The Corner House (34 page)

Bernard had already considered the matter. ‘The girls have to come first. There’s too many lonely people in this world, Eva. They’ll need one another sooner or later.’ He leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes. ‘Whether Theresa Nolan likes it or not, whether Liz likes it or not, it’ll have to be done.’

‘Have you been to the christening?’ Eva had seen the announcement in the local paper.

He nodded. ‘That’s what got me thinking again. A new baby, a new life. See, with Pauline’s trouble, I doubt they’ll manage any more babies. Liz – well, she had to have the operation, so we’ll not be blessed again. And I keep mithering inside about Jessica and Katherine, so I just drifted up here today, wanted to see the other little lass with my own eyes. Eva, the likeness is amazing.’

‘Aye, well, I’ll have to get back.’ Eva drew a hand across tired eyes. ‘Drive me to the bottom of our
street, lad. I’ll tell Jess who you are and that you were looking for an old friend.’ She placed a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t worry, Bernard. It’ll all come out in the dolly tub, you’ll see.’

Theresa smiled to herself as she walked with Maggie Courtney along Liverpool’s Bold Street. Little Maria Martin, armed with a multiplicity of sketched instructions and a map, had done her job very well indeed. Maria, better off to the tune of fifty pounds, was enjoying her rest in the clinic, her mind occupied by plans connected with the sudden windfall. Theresa, having decided against visiting Bolton at this juncture, had made much of Maria on her return. For the remaining weeks of their lives, the terrible trio would endure the misery of a nasty illness.

Theresa had begun to avoid John Povey’s pharmacy. The good man had continued to ask questions about her cough, about its chronic nature, was wanting to know whether any blood had appeared. But John Povey was a magician with medicines. He made his own formulae, liquid and solid, was forever consulting yellowing books and papers from a drawer beneath one of his counters.

So Theresa got into the habit of taking Maggie with her whenever she visited Liverpool. Maggie went into the chemist’s shop, consulted Theresa’s list, insisting that the order was for seamen who resided at the retirement home. Theresa got her medicines without the third degree, while Maggie enjoyed her outings to what the locals called ‘town’.

On a crisp December afternoon, Theresa popped into the bacon shop for some lean back and a quarter of thin-sliced ham. Sometimes, she treated
herself to these small luxuries, though she took most meals from the home’s kitchen as part of her salary. While Maggie was in the pharmacy’s queue, Theresa grabbed the chance to do some window shopping across the road. As she studied a jersey suit in the window of Modern Modes, some instinct made her turn round to face the road.

Jessica was on the opposite pavement. Theresa opened her mouth to shout, closed it with a sharp snap. Jessica was in Bolton with Eva. Jessica did not have a navy blue princess-line coat with a fur collar. Jessica had a different hairstyle altogether. And yet …

Maggie skirted her way round a bus, arrived at Theresa’s side. ‘The bloody queue in there,’ she moaned. ‘About fourteen in front of me, and one old feller going on so much about his piles that the rest of us were itching.’ She stopped. ‘What’s up with your gob?’ she asked. ‘You look as if your last farthing’s just fell down a drain hole.’

Theresa leaned on the window of Modern Modes. ‘Oh, my God,’ she managed.

‘You what?’

‘That’s Liz Walsh. And there’s her husband.’

Bold Street was moderately busy. ‘Who?’ asked Maggie. ‘Where?’

Theresa felt faint, but she clung to her companion and breathed deeply. ‘The girl in the navy coat,’ she answered. ‘Man with the trilby, woman in grey.’

Maggie found the targets. ‘Yes?’

‘The girl. It’s … my daughter. But it’s not – it can’t be.’

The older woman frowned. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘It’s your Jessica, only it’s not your Jessica?’

Theresa’s knees were decidedly wobbly. Liz Walsh’s baby had been born on the same day as Jessica. ‘I had a bad time,’ she whispered.

‘Eh?’

‘The birth. I passed out at least twice. My heart’s never been good.’ An enormous thought was growing in her head, in her chest. The thought was bigger than Theresa, bigger than the world. ‘She wouldn’t do that,’ she whispered. ‘Not Eva. Eva’s too straight. But … but that girl’s my Jessica. Maggie …’ Theresa swallowed audibly. ‘Do you think you could have twins without knowing?’

Maggie scratched her head thoughtfully. ‘Well, if you kept passing out …’ Two children. Maggie had seen them in the cards, in the crystal, on Theresa’s palm. Yes, two babies already born.

‘And if Liz had a stillbirth …’ This was too terrible. Yet she had to know, had to follow the Walshes. ‘Stay here,’ she ordered Maggie.

‘But you’re not fit, love.’

Theresa nodded her agreement. ‘I know that, Maggie. But this is something I have to do by myself.’ She took a step towards the pavement’s edge. Liz Walsh and the girl were laughing. Bernard Walsh was looking at his watch.

‘Theresa?’ Maggie clutched frantically at her friend’s sleeve. ‘Look, queen. That girl over there what looks like yours – well, what if she isn’t Jessica’s twin?’

‘She is.’ The certainty was plain in Theresa’s voice.

‘What if she is, then?’ persisted Maggie. ‘Do you want to go upsetting her? Whatever the rights and the wrongs, she’s the innocent one. I bet she’s grew up all these years thinking she belonged to them.’
She waved a hand in the direction of the group. ‘Think before you do anything, Theresa.’

The younger woman paused. ‘I might never see them again.’

Maggie thought about that. ‘Get back home,’ she ordered, pushing a bagful of medicines into Theresa’s hands. ‘I’ll follow them, see what I can find out. I’ll talk to anybody, me. By hook or by crook, I’ll sort this out for you.’ Theresa looked so shocked, so drained. ‘Go on,’ Maggie urged. ‘No use making a mess of it. Get back and sort the laundry or something.’

Theresa looked at Maggie, looked at the three people across the road. A cold hand seemed to have closed itself around her stomach. Bernard Walsh was guffawing at some joke or other. Liz was smiling fit to burst. They looked so happy. The child was grinning, too, was looking at her mother, then at her father. ‘Eva knows I’m in Liverpool,’ muttered Theresa. ‘And I’ll bet she knows they’re here, too. They ran away – for obvious reasons – never thinking I’d be living in these parts. They ran away, Maggie, I’m sure they must have. I wonder why they’ve stayed, though? Oh, I have to get to the bottom of this.’

‘If you say so.’

Theresa inhaled steadily. ‘I am not talking daft, you know. If I’d seen just the girl, I’d have thought I’d found Jessica’s double. We’re all supposed to have a double. But Bernard Walsh and his wife are here, as well. That’s too much of a coincidence. Follow them. Find out where they live.’

‘I will.’ Maggie tried to deliver a reassuring smile. ‘Stop here a minute,’ she said. ‘I might get the answer straightaway. If I make no progress, you just
get yourself home and put the kettle on.’ She dashed across the road.

Theresa held her breath, watched while Maggie staged a fall in front of the Walshes. Bernard picked her up, drew her towards the wall. They talked for a minute or two, then Bernard took Maggie back into the pharmacy.

For what seemed like an age, Theresa watched the child and the mother. There was a great deal of love between them. They fussed one another, touched one another. Liz straightened the child’s fur collar, rubbed at her cheek with a handkerchief. Theresa gulped down a knot of pain. She had missed so much, had given up so much. For what? For revenge? ‘Your choice,’ she mumbled to herself. ‘You let Jessica go.’ She hadn’t wanted Jessica to be a part of her plans, still didn’t want the child to get too close. Working on the theory that Jessica would never miss what she had never had, Theresa had distanced herself. She was going to die young and in a state of mortal sin, and she didn’t want Jessica to grieve. Even so, the anger bubbled very near the surface. Theresa’s choices had been removed by Eva in a high-handed and despicable fashion.

A bus rattled along, stopped, deprived the watcher of her view. People alighted from the vehicle, others jumped aboard. When the road was clear again, Theresa watched the older, plumper Bernard guiding Maggie out of Povey’s Pharmacy. Liz, slim and smartly dressed, talked to Maggie, patted the supposedly injured woman’s shoulder. Maggie might have made a good actress, Theresa mused.

The Walshes had named their daughter Kathleen or Katherine. According to Eva, Katherine had been very tiny. The family had swapped places with Danny
Walsh, had moved up to Bromley Cross for the duration. Of course, they had had a great deal to hide. Theirs was a stolen child. Eva, though. How on earth had Eva concealed this for so long? What had prompted her to act in such a manner?

Liz and the girl were walking away. Bernard stood and waved until they disappeared into a shop, then he crossed the road with Maggie.

Theresa flattened herself against the wall.

‘Mrs Nolan?’ His voice was thick with tension.

Maggie looked from one to the other. ‘I told him in the chemist’s, told him all you’d said to me,’ she explained. ‘It seemed the quickest way.’

Theresa nodded curtly at Bernard.

‘How are you?’ he managed.

Theresa didn’t know how she was. ‘Katherine,’ she stated. ‘I remember asking your Danny about his niece when you were living up on the moors. She’s mine. You stole my child.’ Perhaps she would have given Katherine away, but that was not the point. Jessica could have had a companion, someone in whom she might have confided. ‘You took my child,’ repeated Theresa.

Desperate now, Bernard clung to the remnants of hope. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Maggie cleared her throat. ‘He knows what you’re talking about, all right. So does that Mr Povey.’ She jerked a thumb towards the shop across the road. ‘Bloody chemist knows all about it, too. He came round the back, did Mr Povey, let us use the room behind the shop.’ She turned her full attention on Bernard. ‘Is he a mate of yours, that Povey?’

Bernard nodded.

‘All in it together,’ judged Maggie aloud.

Theresa took a small step forward and touched
Maggie’s arm. ‘Go home, love,’ she begged. ‘I won’t be long.’

Maggie deflated visibly. She prided herself on her verbal abilities, on the God-given talents which enabled her to win almost any fight. She looked Bernard up and down. He was only a Woollyback, a slow-talking Lancastrian. Woollyback men had no chance when in the presence of a full-blown female Irish Scouser. ‘What if you need me?’ she asked Theresa.

‘I won’t. I’ll be all right – I’ve known Bernard all my life.’ The Walshes had been so kind, had sent fish when Theresa had been pregnant. Bernard had been there on that fateful night, had plagued the Hardmans, the Chorltons and the Betteridges, forcing them to part with money for Jessica. ‘Maggie, I’ll be fine,’ she said again.

Maggie gave Bernard a look that was meant to be withering. ‘Don’t go upsetting her,’ she snapped. ‘Or I’ll bring a few of my friends down Scotland Road, see how you like fish paste after we’ve flattened your stock.’

Theresa sighed. Bernard Walsh was a gentleman, one of the best. ‘Oh, shut up, Maggie,’ she pleaded.

‘I know where you work,’ said Maggie, the words forcing their way through clenched dentures. ‘And I’ll find out where you live, too. Bloody child-thief.’ She turned and addressed Theresa. ‘White as a sheet, he was, in that room behind the shop. And the other feller was all worried about him, did he want a glass of water and some calming herbs. Guilty as sin,’ she pronounced before stalking off.

An awkward silence hovered above the heads of the two remaining people. A sudden feeling that she might be wrong after all caused Theresa’s speech to seize up. Bernard, fearing that Liz and Katherine
might reappear at any moment, was riveted to the spot. For the first time in ages, he actually felt cold.

‘So,’ began Theresa, the short word emerging rusty and dry.

Bernard coughed. ‘I can’t stop here,’ he said. ‘Liz might see me.’

‘Might see me, you mean.’

‘That, too,’ he agreed.

Did Liz know the truth, then? ‘How did you and Eva manage this, Bernard?’ She wanted to hit him hard across his face, but she managed to maintain her dignity and his, just about. ‘I might have given her to you anyway if you’d asked,’ she added. The Walshes could have had both girls, could have kept them together.

Bernard sighed. ‘Ours died,’ he said bluntly. ‘Liz couldn’t take in what had happened. She was … strange for hours. Then Eva turned up and … well, it was just …’ The words died.

‘Just Eva’s decision. You didn’t send her out to steal a baby for you. She took one look at me and decided that I’d never cope.’ No-one had the right to make such judgements. ‘Does your wife believe that Katherine is hers?’ she asked.

‘Yes. She knows nothing about what happened that night. We just got this newspaper parcel with a baby in it. Liz was screaming, telling us to warm her baby near the fire. It all seemed to happen without any of us taking part. Before we knew where we were, Liz got a grip on … on your child.’

Theresa thought about that and found the ability to forgive Liz Walsh immediately. Women who had just given birth were vulnerable, unsteady. ‘This is not your wife’s fault,’ she said.

‘We came to Crosby after the war. Eva thought
we’d be best out of Bolton. Then I found out that you had come to Waterloo.’

Waterloo was a mere stride from Crosby. ‘So we’ve been right on top of one another for years,’ said Theresa.

He nodded vigorously, almost unseating his trilby. ‘I tried to get Liz to move back to Blackburn or Bury, but she’d had enough of flitting.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘I’ll have to be going. Can we meet again?’

Theresa was lost in thought. ‘Eva was clever, then.’

Bernard lowered his head and pondered. ‘It happened to her, and all,’ he said. ‘She didn’t even think. One minute, you had a baby, then, the next minute, you had two. She’d delivered our stillborn and she acted without thinking.’