Meet Me at the Pier Head

by Ruth Hamilton

  Theo shook his head in despair. ‘Are you sure you’re fit for work?’

  ‘You saw the doctor’s letter. Go home and look after Rosie and her nan.’

  Theo stood still for a moment with a man who had become a close friend and occasional drinking partner in recent years. ‘I’ve had an accident, Jack. A fall, you might call it.’

  ‘I know,’ came the quiet reply. ‘You’ve been floating on a cloud for over a week, daft lad.’

  ‘It shows?’

  Jack nodded. ‘And it’s two-way traffic. She’s fallen, too. It’s not going to be easy for either of you come September.’

  ‘I told her to behave herself tonight.’

  ‘Yes, but you didn’t tell yourself, did you? I watched you ignoring her deliberate, like, and I saw your face when she ended up in your team for the quiz. See, she attracts attention from everybody, male and female. Just slow down a bit; it’s early days.’

  ‘I’m stupid.’

  Jack grinned. ‘If you’re stupid, God help the rest of us, Theo. I wouldn’t mind being your kind of stupid, all them letters behind your name. Go home. Go on, bugger off.’

  ‘She’s driving me crazy, Jack, and it’s not a long journey because I was halfway there. From the first time I saw her—’

  ‘I know, lad. We’ve all been there. Take her home.’

  Theo drifted to a corner where Tia was stacking chairs. ‘Wait for me in the car,’ he muttered.

  ‘But I’m—’

  ‘Now.’

  She turned and looked at him. His eyes were glacial. ‘Yes, Sir,’ she said softly before stalking out of the hall. I shouldn’t have touched his leg. I shouldn’t have batted my eyelashes at Miss Bailey’s other half. I shouldn’t have smiled so saccharine sweetly at the welfare woman. I shouldn’t have come to the damned party. Oh, someone help me, here he is.

  He climbed into the passenger seat, angry with her, angry with himself, worried about Rosie and Maggie, worried about Kent.

  ‘Aren’t you speaking to me?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not talking to either of us.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To some place we’re not known. Shut up.’

  The some place they weren’t known was the seafront in Southport. It wasn’t so much seafront as sand-front, as the tide was so far out that it was a thin, silver ribbon across the far horizon. Because of the run of local waters, Southport was stealing Blackpool’s sand, with the result that Blackpool had the more spectacular tides.

  He parked the car and sat in silence, staring at the desert spread before him. To hell with writing it all down and giving the essay to her in Kent; he would tell her now, and be done with it. So where were the words? Was he, like Tom Quirke, hidden beneath a thousand printed chapters? Was he a coward?

  ‘It was a social situation,’ she said finally after a silence that had lasted for some twelve miles. ‘We were supposed to have fun, though I should be suing the person who baked those concrete fairy cakes.’

  He glanced at her. Why did she have to be so wonderfully pretty? ‘Having an affair with my right leg was wrong.’

  She shrugged. ‘Right or left, or right or wrong, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’

  Theo sighed heavily. ‘The next time you walk into my school, you come as the teacher of innocents, little five-year-olds entrusted to you. Can’t you control yourself?’

  ‘It’s difficult near you.’

  He shook his head almost imperceptibly. ‘It’s not just you. I go to the other extreme by trying to ignore you. Now, because Emily Garner has designs on me, we could lose Rosie.’

  ‘No. Oh, God, no.’

  ‘Oh yes, Portia.’

  She stared at him with tears in those huge, violet eyes. ‘We can’t lose her, Teddy.’ After pulling herself together, she asked, ‘How many women are there in your queue?’

  ‘Hundreds. I don’t want Maggie to lose Rosie because of our stupidity.’

  ‘Then perhaps we should go along with Ma’s plan. She has real faith in us, even after so short a time. I’ve told you, Ma has arranged it all. She really is magic, you know, and she’s used her charm to talk to officials in Canterbury. I’m so sorry if I’ve put Rosie and Maggie in danger.’

  ‘The fight ain’t over yet, baby. I’m still in the corner putting my gloves on.’

  ‘Good for you. I’ll be your second.’

  Theo sat stock still for several minutes before plunging into territory he hated to visit. ‘Have you been to London lately?’ he asked. ‘I don’t mean the smart areas or the slums – just ordinary London where bed and breakfast is affordable.’

  She shook her head. ‘I usually stay with Aunt Rachel, Ma’s sister.’

  ‘There are notices in guesthouse windows or doorways, usually in capital letters and often spelt wrongly; they say No coloureds, no Irish, no dogs. You’ve never seen those? Still, at least they have the courage of their twisted convictions, I suppose.’

  ‘No, I haven’t seen them, but I’ve heard about them.’

  He stared through the windscreen at mackerel clouds illuminated by the setting sun. So beautiful. ‘My father is an Irishman who emigrated first to Liverpool, then to America. He met and fell in love with my mother, who was a quadroon. She was one quarter black, and her skin was dark, darker than mine. She had tight curly hair, too.’

  Tia regarded him quizzically. ‘So what does this mean? Is it your so-called genetic problem?’

  ‘I am an octoroon, one eighth black,’ was his reply.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘An octoroon married to a Caucasian can father or give birth to a child who is completely black.’

  Her jaw dropped slightly. ‘And this is your genetic fault? This is what you fear?’

  He laughed, though the sound he produced was grim. ‘It’s the attitude I fear, Portia. It’s the notices in windows, the unequal opportunities, the sheer bloody snobbery of pale-skinned people.’

  ‘Oh, fuck them,’ she spat.

  ‘Language, Miss Bellamy.’

  ‘Sorry, Teddy.’

  He waited until she had calmed down. ‘Be quiet,’ he advised. ‘This isn’t easy for me.’

  ‘Right,’ she whispered. ‘Go on, spit it all out.’

  ‘The hieroglyphics on my back were executed by the Klan, who wanted me marked as unclean. I am the product of a mixed marriage. Even in the hospital, I was treated as less than human, so somebody there was a member or a supporter of the Ku Klux evil scum. I don’t look coloured, yet they knew I was.’

  Tia remained silent while he searched for words.

  ‘I was sore for weeks after being whipped and knifed.’ He took a deep but unsteady breath. ‘When I got back from the hospital clinic that evening, the trailer was on fire and . . . and I heard her screaming. Dad received terrible burns from trying to rescue his Lily Mae, my mom. Mr Delaney, who owned the ranch, shot dead two of the masked killers. One was the sheriff of a nearby hick town; the other was one of his deputies.’

  Tears rolled down Theo’s face, though he did not sob. ‘My mother’s limp was from an attack she’d endured as a child, since she didn’t belong anywhere, because she wasn’t completely anything. And that is why I can’t have, mustn’t have, children. The world isn’t good enough for any son or daughter of mine, Tia.’

  A tangled mass of words sat in her mind, though she prevented them from reaching him. Indignation and sympathy almost choked her as she fought to remain outwardly tranquil; at this moment, she realized how much she truly loved this furious, frightened man. But she had to tell him, must say it now. ‘Teddy?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It makes no difference to me, to how I feel. I know we’re right. Even after so brief a time, I know we’re right.’

  ‘Yes. So do I.’

  ‘Then for Rosie’s sake, we think seriously about doing this Ma’s way.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Think about it, Teddy.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ He paused for
a while. ‘When I saw those notices in London, I felt like blacking my face, shouting with an Irish accent, or barking like a dog. I got a bed, but what about others who were real “niggers”? That’s the word. That’s the word they wanted to write on their signs, because it’s easier to spell than “coloured”. But I must say this – they’re honest. They don’t hide behind masks and silly dresses – they write it down and display their antipathy.’

  She felt his frustration and his fear. Because of some faulty commandment invented by stupid, prejudiced people, Teddy was denying himself the third innate right of man. The right to have a family and to raise that family followed close on the heels of the right to life and the right to bodily integrity. Because his mother had been dark, she had suffered a cruel death, while he had been badly scarred.

  ‘So there you have it,’ he said.

  Tia pointed south. ‘No, there you have it. Liverpool is built on the bones of your African ancestors.’

  ‘That is an over-simplified view, Tia. Remember the poverty, the primitive cellar dwellings with no windows and water running down the walls, the rate of infantile mortality, the pain of hunger. Yes, the big, bad money boys made a pile, but the people of Liverpool began to get jobs and were slightly better housed and better fed. What the hell did they know about Africa?’

  He paused for breath. ‘Yes, boat crews knew what their cargo was, but they, too, were struggling to feed children, so what should they have done? Refused money, refused the work, remained in dire poverty – was that feasible? Africans weren’t people. They were thought of as something unusual, a missing link between animal-and mankind. The whole mess was built on ignorance. America wanted cheap labour, and America got what it wanted. Now it’s stuck with a lot of angry descendants of those slaves. If it hadn’t been Liverpool or Bristol or London, if it hadn’t been England, some other country would have complied.’

  She wondered how he could be so generous, so in love with a city that had traded in human souls. His distaste for the southern states of America was more than justified, yet he forgave Liverpool?

  He spoke as if reading her mind. ‘Here, they learned, Portia. When slavery ended, merchant ships from this great port simply switched to different cargo. They were excellent sailors and brilliant navigators. Yes, African lives were lost at sea in conditions that were beyond primitive. They were fed thin gruel and they perished in their own effluent. But it stopped. In America, it never stopped. The whites go to church and read their Bibles, then they put on their pure white gowns and their pure white pointy hats and they kill black people.’

  She was quicker, angrier this time. ‘It hasn’t stopped here if people won’t give rooms to those of mixed race.’

  ‘There’s no Klan in Britain.’

  ‘What do you think Mosley was about? Boy scouts and jamborees?’

  ‘I think he was wrong, yet open. He wore no mask, Portia. It’s the Klan’s attempts at anonymity that get to me. Yellow-bellied cowards to a man, they are. North America isn’t too bad, but the southern states are steeped in prejudice and religion that has no moral base. I just had to get out, and my father’s people are here, in Liverpool. What? Why are you studying me so closely?’

  ‘Does your father have red hair?’

  Theo managed to smile at last. ‘Yes, though most of it’s gone now.’

  ‘There’s red in your sideburns.’

  ‘I know.’

  She shook her head. ‘Right, that’s my mind made up. I don’t want a red-haired child. See? I can be as silly as you are. Come on, let’s go home, Teddy.’

  ‘What if it’s just infatuation, Tia?’

  ‘I’ve done infatuation. This tastes different.’

  He nodded his agreement. ‘Just because it’s happened at the speed of light doesn’t make it any less real, I guess.’

  ‘Then we must follow our star, Teddy.’

  ‘You’re my star, you terrible woman.’

  It was too early to tell him that she wanted his children, that she held the opinion that all would be equal within twenty years, that colour and creed would cease to matter. ‘Yes, follow me, baby. I have a terrific sense of direction.’

  ‘Good, because we’ll share the driving tomorrow.’

  ‘Bugger.’

  ‘Yes, that too.’

  Having asked and been granted permission, Tia told Ma, Joan and Juliet the life story of Theodore Patrick Quinn as soon as she reached home. When she delivered the part about the burning trailer, Tia’s mother and sister were both in tears. Joan, the quiet stalwart, kept her cool, though her eyelids were more mobile than usual.

  ‘He manages not to blame Liverpool,’ Tia said. ‘He insists that it’s all historic and that the city opens its arms to most incomers. Not once has he seen here notices banning certain people from asking for a room. As you’re aware, he doesn’t look like a person of mixed race, but he insists that any wife of an octoroon might give birth to a coloured baby.’ She snorted in a very un-Roedean fashion. ‘If he thinks he’ll get away with that nonsense, I shall put him right.’

  Juliet dried her eyes. ‘Pa was bad enough when he thought you’d set your sights on Simon – this would drive him crazy.’

  Tia nodded sorrowfully. ‘I wonder how he’d feel if you married a half-Jew and I married an octoroon? He is one prejudiced man. He struts around the stage blacked up as Othello, but—’

  ‘We have coloured actors now,’ Izzy reminded her eldest daughter.

  ‘Good,’ Tia said. ‘That should save a few pounds on greasepaint.’

  ‘Pa’s fighting back,’ Juliet said. ‘He’s counter-suing Ma for unreasonable behaviour and mental cruelty because she pretended to be drunk for months.’

  Izzy shrugged. ‘I’m not Ma, darling. I’m Izzy. Richard is purchasable. I’m having Bartle Hall valued, and I shall buy it from him by offering a little more than is strictly necessary.’ She turned to Tia. ‘Look after Theo. Don’t hurt him emotionally, since he’s already had enough of that. If your minds are made up, keep the appointment I made for you; if you’re unsure, cancel it. I realize it’s all been very quick, but if you’re both sure about protecting Rosie, you need to be in a stronger position.’

  ‘Oh, Ma, I . . .’

  ‘Oh, manage him,’ quiet Joan said, her voice stronger than usual. ‘Men are uncomplicated creatures.’

  ‘Nanny, he isn’t easy to deal with. He’s a determined soul with a dark history. His mind is set.’

  ‘Then change it for him,’ Joan almost shouted. ‘We can all see that you’ll settle only for him and that he feels the same. Follow your heart and give your brain a rest. Let him chase you till you catch him. I’m serious. You’ll never forgive yourself if you lose him. Izzy, tell her.’

  Izzy shrugged. ‘You know my girls better than that, Joan. They do as they please no matter what you or I say.’

  Tia sat back and closed her eyes. Tomorrow promised to be one hell of a day. Tomorrow night would be . . . different, too.

  Downstairs, Theo listened while Maggie read the story of Sleeping Beauty to her granddaughter. Well, you did it, Theo. You finally managed to tell a woman why you’re such a mess, such a sad man. And it was cathartic, cleansing, though difficult. Yes, you haven’t known her long and yes, commitment is a huge step and yes, she’ll want children. We might adopt eventually. There are hundreds of them out there in need of a settled home, and Rosie is just the start.

  Maggie entered. ‘Did you have a nice time?’

  He shrugged. ‘Like the curate’s egg, it was good in parts.’

  She had no idea what he meant by that. ‘And Tia?’

  ‘She played to the gallery, as usual. She and I are similar, both in danger because of our sense of humour. Let’s just say she was naughty, shall we?’

  ‘Oh deary me. She looked lovely, didn’t she?’

  Again, he raised his shoulders. ‘Yes, she had some of the men salivating like hungry hounds. Speaking of which, where’s Mickle?’

  ‘She’s
asleep with Tyger in the basket. That cat will miss her.’

  ‘I am not taking the cat to Kent. Let the ladies upstairs spoil him for a while. I’ll just pack the last of my things.’ He left her listening to the radio.

  After closing his suitcase, he took a bath before going to bed. Sleep eluded him until the early hours; all he could think of was the long drive south, Rosie and Maggie, the fuss that might be caused by Emily Garner when she discovered that the child and her grandmother had disappeared.

  The plot thickened. Would he and Tia keep that appointment on Thursday? Would they win Rosie by keeping that appointment? Would she be safe from her own birth mother and all potential pimps? Questions, questions. He slept fitfully and was woken at dawn by birdsong. It was time. Today was just the beginning.

  Fourteen

  On Saturday, Nancy Atherton discovered something new about herself. Riding in a converted ambulance put paid to knitting if she gazed down at her work. As long as she knitted without looking, as long as she wasn’t counting stitches or reading a pattern, all was well, but she couldn’t lower her eyes without feeling ill. She needed to get out of the vehicle several times, as did Tom, because he would not leave his wife’s side, especially when she felt sick.

  Rosie, who had started the day in a quiet but happy state, fell asleep after the first hundred miles. Her night had been restless due to anticipation and excitement, so she had to be woken now whenever they stopped for food and drink. ‘You’re missing some pretty places,’ Maggie told her, but the child continued to fall asleep. Her temporary nickname was Dozy Rosie, though it didn’t matter, as she wasn’t awake to hear it.

  Mickle took it all in her majestic stride. She lay on her special blanket next to luggage in the back part of the van behind an open-work metal screen, very relaxed and happy to go along with whatever these peculiar creatures expected of her. She was fed and watered regularly and given a short walk, after which she was allowed to sleep. What more could a dog want from life?

  Maggie’s eyes were wide with wonder; she had never before been out of Liverpool except for the odd day trip to Blackpool, Southport, Morecambe or North Wales. ‘It’s so green,’ she said repeatedly. ‘There’s loads of space with no houses,’ she announced once or twice.