Laceys of Liverpool (44 page)

‘Wow!’ Cormac looked impressed. ‘Could we mix all those various chemicals ourselves?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Could we buy the cocamide and the glycerine and the other unpronouncable chemicals and make our own shampoo?’

‘Of course, Cormac.’ She looked at him wonderingly. ‘You mean you and me? But why should we want to?’

He answered her question with another. ‘Do you want to stay at Brooker’s for the rest of your life, Vic?’

‘Well, no.’ She had always hoped to get married and have children, and Cormac was the person she’d like to achieve this ambition with. Fortunately, they were both Catholics, so religion wouldn’t be an obstacle. The only obstacle was the fact he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her as a lifelong companion. ‘No, I definitely don’t want to stay at Brooker’s.’

‘Neither do I,’ he said with a heartfelt groan. ‘I’ll never get the sort of job I wanted when I was at Cambridge because I didn’t finish the course. I was lucky Brooker’s took me on, but I want more than a career trying to make bleach thicker and whites whiter. I thought we could go into business together making aromatherapy shampoo and conditioner. I was virtually brought up in a hairdresser’s, so I suppose it’s only natural I feel drawn to the idea. I’m not suggesting we give up work. That can wait till things catch on, which might be months or years.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘It could even be never.’

Had it been anyone else but him, Vicky would have pronounced him mad and walked away. But it
was
Cormac, whom she loved and who had actually suggested they do something together. She would have preferred it to be something other than starting their own business, but it was better than nothing at all.

As the weeks went by, however, she began to catch some of his enthusiasm. They would start off with a thousand bottles each of shampoo and conditioner of several different fragrances. His mother was thrilled to bits at the idea and had promised to use them in her salons – providing they were satisfactory – and display them for sale. Vicky still lived at home in Warrington with her parents and her own mother was equally thrilled. She had offered the garage to use as a workshop.

‘Daddy won’t mind. He can leave the car outside,’ Mrs Weatherspoon said dismissively – her mother had always worn the trousers in the Weatherspoon household.

They only needed a small amount of equipment, which was fortunate as they only had a small amount of money between them, a few hundred pounds of savings. Initially there would be a lot of tedious work to do by hand. It should be a simple matter to obtain the formula for Brooker’s shampoo and conditioner, and they would change a few of the basic elements so theirs would be different.

Sample bottles were ordered, a brand name decided upon: Lacey’s of Liverpool.

‘It has a ring to it,’ Cormac mused. ‘A few years ago Liverpool was the most famous city in the galaxy. Lacey’s and Liverpool go perfectly together. It’s not exactly gimmicky, but it’s unusual.’

‘We still haven’t decided what colour bottles,’ Cormac reminded her at the wedding as a waitress removed their plates. The best man, a friend of Gareth’s, was nervously studying the speech he had written beforehand.

‘I like the opaque white ones best. White with gold lettering.’

‘I’m not sure if I don’t prefer the black.’

‘Black’s showy, white’s tasteful,’ Vicky said stubbornly. It wasn’t often she got her own way in the enterprise.

‘We could have black bottles for the man’s shampoo, the sage.’

‘That’s a great idea.’

He smiled broadly and put his hand over hers. ‘We make great business partners, don’t we, Vic?’

‘Oh, yes, Cormac. Great.’

If you ask me, Sarge,’ the driver of the police car said out of the corner of his mouth, ‘women whose blokes have given them a good hiding have almost certainly asked for
it
.’

‘Shush, Morgan.’

‘She can’t hear, Sarge, not with that howling baby and the screaming kids.’

‘D’you think they asked for it too, the children?’

‘Possibly. I’ve boxed me own kids’ ears before now. Sometimes kids – and wives – need to be shown who’s boss.’

Sergeant Jerry McKeown glanced over his shoulder at the woman on the back seat who was trying to quieten the baby and soothe two small children at the same time. Her face was covered in blood. ‘Have you ever blacked your wife’s eye and split her lip?’ he asked sarcastically.

‘Well, no, Sarge. ’Course not.’

‘That’s what’s happened to Connie Mulligan in the back. So, get a move on, Morgan. She needs a doctor quick and afterwards a place to sleep, out of danger, like.’

‘The woman who runs this women’s refuge is probably a right ould cow,’ Morgan said derisively. ‘One of them feminists, I bet, and a lesbian too. All they do is run men down and that’s only because they’re too ugly to catch one for their selves.’

‘You’re full of worldly wisdom, Morgan. That’s the place, over there. I think it might be a good idea to stop and deliver our passengers safely, not just speed past and chuck ’em on to the pavement.’

‘Whatever you say, Sarge.’

The car stopped. Jerry McKeown jumped out and tenderly helped the injured woman and her terrified children out of the back. ‘You’ll be safe here,’ he assured them. The woman recoiled from his touch and didn’t speak.

He vaulted up the stone steps and knocked on the front door. It was opened almost immediately by a tall women in black jeans and T-shirt. Her bountiful hair was knotted on top of her head, cascading around her face and neck in feathery tendrils. She had large, beautiful eyes, a strong nose and mouth, and he had never seen anyone look so kind, so concerned, as the woman enfolded Connie Mulligan in her lovely long arms and drew her into the house. ‘Come on, luv. I’ve been expecting you. The police phoned to say you were on your way. There’s tea made and a nice, warm room ready for you. The doctor will be here soon – it’s a woman.’

She glanced at Jerry McKeown and made to close the door. ‘Thank you, officer,’ she said briefly.

‘Can I come in, make sure she’s settled?’ It hadn’t been his intention to go inside, but he’d quite like to get to know this woman more.

‘I’m sorry, but men aren’t allowed on the premises. It’s a rule. I had to put me own brother out not long ago and he was forced to find a bedsit near where he works.’ Another woman had appeared and was taking the injured woman and her children to the back of the house. The tall woman made to close the door again, but Jerry put his foot in the way.

‘Can I have your name, please? For the records, like.’

‘I thought you already had me name on your records, but never mind. It’s Mrs Littlemore. Mrs Fionnuala Littlemore.’

‘Ta.’ Jerry McKeown returned to the car.

‘You might like to know, Morgan, that the woman who runs the place isn’t old, isn’t a cow and definitely isn’t ugly. I wasn’t there long enough to establish whether or not she’s a feminist.’ As for Fionnuala Lacey being a lesbian, he very much hoped not.

He went back to the house early next morning wearing plain clothes. A boy of about ten, with a grave, grown-up expression, opened the door.

‘I thought Mrs Lacey said men weren’t allowed on the property,’ Jerry remarked with a smile.

‘I’m her son, so she makes an exception.’ The boy didn’t smile back.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Colin.’

‘Well, Colin, does your mum make an exception for your dad as well as you?’

‘Me dad’s dead.’

‘I’m sorry about that, Colin.’ Jerry had never been so pleased about anything in his whole life.

‘Who is it, luv?’ Fionnuala Littlemore came into the hall wearing the same clothes as the night before. ‘What do you want?’ she asked abruptly when she saw the policeman on the step. ‘Connie’s in no position to make a statement yet. Anyroad, she’ll only talk to a women police officer, so you’re wasting your time if you come again.’

She was looking at him, but not
at
him. She wasn’t seeing him properly. If they met in the street tomorrow, she wouldn’t recognise him from Adam. But Jerry had come prepared to make her notice him.

‘I’ve brought some toys for Connie’s kids. I got them last night in Tesco’s. They close late Fridays.’ He held out a plastic bag. ‘I hope they like them.’

‘I’m sure they will. Thank you very much, officer.’

‘The name’s Jerry.’

‘Thank you, Jerry. Connie will be pleased. Well, tara. It was nice of you to come.’

‘Also . . .’ He stuck his foot in the door before she could close it. The bloody woman still hadn’t
seen
him. ‘I’d like to make a contribution towards the refuge.
You’re doing a great job. I admire you. I hope you’ll find this ten quid a help.’

‘Oh, we will. Thank you, er, Jerry.’ She took the note and tucked it in the pocket of her jeans.

‘Also,’ Jerry continued desperately. ‘I wondered, do you ever have fund-raising events, jumble sales, like? If so, I’d be willing to give a hand.’

‘Well, there’s nothing planned at the moment.’

‘In that case, when the bloody hell can I see you again, other than on this bloody doorstep?’

‘Oh!’ She blinked and took a step backwards.

She’d seen him at last!

Fion saw a very tall, broad-shouldered, rugged man in his thirties, smartly dressed in a navy-blue suit. The skin on his face was weather-beaten and his nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken. His lips were scarred –he either boxed or played rugby. Very short brown hair stuck up in little spikes around his crown. He was anything but handsome, but he wasn’t ugly either. In fact, taking in the quirky smile and the warm brown eyes, she thought him very attractive and liked his air of dependability. She could trust this man.

‘Are you married?’ she asked.

It was his turn to blink. ‘Divorced, no children.’

‘I never go out with married men.’

‘Does that mean you will, go out with me, I mean?’ He couldn’t believe his luck.

‘Mondays are supposed to be me day off.’

‘Then I’ll pick you up Monday at half-seven. OK?’ He removed his foot and Fionnuala Littlemore closed the door.

‘I’m meeting Sammy tonight and going straight from work to the pictures, Mum,’ Maisie said as she was leaving. ‘Don’t do me any tea.’

‘And when are we going to meet this Sammy?’ Orla enquired.

‘I dunno, Mum. It’s not as if it’s serious. I’m not going to be like our Lulu and get married at eighteen. I want to have a good time first. By the way, what’s wrong with Dad? He was coughing and sneezing all night long.’

‘He’s got a cold, luv. One of those terrible summer ones. It doesn’t help working in a foundry and he wouldn’t dream of taking a day off. Anyroad, have a nice time tonight.’

Gary left not long afterwards. She was glad he’d managed to avoid manual work, not that there was much future in a shoe shop, but at least it was clean. Paul, her baby, left it right till the very last minute before leaving for school where he was in his final term.

Orla breathed a sigh of relief and made a fresh pot of tea. She took it into the yard to drink because it was such a lovely July morning and wished for the millionth time they had a proper garden. It was good to be alone at last and think about the phone call she’d had last night from Cormac.

‘Hey, sis. Me and Vic have just decided you’d be perfect.’

‘What for?’

‘For selling Lacey’s of Liverpool hair products. You’ve got a car, you’ve got the personality and you wouldn’t have to give up your job with the paper.’

‘I might be interested, Cormac. What sort of salary are we talking about?’ There was something about the tone of his voice that made her anticipate what the answer would be.

‘We weren’t thinking in terms of salary, Orl, just commission,’ he said sweetly. ‘Twenty per cent, same as Mam gets, plus your expenses, i.e. the cost of petrol.’

‘Make it twenty-five per cent,’ Orla said promptly.
‘I’ll be putting meself out a bit more than Mam. But I’m only doing it because you’re me brother and I expect to be given a high-powered job one day when you’re successful.’

‘You’ll be head of international sales, sis,’ Cormac said with a chuckle. ‘It’s a promise.’

She would be the only sales rep because, although he and Vic were working flat out, they couldn’t produce enough bottles to cater for a larger market. ‘It’s a bit of a chicken-and-egg situation,’ Cormac said. ‘We can’t take orders until we turn out more and we can’t turn out more till we’ve got the capacity to do it, though we’ll have to bite the bullet soon and get some proper equipment. Me and Vic are working ourselves to a standstill turning out stuff by hand.’

A few Liverpool shops had ordered, and since reordered, quite large supplies. Mam usually sold out within days of fresh stock being delivered. An advert in
The Lady
had produced dozens of orders in the post.

Orla would be supplied with leaflets and samples. She would start with Lancashire and Cheshire, and go further afield when they’d been covered. Chemists and small supermarkets would be her main target. Big supermarkets ordered centrally and would be approached when the company felt able to cope with a large amount. ‘I don’t suppose expenses would cover the cost of a nice business suit?’ she asked wistfully. ‘I don’t possess anything remotely smart, Cormac.’