The Liverpool Trilogy

by Ruth Hamilton

  He arrived. ‘This place gets dingier by the day,’ was his greeting. ‘Are we safe drinking their coffee?’

  ‘Be an adventurer,’ she advised. ‘Take a walk on the dark side. If we drop dead, we’ll take that as a sign that we needn’t look at Mr Bailey’s shop after all.’

  He sipped, swallowed, shuddered, then pushed cup and saucer to the centre of the table. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘How did Mrs Bailey get on with the powers that be? What did they say about the rest of it?’

  ‘Fine,’ Rosh said. ‘The plans are not out of date, so I can open a little café round the side of the shop. Let’s hope my coffee’s a sight better than this muck. So. I’ll have to employ women to bake at home, at least one waitress, and somebody to run the shop from two to six. I’m hoping Mr Bailey’s assistant will carry on doing the morning shift, sorting out newspaper deliveries and dealing with tobacco. The new café will be my baby.’ She paused. ‘Is it a good investment, Roy? Am I doing the right thing?’

  ‘I think so, yes. And I’ll keep your books tidy. Right. Shall we go? I’m not prepared to drink any more of that muddy stuff.’

  They left their table and their coffee, but no tip. Gratuities, like respect, needed to be earned. They lingered outside and looked at Rosh’s future domain, which was diagonally opposite the greasy building they had just left. She would scarcely need to shine in order to keep in the shade the café she had just left. ‘Roy?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Thanks for being here for me. You’re very good, and I’m grateful.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ He would have gone to the ends of the earth for her, but he kept quiet.

  ‘Since I lost Phil, you’ve been a godsend. For my children, for my mother—’

  ‘I love them all,’ he said. ‘Even the terrible cats.’

  ‘My mother is worse than Winston and Lucy-Furr.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but I wouldn’t like a world without her in it.’

  Rosh suddenly felt shy and silly. She’d always known, hadn’t she? So why did she feel like a fifteen-year-old on a first date? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already noticed him, yet he had been like wallpaper, a backdrop against which life was played out. But since the death of his father, Roy had emerged from his shell, and he was admirable. She mustn’t think like this. Her business head should be forced to take over, while her heart needed to be in cold storage – she’d only been widowed for just about a year, for goodness’ sake.

  Mrs Bailey was in the shop, which had been open infrequently in recent weeks. She was seated in one of her husband’s chairs when Rosh and Roy walked in. ‘He loved this place.’ Her tone was sad. ‘Anyway, I must get rid of it. I’ve decided to sell up completely and go to Australia where our son lives. That house was big with two of us in it. It’s like living in some sort of echo chamber now; I can hear my own footsteps bouncing off the walls, as if someone’s following me.’

  ‘I know,’ Rosh said. Even with Mam and the children, those first weeks without Phil had been as empty as a freshly dug grave.

  ‘I’m sure you do know, dear. So, have you thought about it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’ve thought about little else. And I’d like to work for myself. Roy considers it a good investment, so yes, please. I’m happy with the price, and very happy that the plans for a café are still in date.’

  ‘That’s settled, then.’ Mrs Bailey rose gracefully from her chair. ‘The legal and financial side will take a few weeks.’

  ‘It will be cash,’ Rosh told her. ‘No mortgage.’ How proud of Phil she felt in that moment. He had left her and his children comfortably provided for, and now it was up to her to capitalize on his foresight. This was her business, her own place. She shook the older woman’s gloved hand. ‘May we look round for half an hour?’ she begged. ‘We’ll bring the keys back later.’

  But Mrs Bailey’s instincts told her to trust this young woman. ‘Keep them. You’ll want to be in and out to take measurements. Oh, and get a surveyor. I wish you good fortune, Mrs Allen. You deserve it. I’ll talk to Mr Cuttle, make sure he knows what happening.’ She left the scene, leaving in her wake a waft of expensive perfume.

  Rosh looked at the dozens of jars of tobacco, old newspapers still on display, sweets, chocolate, out-of-date magazines. She was troubled not by any of this, but by the man who was her companion. He’d always been there. Through senior school, he, she and Phil had been the three amigos; as adults, they had been neighbours and now, in widowhood, Rosh couldn’t imagine coping without him. But it wasn’t enough, was it? The numbness that had punished her after Phil’s death had faded away, and the Allens were managing quite well, thank you. But he was here. And he loved her.

  She swallowed a sigh. Did she want his love? Would she ever return it?

  Roy left her side and went to measure up the intended café. Rosh was tense, and he decided that the cause of her discomfort was the size of the decision she had just made. Very few women went into business alone. She had bought a going concern, but she also had plans to extend and expand. Rosh had guts; but he had always known that. He ached less these days; he seemed to have settled into the role of escort, but how would he feel if she met someone else? Murderous and heartbroken, he decided.

  ‘I’m not going the traditional gingham route,’ she said as she entered the room a minute or two later. ‘Floor-length covers in a dark colour, replaceable white cloths on top. The menu will be small at first, but top quality. I’ll get a hatch to the kitchen cut in the wall for when we become a bit more adventurous; might as well get all the mucky jobs done before we set off.’

  ‘I can make cakes and pies,’ he said.

  Roy reminded her time after time not to be surprised. Rendered lame by football and poor surgery, he managed. No. Managed was not the right word, because Roy overcame. His house was a miniature palace, and he’d had very little help from Eric Holt while the transformation was being accomplished. ‘Yes, I’ve eaten your stuff often enough. It’s good. A man of many talents, eh? And you’re blushing.’ She had to treat him as she had always treated him. But … Oh, she should pull herself together. He was Roy, an old friend, and he’d always been attractive. ‘You did the house up, you can cook – what else?’

  ‘I grow my own produce, of course. You enjoy it.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Mr All-Rounder, eh?’ Once again, she was shy and had trouble meeting his steady gaze. Something was happening, and she didn’t know what it was. To find out what it was, she needed to be alone, and the only ‘alone’ time she got was in her bedroom. ‘I have to go and tell my mother what I’ve done.’ ‘Alone’ time would be postponed until much later, it seemed.

  ‘Yes. I’ll stay out of that if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Coward.’

  ‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘And I suppose I’ll never live it down. You won’t let me live it down, will you? Even at school while you protected me, the pair of you made fun of me.’ He tried to sound hurt, but failed.

  ‘You loved it,’ was her answer. ‘Now, get back to work before you lose your job.’

  She watched as he walked down to the bus stop. He was tired. The limp worsened when he did too much, and he often did too much for her. She owed him. Was this pity, gratitude, sisterly affection, friendship, love? Life was about to become complicated. Music exams, psychological assessment for Alice, a business to build. Roy would want to be involved with all those things. And Mam’s voice echoed: ‘Snap him up before he gets taken off the market by some woman more sensible than you. He thinks the sun shines out of your ears, and you treat him like a servant. And he was reared Catholic, because his mother was Catholic. That heathen father of his didn’t count when he was alive, so he’s worth nothing dead.’

  Rosh continued to stare at him. There had been Phil, only Phil, and Phil had been the for ever person. Nothing was ever going to separate them, yet all it had taken … She wiped her eyes. All it had taken was ten seconds in time, a careless driver, a beloved man who had stepped out too soon or too l
ate. And that man was her man, father of her children and the love of her life.

  After revisiting the shop for half an hour and working out the stock cupboard, she had timed the stroll home. It took under ten minutes, and that was reassuring. Thoughts of bus and train rides to and from work had not been happy ones. Rosh didn’t realize that she was being followed, that a man with whom she would soon be in uncomfortably close contact was shadowing her every step. With her head full of maroon table drapes and lace-edged tablecloths, she had little time to notice much else, especially when maroon-and-white striped curtains entered the equation. She was a businesswoman, and businesswomen had much to prove in this male-dominated world.

  Anna was still feisty and quick on her feet when her daughter walked in. She bounced about slapping things on the kitchen table, all the while muttering under her breath about people who always knew best. Was it not enough that she’d five to feed without being accosted in the street? She wasn’t sure that joking about a non-Catholic with mumps was a hanging offence. All this was said to herself; Rosh might as well have been just another brick in the wall. Eric, who had clearly heard the whole tale during the walk from College Road, excused himself and exited via the back door.

  Rosh repaired to her room to take off the good suit. It didn’t hurt this time. She remembered the day they’d chosen it, remembered her husband’s pride shining in his eyes each time she’d tried on an outfit. ‘I’m nearly all right now,’ she told her reflection. ‘Except for her down there and him over the road.’ Her down there was still slamming doors; him over the road wasn’t over the road, because he was on his way back to work, bless him.

  She pulled on a flowered day dress, combed her hair and sat on the bed.

  Pity was akin to love, but was this pity? Roy was a rather fine man, handsome, hardworking, personable. As for the limp, it was part of who he was, who he had been since childhood. She was sorry about the limp, as it gave him pain, but she didn’t mind it. ‘We’re probably meant to take care of each other. The kids like him, Mam thinks the sun rises out of him, and I … I don’t know, do I? Send me a sign, Phil.’

  When Rosh reached the ground floor, Mam was on a slightly lower light. Still simmering, but not ready to boil over like a neglected milk pan. ‘Sit down, Mam.’

  ‘Why? I’m learning a new recipe called beef strong enough.’

  The younger woman fought a smile. ‘You can’t cook that until you see the whites of your diners’ eyes. And it’s stroganoff. If you want soured cream, put a bit of lemon in, and don’t forget the nutmeg.’

  Anna sniffed and sat down. ‘Well? What more do you have to say for yourself, besom?’

  ‘Don’t fuss. I’ve something important to say.’

  ‘Oh yes? Is this you telling me to leave?’

  ‘No. Whatever happens, your home will always be with me. This is me telling you that you’ll be needed more than ever.’

  ‘Oh, I see. No rest for the wicked, then.’

  ‘No rest for any of us, Mam.’ Rosh paused. ‘Now, don’t go off at the deep end, because you might just drown at last. Look, I don’t want to leave Phil’s money sitting in a bank making bits of interest. I want to use some of it to build a family business, something for the kids to fall back on, sell, or whatever.’

  Anna nodded.

  ‘So I’ve bought the shop, and it comes with plans for a café at the back. There’s a chap called Clive Cuttle who used to do the six till two shift in the shop, and Mrs Bailey’s asking him to come back. The two till six in the evening will be covered by somebody else, because I’ll be running the other side of the business.’

  ‘On your own?’

  ‘No. At first, everything will be literally home-made. The kitchen will be big enough to cook in, but for a while I’m going to buy pies and cakes made by housewives round here. We have to get the food to the shop, so I start driving lessons next Monday, one lesson a day for two weeks including Sundays after Mass. If I fail, I’ll try again.’ Rosh looked at her mother. ‘What’s the matter now?’

  Anna was fanning her face with a hand. ‘I can’t speak.’

  ‘Why? What the plucked chicken’s up with you? Please tell me what stopped you talking, because I’d love to know how to make you shut up at will.’

  Anna dried her eyes. ‘I’m proud of you. I am. Is there a refrigerator?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m getting one for here as well. You and I will make scones and fancies fresh every day. So, very simple to start with, but all beautifully presented with good cutlery and crockery. No gingham. I was going to call it No Gingham, but I changed my mind. It’s Home from Home.’

  ‘Nice.’ The older woman blew her nose. ‘It’s so exciting and so brave. Home from Home is just perfect. Are you excited, Rosh?’

  ‘I am. A bit scared as well, but I feel like a kiddy on Christmas Day. Now, before you get cracking with your beef strong enough, I want you to write a list of everybody who won the best cake or pie prize at the church and the school. Roy’s already on the list; his short pastry is second to none.’

  ‘That lad loves you, Roisin.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you don’t love him?’

  ‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’

  Anna raised both arms in a gesture of despair. ‘You’ve gone all undecided, so. What’s the craic? Did you get a sudden visitation from your guardian angel, or are you doing all this as a bet?’

  Rosh blew a loud, wet raspberry in the direction of her mother. ‘I’m trying to be truthful, trying not to open my mouth unless I’m absolutely sure. Upsetting those people earlier—’

  ‘Has upset you. I’ll give this a week. By the time you’re driven daft – literally – by learning to drive, you’ll be back to your usual gobby self. Now, will I curdle the cream by adding lemon to it, or will I put the cream in with the meat before squirting the lemon?’

  ‘Please yourself. The children won’t eat it anyway.’

  ‘Just as well,’ said Anna smartly. ‘There’s enough just for you, me and Roy. The kids are having a bit of yellow fish with a poached egg.’

  Rosh’s heart skipped a beat; Roy was coming to dinner. It wasn’t love. Love was a blinding moment that led its victim all the way through life until … Well whatever it was, it wasn’t like this. Roy was growing on her like mistletoe on a host tree. Not true, because he gave more than he took. He was not a parasite. The kids loved him. Did she?

  Anna chose to eat in the kitchen with the children. ‘I’ll keep an eye out here,’ she yelled to Rosh and Roy from the doorway. ‘Alice has decided she won’t eat anything yellow. Don’t ask; her mind works in mysterious ways its wonders to perform.’

  ‘Has your mother gone Biblical?’ Roy whispered.

  ‘I don’t know. Was that from the Bible?’

  He shrugged; he didn’t know, either.

  Rosh decided to cut to the chase. ‘This is her way of matchmaking,’ she said. ‘Next time, there’ll be wine, flowers, crêpes suzette and fingerbowls. She’s made up her mind, and there’s nothing I can do about that.’

  Roy swallowed nervously. ‘And?’ he achieved eventually.

  ‘And what? She’s my mother, a law unto herself.’

  ‘Rosh?’

  ‘What?’

  Roy paused for a few seconds. ‘Is there a chance for me?’

  ‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘Eat your dinner. This beef strong enough’s no good cold.’ There were tears in his eyes; she couldn’t bear to look at the tears in case they brimmed over. ‘You’re a patient man. Continue patient, please, because I’m not ready.’ Love was a blinding moment … The ‘yes’ had been automatic, almost sight-impaired. It had come from her mouth, not from her brain …

  The doorbell sounded, and Rosh thanked it for its timely intervention. But her relief was short-lived, because Lipstick and Nail Polish stood on the step behind a bunch of flowers almost as big as the kitchen. ‘For your mother,’ she said. ‘Dad’s sorry.’

  ‘So am I.’ Rosh took the fl
owers and placed them in the hall before stepping out to the car at the kerbside. ‘Mr Collingford …’ He really should invest in some new glasses. ‘I am so sorry,’ she continued. ‘I shouldn’t have … I bought a shop this afternoon.’ She was babbling, and she knew it.

  ‘What sort of shop?’

  Rosh blinked stupidly. ‘Sweets, tobacco, newspapers …’

  ‘On the ground floor?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  He nodded, causing his spectacles to perform a tap dance on the bridge of his nose. ‘We need to talk, Mrs Allen. But I must leave you now. I shall see you here on Tuesday afternoon at two o’clock. Is that a suitable time?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  Lipstick and Nails climbed into the driver’s seat, gave a little wave, then took off quickly.

  Rosh closed her mouth with a snap. What an odd day this had been. She’d had the interview, said her piece, discovered that she’d cursed the wrong people, bought a business, chosen a colour scheme for the café. And she’d given a half-yes to a not-quite proposal of marriage. ‘A lifetime lived in a day,’ she whispered as she rescued the flowers.

  Anna was rendered speechless, and that was another novelty. An apology from a Collingford? She gathered all the vases in the house and began the business of containing the multitude of blooms and spreading joy and happy comment all over the place. But her tone changed when she reached the dining room. ‘What’s wrong with your food?’ she demanded.

  ‘Nothing,’ Roy replied. ‘We got talking, then the Collingfords came to the door.’

  ‘Talking?’ A white vase was plonked in the centre of the dining table. Tall flowers prevented Rosh and Roy from seeing each other, which was just as well, as they were perilously close to hysterical laughter. The situation was surreal.

  ‘And you were talking about what?’

  ‘Maroon-and-white striped curtains.’ Rosh kept her voice as sombre as she could manage. ‘For the café.’

  ‘That is a cartload of my eye and Betty Martin,’ announced Anna.