Meet Me at the Pier Head (37 page)

‘I was sore for weeks after being whipped and knifed.’ He took a deep but unsteady breath. ‘When I got back from the hospital clinic that evening, the trailer was on fire and .
. . and I heard her screaming. Dad received terrible burns from trying to rescue his Lily Mae, my mom. Mr Delaney, who owned the ranch, shot dead two of the masked killers. One was the sheriff of a
nearby hick town; the other was one of his deputies.’

Tears rolled down Theo’s face, though he did not sob. ‘My mother’s limp was from an attack she’d endured as a child, since she didn’t belong anywhere, because she
wasn’t completely anything. And that is why I can’t have, mustn’t have, children. The world isn’t good enough for any son or daughter of mine, Tia.’

A tangled mass of words sat in her mind, though she prevented them from reaching him. Indignation and sympathy almost choked her as she fought to remain outwardly tranquil; at this moment, she
realized how much she truly loved this furious, frightened man. But she had to tell him, must say it now. ‘Teddy?’

‘What?’

‘It makes no difference to me, to how I feel. I know we’re right. Even after so brief a time, I know we’re right.’

‘Yes. So do I.’

‘Then for Rosie’s sake, we think seriously about doing this Ma’s way.’

He shrugged.

‘Think about it, Teddy.’

‘We’ll see.’ He paused for a while. ‘When I saw those notices in London, I felt like blacking my face, shouting with an Irish accent, or barking like a dog. I got a bed,
but what about others who were real “niggers”? That’s the word. That’s the word they wanted to write on their signs, because it’s easier to spell than
“coloured”. But I must say this – they’re honest. They don’t hide behind masks and silly dresses – they write it down and display their antipathy.’

She felt his frustration and his fear. Because of some faulty commandment invented by stupid, prejudiced people, Teddy was denying himself the third innate right of man. The right to have a
family and to raise that family followed close on the heels of the right to life and the right to bodily integrity. Because his mother had been dark, she had suffered a cruel death, while he had
been badly scarred.

‘So there you have it,’ he said.

Tia pointed south. ‘No, there you have it. Liverpool is built on the bones of your African ancestors.’

‘That is an over-simplified view, Tia. Remember the poverty, the primitive cellar dwellings with no windows and water running down the walls, the rate of infantile mortality, the pain of
hunger. Yes, the big, bad money boys made a pile, but the people of Liverpool began to get jobs and were slightly better housed and better fed. What the hell did they know about Africa?’

He paused for breath. ‘Yes, boat crews knew what their cargo was, but they, too, were struggling to feed children, so what should they have done? Refused money, refused the work, remained
in dire poverty – was that feasible? Africans weren’t people. They were thought of as something unusual, a missing link between animal-and mankind. The whole mess was built on
ignorance. America wanted cheap labour, and America got what it wanted. Now it’s stuck with a lot of angry descendants of those slaves. If it hadn’t been Liverpool or Bristol or London,
if it hadn’t been England, some other country would have complied.’

She wondered how he could be so generous, so in love with a city that had traded in human souls. His distaste for the southern states of America was more than justified, yet he forgave
Liverpool?

He spoke as if reading her mind. ‘Here, they learned, Portia. When slavery ended, merchant ships from this great port simply switched to different cargo. They were excellent sailors and
brilliant navigators. Yes, African lives were lost at sea in conditions that were beyond primitive. They were fed thin gruel and they perished in their own effluent. But it stopped. In America, it
never stopped. The whites go to church and read their Bibles, then they put on their pure white gowns and their pure white pointy hats and they kill black people.’

She was quicker, angrier this time. ‘It hasn’t stopped here if people won’t give rooms to those of mixed race.’

‘There’s no Klan in Britain.’

‘What do you think Mosley was about? Boy scouts and jamborees?’

‘I think he was wrong, yet open. He wore no mask, Portia. It’s the Klan’s attempts at anonymity that get to me. Yellow-bellied cowards to a man, they are. North America
isn’t too bad, but the southern states are steeped in prejudice and religion that has no moral base. I just had to get out, and my father’s people are here, in Liverpool. What? Why are
you studying me so closely?’

‘Does your father have red hair?’

Theo managed to smile at last. ‘Yes, though most of it’s gone now.’

‘There’s red in your sideburns.’

‘I know.’

She shook her head. ‘Right, that’s my mind made up. I don’t want a red-haired child. See? I can be as silly as you are. Come on, let’s go home, Teddy.’

‘What if it’s just infatuation, Tia?’

‘I’ve done infatuation. This tastes different.’

He nodded his agreement. ‘Just because it’s happened at the speed of light doesn’t make it any less real, I guess.’

‘Then we must follow our star, Teddy.’

‘You’re my star, you terrible woman.’

It was too early to tell him that she wanted his children, that she held the opinion that all would be equal within twenty years, that colour and creed would cease to matter. ‘Yes, follow
me, baby. I have a terrific sense of direction.’

‘Good, because we’ll share the driving tomorrow.’

‘Bugger.’

‘Yes, that too.’

Having asked and been granted permission, Tia told Ma, Joan and Juliet the life story of Theodore Patrick Quinn as soon as she reached home. When she delivered the part about
the burning trailer, Tia’s mother and sister were both in tears. Joan, the quiet stalwart, kept her cool, though her eyelids were more mobile than usual.

‘He manages not to blame Liverpool,’ Tia said. ‘He insists that it’s all historic and that the city opens its arms to most incomers. Not once has he seen here notices
banning certain people from asking for a room. As you’re aware, he doesn’t look like a person of mixed race, but he insists that any wife of an octoroon might give birth to a coloured
baby.’ She snorted in a very un-Roedean fashion. ‘If he thinks he’ll get away with that nonsense, I shall put him right.’

Juliet dried her eyes. ‘Pa was bad enough when he thought you’d set your sights on Simon – this would drive him crazy.’

Tia nodded sorrowfully. ‘I wonder how he’d feel if you married a half-Jew and I married an octoroon? He is one prejudiced man. He struts around the stage blacked up as Othello,
but—’

‘We have coloured actors now,’ Izzy reminded her eldest daughter.

‘Good,’ Tia said. ‘That should save a few pounds on greasepaint.’

‘Pa’s fighting back,’ Juliet said. ‘He’s counter-suing Ma for unreasonable behaviour and mental cruelty because she pretended to be drunk for months.’

Izzy shrugged. ‘I’m not Ma, darling. I’m Izzy. Richard is purchasable. I’m having Bartle Hall valued, and I shall buy it from him by offering a little more than is
strictly necessary.’ She turned to Tia. ‘Look after Theo. Don’t hurt him emotionally, since he’s already had enough of that. If your minds are made up, keep the appointment
I made for you; if you’re unsure, cancel it. I realize it’s all been very quick, but if you’re both sure about protecting Rosie, you need to be in a stronger position.’

‘Oh, Ma, I . . .’

‘Oh, manage him,’ quiet Joan said, her voice stronger than usual. ‘Men are uncomplicated creatures.’

‘Nanny, he isn’t easy to deal with. He’s a determined soul with a dark history. His mind is set.’

‘Then change it for him,’ Joan almost shouted. ‘We can all see that you’ll settle only for him and that he feels the same. Follow your heart and give your brain a rest.
Let him chase you till you catch him. I’m serious. You’ll never forgive yourself if you lose him. Izzy, tell her.’

Izzy shrugged. ‘You know my girls better than that, Joan. They do as they please no matter what you or I say.’

Tia sat back and closed her eyes. Tomorrow promised to be one hell of a day. Tomorrow night would be . . . different, too.

Downstairs, Theo listened while Maggie read the story of Sleeping Beauty to her granddaughter.
Well, you did it, Theo. You finally managed to tell a woman why you’re such a mess, such
a sad man. And it was cathartic, cleansing, though difficult. Yes, you haven’t known her long and yes, commitment is a huge step and yes, she’ll want children. We might adopt
eventually. There are hundreds of them out there in need of a settled home, and Rosie is just the start.

Maggie entered. ‘Did you have a nice time?’

He shrugged. ‘Like the curate’s egg, it was good in parts.’

She had no idea what he meant by that. ‘And Tia?’

‘She played to the gallery, as usual. She and I are similar, both in danger because of our sense of humour. Let’s just say she was naughty, shall we?’

‘Oh deary me. She looked lovely, didn’t she?’

Again, he raised his shoulders. ‘Yes, she had some of the men salivating like hungry hounds. Speaking of which, where’s Mickle?’

‘She’s asleep with Tyger in the basket. That cat will miss her.’

‘I am not taking the cat to Kent. Let the ladies upstairs spoil him for a while. I’ll just pack the last of my things.’ He left her listening to the radio.

After closing his suitcase, he took a bath before going to bed. Sleep eluded him until the early hours; all he could think of was the long drive south, Rosie and Maggie, the
fuss that might be caused by Emily Garner when she discovered that the child and her grandmother had disappeared.

The plot thickened. Would he and Tia keep that appointment on Thursday? Would they win Rosie by keeping that appointment? Would she be safe from her own birth mother and all potential pimps?
Questions, questions. He slept fitfully and was woken at dawn by birdsong. It was time. Today was just the beginning.

On Saturday, Nancy Atherton discovered something new about herself. Riding in a converted ambulance put paid to knitting if she gazed down at her work. As long as she knitted
without looking, as long as she wasn’t counting stitches or reading a pattern, all was well, but she couldn’t lower her eyes without feeling ill. She needed to get out of the vehicle
several times, as did Tom, because he would not leave his wife’s side, especially when she felt sick.

Rosie, who had started the day in a quiet but happy state, fell asleep after the first hundred miles. Her night had been restless due to anticipation and excitement, so she had to be woken now
whenever they stopped for food and drink. ‘You’re missing some pretty places,’ Maggie told her, but the child continued to fall asleep. Her temporary nickname was Dozy Rosie,
though it didn’t matter, as she wasn’t awake to hear it.

Mickle took it all in her majestic stride. She lay on her special blanket next to luggage in the back part of the van behind an open-work metal screen, very relaxed and happy to go along with
whatever these peculiar creatures expected of her. She was fed and watered regularly and given a short walk, after which she was allowed to sleep. What more could a dog want from life?

Maggie’s eyes were wide with wonder; she had never before been out of Liverpool except for the odd day trip to Blackpool, Southport, Morecambe or North Wales. ‘It’s so
green,’ she said repeatedly. ‘There’s loads of space with no houses,’ she announced once or twice.

‘We’re taking the scenic route,’ Theo called to her. The scenic route meant a journey in excess of three hundred and fifty miles, so Tia had to do her share. As she’d
driven farm vehicles along narrow lanes from the age of twelve, the extra width of the van didn’t worry her.

With her thick mane of hair in a pony tail and her legs clad in those abbreviated jeans, Tia Bellamy looked like a very tall five-year-old except for her rather magnificent upper body. She felt
Theo’s eyes on her. He put her in mind of a starving child whose nose is pressed against the window of a baker’s shop; his experiences of physical love were probably few and far
between. She had plans for him, and he had been untypically quiet of late.

Theo tried hard not to stare at her while she drove, but his disobedient eyes were clearly riveted to her by some irresistible force, and he found it impossible to concentrate on the lush green
beauty of England. ‘What about London?’ he whispered. ‘Rosie’s asleep, so she wouldn’t see much.’

‘Later in the week or on our way back,’ was her reply. ‘My arms ache.’

By the time they reached their destination, dusk had begun its descent. Theo parked the van and heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief. ‘Come on, sleepyheads, we’re here,’ he
called, mischief in his tone.

Maggie blinked and stared through the window. ‘You never said Chaddington Green was at the seaside.’

Theo and Tia grinned at each other.

Nancy woke. ‘I’ve dropped a stitch,’ she grumbled.

‘You never said it was seaside,’ Maggie repeated.

‘That’s because my home isn’t at the seaside,’ Tia told her. ‘This is beautiful Broadstairs. Your hotel, the King’s Albion, is here on the front.
Everything’s paid for, and your spending money is in Rosie’s case. You are expected. The manager will tell you about the sights and how to get to Deal or Ramsgate or Margate.
There’s even transport to Dover and the famous cliffs.’

The hotel was massive, white, and lit up from the outside as well as on the inside. ‘That looks a bit expensive for the likes of us,’ Maggie mused quietly.

‘It’s a lovely place,’ Tom said, looking out at the harbour. He wondered whether there might be fishing trips, though he wasn’t sure about leaving his Nancy to worry in
case he fell overboard and drowned.

‘You’re right.’ Nancy had apparently ceased to worry about a dropped stitch. ‘Yes, you’re right, Tom. It’s so pretty.’

‘We’ll pick you up on Thursday morning,’ Tia announced, ‘because we may have a meeting in Canterbury on that day. You’ll love Canterbury.’