The Corner House (33 page)

Roy looked hard at his companion. ‘I want to help her.’

Eva nodded curtly, then shook her head. ‘Best help for her’s if you stop away. Them other two, and all.’ Theresa was working her way up to something. Was that something going to be murder? ‘She’s not forgot, neither,’ continued Eva. ‘There’s a lot of anger in her, a lot of hatred. She might not be strong, but I’d watch my back if I were you. Theresa’s … she’s clever, if you take my meaning. She stews on things, thinks them through.’

‘So do I,’ he said.

Jimmy returned, a glass of brown ale in each hand. ‘It’s like a bloody cup final crowd near that bar,’ he grumbled. He placed the dripping containers on the table. ‘Half the beer’s gone on yon floor.’

‘This is Mr Chorlton,’ Eva informed her husband.

Jimmy, whose sight was less than perfect, peered at
his wife’s companion. ‘What? Him as … him as did the ra—’

‘Aye,’ snapped his wife. She spotted two vacant chairs at another table, jumped up and dragged her husband across the room. Although Chorlton had become a rather pathetic figure, Eva distanced herself determinedly. She would stand firm for Theresa and for Jessica.

Roy got to his feet and grabbed at his cigarette case and lighter. It was time to go home. He lit a cigarette, flinching when hot smoke scalded an eye. Eva Coates was staring hard at him. Nothing would ever be right, he told his inner self. The pain would go with him to his death, and there was little he could do to change that fact.

With a heavy heart, he left the pub, turned right and wandered in the direction of Chorley New Road. A cold, lonely bed waited to receive him and his brief, tortured dreams.

Pauline Walsh was the happiest woman alive. She sat in her living room with Danny and Edna, both in their Sunday best, both grinning from ear to ear. The impossible had happened; the impossible lay cradled in Pauline’s arms, a boy-child clothed in an old Greenhalgh christening gown, over which was wrapped a white shawl. ‘I still can’t believe it,’ sighed the new mother. At the age of forty-two, almost old enough to be a granny, she had finally produced a healthy baby.

Edna cackled, allowing her companions a full view of newly acquired and ill-fitting dentures. Their Pauline had done herself proud in marrying Danny Walsh. Not only had Danny bought two houses, he had also been through all kinds of mental torture
before the creation of little Jonathan William Walsh. Pauline’s insides weren’t up to much, but Danny had insisted that the ‘fault’ could well have been his. ‘I’m that proud, I could burst,’ announced Edna.

Danny grinned. ‘Please don’t explode,’ he begged his mother-in-law. ‘This house conversion cost me an arm, a leg and fourteen tons of cod.’

Edna chuckled happily. Two weavers’ cottages had been made into one, resulting in a big parlour, a decent kitchen, a downstairs washroom and a nice little morning room where Edna spent most of her time. Upstairs, a gleaming new bathroom had been installed, and there were four bedrooms, two large and two small. It was heaven. Edna was a grandmother, the child was beautiful and all was well with the world.

Danny glanced at the clock. Jonathan had been baptised at Sts Peter and Paul in Bolton, the church in which Danny and Bernard had been named. ‘Where have they got to?’ he asked of no-one in particular. ‘I hope they’ve not broken down.’ He was referring to the other Walsh family, the contingent from Crosby, Liverpool.

Pauline continued to croon softly into her baby’s hair.

‘They’ll be all right,’ said Edna. ‘They’ll be having a look round Bolton – it’s ages since they visited.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Danny. He and Pauline exchanged glances. Edna knew nothing of Katherine Walsh’s true parentage. Edna was ageing and garrulous, could not be trusted with a secret of such immensity.

Danny moved and stared through the front window. For years, Bernard had managed to avoid bringing his family to Bolton or to Bromley Cross.
Danny and Pauline understood Bernard’s reasons, because Liz and Katherine must be protected at all costs. But Edna was often annoyed at what she chose to diagnose as an affront. ‘It’s me they don’t like,’ she would grumble, volunteering to visit an old crony or a relative. ‘If you tell them I’ll be out, they’ll come,’ she was wont to say.

‘They came to the baptism,’ Pauline told her mother. ‘I told you they’d come, Mam. Like you said, they’re probably having a drive round.’

Edna employed one of her sniffs. ‘Happen we’re not good enough for Liz. When Bernard comes to see his mates on the market, she stops at home in her posh house, doesn’t she?’

‘There’s Katherine to see to,’ answered Pauline.

‘Not in the school holidays.’ Once these words had been spoken, Edna smiled at her sleeping grandson and stalked off into the morning room.

‘She always has to speak last,’ grumbled Pauline. ‘Even if it means leaving the room.’

‘She’s old.’ Danny turned from the window. ‘And they’re here. Let’s hope your mam doesn’t start, love. Bernard feels bad about stopping away from us, but what can he do? Even though Theresa Nolan’s moved out of Bolton, Jessica’s still here and they’re like peas in a pod, her and our Katherine.’ He went to open the front door.

Pauline shook her head. Mam had refused to visit Crosby in recent years. She owned the opinion that she didn’t need to go out of her way for folk who never came to see her. Poor Bernard had seemed to be on a knife’s edge in church, was probably worrying himself sick about Katherine’s natural twin being at or near the church or along the route from town to Bromley Cross. If Mam started upsetting him …
It didn’t bear thinking about, so Pauline placed her baby in his Silver Cross carriage and went to put the kettle on for a brew to serve up with the already prepared baptismal feast.

It was a lovely farmhouse-sized kitchen with an open fire, a big dining table, an electric cooker. She set the kettle to boil, then stood for a moment, gazing across frost-topped moors. Liz must never find out. Liz’s humour and toughness were outer garments. Inside, Liz was as vulnerable as a small child, still raw, still wounded by life. She had wanted at least two children, was sad that Katherine must grow up alone.

Alone? Pauline gripped the edge of her white porcelain sink. Katherine was not alone. She was half of a brace, fifty per cent of a perfectly matched pair. ‘Oh, God,’ whispered Pauline Walsh. New to motherhood, her senses were acute, painfully alive. ‘What would I do if someone knocked on my door in ten years’ time? If Jonathan turned out to be somebody else’s …’ She shivered, pulled herself up, warmed the pot. With a smile plastered across her worries, Pauline went forth to make small talk with a precious sister-in-law and a treasured niece.

He didn’t know why he had come. The weather was on the cold side and, while the actual chill meant little to a fishmonger, driving conditions were less than perfect. He was supposed to be visiting Charlie Hill, a newly retired chap who had spent the best part of fifty years working in Ashburner Street Market. But for some reason best known to his deep unconscious, Bernard Walsh was sitting at the bottom of View Street with his engine turned off and his eyes glued to a group of playing children. While he
lingered here, Liz was helping Pauline to clear away after the christening tea.

Liz was also trying to get round Edna Greenhalgh, while Katherine, completely wrapped up in her baby cousin, was playing happily with child and pram, wheeling Jonathan back and forth in front of Danny’s new sofa.

The girl who lived with Eva was so like Katherine. Little Jessica Nolan was no longer little. Both children had shot up like weeds in hot, wet weather: long-limbed, knees a bit knobbly in developing legs, shoulders firm and well formed. Since discovering Katherine’s true origin, Bernard had been plagued by worry. Now, he feared family visits to Bolton, dreaded the thought of Liz ever finding out that her baby had died and that Katherine was a replacement. Against all odds, Katherine and Jessica had already met. What if they met again? And what if Theresa ever came across Katherine in Liverpool?

All that house-moving had been a wonderful mess, too. The day when he had found out about Theresa Nolan’s relocation to Liverpool, Bernard had feared a heart attack. He stared hard at Jessica as she played. The likeness was terrifying. There was no safety, here or there. There was no certainty anywhere.

The children in the street were honing a slide to glass-like perfection, slithering about, pouring water from a tin pail, stumbling, smoothing the flags with somebody’s long-handled mop. By tonight, the area on which the players concentrated might well become a death trap for some unsuspecting adult.

Jessica stopped playing and looked directly at Bernard’s car. With his heart beating far too wildly for comfort, Bernard studied a map while his cheeks
glowed. When he raised his head, Jessica Nolan was nowhere to be seen. Feeling a disappointment for which he was unable to account, Bernard threw down the map and waited for a few moments. They should have been together all along. Katherine needed a sibling, a companion with whom she could play, eat, sleep, discuss the many problems of puberty.

He folded his hands on the steering wheel, placed his forehead on the ‘pillow’ formed by leather-coated fingers. His mind was all over the place, was asking unanswerable questions about the basic rights of man, about fairness, about Liz’s peace of mind.

Someone tapped on the windscreen. He looked up, saw Eva, watched as she walked to the passenger door and climbed in beside him. ‘Drive,’ she snapped.

He drove, turning right down Maybank Street, right again onto Derby Street. ‘What the hell—?’ he began.

‘Don’t you “what the hell” me, Bernard Walsh. What the hell are you doing? That’s more to the point.’

He slewed to a halt on a stretch of ice. ‘I don’t know, so don’t ask,’ he begged. ‘I just had to see that she was all right.’

‘Of course she’s all right. She’s living with me, isn’t she?’

Bernard raised his shoulders. ‘They should be together, Eva. They’re not just sisters – they’re twins.’

‘I know that. Wasn’t I there when they were born and when your Liz lost her little one?’

‘Oh aye, you were there, Eva.’

She bridled. ‘And what do you mean by that tone
of voice, Bernard Walsh? I had a young woman who’d been raped and made pregnant at the same time. I never expected her to survive the birth. And we got two for the price of one, though Theresa doesn’t know that, thank God. Looking after two would have finished her within months. They’d have ended up in an orphanage, because none of the family would have took them.’ She paused. ‘No, that daft Ruth might have wanted a couple of pretty dolls to play with. Imagine what would have become of them – look what she’s done to her own daughter.’

‘Aye, she’s a bad lot, is Ruth,’ agreed Bernard.

Eva continued. ‘Irene works at the undertaker’s now, says it’s been her life’s ambition. What sort of a job is yon for a young married woman, eh? She can’t cope with life proper. She rules her husband with a rod of iron, makes her neighbours miserable, gossips like a vicious old crone. Who made her like that? Bloody Ruth, that’s who. So don’t go criticizing me, lad. I saved them twins a lot of bother.’

He removed his hat and scratched the spreading bald patch. ‘Did Jessica … did she know me?’

‘No,’ answered Eva smartly. ‘She seems to have forgotten you. And I’ve brought her up to tell me about strangers. Ever since little Sheila Fox disappeared, kiddies has to be on their guard. Then, when I came out and saw you … Are you going to try and make something of this? Are you after getting custody of Jessica Nolan?’

‘No,’ he whispered.

‘Because you could, I suppose. You could stand up and say that you knew nothing about my famous swap, that you’ve always thought Katherine was your own. And let’s face it, Theresa’s in no position to look after twins. Aye, possession’s nine-tenths of the
law and you already have Katherine and enough money to get your own road.’

‘I won’t—’

‘You could cod on about noticing the likeness and guessing what had happened, and put the blame on me, where it belongs. You could even pretend that I’d pinched a twin from you and given her to Theresa.’

He turned and faced her. ‘That’s not why I’m here. Like you, I didn’t think. Remember? Remember how you never thought that night?’

Eva nodded.

‘Just instinct, Eva. See, I’ve got this stupid dream about the two of them being there for one another. I know it’s daft …’

Eva let out a long sigh of relief. ‘It’s not daft, son. Oh, I know what you mean. When we’re dead, who’s to tell them the truth? They might never meet.’

Bernard swallowed. ‘They’ve already met, Eva. When your little lass was in Williamson’s and our Katherine was chasing the dog.’ He paused. ‘I could tell from her face that the meeting was important to her. Then we moved to Liverpool. And so did Theresa Nolan.’

Eva sat perfectly still for several seconds. ‘Has Katherine been off-colour lately?’

‘Tonsils,’ he replied. ‘They need taking out.’

Eva lowered her chin and addressed the dashboard. ‘Jessica’s been having sore throats. Only when we took her to the doctor’s, there was nowt wrong with her. Same with her wrist last … about August, it would be.’

‘A bad sprain,’ replied Bernard. ‘Mind, I’ve always thought it was rubbish, that stuff about twins having the same things happening to them, the same pains.’

‘Makes you wonder, though, eh?’

He tapped the steering wheel with a gloved hand. ‘Katherine had itchy skin last New Year …’

‘When Jess had chicken pox.’ Eva raised her head. ‘What have I done?’ she whispered. ‘I feel like one person’s been cut in half.’

‘I’ve been reading,’ said Bernard. ‘That’s how they kicked off – as one creature. Then they split in two. Twins who don’t look alike were always separate people. Katherine and Jessica are special.’ He continued to stare at his companion. ‘I’m putting it in my will,’ he said. ‘That they must be told when they’re old enough – in their twenties. If I live till then, I’ll tell them myself.’

‘What about Theresa?’ Eva asked. She left unspoken the belief that Theresa would not last much longer.