by June Francis
‘Couldn’t I have a proper kiss?’ she murmured, gazing up into his eyes. ‘That was only a peck.’
‘Don’t you remember the song “A Bushel and a Peck”?’ he said in a low voice. ‘It’s an oldie but the tune’s very catchy.’
She sang the first few lines softly and then leaned into him, putting her arm around his neck and kissing him on the lips.
Irene looked away, feeling slightly envious of the couple despite being in no rush to be tied down.
There came the sound of a motorcycle engine and she glanced in its direction. The vehicle drew up alongside her and she stared at Marty in disbelief, vaguely aware that Pete and Peggy had drawn apart.
‘What a way to spend New Year’s Eve,’ complained Marty, rubbing his eyes and blinking at the three of them. ‘I was just coming to find you, Peg.’
‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Did you get to speak to Tommy?’
‘Like hell I did! I bloody lost him in Blundell Sands!’
‘What’s he doing there?’ cried Peggy.
‘Who’s Tommy?’ asked Irene.
‘The black sheep of the family,’ said Peggy grimly. ‘He had a big row with Dad a few years ago and he stormed out of the house and disappeared off the face of the earth.’ That was only half the story but she was too ashamed to tell Irene the whole of it. ‘Anyway, I spotted him this evening outside the Red Lion, so I phoned our Marty.’ She turned to her brother. ‘So, what happened?’
‘I was lucky enough to see him catch the bus and I managed to follow it as far as Blundell Sands,’ said Marty.
‘And …?’ Peggy prompted.
‘He got off and I hung back because I didn’t want him to get suspicious. I didn’t have too much of a problem following him because the roads weren’t too badly lit, wide and straight, then suddenly he just vanished.’
‘People don’t just vanish,’ put in Irene.
‘Don’t you believe it!’ said Marty.
She said, ‘He could have suspected he was being followed because of the noise of the motorcycle engine. He might have even noticed you when he was on the bus. It’s not as if that vehicle is just any ordinary motor bike – it has a sidecar. Most likely he nipped up a drive to one of the houses. He could have hidden behind a tree by a gate and watched you go past.’
Marty had been staring at Irene the whole time she had been talking. ‘Quite the little detective, aren’t you?’ he said, an edge to his voice.
Irene’s eyes glinted with annoyance. ‘I was only trying to help. I work in Blundell Sands, so I know the neighbourhood. Some of the houses are really large. They have quite a bit of ground. Some have even been turned into flats. Where you lost him, was it far from the shore?’
He hesitated. ‘I couldn’t say for sure. But I did notice that some of the houses had been turned into flats like you said. I even got off the motorbike and went up one of the drives. The house had little name plates with numbers and doorbells next to them.’
‘I don’t suppose you had time to read any of the names?’ asked Peggy.
‘No, and besides I didn’t want to rouse suspicion at that time of night by lingering.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, what are you doing with him?’ Marty jerked his head in Pete’s direction. ‘You acted like you didn’t know him when we were on the train.’
Pete met Marty’s gaze squarely. ‘The name’s Pete Marshall … and yes, Peggy and I have been going out with each other off and on for some time.’
‘Off and on? Why’s that? Can’t make up your mind whether she’s worth the hassle?’ said Marty.
Irene gasped.
Colour flooded Peggy’s face. ‘Marty, how can you say that?’ she cried. ‘I wish I hadn’t phoned you about our Tommy now! Why don’t you just go home, seeing as how you lost him, and leave us alone!’
Marty’s hands curled into fists. ‘If I’m going home, you’re coming with me, Peg. I promised Dad, remember?’
‘Don’t you bully her!’ said Pete, his fingers tightening on his stick.
‘Yeah, don’t you bully her,’ put in Irene.
Marty stared at her. ‘Who’s bullying her? You don’t know our father. I’m protecting her.’
Peggy sighed. ‘He’s right. You don’t know our dad.’
‘He could be combing the streets for you,’ said Marty. ‘Or he just might be that drunk he’s passed out on the sofa.’
Peggy glanced at Pete. ‘I’d better go.’
‘OK! I suppose that’s the sensible thing to do.’
She looked relieved. ‘But I’ll see you again, won’t I?’
Pete’s eyes flickered in Marty’s direction. ‘Yes, I’ll be in touch,’ he said.
Irene also glanced at Marty. ‘I hope you’re not going to tell your father about any of this?’
He stared at her in astonishment. ‘It’s none of your business, love.’
She flushed and tilted her chin and gazed up into his shadowy features. ‘Peggy and Pete are my friends, so of course it’s my business,’ she said firmly.
Marty brought his head closer to hers. ‘You know your problem, love, it’s that you need to step back sometimes. You could land yourself in trouble again if you don’t start thinking twice before making a move. You know the old proverb “look before you leap”?’
‘I don’t know what you mean by again!’ she said, exasperated.
‘You obviously don’t remember getting yourself in a right fix a few months back.’ He smiled unexpectedly. ‘I’ll say this for you - at least you care about others.’
Irene was still puzzled by that word again. As for his smile, it made her feel slightly marshmallowy inside. Before she could change her mind, she said, ‘Do you remember passing a school or seeing a sign for Fair Haven Children’s Home when you were in Blundell Sands?’
His brow furrowed. ‘Why d’you ask?’
‘I work at the children’s home. If your brother is living in a flat nearby I could keep an eye open for him. D’you have a photo of him?’
‘I don’t carry one round with me, love! I’m not that fond of him.’
Irene raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t know why I’m even bothering trying to trace him for you if that’s the way you feel! But I’m still willing to help Peggy if she wants him found.’
‘I do,’ said Peggy. ‘For Mam’s sake.’
Irene nodded. ‘OK. It’s even possible I could catch sight of him when I come here to visit my mam and Jimmy, if your brother frequents the Red Lion.’
‘Peggy can get a photo from Mam and pass it on to you,’ said Marty. ‘Thanks, I do appreciate your help.’ He hesitated before saying, ‘Did you get your tickets for the pantomime, by the way?’
Irene had almost forgotten that she had mentioned that to him. ‘Yes. Anyway, I’d better be going.’ She hesitated before adding, ‘Happy New Year.’
‘Thanks, kid.’ Marty bent his head and, to her amazement, kissed her. ‘Hope it’s a good one for you.’ He turned to his sister. ‘Come on, Peg. Time we were off.’
Irene could only stare after him as he helped Peggy on to the pillion seat. Then she gave herself a little shake and slipped her hand through Pete’s arm.
‘Goodnight, Peg,’ said Pete.
‘Goodnight,’ Peggy called, waving a hand. ‘I’ll be in touch, Irene.’
As Irene and Pete walked away and the motorbike roared into life, Marty asked, ‘What’s he done to his leg?’
‘Never mind that! You kissed Irene,’ Peggy burst out.
He shrugged. ‘So what? It’s New Year. Everybody kisses everybody at New Year. Although I draw the line at kissing your friend Pete.’
‘Very funny! D’you find her attractive?’
‘Wildly, but you don’t have to remind me I’m a married man,’ he drawled.
‘You’re being sarcastic,’ said Peggy. ‘But honestly, do you think she’s attractive to men?’
‘You worried that your friend Pete might kiss her, too?’
‘I wish you’d stop calling him “my fri
end Pete”!’
‘Well, shut up then, and let me concentrate on getting us home,’ Marty shouted above the roar of the engine. ‘And you’d better decide whether you’re going to mention having seen Tommy to Mam or not.’
Peggy nodded and decided to play it by ear.
‘So what is wrong with his leg?’ asked Marty a short while later.
‘He fell from a window sill.’
Marty decided that perhaps it was best not to ask any further questions. There was probably some daft story behind the accident.
As they drew up outside their parents’ house, Peggy whispered, ‘You won’t mention Pete to Mam and Dad, will you?’
‘It’s up to you to do that,’ said Marty. ‘I’m not coming in. I’d best get home. By the way, I think it’s best if we don’t mention having seen our Tommy to anyone. I’d like to find him first.’
‘OK. Does Bernie know what you’ve been doing all this time?’
‘Of course not! I just told Dougal to tell her that I’ve borrowed his motorbike because you wanted to see me urgently.’
‘I bet she’s working herself up into a state because of the time you’ve been. I’d better not mention you kissing Irene to her,’ she added mischievously.
‘It was no big deal,’ Marty murmured. ‘Bernie thinks nothing of kissing all her male cousins who come to the house.’ He watched as the front door opened, proving that their mother had probably been watching out for Peggy through the parlour window. ‘See you!’
He roared off before his mother could delay him. From what he knew of his wife, Bernie would definitely have a face on her by the time he arrived home. Unless by some miracle he was fortunate enough to find her fast asleep.
His luck was out.
Bernie was lying on the bed with a burning cigarette dangling from her fingers. She was wearing a primrose brushed-nylon nightie with a yellow quilted housecoat over it and looked paler than usual. She had smudged bright blue eye shadow and mascara on the pillow case and her hair was an untidy mess.
‘About time, too,’ she said. ‘What did your Peggy want?’
‘She was worried about drunks, so wanted me to pick her up.’
Bernie’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know if I believe you.’
Marty did not immediately respond but removed his jacket and tie before going over to the cot in the corner of the room. He did not trust Bernie not to mention Tommy to one of her sisters. Then she might mention it to her mother who’d never had anything good to say about his brother. His expression softened as he gazed down at his daughter, sleeping top and tail with Jerry who was almost a year older.
‘Well?’ Bernie snapped.
He frowned. ‘Keep your voice down or you’ll wake the kids.’
‘The last trumpet’s not going to do that,’ she said. ‘Answer my question.’
He was silent, thinking of his brother stealing flowers in the park to give to their mother when they were kids. But as soon as the parky had appeared, Tommy had thrust them into Marty’s hand and made a run for it. His brother had always had a strong sense of self-preservation. Another time Tommy had stolen sweets from a box on the counter while the old lady who owned the sweet shop had her back turned to them. A few years later Tommy had tried to break into their gas meter but their dad had caught him. He would have had a worse walloping if Tommy hadn’t clung to their mother, saying that he had wanted to buy her a birthday present but had no money. She had hung on to her husband’s arm, so preventing him from beating the daylights out of her blue-eyed boy.
‘You’ve gone off in a trance,’ Bernie hissed.
‘I’m just thinking.’ Marty tucked the blankets more securely about his daughter. He noticed that one of Jerry’s feet was sticking out of the bedcovers so he covered it. Then he turned to face Bernie and saw that she was smoking again. ‘Put that ciggie out!’ he ordered. ‘You’ll set fire to the bed one of these days and I don’t want the children going up in smoke.’
Bernie stubbed out the cigarette on a saucer. ‘What about me going up in smoke? Would you care, Marty?’
‘What a daft question!’ He dragged his shirt over his head.
Bernie stifled a yawn and removed her housecoat before pulling the bedcovers up to her chin. ‘You still haven’t answered my question.’
‘I wasn’t chasing after some imaginary woman if that’s what you’re hinting at,’ said Marty softly.
‘Keep yer hair on! I suppose I have to take your word for it that you don’t have a fancy woman.’
He felt like saying ‘just like I took yours that the baby you were expecting was mine’. He had no doubt about Josie being his daughter and he loved the bones of her but he knew that he had not been Bernie’s first lover. Inexplicably to him now, he had been besotted with her when he was younger, finding her exciting and sexy. When she had started coming on to him, he was never sure just who had seduced who that evening after he had taken Jeanette to the Stadium. It was the only time he and Bernie had sex.
He switched off the light and got into bed and lay on his back with the bedcovers up to his shoulders, thinking now of the names of the boyfriends she had supposedly had before him. She must have had sex with at least one of them because she had been no virgin when he’d gone with her.
‘Yer haven’t even wished me a Happy New Year and kissed me,’ said Bernie, rousing him from his reverie.
Marty thought about Irene Miller and the kiss he had landed on her mouth. What the hell had made me do that? He wondered how she would have reacted if he had told her he had wanted to kiss her the moment she had collapsed on top of him on the beach after he had saved her from drowning. At the time he’d had no idea that she was a friend of Peggy’s.
‘I sometimes think yer must have a double out there,’ muttered Bernie. ‘You’re not a bit like yer used to be when we were courting.’
Courting! They had never been a courting couple. She had homed in on him and he had been hooked. He recalled his father tearing into him when he had told his parents that Bernie was having a baby. Even now he could go hot all over, remembering the emotion in his voice when he said that he was going to marry her. His father had accused him of having his brain in his pants. He winced, ashamed of his naivety even at twenty-two. Once married to Bernie, it had not taken him long to realize they had little in common.
As for Bernie’s widowed mother, Carmel, she had told Marty to his face from the beginning that she didn’t think much of either of the McGrath boys. Apparently she remembered them attending the same junior school as her boys and even then had considered Tommy, in particular, a right tearaway and a criminal in the making despite his angelic looks. This was due to Tommy having tricked her youngest son, Patrick, out of his bag of marbles in the school playground. She had gone up to the school and confronted the headmaster and Tommy had suffered six of the best for that misdemeanour.
On another occasion Tommy had punched Patrick on the nose when they were boxing at the church boys’ club. His nose had bled copiously and Carmel had been informed. Then there had been the fight outside the Grafton dance hall in their late teens one New Year’s Eve.
Bernie had been there and she had hurried home to tell her mother that her brother had been arrested along with a gang of Teddy Boys. The gang had included Tommy. Patrick and Tommy had both appeared in court but fortunately only the ring leaders had been fined; the rest had got off with a warning.
But these happenings paled into insignificance when the police had turned up on the McGraths’ doorstep wanting to speak to Tommy.
‘Wouldn’t you like another baby?’ asked Bernie, rubbing her head against the curve of his shoulder, catching him unawares.
He had almost forgotten she was there. His stomach tensed and he felt trapped. He couldn’t make sense of Bernie’s behaviour. When they were first married, she had blown hot and cold if he went near her. He had accepted her excuse that she was worried about damaging the baby.
She had almost blown a gasket when she had got p
regnant so soon after Jerry was born. He soon realized that she wasn’t that fussy on kids, and often didn’t want sex, so why should she suddenly decide she wanted another baby now? Being the youngest of ten, six girls and four boys, she was forever complaining about the way her older sisters treated her. Yet she wasn’t slow in coming forward and accepting their offers of help with the kids, as well as gifts of clothing for them.
Marty liked children but he didn’t want the responsibility of a whole string of them to feed and clothe. He wanted out of his mother-in-law’s house and didn’t plan on waiting until he went out feet first in a box. If he had learnt anything, it was that the only reliable way for a good Catholic husband to limit the size of his family was by abstinence from intercourse. He told her to go to sleep and turned his back on her, thinking of Irene. ‘Goodnight, Bernie, and Happy New Year.’
Five
‘Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, kissed the girls and made them cry,’ chanted the little girls and boys in the charge of Irene and the other nursery nurse.
‘I didn’t kiss you,’ piped up a boy who was lumbering along as best he could, having been born with a club foot.
‘Take no notice of them, George,’ said Irene, who had the two youngest children by the hand. ‘You just remember you were named after a king of England.’
‘But did he kiss the girls, Miss?’ asked Caroline, holding up her chubby face framed by a red pixie hood. Her cheeks were pinched and rosy with the cold. She had a hare lip and Irene had heard another member of staff saying she would have been a pretty little thing if it hadn’t been for that disfigurement.
‘I’m sure he wasn’t the George referred to in the nursery rhyme,’ replied Irene. ‘Our Queen’s father was a good king who led us through the war.’
‘What’s a war, Miss?’ asked May, wisps of carrot-coloured hair escaping from beneath her blue pixie hood.
Irene gazed down into her heart-shaped freckled face, thinking May’s skin would be smothered in freckles in the summer. Hopefully they wouldn’t be the bane of her life when she grew up and her complexion became almost as important as clothes.