That Liverpool Girl (42 page)

The sister wiped her eyes. ‘Radiator?’ she asked.

Jay nodded. ‘Can’t sleep for the gurgling. Why? What did you think I meant?’

She turned and sailed away, a flotilla of minions behind her. Jay chuckled and thanked Joe for coming up from maintenance. But oh, he was fed up. If he stopped causing traffic jams, arguments and heart attacks, there’d be nothing at all to laugh at. He was in a cream room with a green floor. The bedspreads were green, curtains green, face of the man opposite green. ‘Grab your kidney bowl,’ Jay screamed. The walls were two shades of cream, upper pale, lower a shade darker.

All lockers were cream with green tops. The man across the way continued to vomit. Jay pressed his bell. When a nurse appeared, he waved her in the direction of bed four, stomach ulcer, kidney bowl, face like an oversized bunion. Jay had heard of being browned off, but he was definitely greened and creamed off. It was time to go home, surely? He was warm, dry and conscious, so why was he here? They were usually glad to kick folk out at Christmas.

He had to think about himself. There was a right way, and a wrong way. The right way could be tedious, but it might stop the hokey-cokey. It would be necessary to stay at home for a while and trust Phil Watson to do all the jobs in the book Then he would have to start walking, watching himself carefully and being at the ready with sweets. The next step needed to be checking on Phil, walking a bit further and staying out for a bit longer every day. Finally, he could do a few jobs. But he was never going to feel young and free again. As a married man and a father, perhaps he had no right to feel free.

The sister was back. Joe with the bucket did a disappearing act; he’d seen and heard enough of Sister Pearson for one day. ‘Mr Collins?’

‘Yes, Sis?’

‘Your wife’s here to take you home. I’ve given her my condolences, and she seemed to understand perfectly. Normally, we’d keep an eye on you for a few more days, but it’s your baby’s first Christmas.’

Jay leapt from the bed and kissed the sister’s hand. ‘A miracle,’ he cried. ‘I was spark out here a matter of hours ago, and you warmed my cockles, sweetheart. If I wasn’t married, I’d propose.’

‘And I might scare you to death by saying yes.’

‘Promises.’ Gill was walking towards him. Apart from on their wedding day, she had never looked so lovely. He had a wife, he had a daughter, he had a life. These were special, and he must start taking care of all three. ‘Why didn’t you tell me I was going home?’ he asked the sister.

‘Because I wanted to see your face when she came for you. And what I did earlier was staged just for you. Well, except for the man with the bucket. Stop the daftness and stay well. Please, I beg you. Diabetics can have wonderful lives. You just have to be careful, that’s all. No beer.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Denial is normal in the young, so this is the day you grow up, love. Now, you have to take it all on board, and you will need monitoring. Good luck.’

He took the suitcase from Gill, noticing when he hugged her how tense she was. On closer inspection, her face looked drawn, her eyes sad and dark. He had done this. All his larking about and getting sick had taken its toll on the relatively new mother. What sort of man was he? ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘We’ve got a girl,’ was her reply.

‘Yes, our Maisie.’

‘No, Land Army. Betty. She’s done the house lovely.’

‘I’m glad, sweetheart. I’m glad.’ He claimed his own place in the ward by drawing curtains round his bed. Green curtains, of course. While he dressed, he fixed his mind on the poor girl who was his unfortunate wife. As he skimmed the surface of recent years, he wondered how the hell she’d put up with him.
Why do I do it? Is it to ward off sadness? Doctors say diabetes can make you depressed, so maybe my body was telling me I was ill, and I fought it by acting the rubber pig.

Right, he was dressed. Right, he was lucky – bloody lucky. His Gill would always have gone to the ends of the earth to help a person in trouble, while he’d spun round making more grief for her. It had to stop. His pancreas didn’t work properly, so he needed insulin. Food had to be measured to match the insulin, and any work needed to be done slowly, carefully, and in the company of sugar and young Phil.

It didn’t mean there’d be no fun; but she mustn’t get tired. She could start giving Maisie National Dried for a kick-off, because breastfeeding took a lot out of her, especially with a greedy little monkey like Maisie. At almost seven months, the baby was as strong as a carthorse, so she must shape up and wean. Jay would become a good husband. Well, nearly good.

The dog was a natural born lunatic. Shy for the first hour after his arrival at St Michael’s Road, Spoodle soon changed his ways and went through the house like a fine-toothed comb in search of lice. He got into small places, demonstrated an uncontrollable urge to eat coal, chew newspapers, slippers and shoes, and finally settled for the company of Mel, who was fun, because she owned a small, soft rubber ball and he could pick it up with needle-sharp puppy teeth.

Exhausted after chasing Eileen’s Christmas present all over the house, Keith placed himself next to her on the sofa. ‘That Spoodle,’ he moaned. ‘I’m losing the will to live.’

‘I knew we wouldn’t last,’ she said mournfully. ‘It’s all over, isn’t it? He’s chosen Mel over me.’

He drew her close and buried his face in her hair. ‘He’s moving back to Willows with us, Eileen. Spoodle’s going to be a country dog, lots of walks, coming to work with me, playing with the boys.’

‘But Mel will miss him.’

He didn’t say anything. As stepfather, he had to edge his way carefully into the established family. The boys still called him Keith, but Mel had started to use ‘Dad’, and that pleased him no end. Mel, however, was used to bending her mother to her will. She couldn’t manage it with the bigger and more important aspects of life, but she was certainly capable of keeping the dog. But he refused to put his foot down heavily or too soon. Stepparent was the right title, because stepping softly was essential. If he marched in roaring like a lion, he’d get a press similar to Cinderella’s ugly relations, so he kept his counsel.

‘She loves him, Keith.’

‘Yes, she does. Wait till he empties his little tummy and bladder all over her bedroom rug. When he does, you’ll have your dog back.’

Eileen snuggled into her man and closed her eyes. He was definitely the most comfortable seat in the place that had become their living area. Miss Morrison was fast asleep in the next room. She would wake as if in response to an alarm clock when cocoa time arrived. For meals and tablets she was always alert, but for the remainder of the day she talked and slept. As time went on, she talked less frequently and slept more. Dr Ryan said it was natural in a woman of such an age, but Eileen still managed to worry about the old lady.

As predicted by Keith, Mel stalked in with a curly-coated puppy held at arm’s length. ‘He’s sprung a leak,’ she complained. ‘He drips all the time.’

‘They do,’ Keith answered. ‘So would you if you drank a lot and had a bladder the size of a walnut. He needs to go out every few minutes to get an idea of what’s expected of him. To do that, he must live down here. I’ll put paper near the door for during the night and, when he’s older, he’ll have a dog flap in my kitchen at Willows.’ There, it was said. Without crashing through any barriers, Keith had made his point. Spoodle was Eileen’s, and he would continue to be Eileen’s.

Mel gathered up mop, bucket and disinfectant. Muttering darkly about the marking of territory, she made for the door. ‘He doesn’t do stairs,’ she said.

‘Centre of gravity’s different from ours,’ Keith told her. ‘They master that skill within weeks, so keep your bedroom door shut. Once he starts, he’ll eat anything and everything.’

The girl walked out.

Eileen expressed the opinion that Miss Morrison would miss Spoodle. He had chewed the sleeve of her best bed jacket, but she was delighted with him. ‘I think he makes her feel happy because he’s an idiot.’ The couple stared into the fire, dozed and waited for the tinkling of Miss Morrison’s bell. The dog, wedged between them, enjoyed the slumber of the truly innocent. Chewed paper and coal-marked carpets meant nothing to him. He was a perfect dog in a perfect world.

The perfect world was interrupted by a knocking at the back door. Keith went to answer while Eileen lifted her little doggy-baby into her arms. He was gorgeous, and he knew he was gorgeous. He buried his nose in her breast and snored lightly.

‘Eileen?’

It was Tom. ‘Hello. Where’s Keith?’

‘Making tea.’ He bent to stroke the pup, allowed his fingers to stray slightly off course, and noted her sharp intake of breath. Acting as if nothing of note had happened, Tom took a seat nearer to the fire. ‘Just a short walk, and I’m freezing.’

‘Yes.’ She hated her body, despised it because of its reaction. It occurred to her in that moment that women, like men, were capable of wanting more than one partner. The fable about monogamy could never be real. A woman was expected to marry and live happily ever after, her devotion to her husband special and exclusive. She would never betray Keith, but she now knew that she had to be stronger than ever, because Dr Thomas Bingley enlivened her, filled her with desire and wanted her. Being wanted was stimulating. But it was his sin, not hers.

‘How’s Mel?’ he asked.

She shrugged. ‘Well, she hasn’t broken any windows, but she was as angry as I’ve ever seen her. She loves your daughter like a sister.’

‘Love can be quite a nuisance, Eileen.’

‘I’ve never found it so.’

‘Really?’

She shook her head.

‘Lucky you.’ He laughed at the puppy. Spoodle was trying to climb up to his owner’s shoulder, and he kept sliding down. ‘He seems to be practising for the piste.’ His eyes travelled up to meet hers. ‘Though they’re hardly nursery slopes, are they? Not for a tiny dog like that one.’

And she was blushing, damn it all. ‘Stop it.’

‘You want me,’ he mouthed soundlessly.

‘I wanted a big house of my own, but I won’t get one.’

Keith entered with a tea tray and jam tarts. ‘Plum jam, sorry,’ he said. ‘We couldn’t get anything more exotic.’

But Tom was still staring at Eileen. ‘You don’t know, do you? She hasn’t told you.’

She continued to blush. He must not say anything untoward in front of Keith, or Keith would flatten him. Accepting a cup of tea from her husband, she managed to drag her eyes away from Tom. Tea, puppies and jam tarts were ingredients that didn’t make a good recipe, so Keith removed the pup from the mix. He had made a secure run in the garden. It was designed to be Spoodle’s bathroom, and he needed to shiver in it for a few moments.

Alone again with his beautiful prey, Tom continued. ‘When she dies, this house is yours.’

‘What?’ Eileen almost dropped her cup.

‘She has no one else. If you hadn’t come along, it would have gone to an animal shelter. So you have your wish. You shall go to the ball, Cinders.’

Keith came back. ‘Darling,’ she said. ‘Tom says Miss Morrison has left the house to me in her will. I feel uncomfortable. She’s only known me for a couple of years—’

‘No family,’ Tom interjected. ‘Sometimes, these old dears feel happy if they can find someone decent to inherit. She has no family, so why not you? She thinks the world of Mel, and she knows the money would be spent wisely.’

Keith clattered his cup. ‘Is there a reason for your visit?’ He didn’t want the man sitting here discussing Eileen’s future. Doctors, he decided, were intrusive people who fiddled about with detail. They wanted to know what they didn’t need to know. He had met Tom Bingley’s type before.

‘The girls.’ Tom placed his cup on a side table. ‘We have to get them together in a supervised situation, but not at our house. Peter has gone into mourning in a back bedroom, so it would be better here.’

‘They don’t need supervision,’ Keith almost snapped. ‘They’re intelligent girls with a sensitive problem to discuss. Let them get on with it.’

Eileen noticed the dark anger in Tom’s eyes. He clearly didn’t like being taken to task by someone he regarded as his inferior. ‘Send or bring Gloria here,’ she suggested. ‘I shall be here all day tomorrow, and I can supervise if war breaks out. They need their dignity, you know. They aren’t small children. What happened between . . .’ She paused for a second. ‘What happened between your son and our daughter is a delicate subject. No adult should intrude while it’s being discussed.’

Tom noted the ‘our’ and the pause. ‘Right, I shall take myself off. It might be as well if Mel rings and asks Gloria to come. They’re both bereft, but we can only hope for the best. No, no need to stand up. I’ll see myself out.’

Keith remained on his feet. ‘I’m going for the puppy before he freezes to death.’ His tone was as cold as the weather. He didn’t like Tom Bingley. With steely determination, he left them together for a third time. Eileen would see the man off if he tried anything. He stood outside the back door for a few minutes. In the sitting room, he had felt the thickened atmosphere, had caught Tom Bingley almost leering at her. ‘Touch her, and I’ll kill you,’ he muttered.

‘How’s Marie?’ Eileen asked the visitor.

‘Fine. Abused as a child, but she’s coming to terms. Our relationship’s as good as it’s ever going to be.’