A Liverpool Song (13 page)

Richard stepped forward. ‘The law is on Helen’s side, you see. She is extraordinarily angry—’

‘So am I. Have you any idea of the value of what was destroyed here?’

‘Have you any idea of the value of your wife?’ Andrew asked. ‘And I’m not talking finance here. I mean her disposition, her appearance, her support, her saintly patience.
You broke her. And when she snapped, you became a creature beneath contempt. She is unlikely to forgive you, because you betrayed her trust.’

Daniel shook his head in despair.

While Richard delivered a legal lecture, Andrew walked to the window. But he didn’t see the formal gardens, the fountains, the obsessively neat topiary. No. He saw a large, rude man whose
wife had fled, heard himself, at twelve years of age, telling the man to go away. He saw the
Bolton Evening News
with a headline that had been engraved for perpetuity in his mind,
Bolton Man Found Hanging in Burning House
, and he prayed that there would be no repeat.

But no. Daniel Pope probably loved himself above all else. Now that he knew the whole story about the Liptrotts, Andrew was only too acutely aware of Marty’s reasons. But he wished he
hadn’t been so rude to the man who would go on to destroy himself within hours. Pope wouldn’t do anything like that. While there was money to be made, he would carry on regardless.

Anya appeared on the galleried landing. ‘Excusing me,’ she said. ‘My Sofia, she find perfume belong to Helen, also clothes for children. These she pack. She not
stealing.’

‘Oh, do as you like. Empty the freezer, take my computers, my music system, my television. Because I am past caring.’ He had things to do, clothes to buy, excuses to manufacture. He
slammed out of the house, leaving behind him the representatives of his departed spouse. She had built a legion of guards, and she clearly intended to hide behind the structure, but he would work
something out.

He started the car. Yes, that was it. Helen’s father had just retired from his post as orthopaedic consultant, and Helen had gone to spend some time with him because he was depressed. That
would have to suffice, as he couldn’t think of anything else. He might add a bit of embroidery to the story, but he needed not to go too far. And he would find her. By God, he would.

He roared off in his car, gravel spitting upward all over the place. Helen was at her father’s house. Had he been a betting man, he would have put his shirt on it. Shirts? He had none.

Eva’s face was a picture coloured by a mix of emotions. She had left a man and a daft dog in the house, but now she was returning to chaos. Kate, surrounded by shopping,
was in the kitchen. She kissed Eva. ‘Be a dear and put that lot away for me, will you? I must help Helen with the children, then I have to get back to Woolton.’ She left the room.

Eva’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. She’d been about to ask for an explanation, but Kate had disappeared. Which behaviour was typical, Eva thought as she looked back down the
years. The older girl had always been a torment, very swift to escape questioning, cheeky as any scally-Scouser when it came to confrontation. Helen was here? Why? And there was some very strange
food in the bags; rusks, New Zealand honey, tiny bananas, some Heinz Junior meals in jars. Sarah must be here, then. Where was Doc?

She looked in the morning room. No joy. Nor was he in the drawing room. He might be upstairs, but— ‘Bad pennies always return,’ she said. ‘He’ll appear on the scene
when he’s least needed.’

Stupid Storm was outside, a hopeful nose pressed against glass in the outer door. He’d grown since yesterday, Eva swore he had. She’d seen Shetland ponies shorter than that cheeky
mutt. Blinking paw prints all over windows and doors, giant molehills where he’d buried bones, innocence plastered all over his face. It was hard to dislike him, but she was working at
it.

He woofed. Eva ignored him. Well, she attempted to.

Kate breezed back in. ‘Helen wants tea and toast. I tried to push food down her before, but she was too upset. I got some SMA and a sterilizer. I think it’s time Helen got Cassie off
the breast. She’s too upset to feed.’

‘Who is?’

‘Helen, of course. Turning yourself into a cow is one thing, but trying to feed a child during all this upset— Oh, sorry. You don’t know, do you?’

Eva bridled. ‘No, I don’t know. And I haven’t the faintest idea about what I don’t know, because I don’t know what I don’t know. If you know what I mean,
like.’

‘She’s left him.’ Kate pushed the plunger on the cafetière.

‘Who?’

‘Helen’s left the Pope.’

‘I didn’t know she was a Catholic. All right, all right. So she’s walked out on Daniel. I like Daniel. Elton John sings it. Anyway, she knows full well he’s worth a
bloody fortune. A woman shouldn’t leave the family home.’

‘Oh, she’ll get what she’s due. My Richard will make sure of that. He’s over in Neston now with Dad and Sofia. She’s the nanny. So you’ll have a full house,
Eva. All five bedrooms will be in use.’

‘Ooh, I am pleased.’

Kate stood back and eyed the beloved adversary. ‘You haven’t been pleased since the Boer War ended.’

‘Cheeky monkey. I was the one what relieved Mafeking.’

‘I’m sure you were.’

Eva picked up a loaf and parked it in the bread bin. ‘Another woman?’

‘Several.’

‘Damn fool. She’s gorgeous, clever, and she has the patience of a saint. I never liked him. I’ve seen him eyeing you up a few times, madam. And other women, too. Thinks
he’s God’s gift.’

‘Women are just toys to him, Eva. And he was so certain that he would get away with it, and sure she wouldn’t leave him even if she did find out. How wrong can a man be?’

Eva took milk from the fridge and handed it to Kate. ‘She’ll go back to him. I’ve never seen a woman so much in love . . . Oh, yes I have. Your mother. Your mother was daft
about Doc right till the day she died. Helen’s like that. She’ll go back.’

Kate took the carton. ‘Over my dead body, Dad’s dead body, Richard’s, Sofia’s – she’s the nanny. The thing about a love as great as Helen’s is that its
mirror is hatred. I think this second baby has opened my sister’s eyes. Daniel wants a son, and she’s sure he would have demanded that she carried on giving birth until he got his wish.
Helen needs no more children. We change, Eva. We all change.’

‘Do we?’

Kate shrugged. ‘Except Daniel. He has no clothes to change into.’

This one hadn’t altered an inch, Eva thought as she took back the milk and replaced it in the fridge. Sharp as a tack, stubborn as a mule, daft as her dad. In spite of all that, Kate was
probably the most lovable kid Eva had ever known, and that included her own lot. Except for Natalie. Natalie was special. ‘Why has he no clothes?’

‘Helen destroyed them. She was magnificent, Eva. I’ve never seen anybody in that state before. Not one drop of sweat, not one hair out of place, yet she went through his stuff like
wildfire.’

‘Get that coffee to her before it goes cold.’

When Kate had left the kitchen, Eva perched on a stool. Helen needed to be married; she also needed her work. There were two sides to her, and each was simple, but in a very clever way. The
university was her other place, and it kept her brain ticking over nicely. Home was where Helen’s heart lay. She loved being a wife and mother. Rumour had it that in spite of domestic help
she insisted on ironing her husband’s shirts, the very shirts she had now destroyed. While the rest of the world barely tolerated Daniel, Helen had devoted herself to him. Until now.

The dog was pulling faces at her. How could a bloody dog manage that?

Andrew entered the room. In his wake were two women chattering in a strange language. ‘Ah, Eva. Ladies, this is my housekeeper and good friend. Eva, meet Sofia, Helen’s nanny. And
this is Anya, Sofia’s mother.’

They moved into English. ‘I am please to meeting you,’ said the elder.

‘As am I,’ the nanny said.

Eva eyed her competition. The girl seemed pleasant enough, but the older woman’s eyes were all over the place, as if scanning everything in the room. Big oak cupboards, click, roaming
butcher’s block, click, large refrigerator, beep, table and chairs, ding, dog at the door, click. ‘Good kitchen,’ was her delivered opinion. ‘You good housekeeping, Eva. Is
clean.’

Eva’s feathers settled. ‘He made all this,’ she said, her voice raised as if talking to the hard of hearing. ‘Doctor, carpenter, musician. I have looked after him for
many years.’

Anya turned to Andrew. ‘Clever,’ she told him. ‘Very clever man.’

‘He made nearly all the wooden furniture, even a four-poster bed. My Natalie will be helping me soon.’ She threw that into the mix in case anyone was looking for a job.
‘She’s my granddaughter. Her mother died, and she needs money for university.’

‘You excellent woman. Family first is right. My girl here is to be teaching English to Polish peoples soon. She is teach me first. This dog is want to come in see master.’

‘On your own head be it,’ Eva mumbled under her breath as she opened the door.

Anya squatted down and greeted the dog in Polish. Storm ground to a halt and licked her face. She rattled on in her native tongue while the dog sat and tilted his head from side to side as if
taking in every word she delivered.

‘I knew he didn’t speak English,’ Andrew said. ‘But he should be French, he’s a red French mastiff cross.’

‘This have happen before,’ Anya said seriously. ‘Chopin, he was Polish, but he go to France and is die, I think, in Paris, also in poorness, no money. Perhaps your dog is
descending from Chopin dog?’

There was humour in the woman. Andrew grinned broadly. Humour was the one thing that cut like a scimitar through class, language, and any other barriers created by the human animal.
‘I’m afraid Storm isn’t musical. He does a good howl, but it’s all on one note.’

‘Two, sometimes,’ Eva said. ‘And his language is dog, just dog.’

Anya eyed the dog solemnly. ‘You no speak
polsku
, then? This making me sad. And you no play for me Chopin?’

Andrew helped Anya to her feet and led her to the drawing room where the upright was housed. There was a grand piano, but that was in Mary’s function suite. He put Anya in a chair, sat at
the piano, tried a few notes, then played a nocturne. As the final notes died, he turned to find her wiping her eyes. ‘Your language is music,’ she pronounced.

‘From my mother.’

‘Music needs no translation, just interpetring.’

‘Interpretation.’

‘Thank you. Now, I play for you. I not so good, but I try.’

They changed places. She delivered a halting but note-perfect version of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. ‘My husband, he like that one,’ she said.

‘Yes, it’s beautiful. Do you have a piano at home?’

Anya shook her head. ‘No piano since Poland.’

‘Then feel free to use mine. If you want privacy, use the grand at the other side of the house. If you want help, I can give you lessons.’

‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘But I cannot pay.’

‘I want no money.’

She stood up. ‘Now, I go with Sofia and see babies.’

Had he offended her? Perhaps he shouldn’t have mentioned lessons, because she needed just practice. Or the idea of charity might have been a bitter pill for her. She had the ability, so
she probably needed just to take up playing again until her fingers loosened. He would talk to Sofia later, as her grasp of English was excellent.

Anya stole the baby. ‘Three weeks,’ she said. ‘And already, fire of life in these eyes.’ She looked at the mother. ‘Too good for that man. My Sofia pleased you do
this thing. My Sofia sensible girl. Sensible, yes, that is word.’

Helen, red-eyed and sad, offered a weak smile to Anya. ‘Your daughter is a great help to me.’

‘Yes.’ Anya returned the smile. ‘Is because she Polish. Polish women working hard from all time.’

‘Verb, Mama,’ said Sofia. ‘Doing word.’

‘Where I coming from, what I say is good.’

‘You need a doing word, not a participle,’ her daughter explained.

Anya’s smile broadened. ‘Old age come when child teaching mother.’

‘You’re not old, Mrs Jay,’ Helen said.

‘Four and three, forty-three. Sofia took me bingo for to learn say numbers, but man stupid. Why is legs eleven? Top of shop ninety? Two ducks twenty-two? And we had fat ladies,
eighty-eight, which was rude, because those ladies is sit with us. Four and three is seven, no forty-three. I keep this baby, yes, take her home?’

‘No, sorry.’ Helen’s words arrived on a whisper.

With great solemnity, Anya handed Cassie back to her mother. ‘Your heart in your shoes will rise again, Elena. Soon, your eyes shine bright stars in pretty face like these in baby. He just
a man. He in past. Future belong women always. Men does killing, women does making children. So future is ours.
Dzien dobry, Elena
.’

‘Jean dough bree, Anya,’ Helen replied.

‘This was nearly right,’ Anya announced as she left.

‘Helen is a linguist,’ Kate called.

‘Good.’ Anya’s disembodied voice floated in from the landing. ‘These, we need.’

‘Always the last word in both languages,’ Sofia told her companions. ‘Where is my bedroom, please? I shall put away my things, then wash Sarah. Where is Sarah?’

‘In your room waiting for you.’ Kate took Sofia out to the landing.

Alone, Helen closed her eyes and nursed her infant. She missed him. Never again would he weave his magic in her bed, a magic he had distributed generously all over Europe, no doubt. She missed
her house, her gardens, the swimming pool, the gym. The girls, when older, would have kept ponies and dogs. But she couldn’t go back, mustn’t go back.

Determinedly, she concentrated on his faults. He made fun of other people, but could never take criticism or a joke aimed at himself. He often stayed away longer than necessary, probably taking
his pick of girls until he had been forced to come home or his appetite had reached saturation point. A chain like Pope’s needed a helmsman, and he was at the wheel. So confident of his own
importance, Daniel was.