Again, she wiped away a few stray tears. She couldn’t tell Ida, couldn’t tell anyone about Frank and Polly. And now, the cowardly Greg was back, but he was too late. Polly Kennedy had found her man. Johnson mustn’t be allowed to spoil it, the lily-livered idiot. She stood up and ran outside, through the back gate and into the alley. And she was just in time. He closed Ida’s gate, walked past Polly and Cal’s and found Hattie Benson blocking his way. ‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Goodbye,’ was her terse reply.
‘Oh?’ His eyebrows raised themselves.
She grabbed the front of his jacket and his tie. ‘Pack your stuff and bugger off,’ she spat. ‘There’s a mood round here these days. We don’t put up with people who hurt people. We’re sending one chap in front of a judge, but you . . .’ She took a step closer to him. ‘I’ll have your eyes for ollies. The kids can roll them in the streets. Ollies, marbles, whatever you want to call them. Stay away from Polly Kennedy.’ She removed her hand from his clothing. ‘Ooh, look. I’ve left a deposit, a little bit of butter on your tie. Go back and change it, pack your bag while you’re there. Come round here tonight, and there’ll be a gang waiting for you. That’s a promise. Some of our lads are good with their fists when it comes to looking after good folk like Polly and Cal.’
In her own yard, she leaned against the gate and shook. It wasn’t fear; it was fury. She remembered the day of Cal Kennedy’s accident as if it had happened yesterday. Months he’d spent in hospital and convalescent home, while his twin sister had given up her dream, the chance to work her way up at the best hairdresser’s in town.
After a matter of weeks, Polly’s Greg and Cal’s Lois had done a disappearing act. Pol had visited her brother every day, while several Roaders had gone to see him once or twice a week, but nothing had been heard from the vanishing ones. And Greg had turned up out of the blue just when Polly seemed to have discovered a real man, one who’d been under her nose for years. Some people wanted killing. One of them was Greg Johnson.
Ida and Hattie got on with the business of the day. Each found herself listening for sounds from the cafe that separated them, but neither discovered anything to report. It was a hospital day. An ambulance would collect brother and sister later on, and the anxious neighbours were forced to wait. Neither was good at waiting, but there was no choice in the matter. People walked past both shops in search of breakfast, but they didn’t linger. Family business, the notice said. It was a mystery.
‘Right.’ Cal Kennedy had had enough. ‘You’ve been crying so hard, your eyes look like piss holes in snow. So the cafe’s shut because you’re not fit to be seen. You’d better tell me what’s going on before I burst into flames.’
‘I don’t want to talk, Cal. If I talk, I might start crying all over again.’ She was lying on the sofa with a tea towel over her eyes. The towel was wrapped round cubes of ice, and she was depending on these to reduce the red and swollen status of her eyelids.
‘You think I notice nothing, but I know Frank stayed here.’
The towel was removed immediately. ‘We had plans,’ she offered after a short pause. ‘And you were included.’ She picked up the towel and put it back to work. ‘Then I met his mother again.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh is right. She pushed my bezzie mate towards death, always running her finger over furniture looking for dust, giving her recipes to improve her cooking. She . . . humiliates people, belittles them. ‘‘You run that very basic cafe on Scotland Road, don’t you?’’ she said to me. And I looked into those horrible, dead eyes and I got rid of him.’
‘Then you’re a fool.’
Once more, Polly uncovered her eyes. ‘Listen, you. If he’d stayed away from his mam, that would have been my fault. If he’d visited her, I wouldn’t have gone with him. And I wouldn’t want her near any home of ours. She’s evil. She’s another Brennan, except she kicks with words. And I’m telling you now, her tongue’s soled and heeled with clog irons. I wouldn’t care, cos she’s as common as muck, but she thinks she’s the bee’s knees just because their house is posh.’
‘You love that lad, Pol. Somebody like me that studies life without taking a big part in it sees things. Once I walk again – and I will walk again – I’ll be grateful in a way for this full stop I’ve been through. It’s made me think. He’s for you, Polly, and you’re for him. And nothing will change that, ever.’
‘Hmmph.’
‘Never mind ‘‘hmmph’’, you’re letting Mrs Moo win and you bloody shouldn’t.’
Polly covered her eyes. No way would she cry again. ‘Shut up, Callum.’ The use of his full given name was a warning. Mam had used both syllables whenever her son had been out of order. Polly knew she was a fool; she also knew she’d still have been an idiot had she accepted the proposal. It was a lose-lose situation. She wondered how Frank felt today. He loved her, but he had to work for his mother . . . or had he? Whatever he decided, he needed to do it without Polly’s interference.
‘One way or another, I’ll set you free from me,’ Cal said quietly.
‘What? What do you mean?’ Yet again, she removed the towel from her face. He was standing on uncertain legs, hands flat on the bed. She shot up and held him while he lowered himself into the wheelchair.
‘See?’ There was triumph in his eyes.
Breathless, Polly stood over her brother. ‘Do that again, and you’ll need no more treatment, because I’ll bloody kill you. Slowly, they told you. Take care, or you’ll do damage. Just keep still while I do my eyes.’ She returned to the sofa. ‘Cal?’
‘What?’
‘Well done.’
‘Thanks.’
‘But no more. Remember, I’m twenty minutes older than you.’
‘OK. But I could murder a cup of tea.’
She gave up. She would wear sunglasses.
Billy Blunt was free from drips and transfusions. He was eating soft foods like soup and rice pudding, and his injuries were less painful, but he wasn’t himself. Doctors advised the family to wait until he was healed and home, but Fred and Mavis had already looked into their chances of winning a case against Brennan. The lad had always been full of life and mischief; even with a bad dose of measles, he’d managed to wreck his bedroom while playing pirates. A light had been extinguished, and he had black semicircles under his eyes.
The headmaster had visited the ward with Billy’s form teacher, and they’d both noticed the change in character. After expressing the hope that he would improve, they promised to stand by the Blunts. ‘We’ll have a fuller picture when he’s back at school,’ the head teacher had opined.
Fred’s brother Johnny had found a firm of lawyers who would take the case and, if they lost, would ask no fee. If they won, the Church would pay them and the Blunts. Although money might not heal Billy’s mind, it would buy him a little holiday house in the country or by the sea.
During the day, the child was quiet, but his nights were torture. In his dreams were the fat priest, the black dog and the inability to move, and Billy’s screams had become part of the environment. Staff did not want to over-sedate him, as his breathing had already been compromised in the attack, yet they were forced to calm him with mild medication.
‘Brennan has to pay,’ Fred whispered. ‘I’ll go to work now, Mavis.’
She kissed her husband. ‘See you later, love.’ So began another session for Mavis Blunt, a long, slow daylight time when she would not leave Billy’s side for a second except to relieve herself or get food and drink. This was her Billy, yet not her Billy. He was all that mattered.
Wearing her best sunspecs and Sunday clothes, Polly Kennedy steered her brother towards physiotherapy. She had cancelled the ambulance; the walk would do them both good. Grateful for sunshine, she realized only too well that everyone would wonder why she wore eye protection inside the building.
‘Take them off,’ Cal said.
‘Listen, you. Who’s the driver here? If I turn left and go through a few streets, there�
��s a big old river.’
‘You’re going to drown me?’
‘I’m thinking about it. More trouble than the plague, you are. Anyway, sunglasses are this year’s absolutely necessary fashion item.’
‘Who said?’
‘I said, so stop giving me lip. Ah, here we are.’ She pushed him into the department. ‘Who wants this?’ she shouted.
‘I’ll have him,’ a nurse called. The pretty girl waited while two men in white coats greeted Cal.
Immediately, Polly noticed that the back of her brother’s neck was rather pink. He was the only person she knew who blushed on his neck. She handed him over to the therapists, but the thank you she got for going out of her way for Cal was typical. ‘You’re all right,’ he announced to the staff. ‘She’s not mafia, though I’m not sure what she keeps in her locked violin case. The disguise is because she’s been crying.’
But Polly let it all pass, because there was chemistry here. The nurse fancied Cal and he fancied the nurse. Yes, he was getting better and yes, Lois didn’t matter any more. Tenderness in the young woman’s face betrayed her inner feelings, and Polly’s lip trembled. She had better not cry again, or she’d be wearing sunspecs right through Christmas. ‘I’m off to the ladies’ room,’ she shouted before backing out of the department.
But there was no peace to be had in the washroom, because the nurse was hot on Polly’s heels. ‘I’m Linda,’ she said. ‘Linda Higgins. And you must be Polly. He thinks the world of you, does Cal.’
Polly removed the glasses and displayed her condition. ‘All over a man,’ she said. ‘Crying myself stupid over a bloke.’
‘Oh, tell me about it, because I’ve had my fair share. They’re not worth it, Polly. Born with two brain cells that migrate to their trousers sooner or later, an appetite that would put an elephant to shame, and no ability to laugh at themselves.’ She paused. ‘Your brother’s a bit of an exception, though.’
‘Will he walk, Linda?’
‘Lap of the gods, love. But I wanted to get you on your own before I ask him, because you’re with him at home, so you have the bigger picture. We’ve got him the chance of some training at a place called Second Start. There are blind people, others in chairs like Cal, and they get taught small motor skills like soldering and assembling radios. Just one day a week.’
Polly thought about the proposition. ‘He has a job. And . . .’ She chose her words carefully. ‘He doesn’t want to be different. Cal’s not soft; he knows he’s disabled, but he loves cooking. It’s simple basic stuff, a fact that was pointed out to me lately. We had to get everything in the kitchen lowered for him. He goes to the pub, has his friends round to play cards. This is going to sound terrible, but he doesn’t want a label. As far as possible, the Scotland Road people have kept his life as near as they could to what it was.’
Linda nodded. ‘Thanks, Polly. I thought the answer would run along those lines, which is why I came to you first.’
Polly looked at herself in the mirror; the swellings were reducing. ‘He stood up this morning.’
‘Without assistance?’
Polly nodded. ‘Used the bed. He’s determined.’
‘Then I take back lap of the gods. I’ve seen people walk when X-rays have proved it impossible. Oh, I hope he does it.’
‘You like him,’ Polly said.
‘Oh yes, I do. We’re warned not to get involved or fond, but it happens.’
‘He likes you. I can tell, because the back of his neck went red.’
Linda laughed. ‘You and I are the two people he wants to walk towards.’
Polly bit down on her lip, reached out and touched the nurse’s hand. ‘Don’t mess him about, please.’
‘Like Lois did? He told me all about her. No way, Polly. It’s not in my nature.’ She left the washroom.
Polly sat in a cubicle. A spark of hope flickered in her chest, and it wasn’t all selfless. If Cal could be happy and safe, if a strong woman minded him, Polly would be free. With no twin to worry her daily, she’d be able to manage Mrs Moo. Cal had been her weakness and her strength, because he was vulnerable, yet good company and an excellent worker. The solution to her problem was cause for some sadness. It was ridiculous; she would miss her twin. Life, she concluded, was a series of double-edged swords, while her thinking had set itself on a loop by now, repetitive and annoying. She was getting nowhere.
‘Yes, I’m still in the same place,’ she whispered. ‘But sitting on a hospital lav.’
She went to wash her hands. It was time to look at her brother.
Breathing was suddenly difficult for Polly, and she stopped dead in the doorway. Cal couldn’t see his sister, because he was walking away from her. He was walking. She clapped a hand over her gaping mouth. Strong arms on parallel bars took much of his weight away from lower limbs, but he was definitely moving. He was walking towards Linda, a white-coated attendant at each side of him outside the bars. The left leg dragged a little, but the right foot was doing the job well.
When he reached the end, the two men turned him and placed him in the wheelchair. Even from the door, Polly could see sweat pouring down his face. She watched while Linda dried him. If only he could take the girl dancing or to the cinema; if only he could go for a drive up to Southport or Formby. ‘Slow down, Pol,’ she ordered herself in a whisper. She must be patient.
She ran through a maze of equipment to her brother’s side, knelt on the hard floor and hugged him.
‘I’ll call at your house soon,’ Linda promised her. ‘I’ll show you how to help Cal exercise while he’s lying down or sitting. And seeing that you run a cafe, you can feed me, Cal Kennedy.’
Polly grinned. ‘Is the back of his neck red, Linda?’
‘A bit.’
‘Then we have a problem. Come on, O sweaty one. Let’s get you home and hosed down.’
But Cal wasn’t going home. ‘I want to see Billy,’ he said.
‘You smell of sweat,’ his sister accused.
‘And you’ve got red eyes. What is this – some kind of competition?’
Linda stepped in. ‘I’ll push him, Polly. Follow me.’
They wandered through what seemed like miles of corridors, all green and cream, all smelling of disinfectant and floor polish. Linda and Cal looked so right together. Polly ached for Frank, but she wanted her twin settled, too; wanted him to have the chance of love and a life as near normal as possible.
Frank would be back; she had no doubt about that. And with her brother safely out of Norma Charleson’s reach, Polly would manage Frank’s mother. Probably. Possibly. She really must stop jumping the gun.
Mavis Blunt was pathetically grateful for company. Billy, sitting up in bed, was playing one-handed with Dinky cars on his wheeled over-bed trolley. Cal joined him while Polly kept Mavis company. Billy’s mother shared all her worries about her youngest boy. ‘He’s gone nervy, Pol,’ she whispered.
‘I’m not surprised. No child should go through what he suffered. He’ll get better, though, won’t he?’
‘I hope so. He’s always been so lively, even cheeky. It’s the nights, though. Terrible dreams, he has. We have to keep our voices down now – he hates being talked about.’
‘Don’t worry, Cal has him occupied. Two kids together, eh?’
They looked at the boy. He was smiling. Cal was causing multiple pile-ups on the trolley. ‘Fire engine, Billy,’ he called. ‘And the ambulance.’
‘You’ve a lovely brother, Polly.’
‘And he seems to have collected a lovely nurse. Don’t say anything.’
‘I won’t. Go and grab us a cuppa, Pol. The longer I sit, the more tired I get. There’s a little kitchen for visiting parents – make one for Cal, too.’
Mavis watched Cal playing with her little lad. There were cars everywhere. An off-road race was taking place on the bed. ‘You’re cheating,’ Billy cried. ‘You went in reverse, and that’s cheating.’
‘I play poker, you know,’ Cal said. ‘Now you�
�ve lost the Morris Minor. You did that on purpose, William Blunt. That’s my best car. You’re the cheat, not me.’
Polly returned. ‘Cal’s nurse is making us a brew. Says she’s off duty. Linda Higgins, she’s called, very nice-looking. Cal’s neck will go red. Just you watch.’
The two women giggled when Linda entered with a tray. Cal’s neck did seem rather colourful. They noticed how the girl’s hand lingered on Cal’s arm.
‘Now stop it with the cars, both of you,’ she advised the males. ‘This tea’s hot, so no playing cars for a few minutes.’ She sat with the two women. ‘Your brother’s good with children, then.’
‘He’s still a kid himself. Everybody likes Billy, though. He’s a good lad.’
‘Your eyes are red,’ Mavis said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Polly answered. ‘It’s only a man. It won’t kill me.’
They drank their tea before leaving Mavis to her lonely vigil. Cal asked Linda to have a word with the medical powers, because the boy needed to come home for his mother’s sake. When Cal and Polly were in the ambulance, Linda waved them off.
‘Wedding bells?’ Polly asked.
‘Who knows? I’m making no changes till I can walk properly without bars and two big bruisers watching out for me. What about you?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ll wait till you walk me up the aisle, babe. Never mind that now. We’ve half a ton of spuds to peel for tomorrow’s dinners.’
Christopher Foley, priest for the parish of St Columba, did his duty. To God, he owed one Mass per day, and he had done his Mass at nine o’clock, when the totally dedicated attended church no matter what. But when eleven o’clock came, he was seated on a stool at the church gates, cigarette in one hand, mug of Typhoo in the other.
‘Aren’t we having Mass?’ a lone, anxious parishioner asked.
‘Go to St Anthony’s, Mary. I’m with the pickets.’
‘Oh.’ She walked a few paces before turning back. ‘Can a priest picket?’
A Mersey Mile Page 12