A Liverpool Song (26 page)

When Thora had slammed her way out of the house, Emily sank into a chair. ‘Oh, Andrew.’

‘Yes, it’s a mess. If you tell people the truth, you’re condemned. If you tell lies, you’re condemned, and you’re still guilty if you say nothing.’ He
couldn’t recount it all now, could he? She was already upset, so if he started talking about his grandparents, her parents, that would be a full carton of salt in her wounds. ‘Why did
you marry Dad?’ Well, he’d managed that, at least.

‘I thought it was love.’

‘But it wasn’t?’

‘Not the sort that lasts, no.’

‘You were running from your father.’

‘And my mother. She was as bad.’

Right. He remembered the insulin injections. Perhaps now
was
the time; all the pain in one day. And she’d be prepared if they turned up. ‘Mother?’

‘Yes, dear?’

He sighed. ‘I stepped out of line in a very big way.’

She gazed at him steadily. ‘In school?’

‘No, in real life.’ He sat down opposite her, then he told her about seeing Dad with Betsy, about worrying and wondering what would happen if Dad deserted his real family. ‘So
I got this idea. I saw them in a farming magazine and, because I knew their name was unusual, went about the business of finding out where they were.’

‘Oh, Andrew.’ Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on the yellow duster. ‘Well?’

‘I decided to go and work for them during the holidays, then decided not to. But I did meet them not very long ago. I played a terrible trick on them, sent them over the Pennines to look
for a farm that was not only imaginary, but also up for sale.’

‘I see. What happened?’

He shrugged. ‘They were angry about having been sent on a wild goose chase, but I faced them. I told them who I am.’

‘Oh, Andrew,’ she repeated.

He looked into her eyes and saw the disappointment he had dreaded. ‘They found me at school. And they want to see you, too. They intend to put things right. She was snivelling into her
hanky, and he just looked distressed. They’ll find you. They followed me all through town to see if I’d lead them home. Now, I’m always watching for them.’

Emily rose to her feet. ‘Leave them to me, darling.’

‘Mother?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s worse. I went too far by a long chalk. I told them you’d rushed into marriage to avoid being sold by them.’ He literally hung his head and stared at the floor.
‘They know about Geoff. I told them your second husband’s a paediatric consultant.’

‘Whoops,’ she exclaimed. ‘Joseph and I won’t get a divorce unless he wants to remarry. Geoff and I don’t need marriage. We’re joined in a way that
doesn’t require a blessing from society. Right. I’ll deal with this. I’ll drive up in my pretty little Austin and talk to them.’

Andrew swallowed. She was so brave; she might have been talking about a jaunt to the seaside. ‘Aren’t you afraid?’

‘Of course not. And thank you for telling me. That took courage. I wish you hadn’t done it, but I’ve no intention of allowing regrets to pave my life. Forget all about
it.’

Of course, he never would.

‘What do you mean by different? And why do I always have to sit at the tap end?’ It was awkward. When he washed his wife’s hair, he needed to be a
contortionist to get the telephone shower off the bath taps.

Kate threw a soggy sponge at her beloved. ‘I don’t know what I mean by different. If I knew what I meant by different, I’d say it. Stop interfering with me while I’m
thinking. Keep your toes to yourself, or I can’t concentrate.’ He was a naughty boy. Kate continued delighted to have such a wicked husband.

‘If I had you in court, I’d break you in ten seconds, Kate Rutherford.’

‘You couldn’t have me in court. No bench is wide enough.’

Richard thought about that. ‘The judge’s bench is quite wide. We could use that. As long as the judge doesn’t need it. I suppose he could give an opinion about our performance.
Or should we leave it to the jury? After all, this is the mother of democracy.’

‘Popcorn,’ she said, her head nodding vigorously. ‘Like popcorn.’

‘Popcorn? Where the hell did that come from?’

‘Maize, I think. If you pop your corn and have it plain—’

‘You sound like a chiropodist.’

‘Shut up. Plain popcorn is ordinary, right? You need something to give it flavour. My father has a plain popcorn voice. He was all maple-syrupy this time.’

Richard studied his wet wife. She was a miniature version of her younger sister, small, delicate, rather like a porcelain figurine but with spiky hair. ‘You’re making me
hungry,’ he warned. ‘And not for food.’

‘Shut up,’ she repeated. ‘Oh, I’ve ordered a new bath, an enormous roll-top with claw feet and the taps in the middle of one of the long sides, so you won’t have to
moan about being stabbed by hot and cold. Cast iron, rescued antique, so we may need the foundations reinforced to take the weight of bath plus water plus you plus little me. But we’ll have
the best en suite in Woolton.’

‘You were telling me about your father.’

‘Oh, him. Yes. He was talking about Daniel, said he’d visited him, and he was kind of
sotto voce
, all sympathy and concern. Doesn’t want Daniel to top himself, says he
needs help.’ She turned round and sat between her husband’s knees. He was her hairdresser, though she never let him play with scissors, since scissors were for grown-ups.

He twisted round, took the telephone shower from the taps, clicked the lever and shampooed her mop of dark hair. When she was clean and rinsed, he performed his famous Indian head massage with
conditioner before rinsing again. ‘You only want me as a slave,’ he complained. ‘You purr like a cat when I massage your head.’

‘Of course you’re my slave. And don’t forget, cats have claws, too. That was lovely, thank you. You’ll get your reward shortly, serf.’

Wrapped in bathrobes, they crept downstairs for a nightcap. ‘So,’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I think Dad’s trying to mend fences.’

‘Helen will still get impaled, my love. Daniel won’t change his spots.’

‘I think Daddy rather thinks he can, with help. Something to do with a mental and emotional divorce from his ma.’

‘Oh. Drinking chocolate, darling? I need a clear head for tomorrow, so booze is a no-no.’

‘Yes, sure.’

Richard turned in the kitchen doorway. ‘It’s not one of those Oedipus things, is it?’

‘Sort of. But without the sex. Dad reckons that Daniel’s mother did a great deal of damage to her one and only child. Whether or not it’s reversible remains to be
seen.’

‘Quite.’

Kate followed her man into the kitchen. ‘Shall I warn Helen?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘She has to find her own way. I know mediation failed, but perhaps something else might help.’ He looked at his little wife. ‘I’m so lucky, Kate.’ He was lucky. He
had the best wife, the best kids, the greatest job.

‘You will be lucky. Once the taps are in the middle.’

She had forgotten how beautiful it was up here on the moors. Gentler than Yorkshire, Lancashire’s land was pleated decorously, stitched together by hedge and stone wall.
Here and there, farmhouses and cottages stained the air with threads of smoke rising from chimneys. Cows grazed, while two horses held a conversation in their paddock. ‘Magic,’ she
whispered. She could breathe here. In her heart, the country girl would abide forever.

Emily parked her favourite possession, a little Austin with what she termed a happy face. She stood in the lane and gazed at a scene Constable would have loved. She remembered being taught to
milk a cow, to drive a tractor, to help at the birthing of a calf. Raised to be a gentleman farmer’s wife, Emily had also been trained in gentler arts like the piano, cooking, embroidery and
dressmaking. Her parents had invested in her, but she had failed to comply with their wishes. Running to Joe had been wrong, but if she hadn’t run she would never have had her wonderful son,
would never have met Geoff.

Back in the car, Emily drove towards Heathfield. All the trees she remembered were bigger, a lot older. Wild blackberry bushes thrived in hedgerows, and there were seven or eight rescued donkeys
in Mrs Dean’s large paddock. One of Father’s famous bulls gave her a lugubrious glance as she drove past him. Father’s bulls were famous all over the country. He had a way with
male cattle, a method of keeping them calm until breeding times.

A large but rather garish house stood where the farmhouse had existed since 1832. That beautiful, century-plus place with its crooked chimneys and sash windows had been replaced by a monstrosity
that would not have been out of place in Hollywood. This was the Beauchamps showing the world how wealthy and successful they were; here sat their daughter thinking how stupid they had become.

She paused just fractionally before marching up the drive and knocking on the door. There was no room for fear; her main emotion was cold fury because they had chased her son through town.
Andrew came first, just as he always had and always would.

Irene pulled wide the door. Her face seemed to drain of blood, and she clutched the handle, her mouth opening but refusing to deliver words. Emily pushed past her mother into the octagonal hall.
Eight walls, eight doors, eight rooms. No. One wall held a fireplace. ‘Where is he?’ she asked.

Irene cleared her throat. ‘He’s . . . er . . . he’s through there, in the kitchen.’

It was a reasonable facsimile of a proper farmhouse kitchen, huge central table, pine dressers against walls, copper pans hanging from a rack. ‘No need to get up,’ Emily said.
‘We already know each other only too well.’

‘Emily,’ he breathed. ‘How are you?’

‘Not quite as well as I was before I knew you’d been hounding my son all over the place. Of course, I must apologize for his behaviour, because he shouldn’t have tricked
you.’

‘He’s a clever young man,’ Alan replied. His wife placed herself in the seat next to his. Both seemed smaller than they had been. ‘Going to be a doctor,’ he
said.

‘Yes.’ Emily stared hard at her parents. ‘He won’t need to marry land, because he’ll make his own way in the world, as did I. It wasn’t easy, and I
didn’t always get it right, but an adult should have the privilege of learning through his or her own mistakes. I’m here to advise you to leave us alone.’

‘But we only wanted to—’

‘To interfere?’ Emily cut sharply through her father’s words.

‘To give you this.’ He opened a drawer in the table. ‘It’s a parcel of land.’

‘Is it?’ She felt deflated, almost disadvantaged. They were being nice. Emily had not expected nice.

Irene chipped in. ‘One of the earliest ones. We renamed it New Moon, because you loved that book,
Emily of New Moon
, didn’t you? And we had the old house rebuilt there,
because we knew you all loved it. Not quite the same, but nearly the same.’

Emily’s heart lurched. ‘What do I want with a farm? We won’t be living anywhere near here.’ Confusion governed her. Gratitude was something she hadn’t catered for
and didn’t want to feel.

Alan shrugged. ‘Cottagers will take care of the house when you’re not there. It’ll always be kept nice, and your parcel will be tended. This is the deeds. Use it for holidays.
Or give it to your lad, let him have it.’

Emily felt flummoxed. She should take it and sell it on, thereby creating a gap in the flow of their land, but such behaviour would be petty. And she noticed how old they were and how frail her
mother looked. Underneath the weather-coloured surface, there was pallor, and she had lost a considerable amount of weight. Her jawline was loose, while the neck was stringy. They had built the old
house again. For her. She felt terrible.

‘Take it, Emily,’ Irene begged. ‘Put tenants in, or use it for peace and quiet at weekends. All we ask is to see our grandson, and I don’t mean every week. A couple of
times a year would be grand.’

Emily nodded, walked the length of the table and picked up the envelope. It was sealed with wax. ‘Thank you,’ she said rather stiffly.

‘We are sorry, you know,’ Alan said.

‘Yes, I’m sure you are. But I’m not sorry I held out against you. No adult in her late twenties should be expected to do her parents’ bidding. Andrew knows what happened,
which is why he did that terrible thing. I knew nothing of his behaviour until a few days ago when he warned me that you were looking for me. So.’ She placed a piece of paper on the table and
scribbled with a pencil. ‘There’s my current address and telephone number. You know where I am now.’

‘Andrew’s a lovely name,’ Irene said. ‘Do you have a photograph?’

‘I’ll send you some. I promise.’

‘Thank you.’

She left them sitting there, but felt guilty immediately. After a few seconds of consideration, she went back and opened the kitchen door. ‘Tea on Sunday? Four o’clock – the
address is there. I’ll give you the photos then. I’m sorry I was rude.’

‘All right. Thank you.’ This from her father, because her mother was sobbing heavily.

As she drove homeward, Emily thought about justifiable anger and retribution. Neglect of the elderly was always a crime; she saw it often enough in the course of her work as assistant almoner.
Other family members were nearby, but that was no excuse for her behaviour. Old people needed variety and new company. They could take a look at Joseph’s kitchen.

And she would see the old farmhouse again.

‘How was she?’ Joe Sanderson sat by the window in his Southport nursing home. As ever, his first question was about his disabled daughter.

‘Just the same,’ Andrew replied. ‘It’s all soft toys and cartoons on TV.’ He always visited Daisy in St Helens before coming to see Dad. Now forty-seven,
Andrew’s half-sister had not been expected to reach maturity. ‘And how are you?’

‘Still old, still here, still missing Emily.’

Andrew sat opposite his father. ‘You’re dafter than I am.’ Mother’s ashes sat on a shelf in a splendid pot. The most amazing thing about Dad was that he’d mixed
Geoff ’s ashes with Emily’s. Andrew’s instructions were to buy a bigger pot and put Joe in with the other two when the time came.