The Leaving Of Liverpool

by Maureen Lee

  Agatha arrived with the plum, sequinned frock in a parcel under her arm. The girls looked a trifle shocked when she unfolded it.

  ‘It’s not exactly a bridesmaid’s frock, is it, luv?’ Lily remarked with a disapproving sniff.

  ‘I said she could wear whatever she liked,’ Mollie put in, ‘on condition I can do the same when she gets married.’

  Pauline, who had a knack with hair, piled Agatha’s frizzy mop into a pile on top of her head and secured it with hairpins, then arranged the tiara so the missing diamonds wouldn’t show.

  Every now and then, everything would stop, Irene would make yet another pot of tea, and Pauline and Lily would have a ciggie before they started work again. Mollie’s nails were painted with clear varnish that made them shine; La Vie en Rose was dabbed behind her ears and sprinkled on a new white hankie; the pearl necklace from Aunt Maggie was clasped around her neck and the earrings clipped to her ears.

  There was a knock on the door: the woman from the florist’s had arrived on her bike with the bridal bouquet - six white roses surrounded by a frill of fern - a little posy of forget-me-nots for Agatha, and a dozen buttonholes.

  It was all very unreal. Mollie was beginning to feel rather like a tailor’s dummy as she stood in the middle of the parlour, allowing people to turn her round, do things to her hair, her ears, her nails, sit her down, make her stand. The girls worked mainly in silence, issuing occasional commands. They looked extremely serious and hardly smiled at all, not even red-haired Gladys who was a terrible giggler. Irene said they didn’t get on all that well together, but today they worked in perfect harmony.

  ‘Sit down a minute, Moll, while I put your shoes on,’ Lily said, or it might have been Pauline or Gladys. The girls’ faces were beginning to merge into one.

  Mollie obediently sat down and stuck out a foot.

  Irene said, ‘I gave them shoes a good scrubbing with a soft brush and they’ve come up a treat.’

  Mollie stuck out her other foot.

  ‘The soles and heels hardly look worn,’ Irene continued. ‘I bet someone only wore them the once.’

  ‘Stand up, Moll, and we’ll put your dress on.’

  Apparently, it required all three girls to hold the frock and ease it gingerly over Mollie’s head, put her arms into the sleeves, pull it gently so it lay smoothly on her hips and fell until the hem rested on the toes of her shoes. ‘It feels like a glove,’ Mollie said.

  Mrs Brophy’s veil fell over her like a cloud and the girls circled around, tugging it a bit this way, then the other, until they judged it was perfectly even. Then the wreath was placed on her head, the bouquet put in her hands, and someone said, ‘Fetch the mirror out the hall so she can see what she looks like.’

  Mollie looked in the mirror, but the young woman who looked back couldn’t possibly be her. She was too tall, too slim, too beautiful. ‘It’s not me,’ she said, shaking her head, at exactly the same time as the young woman in the mirror shook hers. ‘It’s someone else altogether.’

  ‘Of course it’s you, Moll,’ Agatha assured her with a catch in her voice. ‘You look really lovely.’

  ‘I think I’m going to cry,’ Mollie sniffed.

  ‘You can’t!’ several voices said at once.

  ‘Your eyes’ll turn all red and you’ll get spots all over your frock,’ Irene warned.

  Mollie took a deep breath. ‘All right, I won’t.’ She took a final look in the mirror and turned to the girls, who were admiring their handiwork. ‘Thank you, I don’t know what I’d’ve done without you.’ Preparing the bride for the ceremony was almost as big an occasion for them as it was for her.

  There was another knock on the door. This time it was Finn with the taxi that would take her to a place where her life would be changed for all time. There were tears in his eyes as he lifted the veil and kissed her softly on both cheeks. ‘You look marvellous, Moll. If only Mam were here to see you now.’

  ‘And Annemarie,’ Mollie whispered.

  Finn nodded. ‘And Annemarie.’

  There was a gasp of admiration followed by a cheer when she stepped outside to discover the sun had come out and half the street had gathered to see her off.

  ‘Ooh! Doesn’t she look lovely,’ the women sighed.

  ‘Good luck, girl!’ cried the men.

  Mollie, who had thought no one liked her, was stunned. She shook a few hands and patted a few small heads, until Finn helped her into the taxi, followed by Irene and Agatha, who raised a few cheers of her own in her sequinned dress and diamond tiara. The girls were making their own way to the church: it was only a few minutes’ walk away.

  It seemed no time before she was inside the church, holding Finn’s arm, floating up the aisle, seeing Tom waiting for her and watching her with an expression of such adoration that it made her want to weep. Then Finn stopped, removed his arm, and there was only her, Tom and old Father Fitzgerald, who was about to make them man and wife.

  ‘Well,’ Tom said after they’d boarded the Blackpool train, and he’d put their suitcase on the rack overhead, and sat beside her, ‘that was a reception and a half, that was.’

  ‘It was indeed,’ Mollie agreed. ‘It was wonderful. Your family and mine really got on well together.’ The reception would continue for hours yet and probably end up even rowdier than it had been when she and Tom had left.

  ‘Your Aunt Maggie’s the gear. I really liked her, and Hazel, too. Patrick’s a proper little charmer. Me mam was really taken with him. But,’ he said, frowning slightly, ‘I don’t think your Finn likes me all that much.’

  It was hard for Tom to accept that he wasn’t universally liked by everyone he met. ‘He’s probably just worried about me, that’s all,’ she assured him. ‘I mean, he hasn’t had the opportunity to get to know you properly, has he?’

  The frown disappeared. ‘That’s probably the reason.’

  ‘Aunt Maggie’s going to stay at the George the night before she goes back to New York, so I’m going to see her. We didn’t have much time to talk. You can come with me if you’re not on duty.’

  ‘That’d be nice, luv.’ He glanced at the other occupants of the compartment, a man and a woman both staring vacantly out of the window at the other end, and gave her a quick kiss. ‘I love you, Mrs Ryan,’ he whispered.

  ‘And I love you, Mr Ryan.’ She removed a glove and stared at the plain gold ring on the third finger of her left hand. ‘I can hardly believe I’m a married woman.’

  ‘I’ve got a certificate in me pocket to prove it.’ He picked up her hand and kissed that, too.

  She nestled her head against his shoulder. ‘I know you have.’

  ‘This is going to be the best marriage that ever was, Moll.’

  ‘I know that an’ all.’

  But only a matter of hours later, it seemed as if their marriage was already over.

  They arrived at the boarding house just in time for dinner. The sharp-faced landlady looked at them suspiciously when they signed in. ‘You don’t look old enough to be married,’ she snapped at Mollie, and Tom had to produce their wedding certificate to prove they were man and wife.

  ‘We’re on our honeymoon,’ he said importantly. ‘We only got married this morning.’

  The woman softened slightly at the news. ‘You’re on the second floor, room eight. If you’d like to take your things upstairs, I’ll set a place in the dining room. What sort of soup would you like? There’s oxtail or tomato.’

  ‘Oxtail,’ said Tom. Mollie chose tomato, but it turned out to be very watery and she wished she’d asked for oxtail.

  The roast beef that followed was as tough as old leather, the roast potatoes looked nice enough but were underdone, as were the carrots and the peas. But Mollie and Tom were on their honeymoon and didn’t give a damn.

  Afterwards, they went for a walk along Blackpool Pier, arm in arm, aware only of each other and hardly noticing the jangling music and crowds of holidaymakers with their strange accents and funny hats. It was a
magical evening, the sun still warm in the sky, the sands scattered with courting couples lying in each other’s arms, children paddling in the silvery water, the girls with skirts tucked in their knickers, men with their trousers rolled up and a hanky with the four corners knotted shielding their heads. The women were packing away buckets and spades, empty lemonade bottles, dirty clothes and towels. A man was leisurely collecting deck chairs and putting them on a cart.

  After a while, Tom announced he was hungry. ‘That dinner wasn’t up to much, was it, Moll?’

  ‘I don’t think it was, no,’ Mollie agreed. ‘Do you fancy some fish and chips? There’s a stall over there.’

  The fish and chips bought - it was Tom’s favourite meal - they sat on a bench and listened to the water swirling against the iron supports underneath. Mollie couldn’t tell if the tide was coming in or going out, and Tom said he couldn’t tell either and, what’s more, he didn’t care.

  By now, the sun had disappeared and dusk fell upon them. Only the courting couples remained on the sands. The moon appeared, almost full, the lights were turned on, and the entire waterfront glittered like a million stars. The big wheel was spinning like a top and the music on the pier was getting louder, the crowds more raucous, the air a little colder.

  ‘I think it’s likely to get a bit rough here any time soon.’ Tom stood and reached for her hand. ‘We’d best be getting back. Shall we stop and have a cup of cocoa on the way?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ She took his arm with a slight feeling of trepidation. Very soon, she and Tom would become as close as a man and woman could possibly be. She wasn’t dreading it, but nor was she exactly looking forward to it. She was more impatient for it to be over so that tomorrow they could make love in an entirely natural way, all the awkwardness and embarrassment of the first time behind them.

  They were soon back in their room where the moon provided just enough illumination to see by.

  Tom said casually, ‘I won’t bother lighting the gas mantel, luv. There’s no real need.’

  ‘I can see perfectly well without it,’ she said, relieved they were undressing in the near dark. She removed her clothes, put on her new nightie, which cost two and elevenpence in Blackler’s and was far inferior to the pretty, handmade ones in the suitcase she’d been taking to America, and slid into bed. A few minutes later, Tom joined her. They lay in silence for a while, until he tentatively slid his hand around her waist.

  ‘Can I kiss you, Moll?’

  ‘Of course, Tom.’ She turned to face him and suddenly they were kissing each other with an eagerness that quickly turned to passion and Tom’s hands were touching her breasts through the nightdress, then underneath the nightdress. Just as suddenly, Mollie had nothing on and neither had Tom, though she had no idea where the clothes had gone. And now they were making love. It wasn’t quite as thrilling as she’d expected, but gave her a lovely, satisfied feeling that she and Tom were joined together as one.

  Finally Tom gave an almighty groan, collapsed on top of her, then rolled on his side so that he had his back to her. There was another silence that went on for much longer than the first.

  Eventually, Mollie spoke. ‘What’s the matter?’ she whispered.

  ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you, Moll?’ His voice was hoarse and full of hurt. ‘It was the very last thing I expected from a girl like you.’

  Mollie could feel her blood turning to ice. It was silly of her, unimaginably stupid, but she’d still considered herself a virgin. She’d thought of Tom as the first man she would sleep with, the first man with whom she’d make love. The times with the Doctor had been put to the back of her mind because they were too painful, too cruel and unwanted to occupy a fraction of her brain.

  How could she explain all that to Tom? She felt so ashamed. He’d want to know why she hadn’t pushed the Doctor away or locked her door, yet Mollie didn’t know the answer to those questions. She’d actually thought it was her duty, that it was what all fathers did when they’d lost their wives. It was just something she had to put up with. It wasn’t until he’d touched Annemarie that it had seemed a sin of such enormous proportions as to be unforgivable.

  ‘I’m still waiting for an answer,’ Tom said gruffly.

  ‘You must have done it before to have known.’ It was the very worst thing to have said, but all she could think of at the moment.

  He sat up in the bed and she could sense the anger emanating from him like sparks. ‘I bought a book on it, that’s how I know. I didn’t want to make a mess of things. I wanted tonight to be perfect, but now it’s spoiled. Oh, Mollie! How could you?’

  Mollie didn’t reply. She turned over so she had her back to him. She felt cold, so cold, despite the mound of blankets and the thick eiderdown.

  That night, she didn’t sleep a wink, and neither did Tom. At some time, he got out of bed and, when she looked, he was sitting in a chair by the window, looking out, his chin resting on his hands, a picture of dejection.

  Daylight came, the gong sounded for breakfast. They didn’t speak to each other while they dressed and went downstairs, the first to arrive in the dining room. The sharp-faced landlady brought them bowls of unappetizing-looking porridge. Other people came into the room and wished them good morning.

  ‘Good morning,’ Mollie replied.

  Tom didn’t say anything, just stared at the porridge with tears streaming down his smooth, boyish cheeks. ‘I love you so much, Moll,’ he said brokenly.

  ‘And I love you, Tom.’ She reached across the table and rubbed the tears away with her hand.

  ‘I don’t care what you did before I met you,’ he wept. ‘I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have made a scene. It’s just that it came as such a shock. I thought, I thought . . . ’ He stopped, unable to go on.

  People were staring. Mollie got to her feet. ‘Let’s go upstairs. I’ve something to tell you.’ It had to be done or their marriage would be spoiled for ever.

  ‘I’d like to kill him,’ Tom raged after she’d told him about the Doctor. He was walking back and forth across the room like a madman. ‘Policeman or no policeman, I’d like to bloody kill him.’ He stopped walking and looked at her sorrowfully. ‘Oh, Moll! Why didn’t you say anything about this last night?’

  ‘Because I was too ashamed, wasn’t I?’ she said tearfully. ‘I always felt as if it were my own fault.’

  He sat on the bed and pulled her on to his knee. ‘That was the worst night of me life, that was.’

  She stroked his crisp, brown hair. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be sorry about, luv. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.’

  There was a knock on the door. Mollie made a face and went to answer it, to find the landlady outside with a tray, her face no longer sharp, but gentle and kind. ‘As you didn’t have any breakfast, I thought you’d like a pot of tea and some toast.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you, thank you very much.’ Mollie took the tray. She couldn’t have eaten a thing, but was dying for some tea. Tom, who had the appetite of a horse, would eat every crumb of the toast.

  ‘I hope everything’s all right,’ the woman whispered.

  ‘It is now.’ Mollie closed the door. Everything was fine and, from now on, it always would be.

  Finn showed Aunt Maggie the room in the cottage she would occupy for the next fortnight, helped Hazel put a sleepy Patrick to bed - he’d been too excited to sleep on the boat and the train - had a bite to eat, then made his way to the Doctor’s house to collect Thaddy and Aidan. His aunt was longing to meet them, but had no intention of going anywhere near the Doctor during her stay in Duneathly. ‘I’m too scared of what I might do to him if I saw him in the flesh,’ she’d said fiercely.

  The Doctor’s house stood in the square next to that of Mr O’Rourke, the solicitor, on one side, and a tiny bank, which only opened two days a week, on the other. It was a solid, three-storey building with six rooms on each floor. Most of the ground floor was given over to the
Doctor’s needs: a surgery, waiting room, an office full of files, and a study. There was also a large kitchen and a cloakroom. The family rooms were on the floor above. Long ago, servants had occupied the attic rooms, which had been empty for years when the Kennys first moved in. Finn had been the first to ask if he could sleep upstairs in a room with a sloping ceiling and a window from which you could see for miles and miles. Then Mollie had moved into the next room and Annemarie into another.

  Finn noticed the dark-blue paint on the front door had begun to flake. He went inside to find the house uncommonly quiet and the place smelling musty and unused. He recalled the days when five children had lived there and the place was full of noise and laughter.

  ‘Dad,’ he shouted and, when there was no sign of his father. ‘Nanny, Aidan, Thaddy - is anyone home?’

  Nanny appeared at the top of the stairs. She’d been an old woman when she’d looked after Finn when he was a baby and now she looked incredibly ancient, her eyes rheumy in a white face. Her flesh looked as if it had melted, like wax, and lay in deep, uneven creases on her cheeks. She wore a long black dress, a white pinafore, and a white kerchief on her head. ‘I sent the lads out, son,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘I took them to play with the Patersons: their Cormac is in the same class as Thaddy at school.’ She began to descend the stairs, clinging to the banister, each step a terrible effort.

  Finn rushed upstairs to help her down and took her into the kitchen where dishes were piled in the sink and the slate floor was badly in need of cleaning. He pulled out a chair and gently sat her down. ‘What’s wrong, Nanny?’