The Liverpool Trilogy (145 page)

Rosh followed her mother. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked.

‘Oh, so now I’m not welcome in me own daughter’s house.’

‘Don’t be silly, Mam.’

‘Silly? Silly, is it? I’ll tell you what silly is. Silly is two grown men dressed like God knows what poking about in beehives while the creatures were asleep for the winter. There
was no need to go dressing up, because you never see a bee till summer.’

She sat down. ‘In fact, Eric got very excited about everyone but the queen being dead and the females working themselves to the grave for just six weeks every year. So he comes back from
the Isle of Wight wanting to keep bees on his allotment for cross-pollination purposes or some such thing. The allotment bosses said no, and there’s no room outside the back of the house, so
he’s building a pigeon loft against my kitchen wall instead. Pigeons. Rats with wings. He can’t have bees, so he wants pigeons. Good job we came home after three days, or we might have
ended up with a zoo.’

Rosh tutted. ‘Those rats with wings got medals after the war, Mam. If it wasn’t for domesticated pigeons, we would have lost even more men.’

Anna grunted. ‘And where would a bird pin a medal? Anyway, that’s as may be, but I don’t want pigeon droppings on my washing. They don’t care where they do it, you know.
So I’m not having it. I won’t have it. I will not put up with it.’

Roy came in with mugs of tea. ‘What’s the score?’ he asked.

‘Several direct hits from varying heights,’ was Rosh’s response. ‘Eric wants to keep pigeons, and Mam’s making him choose between her and his feathered
friends.’

Anna took a sip of tea. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘He can choose between life or death for his precious birds, because I’m here for my cats. If he wants his pigeons to live,
he’d be better leaving them exactly where they are, un-purchased.’

Roy rubbed the sleep from his eyes. ‘You can’t take the cats, Anna.’

‘And who are you to be telling me what I can and can’t take?’

‘Alice’s nearly-stepfather,’ he replied. ‘That child was a worry for Rosh and Phil, and the cats have been part of her improvement. Functionally, she’s up to
scratch on the social level, though she’s still a bit quiet occasionally. But her work’s brilliant, and she’s a fantastic artist. Are you going to take Winston away when you know
Alice tells him all her problems? And Lucy-Furr, who curls up every night with your youngest grandchild – will you take that bit of comfort, too?’

Anna blinked. She hadn’t thought this through properly. ‘We could share them.’

‘They’d be straight back here as soon as your back was turned,’ Rosh pronounced. ‘Cats belong to a place; these two have chosen my children, too. I know Lucy’s a
pest, but we love her. You mustn’t do it, Mam. Anyway, they could get run over dashing from house to house.’

Anna sighed. ‘All right, then. I need new cats. You see, that nice little man who came a-courting thinks he can best me.’

‘But he loves you, Mam.’

‘I know he loves me. And he also fights me in his quiet way. It’s like a continuous joke that isn’t even funny.’ She swallowed. ‘Well, I hate to say this, Roisin,
but he’s cleverer than I am.’

Roy placed a hand on Anna’s shoulder. ‘You took the mickey out of him good and proper for ages before the wedding, love. He’s just keeping one step ahead, that’s all.
I’ve noticed he holds you back in company when you try to show him up. Anna, why can’t you see he’s playing you at your own game?’

‘I don’t mind the game, Roy. But I can’t bear the losing. Do you mind back to the times he just stood there twisting his cap because I made him nervous?’

‘I do,’ Roy answered, his face in serious mode.

‘So he marries me, then takes that as permission to do as he pleases.’

‘Does he hit you?’ Rosh asked.

‘Is there a knife in his back? No, it’s not that. It’s the way he pretended to be such a nice man.’

‘He is a nice man,’ Rosh insisted. ‘He’s just not the docile fool you thought you were getting.’

‘I’m the fool,’ Anna cried. ‘I let him make me the fool. All that tippytoeing round me so I’d marry him, all that pretending to be helpless.’

‘Mam, he would have sold his soul to marry you.’

‘Then why doesn’t he treat me better?’

A glance passed between Rosh and Roy; both knew that Rosh would have to say the next line. ‘You mean why doesn’t he lie down and let you walk all over him? Perhaps you go too far,
Mam. Phil had your measure. He respected you as a strong, determined woman, but he saw through all your games. Roy does, too. Roy takes the edge of your tongue often enough and doesn’t rise
to the bait, but one day he might.’ She glanced at him, and was pleased to see that he continued to wear a grave expression.

It was plain that Anna failed to see where she’d gone wrong. Her first husband had seemed content enough even though she’d managed to produce just one living child. He’d been a
bit untidy, and she’d told him off once or twice about that . . . No, she had to be truthful to herself. She’d nagged a bit. She’d raised her voice on several occasions.

‘Mam?’

‘Be quiet, I’m thinking.’ She was thinking it was too late for her to change. Even her humour had a sharp edge, but she was Irish, wasn’t she? The Irish were quick to
laugh, quick to cry, quick to lose temper. It was just that Eric had seemed so docile . . . ‘I never tried to fool him, did I?’

‘No,’ said Rosh. ‘You had him scrubbing cupboards, sweeping paths, painting ceilings. And he’s put his foot down not on the rung of a ladder, but where you’ll trip
over it. Yet he’s not a bad man. He loves you, but he wants a partnership, not a mistress and slave arrangement.’

At this point, Eric Holt entered the theatre of war. Unlike Roy, he had made a bit of an effort and was reasonably tidy. ‘Hello, Rosh. Hello, Roy.’ He looked at his bride.
‘Hello, love.’

Anna angled herself differently so that she was facing the fireplace. She didn’t want to look at him.

Eric looked at the other occupants of the room. ‘I haven’t got her permission to be here, you see. It was her bloody-mindedness that attracted me, but it’s hard to live
with.’

Anna glanced over her shoulder. ‘That’s right. Talk about me as if I’m not here.’ Having made her views known, she turned her back on the trio once more.

The slow, plodding Eric seemed to have disappeared. ‘You turned away from us, so you’re
not
here,’ he said before continuing to speak to her daughter. ‘I
can’t take an interest in anything before sitting through the statutory conference. She’s rearranged all the kitchen cupboards, moved all the furniture in the living room, and tidied me
wardrobe. Tidied? I can’t find anything when I need it. She’s thrown out half of me gardening clothes.’

Rosh winked at her stepfather before employing her next weapon. ‘Well, that’s the way she is. You knew what you were taking on, so don’t moan. That’s my mother, and
she’s a good woman who doesn’t want pigeon doings all over her tablecloths.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘Oh, I can’t see this working, can you, Roy?’

Roy agreed. ‘No, she’ll have to come home. Leave her with us, Eric. We’re used to her.’

Eric played the game. ‘Fair enough. I suppose you know best. She even shortened the honeymoon because she didn’t like the servants. I got on OK with the gardener, but we shared
interests, you see. Anna kept looking for dust and saying the cook couldn’t cook. So we came back.’

‘And was that when you started wondering?’ Rosh asked innocently. ‘Whether you’d done the right thing?’

‘That’s right.’

Rosh winked again. ‘Speaking for myself, I don’t think you’re man enough for her. Even if she wants to come back to you, we’ll stop her. But it’s your fault. She
hasn’t changed at all, yet you have. No, you’ll never manage her, and you should have realized that from the start. You shouldn’t marry someone and then decide to change
them.’

Eric coughed. ‘You’re right,’ he said mournfully.

Anna jumped up. ‘Hey, that’s my husband you’re criticizing. Leave him alone, but.’

Eric hung his head. ‘They’re right, Anna.’

‘But we always . . .’ She blushed. ‘We make up afterwards, don’t we?’

Roy squatted down and studied a mark on the wallpaper. ‘Lucy’s been at it again.’ His voice trembled slightly with subdued laughter. Anna was like a child in many ways. When
something was removed, she wanted it back, though that didn’t mean she would treat it with anything approaching respect.

‘What about your pigeons, then?’ Rosh asked.

‘It’s a trellis I’m building for honeysuckle,’ he answered. ‘I told her it was for pigeons to pay her back for getting rid of my grey cardigan.’

‘Cardigan?’ Anna shrieked. ‘It was a cardi gone, cos there were more holes than wool. You were a walking moth factory. I considered hanging a bell round your neck to warn folk
to avoid you.’

Eric chuckled.

‘See?’ Anna stood and waved a hand in his direction. ‘Mockery.’

‘Mam, he’s not—’

‘And don’t interfere in private matters again, Roisin.’ She used the raised hand to push her husband into the hall. ‘We need no advice,’ she threw over her shoulder
before slamming the front door.

Roy was doubled over in pain on the floor. Rosh dropped into an armchair. ‘What happened then?’ she asked. ‘Did she or did she not come knocking on my door?’

The only response managed by the heap on the rug was a howl of laughter.

‘Some flaming use you are, Roy. The slightest thing, and you crack up like a raw egg. She brought cat baskets. She called him for everything. She wanted Lucy and Winston to kill his
pigeons.’

‘Which he isn’t getting,’ Roy managed.

‘They’re like a flaming pantomime.’

‘Ugly sisters?’

‘Something like that. Go home. You look like something that fell off a flitting.’

‘What?’

‘An expression of my mother’s. A flitting’s done at midnight because the rent’s not been paid. A horse and cart arrives, and everything’s thrown on the back, family
included. They have to be quick, so stuff and people fall off.’

‘Right.’ He sighed. ‘So glad I asked.’ He looked at his reflection in the mirror. ‘You’re right, of course. I look as if I fell off a moving
vehicle.’

‘Naturally,’ she said.

‘Just like your mother.’ He donated a perfunctory kiss and went home. Some people didn’t appreciate other people . . .

‘Have you written the full number plate down? It won’t be the only coach bound for London Victoria, you know. When we get to a comfort stop, we’ll need to be
sure which bus is ours. We’d be in a right mess if we ended up following the wrong one. You can’t be too careful with these things.’

Maureen sighed heavily and stuck her tongue out sideways. He didn’t notice, anyway. If she’d stripped off and walked in front of his car with a red flag, she would have been no more
than an obstacle in his path. ‘You sounded very much like a Co-op manager just then, Tom. Or some old schoolteacher. For the forty-seventh time, yes, I have written the number plate down.
It’s here in my purse as safe as houses, your honour.’

‘Are you sure you did it right?’

‘Are you sure you don’t want a clout with this handbag?’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to spend the night in a ditch?’

Maureen gritted her teeth. Tom was hunched over the steering wheel like a hungry, toothless old man hovering hopefully above a plate of food that threatened to defeat his dentures. He’d
maintained that attitude throughout Lancashire and Cheshire, and was continuing through Staffordshire with his nose perilously near to the windscreen. She found herself hoping there would be no
sudden stops, because he’d get thrown through the window and die under the wheels of his own car. Even without ice, braking might be treacherous, and she fingered the rosary in her pocket
while praying for black ice and freezing fog to keep their distance. Getting to London alive would be preferable to the alternative, she told her Maker.

At last, the vehicle between Tom’s and the coach turned left. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ he said. ‘I can see what’s what now. I thought that chap was going to be
with us for ever.’

Maureen tutted. ‘The coach driver will notice you’re following him all the way. He might phone the police. Say there’s somebody rich on the coach, he might think we were
planning a kidnap and looking for a chance to hold somebody to ransom for thousands. If we get arrested, who’ll help Mam then, eh?’

‘Bloody hell, Maureen.’

‘What?’

Tom snorted. ‘Don’t talk so daft. Rich people don’t go on the overnight bus to London; they don’t need to. First class train compartment for them, or even a hired
plane.’

Mam was on the rear seat of the coach. If she turned round, she might see them, so Tom had to keep some distance, and Maureen understood that. Although the roads were quiet, it was dark, frosty
and unsafe, and the coach didn’t move quickly enough to be a great worry. ‘Will they stop soon?’ she asked. ‘I need a wee.’

‘There’s a bucket in the boot,’ was his terse reply.

‘There’s a which in the what?’ Incredulity lifted the tone of her voice.

‘You heard me. When we get to Stoke, your mother might go into the café and rest rooms, so it’s a bucket in the car if you can manage it, or squat behind a wall or a bush
where you can’t be seen. Other than that, cross your legs till we reach London, because that’s the only option you’ll have left. Don’t wet my car.’

Maureen was flabbergasted. ‘And if I get a bit peckish, what happens then?’

Tom groaned. She’d not long ago eaten half the contents of a restaurant’s fridge, so why should she suffer hunger? Like their youngest son, she was a gannet. ‘There’s a
flask of soup, a flask of tea, some sandwiches and half an apple pie in the boot. Oh, and some butterscotch toffees bought specially for you.’

Maureen shook her head in disbelief. ‘I hope they’re not in the bucket.’

‘They are in the bucket,’ he replied calmly. ‘Because it’s brand new, and nobody’s peed in it yet. Before anybody pees in it, I shall remove the food and the
flasks.’ In certain situations, a Riley woman could drive a man so far round the bend he’d think he’d been flushed down the drains of Bootle. ‘You are annoying me, love. I
have to concentrate, and I can’t do that if you mither.’