The Mersey Girls
Page 19
‘You’re mistaken!’ Ada’s annoyance caused a warm glow on her neck and face. ‘This is the man who was going to marry my Grace before…’ She couldn’t tell this woman why the relationship was over, because Grace had given away no details. None at all.
‘He is the father of my sons!’
‘Clifford isn’t married, he can’t be!’ Ada skewered the other woman with a venomous glare before dropping the black and white photograph like it was hot. ‘What’s your game, missus?’ Ada forced the words through clenched teeth, aware they didn’t sound like her own.
‘What’s all the shouting?’ Grace asked, entering into the parlour to see a stranger sitting on the best sofa dabbing her eyes with a linen handkerchief.
Ada gave her daughter a warning glance as Bobby came into the front room, followed by Skinner’s dog, Max. Lucy Kilgaren was standing on the top step leaning against the door frame and Grace pushed Bobby out of the room into the narrow passageway.
‘Here’s two bob, go and get you and Lucy some fish and chips.’
Bobby’s eyes lit up, he didn’t need telling twice, and in seconds he and Lucy were running towards the steps that led to the top of the bridge and the chip shop.
Sitting on the sofa in the parlour, Grace was overwhelmed by the cloying sweetness of white lilies that her mother insisted made the house smell nice, but which turned Grace’s stomach. They reminded her of funerals. But that wasn’t the only reason she felt sick.
‘Clifford is married?’ she whispered, when her mother introduced her to Mrs Brack. ‘I knew there was something not right about him,’ Grace said, glad now that she hadn’t given the cheating toad his ring back. If she was honest with herself, this was the perfect excuse to quell any guilt she had about breaking off their so-called engagement.
‘W… what the hell has been going on?’ Ada asked and Grace lowered her head. She would like to know, too.
‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ said Mrs Brack, ‘and once I’ve done that, it is completely up to you what you do about it.’
‘Look out of that window and tell me what you see,’ Susie said when she rushed into the office and headed over to the window, her face alight with expectation.
‘I can’t see anything,’ Evie said, replacing the black telephone receiver after another call to remind their debtors they needed to pay up.
‘Any minute now you’ll see her.’
‘See who?’
Susie had given some fantastic excuses for being late, but she had never acted like this before. Without a word, her back to Evie, she beckoned her over to the window.
‘The wife! His wife has only gone and turned up.’ Susie’s voice was full of glee and she could not hide her excitement when she said, ‘There’ll be skin and hair flying later.’
‘Whose wife?’ Evie asked, looking up from her work.
‘His wife if you please,’ Susie nodded her head. ‘Clifford Brack. Married.’
‘Never!’ Evie’s eyes widened. ‘Poor Grace.’
‘This is a turn-up for the books,’ Susie said, and Evie gave her a withering look of disapproval. Did the girl have no heart. Grace might seem as if she had the world at her feet to the other residents of Reckoner’s Row, but Evie knew better given what Grace had told her last week, the poor girl’s world was falling apart at a rate of knots.
19
Grace knew she was putting her pride on the line when she picked up the receiver in the telephone box outside the Tram Tavern. Her back towards the bridge, her eyes wandered the length of Reckoner’s Row, along the dismal detritus strewn canal, across the cobbled street to the row of three-up three-down terraced houses with cold-running water and the lavatory in a tiny shed at the bottom of the back yard.
She wanted more than this.
Having grown up on this street, Grace realised every smoke-filled dingy minute left her yearning for something better. She could not get out fast enough and when her singing career took her all over the world she thought she had everything she ever wanted.
Travel was her escape from a clingy, small-minded mother whose nose was always stuck in some other poor bugger’s business. Her life could be anything she wanted it to be. The punters loved her. She had seen most of the world, met people that her mother could only dream of meeting, and Grace had wallowed in the attention, soaked up the adoration, was swept up in the elation of the encores. Loving every moment… But none of it came close to how she felt when she was with the man she genuinely loved.
The ringing tone ended abruptly, and the clipped tones of efficiency gave her a start. ‘I am sorry, Mr D’Angelo is out of the office, may I take a message?’
No matter how many times Grace telephoned, the woman at his London office said he was out of town and she did not know when he would be back.
Replacing the receiver, Grace had difficulty swallowing the hard lump in her throat. Her mind jumping from one confused emotion to another. How stupid she had been to believe every word. Not once, but twice. She lowered her head, resting it against the cold wall above the payphone and her limbs felt heavy in defeat. She had lost Bruce. They had their good time. But, she was in no doubt that her holiday romance was well and truly over.
What made her believe that Bruce genuinely loved her? Her vanity had, once again, taken her down the wrong path. She had been blind to her own naivete. The realisation filled her with disgust.
Grace really wasn’t in the mood for a shindig. But it wasn’t going to go away.
All she wanted to do was go home and pull the covers over her head until the whole damn situation went away. ‘Gracey girl, you are going to have to face the music and see it through to the finale.’
'Touching…’ She nearly jumped out of her skin. Grace hadn’t noticed the missing pane of glass that allowed her desperate words to be heard.
‘That ring I gave you…’ Clifford said looking round, his words low and eager, ‘I’ll have it back since we’re no longer engaged, and the necklace too.’
‘Who says I’ve still got them?’ Grace knew quite well the ring was still in her bag back at the house and the necklace was going to adorn her mother when she played hostess at the party tonight.
‘Let me explain,’ Clifford stepped towards her and Connie moved back. He needed a shave and there were dark circles under his eyes. Even his clothes, usually so immaculate were crumpled – like he’d slept in them. This wasn’t the suave, sophisticated man who could command a room full of millionaires, have anything he wanted with the snap of his fingers. This man looked haunted, bedraggled, desperate.
'You got off the ship in Ireland, and nobody saw or heard from you again.'
‘I’m not going into that right now, Grace, tell me where the jewels are!’ Clifford’s tone was sharp and impatient as he glanced at his watch. She knew something was very wrong.
‘You’re not helping your cause, Clifford,’ Grace replied pulling her cardigan round her slim frame like an added layer of protection. Looking at him now, she wondered what she ever saw in him. No longer the naïve starlet who clung to his promises, she had troubles of her own.
‘I have to get home,’ Grace said knowing she had to get ready for her ‘big’ night in the Tavern. Tomorrow she was off to London.
‘All I want is the ring and the necklace.’ Clifford explained as the loud church bell made him jump.
‘I’ve been offered a hundred pounds for them.’ Grace wanted to see his reaction. Would he own up about the ring being worth a small fortune?
‘I will give you five hundred pounds,’ Clifford said.
‘You don’t look like you have a penny.’ Grace’s words were tipped with ice.
‘You need not concern yourself about that.’ Clifford said edging towards her. Grace knew she only had to call if he threatened her in any way, and she would have help in an instant.
‘You won’t get away with this.’ Grace felt her stomach tighten; her mouth dry. But she had no intentions of showing him she was worried.
‘How come it’s taken this long to come and claim them?’ Grace asked.
‘Ask no questions and be told no lies.’
Grace knew that if what his wife told her was true – Clifford was a bigamist who left her with two young boys, and the reason she came to see Grace was to warn her that he had put her in jeopardy when he gave her the jewels, which were not his to give. Unknowingly she had taken contraband through customs. The blood froze in her veins. Grace knew she could spend many years in prison for bringing diamonds into the country without paying duty on them.
‘I will meet you in the bar at seven o’ clock,’ Grace said, ‘you can have what you came for, and good riddance.’
Angus McCrae, landlord of the Tavern, had a nose for a villain since his days in the police force. He was putting a wooden crate of empty beer bottles on top of a stack when he recognised Grace’s voice, and he paused, hardly daring to breath. He had heard every word and having been asked to keep his ear to the ground with regard to contraband being brought through the port, his investigative antennae twitched, and he knew he was in the presence of a crook.
Angus listened as a pair of male footsteps retreated down the alleyway. That meant Grace was still outside the gate.
‘Grace,’ Angus whispered beckoning her with his index finger, ‘can I have a word?’
‘You’re late.’ Grace’s brittle tone sailed through the thick smoky air and even though every door was open to the evening breeze, the air inside the Tavern was still hot, thick, and uncomfortably sticky. Grace sat near the door so she could see Clifford as soon as he walked in. He still needed a shave but at least he looked as if he’d washed and Grace told him she had already ordered, nodding to Connie, who brought over a tray containing a glass of lemonade, a pint of beer and a small whisky chaser. It wasn’t what Clifford was used to, but beggars could not be choosers.
‘Thanks, Connie,’ Grace said thinking Connie looked uncomfortable in the sixth month of pregnancy.
Even lifting the wooden flap of the bar was an effort for Connie who nodded to a couple of customers at the far end. Every night this week their sleep had been interrupted by the telephone ringing in the middle of the night. If it carried on much longer she was going to complain to the Post Office. Clifford looked over his shoulder before downing the whisky in one gulp. The bar was almost empty as it was too early for Grace’s guests to arrive but just then Evie came in, lifted her hand in a little wave before taking off her cardigan and slipping behind the bar to relieve Connie who disappeared upstairs for a well-earned break before the party started. Except for a couple of dockers and a sleeping drunk on the next table, there were no other customers.
‘Have you got the ring and the necklace?’ Clifford asked, ‘I’m in a hurry.’
‘Have your pint,’ Grace nodded to the golden liquid, ‘relax. I’m not going to get rare pink diamonds out in the middle of the bar now, am I?’
‘Who said they were rare?’ Clifford’s brows puckered and Grace shrugged.
‘I looked it up in a book,’ Grace said showing no emotion. ‘Bruce dismissed you in Ireland. You didn’t have time to collect your contraband, is that it?’
‘In a nutshell.’ Clifford said as if talking to a child who didn’t quite understand. ‘I knew you’d do a far better job of getting the sparklers into the country than me.’
‘You knew Bruce would escort me off the ship,’ she said, and he nodded.
‘Being the son of one of the richest men in the world,’ Clifford added, ‘Bruce wasn’t going to get stopped by customs.’
‘You went on the run?’ Grace asked, understanding the reason for his tatty appearance.
‘You’re not a dumb as I thought you were.’ The ropey veins in Clifford’s neck stood out, and he scowled, his lips pinched. Sitting back in his chair, he pulled out an untipped cigarette. ‘When the diamond merchant offered you all that money, you should have took it.’ His eye looked past her rather than at her, keeping an eye on the door, ‘You could have made yourself a nice little nest egg.’
‘How did you know I had the jewellery valued?’ Grace asked.
‘I followed you. I have contacts in every major city,’ Clifford said, ‘and now I have come to collect. That con man only offered a fraction of what the diamonds were worth.’
Grace could not believe Clifford could call anybody a con man. ‘You didn’t think twice about putting me in danger.’ Her voice sounded calmer than she actually felt.
‘I’ll send you a little something for your trouble.’ Clifford was as cocksure as ever.
‘I don’t want your tainted money.’
Clifford’s posture was stiff and unyielding as he took another long drag of his cigarette. ‘Hand them over. You can’t keep them.’
‘I don’t want them.’ Her voice sounded determined and Grace took a deep breath, putting in place the same tactics she used to combat the stage fright she had suffered on a nightly basis.
As he ground out his cigarette, she picked up her handbag, his eyes watching every move. Grace had persuaded her mother to part with the necklace by telling her it was fake and that she would buy her a real diamond necklace when she signed her new contract.
‘I never took you to be an international jewel thief,’ Grace said with more than a hint of mockery in her voice. ‘A louse, a two-timing rat, but a jewel thief? Now that is a first. I’ve never dated one of them before.’ She slid the necklace and ring across the table, her insides jumping, she felt queasy.
‘There’s a first time for everything.’ Clifford, taking another cigarette, lowered his gaze to light it.
When he lifted his eyes again, he was surrounded by uniforms. Police uniforms. And at that moment the sleeping drunk in the corner lifted his head, took off his greasy flat cap and stood beside the officers – it was Angus. It did not take much for him to persuade Grace to help the police with their enquiries. She jumped at the chance.
‘Clifford Jeremy Brack, I am arresting you for smuggling in international waters, you do not have to say anything…’ The police inspector accompanied by uniformed officers quickly overpowered Clifford and snapped handcuffs on his wrists.
‘You tricked me!’
‘Not nearly as bad as you tricked me,’ Grace replied. Glad to see Clifford get his comeuppance. Did he actually think she was going to protect him after what he had done? She hoped he would rot in gaol. It was no less than he deserved.
The evening was in full swing and Grace even got up to the piano and sang a couple of duets with the locals. She looked fabulous in pale blue with a waspy white belt accentuating her tiny waist in layer upon layer of calf-length tulle and was glad her years of performing had taught her to not only hide a broken heart but also wear a sparkling smile when she felt like dying. But she couldn’t let her mother down. Ada had gone to a lot of trouble and called in many favours to put on a fabulous spread.
‘I just need to go and powder my nose,’ Grace excused herself and made her way to the Ladies.
‘Oops, one too many?’ Evie asked when she heard heavy retching behind the door of the ladies’ toilet in the Tram Tavern.
‘Probably,’ Grace said between heaves and Evie’s eyebrows rose when she recognised the voice. She had been brought up by seafarers. Her mother had been a stewardess on ocean liners before she married Da. They could certainly hold their drink. And Grace hadn’t had any alcohol, as far as she was aware. The family had only been in half an hour and Grace hadn’t had anything stronger than a lemonade. And she ought to know, she served Danny with their round. ‘Maybe it’s something you ate. I’ll go and get you a glass of water.’
Grace heard the creak of the door hinges, telling her she was alone once more.
‘Please make it stop,’ she prayed as another searing pain gripped her and bent her double. When she was able, she clutched the waistband of her drawers, pulled them d
own and hit the wooden toilet seat with a thump. ‘Oh dear God. No!’ she gasped. The white gusset was now stained bright red. ‘I’m going to die,’ she said aloud, unaware of the creaking hinge of the outside door.
‘Grace, Grace are you okay?’ Evie’s voice was full of concern and Grace pressed her lips between her teeth, careful not to call out, knowing her own voice would sound painfully distorted. But she could not hold on to the involuntary urge to push and let out a groan that, even to her own ears, sounded inhuman. Her mind no longer able to comprehend the passion and love that had created this terrible situation. This pain was her penance for loving a man she could never have.
‘Grace?’ Evie’s unease threaded her voice, sounding far-off to Grace, who could barely think straight. She needed help. But she couldn’t stand to open the door. ‘Grace…? Grace can you let me in?’
‘Evie…’ Grace didn’t recognise her own voice. ‘Get Connie. I need some help, here.’
Evie didn’t like to leave Grace when she sounded so frightened. So, grabbing the chair that was set aside by the sink, Evie pushed it up against the lavatory door and climbed on it. Looking over the top of the door, she could see Grace sitting on the toilet, her head buried in the crook of her folded arms against the wall.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ Evie whispered a quick prayer, her voice trailing to nothing. She knew exactly what that red gash of colour meant. She had seen the same thing when her mother lost a baby after Lucy. ‘I’ll go and get her now!’
Susie craned her neck, looking round the best end of the Tavern. People were packed like sardines and it was hard to see past the first group of revellers. She had been lucky to get a seat near the window, being moved from side to side in time to the strains of ‘Roll out The Barrel’. When the singing stopped for a little while, Susie drummed her long fingernails on the table, fanning herself with a beer mat, her rigid shoulders getting tighter as her tension grew. She had been sitting here forever and there was still no sign of Grace who had disappeared into the lavatory ages ago. Who asks someone out and then ignores them completely to gasbag with her ‘audience’ in the lavatory!