The Bells of Scotland Road (45 page)

Anthony walked into the shop, stood behind the counter in the very spot where Sam had reigned for years. What would happen when everyone’s grief had run its course? he asked himself. Could
he keep his distance from Bridie for ever?

‘Why did he bugger off like that, Anthony?’

He jumped, turned and looked at Diddy, saw a picture of Maureen’s face in his mind. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

‘Something must have happened,’ said Diddy.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘But only two people know exactly what. And one of them is dead.’

Diddy stood and watched while the young man returned to the kitchen. She understood that Anthony and Sam had reached some kind of truce, and she was glad about that. The window blinds were
closed, making Bell’s Pledges dark and lifeless. Diddy shook her head and looked up to heaven. ‘It’s all right, Sam,’ she told him. ‘We’ll be open in the
morning. Business has to go on, old lad. Hasn’t it?’

The meeting had been declared open. Charlie was in charge at the start, because his experience of Sam Bell’s methods was the longest. ‘I can manage,’ he said.
‘Selling and doing tickets and finding pledges. But I can’t clear houses and all that. Mr Bell used to get help with the big stuff. I’m no use at lifting.’ At the end of
this unusually long speech, Charlie sat down.

Bridie smiled encouragingly at Charlie, her mainstay in the business, then she addressed his father. ‘Billy, would you give up the docks? We’ll be needing a fine, strong fellow like
yourself. What do you think?’ she asked.

The large man pushed a hand against his breast. ‘Me? I’ve been a docker all my life. It’s the only job I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought of any other kind of work.
I’ve always worked the docks.’

‘She knows that,’ said Diddy tartly. ‘You’ve told her about three hundred times.’ Billy was famous for his dockside stories.

Nicky cleared her throat. ‘What about the stall? Mr Bell and a few others paid for the patch, so are we keeping it on? Only we’ve regulars, see. The Johnny Laskies always come to me,
because they know they’ll get good stuff. Will I be carrying on working on Paddy’s?’ She loved the market, could not imagine life without it. She got her dinner every day in
Scouse Alley, bacon ribs with as much cabbage as she wanted, then a wet nellie dripping with warm syrup. ‘Can I keep it open?’ she begged. Bell’s was Nicky’s biggest
supplier. Other businesses sold stuff through Nicky, but she could not imagine surviving without Bell’s.

Bridie nodded and smiled at the homely young woman. Nicky lived and breathed Paddy’s Market. Her ambitions in life were to rent a few more yards of selling space and to marry Graham Pile.
Graham, once out of his apprenticeship, would perhaps make cakes to sell from another stall. ‘Oh yes. That will continue just as before.’ Bridie gave her attention to Diddy. ‘It
might be an idea for you and Nicky to run the stall between you. I’ve always thought it was a bit much for a young girl. Anyway, your children are grown, so a little job would be just the
thing.’ She returned her scrutiny to Billy. ‘I’d like you and Charlie to run the shop. Proper wages, of course. Billy, you would be in charge of moving large furniture and
clearing houses. The McKinnells will continue to hire out the cart and horse, I’m sure.’

Billy studied his calloused hands. The biggest section of hard skin sat across the palm of his right hand, a diagonal line at the base of his thumb. This had been produced by a docker’s
hook, a murderous piece of curved metal attached to a piece of wood. ‘Shifted some stuff,’ he mumbled. ‘All weathers, too.’ He lifted his head. ‘I always get picked,
you know. Sometimes, I look at them who never get much work, and I could kill the bloody bosses.’ He sighed, swallowed. ‘Right, queen. I’ll work for you. Same difference, I
suppose. I’ll still be heaving stuff between hither, thither and Tuesday dinner.’

Bridie closed her eyes and tried not to worry about Cathy. For twenty-four hours a day, she was thinking or dreaming about her older daughter. A mother should be with her daughter—

‘Where’s Shauna?’ asked Muth. Muth was huddled over a newspaper next to the fire. She was going through the deaths column in search of redundant household goods. This had been
Sam’s job. After a death announcement, he would present a card to the family in case they wanted to sell any of the deceased’s belongings. It was a morbid task. ‘Where’s
Shauna?’ she repeated.

‘Edith took her out,’ replied Bridie. Edith and Anthony had brought Shauna home this morning. Cathy had stayed with Mrs Cornwell and Maureen at Cherry Hinton. Bridie hoped with all
her fast diminishing energy that Shauna would be good while out with Edith. Edith didn’t care for Bridie’s younger daughter. Shauna had a habit of acquiring things, anything and
everything that took her fancy. Shauna had been the weakling, yet Cathy was the one with the blood disorder—

‘Bridie?’

‘Sorry,’ she replied. ‘I was elsewhere.’

Billy smiled sadly. ‘We’ve all been in the wars lately, haven’t we? Never mind, God’s good.’

‘So you’ll come into the business, then?’ Bridie asked the Costigans. ‘I’d feel happier if you would, because I trust you, all of you.’

Nicky sniffed meaningfully. ‘If you trust our Jimmy, you want your head testing. Mind, he’ll settle down, I suppose.’

Muth poked her head out of the newspaper. ‘I want you all to keep your eyes open. That bugger’s out there somewhere. He knows he killed his dad. I don’t know owt about what
went on in that presbytery, but that so-called priest finished Sam off. That’s why he’s disappeared, bloody rotten coward, he is. Fancy leaving Sam like that. He might have been saved
if the doctor had come.’

Anthony glanced at Bridie. The strain was showing on her face. He jumped to his feet and made for the door. ‘I’ve got to go out,’ he told the small gathering. ‘A little
bit of business to attend to.’

Bridie closed her eyes again and leaned back in the chair. Muth didn’t know the half of it. And now, Anthony had probably gone to search for Flash Flanagan.

‘It’ll be all right, queen,’ said Billy Costigan. ‘We’ll not let you down.’

Bridie buried her face in her hands and wept. She cried for the dead man who had cared for her, for Maureen’s damaged life, for Cathy, for Eugene. Most of all, she grieved for the poor man
who had just left the house, because he had shared a womb and a home with Liam.

Diddy patted Bridie’s shoulder. ‘You thought a lot of him, girl.’ There was surprise in her tone.

Bridie looked up. ‘You said he wasn’t good and he wasn’t bad. You said he was just there, like a lamp-post is there. You said he was something we all just took for granted.
Well, he isn’t there. Not any longer. The lampposts are all right, still standing. But Sam fell down, Diddy. I wish I’d done more . . .’ Her voice cracked.

Diddy bit her lip. ‘You did a lot for Sam, girl,’ she finally managed. ‘He was happy – wasn’t he, Mrs Bell?’

Theresa Bell stared into the fire. ‘Happier than I’d ever seen him,’ she declared. ‘Don’t cry, Bridie. We’ve to carry on, you see. That’s what
it’s all about, carrying on.’

Bridie heard the words and knew the sentiment behind them to be valid. But she still cried.

Anthony walked down Dryden Street, looked along Great Homer, strode the length of Rachel Street and headed back to Scotland Road again. How many times in his life had he seen
Flash Flanagan squatting on some street corner with his puppets and his banjo? Of course, the man was nowhere to be seen today.

He continued his circular journey, hands thrust deep into pockets, eyes scouring the road. A tram rattled past in the direction of the city, then another clanged its heavy way towards the
Rotunda. Where the hell had Flash disappeared to? Was it possible that Liam had . . . ? Oh no, please, no. The fact that Flash had found Maureen after the attack was well known. Had Liam put two
and two together? Had he killed the tramp?

‘Hello, Anthony.’

The young man swung round. ‘Father Brennan. Michael.’ He grabbed the priest’s arm. ‘Have you seen Flash today?’

‘Have I seen him?’ Michael Brennan’s eyebrows shot skyward. ‘Oh, I’ve seen the miserable wretch, indeed I have. He made a big show of sweeping up the church paths
for me. Broke the broom – probably through leaning on it – then demanded his money. Yes, I’ve seen the old reprobate. And I’ll tell you this – he’ll say nothing
about Maureen’s attacker. I’ve questioned him several times, so if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, forget it. He’s sealed up his mouth with
cement.’

‘I’ll get it out of him,’ swore Anthony. ‘If he knows anything, I’ll make him talk.’ He let out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God the old dog’s alive,
at least.’

The two men lingered outside Razor Sharpe’s barber shop. ‘I don’t know what to worry about first,’ said Anthony. ‘There’s my brother on the loose with heaven
knows how many names on his list. With so many in danger, I can’t work out where to start.’

‘Mine’s probably one of those names,’ said the priest. ‘He’d no time for me, considered me to be a greedy pig because I enjoy my food. Sins of the flesh. He always
had a lot to say about the sins of the flesh.’ He glanced down at his protruding belly.

‘Where did he go?’ asked Anthony.

‘Liam?’

‘No, Flash.’

Michael removed the biretta and scratched his head. ‘There’s no answer to that, because Mr Flanagan moves in mysterious ways. There are some people who feed him, of course. He has a
sort of timetable, tries not to hit the same target two days in a row. But there are several soft-hearted ladies who dish up a plate of scouse for Flash. He’ll turn up. Doesn’t a bad
penny always make the rounds? Wait till the pubs open.’

Anthony leaned against Razor’s painted window. A crudely printed message above his head read, ‘It’ll be all right when it’s washed.’ Children who returned home
fretful after being shorn by Razor’s enthusiastic scissors were always persuaded by mothers that they might look human again after a quick scrub and a dousing. Razor, whose sense of humour
was legendary, had incorporated the advice into his advertising.

‘Michael, my brother’s out there and he’s dangerous.’

The priest knew exactly what his companion meant. ‘Proof, Anthony,’ he said quietly. ‘Theory is all very well, but the police want a little more than that. And they think
Liam’s gone absent because he saw his father’s death.’

‘He caused it,’ replied Anthony.

Michael Brennan shook his head before replacing his biretta. ‘You know that. I know it and God Himself definitely knows the whole truth of the matter. But the police force needs something
a little more tangible than ours and the Almighty’s certainties.’

‘Do you think Liam will have heard about Dad’s new will?’

‘I doubt it. He’ll be too concerned with other matters. Staying free is probably his main goal for now.’

Anthony turned this way and that, saw no sign of Flash. ‘If and when he does hear about the will, he might well go for Bridie.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Yes.’ Anthony’s heart raced. His father was only just buried. Anthony did not love Bridie, would not love her. ‘She thinks he was in the house the other night. And he
tore Dad’s solicitor’s office apart, too. Looking for something, obviously. We – Bridie and I – think Dad told Liam about some evidence. He was searching for whatever that
is. Flash knows exactly what Liam was looking for. That’s why Flash must be found.’

The priest turned round and stared in the direction of his church ‘There’s another way of looking at this,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘If we can’t find one thing,
we can surely look for all the others.’

Anthony repeated this sentence in his head, failed to solve the riddle. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You are absolutely sure that Liam attacked Maureen, aren’t you? And, to be perfectly honest – like every priest should be – I tend to agree with you. The man’s
weird.’

Anthony nodded mutely.

‘Now, the item – if there is an item – that was discovered at the scene must be easily identifiable.’

‘But—’

‘Hear me out.’ Michael removed his hat again, as if the action would allow his brain to breathe more freely. ‘Sam saw Flash. Flash gave something to Sam. Sam changed his will,
then came to the presbytery—’

‘Without the evidence?’ asked Anthony.

‘Probably.’ The cleric thought for a few seconds. ‘If Liam had retrieved the very thing that might damn him, he would have stayed here. Unless, of course, he thought your
father had spoken to other people. But Liam has been searching, hasn’t he? A few nights ago, he was still looking for this article.’

‘He’s been scouring the area, certainly.’

‘Then we look at what is left,’ said Michael Brennan. ‘He ran, you know. He must have left as soon as Sam fell down. His cupboards are still full. There was no sign of packing.
So, let’s look at what we have in order to find out what we haven’t.’

Anthony followed the parish priest towards St Aloysius’s. On the way, several people spoke to Father Brennan, while not a few stopped Anthony to offer their condolences.

‘Your father was a well-liked man,’ said Michael while hanging up their coats in the porch. ‘Come in while I make a pot of tea.’

They drank tea, ate a couple of biscuits, talked about the future of Bell’s Pledges. ‘You’ve a fondness for her,’ said Michael after hearing Bridie’s plans for the
business.

Anthony, startled almost out of his skin, simply nodded.

‘For your stepmother.’

‘She was not my stepmother for very long,’ replied Anthony warily. ‘And I never lived in that household, so she was no mother substitute for me. Anyway, she’s younger
than I am.’

Father Brennan dipped a Marie biscuit into his second cup of tea. ‘Did Sam know how you felt about his wife?’

Anthony nodded again. He didn’t know what to say or where to look.

‘Did Sam mind?’

‘No. He sounded pleased. Almost as if he knew that death was near. As if he wanted someone to look after her.’

The priest collected cups and saucers, made a pile of them, clattered teaspoons onto a tray. ‘There’s affinity, Anthony.’

‘I know.’