by June Francis
‘I wouldn’t dispute that my dad has a temper,’ said Marty. ‘But if you knew that, then you should have taken it into consideration and watched what you said.’
‘I did!’ said Pete, scowling. ‘What got me was that Peggy is over twenty-one, which means we could have got married without your dad’s permission, but would she go ahead? Would she hell! I thought he might give his blessing if I agreed to accept instruction in the Catholic faith and that our children were brought up Catholics … but …’
Marty broke in. ‘You understood how important that was to her?’
‘Of course I did,’ Pete retorted. ‘I was half way to doing just that but then I decided I didn’t want to turn into someone like your father.’
Marty stared at him. ‘Has that remark got something to do with your mother having known my father in the past? There was mention of some photographs your mother brought. What did they have to do with all this?’
Pete straightened up from the door jamb. ‘I didn’t get to see them until Mam brought them home after I walked out. Peggy said she hated me and told me to get out.’
Marty rubbed the back of his neck which was aching and he felt overwhelmingly weary. ‘I didn’t know that. Did she see the photos?’
Pete shook his head. ‘The only person to do that was your father. He wasn’t allowing your mother or Peggy to do so and now I know why.’
‘Can I see them?’
Pete hesitated. ‘Don’t you think it’s more important that you try to find Peggy? Have you reported her missing to the police? You need to get her description circulated.’ He paled. ‘I hate to think she’d do something stupid,’ he added hoarsely.
‘Then don’t think it,’ said Marty. ‘She wrote that we were not to worry, so I doubt she’s going to kill herself. Anyway, Dad won’t hear of involving the police. He’s been out looking for her himself.’
Some of the colour had returned to Pete’s face. ‘Regretting upsetting her now, is he? He should have thought before he behaved the way he did. It’s not as if he hasn’t any experience of what the older ones call a “mixed marriage”. He’s a hypocrite is your father. He doesn’t approve of mixed marriages and yet he made one himself,’ Pete said.
For several moments Marty could only stare at him and then he shook his head. ‘You’re wrong! Mam comes from an Irish Catholic family.’
‘Yeah, but your dad doesn’t,’ said Pete, his eyes glinting.
‘That’s rubbish! You don’t know what you’re saying.’ Marty’s fingers curled into the palms of his hands.
‘I do! What d’you know about your father’s family? Does he ever talk about them? I bet he doesn’t.’
‘How could you know that?’
‘Do you really want to know? Think you can cope with the truth?’ Pete mocked.
‘You want to watch your mouth,’ said Marty.
Pete stared him straight in the eye and clenched his fists. ‘You gonna make me?’
For several moments their gazes did not waver and then Marty relaxed. ‘This is bloody daft! I didn’t come to pick a fight. For our Peggy’s sake I want the truth.’
Pete relaxed his fists. ‘Come on in then and I’ll show you.’ He held the door wide.
Marty wiped his feet on the coconut mat and followed him into the front parlour. Pete switched on the light and went over to a sideboard, opened a drawer and took out a large buff envelope. He motioned to Marty to sit down over by the window and moved a coffee table in front of his chair and pulled up another one close to it. Pete sat down and tipped a pile of photographs from the envelope on to the table.
‘This might take a few minutes,’ he said.
Marty leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. He could not take his eyes from the photos as Pete began to sift through them. The ones Pete had turned over so far had a sepia tint to them. After a few minutes he paused and set aside a photo and then another and another. He shoved them across the table towards Marty.
‘Have a look and see if you recognize anyone in them.’
Marty guessed he was supposed to spot his father. What he did not expect to see was a middle-aged man in uniform leading a parade. He was the spitting image of his father. But it couldn’t possibly be him because the women in the crowd were wearing Edwardian clothes. He picked up the next photo, which was of a young man dressed in a sailor’s uniform. There was a definite likeness to the other man in uniform. The third photograph showed two older men and one who looked to be about nineteen, and a young woman wearing bridal clothes.
‘The bride, Alice, was my mother’s best friend,’ said Pete. ‘They worked together and Mam was the bridesmaid at her wedding.’ He frowned. ‘Alice died of TB two years after that photograph was taken.’ He sighed. ‘Thank God that scourge will soon be a thing of the past here in Britain.’
‘And the men?’ asked Marty impatiently.
‘Alice’s brother, father and grandfather. My mother went out with the brother for a short while - if you look closely you might recognize him. She was asked what colour she was before she was allowed over the threshold of the family home. I take it you understand what I mean by that? If you look again at the first photograph, you might realize that it was the Loyal Orange Lodges march. Shortly afterwards she met my father and that was the end of the other relationship.’
Marty blinked and then looked again at Alice’s brother. ‘You’re not trying to tell me that’s my dad and he went out with your mother?’
Pete nodded.
Marty eased the tightness in his throat. His mind was in a whirl. The Orange and Green were sworn enemies. The sectarian fighting that had taken place between the two had often been vicious in the past and even now there could be trouble in Liverpool on the twelfth of July. ‘If this is a joke, it isn’t funny. Dad couldn’t be Orange.’ His voice sounded raw with emotion.
Pete was silent.
Marty shook his head and continued to stare at the photographs. It couldn’t be true! It had to be a mistake. Someone who looked just like his father. Yet the more he looked at the photos the more he became convinced that Pete believed the truth of what he had said.
‘You say that our Peggy has never seen these photographs?’
‘No, I told you I never had a proper look at them until after the episode at your parents’ home.’
Marty bit on a fingernail and was silent for several moments and then his head shot up. ‘How did your mother come by these photographs? It seems odd to me that they should be in her possession.’
‘Her father was a photographer and these photos are all that’s left of those he managed to save when his shop caught fire during the war and nearly everything was destroyed. After he died, Ma found this envelope and she didn’t like getting rid of what was inside. She told me that when she was alone she used to take the photos out and spread them on the dining table every now and again and think about the people she remembered. Most of them are dead now, including my father and your grandparents.’
Marty could find no words to say; he was still trying to get his head around what he had just seen and heard. If it really was all true, then his father was indeed a hypocrite.
‘You know what they say about some converts?’ said Pete abruptly. ‘They’re often more committed and aggressive about what they believe than the organizations they join.’
Marty felt a spurt of anger. ‘My father’s not a bad man!’
‘You know him better than I do.’
‘He believes in right and wrong.’
‘So do I,’ said Pete with a wry smile. ‘I still want what I believe is right for Peggy and me, but when I spoke of it, she wouldn’t listen because of your father’s bigotry.’
Marty wished he knew where his sister was right now, so he could discuss this with her. ‘I’d best be off,’ he said abruptly. ‘Bernie will be wondering where I am.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ said Pete, limping behind Marty as he left the parlour.
Marty opened the front door and stepp
ed outside. ‘I’ll let you know if our Peggy gets in touch.’
‘Thanks, and if she gets in touch with me, I’ll let you know too.’ Pete hesitated. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but have you told your parents about Tommy getting in touch yet?’
Marty shook his head. ‘I’ve told Mam but not Dad. Have you mentioned him to your policeman brother?’
‘No, but I hope he’s not going to bring more trouble to your parents’ door.’
Marty made no comment and headed off down the street towards Stanley Road. He had a tremendous headache and wished what he had just heard would go away – but it was not going to do so. He had to talk to someone about it. His father was the obvious choice but he felt too churned up to control his feelings. Yet he needed to discuss it with someone. Maybe tomorrow he would go and speak to Father Francis. And on his way home he called in to see his mother and remind her to keep quiet about Tommy if she didn’t want to have the police knocking on their door. He hoped his father would not be at home. As it was both his parents were out and so was his sister.
Marty was expecting to find the children asleep and Bernie downstairs with her mother or sister watching the television with a sour expression on her face when he arrived home. He did not blame her solely for what had gone wrong with their relationship. The thought of all the years that lay ahead of them caused his stomach to tie itself in a knot. They were Catholics and divorce was out of the question.
To his surprise, when he entered the kitchen, it was to find Monica knitting in front of the fire while watching television. How was it she was able to do two things at once? His mother was the same and so was Bernie’s mother, except the older women actually seemed able to do three things at once.
‘Hi, Marty,’ Monica greeted him. ‘Your tea’s in the oven. D’you want me to get it out for you?’
‘No, I’ll see to it, kid. Where’s Bernie?’ he asked, hanging up his overcoat.
‘You don’t want to know,’ said Monica, rolling her eyes. ‘She’s really cross with you. She wanted you to take her out this evening.’
He frowned. ‘First I knew. I did phone your grandma and ask her to tell her I’d be late. So where has she gone?’
‘The Grafton with that friend Marie from work. Have you been to your mam’s? Any news about your Peggy?’
‘No.’
He went and took his dinner out of the oven. It was near enough burnt to a crisp. But he was hungry, so he ate the lot. He felt slightly more cheerful afterwards and over a second cup of tea he decided he must speak to his father about what Pete had told him. He was not looking forward to it and needed to give some consideration to the best way to go about it.
‘So where d’you think your Peggy’s gone?’ asked Monica, putting her knitting away.
‘I wish I knew.’
‘What about that Pete who came here?’
‘That’s where I went this evening and he hasn’t seen her,’ said Marty. ‘It came as a shock to him.’
‘He seemed really fond of her.’
‘I’m sure he is but I don’t really want to discuss it just now, Monica.’
She flushed. ‘Sorry. I know it’s none of my business. Would you like me to leave you alone?’
‘If you don’t mind. I’m not good company.’ He dug into his trouser pocket and produced a shilling. ‘Here, buy yourself a treat. Thanks for looking after the kids.’
She took the money. ‘Ta! They haven’t been any trouble. See you.’
As Marty washed up, he thought about what Pete had said about Peggy being terrified of displeasing her father and he felt angry. He did believe himself that a healthy fear of those in authority could be a good thing but it seemed that in his sister’s case there had been nothing healthy about the way she felt towards their father. It was the same with Tommy.
Marty was in bed when Bernie came home. When she stumbled into the darkness of their bedroom it was obvious that she’d had a drink or two and didn’t care if she woke him or the children. She could be raring for either an argument or sex. He wasn’t in the mood for either. She whispered to him when she climbed into bed but he pretended to be dead to the world and she was soon snoring beside him.
The following morning Bernie was still asleep when the children woke up. Marty checked the clock and saw that it was nine o’clock. He hurriedly dressed before helping the children to put on their clothes and taking them downstairs. There was no sign of any other members of the household up and about despite it being Palm Sunday, so he raked out the ashes and cinders, while the children scrunched up a couple of sheets of newspaper he gave to them. He fetched wood chips and coal from the cellar. He warned them against playing with fire as he put a match to the newspaper. Then he put the fireguard into place before making the three of them bowls of puffed wheat with milk and sugar. Afterwards, he left them playing a game under the table while he took a cup of tea up to Bernie.
She appeared to be asleep but her position had changed, so he shook her shoulder until her eyelids fluttered open. ‘Go away!’ she groaned.
‘Here’s a cup of tea. It’s half past nine. I’ve got to go out so you’ll need to get up and look after the kids and take them to church,’ said Marty. ‘Everyone else is still in bed. I don’t know what’s up with everybody.’
She pushed herself up against the pillows and then winced and put a hand to her head. ‘I suppose it would be too much to ask your lordship to take them with you? I’ve got a terrible headache - and don’t you be saying it serves me right,’ she warned, squinting up at him. ‘It’s your fault. If you’d been home at the proper time I wouldn’t have gone out with Marie.’
‘Where’d you get the money from to drink enough to have a hangover?’
‘I borrowed it from Mam, so you’ll have to give me the money to pay her back,’ Bernie muttered.
‘How much did you borrow?’
She named a figure.
He did not believe that she could have spent that much. ‘I’ll speak to your mother myself,’ he said.
‘No!’ she muttered. ‘I might have made a mistake.’
Too right you have! Marty did not always see eye to eye with his mother-in-law, but she had principles and stuck to them. He doubted she would hand over such a sum to her married daughter to go gallivanting without her husband.
‘Drink your tea and get up! I want to be out in half an hour,’ said Marty.
‘You’re real tight you are,’ said Bernie, pulling the bedcovers up to her shoulders before reaching for her cup. ‘Why couldn’t you bring me coffee?’ she muttered, gazing into it.
‘Because there isn’t any.’ He left the bedroom and went downstairs to find the children had dragged the tablecloth down so that it reached the floor on one side of the table. He could hear them giggling on the other side of it and guessed they were sitting on the crossbar beneath and pretending they were in a tent. He smiled as he went and had a shave at the kitchen sink. He thought about the house he had fixed locks to yesterday, envying the owners their two bathrooms. One day … he thought.
By the time he was ready to go out it was ten o’clock and Bernie had still not appeared downstairs, although he could hear signs of movement from his mother-in-law’s bedroom. Taking the children by the hand, he took them upstairs and into the bedroom. He could see Bernie’s hunched form beneath the bedcovers and the anger he had felt growing inside him now exploded.
‘What the hell are you playing at? I work all bloody week to keep this family going and you can’t even be bothered getting out of bed when I ask you. Now shift yourself!’ He pulled down the bedcovers but she remained curled up in the foetal position.
‘Have a heart, Marty! I don’t feel well,’ she whined. ‘Can’t your mother have them for once? She scarcely ever has them.’
‘And whose fault is that?’ said Marty, reining in his anger.
She did not answer.
Taking the children by the hand, he left the bedroom. He put on their coats and the bobble hats that M
onica had knitted them last Christmas and ushered them out of the house. Having them with him might lighten the atmosphere at his parents’ home. If his mother felt she couldn’t cope with them, then hopefully Lil would be able to do so.
When he arrived at his parents’ house the curtains were open and he guessed his mother might be getting ready for church. He opened the door with the front-door key he had been given on his twenty-first birthday. He went inside, ushering the children in first. Josie ran ahead up the lobby, followed more slowly by Jerry. The kitchen door opened and their grandmother, dressed in her outdoor clothes, gazed down at her in surprise. Without a word she scooped Josie up in her arms and hugged her close.
‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing them here, Mam, but I need to speak to Dad,’ Marty said.
‘He’s not here,’ his mother replied, her voice muffled against Josie’s neck.
Marty had a sense of foreboding. ‘Where is he?’
Mary lifted her head and looked at Marty. ‘I told him about our Tommy getting in touch with you and he’s gone to look for him.’
Oh no! Marty thought. ‘Did he say where he was going first?’
‘No, he just … stormed out. I should have known better; should have kept my mouth shut. Most likely he’s gone to that Red Lion pub in Litherland that Peggy mentioned to me,’ she said.
Marty put his arm around her and helped her into a chair with Josie still clinging to her. ‘Kids, you be good for your gran. She’s had a shock.’
‘What’s a shock?’ asked Josie, sitting on her grandmother’s knee. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘Yes,’ said her grandmother, holding her close and reaching out a hand to her grandson.
Marty sat down opposite his mother. ‘Mam, I went to see Pete Marshall yesterday.’
‘Has Peggy been in touch with him?’
‘No, he didn’t even know she’d left home but he told me something, Mam, that knocked me for six.’
His mother stared at him. ‘I don’t think I want to know what it is if the look on your face is anything to go by,’ she said, her voice trembling.
‘You have to listen, Mam. He told me that his mother was the bridesmaid at Dad’s sister’s wedding and apparently she went out with him for a short while. He showed me some photographs. They were Protestants!’