Laceys Of Liverpool

by Maureen Lee

Alice sighed wistfully. ‘We were so happy until that ship went up in flames. From then on, the world just fell apart.’

  Orla hurled herself across the room and knelt beside her mother. She slid her arms around her waist and laid her head upon her knee. ‘No, it didn’t, Mam. You kept the world together for us. We were still happy, despite Dad – and even more happy after he’d gone.’

  ‘You never know people, do you? I thought I knew everything there was to know about your dad.’

  ‘Sometimes people turn out nicer than you’d expect,’ Orla said encouragingly. She felt worried; it was most unlike her mother to be so despondent. ‘Look at Horace Flynn. He brought you flowers the other day.’

  ‘I know, he still comes round the salon. He misses Fion. They were friends, though I can’t think why.’

  Because they were two misfits together, Orla thought, but didn’t say. ‘Our Fion was always very kind,’ she lied. Fion could be a bitch when she was in the mood.

  ‘I wish she’d write,’ Alice said fretfully. ‘Oh, I know she sends cards from London, but they never say anything much. I want to know if she’s happy, where she’s living so I can write back. I want to know how she is!’

  Two more years were to pass before Alice received news of her daughter. It arrived in a letter from Neil Greene and was dated November 1960.

  Dear Alice,

  I know we agreed not to write to each other, but something has happened I thought you’d like to know. Firstly – this is not the ‘something’ – my divorce from Babs came through the other day. You may not think this relevant but it is, because to celebrate my brother, Adrian, who incidentally became a fully fledged MP following last year’s election, invited me to tea at the House of Commons.

  I arrived at the House at about five thirty and wondered why there was such a commotion going on. It seemed as if hundreds of women, though it was probably only a few dozen, were gathered outside carrying placards, all shouting and screaming abuse at everyone in sight apart from themselves.

  ‘A Woman’s Right to Choose’, the placards said, or ‘Whose Body Is It Anyway?’. I remembered Adrian saying a Private Member’s Bill to legalise abortion was being discussed that day. Although fully in sympathy with the Bill – unlike Adrian, who opposed it – my heart sank a little at the thought of fighting my way through a crowd of such vociferous females. It sank even further when one of the women grabbed me and I thought I was about to be attacked, or at least debagged and subjected to something shameful and possibly degrading.

  But no! ‘Hello, Neil,’ the woman said. It took some time before I recognised it was Fionnuala. She looks wonderful, Alice. Very slim, taller somehow, long wild hair, rosy cheeks and lovely bright, bright eyes.

  It was impossible to say much in such circumstances and I shall always regret not suggesting we meet some other time, but then I have always been a bit slow-witted. I managed to ask what she was doing. ‘I’m a union organiser,’ she said, which I found quite staggering as I can’t recall her being interested in politics. I was about to ask where she was living when we were both swept away by the crowds and lost sight of each other.

  Fion may have made contact with you by now and you know all this but, in case not, I thought I’d write and let you know she looks fine and you have nothing to worry about.

  As for me, I miss Bootle terribly. It was where I felt at home. One day I shall return, I swear it. I miss teaching, too, but it was unfair of me to continue to deny Babs a divorce, and divorce and teaching in a Catholic school were incompatible. I’m working in the City, doing something frightfully dull and frightfully unimportant in Insurance – having a father with a title and a brother in Parliament can work wonders when you’re seeking a job. I’m seeing a woman called Heather, divorced like me. We sort of like each other.

  An old colleague from St James’s continues to send me the Bootle Times each week, so I keep myself abreast of what goes on. Congratulations on the new salon – I saw the advert announcing the opening and tried to imagine exactly where in Strand Road it is. How does it feel to have three?

  I also saw the news about Maurice Lacey. He seemed a nice boy, though not exactly bright. It came as a shock to read he’d been sent to prison. What was it? Breaking and entering – a newsagent’s, if I remember rightly.

  I closely study the Birth, Marriages and Deaths columns. I have been holding my breath, but there has been no mention of Orla under the first, though I noticed the announcement of Maeve’s wedding under the second and saw the picture the following week. Was Martin as nervous as he looked? I see Horace Flynn has died. Such a strange man! I trust his properties haven’t fallen into the hands of someone who will cause problems for you with leases.

  My colleague told me Cormac was accepted at Cambridge. You must feel inordinately proud.

  Well, I think that’s all, so goodbye, my dearest Alice. You are rarely far from my thoughts.

  Your glum and rather lonely friend,

  Neil.

  She found Neil’s letter upsetting and wished they had never become lovers, just remained good friends. Then they could have remained friends when Neil moved away. Alice missed having someone to confide in, even if it were only by letter. These days, Bernadette was completely wrapped up in Danny and the children. Although she and Alice were the same age, Bernadette had had babies when Alice already had grandchildren and seemed to be growing younger as Alice grew older.

  Even worse, although she was relieved to hear that Fion was safe and well, it shocked her to the core to learn she had actually been outside the House of Commons waving a placard in support of abortion. Alice was possibly more opposed to abortion than to divorce and the idea of one of her daughters promoting legalised murder filled her with revulsion. Still, no matter what Fion had been up to, she longed for her to come home.

  December came, Cormac arrived from Cambridge and she put the contents of the letter out of her mind to concentrate on her son.

  Cormac was twenty. He had never grown tall like his father, but had filled out a little. His shoulders were neither broad nor narrow, but they looked strong and the tops of his arms were surprisingly muscled – he’d played tennis all summer, both at Cambridge and, during the holidays, on the courts in North Park, and the long hours spent outdoors had turned his pale skin a lovely golden brown. His hair, a mite too long in Alice’s opinion, hung over his forehead in a casual quiff, streaked with white by the sun. He kept pushing it out of his eyes with a brown hand. He looked sophisticated, but at the same time his face still retained the guileless, trusting expression he’d had when he was a little boy. Even then, no one had tried to take advantage of Cormac. He was genuinely liked by everyone and everyone seemed to want him to like them in return.

  Alice had been worried university would change her son, that he would grow ashamed of Amber Street and his family. But university had done nothing of the kind. Cormac was proud of his roots. He’d spent weekends in other chaps’ houses and they were big, cold morgues of places, where he said he’d hate to live all the time. Most of the chaps had spent their childhoods in boarding schools, which sounded dead horrible and which he would have hated even more. He still talked with a Liverpool accent, possibly not quite so pronounced as before.

  Of course, other graduates made fun of the way he spoke, but he didn’t give a damn. ‘I tell them I’m working class and proud of it, and make fun of the way they speak – they call their folks Mater and Pater.’ He said he was pleased to be home among normal people.

  Working class or not, Cormac must have been popular in view of the number of Christmas cards that arrived for him from all over the country, even more than last year. On Boxing Day he’d been invited to a drinks party in a chap’s house in Chester. He might go, or he might not, he wasn’t sure.

  The young woman came into the salon a few days before Christmas. Alice and her assistants were at their busiest and the windows were blurred with steam. Alice looked up briefly, then turned away. Patsy was seeing to her. Then Al
ice looked again and wondered where she had seen the young woman before. It was the hair, more than anything, that looked familiar: very fair, very smooth, silky. Perhaps the woman had been to the salon before, though she didn’t often forget a customer and this one was quite outstandingly pretty.

  ‘Alice,’ Patsy called. ‘Someone would like a word with you.’

  ‘Half a mo.’ Alice was combing out Florrie Piper, still a regular customer and still insistent that her hair be dyed the colour of soot, even though she was gone seventy.

  ‘Leave me be, luv,’ said Florrie. ‘I don’t mind waiting a few minutes and admiring the decorations. And it’s lovely and warm in here.’

  ‘Ta, Florrie.’ Alice went over to the newcomer who wore a smart double-breasted navy coat with a half-belt at the back and navy boots. ‘How can I help you, luv?’

  ‘Mrs Lacey? I’d like to speak to you in private.’ The request was made so brusquely, without a ‘please’, that Alice blinked.

  ‘Well, there’s only the kitchen.’

  ‘That’ll do.’

  Alice was aware of Patsy’s curious eyes following as they walked through the salon. She felt just as curious herself. ‘What’s this all about?’ she enquired when they were in the privacy of the kitchen.

  ‘I’m leaving John.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I’m leaving John, your husband. I’m going today. I shall pick the children up from school in an hour’s time, then catch a train somewhere far away. I shan’t tell you where because I don’t want John to know.’

  Alice’s head reeled. She swayed, reached for a chair and sat down before her legs gave way. She felt confused and very old. ‘What’s all this got to do with me?’ She could hear the tremor in her voice.

  ‘I thought someone should know because he’s bound to be very upset and I shall worry about him.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Who are you?’ The woman looked much older close up, at least thirty. Alice remembered where she’d seen her before. ‘You’re the girl from Crozier Terrace! You’ve got a nerve, coming here. There’s some women who’d tear your eyes out.’ She stared at the face, which had gone very pink. ‘I thought you had . . .’

  The girl tossed her head. ‘I had a hare lip, but it’s been fixed and ever since John has made my life unbearable. I wasn’t prepared to put up with it any longer. It’s taken ages to get the money together, find a place for us to live, get a job. But now I’ve done it and I’m leaving today. I knew, somehow, you wouldn’t tear my eyes out from things John’s said. I got the impression your marriage was over long before he met me.’

  ‘Perhaps it was.’ Alice was beginning to get her wits back. ‘Just let me get this straight,’ she said carefully. ‘You’re walking out, but it makes you feel guilty, so you’ve decided to plonk the responsibility for what you’re doing in my lap?’

  The woman’s face went pinker. ‘I suppose I have.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you, I must say. What makes you think I give a damn what happens to John?’

  ‘Is there another chair?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The thing is’ – she leaned against the sink – ‘in a way, I still love him. I feel terrible for what I’m about to do. I imagine him coming home tonight, finding us gone.’ She twisted uneasily. ‘He’ll be devastated.’

  ‘And you think me turning up with buckets of sympathy will make him feel less devastated?’ Alice laughed in disbelief. ‘I never want anything to do with him again.’

  ‘I thought you might possibly care.’

  ‘Well, I don’t. And if you love him all that much, then why are you walking out?’

  ‘Because I think one day I might hate him.’ She stared at the older woman almost angrily. ‘Surely you understand? I love him because I know how kind and gentle he can be. He’s wonderful with the children.’ She pointed to her lovely face. ‘John was responsible for this. It’s changed my life, but the trouble is it changed him too. He became a different person. He couldn’t bear me out of his sight. Did he ever hit you?’

  ‘Just the once.’ It all sounded very familiar. Alice frowned. ‘Has he hit you?’

  ‘Rather more than just the once.’

  Patsy stuck her head round the door, her ears almost visibly flapping. ‘Your next customer’s here, Alice, and Florrie’s still waiting to be finished off.’

  ‘I’ll have to go.’ Alice got to her feet. Her legs still felt as if they were filled with jelly.

  ‘I hope I haven’t upset you.’

  ‘Of course you’ve upset me. Who wouldn’t be upset under the circumstances? All right, Patsy, I’ll be out in a minute.’ Patsy disappeared with obvious reluctance. ‘I tell you what, I’ll ask me dad to go round and see John, make sure he’s all right. I’m not prepared to go near him.’ It meant she’d have to tell Dad what had happened, that John had got himself another family, that he hadn’t just walked out. Neil was the only person who knew the real truth. ‘Are you still living in Crozier Terrace?’

  ‘No, we moved ages ago. We’re in Crosby now, 8 Rainford Road. Thank you. I appreciate you being so nice about this.’

  ‘I don’t feel a bit nice,’ Alice said drily. ‘Out of interest, what’s your name?’

  ‘Clare Coulson.’ She paused at the kitchen door. ‘Goodbye, Alice.’

  ‘Good luck, Clare.’

  Danny Mitchell didn’t think he’d ever been asked to carry out a task that filled him with such revulsion. If he arrived at Rainford Road and found John Lacey with a rope and about to hang himself, his first instinct would have been to help him tie the knot. But it was a long time since Alice had asked for his help, possibly too long. Danny was uncomfortably aware that he had neglected his daughter, so wrapped up had he been in his young wife and their children. Alice hadn’t exactly lost her dad and her best friend when Danny married Bernadette, but as good as. Neither was available for her in the way they’d been before.

  His heart was full of loathing for his son-in-law. Alice had explained to him and Bernadette the real reason why the marriage had broken down.

  ‘Oh, luv! You should have told us all this a long while ago,’ Bernadette cried. She looked anguishedly at Danny and he could see his own guilt reflected in her eyes.

  ‘I felt ashamed,’ Alice said simply. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’ Danny’s voice was gruff. ‘John’s the one who should be ashamed. He brings misery on everyone he touches.’

  ‘Anyroad, Dad. This girl, this Clare Coulson, she’s worried about him.’

  ‘She’s got a nerve!’ Danny and Bernadette said together.

  ‘Actually, I quite liked her. She’s got spunk, which is more than I ever had. I just sat back and let things happen.’

  ‘You say he actually hit her?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘I’ll sort him out,’ Danny said grimly.

  ‘No one wants you to sort him out, luv,’ Bernadette put in. ‘You’re just going to make sure he’s all right, that’s all, like Alice promised.’

  ‘I’d like to sort him out with me fists.’

  ‘John’s years younger than you, Danny Mitchell. I don’t want you coming back here with a black eye and a broken nose. Forget your fists and use your mouth instead.’

  ‘Yes, luv,’ Danny said meekly.

  Danny had barely taken his finger off the bell when the door opened and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a look of such naked misery on a face when John saw who it was. He’d clearly been expecting someone else.

  ‘Can I come in a minute?’

  John seemed to collect himself. He shrugged and stood to one side. ‘If you must. I can only spare you a minute. I’ve got things to do.’

  The business must be doing all right, Danny thought as he walked down the spacious carpeted hall into a large, charming room, which had clearly benefited from a woman’s touch. There were vases of rushes, bowls of dried flowers, a cosy blue moquette three-piece, rugs a
nd numerous pictures on the walls. Danny tried to take everything in without making it too obvious, knowing Bernadette would subject him to the third degree when he got home. Perhaps it was because he knew the circumstances, but the room had a sad, deserted air, as if all the life had gone out of it. The fire was a mountain of grey ash with only the occasional glowing coal. It felt very cold.

  ‘What can I do for you, Danny?’ John stood, legs apart, in front of the fireplace. He didn’t ask the visitor to sit down. Danny sensed he was coiled as tightly as a spring. It wouldn’t take much to make this man explode. He longed to be at home in his own comfortable little house with his comfortable little wife.

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ Danny said bluntly. ‘I’m only here for one reason, to make sure you’re all right. Once you’ve assured me that you are, then I’ll be off.’

  John frowned slightly. ‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be all right?’

  ‘I understand someone walked out on you today, someone called Clare. She came round and asked Alice to see to you, as it were.’ Danny glowered. ‘I don’t appreciate our Alice being dragged into your affairs after all this time. I thought we’d done with you once and for all.’

  The man’s face had gone a dark, ugly red. ‘Clare came to see you?’

  ‘She came to see Alice.’

  ‘She left a note. She didn’t mention Alice. When the doorbell went I thought she’d . . .’

  ‘Come back for another beating? I doubt it, John. I doubt if you’ll see that girl again.’

  ‘She actually told . . .’ He turned away, put his hands on the mantelpiece, stared into the fire. Danny wondered if he was ashamed, embarrassed, or just angry. ‘Did she say where she was going? She took the children. I’m worried . . . ’

  ‘No, she didn’t. If she had, I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t have much time for men who hit their women.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hit her.’

  Danny gestured impatiently. He wasn’t interested in anything John Lacey might have to say. All he wanted to know was how the man was bearing up before he made his departure.