A Mersey Mile (34 page)

‘That, Billy, is an example of pure joy.’ Poor Kaybee was going to be neutered at the earliest opportunity, but the Blunts were wavering because of Daniel’s pedigree. He had
been earmarked as a potential stud, though according to Mavis, he currently looked as daft as a brush. ‘I can’t catch him,’ she often complained. ‘The only one he listens to
is Billy, because he completely ignores me and Fred. If he breeds, his pups will be as daft as he is.’

‘God bless the daftness,’ Chris said as his Kaybee performed a perfect if unplanned somersault.

They returned to the kitchen while the dogs began their run-through. A run-through involved the whole house and both dogs. They dashed about at great speed round every room, often climbing
stairs they had just learned to descend. Until recently, two whimpering idiots had needed carrying down to ground level, but they had finally worked out their own centres of gravity.

‘So, Billy, you and I were right about Father Brennan.’

‘Yes. You knew as well, didn’t you, Father?’

‘I did, though I’m not gifted like you are. For me, it was the rosary, while you knew because of your dreams. I’m just so sorry that you had to suffer.’

Billy nodded. ‘But the funny thing is, no other dreams are true – it’s just the ones with him in them. He’s happy now.’

‘Is he?’

‘He has a different life.’

‘And you’ve no idea where?’

‘On a farm. Why do I dream true things just about him?’

Eugene Brennan had altered the course of Billy’s existence. A little of the shine had peeled away from the child, as if the beating had robbed him of innocence. Fortunately, this young man
had a solid core, as he came from a good family. ‘Because God sent you those dreams in order to help the rest of us find him. When he’s caught, the dreams will probably go away, since
they’ll no longer be needed.’

‘So it’s like magic or a miracle thing?’

‘Indeed. Now, go and ask Mammy can you come with me up to the Parlour for a dish of Polly’s scouse. We’ve been invited.’

‘What about Daniel and Kaybee?’

‘Your mother will mind them for us.’

‘I heard that,’ Mavis shouted from the parlour. ‘You’re leaving me with Laurel and Hardy? I’m trying to clean in here, and I’m getting nowhere while they get
everywhere.’

The priest winked at his co-conspirator. ‘Then I’ll take Kaybee along, because we can go in the back way as guests.’ He picked up his exhausted puppy. ‘We’ll be
off, Mavis. You can mind Daniel.’

‘Thank you very much. I’ve always wanted to spend time with the criminally insane. He eats clothes, you know. And rugs.’ She stood in the doorway, a scarf tied turban-fashion
over her hair, polish in one hand, a cloth in the other. ‘The trouble with puppies is they’re gorgeous, so you have to forgive them.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, all right, off you go.
I’ll mind the terrible twins.’

‘Thanks, Mam.’

‘And from me, too. Come on, son.’

Chris and Billy disappeared while the going was good. If Daniel sank his teeth into another valued item, Billy’s mum might just call her son back. Priest and child turned right at the
bottom of Dryden Street and continued along Scotland Road. ‘We can go in the front door, as we have no dogs,’ Chris said.

Lunch was over and the cafe door was locked. Chris knocked, and they were welcomed by Polly. ‘Hello,’ Chris said. ‘I’ve brought the young man you asked for. His poor
mother’s stuck with two mad puppies, God help her.’

‘Come through, children,’ she said before putting an arm across Billy’s shoulder. ‘There’s jelly,’ she told him. ‘And cake and biscuits and ice
cream.’

‘Whose birthday is it?’ Billy asked.

‘Nobody’s. It’s Cal and Linda’s engagement party, but we wanted to make a fuss of you, too.’ She showed her ring finger to Chris. ‘Frank got me an eternity
ring so that I wouldn’t feel left out.’

‘I should have brought my sunglasses,’ Chris complained. ‘That’s bright enough to blind a man. I may require compensation.’

The small living room was crowded. Ida and Hattie were perched on Cal’s hospital-height bed. Cal and his fiancée sat on dining chairs at the table, while Frank and Polly dished out
the food.

‘Hello, Billy,’ Cal called. ‘We’ve a favour to ask. Polly?’

Polly squatted down in front of the boy. ‘We don’t want any bridesmaids,’ she explained. ‘We decided against silly girls in daft, frilly frocks, but we’d like you
to carry the rings. No stupid clothes, by the way. You’ll be in a grownup suit with long trousers and shiny shoes. Will you do that for us?’

‘Can I have jelly without eating what Mam calls sensible food first?’

‘Yes.’

‘And ice cream without having butties?’

‘Definitely.’

‘And you won’t tell Mam that I’ve not ate real food?’

‘Promise. Cross my heart, Billy.’

‘All right, then.’

So it was settled.

Only Chris Foley, Polly, Frank, Cal and Linda were familiar with the full truth. The weddings would be soon, because both women were pregnant. Ida, who had not quite managed to rid herself of
the tendency to air her views loudly and in public, came out with the obvious. ‘What’s the rush?’ she asked. ‘You in the club?’

‘Yes,’ the girls replied in unison.

Ida blinked. ‘Linda as well?’

‘Linda as well,’ Polly said soberly.

Ida chewed on her lip for a moment. ‘But Cal can’t do the . . . I mean, he’s not been able to . . . how can she be when he’s . . . ? Are you sure?’

Cal shook his head very slowly. ‘Ways and means, Ida. I might not have been able to, but she could. And soon enough I’ll be back to—’

‘Shut up, Cal. Small boy, big ears.’ Polly pointed at Billy.

But small boy with big ears had discovered three colours of jelly, ice cream, Carnation Milk, condensed milk and cake. He was busy inventing rainbow trifle in a glass bowl big enough to hold
several pints and was in a world all his own, though he was having difficulty in layering the jellies in a satisfactory fashion. Concentrating hard, he allowed the tip of his tongue to protrude
from a corner of his mouth.

‘Well, he’ll be sick when he gets home,’ Linda warned.

Ida continued undeterred. ‘So your legs were good enough for carrying on before you were ready for walking proper, then?’

Polly stared at the ceiling. The damp patch that looked like a map of Africa had developed a few islands, and concentrating on it was vital in order to manage not to laugh. Ida was often funny,
though she seldom intended to amuse an audience.

Cal’s face was set in determined mode. ‘Things can work in more ways than one, Ida.’

‘Can they? Not in my day, they couldn’t.’ She sniffed in a disapproving fashion.

A strange noise arrived from a space next to the sideboard. Chris Foley, who was Father Foley today as the dog collar was in situ, was sliding down the wall like something out of a Charlie
Chaplin film.

Frank folded his arms. ‘What the hell’s the matter with you now?’

The cleric continued on his downward journey.

‘You’re worse than a kid,’ Frank told him.

‘I was just thinking of the time I was encouraged to take up a missionary position. Like Cal, I was forced to decline.’

‘I’m not inviting you to anything else. This party’s for our ring bearer, isn’t it? You shouldn’t be let out of your house.’

Ida had no idea about what was going on. Billy scooped lime jelly off the floor and dropped it into the mess he was creating. Hattie dug Ida in the ribs and advised her to shut up.
‘Don’t say any more.’ She lowered her voice. ‘They did it with her on top.’

‘No!’

‘Ida, one more word, and I’ll clock you with my handbag.’

‘I never heard of such a thing.’

‘Shut up.’

‘But I—’

‘Shut up.’

Ida shut up.

Chris struggled to his feet. ‘The reproductive process alone is proof enough of God’s sense of humour.’

This time, Frank crossed the small room. ‘Listen, you,’ he hissed. ‘Any more clever talk, and you’ll be banned from the premises.’ He grinned. ‘Mind, I
suppose you’re right.’ The last five words were whispered.

Ida turned to her best friend. ‘Do priests know about that sort of thing?’ she mouthed.

‘Course they do. Pull yourself together. You’re making a show of me again.’

‘Sorry, but I—’

‘There’s more than one way to peel an apple, love.’

‘Oh.’

‘And no gossiping about them expecting. If they wanted the world to know, they’d put it in the paper.’

‘Under articles wanted?’ Ida smiled, pleased to have asked a clever question. ‘I won’t say nothing.’

‘Good.’

Billy’s concoction was not a success. ‘How do you make trifle?’ he asked innocently.

‘Not like that,’ the females chorused.

Cal took a more serious attitude. ‘You get sponge fingers or stale cake, raisins, put a bit of booze in to plump up the raisins and soak the cake, a few almond flakes, jelly if you like
it, custard when the jelly sets, then cream on top.’

‘Will you make one and let me watch? I don’t mean today, like.’

‘Course I will.’

The child fixed his eyes on Polly, then on Linda. ‘In the club means babies,’ he stated flatly. ‘When are they coming?’

‘In late spring or early summer,’ Linda answered.

‘Both of them?’

‘Yes.’

The boy picked up a sandwich, forgot about babies, and ate sensible food. The news was out; in time, and if or when he remembered, Billy would spill the beans.

Resurrection from the dead was extremely painful. ‘And friend to friend in wonder said, the Lord is risen from the dead.’ Where had he read those words? He
wasn’t the Lord; he wasn’t even a decent human being, because he’d lost his temper to the point where he had killed a brother in Christ. No, he hadn’t taken his medicine and
yes, he might have acted differently if he had swallowed the pills, but he’d put Billy Blunt in hospital before all that, hadn’t he? Now that he could control his intake of drink, he
was able to see what he had been, how he had been for many years. Had he married and stayed in farming, he might never have resorted to alcohol.

Strangely, he had turned to God lately, thanking Him for Gladys, thanking Him for a successful harvest, for returning Brendon Hall to the path he should have followed thirty years earlier. For
the first time since childhood, he was happy. But the story was front-page news once more, with a young Brother Anselm’s photograph sitting next to an image of Eugene Brennan: fat, unsmiling
and a priest.

Gladys bustled in with scissors. ‘You all right, Don?’ she asked.

‘I’m just looking at the
Herald
. Did you manage to get some kippers?’

‘I did, love. Isle of Man, boned and ready. They’ll do nicely for breakfast tomorrow with a bit of bread and butter.’

‘Well, don’t give your dad any. He could choke on even a small bone.’

She loved the way he cared for Dad. ‘He’ll have egg in a cup mashed up with crumbled bread and butter, as usual. As if I’d give him fish. Did you say you wanted me to cut your
hair? Come on, let’s be having you over here, mister.’

He sat still and obedient while she wrapped an old tablecloth round his shoulders and began to trim his hair. She liked sideburns, so he went along with her wishes and wore a stripe in front of
each ear. His crowning glory was now completely grey, and that helped greatly when it came to disguise.

‘Can you imagine a priest killing a monk, Don?’

He shrugged. ‘Priests are people. People have limits, and he was an alcoholic. A shame about the brother, though.’

Gladys sighed. ‘Anyway, as long as he doesn’t come here, eh? The whole of Derbyshire’s on the lookout for a fat man with an Irish accent. I don’t know about Derbyshire,
but we get Irish travellers all over Cheshire looking for seasonal work. Some folk moan about them; I don’t. Any man who’ll do a day’s work for a few bob and a dinner is worth his
weight in dolly mixtures. And they’re usually good for a laugh, being Irish.’

He belonged here. He was good with animals, great on the land, happy with his lover. Gladys was gentle, caring and undemanding. She accepted his ‘wife’ in Sunderland, was sad that he
couldn’t be divorced, though she was very happy with him. Her Don had been as nervous as a new groom, but she’d sorted him out and had told him repeatedly that she couldn’t
imagine living without him. This was the life, and he didn’t want it threatened.

‘Are you having your whiskey now?’ she asked. The man was like clockwork; he drank two doubles every night, said his prayers, slept like a baby and was more than happy to help with
chores in the house and garden once morning came and milking was completed.

‘Yes please, dear.’

He swallowed a bubble of fear. He was well established at Drovers, and he blended in very well. As Gladys’s ‘husband’, he was accepted in the village and neighbouring hamlets,
always ready to lend a hand with a broken tractor or a hard birth if there was no vet to hand. In fact, he was treated as something of a genius in agricultural circles, since he seemed to know soil
just by touching it and sniffing at a handful.

Gladys handed him his glass of Irish. ‘So, miracle man, we’ll be knee-deep in honey next year, will we?’

‘What?’

‘Oh, you’ve gone into one of your dreams again, have you?’

He swung round to face her fully. ‘Am I talking or crying in my sleep?’

‘No. I meant your daydreams.’

‘Ah.’ He took a swig of whiskey. ‘Let me know if I start with the nightmares, will you? I’ve had them since I was a small child, and you’ll have no sleep if they
start up again. I know your dad’s on morphine, but he’d be awake, too. I get loud.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep the caravan bed made up for you, and if you start shouting, I’ll throw you out after I’ve pulled the little bit of hair I’ve left you
with.’

He had to smile. Gladys was one of those people who made a person happy even if he was miserable. ‘You’re good for me, young lady. You’ve given me a job, a home and a reason to
live. I’ve never before been so happy.’

‘Then what’s worrying you?’ she asked.

‘Nothing. I’m just a little bit tired is all. And your father’s talking about his death and the hymns he wants at the service. It will be soon, he says.’