The Liverpool Trilogy (135 page)

He felt as guilty as Cain, as original sin, as Lucifer, the fallen angel who turned his back on glory before moving south to create hell. Molly had her lovable dogs, some tropical fish, her
temperamental cookery and her money, but what she really needed was human company. Could he be that? Just that? Why was life so bloody complicated? Why couldn’t a man and a woman remain
friends when an affair ended? Humans were an odd lot.

Tess mumbled in her sleep. She often did that, and he found himself almost praying that she wasn’t stuck in that apparently endless nightmare about the caravan, the hunger, the
bed-wetters. For how long had he cursed her selfishness? Why hadn’t he remembered her beginnings? More to the point, why hadn’t she trusted him enough to explain to him about her fear
of more pregnancies? He couldn’t have got life any more wrong if he’d tried. Was he some sort of Jonah?

Because Tess was no cold fish. Recovered at last from the surgery, she often instigated lovemaking, and he quickly realized that she had been denying herself as well as him, and that she, too,
had suffered. Had he been a Catholic, he might have understood, but he’d promised only that any children would be reared as Catholics, no more than that. Perhaps he understood at last the
Roman disapproval of mixed marriage.

He loved her. She wore him out with her butterfly mind, her sudden enthusiasms and her squirrels, but he wouldn’t swap her for all the tea in China. Squizzles, she called her pets these
days. The Lennon boy had donated the word free of charge. The pretty little rodents now ate out of Tess’s hands. She wore gloves, because the buggers had teeth like razors.

Molly. There had been no phone calls, no meetings, no work. She had ordered him to stay away until Tess was well, and Tess was well. She was so well that Don was sometimes exhausted by her; his
marriage had travelled at the speed of sound from famine to feast. He was happy to be tired, yet miserable about poor Molly. Today, he would visit her. The business was up for sale, but it needed
to be in good order, and he should make sure that it was, that the books were clean and that no custom had been lost. She must not miss out; this could well be his last chance to be of service to
her.

Tess reached for him. ‘Bad dream,’ she said. ‘Just hold me.’

‘With pleasure.’ He was at his most contented when his face was in her hair, when her head tucked itself into his neck. This was the wife he had almost lost, and he had no intention
of misplacing her again. But Molly mattered. Molly had been good to him in many ways, and this was a debt of honour that demanded to be paid. He had to tell her that his concern for her remained,
that she was by no means forgotten.

When Anne-Marie and Sean had left for work, Don advised Tess of his intentions. She was melting fat for her bird lollipops. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she said, her tone nonchalant.
‘I’d quite like a little outing.’

Don shuddered and sat down rather suddenly at the kitchen table. ‘You can’t do that, love. I have to talk business with her, look at the books and so forth. It wouldn’t be
right in a business meeting.’ Molly was a sensible woman, but Tess remained capable of creating a stir if her feathers got ruffled.

‘I’ll be very quiet,’ she promised. ‘Like a little mouse, but without all the squeaking. You will scarcely know I’m there.’

‘You will be quiet, because you won’t be there.’

She turned from the cooker and looked at him. Little strands of hair framed a face any artist would be pleased to commit to canvas. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight, Don Compton.
I’ve been lonely for too long. She’ll want you back, I know she will.’ After a pause, she continued, ‘You’re handsome and good and kind. She’ll be missing
you.’

Two lonely women, both of them his own fault. ‘I’m not going to the house, Tess. I can’t go to the house, because I’d have trouble tearing myself away from the dogs.
Anyway, she’ll be at work.’

‘Then so will I.’ She turned off the burner and mixed hot fat with birdseed and bits of bacon.

‘You don’t trust me,’ he accused her.

‘I don’t trust her, either. She shouldn’t have messed about with somebody else’s husband. She’s a . . . a lowlife.’

Don hung his head. Molly was nothing of the kind. She was isolated, and he knew how that felt. ‘You took it so well when I told you.’

‘I was too busy worrying about stitches and thanking God that I’d come out of the slaughterhouse alive. Now. As soon as I’ve got this lot in their moulds, we’re going. If
you leave before I’ve finished, I’ll follow in my van. So stick that in your pipe and blow bubbles out of it. My mind is made up.’

Don decided in that moment that honesty wasn’t always the best policy. He would have done better with a lie, a tale about meeting Injun Joe in connection with a job, or a story concerning
the planning of darts matches. When truth hurt, it was best left to one side like a bit of jetsam that might float away on the tide of life. ‘All right,’ he said after a lengthy pause.
‘But no trouble.’

‘Fair enough.’ She went upstairs to make herself beautiful while Don sat and tried to read his newspaper. This promised to be an interesting morning. He would be unable to talk
privately with Molly, and that was a grave disappointment, since he wanted to make sure she was all right. Doing the books under Tess’s gaze might prove difficult, and he wished he’d
kept his stupid mouth shut. But the damage was done, and her highness was upstairs making herself inappropriately smart. This time, she would be applying war paint. He allowed himself a tight
smile. Tess would look wonderful in a potato sack, and she knew it.

Madam returned gowned and crowned, a very straight spine adding further to her regal appearance. The crown was a hat with a tiny veil that covered none of her face and precious little of the
golden blonde hair. A matching suit fitted so well that it looked tailor-made to show off wonderful calves and ankles, while the ensemble was completed with good shoes, good bag and kid leather
gloves. As was the way with many women, she planned to make her non-spoken statement via the outdoing of the perceived opponent by leaving her behind in the area of fashion and general
appearance.

‘You look wonderful,’ he said.

‘I know.’

She knew. And she wasn’t shy about her beauty, wasn’t prone to dismissing her looks as unimportant as most females did. An undersized child had blossomed into a stunningly attractive
woman. ‘You may have gone a bit over the top for a builders’ merchant’s yard, love.’

‘Yes, perhaps. But that’ll be because we’re going on somewhere when your business at the yard is over.’

‘Like Windsor Castle?’

‘No. Like a posh restaurant in town.’

He couldn’t tell Tess how much she owed to Molly. If she were to learn how he had come by this house, God alone knew how she might react. ‘She’s a good person, Tess.’

‘Good women don’t mess about with someone else’s husband.’

Don sighed. ‘You and I weren’t happy, love. I didn’t know you were ill and that messed-up hormones were making you worse and giving you panic attacks. Molly was company more
than anything else. She was alone, and I was alone.’

‘But you weren’t going to stay with me, were you, Don?’

After a quick shuffling of his thoughts, he came up with a reply. ‘She didn’t know that. She thought we were moving as a family, because she knew I loved you. I didn’t realize
it then, but she did. In fact, she was always on your side, always asking after you and telling me to get back home. She’s good, Tess. Even good people sometimes do wrong.’

Tess sniffed and tapped a toe two or three times. ‘All right, Romeo. I’ll give you twenty minutes’ travelling time – that’s ten each way – and half an hour to
say goodbye and check her books. So it’s fifty minutes. Out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll stretch it to an hour. One hour. When you get back, I want you booted and suited, then you
can take me somewhere plush for lunch. I’m still in here, you know.’ She placed a hand on her chest. ‘Inside, there’s still a hungry infant who turned into a silly, selfish
woman. And I want four courses.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Including sorbet.’

‘Who?’

‘It’s a palate cleanser.’

Don nodded. ‘Can’t you just take your toothbrush?’

For answer, she clouted him with the best handbag. ‘Get gone. And don’t let me down, or your privileges will be curtailed.’

‘Oh. Do I get a general anaesthetic?’

‘No. You’ll feel the pain and enjoy it.’

He folded his paper and rose to his feet. ‘Ah. Now we enter the sado-masochistic phase, eh? Can I tie you to the bed and talk to you in Greek?’ He kissed her very fiercely.

When she regained the ability to absorb oxygen, she hit him once more with her bag. ‘You’ve ruined my make-up,’ she accused him.

‘That’s all right, then. You’ve won an hour to put it right.’ He left.

Tess smiled to herself. He wouldn’t walk out on her. Mind, there was a clause in the marriage ceremony, a piece that contained the words ‘till death us do part’. Nobody got out
of here alive. The smile faded. He couldn’t die before she did. She had to go first. Oh well, she needed to sort out her face. People with smudged lipstick couldn’t enter a place that
served sorbet.

Meanwhile, Don followed a familiar route to the place where he had worked for over ten years. Although Molly understood that their close relationship was over, she surely deserved a visit, an
update and another thank you. Oh. An Under Offer notice had been pasted over the For Sale sign. He got out of the car and saw that the gates were padlocked. What now?

He looked at his watch. She Who Needed To Be In Charge had imposed a limit, but he had to get to Molly’s house. There was no anger in him; being annoyed by Tess was no longer allowed. Few
people in life escaped undamaged, but some were more damaged than others. Inside Tess’s core dwelt an unloved child who would never be satisfied.

Molly wasn’t at the house, and there was no barking. A Sold sign stretched diagonally across the estate agent’s board informed Don that he was probably trespassing. Pressing his nose
against the living-room window, he discovered that the tropical fish had been removed. She would never have left without letting him know, surely?

The answer? He knew exactly where it lay. Instead of using his key to the front door, he walked down the side of the house to the huge back garden. And there it was, in a flower bed well away
from the house. A gardening glove that seemed to have been dropped accidentally lay on frozen soil. With difficulty, he eased his already cold fingers into the icy item before using it as
protection while reaching into a holly bush. And there he found the black box inside which he and Molly had occasionally left messages for each other whenever plans went awry.

Firstly, there was a folded note for him – no name, no address, just a small piece of lined paper with a few words scribbled on it.
Lots of luck to you, D. Every good wish for the
future. Be happy. The other letter can be read by anyone, even T. Bye, my love. M xxx

Don carried the sealed envelope back to the car. His name was written on the front. As he sat staring at it, a dart of sadness pierced his heart. It was possible to love two women
simultaneously. Molly had been his anchor, his best friend. He could still hear her laughter, remember the smell of a disastrous moussaka, fumes from which might have been used against an enemy in
the event of war. Somewhere far away, tucked in the back of his head, he heard the strumming of a ukulele and her ‘turned out nice again’ voice delivering a rendition of ‘My
Little Stick of Blackpool Rock’.

Would he never see her again? Never was a long time to be without a best friend. But there was Tess, his re-enlivened wife, and he absolutely adored her. The extra layer in Molly’s make-up
was probably connected to her age, because she had babied him. Where was she? Where the bloody hell had she gone with the wonderful dogs and the satanic angel fish?

He checked his watch. Unless he wanted to run into extra time, he’d better get this read, since the referee was waiting for him. Waiting for him. When they’d lived above the
launderette, she’d taken little interest in his whereabouts. He could have been in Timbuktu for all she’d cared. He’d been steak pudding and peas, no more than that. Now, like
most other wives, she wanted to know the location of her man.

But no. He didn’t need to open the envelope here in the car, because the extra little scrap of paper, now discarded in the dustbin, had reassured him. Even Tess could read this letter
without taking umbrage. They might read it together, then. But as he drove away from the past, from an area of his life that had contained love, kindness and consideration, he felt a great hole
widening in his chest. No Molly, no daft dogs, no hum from the filter in the fish tank. He remembered the trout.
They’re staring at me. Do I cut their heads off?
That had been followed
by another trip to the chip shop. Molly. A mistake a minute, a laugh a minute. But no man could have two mistresses, and he had to be satisfied with his lot. Nothing on the planet would ever
persuade him to abandon his Tess.

When he reached home, Tess had changed her clothes and was kneeling on the kitchen floor, her head in the gas oven.

‘No need for that,’ Don said. ‘There’s a whole river down the road if you want to commit suicide. A kitchen’s no place for a corpse, even one as pretty as yours
would be.’

She emerged with a smudge of dark grease on the end of her nose. ‘Listen, bird-brain of Britain. You did the Sunday dinner, right?’

He fought laughter. No one with a smudge like that one could expect to be taken seriously. ‘I did.’

‘It was lamb, right?’

‘It was.’

‘Lamb spits,’ she pronounced.

He considered that for a moment. ‘Actually, it was dead at the time. If it had been prone to temper tantrums, the inclination would have died with the rest of it. And anyway, it was just
the one leg.’

Tess scrambled to her feet. ‘You should have wiped down before the oven went cold.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Then after wiping down, put the cloth in the sink with bleach diluted in hot water.’