Perseverance Street (38 page)

It was
a story that brought shame down on the heads of many people, all of whom had been named in the article, including Hilda Muscroft and Vera Pilkington – a condition demanded by Lily before she gave the story to Henry.

The only person who escaped castigation by the article was DS Bannister and this was only because Lily still needed him on her side. Within half a minute of asking for him, Bannister was at the desk. He glanced behind her to see if any reporters were tagging along. He saw only Dee, who had read his mind.

‘We lost the reporters in the market,’ she said.

‘Right … good. You got back from Venice OK then?’

‘Yesterday,’ said Lily. ‘The RAF flew us all back.’

‘Good, now my inspector would like a word with you.’

Lily shook her head. ‘Tell your inspector he’s six months too late wanting a word with me. I only want to talk to you, Sergeant Bannister – no one else. You’re the most senior man the police ever assigned to my case.’

‘Well, you’d better come through.’

He led them through into an informal interview room furnished with comfortable chairs and a coffee table. ‘Can I get you anything to drink? Tea, coffee?’

‘No,
thanks. I just want to know what’s happening about Randle.’

‘Well, we picked up Mr and Mrs Randle in Bournemouth where they were about to open up a boarding house. They’re both being held on remand in separate prisons. Bernard Randle’s in Armley.’

‘How long do you think they’ll get?’

‘Child abduction? Selling a British child to an enemy of the crown? We’re thinking ten years minimum, possibly life.’

‘What about the Cominellis?’

‘The whole family’s being held in a Venice prison, including Mrs Mancini and various thugs who attacked Mr Cleghorn. Could be they’ll need you and Mrs Maguire to go over there and testify.’

Bannister allowed a few seconds to pass before he changed the subject. ‘How was Michael treated when he was over there?’

‘Well enough, but considering the murderous pig he would have for a father, who knows how long that might have lasted?’

‘I was sorry to hear about Mr Cleghorn.’

‘He saved Michael’s life, as did this lady here.’ She inclined her head towards Dee, who was standing behind her.

Bannister nodded, then said, ‘Lily, we’re pulling out all the stops in the search for Christopher.’

‘No need,’ said Lily, fixing the detective sergeant with an innocent stare. ‘We found him ourselves, which is really why we wanted to see you. Someone left him in his pram outside Auntie Dee’s house this morning. Didn’t they, Auntie Dee?’

‘Right
outside my front door, seven o’clock this very morning,’ confirmed Dee. ‘We were still in bed. Knock comes on the door. I went down, and there he was, in his pram. In good health. Not a mark on him. I had a good look around. No one about.’

Bannister held Lily’s gaze, not believing this for one moment. ‘Did they really? You must be overjoyed.’

‘Ecstatic,’ said Lily. ‘He’s outside the station right now, being looked after by Charlie’s mum. Do you want to see him?’

Bannister sat back in his chair. He was guessing that Charlie might have had a hand in Christopher’s disappearance, which would make Lily an accessory. This was an investigation that could only further damage the police. Lily could guess what was going through Bannister’s mind.

‘You haven’t come out of this too badly, have you, Sergeant? That was my doing. I told the reporter to go easy on you.’

Bannister shook his head and got to his feet. ‘I’m delighted you’ve got Christopher back. I’d better take a look at the child … then I’ll have a word with my superiors. Advise that the case be closed. Whoever took him wasted a hell of a lot of police time.’

‘Well, the police didn’t waste too much time looking for Michael, did they?’ said Lily. ‘So, it kind of balances things out, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Stop
here please would you, driver?’

The taxi pulled up near the end of Perseverance Street. Lily and Michael got out and the taxi driver helped her to put Christopher in a pram. Lily held out two half-crowns to pay the fare.

‘No charge, Mrs Robinson. I know who you are. It was an honour to bring you here. Something to tell ’em about back at the office.’

Lily smiled. ‘Thank you, but I must insist. If you won’t take it as my fare take it as a tip.’

It was a cold but bright Saturday, three days from Christmas, the first time she’d been back to Perseverance Street since returning from Italy. There’d be children playing in the street, maybe the odd adult standing in a doorway talking to a neighbour. A normal Saturday for them. Not for Lily. It had been a long time since she’d had a normal day. She pushed the pram along the stone-flagged pavement and turned the corner into her street. A telegraph boy cycled past her on his creaking red bike, whistling loudly. Lily recognised him as the same boy who’d delivered the bad news about Larry. She smiled as she watched him pedal down the street. The end of the war must have made his job easier, but she knew it wasn’t all good news. Not all the men were coming home, and not all the men who did come home were coming back to the same wives they’d left behind. Many wives had been doing war work instead of housework and had developed an independence they were disinclined to relinquish. Infidelities were being exposed, marriages were breaking down. But these men were better off than the men who had no homes to come home to, just piles of rubble. And even these men were better off than the men who had no homes or wives and families to come home to. Families killed by the Luftwaffe. Then there were the men who came back with heads full of the horrors of war and not wishing to share these horrors with anyone. They would cope by not talking about what they’d seen. It had been a bad time for a lot of people. In many ways Lily had got off lightly. It was her way of looking at things. She was still alive. Her boys were still alive. As she thought these thoughts her mind dwelt on Charlie. A group of children were playing rounders, including Harry Bridges, the boy who threw the brick through her window. As she walked past him she stopped and called out.

‘Harry
Bridges. Why did you break my window?’

There was no anger in her voice. Just a woman being curious, wanting an answer to a simple question.

Harry was eleven years old. Old enough to throw bricks through windows but too young to know why. The game stopped. All the children were looking at Lily, not knowing what to do. They all knew her story. It had been in the papers. They all knew what their parents had been saying about her killing Michael, but there he was. Alive and grinning at them.

‘That
brick you threw just missed my baby.’ She held out her thumb and finger to indicate the narrowness of Christopher’s escape. ‘Might have killed him, you know.’

Harry said nothing. A door opened and Harry’s mother appeared. She looked at her son, then at Lily.

‘I was just telling Harry how he nearly hit my Christopher with that brick he threw through my window. Still, I don’t suppose it was all his idea.’

‘I never told him to do that,’ blustered Mrs Bridges.

‘Yer did, Mam,’ said Harry.

Lily looked at her and smiled. ‘You weren’t the only one, Mrs Bridges. It was a really hard time for me. Just when I really needed my neighbours you all turned on me.’

Her few quiet words were far more effective than any blistering verbal attack she could have launched on the woman. She walked on as a severely chastened Mrs Bridges ushered her son into the house. Albert Pilkington was on his way to the lavatories, newspaper under his arm. He stopped as Lily approached. Embarrassed, he wiped a hand across his mouth then frowned and looked down at the ground, mumbling.

‘I’m proper sorry fer what I did, lass.’

‘For what
you
did? What was it you did, Albert?’

‘For what I
didn’t
do, more like. I didn’t tell t’ bobbies what really happened when you had that do with Hilda and she tripped and banged her head. Me keepin’ me gob shut got you locked up. Any road I’ve been down ter t’ cop shop and given ’em a proper statement. It were just like it said in t’ paper. I told ’em Hilda lied. I told ’em Vera lied as well.’

‘Does
Vera know?’

He nodded. ‘We had coppers round at our ’ouse and Hilda’s ter take new statements. They were talkin’ about perjury or summat – but I just think they wanted ter frighten ’em. I don’t think t’ coppers came out o’ this too well.’

‘None of us did, Albert. I bet Vera’s making your life a misery.’

‘She’s been doin’ that fer years, love, but I feel a bit better about meself. The coppers told me it were bit late to help you, but it might help you if yer want ter claim some compensation.’

‘I might just do that, Albert. Mainly, I just want to forget about it.’

‘This street’s been havin’ a right bad time since folk round here read about us in t’ papers. We’ve all been ostri … er.’

‘Ostracised.’

‘Mind you, we deserve it. Vera and Hilda daren’t show their faces. They’re both livin’ like flippin’ hermits. It might help if yer came back ter live in yer old house.’

‘Sorry, I won’t be doing that, Albert.’

‘I can’t say I blame yer, lass. Anyroad, best o’ luck.’

‘Thanks, Albert.’

Curtains twitched as she moved on down the street. Guilty curtains. Lily felt a mixture of triumph and sadness – sadness that people had been all too eager to get hold of the wrong end of the stick. She blamed it mainly on Hilda. For a couple of seconds she stopped and looked across at Hilda’s house. She gave the Muscroft window a shake of her head knowing Hilda would be looking back at her from behind her net curtains. Then she took out her key and opened the door to number 13. An unlucky house if you believed in that sort of thing, which Lily didn’t. Her luck had been determined by the likes of Adolf Hitler and an evil couple who had called themselves the Oldroyds, and it had not been helped by neighbours who had been too ready to believe the worst of her.

She opened
the door and laughed as Michael raced past her, running round the house from room to room shouting at everything he recognised. She pulled the pram up into the house. Christopher was fast asleep so she left him there, sat down and lit a cigarette. It was only then that she began to feel that the nightmare was finally over. She’d got her boys back, justice had been done.

Her thoughts went to Charlie and why he’d made no advances towards her. What would she have done if he had? Maybe if they’d got together romantically things might have turned out differently. A car pulled up outside. She looked through the window and went immediately to the door. Mary was getting out of her car.

‘I rang Dee. She said you’d be coming over here this afternoon so I’ve brought him, straight from hospital.’

‘What? He’s been discharged? I thought he’d be in for another week.’

The front passenger door opened. Charlie got out and leaned on the roof of the car.

‘Had
the stitches out yesterday afternoon. Never felt better in my life.’

‘Can you walk without help?’ Lily asked him.

‘With my trusty stick, you bet. The quack thinks I’ll make a full recovery in two months.’

Mary corrected him. ‘He actually said four.’

Charlie took a walking stick from the car and made his way over to Lily. ‘Am I invited in?’

‘Of course. Mary, would you like to come in fo—’

‘No, no. I must be on my way. I’ll leave you lot to it.’

Inside the house Lily sat down. Charlie stuck his free hand in his pockets and went over to the window.

‘Charlie, come over here and sit down.’

‘I’m sick of sitting down and lying down. I want to get myself mobile as soon as poss.’

‘Is it over, Charlie?’ she said. ‘Is it really all over?’

‘Bar the shouting, yeah. Oh, I phoned Jimmy this morning – Brenda’s broken it off with her Brylcreem Boy.’

‘What? the RAF officer? That didn’t last long. She should make a play for Jimmy if she’s got any sense.’

‘Do you like Jimmy?’

‘I do, yes.’

‘Maybe
you
should make a play for him.’

It was a clumsy thing to say and he regretted it the moment it came out. Lily made no attempt to comment. Charlie tried to repair the damage.

‘Too soon after Larry, eh?’

Still no comment. All that day he been summoning up the courage to ask her out on a proper date, but he was scared of her rejection. He’d been scared of many things in his life but none more so than rejection by Lily. Still looking out of the window he said, ‘You know, I’ve been thinking. It’s time you started enjoying life again.’

‘I’ve
already started – thanks to you and Auntie Dee.’

‘Right, yeah. I was actually wondering if you fancied a night out with me.’ His heart was thumping, anticipating her saying something about how she hadn’t got over Larry’s death yet.’

‘Like a date, you mean?’

‘Well, I was just thinking of a night out. Maybe the pictures and fish and chips afterwards. There’s
Captain Kidd
on at the Odeon. I know Mum would babysit.’

‘It’s only eight months since Larry died.’

It sounded as though she was turning down his invitation. He gave a disappointed grimace which she couldn’t see because he still had his back to her. He watched Hilda Muscroft emerge from her house and hurry down the street with her head down and arms folded across her front.

‘I was wrong about Michael not really remembering Larry,’ Lily went on. ‘He doesn’t remember much, but he has some good memories of his daddy. I certainly won’t forget him, although I don’t want his parents anywhere near my boys after what they did to me.’

‘Don’t blame you,’ Charlie said. ‘By the way, Sergeant Bannister rang me up to talk about what was happening in Venice. Hey! Did you know he’d got a teleprinter message saying I was fatally wounded? I think something was lost in the translation there. Mind you, it felt a bit fatal at the time. Hell of a scar I’ve got. Fourteen inches long, ninety stitches. The surgeons in that Venice hospital did beautiful work according to the people down at Leeds Infirmary. Any deeper and it’d sliced through the old ticker and the teleprinter would have been correct.’