A Liverpool Song (44 page)

‘The night I arrived?’

‘That’s the one. According to the duty sister, Mother sat bolt upright and screamed Geoff ’s name.’

Thora swallowed hard. He’d been here at midnight, too, messing about with biscuit packaging and curtains, but she wasn’t going to say anything. ‘I wonder why?’ she said.
‘And did she talk to you?’

‘She whispered. She sounds like a hinge wanting oil. I suppose her vocal cords have slackened off over the years. But she’s had electro-convulsive therapy. If she comes home,
she’ll have to go back four times as a day patient to finish the course. It may be barbaric, but it seems to be working.’

‘What did she whisper, Andy?’

‘She told me Geoff had been to see her and she had a headache. The headache would be from the ECT. And her face is less lined. She looked more like her old self, thank goodness. So.’
He looked at his watch. ‘I’d better go and get Dumpling from Pam’s. You will stay, won’t you? The staff will be bringing her home.’

‘You know I’ll stay with her. Go on. Get your wife while I . . .’ No, she couldn’t tell him she was going to talk to an urn, could she? ‘While I have a nice long
bath. See you tomorrow, love. So glad she’s on the mend.’

Andrew went off to retrieve his beloved.

Thora picked up Geoff and carried him to the table. She spread a tea towel, then took a baby’s soft toothbrush to get any bits and pieces of dust out of the ornate carving of the outer
container. ‘You must look your best for Emily. Do you remember that navy skirt? Pencil, the style were called. A split up the back where you could see a bit of navy lace on her underskirt.
And her hair, Geoff. Like satin. And there was I stuck with horrible ginger curls. Eeh, I wish I could have looked like her for a few days.’

She applied beeswax and rubbed it in. ‘And she give me a fair ear’ole rattling when I talked about you and her. There were strength in her, but so gentle in her ways, you’d
never have guessed. Thing is, lad, you and I know you’re round and about looking after her, but we have to let folk think the electrickery worked. Cos I don’t want to end up in a padded
room, and you don’t want to get yourself exorcised.’

Something feather-soft touched the nape of her neck, and she laughed. ‘Don’t play tricks on me, Geoff. And go easy on Emily, too, because we want her sane. If she starts telling
everyone you’re here, she’ll be judged crackers all over again, and that’s not what we want. You’ll have to keep your distance.’

Joe would be home any day. There was something solid about Joe, something dependable. She grinned. ‘Joe’s solid, and you’re not, Dr Shaw. Emily will lean on him, and he
won’t fall over. Go back, hon. Go where you should be and let us get on with mending Emily. She loves you. She’ll be with you one day.’

After she’d said all that, she suddenly felt alone and abandoned. But she had done and said the right thing, because Emily was here and now in bodily form, and he wasn’t. Thora
didn’t pretend to understand the hereafter, but she knew it was supposed to be a state, a condition rather than a place. There was no time, no today, no tomorrow, so how Geoff had managed to
come back would always be a mystery. She would pray for him. She would get her priest to pray for him, once she found a priest.

Mary and Andrew arrived. ‘Isn’t it exciting?’ Mary said, her face lit by a beautiful smile. ‘She spoke, Thora.’

‘She did, love. We’ll get her back, Mary. I’m sure of that. And when yon babby puts in an appearance, let her hold him.’

‘Her,’ Mary said. ‘Katherine Mary, shortened to Katie. I’d know if it were a boy. This one might be a great lump, but she moves gracefully. I just wish she’d stop
leaning on my bladder. I’ll be the one in nappies soon. Three times, I’ve thought my waters had gone, but no, it’s Katie stretching her limbs like an Olympic athlete. But Andrew,
won’t it be great if your mother’s here in time for the birth?’

‘It would be my idea of a good day, because she was an excellent mother, and I’m sure she’ll be good with our child. Come on, small circular person, let’s get you
home.’

They walked the hundred yards that separated Rosewood from the bungalows. ‘She has to come right, Mary. I didn’t realize how badly affected I’d been until we got this ray of
hope.’

‘I know. She’s your mum.’

‘She’s special, darling.’

‘Oh yes, she must be. Because she had a special son.’

The miracle lay in the fact that Emily Sanderson, after years of withdrawal from society, recognized and acknowledged Thora immediately. ‘Is this your new house?’
she asked. There was confusion, but her eyes were alive at last.

Yet Thora insisted inwardly that the miracle had come from Geoff, though she had to admit that shock therapy might have had something to do with it. She sniffed back emotion and went into Bolton
mode. ‘Nay, lass, it’s thine. Does tha not remember living here with Geoff? I can tell tha remembers owld Bowton talk, so look round. It’s your bungalow, is this. Joe lives next
door, only he’s off somewhere being a millionaire, and your Andy lives a few strides that way.’

Andrew and Mary entered. ‘Mother?’ He held out his arms and she entered his embrace. ‘Oh, son. What happened? Where’ve I been?’

Mary turned away, because her tears flowed too freely.

‘Never mind all this mawping about,’ said Thora. ‘Get that kettle on, Emily Sanderson – I’m fair clemmed. I’ll have a bourbon with my tea, ta.’

Emily went straight to the kitchen. She never faltered, didn’t ask where anything was.

Mary mopped her cheeks. ‘Will she be all right with a kettle?’

‘She will,’ Thora replied. ‘Some memory goes with ECT, but old skills remain. I’ve seen this bloody game before.’

The nurse who had brought Emily home entered the house. ‘Is it all right if we go? You know where we are if you need us.’

‘That’ll be a cold day in hell,’ Thora muttered sotto voce, though Andrew heard her.

‘Behave,’ he chided.

Emily wandered in. ‘Carry the tray, please. My arms don’t work.’

‘See?’ Thora’s hackles were up. ‘They try to treat the illness, but they ignore the bloody patient what’s fastened to it. Her muscles have wasted with all that
sitting down. Don’t worry, I’ll sort her out.’

The nurse left the house quickly.

Emily wandered to the corner cupboard and placed her hand on the box. ‘Geoff,’ she said. ‘He’s dead, you know. But he came to see me and said I had to go home. So this
must be home. I have a blue bedspread with matching curtains. A reading lamp with a cream-coloured shade. In there.’ She pointed to her bedroom.

There were bourbons on the plate and there was a doily under the biscuits. Every cup had a saucer and a spoon, and there was an extra spoon in the sugar next to a jug of milk. Yes, this was all
very Emily Sanderson.

‘Where are we?’ Emily asked her son.

‘North Liverpool, Mother.’

‘Ah. And Joseph?’

‘Away on business. He lives next door.’

They drank tea. ‘Bourbons for Thora. Don’t forget the bourbons. Where’s Joseph? Yes, business. Furniture and kitchens. They hurt my head, you know.’

‘It’s the treatment,’ Andrew told her. ‘You have to go back, but you won’t sleep there. You’ll be here with Thora and us. Four more headaches, that’s
all. After that, we’ll see how you go.’

‘You’re a doctor,’ Emily said.

‘I am.’

‘Geoff was a doctor.’

‘He was, and a bloody good one, Mother.’

She looked up at the ceiling. ‘A lot of papers in the roof. I’m tired.’ Without another word, she went to bed.

Thora was quiet. She was seething. Mary sat next to her while Andrew perched on the arm of the Sanderson sofa. ‘Thora?’

She shook her head angrily. ‘I’m just thinking about all what they’ve took away from her. They try to treat the mental side, but the physical end of things goes to hell in a
handcart with bells on. They should have flexed her legs and arms a few dozen times a day, but oh no, they’re treating the illness, not the patient. She’s just flesh and bone fastened
to a problem. She’s as weak as a newborn kitten. Oh, and get her one.’

‘A kitten?’

‘Yes. Something what she has responsibility for. I’ve ten weeks to get her right. When that babby comes, she needs the strength to hold it and enjoy it. Go home. I’ll walk her
up later for her dinner or supper or whatever it gets called these days. Protein, veg still crunchy rather than drowned, hold back a bit on the dairy while we see what she’s used to except
for milk in her tea.’

Andrew patted his old friend’s hand. ‘I told Mary you were as good as any qualified nurse.’

‘Better than that bloody lot what brought her back today. They should be shamed of theirselves. Nurses? They couldn’t nurse a h-interesting thought.’

In that moment, Andrew realized yet again that Thora was a lot brighter than most people he knew. Given an education, she would have been a hospital matron by now. She talked sense, albeit
delivered in flat, Lancashire tones. He knew many people like her, men and women shoved in factories at fourteen, no chance of further schooling, no chance of promotion. George had been right,
then. Thora was the answer. Andrew planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘See you later, sweetheart.’ He left with Mary.

Thora blinked. Sweetheart? Why hadn’t she met somebody like him instead of Harry? Well, she’d never looked like Mary, had she? Thin, flat-chested except when pregnant or feeding,
dark, rusty-red curls that wouldn’t behave like proper hair, a face only a mother could love. Whereas Mary, though rather distended at the moment, was a real looker. ‘You play the cards
you’re dealt, Thora Caldwell,’ she said aloud. ‘And you got a bum hand. Still, never mind. You can come here for your holidays, bucket and spade, check on Mary, look after Emily,
sit in the garden. Lovely.’

When evening came, Emily and Thora walked up to Rosewood. Emily’s pace was slow, and she had developed what Thora called ‘the hospital stoop’, with her
shoulders rounded and her back curved as if promising to become a dowager’s hump. Well, Thora would put a stop to that as well.

Still rather confused, Emily seemed to enjoy her food. ‘Where’s Joseph?’ she asked several times. The response was always the same; he would be back very soon. She remembered
the banisters, the monks’ benches in the hall, an antique grandfather clock that had cost a fortune after being restored, the big garden, the huge Sanderson kitchen.

But she surprised them, too. ‘My parents died within days of each other.’

‘Who told you?’ Andrew asked.

‘You did, silly boy. Don’t you remember?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘They left you a lot of money, Mother.’

She remained consistent in that area, as she didn’t ask how much and didn’t seem impressed. ‘They visited me, but I wasn’t there. It’s a shame.’

There wasn’t one person at the table who didn’t understand what she meant. Mary suddenly lost her appetite. This poor woman had just spent the best – or worst – part of
three years in Purgatory, all through no fault of her own. She had loved too much, and that was no sin.

Andrew squeezed his wife’s little hand. If he lost her . . . it didn’t bear thinking about. From that very first day outside the Cavern, he had recognized her as part of him, and he
knew it had been the same between Mother and Geoff. Certain of Mary’s love, secure in his happy bubble, Andrew needed only to look across the table at Mother to realize how fragile life was.
Everyone was breakable.

With the possible exception of Thora. No, that wasn’t the case. Difficult as life had been for her, Thora could never guard herself completely, since she had invested everything in her
sons and her grandchildren. She never moved without her photos of little Matthew, our Eileen, who can read and she’s only four, Sam Cheeky-face and Laughing Jimmy. So yes, most people were
vulnerable.

The women went to the drawing room while Andrew made coffee. ‘That’s a h-inglenook fireplace,’ Thora announced.

‘There’s no aitch in it,’ Emily advised her.

‘No h-aitch?’

‘No aitch in aitch, either.’

‘Course there is. Stands to reason there’d be a h-aitch in h-aitch.’

Emily started to giggle. The giggle caught hold, and she became breathless. ‘No, no,’ she moaned.

Thora held her friend’s hands. ‘Come on, let it out. Emily, for God’s sake, set it loose.’

The full-blown hysteria that should have seen the light of day well over two years ago suddenly filled the room. Andrew stood in the doorway, a coffee mill in his hands. Thora knelt on the floor
in front of Emily and took the blows, the temper, the frustration that had been locked away for so long. ‘It’s all right, hit me, I’m tough as old boots.’

A rhythm developed. ‘He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.’ With every ‘dead’, she slapped Thora’s arms. ‘Dead, dead, dead. Where’s
Joseph?’

‘He’s coming.’

‘He’s here,’ said a voice from the hall doorway. Emily’s husband opened his arms, and Emily staggered to him. ‘All right, love,’ he said. ‘You cry all
you like, all you need to. I’ll look after you now. Thora will, too, and Andrew and Mary. You’re not alone. We’ve been waiting for you.’

Joe was given cheese on toast, and everyone got coffee.

But the
pièce de résistance
was saved until it was time to go home. Andrew gave his mother a cardboard box with holes in the top. ‘For you, Mother, from all of
us.’

It was a tortoiseshell kitten with a lot to say for itself considering its size. Emily dried her eyes. Toodles,’ she said. ‘Is it a queen?’

‘Oh yes, definitely female.’ Joseph laughed. ‘It hasn’t shut up yet. Come on, girls, let’s get home.’

‘You look rather pale this morning, my darling circular person.’ Andrew studied his very pregnant wife across the breakfast table. She wasn’t eating. She had
reached her due date almost a week ago, and he had booked time off work. If she didn’t get into gear soon, she would need to have labour induced, because the weight was too much for her, and
her blood pressure had taken a couple of walks on the wild side. ‘Poor little Mary,’ he said. ‘That kid needs a calendar and an alarm clock.’