The Girl From Barefoot House (42 page)

‘
Di Marco of the Met
, and a few other things.’

‘He’s in Hollywood now. He writes scripts for films. Mum divorced him because she didn’t like living in London. Before that, they lived in New York.’

Under the table, Josie kicked her daughter’s ankle, but was glad she’d spoken, even if she’d made half of it up. She was regarded with new respect. They had probably thought they were dealing with an ignorant peasant. She said to the publisher, ‘I’ve a feeling I’ve seen you before, but can’t remember where.’

‘On television? I’m often interviewed about this and that. I’m on the book programme shortly, promoting
My Carnal Life
.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. He hadn’t had silver hair. It was more the cut-glass accent she remembered, the rather jerky gestures. ‘It’ll come to mind eventually.’

The meal ended, more wine was ordered, glasses filled, including one for Dinah who’d drunk lemonade so far. ‘To toast the signing,’ said Leonard McGill. He
produced a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. ‘The contract, Josie. Do you have the manuscript with you?’

‘Of course.’ Terence Dunnet had loaned her a leather document case to carry it in. ‘It’s here.’

‘Fair exchange is no robbery.’ He laughed. ‘Read through this, my dear. Initial each page at the bottom, and sign on the dotted line at the end.’

‘I’m sure there’s no need to read it.’ Josie began to flick through the pages, conscious of Roger Hamilton watching, almost licking his lips, as he waited for her to sign.

‘I have been long awaiting this moment, but I’m afraid nature calls. Please, excuse me.’ The agent left the table.

Josie reached inside her handbag for a pen. The man opposite was playing with a knife, turning it over and over in his hand. She stared at the knife, then at his face. ‘I’ve definitely seen you before. Have you ever been to Liverpool?’

‘During the war, yes. My regiment stayed overnight before sailing for Cairo.’ He smiled charmingly at her. ‘But you would have been just a babe in arms then, possibly not even born.’

‘You’ve got a sister called Abigail.’

He dropped the knife. ‘How can you possibly know that? She died years ago.’ His face went ghostly white, his jaw wobbled. He picked up a glass, drained it, smoothed back the silver hair with a hand that shook.

Josie’s eyes never left his face. He’d remembered, too! ‘You called me mam a whore,’ she said softly. ‘You nearly raped me. I wasn’t a babe in arms, but I was only six.’

There was silence, and it seemed to go on for ever. A waiter appeared, and went away when everything
seemed to be in order. Across the room someone laughed. A cork popped.

‘Look, that was a long time ago.’ His voice was hoarse, uneven. Saliva oozed from the corners of his mouth. ‘We were living on the edge. We did things we wouldn’t normally dream of doing. We weren’t ourselves.’

‘Nothing can excuse what you tried to do.’

He swallowed, recovered slightly, became belligerent. ‘If I recall rightly, your mother
was
a whore.’

‘
I
wasn’t,’ said Josie. ‘I was six.’ She stood, collected her things together, put them in her bag and picked up the document case. ‘Goodbye, Mr Hamilton. I think Louisa would have preferred her book to be published by someone else.’

‘Look!’ He was angry now, so angry that it scared her. ‘If this gets out, you won’t look whiter than white. Your mother was a prostitute. It’s not something to boast about.’

‘It’s not something to be ashamed of either. But it won’t get out, Mr Hamilton. I’m going to put it to the back of me mind again, where it’s always been until tonight when I met you.’

‘Mum, Mum. You left without me.’ Dinah caught her up at the door and grabbed her arm.

‘I’d forgotten you were there! Oh, luv!’ She could have wept. ‘You shouldn’t have heard all that stuff.’ Dinah wasn’t fourteen until the end of the month.

‘Are you all right?’

‘No, luv, I’m not. Me legs seem to have disappeared, and me head feels like someone else’s. I need a drink – a cup of tea, dead strong.’

They emerged into Lime Street. Dinah linked her arm in Josie’s for the very first time. Josie said shakily, ‘Let’s go to the Adelphi lounge, hang the expense.’

‘What was all that about, Mum?’

‘I reckon you’ve already got the gist of it, Dinah.’

‘Grandma was a prostitute?’ The girl’s face was bright with curiosity, and Josie was relieved there was no sign of disgust.

‘Yes. Look, once I’ve got a pot of tea in front of me, I’ll tell you the whole thing.’

‘Did the dinner go well?’ Terence enquired next morning.

‘It went abysmally.’ Josie made a face. She’d hardly slept, reliving the awful meal, worrying about Louisa’s book. ‘The publisher chap was dead rude, so I walked out. I’ll call Leonard McGill when I get home. He’ll have to get someone else.’

‘What a dreadful pity. Call him from here if you wish,’ he said generously. ‘The sooner the better. Muriel can’t wait for that book to be in print.’

‘Ta, very much. Oh, I’ve got the contract. I was so mad I stuffed it in me bag without thinking.’

‘Ah, do let me see.’

She handed him the contract, then dialled the London number. The friendly receptionist answered as usual. ‘What did you do to him, Josie? He’s like a bear with a sore head this morning. Hold on a minute, I’ll put you through.’

The extension rang. ‘Josie! What on earth happened last night? Poor Roger, he claimed you took umbrage over something trivial. I said that wasn’t like you.’ His voice was strained, as if he was finding it hard to be his courteous self.

‘Poor Roger’s talking rubbish, but I’d sooner not talk about it if you don’t mind. I’d like you to find another publisher.’

‘That’s easily done, though the advance won’t be as large.’

‘I don’t mind.’ Josie was conscious of something very odd happening. Terence Dunnet was doing a war dance in front of her eyes, mouthing, ‘No, no, no,’ and waving his arms, jumping up and down. To her complete astonishment, he suddenly snatched the phone out of her hand in mid-sentence and slammed it down.

‘Sorry to be rude,’ he gasped, ‘but you don’t just need another publisher, Josie, you need another agent. Did you agree to sell the book outright to this Hamilton chap?’

‘I didn’t agree to anything in particular.’ She looked at him, alarmed. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘There most certainly is,’ he said grimly. ‘No author in their right mind sells a book outright. If you had signed this, you would have given up all rights to the work. You wouldn’t have received a penny in royalties.’ He waved the contract. ‘It would seem that Hamilton and McGill took advantage of your ignorance, did a deal, signed a private contract of their own. Either that, or a very large backhander was involved.’

She was back to square one, no further than that. At least in the beginning she’d had an agent to negotiate on her behalf. How did you acquire an agent? Terence offered to find out.

‘Do you
need
an agent?’ Dinah queried that night. ‘Why can’t you send it to a publisher yourself?’

‘Terence said that might be tricky. Leonard McGill had offers from most major publishers, so he’d consider himself entitled to ten per cent. He rang earlier, and wasn’t half mad when I told him nicely to get stuffed.’ She wasn’t prepared to let him have a penny, and still
bristled with indignation at how close she’d come to being conned.

‘Another agent might find it tricky, too.’

‘I know.’ Josie sighed. She was beginning to wish Louisa hadn’t left her the damned book.

‘Mum?’

‘Yes, luv?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘For goodness’ sake, luv.’ Josie laughed. ‘None of this is your fault.’

‘I know, Mum.’ Dinah came and sat beside her on the settee. ‘It’s that stuff you told me last night. I’ve been thinking about it all day. I’ve been horrible, haven’t I? I was a hateful little girl, and now I’m a hateful big girl.’

‘Dinah, luv! You’ve never been horrible. I must concede you’ve been a bit awkward from time to time, but horrible and hateful? Never!’

‘Yes, I have, Mum.’ Dinah seemed to hesitate, before laying her head on her mother’s shoulder. ‘You didn’t have a mum or dad, and today I realised how lucky I was, having you.’

‘And I’m lucky, having you.’ Josie’s heart turned over. Was it possible that after fourteen strained years they might become friends?

‘When I was little,’ Dinah said in a small voice, ‘I used to have this dead funny feeling that you didn’t want me, that I was in the way. When I got older I was convinced you kept comparing me to Laura, wishing I was nicer, more like her. I
was
awkward. I did it deliberately, I don’t know why.’

‘I was
glad
you weren’t like Laura,’ Josie cried. Guilt almost choked her. Fancy, a tiny baby sensing it was unwanted. ‘I preferred to have a little girl different to Laura. It was wonderful, you know,’ she said softly, ‘to
find meself pregnant only a few weeks after Laura died. Like a miracle. I would have been dead lonely without you, what with your dad gone an’ all.’ It came to her how empty the last years would have been, spent alone. ‘Mind you, it was me own fault your dad went, I told you that last night. He didn’t want to go, I made him. If we’d known about you, nothing would have made him leave.’ Last night, she’d told her daughter just about everything except the murky part Uncle Vince had played in her own and Mam’s life. She wasn’t quite old enough to know
that
yet!

‘And you nearly married Ben Kavanagh!’ Dinah wrinkled her white nose. ‘He’s a bit of a drip, Mum. I’m surprised he didn’t propose again when his wife died.’

‘Oh, he did, but I turned him down. He’s not a drip, Dinah, just a very sensitive man.’

‘Huh! I always thought you’d marry Francie O’Leary. I’ve always liked him.’

‘So has your Auntie Lily.’ Josie grinned. ‘And now she’s got him, hasn’t she?’

Directly after that New Year’s Eve four years ago, when Lily had claimed it was her intention to chase Francie O’Leary to the ends of the earth, Josie had told him she didn’t want to marry him. She didn’t add that Lily’s need was much greater than hers.

Francie’s face was tragic. ‘Why ever not, Jose?’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘I didn’t think you’d care. I mean, we don’t love each other.’

‘I
don’t
care,’ Francie wailed. ‘That’s what’s so bloody tragic. I
want
to care, about something, someone. I’ve got a gene missing, Jose. The gene that makes a person fall in love.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Francie. You just haven’t met the right person yet, that’s all.’

‘What about the bed bit? I
do
care about that.’

‘The bed bit’s over and finished with. We’re not getting married, and I’m not the sort of woman who sleeps around.’

‘Oh, Jose! But we’ll still be friends, won’t we?’

‘The best of friends,’ Josie assured him.

A distraught and tearful Neil Baxter left the house by Woolton Park and got a flat in Anfield as close as possible to Liverpool Football Club. Lily was a bit put out when, after an indecently short interval, he started going out with his landlady’s daughter, almost twenty years his junior. They got married two years later, as soon as the divorce came through.

In the meantime, Lily ruthlessly set about wooing Francie O’Leary with all the wiles at her disposal. She and Josie developed a code. When Francie came to Baker’s Row, Josie would dial Lily’s number and let it ring three times. Shortly afterwards, Lily would arrive, as nice as pie, usually with the children who had been trained to call him ‘Uncle Francie’ and sit on his knee whenever possible. Invitations were printed for Samantha’s and Gillian’s parties, which required Lily calling on Francie at his place of work, and also for the headed notepaper she suddenly found essential. She threw grown-up parties, and played nothing but Louis Armstrong records, Jellyroll Morton, King Oliver – Francie’s all-time favourite music.

One night, Francie arrived at Baker’s Row, and collapsed in a chair. ‘Lily’s proposed,’ he said in a strangled voice.

‘Are you going to accept?’ Josie held her breath. She’d known a proposal was on the cards.

‘It’s either that, or move to another country. Or another planet.’ He smiled slightly and stretched his legs.
She thought he looked a bit smug. ‘Actually, Jose, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to have someone like Lily Kavanagh on your side. She’s come up with all sorts of ideas for the business, quite good ones. But I won’t be nagged,’ he said warningly, as if Josie had the power to prevent it. ‘I will not be nagged or pissed around or told off in public – in private either, come to that. By the way, Jose, you’ve never told her about us, have you?’

‘Lord, no, Francie.’ Lily would have killed her.

And so it came to pass that Lily became Mrs Francis O’Leary, twenty-two years, almost to the day, since she’d been so publicly jilted by him in a noisy pub in Smithdown Road.

‘I’ve been thinking, Mum,’ Dinah said three days after the fateful dinner. ‘You could publish Louisa’s book yourself.’

‘Oh, yeah! On Terence Dunnet’s photocopying machine?’

‘No, get Francie to do it. He does books, at least he does booklets. Marilyn brought one to school one day. It was a history of Liverpool Docks.’

‘He won’t do it for free, luv.’

‘Get a loan from the bank,’ Dinah said promptly. ‘Francie got a loan when he expanded, I remember him saying once.’

‘I’ll talk it over with Terence.’

‘It’s not such a bad idea.’ Terence smiled. ‘Your daughter has a good business head on her shoulders. This is not a first novel by an unknown author, it’s a book that comes with its own advance publicity. It doesn’t need to be promoted. A circular sent to every bookshop in the land, a few advertisements in the press, should do it. It’s a venture I would very much like to invest in, Josie. Get a
quotation from your friend, and I’ll draw up a business plan. We mustn’t forget postage and packing, and I’m sure there will be other things to take into account.’ He rubbed his dry hands together. ‘This is getting rather exciting. Wait till I tell Muriel!’

‘How many copies would you want, Jose?’

‘I haven’t a clue, Francie. Thousands, I expect.’