A Liverpool Song (32 page)

‘Juster?’

Joseph nodded. ‘It’s always “just a minute” or “just a sec”, so we call him Juster.’

‘Then you have Neely.’

‘Yes, Neely finished, Neely home time. Ghost’s the moaner – red-haired chap – Harpic’s clean round the bend, Jigsaw falls to bits when something’s wrong,
Rattler’s teeth don’t fit, and Donor’s very pale, as if he gives blood every other day.’

‘And you’re Soft Lad.’

He grinned broadly and nodded. ‘In Liverpool, soft is daft. And I must be daft for hiring this shower.’

‘Well, I think they’re wonderful.’

‘So do I, Em. I’ve always enjoyed work, as well you know, but there’s fun here. And in spite of the larking about, they’re meticulous. Mad dogs, though, the bloody lot of
them are. Now. We have to have a meeting, me, you and Rattler. Orders are coming in at a rate of knots. We need more transport, more fitters, bigger premises again. And some of the lads will have
to move on. We are going nationwide, Emily. I want training premises and thirty hours in every day.’

So Joseph was on his way. All Emily wanted was for the three men in her life to be fulfilled and happy. She wished Joseph could meet some nice, gentle woman, but she realized that his confidence
in that area of life was seriously corroded. Now that she understood the true joy of physical love, she had difficulty in hiding her pity for Joseph, but he was a proud man, and she mustn’t
let her feelings show.

She drove homeward, deliberately avoiding the shops. If she went anywhere near George Henry Lee’s again, she’d spend a week’s wages in five minutes. She’d spotted some
lovely linens and towels . . . ‘Oh stop it, Emily. You’ve the life of Riley as it is.’

Andrew was in when she got home. ‘How did it go?’ she asked. On his second day at college, he had met his first corpse.

‘Fine,’ he answered. ‘Well, I was fine, but some poor devils hit the floor, while a couple vomited. Not the girls, though. One had to go out for a bit of air, but she dragged
herself back in and got down to it. It’s rather like carving a giant Sunday joint.’

‘Andrew!’

‘Well, you asked.’

‘Was your body male or female?’

‘Female.’

‘Ah.’

‘Mother, I’m no innocent. I’ve seen the female form, though in a warmer state, I’m glad to say. And you can kill that blush, because there are no innocents in this
house.’

The front door opened. ‘Coo-ee.’

‘Saved by the grandparents,’ Andrew muttered before going to greet them.

Irene was in a state of excitement that approached hysteria. ‘Oh, what a wonderful house. Georgian, isn’t it? But wait till you see what we’ve got you, Andrew. It was the best
we could find. Emily? You there, love?’ She walked up the large hall to greet her rediscovered daughter.

Alan entered with a massive box. ‘Your skeleton,’ he said. ‘We got you a good one.’ He lowered his tone. ‘Park it somewhere visible. And you have to name it.
Apparently, naming your skeleton is part and parcel of being a medical student. Then watch your mother’s face when she claps eyes on it.’

In the morning room, Andrew placed George carefully on his stand. He was a fine figure of a man, though somewhat lacking in the flesh and skin department. ‘A Georgian house, so
you’re George. Let me get you something to wear, poor chap.’ When a coat was draped across shoulders and a hat topped the skull, a hyper-innocent Andrew entered the kitchen.
‘Shall we have tea through here?’ he asked.

Mother’s face defied description when she entered the morning room. Morning rooms were meant to be small, but this one was big enough for ballroom dancing. She clasped her chest.
‘Very nice,’ she said. ‘Just what we need to go with our tea and scones.’

‘I tried,’ said her son, his voice trimmed with sadness. ‘But he wouldn’t stop dieting. George, meet my mother.’

‘If you were younger,’ Emily said.

‘I know. Smacked bottom and up to bed with no supper.’ He picked up a plate. ‘Cake, anyone? Whatever you leave, George can have. He needs the calories.’

Emily sank into a chair. Because of this precious boy, she had her parents back. Andrew owned a country house and a skeleton named George. Geoff would be home soon. Joseph was doing what he did
best, and was contented with his life. All was bliss in her hemisphere. She crossed the room and shook George’s hand gently and with great seriousness. ‘Welcome home, George.
We’ll get you better, so not to worry.’

Daniel Pope knew he was a changed man, though he was still discovering himself. He was enjoying the teenage years that had been denied to him, he supposed. It was rather like
peeling off wallpaper in a neglected house where there was always another layer underneath. Somewhere behind all the Anaglypta and woodchip and layers of emulsion paint, a hormonal teenager waited
to be found, released and allowed to grow.

He spent a fair amount of time talking to himself in a mirror. What he saw was a handsome man who was two-dimensional, as flat as the surface that reflected him. He also saw someone whose
self-interest was constructive, because he needed to find out exactly who he was. Everyone had been right – his mother had done damage. Although unprepared to lay all the blame at the feet of
Beatrice Pope, he was tracing many of his problems back to their source, and he was finding Ma in every picture, sometimes at the edge or in the background, but always there. Always there, always
right, always interfering, questioning, probing.

It was almost time to face her. She had never liked Helen, but Helen’s quiet strength had precluded open warfare. Ma was jealous. Ma wanted to be the only woman in Daniel’s life. She
continued to play an active part in the business, and these weeks he had taken away from work had given Daniel time to think. And what he thought wasn’t pretty.

Yet he didn’t want to hurt her. ‘You have to tell her, old fruit,’ he advised the figure in the mirror. ‘Because you damaged Helen, and Ma was at the back of all of
it.’ And Ma couldn’t conceal her joy about Helen’s desertion of him. ‘Come home, son. I’ll look after you.’ She was to blame.

Or was she? Surely, when a person grew to adulthood, he should accept responsibility for all choices and misdeeds? But regression, a process of which he had been unaware, had borne fruit, and
the harvest was audible on discs. Under hypnosis, he had let it all out. Strapped to another man, he had screamed it out on his way back to earth. Oh, that had been brilliant, and he could scarcely
wait for his first solo jump. Fastened to a trainer was exciting, but he needed to be alone – that would be symbolic of his final break from Ma.

‘I won’t stop talking to Ma,’ he advised his reflection, ‘but she will know her place in the scheme of things.’ Then, he would have to face Helen. Helen, like many
even-tempered and controlled people, had limited patience. It took a lot to shift her but, once moved, she was a virago. He grinned, though the smile didn’t light up his eyes. The photographs
on top of his ruined clothes had needed no accompanying note, as they still screamed
Look what you lost, you damned fool
.

But he hadn’t lost, not quite, not yet. Staying away from her had been part of the plan, and he saw his children when Andrew drove them across. Andrew, Ian and even Richard had been his
backbone during the time it had taken for him to form vertebrae of his own. As for those who had listened, the professionals – they could not be faulted. ‘Do you think of me, Helen? Do
you?’

She, her sister and her brother had not been restricted throughout development, though Eva wasn’t an easy vehicle to pass. If anything, they had suffered a degree of genteel neglect, since
their parents had been so tied up in each other. But Kate, the fiery one, the gentle-till-pushed-too-far Helen, and Ian, the studious boy, had all come through relatively unscathed, while he had
been so badly affected by a doting mother that he had been emotionally crippled. He could never keep company with ‘rough’ boys, was forbidden to go swimming without an adult family
member, was not allowed to enjoy camping, fishing, roller-skating, cycling. He’d been imprisoned by his own mother.

So, he had to shape a distance between himself and his parents. If Helen came back, the statutory trips to Chester, where his parents lived, would be cut down. Visits to Neston by Ma and Pa must
also be limited. Helen needed space, as did he, yet grandparents deserved to see grandchildren, and vice versa. Many lines must be drawn, then. And this time, the pen would be in Daniel’s
hand.

He was getting stronger. Everyone knew that he and Helen were having a trial separation. What they said behind his back no longer mattered.

While living in her father’s house, Helen changed. She adopted and adapted her older sister’s method with men, which was to swat them like flies by going for their
vulnerable spot, otherwise known as the ego. Thus freed, she dressed as she liked, went where she wanted to go, and developed a range of dirty looks to be delivered to roofers, builders, painters
and any other wolf-whistlers. She was a free woman, and they could bog off.

Her sister joined her once a week for lunch, and they went round all the bars in turn, giving marks out of ten for a subject entitled the Most Imaginative Use of the Baked Potato in North
Liverpool. So far, Barry’s Bar was winning, while Louie’s Tavern trailed behind with limp lettuce and some terribly depressed tomatoes with a rancid blue-cheese sauce.

‘We shall send the league table in to the local press,’ Kate said after their escape from Louie’s. ‘And I’m posting this to a laboratory for testing.’ She
unfolded a paper napkin inside which a cherry tomato did its best to look normal. ‘Naw,’ she said. ‘Can’t be bothered.’ She dumped her parcel in a bin.

‘Kate?’

‘Yes, Helen?’

‘I think Anya’s fallen for Dad.’

Kate shrugged. ‘He’s gorgeous. OK, he’s our father, and we don’t notice, but he is very handsome. And, I think, very aware of Anya. She’s different, she’s
vulnerable, and she’s pleasant.’

‘I may be getting in the way, though.’

‘Rubbish. What will be will be, Helen-babe. Now, let’s get you back to Dad’s, because I need to be elsewhere. Richard’s training for deep-sea diving.’

‘You serious?’

‘Oh yes. Everybody seems to be taking up hobbies. Your fellow, if he is yours, is jumping out of aeroplanes, while mine’s leaping into water. Strangely, it started in the en suite
with some goggles and a green plastic snorkel. Yes, he’s a worry. I don’t know whether to get a psychiatrist or a vet. I watch him doing his job, and I wonder whether people know
he’s not fit to be out on his own.’

‘Oh, Kate, you’re so lucky.’

Kate put an arm across her sister’s back. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to rub salt in. I’ve told you I love you and I want you happy—’

A wolf whistle from a window cleaner stopped Kate in her tracks. She knew she was pretty; she also knew that the whistle had been for her sister, who was film star-ish.

‘Listen, Mr Soap and Water, you couldn’t afford her. And you’ve missed a bit. Get in the corners, you lazy sod.’

In North Liverpool, this was not the behaviour expected by residents, and some passers-by stopped and stared.

‘She’s married to a millionaire, so why would she look at you?’

Helen dragged Kate away. ‘Stop showing me up. I can deal with this myself.’ She looked at the whistler. ‘Sorry about that, sir. Oh, pull your jeans up. These people can see the
crack of your arse.’ The words, delivered in clipped, educated tones, caused a ripple of laughter among spectators, but Helen took her sister’s arm and walked on. ‘Can you imagine
the old me doing that?’

‘Oh, God. I’ve turned my little sister into a delinquent.’

They continued a constitutional designed to walk off a baked potato. ‘How would you feel if Dad married again?’ Helen asked.

‘Not sure. I want him happy. This grieving for our mother bit has gone on too long for my liking. He doesn’t talk to the grave still, does he?’

Helen wasn’t sure. The flowers got changed, though she hadn’t noticed him standing there for any length of time. ‘He and Anya have a place, bottom of the erosion steps. She
takes a car rug, and he sometimes takes a flask. They drink out of the same cup.’

‘Hell’s bells.’ Kate giggled. ‘I hope Polish isn’t contagious. If he catches it, we’ll be flummoxed.’

‘I like her,’ Helen said.

Kate agreed. ‘And he prefers small women – Eva’s the exception, of course. Because he’s getting ratty with her. Remember how he was a father as well as a husband to our
mother?’

‘He’s a wonderful person, Kate.’

‘He is. He most certainly is. Come on, let’s give Sofia her well-earned break.’

Andrew loved his time at college. He worked hard and played hard, though not as hard as some when it came to the playing bit. As time passed, the medical school’s
population diminished due to the disappearance of people who failed examinations, missed deadlines for written work, didn’t turn up at hospital placements, or simply gave up because the
course was beyond them.

Andrew applied himself as best he could in all disciplines, though what remained with him was the moment he’d opened that box and lifted out George. George was a miracle of engineering.
The human skeleton amazed Andrew, as did the structures that fastened bone to muscle, bone to bone, hand to arm, foot to leg. Da Vinci had expressed his interest in the human form, had examined
bones, had doubtless been cursed for so doing. Bone mattered. Without strong infrastructure, bodies failed. They lost movement and protection for vital organs; for Andrew, bones were not quite
everything, but their strength was vital.

He had his share of enjoyment, particularly when it came to women. They all but fell at his feet, especially when the world drifted into the 1960s. Although oral contraception was not
universally available, many female medics managed to get hold of supplies, and sexual freedom became a much appreciated facility during the new decade. So he sowed his wild oats, managing by fair
means or foul not to become romantically involved, and was much talked about among liberated women of the age. He was a good lay, and he wanted to be no more than that. If a woman became
affectionate, he moved on. Was he cruel? He suspected that he was.