Queen of the Mersey (60 page)

‘I wish you’d come and work for Freddy’s. You seem much better at running things than me.’

‘I’m not running anything, just offering advice. I’m not there, am I? I couldn’t cope with an entire shop.’

‘I’m not coping with an entire shop,’ Queenie said wanly. ‘I didn’t realise so many decisions would be left to me. It’s Theo’s fault. No one thinks to do things on their own initiative.’

‘Can’t you promote someone, put them in overall charge?’ Roddy suggested.

‘I’ve tried, but they’re not interested. I think they’re scared. I advertised not long after Theo died. A few people came for interview, but as soon as they saw the shop, they declined. It’s strange,’ she mused, ‘one minute we were jogging along quite comfortably, next everything began to fall apart, as if the shop became shabby and the customers stopped coming overnight. One of the last things Theo said was, “I think Freddy’s has had its day.”’

‘How are you off for money?’

Queenie laughed. ‘If you’re offering, half a million wouldn’t go amiss. I’ve sold Theo’s share in Fleur – that’s a well-known fashion house,’ she explained when Roddy looked perplexed. ‘It’s already been spent. Freddy’s isn’t making enough to cover the running costs. And I’m selling my boat.’

‘Queen of the Mersey! Are you that hard up?’

‘I’m that hard up. But that’s not the only reason. I’ll never use it now that Theo’s gone. I think he only bought it for himself. Me, I hated sailing, though I never told him. The boat only had to sway an inch and I’d be as sick as a dog.’ She sniffed. ‘I feel very sad about it. It was the most wonderful present, but I didn’t really appreciate it.’

‘Do you think about Theo often?’ Roddy asked curiously as he stirred his coffee.

‘Not as much as I expected. That’s your fault,’ she said. ‘I think about you instead. It keeps me sane, during the day, when everything’s so chaotic, and I remember I’m meeting you that night.’

‘I don’t think all that often about Laura – no, that’s not true. I think about her every day, but I don’t brood like I used to. In fact,’ he said lightly, ‘I was wondering, Queenie, once a decent period has passed, say another six months, if we shouldn’t get married?’

Queenie didn’t answer straight away. Roddy Oliver had just asked to marry her!

When they’d met, she had considered him a god. Never, in her wildest dreams, had she imagined the day would come when he would propose marriage.

‘Do we love each other?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he said truthfully. ‘What I do know is you’re on my mind an awful lot, and I can’t wait for us to be together.’

‘We might be using each other to get over our grief, make us forget about other things.’

‘Does that matter? We’re good for each other, Queenie. We make each other happy.’ He gave her a sly smile. ‘Please don’t blush, but the sex is bloody marvellous. Put those things together, and they seem a good basis for marriage.’

‘I don’t want to be a substitute for Laura.’

‘I’d sooner not be a substitute for Theo, but they’re both dead,’ he said bluntly. ‘Between us, we’ve got a lot of years still to go. Why not spend them together?’

Roddy was right, Queenie thought the next morning as she walked around the furniture crammed on to the third floor. This stuff was for mansions, not normal houses. Theo had been living in the past. He’d seen no need to change until it was too late. An elderly assistant followed her, gasping with horror every time she drew a chalk cross on a giant bedroom suite, sets of baronial chairs and tables, sideboards that wouldn’t have fitted through the average front door.

‘What’s to happen to it, Miss Tate?’ he asked nervously.

‘I don’t know. What normally happens to furniture when no one buys it? As long as it doesn’t go back upstairs, I don’t care.’

‘It can go in the store room for now.’

‘Only for now. I want rid of it as soon as possible. The store room’s already bursting at the seams.’

She went back to her office and summoned Roy Burrows who was working his month’s notice. ‘Who is our furniture buyer?’ she asked.

‘We never had one. It was something Theo did himself.’

‘Did he now! I never knew that. Could you please find out the names of a few modern designers and ask them to send reps? I’ve got rid of all that antique stuff.’

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Queenie?’

‘Yes,’ she said, slapping the desk, ‘I’m reorganising the furniture department, bringing it up to date.’

‘Have you seen the figures for the January Sales? They’re the lowest for ten years, yet inflation has soared over that time.’

‘The Sales have still got a week to go. Get on to advertising, tell them to put an advert in the Echo to say we’re cutting the sales price by half. Let everything go at quarter price.’

‘We’ve already done that, Queenie.’

‘In that case,’ she growled, ‘cut the quarter price by half. I’ll get customers in this shop if we have to give the damn stuff away.’

By the end of March, Hester was pregnant again. She rang Queenie to ask if they could go to Caerdovey. ‘If we wait much longer, I’ll be as big as a house.

Longer still, and I’ll have two babies to cart around. Mary said she’ll take us in the car if we go on a Saturday when Duncan doesn’t need it.’

‘Wouldn’t you prefer to go with a chauffeur? Theo’s Mercedes is in the garage and I can get someone to drive us.’ She hadn’t much faith in Mary’s driving of the Maguires’ rackety old Anglia. She was inclined to go too fast and often forgot to signal.

‘Has it got a glass screen?’ When Queenie admitted that it hadn’t, Hester said, ‘I’d sooner go with Mary, otherwise we wouldn’t be able to talk.’

‘All right,’ Queenie sighed. Caerdovey was the last place on earth she wished to visit, but felt obliged to go for the sake of the girls.

They set off on 1 April. The day began inauspiciously in pouring rain, which didn’t stop until they had crossed the border into Wales. She recalled how much she’d disliked the scenery then and found she still felt the same. The big hills covered with dark trees, the deep valleys crammed with even darker ones, made her stomach turn. She was sitting beside Mary, trying to ignore the scenery and concentrate on the map. Not surprisingly, Mary didn’t know the way and needed directions. Queenie had never studied a road map before and couldn’t understand it.

‘Oh, give it here,’ an impatient Hester demanded from the back. ‘I bet I can read a map better than you, and breastfeed a baby at the same time.’

‘Sorry,’ Queenie said meekly.

‘Go right at the next turning on the right, Mary.’

‘I’m not likely to go right on the next turning on the left, am I?’

‘Just shut up and do it.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

A weak sun appeared in the insipid blue sky as they entered Caerdovey and the mood in the car improved. Mary stopped by the Town Hall. ‘Nothing’s changed,’

she remarked. ‘Everywhere’s exactly the same. I wonder if that woman, the one who never shut up, still runs the Post Office?’

‘Her name was Mrs Jones,’ Queenie said. ‘She had a son called Trefor.’

‘And there’s the Councillor Wilfred Jones hall,’ Hester squealed. ‘They gave us drinks and a cake when we arrived. Gosh, that was a miserable day.’

‘I quite enjoyed meself. I thought it was exciting.’

‘Not at bedtime, you didn’t, Mary,’ Queenie reminded her. ‘You bawled your head off.’

‘Did I? Is that tea shop new? Shall we have a drink before we make our way to The Old School House?’

‘I’d sooner have a drink after we’ve been. Let’s get it over and done with first.’ Queenie couldn’t wait to get back to Liverpool. The gears squeaked and scraped when Mary started the car, setting her teeth on edge. She caught a glimpse of the Irish Sea, the water placid and grey, as they travelled down the High Street and eventually drew up outside The Old School House. There was silence for quite a while, apart from little chirruping noises from Evan, while they took in the building in which they’d once lived.

Quite a lot had changed. Pretty lace curtains were draped across the windows, the front door was buttercup yellow, the name, ‘The Old School House’ was now on a hanging board with the words ‘Bed & Breakfast’ underneath. The small front garden had been turned into a rockery full of heathers and ferns. But the biggest change of all was the fact there was no longer a garage. Instead, the place where it had stood, and the ground around it, had been concreted over and was now big enough to hold four cars.

‘What do we do now?’ Mary asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Queenie said. ‘It was your idea to come.’

‘Before we do anything, I’d like to change Evan’s nappy. He stinks.’

‘I’m getting out while you do it,’ Mary said quickly. ‘Oh, look. The front door’s opened.’

A pretty woman of about forty emerged from the house. She wore a flowered apron and rubber gloves. ‘I was just dusting the lounge when I saw you stop outside.

We’ve plenty of room, if that’s what you’re looking for. We’re only full at the height of the season.’

Queenie had followed Mary out of the car. ‘We don’t want to stay. It’s just that we were evacuated here during the war. We were just wondering what the place looked like now. I see you’ve wallpapered the hall. That’s a great improvement.’

‘Do you think so?’ The woman looked pleased. ‘Everyone thought we were mad, papering over wood, but I thought it looked awfully miserable. Every room has been papered or painted. As it was, it was like living inside a giant tree.’

‘I remember thinking exactly the same when we first came to live here.’

‘Were you here long?’ She seemed very friendly.

‘Only about eighteen months, but thinking back it feels much longer.’

‘Why don’t you come in and look around? I’m here by myself. My husband’s taken the children out for the day, but I stayed because we’re expecting guests at tea-time and they might arrive early. I’ll make some tea. I don’t like being on my own. I’m Rhona Jackson, by the way.’

‘That’s very kind of you. This is Mary Maguire, that’s Hester Cunningham in the car. She’s just changing Evan’s nappy. I’m Queenie Tate.’

‘You’ve got a baby with you! Oh, do let me see him! How old is he?’ she asked as Hester climbed out of the car.

‘Three months and eleven days.’

‘He’s beautiful. Hello, Evan.’ She chucked the baby under his fat chin and he gave her a look of disdain.

They went into the house, down the hall, Rhona opening doors on the way to reveal bright, airy rooms.

‘This was still fitted out as a classroom when we were here,’ Queenie remarked.

She recalled the rows of dingy desks, the ghostly atmosphere. Now the walls were painted eggshell blue and the flowered curtains matched the covers on the bed.

‘Though it’s smaller than I thought.’

‘That’s because it’s been split into two. The separating wall is just plasterboard.’

‘Was it you who got rid of the garage?’ Hester asked.

‘No, it was the people before us, an elderly couple. They bought the place just after the war – it had been empty for years – and turned it into a Bed and Breakfast. We bought it as a going concern. We were rather glad the garage had gone when somebody told us a man had died there in a rather horrible way. Here’s the kitchen, though you’ll know that, won’t you?’

Everyone gasped when they went into a barely recognisable kitchen lined with dusky brown units with white Formica tops. The stainless steel sink glistened in the weak sunshine, the taps shone. A fridge, almost six feet tall, hummed briskly in the corner. There were brown and white gingham curtains on the windows, bowls of tulips on the sill.

‘You’ve got an automatic washing machine!’ Mary said in awe. ‘I’ve always wanted one. You could do with one too, Hes, for Evan’s nappies. It’d get them lovely and white.’

‘I don’t care if they’re white, so long as they’re clean.’

Rhona had put the kettle on. ‘Sit down, everyone. Would you like a sandwich? And I’ve just made a fruit cake.’

‘I’d love both.’ Queenie sat on a white Formica chair. ‘I’m starving. I’m sure Hester and Mary must be too.’

Hester said, ‘Remember Gwen’s fruit cakes? She’d made one the day we arrived.’

‘And those lovely stews!’ Mary sighed. ‘Even Mam couldn’t make a stew as good as Gwen’s.’

All of a sudden, the memories came pouring out, as if they’d been locked away for years because all thoughts of Caerdovey had been centred on that one, last, horrible day.

Remember Jimmy Nicholls wearing those funny clothes he’d found in the den?

Remember the little school Queenie used to run there? Remember this? Remember that?

Rhona had made the sandwiches and put them on the table along with the fruit cake. ‘There’s more tea if you want some. Can I hold Evan while you eat?’ she asked Hester.

‘Of course.’

‘I miss having babies.’ She cuddled Evan on her knee.

‘Where do you come from?’ Queenie asked. She clearly wasn’t Welsh.

‘Birmingham,’ she said wistfully. ‘I miss it badly. All my family are there, but we had to move away from the smoke and grime because one of our sons has asthma, quite badly. He’s been much better since we came here, so there’s no chance of us going back. My husband has to work in winter because this place doesn’t make enough to live on. It can get terribly lonely when everyone’s out and there’s no guests. I’ve really enjoyed you being here.’

‘I’m afraid we’ll have to be going in a minute,’ Queenie told her.

‘Perhaps you’d like to come back one day and stay?’

Surprisingly, Mary said she’d love to. ‘Me and me husband will come one weekend in the summer. And if you’re ever in Liverpool, you must come and see us.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Rhona Jackson promised. ‘Don’t forget to give me your addresses before you go.’

On the drive home, they all agreed the visit to Caerdovey had done them the world of good, even Queenie who hadn’t wanted to go. Hester said it had changed the way she’d always thought of The Old School House.

‘From now on, I’ll be able to see it in my mind without the garage. I half expected to walk in and find bloodstains on the floor.’

‘I really will go back,’ Mary vowed. ‘I’d forgotten what a great time we used to have on the sands. Remember how lovely it was early in the morning?’