‘You don’t have to thank me, I wanted to come. How long are you staying at the convent? I went to Clare Cottages, to your house. Mrs McGuffy, she’s taking care of yer mam. She was asleep in the chair when I went. There won’t be anything you can do about your mam, Lily. It’s you and Katie you have to think of now. Mrs McConaghy, she’s paid the rent man.’
Lily opened her eyes wide in surprise. ‘How?’
‘Well, Sister Therese went down to the plant and she told them and they said they would be glad to pay it until you were back on your feet. Sister Therese said it was the easiest arm she had ever twisted.’
Lily was aware that at the very least she should feel grateful, but she could feel nothing. She nodded her head. Despite the anger she harboured towards her unkind, alcoholic mother, she was relieved to know she was OK. Maybe somewhere inside her there was a shred of love for her mother, but it was hard to locate and even harder to show.
‘I can’t go back home, Lockie.’ The sob came and then the tears. Lockie’s arms opened and just as she did with Sister Therese, she fell into them.
He tightened his arms around her. He wanted to kiss her tears away, but now was not the time. He wanted her to melt into him and he into her. She was so thin, he could feel her heart beating against his chest. And then he couldn’t help himself. He placed his fingers under her chin and, lifting it towards him, he looked into her eyes for a long moment then bent his head to kiss her gently.
There was only the faintest response. Not wanting to move things too quickly, to scare her away, he stopped and pulled her into him once more. Taking each side of his donkey jacket, he wrapped it around her.
Only her head popped out of the opening and she felt his warmth seep into her bones. She wanted to stay there for ever.
‘I’m sorry, Lily,’ he said.
From deep inside his jacket, she could barely hear him, but she didn’t need to. She pressed her cheek harder against him.
‘I was a stupid, vain eejit to think that you were saying all those things just to stop me from being with Amy. I’ve never heard you say a bad word about anyone, so why would you have started when little Joe was sick? You wouldn’t. It was me. You were just worried about me. You are always worrying about someone and I couldn’t see it. Will you forgive me, Lily?’
Lockie spoke into her hair. ‘Will you?’
Lily had no words; it took such effort to speak. She had to dig down deep inside to find anything to say and it was just all so exhausting. She nodded.
He was happy with that. It was enough for now.
‘You don’t have to worry no more, Lily. You and Katie, I am going to look after you both and we will find a way to take care of your mam too. We will get our own house. I’m ready now, to take on extra lads, and this time next year it’s my own plant I’ll have. And, Lily, we will be working for ourselves. Us. You, me, Katie and our own children. One day soon, Lily, all this will feel better and you will be happy again.’
Lily made no response. How could she tell Lockie that she would never be happy again? How could he understand that?
*
Anthony Mackintosh urged his car up the hill with the accelerator pedal flat to the floor. One of the housemen had arrived and had taken over the chip-pan casualty. He had trained during the war and was no stranger to burns. The little girl with the broken nose and the legs smashed in four places was resting, awaiting her X-ray results. Anthony had arranged a time with Sister Therese and he didn’t want to be late. He was a man of his word and it was important to him that he made a good impression on the nun.
As it was, he didn’t have to knock at the convent because Lily was already standing at the gate. His heart lifted. That must mean she was keen to see him. That she was feeling lighter in her mood, less sad and tearful. At first he didn’t notice Lockie, but then he saw the flash of the dark coat behind her. Something made Anthony depress the brake and bring the car to a stop. He switched off the ignition. Lily hadn’t seen him and neither had Lockie, who appeared to have eyes only for Lily. He heard the faintest of goodbyes brought on the breeze into the car. Lockie was leaving. He was smiling. He turned to Lily, put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head.
Friends kiss each other, Anthony told himself. Friends do that. Lily had told him she and Lockie were just friends, hadn’t she? Friends from a long way back, at work and home. But Anthony’s stomach had turned to jelly and it was telling him something else entirely.
Anthony watched as Lily half smiled back up at Lockie. It was faint, but it was a smile. If she would just look over at him in the car, give him a fraction of that smile, he would be a happy man. She appeared to be comfortable with Lockie’s arms around her, buried in his coat, as though it was a place she was used to.
And then Lockie bent his head, kissed her lightly on the lips and took his leave. Friends don’t kiss each other on the lips. He needed to tell himself that only once. He was too late. Lockie had beaten him.
As she watched Lockie walk away down the hill, the smile fell from Lily’s face. She did not return his wave, but nor did her gaze falter.
Anthony placed his hand on the chrome handle of his car door, ready to pull it down, hear the click, open the door. Ready to step out of the car and walk across the road to the convent. He would raise his hand in greeting, ask her how she was, tell her he’d been worried about her since the funeral. No, he would tell her the truth. That he’d not been able to think about anyone or anything else since the funeral. That she lived in his heart and his head and that he was sick for her.
But his hand didn’t move. It trembled slightly as it rested on the handle. Lily didn’t turn. She thrust her own hands into her pockets, flicked her head to let the wind push the hair out of her face, and stared at the road that Lockie had walked down only a moment before.
Anthony’s hand pressed down harder. The handle gave way. ‘Look over, look over, see me,’ he whispered. He willed himself to get out of the car, but he couldn’t. He had spent so much of his life alone, this stepping out towards something else altogether, it was too much. His heart told him to cross the road, but his head told him to drive away. He had lost and he knew it. He lifted his hand from the handle and, turning the key, started the engine and drove away, back to safety and the lonely life he knew.
*
Lily turned towards the convent. She had watched Lockie walk away and as he did, it occurred to her that she loved him too. She didn’t have the energy to feel exhilarated, her stomach didn’t flutter at the thought, but he made her feel safe, as if all her cares had slipped from her shoulders. Her and Katie, they would survive. Lockie would look after them. She would never have to return to McConaghy’s. She could take time to heal and to learn to love Lockie back. One day, she would wake up and her life could begin again and when that day arrived, Lockie would be there.
She heard the car and turned to look. She recognized the driver, the side of his face, even though he was wearing a hat. It was Dr Mackintosh. Sister Therese had told her he was coming and she had known why. There would always be a special place in her heart for the man who had been with Joe at the moment he died. For the man who had tried to save him. But it was not the love she could one day have for Lockie. Dr Mackintosh was not of her world. A lifetime would pass before he could understand the pain she had known. But Lockie did understand. He had known and protected her since she was a child and her future was with him. It was something she knew, and with that knowledge, the first layer of sadness fell away.
37
Within minutes of seeing Lily with Lockie, Anthony walked back into casualty. He’d been away from the unit for less than an hour. Nurse Tanner waved at him from the office, where she was talking to Dr Gaskell. As Anthony made his way over to the hatch to talk to Doreen, he saw Dr Gaskell leave the office and slip behind a set of curtains with a pack of case notes in his hand.
Doreen was typing out case notes.
‘Anything in for me?�
�� he asked her.
‘No, Dr Mackintosh. We thought you were done for the afternoon. It’s all easing off now.’
His heart sank. He preferred it when it was busy.
‘Nurse Tanner is helping Dr Gaskell, you could see if they need anything.’
He walked over to the office. As soon as he got there, Pammy began speaking at the speed of a train.
‘We weren’t expecting you back so soon, Doctor. Being a workaholic, that’s a disease, you know. I’ll see if I can get someone round here to treat you, shall I?’
Any other day, Anthony would have smiled. There was something about Nurse Tanner. She spoke to everyone she met as though she had known them for all of her life. He liked that. Many of the nurses treated him as though he were God himself, which he did not like. It made him feel isolated, enhanced his loneliness.
‘You know what you need, don’t you?’ said Pammy.
Anthony looked surprised. ‘Who says I need anything?’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘Look at your face, you can’t even crack a smile any more. What you need is one of me mam’s roast dinners. Usually served at three o’clock, but because I’m working, it’s later today. Now I know you aren’t supposed to be here, so come on. Come round to our house for a roast. Honest to God, Maisie Tanner’s roasts are famous. I bet anything you like, you’ll be prescribing them after you’ve tasted one.’
Anthony was speechless.
‘Great, that’s a yes then. We leave in twenty minutes, but be prepared, when the street knows there’s a doctor in our house, they’ll be queuing up outside.’
An image of Lily flashed into his mind. Pammy Tanner was nothing like Lily Lancashire; maybe that was just what was needed. Pammy was offering to be his friend and, for a man like him, that was a good place to start.
‘Lovely, thanks. I’ll bring the car round to the front,’ he said. ‘Are you sure your parents won’t mind?’
‘Mind?’ said Pammy. ‘Mind? They’ll be talking about it for weeks. I wouldn’t be surprised if me mam puts a notice in the Echo. A car, eh? God, fancy that! Me mam’ll have a heart attack. Not just a doctor, a doctor in a car.’
Anthony grinned for the first time in a long time. ‘Well, I hope she doesn’t have a heart attack, but if she does, I might be able to help.’
‘Oh, right, yeah, of course. Look at you, smiling now. See, it suits you. Right, I’m off to hand these notes to Doreen. See you at the front in twenty.’
On her way over to Doreen, Pammy slipped behind the curtains to where Dr Gaskell senior was sitting on a trolley and, given his age, looking rather silly.
‘First time I’ve sat on one of these,’ he said. ‘Jolly uncomfortable.’
‘You did well there,’ said Pammy, ‘getting out of the office before Dr Mackintosh came in. We might have known – you know what they say, talk of an angel and hear the flutter of its wings. As soon as you started taking to me about him, I might have guessed he would walk in and catch us. I’m superstitious like that, me. Anyway, all done! It was easy really. He’s coming to ours for a roast tonight. Me mam, she’ll sort him out. He just needs a bit of home cooking and a good talking to by me mam.’
Dr Gaskell smiled. ‘Good girl! That’s just the ticket, a smashing idea. You did well there. Give your mother my best when you see her, Nurse Tanner.’
Pammy was on her way back out through the curtains. She swung around. ‘Me mam? You know her?’
‘In a manner of speaking. I looked after your grandmother when she had pneumonia.’
‘Of course you did,’ said Pammy. ‘That was the old days, wasn’t it? You looked after everyone and everyone loved you for it. You’re a hero on our street. You are, you know.’ She smiled a smile well beyond her years and without another word stepped through the curtains.
*
Maisie Tanner paced her kitchen, waiting for Stan to return. On the range sat a pan filled to the brim with carrots and swede. At the side was another full of spring greens.
‘Where the hell is your father?’ she snapped as Lorraine walked into the kitchen, a book hanging from one hand and a bemused look on her face.
‘He was down the Irish Centre with his old soldiers as far as I know. What time is our Pammy coming? I’m starving. I hate having to wait for me dinner on Sundays. Is little Stan in the outhouse?’
‘Lorraine, I’ve never known anyone ask as many questions as you do. Little Stan is in the outhouse, yes. He gets more like your father every day. Went in there an hour ago with a copy of The Beano.’
Lorraine flung open the kitchen door and, standing framed in the opening, shouted, ‘Little Stan, get out! I’m bursting.’
‘Lorraine, pipe down. Do you want everyone in Arthur Street to know our business?’
No sooner had Maisie finished speaking than Stan opened the back gate. ‘You bursting, are you, love?’ he said to Lorraine. ‘They all heard that down in the pub. Someone’s running up with a pot for you.’
‘Dad!’ squealed Lorraine. ‘Stop it! No, they didn’t. Get little Stan out of the toilet then.’
‘My pleasure, love. Stanley!’ Big Stan opened the toilet door wide, revealing little Stan sitting in contemplation, his trousers around his ankles, his face buried in The Beano.
‘Daaad, stop it!’ Little Stan threw The Beano to the floor and in one leap left the toilet seat and made to close the outhouse door again.
A fight between little Stan and Lorraine broke out in the yard. Big Stan stepped into the kitchen just as The Beano flew across his path. He kissed the cheek his wife offered to him.
‘Them two, what are they like, eh?’ Stan removed his cap and in one carefully aimed throw sent it sailing through the air to land squarely on the nail in the door. ‘Yes!’ he exclaimed and punched the air. ‘The day I miss is the day you will know I’m going gaga.’
Maisie was not in the least impressed. ‘Where have you been, Stan? I thought the dinner was going to burn.’
‘Oh, that looks as good as it smells,’ said Stan. ‘My favourite, brisket. Shall I make the gravy?’
‘No, you won’t. I know you, you just want to take all the credit when all you’ve done is swan in in the last few minutes. I’m going to plate up, though, for Mrs Cunliffe. I’ll do that first and then you can run down the road with it in a bowl wrapped in a tea towel while I serve out the rest. She can have hers while it’s nice and hot then.’
‘I’m here to please, Maisie.’ Stan lifted the cushion on the chair to extract the Daily Post he had slipped under it the previous day.
‘No, you don’t,’ said Maisie. ‘Put it back. I need you to mash in a minute. Stan, have you had a chat with Dessie? Do you think we can get him round here for his tea and I’ll get Emily Haycock. Could we pull that one off, do you think?’
Stan lifted the lid off the potatoes, took a sniff, asked, ‘Are they ready?’, placed it back down, turned his back on the range and rested on it while he thought.
‘We could have a go. Invite them both over, but us not be here. We could take the kids to the pictures and leave their plates on the table with a couple of candles. How does that sound?’ He began to giggle. ‘Bloody ridiculous, that’s how it sounds.’
‘What can we do, Stan? They are obviously potty about each other, it’s such a shame. They won’t even speak to each other now. I saw Biddy down at the bingo and I told her, like, that I had seen Emily coming out of her house and brought her into mine and she said, well, I wouldn’t worry no more, not a word has passed between them. The whole hospital knows now, she said, because they avoid each other like the plague and it’s so unlike them both, so unnatural. It’s a right mess. How can two people be so stubborn?’
‘What are you like, eh, Maisie? A right little Cupid, you are. Always trying to match people up.’ Stan wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to him. ‘It was so easy for us, wasn’t it? Both at school together. Born only houses away from each other. I can’t remember a day in my life when you weren’t there.’
&nbs
p; ‘Love isn’t meant to be difficult. It shouldn’t be a hardship or awkward like it is with those two,’ said Maisie.
‘If every man had someone like you to come home to, there would be no wars. You know that, don’t you? We are lucky, but not everyone is.’
A scream from the outhouse filled the kitchen. Lifting her head, Maisie saw Lorraine sitting on the toilet and little Stan running back in from the door he had opened wide.
‘Well, speaking of wars, there’s always little Stan and our Lorraine to help out,’ said Maisie. They both grinned at the antics of their usually well-behaved offspring.
Lorraine screamed as she shook her legs and threw her shoes out of the door, aiming them at her brother. ‘Dad! Dad!’ she screamed. ‘Get him!’
There was no reply from Stan as suddenly neither he nor Maisie could speak. There was a tall, strange man they had never set eyes on before standing in the middle of their kitchen and Pammy was standing next to him, looking as though she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her.
‘Mam, Dad, this is Dr Mackintosh, from casualty. I’ve brought him home for some dinner.’
Maisie’s answer was interrupted by an Izal toilet roll flying in through the back door and landing right at her feet.
38
Emily pulled up the sash window and, unwrapping the greaseproof paper, took out the bread crusts to lay on the outside ledge.
‘Where are you, Gully?’ she said as she stuck her head out and looked left and right. There was no beak peeking from behind the drainpipe, waiting for her. No cautious staring eyes or padding feet edging closer. He was gone.
Emily smiled as she stared out at the canopy of dense white cloud, over the rooftops of the hospital and across to the grey and cold-looking Mersey.
‘Good luck, Gully,’ she said. She was about to pull the sash back down when she heard him call. He was standing on the roof of the porter’s lodge, a building she had averted her eyes from for days. She had not wanted the embarrassment of having to make eye contact, should Dessie walk in or out of the lodge.
The Children of Lovely Lane Page 44