boys who had gathered around it and were bombarding him with questions.
‘I’m looking for my Aunty Bee and Captain Bob and Ciaran,’ said Mary Kate.
The woman looked kind enough, but she had a concerned expression on her face.
Another woman came and stood next to her. ‘I’m Linda, love. Why do you want Bee?’ She appeared to be waiting for Mary Kate’s answer with hungry enthusiasm.
The woman the kids had called Cat laughed. ‘Oh bloody hell, queen, you’re a day late. They left yesterday. Off back to her beloved Tarabeg, they were. They couldn’t get out fast enough. Never liked it here really, did Bee. I’m Cat, her next-door neighbour. Are you all right? You look pale.’
Mary Kate’s eyes filled with tears and the pavement slid beneath her feet. She put the flat of her hand on the door to steady herself. ‘Gone to Tarabeg – are you sure?’ Her words were a whisper, she could barely speak.
‘Oh yeah, love, they’ve gone all right, and taken everything with them. Gone for good.’
Mary Kate had no chance to reply as the pavement rose to meet her.
9
The sun bathed her upturned face as Mary Kate, her eyes shut tight, sat perched on the large white rock beside the Taramore river. The rock had absorbed all the warmth from the morning sun and Mary Kate felt it seeping into her chilled bones as she listened to the plop, plop of the salmon tails flapping about in the deeper pools. She allowed
her toes to sink into the inches of ice-cold peat-coloured water until her feet rested on the cool, pebbly bottom. All she could hear was water and birdsong.
The rock had been a favourite of many generations of Malones. Over the course of thousands of years, the force of the river had worn it into an invitingly smooth seat. Decades ago, just after the seven acres through which the Taramore streamed had been bought by the Malones, Daedio’s father had dragged the rock out of the river and onto the pebbly bank, helped by Daedio. The Malone children had used it as a seat ever since, sometimes just idling there, sometimes on guard while the men went out in the curragh to poach the salmon when the river ran high.
‘Mary Kate! Mary Kate!’ a voice called from behind her. She didn’t turn. She didn’t want to. She had to sit exactly where she was, there in the sun, with the sound of the river in her ears, for as long as she possibly could. To turn would be a mistake; the peace would be broken. She had to sit by the river and defy the calls, maybe forever.
It was a hot day and she’d coaxed Bid, her one-eyed dog, to the riverbank, where she’d dribbled water over his fur to cool him. She had Jacko, her donkey, with her too, as usual; otherwise he’d have escaped into the oat field at the first opportunity. He’d taken his turn to drink from the river. Mary Kate too had scooped up the water in her cupped hands. As it trickled down her throat, she thought how there was no water anywhere as cold or sweet or pure as that which ran straight down the mountains onto Malone land. She wiped her wet hands over her forehead to cool her brow.
With her eyes still closed, she reached out and wound her fingers around Jacko’s rope, which was lying on the ground beside her. She held on tight and resisted his persistent tugging. The rope bit into her palm and she frowned, deciding to release him, but her fingers wouldn’t let her. Bid shuffled closer to her on all fours, across the pebbles on which he’d been warming his belly, and laid his head on her lap. She smiled as her free hand stroked the damp, sun-warmed fur on his back. She was in heaven, or so she thought.
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