The Liverpool Trilogy (142 page)

In the end, Rosh decided to have the celebration at home. She couldn’t just sit back and fail to celebrate the wedding of Mam and her new husband. So she recruited the
residents of Lawton Road and cobbled together a plot that might just work with some luck and a good following wind.

When Anna and Eric were dressed and ready, they were sent to the café for a meeting with the Collingfords about dry-cleaning and the possibility of opening a functioning unit with all
necessary machinery in the rooms above café and shop. As soon as they had left, a mad flurry ensued; neighbours arrived with food and decorations while Roy, Rosh and the children ran
upstairs to don their best clothes.

By the time all five were ready, the ground floor of the house had been transformed. There were fairy lights on the walls, and plates of food with a wedding cake at the centre on the table. A
huge sign wishing the couple well was hanging over the piano where Philly had sorted out music ready to play. Alice, pretty in yellow, wore a crown she’d saved from Christmas, while Kieran
stood in the hallway ready to warn everyone as soon as he saw Gran and Eric returning. Rosh looked at him for a few moments. He was almost adult, and she ached as she realized that he was all but
ready to move on in the world. Her son would be a great doctor, she knew it. Wherever Phil was, he would be proud of their boy.

The kitchen was a drinker’s paradise, with three or four types of beer and several wines, white, red and rosé. It was going to be a great night apart from one small fly in the
ointment. Anna didn’t like surprises.

Neighbours rushed about applying finishing touches, while Roy simply stood and stared at his fiancée. God, she was beautiful. The dress, dove grey and deceptively simple, showed off every
line, every curve of her body. She had no idea, had she? Or had she? There was a little devil at the core of Roy’s intended; she possibly knew that the eyes of all the men were on her.

‘They’re coming.’ This stage-whisper came from Kieran. With the rest of the neighbours jostling for space, he squeezed his way into the kitchen. ‘Quiet,’ he ordered
before switching off the lights. Rosh and Roy waited in the doorway.

When Anna arrived, she failed to notice that her daughter had changed into her finery. ‘They’ve given us over a hundred pounds’ worth of china. For a wedding present. Who told
them we were married?’

Rosh offered no reply. Roy coughed in an attempt to cover up a giggle from the darkened kitchen.

Anna rolled on. ‘Bone china. Can you see this fellow here with his little finger sticking out while he drinks tea? And if he put a bigger finger through the cup handle, he’d need
goose grease to get it out. Or surgery.’ She peered at her beloved Roisin. ‘You’re up to something.’

‘She’s always up to something,’ Roy replied. ‘In fact, the whole road’s been up to something. I tried, Anna, but there was no holding them back.’

Light suddenly flooded the house while Philly played a wedding march. The Collingfords arrived with a dozen bottles of champagne. Mother Collingford wedged herself into a corner chair with her
own bottle of bubbly and a glass, and there she remained for the duration. Alice, who had a fondness for her elders, kept the old lady fed and entertained. Had Alice not taken it upon herself to
supervise and feed her, the poor woman would probably have suffered alcohol poisoning.

Wedding presents were opened and exclaimed upon. Anna looked at a pretty figurine before turning to her husband. ‘Don’t hang your cap on this,’ she warned, ‘or I’ll
hang you on my line.’

For the first time ever in public, Eric swiped back. ‘Listen, you. That’s my house, and what’s mine is yours, but as I said before, that doesn’t make you the
boss.’

Neighbours within earshot froze for a few seconds. They knew Anna Riley of old, and she wasn’t one to allow anyone else the last word. But it seemed that she had finally met her match,
because she simply laughed and blew Eric a kiss. The party revived, and Philly began to play a medley of wartime ballads.

Under the cover of the inevitable sing-song, Roy and Rosh slipped into the hall where they found an extremely odd-looking man. Rosh picked up the wedding gift she had wrapped so carefully for
Mam and Eric, but she kept her eyes fixed on the intruder. ‘Yes? Can we help you?’

‘Well, I seem to have come to the right place at the wrong time.’

‘We’re in the middle of a party,’ Rosh said. What a strange way for a grown man to dress. He wore a Stetson, a fringed jacket and denim jeans. He dressed very adventurously for
a person so clearly on the brink of middle age.

‘But it’s the right place, because you are the spitting image of Tess Compton.’

Rosh dropped her package and thanked goodness that she’d bought bedlinens instead of glass or porcelain. ‘The hysterectomy,’ she replied almost without thinking. ‘I was
in a single room because of . . . because of what happened.’

He held out his hand. ‘Joe Dodds. Private detective looking for Rileys and anyone related to Rileys. You are one hundred per cent Riley.’

She shook the proffered hand. ‘Fifty per cent only. My mother was an O’Connor, then a Riley, now a Holt. I was a Riley, then an Allen, soon to be a Baxter. Mam and I are working our
way through the alphabet. This is Roy Baxter, my current intended.’

Joe’s mouth twitched. Of one thing he was certain: they were all characters. ‘So your dad’s dead, I take it?’

‘He is. And this is my mother’s wedding reception. Let’s go across the road, because she doesn’t do surprises. The party’s enough – she couldn’t be
doing with much more excitement.’

As soon as they had settled in his front room, Roy spoke. ‘There’s a Tom,’ he said. ‘His wife’s Maureen, and she’s an older version of my Rosh. Tom has a job
at the Co-op. His ma-in-law feeds dock workers during the week and runs an Irish club some evenings.’

Joe burst out laughing. ‘Oh yes. That’ll be Paddy. She’s a star turn. Took over an old building that used to be owned by Lights – they made lampshades and the like. Paddy
added a section on, turned it into an L-shaped building, but she keeps the newer bit partitioned off while she feeds dockers. So Lights is its evening name, and they call it Scouse Alley during the
weekdays. Maureen is Paddy’s daughter, and she married Tom. Yes, I’ve met them.’

Rosh was taking it all in. ‘Then Paddy must be my mother’s sister-in-law.’

Again, Joe laughed. ‘I couldn’t possibly make a family tree. I think you’ll all have to work on that after the reunion. We’ve decided to hold it at Lights some time in
late spring or early summer. Are you game for that?’

‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with our wedding. Don’t do anything before the middle of April. We’re having a honeymoon down south, probably Cornwall.’

‘Right you are.’ With a flourish, he handed her something. ‘My card.’

Rosh looked at it. ‘Injun Joe?’

‘That’s me, ma’am. I’m an honorary member of two tribes, and blood brother to several native Americans.’

‘How exciting,’ she exclaimed. ‘So you go and live with them sometimes?’

‘I intend to retire there. It’s a life worth living and, of course, my wife’s there. Daughter of a chief, no less. We have two children and wonderful neighbours. Most of my
income goes to my family. Anyway, I must let you get back to your party.’

Roy and Rosh waved him off.

Across the road, Anna was waiting at the door. ‘Who on God’s good earth was that? Looked like he’d stepped out of a silent movie.’

‘It’s Hiawatha, I think,’ Rosh mused aloud. ‘Or was Hiawatha a woman?’

Roy wasn’t sure, and he said so.

But Anna was too excited to listen. ‘We’re going on a train and a boat,’ she announced proudly. ‘Isle of Wight, where the old queen died. Mr Collingford has a house
there, so he’s lending it to me and Eric for our honeymoon. They’ve got servants.’

Rosh tried to imagine Mam with servants, though the exercise was a complete failure. For Anna Holt, the kitchen was her natural habitat. Servants? They might well be sent packing with little
spotty red handkerchiefs on sticks over their shoulders, plus instructions about never darkening certain doors again. The Collingfords could lose their staff. ‘That’s lovely,
Mam,’ she said. ‘I believe the Isle of Wight’s a pretty place.’ God help the Isle of Wight. Was it big enough for her mother’s personality?

‘And thank you, Roisin,’ Anna continued. ‘We’ve really enjoyed ourselves. I’m that proud of our Philly – she’s been playing something called rack man
enough. It was very fiddly, but her fingers flew like butterflies over the keys. A gentle touch, she has. Of course, she’ll have got that from me, so.’

‘It was Rachmaninoff,’ said a voice from behind her. The words came from Eric, of course. ‘As for the gentle touch . . .’ The invisible man sighed heavily.

‘Isn’t that what I was after saying? Rack man enough?’ She stood back to allow Roy and Rosh to enter the house. ‘And Alice all settled – she never had asparagus
syndrome, did she?’

Rosh shook her head in despair. Mam still refused to employ the real word. And the reason? It was the Irish choice, this marked tendency to make light of frightening situations, the decision to
laugh in order to stem the tears. It was a strange form of bravery, yet it was courageous in its way. While Anna feared for her younger granddaughter’s welfare, she refused to show it.
‘She probably hasn’t got asparagus, Mam.’

Wicked eyes fixed on Rosh. ‘Are you taking the wotsit out of me, Roisin Allen?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it. And I’m glad you enjoyed your party.’

The expression on the older woman’s face softened. ‘You’re a good girl, and you’ve a good man alongside of you.’

‘I know. So have you, Mam.’

‘Ah, he’s manageable.’

Eric winked at his new daughter. ‘That’s what she thinks. She knows the rules, Rosh. Stay off my allotment, let me read the paper in peace and leave me to have a lie-in on a
Saturday. I love her, but she’ll not walk over me.’

Anna bit her lip and looked at the ceiling.

Rosh kept her face straight. Something had happened to Mam, and this man seemed to be the one who had interfered with her determination to retain the throne. ‘Be happy,’ ordered
Roy.

Anna and Eric walked away.

Rosh took her good man’s hands in hers. She wasn’t forgetting Phil. She could never forget that wonderful husband. There were things about him that she’d always remember
– like the way he tilted his head when pretending to tell her off, his beautiful smile and his terrible toast. It was always either anaemic or black as hell. ‘I’ll never be sorry
I married him, and I’ll never be pleased that he died,’ she said before pausing for thought. ‘But I’m glad I have you. Do you understand? Do you know you’re very
special to me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t get too cocky, though.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Or I’ll deal with you.’

‘Right.’

She stared at him. ‘Are you laughing at me, Baxter?’

‘I wouldn’t bloody dare.’

He was laughing at her. He was laughing at her inside, where it didn’t show. Because of the party, she couldn’t do anything. Yet. ‘Just you wait,’ she mumbled before
leaving him where he was.

Roy chuckled. Would it be a wet dishcloth across the head? Or might certain privileges be withdrawn? Worse still, would she set her mother on him? A black cat wove itself round his ankles. This
dark character already felt sorry for him. ‘Oh, Lucy-Furry,’ he whispered. ‘You know, don’t you?’ It was going to be the dishcloth again.

Seamus was now a cat on bricks so hot that they must have been manufactured in hell. She was going. She was going tonight, but he felt sure in his bones that she would be
leaving a note for Granddad. According to Mam, her parents’ marriage was the best ever, so there had to be a note.

A stair creaked. Her suitcase was under the stairs, brown with scarred corners, an old belt strapped round its middle in case the jumpy bits snapped open again. Blackpool. Out of the house by
nine in the morning, cruet threepence a week, baths to be booked a day in advance, and don’t come back into the house before half past five, because the evening meal began at a quarter to
six. A big woman in flowered aprons and navy carpet-slippers, overfed on her own importance, face twitching when the smallest suitcase burst open and Gran’s unmentionables deposited
themselves in the lobby. The key was lost, so a belt of Granddad’s was promoted to a new position as guardian of Gran’s bloomers.

Another creak. Seamus wrapped a pillow round his head, willing his grandfather to stay asleep. New houses shouldn’t creak, should they? Dad had explained about timbers expanding and
contracting in response to temperature fluctuations, but somebody should have found a cure by now. They – whoever they were – had dealt with diphtheria and were on their way with
smallpox, so surely a creak could be eliminated? It wasn’t much to ask.

He replaced his pillow. Even the silence seemed loud. There was probably no such thing as complete silence, anyway, what with cats and dogs fooling about, and drunks on their way home from a
night on the ale. Granddad was snoring. Sometimes, he woke himself with a very loud snore, but he’d better not do that tonight.

Seamus wasn’t sure about God. Being unsure about God was probably a sin, but only if there was a God. So just in case there was a God, he apologized for being uncertain and begged for
Granddad to stay asleep. The longer he slept, the further away Gran would be, and what she was doing probably needed doing. Finbar and Michael would want to come for a visit and bring their
children, even if one was only a girl.

It was possible to leave the house without slamming the front door. All you needed was to keep the key in the Yale, hold it turned to the open position, then allow the lock to slide home with
barely a click. She’d gone. She must have gone, because the London coach was due to leave in half an hour, and it was quite a walk to town.

Then there was Mam and Dad to think about. They’d been to a play or a concert, then on to a restaurant. Oh, God. If there was a God. Mam and Dad would be closing in on Gran now. She knew
their car; she knew them. And how would Mam take the news that she was about to follow the London coach all the way to – where was it? Victoria, that was it. It wasn’t a train station;
it was a bus depot. He needed sleep, because tomorrow was a school day, so he stretched out and counted rabbits because sheep were boring. And it was already tomorrow. And Granddad would hit the
roof.