Lights Out Liverpool (50 page)

‘It wasn’t a very good idea, was it? It’s just that I was longing to see you again.’

‘Well, you’ve seen me.’ Eileen tried to sound practical. ‘I’ll start running the bath. The food’ll be ready by the time you’re out.’

She busied herself in the kitchen, calling to Nick from time to time in case he fell asleep in the bath. If only he had another day, she thought wistfully.

Suddenly, Nick shouted urgently. ‘Hey! Something’s happened! Take your clothes off and get in here. Quick!’

Arthur Fleming stopped the lorry in a lay-by on the crest of the hill so he could take a proper look at the view. The scenery was so spectacular, he was having difficulty keeping his eyes on the road. He leant on the wheel and took in the wild undulant moorland on either side – who would have thought there could be so many shades of green? Olive, emerald, jade – too many to identify. There was one patch almost yellow, another almost blue. The trees had an almost uncivilised look; unlopped and un-pruned, they’d been left to grow as they pleased. In the far distance, a glassy lake sparkled.

It was the first time he’d been to the Lake District, and he was impressed. It was so peaceful. He felt himself drawn towards the natural, almost heartstopping, beauty of the landscape. This was how God had made the world. There were no ugly factories belching smoke, no multi-storey buildings, just little houses here and there, nestling comfortably within a clump of trees, as if they’d grown there.

‘Oh, well,’ he sighed. ‘This won’t do. I’d better get a move on.’ There was one more load to deliver in Kendal, a few miles away, then he could go home to Jess. He veered the lorry out into the deserted road and drove on.

He found his destination in the small town quite easily – a large grey-stone building at the furthest end of the main road. Arthur alighted from the lorry, went round the back and removed the last remaining item, a wooden crate
marked
FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE
. It was surprisingly light, considering its size.

With the crate hoisted on his shoulder, he rang the bell beside the large double doors of the building and noticed, underneath the bell, a brass plate engraved
THE HIGGINBOTHAM MUSEUM OF PREHISTORIC EGYPTIAN AND GREEK ART
. Arthur felt a stir of excitement as he waited for what seemed like an age. He was about to ring again, when one half of the door was opened by a young man in an open-necked shirt and shorts. He wore spectacles and was surprisingly bald, considering his obvious youth.

‘I’m sorry, we’re closed Mondays,’ he said crisply. ‘Oh, I see you’ve got something for us. Bring it in, won’t you?’

Arthur followed, interest rising. He was led through another set of doors into a large room lined with glass cases full of restored objects of ancient Greek art, the sight of which sent the blood pounding through his head. Down the centre of the room were several statues of such disreputable appearance that any decent gardener would have consigned them to the dustbin long ago; earth-stained and crumbling and quite obviously pieced together from their original broken fragments, they were still minus many important anatomical parts.

‘Oh, I say!’ Arthur breathed reverently, when his eyes fell on this veritable feast of antiquity.

Mistaking his reverence for disdain, the young man said condescendingly, ‘I suppose it looks rubbish to the uninitiated, but I can assure you, these items are of enormous historical importance to archaeologists.’

‘You can say that again!’ said Arthur. He pointed to one of the statues, ‘That’s Minoan, isn’t it?’

‘It is.’ The young man gaped.

‘Rhea, mother of Zeus. I did my thesis on the early
Minoan
civilisation.’

The young man gaped again at the lorry driver in his collarless shirt and braces showing underneath his unbuttoned waistcoat. Who would have thought? Well, it took all sorts …

‘Of course!’ Arthur slapped his knee. ‘
Higginbotham!
Professor Ernest Higginbotham, the Egyptologist. He was one of my heroes.’

‘And mine!’ the young man said enthusiastically, Arthur’s appearance forgotten. ‘Did you know he entered Tutankhamen’s tomb with Lord Carnarvon in 1922?’

‘And died soon afterwards from the curse,’ Arthur said knowingly, ‘as they all did. But, on the other hand, he was eighty-four!’

They both laughed.

‘This is all his stuff, then?’ Arthur began to wander around the room.

‘It’s been added to considerably over the years. Old Ernest’s collection came mainly from Egypt, Old and New Kingdom. That’s on the first floor.’

‘Fascinating! Absolutely fascinating. What’s in the crate?’

‘It’s a bequest, mainly Mycenean tiles, so I’m given to understand.’

‘Really? Should be interesting.’

‘Yes, but I don’t think I shall bother to unpack it.’

‘Why not?’

The young man made a face. ‘The museum’s closing down for the duration. I’ve been called up. I thought my sight would rule me out, but it appears to be not as bad as I thought.’

‘Oh, I say, that’s a shame.’ Arthur shook his head in sympathy. ‘Do you get many visitors?’

‘A few tourists drop in now and again, but primarily, our visitors are experts like … well, like yourself,’ the young man explained. ‘They come from all over the world and the correspondence we receive has to be seen to be believed. People wanting photographs, mainly, or just a general chat, as it were, by letter.’

‘It sounds like the most interesting job in the world!’ Arthur said in awe.

‘Actually, there are times when it can get a bit boring. I was beginning to think I’d sooner be in at the deep end, digging things up, not cataloguing and showing them off. But then the war started and put paid to any thoughts of going abroad.’

‘I used to think like that when I was young. I managed to get to Crete during my time at university, but that was my one and only visit, I’m afraid. Somehow, life never seems to go as planned.’

‘I say, would you like a cup of tea? I’m Marcus Dillon, by the way. In fact, I’ve a horrible suspicion I left the kettle boiling.’

They shook hands.

‘Arthur Fleming, and I’d love a cup of tea.’ As they strolled towards a staircase at the end of the room, Arthur asked, ‘You actually live on the premises?’

‘Yes, there’s rather a fine flat at the top, with magnificent views.’

Arthur felt his mouth water as they passed through another floor full of glass cases packed with exhibits. ‘Does the place
have
to close down?’ he asked. He’d just had an idea, so breathtaking that his voice trembled as he spoke.

‘Not really.’ Marcus laughed contemptuously. ‘It’s just that the Trustees are a lazy lot. They can’t be bothered to find another curator. They think the war will be over in
no
time at all, I’ll be back, and they won’t have had to lift a finger. But, as I said before, I was already toying with the idea of chucking it in.’

‘How do you get in touch with these Trustees?’

Marcus glanced at him quickly. ‘You’re not interested, are you?’

‘I’d give my right arm for a job like this!’

‘In that case, I’ll do my utmost to see you get it – though your right arm can stay where it is, thanks all the same!’

Next morning, Jessica Fleming waddled across the road to Number 16. She badly needed to talk to someone, and Eileen Costello was the obvious person.

But instead of Eileen, it was Annie Poulson who answered the door to her knock.

‘Oh, hallo,’ Annie said politely. The two women didn’t have much to do with each other. ‘Eileen’s at work. I’ve just been seeing Tony off to school and giving the place a bit of a tidy up.’

‘In that case, I’ll come back this afternoon.’

Annie folded her arms and leant on the doorframe. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Big!’ said Jess.

‘You look as if you might be having another lorry for Arthur.’

‘I got weighed in Woolworths the other day, and I’m over fourteen stone!’ Jess was never quite sure whether to be proud or ashamed of her enormous size.

‘I weren’t that heavy when I was expecting twins!’ exclaimed Annie. ‘Look, why don’t you pop in a minute for a cuppa?’

‘I won’t be holding you up, will I?’

‘I wouldn’t ask if you were! Come in, that’s if you can
fit
through the door. I expect you’ve had yours widened.’

One of the things that never ceased to amaze Jess was the way the women moved in and out of each other’s houses as if they were their own. She went inside and made herself comfortable in the easy chair under the window. There was a cardboard box of odds and ends on the table; books and ornaments and one or two soft toys. Annie disappeared into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

‘I understand congratulations are in order,’ Jess called. ‘Eileen said you’re getting married.’

‘That’s right. Fifteenth of September, that’s two weeks on Saturday. The lads are coming from Colchester. They’ve been given a special twenty-four-hour pass.’

‘I hope you’ll be very happy,’ Jess said sincerely.

‘Ta, very much.’ Annie appeared in the doorway. ‘If you’re around on the day, come and have a drink and a piece of wedding cake. The whole street’s invited.’

‘I’d love to. Where are you going on your honeymoon?’

Annie’s dark eyes twinkled. ‘Well, I’m not sure if you could call two nights in a Southport hotel a honeymoon. Chris can’t take time off, so’s the both of us’ll be back at work on the Monday.’ She vanished again. ‘I’ll give this a good stir. Y’can’t spare an extra spoonful for the pot since tea went on rations, and I hate it weak.’ She returned a few minutes later with two cups of pale tea. ‘It still looks like gnats’ piss,’ she remarked.

Jess noticed a framed photograph protruding from the box on the table; a family portrait, the man achingly familiar. Annie saw her looking at it. She removed the photo from the box and passed it over.

‘That’s Jack Doyle and his wife, Mollie. She died about fifteen years ago. You can see where Sheila gets her looks from can’t you, and Eileen’s the spitting image of her
dad
. As for Sean, we used to say Mollie must have had it off with the coalman, he turned out so dark. That was taken at Sean’s christening.’

Jess stared hard at the tall figure standing with his hand on the chair on which his pretty wife sat. On her knee, she held a baby dressed in a long white gown. Jack’s other hand was on the shoulder of a smiling Sheila. Eileen, who would have been about twelve when the photograph was taken, stood slightly to one side, rather alone, thought Jess, and she was as unsmiling and serious as her father. It occurred to Jess, for the first time, that the baby she carried was related to these children. Perhaps there might even be a resemblance!

Annie said, ‘Jack Doyle’s a fine upstanding figure of a man, isn’t he? It’s a shame he never got married again.’

Jess put the photograph back without a word. Annie picked the box up and shoved it under the sideboard. ‘Eileen’s been packing a few odds and ends to take with her. You know she’s moving, don’t you?’

‘Yes, she said she was going as soon as you got married.’ Jess began to twist her cup around and around in the saucer. She
had
to tell someone! ‘Actually, I’m moving, too! Arthur’s got a good job up in the Lake District.’ The old snobbery returned briefly as she corrected herself. ‘I suppose you’d call it a position, rather than a job.’

‘The Lake District!’ said Annie, impressed. ‘I’ve never been there meself, but people say it’s very nice.’

‘The thing is, I don’t want to go,’ Jess said passionately. ‘I don’t want to go more than anything in the world.’

Annie looked taken aback by the obvious strength of feeling. ‘You surprise me. I would have thought you couldn’t wait to get away from Pearl Street?’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ Jess said quickly. ‘I loathe it here. I was only too glad to escape from Pearl Street the first time, and I was anything but pleased to come back, though I settled in better than expected. I’ve made some friends, and I’ve grown very fond of Jacob, next door, but if it was Waterloo or Crosby, I’d go like a shot. The thing is, I’ve never had the least desire to leave Liverpool. I love the shops and I suppose I love the people, in a way. After all, I’m a city person and a scouse, through and through; the River Mersey probably flows through my veins, like it does us all. Last night, when Arthur was going on about rolling hills and fields, “getting back to nature” he called it, it made me feel physically sick.’

‘Oh, lord, Jess! Did you tell him?’

Jess shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t. That’s why I’m telling
you
! I’ve never seen him so excited. He looked twenty years younger, just like the man I married all that time ago. He thought I’d be thrilled to bits, him getting a respectable job – not that there’s anything wrong with being a lorry driver,’ she added hastily, conscious she was talking to a woman about to marry a mere fireman. ‘Another thing, Jacob and I intended to begin our concerts again once I had the baby – he was already making plans for Christmas. I was really looking forward to it.’

‘There’s bound to be a choir you can join,’ Annie said comfortably. ‘You’ll settle in soon enough. They’re probably more your type of people up there.’

‘I’m not sure if I know what my type is anymore,’ Jess said, close to tears. ‘I’m all confused.’

Annie patted her arm. ‘It’s probably the baby,’ she said. ‘Once you’ve had it, you’ll be your old self again and you’ll see things in a different light.’

‘Will I?’ Jess looked at Annie pathetically. ‘I must say, I’ve enjoyed being pregnant, but what with the heat, and
looking
like an elephant, I’m beginning to wish it was all over.’

Annie giggled. ‘They say elephants take seven years to have a baby!’

‘Oh, don’t!’

‘Anyroad, you’re lucky to be getting away from all these air raids. Wasn’t that an awful one we had the other night? Mossley Hill church was bombed and three people killed.’

‘I suppose I am – lucky, that is,’ sniffed Jess.

‘Do you love Arthur?’ Annie asked sharply.

‘Of course I do!’

‘Well then, that’s all that matters.’ Annie squeezed Jess’s arm fiercely. ‘I’d go to Land’s End with Chris, if that’s what he wanted. To love a good man and for him to love you back is the most important thing in the whole world – more important even than kids. It don’t matter where you live, so long as you’re together.’