The Liverpool Trilogy

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘I know. I’m being moved up from apprentice to improver, because I’m a brilliant stylist. Anybody else has to do a full year, and I’ve only done eight months. See? All this time, you’ve had a genius, and you never knew it. So get in there and eat my mother’s cake.’

  And Don realized in that moment that most of the Irish families he knew laboured under matriarchy. Tiny women brought huge men to heel, and daughters followed in the footsteps of their female predecessors, often learning much of their intricate art from two generations of warm and loving dictators. It was not a bad way to live.

  They picked at their slightly lower tea. Tess’s high teas were ornate celebrations with matching porcelain cups, saucers, milk jug and lidded sugar pot. In fact, when Don thought about Tess’s productions, he wondered why there were no fingerbowls. Anne-Marie had done a good job, but with the ordinary everyday crockery. ‘I didn’t want to break anything good. There’ll be trouble enough, anyway. That nurse told me Mam won’t be able to use the hoover, drive or clean up for at least six weeks. She’ll go menthol eucalyptus if she can’t do stuff. She mustn’t make beds, reach up too high, open and close windows, or carry anything heavier than a feather.’

  Sean groaned. ‘God, she’ll be in a mood.’

  Don nodded, a wistful smile on his face. ‘As long as she’s in one piece, I don’t care.’

  Anne-Marie glanced at her brother. ‘We thought … we thought you were going to split up when we lived on Smithdown Road,’ she said. ‘We were scared, because she shouldn’t be on her own. She needs us, Dad. I reckon she always will, because it’s the way she’s made.’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry about that, because it’s more or less sorted out.’ There was Molly. It couldn’t be put right until he’d seen Molly. ‘Your mother had a terrible childhood, hungry, cold and miserable. She never learned to read till she got to England. Quite a few Irish kids in remote areas didn’t go to school. The fear of poverty plagues her.’

  ‘I know,’ chorused the siblings.

  The phone jangled raucously.

  Don stood, knocking over his chair so that it lay on its back. He rushed down the hall, cursing Dunkirk for his inability to move at a faster pace. Snatching up the receiver, he breathed a choked ‘Hello’ into it.

  ‘Don?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s Lucy. She’s fine, on a ward and fast asleep. Don’t bother coming, because you might as well talk to the wall, and visiting’s seven till eight, so she’s not likely to surface by then. Come at three tomorrow. We have longer visiting on a Sunday.’ She paused. ‘Don?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t cry.’

  He hadn’t realized that he’d been weeping. After thanking Lucy, he hung up and turned to his children, who stood clinging on to each other. Drying his eyes, he gave them the news. ‘She made it. They said to stay away tonight, because she won’t even know we’re there, and she needs her rest.’ The three of them gathered in a huddle, each one clutching the other two.

  Sean was the first to break away. ‘Synchronized sobbing,’ he muttered. ‘I’m going for a pint. You coming, Dad?’

  ‘No. I’m off to see Molly. I need to tell her what’s happened, because I’ll have to have time off when Tess gets home. Anne-Marie?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Behave yourself while your brother and I are out. No going upstairs with Mark.’ Who was he to be telling this young woman how to live? She was nudging sixteen, while he was a man in his forties with a wife, a mistress, and a house he didn’t really own. He was the reprobate, the one playing an away game several times a month. Visits had diminished of late, because he was living two lives. And Molly seemed … different. Was she ill, too? He couldn’t hurt her if she was ill, could he?

  Anne-Marie, looking for all the world like an infant teacher with a non-cooperative pupil, tut-tutted her displeasure. ‘Dad, one of these days you’ll have to stop worrying, or you’ll get measured for the wooden overcoat. You fret too much. Cool it, Daddy-oh.’

  So he cooled it. On this pleasant summer evening, he drove to Otterspool Prom and watched the world go by. Ships, their size diminished by distance, glided silently across the horizon. Perhaps Liverpool sailors stood on deck, their eyes fixed on the Liver Birds. Soon, busy small tugs would start to bob about like little rubber ducks in a big bath. They would fuss and chunter until they got their bigger sister moving in more or less the right direction.

  Courting couples walked by, while a pair of pensioners on a bench shared a crossword and a bag of butties. A child kicked a ball, fell about laughing when his dad failed to stop it. ‘Goal,’ he screamed. Don hadn’t played football with Sean, because Dunkirk had put paid to that.

  He was stalling, wasn’t he? Procrastination, thief of time and all that. He hoped Tess was asleep. If she woke and he wasn’t there, would she be afraid and lonely? He remembered how thoroughly he had hated her, but perhaps dislike as strong as that was the reverse side of true love. She used to enjoy concerts, didn’t she? And the cinema, even the theatre. He recalled her standing up with Anne-Marie during a pantomime, ‘He’s behind you.’ Oh, he had to start taking her out again. Life was more than work and worry; there had to be some fun as well.

  Molly was expecting him. They were meant to be going to a pub, but he didn’t feel up to it. If she was intending to perform her George Formby, she would go anyway, because she didn’t like letting folk down. Neither did he; the thought of her being upset gave him pain in his stomach. Molly had done so much for him, so much for Tess, that she deserved better treatment, yet he could not love two women. Nor could he go through the motions with Molly just to ensure that Tess kept the house and the stability she drew from its existence.

  He climbed back into the car and rubbed his troubled knee. Hanging round here wasn’t any comfort, because he knew he was avoiding the issue, and that wasn’t in his nature. Hiding away in the physical sense wasn’t easy, not with a limp as pronounced as his. Socially, he’d always enjoyed a game of darts, a pie and a pint, and a chinwag, though he didn’t have close male friends. Molly had been the centre of his universe for so long that he couldn’t imagine life without her. But she was his employer as well as his mistress, and he was likely to lose a job he loved. Job, house, his wife’s sanity, all were threatened while she lay in hospital recovering from major surgery.

  Molly was waiting for him. ‘You all right, love?’ The question was coated with concern. ‘You look a bit off-colour to me. Get yourself some brewer’s yeast. My mother swore by it.’

  Don patted the dogs, gave Molly a peck on the cheek and sat down. He had to offload the first part quickly. ‘Tess collapsed in a pool of blood today, Moll. I found her when I got back from … from here. She was rushed off in an ambulance and they operated on her this afternoon. Woman’s trouble.’

  Molly sat next to him. ‘Why aren’t you with her?’ Her tone had become accusatory. ‘She shouldn’t be on her own at a time like this. Whatever are you thinking of? That poor girl.’

  He groaned. ‘She’s unconscious, so we were told to stay at home. I just went and stood on Otterspool Prom staring at the water. I don’t fancy the pub. I don’t fancy much, if I’m honest.’

  Molly bent and pushed her ukulele case out of view. She was going nowhere, because she was needed here. For some months, she had felt him distancing himself from her. She, in her turn, had been holding back, because she wanted the playing field to be level. Although she loved him, he in no way matched her deceased husband, the love of her life. There were other men who liked her, but … but she would miss Don if he left her.

  ‘Were you meant to be playing tonight?’ Don asked.

  ‘It’s optional, because I’m not actually booked. It’s not a birthday or an anniversary, so I needn’t go. Anyway, I’m thinking about your Tess. This is shocking news. Oh, I do hope she’ll be all right.’

  ‘Yes, me too.’ Suddenly tired, he leaned his head on the back of the sofa. ‘I can’t go on, Mo. It’s
as if I’m running at top speed just to stand still. There’s no sense to life, no meaning. I keep missing stuff. My little girl’s turned herself into a woman while I wasn’t looking, my lad can brew tea, now Tess is dragged down by fibroids and some fancy illness that causes internal bleeding. Where’ve I been while life’s kept happening, Moll?’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Not here. Not all the time, anyway.’

  Don sighed. ‘It’s not so much where I’ve been physically. It’s in my head, as if I went home today and the film ran faster before grinding to a halt. And there she was, blood everywhere, carrots and peas on the table, steak in the oven, her floor all stained. She loves that floor.’

  Molly knew that her time had come. Not for one moment did she resent her erstwhile lover’s decision, since she knew that nothing lasted. With her husband gone, and her lack of children, she understood full well how disappointing life could be.

  Don continued. ‘It took a long time to change the first reel, Molly. You changed it. Once she was in that house, she was safe, you see. It ran more smoothly once I found the reasons for her daft behaviour.’

  The words crept from her throat to the front of her mouth. ‘You still love her, don’t you, Don?’

  He hesitated briefly. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m afraid I do. But that doesn’t mean I never loved you. There was a time, as you well know, when I could hardly stand the sight of her. But she’s changed. The house changed her, safety changed her. And now …’ His voice died of exhaustion.

  Molly stood up. ‘And now what? What? You think I’ll grab it off her? What do you take me for, Don Compton? That house is for your kids and it’s legally yours. When you and Tess keel over, it’ll be worth enough to buy them each a house, even if they’re in a terrace. Your job’s safe, and we can still have our lunches. There is no price to pay. You don’t really know me, do you?’

  An old saying coursed through Don’s mind. Friends may become lovers, but lovers never friends. ‘It’s always felt like taking charity,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Pride,’ Molly declared, ‘is worth nowt a pound, as my old Manchester granny used to say. I’ve no kids. I’ve given you a house to leave to yours.’ She bit her lip to stop the tears before they flowed. ‘Without you, I would have stayed in this mausoleum and let the business down the road go to the devil. When he died and …’ She swallowed and began again. ‘When Matt died, you ran everything single-handedly and saved me from ruin. So I saved Tess. No way will I take anything back. I couldn’t anyway, because it’s not mine. And I’ll be all right. We can have our lunch at the pub or here, do our paperwork, go our separate ways and it’ll all be OK.’

  He knew that the words were choking her. Don was no prize, but he was all Molly had clung to since her husband died. Furthermore, he was sure that she would weep after he had gone tonight, because this was a huge house for one woman and two dogs. ‘You need a smaller place with a large garden. Get yourself a plot of land and an architect. Let’s face it, you’ve access to all materials at cost, and you know some bloody good builders. Fresh start, new furniture – it worked for Tess. But no Skaters’ Trails.’

  She laughed, yet the sound was hollow. ‘Look after her, lad. And take time off when you need it. It’ll be all right. I’m sure she’ll be out of there in no time and driving you mad with her panelling and her wallpaper—’

  ‘And her squirrels. She loves them, you know.’

  ‘Yes, you told me.’ He often talked about Tess these days. Molly felt cold, as if an icy hand had fastened its grip round her heart. She remembered the sensation; she’d known it in the weeks after her husband’s death. It was loneliness. It was also the realization that she needed a companion, because she was like one pea in an otherwise empty pod. ‘I’ll build a bungalow,’ she announced after a pause. ‘Four bedrooms, a couple of bathrooms, orangery, indoor swimming pool and land for the dogs. You’re right, it’s time I treated myself a bit better. Thanks for everything, Don.’

  When he left, he felt as if he had cut the throat of a kitten. Molly had claws and teeth, but underneath the strength sat a weakened woman.

  The house on Menlove Avenue was dark and empty. In the bedroom, Don caught a whiff of Tess’s Je Reviens, a powdery, flowery and sickly kind of smell. But it was posh, so Tess loved it. He would steer her gently towards Chanel, a more solid, adult aroma. God, this was funny. Was he turning into some sort of expert in the area of women’s cosmetics?

  He sat down. Tonight a wonderful, amazing woman had been hurt. He had done the hurting, and she had shown the bravery. Another lay in hospital with some of her insides missing. And here was her bed, a single bed, separated from his by a substantial chest of drawers. Well, that would all change for a start. Both kids had old beds, so these could be their new ones, because he intended to make a nest for himself and Tess. All rules would be broken; to hell with pastels and beige, because this would be a boudoir.

  Don laid himself flat on his own divan. A bit of red, a gilt-framed mirror, good sheets with a high-count cotton thread, dressing table, new hairbrush, comb and hand mirror all to match. Manicure set with mother-of-pearl handles, a jewellery box, telephone extension so that she wouldn’t have to run downstairs to answer the phone, some pretty nightdresses and peignoirs. What the hell was a peignoir? He didn’t know, but the word was in his head, and she was having at least one.

  Sleep closed in on him like a sturdy door being slammed in his face. One minute he was awake, while the next found him in a long corridor. The further he walked, the longer it grew. Through glass doors, he saw women in hospital beds, but none of them looked like Tess. Time after time, he strode past Molly. She was singing about cleaning windows; if he didn’t look at her, she was George Formby.

  ‘Don?’

  Ah, he had found Tess. She was small. Did the removal of a womb plus bits and bobs make a woman shrink? Or was she travelling backwards in time? Would she become a little girl in a wooden caravan, too many siblings and not enough blankets, no toys, no teacher to help her learn to read?

  As he entered deeper sleep, the dreams stopped.

  Morning found him fully clothed and on top of his eiderdown. Disorientated for a few seconds, he blinked stupidly till his brain kicked in. Downstairs, he came across another pile of occupied clothing, a bundle of denim and leather on the sofa. Someone else had slept where he’d dropped. ‘Mark?’

  ‘Go away.’ A tousled head raised itself. ‘Sorry, Mr Compton. I thought I was at home. I couldn’t be bothered going back. We were there till ten, with my mother fussing round Anne-Marie with food, did she fancy a bit of soup, what about scrambled eggs or toast and marmalade. We were both driven daft. So we cleared off and played cards with Sean.’

  ‘I thought he went to the pub,’ Don said.

  ‘None of us could settle. Anyway, we kept the noise down in here, because the car was on the driveway and you were in bed.’ He sat up. ‘Never sleep in leathers; I smell like an overdone turkey complete with burnt plumage and giblets.’

  Don and Tess both liked this lad. He was an eccentric mixture of city commuter and mad Rocker. According to Anne-Marie, Mark’s chapter of bikers didn’t fight. They had become the peacemakers, and their insignia was Churchill’s victory sign. ‘Victory over what?’ Don asked now, indicating the badge.

  ‘Over the atom bomb. They have to stop making them. Did you ever see the Japanese photograph of a man’s shadow? He evaporated completely, every bit of him was removed, but his shadow’s permanently burnt into the step where he was sitting. It’s a reminder for all of us that we shouldn’t play with those toys.’

  Not for the first time of late, Don reminded himself that there was more to this generation than immediately met the eye. They knew what needed doing, what needed changing, and they were certainly ready to challenge government. It wasn’t just riding about on scooters or motorbikes; they had an agenda, they were educated and a power to be recognized. ‘Where do you work?’ Don asked.

  Mark stood up and stretched. ‘Family firm
. Do you know what I love most about that baby daughter of yours?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’s not impressed by a sandstone mansion on the Wirral. She likes me for me, for who I am. Did she ever mention my wealthy family? No? That’s because she’d rather listen to the Quarry Men, make eyes at Lennon and have a good time. My parents adore her. Anyway, this isn’t getting the baby bathed. You have an Ascot, don’t you? Constant hot water?’

  Don blinked stupidly again. ‘Er … yes.’

  Mark announced his intention to make breakfast for everyone before becoming the first baby in the bath. ‘I’ll drag them out of bed, Mr Compton. They see their mother today, so we want them smart.’

  Don stayed where he was and allowed Mark to organize the household. Every day, something new. No, it was more like every hour – Tess in hospital, lonely Molly planning a bungalow, Mark suddenly rich, a new bedroom to be arranged, Anne-Marie’s boyfriend making breakfast. ‘Get well, Tess,’ he whispered. He was going to need her. She might have been rather wobbly of late, but she had a certain way of thinking round a problem before aiming at the core. She was clever; should have been better educated. ‘There are no problems,’ he muttered. Even so, he needed her, didn’t he? Breakfast smelled delicious.

  Anne-Marie stumbled down the stairs. Mark dragged her to the table, slapped a full English in front of her, and told her she looked like a panda.

  ‘I fell asleep before taking my make-up off,’ she informed him.

  Mark shrugged. ‘You still look like a panda.’

  The panda observed its plate. It didn’t like mushrooms, fried bread or black pudding. The offending items were removed, and Panda-Marie played with the remaining egg and bacon.

  Sean ate everything apart from the glaze on his plate, while Don watched these three marvellous people closely. Sean was always hungry, but he worked hard, had an instinct for motors and a liking for beer and company. Anne-Marie was brilliant, another worker with a capacity for fun. She did look like a panda, and she didn’t care, because she would see her mother today.