‘Separate rooms,’ interjected Maggie, her tone prim.
‘What about Christmas?’ asked Ruth between frantic puffs.
‘Have you got plans?’ Theresa asked.
Ruth laughed mirthlessly. ‘Plans? With that bloody rat of mine? Depends which road out she is, I suppose. She might invite me if she’s got something to show off, same as a new carpet or a couch. Or she might bring me summat on a plate, or she might just leave me to stew. Not that I’ve got owt to put in a stew, like. She doesn’t give a damn about me, our Irene.’
Theresa nodded thoughtfully. The monster created by Ruth would probably seek vengeance for the rest of her life. With her breath suddenly shortened, Theresa dropped into her father’s scratchy horsehair rocker. She was like Irene. She had become a monster, had been invented by three drunken men, and she was acting just like Ruth’s horrible daughter.
‘Are you all right?’ Maggie asked.
Ruth blew out a stream of grey smoke. ‘She’ll never be all right. She’d a bad fever when she were little, then she got herself—’
‘That’s enough,’ gasped Theresa. ‘I’ll be fine in a minute.’
Maggie perched on a dining chair while Monty, plainly ill at ease, fiddled with his hat near the dresser.
‘So all I’m saying is there won’t be much of a Christmas in this house.’
Maggie tut-tutted. ‘Of course there’ll be Christmas. Monty and I will buy food – won’t we, Monty? And we can all go to Eva’s, share the expense. Monty?’
Monty nodded.
Theresa stood and walked to the door. ‘I’m going down to Eva’s to see Jessica. Ruth will make you a cup of tea.’ She let herself out of the house, hoping against hope that her sister would have the makings of a brew.
Outside on View Street, Theresa surveyed the town for the first time in years. Chimneys of solid brick poked their nostrils into a sky that seemed permanently stained. The Town Hall clock oversaw the area of civic business, while rabbit runs of small houses sloped their blue-slated roofs down Daubhill. A film of ice caused Theresa to slither and slide her way along to Eva’s house. She intended to do nothing, to say nothing until after Christmas. Jessica’s holiday must not be spoilt.
She was greeted by an enraptured daughter and a very quiet Eva.
‘Let your mother sit down, Jessica,’ instructed the older woman, her soft tone betraying uncertainty. Theresa didn’t look at all well. Her face was pasty-white, while the lips had a decidedly blue tinge.
Jessica detached herself. ‘Are you home for ever?’ she asked.
Nothing was for ever, and Theresa’s time would not stretch far. ‘We’ll get a place. The house will be in your name,’ she advised Jessica. ‘That way, you’ll get a better start in life than most. And no, I’ll not be going back to Liverpool.’
Eva felt her hands shaking, so she busied herself with teapot and cups. ‘Where’s your friend?’ she asked.
‘She’s stopping at our Ruth’s.’
Eva dropped a spoon. ‘You what? You’ve left her with that bad bu—’ She pulled herself up in the presence of the child. Jessica was a young lady, a grammar school girl, and she shouldn’t hear words like ‘bugger’. ‘You’ve left her there? All the kids are feared to death of yon place, specially since Ruth put it about that it’s haunted. And by your dad, of all people.’ Eva had no time for Michael Nolan, dead or alive. She retrieved the spoon and shoved it into a pocket of her apron.
‘Maggie isn’t on her own,’ said Theresa. ‘Monty’s with her. He wanted a break from Liverpool and—’
‘Your gentleman friend?’ asked Eva.
Theresa held on to her patience. It was clear that Eva felt threatened, afraid of losing Jessica. ‘He’s a friend and a gentleman, but he’s not special to me.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Eva lifted a batch of scones from the oven. ‘So.’ She tipped the scones deftly onto a cooling rack. ‘You’ll be taking young Jess away from me and Jimmy. Who’ll see to her if you’re …’ She glanced at Jessica, decided that she didn’t want the girl worrying about her mother’s health. ‘If you’re busy working or not up to scratch?’
Theresa looked hard at the woman who had helped her for so many years, the woman who had stolen a baby and placed her with a good, hard-working fishmonger.
Jessica sensed the tension in the room. ‘I’ll go and get my school books,’ she told her mother. ‘Then you can see how hard the work is.’
Alone, Eva and Theresa stared awkwardly at one another. ‘Are you feeling really ill?’ Eva asked. Did Theresa know? Did she?
‘I’m tired. My heart’s a bit wonky again.’ Really, Eva had played a large part in the lives of both twins, because she’d looked after Jessica for ages.
Eva arranged the scones in rows. ‘Dr Blake still comes round asking about you.’ She lifted a circle of marzipan and stuck it on top of her Christmas cake. ‘Once Jessica leaves this house, he only needs to follow her from school and he’ll find you.’
Theresa watched while the woman who had delivered her twins spread thick, uneven icing on top of the marzipan. ‘I’m not bothered any more,’ she replied at last.
When a Father Christmas and a snowman sat among miniature peaks of sugary snow, Eva laid down her palette knife. ‘Are you still going after them three?’ she asked.
Theresa shrugged.
‘Because if your mind’s set on punishment, you could end up in jail. Then what happens to Jess?’
‘Maggie will see to her.’
Eva picked up a red ribbon. ‘I’ll put that round it when the icing’s set. Very nicely decorated, even if I say it myself.’ She prodded a couple of puddings with a skewer, withdrew the implement and checked that it was clean. ‘Done and dusted,’ she declared. ‘Full of sixpences and milk stout.’ She looked straight into Theresa’s eyes. ‘Would you pour the tea?’ she asked.
Theresa poured.
‘Am I not good enough any more?’
The visitor’s hand stumbled, bled milk onto the tablecloth. ‘I’ve saved for Jessica, Eva. I don’t know how long I’ve got, and I want her secure. I’m giving her the deeds to a house. Maggie … well, she’s nowhere to go and nobody to care for her. You’ve got Jimmy.’
‘I’m not bothered about me.’ Eva clattered a spoon in a dish of home-made mincemeat. ‘It’s Jessica that matters. Hasn’t she had enough changes?’
Theresa agreed, though she said nothing. But how could she leave Jessica to the mercies of a woman who had stolen a baby?
‘Theresa?’
Eva’s guest sipped tea. ‘If anything happens to me – when it happens – Jessica can live with Maggie and visit you if she wants.’
‘When she wants. Whatever I’ve done and whatever I am, yon lass loves me.’ Eva caught sight of pain in Theresa’s eyes, a look that advertised hurt tinged with anger. Theresa knew about the other child. Then Theresa smiled and Eva wasn’t sure. ‘Will your friends want to spend Christmas here?’ she asked.
‘Possibly. They’ve offered to chip in with some money or food.’
Jessica ran in with a pile of books. She babbled on about French and history, complained about geometry, declared that algebra made no sense at all.
‘You say they’re sleeping at Ruth’s?’ Eva asked when Jessica slowed down.
Theresa nodded absently, her eye fixed to a page filled with foreign words. ‘Jessica?’
‘Yes, Mam?’
‘Do you understand all this?’
Jessica nodded.
‘You’ll have it all, love,’ said Theresa, contentment and pride softening her speech. Jessica was beautiful. She was getting an education, too, and she would soon own a modest house. ‘Use it well,’ she advised.
‘I’d not send me worst enemy to sleep there,’ continued Eva.
Theresa settled down to drink a second cup of tea. Perhaps she hadn’t done such a bad job after all. She had earned a living, had kept this precious girl at a safe distance, had saved enough to give Jessica a toehold on the future. T
he other one – Katherine – the child who lived a lie, was also gaining an education. Liz and Bernard Walsh had sent Jessica’s double to private schools, so she, too, had promising prospects.
‘And if that Irene turns up, they’ll be wanting the bishop round to bless the house. Who in their right mind wants to spend a lifetime messing about with dead folk?’
Jessica turned to Eva. ‘But she isn’t in her right mind. Can I have a scone, please?’
Theresa found herself smiling. Even in the midst of the strangest conversation, Jessica’s appetite remained unaffected.
Hardman’s Hides was set back from the road, though the stench it produced reached its tentacles across several streets. Depending on the wind’s direction, windows in areas surrounding the factory would be closed in the finest weather, whole blocks of half-suffocated people enduring heat until the wind turned.
Christmas was finished, and Theresa thanked God that the celebrations were over and done with. It hadn’t been easy, but Theresa had managed to say nothing contentious to Eva. Having escaped for the day from View Street, Theresa stood on Doffcocker Lane and congratulated herself on her performance during the festive season. She had been pleasant to Eva, had played charades, Ludo and Monopoly with good grace, had washed dishes, sung carols, had sat through midnight mass at Sts Peter and Paul.
Now, she was supposed to be house-hunting. She stood opposite the factory where Ged Hardman and his famous mother had supposedly performed miracles after the departure of George Senior and his secretary. A feeling that she was being watched made Theresa look around, but she was alone on the lane. Directly across from the tannery, there were no houses. The land near which she stood was scrubby and covered in discarded prams, mattresses and car tyres.
She crossed over and walked along the perimeter fence, realizing with a shudder why she had experienced the sensation of being observed. Into knotholes of the wooden fence, the eyes of dead animals had been wedged, probably by apprentices in need of distraction. From almost every aperture, the sad, brown eye of a departed cow accused all who passed this way.
She stepped through the gateway, her mind strangely calm, her heartbeat steady and sure. Hardman’s, attached to an abattoir owned by a wholesale butcher, had its own skinners’ yard. Some small attempt had been made to conceal the area, which lay to the right of the works’ entrance, but a low brick wall did little to shield the eye or soothe the soul of any visitor. A river of blood, made thicker by icy air, made its dark, sticky way towards the main courtyard.
Mesmerized by horror, Theresa stepped towards the gore. On this sad, barren lane, abattoir and tannery, separate businesses, had enjoyed a mutually dependent relationship for many years. Huge barrels of entrails spilled their contents onto paving slabs. Butchers’ vans, their rear doors open, received the skinned carcasses of animals, raucous shouts and ribald comments accompanying the recently killed beasts on their final journey. Theresa could smell the blood, the discarded guts, the putrefaction. In summer, she could not have stood here.
‘Can I help you?’
She swivelled and found herself face to face with a middle-aged woman in a fur coat. This was the notorious Lily Hardman, all subdued make-up, mink and good shoes. ‘Good morning,’ Theresa replied. ‘I’m looking for somewhere to live, but it won’t be round here, near all this.’
Lily Hardman’s eyes narrowed. ‘It has to be done,’ she snapped. ‘People want leather, therefore we produce it.’
‘So I see.’ Theresa, who enjoyed a beef dinner, decided there and then that she could not eat dead cow ever again.
‘Well, unless you’ve business here, you’d better go. I can see you’ve no stomach for tanning.’
Theresa ran an eye over Ged Hardman’s mother. ‘I remember you,’ she said softly. ‘Your husband ran off. I was very upset for you at the time. Then I went to Liverpool to make my own fortune. I had two or three shops,’ she said. Lying was strangely easy in the presence of Mrs Hardman. ‘And now, I’m looking to invest my capital in business, as well as in property.’
Lillian Hardman, a pillar of the community, had more than atoned for the lapses of morality which had resulted in George Hardman’s departure from these parts. She did not want this pale young woman’s sympathy. ‘We are always interested in expansion,’ she replied carefully. ‘Our bank manager is always willing to back us, since we have such an excellent record.’
Theresa gazed around the large premises. ‘Well,’ she said, a forced smile lightening the tone. ‘I suppose you won’t be needing my bit of money, will you?’
Lily shrugged. ‘That depends what you want. I’m not looking for shareholders. My son and I own the works outright, and the bank is there if and when we need to borrow. However, if your required rate of interest was reasonable, we could use another shed for chroming.’
‘Chroming?’
‘It’s a quick way of tanning.’ Lily hesitated. Why was this young woman here? What did she really want? ‘You must have a reason for choosing Hardman’s,’ she added.
Theresa inclined her head as if deep in thought. ‘I’m here by accident,’ she explained. ‘I was seeing a house a few streets away, then, as I passed, I saw Ged’s works.’
‘Ah. So you know my son?’
‘I used to. We were friends long ago.’
Lily bit into her lower lip. Ged was a great source of disappointment to his mother. Now in his early thirties, he showed no sign of settling down, seeming to prefer the company of his friends in public houses. This girl appeared rather frail, but was she going to be the one who could forgive Ged’s facial scars, his drinking, his stupidity? ‘Are you married?’ she asked.
Theresa shook her head. ‘My fiancé died,’ she said sweetly.
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘So I threw myself into my work. Now I’m home and I’m visiting old friends.’
‘And your name?’
‘Mary. Mary Palmer.’
Lily was on her way out to the hairdresser’s. A position like hers called for perfect grooming at all times. ‘Go in,’ she said. ‘Find Ged – he’ll be in his office. I’ll be back in an hour or so.’
When the woman had left the yard, Theresa made her way into a place in which a variety of stenches battled to claim the contents of her stomach. Bravely, she fought nausea as she walked past a fleshing station where men with double-handed knives shaved reddened tissue from the underside of hides. The stink of lime mingled with odours given off by gallons of brine in which skins soaked themselves towards cleanliness. Dripping bundles of half-tanned leathers sat on the edges of lime pits. It was, Theresa judged, one of the most disgusting places in the civilized world.
She followed a series of signs until she reached the offices. The second door bore the legend: ‘GEORGE HARDMAN, MANAGING DIRECTOR’. The first and larger office was labelled: ‘LILLIAN HARDMAN, CHAIRMAN’. The masculinity of the title suited Lily, Theresa decided. Lillian Hardman was probably the best man here. She knocked on Ged Hardman’s door.
‘Come,’ boomed the incumbent.
Theresa inhaled deeply before opening the door. With her hair rinsed towards auburn and thick make-up covering her face, Theresa knew that she looked nothing like her old self.
‘Yes?’ he asked.
He was so ugly. His deeply scored face bore a resemblance to magnified pigskin, though its colour was paler than the lightest hue of any natural leather. He sat behind a mahogany desk, its surface clear except for a square blotter and a couple of pens. ‘Mr Hardman?’ she asked. If she acted as if she didn’t know him, her visit would be far more effective.
‘Yes?’ The face was familiar, though he could not put a name to it.
‘Your mother suggested that I should talk to you.’
‘Oh, I see.’ The woman was thin, but quite a good looker.
‘About investment. I used to live in Bolton, but I’ve been away for some time. I understand that cotton’s future is uncertain, so I’m looking for an alternative. Just
short-term, you understand, until I find my feet again.’ She sat down and crossed ankles she knew to be perfect. ‘My experience has been in retail. We could, perhaps, discuss outlets for leather goods.’
He lit a cigarette, continuing to look her over. She had good legs, a neat figure and a face that was almost heart-shaped. ‘Go on,’ he invited.
‘Well, I haven’t thought it through, not really. Mrs Hardman was talking about expanding here, something about chroming sheds. We could discuss several possibilities, I suppose.’ She was so grateful for her Liverpool years. In the city, she had learned to talk with all kinds of people, had negotiated prices, had dealt with old sailors, prostitutes, tradespeople. She was, finally, a woman of the world.
He smiled at her. ‘How about a cup of tea?’
‘That would be lovely.’
He pressed a bell-push on his desk and barked his order when a young lad appeared. ‘Tea for both of us and don’t spill any.’
Theresa waited for the door to close. ‘My name is Mary. Mary Palmer.’
He searched the recesses of his mind, but found no purchase on the name. ‘Where are you living?’ he asked.
‘With a friend. It’s a temporary arrangement.’
Ged took a deep draught of Capstan Full Strength, coughed, wondered whether to go for the kill. ‘I could … show you round the town, take you for a drink.’
Theresa awarded him a broad smile. ‘That would be lovely,’ she told him. ‘If you have a friend, I can bring my friend, make an evening of it. I seem to remember a couple of nice little pubs on Deansgate – the Hen and Chickens? The King’s Head?’
Ged considered this suggestion. The friend would have to put up with Roy Chorlton, but Roy was better than nobody. ‘Where shall I pick you up?’ he asked.
‘I’ll meet you in the King’s Head. Shall we say eight o’clock on Saturday night?’
Ged agreed, telling himself that Teddy Betteridge could play gooseberry or go home. Teddy’s wife never came out, preferring to drink stout from the outdoor licence with her cronies and neighbours.
The tea arrived and Ged poured, making sure that Mary Palmer’s did not spill into the saucer. She was the best thing that had happened for some considerable time. He straightened his tie, sipped tea and made small talk. With any luck, he’d be the toast of the King’s Head come Saturday.
The Corner House Page 30