Laceys Of Liverpool

by Maureen Lee

  It was useless trying to write. She threw the pen on to the desk and tucked her hands inside the sleeves of her jumper. They felt only slightly warmer.

  A plumber was coming to install second-hand central heating at the end of December. He was a very cheap, highly sought-after plumber, which meant they’d had to wait months until he was free. It hadn’t been so bad in October when they’d first moved in and had spent most of their time decorating the shabby, run-down building inside and out, while Mary Gregory and Robin Hughes, both eighteen and with A levels in Chemistry, were in the workshop turning out thousands of bottles of Lacey’s of Liverpool shampoo and conditioner. A business had never been started on so short a shoestring, Cormac had said, laughing.

  Lucky Cormac! Vicky made a face. Cormac was at that moment in a nice warm restaurant in Liverpool, lunching with a girl called Andrea Pryce, a model, who would become the face of Lacey’s of Liverpool in an advertising campaign in the press, starting January. It would swallow up all the profit the company had made so far, but hopefully be worth it in the end. Andrea was startlingly pretty and ten years younger than Vicky, who wasn’t only envious of Cormac being warm. Say if he fell in love with Andrea! Say if she tried to seduce him!

  Vicky tried to imagine how a woman went about seducing a man, but her imagination wouldn’t stretch that far. She thought miserably that Cormac was no more attracted to her now than a year ago when they’d gone into partnership. They couldn’t possibly have got on better. They were friends, they went to dinner together, had even gone to a hotel in Yorkshire on a weekend business course; they sometimes shared quite intimate thoughts. The only thing missing was romance. Cormac had shown not the slightest sign of wanting to kiss her – she didn’t count the triumphant kisses he planted on her cheek when they received a big order, or the hugs he gave her for the same reason. It was a sad fact that Cormac didn’t regard her as a woman, but as a mate, a business partner. He would have been just as fond of her had she been a man.

  Yet with each day they spent together, Vicky only loved him more. She’d tried to make herself attractive by growing her short, crisp hair longer, but was forced to cut it off when it became a halo of wire wool. Her mother warned her she looked like a clown when she tried using make-up. ‘Stick to lipstick, Victoria, and then make it pale. You’ve got too big a mouth for such a bright red.’

  Vicky blushed at the memory and wondered if Cormac had noticed her turning up for a whole week looking as if she was about to join a circus. Did he ever notice anything about her?

  The new clothes had also proved a disaster. She was short and dumpy. She didn’t suit flowing frocks and pleated skirts. And, ‘Your legs are too sporty for high heels,’ claimed her mother. By sporty, Vicky assumed she meant her overdeveloped calves. She would never know why she had acquired such heavily muscled legs when she’d been useless at games at school.

  Then she’d spent a fortune on contact lenses so she could dispense with her glasses but, try as she might, she couldn’t get used to the damn things.

  Still, on New Year’s Day Cormac’s sister, Fionnuala, was getting married and Vicky had been invited to the wedding. Naturally, she and Cormac would go together. If they spent enough time in each other’s company, she thought hopefully, he might get so used to her that he’d want them to get married because he couldn’t visualise another woman in his life.

  Cora and Billy Lacey had also received an invitation to Fion’s wedding. Cora breathed a sigh of relief that she’d been accepted back into the Lacey fold. She’d buy herself a new coat and wear that diamanté brooch in the lapel that she’d nicked from Owen Owen’s a long time ago. It wouldn’t hurt Billy to have a new suit – he’d lost so much weight that his best one hung round him like a tent. Perhaps they could go to town on Saturday, have a meal afterwards.

  There was an odd sensation in Cora’s breast when she thought about going shopping with Billy. Another person would have recognised it as happiness, but Cora wasn’t used to being happy and couldn’t have explained what the sensation was.

  After forty years of ignoring each other, she and Billy had suddenly started to get along. Billy had more or less given up the ale and most nights they spent watching telly. One night they’d even gone to the pictures to see The Sound of Music and enjoyed it no end – that girl, Julie something, had a lovely voice.

  Money was no longer a problem since the yard had burnt down and Billy was able to keep all his wages. As expected, Alice paid far over the odds for cleaning the salons and Cora had started collecting her pension from the post office in Marsh Lane. Maurice and Billy between them had settled all Lacey’s Tyres’ outstanding debts with the money off the insurance and Maurice seemed much happier working as a driver for Bootle Corporation. He’d come to tea last Sunday, bringing Pol and the kids, and Cora realised she was quite fond of the lad even if he was a loser, unlike her real son who was very much on the up and up. The kids got on her nerves a bit with their noise, but she felt like a proper grandma and had actually bought them some odds and ends of clothes.

  In a few weeks’ time they’d be even better off. Alice Lacey was looking to buy a house and would be leaving Amber Street for ever once she’d found one. It was Billy who’d suggested him and Cora take over Amber Street from Alice who’d had the place done up dead smart. The rent was thirty bob a week cheaper than Garibaldi Road.

  Cora was surprised to find she didn’t mind, not much, living in the house of the woman she’d always hated. Nowadays, there wasn’t all that much room for hatred in her heart.

  Fionnuala Littlemore married Sergeant Jerry McKeown on the first day of January 1971. It was snowing and Fion wore a cream fitted coat over a matching dress – Jerry had offered to buy her a fur coat as a wedding present, but Fion didn’t approve of animals being slaughtered for their skins.

  Over ninety guests had been invited to the reception at Hilton’s Restaurant. It wasn’t until six o’clock that the newly married couple left for their honeymoon in London.

  Alice waved them off tearfully, though she wondered why young people bothered with honeymoons any more. In her day a honeymoon was the time you got to know each other properly. There used to be all sorts of jokes about the first night. She remembered feeling dead nervous herself, but John had been a gentle, tender lover right from the start. Nowadays, the first night happened long before the honeymoon and people knew each other far better than God had intended by the time they condescended to get wed.

  She returned upstairs to where the air was fuggy with cigarette smoke and several couples were dancing to a recording of ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’, which was being played loud enough to be heard several streets away.

  Orla came up. ‘You look dead miserable, Mam. Have a drink. What would you like, sherry?’

  ‘Just a little one, luv.’

  Orla looked as if she’d already had too much to drink herself and there were four more hours to go before the reception ended. She also looked much too thin, Alice thought worriedly. Her eyes were unnaturally bright. She seemed to laugh a lot at things that weren’t remotely funny. It was an unnatural life she led, particularly for a woman: on the road, staying in strange hotels in strange places. Still, it would all change in a few months’ time, when she would be based in her own office in St Helens: Head of Sales.

  Alice wondered if the time would ever come when she would stop worrying about her children. At least Fion was happy, the one she’d least expected to be, and Maeve was like the cat that ate the cream since she’d fallen pregnant, though Martin didn’t exactly look too pleased.

  Her son appeared on top of the world, the business doing so amazingly well, but Cormac had turned thirty a week ago and it was time he got married, started a family. Of course, he already had a daughter, Sharon, Pol’s eldest girl, but Alice wasn’t the only one who suspected Cormac had had nothing to do with the lovely red-haired child who resembled neither her mother nor her supposed father. She’d always hoped things would get serious between Cormac
and Vicky, but he’d brought that model, Andrea Pryce, to the wedding. She was a nice girl, if a trifle empty-headed.

  She looked for Vicky, saw her sitting alone on a chair, looking rather downcast, and went to sit beside her. ‘Would you like a piece of wedding cake to take home for your mam and dad, luv?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, thanks.’

  ‘I’d have sent an invitation for two if I’d known you were coming on your own. You could have brought someone with you.’

  ‘There’s no one I could have brought. I thought . . .’ She paused and said no more.

  ‘Thought what, luv?’

  ‘Nothing.’ There were tears in the girl’s eyes.

  Alice realised that she’d thought she’d be coming with Cormac. The poor thing was almost certainly in love with him – he chose to dance past at that moment with Andrea in his arms, clearly more impressed with beauty than brains, stupid lad. ‘Would you mind helping me make everyone a cup of tea, luv?’

  Vicky jumped to her feet with alacrity, obviously glad to be rescued from her lonely chair.

  In the kitchen, Cora was finishing washing a mountain of dishes. ‘I’ve just put that urn thing on to make a cup of tea,’ she said when she saw Alice.

  ‘Thanks, Cora. I was about to do the same thing meself. I think I’ll use them cardboard cups, save more washing.’ Alice and Vicky began to spread the cups into rows.

  ‘I’ve sent Billy out to buy some sugar ’case we run short.’

  Cora looked very smart in a tweed costume with a white jumper underneath. Her hair had been set that morning in the Stanley Road Lacey’s. That shoplifting incident, dreadful though it was at the time, had done her the world of good, brought her to her senses. She was much more friendly nowadays, almost human.

  ‘I was wondering,’ Cora said, ‘if you’ll be leaving the carpets behind when you move. We’ve carpets of our own, naturally,’ she added hurriedly, ‘all fitted, but it seems daft to take them up and cut them down.’

  ‘I’m leaving all the fixtures and fittings, curtains included.’ Alice sighed. She was dreading leaving Amber Street, but circumstances and her children were forcing her out. The circumstances were that the salons were making a mint, not just from hairdressing, but she was the only stockist in Bootle of Lacey’s of Liverpool products and they sold like hot cakes. She had never been so flush, yet nearly every one of her neighbours had to struggle to keep their heads above water, which made her feel dead uncomfortable.

  As for the children, they’d been nagging her to buy a place of her own for years: Southport, or near the sands, Ainsdale or Formby way. When they were little she’d taken for granted she knew better than her kids, but since they’d grown up they seemed to think they knew better than her. Perhaps it was only natural. After all, she’d constantly tried to rearrange her dad’s life, much to the chagrin of Bernadette.

  It reminded her for the umpteenth time that she hadn’t seen much of her friend since Danny died. There remained a stiffness between them. Bernadette was at the wedding, naturally, a pale, rather sad figure, surprisingly old, Alice thought when she’d come into the church with the children. This was the first big occasion that she’d attended as a widow.

  ‘Excuse me, Vicky. I won’t be a minute.’ Impulsively, Alice went back into the reception. Bernadette was standing with a group, yet somehow looking very much alone, watching Ian and Ruth dance together. Alice was struck by how closely seventeen-year-old Ian resembled his father. Tall and lithe, he had the same appealingly wicked smile. She touched Bernadette’s hand. ‘He’s going to be a heartbreaker one of these days, just like me dad.’

  ‘I think he already is. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad one that he looks so much like Danny.’ Bernadette gave a rueful smile. ‘It means I’m reminded of him a hundred times a day.’

  ‘I reckon it’s good.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  They looked at each other. Alice wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m sorry, Bernie.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For barging in when me dad was ill, trying to take control, insisting he see a doctor.’

  ‘You only had his best interests at heart, luv. Trouble was it wasn’t what Danny wanted. Perhaps I should have been a bit more tactful meself.’

  Alice linked her friend’s arm. ‘Why don’t we go to the pictures next week? We can have a meal beforehand. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is on at the Forum. I’ve been dying to see it for ages.’

  ‘So’ve I.’ There was an expression of relief on Bernadette’s face. ‘I’d love that. Ally. I’ll pop in the salon and we’ll arrange a time.’

  ‘Come to tea tomorrer and we can do it then. Bring Ian and Ruth, except they’d probably find it dead boring. None of me grandchildren want to come to tea any more, not even Bonnie and she’s only nine. I’ll be glad when our Maeve has her baby and I’ll have a little ’un again.’

  Sheffield in January! Anywhere in January when it was snowing hard and freezing cold made you yearn to be somewhere else, like the South of France.

  Or Spain.

  Orla thought about Dominic Reilly, living in Barcelona. He’d married the girlfriend he’d said wasn’t as beautiful as she was – it had been on the front page of all the papers. As soon as she could afford it she’d go on holiday to Spain. Perhaps Mam would come with her. She didn’t fancy going on her own. In fact, she was fed up to the bloody teeth with being on her own and couldn’t wait for April when Cormac had announced the company would go through a sort of minor relaunch and she would be working permanently in St Helens. A lot depended on how well the press campaign went with that model. If it went well, there would be no more need for her to roam the country, thank the Lord.

  She trudged through the slush towards the hotel. At least it had a more-or-less decent lounge and she could sit in comfort until it was time to go to bed in an icy room with icy sheets.

  The hotel also had a bar. By the end of the evening other reps would arrive, some of whom she’d be bound to know and she’d have people to talk to, make her laugh.

  What a lousy day! The weather was vile, the street lamps a depressing sickly yellow, the traffic horrendous, and her car was parked miles away. Even worse, half the places she’d called in, mainly chemists, had refused to see her, even the ones where she’d made a prior appointment: people were off with colds and flu, and they were too busy.

  She was beginning to hate this job. This wasn’t adventure. It was no longer the least bit exciting. Maybe she was a bit run down because she seemed to have lost all her initial enthusiasm.

  The hotel at last! The usual seedy establishment that looked as if it hadn’t seen a lick of paint in years. Lots of plastic flowers and oatmeal paintwork. Orla hung her heavy trenchcoat on a rack in the hall. Underneath, she wore a smart black suit which no one had seen all day because this was the first chance she’d had to remove the mac. She went into the empty lounge with her briefcase. There was no fire, but an elderly radiator emitted moderate heat. The bar was in the corner and there was no one behind the tiny counter. Orla rang the bell, a woman appeared and she ordered a whisky.

  ‘Sit down and I’ll bring it over.’

  ‘Ta.’ Orla chose the armchair closest to the radiator and tucked her legs against it. The woman brought the whisky. As soon as she’d gone, Orla drank it in a single gulp. She felt in the briefcase for the half-bottle she’d bought on impulse on her walk back, the first time she’d ever done such a thing, but tonight, for some reason, she felt exceptionally depressed, what with the weather and a completely wasted day.

  Refilling the glass, she drank the contents, slower now, before filling up the glass again. She wasn’t trying to avoid the bar prices, just the embarrassment of reordering so quickly.

  It had become a habit, starting off the evening with a couple of whiskies. They helped her forget about the present and think about the future, which looked particularly rosy when she’d had a few drinks, though she’d never had three before in
such a short space of time. She drained the glass, closed her eyes and felt a pleasant warmth swill round her stomach, which reminded her how empty it was because she’d forgotten to have dinner. She’d eaten nothing since she’d left another hotel that morning – where had it been? Rotherham.

  ‘Good evening.’

  Her eyes shot open to find the sombre figure of Louis Bernet staring down at her. He wore a grey suit and a very white shirt that contrasted agreeably with his brown skin and smooth black hair. This was the second time they’d met since the night in London when she’d had dinner with Lulu and Gareth. On the last occasion they’d chatted amicably, only about trivial things. He wasn’t as unfriendly as he had first seemed, more reserved, a bit shy.

  ‘Hello.’ She tried to smile.

  He nodded at her empty glass. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Yes, ta.’ Another drink wouldn’t hurt. Not tonight, when she felt so unusually miserable.

  ‘Whisky?’

  ‘Please.’ He’d remembered what she drank, her ‘tipple’, as Grandad used to say. He went over to the bar and for some reason Orla’s eyes filled with tears. It must be thinking about Grandad, which made her think of Bernadette, Mam, her sisters, her children. And Micky.

  Bootle seemed worlds away from this cold, crummy hotel. In Pearl Street there’d be a roaring fire in the grate, the telly would be on, the kids would be home from work desperate for their tea – and Caitlin Reilly, or whatever her name was now, would be bustling in and out of Orla’s kitchen getting food ready.

  Jaysus! ‘What am I doing here?’ Orla asked herself. ‘Why did I leave?’ At that moment. Pearl Street with her husband and children seemed the most desirable place on earth. ‘I must be mad. I’m searching for rainbows, but you can only see a rainbow. You can’t touch it.’

  Louis Bernet returned with the drinks. He sat in the armchair next to hers. ‘We seem to be the first here.’