A Liverpool Song

by Ruth Hamilton

  Emily broke free from her son and watched the vehicle pulling away. She sat on the doorstep gazing into the near distance. But what she saw now was miles away from Liverpool. A bench facing a park, her bench, the one she’d chosen to occupy while eating her home-made lunch in warm weather. And he placed himself there with her, knowing she would love him, rock solid in his belief that this woman, ten years his senior, would be his forever. She felt the summer breeze on her neck, saw roses nodding in the infirmary garden. Geoff, don’t leave me. Without you, I am half of nothing.

  ‘Come in, Mother.’

  And she was in the arms of both her son and his wife, all three of them sobbing noisily. Joe joined them, a handkerchief held to his eyes. ‘Look at us,’ he said. ‘We should be praying, not skriking. I’ll stop here tonight, Em, in that smaller back bedroom, if that’s all right with you. I just feel a bit . . . a bit down.’ Pam and her friend had moved out, and his house was enormous.

  And they stayed together for days, advised by Dr Charles not to visit Geoff just yet. While they waited, the dregs of humanity caught up with the story and began to haunt them. Representatives of presses local and national lived in the street, and no one said a word to them. It was like a circus with just clowns, except this lot wore two days’ growth of beard rather than red noses, oversized shoes and gaudy make-up.

  When the bigger picture emerged, the reporters had a new, more sympathetic attitude. Dr Geoff Shaw was ill, and the whole sad business had been a terrible accident. So would-be hunters oozed concern for the poor man, yet still no one spoke to them.

  Geoff was not suffering from a brain tumour; nor did he have the dreaded Alzheimer’s. Without realizing it, Geoff had experienced a series of small, cerebral accidents, commonly known as strokes. Undaunted and unaware, he had carried on like the stalwart he had always been, seldom complaining of headaches or other symptoms, as complaining was not in his nature.

  It was then that Liverpool began to show her true nature. Once the sad truth was published, Rodney Street was occupied by bearers of little gifts, cards and flowers. These same people bulldozed reporters out of the area, attended the little girl’s funeral, and finally brought the bereaved mother to see Emily. The two women cried and clung together, then sat and did the good old Lancashire thing involving cups, saucers and the brew that cheers.

  ‘What can they do for him?’ the child’s mother asked.

  ‘Well, they can thin his blood, but that might kill him if he has a bleed. He hasn’t had bleeds yet, you see. It’s something about oxygen starvation, and I don’t really understand it properly, but at least you know little Alison’s death wasn’t his fault.’

  ‘I do know. And she wasn’t awake, so we hope she felt nothing. But you have a hard time in front of you, Mrs Shaw.’

  Emily was too tired for further explorations into the future. It was going to be about blood pressure, gentle exercise and a sensible diet. ‘Thank you for coming to see me.’

  ‘Tell him I know it was an accident, won’t you?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘It’s not easy, Mrs Sanderson, but it’s been explained to me that he had no idea that he was ill. And my Ally wasn’t in the best of health – she had a couple of years left at best with the state of her heart. But it still hurts, and now I’m hurting for you and him. It’s a mad bloody world, isn’t it, love?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Thank you for coming.’

  Alone once more, Emily stared into an empty grate. The lack of flame and movement underlined yet again her absolute loneliness. As for Geoff, how would he cope without his work? She’d visited him twice, and he now seemed to be aware of the mini-strokes. Despite his relative youth, he had a degree of vascular dementia, though it might slow down. No one could make a real prognosis, as the disease took different forms in each patient.

  Soon, she would bring him home. An unlikely mixture of joy and dread filled her chest. She loved him and wanted him back, but he was changing all the time, sometimes clear and amusing, sometimes withdrawn, brow furrowed, lips tight, no words, no laughter. Treatment remained unclear. There were drugs under development, but nothing thus far had been declared fit to use on humans. Patience and communication were mentioned in the home pack, and Emily was good at both.

  ‘But must I watch him die? How do I know if he has another . . . what’s the word? Ischaemic event?’ That meant something about poor blood flow and a loss of oxygen to more areas of the brain. How would she recognize that? ‘It should be me. I’m nearly ten years older.’ But it was him. And the knowledge was a knife in her heart.

  Phenobarbital. That was what the enemy gave him, and those tablets were for epileptics or very anxious patients. The staff kept him quiet by sedating him, and they probably thought he would carry on taking the bloody stuff so that their life might remain easy, but he wasn’t here to please them. Here? Where was here? It was far too luxurious to be a hospital, so Emily and Joe must be in on it. Who could be trusted these days? The tablets piled up in his toiletries bag.

  Geoff wanted to go home, but he wondered whether Emily would send him away again. Was there a plot afoot? Did she want to go back to Joe? So where was his home? West Derby. The family house was in West Derby. Yes, his parents had gone to be with his brother’s son in Northampton, but the house remained theirs. He’d been having strokes. The strokes weren’t bleeders, but they had reduced the supply of oxygen to parts of his brain. Where the hell was he?

  Finding out wasn’t difficult. Brain damage? He was well enough to defeat this lot any day of the week. He donned a dressing gown, left his room, discovered that he was at Elmswood, a facility of which he had heard, returned to his quarters and dressed himself. Many of the patients were dressed, so he mingled for a while in a sitting room, helping an old man put together a jigsaw, playing a too-easy game of chess and making sure he was seen by staff who would, no doubt, make notes about his being up, dressed and out of his room at last. This improvement would be written in his notes, and they would take the credit and the money for having performed the miracle. Charlatans.

  Behind a Staff Only door, he stole a few pounds from wallets and handbags, then left the establishment through a rear entrance. He was on the moss, an area of lanes and fields between Southport, Ormskirk and North Liverpool. At an isolated farmhouse, he told the occupant that his car had broken down, he was a doctor and he needed a taxi. And that was that. Less than an hour later, he was back on Rodney Street.

  When Emily answered the door, he pushed her aside and strode in. ‘Do that to me again, and I shall be angry,’ he said.

  Open-mouthed, Emily stood in the hall. ‘Do what?’ she shouted to his disappearing back.

  Halfway up the stairs, he stopped. ‘Lock me away in a place for rich, sick people.’

  ‘But I didn’t. It was the doctor’s idea, not mine. We’ve been terribly worried.’

  ‘Have you? So sorry. You and Joe plotting behind my back, eh? Are you two planning a reconciliation?’

  She followed him. ‘Geoff? Geoff, look at me.’

  At the top of the stairs, he waited for her.

  ‘A child died, darling,’ she said. ‘You’ve had ischaemic strokes—’

  ‘I know. I’m a bloody doctor, after all. And I’m sorry, but I didn’t know these things were happening. Anyway, I can’t stay here. If I stay here, you’ll be following me round in case one piece of paper escapes from my study.’

  ‘Have you any idea of how lonely I’ve been?’ she asked. ‘And how I’ve wished that I could be the sick one? I love you enough to die for you, and look at me while I’m speaking. Joe is my best friend, no more than that. Don’t leave me. Spread your mess everywhere, buy a thousand pens, keep socks in the refrigerator – we’ll manage. We’ve always managed. There are hundreds of get well cards downstairs, and the little girl’s mother came to see me, because she’s worried about you. She asked me to tell you that she knows it was an accident.’

  He sat in a chair on the vast, regal landing. ‘Send
money to that bloody Elmswood place,’ he said. ‘I stole from the staff cloakroom. It was about eight pounds, I think. But don’t send me back.’

  ‘I won’t send you back.’

  ‘Even if I go mad?’

  She smiled. ‘That would be a short journey for either or both of us.’

  Geoff took her hand. ‘Never a moment’s regret have I had about you, about us. Sometimes, when I’ve looked at Joe, I’ve felt sad for him, because I stole his jewel.’

  ‘He’s a good man, Geoff. He loves you like a brother, like the family he never had.’

  ‘Lie down with me,’ he implored.

  ‘But I don’t want you to have another accident in your head.’

  ‘What a way to go, though. But I mean just lie down. I can’t sleep without you next to me.’

  They lay together on the bed and, within minutes, he was in a deep sleep. Downstairs, the phone rang repeatedly, and Emily knew it was the private hospital trying to tell her that he’d disappeared, trying to ask if he’d arrived home, but she wouldn’t leave him. With the possible exception of a house fire, nothing on earth would have persuaded her to drag her beloved out of that bedroom. He needed her. So she stayed. It was her precious duty.

  The meeting was held about six weeks after Geoff ’s escape from the place he termed prison. He was calmer and seemed reasonably well; he was also fully aware of the subject intended for discussion at the meeting, since Emily allowed him few shocks.

  Emily explained that she wanted to dispose of both Rodney Street houses. ‘I shall transfer this house into Andrew’s name, but I must tell you that interest has been shown by medical specialists seeking consulting rooms and so forth. Andrew, you and Mary will make enough to buy a big house further up the coast, or wherever you wish to live. The decision will be yours, though. Joseph, I have found two bungalows, one for you, the other for me and Geoff. There’s a beach and a wooded area quite nearby. It’s healthier than here. And the sale of your house here will pay for both bungalows.’

  Joseph said he didn’t mind as long as he could get to work.

  ‘It’s just a few miles,’ Emily said reassuringly. ‘About seven or eight.’

  ‘Then I’ll come,’ Joe said. He trusted Emily implicitly. Her replacement at Sanderson’s couldn’t hold a candle to Em, because Em had been born with a good head for business.

  Emily turned to her son. ‘There’s a marvellous house for sale nearby. It needs a bit of work, but I fell in love with it. And strangely, it’s named Rosewood. There are wild roses in the gardens, the original flower with just one layer of petals. You remember your bookcase?’

  ‘Well, we still have it upstairs in the flat, Mother.’

  ‘Edged in rosewood.’ Emily smiled. ‘Quite a good omen. Come and see it. There’s no one in it, but it’s fit for habitation. You and your father could make it quite spectacular. Lots of doctors live up there in fresher air. But if you choose to stay here, that will be fine, too. If you sell, you’ll have enough to make Rosewood the most beautiful house in Liverpool.’

  ‘We should look at it,’ Mary said. ‘There’s nothing to be lost by just looking at the place.’

  So the five of them went together to view the house and the pair of two-bedroom bungalows. Andrew and Mary followed Emily’s example, toppling head over heels immediately with a tired-looking house set in a huge plot. Joseph ran about, waxing excitedly about banisters, monks’ benches, new doors, a kitchen, a four-poster bed.

  At last, Andrew’s Mary was smiling. She’d been preoccupied of late, mostly because of the miscarriage, partly because she’d been tied up at work lately, since a friend of hers had a problem Mary refused to discuss. Andrew guessed it was probably an unwanted pregnancy and left her to it, hoping that the friend would act sensibly. But he was glad to see that his adored partner was at last regaining a little joie de vivre.

  As both Emily and Joseph were downsizing, much of their bespoke furniture was earmarked for Andrew’s new house, so the two young ones inherited a great deal of Joseph’s work, plus beds, fridge, cooker, curtains and rugs. They had a project, and they sank their teeth into it cheerfully. It was a new beginning for all of them, a new life.

  Joe’s house went quickly. It was to be used by eight consultants in this, Liverpool’s Harley Street. Joe placed his possessions in a storage unit before encamping temporarily in Emily’s smaller back bedroom, which was now Andrew’s property, since the deeds of the house had been signed over to him.

  As an insider, Andrew got his colleagues to put out feelers and he was inundated by specialists wanting to use the house. To make things fair, an estate agent was employed to handle the sale, and Andrew gained enough to pay cash for Rosewood and to make some improvements. He kept an eye on his wife, who seemed to have recovered from the early failure of her first pregnancy, and was reassured by her that her friend’s problem no longer existed. ‘She’s gone to London,’ Mary said. ‘The difficulty’s been overcome, and she’s working as a midwife in a large general hospital. She’ll be fine.’

  They all moved out to Blundellsands. Each house overlooked the river, and Toodles had a great time, because she began to move from house to house, and she pleaded hunger each time, gobbling up more food than was good for her. This old, wise cat made her peace with Geoff, because he no longer worried her, and he was particularly generous with leftovers.

  People became used to an extremely unusual sight – a man walking his cat over the grass, down the erosion steps and across the sand. When Geoff sat on the concrete steps, Toodles sat next to him; when it rained, the cat was wrapped inside Geoff’s coat, head peeping out at the collar, tail hanging below the hem of the short, waterproof jacket.

  Although no one else noticed, Emily felt her man slipping away from her month by month, week by week, then day by day. Joe was on his travels all over the country, opening up offices, finding premises in which his kitchens could be made. The bespoke furniture was limited for the present to the north, since fitted kitchens had fast become the most desirable part of a house.

  Emily could not talk to her son, because he was busily involved in his attachment to Compton-Gore’s team of sawbones, while he and Mary were so happy that she hated the idea of heaping trouble on their heads. She watched Geoff with the cat, drove him to his hospital visits, made sure he took the various medicines that seemed not to help.

  The second bedroom in the bungalow failed to contain his enormous collection of books and papers, and she simply gave up, devoting her life to him and hiding overspill in cupboards, the garden shed, even in the roof space. Now well into her fifties, she at last began to develop wrinkles and worry lines, especially when Geoff stopped cluttering the house.

  He no longer went into the spare bedroom. Instead, he sat for hours on end, Toodles on his knee, eyes fixed to the sitting-room window through which he could see the river. Conversations became fractured. Sometimes, they were almost one-sided; occasionally, Geoff would jump headlong into a subject and deliver what almost amounted to a lecture.

  ‘I’m a good swimmer,’ he told her one day.

  He hated water. She’d always known that. ‘Would you like to go to the swimming baths?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’ And that was the end of that particular discussion.

  In the middle of one night, she found him having a bonfire in the rear garden. ‘What are you burning?’ she asked, trying hard to dampen rising panic.

  ‘My rubbish,’ he replied.

  ‘Why, Geoff?’

  ‘It’s all out of date now. Someone else will start it all over again. I’ve had my day, and I completed nothing.’

  Emily led him into the kitchen and made cocoa. ‘I wonder when Andrew and Mary will try for another baby?’ she said, trying to distract his attention from the fire outside.

  ‘He’s resting her body.’ Geoff smiled. ‘He’s a good man, says he wants to leave her free of pregnancy for a few years. They use some form of contraception.’

  ‘I see. You and I
never needed that.’

  He was suddenly grinning. ‘I was terrified, you know. Frightened silly in case you wouldn’t have me. But you did, and thank you. You have given me so much happiness, more than any man deserves.’

  ‘We’re still happy,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Yes, we are. But you know I’m dying, don’t you?’

  Taken by surprise and shock, Emily dropped her cup. While she mopped and tidied, she answered him. ‘We’re all dying from the moment of birth, darling.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose we are.’

  They returned to their bedroom, lay down and held each other close.

  When Emily woke in the morning, she was alone.

  She found the man who had made her life worthwhile dead at his desk in the clutter room. He was as cold as ice, though the fire he had made during the night still glowed outside the window. She stroked his hair and, through clouded eyes, read his final piece of work.

  My darling Emily

  This is too much for both of us, so I must bring it to a close. Yesterday is becoming a mystery to me, though I remember our lives together, our bench, the flat, Joe’s anger, then his friendship. But more recent memories disappear, and it is clear that my brain deteriorates. Now, while I still have some control, I intend to end my suffering and yours.

  More than anything, I think of our joy, our closeness, the laughter and the pleasure we gained from each other’s company. You were and still are the love of my life, and I cannot become your burden. So I am going out for a walk, and I shall not return. Keep Toodles in. I do not want her following me into the river, nor do I wish to