The Liverpool Trilogy (14 page)

She picked up her book. This hadn’t been a quiet day, but it had turned out to be successful thus far.

The Royal was huge, and it had a reception hall so vast that it felt like a railway station or an airport. In a circular booth, a small woman sat as if waiting to weigh baggage or check tickets. She looked miserable, and Liz was not surprised. Apart from anything else, this outsized barn of a room looked as if it needed a good cleaning. It was quiet today, though few would have liked the woman’s job during the week. Liz imagined that poor female battling with lines of complaining patients, all certain of the urgency of their cases, all eager to get the business over and done with.

Liz wasn’t quite sure why, but she knew she had to be here. Having spent no more than half an hour – not counting phone calls – in the company of Simon Turner, she was insanely keen to see him again. Had anyone asked her for reasons, she would probably have imitated a drugged goldfish, all open mouth, no sense and very few bubbles.

Simon Turner stood for a few seconds and watched Liz’s confusion, which mirrored his. What the blood and sand was going on? He’d been perfectly all right until just before lunch, when this would-be actress had wandered into his life. She was a stunner, but it wasn’t just that. It was probably chemical. Occasionally, he met a woman he fancied and then it was usually a case of simple science: get the sex over with, and move on.

Yet he knew already that this one was special. She was different. Life oozed out of every pore of her very comely body, and he was attracted to her immediately. It was best not to trust the term ‘immediately’, yet he had to see her before she returned to Manchester this evening. His mentor, Mr Garner-Hope, was not on duty today, and the only items of surgery that might occur would be emergencies. Simon’s pager was turned on, he had seen his list of patients in recovery, and he was going to grab some time.

He crept up behind her. ‘Boo.’

She turned. ‘Ah, there you are.’ She still hadn’t managed to work out why she’d come, and she said so. ‘My brothers have been kicking the stuffing out of me,’ she told him. ‘They think you and I have come from some black-and-white film that promised much, but delivered zilch. What’s going on, Simon?’

‘No idea. We young doctors are not as experienced in affairs of the heart as some people try to make out.’

‘So should we?’

‘Should we what?’

‘Make out. I think it’s American for sex.’

He looked round the huge hall. ‘Endocrinology’s quiet on a Sunday. We could put two chairs together and work out the mechanics of the exercise. And Dermatology doesn’t do weekends – should be peaceful. But there’s always a chance that some lost soul might wander through. Haematology can be colourful, of course. And I have digs across the road, though other people will be in there now. My bedroom should be free, though—’

She dug him in the ribs. ‘This is all wrong, isn’t it? I’m not what you might term easy. My experience of sex would fit on the back of a postage stamp.’

‘First class?’

‘Of course.’ She pondered for a moment. ‘No, second. I’ve had some rather less than satisfactory experiences. You?’

He grinned. ‘Mixed bag. Women tend to target doctors and lawyers.’ He held her hand. ‘Maybe it’s because I’m nearly twenty-six. My clock could be telling me it’s time to slow down, settle down and move down south.’

‘Stop it, Simon. Don’t even think of following me to London. For a start, you don’t know me. I live for acting, and I exist in a total shambles. On a good day, I can find two matching shoes and jeans clean enough to wear just one more time. There are never any knickers – I’ve been known to go out knickerless and buy some on the way to college.’

His heart was all over the place. As a student of cardio-thoracic medicine, he might have misdiagnosed a patient with a heartbeat as dodgy as his. But was it love? And how might he find out what it was when there were two hundred miles separating him from her?

‘I can transfer for a year,’ he said. ‘In fact, my boss would be delighted, because I might learn something new. London’s the place to be when it comes to innovation. And I’d like to know you better.’

‘In the biblical sense?’

He raised his shoulders. ‘That as well, I suppose. Because I sure as hell want you. How long are you in Manchester?’

‘The same as I am here – about five feet seven inches.’

‘Obtuse. That’s probably why I . . . like you.’

‘All right. Another three weeks in the park, then back to Mother for a while. Do you get proper days off?’

‘Yes, of course. And I have holidays due. Why?’

‘Secret,’ she answered. ‘The thing is, I like to have the upper hand.’

‘Sounds interesting, Elizabeth.’ He led her outside and round a corner, because the hospital was on a busy road, and the traffic was heavy even on a Sunday. So their first kiss happened against a hospital wall while they stood among cigarette ends and crisp packets deposited by patients and visitors.

‘Wow,’ he said when they released each other.

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘About a three, I’d say.’

‘What?’

‘My personal Richter scale, Simon. The earth moved a bit.’

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘That would be an articulated lorry on its way to the docks.’

‘So romantic.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘Trust a bloody doctor to find some sensible explanation.’

‘Tell me about the secret,’ he begged.

‘No.’ She raised her chin defiantly. ‘The secret is for me to know, and for you to wonder and worry about.’

‘Upper hand?’

‘Upper hand.’

He placed a finger under the tilted chin. ‘I’m buzzing,’ he announced.

‘Good for you.’

He explained that his pager was about to ring. ‘Could be life and death,’ he said.

‘Then go. I’ll keep in touch – that’s a threat.’ She watched as he ran back to his job. There was a lump in her throat, and a terrible feeling of loss. This might get worse by tomorrow, because Daddy was going into theatre, and he might die. She didn’t want to go back to Manchester, didn’t want to return to RADA after the holidays. But she would. Few people got the opportunity, and she wasn’t going to flush her chance down the loo just because of a bloke.

She would talk to Mother. Because, after all those years spent as cook, bottle-washer, nurse, nanny and part of the furniture, Lucy Henshaw had emerged as a fully fledged human with opinions, ideas and a healthy balancing of determination and humour.

When Lucy reached the place she now termed home, Mother was nowhere to be seen, but the sound of running water could be heard from the bathroom. Ah yes – that chap was coming this evening, the doctor who wanted to use Tallows for respite. Mother had been rather coy when avoiding discussion on the subject of . . . David? Was that his name? Perhaps Mother was in the same boat as her daughter?

Lucy was in her bedroom for almost an hour. When she finally entered the sitting room, Liz gasped. ‘Mother! Is that cleavage? How the hell did you manage to pour yourself into that item of clothing?’

‘A teaspoonful at a time,’ came the response. ‘It’s difficult to buy dresses for someone my shape. So I had to pick a bigger size and get everything below the bust taken in. I think the girl went a centimetre too far.’

Liz shook her head. ‘You look amazing. But you don’t look like my mother. My mother was a bit magnolia and brown. You’re wearing high heels and a little black dress. You’ve never owned an LBD before, have you?’

‘Only for funerals, and that was from Rent-a-Tent. Now. Come on, let’s have it. I know you need to talk. I can tell, because you’ve crossed your legs and your arms. Call yourself an actress?’

Liz grinned, then allowed it all to spill out. She’d been all right this morning. She’d been all right until a certain person – namely her mother – had forced her to go next door to introduce herself. ‘This Greek god – except he was blond – walked in, saw me, and fell over a pile of stuff – nearly squashed his poor mother. And it worked both ways, though I managed to remain upright. It was as if I already knew him.’

‘From the future.’

‘Yes! I knew you’d understand.’

Lucy pursed her lips. ‘I’m not sure about that kind of stuff, Lizzie. I’ve heard about it, read about it, but—’

‘I drove all the way to the hospital just for a kiss, Mother. How stupid is that?’

‘In my opinion, it isn’t stupid at all. You’ll work him out of your system, or you won’t. Just keep yourself safe, and don’t get pregnant.’

Liz sat back. The mother she had known for twenty years would not have spoken so openly about such a subject. ‘He held you back.’

‘What?’

‘Daddy held you back.’

Lucy disagreed. ‘Marriage did that. My attitude did it. I felt that I had to remain docile until my children were old enough to absorb the shock. He was my choice. I went against my parents’ will and got my own way. It was my mistake. The person you see now was always there. And I have to admit, I wanted my money back. It was my money, the Gramps’ money. But I watched and listened and waited until the time was right. Unfortunately, it has almost killed him.’

‘Were there always other women?’

‘Yes.’

‘And drink?’

‘The intake increased as the years passed. He’s his own worst enemy. Your father has little self-control, so I had to invent patience of my own. And I’m worried about tomorrow. If he dies, I’ll feel guilty, and if he lives, I shan’t know what to do with him.’

Both women sat in silent thought for several minutes. Lucy, who didn’t want to worry about Alan, was worrying about Alan. Liz wondered whether she might be going out of her mind, because no one could fall in love in a matter of hours. Even so, that was an easy concept compared to the concern she felt for her father. This might be his last day on earth. She jumped to her feet. ‘I’m going to see him. If they don’t let me in, I’ll make a fuss.’

‘You’ll get in, Lizzie. I’ll phone and tell them you’re coming.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Tell him I wish him well, and that he will be housed when he gets out. That might make him try a little harder to live.’

‘Thanks, Mother. You’re one hell of a lady.’

‘A woman, Lizzie. I’m a woman, not a lady.’

The boys weren’t expected back until after midnight, as they had declared their intention to visit a club or two. At least they hadn’t gone silly, weren’t running around telling everyone how in love they were with Steph and Alice. That, Lucy thought, would have made life completely unbearable. Her daughter was besotted with Simon Turner, and that was quite enough, thanks very much.

Paul and Mike had gone out to search for John Lennon, who had been dead for some time, but whose picture, made up of his song titles, was reputed to be available from one of the Matthew Street artists. So the twins were safe, happy and out on a manhunt. There was no need to worry about Mike or Paul and, as Lucy reminded herself, Meatloaf had declared that two out of three ain’t bad.

But Lizzie, poor, lovely Lizzie, had travelled alone to visit a father who would undergo major invasive surgery tomorrow morning. On top of that, the poor girl’s heart had been borrowed or stolen by the son of Richard and Moira, and the result of that happenstance could become painful. If Alan died, Lizzie might turn to Simon, might even remain in the north instead of carrying on with her course in London. She had always loved her father. Would she lean on Simon if Daddy died? Was Lizzie one of those female souls who needed the scaffolding provided by a man? Had she not yet learned that scaffolding sometimes corroded and crumbled?

Lucy could not bear the thought of her daughter suffering. She’d been such a bouncy, tomboyish child, full of life and mischief, overflowing with tales of dragons, princesses, wicked stepmothers and handsome knights who had overthrown all evil in their way. Lizzie had always been the knight, poker in one hand, dustbin lid in the other, ever the actor, so bright, imaginative and cheerful. With her eyes closed, Lucy saw her daughter leaping about, a curtain for a cloak, torn tinfoil failing to look like armour, a war cry emerging as she cut through invisible foliage to face a monster. She’d saved everything in her path. She’d definitely saved her mother’s sanity. Those Lizzie moments were printed for ever on the front of Lucy’s mind, where they sat alongside memories of Diane, the predecessor of Lizzie.

But the mother of Lizzie now found herself weeping. She wept for a husband she had ceased to love within months of marriage, blaming herself yet again for going ahead with the union against the wise counsel of her parents. She cried for Lizzie, who was the only person in the world willing to visit him. Moira was a further cause for sadness, because that good woman had merely sought to tidy up before the end of her life. ‘I shouldn’t have come here,’ Lucy moaned. But she heard her own lie, and had to right this small wrong. ‘It’s a good place, a very good place. I can make it right.’ No, she wouldn’t even need to do that, because these ancient Viking villages, now modern and bustling, welcomed all comers. She was at home here. Anyone from anywhere could settle in this area.

More surprising than anything else was her need for Alan to live. Yes, Tallows had been hers, the money had been hers, and he had stolen and committed fraud. But she didn’t want him to die under a surgeon’s knife. She had always feared the intervention of doctors, and she now found herself concerned for a man with whom she had shared almost a quarter of a century – more than half her life. Someone should have taken better care; someone ought to have stopped him in his tracks.

She began to pace about. Yes, he ate like a pig, and yes, she had often wished he would bath more frequently, but he was a human being. He was the father of her children. And he hadn’t been merely the boss of the company – he was just as likely as any labourer to come home stinking of cement. The man had never been afraid of work. He didn’t deserve death, yet he needed to develop a backbone, since any life he might win after surgery would have to be alcohol-free. ‘He must be strong, has to become determined. God knows what he’ll need afterwards, but he must have the chance of some kind of future.’