‘Just once?’ The girl’s eyes were round.
Maggie nodded. ‘I left early because it looked like rain.’
Theresa exploded with laughter. ‘You went once and left early?’
‘That’s the truth of it.’
‘It explains a lot,’ said Theresa. ‘Large gaps in the education of a person do show, at least once a day.’
Maggie threw a cushion at her sometime ally.
‘Everyone’s silly at times,’ said Jessica. ‘I had an invisible friend called Lucy. I met her in the dresser mirror when I was about three. Of course, she was me, really. Till I met Katherine, then she was nearly me.’
Maggie dropped the other cushion. Theresa sat in a dining chair and tried not to look shocked, tried not to look at Maggie. ‘Katherine?’ she managed eventually, her voice pitched rather high.
Jessica blushed. ‘I never told anyone. When Williamson’s let me go down to the farm, I escaped.’ She remembered her first real contact with nature, the sounds of birds, the clean scent of damp earth. ‘She just appeared with a dog – it had a stupid name. And she went.’ Such a special, precious, hurtful day that had been.
Theresa cleared her throat. They had met, yes, and Jessica had stored the memory for all time. Against all the odds, Katherine and Jessica’s paths had crossed. ‘She must have been pretty if she looked like you.’
Like many blondes, Jessica considered herself very pale and uninteresting. ‘No, she was ordinary. The dog was crackers, though. I told Katherine lies, said I was from a big farm with loads of animals. I was jealous of her. She had lovely clothes and a dog of her own.’
At last, Theresa managed to look at Maggie. ‘How do you feel about dogs?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘As long as they’re not overcooked, they taste very nice with onions and taties. And the skins come in handy for slippers and gloves.’
While Theresa laughed nervously, Jessica almost stopped breathing. If she said nothing, if she held back words and giggles, she might get a dog.
‘We’ll get you a dog,’ Theresa promised recklessly. Was she making too many of these promises? She had sworn to Stephen that she would go in for tests, had told Roy Chorlton that the bitterness was over, was offering Jessica a dog. ‘There are fields nearby where you could walk a dog. I’ll get you one before I go to see about my chest.’
Jessica thought she might burst. She had everything now – a home, a mother, nearly a dog. She had everything except a father, and she couldn’t ask Mam questions about him, not while Mam had to go and see about having TB and a weak heart. Mind, there might be a stepfather in the offing … ‘Mam?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you going to marry Dr Blake?’
Theresa blushed.
‘He hasn’t asked her yet,’ volunteered Maggie. ‘She won’t stand still long enough in the one place in case he does ask her.’
Many a true word was spoken in jest, thought Theresa. Her experience of men at close quarters had been limited, because she had scarcely dared to contemplate intimacy since the night when Jessica and Katherine had been conceived. The brutish cruelty of her first encounter had left her bruised mentally as well as physically. Stephen had put the physical side right, but could she live with a man, could she really trust anyone? ‘One thing at a time,’ she warned her daughter. ‘The dog, the whole dog and nothing but the dog. So be quiet.’
After threading the rings, Jessica sought permission to go outside. When the dog arrived, she would need to know where to take it. ‘Don’t go far,’ shouted Theresa to her daughter’s disappearing back. ‘It goes dark early.’
When Jessica had gone, Theresa flopped back in her chair.
‘They’ve got to come together some time,’ commented Maggie.
‘I know. If I’m not around, Bernard has promised to see to all that.’
Maggie grunted. ‘Make sure of that,’ she said. ‘Nature brought them to life at the same time for a reason. Those ties are very close.’
‘I’m sure they are,’ answered Theresa.
Soon, she would be very sure.
Danny Walsh sat with his wife and mother-in-law in their enlarged kitchen. The remains of a feast lay on the table, fish bones on huge dinner plates, a clutter of cups, cutlery and napkins on a tray.
‘That was a very nice meal,’ Danny told his mother-in-law, who thrived on praise, though she never knew how to cope with it.
‘A bit more salt in me sauce next time,’ she said.
Pauline patted her stomach and groaned. ‘I feel as if I’ve eaten a three-piece suite,’ she said. ‘Stuffed to the gills, I am.’
Danny cocked his head on one side, listening for the baby. The baby was his pride and joy; he was also Pauline’s main reason for living. She had done it, had achieved motherhood against all odds.
Edna Greenhalgh started to fiddle about with the debris.
‘Leave it, Mam,’ said Danny.
‘No, I won’t. She’s ate a couch and two chairs, and you’ve been working all day. Sit still till I make another brew.’
While Edna clattered about, Danny closed his eyes and concentrated on contentment. He was a lucky man, with a wonderful wife, a son, a lovely home and a mother-in-law who wasn’t too bad. Edna kept Danny on his toes, reminded him never to take life for granted.
His mind wandered, went back to the day when he had acted as substitute for his brother, the day on which Eva had extracted money for Theresa Nolan, the golden time when he had met Pauline in Chorlton’s shop.
‘Do you think he’ll hang?’ asked Pauline. There was no need for names, because the main topic for weeks had been the killing of Ged Hardman.
‘He should hang,’ said Edna from her place at the sink. Edna was of the hang-them-now set, one of those who might have asked questions after the trap door had opened and the hanged man’s legs had swung for at least five minutes.
‘I’d say it was manslaughter,’ answered Danny. ‘Not planned, like a real murder.’
‘Lily Hardman’s heartbroke,’ continued Edna. ‘He’d just left home, too, had his first house. They say she’s gone into one of them declines, stopping in bed, won’t eat.’
Pauline spoke up. ‘That won’t last long. She’s better at business than most men in this town.’ Pauline tried to imagine life without her baby, but found the concept unbearable. ‘Still, losing her son will slow her down a bit.’
Danny Walsh’s thoughts strayed to Theresa Nolan, who had been the indirect cause of the meeting between him and Pauline. She had moved today. Danny had seen furniture being delivered, had slowed his car while passing to watch Theresa sweeping the short path to her front door.
‘I wonder how Theresa’s going on?’ muttered Pauline.
Danny frowned. As ever, his wife seemed to tune into his thoughts as if she had antennae built into her head. He jerked his own head in the direction of Edna. Pauline knew about Katherine’s origins, about the rape, the birth of twins, but Edna had been kept in the dark for many years. She was old, curious, full of gossip.
Edna cleared her throat. ‘Right,’ she said, swivelling round and planting large, slipper-clad feet well apart. ‘Let’s be having this straight, shall we? There’s nowt I don’t know, Danny. And our Pauline never told me – I just listened now and again.’ She nodded vigorously while drying her hands on a tea-towel. ‘I’d not be surprised if them three blokes have death wishes after what they did. Happen Teddy Betteridge lost his rag over summat to do with Theresa Nolan.’
Danny’s mouth fell open.
‘Shut that, Danny, there’s a tram coming.’ The old woman warmed the pot, spooned in some Black and Green’s. ‘By rights, Theresa has two kiddies. I’ve heard you both chunnering about it. I’ve said nowt to nobody, so you can talk free in front of me, not just behind me back.’
‘But, Mam,’ cried Pauline. ‘How long have you—?’
‘About three year. But I know when to keep me gob shut, which is more than can be said about yon husband of yours. Good job it’s not summer, he’
d be catching flies.’
Danny closed his mouth and grinned sheepishly. ‘I’m a lucky man,’ he said gruffly. ‘There could be wasps and all.’
Both women knew exactly what Danny meant. Pauline kissed him. Edna, who never cried, wiped a bit of wetness from an eye before brewing the tea. She was the lucky one, because Danny was a saint.
Bernard stretched his legs and glared at John Povey. ‘I wish you’d never got me going on this flaming game.’ He pushed away the backgammon board. No matter how hard Bernard worked at it, John always seemed to have the edge. ‘As for chess – give it a rest. Bloody kings and castles – I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, there’s that many rules.’
‘Never mind, you’ll get your own back on Saturday afternoon.’ Saturday afternoon was golf time. Bernard Walsh had developed a near-perfect swing, while his delicacy of touch with a putter was becoming legendary at the West Lancashire Golf Club.
Bernard laughed. Both men closed their shops at one o’clock each Saturday in order to get a round at the club. John was hopeless. He wielded a five iron as if attempting to gain a part in some Errol Flynn movie, all swash and buckle. With a putter, he could miss the shortest hole, cursing and swearing at his own lack of co-ordination. What amazed Bernard was that this pharmacist, who could mix a perfect potion right down to the tiniest granule, was unable to judge a distance of five or six inches between ball and target.
‘I’ve bought a house,’ rumbled John, his voice hoarse with laughter.
‘Have you, now?’ The idea of John Povey moving house was a sobering one. He led a life of extravagant eccentricity, providing meals of fish, chicken and minced beef to a nomadic tribe of cats about whose number he was never certain. His house was a monument to chaos, its rooms crammed with books, bottles, bunsen burners, crates of notes. John was writing three books on various aspects of pharmacy, many pages of which were jumbled into one cardboard container. Sometimes he rescued sheets of vital information which had doubled as mats underneath cat dishes. John Povey would eventually invent a momentous formula on a piece of paper which he would lose. ‘When are you moving?’
‘I’m not.’
Bernard chuckled. ‘I see. One house for you and Paradise Lost, another for the cats.’
John’s laughter boomed again. His friend always referred to the unfinished and mixed-up manuscripts as Paradise Lost. ‘No, I’ve bought the Corner House. An investment, I suppose. I shall let it out to young people. It needs young ones.’
Bernard agreed. The house on the corner of Crosby’s Northern Road was like no other on earth. Built in the 1920s to the specifications of a retiring sea-captain, it was a happy mix of stuccoed walls, Spanish galleon windows and Virginia creeper. ‘I’ve never been in, you know. Liz has wanted to look inside ever since we came here, but the old man’s been too ill.’
‘He saw ninety-five, though,’ commented John. ‘With my help, of course.’
‘Of course,’ echoed Bernard. ‘Good job you weren’t teaching him golf.’ He walked to the window and peered through darkness at the house across the way. Liz regarded it as some kind of magic place, the sort of house that should appear in children’s fairy tales. ‘I suppose it’s romantic,’ the fishmonger conceded. ‘He loved his wife, the old chap. After she died, he drove her Humber every Sunday to keep it alive. Till he lost his sight.’ He remembered seeing the captain sitting in his living room, a huge magnifier balanced in front of a fourteen-inch television set.
‘Did they pull the flag down to half-mast when he died?’ asked John.
‘Yes, they did.’ The captain’s flagpole was a talking point. He had flown the Union Flag high on the King’s birthdays, had lowered it for more sombre occasions. ‘He liked his garden, too.’ There was clematis, there were laurels, lilac trees, roses. ‘So who are you going to put in there?’
‘Pharmacy students.’
Bernard swung round. ‘What? Folk like you but younger?’
‘That’s the idea.’
‘We shall all be blown to kingdom come.’
‘No, blowing up is chemistry.’
‘Are you sure? Because it looks like there’s been a fair few explosions in your house, especially in that back kitchen.’
John wore an expression of pretended hurt. ‘Listen, Bernard. It may look a mess to you, but I can lay my hand on anything I need just like that.’ He snapped his fingers.
‘What? You’ve been looking for the bottom half of your best suit since last April.’
‘Anything important, I mean.’ John looked at his watch, checking it against the grandfather in a corner. Liz would be home soon. She was at church, up to her eyes in the Young Wives, showing them how to sew and knit. She would also be telling them a few jokes and tales which would not necessarily conform with the teaching of the Holy Mother Church. When she came home, there would be the obligatory cocoa and chat, then John would drive home to cats, scribblings and the inevitable search for tomorrow’s cleanish shirt.
Bernard heard it first, a strange groaning sound, followed by a muffled cry. He put his head on one side, listened hard. The dog lifted his chin and growled deep in his throat.
‘It’s Katherine,’ John said.
‘No, she’s asleep,’ replied Bernard. He got up and went to the bottom of the stairs. John was right. The unmistakable sound of sobbing floated down into the hall. Bernard ran to his daughter’s side, John hot on his heels.
She was sitting up in bed, her face devoid of expression. ‘So cold,’ she said.
‘I’ll get her another blanket.’ Bernard turned to leave the room.
‘She’s fast asleep,’ said John. ‘Look.’ He waved his hand in front of Katherine’s eyes. She neither flinched nor focused.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ Bernard was suddenly frightened.
John perched on the edge of the bed and took Katherine’s hand. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked softly.
Still staring straight ahead, the girl spoke. ‘So cold. My ankle hurts. The grass is all slippy with the frost.’
‘Did you fall?’
She nodded.
‘Where are you?’
‘Here. I’m here. I’ll bring the dog when I get it. For a walk. My ankle hurts so much. At the bottom of the slope.’
John looked at Bernard. ‘I’ll bet you a pound to a penny that something’s happened to the other one.’
‘Jessica.’ The name, whispered by Bernard, was not a question.
The chemist tried again. ‘Is there a name for the place where you fell?’
‘Jolly,’ announced Katherine.
‘It’s the Jolly Brows,’ Bernard said. Without hesitation, he fled from the room, two things on his mind. Firstly, he must do what he could for Katherine’s sister. Secondly, he had to do it before Liz got home.
Pauline answered the phone, listened to Bernard’s gibberish. ‘I’ll get Danny—’
‘No! Liz’ll be back in a minute. Just send Danny to see Theresa Nolan – she’s at Eva’s up View Street.’
‘Danny says they’ve moved to Tonge Moor Road.’ Pauline managed to squeeze these words in.
‘Tell him the Jolly Brows. Can you remember that?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I can hear Liz coming,’ he said. ‘Now, listen. Katherine’s having a nightmare. We think Jessica’s hurt and that she’s somewhere on the Jolly Brows – near a slope.’
Pauline gazed at the dead instrument in her hand. This was crackers. Katherine was dreaming in Crosby, Liverpool, so her sister, in Bolton, was in trouble. This was a sister she had never known, one she had met just briefly and by accident. Was Bernard on some funny pills administered by his friend, the chemist?
Danny came in. He had been sitting by Jonathan’s cot, had been watching the sleep of the truly innocent. ‘Who was that? Why are you staring at the phone?’
‘The world’s finally gone mad.’ She told him the story. ‘Where are you going?’
Danny grabbed his coat from the hallway.
‘It may be rubbish, but are you prepared to take a chance? What if it was our child? I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Pauline found herself staring at an empty space where her husband had recently stood, while holding in her hand a receiver dead enough to warrant burial. Edna, who remained very much alive, came in from her little morning-cum-sitting-room. ‘Were that Danny going out? It’s past nine o’clock.’
Pauline sighed. ‘Mam?’
‘What?’
‘You put the kettle on while I phone Williamson’s.’
The old lady staggered slightly. ‘Why? Is the baby all right? Has somebody got TB?’
‘No, it’s nothing like that.’ Pauline studied the tough old bird who had birthed her. She was a nuisance, a moan and a little devil at times. But in that moment, Pauline Walsh caught a glimpse of her mam’s frailty. Edna Greenhalgh’s suit of armour had slipped, the open visor revealing a very ordinary woman who feared life and its vagaries. ‘I love you, Mam.’ How long had it been since Pauline had said those words?
Edna gulped. ‘I love you and all, Pauline.’
‘I want to get hold of that Dr Blake, send him round to Theresa Nolan’s. Bernard and Danny think there could be something up with young Jessica. Theresa’s friendly with the doctor, so he might want to help.’
‘Oh.’ Seeing her daughter’s confusion, Edna put the kettle on and busied herself with cups and saucers. Pauline loved her. Everything would turn out for the best.
The Jolly Brows lay between the top of Tonge Moor and Bolton’s ring road, Crompton Way. It attracted playing children, courting couples, stray cows and a small cast of dubious male characters well practised in the art of displaying private parts, though these creatures tended to protect their valuables during cold snaps.
An ideal place for dog-walkers, the Jolly Brows had drawn Jessica, on that cold afternoon in February 1952, to investigate its possibilities. She had run and run until, exhausted and slightly breathless, she had made her way towards the Tonge Moor Road end. A steep slope led back to civilization, and Jessica, having lost her footing, had tumbled downwards, injuring her ankle.
She lay shivering in a crumpled heap. She tried to call for help, but the road was too far away, while her voice grew weaker as frost entered her bones. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Jessica found herself in one of her ‘floating’ dreams, episodes of which usually involved moving about without actually walking. It wasn’t flying, though. It was a simple matter of skimming along at ground level without using her lower limbs.
The Corner House Page 38