Peter, too, had news to divulge. His sister had already blackened Mel’s name with just about every girl in their year. ‘She’s been phoning everyone except the school cat. You’ll be lonely when term starts,’ he said. ‘She’s told everyone we’re doing it, that we were caught doing it by my dad and your stepfather in a house off Scotland Road. You have no idea how angry she is.’
At one time Mel could not have imagined Gloria in a temper, but she had felt the edge of it very recently, and that edge was honed to perfect sharpness. Isolation, unpleasant though it might be, did not frighten her. But if anything affected her work, she would surely become distraught. There might be whisperings, even ‘accidental’ collisions in corridors, elbows in her ribs. ‘That’s that, then,’ she said. ‘We have to finish.’
‘No.’
‘There’s no other answer.’
‘Really?’ He outlined the plan. They would collect clothes, money and a little food. A friend in Rainford had been taken by his parents to a ski resort in Switzerland. The family would not return to their house until the day before school was due to reopen, and there was always a spare key behind the shed in a pot near the raspberry canes. ‘A short ride up the East Lancashire Road, and we’ll be there.’
‘I can’t do that to my mother, Peter.’
‘Look what she’s willing to do to us,’ was his swift response.
Another valid point fell from Mel’s lips. ‘You’ve got stitches.’
‘Yes, and if they weren’t in my back, I’d snip the buggers out myself. You can do it.’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
‘Then you don’t love me.’
She heard the petulance, caught a brief glimpse of the child in him, dismissed the thought instantly. She was still capable of being infantile and silly, and he was the same age. ‘I am not taking your stitches out. Your dad will do it in a few days.’
His jaw dropped slightly. ‘What? You are condemning me to Christmas in this house with Gloria the glorious, with a sulking mother and a father who wishes he could touch you the way I did? As for you, how will you feel in the company of a mother who’s willing to betray you to top brass? Well?’
‘My mother’s … different. She’s dead straight, that’s all. I can do something about the damage your sister’s causing, and my parents will make sure I get a good Christmas. My mother’s said her piece, and she won’t drone on. Gran’s the droner. My mother’s quiet most of the time.’ And Eileen was happy. It was important to Mel that her mother was happy. ‘I’m not running away with you. I’m not putting Mam through that pain.’ A feeling akin to relief flooded her veins. She probably didn’t love him at all.
They argued back and forth for the better part of the allocated hour, at which time he asked her to leave. And she refused.
‘What?’ he almost screamed. ‘They’ll be back.’ Panic invaded his chest. He needed to talk to Mel, needed time away from here so that he could express himself and his fears to the one person he trusted.
‘Exactly.’
‘And?’
‘And I’m going to be a lawyer.’ She definitely didn’t love him. It was all sex, and sex was a powerful thing. ‘It’s over. You and I are no longer an item.’
‘What?’
The front door opened. Mel rose gracefully from the table, abandoned her erstwhile boyfriend and walked into the hall. ‘Gloria Bingley,’ she said plainly. ‘I am going to see Dr Ryan to ask for an internal examination, which will prove me a virgin and you the biggest fair-weather friend since Judas. You have not only betrayed me; you have also told a massive untruth which is a slander. My name is blackened at school, and I shall see you in court. Or perhaps you would like to settle out of court once I prove my intactness?’ She was glad she’d read that law book of Miss Morrison’s just out of interest. ‘Ask your father to let the moths out of his wallet and give me my start at Cambridge. And your brother can go to hell. He’s a spoilt, whining brat. I’d sooner lie down with the rag-and-bone man.’
Gloria burst into tears and ran upstairs. She should have realized that Clever-Clogs Watson would get the better of her, because the girl never lost an argument. In the debating society, she’d even carried a motion on communism being a good thing for Britain.
Marie stared sadly at Mel. ‘Please, Mel.’
‘Please what, Mrs Bingley? I think it’s time I pleased myself as far as your family’s concerned. You’re married to a dirty old man …’ She shouldn’t have said that. ‘And your son’s a weak, spineless waste of space. Gloria broadcast an enormous lie about me and her brother, so can you blame me for asking my doctor to give me written proof of my status?’ She would be the barrister, she decided in that moment. There were few females called to the bar, but she would improve that number by one. Arguing was second nature to her.
‘Mel, you are cruel. Please stop,’ Marie begged again.
But the girl remained in the saddle of a very high horse. ‘Once. Once I allowed him to touch me, because he’s handsome and … and desirable. But it was just touching.’ The back door slammed. ‘There he goes. Your little boy has left the house, Mrs Bingley. Perhaps he needs a playpen.’
Marie placed her shopping on the floor. ‘Slander works both ways, you know. Would you like it if Tom took you to court for describing him as a dirty old man?’
Mel tutted. ‘Prove I said it.’
‘There were ear-witnesses.’
Mel shook her head. ‘Family. My witnesses are a couple of dozen girls who have been informed by your daughter that I am misbehaving with your son. No contest. And, being a family doctor, your husband has to remain squeaky clean. Remember the no smoke without fire saying?’
A few seconds of deadlock followed. ‘Wait here, then.’ Marie turned on her heel and walked into the office. Alone in the hall, Mel could hear Gloria sobbing in her room. I didn’t know myself till now. When it comes to making stuff happen, I am in my element. Parliament? High Court? Certainly not Mrs Peter Bingley, that’s for sure.
Marie returned with a cheque and pushed it into Mel’s hand.
‘Ah. Thirty pieces of silver.’ Without looking at the scrap of paper, Mel tore it into tiny flakes that floated like snow down to the parquet floor.
‘That was three hundred pounds!’ Marie gasped. ‘You asked for money.’
‘Three hundred pieces of silver, then. I’m not purchasable, even at that price.’
‘But you said—’
‘I say a lot of things, Mrs Bingley. Now, I am off to see my doctor. You will tell her upstairs to telephone all those she has misinformed. Let her say it was a dare or something of that nature. As for your son – well, I can only wish you the best of luck. If he comes anywhere near me, have your sutures ready.’ She walked out of the house.
Her legs didn’t match any more. Stumbling like a recovering alcoholic who was having a slight relapse, Mel staggered to the end of the road. She had to make a better job of this walking business, because he would be waiting round the corner. Yes, there he was. Peter Bingley was beautiful. He was the sort of creature who might have given Michelangelo’s David a run for his money. Not that statues could run, of course. Why was she having daft thoughts at a time like this when her reputation was in tatters?
She stopped and stared at him. He was across the road, frozen like a rabbit caught in headlights. ‘Stay away from me, Bingley,’ she roared at the top of her voice. Curtains fluttered. Two old ladies on opposite sides of the road ambled to their gates, shawls clutched as protection against the bitter cold. ‘Go home,’ Mel shrieked. ‘Go home to your disgusting sister.’ He ran, and she found herself smiling.
But when she reached her own lodgings, Mel was no longer proud of herself. Gloria was a friend of long standing. She was upset because Mel had not confided in her about Peter, and although her behaviour had been bad, she was probably deeply hurt. It must all be put right. But first, there was an appointment with Dr Ryan.
Tom brought in the food from Home Farm. He made two tri
ps from car to house, because a couple of chickens and all the vegetables took some shifting. ‘Nearly as big as turkeys, those things,’ he said. ‘Where’s Keith? Where’s Mel? And how’s your Miss Morrison?’
‘As excited as a child because she won’t be alone at Christmas. She’s a love. We sit and talk to her every day, but she tires.’ Eileen gave him a cup of tea and a bit of date and walnut cake. ‘To answer your question, Keith’s gone to buy me a collar and lead. That’s what he said, anyway, but really he’ll be looking for my Christmas present. And Mel’s gone to see Dr Ryan to prove she’s a virgin.’
‘What?’ He almost choked. Cakes seemed dry these days, probably due to all the rationing. How lucky were the people who lived out of town … ‘To prove she’s a virgin?’
Eileen bit her lip. But it all had to be said. ‘Gloria has been busy on the phone. She’s told the whole class that Mel and Peter have had full sex. It was a nasty lie to tell, Tom.’
‘What?’ He leapt to his feet. Gloria was a sweet girl who wouldn’t damage a fly. He couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Gloria? My Gloria?’
Eileen nodded. ‘Yes, the very same. Sit down and hear me out, Tom. You know I have a temper?’
‘Of course.’ He sat. ‘I explained away the evidence of your most recent assault as something that happened during the retrieval of our children. A falling brick if I remember correctly.’
‘Well, my daughter has a temper, too. She’s gone through your household today like a hot knife cutting butter. Peter is damned to hell, while Marie took the full blast, including the information that my headstrong girl thinks of you as a dirty old man. She regrets saying that, though she has told me on at least one occasion that you look at her in a certain way.’
‘She reminds me of someone.’
‘Yes.’ There would be no nonsense. If she glimpsed the fringe of trouble, he would be out of this house in a trice. ‘My daughter will be derided at school because of Gloria. So Mel made a scene, demanded compensation, bullied your wife into writing a cheque. Madam tore it up and stormed out. She then made another un-pretty scene outside. It involved Peter and she has ended her relationship with him.’
Tom remembered life pre-Eileen. It had been boring, but peaceful. ‘Three generations of angry women; there’s your mother, then you, then Mel. She got more than your beauty. I’m convinced that the brain came from your mother, via you.’
She told him the rest of it. At first Mel wanted to get a solicitor and apply for permission to print in the Crosby newspaper a statement saying that the gossip was malicious and untrue. But a calmer period had ensued, and Mel was missing Gloria already. ‘So I don’t know what to do,’ Eileen concluded. ‘You know what they’re like at this age – up one minute, down the next.’
Gloria hadn’t been like that, but he didn’t say anything. His daughter had been good, perhaps too good. Of the two, Peter was the more unpredictable, and Tom had wondered of late about the boy’s true nature. He was a better than average sportsman and a successful scholar, but there was a gentleness that went a little too far for Tom’s comfort. He dismissed the idea yet again from his mind. Some heterosexuals were gentle, some homosexuals vicious. And some doctors were confused, because Peter had proved his sexuality by messing about with Mel.
‘Tom?’
‘What?’
‘He has to stay away from her.’
The visitor sipped his cooling tea. ‘How far did they go?’
‘About as far as you and I did on one unfortunate occasion.’
He smiled.
‘What’s funny?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’ He could not tell her that the smile was a demonstration of relief about Peter. ‘I suppose we all react differently when we realize that our children are almost adult. One minute it’s a high chair and Farley’s rusks, and the next they’re experimenting with the opposite sex.’
‘We have to get the two girls back together, Tom. Gloria’s a steadying, sensible influence, and Mel keeps her optimistic. And I don’t want Marie hurt. I mean, look at the man she married – isn’t he trouble enough?’ It was her turn to smile.
Mel came in, stopped in her tracks when she saw Tom, recovered quickly, and slammed an envelope on the kitchen table. ‘Virgo intacta,’ she said. ‘And will you tell that daft daughter of yours that she’s the nearest thing I have to a sister? I’m lumbered with three brothers, and she’s stuck with Peter. I can’t manage without her.’ She stalked out.
‘Going to be a barrister now,’ Eileen said.
Tom picked up his trilby. ‘It’s enough to make you pity the criminal fraternity,’ he said sadly before leaving the house.
Alone in the kitchen, Eileen found herself chuckling. He was perfectly correct. Mel would go onward and upward as long as nothing stood in her way. If anything did threaten to impede her progress, she would talk it out of existence. Hilda Pickavance, God bless her, had put away a sum that would support Mel through university. The bank book was to be Mel’s Christmas gift from that lovely woman. If only the damage Gloria had done could be put right … ‘What the—?’ Keith had just entered the house. ‘What’s that?’
‘I told you I’d get you a collar and lead.’
She stared hard at him. Once again, he was acting as daft as a brush. ‘But … there’s a dog fastened to all that tack.’
‘Is there? I never noticed.’
‘And what’s our landlady going to say?’
Keith grinned. ‘She’s in on the act.’
A diminutive black and white animal wagged a sad string of tail. ‘What make is it?’ Eileen asked.
‘It’s a spoodle, so it might not shed.’
She refused to ask.
‘I made up the spoodle bit. Cross between a spaniel and a poodle, and she was cross, too, that woman. Her poodle passed its exams for dog shows and the spaniel got at her.’
Eileen could resist no longer. She picked up the pup and held it close to her chest. Keith was complaining about the bloody dog getting the best seat in the house, but his wife scarcely listened. ‘Your mummy was got at, babe,’ she said. ‘I know how she must have felt, because I’m got at all the time.’ The little animal was a bundle of soft and silky curls. ‘I never had a dog, Keith.’
‘I know.’
‘Always wanted one.’
‘I know.’
‘Will it be all right with our baby? Will it kill your chickens?’
‘Yes and no. He’s from a farm in Lydiate, and he’s been handled by children since he was five days old. His mother’s very intelligent – all giant poodles are – and his dad’s a spaniel. Spaniels are daft, clever, soft-hearted and loving. He’ll be fine for both my babies – you and the passenger. As for chickens – he’s been pecked to buggery and nothing died.’
‘I love you.’
‘I know.’
‘And if you say “I know” again, I’ll hit you.’
‘I know. What’s for tea, love?’
Sixteen
‘Right.’ Sister Pearson intended to teach Jay Collins a sharp lesson very soon. The man would not listen; therefore, he would not learn. He was refusing some of his food, kept complaining loudly about anything and everything, and was currently making a song and dance about yet another substandard cup of tea. Did he not understand that even a cuppa was part of the intake that would balance injected insulin? How would she get through to him? This primed and prepared audience might help. She sighed heavily. Anything was worth a try, she supposed.
She folded her arms and tapped an irritated foot on the floor. ‘This delightful patient, ladies, is beyond the pale. He’s been driving me perpendicular, the cleaners round the U-bend, and even the doctors are having to see a doctor.’ She glared at Jay. ‘Listen, you. There is nothing wrong with that cup of tea. It’s the same as everyone else’s, and nobody has complained.’
Jay arranged his features to express deep hurt. ‘One look at you, and they daren’t bloody complain. This tastes like somebody’s peed in it.’ H
e slammed the green cup into its green saucer. ‘Disgusting.’
‘Oh, I see. So you’re used to the taste of urine, are you?’
‘I work on farms. We see, smell and taste all sorts. Can’t be helped, cos muck gets everywhere. Wouldn’t suit you. You’ve got that ants in the pants illness, haven’t you? Always scrubbing your hands – no wonder they’re red. Stick a bit of Vaseline on them. You want to slow down, you do.’
Sylvia Pearson addressed her small entourage of cadets, first years, a second year and, bringing up the rear, a man with a bucket. She didn’t know who he was, but she felt marginally better with a man in tow. If all else failed, he could threaten to hit the impatient patient with said bucket. ‘This is all deliberate and for attention,’ she advised the group. ‘A sure sign of a bored man. He is on the mend after a mere twenty-four hours. Remember, some men are children, and they’re naughty when well.’
‘Yes, sister,’ chorused her minions. The man with the bucket scratched his ear. He had work to do, but he’d been swept up by this crowd somewhere between beds eight and seven. He’d gone with the flow, because the flow had happened to be going in his direction, but he felt a right fool standing here with his second best bucket while the mickey got taken out of the bloke in bed three. This woman certainly went on a fair bit. She was opening her mouth to let the next lot of words see the light of day. He wished she’d hurry up, because it was nearly time for his tea break, and somebody’s mam had sent in a chocolate cake. There’d be very little chocolate and no eggs in it, but it looked a bit like a cake.
‘Why, oh why did you have to get a chronic illness?’ the sister asked. ‘A broken leg, traction, a bit of dysentery – all those things are soon sorted out. But no. You have to develop something that needs surveillance, and you don’t look after yourself. You’ll be doing the hokey-cokey here for years, in, out, in out. And you’ve been told how to manage. You’re even one of the first in this country to test the home hypodermic.’
The Liverpool Trilogy Page 65