Nicky clicked her tongue and carried on walking while Graham brought up the rear. Had Monica Costigan been able to see herself and Graham at that moment, she might have recognized a facsimile of her own parents. Diddy led and Billy followed, though he had been known to put down one of his very large feet whenever the various breeds of bee in his wife’s bonnet buzzed too loudly.
Diddy was in full flood when Nicky and Graham entered the house. She shook a newspaper as if she wanted to throttle it. ‘Not fit for human habitation?’ she yelled. ‘Have they only just bloody noticed? Why can’t they make our places decent instead of threatening to pull them down?’
Billy, who was struggling with a tough piece of stewing beef, closed his eyes and allowed the storm to develop. Opinions about living conditions in Scotland Road had been the subject of editorials since the previous century. Nothing would get done, yet Diddy continued to panic every time she read one of these articles.
‘Well, I’m not budging,’ she declared.
Billy swallowed the offending forkful. ‘They’re not knocking us down yet, love,’ he said mildly.
Diddy breathed in and prepared to deliver another piece of oratory. ‘You’ll be sitting there, Billy Costigan, when the big hammer takes the walls down. I mean, if we all just sat there chewing, who knows where we’d end up?’
‘Sitting down,’ came the response from Billy. ‘If we all sat down, we’d end up sitting down, not squeezing the life out of the Liverpool Echo. Don’t get yourself worked up.’
Diddy marched to the dresser, pulled out a large brown envelope, then scattered its contents onto the table. ‘Just you look at them, Billy Costigan. Look. How long has my family lived here in this house? Since before the bloody turn. And I’ve kept all my mam’s rent books and all ours.’
Billy sighed. It was lecture time. Diddy would be riding round the kitchen on a very high horse until she got saddle sore, fell off, or got pushed off. ‘Don’t start, girl,’ he begged. ‘I’ve had a hard day.’
Diddy pushed out her enormous chest and folded her arms beneath it. ‘There’s more bloody rules on them rent books than what they’ve got written down at the Old Bailey.’ She picked up a few of the tattered articles. ‘See, three bob a week in nineteen-o-eight. “The tenancy shall be subject to the rules . . . the tenement is not to be used as a shop.” They stopped my mam selling pie and peas through that very window you’re staring at,’ she accused.
Billy lit a cigarette. If she hadn’t burnt herself out by the time he reached the end of his smoke, he’d be off out.
‘Mam—’
‘And,’ Diddy glared at Nicky and Graham, ‘look here, Monica – you, too, Graham – you might learn something. See that word? And there and there again. It says arrears, arrears, arrears.’ She stabbed at the page with a podgy finger. ‘It’s all smudged because my mam cried over not being able to pay. Tears rhymes with arrears, doesn’t it?’
Graham looked at Nicky, then placed his offering on the table. ‘Bread for the Nolans, Mrs Costigan,’ he said quietly.
‘Thanks,’ snapped Diddy. ‘If the rotten government did its duty instead of sitting on its arse, there’d be no need for stale loaves. Course, they’re like that bloody Marie Anton-etty, aren’t they? No bread, let the buggers live on cake.’
Dock work was difficult, thought Billy, though a wife with a mission was worse. He cared. He cared just as much as she did. But his hand was sore in spite of leather glove and docker’s hook. His shoulders ached from heaving bags of molasses and coffee beans, and all he wanted was a little snore behind the Echo and a bit of tranquillity in his own house. Which dwelling belonged, for the moment, to Diddy’s mother. It would be at least ten minutes before Diddy reached the change of tenancy.
‘Poverty?’ she roared. ‘We don’t know the half of it. I’ve seen my dad go out to work with an empty belly and not a penny in his pocket. I’ve seen people dying in doorways, kids screaming with pain and nothing to pay the doctor with, and—’
‘We’ve all seen it, love,’ Billy managed to squeeze in.
‘I know,’ she yelled. ‘I know, but we’re all sitting here picking our teeth.’
‘You’re not,’ he said placidly. ‘You’re disturbing the peace.’
Diddy pounced on the current rent card. ‘Look at this one, then. Thirteen and six a week and what do we get for it? Where do they spend all our thirteen and sixes? Because they’ve not thrown any money back at Scottie Road, have they? There’s buckets in bedrooms catching rain. There’s people sleeping downstairs because the upstairs floors have gone. Thirteen and six.’ She waved an arm at the door. ‘Billy, “She’s Out” nearly had that door down till you got work and paid the three quid we owed in back rent.’
Billy sighed, nodded. Matt Roberts, rent collector, was commonly known as ‘She’s Out’, because that was the response he usually got when he knocked at a door. ‘He was only doing his job, Diddy.’
‘And you weren’t doing yours, because you had no rotten job. There’s thousands out there with no work.’ She sat down, thought about what would happen here again if Billy became ill or stopped getting picked for work. It was literally hand to mouth round these parts. The Costigans were lucky, because Charlie earned a crust, Maureen got a few bob from Dolly Hanson and Monica ran a little stall at the market. Even young Jimmy fetched a copper or two home. But Billy was the mainstay. If Billy became idle again, if he lost favour on the docks, the arrears column would fill up to the point of eviction. ‘They should do something for us,’ she told her small audience. ‘They should get our houses right and stop talking about pulling them all down.’
Graham backed towards the door. His girlfriend’s mother in full sail was not a pretty sight. ‘My tea’ll be ready,’ he mumbled timidly. Nicky followed him. ‘Back in a minute, Mam,’ she called over her shoulder.
Diddy was reading aloud again. ‘“The tenant is to pay for all broken windows, make good any damage and pay the total rent due before notice will be accepted.” You can’t even swap houses without filling in three forms.’ She threw the piece of cardboard down and stared ahead as if trying to burn a hole right through the air and into the future. ‘They’ll tear the lot down, Billy. They don’t care about us.’
Billy closed his eyes. The Scotland Road folk lived day-to-day. They didn’t go looking for trouble in the Echo, didn’t start ranting and raving when some journalist wrote about conditions. Of course, they weren’t married to Diddy, were they? ‘Pipe down, love. You’ll have the neighbours in. The police’ll be sending a posse round if you don’t stop shouting.’
Diddy stopped shouting. She sat for a while and wondered what she’d been shouting about. The courts round here were a bloody disgrace. There were families living in houses with no windows at all at the back, with no slopstone, no indoor water, lavatory sheds shared between dozens of people. Perhaps they should pull the lot down, then. Perhaps Scotland Road ought to be flattened and abandoned. ‘No,’ she said aloud, ‘it’s the heart.’
‘Eh?’ Billy stared at her. ‘Whose heart?’
She tutted impatiently. ‘Yours, mine, Dryden Street’s, Scottie’s. It’s not about houses, Billy. It’s about us and the Nolans and the Bells and all the rest of them. It’s like . . .’ She searched for words. ‘Like we’re all a part of one another. Not blood, not related. It’s soul, that’s what it is. This place has a soul. And they’ll kill it off. They’ll split us up and shove us all over the place.’
‘How’ve you worked that out?’ he asked. ‘They might move some of us out, then bring us back when the houses are rebuilt.’
Diddy shook her head. ‘There’s more to it than that. They want the community destroyed. I suppose if you look at it from their point of view, it makes sense. How many times has a lad run through this kitchen with a bobby behind him?’
Billy shrugged. ‘How many feathers on a pigeon?’
‘Exactly. And what do we do? Before we’ll let one of our own kind down, we say, “Who? No, there’s been no lad in here, Mr
Policeman.” By that time, the boy’s three streets away tucking into his dinner, and the stuff he’s pinched is hidden or eaten. So they’re going to split us up. Divide and rule, it’s called. But we all know it wasn’t just us what done the loot. There were others at it, too, during the police strike. We’re the ones who’ll suffer, though. We’re the ones who get the blame for everything.’
Billy sighed and thought about a nice, frothy pint. If Diddy would just shut up and get on with her chores, he would be able to nip out for a quick drink.
‘Go on, then,’ she said. ‘Get down the Holy House and drown your sorrows. Dryden Street might still be here at closing time.’
Billy kissed his wife, dragged on a jacket and marched quick-smart out of the house. Sometimes, women were best left to stew on a low light until they calmed down.
Bridie folded the last of the clothes and packed them in the cases. Sam was watching her. He sat on the edge of the bed with one of his silly little hand-rolled cigarettes smouldering in his fingers. He watched her quite often, when he thought she wouldn’t notice. But she did notice, and his vigilance had ceased to make her uncomfortable. Sam loved her – in his own way. The word ‘love’ was, perhaps, too strong to describe Sam’s feelings for anyone, she told herself by way of correction. He liked her, approved of her and needed her. ‘That’s all done now,’ she told him. ‘And thank you for so many new clothes.’ Bridie and the girls were the proud owners of several shop-bought outfits. The man had not turned a single one of the sparse hairs on his head when paying the not inconsiderable bills for these luxuries.
Shauna came in, a teddy bear trailing alongside her. ‘His ear came off,’ she wailed.
Bridie studied her younger daughter for a moment or two. Shauna was becoming a bit of a madam. Fortunately, she was too young to play outside, so the trouble she caused remained indoors. ‘I’ll sew it on later,’ Bridie said.
‘Now.’ A small slipper was stamped against the carpet.
‘No,’ said Bridie, ‘later.’
Cathy entered the room. She was wearing a brand new nightdress and a dressing gown in a warm shade of pink. She smiled at Uncle Sam. ‘I like my things,’ she told him. ‘Especially the blue dress. Thank you for my blue dress and the lovely shoes.’ Blushing, she ran to him and threw her arms round his neck. He wasn’t Daddy, but he was terribly kind to give so many presents to someone who was a desperate nuisance. ‘I’ll try to be good,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I promise I will.’
Sam didn’t know what to do with the child. He placed the cigarette in a saucer and stroked the little girl’s hair. It was blonde, but darker than Bridie’s, almost brown in parts. She was pretty. Both girls were pretty, though Shauna looked weedy next to the better upholstered Cathy. ‘There, there, it’s only a few bits and pieces,’ he mumbled. ‘You have to have clothes, Cathy.’
Bridie laughed. ‘How does it feel being with young ones all over again?’ she asked.
‘Better than last time,’ he admitted. He remembered the twins. Anthony had been placid enough, but Liam, because of his superior brain, had acted up. ‘Liam was hard work. But the hard work paid off.’
‘Did it?’ asked Bridie.
‘He’s a priest.’
Bridie lowered her head. ‘Anthony’s a good sort. When he was ill, I noticed how gentle and kind he was. All the children loved him, Sam. They were heartbroken when he left the school and went off to work elsewhere.’
Sam lifted Cathy up and sat her next to him. He wished his boys would sort out their differences. Anthony had often complained about his twin’s behaviour, but the real trouble had started after the death of that girl. That girl had not been suitable as a potential member of the Bell family, because she had left the Church. Following the murder, Anthony had turned completely against Liam. ‘Talk to Anthony,’ Sam told his wife. ‘He’s living in a cottage near Edith’s house. Try to get him to see sense, will you?’
Bridie thought about that. If she had to go near either of those twins, she would definitely choose the schoolteacher. She didn’t like Liam at all, still felt chilled when she thought about him. He had been dreadful to her during confession, had preached a real sermon and given her miles of penance. When she had emerged from the box, people had stared at her because she had taken so long to get her sins off her chest. Since that one disastrous time, she had always confessed to Father Brennan. ‘Come on,’ she told the girls. ‘Let’s have you two in bed.’
She took them across the landing to their own room, covered them, prayed with them, renewed her promise to sew on Teddy’s ear before leaving for Bolton, then returned to her husband. ‘What do I say to him?’
‘Who?’
‘To Anthony.’
Sam looked at his watch. ‘I’ll have to go down in a minute. Charlie will be wanting to get home.’
Bridie sat in a cane chair. ‘Sam, what do I say? And why should I be the one to say it? Liam is so . . . unapproachable. I can understand Anthony’s reluctance, because Liam seems to think he’s better than everybody. How can I tell Anthony what to do? He won’t listen to me. Anyway, I wasn’t here when all the trouble happened.’
He pushed the watch into his waistcoat. ‘Because you weren’t here, you might be the best one to speak up.’
Bridie nodded. ‘All right.’ Sam looked after the girls, so she must do what she could for him. But she knew full well – as did every other parishioner – that Anthony had left Scotland Road because of his brother’s return to the area. She didn’t think much of Liam, yet she must do her best for Sam. ‘I’ve sorted out the rota for Muth,’ she told him, anxious to change the subject. ‘There are two women to do the cooking and cleaning, then Diddy will make sure Muth gets out of her room each day.’
Sam rose and walked to the door. ‘Bridie?’
‘Yes?’
He tried to clear the embarrassment from his throat. ‘Er . . . I do appreciate everything you’ve done since you came.’
‘I know that, Sam.’ And she did know it. He never said much, but she often caught a hint of gratitude in his expression. ‘Sam, will you get along to the doctor and have that cough seen to? There’s a limit to what shop-bought pills and potions can do. You’ve been coughing such a lot lately.’
He nodded at her, gave her a hesitant smile. Sam had no intention of visiting a doctor. He’d seen too many people walking into a surgery in reasonable condition only to finish up within weeks in a hearse. Smokers coughed. He could carry on coughing quite happily without the help of any medical man.
When he had left the bedroom, she tidied up, laid out her clothes for the next morning, went to close the curtains.
Outside, the road heaved with life. Bridie stood for at least five minutes watching the world into which she had been dragged just months ago. The weather was fair, so young men lingered on corners, their antics tailored to attract the attention of passing females. These girls pretended not to notice the carryings-on, but they laughed and joked as soon as they had passed the boys.
People sauntered by carrying basins into which pig’s cheek and cabbage or meatballs would soon be placed. Policemen ambled along in twos and threes, while older men strode into the many public houses. Bridie had tried to count the hostelries in the area, had given up. There were pubs on the main road, and many more in side streets.
She drew the curtains, turned back the quilt on the bed. Tomorrow, she would see her horses. While she looked forward to that, she knew that she would miss the Scottie Roaders. Da had done Bridie a favour by bringing her here, and she thanked God for her good fortune.
Father Liam Bell turned slightly so that his right ear was almost up against the grille. The Costigan girl was on the other side of a very thin partition. He could smell the cheap, cloying scent she was wearing, could hear the sadness in her tone as she requested the blessing. ‘Tell me your sins, child,’ he whispered.
‘Father Brennan?’ she asked.
‘He’s out. I’m here in his place.’
Sh
e swayed from side to side in an effort to achieve some comfort, because the plank of wood on which she knelt to repent was very hard. The priest at the other side was not Father Bell, she told herself. There had been quite a number of different confessors here lately, because the parish priests had been busy with a lot of sick people. Maureen assumed that Father Bell, too, would be out on his ministry, because this voice was nothing like his. Father Bell’s voice was loud and strident, not gentle and kind.
‘Are you ready to confess now?’ he mumbled.
Maureen counted off her sins, told about pinching a few sweets from Dolly’s shop, about arguing with her mother.
Liam waited until he heard her say, ‘For these and all my other sins, I am very sorry.’ He absolved her, listened to the formal act of contrition. When she stopped praying, he whispered again. ‘There is something troubling you. Not a sin, perhaps, but a matter that preys on your mind.’
Maureen hoped the splinters hadn’t made too big a hole in her stockings. This quiet priest sounded concerned about her. Should she tell him about her troubles? Mam had often said that the confessional was not just for sins, that it was there so that people could tell God, through a mediator, exactly what was bothering them. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Well, it’s not important.’ It was important. She had just lied in confession, and that was a huge sin. ‘No, it is important,’ she admitted.
Liam leaned on his hand. He would get to the bottom of that little scene he had witnessed outside the Throstle’s Nest. ‘Go on,’ he urged softly. ‘I won’t be shocked.’
So she told him. She told him that she loved an older man and that her parents were not pleased.
‘His name?’ asked the priest.
Maureen pondered. ‘No, my mam says I’ve to tell my own troubles and nobody else’s when I’m in confession. But he lived round here, the man I’ve just told you about. He’s gone now. He’s gone away.’ She cleared her throat and prayed that the tears would not flow.
Father Bell’s fingers closed tightly around his crucifix. ‘He loves you?’ he asked.
The Bells of Scotland Road Page 18