A Liverpool Song (36 page)

Joe dried his eyes. Betsy, once upon a time a scruffy mare, had turned out to be a perfect mother. ‘I wish I’d done more, Em.’

‘We all feel like that when someone dies, Joseph. Here we are, St Augustine’s. This has to be done.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Come on.’

‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’

Stuart Abbot, who was managing to make his name without a degree, was there with his parents, and they completed the tiny congregation. The vicar, who had never met Betsy, had taken the trouble
to speak to those who had known her, so there was enough said to remind the assembled few about Betsy’s virtues as a mother and a carer.

She was interred in her husband’s grave at Heaton Cemetery, which was nicer than Tonge, as it was further from the centre of town. Andrew, Joe, Geoff and Emily, who had discussed the
terminus of life, had all chosen cremation for themselves. Seeing Betsy’s wooden box being lowered into a subterranean cavern served only to strengthen their determination not to become part
of the earth’s crust.

They repaired to the Abbot house behind their shop, which was about to be sold. With one novel and several radio plays under his belt, Stuart’s first priority was to get his parents out of
town to somewhere fresher in the shape of a brand new bungalow in Harwood. He lived at New Moon, which property belonged to Andrew. Instead of paying rent, he had financed upgrading work, always
consulting his lifelong friend before instigating a project.

Andrew cornered him as soon as he found the opportunity. ‘I’m getting married,’ he said. ‘And you have to be my best man.’

‘Who is she?’

‘The love of my life, Stuart.’

A few seconds passed. ‘So when did you meet her?’

Andrew grinned. ‘Before I was born and after I died. About four or five weeks ago. I’ve been celibate ever since, because she has to rid herself of a fiancé.’

‘Can’t you ever do anything normally?’

‘No. I don’t do normal, and neither does she.’

Stuart tried not to laugh. Laughing among sausage rolls and curling sandwiches at a funeral tea seemed inappropriate. ‘Are you sure about her?’

‘Oh, yes. Absolutely.’

‘And she’s sure?’

‘Naturally.’

‘So . . . when?’

‘Whenever, so get writing a speech. Mary and I will live in my flat at Mother’s house, and Pam can live across the road above Dad. She’ll have somebody with her. Mary and Pam
are like us, friends since childhood, now engaged to a pair of brothers in the Merchant Navy. It was all planned until I happened along. Their ship docks soon, so I’ll let you know when the
coast is clear. Or should I say when the coast isn’t clear?’

‘You’re mad.’

‘Yes, and happily so.’

‘Describe her.’

‘No. You come and meet her, judge for yourself. She has a pretty friend if you’re interested.’

‘Sorry. I’m still a queer.’

‘Don’t use that word. You’re one of the least queer folk I know. Medical students beat you into a cocked hat. Some were sent down for having a party in the morgue. The
attendant got the sack, too.
That’s
queer. I never in my life met so many weird people gathered together in one place.’

‘Not even at school?’

Andrew thought about that. ‘Some of the teachers were odd.’

‘And at university?’

‘Oh, they’re all peculiar. Clever-peculiar, but none the less . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Come to think, doctors are rather unpredictable.’

‘There you go, then. You’re nearly one of them.’

‘But the daftest of all are writers, Stu.’

They were five years old again. And the sandwiches continued to curl.

Some people refused to accept defeat gracefully, as Andrew found out to his cost when John and Michael Webster, home from their travels, tried to beat the living daylights out
of him. Having never been attacked before, he was more frightened by his own automatic reaction than he was by this pair of ocean-toughened thugs.

Andrew had never trained or boxed or played team games. There’d been the compulsory stuff at school, but he hadn’t done much since apart from a bit of cycling and the occasional
lengthy walk. His next piece of heart-quickening activity would probably take place in bed with Mary, and that would be no marathon, would it? Oh, no, loving her would never be a chore . . .

He was strolling homeward up Rodney Street after a modern jazz session in student digs off Mount Pleasant, when he was accosted from behind, sworn at, spat upon, and kicked in the ribs, the nose
and the skull. While the two maritime heroes took a break from their labours, Andrew decided to play comatose. Blood poured from his nose, forming a large pool blackened by moonlight. They possibly
thought he was dead, and he was more than happy to allow them to continue mistaken. His ribs hurt like hell and his nose imitated Niagara, but his skull seemed to have survived the onslaught
without too much damage.

‘Look at all that blood. We’ve cracked his skull,’ said one of the charmers, panic lifting his tone. ‘You shouldn’t kick people in the head. If they have a thin bit
of bone, it goes into their brain and kills them. You could get done for murder, and I’m telling you now, you can swing on your own because I never done that.’

‘Calm down, Mike. He’ll live, worse luck. Where the bloody hell do you think you’re going?’ The rejected fiancé stood and watched helplessly while his brother
abandoned him. ‘Come back now, you rotten coward. Tell you what, you keep going in that direction, and I’ll give you a clout later. I’m serious, lad. Come here this
minute.’

But brother Mike continued to flee the scene at speed.

John Webster turned away from his escaping sibling to find a vertical, bloodied, tall and well-built man facing him. He curled and raised his fists, but was too slow for Andrew Sanderson. The
student doctor who had stolen Mary smashed him in the face, and as he fell he felt a weighty size ten shoe banging forcefully against his genitals. Too winded to call again for his brother, the
sailor rolled into a fetal position in an effort to preserve what, if anything, remained of his manhood. He retched and brought up several pints of ale that had tasted a lot better on their way
down.

Andrew stood back and frowned. For the first time ever, he had hit someone deliberately. The realization did not please him, because he seemed to remember feeling momentary triumph about what
he’d done. There was absolutely no excuse for such behaviour, though what other course of action might he have taken? He flexed his fingers to convince himself that there were no breaks in
the digits. The man on the ground groaned. This curled-up wreck was Mary’s ex–intended. What a mess.

With blood still dripping from his nose, Andrew looked down at his handiwork. He wasn’t designed for such behaviour, but when push came to shove it was every man for himself. The two
lunatics could have killed him, and Andrew had too much to live for. She was worth the pain. To him, she was more valuable than anything or anyone on earth.

Alerted by the noise Mary and Pam arrived, both breathless. They’d been enjoying a game of dominoes with Joseph, helping to keep his mind occupied by something other than poor Daisy while
his son played jazz down the road. ‘Oh, God,’ Mary said quietly. ‘I think we need an ambulance.’

‘I’ll be all right,’ John groaned. ‘Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be on me feet.’

‘The ambulance won’t be for you,’ Pam snapped. ‘I wouldn’t stop a bloody muck cart for you. The ambulance is for Dr Sanderson.’ She awarded John another kick,
this time on his arm. ‘I saw what happened. We both saw, me and Mary. So you can tell your Mike to take his sodding aquamarine and shove it up his arse. I’m not marrying him, and
she’s not marrying you.’

Mary was holding on to her man. ‘Sorry about that, Drew. Pam has a wonderful way with words, very Beatrix Potter. It’s what comes of mixing with riff-raff like this. Come on,
let’s get you sorted, baby. You look like the wreck of the
Hesperus
. I’m sorry, so sorry.’

‘Just a minute.’ Andrew bent over his assailant. ‘Only as a matter of interest, what made you believe that kicking shit out of me would persuade Mary to take you back? Are you
so devoid of intellect that you still fight like rabid dogs? She doesn’t want you, doesn’t need you, doesn’t love you, and now she doesn’t even care what happens to you. My
solicitor will be in touch with both you and your brother.’ He glanced round; several doors had opened. ‘Look at all the witnesses, bird brain. Set one foot in Rodney Street again, and
you’ll be looking at life through bars. And I don’t mean these railings.’

Joe arrived in shirtsleeves, best tartan braces on show. ‘Did this bugger bust your nose, Andrew? Let me at him, damned animal. He’ll be sorry he was born when I’ve done
with—’

‘I’ve dealt with him, Dad, so don’t panic. Just drive me to get checked out, will you? My nose isn’t broken, but I need looking at for ribs and perhaps for concussion,
though I think I’m OK. Mary, don’t cry. I can’t carry you this time. Take her in to Mother, Pam. This object can crawl away under its own steam. Fortunately, it’s in dark
clothing. With any luck, it’ll be run over.’ These words had the desired effect, as John Webster edged his way through vomit to the safety of the pavement.

‘I’m coming with you,’ Mary said in a tone that would brook no argument.

After making sure that Pam was safely inside Emily’s house, Joe helped his son and Mary into the rear seat of his car. Andrew’s nose seemed to have slowed down, so that was a small
blessing. Joe was pleased for little Mary. She was better off, because Andrew knew how to behave properly, which was more than might be said for her previous boyfriend.

As they made their way to the hospital, Andrew whispered innocently to his inamorata, ‘I take it that you are no longer engaged to be married to that . . . that fragrant
gentleman?’

‘If your ribs weren’t hurt, they’d get my elbow.’

He nodded, a serious expression on his face. ‘Did you give back the ring? Because we could save some money if we used it again to—’

‘No, I’m not wearing it ever.’

‘So I have to—’

‘Yes, you do.’

He laughed, but pain in the ribs soon put a stop to that.

Andrew was X-rayed, poked, prodded, questioned and irritated. So this was the receiving end? He decided that he did not have concussion, was not prepared to discuss further the possibility of
concussion, nor did he want the police, a bed, another X-ray or a cup of the dishwater that was passed off as hospital tea. ‘You shouldn’t be offering that muck to somebody who may be
concussed. Make your mind up.’

He thanked them for strapping him up, though he was of the opinion that ribs should be left alone unless a lung was pierced, thanked them for stopping the nosebleed, for winning the war, for
inventing penicillin and for allowing him to go home at last.

‘We didn’t say you could go home,’ said the amused ward sister. ‘We always keep a head injury for a few hours. It’s hospital policy, Dr Sanderson. You surely know
that after all your training.’

‘They’re often the worst patients,’ Mary commented. ‘I never yet came across a doctor with the ability to be patient or to be
a
patient. I’ll accept
responsibility for the child. Because that’s what he is under all this bluster.’

Andrew awarded Mary a withering glance, though she withered not at all.

‘Take him away, then,’ said the ward sister. ‘Because I’ve had enough of him – how on God’s good earth do you cope? He’s a very argumentative young
man.’

‘I don’t cope. I’m still serving my apprenticeship. Come on, you.’

Joseph giggled to himself on the way home. These two in the back of his car would never be short of work, because they could go on the halls as a comedy duo if medicine didn’t suit. There
was something so right about them. ‘Mary?’ he asked. ‘How did you come to be engaged to such a wally?’

‘I was young and foolish,’ she replied. ‘And John was never violent; neither of them was. Now I’m the foolish one again.’

‘She’s marrying me, so that’s how foolish she is,’ Andrew said. ‘As soon as she can get her family together, we’ll be wed. Her parents emigrated to Cornwall,
you see.’ He touched Mary’s hand. ‘Wait till you see the ring. You may not come across another like it ever, because it’s a one-off, very different. You’ll be the talk
of Liverpool, believe me.’

Oh, heck. What had he done now? ‘What have you done, Drew? Is it a skull and crossbones or a dragon’s head?’

‘Wait and see. I’m too busy feeling pain.’

‘Get used to it if you’re marrying me.’

‘Promises, promises,’ he replied.

An anxious Emily stood on her doorstep. How was he, why hadn’t she been told, why had she been forced to wait till Pam arrived? ‘I came out, and you’d gone – I could see
your car disappearing round the corner. We’ve been worried sick. Are you all right, Andrew?’

‘As long as nobody touches me, I’ll be fine. Mary’s ex managed to walk away, I see.’ He looked at his soon-to-be fiancée. ‘Come upstairs and soothe my
fevered brow, woman.’

Emily led Joe inside. ‘I’ll make you a toddy. How’s Daisy, Joseph?’

‘Exactly as she always was, Em. I don’t think she has much of a memory. She’s got Bunny and Teddy and all the others, and the home staff look after her very well. The nuns are
keeping an eye on her, too.’ He followed his wife into the morning room where Geoff was setting up the chessboard. ‘That’s me in for another hammering,’ Joe said before
sitting across the table from his opponent. They were all so good to him, all concerned for his welfare and for Daisy.

Upstairs, Andrew led Mary into his bedroom, which was currently hers. He asked her to peel back a beautiful Hamadan rug and take up a floorboard. She complied, and lifted out a box.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘First, what the hell were you doing engaged to that twit when there were brilliant men like me in the world?’

‘Ooh, get you, Mr Perfect. They saved our lives down the scaldy when we were about ten.’ She had to explain the scaldy, the sugar works and its warm effluent. ‘I started to
drown through cramp, and Pam nearly drowned trying to save me. John and Mike dragged us out and looked after us for years after that. We drifted into it when we were sixteen. It was just the next
step so that Pam and I could be together for always.’