Laceys of Liverpool (20 page)

‘I can’t, not now.’ He shook his head. ‘Alice might be there. Anyroad, I’m not particularly interested.’

‘Should be.’ She nodded fiercely. ‘Should be. Not right.’

‘I’m the person to judge what’s right or not.’

‘I think we should wait a few days before we tell Orla about your dad,’ Alice said when the children were ready to visit their sister. ‘It’s said every cloud has a silver lining, and your dad going means Orla and Micky can move into the parlour. That’ll be nice, won’t it, eh?’

Maeve and Cormac thought it a great idea, but Fionnuala wasn’t so sure. ‘Will the baby cry much?’ she wanted to know.

‘We’ll just have to see, luv. Now, are you sure you don’t mind me not coming with you? I don’t feel as if me legs will carry me far tonight. Just tell Orla I’m a bit off colour, but I’ll be at the front of the queue of visitors in the morning.’

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?’ Fion asked.

Alice couldn’t wait for them to go, to be on her own, to think. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said heartily. ‘I’ll be even better after a rest. Now, are you sure you’ve got your tram fare? Maeve, be careful how you hold them flowers, else
you’ll have the heads off. Cormac, put some stouter shoes on. It’s still raining outside.’

She ushered them into the hall – her legs felt as heavy as lead – waved to them from the step, returned to the house, slammed the door, then let go.

‘You bloody hypocrite, John Lacey!’ she screamed. ‘You made me life a misery, accusing me of having affairs, when all the time . . .’ She aimed a kick at the skirting board and hurt her foot. ‘You even called our Orla names.’ What was it? A little whore. In that case, what was the women he lived with?

Unless she didn’t know he was married! Perhaps he was a bigamist. If he was and if it hadn’t meant she’d never be able to hold up her head in Bootle again she would have reported him to the police.

No wonder he handed over such a pitiful amount of housekeeping every week – he was buying fitted carpets for his other house, buying vans, having a telephone installed in the office. She would have loved a fitted carpet in the parlour. And it would have been nice for the whole family to have gone places at weekends in the van. When Cormac passed the scholarship, she could have rung him from the salon, not stayed up till midnight to let him know. In fact, if she’d known about the telephone she would never have discovered his double life – she would have merely rung to tell him about Orla.

Alice went into the parlour and kicked the bed that he’d slept on, then collapsed upon it, sobbing. Oh, God! It
smelt
of him. The whole house smelt of him: not just the bed, but the chairs, the very air. She had to get out of here and there was only one place she could go and think in peace, a place where there was nothing to remind her of John.

She sat in her favourite place under the middle dryer.
The nights were fast drawing in, it was almost dark. But it had been dull and miserable all day.

‘It’s been the worst day of me life,’ Alice whispered.

Her anger had been replaced by, of all things, guilt. Guilt that he’d felt the need for another woman because his own wife hadn’t been sufficiently understanding. She’d tried but, somehow, in some way, she’d let him down. Perhaps she’d been selfish, taking over the hairdresser’s when he would have preferred her at home. Mind you, it had seemed dead unreasonable at the time and still felt unreasonable when she thought about it now.

The young woman at the door had had something wrong with her face, a hare lip. Perhaps he felt more comfortable with someone imperfect, like himself. But it was still no excuse for having betrayed his wife and children, for taking the coward’s way out.

Alice jumped when there was the sound of a key being turned in the salon door. It turned several times before it was opened and Neil Greene said, ‘It wasn’t locked. Alice must have forgotten.’

He had someone with him, a woman, who was laughing helplessly. Alice wondered bleakly if she herself would ever laugh again. She prayed the light wouldn’t be turned on – she’d look an idiot, sitting in the dark on her own.

‘I can’t see a thing,’ the woman giggled.

‘Just a minute,’ Neil said, ‘the switch is over here.’

The room was flooded with light. Neil took a startled step backwards and his companion uttered a little cry when they saw the red-faced, red-eyed, swollen-faced Alice, who remembered she hadn’t combed her hair since morning and it had got soaking wet, as well as her clothes, which she hadn’t changed. She must look like a
tramp who’d broken in, in the hope of finding a night’s shelter.

‘Alice!’ Neil’s face was full of concern. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. Our Orla had the baby and I didn’t manage to get in earlier. I thought I’d come and tidy up a few bits and bobs.’

‘In the dark?’ Neil’s companion looked considerably put out. She was smartly dressed in a grey flannel costume, yellow blouse and hat. Her hair was perfectly set in a series of stiff, artificial waves. Alice would never have allowed a customer to leave Lacey’s with such unnatural-looking hair.

‘I must have dozed off.’ Alice stood up, too quickly. She swayed, nearly fell and had to sit down again.

Neil said, ‘Jean, I think it would be best if you went home. I’ll drop in at the bank at lunchtime tomorrow.’

Jean made a little moue with her mouth. ‘But, darling . . .’

‘Tomorrow, Jean.’ Neil put his hands on her shoulders and propelled her towards the door. ‘Goodnight.’ The door closed and he turned to Alice. ‘What on earth is wrong? You look like shit.’

‘Don’t swear,’ Alice said automatically, then remembered he wasn’t one of her children. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re quite right. Teachers shouldn’t swear.’ He regarded her sternly. ‘Alice, will you please tell me what’s the matter?’

‘Put the light out.’

He switched off the light. ‘Is Orla’s baby all right? Is Orla herself?’

‘Orla’s fine, the baby’s beautiful.’

‘Girl or boy?’

‘A girl. She’s calling her Lulu.’

‘That’s a pretty name. Lulu Lavin, sounds like a
flower.’ He came and sat beside her. ‘Are you going to tell me now that it’s dark?’ His voice sounded very close, only inches from her ear.

‘I can’t, Neil,’ she said brokenly. ‘You’re being very kind, but I can’t tell anyone, not even me dad or me best friend. It’s something truly awful.’

‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved, so people say.’

‘I’ve said it meself more than once, but I’m not sure now if it’s true.’

‘If it’s really so awful, Alice, you should tell someone. It doesn’t have to be me. You shouldn’t keep it all to yourself.’

Alice said wryly, ‘You sound as if you know about such things, but I can’t imagine anything awful’s ever happened to you.’

He was always cheerful and extraordinarily good-humoured, as if he found the world a wonderful place to be. She understood he was an excellent teacher –everyone at St James’s liked him, though it was considered a mystery what he was doing there when he could have been teaching at a public school, or in a different job altogether. He’d been to university and had a Classics degree, whatever that was. He came from somewhere in Surrey and wasn’t short of a few bob –one of her customers who knew about such things said his suits and shoes were handmade. His car was an MG sports.

His mam and dad were referred to as ‘moms’ and ‘pops’, and he had an elder brother called Adrian and a sister, Miranda, whose twenty-first birthday it had been in August. Instead of a party, Miranda had had a dance at which some well-known orchestra had played: Ted Heath or Ambrose or Geraldo, Alice wasn’t sure. It wasn’t that Neil showed off, but he sometimes talked about his private life.

It could have been embarrassing, having someone so dead posh living in the upstairs flat, but Neil hadn’t an ounce of side. Alice had always felt completely at ease with her tenant. And he was always gentle with Fionnuala, whose crush on him was plain for all to see.

‘What are you doing tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘Why, coming into the salon, like normal,’ she said, surprised at the question.

‘Act as if nothing dreadful has happened, laugh, smile, be your usual sunny self?’

‘Well, yes, of course.’

‘We all do that, Alice,’ he said with a dry laugh. ‘We all put on a show, no matter how we feel inside. What makes you think I’m any different?’

‘I’m sorry, luv.’ Alice impulsively laid her hand on his. ‘I was being insensitive. It’s just that you act as if you don’t have a care in the world.’

‘It wasn’t always so. Seven years ago I wanted to kill myself.’ He put his other hand on top of hers. ‘If I tell you about it, will you tell me in turn why you are looking so utterly wretched? I got the fright of my life when I turned on the light. I thought the hairdresser’s must be haunted.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Alice said abjectly. ‘And I made you get rid of poor Jean.’

‘Poor Jean will already have got over it.’ He pulled her to her feet. ‘If we’re going to exchange confidences, let’s go upstairs where it’s comfortable and we can do it over a cup of coffee or, better still, a glass of brandy. A drink will probably do you good.’

‘Give us a minute first to comb me hair.’

There were still a few pieces of furniture in the flat that had belonged to Myrtle – a sideboard, a glass-fronted china cabinet, the bedroom suite, though Alice had bought a new mattress. The two armchairs, the small
table with matching chairs and the kitchen dresser were good quality second-hand.

She’d been upstairs a couple of times since Neil moved in. He had added things of his own – some exotically patterned mats that had come all the way from Persia, lots of bright pictures, a pair of table lamps that cast a rosy glow over the rather gloomy room. The china cabinet was full of books and there was a statue of an elephant on top, which Neil said was made of jade. There were more jade statues on the mantelpiece.

‘It’s lovely and cosy up here,’ she said when he switched on the lamps.

‘That was my intention. Would you like coffee or brandy? I suggest the latter.’

‘That would be nice, though not too much, else it’ll go to me head.’

He grinned. ‘That mightn’t be such a bad thing. Now, sit down, I’ll get the drinks, then I’ll tell you the story of my life.’

Instead of an armchair, Neil sat on the floor with his back against it, his long legs stretched out across the mat. He turned on the electric fire, not the element, just the red bulb behind the imitation coals. The room looked cosier still.

‘You know I was in the Army, don’t you?’ he began.

Alice nodded. ‘You joined in nineteen forty-two when you were eighteen.’ She also knew he didn’t have to join. He’d been accepted by Cambridge University and could have stayed to finish the course, by which time the war would have been over.

‘What you don’t know, Alice, is that I got married when I was twenty.’

‘Married!’ she gasped, startled. He appeared to be one of the most unmarried men she’d ever known.

Neil wagged his finger. ‘Don’t interrupt. I’d like to get
this over with as quickly as possible. I married my childhood sweetheart, Barbara. Babs everyone called her. She was, still is, no doubt, quite gloriously pretty. Our parents had known each other for years before we were born. Even now,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘I’m not sure if we ever loved each other, or it was a case of doing what was expected of us. It
seemed
like love,
it felt
like it and we were happy to go along with our parents’ expectations – superbly happy, I might add.’

He stared into the fire, as if he’d forgotten Alice was there. ‘We married the year before the war ended. I was stationed in Kent at the time. I got special leave – we even snatched a weekend’s honeymoon at Claridge’s. That’s a hotel in London,’ he added in case Alice had never heard of it, which she hadn’t. ‘Babs worked for a government department, something to do with rationing. She had a little mews cottage in Knightsbridge. From then on, it’s where I spent my leave, though she claimed to feel lonely when I wasn’t there.’ His lips twisted. ‘Now that she was a married woman, she didn’t lead the wild social life she’d done before. So I used to tell my fellow officers when they were going to London, “Drop in on my Babs. She’ll make you feel at home for a few hours.” And they did. Would you like more brandy, Alice?’

‘Not yet. Perhaps later.’

‘I think I’ll replenish my glass.’

He got to his feet, a tall, extremely good-looking and suddenly rather tragic young man, Alice thought, even though she didn’t yet know the end of the story.

‘Nine months after the wedding,’ he continued when he had returned to his place on the floor, ‘we were posted to France. The Brits had taken it back by then. Soon we were in Germany, on our way to Berlin. We were in Berlin on the wonderful day the war was
declared over. That night we had a party in the mess. Everyone drank too much, me included. Things got wild. Then a chap I hardly knew, I’d never spoken to before, mentioned this “little tart”, as he called her, who he’d slept with in London. He intended calling on her the minute he got back. Her name was Barbara Greene and she’d been recommended to him as a “good lay” – that’s an American term, so I understand. The chap said he felt sorry for her poor sod of a husband. Then another chap butted in who also knew Barbara Greene – she’d taught him a few tricks he didn’t know, he said.’ Neil laughed bitterly. ‘Before long, it seemed as if the entire bloody regiment was claiming to have slept with Babs.’

‘Oh, luv!’ Alice breathed. ‘That’s terrible. What did you do?’

‘I got blind drunk. I was probably the only Englishman on earth who wanted to kill himself on such a momentous night.’

‘What did you do –
after
that night?’

Neil shrugged. ‘Saw out the rest of my service, got demobbed, went to see my lovely wife and told her it was over. She wasn’t particularly upset. We went our separate ways. A few years ago she asked for a divorce, but I refused. We’re both Catholics, you see. I don’t think a divorced teacher would be acceptable to a Catholic school board.’

‘So, you’re still married?’

‘Yes. As I have no intention of ever marrying again, what does it matter?’ He shrugged once more. ‘Would you like another drink now? I definitely would.’