Queen of the Mersey (59 page)

They decided to start straight away, on neutral territory – a place that wouldn’t remind her of Theo or him of Laura.

‘What about Mangold’s?’ he said. ‘It’s a quiet little hotel behind the Liver Buildings. The firm use it when they have to put people up.’

‘It sounds fine,’ she said in a voice that even she could hardly hear. She had never felt so embarrassed in her life.

‘You can always back out, you know.’ He must have guessed at her embarrassment.

‘I want a child, Roddy,’ she said doggedly. ‘It’s worth one last try.’

‘Then I shall do my darnedest to give you one.’

She left the rest of the ravioli and said she couldn’t face afters. Roddy felt the same, but thought a brandy would do them both a world of good.

They sat together on the foot of the double bed. Roddy had removed his jacket, but that was all. Queenie clutched her handbag tightly to her chest, as if determined never to let go. The light wasn’t on, she’d closed the curtains, but they weren’t thick enough to prevent the late evening sunlight showing through.

They could see each other quite distinctly.

‘This isn’t getting us anywhere,’ Roddy said after a while. ‘Shall I get undressed and into bed?’

Queenie nodded nervously. ‘I won’t look.’

‘I’ve done it,’ he said a few minutes later. The bed shook as he got in.

Now it was her turn. ‘Don’t look,’ she said.

Roddy pulled the bedclothes over his head. ‘Will that do?’ He sounded rather amused.

She nodded again, though he couldn’t see her, and took off all her clothes, wondering if it was really necessary to be completely naked? She contemplated putting her petticoat and bra back on, but it seemed a bit daft. She slid into bed and lay, as far away from Roddy as she could, staring stiffly at the ceiling, the bedclothes tucked under her neck.

‘Can I open my eyes?’ Roddy asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t do this by remote control, Queenie. You’ll have to move a bit nearer.’

She burst into tears. ‘I can’t! I can’t do it!’

He sat up, bent over her, and rubbed the tears away with his thumb. ‘Then we won’t,’ he said gently, kissing her cheek. She moved her head and his lips came into contact with her own. He kissed her again, harder this time, and with a feeling of horror mixed with excitement, Queenie found herself responding.

Somehow, without even realising she had done it, her arms were around his neck and his hand was caressing her breasts and in between kisses, he was murmuring, ‘Darling! My darling, darling Queenie,’ and she was saying things herself, though afterwards couldn’t remember what they were. She could feel him pressing against her, as hard as steel. Then his hand slid between her legs and she wanted to scream because the pleasure was so rapturous.

Then Roddy entered her and she was soaring up to heaven, flying through the stars, which suddenly exploded, showering them with golden dust.

‘Ah!’ she groaned blissfully as an exhausted Roddy collapsed on top of her. He buried his head in the pillow.

‘What’s the matter?’ she whispered when a good minute passed and he didn’t speak.

He turned his head towards her, his blue eyes dark with passion. ‘Nothing. It was rather better than I expected, that’s all. How was it for you?’

‘Much better than expected.’ She hoped Theo hadn’t been watching. Their love-making had been good, but she’d never realised it could be this good. ‘I think I’m going to cry again,’ she sniffed.

Roddy smiled. ‘Remember what happened when you cried before?’

‘I don’t mind if it happens again.’

Chapter 20

In the middle of December, Hester Cunningham gave birth to a robust baby boy weighing 8 pounds 12 ounces.

‘We’re calling him Evan,’ Hester announced delightedly when Queenie went to see her in hospital the next day. The walls of the ward were decorated with garlands of glittering tinsel and there was a sprig of mistletoe over the swing doors.

‘It’s an unusual name, but not poncy.’

‘It’s a lovely name for a lovely baby,’ Queenie said warmly. ‘I took a look at him in the nursery on the way in. He’s gorgeous.’

Hester winced. ‘It didn’t half hurt, but I don’t care. We’re trying for another baby straight away. I always wanted a big family.’

‘I hope you manage it, love. Oh, I’ve brought you a glamorous bedjacket. I thought it would make a change from fruit or flowers.’

‘Oh, Queenie! It’s gorgeous.’ Hester put the white lace jacket on straight away.

‘How do I look?’

‘Very pretty. Having babies suits you.’ Hester’s usually pale face was flushed and her blue eyes, exactly the same shade as Roddy’s, glowed. ‘I’m glad you’re so happy.’

‘I couldn’t be happier, Queenie, except if Mummy were here, which she’s not and never will be. I know it’s silly to think like that, but I can’t help it.’

‘Of course you can’t. By the way, Mary will be in any minute. She’s just taking a peek at Evan, and is looking terribly broody, I must say.’

‘Did you know Flora has left home? She’s moved into a flat in Upper Parliament Street with a pile of other girls. Mary and Duncan are gutted.’

‘I know. Mary came to see me the other day. She didn’t seem very pleased about it.’ She looked at Hester searchingly, wondering how it must feel, having just had a baby, knowing you had produced your own little human being, holding him or her for the first time.

Mary arrived. ‘One look at Evan, and I feel like starting a family all over again. That’s a pretty jacket. Where’s Ned?’ She glanced around the ward. ‘He must be the only father not here,’ she said tactlessly.

‘He’ll be along later.’ Hester didn’t look at all upset. ‘Evan’s arrival has inspired him to work on his novel. It’s almost finished. Daddy’s coming straight from work – we’re moving into the Crosby house in the New Year. I tried to persuade him to stay with Ned and me, there’s loads of room, but he insisted on buying this horrible little flat in the centre of town.’

‘I thought it quite nice,’ Queenie said.

‘You’ve seen it?’

‘He wanted my opinion before he bought it.’

‘You should have told him it was too small, that he should stay with us.’

‘Maybe he thinks you and Ned would be better off on your own, particularly if you have a big family. And it’s quite a nice flat, Hester,’ Queenie argued. ‘The sitting room’s a good size and looks out over the river. I know the rest is rather small, but the kitchen and bathroom are super-modern and quite adequate for someone on their own.’

Hester wrinkled her nose and didn’t look convinced. ‘I hate to think of Daddy on his own.’

‘I’m on my own, but I manage.’

There was a pause, then Mary said in a funny voice, ‘I wonder what happened to Mrs Merton when she was left on her own?’

‘Who?’ Queenie frowned. The name didn’t ring a bell.

‘Mrs Merton, Carl’s mother. Remember, from Caerdovey? She thought the sun shone out of his behind. I just wondered how she coped on her own when Carl died in such a horrible way.’

‘Mary!’ Hester hissed, irritation showing. ‘We swore we wouldn’t say anything.’

Queenie froze. ‘How did you know Carl was dead? As far as I know, he was perfectly well when we came away, apart from a few cuts and bruises.’

‘No, Queenie,’ Mary shook her head. ‘He was dead. You must have known. Tess Nicholls told us, ages ago. It’s haunted me and Hes ever since, knowing that we killed him. We often talk about it. And Tess said everyone in Caerdovey thought you’d had a miscarriage, that Carl had made you pregnant.’

Hester no longer looked irritated, more relieved that the matter was being discussed openly. ‘I remember one night he came into our room and got into bed with you. You said he’d made a mistake. I believed you then, but not now.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘Did he hurt you, Queenie?’

‘Do we have to discuss something like this when you’ve just had a baby?’ Queenie said crossly, though inwardly, she felt shattered. ‘This isn’t the right time.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Hester folded her arms stubbornly. ‘We’ve been dying to talk to you about it for ages, but didn’t want to upset you.’

Queenie stared at them, seeing not the flushed, new mother and the rather matronly woman that Mary had become, but the two pretty little five-year-olds she’d taken to Caerdovey. ‘I remember,’ she said slowly, ‘I think it was at Theo’s funeral, you remarked how well I’d looked after you, but I didn’t do a very good job of it, did I?’ Her voice was bitter. ‘There could hardly have been a worse thing to happen to you both.’

‘Don’t be silly, Queenie.’

‘Shush, Queenie, don’t talk daft,’ Mary said loudly.

It could almost have been the same childish voices she was listening to. ‘Gwen told me Carl Merton had already raped two girls before he did the same to me,’

she said crisply, trying not to show how shaken she was, ‘Each time he got away with it. If he hadn’t died, he could have got away with it again – and again.

And you didn’t kill him,’ she reached for both their hands and gave them a squeeze, ‘not deliberately. You were protecting me. It was an accident.’ The girls were watching her, hanging on to her every word, seeking reassurance. ‘And yes, I was pregnant, though I didn’t know it. I was very ignorant in those days and it wasn’t until I was in hospital that Gwen told me I’d had a miscarriage.

Oh!’ she said plaintively. ‘I wish we’d talked about this before. I hate to think it’s been bothering you all this time.’

‘It does more than bother me.’ Mary shivered. ‘Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night in a sweat. I hear the sound his head made when it hit the floor.’

‘One day, when Evan is bigger, I’d like to go back to Caerdovey and get it out of my system. Could we do that, d’you think, Queenie?’

‘If you like.’ Queenie didn’t think it possible to ever get that terrible day out of her system, not completely. Months could pass and she never gave it a thought, then the horror would return, quite out of the blue. She would feel the wet mist on her face, feel Carl Merton’s hand on her arm, dragging her into the den. ‘Gwen wrote and told me that Mrs Merton just disappeared one day, I doubt if anyone in Caerdovey knows what happened to her.’

To her relief, Roddy came in with a bunch of red roses and the conversation stopped. He kissed his daughter, said he thought his new grandson was, without a doubt, the biggest, handsomest baby in the nursery, and that he was terribly proud. ‘Hello, Queenie, Mary.’ He nodded at them both.

Queenie nodded back. ‘Hello, Roddy.’ No one would have guessed they’d spent last night, and almost every night since that first time in Mangold’s, in each other’s arms. Six months had passed and there was no sign of the baby she longed for, but neither she nor Roddy had ever considered giving up.

In the first week of the New Year, Roy Burrows and Maurice Gleason announced they were leaving Freddy’s. Maurice, who had started at fourteen and now, thirty years later, was part of management, said he had a job with Lewis’s in Manchester. Roy had decided to retire early.

‘If you want the honest truth, Queenie,’ Roy said. ‘I feel like a rat deserting the sinking ship. I want out now to make sure I get my pension – and I’d like it in a lump sum, not monthly payments.’

‘I don’t understand, Roy,’ she said, puzzled.

‘It’s my opinion that if Freddy’s goes on as it is, in another few years the shop will be bankrupt. There’ll be nothing left, not even for the pension I paid into.’ He shrugged and looked bleak. ‘All these improvements you intend to make, in my opinion, it’s throwing good money after bad. Escalators are a fine idea, but will they increase our customer base? We can’t put a big advert in the Echo, announcing “Freddy’s Now Has Escalators”. Everyone would laugh – and the cost would be prohibitive. A ground-floor coffee bar will only take people away from the restaurant. There’s some new Health and Safety rules in the offing for buildings like ours. They’ll cost the earth to have done.’

Queenie listened with sinking heart. ‘You sound awfully gloomy, Roy.’

‘I feel gloomy. I don’t want to leave. IfI could think of a way of getting Freddy’s back on its feet, I’d contribute towards the cost myself. Queenie,’ he said urgently, leaning forward, ‘get rid of Freddy’s before it’s too late. Once it gets around that Maurice and I are leaving, others will leave too, and not just those in management. It’s nothing to do with being disloyal. They’ve got families to feed, mortgages to pay. They can’t afford to risk not having a job.’

‘Did we get nowhere with the franchises?’

‘No one’s interested. They can sense a loser, and that’s what Freddy’s has become.’

‘I’ll give it another year,’ Queenie said resolutely. ‘I’ll advertise more, sell goods at a discount, have fashion shows and … and other things,’ she added vaguely. ‘But I’ll still keep on with the basic modernisation. I’m not going to give up without a fight.’

‘Then good luck, Queenie. You deserve it.’

More staff did leave, mainly the younger ones. Adverts in the Echo for replacements brought little response. For the first time in more than twenty-five years, Queenie didn’t go to Paris Fashion Week; it seemed an extravagance and she wasn’t confident the clothes would sell. Meanwhile, the shop itself was in a state of utter turmoil. Each floor was being completely renovated in turn; walls painted in more subtle colours, the antiquated wooden counters replaced with glass and steel, strip-lighting and carpets fitted, new cash registers had been bought in 1971 when the country converted to decimal currency. So far only the fourth and fifth floors had been completed. Work would shortly start on the third. The furniture department would move back upstairs, Gentlemen’s Clothing and Footwear transferred elsewhere for the time being, and room found for Sporting Goods, Luggage, Textiles, Bedding …

‘I’d get rid of most of that furniture if I were you,’ Roddy said when Queenie complained that night that the shop was in chaos. They were having dinner in Nero’s, which had become a favourite place. ‘I told you, when I looked in Freddy’s for stuff for the flat, everything was much too big. Who wants such massive wardrobes these days? How many people need tables that seat twelve? Most big houses have been turned into flats or bedsits. Cut the department down to half its size, a quarter. As it is, it’s just a waste of space. By the way, it might be a good idea to refer to the men’s departments as just that, “Men’s”. It sounds rather more twentieth century than “Gentlemen’s”.’