The Liverpool Trilogy

by Ruth Hamilton

  She was asking him a question. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Your mortgage company. I’ll start sorting out the payment tomorrow. Find out how much, and I’ll put an end to all your misery.’

  It was as if heavy chains had been removed from his limbs. He was still tied – tied to her – but with silk or velvet rather than with base metal. It would be all right. He would make blinking sure of that.

  ‘Can you just park here for a minute, please?’

  David applied the anchors, and the van stopped. ‘What now, missus?’ he asked. ‘I’m doing my best to stop a drama becoming a crisis worthy of discussion at the next G8 conference. Also, poor Moira can’t see back there, and she can scarcely breathe. If any one of those bloody things bursts, we’ll all be talking like Donald Duck – that’s helium, you know.’

  Lucy turned and caught a glimpse of Moira, who was giggling like a child. She was holding on to the strings attached to thirty heart-shaped balloons. ‘Good job this wheelchair’s pinned down, or I’d be flying back to the shed. And I’m starving. I’d just about kill for a ham sarnie.’

  David tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Look here. If they find out we’re there, and we’re not there, that’ll make them worry, and they’re already worried. But if they find out we’re there and we are there, they’ll cope better.’

  Lucy turned to look at her festooned friend. ‘Didn’t Shakespeare have a wonderful way with words?’ Then she awarded full attention to the man she loved. ‘Listen, buster. We’ve stopped because here, on our right, we have a cake shop. I know I can’t get a proper wedding cake at this point, but Sally in there specializes, so she’ll have a little bride and a little groom, and we can stick ’em in any cake.’ She left the van and crossed the road.

  Moira cleared her throat. ‘She’s lovely, David.’

  ‘She’s beyond that,’ he answered. ‘For me, she’s a life-saver. I was buried in work, and she dug me out. She’s beautiful, and she has a heart the size of Brazil. But I can tell you this, Moira. If and when she ever loses her temper, we’d do better if we all moved to a different planet. There are years of anger bottled up, and whoever takes the lid off gets splashed.’

  ‘It won’t be you. She thinks the sun shines out of your stethoscope. It’ll be my Richard. He’s like a dog after a bitch on heat, and she’s already clobbered him once. Nothing physical. She just stopped him in his tracks when I did my stupid bit of matchmaking.’

  ‘Good. She’s spoken for.’

  Moira was only too happy to hear that. She had realized of late that her other half was not really fit for marriage. He needed too much of his own way, and she had been lenient with him. Lucy believed that her children had been allowed leeway, but that was nothing compared to the way Richard had developed. Was it all the result of MS? She looked through the window. ‘Blood and guts, David – what the hell has she got? Just look at the state of her.’

  He looked. His beloved Louisa was staggering across the opposite pavement with a three-tier wedding cake. Was there no end to the woman’s powers of persuasion? He leapt out of the vehicle and ran to offer help. After relieving her of the burden, he chased her back to the van.

  ‘It’s cardboard,’ he told Moira. ‘Madam was pretending it was heavy.’

  Lucy climbed into the passenger seat. ‘I just wanted the sympathy vote,’ she said sweetly. ‘The cake is some kind of plastic, but the icing’s real. And the bottom tier holds a dozen small fancies, so job done.’

  There followed a discussion on the subject of concealment. The cake might be covered by a car rug, but Moira’s balloons were a different matter.

  ‘We’ll just have to ruin the lawn again,’ was Lucy’s decision. ‘Drive round to the back of the shed, and take everything in through the kitchen door. I have no other ideas except, perhaps, we might plead insanity.’

  ‘I am quite sane, thanks,’ David said, a laugh breaking his words.

  ‘And I’ve no desire to be so,’ added Moira.

  Lucy looked at her other half. He had put his foot down again. The hastily arranged party was his idea, since he believed that Simon and Lizzie needed support rather than criticism. ‘If you seem to be against the marriage, you both seem to be against your children,’ he had advised. ‘Don’t push them away. No fuss, just a few fairy lights and a couple of bottles of champagne.’

  It had grown from that. They now carried with them half of Marks & Spencer’s food hall, six bottles of Sainsbury’s on-special-offer pink champagne, the crazy cake with bride and groom on top, and thirty uncontrollable balloons. Short of hiring the Dagenham Girl Pipers and the Luton Boys’ Choir, they had done a thorough job.

  Once back in the little wooden bungalow, Moira ate her longed-for sandwich while the other two idiots ran round with plates, fairy lights, silver horseshoes, ice buckets, a false wedding cake and a ghetto blaster. They couldn’t find a wedding march in the small collection of CDs, and Lucy expressed the opinion that neither Floyd Cramer’s ‘On the Rebound’, which was hers, nor her sons’ collection of rappers would be suitable. So she settled for Robbie Williams singing ‘Angels’, because it was beautiful.

  Once more, she found herself overruled. ‘Play that one second,’ David told Moira, who was to be in charge of music. ‘But first, I think Ronan Keating’s “When You Say Nothing At All” is more suitable. Here it is. There’s a beautiful sadness in ‘Angels’, and the message in the other one is spot on. It’s about love that needs no words.’

  ‘You’re special,’ announced Moira. He’d left her with Aerosmith’s ‘I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing’ and ‘How Do I Live’ by LeAnn Rimes. ‘My Richard would have chosen differently, I’m sure.’

  ‘David’s perfect.’ Lucy took his hand in hers. ‘Not ashamed of his feminine side, are you, darling? He likes Westlife. Few men would admit to that. I never met a more thoughtful and loony human being. And you’re staying, David. You’re in loco parentis on the male side. I can be stubborn, too.’

  ‘OK. Now. Where are they?’

  ‘In bed, if I know anything about my son.’ Moira swallowed the last of her sandwich while the other two pretended not to worry. Her choking fits were dramatic and life-threatening, yet she soldiered on. Only days ago, she had been on a diet that was almost liquid, but she was loth to give up her real grub.

  When the swallowing was over, Lucy told her that her son would need to educate Lizzie.

  ‘No!’ Moira’s eyes were wide. ‘In this day and age? Oh well, never mind. He researched the subject when he was about seventeen. Other boys had mucky mags, but he chose the medical route. I bet he could write his own book about female orgasm. They’ll be all right. They’d better be all right, else I’ll kill him myself.’

  ‘They’re coming. They look great together.’ David backed away from the window. ‘Get your finger on the button, Moira.’

  ‘Are we still on about female parts?’ she asked innocently.

  Lucy heard their footfalls on the ramp. ‘Cue music,’ she whispered. Then the door opened, she saw her daughter and her son-in-law, and she burst into tears. They were beautiful people.

  Ten

  There was hardly any furniture. Apart from a couple of rugs and a few chairs, the lower storey of Tallows had been stripped of its identity. Lucy wasn’t coming back, then. But someone was living here, and that someone was his daughter, because bits of her were scattered through kitchen and living rooms and even on the staircase. Alan experienced a couple of pangs, as Lizzie was just about the best thing to have happened in this barn of a place. His sons were good lads, but his daughter was special.

  For ten or more minutes, he waited and listened. When no one appeared, he returned to the laundry, took a crowbar from behind the dryer, and began to work on the stone-flagged floor. This was where he had kept his stash, emergency money for drinking, gambling, and all other just-in-case occasions that cropped up in the normal run of life. Nowhere near as fit as he had thought, he had difficulty
in lifting the slab, but he managed, just about. He dialled the number, opened the floor safe, grabbed what was left, and replaced the flagstone in the nick of time.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  Alan clapped a hand to his chest, turned, and saw a tall, blond man in the doorway. ‘I could ask you the same question, because I’ve lived here for over twenty years.’ He shouldn’t have said that. This bloke could be a detective, and Alan needed to stay hidden until Trish had cleared his debts.

  ‘So you’re Mr Henshaw?’

  Alan offered no reply.

  ‘Simon Turner,’ the young man said. ‘Your daughter’s husband.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Liz and I were married last Wednesday. We told no one, so you’re not the only person left out of the loop.’

  Alan staggered and righted himself by leaning against the washing machine. ‘My Lizzie? My little girl?’ The true nature of paternity hit him in that moment. Someone was touching his daughter. Someone had inveigled his way into her heart and into her bed. Had it been one of his lads married, that would have been different. But not his beautiful Lizzie. Her whole life flashed before Alan’s eyes – the child on a beach, running in these gardens, looking at animals in the zoo and at the safari park, spilling ice cream down her clothes, playing Mary in the school nativity at Christmas. ‘You do right by her, or I’ll find you and bloody well kill you.’

  Simon nodded thoughtfully. ‘I shan’t steal from her, won’t forge her signature or abuse her in any way. As for you, take care. I’m training in cardio-thoracic surgery, and I can tell you here and now that you need to look after yourself. Open heart procedures are costly and time-consuming, so start respecting your body. For now, just try to calm down. Watch your blood pressure and eat very little saturated fat. Stress is to be avoided, too, so don’t make a rod for your own back by committing any further crimes of fraud.’

  Alan gulped audibly. ‘Does my Lizzie know all my sins?’

  ‘Most of them. But don’t worry, because she’s her mother all over again. They both seem capable of endless forgiveness, though I dare say either or both could be pushed to the edge by lunacy such as yours if it continues. What the bollocks were you thinking of, man?’

  It had to be said. ‘I’m an alky. Some days, I didn’t know whether I was coming, going, alive or dead. It’s no excuse, but booze is my master. I still live from one drink to the next, but the difference is that I’m not taking any alcohol. Inside, I’m screaming. But I’m living with somebody who holds me back. And that’s the God’s honest truth.’

  They walked into the kitchen and sat one each side of the table.

  ‘Well, I believe you.’ Simon stared at the vision before him. Alan looked older than his years. Too-rapid weight loss had left him looking rather like a balloon from which half the air had escaped. A man in his forties should have retained some elasticity in his skin, but this one had lived too hard, and he was wrinkled. ‘How’s your liver?’ he asked.

  ‘Thanks for asking. Some of it’s shoe leather, but some of it works.’

  ‘It can regenerate up to a point.’

  ‘I know. Where is she? Did you say your name’s Simon?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where’s my Lizzie?’

  ‘In the shed with both our mothers. Lucy found out about the wedding, and she and …’ he decided not to mention David, ‘she and my mother decided to give us a little celebration. In fact, I’ve come to collect some CDs from upstairs, so I’d better be quick.’

  Alan lowered his head. ‘I can’t come and see her. It wouldn’t be right. But when the party’s over, tell Lizzie I love her.’ He gulped. The word love had scarcely visited his vocabulary for a long time. ‘And tell Lucy … Just tell her I’m sorry.’

  ‘OK.’ Simon dashed off in search of music while Alan walked into the hall and let himself out through the front door.

  He crossed the lane and stared at Tallows for a while. He had been a selfish bastard and was a selfish bastard to this day. He wouldn’t change, because it was too late, and the life he had lived had been too full of resentment. But clouds formed by alcohol had blurred his judgement. At least he was beginning to see himself for what he was. The old maxim about giving and taking was starting to make sense. If Trish Styles paid off his huge debt, the one for which he should be serving time, he would moderate his behaviour.

  It was an elegant house. He heard his boys screaming in the woods, saw Lizzie in a mud-spattered party frock, watched them playing, quarrelling, enjoying a game of cricket, scarpering when a window shattered as a ball entered the house. All gone now. Line-dancing was to be the price, together with bingo and cards. He would probably moan about life, but he had to pay Trish back. There was no way in which he might recompense Lucy, but she’d taken her pound of flesh, hadn’t she?

  Hiding behind a hedge, he sat down and counted what remained of his fortune. Give or take, it was about two grand. Trish had blue eyes. They were frightened blue eyes. This money would be used to take away a bit of that terror. In some strange way, the caring for and protecting of Trish was also a repayment to Lucy. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he could only do his best. He might rail against donkeys and tea dances, but by God, he would stick to her. Trish wanted stability, but so did he. The fool he had been needed to be left in the past, because he required predictability, a timetable of sorts and freedom from debts and worries.

  When he reached Darwen Road, he saw her and waved. Her little face lit up like a child’s at Christmas. He got into the passenger seat. ‘Hiya, kid,’ he said. ‘Well, here I am. Told you I’d be back, what? Come on, let’s have a smile.’

  ‘Hello, love. Are we going home now?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. We’re off to look at sapphires.’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘You can’t be engaged without a ring. Don’t start blubbering, I’m not in the mood. Right. Town. It’s thataway.’

  Trish composed herself. ‘Did you find them?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The brooch and the watch.’

  Alan slapped his head with the flat of his hand. ‘Doh,’ he uttered in the style of Homer Simpson. ‘See, if I’d been pissed, I would have remembered. Tanked up on whisky, I never forgot a thing. I was daft in other ways, like judgement in the broad sense, but I never forgot little details. My body’s not used yet to being without booze.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘Don’t let me drink, love.’

  ‘You join AA and I’ll join Al-Anon. We can do it. I know we can.’

  ‘We can and we will,’ he said. ‘Now, I’ve got a bit of money, and we’re off to the greatest jeweller in the north. Sapphires and diamonds. Then if we’re quick, we’ll be back in Blackpool for your blessed bingo.’ Yes, it was time to pay his dues in full.

  There were only five of them at the party, but they managed to produce enough noise to make the place seem full. To be fair, it was full, because thirty large, heart-shaped balloons took up a great deal of space. When the helium-filled intruders became too great a nuisance, the inevitable happened. David was the first to inhale, and the Queen would probably have laughed herself sick had she been privy to his rendition of the national anthem.

  Lizzie delivered an ultra-falsetto ‘Amazing Grace’, Moira blessed the company with ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’, while Lucy chose to murder ‘Morning Has Broken’. ‘That was bloody awful,’ David announced. ‘I’m not sure I can live with that.’

  A silence followed. Lizzie approached her mother. ‘Mums?’

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ David said. ‘I’m only following orders. She told the world I was going to marry her, and she filled me in only yesterday. Sorry, Louisa.’

  Lucy held her head high. ‘I love him,’ she told her daughter. ‘I loved him when I was ten, but he was like a brother. Diane and I used to pray for a little brother, you see. But David’s not a brother any longer. Actually, he is longer, because he was a shrimp of a kid.’

  ‘So, you were as quick as w
e were, then.’ Liz grinned and waved a finger. ‘Mother, you can’t possibly be sure in so short a time. I’ll bet that was what you wanted to say to me and Simon.’

  Lucy shrugged.

  ‘Did you open my bedroom door? Did you see us together with no clothes on?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah, it wasn’t a dream.’ Liz turned her attention to David. ‘You’d better look after her, young man. I have raised my mother to a very high standard, and she doesn’t mix with riff-raff. Can you feed and house her? Can you keep her in the manner to which I have allowed her to become accustomed?’

  He nodded and mumbled something about industrial cleaners and an oven with a missing door.

  ‘She’s used to ovens with a full complement of doors. Why industrial cleaners?’

  David laughed. ‘Because even the dog was complaining about the squalor.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Liz asked.

  ‘Playing with the children next door. He loves kids, but he’s never eaten a whole one.’

  Lucy stepped in. She warned her new son-in-law to hide all his clothes, because Liz would wear them when her own were dirty. She told him to employ a cleaner, since Liz’s idea of domestic hygiene was a square foot of visible carpet and a pair of matching socks.

  Simon sighed. ‘I know. She already put me in the shabby picture. We’ll be fine. What can I say? Someone has to take her off your hands. You don’t want to be lumbered until she has to be auctioned off on eBay, one previous owner, buyer to collect. You wouldn’t get much unless you threw in a set of pans and a food mixer.’

  Moira was happy. She was in the company of family and friends, was pleasantly drunk and, if she could hang about for a few more years, might become a grandma. Liz had declared her intention to live in London, to work only in Britain, probably as a waitress or an office temp, since good actors were ten a penny, and it was time she became minimally domesticated. They were hoping to live in London, since Lizzie’s dream had always been a tall, thin house with a long, narrow walled garden. For the time being, they would use her one-bedroom flat, and yes, she would have to be tidy.