A Liverpool Song (56 page)

‘And Dad?’

‘On the beach again with that bloody hound. It’s ate me best handbag. Doc bought me a new one. I think it’s designer, cos I can’t read the name.’ She rattled on
just to keep her mind busy. This was the day, the big day.

‘I’ll be there in half an hour. Keep my dad there. Tell him I’m on my way. And thanks for coming to me, Eva. You did the right thing, because I’m less emotional than my
sisters.’ He ended the call.

‘Less emotional? He’s as much fun as last week’s cabbage, but at least he has sense.’ She stood up. Over eleven years she’d waited for this, and Doc was finally as
ready as he ever would be. The letter was in her new bag with the unpronounceable name. Oh, God. ‘Help me, Jesus.’ She walked to the window. Soon, Anya might be living here, and this
had to be done first, as it might take Doc time to recover. He was walking back towards the house. Coffee. A shot of caffeine and a chunk of carrot cake might help him out a bit. Not that she was
worrying about him; oh no, she didn’t care, did she?

The tests were final proof. They were an undeniable medical conclusion, and Ian had been so helpful. ‘Sound as a pound behind that smacked bum of a gob,’ she said as she ground the
beans.

When Doc was parked with his cake, his coffee and
The Times
, Eva began the business of waiting. For her, waiting was not a passive thing; she walked. Back and forth she went, a bit of a
wipe of the hob, swill the sink again, go out and sweep Mary’s grave. She looked down at the words on the stone, realized that her eyes were full of tears. ‘You should have told him,
babe. He’d never have left you, no matter what.’

‘So you’re talking to her now.’

Eva clutched her chest. ‘That’s right. Give me a bloody heart attack on top of everything else.’ He hadn’t heard the words she’d spoken. Had he heard her, he would
have had more to say. Much more.

‘Sorry. What’s bothering you?’ Andrew asked.

She couldn’t take any more. She should wait for Ian. It needed to be done properly. ‘Ian’s coming,’ she managed finally. Panic bubbled in her throat, and she felt
sick.

‘And?’

‘And nothing.’ She turned her back on him and began to walk away. Her legs were jelly, and her heart was certainly contemplating an excursion on the wild side.

‘Eva?’

She stopped dead and waited for him. She was suddenly ill and frightened for him.

He caught up in a few strides. ‘What’s eating away at you?’ he asked.

And in that moment, just before Ian was due to arrive, she snapped. After eleven long years of near-patience, her rope finally ran out in these final few minutes. It was stupid, because
Doc’s son was coming and . . . and she hissed at her employer. ‘Look in the mirror, you damned fool. Then look in the top drawer in the kitchen. For once, really examine something
outside your own precious bloody misery. Be your own doctor. I’m going home. Let Ian deal with it, because I’ve had enough of it all. I resign.’

On her way out of her job, she almost collided with Ian. ‘Sorry, lad,’ she said. ‘I blew up in his face. I’ve resigned.’ She ran.

Ian found his dad in the kitchen. The top drawer was open, and he was staring into it. ‘Dad?’

‘I always felt that I’d seen this face before. And I had. She’s the image of me. Who is she, Ian? Who is she?’

‘Come and sit down. She’s your granddaughter. Hang on, please.’ Dad never fainted, but Ian caught him just in time. ‘Come on.’ He held his dad firmly. ‘I
don’t think I ever told you, but I love and admire you so much – you’ve been my inspiration.’ Ian helped his hero into the drawing room. After placing Andrew in an armchair,
he occupied its twin at the other side of the fireplace. ‘Feeling better?’

Andrew nodded.

‘Glass of water?’

‘No. Does she know?’

‘Yes. Since she was about thirteen. Eva adopted her mother. She died when very young giving birth in Eva’s kitchen. Natalie was premature, yet she survived. Lucy was my sister, and
Natalie is my niece. Lucy’s mother was Judith Henshaw. She went home to Nottingham and gave birth. When she eventually returned to Liverpool, you and Mum were an item. So she confided in
Mum.’

Slowly, Andrew raised his head. ‘Mary knew? She knew I had a daughter?’ Absolute disbelief coloured his words.

‘Yes.’

‘But why—’

‘Why didn’t she say anything? Several reasons. First, she knew your nature. She realized that you would feel compelled to marry the mother of your child. Second, Judith was
ambitious. She rose to dizzying heights in a London hospital, then married an American and went to live in Boston. Eva adopted Lucy. Eva knows the whole story.’

Andrew closed his eyes. The woman he had worshipped had kept this from him. He remembered her being busy with a friend in difficulty . . . And Eva had carried the weight of it alone since
Mary’s death. ‘I was no better than my father,’ he whispered. ‘He had Daisy, I had Lucy. Are we absolutely sure?’

‘I have the DNA. Your strands are clear. So you have seven grandchildren. My mother adored you, Dad. She could not have borne to lose you or to have you split in two. Judith didn’t
want you, but Mum knew you would have taken Lucy into your heart and into your home. We all have a weakness, and this was my mother’s. According to Eva, Mum intended to tell you before she
died, but her end arrived too early.’

Knowing he didn’t dare stand, Andrew held on to the arms of his chair. ‘So Judith is about my age?’

‘Yes. And Lucy would have been older than Kate, but she bled to death in her teens. Natalie’s something of a miracle. Eva has a letter for you from Mum written many years ago. It was
written in case Mum died by accident while still relatively young. For years after Mum died, Eva tried to tell you, but she knew you would have been devastated. So she kept quiet, then approached
me for the DNA testing. We decided that you were ready to move on with your life, and here I am, and here Eva isn’t. Though I notice she’s resigned only as far as the
erosion.’

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Andrew managed a wry smile. ‘She’ll never leave me. We’re the best of frenemies. Under all the banter, we’re brother and sister.
Thank you, Ian. Glad it was you. May I ask you to leave it a few days before telling the girls?’

‘Of course. I think I’d better get Eva; it’s starting to rain.’ He left.

Andrew still felt stunned, as if someone had punched him in the solar plexus. Why hadn’t he noticed Natalie properly? Why had Mary, who was supposed to have been honest and open with him,
allowed this to develop? He should have known, should have supported Judith, Lucy and Natalie. Natalie. She was standing in the doorway. ‘Come in,’ he said.

‘I’m here to be interviewed for the position of granddaughter,’ she said, no flicker of emotion on her face. ‘Gran phoned me. She’s out there with your
son.’

‘Your uncle.’

Her mouth twitched. ‘Oh, goody.’

‘I’d stand up, but my legs are on strike.’

‘Shall I form a picket line?’

He could even hear himself, though her voice was differently pitched, of course. She placed herself on the floor at his feet, and he looked into her eyes, his eyes. ‘Do you have a
CV?’ he asked.

‘I come highly recommended by Gran.’

‘References?’

‘Ten GCSEs, four A levels and a blister.’

‘Too much walking?’

‘Wrong shoes.’

He smiled. ‘Right candidate, though. The job’s yours. You’ll push me round in my wheelchair when I’m old, visit me even when I’m boring, and love my dog.’

‘OK.’

So simple. So easy. So bloody heartbreaking. And suddenly Eva was on top of him, hugging him and crying like a child. Natalie joined in, and he, for the sake of solidarity, found himself
weeping, too. Through tears and over the heads of Eva and Natalie, he saw his son in the doorway.

‘I’m going, Dad. I’ve a suspected pneumonia in Netherton, so I’ll leave you buried under women again. It seems to suit you.’

Andrew heard himself once more. Beneath the glacier, Ian had humour.

They had lunch together, grandfather and new granddaughter, though she was not really new. Eva served them, dashing the odd tear from her cheek. She was happy, because it was finally done, but
she didn’t want to lose her Nat. A small flame of jealousy burned in her breast, and she pushed it away. Doc would put Natalie through medical school, would guide her and help her,
so—

‘Eva?’

‘Yes, Doc?’

‘You did a grand job on this young woman. Thank you.’

It would be all right. Gran went to make the coffee.

Andrew’s waiting time was similar to Eva’s, though it lasted many days. He walked. He walked until he felt he couldn’t take another step; even Storm was
exhausted.

The letter written by a very young Mary contained few words. It told him that she loved him, that Lucy was his daughter, that Judith was going to London, that Eva would be adopting Lucy. A
post scriptum
added years later informed him of Lucy’s death and Natalie’s birth; it also advised him that Judith had emigrated.
I did all this because I can’t lose
you. It’s selfish, but I want your children to be mine. Forgive me, darling
.

‘We’re all flawed,’ he told the dog. ‘She loved me too much, and I felt the same about her. She loved me enough to hide the truth for her own sake.’

Eva had done her best to comfort and reassure him. ‘Judith never loved you, Doc. Very calculating girl, married real money at the finish. I hope she didn’t have more kids, cos I
heard she never even looked back when she handed our Lucy over. But as for Natalie – well – you’ll not find a better girl anywhere.’

That was true enough. She was bright, funny, pretty and a good student. So why was he doing all this walking? Perhaps a grandchild newborn at the age of nineteen was a lot to take on board. Or
perhaps Mary’s long silence had cut into his soul. She hadn’t trusted him completely, hadn’t been perfect.

He found himself laughing. Perfect? She’d alienated plumbers, decorators and electricians by the score, while her relationship with many local shops often hung in the balance. If the
milkman left yogurt of the wrong flavour, he got a flea in his ear. At work, she terrified obstetricians, clerical workers and cleaners, because she always knew best. To be fair, she usually had
known best, but . . .

But he’d walked far enough. Tomorrow, Natalie’s welcome into the Sanderson family would be celebrated. It was time to move on; it was time to rest his feet.

Chaos ruled, of course.

Anya, wearing a cream suit, a winning smile and with a little devil in her eyes, brought a veritable cauldron of borsch. Cries of ‘What about me tablecloths?’ and ‘What if it
goes on me parquet?’ flew from Eva’s mouth and out through the kitchen door.

Helen brought her children, crudités and dips, plus a husband with a ball and chain attached to one of his crutches. The chain was plastic, the ball was sponge, but the message
SPOKEN
FOR
affixed to his chest confirmed her ownership of the poor man. The same poor man looked extraordinarily happy, which fact pleased Andrew no end.

Storm, on the other hand, was not best pleased. The quadruped young female was no more; Cassie now staggered about on two feet, but she retained the urge to poke about where she wasn’t
wanted. He didn’t need her prodding at him, so he hid under the table in the hope that the Popes wouldn’t be living here again. With tablecloths that touched the floor, he felt quite
safe under cover. He was wrong.

Eliza came with Ian, their boys and a huge cake with Natalie’s name iced on the top. Eva provided cooked meats, bread, small cakes and a steady flow of complaints.

Kate and Richard donated the entertainment by accident, as their trifle had not quite set, and half of it was deposited in the car, so a bit of swearing and a lot of cleaning materials
accompanied their noisy comings and goings. Pam, Mary’s friend of many years, dragged in two grandchildren, one son, one husband and a box of Satterthwaite’s fancies. ‘I
hadn’t time to bake,’ she said.

Stuart and Colin turned up bearing Lancashire hotpot and fruit pies, while Keith warned people in whispers about his wife’s moussaka. ‘Too much paprika,’ he mouthed.

Natalie brought just herself, and she arrived last.

As Andrew delivered a short speech, his arm round the shoulders of his new granddaughter, Cassie found Storm and the tablecloths were dragged to the floor, along with all the food. Eva screamed,
‘Me parquet, me parquet!’ while Andrew and Natalie sank to the floor in hysterics. Because of the borsch, it looked like a bloodbath.

Sofia stood with her back to the fire, placed two fingers in her mouth and delivered a whistle of which any Saturday afternoon Koppite at Anfield might have been proud. ‘Dogs and children
out in the garden with my mother. Daniel, sit, or you may slip. The rest – get cleaning, but not Natalie. Natalie, this family of yours is crazy.’

‘I already knew that,’ said Natalie as she cuddled her grandfather.

He stood up. ‘Come on, you. We’ll buy out every chip shop within reach.’

So they ended up with fish, chips and peas followed by what was left of Eliza’s cake. Andrew promised Eva that ‘her’ parquet would be professionally cleaned within days, and
she had to be satisfied with that. Not used to satisfaction, she muttered darkly to herself for the rest of the afternoon.

There was a sing-song, of course. Anya delivered a few Polish folk tunes while Sofia tried to dance with the children. Andrew played a medley of nursery rhymes, then his ‘Liverpool
Song’, which was to be released within weeks. Part of his Overture to an Overture, it celebrated the calibre of Liverpool life, Liverpool love, and the river that brought everyone home.

Despite the food disaster, it was the greatest party, and Natalie felt very much at home. Yes, it was a madhouse and yes, she was used to that, since Gran’s home was very similar, though
rather emptier. She kissed everyone goodbye and dragged her complaining adoptive grandmother out of the house. The last words Andrew heard were Natalie’s. ‘Will you ever learn to behave
yourself, Gran?’