Laceys Of Liverpool

by Maureen Lee

  ‘Why?’ Alice asked irritably and immediately regretted it. Cora might have had a bad accident.

  ‘Because the lady concerned has been apprehended and gave your name as her closest relative.’

  ‘Apprehended! Why?’

  ‘That will be explained at the station, Madam.’

  Cora was in a cell, hunched in her camel coat as if it were a blanket, her small, sallow face expressionless. She’d been caught shoplifting, according to the desk sergeant, trying to nick two woollen vests from a shop in Strand Road. It was a first offence, so charges wouldn’t be pressed, but Cora had better keep her hands to herself in future, he said warningly, else she’d find herself behind bars.

  ‘Cora!’ Alice said reproachfully when the women were alone. ‘What on earth possessed you?’

  ‘Needed vests for the winter, didn’t I?’ Cora shrugged her shoulders churlishly. ‘Me old ones were in shreds. It must be twenty years since I last bought some.’

  ‘I would have bought you vests, Cora.’

  Cora snorted. ‘Oh, you would, would you?’

  ‘Rather than see you steal them, yes. Look, can we go home? I feel uncomfortable here.’ Alice glanced at the barred window, the hard bench on which prisoners were supposed to sleep. ‘I’ve come in a car, not mine, the driving school’s. The instructor turned up for me lesson just as I was leaving. I’ll just have to forget about this week’s lesson.’ Lord knows what the instructor would think, being asked to take her to the police station – such a nice young man too.

  Cora didn’t speak on the way home. Alice got out of the car when she stopped in Garibaldi Road – Cora had given her name to the police, and she felt obliged to see her safely home and find out why she had been driven to steal.

  Inside the house, Cora seemed to sag. ‘I’m going to the lavvy,’ she numbled.

  Alice realised she was far more affected by the events of the morning than she pretended. She went into the scrubbed kitchen to make tea and was shocked to find the cupboards bare: no tea, no sugar and not a drop of milk on the premises. Was Cora so skint she couldn’t afford even basic food? Later, she’d buy the woman some groceries. It was years since she’d given a thought to Cora – someone had mentioned seeing her outside the church at Lulu’s wedding, but that was all.

  Cora came in, looking more composed. ‘You can go now,’ she said belligerently. ‘There was no need to have come in the first place.’

  Alice had no intention of going. ‘Why are you so short of money that you need to go thieving? I always thought you had private means – and Billy’s working.’

  ‘The “private means”, as you call them, dried up a while ago. And Billy’s never given me more than a few bob a week in years.’

  ‘Why not ask for more?’

  The yellow face twisted in a scowl. ‘He’s hardly ever here to ask. These days, Billy spends most of his time in Browning Street with Maurice and his family. ’Stead of the ale, most of his wages go on propping up that useless business of Maurice’s.’

  ‘Then what on earth are you living on?’ Alice asked, alarmed. Now that she had removed her ancient coat, Cora, always thin, looked no more than skin and bone.

  ‘Nothing, if you must know.’

  ‘But a person can’t live on nothing, Cora,’ Alice cried.

  Cora turned on her angrily. ‘Look, I’d appreciate it if you got out me house and minded your own business. How I manage is nowt to do with you.’

  ‘Then why did you give the police my name?’

  ‘Yours was the only name I could think of. I didn’t want Billy or Maurice knowing, did I?’ Cora swayed and would have fallen had not Alice leapt forward and caught her.

  ‘Have you had anything to eat this morning? Come on, let’s go into the other room and sit you down.’

  Alice settled her sister-in-law in an armchair and fetched a glass of water. ‘What you need is a cup of hot, sweet tea, but all you’ve got is the water. How long has this being going on, luv?’

  The near-collapse seemed to have broken Cora’s spirit. ‘Since earlier this year, when I turned sixty,’ she said in a hoarse, frightened voice. ‘Apart from the few bob I get off Billy, which pays the rent, I haven’t had a penny piece. The ’leccy bill’s not paid, nor the gas. I can’t remember when I last ate.’ She looked at Alice, her strange eyes terrified. ‘When they stopped me outside that shop I nearly died, imagining me name in the papers, everyone knowing.’

  ‘There, there,’ Alice soothed, but there was something not quite right about what Cora had just said. ‘I thought women were entitled to a pension at sixty?’

  ‘Oh, Alice.’ Cora had begun to shake with fear. ‘I’ve done something terrible, worse than a bit of shoplifting. The thing is, I’m scared to claim me pension. I’ve got the book, they sent it months ago, but I daren’t take it to the post office.’

  ‘Why on earth not, Cora?’

  Cora was wringing her hands agitatedly; spittle drooled from the corner of her mouth. ‘When we first moved here,’ she said in the same hoarse voice, ‘I found a Jacob’s biscuit tin full of papers in the fireplace cupboard. Two spinsters used to live here, sisters, about fifty. They went to America during the war. I’ve no idea what happened afterwards, whether they came back or not. The tin was full of private things, birth certificates, like, insurance policies, some shares. I kept them, they weren’t taking up much room, in case they wrote one day and asked for them back.

  ‘Years later,’ Cora went on, ‘I got a letter from the government to say one of the sisters, the oldest, was due for her old age pension. They sent a form for her to sign.’ She paused.

  ‘Oh, Cora, you didn’t sign it!’ Alice gasped.

  ‘I needed money. I was desperate for money. By then, there was nothing but Billy’s wages coming in. I signed the woman’s name and filled in something to say I was her niece and she’d given me authority to collect the money from the post office. Two years later a form came for the other sister, so I signed that too. And I cashed the insurance policies and sold the shares.’

  ‘You could go to prison for a long time for that, Cora,’ Alice said primly. ‘It’s called fraud.’ She was shocked to the bone. Shoplifting was one thing, but this was far more serious.

  Cora grabbed her arm. ‘Do you think the police will check up on me, now they’ve got me name and address, like?’

  ‘I doubt it. I take it you’ve stopped taking the pensions?’

  ‘Months ago, when I heard about me own pension. I got frightened. I thought it would look suspicious, collecting three pensions from the post office, all at the same address.’ The small hand tightened, claw-like, on Alice’s arm. ‘I’m worried I’ll be asked for death certificates, seeing as the pensions aren’t being taken any more. I’m worried someone from the government will wonder why I’m not taking me own.’ Cora released Alice’s arm and collapsed back in the chair. Her eyes had almost disappeared into their sockets. She looked like death. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea, Cora,’ Alice said coldly. She got to her feet. ‘I’ll be off now and buy some groceries. I’ll not see you starve. And I’ll give you a few bob to be getting on with.’ She emptied the contents of her purse on to the coffee table. ‘There’s nearly three pounds there. When I come back, let’s have the electricity and gas bills and I’ll see they’re paid. But that’s as far as I’m prepared to go. If you must know, I’m thoroughly disgusted by what you just told me. I haven’t a clue what advice to give. It might help if you moved to a smaller house that’s cheaper to run. And I suppose you could collect your pension from a different post office.’

  Alice paused at the door. ‘When you feel better, I suggest you look for a job. We need a cleaner at the salons. It’s either early in the morning or late at night, whichever suits best. You can let me know if you’re interested when I come back with the food.’

  The door closed. Cora swivelled her head and watched Alice go down the path. She turned to shut the gate.
/>   Cow!

  She had never hated anyone as much as she hated her sister-in-law at that moment. I’m thoroughly disgusted by what you just told me. Oh, was she, now! What did she know about being on your beam ends, not knowing where your next meal was coming from? Alice Lacey had always had it soft.

  Still, there’d been no need for her to have been so understanding, Cora thought grudgingly. Oh, she’d gone on a bit, but another person might have ranted and raved, and washed their hands of Cora altogether when they heard the criminal things she’d done. There was money on the table and food on its way. She’d even offered her a job. It meant that Alice cared, even if it was done with a sickly air of being holier than thou that made Cora want to puke.

  We need a cleaner at the salons.

  Well, Cora had cleaned before and she’d clean again. In fact, she’d spent her whole life cleaning. She glanced round the shining, spotless room. The furniture was probably out of fashion, but it had been lovingly cared for, tenderly polished. The net curtains were the whitest in the road. Cleaning was what Cora was good at. She’d take the job because she had to live. Anyroad, soft-girl Alice would almost certainly pay more than most employers.

  Cora enjoyed cleaning the three hairdressers. So there would be less chance of being seen by the neighbours she started early, at six o’clock. Each salon took just over half an hour, and she felt enormous satisfaction when she’d finished and the plastic surfaces shone, the mirrors sparkled, the sinks gleamed.

  She didn’t mind working on her own. She was used to it. Most of the time she preferred her own company and early in the morning, with few people around and hardly any traffic, it was easy to pretend she was the only person in the world, a situation Cora would very much have preferred. Sometimes she even sang as she worked.

  Billy didn’t know she was working. Billy knew nothing about her. He never had. Cora had been cleaning the salons for a fortnight when he came home one night at about half past seven. They hadn’t spoken to each other in a long while and she was surprised when he came into the living room and asked if she’d make him a cup of tea.

  She was about to tell him to make it himself, but remembered he didn’t ask for much, probably knowing he wouldn’t get it.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked. He looked on edge, jingling the coins in his pocket as if he needed something to do with his hands. His face was hot and red, and she noticed his mouth kept twitching. ‘Is Maurice all right?’

  He didn’t answer. Cora made the tea sweet and strong, the way Alice had wanted to make it for her the day she’d been arrested for shoplifting.

  ‘What’s the matter, Billy?’ she asked, putting the tea beside him on the coffee table.

  ‘I’ve done something dead wicked, Cora.’ Tears trickled down his fleshy cheeks. At sixty-three, he was still a good-looking man, with thick, iron-grey hair and a clear complexion. His paunch had almost disappeared since he’d come off the ale. ‘I’ve set fire to the yard.’

  Cora gasped. ‘You’ve what?’

  He was looking at her with round, scared eyes, like a little boy, the way Maurice had done many years ago. ‘I’ve set fire to the yard. I suppose I must have got the idea from our John, though in his case it wasn’t intentional.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because it was the only way out. He was losing money hand over fist, our Maurice. He’s no businessman, Cora. He was making scarcely enough to feed his family, while the overdraft got bigger and bigger, and I was the one paying it back.’ He swallowed nervously. ‘The writing’s been on the wall a long time. Six months ago I pumped up the insurance on the premises, so now Maurice can claim he’s lost his livelihood. As I said, it seemed the only way out.’

  ‘You mean you’ve been planning this for six months?’ Cora was impressed.

  ‘I reckon I must have.’

  ‘Had the fire properly taken by the time you left?’

  Billy nodded. ‘The smoke was black. I could see it rising over the rooftops. The fire engines came, I heard them.’

  ‘What happens if they blame our Maurice?’ Cora frowned.

  ‘There’s something happening at Sharon’s school, a concert. I deliberately waited till a night when he’d have – what d’you call it, luv?’

  ‘An alibi.’

  ‘That’s right, an alibi.’

  ‘And what about you, Billy? Have you got an alibi?’

  Billy looked at her pleadingly. ‘Only if you swear I’ve been home with you for the last few hours.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Cora said instantly. It was the first time Billy had done something she admired. He was smarter than she’d given him credit for. She regarded the slumped figure in the chair and gave the shoulder a little squeeze. ‘Come on, Billy, cheer up. Everything’s going to be all right, I can feel it. In fact, it’s going to be better than before, with Maurice out of trouble and you without an overdraft to pay.’ She stood. ‘Shall I make you something nice for your tea, luv? Fish and chips? Or there’s bacon and eggs if you prefer it. Afterwards, we can watch telly. There’s some good programmes on tonight.’

  ‘Fish and chips would go down a treat, luv.’ Billy sat up and squared his shoulders. He smiled. ‘I never thought you’d take it so well. You’re a good sort, Cora.’

  At the end of September Danny Mitchell died quietly in his sleep. Bernadette woke and found him by her side, his body as cold as ice, smiling peacefully. She allowed herself a little cry before telling Ian and Ruth. If only she’d been awake to kiss him goodbye, so that he would have felt her arms around him as he slipped from this world to the next, and she could have kept him warm for a little while longer.

  Then she woke up the children and rang Alice.

  At the funeral there was a stiffness between the wife of the deceased and his daughter. Alice was convinced she’d been sidelined during her father’s last few months on earth, prevented from seeing him as much as she would have liked.

  Bernadette had thought Alice too interfering. Danny didn’t want to be nagged to see a doctor, brought tonics, asked in a maudlin voice how he felt. They had played a game between them, she, Danny and their children. The game was that he was temporarily out of sorts but would get better very soon. It meant that even when he was on his deathbed they could laugh when otherwise they might have wept. The game had continued until the night Danny died. But Alice was a spoilsport and refused to play along with them.

  ‘He’s asleep,’ Bernadette would claim whenever his daughter came to see him. ‘I’d sooner he wasn’t disturbed.’

  She didn’t like doing it. Alice was her best friend, but Danny was her husband. He came first.

  ‘We’re a rapidly expanding company,’ Orla informed the middle-aged, impeccably dressed manager of the small, exclusive Brighton department store. At first he’d been slightly irritated at being interrupted, but she’d soon brought him round. ‘We’ve recently moved to a new factory in Lancashire with the very latest equipment.’ This wasn’t strictly true. The new factory was a dilapidated building on a run-down trading estate near St Helens and the equipment was second-hand. However, it was the case that the company was rapidly expanding. In a few weeks’ time, at Christmas, two new lines were being introduced: skin freshener and cleansing lotion. Perfume was on the cards for next summer.

  ‘I like the look of it,’ the manager said. ‘And I like the name too: Lacey’s of Liverpool. It has a nice ring to it.’

  ‘That’s what everybody says.’ Orla smiled her most dazzling smile. ‘I use it meself.’ She ran her fingers through her shining brown hair. ‘I’m a walking advertisement for our products.’

  ‘And an excellent advertisement, I must say.’

  ‘Would you like me to leave some samples?’ She smiled again.

  ‘I’d sooner place an order.’ The manager’s answering smile was more speculative than dazzling. ‘Are you free for dinner tonight?’

  Orla giggled. ‘Depends on how much you’re going to order.’

  ‘How a
bout a hundred bottles of each?’

  ‘Then I’m free for dinner.’

  Cormac and Vicky would be pleased: another two hundred bottles on top of the order for two hundred and fifty she’d taken that morning, making over a thousand she’d sold during her two days on the south coast.

  Orla was a first-class sales representative for Lacey’s of Liverpool. Within the space of six months she had sold the company’s products in virtually every city and major town in the country, charming the male managers and buyers, and flattering the women. ‘You’ve found your niche,’ Cormac had declared appreciatively. He and Vicky had taken the plunge and were working out their notices with Brooker’s.

  Life sometimes got a little lonely on the road, staying in shabby hotels with nothing much to do at night-time. There was always the pictures, but Orla felt even more lonely in a cinema by herself when the rest of the audience were in couples. She missed her children. Occasionally she even missed Micky, particularly his warm presence in bed beside her. But next morning she always woke up refreshed, looking forward to the day ahead and the feeling of achievement when she took a big order.

  When Lacey’s of Liverpool became properly established, Orla would become Head of Sales and have her own office, a secretary. She visualised having charts on the wall showing the movements of reps all over the country. And when the company became more successful still, there would be no more need for reps. Orders would automatically come flooding in on reputation alone, or so everyone hoped, and it would then be Orla’s job to seek markets abroad, in Europe and the States, all over the world.

  She hugged herself when she thought about travelling to America to introduce Lacey’s of Liverpool’s products to discerning customers there. She wasn’t doing exactly what she’d planned all those years ago when she was a teenager, interviewing famous people, but this was even better. One of these days a reporter might want to interview her.

  The manager of the Brighton department store sat unnecessarily close throughout dinner. He kept putting his hand on her thigh, or grasping her arm, and she could feel his knuckles press into her breast. Orla didn’t particularly mind. In its way, it was rather thrilling. She’d let him kiss her when the evening ended, but that was all. After Vernon Matthews, kissing was as far as Orla was prepared to go.