A Liverpool Song (31 page)

With the healthy and unappeasable hunger of youth, Andrew gobbled up Liverpool like a large sponge collecting water. It was alive, vivid, buzzing with street hawkers,
flower-sellers, amazing shops. People talked to him. He heard other languages among sailors whose transport was in dock, got his earliest helping of the local dialect and accent, and his first
glimpse of the river. Crowds milled about, groups chatted, women called to each other across busy roads. Two things hit him on Dale Street; laughter, and the guttural delivery of words ending in
‘ck’. Was that caused by the proximity of Wales, which was just a few miles down the road?

Newspaper sellers shouted out headlines, a policeman chased a man with a suitcase that possibly contained contraband, or perhaps the chap had no licence – at any rate, his case opened and
scattered contents everywhere. Andrew’s first Liverpudlian purchase comprised two yellow ducks for his bath, which he had bought from the chap who was now on the run. ‘Quack,
quack,’ he said quietly before continuing his walk.

The route to the university was easy, but he needed to see so much more. He found the famous Pier Head, the Liver Buildings, doubled back and hit the shops again. Oh, Mother was going to love
this. Department stores, specialist shops, the smell of fresh-ground coffee, bacon flitches hanging from beams, a busker playing a banjo and singing, instrument and voice both sadly out of
tune.

He discovered a huge bookstore that sold the medical tomes he needed, some second-hand, traded in by student doctors who had moved onward and upward. This was a wonderful place. But he had to
leave it, needed to go back and help Dad, who was setting up home on his own. Having memorized the names of streets, he began the walk towards his new homes.

There was a plot on, and Dad was at the back of it. So huge were the two pre-Victorian houses that both had superfluous reception rooms. These were to be beautifully decorated and filled with
Sanderson’s bespoke pieces, which were timeless. The step into upholstery had been taken, so anyone who expressed interest could visit as guests these fully Sanderson-furnished unofficial
showrooms and order any pieces that took their fancy, including sofas and easy chairs.

Dad was a clever man. Of late, Andrew had come to realize just how gifted and sensible his father was. Joe had accepted a situation he couldn’t change, and had shaped it to serve his
purposes. Furthermore, he had started to go for a pint with Geoff, thereby accepting him into the fold. So Andrew had two fathers and two flats on two top floors. Compared to most students, he was
wealthy.

He found Mount Pleasant and made his way back to Rodney Street. Even on moving-in day, he judged the city to be the right place for him. Yes, he could be happy here.

Ian, acting totally out of character, had visited all the members of his troubled family. Over dinner, he explained himself to Kate and Richard. ‘Neutrality does not mean
ceasing to care,’ he said. ‘But in this situation, we’re depending completely on sense rather than on emotion. Yes, Eliza and I took him out, but only after consultation with his
mentors. I have to say he’s doing brilliantly.’

Kate expressed the opinion that Daniel Pope was a bloody good actor. ‘With a mother like his, he’s had to develop to RADA standard,’ she said. She kept to herself the fact that
she had difficulty in imagining her brother to be even slightly emotional.

Ian agreed. ‘Yes, he’s an actor, but all this is for Helen, too,’ he said. ‘She needs him, but needs him to be different. She still loves him, Kate. Love seems to be one
of the things we can’t ever explain thoroughly.’

Kate closed her gaping mouth with a snap. Love? What did little brother know about love?

Richard rescued his shocked wife. ‘But can you change somebody who’s so radically affected?’ he asked. ‘Is it possible to turn him through a full circle and expect to
alter him along the way? I must say I’ve sometimes seen changes in criminals, though. Occasionally, when an old lag says he’s going straight, he means it.’

Ian nodded. ‘No one can change anybody. What we can do is furnish him with the tools to change himself. But with my sister and two nieces involved, I decided an effort should be made get
the necessary implements for Daniel. If Helen goes back to him, he’ll need to toe the line, and he must be able to draw his own line. She won’t give him another chance, I’m sure
of that. The poor woman’s had enough, so something needs to be done for her.’

When Ian had left, Richard and Kate stared at each other across the table. Minus Eliza, Kate’s brother always wore his professional hat. In fact, most of his hats were similar, but the man
had turned out to be almost humanoid. ‘There’s gold in them there hills,’ Kate said finally. ‘He actually cares about Helen. He loves his family, Rich.’

‘Dishes, then upstairs,’ ordered the man of the house. ‘I’ve new briefs from Hadleigh’s to read.’ He cleared and vacuumed before going up.

Kate took her time before checking on the children, then she sauntered into their en suite. Richard appeared in the doorway. As ever, he was beautifully prepared for the occasion. ‘Shall
we continue our conversation?’ he mumbled through a green plastic tube.

Kate looked at him and sank to her knees, so powerful was her laughter. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she asked. No man could possibly look attractive in this gear. He wore
flippers, armbands made for a child which just fitted his wrists, goggles and snorkel. Apart from these items, he was stark naked.

He removed the snorkel. ‘That’s not a bath; it’s a bloody swimming pool. Mummy said I have to be safe. She warned me about people like you who would lead me astray.’

‘You sound like Daniel Pope.’

‘Shut up and get your rubber ring. I don’t want to be pumping water out of your lungs – I’ve better things to do.’

There could never, ever be another man like this clown. She’d seen him at work, the mouthy barrister who fought like a tiger for his clients. He was serious, beautifully spoken and
handsome in his wig. So elegant in court, he acted like an escapee here, in the privacy offered by their master suite.

‘It is rather large, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I’m talking about the bath, dear.’ He shook his head sadly and blessed himself like a Catholic.

‘I must have got my measurements wrong,’ she said.

‘You did. You could have been taller.’

‘Complaining again?’

He nodded. ‘Where’s the diving board?’

‘Oh, use the windowsill. And note, the taps are in the centre of the long side.’ She shook her head. ‘Use the bloody windowsill,’ she repeated.

He thought about that. ‘The trajectory’s wrong. See, according to Einstein, there’s no relativity between a windowsill and a diving board. Then think about Darwin. We crawled
out of the water billions of years ago. Nostradamus said—’

‘Richard, get in the bath.’

He got in the bath, still muttering about Galileo, Archimedes and the brides in the bath murders. ‘If you pull my feet now, I drown.’

‘Don’t tempt me, Mr Rutherford.’

‘Ditto. Are you getting in or what?’

‘What,’ she replied, and entered the shower cubicle. While she showered, she watched the madman she had married. He was playing underwater, breathing through his snorkel and
splashing furiously. In almost everyone, a small piece of the child was preserved. Richard’s mother had not tethered him, so the child in him was joyful and funny. Whereas Daniel Pope . .
.

He joined her and washed her hair, as that was his job. ‘Richard?’

‘Yes, my love?’

‘I wonder how Daniel felt about that sky-dive. Old Beatrice would be furious if she knew, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? Just the hair, sweetheart. I’ve done all my
other bits.’

He muttered a few words including ‘spoilsport’. ‘It seems she is the problem, yes. Though if he hurts Helen again, I shall let you loose on him. That, as I know to my cost, is
a fate worse than death.’

They dried off and went to bed. Richard picked up his book.

Once again, his wife was reduced to helpless laughter. Because of the new bath, her beloved’s reading material was
Deep-Sea Diving for Beginners
. Kate picked up
She’s
Getting Away with Murder
, and then they were both laughing. She was the first to stop. Why couldn’t Helen have this? ‘If my marriage became sane, I’d need locking up,
Rich.’

‘Don’t worry, pet lamb. I’ve got your name down for a lovely private home. The first wrinkle, and you’re out of here. We’ve some stunning girls working at Liverpool
Crown Court. A young solicitor brought her briefs to me the other day, and I put her name on the waiting list.’

‘Did you give her back the briefs?’

‘No. I’ll wear them at work. Secretly, under my silly stuff.’

With the lights out, they drifted towards sleep.

‘Richard?’

‘What now?’

‘Daniel. Is he going to come good? Does the marriage stand a chance?’

‘People never cease to surprise me, Kate. Strangely, I do believe he’s serious. And I know she needs him. All we must do is stay out of it unless someone needs us. Your
brother’s done a tremendous amount while managing to remain away from Daniel for the most part.’

‘Biggest surprise of all. My brother acting human? Incredible. Turn on your other side, because I don’t want you snoring in my ear. I never expected Ian to come here, though. He
laughed once.’

‘Twice. You were grinding coffee beans in the kitchen. But he is right, Kate. He provided the materials, but the only direct contribution he made was the sky-diving. A very wise man, your
brother.’

She tried to imagine her grim-faced brother sky-diving, potholing or making love. ‘I suppose the world needs people like Ian.’

Richard snored. Oh well. Perhaps if she gave him her briefs . . .

Emily Sanderson had never expected such joy and satisfaction. It was as if the whole world had been handed to her on a golden platter, since she had her son, her lover and the
man who had become her best friend all in the one place. Her one regret continued to reside in the fact that she had wed in haste to escape the prospect of marrying for land. Joseph had been her
victim just as she had been a victim. None of it had been his fault. He was an excellent man.

Having made her peace with Thora Caldwell, she and Joseph had placed the Mornington Road house in her hands. Thora would let it, take a small fee, make sure the place was looked after, and
deposit the remaining money in Joe’s account. Aunt Celia’s legacy had bought both Rodney Street houses, leaving Joseph free to plough everything into Sanderson’s Intelligent
Kitchens and its older brother, Sanderson’s Bespoke Furniture. Andrew was settled, so everything was well in Emily’s little world.

Until now, Liverpool had been no more than a city on the Mersey, while Rodney Street had been the place where Stuart Abbot, Andrew’s friend, had come to have his teeth straightened. Beyond
that, Emily had known nothing about the place. After a few weeks, she knew plenty. There was a quality to life here that was almost indescribable, and it had to reside in its populace, since they
had created and developed the city. It was cosmopolitan to a degree, because people from all over the world came and went in ships, while there was a sizeable Irish community. It was, she supposed,
fun.

Toodles loved it, so that was another hurdle cleared. She made a friend of next door’s kitty, and was settled within days. The butter applied to her paws had not been needed, and she had
simply distributed it throughout the house, but Geoff had cleaned it up. He was a treasure. His chaos room on the first floor was reinstated, so he was content, as was Joseph.

Emily went to work for her husband. She took charge of orders, the books, the design and printing of brochures, postal advertising, newspaper advertising, and dealing with customers. She enjoyed
every minute, especially her time spent front of house, because workers had a habit of coming out of the workshops for ‘smokos’, the term they used for a cigarette break. Wood was a
material that burned easily, so they were not allowed to light up in the back.

It was here that she got her first closer encounters with the indigenous. ‘Right. Soft Lad’s your first husband then, queen?’ ‘Soft Lad’ was the boss.

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve got a new one what works down the children’s ozzy?’

Ozzy was hospital. ‘That’s right.’

‘And you work for your first old feller and he’s your best mate, like?’

‘Indeed.’

A head was scratched. ‘You Woollies are weird. Split-ups round here mean fights in the streets, windows broke, chairs wellied all over the place, black eyes, priests running for their
lives, her mother and his mother rolling about in the middle of the road with handfuls of each other’s hair.’ The same head was shaken. ‘World War Three in these parts,
divorce.’

‘We’re not divorced.’ Strangely, she didn’t care any more. These folk seemed to accept just about everything. ‘Geoff and I live over the brush.’

‘And across the road from Soft Lad.’

‘Why do you call Joseph Soft Lad?’

The man shrugged. ‘He’s the boss. I’ve heard bosses called worse.’

‘But you like him, all of you.’

‘We do. He’s as bad. Sent an apprentice out for a bucket of elbow grease and a tin of yellow and green striped paint.’

‘No!’

‘Oh, yes. Then he went in our back room one day and pinched all our dinners what we’d brought from home. Sawdust sarnies, he put there in our boxes. He buggered off and brought us
all fish and chips, but we were looking for him, and we carry dangerous tools, missus.’

Missus burst out laughing. The ‘war’ between management and shop floor had to be maintained, no matter how good the relationship. It was historical, rooted in the days when men had
queued for dock work, when the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board had been blamed for everything from scarlet fever to world war and late-running buses.

Joseph’s head entered the room. ‘Oi, Juster,’ he shouted. ‘Get back in here.’

Juster saluted and went to do Soft Lad’s bidding.

The latter joined Emily.