Liverpool Love Song (21 page)

He couldn’t remember when he’d last had his hair cut. The Beatles had made longish hair fashionable for men, and for the last year or so he’d asked the barber to do him something similar to Paul McCartney’s cut. It had grown rampantly and needed to be reshaped, but that wouldn’t do for Francis. When the time was right, he’d have his wild brown mop cut into the style shown in Francis’s photograph. Not exactly a traditional short back and sides, but still quite restrained. And he’d find himself some heavy spectacles with clear glass in the frames; that should give him a more academic appearance and hopefully make him look older.

That evening, Leo did not feel like turning up for work as night desk attendant at the hotel. He’d had a busy and exciting day with very little sleep. But he’d have to go because his plan was to change nothing until the time was right for him to adopt the persona of Francis Clitheroe.

For that, he needed to find a job for Francis and get himself hired to do it. That wouldn’t be easy, but if he could find just the right niche, he would not only be paid a good salary but hopefully be able to tap into company funds and help himself. A chief accountant he thought would find that possible, but he’d need the top job; it would never do to have a boss who was a qualified accountant peering over his shoulder all the time.

Leo thought about it some more, it would not be easy to pull the wool over the eyes of any accountant, even if he were considered his junior. Particularly one who had been passed over for promotion and who might therefore resent him. What he needed was a job where Francis would be the only qualified accountant in the business. Therefore, it would need to be a small- to medium-sized firm.

There were always lots of newspapers left lying around in the hotel; Leo never needed to buy one. Both he and Gary picked up enough to give them all the reading they wanted through the night hours. Sometimes they disagreed over who should have first read of the tabloids and magazines. There were many more broadsheet papers, this being an expensive hotel.

Tonight Leo wanted to look through the situations vacant columns to find a job Francis Clitheroe might apply for, but he didn’t want Gary to see him doing it. He waited until the security guard had settled down for his two-hour nap, then fished out a copy of each of the main broadsheets. He realised almost immediately that most of the jobs advertised were in different parts of the country. Here was one that looked hopeful, but it was in Sheffield, and there were many more in London.

He sat back and thought about it. It would be safer to move to London, but Liverpool was where he’d been born and brought up; he had local knowledge here, and it was where he felt at home. He would be less at ease anywhere else. Francis’s new job, he decided, must be in Liverpool.

He took the broadsheets to the rubbish pile and selected instead the
Liverpool Daily Post
. Accountants, he found, were much in demand; there were several firms advertising for their services. Being local meant he’d be able to check the businesses out before he applied. It was at that point that he thought about his address. Nobody earning an accountant’s salary would live where he did.

He turned to the property pages. There was little to rent, and dare he attempt to buy a house? He shivered at the thought. He wasn’t planning a lifetime career, only one lasting a few months until he could get into the firm’s bank account. Finding a new home would need more thought, more money and probably more study.

The next morning Leo went to a theatrical costumier and bought himself a pair of spectacles with heavy black frames and clear glass lenses, and then went straight to the library to look for a book on accounting procedures.

Chloe had been looking forward to going with Adam to Wentworth’s auction rooms, which was in the suburbs on the other side of Manchester. He always seemed to enjoy the auctions he went to and she was keen to know whether the proposed visit to Liverpool would be possible.

The sale day was a wet Thursday morning. Apart from a quick pram push to the local shops, this was Chloe’s first outing with her three-week-old baby. They arrived early because Adam wanted to be there when his furniture went under the hammer. He knew a lot of the people in the trade and was walking round talking to them, leaving her and the children sitting on the end of the back row in the packed hall.

Chloe was trying to keep Lucy amused with the toys she’d brought, but she was more interested in the Steiff teddy bear and antique dolls that would shortly go under the hammer. Zac was restless in this strange place, though she’d fed him before coming. She was finding the waiting tedious.

Her eye was caught by the scene reflected in a row of gilt-framed mirrors hanging along the wall. She was able to pick herself out, but she wasn’t flattered. Her hair was untidy and badly in need of a trim and she looked hot and harassed and older than her twenty years. She would have liked to take off her new blue anorak, but Zac had regurgitated his feed on the pullover she was wearing underneath.

Lucy chuckled with delight when she too noticed their reflection. She snuggled closer to Chloe, pulling faces and waving at herself. ‘That’s me, Mummy.’ In her best pink coat and bonnet with golden curls showing round it, she was a very attractive toddler.

At last the auctioneer announced the first of Adam’s lots, ‘Fine-quality mahogany dining table.’ Zac chose that moment to start throwing his arms about and making ticking noises, which Chloe recognised as a sign that he was about to cry. She picked him out of his carrycot on wheels, hoping to forestall him. The place was already noisy enough for those trying to hear what the auctioneer was saying. Zac opened his mouth and let out a wail of protest.

In an effort to comfort him, she lifted him to her shoulder, rocked him and patted his back. He belched audibly and followed that by expelling another mouthful of his feed down the back of her new anorak. Knowing she’d failed to get his wind up after his feed made her feel incompetent as a mother.

Zac began to cry in earnest, and Chloe was afraid he must still feel uncomfortable. She stood up, knowing she’d have to take him out; his cries of distress were disturbing others. She laid him back in his pram and, catching hold of Lucy’s hand, tried to take them both out, but Lucy refused to walk past the Steiff bear and wriggled free, lifting her arms towards it.

‘No, love, you must come with me.’ Chloe took her hand in a firmer grasp and half dragged her towards the door. Lucy let out a scream of protest and started to jump with rage. Now both her children were crying noisily and people were turning to stare at them.

Chloe turned to look imploringly at Adam; she wanted his help, but his handsome face was flint hard and his lips mouthed the words ‘Get them out of here.’

Now Lucy tossed herself down and drummed her heels on the dusty floor in a full-blown temper tantrum. Zac joined in his sister’s crescendo of screams. Picking up her squirming and kicking daughter, Chloe tucked her under her arm and pushed the pram to the door. It was a relief to get out into the busy street, with the rain cooling her cheeks. Mortified with embarrassment, she stood Lucy on her feet and brushed what she could of the dust and dirt from her back.

‘Don’t you dare lie down on this wet pavement,’ she told her. ‘It’ll ruin your pretty coat.’ Lucy was still playing up. ‘I’ll spank you if you do. You’ve even got dust on the back of your bonnet.’

But she couldn’t stay out here in the driving rain; they were getting drenched. She pulled up the hood on her anorak and drew back into the porch. The advice they handed out at the clinic for dealing with a temper tantrum was to ignore the child, walk away from her and deny her what she wanted.

Chloe sighed. That was hardly practical here. An old lady also sheltering in the porch offered Lucy a jelly sweet. But that would be a reward, so Chloe had to say no thank you, and try to comfort her daughter with hugs instead.

Zac was quietening down and looked as though he might doze off. Chloe had a big bag of baby equipment attached to the pram and was able to drag out Lucy’s rain cape and reins. Once she had those on her daughter, she felt she’d be able to cope.

She was angry with Adam for refusing to help. What did he expect her to do now? He’d brought them here in his shooting brake, but if he was planning to stay much longer, she thought she might try going home on the bus. She pushed open the door to the hall and was in time to hear his chairs being knocked down for a price she knew would please him.

An elderly couple came out. ‘Do you know what the Georgian table made?’ Chloe asked, but they shook their heads. It didn’t matter; it had reached its reserve before she went out and the bidding had still been going up. Adam would have made enough to buy her a train ticket to Liverpool.

Her eyes searched him out in the crush of people at the back of the hall. Yes, there he was, with his back towards her and his attention firmly fixed on a slim young girl in a red pullover. Chloe wheeled the pram inside and headed towards him.

As she drew near, she heard him say persuasively, ‘We must do it again. What about tomorrow night?’

She felt her stomach lurch. The girl had seen her, and said to Adam, ‘I’d better get back to the office.’ She turned on her heel and left.

He replied, ‘I’ll come and see you before I go.’

It was only when Lucy swung on the bottom of his jacket and said, ‘Daddy, want to go home,’ that he noticed them. He seemed shocked to see Chloe so close.

‘Who was that?’ she asked.

He recovered his suave manner immediately. ‘She’s the cashier here.’

Her heart was pounding. ‘Pretty girl,’ she said. Did Adam have a new girlfriend? She was afraid he might have.

‘Good prices, you can go to your mother’s.’

‘Are you going to stay here much longer?’

‘For a while.’

‘Want to go home.’ Lucy tugged at him again.

‘Not yet, there’s a nice pair of decanters coming up soon.’

‘In that case,’ Chloe told him, ‘I’ll try and get back on the bus.’

‘Shouldn’t be too hard,’ he said. ‘You need to get back to the centre of the city, then catch the usual bus to Didsbury.’

Chloe’s knees felt shaky as she pushed the pram to the nearest bus stop.

Riding on the bus, Zac went to sleep and Lucy was sulky. Chloe was distressed; she felt as though her life was falling apart. Adam had told her that when he went out without her in the evenings he met a group of his old schoolfriends, men he’d known for years who enjoyed each other’s company. But now it seemed he’d found another girlfriend, and that made everything a hundred times worse. Chloe didn’t know if he was serious about the girl, but it had sounded as though he was spending a lot of time with her.

‘We must do it again,’ he’d said. ‘What about tomorrow night?’ What else could that mean?

Chloe fretted that if what she supposed was right, Adam would not want her living here with him. He didn’t seem to care at all for his children; they didn’t fit into the life he wanted to lead. The future suddenly looked frightening.

By the time she reached home, she felt exhausted and absolutely drained of energy, but she knew she’d feel better if she ate. Ruby had been and the house was neat and tidy. Chloe was heating up some soup she’d made yesterday when the phone rang. It was her mother.

‘How are you all?’ she asked. Chloe couldn’t tell her the truth; she was too uptight and she had to be sure of Adam’s intentions before she said anything. She made herself sound more upbeat than she was.

‘Everything’s fine, I’m just tired. I’ve talked it over with Adam and I’d love to bring the children and stay with you for a week.’

‘Good, when will you come?’

She knew it would take four days for the auction room to pay out, and then it probably meant a cheque in the post. ‘How about the middle of next week?’

‘That’s excellent. There’s just one thing. I’ve had to let Aunt Goldie come and live with me.’

‘Mum! Have you got room for all of us?’ Chloe had been blithely supposing that she could use the spare room for Lucy and have Zac with her in her old bedroom. She’d even thought about going to live there permanently, if things got any worse.

Mum didn’t sound too happy either. ‘We’ll all squeeze in. Marigold’s in the spare room, but I’ll make up a little bed on your floor for Lucy. I’m glad you’ve decided to come.’

‘I thought you didn’t want Aunt Goldie with you?’

‘I was being silly, afraid we’d get on each other’s nerves, but she’s been a wreck since she had her purse and key stolen. Rex changed the lock on her front door, but that didn’t help. You saw how upset she was. Somehow she can’t put it out of her mind. Poor Marigold, I couldn’t hold out against her any longer.’

‘Are you sure it’s all right? Me and the children coming too? It’ll mean a lot of work for you.’

‘Of course it’s all right, Chloe. I’ll love having you here. I can’t wait to see how the children have grown.’

Chloe put the phone down feeling as though Aunt Goldie had cut the ground from under her feet. How could she possibly suggest to Mum now that she move in with her permanently?

All the same, she was glad she’d be having a week away from Adam. Things were getting a bit strained between them. He never stopped carping about the mess and the noise the children made in his house. She packed the necessities for a week away, and tried not to think about the future.

The night before she left, Adam didn’t come home until nearly eleven. Chloe had fed Zac and was settling him down for the night. Adam lost no time in getting into bed and seemed to be asleep by the time she got there. He’d agreed to take them to the station the next morning.

Chloe was up early to get the children ready and to make their breakfast. Adam said little until they were all in the car, then as he put it in gear and pulled away, he dropped a bombshell.

‘Chloe, I’d rather you and the children didn’t come back.’

‘What?’ She’d been rushing round to get them ready in time and felt flummoxed.

‘You heard. I don’t want you or your kids back here. We aren’t getting on any more, are we?’