The Mersey Girls (39 page)

Horrible ole divil, he’s no right to be rude about the Irish, Lucy thought with unusual venom, sinking into a seat and leaning her weary head back against the plush upholstery. Bogtrotter indeed, just who did he think he was? I wish he might say that to a man – a man would have t’umped him for that!

But wishing wasn’t much good; if wishes were horses then tinkers would ride, Lucy told herself, and got a stab of pain at the words. Oh, Finn, Finn! But you’ve forgotten him, she reminded herself fiercely, you’ve not so much as wasted a thought on him since Granny Mogg’s death, and that was three years and more ago. Don’t, for the love of God, start all that up again, don’t start thinking of him now!

And for once, she obeyed her own injunction. She felt the train jolt and lurch, heard the whistle blow and various people call out, laugh, begin to push into the compartment. And then she was asleep and dreaming of green Cahersiveen meadows and the sea lough, blue beneath the sun.

‘Wake up, luv! You’re t’lass who wanted Crewe, aren’t you? Well, we’ve arrived . . . come on, luv, do wake up!’

The voice was strange, the accent stranger, but the word ‘Crewe’ brought Lucy surging up from the depths of sleep. Groggily, she sat up; where was she? A bleary glance round confirmed that she was not at home but then she was pulled to her feet and her bag thrust into her arms.

‘Move thysen’, luv, or you’ll be carried out of t’station! You want to change ’ere for Liverpool. Hey don’t forget thy coat!’

Half asleep still but rapidly coming round, Lucy scrabbled for her coat, her bag, her various possessions, and then stumbled out onto the platform. The train had been stuffily warm but the air on the platform was bracing, not to say cold, Lucy thought, trying to retract her head into the collar of her coat as a tortoise might when the chilly wind nipped at her sleep-crumpled cheeks.

‘The train now standing at platform four is the twenty-one forty for . . .’ a list of stations followed and just as Lucy was about to go in search of a porter the voice concluded, ‘and Liverpool Lime Street.’

That was her train! But where was platform four? Lucy took a look around her and realised, for the first time, that this station was
huge,
absolutely massive. There were signs at various points, people scurrying about, a flight of stairs leading to an upper area, but she could not see a sign saying platform four nor another sign pointing to the Liverpool train. She was trailing miserably along the platform when an official-looking figure passed her. Quick as a flash, she grabbed the uniform-clad arm.

‘Oh, excuse me, can you tell me where platform four is?’

The man looked down at her.

‘Up the stairs, turn left, down the stairs, at the bottom of the second flight of stairs, turn left,’ he said in a flat, uninterested tone. ‘Better run, miss, if it’s the twenty-one forty you’re after. It’s almost time ’e left.’

Lucy ran. She missed it.

Emerging onto Lime Street at eleven o’clock at night was quite an experience for a country-bred girl. Instead of being in darkness, as Lucy had assumed it would be, the street was brightly lit, and the gas lamps’ flaring white light illuminated a number of smart and beautifully dressed ladies strolling idly along the pavements.

The theatre is near, I remember someone telling me so, it must have just opened its doors for the audience to leave, Lucy thought, staring with considerable admiration at the lovely ladies. It then occurred to her that it was not usual for a great many women to go to the theatre unaccompanied, yet there did not seem to be any gentlemen accompanying the ladies.

Then a gentleman came along. He was walking swiftly, not paying very much attention to his surroundings or not appearing to do so, anyway. And the ladies converged on him. They knew him, obviously. One asked him if he had found himself a bed for the night, another suggested that she was always willing to give any assistance she could to a kind gentleman like him, a third advised him not to consider Mimsie or Sal but to choose a decent girl like herself. Or that was what Lucy thought they said; their accents were by no means genteel and she had to listen carefully or she would have assumed they were speaking a foreign language.

But the gentleman understood them perfectly. ‘Go away girls,’ he said cheerfully and in plain English. ‘Another time I’d be pleased to accommodate one or two of you, but tonight I’ve other fish to fry and a train to catch into the bargain.’ And he hurried into the station which Lucy had just vacated, almost pushing her aside as he did so.

‘Well I never did, those ladies aren’t . . . aren’t ladies,’ Lucy said under her breath. ‘I think I’d better find me hotel before I make any more mistakes.’ And, bag in hand, she made her way quickly along the pavement to the grand foyer of the nearest hotel.

There was a smart young man on the desk. He looked her over very carefully, but seemed to approve of what he saw for he gave her a smile and said, ‘Was you wantin’ a room, miss?’ in a slow but pleasant voice.

‘Yes, please. Just for the one night,’ Lucy said and for the first time became conscious of her own brogue, because the young man said ‘Pardon?’ and she had to repeat the words, speaking this time as slowly and carefully as the reception clerk.

‘Ah, I understand. Sorry, miss, a room for one night. If I might make so bold I suggest that you pay now, then if you have to leave early in the morning there will be no need to waste time settling your account.’

Wearily, Lucy found money, paid him, picked up her case. But the young man whistled and a boy appeared in a smart maroon uniform and enough gold braid to make him captain of a passenger liner at least. The boy took her case and her bag from her grasp and jerked his head at her.

‘Folly me, queen,’ he said briefly. ‘Room 101.’

Dazed with tiredness and wide-eyed at the strangeness of the very first hotel she had ever visited, let alone stayed in, to say nothing of the sheer size of it, Lucy only realised he was expecting a tip when he opened the door of Room 101 and ushered her in. She turned to thank him and found an outstretched hand practically under her nose.

‘Oh, sorry,’ she said. She took out her purse again, selected a coin and put it on his palm. ‘Thanks very much . . . aha! Give me me bag, you young rascal.’

The boy handed over her bag, which he had slung across his shoulder to free his hands for tackling the door-key and her case. ‘You’re norras green as you’re painted,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Sweet dreams, queen!’

Lucy tumbled into bed without so much as washing, though she did take a drink from the toothglass. But although she slept very deeply at first she was awoken in the early hours by strange noises from the room next door. Bed springs twanged, voices cooed and called and cursed, someone gave a couple of very loud shrieks, and then, abruptly, silence fell once more. Lucy, who had sat tremblingly upright in bed at the first sound, lay slowly down on her pillows once again. For the first time, she began to realise what life must have been like for Linnet once her mother had died. Of course it was possible that Linnet was in America, but Lucy did not think so. She knew almost nothing about her twin, had scarcely thought of her over the past twenty years, but now that she was actually in Liverpool she was getting a steadily increasing feeling that Linnet was near. That she had been in Liverpool all along – and that she, Lucy, was about to find the missing Murphy.

And alongside that feeling was this other, newer one. That far from being jealous of Linnet and envying her, she should pity her from the bottom of her heart. I had so much – Maeve, Grandad, Caitlin, Granny Mogg, she told herself. I’ve never in my life, until now, had to do anything by meself. Poor Linnet’s been travelling alone, living alone, working alone. She’s had to earn her own money, make it go round, find somewhere to live, even. And I’ve had my tickets paid for, my journey mapped out for me, and still I got lost, missed my train, arrived very late in the hotel, and I’ve absolutely hated it. Over the past day I’ve been frightened, sick, lost and lonely – so lonely! My sister Linnet’s a brave girl to have faced a loneliness worse than any I’ve ever dreamed of – the loneliness of one small girl in this huge, frightening city!

Next day, Lucy left the hotel, bags in hand, and went in search of something cheaper and more suitable. Outside the hotel she hailed a taxicab and asked the driver to take her to a smaller, friendlier place than the big hotel in which she had spent the night.

‘You want a boarding ’ouse, chuck,’ the driver said, having given the matter some thought. ‘Temp’rance, are you?’

‘I’m from County Kerry,’ Lucy assured him. ‘A boarding house sounds nice. Will it be cheap?’

‘Depends on the area. I think you’d best ’ead for a street what’s quiet but central. Near the station, but not too near, ’cos o’ the din. I should think Brownlow ‘ill would suit, bein’ as it’s central but classy.’ He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘An’ you’re young, you’ll manage the climb,’ he said encouragingly. ‘From Ireland, are you?’

‘Yes, from Kerry,’ Lucy said again. She was gradually growing used to the Liverpool accent, having spent most of breakfast time simply listening to it as it surged around her, but she did realise that she would have to try to tame her own brogue a bit, if she was to be understood, that was. ‘I’m searching for me sister – we’re twins. I thought it would be easy to find her, but I’d not realised the city was so huge. Still, if she’s in Liverpool, I’ll find her – her name’s Linnet Murphy.’

‘Linnet. Unusual. Can’t say I’ve ’eard of a Linnet afore,’ the driver mused. ‘You’ll find ’er, though, if you keep askin’. Liverpool’s norras big as you think, chuck.’

‘It’s bigger than Cahersiveen,’ Lucy said and the driver chuckled, then drew in beside the kerb. ‘There you are, Mrs Cordiner, The Lilacs, Brownlow ‘ill. You’ll be fine wi’ Mrs Cordiner, she looks after ’er guests like a mother would.’

Lucy lugged her belongings out of the taxicab, paid the driver and knocked on the green front door. A large lady answered and said that she did have a room and that Miss was welcome to take a look before making up her mind.

Miss took a look and liked the place; it was clean, cheap and cheerful, what more could anyone ask? She explained her quest to Mrs Cordiner as she paid her first week’s rent and Mrs Cordiner said she would put the word around for a Miss Linnet Murphy and would Miss Lucy Murphy like a cup of tea before she started out?

I’m going to be all right, Lucy told herself later, when the tea had been drunk, the house vacated, and she was on her way to the public library to see if they could help her. Mrs Cordiner’s a nice woman, she’ll do what she can to help and she won’t cheat me. I’m going to find Linnet, I know it in me bones!

It was Linnet’s day off and the day started bright and seemed likely to go on the same way. Linnet felt cheerful and happy from the moment she had jumped out of bed, not only because it was her day off but because it was sunny which must mean that summer was on its way at last.

Ever since the advent of Emma, the nurserymaid, Linnet had taken her time off without fail and since Mollie had started nursery school she did not even feel guilty at so doing. She usually went to the Sullivans’ place and helped in the house, washing, ironing, cleaning, until it was time for the midday meal. Having worked hard all morning, the afternoon was usually given up to an outing of some description. Linnet treated Mrs Sullivan since she still spent very little of her salary and enjoyed giving pleasure. Besides, she was very conscious of the debt she owed the older woman. So Linnet and Mrs Sullivan took themselves off to a theatre or a cinema, or some other form of entertainment. Sometimes they took a tram ride or went on the overhead railway, at other times they treated themselves to tea and cream cakes at a posh café. In fine weather they set off as soon as Linnet arrived and went to Seaforth Sands, or New Brighton, or Woodside, anywhere within reach, in short. But today Linnet had a problem and needed Mrs Sullivan’s advice, which meant, of course, that theatres and cinemas were out; she wanted quiet, a good tea, and plenty of time.

‘We’ll walk down the Scottie, takin’ a look in the winders as we go, an’ find ourselves a nice café for tea,’ Mrs Sullivan said with relish. Now that her children were growing up and the older ones working, life was much easier. Roddy, Linnet knew, sent his mother home a generous allotment, as did the other boys with well-paid jobs. ‘I only ’ope I can ’elp, Linnie. I don’t need to tell you ’ow dear you are to me, chuck; you’re the daughter I never did ’ave, that’s what.’

‘And you’re more of a mam to me than my own ever was,’ Linnet said ruefully. ‘Come on then, let’s window-shop!’

And for the first twenty minutes they enjoyed themselves thoroughly, just looking and dreaming. But then Linnet broached the subject which was bothering her.

‘Mrs Sullivan, it’s me and your Roddy. We’ve been going steady for ages, I’m ever so fond of him, but when he comes home however well we start off before long we’re quarrelling. And I don’t understand it, truly I don’t, because I – well, I like him so much. He’s funny and kind and very clever in his own way, and I long for his shore leave and then when it comes within two minutes we’re starting to disagree, then to quarrel and then, sometimes, I give him a clack.’

‘I know, queen,’ Mrs Sullivan said ruefully. ‘The ’ole Square knows, comes to that. But I do ’ave a thought on the marrer. When’s the weddin’, eh?’

Startled, Linnet gave a snort of laughter. ‘We keep putting it off, because I promised Mr Cowan that I wouldn’t leave him and Mollie in the lurch, and because now Roddy wants to leave the sea when we get married. I told him if he’s going to come ashore then he’s bound to get less money, so we’ll have to save up harder and get a home of our own before we tie the knot. Well, it’s all very well to say he wants to come ashore, but if he does I’m just scared we’d quarrel even worse than we do now. And I don’t think I could stand it, quite honestly. I hate being cross all the time but it’s beginning to be like that when Roddy’s home. And I don’t fancy constant bickering, because that’s not good for a marriage, is it?’