Laceys Of Liverpool

by Maureen Lee

  ‘Of course we’ve got glasses. What do you think we drink the sherry out of at Christmas – mugs?’

  The two women worked in contented silence for a while, each preoccupied with her own thoughts, while the smell from the kitchen became more and more mouthwatering. Two cats sat on the backyard wall, enjoying the crisp November sunshine and hoping they might be thrown the odd sausage roll.

  ‘Who’s looking after the salon today?’ Bernadette enquired. ‘Sat’days are your busiest day.’

  ‘Our Fion. She’s going to manage the new branch in Marsh Lane when it opens after Christmas, did I tell you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Bernadette rolled her eyes. ‘New branch! Get you, Alice Lacey.’

  ‘To think I used to look up to you when you had that good job with the Gas Board.’ Alice wrinkled her nose and looked superior. ‘Now you’re just a housewife and I’m about to have me own chain of hairdressers.’

  ‘I’d hardly call two a chain.’

  ‘It’s a little chain.’ She laughed happily. ‘It seemed a shame not to take on Gloria’s when I discovered it was closing down – we were overstaffed once Fion got her certificate and I couldn’t possibly have got rid of Doreen to make way for her. Doreen’s going to Marsh Lane with Fion and I’m taking on another qualified assistant for meself. Patsy’ll stay with me, naturally.’

  ‘Their Daisy never got on the stage, did she?’

  ‘No, she’s married now, with two kids. Her husband’s a chimney sweep if you’d believe it.’

  ‘Well, I suppose chimney sweeps need wives the same as other men.’

  ‘I think’, Neil said, ‘that I could become quite a fan of Elvis Presley.’

  ‘He’s OK,’ Alice conceded. ‘Our Fion’s mad about him. She’s got all his records. I prefer Frankie Laine meself.’

  ‘This is a great party.’ Neil put his hands on her hips and squeezed.

  ‘Don’t!’ Alice said in a scandalised voice. ‘Someone might come in.’ They were in the kitchen in Amber Street and the party was going full swing. Elvis Presley was singing something about his blue suede shoes. ‘Get out the way, Neil, while I make a pot of tea.’

  ‘Don’t you think people will have guessed by now how things are? It’s been five years.’

  ‘There’s no reason for people to have guessed anything,’ Alice said primly, ‘and I’ve no intention of providing them with proof. I’ve got me reputation to consider and you’ve got your job. You’d be out on your ear if you were found having an affair with a married woman.’ Like her, Neil was usually very discreet about their relationship and she wondered if he’d had too much to drink. ‘Anyroad, me daughter’s twenty-one today and I’ve got things to do,’ she said brusquely. ‘And she’s got engaged. Oh, hello, Cormac, luv. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Are there any more jam tarts, Mam?’

  ‘Sorry, luv. I thought two dozen’d be enough. There’s plenty of jellies, though, some iced fairy cakes and loads of chocolate biccies. You’ll find them on the sideboard in the parlour.’

  ‘Ta, Mam.’ Cormac vanished.

  ‘He’s not going to grow very tall,’ Alice said. ‘Not like his dad.’

  ‘He’s only sixteen, time to grow taller,’ Neil said comfortably.

  Maeve came in, her face flushed with happiness. ‘Are there any clean glasses, Mam?’

  ‘There will be if you fetch some dirty ones for me to wash.’

  ‘I’ll get some. Oh, by the way, Neil. Thanks for the scent. It’s lovely.’

  ‘I didn’t know whether to buy a present for your birthday, or the engagement. Perhaps I should have bought one for each.’

  ‘The scent’s perfect. I haven’t begun a bottom drawer yet.’

  ‘She seems so certain of everything,’ Alice said when her daughter had gone. ‘It hasn’t crossed her mind that things might change, not always for the better. Mind you, I was just as certain at her age.’

  ‘So was I.’ Neil sighed. ‘But it’s only natural that we expect our lives to pass smoothly along without a hiccup. If we were waiting for everything to fall around our ears, as it did with you and me, we’d all go bonkers.’

  Alice opened her mouth to speak, but a girl she had never seen before came in and asked for the lavatory, Maeve brought the dirty glasses, someone asked if there were any more jam tarts and a lad rushed into the yard to be sick. Alice had the worrying feeling it had been Maurice Lacey, who wasn’t old enough to be drinking.

  Before he disappeared Neil blew her a kiss, which she affected to ignore in case anyone was watching. She poured a glass of sherry and decided to circulate, make sure the guests were enjoying themselves.

  In the living room, Fion was conversing with Horace Flynn, whom she had insisted on inviting. Apparently it was all part of the war she had declared on Cora. Alice would have preferred her daughter in the parlour where everyone was dancing. She despaired of Fion ever finding a friend, let alone a man friend – other than their revolting landlord.

  Cormac was doing card tricks for an admiring audience, Micky Lavin and Bernadette among them.

  She found her dad sitting on the stairs with Orla. ‘The ancient and the pregnant are having a bit of peace and quiet,’ Danny quipped.

  Orla was in the club again with her fourth child. The girl was sorely in need of advice on birth control, but had bitten her mother’s head off when she had broached the subject. Still, the family now had a nice little house in Pearl Street since Micky had finished his apprenticeship and was earning a proper wage.

  ‘How are you feeling, luv?’ Alice asked sympathetically. It must be galling for someone only twenty-two and heavily pregnant to be surrounded by people mostly the same age who were all single, childless and obviously having a good time.

  ‘How do you think I feel?’ Orla snapped. She sometimes wondered if all she had to do was be in the same room as Micky to conceive. She’d heard it was unlikely to happen if you did it standing up. Well, they’d done it standing up and Lulu had arrived nine months later. The rhythm system had produced Maisie, the withdrawal system Gary. After Gary, Micky had worn a French letter, but here she was, once again looking like a bloody elephant. Micky must have bought the only French letter ever made that leaked. Every time a baby was born, they forced themselves to hold fire for at least six months, otherwise there’d be children popping out twice a year. When the six months was up, they’d leap upon each other the way people dying of thirst would leap upon a glass of water, draining the glass and wanting more. It wasn’t a bit fair and she was fed up with Mr Lavin joking it was about time Micky tied a knot in it.

  In future they’d just have to abstain, like priests. The trouble was, she loved Micky to death, though she wouldn’t have dreamt of telling him. It was torture to lie in the same bed and not touch each other. And the children were too beautiful for words. Even so, it still wasn’t fair.

  Nothing seemed fair to Fionnuala either. Everyone was having a great time, but she’d been stuck with Horace Flynn the whole night because there wasn’t another person in the house willing to speak to him. Of course, it was her own fault for asking him, but he’d seemed grateful and flattered – Fion suspected she was the only one in Bootle who treated him like a human being. She was definitely the only woman who allowed him to pinch her bum, something he did every time he came to the hairdresser’s, which was often. Fion would grit her teeth and pretend to smile. ‘Ooh, Mr Smith, don’t be naughty!’ she would say and move out of the way.

  Mam didn’t realise the sacrifices she was making to keep Horace Flynn on their side – he never went round to Garibaldi Road these days. The lease would be renewed again in a year’s time and Fion hoped they might get it for nothing if she continued to let him pinch her bum. She just prayed he’d never stroke it.

  It was galling to think that it was her records being played in the front room. ‘Love me tender, love me do,’ Elvis Presley crooned. Yet not one of those lads had thought to ask her to dance. Didn’t they realise she was a fully qualifie
d hairdresser who would be managing her own salon after Christmas?

  Oh, if only she didn’t feel so old! Old and fat, wretched and lonely. Her youth was passing her by, had already passed. She was twenty-three, but had never been kissed by a boy, yet one of her sisters was pregnant for the fourth time and the other had just got engaged. It was even more galling to think they were both younger than she was.

  It was a relief when Mr Flynn decided to go home because it was getting too hot. He courteously shook her hand and rolled out of the house on his fat little legs. Seconds later, Neil Greene came and sat beside her, and Fion suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands. He was so handsome, yet not the least bit conceited and very kind. Talking to Neil always made her feel warm inside. She often wondered if he was in love with her, but too embarrassed to say. She fluttered her eyelashes at him encouragingly, but all he talked about was mundane things like the weather and what a great party it was, and he’d like to bet she was really looking forward to being in charge of the new Lacey’s in Marsh Lane.

  Alice, who happened to be passing, thought with a pang how pathetic Fion looked. The poor girl would feel betrayed if she ever discovered what was going on between her and Neil.

  She’d never dreamt she was the sort of woman who’d have an affair, but Neil had caught her at a particularly vulnerable time and it had turned out to be quite wonderful. She had forgotten what it felt like to be loved, to feel feminine and wanted. And it was dead exciting, pretending to work late at the salon and going up to see Neil instead. Or remembering during the evening that there was something she’d forgotten to do. ‘I’ll just nip round to Lacey’s,’ she would say, giving a mythical reason, and Neil would be waiting for her, sometimes already in bed, because Alice wasn’t prepared to stay long. He wasn’t a masterful lover like John. Neil was always concerned that she was enjoying herself as much as he was.

  So, what harm was she doing, apart from committing a sin? She wasn’t sure if it was a mortal or a venial sin and there was no way she was going to ask a priest. Anyroad, it was only temporary, though it had already gone on longer than she’d expected. Somewhere in the world, she felt convinced, there was the perfect girl for Neil, someone bright and attractive who would give him children, the sort of girl he’d gone out with before but had been too scared to get serious with in case she turned out to be like Babs. She was nothing like Babs, he was completely different from John and she suspected that was where the attraction between them lay. But one of these days Neil would meet the perfect girl and have no use for Alice any more.

  Alice wasn’t sure how she would feel when that day came. Devastated, she suspected. She would miss him for as long as she lived. Perhaps that’s why she was always so brusque with him, always in a hurry to get back home, because she didn’t want him to feel guilty when the time came for him to let her go.

  John Lacey had forgotten that today his daughter, Maeve, was twenty-one. He didn’t know she had got engaged, or that Orla was expecting her fourth child, that Fion was now a qualified hairdresser and that Cormac had achieved six top-grade O levels before going into the sixth form at St Mary’s in September. He wouldn’t have known his mother, Meg, had died, had he not read it in the paper. He had decided not to attend the funeral.

  It was years since Cormac had rung the yard, asking to see his dad. John had refused, though it had hurt. Cormac had been the favourite of his children, but he felt the need to shed his first family, leave them behind, concentrate on the new.

  ‘Would you like more tea?’ Clare said stiffly.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind.’ He pushed the empty cup across the table. The atmosphere was thick with bitterness and suspicion.

  ‘Is this how you treated Alice?’ Clare curled her pretty pink mouth. ‘Did you accuse her of going with other men, call her a prostitute, ask how much she’d earned?’

  John ignored the question. ‘I’d still like to know why the hell you were so late getting home,’ he growled.

  ‘I’ve already told you half a dozen times. It was such a lovely evening. Instead of catching the train from Exchange Station, I walked along the Docky as far as Seaforth and caught the train to Crosby from there. I watched the sunset. Is that a crime?’

  ‘Did you call in the Arcadia, look up some of your old customers?’ he sneered.

  ‘No, I did not. I merely enjoyed a pleasant shopping trip to town. I bought a few early Christmas presents. I had a nice time. It’s a pity you had to spoil it.’ Her voice was as clear and tinkling as a bell.

  It was happening all over again, the same thing that had happened with Alice. It was too late now, but he desperately wished he hadn’t persuaded Clare to have surgery. He had read about it in a magazine. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, showing her the article. At first she had been reluctant. ‘I have you, I have the children, I’m quite happy as I am,’ she had written on her pad. How many pads had she completed in her short life? he had wondered.

  ‘Yes, but you hardly ever go out,’ he said. ‘Have it done for the children’s sake, if not for mine. They’ve never heard you speak, not properly. It doesn’t affect them now, but it will when they grow older. Let at least one of us be perfect.’ He remembered smiling.

  Clare had reached out and touched his scarred face. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Nothing can be done about me, I’m afraid. The surgeon actually insisted it didn’t look too bad.’

  She shook her head. ‘Surgeon right.’ Then she wrote, ‘Hardly noticeable, becoming weathered, like a tree or a house.’

  The treatment had taken two years, it was more difficult for an adult. She was in and out of different hospitals as bit by bit her mouth and face were repaired with dental surgery, plastic surgery, reconstructive surgery to her palate. At first her voice had been hesitant, whispery, gradually becoming louder, clearer, more confident. She was left with a slight, attractive lisp.

  Throughout the two years, during the times she was away, John had been totally supportive. He had arranged for a woman to look after Lisa and David who had yet to start school when the treatment started. He left the yard early to collect Robbie from school, make the tea. They’d been living in Crosby for years, in a large, semidetached house not far from the shore – he could afford it; B.E.D.S. was doing extremely well.

  She hadn’t complained, not once, when she returned from various hospitals with her face swollen or badly bruised or in obvious pain or unable to make the slightest sound, though sometimes she looked frightened.

  The time came when there was no more bruising, no more pain, no more operations. She began to say the words she’d always known, but could never say before. He’d always understood she was clever, but hadn’t realised how clever until she began to talk – about politics, literature, religion, of things he didn’t know about himself. She seemed to have opinions on anything and everything, as if she’d been storing them in her head, unable to express them before.

  John suddenly realised she was an attractive, clever woman, with steady grey eyes, a small straight nose and a perfect, absolutely perfect, mouth. Even her hair looked different – fuller, shinier, more flattering around her face.

  He must have been mad! If he thought her so attractive, so would other men. How stupid to have allowed, actually encouraged, her to become an object of admiration! Would he be able to trust her now that people didn’t avert their eyes or regard her with an unhealthy fascination? How long would it be before she realised how lovely she was?

  His brain was being split in two again, as it had been after that damned fire. He knew in his heart that Clare would never be unfaithful, just as he had known the same about Alice, but there was a different message in his head. He’d already started coming home from the yard at unexpected times to check on her. If she was out shopping, he’d wait until she came back, examining her face to make sure it didn’t contain an expression that shouldn’t be there. Once she’d been upstairs when he let himself in and he’d later searched the bedrooms, looking under bed
s and in wardrobes in case there was a man hidden there.

  Clare wasn’t as patient with him as Alice had been. She quickly lost her temper if he became suspicious. He wondered if her true personality was beginning to emerge, if the real Clare had been hidden until now.

  ‘What did you buy in town?’ he asked, doing his best to make his voice pleasant.

  ‘Jumpers for Robbie and David, a woollen frock with smocking on the shoulders for Lisa. I thought I’d keep them for Christmas. I also bought a few small things for their stockings. Oh, and some more decorations. We hadn’t enough last year.’

  ‘Didn’t you buy anything for yourself?’

  Her eyes sparkled. She must have forgiven him for the things he’d said before. She leapt to her feet – even her movements seemed to have altered, she was more lively, more alert – and delved among the carrier bags on the floor. ‘I bought myself a frock, almost a party frock. I’ve never had one before. I thought we could go somewhere on New Year’s Eve, a dinner dance, maybe. The woman next door’s always offering to babysit. I got it from Lewis’s. What do you think?’

  She held the frock up against her. It was black velvet, with a ruched bodice, a gently flared skirt and a scooped neck. The sleeves were long and tight, ending in a point. It was an entirely modest frock, but John felt a tightness in his chest when he visualised her wearing it. She would look a knock-out, turn every man’s head.

  ‘Oh, and I bought some high heels,’ she said excitedly. ‘Not very high, I’m not used to wearing them. They’re black suede. See!’ She slipped out of her old flat court shoes into the new ones and held out a foot for him to admire.

  John could stand it no longer. ‘Get them off!’ he snarled. ‘You’re not going outside wearing them damn things, nor that frock. And we’re not going to no dinner dance either. We’ll stay at home on New Year’s Eve like we always do.’

  She looked at him with curiosity rather than anger. ‘What’s the matter with you? Did I have my face done for your eyes only? Am I supposed to stay indoors for the rest of my life just to please you?’