Read The Liverpool Trilogy Online
Authors: Ruth Hamilton
Eileen made a remark about a shoe and a foot, and both women had to stifle their laughter when Marie became rather anatomical and almost vulgar. She had never before enjoyed the kind of bawdy
chat so treasured by females when free of their partners. Men were supposed to be the ones with crude minds, while women were expected to be gentle, careful and sweet.
‘. . . so she booked him in at the vet’s.’ Eileen was nearing the end of a ridiculous Scotland Road fable about a man whose body was unusual. ‘Their name comes up, and
they go in the surgery. Finally, soft lad sees all the pictures of dogs and cats on the walls, and realizes he’s not in the doctor’s. And she says to him, “Look, either that goes
or I go. There isn’t room for three in our bed.”’
‘So what happened?’ Marie asked.
Eileen shrugged. ‘Some say the vet did the job, some say the wife did it with pinking shears – well, she didn’t want his wotsit to fray, did she? I’ve heard he emigrated
to Australia, that he joined a freak show, that they got divorced.’
Marie threw her pinafore over her head and howled. Women could do this talking thing. They didn’t need to be propped up in the corner of a taproom, pint of ale in one hand, cigarette in
the other. All she and Eileen required was tea and the comfort gained from opening up minds and hearts at a dining table.
Eileen was enjoying herself. She’d seldom had a close personal friend, because, like ugly people, the unusually pretty were to be avoided. Today, she had come to plead for her daughter,
and she had gained something for herself. ‘You’ve come on a lot, Marie Bingley. From mouse to lioness is quite a stride.’
‘I have an admirer, too,’ Marie whispered. ‘He’s pleasant, older than God, on the plump side and with beautiful pianist’s hands, but he’s very, very boring.
Tom is never that. In fact, he’s probably the most exciting creature I’ve ever known, because I’m never sure. I don’t know where he’s been, what he’s done, who
he imagines I am while we’re making love. Since I finished the treatment, I manage not to mind, because I can be selfish. It’s my turn now.’
‘Not before time.’
‘Are you sure? Am I not being terrible?’
Eileen shrugged. ‘No. Like I said, the shoe’s on a different foot.’
‘Don’t start that again. You know where that shoe took us a few minutes ago. If I laugh any more, I’ll need to rearrange some underwear.’
‘Oh, I know what you mean. I once laughed so hard my waters broke. And I wasn’t even pregnant at the time.’
Gloria walked in to gales of laughter. She stood in the doorway, folded her arms and glared at not one but two out-of-order mothers who didn’t care in the least about her tragic life. Her
very, very best friend had let her down in the worst sense. Her brother, her twin brother, was an oinker, a pig who had tried to have sex with said very, very best friend. And people thought it was
funny?
Marie mopped her eyes. ‘Sorry, darling. I know you’re miserable, but we were just letting our hair down a little. We’re feeling the strain, you see.’
‘Sorry about that.’
Eileen stood up. ‘Right. Coat on, please. You’re coming with me. You have to meet Spoodle, who’s gorgeous, and I’m sure my daughter, also gorgeous but sulking, would love
to see you.’
‘Then why didn’t she come here?’
The visitor marshalled her thoughts. ‘She’s looking after Miss Morrison and trying to train Spoodle. I came here to fetch you because you have more sense than Mel does. She might be
brainy, but she can be daft.’
Both women held their breath while Gloria chewed thoughtfully on a fingernail. ‘Then you go and change places with her; tell her to come here.’
The mothers looked at each other. ‘Gloria, you will go with Mrs . . . Mrs Greenhalgh. She didn’t need to come here, you know. She could have left us with a completely rotten
Christmas. As things are, your brother’s here, and you don’t want him listening while you try to mend a broken fence.’
The girl started to fiddle with her hair. It was a habit repeated whenever she was perturbed. ‘I did a bad thing.’
‘I know,’ chorused Marie and Eileen. ‘Miss Clever Clogs will have an answer to that,’ continued Mel’s mother. ‘God knows she’s got one for everything
else. I’m sick to death of getting educated by my own daughter. She’s into silly ancient laws now, Marie. Anyone in Chester can kill anyone from Wales as long as they do it with an
arrow at midnight on a Sunday – something like that. Can you imagine shooting straight in pitch black? And why stop at the Welsh, for God’s sake?’
A strange noise emerged from the youngest member of the meeting. Gloria was trying not to laugh. She turned hurriedly and quit the scene.
Marie put a finger to her lips. Like most people, she knew all the sounds belonging to her house, and could identify and explain the slightest creak. Her shoulders relaxed. ‘Getting her
coat,’ she mouthed.
‘Now for chapter two,’ came Eileen’s quiet reply.
‘Onward Christian solders. I’ll put your cake in a box.’
Betty was a boon. She was as quiet as the grave, had been in service since leaving school, and seemed able to do the job of a gallon while furnished with just a pint. When
asked about her excellent cooking, she replied by saying that she made it up as she went along. Except for Mr Collins’s meals. Mr Collins’s allocated points were pinned to the wall next
to the oven, and they became known as Betty’s Bible.
Furthermore, she cared about ‘her’ family, even going so far as to travel to Bolton to collect tins of National Dried for Maisie, who had been drinking her mother dry. She took
complete charge of the binding of Gill’s breasts with bandages and, when Gill was tempted to remove these supports, it was Betty who stepped in. Yes, the breasts were hard and sore, but
Maisie was fine on powdered milk, and that was going to be an end to it. ‘Time you stopped feeling like a cow wanting milking. I’ve done this for my mother several times. You’ll
get through it.’
This was when Gill discovered that quietly spoken words delivered by a taciturn person were more effective than shouted orders. Betty, a plump and rather unattractive female with a Midlands
accent, meant business. Aware of her unappealing exterior, she empowered herself in domestic circumstances. Her whys and wherefores were of no importance; she was a godsend and a treasure.
Hilda Pickavance arrived. She had come to check on the progress of ‘her boy’ and was perplexed by his absence.
‘Where is he?’ she asked when the niceties were done.
‘Upstairs,’ Gill replied. ‘He’s doing a jigsaw, brand new, and getting his knickers in a twist because he says half the pieces are missing. Supposed to be relaxing. I
think that word’s missing from his dictionary. He can’t rest. And he has to slow down for weeks.’
Hilda went upstairs to have a word or several with him. He was seated at a small table under a window. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Come here, please. Sky, bit of cloud on it, two blobs
off-set, and two holes, also off-set.’
Thus the lady of the manor continued her war work. She knitted khaki scarves, which were easier than socks, was involved with the welfare of the Willows community and its evacuees, and did
jigsaws with a diabetic young man.
The German boys were being questioned in Manchester. If they satisfied the authorities, they would be moved to Yorkshire. It seemed that several young men had ditched their planes, and they were
said to be working happily and with minimal policing in farms all over England’s largest county. One or two of them were becoming friendly with the locals, and there were even tales of
budding romance. Heinrich and Günter, too, were Hilda’s war work. Heinrich had arrived uninvited, had stayed for a short while as a dependant, and had left as a friend. It was a
confusing life.
She smiled to herself. Never mind. It was Christmas. And she had found Jay’s delinquent piece of sky.
Spoodle became the bridge between the two girls. Gloria fell in love the moment she saw him, and she begged to use the phone long before sitting down to talk to Mel. She told
her mother she wanted a spoodle, and that she could get the phone number of the poodle owner from Keith. So that was that. Instinct told Gloria that she could get what she wanted if she struck
now.
They climbed the stairs and sat side by side on Mel’s bed. The visitor opened the batting. ‘I’m sorry, Mel.’
‘So am I.’
‘How can I mend what I did?’
Mel expressed the opinion that the mending might be fun. They could start a trend, but they needed to be careful of slander. ‘Then, when enough lies have been told, we do a gullibility
chart.’
Gloria pondered before answering. ‘There’s him.’
‘Who?’
‘My brother, of course. Pete the perfect. He’ll be bragging about the things you actually did.’ She paused. ‘What did you actually do?’
Honesty was the only viable policy. ‘Everything but the deed.’
‘Everything?’
‘I think so, though there may be stuff I don’t know about.’
Gloria’s cheeks blazed like a lighthouse in the dark. ‘He’ll brag about that.’
Mel shook her head thoughtfully. ‘He won’t. Because I carry a certain knowledge, a confidence he would hate me to disclose. Don’t ask, Gloria, because I did make a
promise.’
Mel closed her eyes for a few seconds, and he was crying like a baby wanting the breast. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what I am,’ he sobbed. ‘I love you, Mel, but
there’s something . . .’ He raised his head. ‘Sometimes I think I like boys.’ Mel had cried with him for what had seemed like hours.
No matter what, Peter. No matter
what, I’ll be here for you.
She opened her eyes and smiled at Gloria, who was in the here and now. ‘It’s enough for you to be sure I know something that could almost run him out of town. I can’t and
won’t say anything more to you, but I am going to speak to Peter. This mess wants cleaning up before we go back to school.’
Gloria agreed. ‘But don’t forget to sew up my brother’s mouth.’
‘I won’t forget.’
‘Mel?’
‘What?’
‘Was it . . . nice?’
‘Yes.’ And no more was said. They fell back into friendship as if there had been no rift, and spent the rest of the day at Gloria’s house bullying Tom and Marie until Tom
finally crumbled. ‘Get in the bloody car,’ he snapped. ‘I phoned. There’s one left. It’s female and will need to be neutered.’ When his daughter opened her mouth
to tell him to make haste before someone else bought the animal, he held up a hand. ‘I’ve reserved the dog for two hours. And you can pick up after it, madam. I see enough of the mucky
side of life without cleaning up after half a poodle.’
‘A half-poodle,’ his daughter said. ‘That is the correct term. It’s a whole dog.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ he mumbled between clenched teeth.
Thus it came to pass that Gloria Bingley acquired Pandora, sister to Spoodle. The girls removed the S, I, E and L from spaniel, and added Dora, who had been one of Gloria’s grandmothers.
Pandora was reborn, and with her came the one item left after the opening of the box. In legend, Pandora hung on to hope. In reality, this puppy and her brother cemented a friendship that would
last a lifetime.
* * *
My dear Miss Pickavance,
I think I’d rather like to be a journalist. Interviewing people is great; I seem to have the knack of getting them to talk. It’s important, because so many will become nothing
more than statistics once the war ends. The recording of individual statements will make people from Civil Defence real.
Hilda glanced out at the near-dawn of Christmas Day. It was bone-chillingly cold, and stars still twinkled, so there would be no cloud cover for a while. If the evacuees wanted snow, it would
not arrive until afternoon, she believed. The Bolton area was famous for heavy falls and drifts, and the Liverpool children were looking forward to a white-out.
For a few precious minutes, Hilda was enjoying solitude in the company of Mel’s letters. The girl wrote weekly, and was producing an intelligent young person’s view of a city at war.
Together with her brother’s paintings, perhaps a package might be formed? ‘Stop it,’ she ordered herself sharply. ‘Let them walk first, and allow them to choose their own
pace when running begins.’
Her name is Barbara Scott, though she prefers Babs. A casualty nurse, she has seen at close quarters some horrible things. One man arrived in an ambulance, most of him on
a stretcher, the right lower leg a separate item poking out of a bucket. He’s doing well, thank goodness. The thing that upset Babs most was a blinded child whose whole family died.
Babs’s sister is going to try to adopt the little blind girl.
Sometimes Hilda wished she could be there. But, as she was constantly reminded by Nellie, she had probably saved the lives of over twenty people by bringing them here, and she was managing to
educate most of them. A chuckle rose unbidden from her throat. The thefts at Four Oaks had caused some tension, because Liverpool had invaded and was, by default, the whipping boy. The thief, when
finally caught through a booby trap, had been a Willows youth. Scousers were no angels, but they were mainly decent. Let Willows put that in its pipe and smoke it.
Shock is a real illness. Some patients don’t start to shake until hours or even days after their experiences. They come in as black as coal; the only white bits are
their eyes. Hundreds arrive at once and, in spite of sets of rules, the whole hospital is reduced to chaos, people spilling into wards and corridors and offices. They found a drunk in the
women’s toilets. He was quite happy, but locked in for – well, goodness knows how long he was there. They had to break the door down. He was sitting guard over twelve bottles of
single malt singing ‘Danny Boy’ and asking had anyone seen his Mary. His Mary is in Anfield Cemetery, but he wasn’t ready to accept, God love him.
Mel’s interviews made everything frighteningly real, because she focused on individuals and their anecdotes, helped them talk, shared their burdens, offered sympathy and, above all,
listened. Yes, journalism was a possibility. This was last week’s letter.