by June Francis
‘It would probably get on my nerves, too. I can look after myself,’ muttered Irene, taking a bite out of the sausage roll.
‘Mmmm! We all think that.’ Jeanette met her gaze squarely. ‘There are some right swines out there and we women need protecting sometimes.’
Irene nodded and sighed. ‘I wonder what will happen with Pete and Peggy. I’m glad I’m not ready to be tied down yet. I’d like to go and see Betty in America. She’s asked me to visit her.’
‘Good luck to you,’ said Jeanette. ‘I’d best get back to work.’
‘Before you go,’ said Irene. ‘Where does Marty work?’
‘In Quiggins, the architectural ironmongers on Renshaw Street. They specialize in locks and doorknobs and the like. You’ll have passed it on the way here.’
‘That figures,’ said Irene, taking another sip of her coffee.
Jeanette cocked an eye at her but asked no more questions.
Irene dipped chunks of sausage roll into the baked beans and thought about what Jeanette had said about Marty and his wife Bernie. Had sex been the only reason they married or had there been some love there, too? Whatever it was, Irene realized she was best keeping her distance from him.
Perhaps she would get in touch with Peggy and ask if she would like to go to the pantomime with her. That is if Maisie did not change her mind and decide to go with Irene once she knew that she had the tickets for another day. She would pop home and leave a message for her mother and then catch the train to Blundell Sands.
The words of the song ‘Why Do Fools Fall in Love’ was going over and over in Irene’s head as she entered the house and she began singing it as she pushed open the door to the kitchen.
‘I wish yer’d shut that racket!’ shouted Maisie.
‘I didn’t expect you to be here,’ said Irene.
Her mother’s head popped up above the back of the sofa and Irene’s mouth fell open.
‘Don’t you dare say anything!’ Maisie warned.
Irene slowly moved forward so that she was facing her mother and could see that on an occasional table was a bottle of gin, one of tonic and a bowl with a couple of half-eaten pigs’ trotters in it. ‘Holy Mary, mother of God,’ she whispered. ‘What happened, Mam?’
‘What did I say to you?’ said Maisie, taking a swig of gin and tonic from a tall glass.
Irene swallowed a giggle. ‘I only asked!’
‘Stupid bloody girl,’ said Maisie slightly breathlessly. ‘I should have gone to my old hairdresser instead of somewhere new.’
‘I don’t know, though,’ said Irene, a tremor in her voice. ‘I like the short curls. It’s just that your hair seems to have gone a funny colour.’
‘That’s because it is a funny colour, eejit! And I didn’t want my hair short!’ Maisie wailed.
‘So what happened? I take it you had it permed?’
‘Yeah, but me hair broke when the girl was taking out the rollers. Apparently she shouldn’t have dyed it at the same time.’
Irene thought about that. ‘It’ll be the chemicals! They must have clashed.’
Maisie sniffed. ‘I’ve a good mind to sue.’
‘And are you going to?’
‘Maybe! But I’d need a lawyer and they cost money.’
‘Didn’t she warn you that your hair might break?’
‘She told me that I shouldn’t have it dyed and permed at the same time.’
‘So why did you do it?’ cried Irene, as if she didn’t know. Once her mother made up her mind to do something, there was no stopping her.
‘I wanted to look like Maureen O’Hara!’ cried Maisie, striking the back of the sofa with her fist. ‘And I didn’t want to wait because I’m not getting any younger. I want to find meself a fella to take me out.’ She took another swig of gin and tonic. ‘Now look at me!’
Irene’s heart sank. Why did her mother have to keep going on about finding herself a fella? She’d had two husbands, why couldn’t that be enough? It wasn’t as if she was living alone.
She gave Maisie a long, penetrating stare. ‘You’ll certainly be noticed. Your hair seems to have a bluey-green sheen to it. Maybe you’ll start a new fashion.’ She struggled with another giggle. ‘And the short curls suit you better than the way you had it when it was longer.’
‘Maureen O’Hara’s hair is long,’ said Maisie stubbornly.
‘But she’s a film star, Mam! Be yourself – and if that means being a woman with greenish-blue hair, then what’s wrong with that?’ This time Irene could not prevent the giggle from escaping.
‘That’s what’s wrong!’ said her mother, shooting out an accusing finger. ‘If you dare laugh again,’ she said breathlessly, ‘you’ll be laughing on the other side of your face!’
Irene took herself in hand. ‘I wish I could be here when our Jimmy comes in but I’ve got to get back to Fair Haven. I’d love to see his face when he sees your hair.’
‘He’d better keep his mouth zipped or there’ll be trouble,’ muttered Maisie, downing the rest of her drink in one go.
‘I’m sure he’ll be tactful,’ said Irene, who didn’t believe anything of the sort. ‘By the way, Mam, I bought you a calendar and I changed the pantomime tickets to a matinee in a fortnight’s time. I thought you might like to go with me then.’
Maisie shook her head. ‘You take someone else. I’m in no mood for pantomimes.’
‘OK!’ Irene made up her mind to drop Peggy a line as soon as she had a free moment.
Six
A gull keened overhead as Peggy left the Cunard Building the following Monday evening. She wished she had not promised to accompany her mother to a birthday tea for Josie. No doubt Bernie’s family would be there in force. Her in-laws were bound to ask Peggy when she was going to find herself a fella and settle down. She would make some excuse as usual and then they’d ignore her and talk to each other about their husbands and kids. She pictured those self-same kids screaming and yelling, food getting thrown and little boys scrapping. Perhaps she should tell her mother that she had one of her blinding headaches, but she’d had too many of them lately. Her mother would look worried and say she should see the doctor. So far she had not told her mother that she had seen Tommy on New Year’s Eve.
Sometimes she felt that she spent too much time worrying about upsetting her parents. At least her father wouldn’t be at the birthday tea and maybe it would be different this time. Marty might have mentioned Pete to Bernie without telling her that he was a Proddy. She would tell her mother and sisters and it would be questions, questions. She didn’t know which was worse, having a boyfriend or not. Anyway, she hadn’t seen or heard anything from Pete since New Year, which was now more than a fortnight ago.
Then, almost as if she had conjured him up, she spotted him on the other side of the road as she approached the bus stop. Her heart seemed to somersault as she drew almost level with him, but he didn’t appear to have seen her. Should she let on to him? What if he chose to ignore her? Why should he? They had sort of made up their quarrel. This was stupid!
She began walking again, watching Pete out of the corner of her eye. He crossed the road and it was then that he saw her. She waved to him and he waved back. She felt a rush of warmth and affection and hurried to catch up with him.
‘Hello you!’ he said, gazing into her eyes and reaching out for her hand.
‘Hi!’ She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him.
They kissed and it was lovely.
‘What are you doing this evening?’ he asked.
‘Josie’s two today and I have to go to her birthday tea with Mam.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’ve been dreading it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Bernie’s sisters will go on about my not having a serious boyfriend and it being time I settled down. I’ve never dared mention you.’
‘Mightn’t Marty have mentioned meeting me?’ asked Pete.
‘I don’t know. Somehow I don’t think so. I know he definitely hasn’t mentioned you t
o Mam and Dad. Otherwise they’d have said something.’
He hesitated for barely a second before saying, ‘I think it’s time I met them.’
For a moment she could only stare at him, her heart thudding. ‘I-I … don’t … what, all of them? If you meet Bernie’s family, it means you’ll meet Mam as well.’
‘I’m prepared for that. It’s time, Peggy. We can’t go on the way we are, putting it off, breaking up, making up. We have to make a decision.’
‘You don’t have to sound so belligerent,’ said Peggy.
‘I don’t mean to, but it’s time I met your parents and you met Ma.’ His jaw was set firm.
Peggy moistened her lips and cleared her throat. ‘Dad won’t be home. It’ll only be Mam you have to face. But you can bet that both she and Bernie’s lot will want to know how we met, where you live, what you do for a job. Her sisters will probably ask which school you went to and what church. I’ve never known such a nosy family as theirs.’
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. ‘Stop worrying. Trust me!’
She was about to say, ‘I do trust you but …’ Then she saw a familiar pained expression come into his eyes and the words remained unspoken.
‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ he demanded.
‘Dad could turn up!’
‘Sod your dad,’ Pete said roughly. ‘Everything is going to be fine. Now here comes the bus.’
He helped her aboard and once they were seated, he changed the subject and talked about music, work and a film he’d like to see. She couldn’t get a word in and maybe that was just as well because she didn’t want to tell him that this was a mistake and things were bound to go wrong. She just knew he would hate Bernie’s family staring at him as he limped into the room. It might not be cruelly meant if they asked what was wrong with his leg, but he was so sensitive about the accident and his disability that he was bound to react badly to being questioned.
They were a few doors from her parents’ house when Peggy could bear it no longer and blurted out, ‘I don’t think this is a good idea!’
His mouth tightened. ‘We’ve come this far, it would be a mistake not to knock at the front door and see what kind of welcome I get from your mother. We’d be back to square one. Is that what you want?’
‘You must know it isn’t!’
‘All I know is that I wouldn’t even have to be here if you’d agree to get married in a registry office,’ he said savagely.
‘We’ve gone through all this!’ She wrung her hands. ‘I wouldn’t feel properly married if I wasn’t married in my own church with my family there.’
‘Then let’s knock at the door,’ Pete muttered.
Not waiting for her agreement, he lifted the knocker and banged it hard. The door opened almost immediately as if the woman standing there had been watching out for visitors. She was wearing a wraparound floral pinny and her hair was in metal curlers beneath a scarf tied up in a turban.
Pete thrust out his hand. ‘Good evening, Mrs McGrath. I’m Peter Marshall, Peggy’s boyfriend.’
Mary blinked at him in astonishment and then slowly took his hand. ‘How d’you do?’
‘Not bad. I hope you’re well?’ said Pete, shaking her hand firmly and then dropping it.
Mary glanced at her daughter as she came out from behind Pete. ‘Well!’ she said. ‘How long has this been going on, Peggy? I felt sure there was someone but didn’t know if that someone was the one or not.’
Peggy looked at Pete, wondering what he made of that sentence, but he was not looking her way. ‘Is Dad in?’ she asked.
‘No! You’d best come in,’ said Mary, moving to one side. ‘It’s a nice name, Peter. The same as the apostle who holds the keys to the kingdom. Don’t forget to wipe your feet on the mat, Peter.’
Pete winked at Peggy and did as he was told, following mother and daughter along a narrow lobby and into a room at the rear of the house. Mrs McGrath invited him to sit down by the fire and warm himself.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Peter, before I get myself ready? I presume our Peg has told you we’re going to a party. I’m sure you’ll be welcome to go with us.’ He thanked her and she said, ‘You go and make the tea, Peggy love, while I talk to Peter.’
Peggy hesitated but Pete looked at her and said, ‘Go on, Peggy. I’m dying for a cup of tea.’
Hoping that he would not say anything out of place to her mother, Peggy went into the back kitchen. As she put on the kettle, she heard her mother say, ‘So, where do you live, Peter?’
‘Bootle,’ he replied.
‘And whose parish would that be in?’
Peggy froze.
‘I don’t actually attend the parish church,’ said Pete. ‘After my father was killed in the war, Mam stopped going to church, so I go with a mate of mine who attends Our Lady, Star of the Sea. Do you know it, Mrs McGrath? It’s in Seaforth.’
Peggy breathed easier. She had to admire Pete’s quick thinking.
‘I’ve heard of it,’ answered Mary. ‘I remember some members of our congregation moving to that parish after their house was bombed. They had family in the area.’
Peggy almost dropped the milk jug.
‘Maybe your friend will know them?’ Mary mentioned a name. Pete said that he’d ask his friend Jimmy.
‘So your mother’s a widow, poor woman,’ said Mary. ‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’
‘I have a twin brother and an older brother.’
‘No sisters. That must be a sadness for your mother.’
‘She’s often said she’d have liked a daughter but that you have to take what comes,’ said Pete.
‘How true that is,’ said Mary. ‘I was blessed with two sons and two daughters. Our Lillian is soon to be engaged to be married. So what work do you do, Peter? You don’t mind me calling you Peter, do you?’
‘Of course not, Mrs McGrath. I’ve been called worse.’
‘And why is that?’ she asked, sounding taken aback.
‘None of us are perfect, Mrs McGrath. Aren’t we all sinners and fall short of the glory of God?’
‘That’s so true, Peter, but few people would admit to it.’
Peggy wasted no time carrying in a tray of crockery. ‘Has Pete told you that he’s a shipping clerk, Mam?’
‘That sounds a nice, steady job,’ said her mother.
‘I’d have liked to have a more exciting life and gone to sea,’ said Pete, ‘but my accident put paid to that.’
‘What accident was that?’ asked Mary.
‘You didn’t notice my limp?’ Pete could not conceal his surprise.
‘Yes, but it would have been rude to mention it.’
Pete was silent and a muscle twitched in his neck. He cleared his throat. ‘I fell from a window sill.’
‘You poor boy. I bet you were cleaning windows for your mother,’ said Mary.
Pete hesitated but Peggy, who was standing behind her mother, nodded vigorously at him. ‘Yes, Mrs McGrath,’ he said. ‘I think cleaning the outsides isn’t a job for a woman.’
‘I suppose you ended up in hospital?’
‘Longer than I care to think about now,’ he said in a low voice.
Peggy decided the conversation was going along nicely and it was safe for her to make the tea. When she returned with the pot, Pete was alone. ‘Your mother’s gone to get ready,’ he said. ‘I like her. She’s considerate of others.’
Peggy was so pleased by that remark that she put down the teapot and kissed him. ‘I didn’t like telling fibs, though,’ he murmured against her lips.
‘You have to tell little white lies sometimes,’ she said, kissing Pete again before freeing herself and pouring the tea.
He rose and came up behind her and slid his arms about her waist. ‘I want us to get married soon,’ he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
‘I want it, too. Mam’s bound to tell Dad about you and maybe she’ll be able to persuade him that you’re the right one for me.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
They heard Mary coming downstairs and reluctantly drew apart. He sat down with his cup of tea. Mary entered the room, wearing a powder-blue twin set and dark blue pleated skirt.
Peggy handed a cup of tea to her mother and said, ‘You look nice, Mam. I’ll just pop upstairs and change out of my working clothes.’
When she came back downstairs Pete was admiring the birthday cake that Mary had made for Josie. ‘I wish Ma could make one that looks as good as that,’ he said. ‘I’m not telling tales out of school, but she’d be the first to admit that she can’t bake for toffee.’
Mary looked gratified. ‘My mother taught me but Peggy’s never shown any real interest in baking.’
‘It’s a gift, Mam,’ said Peggy. ‘And when you make them so good, I always felt it wasn’t worth me bothering. Our Marty says Bernie can’t make a decent cake either. He’ll be dead chuffed when he sees yours on the table.’
But in the end Marty did not arrive home in time for the party and so he never did see the cake his mother had made and Josie blowing out two pink candles in one gusty go.
Where could he be? Peggy wondered, thinking that otherwise everything had gone off brilliantly. Of course, Bernie had a face on her because of Marty’s absence and she could not blame her. Yet surely he must have a very good reason for missing Josie’s birthday.
Despite knowing he would get the back of Bernie’s tongue when he arrived home, Marty could not have ignored the brief telephone call that he had received from his brother shortly before he left work. Tommy wanted to meet up with him and had suggested the Red Lion pub by the canal in Litherland in an hour. Before Marty could ask where the hell he had been all this time and why hadn’t he been in touch – as well as why that pub – his brother had put down the phone.
Marty knew that he had no time to spare phoning Bernie if he was to arrive at the meeting place on time. It was rush hour and there would be long queues for trains and buses. As he sat on the L3 bus, heading along Stanley Road, Marty was thinking about the day the police had turned up at his parents’ house, looking for his brother.