Goodnight Lady

by Martina Cole

  Kerry scrambled up so she was kneeling. ‘Did she say anything else, girl? Did you say anything about me? About you as a baby?’

  ‘Did she mention my father, you mean? No. But if it’s not too much trouble, I wouldn’t mind knowing who he was. After all, he is my dad! My father. The man who made me, if you like.’

  Kerry’s face blanched a sickly white. Liselle tried again, calmer this time.

  ‘I have a right to know, Mum. I’m nearly twenty-two and no one seems to tell me anything. I don’t know his name, nothing about him. I wonder, you know. I always have.’

  Kerry licked her lips and stared at the beautiful girl in front of her. The girl she loved but who was a permanent reminder of what she had done, what she had been too cowardly to do. How many times over the years had she wished she had got on a boat and gone to find him? As she had wanted to. But she was a coward. It was easier to rely on the strength of Briony, to stay with her family, than to trek thousands of miles to a man who might reject her, who might have told her the truth about their relationship. Who had been beaten over her. Who must hate her for her part in his eventual downfall. That’s why she refused down and out to sing in the States, or even to go there. It was still an open wound.

  Now here was her child, the result of her union with Evander Dorsey, asking her for the truth. Could she say to her: ‘I spoke to him yesterday, he rang me up. Your father’s near, only I feel inside he’s here to harm us. Not here to be welcomed with open arms by his old lover and his daughter.’ No, she couldn’t ever tell her that.

  Instead she said, ‘Why don’t you let me worry about things, love? Your father was a nice kind man who left us. He didn’t want to but he had to. Now leave it at that, and go and make me a nice strong pot of coffee. There’s a good girl.’

  Kerry’s voice brooked no argument, Liselle had heard that tone many times over the years. Especially when she had asked about her father. Seething inside with anger, she flounced from the room, banging the door behind her. Kerry got up and lit herself a cigarette. Going to the window, she looked out at the white expanse of roofs and road. Blinking back tears, she smoked her cigarette in silence.

  Out there somewhere was Evander Dorsey. It had been him yesterday, she would know that rich dark velvet voice anywhere. He was out there somewhere waiting for her and their child.

  Boysie and Danny sat in Mrs Horlock’s room with Cissy and Briony, listening to the story of Liselle’s birth. They sat side by side on the bed, their sleek heads bowed as between them the three women told them the story from start to finish. When Briony got to the part about Kevin Carter’s breaking Evander’s fingers they both looked up and nodded, as if silently agreeing with his actions. It was the only time they moved. Mrs H watched them with shrewd rheumy eyes.

  ‘That bloke went and we was all glad, it could only bring trouble to her, Kerry. She couldn’t see that herself, not then. But then the child...’

  Boysie shook his head.

  ‘So Liselle is a half-chat then? Her dad was some soot piano player me Auntie Kerry was boffing ...’ He sounded disgusted. Somehow guessing something and finding out it was true were two completely different things.

  Briony shook her head.

  ‘Evander was a handsome man. If it had been today, who knows? Plenty of women have half-chats, as you call them, now. The Americans saw to that, son. But this was in the 1920s. It just wasn’t done then. It just wasn’t done.’

  ‘But Auntie Kerry with a big soot!’ Boysie’s face was twisted with contempt.

  Briony slapped his face, the crack resounding in the room. Danny stood up as if ready to fight her while Boysie rubbed at his smarting cheek.

  Briony pointed at them and bellowed: ‘That’s my sister you’re talking about. You wanted to know and we told you. Don’t you get bloody lairy with me over the truth, I won’t have it, you hear me? Liselle is your flesh and blood, boys. Why should anything change now? So her father was a soot. Big deal. He was a talented, handsome man as well.’

  Danny stared at her and said quietly, ‘If he was such a saint, why did you go to such lengths to get rid of him?’

  ‘Because of this, the way you’re acting. By Christ, I thought I’d brought you up a bit better than this. Your mother loved that little child when she was born. She doted on her. If you ain’t inherited any care for people from me, I had hoped at least that my Eileen’s tolerance would have rubbed off on you. You’re like me mother. Everything has to be cut and dried. Well, the real world ain’t like that. We never know where our heart’s going to lie. You two have got to fall for someone yet, and believe me you don’t know who it could be. It could be the biggest whore God ever put on this earth, but something could make you want her. That’s real life, my loves.

  ‘With my Kerry it was him. Black as night, handsome as the devil. He was like her, talented and beautiful. It was inevitable they’d fall in love. Only small-minded people like you two and me mother - and me, me as well — stopped them being together. Sometimes I look at her with the drink in her and it’s like a knife twisting in me. I stopped her going to him, and the upshot’s the fact that she’s never known a happy day since. Not really. She kept Liselle and that’s all power to her as far as I’m concerned.’

  Boysie and Danny looked at Briony in shock.

  ‘It’s the thought of it, Mum ... I mean, whoever’s gonna want Liselle now?’

  ‘Whoever gets Liselle will be a damned lucky fellow. That girl’s worth fifty of others roundabout. Briony’s right. Don’t fall prey to small-mindedness, lads. It’s a sin against God.’

  Cissy’s voice, normally good-humoured, was so vehement that the boys stared at her hard. Briony could have kissed her. It took good old Cissy, the funster, the woman the twins had always played pranks on and whom they loved in a haphazard, affectionate way, to put it all in perspective.

  ‘She’s still your cousin, who grew up with you, who you played with, who you always loved. She ain’t changed because she has a bit of the tarbrush in her. It just makes her different to outsiders, that’s all. Now, how about I make a nice pot of strong tea?’

  Cissy made everything normal once more. Had taken the edge off the proceedings.

  ‘I’ll have a cup, me mouth feels like a buzzard’s crutch.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs H! You’re disgusting.’ Boysie’s voice was overloud.

  Cissy left to make the tea, Briony sat on the bed and sighed.

  ‘Don’t let Liselle know about all this. Let me tell her when the time’s right. Don’t treat her any differently, will you? Don’t hurt her more than she’s been hurt, and she’s gonna be hurt.’

  Danny nodded.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll look after her. And if any of this does ever get out, well then, people can bastard well answer to us!’

  The phone rang while Liselle was in the shower. Kerry picked it up hesitantly.

  ‘Hello?’ It was a question.

  ‘Hello, Kerry baby. It’s me, Evander.’

  She closed her eyes as the feelings enveloped her once more. It was as if the past was there in the room with her.

  ‘Kerry? Answer me, girl. Aren’t you pleased to hear from me? I’ve seen my daughter. I’ve seen you, too.’

  Kerry’s mouth was dry.

  ‘What do you want, Evander? Tell me?’

  ‘I jus’ want to see you again, for old time’s sake. I don’t want no trouble, girl. I had enough of that the last time.’

  Kerry nodded, as if he could see her. ‘When... When do you want to see me?’

  ‘How about this afternoon? I know you’re working tonight.’

  Kerry didn’t question how he knew this. Instead she said: ‘Where? What time?’

  ‘I’ve rented a little house in Notting Hill Gate. It’s number sixteen Rillington Place. I’ll expect you about two-thirty.’

  Kerry nodded into the phone again, unable to speak properly.

  Evander spoke once more, a worried tone in his voice. ‘You are gonna come, girl? I’
ll be expecting you.’

  ‘Yes... I’ll be there.’

  He laughed throatily. ‘See you then.’

  Kerry stared at the phone in terror. It was him. She had been right. And no matter how she tried to believe him when he said he was only here to see her for old time’s sake, the frightened feeling inside her wouldn’t go away.

  Skip Paquale had sent his henchmen out for the rest of the day. Together he and Evander set up the front room of the little house ready for Kerry’s visit. A tape recorder was hidden inside a box on the mahogany coffee table by the settee. They tested it three times before Skip was happy with it. Finally, placing a bottle of Wild Turkey and a bottle of vodka on the same table, with two glasses, he was satisfied.

  ‘I’m warning you, Dorsey, don’t get tanked up and ruin this or you’ll be sorry. I want her right where I can really bleed her. You just reminisce with her, that’s all, and find out about the girl. Get me?’

  Evander nodded.

  ‘That girl’s a gold mine to us. A real gold mine. Without her we ain’t gonna get a dime. Keep that in mind.’

  Evander nodded again. In spite of everything, he had a sudden longing to see Kerry. Really see her. He found he was genuinely interested in the child. In his girl. Hearing Kerry’s voice, after all this time, was something he had not been prepared for. He lit up one of his cheap cheroots and then his mind clouded again. Every time he looked at his hands it hurt him. Through Kerry he had lost his livelihood. His talent. He mustn’t ever let himself forget that.

  No one was worth the price he’d paid: years in dingy little dives, each day the crippling of his hands becoming more and more apparent. Each year the bitterness inside him growing. Until now. He was back in England once more, only this time he wasn’t here to hit the big time and make a fortune. This time he was here to make blood money off the back of the woman who’d been like a Jonah to him from the day he had first laid eyes on her. She had had his child, his daughter, but that was nothing, he had to remember that. The child was his passport out of chocolate town and back into the real world where money cushioned everything. The colour of your skin, the roots you came from, even what friends you had.

  With his own place he could be someone again. Evander Dorsey could once more hold his head up, could once more have a future.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Liselle heard her mother come into the house at seven-thirty. She heard footsteps heavy on the stairs and knew Kerry had been drinking. She carried out her mother’s clothes for the evening. She was singing tonight at The New Yorker as she did once a week whenever she didn’t have concert dates. Victor had been on the telephone twice that afternoon, demanding to know just where her mother was. She had been supposed to meet him to discuss her recording contract and some dates for a European tour. Victor was livid to be stood up, and for the first time ever Liselle felt like telling him to piss off. One day she would. One day, good little girl Liselle would tell them all to piss off, her mother included.

  ‘Oh, baby, I’ve had a lovely day. Such a lovely day.’

  Liselle smiled as her mother came in. It was a forced smile and she hated herself for it.

  ‘Tonight, after the show, I have a big surprise for you.’

  ‘Good. Now how about getting in the bath and then getting dressed? We’re late as usual.’

  Kerry’s face dropped at her daughter’s flat voice. It was because she’d been drinking. She shouldn’t have drunk that vodka. But hadn’t today been a celebration? Couldn’t she have a celebratory drink?

  She walked into the bedroom and began to run a bath, pulling off her clothes and dropping them on the floor. Well, she’d please her baby tonight. It had come to her in the taxi on her way home. Evander, her Evander, had wanted to see that she and Liselle were all right. All her worrying about trouble to come was unnecessary. He had just wanted to see her again. And as they had talked she had seen a shadow of the younger Evander emerge. The man who had attracted her. Well, in the cab it had dawned on her. She would take her daughter to see him. It would please Liselle so once she had met him, spoken to him, heard the full story, and it would please Evander. He had been touched that she’d named her after his mother. He had told her that three times. Sitting there with him had been like going back to her youth. Their time together was short but fruitful. Her baby girl, the result. Now it had come to her how she could right the wrongs she’d done to Liselle and Evander. She had told him how she’d wanted to go to him, how she’d nearly booked the passage but how she’d chickened out. If only she had gone! If only she’d followed her star! Things might have been so different. He was the father of her child and tonight she would give them both a big present.

  She’d give them each other, father and daughter.

  Skip had played the tape back five times. Evander sat quietly, listening to the husky, unmistakable voice of Kerry baring her soul.

  ‘You did good, Evander, better than good even. That bitch ain’t gonna know what hit her. This should be good for two hundred thousand dollars at least. There ain’t no way she’ll want all this common knowledge, it’ll ruin her overnight.’

  Evander’s mouth fell open at that statement.

  ‘And ... Mr Skip, how much of that is mine?’

  ‘How does twenty-five thousand grab you, black boy?’

  Evander grinned. ‘It grabs me OK.’

  Greed was to the fore now. Listening to Kerry telling the world about their life together had been hard at first, he had felt like a snake in the grass, but the twenty-five Gs would soon put paid to that. He could buy a decent place for that. A decent place with decent acts and a good clientele. A good black clientele.

  Skip’s two henchmen let themselves in the house. Marty Duval and Kelvin Tomcola were young and not too bright. Exactly what Skip wanted in his heavies.

  ‘Let’s all have a drink to celebrate our good fortune. In a couple of days we’ll be on our way back home, out of this godforsaken snowhole, and richer than we dreamed. What a Christmas present! The best part of it all is, we can bleed that bitch for years and years.’

  Evander frowned at the words.

  Then a large glass of bourbon was placed in his hands and he drank the toast with his so-called friends. But the words stayed with him.

  At just after eleven a knock came on the front door. Skip looked out of the window and was amazed to see Kerry Cavanagh and her daughter on the doorstep.

  ‘Jesus Christ! It’s the broad and the kid. They’re on the doorstep!’

  Pushing the two other men from the room, Skip told Evander to let them in and play the game again.

  This was working out even better than he’d hoped. As he crept up the stairs to join the others he wished he had reset the tape recorder. This would have been better than ever.

  Outside it was snowing again and Liselle looked at the shabby house and shivered.

  ‘Mum, what are we doing here? What’s this big surprise?’

  Kerry, buoyed up with drink, pills and excitement, grinned, hugging her fur coat around her tighter.

  ‘You’ll soon see.’

  Evander stood uncertainly behind the front door. This was not on the agenda, this was not supposed to happen. On the other side of that door was his child. If he met her, spoke to her, he would have to acknowledge her as such. Then he would have to cheat them both. Kerry was hard enough, but he figured she owed him. The child owed him nothing. He wished he hadn’t had so much drink, or that he’d drunk more so he would be oblivious of all these feelings assailing him. Shame, guilt. And worst of all, much worse than the other two, longing. He was longing to see her now.

  Kerry knocked again. From the landing came Skip’s angry voice.

  ‘Open the fucking door, black boy, what you waiting for? Christmas?’

  The voice brought him back to earth and Evander opened the door. Kerry swept in, dragging the girl behind her, her red fox coat still glistening with flakes of snow. Her hair glossy and sleek on her head like a luxurious hat.
He had to concentrate on Kerry because he was frightened to look at the girl with those deep brown eyes and that coffee-coloured skin.

  Kerry, always the dramatist, held out Liselle’s arm and said loudly: ‘Baby, meet your father.’

  Evander looked at his daughter then, full in the face. All he was aware of was the distaste he saw there, coupled with shock. Too late, he remembered he was in stockinged feet, his trousers unbuckled because they were tight, his shirt, clean on that afternoon, stained with drink and food. But it wasn’t that that appalled her: it was the grey-tinged hands with their claw-like fingers.

  Kerry looked at them both. Seeing Liselle’s eyes riveted to Evander’s distorted hands, she grasped her daughter by the shoulders and pushed her into the open doorway of the lounge. She closed the front door that was letting in a weak light from the street together with the freezing snow, and followed her daughter into the warmth.

  ‘Yes, look at his hands. That was your Aunt Briony’s work. Oh, she denied it, but she did that. Broke his fingers, every one of them, and his wrists, too. Smashed to smithereens in Briony’s name. Now you know why I never told you. Was never going to tell you. Then he turned up here and I realised that you had to know. Especially after last night.’

  Liselle still hadn’t opened her mouth. She was staring in disgust at the man in front of her. He was fat, he was unkempt, this was not what girlish dreams were made of. This was not what she’d wanted. Deep inside herself she had known he was a black man, she admitted to herself she’d always known, but she had never really expected to have it thrust on her like this in a dingy little house in Notting Hill. It was laughable. That this man, with the huge belly and the clawed hands, could have been her reason for living! Nowhere in her wildest imaginings could she imagine him young and handsome and taking her mother, her beautiful mother, and giving her a child. Herself.