Queen of the Mersey (37 page)

Mary was saying he could pick her up outside Freddy’s at one o’clock. She was already looking forward to it. ‘We’d better not mention it to Hester. It doesn’t matter her knowing about today, it was all Laura’s idea.’

Duncan felt obliged to agree but, later, when they went to collect Hester from work, he felt a terrible sense of betrayal when she emerged from her office looking rather tired, but as serenely beautiful as ever. She was dressed in a plain black skirt and a white blouse. Her slim arms glistened with perspiration.

‘Gosh, it was hot in there today and we were awfully busy. I feel washed out.’

The sense of betrayal deepened when she looked so pleased to see Mary and said she thought it marvellous that they’d been to the fairground. ‘You’ve done me a favour, Mary. I detest those places. Now I don’t feel so guilty for refusing to go with Duncan.’

She felt guilty! And over such a trite little thing. His own feeling of guilt washed over him in waves. He’d tell Mary he couldn’t go next Wednesday, think up an excuse.

When they got back to Crosby, Roddy and Gus were there and Laura had made a lovely tea for them all, Mary included; crab salad followed by trifle, home-made lemonade in a glass jug with little pebbles of ice floating on top. He tried several times to get Mary on one side, even offering her a lift when she said she was going home. But she gave him one of her sly looks and said she’d prefer to catch the train, as if she guessed he was looking for an opportunity to cancel the date.

The next few days were agony. During that mad afternoon in Southport, he’d forgotten how sweet Hester was, how much she loved him, how much he loved her.

She was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He thought of writing to Mary, but it would be too risky. In a fit of pique, she might show the letter to Hester. He looked in the telephone directory, but the Monaghans weren’t on the phone.

When Duncan woke on Wednesday, rain was hammering on the roof and, through the window, he could see the sky was black. The fairground was out. With a huge sense of relief, he realised Mary wouldn’t expect him in such awful weather. The date was off. He lay in bed, which had never felt so comfortable, feeling as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders and praying the rain wouldn’t stop, at least not until after one o’clock. He wished it were possible never to see Mary again but, as Hester’s best friend, it would be inevitable – she would almost certainly be a bridesmaid at their wedding.

It was time he started to prepare for the trip to Scotland on Saturday. He leapt out of bed, feeling like a new man, and spent hours sorting out his socks, actually darning some, which he always found an extraordinarily painful procedure. He pressed a couple of ties, ironed shirts, even ironed half a dozen hankies and his best pyjamas, which hadn’t seen an iron since he’d left home. He was sorting through his cuff links, trying to find the pearly ones his mother had given him for his twenty-first, much to the disdain of his father who disapproved of adornments of any kind, when the doorbell rang three times, an indication it was for the person who lived on the third floor; in other words, him. It was probably Gus, whom he’d promised to help with a holiday project –

‘Shakespeare’s Ten Most Evil Characters’.

Duncan ran downstairs and came as close to fainting as he’d ever done, when he found Mary Monaghan outside in a nylon mac, under a striped umbrella.

‘You didn’t come like you promised,’ she pouted. ‘I came to see if you were sick or something.’

‘I’m … I’m fine,’ Duncan stammered. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to go to Southport in the pouring rain.’

‘We could have gone to the pictures. Vera Cruz is on in town with Gary Cooper and Burt Lancaster. I’d have loved to see it. Aren’t you going to ask me in?’

she asked, eyeing him coquettishly. ‘Me feet are soaking and me hair’s all wet, despite the umbrella.’

‘Of course.’ Duncan courteously stood aside. ‘I’m on the top floor.’ They climbed the stairs in silence, and he could have kicked himself for noticing the shapely ankles in front of his nose, her strong perfume.

‘This is nice,’ she cried when they went into his room. She took off her mac and hung it behind the door. ‘I like the view.’ She noticed the clothes maiden, full of shirts. ‘Oh, you’ve been ironing! I didn’t know men could iron.’

‘It’s a case of having to when you live alone,’ he said stiffly.

She kicked off her shoes, smiled, and said, ‘Have you got a towel, Duncan, for me hair?’

He fetched a towel and she rubbed her head vigorously, emerging with her dark curls like a wild halo around her face. He couldn’t help thinking how pretty she was. With a feeling of horror, he realised Mary appealed to his dark side – he hadn’t been aware he had one until now. In his mind, he was investing her with all sorts of characteristics she almost certainly didn’t have, turning her into a temptress, a seductive siren, when she was merely a silly little girl. She couldn’t help the way her soft, silky frock clung to her breasts, and probably didn’t know that the top button was undone, so that he could see the soft curve where the breasts began, giving him an unwelcome little thrill.

‘Do you mind if I take me stockings off? They’re sticking to me legs and feel dead uncomfortable.’

‘Of course not.’ He turned away, when he should have gone into another room, but staying meant he could see, out of the corner of his eye, Mary raise her skirt and undo her suspenders, peel the filmy stockings off her legs, and put them over the clothes maiden with his shirts, while his heart thumped crazily in his chest and ugly thoughts he’d never had before swirled through his head. Hester was forgotten. He wanted Mary, yet at the same time he wanted her to go, leave him in peace, stop tempting him.

‘All done,’ she sang. ‘You can look now.’ He turned to face her, and she said very slowly and very softly, ‘But you were looking all the time, weren’t you, Duncan?’

He felt the blood rush to his face. ‘No, I wasn’t.’

‘Oh, Duncan. I could see you.’ She came towards him and slid her arms around his neck, pressed herself against him, and he felt himself harden. ‘No one will know,’ she whispered. ‘No one will know if we do it just this once. I’ll never mention it to a soul. It’ll be our secret.’

Duncan’s mother and his sisters, Megan and Bryony, took to Hester straight away, and even his father had to grudgingly agree that she would make his son a perfect wife. Hester was modest, had perfect manners, didn’t argue or use make-up, wore her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and managed to convey the fact it wasn’t dyed. She helped Mrs Maguire with the baking, made her bed each morning, listened, eyes closed, to the long, drawn-out grace said before every meal, giving no hint she minded the food was getting cold. Apart from her religion, or lack of it – Hester was an indifferent Protestant – Reverend Maguire couldn’t fault her.

Hester was undoubtedly a nice, rather old-fashioned girl, but nothing like the saintly creature the Maguires thought. She had agreed with Duncan it would be sensible if his father was led to believe she was some sort of paragon. ‘It’ll only be for a week. As soon as we leave, you can put your lipstick on and comb your hair out of that awful bun. You see, if he doesn’t like you, he’ll only take it out on my mother.’

The week passed quickly by. He took Hester to St Andrews and showed her the university, they went for walks on the hills and lay on the grass and kissed, went for rides in the car with his mother, stopping at the occasional café for morning coffee or afternoon tea. His mother enjoyed these little treats so much that he felt dreadful when it was Saturday and it was time for them to leave.

It was dark when they got back to Crosby and the Olivers’ house. ‘Would you like to come in for a drink of something?’ Hester enquired.

‘No, thanks, Hes. It’s time I went to bed. That was an awfully long drive.’

‘I thought I might take driving lessons.’

‘That’s a good idea. I’ll buy you a car for a wedding present, as long as you don’t mind if it’s secondhand. Which reminds me,’ he took her in his arms, ‘I still haven’t asked you to marry me.’

‘There’s no need to ask, Duncan,’ she said soberly, resting her cheek against his. ‘I just took it for granted that we would. You see, I knew, the minute we met, that we were meant for each other.’ Her voice was husky with emotion. ‘I think I want to cry,’ she whispered.

‘If you do, I’ll cry too.’ This moment was one he would remember all his life, sitting in the front of the little car, proposing marriage to Hester Oliver, who had known all along that they were meant for each other. He kissed her, and lost himself in the kiss that became more passionate with each second. Before he knew it, he was stroking her breasts, squeezing them, pressing his thumbs against her nipples. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry,’ he mumbled, when she pushed him away.

‘Don’t be sorry.’ She cupped his face in her hands. ‘Just don’t let’s go any further, not here, where someone might see. Tomorrow, I’ll come to your flat and we can do whatever we like and no one will see a thing.’

From the next day on, Hester Oliver and Duncan Maguire lived in their own, private little world, discovering each other’s bodies, taking delight in each new discovery, getting to know each other as two people had never done before, so they both thought. Duncan had never seen anything so beautiful as Hester, completely naked, lying beside him, the sun shining on her gleaming skin. In the space of a few, short weeks, he had moved from boyhood to manhood.

When they weren’t making love, they discussed who they would invite to the wedding. Everyone they knew, they decided. How many children would they have?

Four; two boys and two girls. Where would they buy a house? Crosby seemed the obvious choice.

Duncan felt almost drunk with happiness when he considered the golden future that lay ahead for him and his darling Hester. He rarely thought about Mary.

That was all over. It hadn’t been even faintly nice while it lasted, more squalid in a way. He would always be ashamed of the way he’d behaved. He resolved his dark side would never show its ugly face again.

The phone call came on his third week back at school. September was coming to an end and he could already feel the tingle of autumn in the air. Leaves had started to fall, the nights were drawing in, Christmas would soon creep up on them. He was staying with the Olivers, and it would be the best he’d ever known.

‘It’s a young lady,’ the school secretary said when she came into the staff room to tell him about the phone call. ‘She sounds a bit distressed.’

‘Hester!’ He almost ran to the secretary’s office. She stayed tactfully outside.

He picked up the receiver. ‘Darling! What’s the matter?’

‘It’s me, Mary. Something awful’s happened, Duncan. I’m going to have a baby and it can only be yours. Can we meet somewhere tonight? Oh, Duncan! I don’t know what to do. I suppose we’ll just have to get married.’

‘Sorry, I’m late.’ Roddy Oliver threw his briefcase on to the seat. ‘Something came up in the office just as I was leaving.’

‘You’re not late,’ Duncan said, his voice sounding very thick, as if it belonged to someone else, ‘it’s me that’s early. I’ve been here ages.’

‘What are you having?’

‘Double whisky, please.’

Roddy gave him a surprised glance; he usually drank beer. ‘Won’t be a sec.’

Duncan watched the man he’d expected to be his father-in-law go to the bar. He’d considered it a bonus getting Laura and Roddy as in-laws. They were both so young, not yet forty, and Roddy, with his thick blond hair and lean body always looked very boyish and could have passed for ten years younger. He’d phoned him at the office straight after school and asked if they could meet. He had no one else to talk to and Roddy might possibly be able to help him out of the mess he’d got himself into, even understand. Hester had told him her father hadn’t been around during the war. ‘It wasn’t just because he was in the Army. He left Mummy for another woman.’

‘The Wig & Pen in Dale Street at six,’ Roddy had said. ‘See you then, old chap.

Hope nothing’s wrong.’

‘How many of these have you had?’ Roddy slid the whisky in front of him. He’d bought himself a beer. ‘You’re looking slightly the worse for wear, if you don’t mind my saying.’

‘I’ve had three.’ Duncan’s head was splitting. He wanted to die. At that moment, death would have been most welcome.

‘What’s up, Duncan?’ Roddy asked kindly.

‘I don’t know where to begin.’

‘At the beginning, old chap. It’s the obvious place.’ It took a few minutes for him to remember how it had begun. ‘During the holidays,’ he said hesitantly, ‘I think it was the first week, I went to Southport with Mary Monaghan.’

‘I remember,’ Roddy said encouragingly. ‘Laura told me.’

‘The next week, I met Mary again, and …’ He paused and took a sip of the whisky. It didn’t burn his throat as the first few had. ‘And we, we …’ He couldn’t think how to describe what he and Mary had done.

‘Fucked?’

Duncan nodded, shocked to the core. He’d heard the word before, but had never thought it would be spoken by someone like Roddy Oliver.

‘It’s not the end of the world, old chap.’ Roddy slapped his knee. ‘These things happen. You weren’t engaged to Hester then. Has this been preying on your conscience all this time?’

‘No,’ Duncan said truthfully. ‘I hadn’t exactly forgotten about it, but the thing is, Mary rang the school today. She’s going to have a baby.’

‘Jesus!’ Roddy’s face went pale. ‘Jesus! What are we going to do now?’ He picked up Duncan’s glass and drained it. ‘I think I need another one of these.’ He left, returning minutes later and slammed a whisky on the table. ‘I didn’t get one for you. I think you’ve already had enough. You’re a bloody idiot, Duncan.

Didn’t you use anything?’

‘Use anything?’ Duncan looked at him blankly.

‘A condom? A French letter, or whatever the hell you call these things in that wasteland you come from. Christ! Don’t tell me you don’t know what a condom is?’

he snapped when Duncan continued to look blank.

‘I’ve never heard of them. What am I going to do, Roddy?’ he asked piteously. He got the bewildering impression that it was OK to have sex, but only if you used one of these mysterious condom things. It seemed very hypocritical.