A Mersey Mile (13 page)

‘He’s not negotiable, either. Your brother’s also my friend.’

Polly was still slightly disappointed. On her first date in years, she’d hoped they would be going somewhere nice, a country pub on the road to Formby, or a trip to Southport. But no.
Frank wanted to grab the cow by the horns right from the start. ‘I thought you were taking me out.’

‘I am. We’re getting engaged at the Shepherd’s Crook later on. With the ring. And you’re coming with me while I get it.’

He was right, Polly supposed. He needed to put the old besom in the picture as soon as possible. Mrs C would probably hate anyone who threatened to interfere with the business, her prime
consideration. ‘All right,’ she said eventually. ‘But on your head be it. Because if she kicks out at me, she’ll get as good as she gives.’

Frank laughed. ‘Have you any idea of how proud I am of you? Feel free to start as you mean to go on.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘Ellen just took it from Mother, then moaned at
me about her. I was the piggy in the middle, the referee, and it was hard work. My mother is my mother. She’s a selfish, calculating and frightened woman. She copes by trying to make everyone
else suffer as badly as she does. You, my love, are her Waterloo. And no, I didn’t choose you because you’ll put her in her place. I didn’t choose you at all. Love allows no room
for choice.’

She shivered. He was so romantic, yet so damned honest. ‘All right, then. But I hope she’s wearing armour, because I’m in no mood for being nice.’

Frank started the car. ‘Hmm. There goes my sex life.’

‘Oh, sex isn’t about being nice,’ she advised him. ‘It’s just another way of fighting.’

He burst out laughing and was incapable of driving until he calmed down. ‘Fighting?’ he managed finally. ‘Who wins?’

‘We both do,’ she said. ‘But if there was a panel of judges, it would be a close call in my favour.’

‘And babies?’ he asked, wiping away tears of laughter.

‘Then we both lose. Especially when it comes to sleep.’

She had an answer for everything. She’d always had an answer for everything. But her saving grace was humour. Even when she spoke sharply, her happy nature shone through. His high-rise
breakfast, the telling off for owning an improving hand, the knickers scene – all these examples of her true temperament had amused him. ‘Seven years ago, you turned me down.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Ellen wanted you. She raved about you day after day, then I met Mr Wonderful, and all was well. Till he ran away, the rotten coward.’

Frank glanced at his watch. ‘Right. Don’t ever dare to turn me down again, madam. I’m as strong-willed as you are, so I may well turn out to be your Waterloo. We’ve a
table booked. Let’s call in and see the dragon.’

She pretended to gulp. ‘Does she breathe fire?’

‘Only on Saturdays when I top her up with paraffin. It’s Wednesday. She’ll be out of fuel.’

The ‘dragon’ had been sitting at her window for what seemed like weeks. He was messing about with that Polly Kennedy, who’d been engaged to a Greg somebody or
other, who had abandoned Polly after her brother’s accident. There was no chocolate in the house. Christine Lewis had promised to buy no more even if Norma screamed for it.

Inside, she was screaming. So loud were the internal shrieks, she didn’t notice the car until it pulled into the driveway. Ah, so his hand must be better, then. When he left the car, Norma
noticed the bruising. Yes, he’d fought on behalf of an urchin, hadn’t he? Oh, no. The girl was with him. She was very pretty, but her eyes were quick with street wisdom. This was a
daughter of the slums, and Frank deserved better. Norma turned away from the window. Her heart was doing somersaults, and she’d better get to that stupid doctor’s surgery for a blood
test.

The front door opened. She couldn’t breathe properly. He knocked on her private door. ‘Mother?’

‘Come in,’ she managed. Her son was a gentleman, so he stood back and allowed Polly Kennedy to enter first. The girl was lovely, with a healthy head of dark brown hair and bright
blue, sparkling eyes. She had a neat figure, and Frank had seen her naked, because he’d written about her.

‘Mrs Charleson,’ Polly said.

‘Ah yes. I remember you.’

‘And I remember you, of course.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you do. You run a rather basic cafe on Scotland Road.’

‘And a hairdressing business,’ Frank said.

A short silence ensued before Norma referred to the article in the newspaper. ‘You weren’t raised to hit priests in any circumstances.’

‘I wasn’t raised to kick nuns, either, but cruelty to children is intolerable. Billy Blunt could have died.’

‘Frank saved his life,’ Polly said. ‘Almost broke his hand doing it.’

Norma continued to stare at her son. ‘Going somewhere nice?’ she asked.

‘Shepherd’s Crook,’ he replied. After a second or two, he continued. ‘Polly was Ellen’s best friend, if you remember. We’re getting engaged tonight, and Polly
wants to wear Ellen’s ring.’ He watched while his mother’s face drained of colour. Would she speak her mind in front of Polly?

Norma hung on to her temper, though it was no mean feat. It was all planned, all mapped out. Elaine Lewis had read Frank’s interview in the paper and had offered to introduce him to
lawyers who might be interested in pursuing the rights of children. But he was about to fasten himself to a second ill-bred waif. This one seemed feisty, cheekier than her friend had been.

‘Are you all right, Mother?’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, thank you.’ She looked at Polly. ‘And how is your brother?’

‘Still in a wheelchair, Mrs Charleson, still doing the very basic cooking in our very basic cafe.’ Polly felt cold, as if she were standing in front of an open refrigerator. It was
Norma Charleson; she chilled the air around herself.

Frank’s mouth twitched, but he dared not laugh.

‘So when you marry, who will care for him?’

‘We will.’ This from Frank, who seemed mildly amused.

Norma’s system continued to howl for chocolate.

‘Cal’s getting stronger all the time,’ Polly said. ‘He still goes for treatment every week.’

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Norma said haughtily. ‘I want to listen to something on the Home Service.’

They left. In the church-like entrance hall, Polly leaned on a cold wall. ‘How have you managed to put up with her all these years?’

‘Practice,’ he answered. ‘And selective deafness. I copied my dad, more or less.’ He led her into the sitting room and asked her to wait while he went upstairs. She sat
and looked through the fireplace into the dining room. It was a fascinating and unusual cottage, but she couldn’t settle in the chair. Mother Moo was just a few paces away; did she want
that
as a mother-in-law?

Standing at a window, she looked out at Little Crosby Road. Frank was adorable, yet Polly knew there would be trouble. A part of her wanted to run away now, before he came back, but such
cowardice was not acceptable. Greg and Lois had buggered off without a word; anyway, Frank knew where to find her. Above all, he deserved an explanation.

He returned, his face almost split in two by a very wide grin. ‘Got it,’ he said.

She simply stared at him.

‘Polly?’

‘Get me away from here, please. Now.’ She turned, walked out of the house and stood by the car. Frank opened the passenger door, and she sat in the vehicle. As he walked round to the
driver’s side, she wondered what the hell she was going to say, because she loved him, but . . .

He pulled out of the drive and parked further up the road. ‘What is it?’

Polly inhaled deeply. ‘I think we should wait, because of Cal. We don’t know what he’s going to need if he gets back on his feet. And I want the two of us – Cal and me
– to stay where we are until we know the extent of his recovery.’

‘But we can still be engaged,’ Frank insisted. ‘And that’s not the real reason, is it?’

She offered no reply.

‘Answer me, Polly.’

‘It’s one of the reasons. You know the other one. It’s sitting back there in its little annexe. I’m sure she hastened Ellen’s sudden and swift death, Frank. She
aims for the weakest, which was why she treated poor Ellen so badly. I may be sturdier, healthier and cheekier than she was, but she never managed to hate your mother. I do hate her. And no matter
where we go, she’ll find a way of wrecking our lives, mine in particular.’

‘But—’

‘But I have a brother, and he’s precious, and not as strong as he used to be. If she gets my back right up, I’ll kill her, and what use would I be to Cal if I hanged or got a
prison sentence? She won’t let go. She’s cunning, devious and a thorough bitch. Watching her just now, I could see the wheels in her head turning. No. She will not wreck Cal’s
life by wrecking mine. I am sorry, so sorry. I hadn’t seen her for years, and I’d managed to forget how evil she is.’

‘She’s my mother.’

‘She’s your problem, then. I love you. I also love my brother and myself. She bullied and upset Ellen, who was frail, and she would try the same with me. I appear strong, but
I’m still human and breakable. Within two minutes of walking into her room, my hands were itching to strangle her. Basic cafe, basic food. Who does she think she is? While she’s alive,
I can’t marry you. Cal is my family, and he comes first. Take me home.’

‘You love me?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Then you’ll cope. Many women don’t like their mothers-in-law. We can move far away from her—’

‘Great. Then I’d feel guilty when she got sick or died. I’d blame myself for the rest of my life for keeping you away from her. Can’t you see? No one can ever win. She
triumphs no matter what.’

Frank started the car. But he didn’t go over the moss towards the Shepherd’s Crook; instead, he drove the woman he loved back to Scotland Road.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, breaking a silence that had lasted several miles.

‘Go to your brother,’ Frank answered. ‘I shan’t bother you again, not yet, so don’t worry. If you don’t love me enough to tolerate my mother, then we must
stay apart for a while. Because I can’t look at you without wanting to hold you, and you aren’t good enough for me at the moment, Polly. I expected better from you.’

She cried for hours that night. Never before in her life had she felt so alone. The other pillow smelled of him. She slept holding that small echo of Frank, breathing him in, mourning him.
‘I buried my chances,’ she whispered. ‘And I let the old cow win.’

Polly glared sternly at the image in the mirror. She was furious, upset, frightened, lonely . . . ‘I just don’t believe you, Kennedy. You knew full well what his
mother was, yet you still managed to be shocked, you damned fool. If you’d thought about it, you’d have realized she wouldn’t have improved with age. Nobody ever does.
You’re pathetic, turning down the man you love all because his mother’s a witch.’ How could she live without that smile, without the touch of his hand on her arm, those daft
breakfasts, his poky little car and her one pair of sensible knickers? He’d taken her to see his mother to test her mettle, to face Old Cow and prove that she could manage the situation.
‘I failed. Just a little test, and I failed.’

He was her everything, yet he couldn’t possibly be that, because of Cal. Till the day one of them died, Polly’s twin would be high on the agenda; only children of her own could be
allowed more importance. But she still didn’t want a life without Frank in it.

So was she pathetic or was she principled? When she’d looked into those cold, calculating eyes, she’d seen icy fury and grim determination. There was something very, very wrong with
Frank’s mother. It was as if she couldn’t reach anyone, touch anyone, feel sympathy for another person. She wasn’t real. She was her own creature, a person she had built from
imperfect spare parts purchased from some unscrupulous scrap merchant.

Norma Charleson would have given up becoming disabled, would have risen again like the phoenix to do as much damage as possible. Cal had to be safe. Could Frank have put a stop to his mother?
He’d never managed to keep her away from Ellen, had he? Poor Ellen, so happy, so lively, so dead.

The disabled act had been invented to keep Frank at home. Mrs Moo, doing her best to look incapable, had balanced everything on her son’s broad shoulders, keeping him busy and in charge.
She no doubt believed that was enough, that he needed no personal life, no contact physical or emotional with a woman. He was her slave, and she intended to maintain her hold over him.

Polly removed her makeup. She’d been lying on the bed holding his pillow for hours, and she’d only just changed into her pyjamas. No pretty nightdress tonight, because he
wasn’t here. He would never be here again. Never was a long time, but Cal had to come first. As for the idea of visiting Mrs Moo for Sunday tea, for Christmas and other occasions –
well, Frank would have been forced to go alone, and that was a very poor basis for marriage.

She hadn’t been so thoroughly angry or confused for many a year. It was partly connected to the engagement ring, she supposed. It meant a lot, because it was from Frank, but it was also
part of Ellen. She could not have accepted that particular ring at this particular time. Might she have accepted a different one, a new one? Perhaps a new one might have been less meaningful, and
she might have given him a chance to put his mother in her place.

Deep down in her core, well below the emotional stuff, she knew she had done the right thing. She’d watched poor Ellen doing her best, cleaning and baking because Mrs Moo was coming. How
much longer might Ellen have lasted without the old cow in her life? What might the dreadful woman have done to Cal’s chances of recovery? Cal’s main problems were undoubtedly physical,
yet his state of mind needed to be positive if he were to make the best of any chances that might come his way.

For the whole night, she vacillated between despair and righteousness. Frank was the love of her life and she had chased him off. Again. Cal was her twin, and he deserved to be protected from a
situation that might easily have become unhappy. And if Frank walked out on his mother for Polly’s sake, that, too, could well have been uncomfortable. Oh, how she wanted him; oh, how she
despised the woman who had given him life.