Laceys of Liverpool (39 page)

And it wasn’t just stray animals Fion had started to collect, but human beings too. Alice had no idea where she found them. The three Littlemores lived on the vast ground floor. On the floor above, in the front bedroom, a Mrs Freda Murphy spent her days knitting unwearable garments for the children.

‘Where did she come from, luv?’ Alice asked curiously
when Freda first turned up. Fion had scarcely been living in the place a week.

‘Her son was all set to throw her out. The thing is, Mam,’ Fion said indignantly, ‘the rent book used to be in her name, but he persuaded her to change it.’

How had Fion
known?
Alice didn’t bother to pursue the matter.

Not long afterwards the Archibalds arrived, Peter and Geoffrey, twin brothers in their thirties, who occupied the bedroom at the back. ‘They’ve been in a mental home, poor things,’ said Fion.

‘Are you sure they’re safe, y’know, with the children, like?’ Alice asked nervously.

‘There’s nothing wrong with them, Mam. They went in the mental home by mistake. Anyroad, it’s only temporary. The corporation have promised to find them a proper house.’

Now Cormac was moving into the top floor with a pregnant girl called Pol and there were still two bedrooms empty. Alice dreaded who might turn up next.

Yet the strange thing was that she loved being at Fion’s. The fire in the living room was always lit, the shabby chairs were comfortable, tea was permanently in the pot for anyone to help themselves. The telephone rang non-stop, because Fion, who never used to have a single friend, now seemed to have dozens. Alice discovered she was a member of numerous organisations and charities, and was always in the throes of arranging fund-raising events: jumble sales, coffee mornings, parties, lectures. She had persuaded her mother to help at a Christmas bazaar early in December. A few weeks ago she had taken the children down to London for a CND march.

‘What’s CND?’ Alice asked.

‘The Campain for Nuclear Disarmament. Honestly, Mam, you’re dead ignorant. All you know about is hairdressing.’

Alice humbly agreed.

She felt very nervous the night that she went to meet Cormac’s pregnant girlfriend. She prayed that they would like each other and that Pol would make a suitable wife – she assumed they would get married one day – for Cormac, who was a remarkable lad and would make a wonderful husband.

Freda Murphy opened the door to Alice’s knock, the long needles of her untidy knitting tucked under her arms. Two strange children were playing in the hall with Colin and Bonnie.

In the living room a woman with a black eye was talking in a high-pitched, angry voice to Fion.

‘Hello, Mam,’ Fion said calmly. ‘This is Jenny. She’s staying with us a while until the police do something about her louse of a husband. Our Cormac’s upstairs with Pol. Tell them to come down in a minute; I’ve made some scouse.’

‘You gave birth to an angel when you had that girl,’ Freda remarked when Alice reappeared.

‘Did I really?’ She went up two flights of stairs. The top floor was merely one large room with a sloping ceiling and windows at both ends.

‘Come in,’ Cormac shouted in answer to her knock.

Alice took a deep breath, opened the door, and found Cormac and a young girl sitting crossed-legged on the floor, facing each other and holding hands.

‘We’re doing breathing exercises,’ Cormac said. ‘We’ve bought a book on what to do when you’re having a baby. This is Pol, by the way. Pol, say hello to . . . to my mother.’

‘Hello, Mrs Lacey,’ Pol said in a breathless, childish
voice. She scrambled to her feet, a rosy-cheeked girl, with guileless eyes and curly brown hair. She wore an ankle-length cotton skirt and a coarse woven top. Her feet, like Cormac’s, were bare. She looked no more than sixteen.

‘Call me Alice.’ They shook hands. Pol’s hand was very small and limp. ‘How are you feeling, luv? When’s the baby due?’

‘I feel fine. I haven’t been sick or anything. I’m not sure when it’s due.’ She looked vague.

‘Well, the doctor should be able to tell,’ Alice said comfortably. ‘He’ll send you to the clinic where they’ll keep an eye on you.’

Pol gave a tinkling little laugh. ‘Oh, there’s no need for doctors and clinics, Alice. As long as I look after myself, eat properly and do the breathing exercises I shall be OK.’

‘I see.’ Alice was horrified. She glanced at her son, still sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, apparently in a trance. He must approve of Pol’s plans for her pregnancy. Still, she had always made a point of not interfering in her children’s affairs and wasn’t going to start now. ‘Oh, well, but you need to book into hospital, so they’ll be expecting you.’

‘There’s no need for that either.’ Pol regarded her pityingly. ‘Cormac’s going to deliver the baby here.’

‘He’ll sew you up, will he? If you need stitches, like.’

‘She won’t need stitches,’ Cormac said without opening his eyes. ‘She’ll be too relaxed to tear.’

Jaysus! Alice announced the scouse would be ready soon and escaped downstairs. The pair were crazy, out of this world.

Fion was alone, stirring pans in the old-fashioned kitchen. A cat watched with interest from its unhygenic
position on the draining board. She looked up when her mother came in. ‘What did you think of her?’

‘She seems very nice, but awfully young.’

‘She’s twenty-one, older than she looks.’

‘Has she told you her plans for having the baby? They’re not very sensible, Fion. I’m worried.’

‘She’ll change her mind nearer the time.’

‘Lord, I hope so. Our Cormac’s a clever lad, but I’m not sure if he’s up to delivering a baby.’

The Christmas bazaar was to raise funds for an orphanage in Ethiopia. Fion put Alice in charge of the bottle stall. The main prize was a bottle of whisky. Every bottle had a raffle ticket attached, the numbers ending in a nought. People bought tickets for sixpence each and if they picked one that matched the number on a bottle it was theirs.

Naturally, everyone wanted to win the whisky. The trouble was the winning ticket wasn’t in the box. Fion had taken it to put in later when most of the bottles had gone.

‘You can’t do that!’ her scandalised mother gasped.

‘Of course I can, Mam. If the whisky’s won right at the start, no one will want a go any more. Don’t forget, it’s all in a good cause.’

Alice had been hoping to enjoy herself. Instead, she felt like a criminal as she tended her colourfully decorated stall. Carols issued from a loudspeaker and their innocent message made her feel even more sinful. She was very busy, always surrounded by a crowd, and the prizes – the bottles of chop sauce, vinegar, shampoo, lemonade, mayonnaise – rapidly diminished as the afternoon progressed. The more they diminished the more the eager participants saw their chance of winning
the whisky, which had started to look very lonely, not quite by itself but almost.

Where the hell was Fion? She couldn’t leave the stall and look for her. Alice began to panic. Any minute, now, someone would guess the ticket for the whisky wasn’t there and she’d be driven from the hall by a justifiably angry crowd. She felt conscious of her burning face, her racing heart.

‘Are you all right,’ said a voice. ‘It’s Mrs Lacey, isn’t it? Fion’s mum.’

She’d noticed the slightly balding man who seemed to be in charge of things. He was about her own age, casually dressed in a black polo-necked jumper and baggy corduroy pants, his craggy face deeply tanned, as if he’d spent many years abroad. He had a slow, gentle, very patient smile.

‘No, I’m not all right,’ Alice said in a cracked voice. ‘I need our Fion urgently.’

‘I’ll find her for you.’

Fion arrived seconds later. Alice stared at her accusingly over the heads of the crowd surrounding the stall.

‘Can I have a go, Mam?’

‘I think you better had.’

Only Alice noticed the ticket already in Fion’s hand when she dipped it into the box. ‘If she brings it out again and claims the whisky I’ll bloody kill her,’ she vowed. Luckily for Fion, she withdrew a losing ticket. Not long afterwards the whisky was won by a little boy and immediately appropriated by his delighted father. Alice breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ The man in the black jumper was back.

‘I’d give my right arm for a cup of tea, ta.’

‘There’s no need for such extremes.’ He smiled. ‘You can have one for nothing.’

Now the whisky had gone, so had all interest in winning the motley collection of bottles that remained. Alice sank on to one of the chairs against the wall behind.

The helpful man returned with two cups of tea and sat beside her. ‘My name’s Charlie Glover. Do I call you, “Fion’s Mum” or “Mrs Lacey”?’

‘I’d prefer Alice and I don’t know what I would have done without you earlier. You were a great help.’

‘Pleased to be of service, Ma’am.’ He smiled his lovely smile. His eyes were dark-grey with little shreds of silver.

Alice wondered why she was noticing a strange man’s eyes, his smile. She was fifty-one, for heaven’s sake. She’d lost all interest in men years ago. ‘Have you been living abroad?’ she asked conversationally.

‘Yes, Ethiopia. I used to run the orphanage we’re raising funds for.’

‘Used to?’

‘I thought it was time I had a rest and a change,’ he explained. ‘I’m staying with my brother and his wife in Ormskirk.’ His voice was deep and pleasing, and Alice detected the faint trace of a Lancashire accent. He spoke slowly, with the air of a man unused to being interrupted. ‘In another three months I’m off to the Transvaal, this time to take over a hospital on the borders of Swaziland.’

‘You’re a doctor?’

‘Yes. I work for a charity called Overseas Rescue.’

‘Gosh! It all sounds very exciting.’

‘It’s more worthwhile than exciting.’ He half smiled. ‘My wife used to love it when we moved somewhere new, but she sadly died ten years ago.’

Alice put her hand on his arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘That’s kind of you. Fion told me her father died recently. You’re being very brave about it.’

She felt uncomfortable. ‘Me and John hadn’t lived together in a long while. I was upset he died, but not devastated. Mind you’ – her lips twisted wistfully – ‘I would have been devastated once.’

‘You obviously have good memories to look back on.’ He got to his feet. ‘Duty calls. I’m due to draw the raffle any minute.’ To her surprise he sat down again. ‘Look, are you doing anything tonight?’

‘Nothing particular. I’ll probably watch television,’ Alice replied, taking the question literally and wondering why he seemed so pleased by her answer, why his grey eyes lit up.

‘Then why don’t I take you out to dinner instead?’ he said eagerly. ‘Somewhere in Southport would be nice.’

‘Dinner!’ she exclaimed, immediately flustered. ‘Oh, no. No, I couldn’t possibly. Thanks for asking, but no . . . excuse me. I’ve just seen my other daughter. Orla!’ she called and almost ran over to the door that Orla had just entered by. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked breathlessly.

Orla waved the notebook in her hand. ‘Covering the bazaar for the paper. Have you been trying to run a four-minute mile, Mam? You’re all puffed out and as red as a beetroot.’

‘I’ve been working hard on a stall, that’s all.’

‘Where’s our Fion? I need to know how much she raised, then I’ve got to interview a chap called Charlie Glover. He wants to appeal for funds for some hospital abroad.’ She made a face. ‘I once envisaged meself interviewing film stars and politicians, not reporting on a grotty bazaar. You know how much I’ll get for this?’ She waved the notebook again. ‘Tuppence a line!’

‘Oh, stop moaning, luv.’

Orla was jealous of Fion, with her active social life, loads of friends and part-time job at Liverpool University
where she worked in the Students Union. Beside that of her sister, Orla considered her life hideously dull and uneventful, and the Lavins’ house in Pearl Street poky in the extreme compared with the one in Stanley Road. ‘Ta, Mam. You’re all sympathy,’ she said tartly.

‘Tell Fion when you see her I’ve gone back to Stanley Road, and that I’ve taken Colin and Bonnie. They look dead bored. And by the way, that’s Charlie Glover over there, about to draw the raffle.’

Alice was gently frying sausages when Fion arrived home, looking flushed and exhausted. ‘We raised over two hundred pounds,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Where’s the kids?’

‘Watching telly. They said they were starving, so I’ve fed them. All I could find in the fridge was sausages, so I’ve done the same for us. You’ve got no spuds, either, only frozen chips.’

‘I need to do some shopping,’ Fion said vaguely. ‘By the way, what did you do to poor Charlie?’

Alice nearly dropped a fork in the sausages. ‘Nothing that I know of. We just chatted a bit, that’s all. Why, what did he say I’d done?’

‘Nothing, but he talked about you non-stop while we were packing up. He obviously fancies you dead rotten, but when I invited him back to tea and said you’d be here he claimed you wouldn’t be too pleased.’ She stared accusingly at her mother. ‘Why on earth should he say that, Mam?’

‘He asked me out and I refused.’ Alice went red.

‘Idiot!’

‘I am not an idiot, Fion. I didn’t want to get involved, that’s all. I wouldn’t have known what to say. I’m quite happy staying in and watching television.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t be.’ Fion lit the gas under the
chip pan, already full of fat that hadn’t been changed in weeks. ‘You’re not exactly old and Charlie’s quite decent-looking for somone in his fifties. You should have grabbed the chance to enjoy yourself for a change. Our Orla agreed.’ Her eyes narrowed calculatingly. ‘If you’d played your cards right, you could have gone with him to the Transvaal in a few months’ time.’

‘What as, one of the cleaners in his bloody hospital?’

‘No, as his wife. You’re not half daft, Mam. He fell for you like a ton of bricks.’

Alice’s heart gave a little lurch. ‘Are you after getting rid of me, Fion?’

Fion laid her chin on Alice’s shoulder. ‘No, Mam. I just want you to be happy, do something interesting and exciting for a change. I don’t like you living on your own in Amber Street. You’re going nowhere fast. Why don’t you tell Charlie you’ve changed your mind? Give him another chance; he’d leap at it.’