Goodnight Lady (59 page)

Briony kissed his face. Little kisses over his eyes, his cheeks, and on his mouth. She held his face between her tiny hands and she knew, at last she knew. The mystery of man and woman. What had driven Kerry and Bernie, and what had driven Juliette Byron to write such a letter to her absent husband. She felt a flicker of jealousy for the women who had found this out when young, when well able to follow their star. She was forty-four years old and felt like a newborn.

The kettle was screaming on the hob and the rain battering, against the windows. Pulling away from one another, Briony and Tommy smiled at one another shyly. As if they had just met. Briony looked down at the lacy scrap of underwear on the stone floor and giggled. Her cami-knickers were torn beyond repair. Tommy had his trousers around his ankles and looked ridiculous, but handsomely ridiculous. She pulled down her skirt and rebuttoned her blouse quickly with trembling hands. Taking the kettle off the range, she made the coffee, listening to his movements. Frightened that he might leave her now, and never come back.

As she turned to face him, she swallowed deeply. Then slowly, squeezing out of her eyes as if unsure what they were doing, the tears came. Hot stinging tears. Tommy went to her and took her in his arms, whispering endearments, stroking the erratic red hair that had escaped from the confines of its French pleat.

‘I never knew, Tommy. I never knew you could feel like that. I’ve been only half alive all my life. Only half alive...’

Tommy held her tightly. If anyone had told him that his coming here would have brought this on he’d have laughed aloud at the very thought. But it was as if today they had reached their turning point. She had been there in front of him, his girl, his Briony. His best friend for so long. And fate had decreed that today was to be the time for them. The time for them to get together properly. As they should have done years before, when young and eager.

‘I know, Bri ... I know, my love.’

And he held her while she cried. There was time enough to tell her why he had followed her here, why he had waited to see her alone. For the time being they had one another and that was enough.

God knew, he had waited long enough for her. Even if he hadn’t fully realised that himself until today.

 

It was Sunday and Liselle slept in till ten-thirty, secure in the knowledge that her mother had nowhere to go today and she could let her sleep. They’d go to evening Mass with Granny Moll as they did every Sunday, then out to dinner. The drinking would start about eight-thirty, and her mother would set herself up for the week.

Lying in bed listening to the sounds of the radio, Liselle sighed. She lifted one slim arm to turn the radio up slightly. The darkness of her arm against the white chest of drawers made her stare. Pulling the covers from herself, she looked down at her body. Even her nipples were black. She remembered at school, all the other girls had had tiny pink nipples, and they had all laughed at her brown ones, brown ones that were now nearly black. She frowned. Her pubic hair was jet black, tiny black spirals that seemed to grow prolifically around the tops of her legs. Yet she knew she was attractive. Men looked at her twice. It had always been that way.

She had developed earlier than her friends, having large heavy breasts by the time she was twelve. Her school friends had been envious of her, but she had shrugged it off. Her mother said all the Cavanagh girls had been early developers and she had been satisfied with that explanation. But lately, she had wondered about herself. During the war, a black airforceman had smiled at her. She had smiled back, naturally, as you did to anyone who smiled at you in a friendly manner. Her Granny Moll, seeing the exchange, had gone mad. She had gone for the man in the middle of Brick Lane, bringing the eyes of passersby on to them. Going to her granny, Liselle had pulled on her arm, shame and hurt welling up inside her.

‘Granny... Gran, leave it be!’ she’d cried.

The man had looked at her and said, ‘She’s your granny, girl?’ His voice had been incredulous. She had nodded, humiliated. But the exchange had stayed with her, bringing all sorts of fancies into her childish heart. Now at twenty-one she remembered the long buried incident and it troubled her.

Sitting up in bed, she clasped her knees. She would ring the twins and arrange to see them. They always cheered her up.

When Kerry got up, she found Liselle’s note. She went into the lounge in a green silk wrapper and poured herself a large vodka and fresh orange juice. She drank it straight down and immediately poured herself another. Then sitting down she picked up the Sunday paper and lit herself a cigarette. She was reading the
News of the World
when the telephone rang.

Leaning out of her chair, she picked it up, the smell of Mrs Harcourt cooking her some eggs making her want to gag.

‘Hello.’

‘Is that you, Kerry girl?’

She dropped the phone on to the beige carpet, staring at it as if it was a demon. Scrambling from the chair, she picked the receiver up once more and held it tentatively to her ear.

The line was dead.

Placing it back in its cradle she stood there staring at it, willing it to ring.

She knew that voice. That deep brown voice.

It didn’t ring again. Kerry sat all day, with the bottle of vodka by her side, waiting. Still it didn’t ring. She spent the rest of the day lost in a drunken world of jazz music, smoky clubs, and the arms of a big handsome man called Evander Dorsey.

 

Molly stood outside St Vincent’s church with Rosalee. Both had on their best hats, coats and gloves, though Rosalee’s gloves were grubby where she had insisted on picking privets all the way to the church. Molly pursed her lips and shook her head. Abel was asleep in bed, getting ready for his night’s work at the club in Soho that Briony now owned. It was his way of getting out of going to Mass, she knew that. She saw the twins and Liselle get out of the boys’ Aston Martin and her heart swelled with pride. They never missed Sunday evening Mass with their gran.

As they walked into the church and genuflected before the Cross of Christ, Molly felt as if her whole life had been worth it for this. Boysie helped Rosalee into the front pew, which was now reserved especially for them, and the others filed in beside her. All knelt and said the regulation prayers, then sat back in silence, waiting for the priest and, hopefully, Kerry to arrive. Liselle watched the back of the church anxiously every time the doors opened. Her mother had better turn up. If she didn’t it meant she was too drunk, and Liselle hated her mother when she was really plastered.

Father Tierney walked down the church and everyone stood up. Boysie looked around the church as the service started, automatically making the responses in Latin as he always had. Boysie and Danny liked Mass. They always had from little children. They liked the feel of the church and they respected its sanctity. They believed in God as they believed in themselves. As the Mass drew to a close and the priest asked for prayers for the sick and the dying, the twins sat happily with their gran and their aunt and cousin Liselle, and enjoyed the feeling the church always created in them.

In there, with its high ceiling and its quietness, they could really believe that there was peace on earth and all was well with man.

Well, with these two men anyway.

 

The twins dropped their granny off at Briony’s and then took Liselle home. As they walked into the large house they heard the housekeeper, Mrs Harcourt, a widow of uncertain age, shouting.

Liselle rushed into the lounge where her mother was lying unconscious on the floor, the phone beside her.

‘Oh, Miss Liselle! I can’t wake her up. She’s been drinking steadily since she got up, wouldn’t eat a blessed thing, and now she’s unconscious!’

Liselle turned on the woman, saying sharply, ‘Well, shouting at her when she’s like this isn’t going to help, is it? Go and make a pot of coffee.’

Danny and Boysie looked at one another. Of one mind, they picked up their aunt and carried her up the stairs to her room. Plonking her down on the bed none too gently, Boysie threw a cover over her.

‘She should be put away, Liselle, as much as we all love her. She ain’t doing herself no favours with the drink.’

Liselle sighed heavily.

‘She won’t go. I’ve tried all that. There’s a place in Surrey where they dry you out, but she goes mental if you even mention it. Sometimes I feel like buggering off out of it, I really do. Just leaving her to it. I’ve got no life to speak of. I just watch her day and night. Look what happened when I went out with you today. All this.’

Danny felt an enormous surge of affection for the cousin who was more like his sister. Their situation while growing up had been so similar, no father and their Aunt Briony being the main person in their lives, even Liselle’s.

‘Come on, she’s out for the count now. Let’s all go out together, we know a terrific little club!’

Boysie joined in. ‘Yeah. Come on, Lissy, she’ll be out ’til the morning. Even black coffee won’t help her now.’

Hearing the name they had called her as a child made Liselle smile. ‘All right then. I suppose you’re right. She won’t wake now for about twelve hours.’

‘There you go then. Get dressed up and we’ll be your dates tonight.’

Boysie spoke in fun but Liselle looked at him and said seriously: ‘Boysie, you two are the only dates I’ve ever had.’

As she left the room the twins looked at one another sadly. Poor old Liselle, stuck looking after their Auntie Kerry who could sing, who could do anything as long as it was musical, yet couldn’t leave the drink or the drugs alone.

As they went to leave the room Kerry stirred and opened her eyes. Looking at the twins she said: ‘Evander?’ Then closing her eyes she was gone again.

Boysie said, ‘What did she say?’

Danny shrugged. ‘Something about lavender, I don’t know. Come on, let’s go downstairs, this place gives me the creeps.

Liselle got changed and walked out of the front door as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. When her mother was unconscious, like now, at least she knew where she was, and how long she was going to be there. That in itself was a result.

 

Molly had kissed her grandchildren then, taking Rosalee by the arm, walked up the drive,to Briony’s house. Rosalee was slow and Molly had to fight an urge to drag her along. At forty, Rosalee had lasted a lot longer than they had expected. Her weight was enormous, but she waddled through life happily enough and everyone doted on her, especially the twins. As they walked through Briony’s front door, Ciss, hardly able to contain herself with excitement, whispered: ‘Have a guess who’s here, Moll? Tommy Lane!’

Molly’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’re kidding?’

Cissy shook her big fat face ‘til her cheeks wobbled. ‘I ain’t. He’s in there now with Briony, Bernie and Marcus, as large as life!’

Molly divested herself and Rosalee of their coats in double quick time and, taking Rosalee’s hand again, went into the drawing room.

Tommy and Briony were sitting on the chesterfield by the french windows, and Bernie and Marcus were in easy chairs either side of the fireplace. Rosalee, waddling in behind her mother, looked at Briony and as always clapped her hands together and said in excitement: ‘Bri, Bri.’

Briony got up from her seat. Kissing her sister, she led her to the chesterfield, placing her between herself and Tommy. He took Rosalee’s hand and squeezed it.

‘Hello, Rosie love.’ He was genuinely pleased to see her.

Rosalee for her part smiled a huge toothless smile and said, ‘Tom.’

Everyone in the room was absolutely amazed.

‘Jumping Jesus Christ, did you hear that!’ Molly’s voice was low with shock.

As if showing off, Rosalee said once more, louder than anyone had ever heard her speak before: ‘Tom.’

Marcus shouted, ‘Well, I’ll be buggered!’

And Briony, quick as a flash, shouted back, ‘Not in here, you won’t!’

Even Molly laughed then.

‘Didn’t I always say she could talk more than we thought, Mum, didn’t I?’ Briony’s voice was so happy even Molly was gladdened at the sound of it.

‘You did that, Briony. You did that. Now I think I’ll have a drop of hot rum to celebrate. Would anyone like to join me?’

Briony felt as if her ship had indeed come in. Rosalee was more animated than she had ever seen her, she was drinking without help, and Tommy was sitting so close. She couldn’t wait for night to come so she could leap into bed with him and experience again the things she had felt that afternoon.

‘How’s herself?’ Molly’s voice was confidential as she enquired after Mrs H and Bernie laughed.

‘We’ve been up to her. She’s as right as the number ten bus, Mum.’

‘I’ll pop up to her meself in a minute. Poor old soul she is.’

Bernie got up to replenish Marcus’s glass and Tommy saw that she was now a middle-aged woman. Her figure was fuller, her waist long gone. He was sad for a second as he visualised her as she had been when he’d first known her.

As she placed the glass in her husband’s hand Marcus winked at her and Tommy smiled to himself. They were happy, that much was evident. He knew that Marcus was one for the ladies, it was well known in their circles. Obviously Bernie knew nothing about it, which was good. A wife, a good wife, was worth hanging on to. Bernadette sat down and crossed her legs demurely. Her ankles were fat, and Tommy looked at them in consternation. When a woman aged, a beautiful woman, it was like the destruction of a beautiful painting.

He let his eyes roam to Briony. In the firelight, with only the lamps on, she looked exactly as she had the last time he’d seen her. Oh, the fashions had changed, but she was still the woman he had known, only now she was a real woman. In all respects she was a woman. And he intended to keep her like that. For as long as he could. He had wanted to see her about the twins, but that could wait now. He would pick the right time to talk about them.