‘The teacher, of course. I want first class honours. He didn’t seem to mind.’
‘Fair enough. Come on, let’s start the day.’
When Keith entered the kitchen, he stopped dead in the doorway. It was an unfortunate moment, because his wife was draped over one shoulder in a fireman’s lift. It would now be clear to Dr Tom Bingley that Keith Greenhalgh had a habit of lifting women and parking them all over the place, so he followed through by dumping her once again on the draining board. ‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Stay, and I’ll fetch you a biscuit.’ Wearing an air of false nonchalance, he bid Tom good morning and wondered aloud where the dog food was.
But Tom knew he was witnessing something special. These two were deeply in love, and his heart hurt. Eileen was fun. Marie, God love her, was an amazing and capable woman, but she would never be— He shouldn’t stare at Eileen, mustn’t look at her. Just once. If he could have her just once, he would go to the grave faithful except for that just once.
‘Mam?’ Mel joined the pantomime. ‘This drawing of our Phil’s – I’ve never seen anything better.’ She showed it to Tom. ‘Look, Dr Bingley. Look what my naughty brother did. He wants to draw what’s left of Liverpool, but he has to get back to Willows to look after Jay. This is Jay in the picture.’ While addressing him, she looked him full in the face.
Tom took the work and looked at it.
‘Mam?’
‘What, love?’
‘With all that happened last night, Gran didn’t get the chance to talk to you properly. The hospital kept Jay in. He was poorly because of the cold and low sugar. Gran and the boys have to get back today. Miss Pickavance has been fretting again on the phone to Gran this morning, because on top of Jay being ill she knows her precious little house has been flattened. She’s worried that Gran won’t get back. I think she believes Liverpool’s going to be eradicated.’
Nellie came in. ‘Big word for early morning, Mel. Liverpool is here to stay.’ She had fed Miss Morrison. ‘Just as well I was here,’ she said. ‘All the larking about upstairs. That poor woman could have been waiting till a week on Thursday. Anyway, she’ll be better off with me here come the New Year. I don’t go messing before breakfast. It’s like having a couple of daft kids in the house. Hmmph.’ There. That was the doctor told yet again. If he still had intentions regarding Eileen, he might as well know that she and Keith were blissfully happy. ‘Like a couple of elephants in clogs,’ Nellie added for good measure.
Tom studied Phil’s picture. Well, he pretended to study it, but his inner eye was focused on Eileen and Keith messing about before breakfast. His shoulder ached as he recalled the two dockers and their roughness. Marie would never mess about before breakfast. And Nellie had almost broken his skull. His wife was livelier than she had been, but still dignified. He loved her; he did, but . . . Keith Greenhalgh was a lucky devil.
‘Have you come for us?’ Nellie asked. ‘Because we’re ready when you are, doc. Though my grandsons haven’t had much sleep, bless them.’
He told her he had acquired the petrol, and the car was waiting outside. Phil and Rob came downstairs. Eileen was glad of her seat on the draining board, because the kitchen was becoming rather crowded. Her eyes filled up, since she would not be with Mam and her three boys for Christmas. ‘Don’t forget to take the presents,’ she said, her voice cracking slightly. ‘This house has been declared safe, so we’ll swap soon.’ She placed a hand on her belly. Keith’s child had to be guarded, but so did Mam. And this problem with Mel . . . oh, what a mess. Could she leave Crosby? Could she leave the Mel problem to her mother?
Tom stepped up to the table and addressed Phil. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I know you want to record Liverpool and all her sorrows. Would photographs be any use to you? I have a rather good Swiss camera, and I can go down sometimes during the day and get some pictures for you – architectural damage, people – whatever you want. I develop my own in a darkroom, so it’s no problem if I throw in a few extra negatives.’
The boy’s jaw dropped. ‘Would you do that? Really?’
‘Yes. I don’t mind going out of my way for a special young man.’
Again, Eileen caught her breath. Tom was right; she did have special children. They were all willing to work towards a goal, and the change in the boys was remarkable. What would Keith’s son or daughter be? ‘Thanks, Tom,’ she said. ‘He needs and deserves help.’
Tom went to sit in his car. He’d already taken a load of earache from Gloria, who was decidedly uncomfortable about the situation between Mel and her brother. She had screamed about becoming a wallflower, about her parents’ betrayal of her, about losing her best friend. She wouldn’t listen to reason, refused to believe that Tom and Marie hadn’t known about the situation. For once, Tom would be grateful for the company of Nellie Kennedy. Marie, I do love you, but this one, this Eileen, is . . . unique.
It seemed that Eileen Watson, daughter of the slums, had produced remarkable children. Mel was academically brilliant, the oldest boy seemed in danger of becoming a great artist, while the middle one of the three was said to be preparing to dedicate his life to the soil. Her youngest sounded fun, too. Aged only eight, he couldn’t make his mind up between veterinary science and horsemanship. And in her belly, Eileen now carried an unknown little one to be released within months on an unsuspecting world. Sometimes, class and environment didn’t count; he knew several wealthy and well-placed families whose children were as thick as planks. Even extra tuition didn’t work for many of them.
Mel sailed through everything, sometimes after a minimal amount of studying. Gloria was coming on, as the improvement in her appearance seemed to have given her a boost in other areas, but she would never have a brain as quick as her ex-friend’s. God. There was all that to be dealt with when he got back: Gloria wasn’t speaking to her brother, and had declared her intention never to speak to Mel as long as she lived; Marie was upset and confused, while Tom didn’t know where to start.
Eileen had everything, he supposed. For a start, she had love, and it looked real. Her sex drive was strong, she would be living beyond the reach of bombs, and her offspring were bright. Oh, she was creeping back into his heart, wasn’t she? And he would see her, by heck he would. Photographs for Phil. They might suffer ill treatment in the post, and he could get the petrol from time to time, so the photos could become an excuse. He was not supposed to think about her. He was going to dedicate his life to Marie and the twins. But it would never be over. Even though it had ended, it would never be over.
She was on the path, was kissing her mother and her boys. Her eyes didn’t redden when she wept. No matter what she wore, she shone, and he was going crazy again. Madness was a luxury he could ill afford.
Fifteen
‘He still loves you.’ Keith was brushing her hair. Eileen enjoyed having her hair brushed, and had been known to express the opinion that it was nearly as good as sex and a lot less complicated.
‘Tom wants me. You love me. I know the difference. Anyway, he’s reconciled with his wife, though how she tolerates his selfishness I shall never know.’ Eileen glanced at the alarm clock. ‘It’s almost tablet time, and we’d probably shock our patient to death if we turned up in the nude. One verbally offensive experience in a cellar with a caretaker was not enough to prepare her for naked people.’
‘But we are beautiful naked people,’ he said.
She reminded him that beauty existed in the eye of the beholder. A door slammed. ‘Mel’s back,’ Eileen announced. Like lightning, they threw on clothes, unlocked the bedroom door and moved to the landing. They could hear Mel weeping in her room.
‘I’ll do snack and medicines, and I’ll sit with Miss M for a while,’ Keith volunteered. ‘You have other fish to fry from the sound of things.’
Eileen closed Mel’s door behind her and approached her weeping child. She was a child. At fourteen, she was nowhere near old enough to be experimenting with sex. This was all ridiculous, yet no laughing matter. ‘Mel
? Sweetheart? Come on, look at me.’
The girl lifted her head. ‘Gloria hates me; her mother pretends to like me, but she hates me, too. And as for the doctor, he looks at me as if I’m a meal waiting to be devoured once he’s poured the gravy on.’
Eileen told her daughter that no one hated her. ‘You’re too like me, you know, too honest for your own good. Tom Bingley likes pretty things, and you are a pretty thing. He’s no threat. Marie’s a good woman, but she’s frightened. If you get pregnant, both your mothers will be destroyed. As for Gloria, the idea of you sharing secrets with her brother is uncomfortable. She was your confidante, and you were hers. She doesn’t want her brother knowing anything private.’
‘But I wouldn’t.’
‘I know that, you know that, but she doesn’t. This is all happening because you and Peter have stepped beyond your time. You’re the ones out of order, Mel. At fourteen and a half, you should still be playing rounders and hopscotch. He ought to be hanging round with a few lads his own age, football, cricket, skimming pebbles on the river. Now. Tell me what you’ve done with him. You can’t shock me, because I’ve had two husbands, four children, and a mind broader than the Mersey.’
Mel faltered while she described as best she could what had gone on between her and Peter Bingley. Thrown into the cold light of day, the words were meaningless at best, silly and childish at their worst. There was no pleasure in mere speech, no way of bringing to life an experience that had been joyful. It all sounded so stupid, yet Eileen didn’t mock.
‘I’ve been there, Mel. Admittedly, I was older than you are, but I do know what’s going on. Believe me, sweetie, one of these days the messing about you describe won’t be enough. You’ll think once won’t matter. You’ll convince yourself that there are times when pregnancy is impossible. My Bertie shouldn’t have happened, but he did. The little lad who stole a carthorse can’t possibly have done that, because his existence was a supposed impossibility.’
Mel swallowed and dried her eyes. ‘What am I expected to do now, Mam?’
‘Stay away from him.’
‘Mother!’
‘I know, I know. Some men I’ve had to avoid because I desired them. When I met Keith, I knew he was right. At the same time, another man appealed to my baser nature, so I stopped seeing that man. He happens to be married.’
‘You saw him this morning.’
Thrown for a moment, Eileen paused.
‘Peter heard something. It was Dr Bingley, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you wanted to—’
‘Yes. But no longer. Keith is right for me. And I’m thirty-four, Mel, so I have three decades under my belt. You are wading in treacherous waters. Have a baby, and it’s all over. Your ambitions will curl and dry up like a pile of dead leaves. By the time you reach my age, your child could be your age or older. Say you had him or her at fifteen – you’d be only thirty and mother to a hormonal kiddy. Just stop it. I don’t want to upset you, but you know I’m making sense.’
So they sat holding hands, Mel sobbing from time to time, Eileen simply being where she was needed. She would be needed downstairs shortly for Miss Morrison’s bed bath, but Mel was important. The girl had to see sense; for once, the younger should heed the experience of the older. Eileen sighed. The trouble with life was that parents limped through and watched their progeny making mistakes. The parents had made the same mistakes, but the young refused to listen. They had to learn via their own errors. Mel was too pretty; in her day, Eileen had been the prettiest girl in school, so she knew about having her head turned, having the boys look and whisper and wonder who would be first to get under the clothing.
‘I can’t not see him,’ Mel said at last.
‘Then I can’t put a burden like this on my mother’s shoulders. She’s not young enough to make you keep your knickers on. I can’t have her breaking down from worrying over you. Which means I must stay, Keith will lose his job because he won’t leave me, so he’ll have to carry on as a labourer with Liverpool builders. And your grandmother will have to stay permanently at Willows, all so that you and Peter Bingley might be stopped. I shall stop you. I am telling you now, Mel, if I have to tie you up, I will. If I have to break Peter’s legs, I bloody will. I am not having you throw away Cambridge just for a stupid carry-on with a boy.’
‘I love him.’
‘And what is love, Mel? Rolling about on a floor till the bombs come? Being lumbered with a child when you’re just a kid yourself? Watching Peter going off to Cambridge while you stay at home and boil nappies?’
‘So now you hate me too.’
Eileen shrugged. ‘Not at all. I love you, and I know what the word means. I love you enough to make appointments with the head teachers of both schools. I love you enough to ensure your safety. Whatever it takes, Mel. Whatever it takes.’ She kissed her daughter and left the room.
The bombing of Liverpool, though toned down by distance, had kept the boys awake and terrified until after five in the morning. For the first time, the city had endured over twelve hours of intermittent bombardment. Crosby was untouched, but the night had still been frightening for Phil and Rob, who were used now to the quiet of the countryside. Gone was the recklessness that had sent them back to Scotland Road on second-hand bicycles; it had been replaced by a healthy determination to survive and thrive. Although Phil wanted to record the damage, he no longer wanted to live or die among it.
By the time Tom had driven just a few hundred yards, both boys were fast asleep in the back seat.
Nellie glanced sideways at the handsome, well-dressed driver. He still had strong feelings for Eileen, but the girl shouldn’t be around for much longer, which was just as well, because this chap was a selfish and decided creature who was capable of just about anything to achieve his own way. Nellie needed to persuade her daughter to do the swap no matter what Mel was up to. Nellie could deal with Mel. And this fellow would deal with his son, or the dockers would be back. But she wouldn’t talk about that now, since the boys might wake, and it wasn’t their business.
‘What did the Germans get last night?’ she asked. ‘Apart from the street we lived in. I know they hit that, because my friend’s house is gone, and our Mel and your Peter were up to no good inside it.’ She lowered her tone at the end of the sentence.
‘Quite.’ He told her what he knew. The docks had been thoroughly battered yet again, while people in shelters had inhaled the scent of their Christmas dinners being cremated in a nearby covered meat market. A chemical factory in Hanover Street had provided a giant firework display, and an electric power station had been disabled. ‘The fire service saved St George’s Hall, thank goodness. It was heavily fire-bombed. When places like that disappear, people lose heart.’
Nellie delivered her firmly held belief that nothing at all would quench the wrath of Liverpudlians. ‘We don’t need nothing,’ she told him. ‘As long as we have a bite to eat and a cup of tea, we’ll fight. That’s nothing to do with buildings.’ She looked at him again. It was plain that this fellow was no proper Scouser. ‘You’ve no idea, have you? We’re different down there. The Liver Birds would be missed, like, but we can put up with most things. Strong, you see. Not all fur coats and no knickers. My Eileen’s as tough as old boots. She may look like one of Cinderella’s glass slippers, but she’s tanned leather underneath. Keith can manage her, but he’s just about the only man who can. She’s difficult when she wants to be, so he puts her in her place.’
‘On the draining board?’
‘Sometimes, yes. Or in a cage under the table. She’ll never best him, you know. But if anything happened to her, he’d kill.’
He heard the warning, and took heart from it, because it possibly meant that he was in with a chance. Not yet, of course; not while she was carrying a child. Almost seamlessly, he picked up where he had left off. The best-loved Catholic church in Liverpool, Our Lady and St Nicholas, had been gutted. In Anfield, seventy-four had perished in a direct hit
on a shelter, while two infirmaries and a school had been bombed. ‘Countless houses. Relentless,’ he concluded. ‘They are bloody determined, because they know we have weaponry on the docks.’
‘How do they know?’ she asked. ‘It’s not the only city with docks.’
‘Spies. English people who support the Nazis.’
Nellie wasn’t having that. ‘Load of rubbish,’ she said. ‘There’s no spies down in real Liverpool. Though in my experience, all men will do anything to get what they want, even if they don’t have a use for it and don’t deserve it. Germans who fly planes and drop bombs are men. They don’t need spies, because they can see everything from up there in the sky once they’ve set fire to a few things. Well, I say men should all be locked up, let women take over for a while. We make things like babies, homes and dinners. Men destroy our work.’
Tom changed the subject, asked how she liked the countryside and would she stay there after the war.
‘I well might. You get used to the quiet after a few months; you even get used to cows, pigs and all that. The air’s so fresh it cuts into your chest, and the people are much the same as anywhere, really. Once you get used to them talking funny, it’s all right. I tell you what, though. I said we’d make Liverpool and back in a day, and I’ll never forget my stupid stubbornness. We might not have got home at all except for you.’
He choked on a chuckle, turned it into a cough. Nellie had a true Scouse accent. If something wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fur. If a woman got a new fur coat, it was a fair coat. Words that ended in ck came out so guttural that they sounded German, vowels were broadened to destruction, and an interpreter would have been useful at times. And here she sat complaining about inner Lancashire’s flattened tones. He wondered how the people of Willows fared when trying to make out what she was saying. She was a character. She had thumped him, but he couldn’t help admiring her.
‘I was needed,’ she continued. ‘The odd job man’s gone odder than ever, in hospital with diabetes and hypo-thermals.’
That Liverpool Girl Page 29