The Bells of Scotland Road (29 page)

‘Did she say anything?’

‘What?’ Billy shook himself inwardly, as if trying to waken his brain after a too long sleep. He could scarcely remember sleep. Nights had been spent comforting Diddy; days continued
the same – lift the sacks, move the crates, knock off at dinner-time for a pie and a pint or to eat the carry-outs prepared by wives.

‘Maureen,’ said the priest, an edge to his determinedly patient tone, ‘has she said anything about what happened?’

Maureen hadn’t said anything about anything since being brought into hospital. The doctor blamed shock for her inability or unwillingness to communicate. ‘No,’ replied Billy,
‘she’s still too weak to talk.’

Father Bell tightened his hold on Billy’s arm. ‘Do they have any idea of who did it?’

Billy shook his head, wiped the moisture from his cheeks with the cuff of a sleeve. ‘No, they’ve mentioned nothing. But I can tell you this much, Father Bell. The man who did this to
our Maureen isn’t right, he’s not normal. He should be hanged, because he’s killed her childhood. She’s like . . .’ He couldn’t carry on, didn’t want to
tell this miserable-faced cleric that Maureen was looking so old for her years.

Maureen Costigan had never been a child, Liam told himself silently. She had flaunted herself for as long as he could remember, gallivanting up and down Scotland Road in her dancing frocks,
singing for anyone who would throw her a penny. Lately, he had heard talk of her kissing boys in the jiggers, too.

‘If I catch him, I’ll strangle him,’ continued Billy.

Liam inclined his head. ‘Perhaps I’ll visit her.’

Billy considered this for a fraction of a second. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Father Brennan’s been going in and trying to talk her round.’ Father Brennan was a damned
sight more cheerful than this holy Joe. ‘She needs the rest.’

Liam’s stole was missing. He had a replacement, of course. He was grateful that the vestment had been a green one, because he had several in the more commonly used green. Had it been
purple, he would have been in a spot of trouble, because he owned just one stole in that shade, and its absence would have been noticed, especially during Lent. ‘The newspaper said someone
tried to strangle Maureen.’

Billy nodded miserably. ‘And more,’ he mumbled.

‘I beg your pardon?’

Billy decided that he could no more talk to this bloke about rape than fly to the moon on a yardbrush. ‘I’d better get home. Diddy’ll be expecting me.’

‘Did they find a weapon?’ asked Father Bell.

‘Eh?’

‘A weapon.’ The priest spoke slowly, as if he were addressing a very young child. ‘Did they find the . . . the rope?’

‘What rope?’ Billy’s eyes ached. The tears had stopped, but he was tired enough to fall asleep crying on a clothes line. Why was this man talking about ropes and washing
lines?

‘The rope she was strangled with.’

‘Oh.’ The older man scratched his head. ‘My brain’s not straight, Father.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know nothing about what they found and didn’t find.
They’ve searched that field a few times, though. Nothing’s been said, not to me, anyway.’ He walked off and left Liam Bell standing in the company of several unanswered
questions.

The priest walked round a corner and stood in the shadow of the hospital. He had been so careful. He had been so careful that a piece of vital evidence was missing, was possibly in the hands of
the police. What a damned fool he was! ‘It wasn’t you,’ said a small inner voice, but Liam ignored it. The last time this sort of thing had happened was so long ago. He could not
quite remember certain events, but he recalled this episode well enough. He had been doing his duty, no more and no less, he told himself. People had to learn and learning was a painful
process.

He walked again, stopped, walked a little further. Should he go in? Perhaps if he went into the hospital, he might find out a few things. And that girl could recognize him, identify him . . .
No, she had seen nothing.

The trouble was, he could not remember everything. Like Billy Costigan, he seemed to be suffering from a degree of absent-mindedness. It was so difficult now that Anthony had left the area. Liam
needed Anthony as a focus, as if Anthony provided the lenses for his eyes, the reason for his continuing existence. But Anthony had moved across the county. Of course, Liam had almost saved his
twin from yet another mistake. Almost. The girl was alive. Shocked into silence, but still alive.

He sat on a form and stared at some miserable daffodils as they nodded their way towards death. She was potentially dangerous. Alive, she might even pose a threat. But he could not walk into the
hospital and finish what he had started. And if he fled the area, the finger of suspicion would certainly point in his direction. The stole. Where was it? Why hadn’t it been found? Or had it
been found, and was he being watched right now, in the dusk? And was that where he had lost it? Had these past few days been a nightmare? Or had he really put a stop to Maureen’s whoring?
Yes, he had. Yes, he was the one who could be called guilty by those who misunderstood his vocation in life.

Made furtive by his fear, he glanced around, saw no-one lurking or staring at him. But the police were clever. He must remain on his guard and stay away from the hospital. Maureen
Costigan’s memory might return, might not return. ‘She won’t know you,’ he whispered. ‘She never saw your face.’ But if he hung around here looking guilty, he
could very well give himself away.

He forced himself to recall what he could. It had happened in the field – yes, he had dragged her there. She had struggled, had kicked him on the shin. Not a word had been spoken. Or had
it? Oh, he wished his powers of recollection would buck up. The full punishment. That was right – he had disciplined her thoroughly, had attempted to make her sorry for all those sins of the
flesh. Had she died, she might have repented during those final moments, could have entered purgatory rather than hell. He had hurt her. Retribution for sins of the flesh had to be extremely
agonizing.

His mind wandered again to other women whose lives had been altered by him. They had been allowed to live, of course, because those street girls had not been connected to the Bell family, had
posed no threat. But the other one . . . the last one . . . yes, she had died.

A man had hanged for that. But he had deserved to hang, because he had been found drunk. So Liam had taught the world two lessons. Two birds with one stone? Drunkenness and sacrilege had been
justly condemned on that occasion. The woman had left the Church. Anthony could not be allowed to marry a non-believer. In fact, a lapsed Catholic was worse than a Protestant. Some of the latter
were simply ignorant, uninformed. But the one called Valerie had thrown away the only true faith. He had promised himself that he would not think about Valerie any more. God had directed him, had
spoken to him, had guided his hand. He needed no priest to ask on his behalf for God’s mercy, because the disposal of Valerie had been a part of God’s plan.

Maureen Costigan was not a suitable candidate for the Bell family. She had not seen his face, he told himself firmly for the umpteenth time. As far as he could recall, he had not seen hers,
either, not on that occasion. He had worked from behind. He had been careful, had made sure that he had been almost invisible. For much of the time, she had been barely conscious, so what could she
say? Nothing. No, no, she would never accuse him. But all the same, he worried about that stole.

Billy stumbled through the doorway of Bell’s Pledges. Charlie, who was in charge for the moment, saw the pain in his father’s features. It was etched deeply, as if
ingrained by a chisel into stone. ‘Dad?’

‘Where’s Sam?’ asked Billy.

‘Kitchen.’

Billy crossed the shop, passed the bottom of the stairs and entered Sam Bell’s kitchen. Old Theresa Bell was huddled over the fire, while Sam sat at the table writing in a ledger.
‘Billy? Are you all right?’ asked the pawnbroker.

Billy dropped into the chair opposite Sam’s. ‘I can’t tell Diddy,’ he said. ‘I can’t, Sam.’

Sam laid down his pen. ‘Tell her what?’

Billy flicked a meaningful glance in Theresa’s direction.

‘It won’t go no further than these walls,’ promised the old lady. ‘If I hear owt, I’ll say nowt,’ she added with her usual Lancashire bluntness. It was a
tragedy. That young girl hurt for no reason. ‘I’ve prayed for her,’ she told Billy.

The large man swallowed. ‘Sam, she’d been interfered with.’

It was difficult to know how to reply to this statement. ‘I’m sorry. Is that what you can’t tell Diddy?’

Billy nodded.

‘Wants bloody castrating,’ spat Theresa. ‘Men like that should be sent somewhere for a seeing to.’ She rose stiffly, walked to the table and placed a claw-like hand on
Billy Costigan’s shoulder. ‘Lad, I’ll pray for you and yours again tonight.’ She left the room and made her slow and painful way upstairs.

Sam rose and reached for a bottle, took two glasses from a cabinet next to the range. He poured a moderate amount of whisky for himself, a double for Billy. ‘Here, drink that.’

Billy swallowed the lot, allowed Sam to provide a refill, emptied the glass again. ‘Don’t give me any more, Sam,’ he said. ‘I need my thinking brain tonight, and
it’s been on strike all week. I can’t tell her. I’ll have to let our Maureen do it when she’s ready. The policeman and the doctor promised to say nothing to Diddy.
It’s already made her ill. She’s not sleeping, not eating, not looking after herself. Her nerves are shot to bits.’

Sam nodded. The Scotland Road folk often told him their troubles, because they knew he could keep a secret. ‘Bridie would help her if she was here.’

Billy agreed. ‘Don’t bring her home, Sam. Let her have a bit of a holiday with her horses. Rosa McKinnell was saying last week how good Bridie is with horses.’

The shopkeeper sat and stared at Billy Costigan. He had known Billy from birth, had watched him grow up, marry, become a father five times. He was changing. Since marrying Bridie, Sam Bell had
developed one or two chinks in his armour. Bridie had made the house into a home, had got Muth out of bed, had contributed to the running of the shop. And he missed her. ‘She’s a good
soul, is Bridie,’ he told Billy. ‘If she knew about this, she’d be back to help, I know she would.’

‘There is no help, lad.’

‘Never say that,’ urged Sam.

‘I don’t know what to say, don’t know what to think,’ answered Billy.

‘Be positive. Try to be hopeful.’

Billy’s hands were clasped so tightly that the whiteness of his knuckles showed through work-stained skin. ‘I’ll kill him, Sam.’

Sam nodded.

‘I’ll geld him, then I’ll cut his throat. If I can bloody well find the swine. Police are getting nowhere with it. They’ve spent days with a fine-tooth comb searching the
playing field. And he’s still out there walking about a free man, whoever he is. That bastard’s laughing up his sleeve at us. Who’ll be next, eh?’

Sam could provide no reply.

‘They say Maureen can come out of hospital in a couple of days. She wasn’t as badly hurt as they thought, thank God. The bit of her throat that got damaged is all right now. Course,
they had to stitch her face and one of her legs. She’s got bruises all over her body and a big purple mark on her neck. And she won’t talk. But they’ll not keep her much
longer.’ The massive hands lifted themselves then crashed loudly onto the table. ‘I’m so damned useless,’ Billy cried.

‘Stop it,’ pleaded Sam. ‘You’ve got to be strong for the rest of your family.’

The docker’s head moved slowly from side to side. ‘I know I’m built like a brick lavvy shed, but Diddy’s been the strength in our house. I just earn the money when I can,
only it’s her what does all the working out and paying bills and tending the kids. Her strength’s on the inside. Mine’s just in my body. But if Diddy found out that our
Maureen’s been raped, she’d crack. She’s not far off breaking up as it is. Without Diddy in one piece, our family would fall apart, Sam.’

Sam thought about this for a moment or two. ‘They both need a rest,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll send Diddy and Maureen to our Edith’s. Maureen shouldn’t be round
here. A change of scenery would do her and Diddy a world of good.’ He pondered again for several moments. ‘They were supposed to go just for the fortnight, but they can stop on a bit
longer, Bridie and the girls. Another week or two off school won’t do Cathy any harm.’

Billy blinked several times, looked for all the world like a man waking from a long sleep. ‘Hasn’t Mrs Spencer got enough on her plate?’ he asked. ‘She’s already
got Bridie and the girls, then your Anthony’s there, too—’

‘Anthony’s in a cottage,’ interrupted Sam. ‘And Edith’s got a heart of gold and enough bedrooms for a battalion. Leave it to me, Billy. Go home and get your head
down.’

Billy Costigan rose from his seat and stared for a while at the pawnbroker who employed two of his children. Nicky, who ran the stall, worked for other dealers, too, but Sam was the mainstay.
Then Charlie was nearing full time here, and the lad enjoyed his work. Billy reckoned he had known Sam Bell for most of his life. Yet he hadn’t known him.

‘Go home now,’ said Sam.

The pawnbroker had pretended to listen in the past, had nodded and grunted. But now, he was listening, answering, thinking about solutions. ‘Thanks, Sam,’ he said. Then Billy
Costigan went home to nurse his wife and his terrible secret.

Maureen lay flat, hands on top of the white coverlet, her hair spread out against a pillowcase of cheap, coarse cotton. She had been here for a long time. Sometimes, it felt as
if she had been here for ever. But she hadn’t. She lived in Dryden Street with Mam, Dad, Charlie, Nicky, Tildy-Anne and Jimmy. They had scouse twice a week, tripe and onions on Thursdays,
boiled eggs and toast on a Saturday morning and, like most other families on Scotland Road, they had salt fish cooked by Dad every Sunday morning.

Maureen didn’t like salt fish. It was grey and sad-looking, sludgy and full of bones. There was a pigeon on the window-sill. She turned her head and looked at it, wondered if it might be
one of Dad’s come to visit her. The pigeons were kept in the back yard next to the scullery. Dad was very gentle with his feathered pets, very tender with his children, too. He was a great
big man, well over six feet in height, but he had a delicate touch.