A Mersey Mile

by Ruth Hamilton

  In theory, lunch was in the oven. In reality, Frank, very good with scrambled eggs, was trusting to luck. He had a book about it, so that should have helped. 1 tsp meant one teaspoonful, while 1 tbsp was one tablespoonful. Hpd was heaped, and level was a full word, at least, so he’d done his best with lamb (cubed, with fat removed), onions (chopped, though not too finely), carrots and potatoes (sliced thinly). Lancashire hotpot? He should have borrowed Cal.

  It didn’t smell too pleasant, but perhaps it would improve given time and a good following wind. Running up and down the stairs all morning hadn’t helped, but customers came first. Had he put salt in twice? The gravy on which the potatoes tried to remain afloat seemed a bit lumpy. ‘I’m a victim of my own success,’ he grumbled, removing Polly’s frilled and flowery apron from his person.

  The shop was doing well. People came for miles to furnish their houses with decent second-hand stuff, since he sold everything from sofas to cruets, but the job left little time for cooking. When the shop was closed, he was often out delivering and collecting before going home to Polly. He worked seven days a week, so surely he could forgive himself for one failed hotpot?

  Bob Laithwaite didn’t say much. He stepped into the flat, sniffed the air and declared that the aroma was interesting. ‘Different,’ he announced, ‘but definitely interesting. Is there a chippy nearby?’

  Frank nodded. ‘That’s the end of my new career, I’d guess. I’m no Mrs Beeton with her household hints and separate twelve eggs. Separate them from what? Each other? Their mother?’

  ‘Yolk from white,’ Bob replied with mock seriousness.

  ‘Bloody clever clogs bloody lawyers. Come on, then, chips it is.’

  So chips it was. With half an hour to spare after their meal, they sat with coffee in front of a crackling fire.

  ‘She’s scarpered,’ Bob said. ‘Her mother phoned in this morning to say that Elaine had disappeared in the night with all her clothing. Terrible state, the poor woman was in. My uncles received a letter from Miss Lewis. Due to personal circumstances which she couldn’t disclose without involving others, she has left the area and will send a post office address as soon as she is settled. She would be grateful for a reference. They’re upset. She was good at the job.’

  The two men were strangely comfortable together, almost as if they were related in some way. ‘I’d prefer to know where she is,’ Frank said.

  ‘Same here. As long as her address isn’t my bed. She’s a rampant bloody nymphomaniac. And have you noticed her eyes?’

  Frank nodded. ‘Cold. Almost dead. It’s like having a reptile in the room. She sucks the warmth out of all around her like a boa constrictor might. All that perfection stuff, never a hair out of place, not a crease in her skirt – unbelievable. My fiancée looks like a bag of pretty rags until noon, though she is pregnant. But Polly sets no store by fashion or neatness. She’s real. Elaine’s like something two-dimensional.’

  Bob spluttered on a mouthful of coffee. ‘There speaks a man who’s never been used as a toy. Two-dimensional? Einstein’s theory of relativity would have been seriously deformed if he’d had her to deal with. She treated me like some kind of wind-up doll or a wireless with the old battery needing a charge. If there’d been five of me, we’d all have been busy for about a week. Like servicing an express train, it was. I ran out of coal and steam.’

  They started to laugh like a pair of schoolboys swapping lewd stories in a cloakroom after a game of football. But beneath their glee, a form of mild hysteria simmered. They didn’t know where she was. A wild animal had escaped from a travelling circus, and no one knew where, when or whom it would strike. Frank wiped his eyes. ‘Why are we laughing?’

  ‘No idea.’

  They hugged like brothers before Bob went back to law and Frank returned to the job of sanding down the legs of an ill-treated dining table. With a bit of varnish, it would be as good as new, and he would make three quid on it. Where was she? Where the hell was she?

  1956

  Fourteen

  As wedding parties go, it was on the small and quiet side, though Brookside Cottage felt rather full by four o’clock in the afternoon. Caterers had set out their stall in the annexe, but the through living/dining room, although thirty-plus feet by fifteen, was packed with people. The two baby prams, together with Mrs Higgins’s wheelchair, took up a great deal of space, as did the table layered in wedding gifts. People spilled into office and kitchen, while several sat outside in a warm August sun. The atmosphere was relaxed, and that suited bride and groom very well. It had been a happy day, and Norma Charleson was grateful, because this wonderful bride certainly deserved some joy.

  The couple were pleased to be somewhat neglected, because they and their guests were so taken by two pretty, three-month-old baby girls. Both children had been born slightly prematurely in May; both had arrived noisy, healthy and sweet-natured for most of the time. In each, the Kennedy genes shone through, although Elizabeth Charleson was dark, while Catherine Kennedy was fair.

  They looked like two stages in the development of a photograph, one positive, one negative, each perfect. Their features were a close match, yet the colouring-in and fine detail had been taken from different areas of the artist’s palette. All who met the infants agreed that they were gorgeous beyond belief. Like most females of any age, Beth and Cathy revelled in the glow of praise. All they needed to do was lie back and coo, and everyone within their sphere became a sycophant. Life was good, and they were in full charge of it.

  ‘They’re cunning,’ Linda had been heard to opine on such occasions.

  ‘They’re female,’ was her husband’s usual answer.

  ‘Kennedys,’ Frank often said, his head moving slowly from side to side in feigned resignation.

  ‘Winners,’ was always the last word from Polly. She was a strong believer in people power, especially when the people were female. Even Frank’s mother had become an example of the strength of womanhood, since she had, of late, displayed marked symptoms of humanity.

  Norma Charleson was head over heels in love with her granddaughter. Like many women, she entered her maternal phase on the birth of her son’s child, but she took care not to lavish too many gifts. She had learned the hard way to think before she leapt, and she treated the cousins like sisters. Excellent babysitters, she and Christine often took care of one or both babies while their parents were elsewhere, and the new marriage would make no difference in that area. Oh, this was a truly wonderful day.

  ‘Hello, Norma,’ Christine mouthed across the room.

  Richard waved and brandished a cake-cutting knife. He was waiting for the speeches to be delivered so that he and his wife might plunge the blade into the bottom tier of their cake.

  Norma beamed. Christine looked stunning in a greyish blue suit with good accessories. Her new husband, Richard Pearson, was the private detective who had found out about Elaine’s carryings-on. These two had fallen hopelessly in love. Both widowed, both settled in their solitude, they had been drawn together inexorably over recent months, and Christine had already moved into his house in Allerton at the other side of Liverpool, yet she would continue to work with Norma. The two women had grown close. Christine had taught Norma sensibility, while Norma had strengthened her housekeeper’s backbone and helped her through her grief over Elaine.

  Frank was here, of course. With him was a pleasant young man named Laithwaite who had worked alongside Christine’s Elaine. A tall, slender woman stood by his side. Bob Laithwaite, like Frank, had broken his mother’s rules, because the lovely creature next to him sold underwear and stockings in Lewis’s. Norma smiled to herself. How silly were mothers? She included herself, of course. Ah, here came Polly with Hattie and Ida from Scotland Road. And chatting to the groom was that terrible priest, an adorable Irishman who divided his time between golf, God and poker. He was a character; the cottage was full of them. Norma was a fortunate woman, and she knew it.

  Cal Kennedy walked well with the aid of o
ne caliper and a stick, though his mother-in-law had left her legs at home. Yes, she could manage them with a pair of sticks, but not while drinking. Having made progress halfway down one bottle of champagne already, she had probably made the right decision by leaving the prostheses behind, since she was legless in more ways than one.

  Oh, this was a happy house today. It needed to be filled by a family, and Norma had plans in that direction. She studied her son. Would he accept Brookside? She must speak to Polly. Polly managed him very well for the most part, while he seemed to enjoy pretending to be ruled by the bundle of mischief he had married.

  Norma sipped champagne, careful to drink little, since alcohol was bad for a condition she was still learning to manage. She noticed that her son and Bob Laithwaite were quite similar in appearance, and might almost be mistaken for brothers. Norma liked Bob, but surprisingly, her favourite person apart from Baby Beth and Frank was the daughter-in-law whose provenance was a basic cafe on Scotland Road. Polly was amusing, kind-hearted, cheeky, direct and friendly. She was also an excellent wife and mother, bright, quite well read and very lovable. Frank had made an excellent choice after all.

  Norma made her way to Father Foley’s side. ‘Any news?’ she asked.

  He knew what she meant. ‘The wheels grind painfully slowly, Mrs Charleson. The official line is that the search continues, but the evidence isn’t a lot to go on. I passed all the details along the line, and I’m sure Constable Furness did his best, but there’s no idea of where to start – Brennan could be anywhere. Ah, excuse me a moment, because I must speak to your son. He’s been on a winning streak recently, and I don’t trust him.’

  ‘Nor should you. He’s a born poker face.’

  She made her way across the room. There were people she didn’t know, guests from the groom’s side, but they seemed to appreciate the buffet, the champagne and the company. At last, she collared Polly. ‘I’m moving out of Brookside,’ she said without preamble, ‘into a bungalow near your brother and Linda and her parents. You, Frank and the little one will perhaps like to live here. This is a house for more than one person. Christine will still look after me and Charleson Holdings, though she’s more of a companion than a housekeeper these days. If you don’t want the house, I shall let it to another family. It needs life; it wants children.’

  ‘But what about—’

  ‘You deal with him. This place is part of his legacy anyway, so what’s the difference whether I’m dead or alive? Christine and I can help Linda’s mother and father while Cal’s on his cookery course. It all makes sense. Have a word with my son, please. Tell him it’s what I want. He listens to you.’

  ‘Are you joking or what, Ma? That son of yours is a law unto himself.’

  Norma swallowed a giggle; Ma was an improvement on Moo. ‘What?’

  ‘He doesn’t listen to me, so you’re wrong there. Remember our wedding? I told him about forty-seven times to take the price off the bottoms of his shoes, but did he? No. And there he knelt with the stickers for all to see, a penny short of three quid in Freeman, Hardy and Willis’s sale. He made a show of me. My husband listens to nobody, Ma. He’s a pest.’

  Norma chuckled. ‘And Billy Blunt knelt on the floor to peel off the price tags, and the rings rolled off his cushion. Precious memories, Polly. Sometimes, the things that happen by accident, the occasions that go wrong, can be the happiest to remember. The tale will be told to your grandchildren. You married a man with a price on his feet rather than on his head. Legends arise from such mishaps.’

  The younger woman took a sip of champagne. ‘Tell you what, though. I’d love to live here, I would. Leave it with me. There’s no rush, is there?’

  ‘None at all. The bungalow’s paid for, and I can move whenever I’m ready.’ Norma glanced at the bride. ‘Doesn’t she look absolutely wonderful?’

  ‘She does. Is she all right now? About Elaine, I mean.’

  ‘Not till she finds the truth, Polly.’

  ‘Is there truth where Elaine’s concerned, though?’

  ‘I worded that wrongly. I mean not until she knows the facts.’

  ‘Still no word?’

  ‘Not a syllable. Always so correct, always loved her mother, but she didn’t send as much as a Christmas card to the woman who gave up everything for her. I nearly had to break Christine’s arms to make her buy that bag and those shoes for the wedding, because her whole life’s been about saving up for Elaine.’

  ‘She left the day you both went to see Frank after the silence, didn’t she?’

  ‘She did indeed. And thank God for Richard, because he saved my best friend’s life, Polly. He’s poised to go ahead with the search, because he’s sure Elaine will be based for most of the time in London, but Christine’s hesitant. I sometimes think she prefers not to know.’

  Polly glanced at the bride. She looked happy, yet there was a tiny speck of loneliness in her eyes. ‘Bob Laithwaite says Elaine isn’t practising in a law firm, wherever she is. They have lists, and she’s on none of them, though she might have changed her name by marriage or deed poll. Or some big companies employ lawyers full time, so . . .’ She shrugged. ‘God knows where she is.’

  ‘It’s a mess and no mistake,’ Norma said. ‘Now, you and I are going to break my diet. When they get on with cutting that cake, I’m having some, and you’re getting it for me – just a small piece. Oh, will you tell Linda not to forget she’s taking in a couple of skirts for me? Losing half a ton of weight’s all very well, but it can be costly when it comes to clothing.’

  Richard’s older son, Alan, was the best man, while Frank, acting in loco parentis, had given away the bride. Their speeches were hilarious. Alan said he and Richard’s daughter, Gillian, had been advertising their father in the newspapers for years. ‘In the end, we were forced to pay in order to have him shifted from under our feet. Keep him away from paintbrushes and wallpaper, and don’t let him cook or fix the car, because the man is a disaster. Christine, we wish you luck. Oh, and he snores.’

  Frank wore his poker face. ‘You may have noticed that the bride is older than I am, and therein lies my interest, as I deal in old stuff, including some antiques.’ The ensuing laughter was ignored by him. ‘Oh, and she owes me money, but I shall not dwell on that until I twist her husband’s arm later.

  ‘I’ve kept Christine in cold storage for several months. Apart from a bit of touching up with varnish and the odd flick with a feather duster, she remains in her original condition, judged by Sotheby’s to be a copy, not true Jacobean, just one of several made for Harrods in the early part of this century. The groom picked her out, left a deposit, and I now await settlement of the balance plus two tins of the aforementioned varnish.

  ‘Richard, look after her. She may be a copy, but she’s a gem that deserves a good, solid setting, which I’m sure you will provide. Christine, thank you for looking after my mother and me until I left to be with my glorious Polly, who gave me a lovely daughter. I wish you both well. Bridegroom, get your chequebook out, since I’ll be collecting what’s owed to me.’

  ‘Quite the orator,’ Norma whispered to her daughter-in-law when the applause subsided.

  ‘He may need to be. He’s been approached again about standing for the council.’

  ‘Will he do it?’

  Polly shrugged. ‘No idea. He’s in the Labour Party, because that’s nearest to his beliefs. If we move here, I doubt he’ll stand. This looks like solid Tory territory.’

  ‘I suppose Labour would be his choice.’ Norma, a staunch Conservative, kept further comment to herself. Remembering herself as she had been, alone, friendless and without her son, she was still learning to make room for people. Everyone had a selfish side; Elaine Lewis was proof that total selfishness was disastrous. ‘How’s the cafe doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Hilarious. I’ll tell you when we’ve a week to spare.’ Polly moved away to check on her daughter, who was due for a feed. ‘Come on, pet, up we go.’ She carried the child upstairs and in
to the room that had once been Frank’s. As she breastfed Beth, a male voice travelled in from the landing. ‘Who told you?’ Ah, that was the bridegroom.

  Polly listened carefully. She was lucky to have such good hearing, since the door was closed and this was a solid house.

  ‘Chap from one of the Inns of Court in London.’

  Polly moved to an ottoman nearer the door. Was the other speaker Bob Laithwaite?

  ‘She’s at the top of her game, so to speak, Richard. God alone knows what Christine would say. But there you are, she has been found. No need for you to contact your colleagues in London when Christine makes her decision. She lives in a court just off Kensington High Street, a mansion flat with many rooms, apparently. She won’t be difficult to find.’

  Yes, that was definitely Bob, Frank’s friend.

  He continued. ‘Elaine was a damned good lawyer, a stickler for detail. All the chambers wanted her because she briefed so carefully. But she’s well paid in her new career, lives in that huge flat with servants. So there you have it. When Christine’s ready, she’s in for a shock. I think she’ll take it badly.’

  ‘I’m sure she would, and I’d rather she didn’t know. She deprived herself for the sake of that dratted girl.’

  ‘Sorry, Richard. I suppose I’ve rather ruined your day, though you did tell me to keep an ear to the ground.’

  They drifted away, leaving Polly with a guilty ear to the door. She wouldn’t say a word. Ma was becoming a little too sensitive to be told half a tale. All Polly knew was that Elaine wasn’t using her qualifications. If Bob wanted Frank to be told, he would do the telling himself. She addressed her curly-haired daughter. ‘Just us then, babe. I know half a truth, and so do you. Unfortunately, we both know the same half. Bloody Elaine. Sorry. Shouldn’t swear near you. Your dad is, of course, a different matter altogether.’