A Liverpool Song (41 page)

He sat in a chair on the vast, regal landing. ‘Send money to that bloody Elmswood place,’ he said. ‘I stole from the staff cloakroom. It was about eight pounds, I think. But
don’t send me back.’

‘I won’t send you back.’

‘Even if I go mad?’

She smiled. ‘That would be a short journey for either or both of us.’

Geoff took her hand. ‘Never a moment’s regret have I had about you, about us. Sometimes, when I’ve looked at Joe, I’ve felt sad for him, because I stole his
jewel.’

‘He’s a good man, Geoff. He loves you like a brother, like the family he never had.’

‘Lie down with me,’ he implored.

‘But I don’t want you to have another accident in your head.’

‘What a way to go, though. But I mean just lie down. I can’t sleep without you next to me.’

They lay together on the bed and, within minutes, he was in a deep sleep. Downstairs, the phone rang repeatedly, and Emily knew it was the private hospital trying to tell her that he’d
disappeared, trying to ask if he’d arrived home, but she wouldn’t leave him. With the possible exception of a house fire, nothing on earth would have persuaded her to drag her beloved
out of that bedroom. He needed her. So she stayed. It was her precious duty.

The meeting was held about six weeks after Geoff ’s escape from the place he termed prison. He was calmer and seemed reasonably well; he was also fully aware of the
subject intended for discussion at the meeting, since Emily allowed him few shocks.

Emily explained that she wanted to dispose of both Rodney Street houses. ‘I shall transfer this house into Andrew’s name, but I must tell you that interest has been shown by medical
specialists seeking consulting rooms and so forth. Andrew, you and Mary will make enough to buy a big house further up the coast, or wherever you wish to live. The decision will be yours, though.
Joseph, I have found two bungalows, one for you, the other for me and Geoff. There’s a beach and a wooded area quite nearby. It’s healthier than here. And the sale of your house here
will pay for both bungalows.’

Joseph said he didn’t mind as long as he could get to work.

‘It’s just a few miles,’ Emily said reassuringly. ‘About seven or eight.’

‘Then I’ll come,’ Joe said. He trusted Emily implicitly. Her replacement at Sanderson’s couldn’t hold a candle to Em, because Em had been born with a good head for
business.

Emily turned to her son. ‘There’s a marvellous house for sale nearby. It needs a bit of work, but I fell in love with it. And strangely, it’s named Rosewood. There are wild
roses in the gardens, the original flower with just one layer of petals. You remember your bookcase?’

‘Well, we still have it upstairs in the flat, Mother.’

‘Edged in rosewood.’ Emily smiled. ‘Quite a good omen. Come and see it. There’s no one in it, but it’s fit for habitation. You and your father could make it quite
spectacular. Lots of doctors live up there in fresher air. But if you choose to stay here, that will be fine, too. If you sell, you’ll have enough to make Rosewood the most beautiful house in
Liverpool.’

‘We should look at it,’ Mary said. ‘There’s nothing to be lost by just looking at the place.’

So the five of them went together to view the house and the pair of two-bedroom bungalows. Andrew and Mary followed Emily’s example, toppling head over heels immediately with a
tired-looking house set in a huge plot. Joseph ran about, waxing excitedly about banisters, monks’ benches, new doors, a kitchen, a four-poster bed.

At last, Andrew’s Mary was smiling. She’d been preoccupied of late, mostly because of the miscarriage, partly because she’d been tied up at work lately, since a friend of hers
had a problem Mary refused to discuss. Andrew guessed it was probably an unwanted pregnancy and left her to it, hoping that the friend would act sensibly. But he was glad to see that his adored
partner was at last regaining a little
joie de vivre
.

As both Emily and Joseph were downsizing, much of their bespoke furniture was earmarked for Andrew’s new house, so the two young ones inherited a great deal of Joseph’s work, plus
beds, fridge, cooker, curtains and rugs. They had a project, and they sank their teeth into it cheerfully. It was a new beginning for all of them, a new life.

Joe’s house went quickly. It was to be used by eight consultants in this, Liverpool’s Harley Street. Joe placed his possessions in a storage unit before encamping temporarily in
Emily’s smaller back bedroom, which was now Andrew’s property, since the deeds of the house had been signed over to him.

As an insider, Andrew got his colleagues to put out feelers and he was inundated by specialists wanting to use the house. To make things fair, an estate agent was employed to handle the sale,
and Andrew gained enough to pay cash for Rosewood and to make some improvements. He kept an eye on his wife, who seemed to have recovered from the early failure of her first pregnancy, and was
reassured by her that her friend’s problem no longer existed. ‘She’s gone to London,’ Mary said. ‘The difficulty’s been overcome, and she’s working as a
midwife in a large general hospital. She’ll be fine.’

They all moved out to Blundellsands. Each house overlooked the river, and Toodles had a great time, because she began to move from house to house, and she pleaded hunger each time, gobbling up
more food than was good for her. This old, wise cat made her peace with Geoff, because he no longer worried her, and he was particularly generous with leftovers.

People became used to an extremely unusual sight – a man walking his cat over the grass, down the erosion steps and across the sand. When Geoff sat on the concrete steps, Toodles sat next
to him; when it rained, the cat was wrapped inside Geoff’s coat, head peeping out at the collar, tail hanging below the hem of the short, waterproof jacket.

Although no one else noticed, Emily felt her man slipping away from her month by month, week by week, then day by day. Joe was on his travels all over the country, opening up offices, finding
premises in which his kitchens could be made. The bespoke furniture was limited for the present to the north, since fitted kitchens had fast become the most desirable part of a house.

Emily could not talk to her son, because he was busily involved in his attachment to Compton-Gore’s team of sawbones, while he and Mary were so happy that she hated the idea of heaping
trouble on their heads. She watched Geoff with the cat, drove him to his hospital visits, made sure he took the various medicines that seemed not to help.

The second bedroom in the bungalow failed to contain his enormous collection of books and papers, and she simply gave up, devoting her life to him and hiding overspill in cupboards, the garden
shed, even in the roof space. Now well into her fifties, she at last began to develop wrinkles and worry lines, especially when Geoff stopped cluttering the house.

He no longer went into the spare bedroom. Instead, he sat for hours on end, Toodles on his knee, eyes fixed to the sitting-room window through which he could see the river. Conversations became
fractured. Sometimes, they were almost one-sided; occasionally, Geoff would jump headlong into a subject and deliver what almost amounted to a lecture.

‘I’m a good swimmer,’ he told her one day.

He hated water. She’d always known that. ‘Would you like to go to the swimming baths?’ she asked.

‘No.’ And that was the end of that particular discussion.

In the middle of one night, she found him having a bonfire in the rear garden. ‘What are you burning?’ she asked, trying hard to dampen rising panic.

‘My rubbish,’ he replied.

‘Why, Geoff?’

‘It’s all out of date now. Someone else will start it all over again. I’ve had my day, and I completed nothing.’

Emily led him into the kitchen and made cocoa. ‘I wonder when Andrew and Mary will try for another baby?’ she said, trying to distract his attention from the fire outside.

‘He’s resting her body.’ Geoff smiled. ‘He’s a good man, says he wants to leave her free of pregnancy for a few years. They use some form of
contraception.’

‘I see. You and I never needed that.’

He was suddenly grinning. ‘I was terrified, you know. Frightened silly in case you wouldn’t have me. But you did, and thank you. You have given me so much happiness, more than any
man deserves.’

‘We’re still happy,’ she said.

‘Yes. Yes, we are. But you know I’m dying, don’t you?’

Taken by surprise and shock, Emily dropped her cup. While she mopped and tidied, she answered him. ‘We’re all dying from the moment of birth, darling.’

‘Yes, yes, I suppose we are.’

They returned to their bedroom, lay down and held each other close.

When Emily woke in the morning, she was alone.

She found the man who had made her life worthwhile dead at his desk in the clutter room. He was as cold as ice, though the fire he had made during the night still glowed outside the window. She
stroked his hair and, through clouded eyes, read his final piece of work.

And it ended there. There was a jagged line, and the pen remained next to his open hand. He had intended suicide by drowning, but a final stroke had taken him. The scream that tore its way past
her throat was not a real scream; it was more the primeval howl of some antecedent of humankind, a creature recently ascended from the earth’s slime. He could not be gone. The world should
cease its turning, birds shouldn’t sing, she should stop breathing.

‘Phone.’ She left him and entered the hall. ‘Andrew?’

‘Mother?’

‘Come. Come now. He’s dead.’

His fire still burned. It was half past seven, and he was dead, but his books remained curled in embers. At least half his collection had gone. He had been tidying up for the first and last
time, had made an effort to render her life easier, and that effort had taken his life.
I didn’t mind the mess any more, Geoff. You could have carpeted the place with your
litter.

People came and went. The police had to attend, as the death was unusual. That very private note was taken away, as was its author. A policewoman tried to remain with Emily, but she took the
advice of Andrew and went away. Mary sat and waited with her mother-in-law, but the weeping did not begin. All that existed was this terrible, dry silence. Emily spoke from time to time, but she
didn’t grieve.

Andrew managed to track down his father, who said he would come home immediately. ‘Stay with us tonight,’ Mary suggested.

Emily refused politely. ‘Joseph will look after me. Andrew’s father and I have always taken good care of each other. Mary, make me some sweet tea, there’s a good girl. I
don’t like sugar, but I’m light-headed.’

A post-mortem was ordered, and the whole family decided that this was the right thing. Geoff had been a great believer in research, and if anything could be gained from the examination of his
brain, he would have agreed readily.

While her son and daughter tidied the bungalow, Emily sat with her sweet tea. She was a frightened, angry woman in Queen’s Park, but he came for her. She caught shingles, and he fussed
like an old woman, comforting her, babying her. When she sprained an ankle, he brought crutches and a borrowed wheelchair; when she cried, he wept with her.

Gone. In one or two breaths, the life-force quit his body, leaving him to chill and stiffen in his work chair. A dead man still owned a dozen pairs of brand new socks and enough pens to furnish
a large office. His fire had gone out just after his body had left the bungalow. Memories now, just memories. And Toodles was searching for him.

Andrew came in. ‘Everything he didn’t burn is up in the loft in cardboard boxes. His clothes and so forth I’ll leave alone for now.’

‘The Salvation Army,’ Emily said. ‘When I’m ready.’ Would she ever be ready? ‘And his best suit goes with him.’

‘All right.’

‘Aren’t you going to work?’

‘No, Mother. We’ve phoned in. Don’t worry about us.’

She stared intently at him. ‘You were never a worry. You’ve always been the best son we could have hoped for. And Mary’s so right for you.’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘I’m glad you’re happy.’

‘Yes, we’re very happy.’ But would Mother ever be happy again? She and Geoff had been so close. ‘Anything you want, just ask, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will.’

Joe, Andrew and Mary carried Emily through a non-denominational cremation that was attended by so many people that dozens had to stay outside. The mother of the child who had died came to pay
her respects, but Emily seemed to see or hear nothing. Geoff ’s parents were there, but she looked through them while her son explained and apologized.

For days, she sat with the urn, clutching his ashes to her chest. She didn’t eat. She didn’t wash herself or change her clothes. Mary came in and forced her mother-in-law to take a
bath. Something would have to be done, and Andrew called in help. Each time, Emily cooperated until the helpers left her alone, at which point she reverted to type.

A friend of Mary’s was employed to force-feed Emily if necessary. This little woman, Eva Dawson, had more strength than her body advertised. She kept Emily clean, read the paper to her,
gave her food and fluids, then went home to her own family. At weekends, Andrew, Mary or Joe took over.

But one Sunday morning, bolts were on front and back doors. When his mother didn’t answer the bell or the knocking, Andrew ran home and phoned for real help. Mary sat on the stairs while
he made the call. The police would find Emily dead, of that Mary felt quite sure.