Laceys of Liverpool (30 page)

‘Mrs Lacey? I’d like to speak to you in private.’ The request was made so brusquely, without a ‘please’, that Alice blinked.

‘Well, there’s only the kitchen.’

‘That’ll do.’

Alice was aware of Patsy’s curious eyes following as they walked through the salon. She felt just as curious herself. ‘What’s this all about?’ she enquired when they were in the privacy of the kitchen.

‘I’m leaving John.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’m leaving John, your husband. I’m going today. I shall pick the children up from school in an hour’s time, then catch a train somewhere far away. I shan’t tell you where because I don’t want John to know.’

Alice’s head reeled. She swayed, reached for a chair and sat down before her legs gave way. She felt confused and very old. ‘What’s all this got to do with me?’ She could hear the tremor in her voice.

‘I thought someone should know because he’s bound to be very upset and I shall worry about him.’

‘I don’t understand. Who are you?’ The woman looked much older close up, at least thirty. Alice remembered where she’d seen her before. ‘
You’re
the girl from Crozier Terrace! You’ve got a nerve, coming here. There’s some women who’d tear your eyes out.’ She stared at the face, which had gone very pink. ‘I thought you had . . .’

The girl tossed her head. ‘I had a hare lip, but it’s been fixed and ever since John has made my life unbearable. I wasn’t prepared to put up with it any longer. It’s taken ages to get the money together, find a place for us to live, get a job. But now I’ve done it and I’m leaving today. I knew, somehow, you wouldn’t tear my eyes out from things John’s said. I got the impression your marriage was over long before he met me.’

‘Perhaps it was.’ Alice was beginning to get her wits back. ‘Just let me get this straight,’ she said carefully. ‘You’re walking out, but it makes you feel guilty, so you’ve decided to plonk the responsibility for what you’re doing in
my
lap?’

The woman’s face went pinker. ‘I suppose I have.’

‘That’s very nice of you, I must say. What makes you think I give a damn what happens to John?’

‘Is there another chair?’

‘No.’

‘The thing is’ – she leaned against the sink – ‘in a way, I still love him. I feel terrible for what I’m about to do. I imagine him coming home tonight, finding us gone.’ She twisted uneasily. ‘He’ll be devastated.’

‘And you think me turning up with buckets of sympathy will make him feel less devastated?’ Alice laughed in disbelief. ‘I never want anything to do with him again.’

‘I thought you might possibly care.’

‘Well, I don’t. And if you love him all that much, then why are you walking out?’

‘Because I think one day I might hate him.’ She stared at the older woman almost angrily. ‘Surely you understand? I love him because I know how kind and gentle he can be. He’s wonderful with the children.’ She pointed to her lovely face. ‘John was responsible for this. It’s changed my life, but the trouble is it changed him too. He became a different person. He couldn’t bear me out of his sight. Did he ever hit you?’

‘Just the once.’ It all sounded very familiar. Alice frowned. ‘Has he hit you?’

‘Rather more than just the once.’

Patsy stuck her head round the door, her ears almost visibly flapping. ‘Your next customer’s here, Alice, and Florrie’s still waiting to be finished off.’

‘I’ll have to go.’ Alice got to her feet. Her legs still felt as if they were filled with jelly.

‘I hope I haven’t upset you.’

‘Of course you’ve upset me. Who wouldn’t be upset under the circumstances? All
right
, Patsy, I’ll be out in a minute.’ Patsy disappeared with obvious reluctance. ‘I tell you what, I’ll ask me dad to go round and see John, make sure he’s all right. I’m not prepared to go near him.’ It meant she’d have to tell Dad what had happened, that John had got himself another family, that
he hadn’t just walked out. Neil was the only person who knew the real truth. ‘Are you still living in Crozier Terrace?’

‘No, we moved ages ago. We’re in Crosby now, 8 Rainford Road. Thank you. I appreciate you being so nice about this.’

‘I don’t feel a bit nice,’ Alice said drily. ‘Out of interest, what’s your name?’

‘Clare Coulson.’ She paused at the kitchen door. ‘Goodbye, Alice.’

‘Good luck, Clare.’

Danny Mitchell didn’t think he’d ever been asked to carry out a task that filled him with such revulsion. If he arrived at Rainford Road and found John Lacey with a rope and about to hang himself, his first instinct would have been to help him tie the knot. But it was a long time since Alice had asked for his help, possibly too long. Danny was uncomfortably aware that he had neglected his daughter, so wrapped up had he been in his young wife and their children. Alice hadn’t exactly lost her dad and her best friend when Danny married Bernadette, but as good as. Neither was available for her in the way they’d been before.

His heart was full of loathing for his son-in-law. Alice had explained to him and Bernadette the real reason why the marriage had broken down.

‘Oh, luv! You should have told us all this a long while ago,’ Bernadette cried. She looked anguishedly at Danny and he could see his own guilt reflected in her eyes.

‘I felt ashamed,’ Alice said simply. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know.’

‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’ Danny’s voice was gruff. ‘John’s the one who should be ashamed. He brings misery on everyone he touches.’

‘Anyroad, Dad. This girl, this Clare Coulson, she’s worried about him.’

‘She’s got a nerve!’ Danny and Bernadette said together.

‘Actually, I quite liked her. She’s got spunk, which is more than I ever had. I just sat back and let things happen.’

‘You say he actually hit her?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘I’ll sort him out,’ Danny said grimly.

‘No one wants you to sort him out, luv,’ Bernadette put in. ‘You’re just going to make sure he’s all right, that’s all, like Alice promised.’

‘I’d like to sort him out with me fists.’

‘John’s years younger than you, Danny Mitchell. I don’t want you coming back here with a black eye and a broken nose. Forget your fists and use your mouth instead.’

‘Yes, luv,’ Danny said meekly.

Danny had barely taken his finger off the bell when the door opened and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a look of such naked misery on a face when John saw who it was. He’d clearly been expecting someone else.

‘Can I come in a minute?’

John seemed to collect himself. He shrugged and stood to one side. ‘If you must. I can only spare you a minute. I’ve got things to do.’

The business must be doing all right, Danny thought as he walked down the spacious carpeted hall into a large, charming room, which had clearly benefited from a woman’s touch. There were vases of rushes, bowls of dried flowers, a cosy blue moquette three-piece, rugs and numerous pictures on the walls. Danny tried to take everything in without making it too obvious, knowing
Bernadette would subject him to the third degree when he got home. Perhaps it was because he knew the circumstances, but the room had a sad, deserted air, as if all the life had gone out of it. The fire was a mountain of grey ash with only the occasional glowing coal. It felt very cold.

‘What can I do for you, Danny?’ John stood, legs apart, in front of the fireplace. He didn’t ask the visitor to sit down. Danny sensed he was coiled as tightly as a spring. It wouldn’t take much to make this man explode. He longed to be at home in his own comfortable little house with his comfortable little wife.

‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ Danny said bluntly. ‘I’m only here for one reason, to make sure you’re all right. Once you’ve assured me that you are, then I’ll be off.’

John frowned slightly. ‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be all right?’

‘I understand someone walked out on you today, someone called Clare. She came round and asked Alice to see to you, as it were.’ Danny glowered. ‘I don’t appreciate our Alice being dragged into your affairs after all this time. I thought we’d done with you once and for all.’

The man’s face had gone a dark, ugly red. ‘Clare came to see you?’

‘She came to see Alice.’

‘She left a note. She didn’t mention Alice. When the doorbell went I thought she’d . . .’

‘Come back for another beating? I doubt it, John. I doubt if you’ll see that girl again.’

‘She actually told . . .’ He turned away, put his hands on the mantelpiece, stared into the fire. Danny wondered if he was ashamed, embarrassed, or just angry. ‘Did
she say where she was going? She took the children. I’m worried . . . ’

‘No, she didn’t. If she had, I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t have much time for men who hit their women.’

‘I didn’t mean to hit her.’

Danny gestured impatiently. He wasn’t interested in anything John Lacey might have to say. All he wanted to know was how the man was bearing up before he made his departure.

Perhaps John had read his thoughts, because he turned round and said coldly, ‘I can’t think why Clare went to see Alice. I was a bit surprised, that’s all, when I came home tonight and found she and the kids had gone. We haven’t exactly been getting on in a long time. It’ll feel strange for a while without the children, but even that has its compensations. They were dead noisy and I’ve always liked a quiet life.’

He was lying, it was obvious, but Danny didn’t care. He’d asked and the man claimed to be all right. His task was done. ‘I’ll be off, then.’

‘I’ll see you out.’

‘Don’t bother. I’ll make me own way. Tara, John.’

The front door closed. John Lacey fell to his knees on the rug in front of the fire. His mouth opened in a silent scream and he beat the floor with his fists. He wanted to roll up in a ball of pain.

Clare had gone, the children. He knew in his heart he would never see them again. He had driven them away, just as he drove everyone away. He prayed to God to make him die.

Minutes later, or it might have been hours, when God seemed unprepared to answer his prayer and John hadn’t the courage to take matters into his own hands, he got to his feet and went round the house gathering together a
few possessions, which he threw in the back of the van parked outside.

The landlord could have his house back, as well as everything in it. From now on he’d live in the office at the yard. From now on nothing mattered any more.

Cora bought the
Liverpool Echo
especially. She opened it as soon as she got home and searched for Twenty-Firsts.

‘
LACEY,
Cormac John. Many Happy Returns, son, on your twenty-first. With all my love, Mum,’ she read.

There were three more entries for Cormac: from Maeve and Martin, from Orla and Micky and the children, and the last from Grandad, Bernadette, Ian and Ruth: ‘Congratulations to a fine young man on reaching his majority.’

There would be no entries tomorrow for Maurice Lacey. Anyone who knew him would have laughed, because Maurice was in Walton jail.

Oh, the shame of it! Since the court case Cora had hardly left the house. She did the shopping Strand Road way where she wasn’t known, rather than in Marsh Lane.

She still didn’t know what had got into Maurice. He’d lost his job – he was ‘unpunctual’, according to his boss. Cora had considered it fortunate that he’d been called up to do his National Service almost straight away. It would do him good, teach him the discipline that Cora had failed to do. But the minute he came out he’d started hanging around with a girl, Pamela Conway, who had a reputation for being no better than she ought to be. It was Pamela’s brothers who’d led Maurice astray, of that Cora was convinced. They were much older than him,
with convictions for breaking and entering behind them. One had threatened a shopkeeper with a knife and wasn’t long out of jail himself.

They’d
used
Maurice. He was a soft lad, easily led. He’d broken a window to get into the shop and it hadn’t entered his daft head that someone might hear and call the bobbies. They were waiting for him when he came out, laden with boxes of cigarettes and baccy, almost certainly for the Conways to sell in the pubs at half price. He refused to clat on them. Cora suspected he was frightened.

For once, Billy had been in when the bobbies arrived and requested they come to the station, where he’d leapt at Maurice and had almost throttled him by the time he was pulled off. He wanted nothing more to do with him, he said. But when had Billy had anything much to do with his wife and son?

She recalled her own criminal past, though she’d been too clever to get caught. Perhaps thieving was inherited, like the same coloured eyes and hair. But if that was the case, Cormac . . .

Sometimes she forgot what the truth was.

By now, Cormac would be home from university for Christmas and there was bound to be a birthday do somewhere tonight – Alice threw parties at the drop of a hat.

Restless, Cora wandered round the house, touching things. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Nothing had gone the way she’d expected. Horace Flynn had popped his clogs last year, but hadn’t left her a thing. The chap who came to collect the rent said a nephew back in Ireland, a priest, had inherited the lot and wanted everything left the same. All the chap did was collect the leases and the rents, and send cheques to some church in County Antrim. When Cora asked why Horace’s big
house in Stanley Road remained empty, he knew nothing about it.

She wondered if Cormac’s do would be held at home or whether Alice had booked somewhere bigger, seeing as how it was a twenty-first. Wherever it was, she wouldn’t mind going and waiting outside so she could take a peek, see who was there – if she could do it without being noticed, that is.

They’d probably know in the Strand Road salon – she looked inside whenever she passed. It was always busy, but she’d never once seen Alice there. It looked a posh place, much bigger than the Laceys’ in Opal Street and Marsh Lane. But she couldn’t just barge in asking questions, she’d have to have something done to her hair. She’d get a trim, though she usually cut it herself, and give a false name. It wouldn’t do to say she was a Lacey.