Goodnight Lady

by Martina Cole

  ‘We’ll go in after the boys have eaten.’

  Molly nodded and the room was quiet once more. Finally she swallowed her pride and said, ‘How’s Liselle and Kerry?’

  Briony pulled on her cigarette. If her mother asked that, she was admitting responsibility for what she had done. It was something they all knew but no one alluded to.

  ‘They’re fine, Mum. Great in fact. Liselle’s father is over here actually, visiting her.’

  Briony took great pleasure in seeing her mother’s face whiten. The wooden spoon clattered to the floor.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘I said, Evander Dorsey is over for a visit, from the States. Liselle is very pleased finally to know him, as a matter of fact.’

  Briony berated herself inwardly for enjoying saying all this to her mother, but God himself knew, she’d asked for what she got.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she went over for a visit next year.’

  Molly stooped down to pick up the spoon. Running it under the tap, she said, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Would you credit that?’

  Boysie and Daniel laughed, enjoying their gran’s discomfiture.

  ‘He’s a nice bloke, Gran, me and Boysie really like him.’ Daniel rubbed salt into the open wound with glee.

  Molly, cute enough to know that the joke was on her, kept her peace. Now they were all here in front of her, she realised just how much she had missed them all, especially the twins. ‘I’m glad the child has met her father. It must be a great load off her mind. How did she take it?’

  Boysie laughed out loud then. His gran was not only eating humble pie, she was chewing it in big lumps and swallowing it without water.

  ‘Oh, better than we expected, Gran. Much better.’

  Molly nodded and began dishing out broth, cutting large lumps of soda bread, hot from the oven, for the twins. She placed the food in front of them and they attacked it with relish.

  ‘Rosalee looks rough, Mum, has she been all right?’ Briony’s voice was low and concerned.

  Molly 8apped a large hand and shook her head. ‘Oh, you know what she’s like. She’s been off her food a couple of weeks, that’s all. It’s all the upheaval with Mother Jones. You know how she hates change of any kind. And she’s missed you lot.’ The last was a barb aimed at them all, and it met its mark because all three felt ashamed.

  Molly, satisfied she’d paid them all back for their earlier jokes at her expense, felt happier.

  Rosalee guessed she was being talked about, and whimpered. Her fat cheeks were white and her eyes a flat grey. Briony took one pudgy hand in hers and squeezed it gently.

  Well, we’re here now. I thought you might like to come for Christmas, Mum, you and Rosalee?’

  Her sister whimpered and took her hand from Briony’s. Holding it to her side, she rocked herself in the chair.

  ‘Is her hand hurting, Mum? Has she knocked it?’

  Molly shrugged.

  ‘Not that I know of, but come to think of it, she’s been holding it like that for a while. I looked her over last week and I can’t find anything wrong there. No broken bones anyway. I think it’s the snow. She hates the cold. All she wants to do is sit in front of that fire and keep as warm as toast.’

  Molly bent down to her daughter and smiled widely. ‘Don’t you, darlin’?’

  Rosalee smiled and nodded, her face devoid of any real expression.

  ‘We’ll try and come for Christmas but with Mother Jones as she is... Well, I can’t leave her, can I?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  Molly put the kettle on for tea and said nonchalantly, ‘Will that... Will Liselle’s father be there for Christmas like?’

  ‘Yes. He will. We’re all having dinner at my place.’

  Briony frowned to herself. She was treading a fine line at the moment with Evander and Liselle. The girl felt that her father’s disfigurement was all Briony’s fault, and in reality it was. But it was all a long time ago, and in her youthful ignorance Liselle couldn’t understand different circumstances and different times.

  ‘What’s he really like then? This ... Liselle’s father?’

  Daniel and Boysie looked at their gran and felt sorry for her. She couldn’t even bring herself to say his name.

  ‘He’s all right. Ain’t he, Danny? He loves Liselle, Gran. He really does. I think it’s done her good meeting him. She seems more grown-up somehow. More sure of herself.’

  Molly made the tea and kept her peace. A little while later she went into Mother Jones with a small bowl of broth and some soda bread. Briony and the twins joined her.

  Rosalee sat by the fire, the pins and needles in her arms beginning to fade a little now. But the pain across her chest, as if a great weight was lying across it, was still there.

  Kerry wasn’t singing, in fact she wasn’t really doing anything except drinking. The shock of what had happened to her had affected her more than she would admit. The cuts and bruises had faded. She had told Liselle she’d had a fall, and Liselle had upset her by not questioning that, assuming her mother was drunk. The injuries had gone but the reason for them was still fresh in her mind. Evander had been trying to blackmail her. He had taken her trust and abused it. She had been a fool. A complete and utter fool.

  Now, seeing him and Liselle together was like a knife inside her gut. Twisting and turning for the maximum pain. And three men were dead, she was sure of that. The twins would have taken care of them. Kerry wondered what Eileen would have thought of the two boys she had entrusted to Briony. Eileen, the sister with a goodness of spirit lacking in the others. Eileen who was too kind for this world and its harsh realities. Eileen whom they all missed, each and every day. What would she have made of her boys, her babies, taking people and making them disappear?

  Briony didn’t even care. She didn’t care what they did as long as they were all right. As long as the family survived whatever was thrown at it.

  Kerry couldn’t admit to herself that she was jealous of Evander now, of his need for his child and her need for him. That Liselle was picking up his ways, his expressions. Was gradually blanking her out and welcoming her father in. Even though he had tried to destroy her, destroy them both.

  Briony said she wasn’t ever to tell Liselle the truth of the situation. That she should only know her father as a kind man, the man he had been twenty years ago, before he was embittered by years of hardship. What about her years of hardship, knowing that she had a child who was destined for sorrow? Knowing that she had to live with that fact. Knowing she hadn’t been woman enough to follow her star when she should have, when it would have been right to follow it.

  Each day the closeness developing between Evander and Liselle made her more aware of the distance widening between herself and her child. She found it hard to forgive Evander for what he had attempted to do. She found it harder to face the fact her child now had a foot in two different worlds.

  Well, she consoled herself, he was leaving for the States in the New Year. Only a few more weeks and she could wave him goodbye and get back on to her old footing with her daughter.

  But deep down inside she knew the footing would never return. Liselle and Kerry were worlds apart now, divided by skin colour, and by deep-seated prejudice. But she couldn’t allow that thought to surface just yet. She wasn’t drunk enough to forget it immediately afterwards. She wasn’t drunk enough even to admit it.

  Not yet.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  ‘That tree looks a right picture, Bri, even if I say it meself.’

  Briony smiled at Cissy’s happy face.

  ‘It’s not half bad, is it? How’s Mrs H? Do you think we’ll get her down tomorrow for a bit of dinner?’

  Cissy snorted through her large nose. ‘She wouldn’t miss Christmas with them lads for nothing. Though I must admit, Bri, I think this’ll maybe be her last one.’

  Briony sighed.

  ‘What with Mother Jones going, and she’s going hard by all accounts, and
Mrs H catching up with her, we’re gradually shrinking, aren’t we?’

  Cissy nodded.

  ‘Well, the lads have yet to marry, and Liselle. Not to mention young Becky and Delia. We’ll soon swell the numbers up again! When you get old you’re not frightened of death. Well, not as frightened of it as you are when you’re young. Put it this way, Mrs H has had a good innings. She’s ready to meet her maker. She told me that herself.’

  Briony knew Cissy was talking for effect. Over the years they had become very close, like mother and daughter. Closer in fact than most family. This fact touched Briony deeply. Cissy had been a workhouse child, Mrs Horlock was the only individual to give her a pleasant word. All Cissy had known until then was the back of someone’s hand and their curses.

  Briony placed the last few presents under the tree, smiling wryly at the present for Evander. It was indeed a lovely tree, and it was going to be a lovely Christmas. She would make sure of that personally. It was Liselle’s twenty-second birthday.

  Christmas Eve had always been a magical time to Briony. Even in the days when there was no guarantee there’d be even an orange in her stocking. It was the very feel of Christmas Briony loved. The fact of being part of something the whole world was involved with. Knowing that millions of children all over the world were experiencing the same feeling of anticipation as she was. That feeling had never left her, ever. Which was why she donated so much money each year to the welfare organisations. Boots for Children was all well and good, she always gave to that particular charity, but her favourite was the Catholic Church’s annual Christmas present rout. Where every child, no matter what its religion, got a present, a few sweets and a piece of fruit. The thought of all those happy faces cheered her.

  She had bought Rosalee a brightly coloured coat as she did every year. A thick warm wool coat that would please her immensely. She caressed the silver wrapping paper, looking forward to seeing Rosalee tear it to pieces.

  It was going to be a good Christmas.

  Evander was feeling closer to his daughter by the day. After a particularly difficult beginning they were finally getting to respect and trust each other. He knew she found it hard to look at his hands, and could understand that. He still found it hard to look at them himself. They were now next to useless. His piano playing was laboured and he found it painful. But he also found it extremely difficult to stop playing, which was the bug bear. The music was in him day and night. Hearing a beat or a few notes brought back his longing, and this made him either resentful of whoever was playing, or depressed because he knew he’d never play like that again.

  He also found it hard to face Kerry. If only he could make it right with her, he would be happy. But Kerry was finding it hard to forgive him, and in the same circumstances he would have felt the same.

  Liselle watched the changing expressions on her father’s face. Father. The word seemed strange to her, alien. Yet she knew it was the truth. This man with the deep brown voice and the claw-like hands had been the reason for her existence. It was so hard to visualise him as a young man, with handsome good looks, a way with women, and her mother’s heart held firmly into his then perfect hands. Now she knew, it didn’t really affect her any more.

  She had known she was different since childhood, had guessed she was part-coloured. Admitting it had taken a burden from her. A great burden. Over the years she had been asked out numerous times. But she had always put the man off. Perhaps because deep inside she didn’t want the heartache she knew the relationship might bring. Her only wish now was that she was a little darker so there could be no mistake about her parentage. This lightness, this illusion of whiteness she gave out, would always cause her the most trouble. With white people anyway. She knew now that Bessie and the band had always known about her, not just because of Evander but because they had known half-castes all their life. Only their half-castes in America were from black women and white men. Her mother, as usual, had done it the other way round.

  This thought made her smile. She felt an enormous respect for her mother now because she had kept her child against the opposition of her own mother and family. Kerry, as weak as she could be, was strong enough to brave the world for her. For that alone, she deserved every ounce of respect Liselle had inside her and she would get it.

  She had felt the estrangement between her mother and father and was sorry, desperately sorry, because she had seen her mother’s happiness at bringing them together. But something had happened to change that, and Liselle would dearly love to know what it was.

  She sipped her cold coffee and grimaced. Evander smiled at her. He looked at her all the time, and far from embarrassing her, she quite enjoyed it. It was the look of a man who really knew her for what she was.

  ‘Why is my mother so against you now?’ Her voice was low, with the same huskiness as his. Evander thought hard. Should he tell her?

  ‘I think I’ve a right to know.’

  It could have been Kerry, all those years before. Wanting to be told about his family, his mother, his life.

  ‘Listen, child. Your mother and I ... Well, all I can say is I did something bad to her. Real bad. If I tell you, then you might look at me differently.’

  ‘I need to know. My mother has been there for me all my life. I know she drinks, and she can be selfish at times, but I really need to know everything. Everything to do with the three of us. It’s the only way I can ever really be myself.’

  Evander nodded, seeing the logic of what she said. She was wise, this child of his. She had the same candour as her mother, and just a hint of his own mother, a woman who had brooked no nonsense from her big sons and even bigger, more aggressive, husband.

  ‘It’s a long story. It began when I got back to the States.’

  He told her quietly and calmly about the life he’d had there, leaving out some of the least savoury parts but not ducking the truth either. He told it like it was. Until Liselle, in her imagination, could smell the dirt, feel the heat. Could feel the decline of this once proud man as he tried to pick himself up in a country where his colour was burden enough without being crippled. She could feel the stale enclosed atmosphere of each chocolate town he drifted to, his hands growing stiffer, his piano playing more laboured. His life descending on to a plane of poverty most English people only heard about. When he got to the part where he met Skip he faltered and Liselle poured him a glass of scotch, waiting patiently while he sipped it, gathering himself together.

  All the time he spoke she was silent. She watched him, his hands moving unconsciously, face paling, growing grey and bleak. Body sagging in the big plush seat, he told her everything except the part where her twin cousins disposed of the Americans. He knew instinctively that was another part of the story he should keep from her. Like the parts where he played piano in cheap brothels to whores full of syphilis and cheap whisky. Some things were best left unsaid, even if they were the truth.

  When he finished, Liselle stared at him for a short while. Her face held no hint of her thoughts at all. Her mind was like a closed book to him. Just as he wondered whether she was going to get up and walk out on him, away from him forever, she moved.

  Kneeling in front of him she put up her sad, beautiful face. He saw what was inside her then, all the love and the need. She put her arms around his waist voluntarily, the first daughterly embrace. She put her forehead on to the rough broken hands he held in his lap and he felt the hot salty tears running over them. Awkwardly he gathered her to him, kissing the sweet-smelling hair, feeling his child for the first time, her delicate bones pulled against his heavy body.

  Looking over her head as he held her, he felt his own tears then. For his daughter, for himself, and for Kerry. His beautiful Kerry who had taken everything he had to offer without a thought for herself or what her love could bring to her door. Yet he had brought her more trouble than she deserved. More trouble than she could ever have anticipated.

  Yes, most of all he cried for his Kerry, the girl she had been
, and the woman she had become. He had helped shape both, and he wasn’t proud of what he had created.

  It had all started in that dirty room in Stepney. It ended here in a plush hotel in Mayfair.

  His child knew it all, and still she wanted him.

  Bernadette watched as Marcus walked out of the house in Hyde Park with the blonde. The girl, and she was only a girl, nineteen at the most, was tall and willowy, with thick heavy hair, cut in a page boy style, and startlingly long slim legs. Even wrapped up in a fur coat, Bernie knew she’d have big breasts. Bernie watched from a taxi as Marcus unlocked the passenger door of his car and the blonde caressed his arm as she spoke to him. Bernadette bit on her lip, feeling the rage building up inside her.

  So this was the competition, was it? Well, it was competition she could well do without. Miss Bathing Belle 1947 was even more beautiful than she had dreamed and a tiny part of her could see what her husband was so attracted to. If she was working in the Hyde Park house she was an expensive brass. A very expensive, very young brass, but a brass all the same. She slept with men for money. Except Marcus, of course. He wouldn’t pay for a woman, he wasn’t the type. He was too bloody good-looking for a start.

  The taxi driver rolled himself another cigarette and coughed loudly, annoying her.

  ‘You finished here yet, love?’

  Bernadette snapped at him, ‘No, I bloody well ain’t. I’m paying you, so just shut your trap and wait ’til I tell you where I want to go.’

  The taxi driver, used to getting all sorts in his cab, just shrugged.

  ‘All right, love, no need to get out of your tree.’

  Bernie fumed silently. If she was the tall blonde the cabbie would be wetting himself with excitement. He wouldn’t talk to Miss Long Legs Strawberry Blonde like that. He’d sit here ’til bleeding doomsday if she was in the cab.