Laceys of Liverpool (37 page)

Then she crept along the landing to the room where John Lacey slept.

He lay sprawled on the bed in his vest and underpants, his suit and the shirt she had bought him thrown carelessly on the floor. On the bedside table the whisky bottle was three-quarters empty and the clean ashtray she’d provided earlier overflowed with butts. The smell of smoke, of whisky fumes, only increased Cora’s desire. She leant over the bed and started to touch him.

‘Darling!’ John reached for her and began to stroke her body through the scratchy nightdress. Cora pulled it over her head, leaving herself entirely exposed to him, giving herself, touching him as he touched her. Her body arched and shuddered with pleasure beneath his exploring hands. Then he thrust himself inside her and she had to hold back a shriek as a feeling, impossible to describe, began to grow and grow in her gut, like a firework, sizzling away, getting brighter and brighter, louder and louder, as it prepared to explode in a shower of stars and sparks.

Then the explosion came and her body, from head to toe, was encased in a silent scream of ecstacy. Cora had been waiting all her life for this day, for this hour, for this single minute.

She fell back on the bed, blissfully exhausted. John grunted, collapsed beside her and immediately fell asleep, but she didn’t care. She snuggled against him and put her arm round his waist.

‘That was nice, luv. It was never that way with your Billy,’ she whispered. ‘Later on, we’ll do it again. We’ll do it again and again for the rest of our lives. We’re soulmates, you and me. I bet I could tell you things and you wouldn’t be the least bit shocked.’ She looked at his face, wondering if he could hear. ‘I’ve never breathed a word about this to a soul, but I killed two people once. They were me aunties, Kate and Maud. You see, luv, me mam wasn’t married when she had me and she died right
after I was born. I never knew who me dad was. Kate and Maud, they took me in, but they didn’t like me. Oh, no, they didn’t like me a bit. I was a “badge of shame”, they said. They treated me worse than an animal, fed me scraps, hit me and kicked me whenever they felt like it. I got hardly any learning. I never even learnt how to be happy, like. So, you know what I did?’

She paused, half expecting him to say, ‘What, luv?’ but there was no answer. ‘I murdered them. I set fire to the house we lived in. I waited in the backyard till I heard them scream, then I waited till the screaming stopped, then I ran away. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I can still hear them screams. I can even smell the fire. It’s the reason I can never sleep.’ Cora sighed. ‘Are you comfy, luv?’ She adjusted the pillow beneath his head, pulled the sheet over them both. ‘You have a nice rest, now, and when you wake up I’ll make you feel dead happy again.’

Cora had never known what it was to relax, for her body to feel rested, her soul to be at peace, her brain to feel as light as air, and free for once of the thoughts and memories that plagued her. Before long, although it was the last thing she intended, she, too, was fast asleep.

The palest of grey light was creeping through the window when John Lacey woke. The birds in the garden had just begun to sing. For a few seconds he felt disorientated.

He recognised the lampshade hanging above him and remembered he was at Billy’s. It took several more seconds before he realised there was someone in bed with him: a woman. For one mad moment he thought it might be Alice. He’d been to see her the night before. But the hair just visible in the still dusky shadows of the morning was the wrong colour. Anyroad, Alice had turned him down and he’d bought a bottle of whisky.
He’d obviously gone somewhere, met a woman and couldn’t remember a thing about it – it had happened before. He must have been plastered out of his mind to have brought her back to his brother’s house.

Jaysus! He was longing for a fag. As soon as he’d smoked it, he’d get rid of his companion of the night as quietly as possible. Gingerly he eased himself out of bed. The ciggies were on the bedside table. He lit one, breathed in deeply, then noticed the blue nightdress thrown over the foot of the bed.

His reflexes must be working dead slow this morning, because it took John quite a while to realise the significance of this. There was only one person the nightdress could belong to.

Cora! He stumbled backwards, horrified. Cora Lacey was lying in his bed, naked. They must have . . .

Christ! He wanted to be sick. Something stirred in his sluggish brain, a memory, of hands touching him, of him touching back. He could remember them making love – and that it had actually felt good. He gagged. He had to get out of here.

Frantically he picked up his clothes, the ciggies, the remainder of the whisky and carried them on to the landing, where he clumsily got dressed, thrusting his foot into the wrong trouser leg, buttoning up his shirt all crooked. As he did so other memories returned, of a voice in his ear talking about murder, about burning people alive in their beds, listening to their screams.

Outside, a fine grey mist hung in the air and he could feel the moisture on his face as he walked towards Seaforth, towards the place that had been his home since Clare had left with their children.

Every now and then he stopped and took a mouthful of whisky. If he drank enough for long enough it might drown out the memory of last night.

By the time he reached the yard the whisky had gone and he could hardly walk. He flung the empty bottle into the gutter, where it smashed into a thousand brilliant shards. It took some time to fit the key into the padlock on the gates, more time to unlock the door of the two-storey building that was a store room, an office and the place where he lived – there was little use for an office these days. B.E.D.S. was all washed up. He’d been neglecting the firm for years. He owed money for the materials going rotten in the yard.

Somehow he managed to climb the stairs, where he collapsed on the filthy bed and immediately lit a ciggie.

The place stank, but he couldn’t be bothered getting up and opening a window. He couldn’t remember when it had last been cleaned. For years, now, he had let himself wallow in his misery, in the dirt of his surroundings. He had let B.E.D.S. collapse around his ears.

It never ceased to amaze him that a man as sensible as he’d always considered himself had made such a total and completely unnecessary mess of his life, culminating in last night’s misadventure with Cora. He squirmed at the memory and wondered if he’d just imagined the things she’d said. Was his brother’s wife a murderer?

In a minute he’d look for something to drink. He’d drink himself completely senseless, so he wouldn’t be able to think. There were times, like the night Billy had found him on the Docky, when his mind was nothing but a blank.

The fag had burnt so low he could feel the heat on his lips. He spat it out and reached for another. The effort of stretching made his head swirl crazily and John didn’t mind a bit when he found himself sinking into welcome unconsciousness.

The stub of the cigarette had landed on the bed, rolled under the pillow. John Lacey was too far gone to notice when the pillow began to smoulder.

The police were still trying to trace the relatives of John Lacey, the man whose charred body had been found after the fire in the timber yard had been extinguished, when Fionnuala Littlemore returned to Liverpool with her children.

It was Sunday afternoon, and Fion came in the back way just as Alice was preparing a salad for Maeve and Martin who were expected later for tea.

‘Hello, Mam,’ Fion said, as casually as if she’d been gone five minutes, not several years.

‘Fion!’ Alice dropped a slice of ham on the floor. ‘Oh, Fion, luv. It’s good to see you.’ She flung her arms round her eldest daughter, stroked her face. ‘How are you, luv? Where have you been? And who are these?’ Only then did Alice become aware of the children.

‘This is Colin and this is Bonnie, and we’ve been living in London. Say hello to your grandma, kids.’

‘They’re yours?’ Alice dropped more ham.

‘Very much mine, Mam. And before you ask, their dad, me husband that is, died two years ago.’

‘Oh, luv!’ Alice burst into tears for the son-in-law she’d never met and hadn’t even known existed. ‘Oh, they’re lovely children,’ she said tearfully. ‘Let’s take a look at you.’ She knelt down and examined Colin’s face. ‘You must take after your dad, because you’re nothing
like our family. And you’ – she turned to Bonnie – ‘are the image of your mam.’

Both judgements seemed to please the children inordinately. Alice forgot the salad and took them into the living room.

Fion immediately made herself at home. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, Mam. I’m dying for a cuppa.’

‘I wouldn’t say no to a cuppa either.’ Alice drew her new grandchildren on to her knee. They went willingly. ‘You’re prettier than Ruby,’ Bonnie said.

‘Who’s Ruby?’

‘Ruby was their other grandma,’ Fion said as she came in. ‘She was much older than you. She died a few months ago. That’s why we’re back home.’

She’d come home for good! Alice did her best not to feel glad that the unknown Ruby had died, otherwise Fion, who’d clearly not acquired an ounce of tact in her absence, would still be in London. Her daughter had acquired one thing, though – confidence. Alice watched as Fion unzipped a small travelling bag and began to root swiftly and efficiently through the contents. She seemed very sure of herself. She was slimmer and had grown her hair, which was gathered in an untidy knot on top of her head. Long wavy tendrils had escaped and trailed over her neck and ears. Her outfit was a bit peculiar: black slacks and a thin black jumper under a brightly coloured patchwork waistcoat. Neil Greene, who’d met her in London, said she worked for a union.

‘Oh, it’s good to see you, Fion,’ Alice cried. ‘You look wonderful.’ Her mind went back to the day Fion, her first child, had been born. She’d arrived two weeks late, after a long, tiresome labour, very early in the morning. At almost nine pounds, she was the biggest of Alice’s babies – and the biggest in the maternity home, she remembered. John had been so proud. She recalled
him taking his daughter in his arms, looking down at her, his eyes filled with love. It had never crossed her mind that one day that love would disappear.

‘It’s good to see you, Mam,’ Fion said practically. ‘And you don’t look so bad yourself.’

‘Where’s your luggage, luv? You won’t last long out of that small bag.’

‘I’ve got more than luggage, Mam. I’ve got furniture. It’s coming in a van tomorrow.’

Alice felt alarmed. ‘But there isn’t the room here for furniture, Fion.’

‘I know that.’ Fion snorted. ‘I’m not an idiot. The furniture’s going to me house on Stanley Road.’

‘You’ve got a house!’

‘It’s Horace Flynn’s old house that he left me in his will.’

‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Alice, who usually managed not to swear if children were present. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh? Wonders will never cease.’

‘Is our Orla still living in Pearl Street?’

‘Yes, luv,’ Alice said weakly, still trying to come to terms with the incredible fact that Horace Flynn’s house in Stanley Road now belonged to Fion. ‘Maeve’s in Waterloo. Her and Martin are coming to tea.’

‘I’ll go round and see Orla in a minute. I’ll leave the kids with you, if you don’t mind.’

‘As if I’d mind being left with these two little darlings,’ Alice cried, hugging the children to her. ‘Ask Orla and everyone back to tea. I’ll take Colin and Bonnie round me dad’s and see if Bernadette can lend us some food. Oh, I can’t remember when I last felt so happy.’ Fion’s return more than made up for John’s recent visit, the memory of which still haunted her.

To make things even better Fion had news of Cormac. ‘I think he might soon be back as well.’

‘Did he say what was wrong?’ Alice asked anxiously. ‘I think something must have happened at university to make him not want to go back. He was doing so well, too.’

‘He didn’t say anything, Mam. Perhaps he’d been studying so much his brain got tired. I’ve heard it can happen.’

Alice sighed blissfully. ‘I can’t wait to have him home. It’ll be just like old times, all four of you here. And these two little ’uns will make it absolutely perfect.’

‘Oh, so you saw fit to show your face again, Fion Lacey.’ Orla’s face was cold when she opened the door to find her sister on the step. ‘You know, Mam was dead upset when you walked out.’

‘She was dead upset when Micky Lavin put you up the stick,’ Fion said, grinning. ‘So I reckon we’re even when it comes to upsetting Mam. And it’s Fion Littlemore, if you don’t mind. I’m a mother now of two small children.’

Orla’s cold expression vanished and she grinned back. ‘It’s great to have you home, sis. You look marvellous. Our Maeve’s become a real pain since she got married. All she talks about is her bloody house.’

‘It’s good to
be
home, Orla. Now, are you going to let me in, or must I stand on this doorstep for ever?’

An impromptu party took place at the Laceys’ that night. Danny Mitchell went to the off-licence and returned laden with wine, beer and crisps. Bernadette quickly made two dozen sausage rolls. Orla, never an expert in the kitchen, coaxed Lulu into making a tray of fairy cakes. Maeve was telephoned and asked to bring whatever was available.

‘I bought a tin of iced biscuits for Christmas the other
day. I’ll fetch them and anything else I can find,’ Maeve promised. ‘Tell our Fion I can’t wait to see her.’

‘Jaysus! She’s become so
efficient
!’ Orla groaned. ‘Who in their right mind buys biscuits for Christmas in September?’

‘Our Maeve does, obviously. It’s no worse than someone with four children not being able to rustle up a fairy cake.’

‘You’ve not changed, Fion. You were always one to call a spade a spade.’

‘I could never understand why anyone would want to call a spade anything else. Are my Elvis records still around, Mam?’

‘They’re in the parlour, luv. You’ll find Cormac’s there too. He was fond of Gerry and the Pacemakers and Herman’s Hermits – and the Beatles, of course.’

It’s quite like old times, Alice thought as she prepared a mountain of sandwiches and listened to her daughters bicker. But there was no spite behind it now. Fion wasn’t jealous of Orla any more. She felt her equal.