Meet Me at the Pier Head (6 page)

‘I hope not,’ was Delia’s answer. ‘If I grow any upper, I’ll be too tall.’

‘Too tall for a man?’ Juliet asked mischievously.

Delia shrugged. ‘Too tall for me,’ she answered.

Tia held her tongue. For some years, she had suspected that Delia was different. Unlike the other two Bellamy girls, she kept herself plain, unadorned and in clothes that might be termed neither
feminine nor completely masculine. She wore jeans, shirts, socks and flat shoes, no makeup and no perfume. Boyfriends had never appeared on the scene, though she was very close to the lads in the
skiffle group.

‘You’re pretty if you’d just clean up your act,’ said the innocent Juliet.

‘I am what I am.’ There was an edge to Delia’s tone.

Tia jumped up. ‘Time for my escape, girls. The London train should have left by now, so we’d better make hay before sundown.’

Juliet sat with Tia for the ride back to Bartle Hall. ‘What’s the matter with Delia? Why does she get so . . . so surly?’

Tia kept her eyes on the road. Surely Juliet, a nurse, must have read about people’s differences? ‘It’s just the way she’s made, Jules. I want you to find Kingsley the
bear and Charlie, my blue rabbit. They’ll be in the nursery.’

‘Taking them with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about books?’

‘I’ll get them.’ There. That was the subject changed, thank goodness.

The afternoon became a blur of activity. Two ancient trunks were retrieved from the attic and placed empty in the van, as they were heavy enough without Tia’s extensive collection of
clothes. She dealt with her own books and clothing, while Delia and Juliet concentrated on memories, which included a rocking horse bought for Tia’s third birthday and a large dolls’
house, including furniture and battery-powered lighting.

Joan Reynolds supervised proceedings and collected Tia’s jewellery, handbags and large assortment of hats and shoes. The cook, Daphne Melia, packed sandwiches and drinks for both drivers
before bidding them a teary farewell.

Isadora was remarkably calm. Seated on her chaise with each arm round one of her precious girls, she advised both to take their time while driving north. ‘Be happy,’ she ordered.
‘Skiffle all you like, Cordelia, and I know that you, Portia, will be a wonderful teacher. There is little point in trying to reason with your father, so make no attempt. Help your sister to
settle in,’ she begged of her middle child.

‘I will, Ma. I can keep the van for another few days, because the lads have hopped off to France for a fortnight.’ She blushed. ‘We’re so proud of you, Ma, and so glad
you’re not alcoholic.’

The mother studied this daughter. ‘Are you lesbian, dear?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

Tia sighed with relief. Delia had needed to offload that information for years.

Isadora smiled. ‘I do hope you meet someone as good and as kind as you are, sweetheart. Be aware that some people will castigate you, but, unlike men, you can’t be jailed. Poor Oscar
served time, but Queen Victoria decided that lesbianism didn’t exist, since she couldn’t imagine what women might do together.’ She took hold of Delia’s face and kissed her
on the forehead. ‘Be yourself, and to hell with prejudice.’

She turned to Tia. ‘Enjoy your work, dear child.’

‘You will come to stay, Ma? Mr Quinn says it’s fine with him, and he won’t tell anyone who or where you are. Nanny has the address.’

‘When my lawyer has organized the papers and other evidence, Joan and I will be with you. Thank Mr Quinn before we get there. Now, you must go while enough daylight remains. I’ll be
in touch.’ She turned to Delia. ‘When you leave Portia in Liverpool, go back to your place in London. If reporters find you, tell them nothing. Your father’s predilection for
young women will be big news.’

‘Yes, Ma.’

The girls rose and stepped back, still facing their mother.

Isadora beamed at the pair. ‘Remember when the Blyton Three tried to prove that Mr Jenkins at the Punch Bowl was selling drink brought in by smugglers through tunnels under the village
green?’

Tia and Delia smiled.

‘And when you decided that Miss Evans-Jones was stealing books from the library?’

Tia tried and failed to look contrite.

‘Then you wanted the vet prosecuted for murdering your pony, Portia.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Tia replied. ‘Those were the days.’

‘It was playacting,’ Isadora said. ‘You turned your lives into an epic adventure, and you were all offered places at good drama schools. It’s in you. If you ever change
your minds and decide to follow me into film or theatre, tell me. If you don’t want that, it really doesn’t matter. Chase your own dreams, not mine, not your father’s. Now,
go.’

They kissed their mother and left her room. ‘Ma says she’ll look after the stuff in Rose Cottage,’ Tia said. ‘Her watercolour paintings, the photographs and the portraits
of us.’

‘Just as well – the van’s so full, it might expire.’

‘My car’s stuffed as well, Delia.’

They found Juliet ironing her uniform. ‘When shall we three meet again?’ she asked, her tone clouded by unshed tears.

‘Soon,’ Tia promised. ‘Please don’t blub, Jules, or we’ll all be weeping. Remember, it ain’t over till the fat lady sings.’

‘And who’s the fat lady?’ Delia asked.

All three answered together, ‘Mrs Melia, Delia.’

Juliet giggled. ‘We are cruel.’

‘Power to the Blyton Three,’ called Tia.

They pressed three fists together and shouted, ‘Victory,’ before the two older girls left their baby sister to her ironing. She didn’t follow, as she was too upset to stand and
watch them leaving Bartle Hall.

‘Why do I feel as if this is goodbye?’ Delia asked.

‘Because we’re leaving.’

‘I mean goodbye forever.’

Tia snorted. ‘Just let Ma do her worst and her best, sis. Never give up. The Blyton Three always had hope. Remember that.’

‘Pandora’s box,’ Delia murmured. ‘Nil desperandum.’

‘Yes, that as well. Come on, I’ll lead the way.’

It was a long drive. They stopped on a B road north of Birmingham, pulling into a dirt lay-by to eat and drink the offerings of Mrs Melia. Tia was stiff and complaining loudly
of old age catching up on her. ‘My calves have petrified,’ she moaned.

‘It’s that daft car,’ Delia told her. ‘You have to drive almost lying down. Anyway, the van loaded with all your junk is hard on the arms, so shut up.’

‘It’s not junk.’

‘Matter of opinion.’ Delia bit into a crusty cob filled with salad and ham, while Tia gulped down some welcome lemonade.

‘Juliet doesn’t know,’ she said, wiping her mouth on a handkerchief. ‘About you, I mean.’

‘I’ll tell her when she’s ready,’ Delia spluttered, her mouth full.

‘Younger than her years in some ways,’ Tia pondered aloud. ‘Very organized, yet frail. I’m sure she won’t be judgemental, though.’

Delia swallowed. ‘It doesn’t matter how she reacts, because I am what I am. Of course, I don’t want to lose one of my sisters; I love both of you, but I really think I was born
like this. I don’t wish to be a man, by the way, but I’m never going to be a frilly girl with lipstick, high heels and bangles. You and she are so feminine and beautiful, and I’m
. . . I’m me.’

‘I’m glad you’re you. Have you met anyone?’

‘Yes, I think so. She follows the group all over London, but she prefers my company to the boys’. Time will tell. The signals aren’t always clear.’

Tia laughed. ‘They can get a bit confusing on my side of the fence, too. Simon is moving to Liverpool. I’ve told him he’s more of a brother, but I think he suffers from
selective deafness. He thinks Pa put me off because of the Jewish thing, but that’s not the case at all.’

‘He’s just not right for you, Tia. We can all see that.’

‘Pity he can’t. Let’s eat up and get back on the road; it’ll be dusk in a couple of hours. I suppose we could have slept in the van had it not been full.’

‘Your fault.’

‘Oh, eat up. We’re more than halfway there.’

They finished their al fresco meal in silence, went for petrol and used facilities that were primitive but necessary, since neither girl relished the idea of driving a further hundred miles with
a full bladder. ‘I’ve never seen Liverpool,’ Delia said.

‘Think London, but smaller. Oh, and the accent’s interesting.’

‘Let’s be off, Tia. And I’m not emptying the van tonight. Perhaps your man might do it for us.’

‘My man? Why do you say he’s my man?’

Delia shrugged. ‘It’s just the way your eyes have lit up the two or three times you’ve mentioned his name.’

‘What?’

‘All right, don’t get your knickers in a knot. Drive, Tia. After all, you’re in charge, aren’t you?’

While Tia Bellamy made her way upcountry, her soon-to-be boss was chairing an informal meeting in his office at Myrtle Street School. The subject under discussion was a frail
five-year-old girl who was due to start school in September. Undernourished, ill-clad and often bruised, she was almost certainly the victim of domestic abuse and wilful neglect. Her situation had
been noticed by neighbours some weeks earlier, and action was about to be attempted.

Roy Duckworth, father of repeat offender and lovable rogue Colin, had brought with him Tom and Nancy Atherton, a married couple nearing pensionable age who lived next door to Rosie Tunstall, her
mother and her soon-to-be adoptive stepfather. The fourth person attending on this day was Jack Peake, caretaker of the school. All were worried about little Rosie, all lived in Isabel Street, and
all were trusted implicitly by Theo Quinn.

‘It’s a brothel. No use tarting it up and colouring it in with posh words,’ said Tom Atherton. ‘Let’s speak plain. You can hear them at it in both front rooms,
downstairs and upstairs, especially at weekends. It’s a bloody nightmare. Am I right, Nancy?’

‘You’re right, love, but don’t swear in front of the headmaster or you’ll end up in detention doing the American War of Independence or Custard’s Last Stand.’
She carried on with her knitting; she was making a green cardigan for Rosie.

‘Custer,’ her husband told her.

‘Is Maggie coming?’ Roy Duckworth asked, referring to Rosie’s maternal grandmother. ‘Not like her to be late for something as important as this.’

‘She’s been working this afternoon.’ Theo stood up and glanced through the Myrtle Street window. ‘She’s just walked through the gate. Now, remember, we don’t
want to upset her any more than necessary, so we keep this short. But we need the police to raid the place while Rosie’s mother and friend are entertaining clients, so Maggie’s daughter
will be taken into custody as a result.’

Roy nodded. ‘OK. But we have to be cruel to be kind.’

The group became quiet; the only sound available to human ears was the strangely soothing click of Nancy Atherton’s knitting needles.

Theo stood up and smiled encouragingly when Maggie Stone entered the room. ‘Maggie, you know everyone here.’ He waited until the greetings had died down. ‘I was just about to
say that you need to be in Mr and Mrs Atherton’s house when the raid happens. With luck, Rosie will be handed into your care.’

The new arrival put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, this is terrible. Sadie’s my daughter, and here I am, planning to put her in jail. It doesn’t feel right.’

Tom Atherton took Maggie’s hand. ‘Listen, love, it’s the only way. Your Sadie’s an adult. She should think enough of that kiddy to get her out of there and down to your
house, so that they could both—’

‘He said if Sadie runs to mine, he’ll burn our house down with us inside it. Rosie’s not allowed to visit me in case she says something out of turn. How will he react when
Rosie’s at school with loads of people to talk to?’

‘That’s why we do it before she starts school, Maggie.’ Tom squeezed her hand. ‘Come on, queen, we can’t have arson on top of everything else, can we? Miles
Tunstall has to go to jail before he starts playing with paraffin and matches. It makes sense, love.’

‘He’s right,’ Nancy said.

Theo shivered internally, but said nothing. Employing familiar tactics, he swallowed memories and nightmares, flame and smoke, imprisoning them deep inside his core. Nothing could touch him now
as long as he kept himself calm and controlled. He was adult, he was in England, the past was the past, and he had responsibilities.

Maggie continued. ‘I know he’s adopting our Rosie, but he doesn’t give a damn about her. What about when he puts her on the game in a few years? Oh yes, if they ran to me,
he’d burn my house down with my little granddaughter in it, and he’d walk away whistling.’

‘She’s right, love. I’ve heard him a few times threatening to set fire to Maggie’s house.’ Nancy Atherton changed needles.

Maggie nodded and dried her eyes. ‘He’s not normal, that one. In trouble for years.’

‘Dangerous,’ was Jack Peake’s spoken contribution. ‘Even at school, he was thieving, beating other kids, starting trouble everywhere he went. One of the places he went
was borstal, and that’s where he learned to be a real criminal. Then in jail when he was older, he met the experts and the result is the upstanding pimp and dealer in stolen goods we see
today.’

‘That’s why arrest’s the only way,’ Theo said. ‘He won’t get bail, not from what I heard – in confidence, of course, from a source I mustn’t name.
But your daughter will. Then you can take care of both your girls.’

‘Yes,’ Maggie replied, tears pooling in her eyes. ‘Oh, yes. I can take care of them, all the while looking over my shoulder in case the rat gets out of custody. Where can we
run when he gets out? And my Sadie might go back on the game whether he’s locked up or free.’

‘That’s another bridge,’ Roy Duckworth said. ‘Truth is, it’s us, his neighbours, who’ll be putting an end to his little empire. He won’t know that you
were in on it. He’s dragging our street down. I’ve lived on Isabel Street since I married Trish, and how long have you been there, Tom?’

‘Thirty-two years,’ Tom Atherton replied.

‘That’s right, love,’ his wife agreed. ‘Knew them all, we did. The Poveys, the Kennedys – they had a lad with a club foot – Dora Entwistle with the dark
moustache, the O’Hallorans, the Flynns, the Morrisons, the—’