The women in the street reminded him every day. They knocked on his window as they walked past and shouted to him, ‘On me way to mass, Jerry, and I’ll light a candle for the angel Bernadette when I’m there, so I will.’
He would stand and look through the nets as the women’s shadows passed by, and feel nothing. He hadn’t been to mass since the day of the funeral. He never opened the door to the priest and he hadn’t prayed a word since the day Bernadette died.
The women on the street mentioned Bernadette every single time they saw him. They spoke to him with manufactured expressions of acute pain etched on their faces.
‘Oh God, ye look like a man broken with tears,’ said Molly Barrett, as he bumped into her in the entry. He had no words to reply with, as she dragged on her ciggie and went on her way. He knew she meant well.
Mrs McGinty would touch his forearm and look at the floor as though suffering an attack of acute colic before squeezing out a tear and saying, ‘God, I imagine the pain, Jerry, is more than ye can bear, Jer, ye must weep ye’self to sleep every night, ye poor, poor man, and how is the poor wee motherless babby?’
The past two weeks had been tough. He was haunted by the fact that people kept telling him he couldn’t manage, that he needed help, that he shouldn’t have to cope. He knew people frowned at the thought of him bringing up Nellie on his own. As he walked out of a shop one day with Nellie in his arms, struggling to carry his bag, he heard the greengrocer whisper to the next customer, who nodded in agreement, ‘It’s unnatural, so it is, he won’t keep that up for long.’
He realized he needed Alice’s help. Alice never mentioned his pain. She never spoke of Bernadette, ever. He had heard her mention Bernadette’s name only on her first visit. With Alice, he hid. She was a life after death.
He drank too much that night. Alice didn’t like to socialize and, although she hadn’t ever said so to him, she made it known. It wasn’t that she was rude to people, she was just quiet. She never asked a question and never fully answered one, either. And she was asked a lot of questions. No one on the four streets knew where Alice had sprung from. Some of the women, especially Maura, knew what her game was, but there was nothing they could do. Alice gave them no ammunition to use against her. She didn’t engage or converse. She knew their game, too.
Jerry had to sit on a table for two with Alice, not on a big circular table for twenty as he had with his Bernadette. The nights at the Irish centre with Bernadette had been some of the best in his life, full of dancing and laughter. Bernadette would often run down to the centre first when he was getting changed after work, or watching the footie, and he often tried to stop her.
‘Jerry,’ she would protest, ‘we have no babbies, we aren’t as busy as the others. I like to keep a seat for everyone at the big table.’ And that is what she did and everyone knew she would.
‘Keep me seat on Sat’dy night, our Bernadette,’ neighbours would shout to her, during the week. ‘We’ll be counting on ye, Bernadette, me corns won’t take the pressure stood.’
It was just one of the little things she used to do that made her, a new wife, one of the community, from the day she arrived on the four streets.
Alice had no intention of saving seats for anyone. God, how she hated the Irish centre and everyone in it. She hid it well, but not enough to join in.
‘Are ye not good enough to sit with us then, ye two?’ the odd person would say, as they passed by their table.
People were trying to be welcoming and willing to have Alice on their table for Jerry’s sake. Jerry hadn’t told them that Alice was a Proddie, but they had all guessed. Everyone had wondered whether she was part of an Orange Lodge and would be out on the march in July. But, as it was, they saw her going into Jerry’s house just as the big march was taking two hours to pass through the city and so they knew Jerry was safe on that score. It was the nineteen-fifties, but in Liverpool it was as if the battle of the Boyne was only last week.
Some of Jerry’s friends would be more insistent, trying to get them to bring their drinks over and join them on their table. Jerry wanted nothing more. But always, the answer was no. Alice would shake her head, look down into her Guinness, smile sweetly and appear shy.
She wanted to reply, ‘No, you aren’t good enough to sit with us, never mind us with you.’
God, how she hated Guinness too. Alice looked around the club on this particular Saturday and tried to hide her discomfort at the cigarette smoke stinging her eyes. When would he realize he needed her? When could she stop pretending to like this foul drink?
Alice had reached a wall. She had no experience of romance and no idea of what to do to take her plan to another level. For the first time since she had left home, she was lost for ideas.
Alice was the only person in the club who didn’t laugh at the comedian. The only woman not to dance to the band. Jerry, a fun-lover, who had spent most of his life laughing, recognized that he wasn’t enjoying himself. In fact, he didn’t even feel comfortable. He and Alice had run out of things to say half an hour ago. He had managed through the measles without help and, sure, hadn’t he come out of the other side all right? The house might be a mess today, but Nellie was better and had wanted for nothing. Measles killed toddlers, but not his Nellie. He had passed the biggest test of a single father, one many women struggled with.
Time to stop this, he thought to himself. I will not ask Alice to come any more and in future will come here on my own and sit with the others.
Jerry was feeling stronger. It was almost two years since Bernadette had died. He could do this alone now. He took a deep sigh. He had just taken the first decision of his own in two years and he felt good. Empowered. He was going to get a grip, take control of his own life and look forwards for him and Nellie. It was time to make a visit home and take Nellie to see her family and the farm he grew up on. His mammy had written to say Joe had been ill, and Jerry was keen to visit him. He would arrange that tomorrow.
He looked at Alice, knowing she was about to become a thing of the past, and he felt lighter at that thought. No sense of loss, just relief.
A minute later, Alice took a very huge risk and slipped her hand on top of Jerry’s while he sat and laughed at the comedian. As she lifted her own to put it on top of his, it shook. Her mouth was dry, and she was breathless. This was the most daring thing she had ever done in her life. The comedian sounded louder than he actually was and as she looked around, no one was looking at them. Everyone was laughing loudly and hysterically. It was a good moment.
She had no idea what he would do in response. She was terrified, but knew that, as he had already drunk a fair quantity of Guinness, now was as good a time as any. She had seen the look on his face, the expression in his eye when he had looked at her a moment ago. It was as though he had stepped back. She saw in his eyes the slight flicker of a decision and his body language spoke volumes, as he leant back in his chair and sighed. For the first time, she felt as though she was losing control. She had slipped backwards in the flash of a second and she knew that she had nothing to offer that couldn’t easily be supplied by any other woman. A woman he could easily pay a few bob a week to and who would look after Nellie in her own home. Her capital was shrinking. His gratitude diminishing. She had to think fast.
She didn’t look at him, as she felt the dark hair on the back of his hand bristle against her palm. Her heart was beating too fast; she couldn’t catch her breath and she didn’t dare look up.
She heard him say, ‘Alice,’ but she still couldn’t look.
He said her name again. ‘Alice, Queen.’ This time she made herself look him straight in the eye with a bold stare.
‘Would ye like another drink?’ he asked, not knowing what else to say. He thought initially her hand on the back of his was to catch his attention above the noise. It was only when he saw the look in her eye that he realized he was wrong. Something else was going on with Alice.
She felt a small self-satisfied warmth with the sen
se that she had just taken a gigantic step. Emboldened, she radiated a new self-confidence.
The Guinness and Alice’s hand on his were confusing Jerry. He was a sucker for human contact and had missed that a great deal over the last two years. When he looked at Alice, she smiled sweetly. That was hard for Jerry. He was still vulnerable and loved a woman’s company. It was so long since he had had sex, he couldn’t remember what it would be like to have a woman in bed next to him.
Hand on hand… skin on skin… limb on limb.
The thought of moving on from Alice to a future on his own flitted away, as quickly as it had arrived.
He turned over Alice’s hand and laid his strong, brown docker’s palm on top of hers. Her pale white fingers and delicate nails were almost half the size of his. He gently lifted both their hands to face upwards, still joined, palm to palm, as if in prayer, as he stared at them both. Jerry was lost in the moment of fusion. It had been so long.
There was no real beauty in Alice, no vibrancy, no passion. He couldn’t compare her to Bernadette. Chalk and cheese. It was futile to compare any woman to Bernadette; she would fail miserably. After Bernadette, one woman was as good or as bad as another but only one woman was cooking his meals, cleaning his house from time to time and had her hand on his.
The band would play until two in the morning but it was now midnight and, much to Alice’s relief, Jerry stood to leave.
‘Come on, Queen,’ he said, ‘let’s go.’
He had no thought other than that this was a new and strange situation, and he didn’t for one moment want Maura or anyone else for that matter to see him and Alice holding hands. They would want to know what was going on and he had no idea himself. Five minutes ago he had decided it was time to move on from Alice, now here he was holding her hand. How had that happened?
Halfway to the bus stop, Alice slipped her hand into his again and held it.
‘Jerry, can we go back to the house tonight for a drink?’ she whispered. She did her very best to appear seductive although this was so new to her that she had never even been kissed.
Jerry was thrown. They had not done this before. Through the fog of Guinness he tried to recall what time the last bus was and whether she would make it home if they went to his house first. Nellie was sleeping at Maura and Tommy’s where all the children were being looked after by Mrs Keating’s daughter, so he had no reason not to leave the house later and walk her to the bus stop.
‘Sure, but the last bus goes in an hour,’ said Jerry.
She kept her hand in his and turned to walk back towards the house, pulling him round to follow her. There had been no conversation as to what was to happen – there never was much conversation between them – but Jerry didn’t argue with the fact that they were deviating from their normal routine. He was too far gone. It was the Guinness holding Alice’s hand, not Jerry.
She thought she knew what was coming. They would sit down and have a cup of tea and chat about how difficult Jerry was finding things. He would tell her that she had become the centre of his universe and that he couldn’t manage without her, he needed her. That he was beginning to love the times she came round, their walks and occasional evenings out. He would tell her he loved her more than anything in the world. That he admired her cultured ways and wanted to move away from the docks, to make a fresh start together in America or somewhere better than the four streets. Maybe he thought about New York where Alice had always dreamt of living, amongst more ambitious people.
Alice had talked to Jerry about going into insurance and she was sure he was clever enough to get a job at the Royal Liverpool. They had been advertising this week and Jerry had a nice hand for writing. He would tell her he was going to take her advice and apply for jobs, and he would finish his little speech by getting down on one knee and asking her, would she marry him? This was in the world according to Alice. This was her plan.
Alice knew she might have to try to seduce Jerry. This was something she had only ever imagined, but it didn’t matter, she would manage. She had overheard enough conversations amongst chambermaids to know what they got up to and wasn’t she better than any of them? There were ways to avoid getting pregnant and she would use them. She might have to do this thing with Jerry to get him to propose. She had worked hard to get to this point and she wasn’t going to let the time pass any longer. He was an honourable man. Once he had laid with her, he would propose. It couldn’t go wrong and if an Irish slut from the bogs like Bernadette could manage it, then so could she.
Jerry’s ideas were different. He had two bottles of Guinness in his free hand. He thought they would have a drink, and then he would take her for the bus or if they had missed the last one, he would walk with her down towards town to hail a cab. Then he would be up, bright and early, to play the ritual Sunday game of footie with Tommy and the other men and lads on the green, whilst Kitty looked after Nellie. He would then go to Maura’s house for the usual big Sunday roast. Nellie loved nothing more than sitting in Maura’s kitchen, eating her dinner in the company of seven other children. It was the one meal of the week when they pushed the boat out. Jerry always gave Maura money to contribute. He and Tommy earned the same wage. Jerry’s had to keep two people. Tommy’s had to stretch to nine, and it wasn’t easy.
As they went in through the back door, Alice took off her coat. She was wearing a dress that evening that she had bought in town that day. It was cut lower than she would have ever dared wear before and she was self-conscious about the fact that she was displaying too much cleavage. All evening she had wished there was spare material she could pull over her breasts and she regretted not wearing a cardigan. She had spent the entire night trying to draw the neck of the dress closed. She had bought the dress only because she remembered Bernadette’s beautiful figure and how the hotel porters used to comment about it when they thought she was out of earshot.
Whilst Jerry hung up her coat, she took another huge leap. She put her hand inside her dress and lifted each breast up and out to make it more prominent, pushing the material aside to display more cleavage. She took a deep breath. She had no idea what came next but hoped something would give her a clue. She wanted him to look at her breasts, which she had boldly presented, and then kiss her. That must be how it went.
Alice hadn’t been round to the house for a couple of weeks, because she knew Nellie had been sick. Any child was bad enough, but a sick child was intolerable. She realized that while Jerry was trapped in the house with Nellie, Alice was safe and no other papist whore would be getting her nose in. She calculated that to stay away would be a good thing. It would make him see how useful she had been over the last two years and how much her involvement in Jerry’s life made sense.
She was wrong.
She had almost overplayed her hand.
As Jerry switched the lights on, she looked around at the kitchen. The floor was disgustingly dirty. She shuddered. Filthy dishes met her eye, and mouldy remains of dried egg and fat clung to the greasy oilcloth on the table. It looked as if it hadn’t been wiped once in the two weeks since she was last there. Jerry’s and Nellie’s dirty clothes were piled up on the corner of the kitchen floor, not even in a basket or a box. Jerry had spent all day washing the sheets and hadn’t got round to the clothes.
A white enamel bucket of cold, pungent, dark-brown water sat under the sink, full of Nellie’s soaking dirty nappies. In the dim light from the overhead bulb, the indoor washing line had been pulled out across the top of the range, on which were pegged the few nappies Jerry had managed to wash out that day, now filling the room with steam. Its smell, and that of the enamel nappy bucket, mingled with that of Jerry’s sweat-soaked work clothes and made Alice’s stomach heave. She just about hid her revulsion.
Pull yourself together, you are nearly there, she told herself, as she forced another smile and looked Jerry straight in the eye. She wanted to leave the service of the hotel and begin planning a new life with the man she hadn’t stopped thinking about since
the day she first saw him. Having seen him treat another woman and even his repulsive child with so much kindness, she was determined to have him for herself.
Jerry opened the bottles and drank deeply from one. He looked at Alice as, without a word, he handed her hers. Alice took it from him before picking up his free hand and placing it on her breast. Jerry was stunned. Repelled. No. He didn’t want this at all.
He could feel that Alice was shaking, as abruptly she moved his hand down and onto her abdomen and then slid it between her legs. This is what she had seen the girls do at the back gate with the men who walked them home to the back of the hotel. They didn’t know Alice watched them every night. She had seen them put their hands down men’s trousers and undo the buttons as they got down onto their knees, or sometimes if the men were in a hurry they raised the girls’ skirts and almost lifted them off the floor as they pinned them against the wall and took them quickly.
They always reminded Alice of animals. Of the roaming dogs she had watched in the street when she was a girl. She had seen neighbours run out with buckets of cold water to throw over those that were locked together, howling and snapping, stuck in mid-copulation. She had only to step away from the window to remove herself but she never did. She had watched every chambermaid who had been taken at the back gate since Bernadette had left. Voyeurism had been Alice’s life.
In those few seconds, whilst she moved Jerry’s hand between her legs, a switch flicked on in Jerry that had been shut down for a long time. Suddenly, in the passing of a single second, he knew what he was about to do. He pulled away from her abruptly and staggered from the door with his back to the range. He stood looking at this plain, skinny woman, whom he didn’t really know. Was this really about to happen?
The Four Streets Page 9