Laceys of Liverpool (16 page)

‘Horrible or not, I prefer having him on our side rather than Auntie Cora’s.’

‘There’s no need to talk about sides, Fion. There isn’t a war on.’

‘Oh, yes, there is,’ Fionnuala said darkly. ‘We’re on one side, Cora’s on the other. One of these days we’re going to win.’

These days, John Lacey considered the world darn near perfect. He rarely thought about his face. It had happened, there was no going back. He felt no guilt about having two families. It had been a question of survival and Clare had given him the ability to live with himself.

At six o’clock he locked the yard and went down Crozier Terrace to the end house where he let himself in. Robby came running towards him from the kitchen, demanding to be picked up. John hoisted the little boy on to his shoulder.

‘Been for walk in park, Dad,’ he gurgled. ‘Lisa cried all day. She’s growing tooths. Did I cry when I was growing tooths?’

‘All the time,’ John assured him. ‘Hello, luv.’

Clare emerged from the kitchen looking slightly harassed. She wore a gingham pinny over a plain brown frock. Her long fair hair was pinned back with a slide. She rolled her eyes towards the stairs and made a guttural sound, which John immediately understood. His daughter, Lisa, was upstairs, asleep for once.

‘Been getting you down, luv?’

She made a face and nodded furiously, then suddenly smiled, folding both him and their son in her slim arms. ‘But happy,’ she said. ‘Very happy. Tea ready.’

He had learnt to read the expressions on her face, translate the strangled sounds that came from her mouth into proper English. ‘Good.’ He smacked his lips. ‘I’m starving, and I think I can smell liver and onions.’

She nodded again and he followed her into the tiny kitchen where the table was set for three. As they ate, John wondered if he had ever felt so blissfully contented during the first years with Alice and remembered that he had. The memory disturbed him. He was doing a terrible thing, betraying his wife and their four children with a woman who had once been a prostitute.

Clare lightly touched the back of his hand with her finger. ‘You all right?’

‘Yes.’

She seemed able to read his mind as easily as he understood her awkward speech and facial expressions. On the pad she always kept beside her she wrote, ‘Conscience?’ There were some words she didn’t even attempt.

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Go home early,’ she wrote. ‘See your family.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘You’re a saint.’

Her eyes sparkled. ‘I’m anything but.’

‘I’ll see how I feel.’ He knew he wouldn’t go home
early to the house where nowadays he felt like a stranger. Alice had adapted very easily to his absence, he thought cynically. She never reproached him for being being away so often. His girls showed no sign of missing him. Only Cormac seemed to mind his dad not being there, a fact that caused John some heartache.

Still, there was nothing to be done. It was a question of survival, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. He glanced around the table, at Clare, at his white-blond other son. A small cry came from upstairs, and he and Clare smiled at each other. She went upstairs to fetch Lisa. In six months’ time there would be another baby.

This
was his family now. These were the people who accepted him for what he was, what he had become. One of these days he would abandon the other family altogether – once the girls were married and Cormac was old enough to understand. Alice would be all right. She had the hairdresser’s to keep her busy.

It was midnight when John rose from the bed he shared with Clare, got dressed and returned to Amber Street. To his surprise, Alice came into the hall to meet him. He’d never known her stay up so late before.

‘Something’s happened,’ she said.

He noticed her eyes were red with weeping. ‘Are the kids all right?’ he asked, alarmed.

‘Sort of. Can we talk?’

‘Of course.’

She led the way into the living room. There was a teapot with a striped cosy on the table, two cups and saucers, sugar in a bowl, milk. He felt slightly guilty. She must have been waiting a long time for him to come.

‘What’s up?’ His heart was beating rapidly in his chest.

‘It’s our Orla, she’s in the club.’ She poured tea and handed him a cup.

‘Pregnant?’ The cup jerked in his hand and tea slopped into the saucer.

‘Pregnant,’ Alice confirmed.

‘The little bitch! I’ll bloody kill her . . .’ He rose to go upstairs and drag his daughter out of bed, shake her till her teeth rattled.

‘John! Leave her. You’ll only wake Fion and Maeve, and they don’t know yet. Orla only told me tonight.’

He hadn’t realised people actually did see red when they were angry. ‘Is it that Micky chap?’

‘Yes, and it was only the once. She hasn’t seen him in weeks.’

‘It only needs the once,’ John spat. ‘You should have kept a closer eye on her.’

‘Oh, so it’s my fault!’ Alice laughed incredulously. ‘You’re hardly ever here, but it’s
my
fault if our daughter falls for a baby. What was I supposed to do, follow her and Micky wherever they went?’

He knew she was right, but wasn’t prepared to admit it. ‘Did she know the facts of life?’ he growled.

‘Yes, she did, as it happens. I told all three of them at the same time. I trust you’ll do the same with Cormac,’ she added pointedly. ‘Assuming you can find the time. Look,’ she said reasonably, ‘why can’t we discuss this like civilised people? Things have to be done, said.’

‘Such as?’

‘We have to go round the Lavins, all three of us; you, me and Orla, talk it over with Micky’s family. He hasn’t been told, but Orla’s convinced he’ll marry her. The thing is, he’s only nineteen and an apprentice welder. He earns peanuts. What are they going to live on?’

‘He should have thought about that before he poked my daughter.’

Alice winced at the coarse expression. ‘
Our
daughter,’ she said firmly. ‘And it’s the present we have to deal
with, not the past. Orla thinks he’ll give up the apprenticeship and get a proper job – he’s a decent lad, John, no matter what you think. That means he’ll just end up a labourer like your Billy. They need supporting for the next couple of years until he’s finished his training. I wondered, could we put them up in our parlour?’ Putting aside the rather unfortunate circumstances, Alice quite fancied having a baby in the house.

He was completely taken aback. ‘What!’

‘Our parlour, John.’

‘What about me?’

‘You can sleep upstairs. I’ll sleep with the girls. There’ll be an empty bed.’

‘I’ll do no such thing,’ he gasped, outraged. ‘Why should we have to put ourselves out because Orla’s behaved like a little whore?’

‘John!’ Her eyes widened in shock. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’

‘It’s a terrible thing she’s done.’ He couldn’t adjust to the fact that the prettiest of his girls, his favourite, had actually let a man touch her in that way. It was disgusting. ‘Where did it happen?’ he asked, almost choking on the words.

‘I don’t know, do I? I didn’t ask. But whatever she’s done, John, she’s still
ours
. We’ve got to stand by her. Now, about the parlour

‘She’s not having the parlour,’ he said brutally. ‘If this house had twice as many rooms, I wouldn’t have her, or that Micky, under me roof. She’s made her bed, let her lie on it.’

‘I see.’ Alice’s voice was cold. ‘You know, John, when that fire burnt your face, it burnt something else an’ all. It sounds a bit daft to say it burnt your heart, but that’s what it seems like. There’s not a drop of charity left in
your body. You’re as hard as bloody nails. It’s not fair. You’ve no right to behave like this with your family.’

His wife and daughters all seemed part of the accident. When his face had been destroyed, something had happened to the love he felt for the people in this house, even Cormac. It had been damaged, perverted in some way, riddled with suspicion. He had changed from Dr Jekyll into Mr Hyde.

He wanted shot of them. They were no longer his concern, more like an intrusion into his present happiness. He felt like fleeing Amber Street there and then. He longed for Crozier Terrace, for Clare and his other family with whom he felt completely at ease.

He stood abruptly. ‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Will you come with us to the Lavins tomorrer night?’

‘No! I’ll sign the necessary forms so she can get married and off me back, but Orla can rot in hell for all I care.’ He couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He stopped at the door, turned to say he hadn’t meant it. He was confused. He always felt confused in Amber Street. But Alice had picked up the cups and was taking them into the kitchen, and he couldn’t be bothered calling her back.

The following evening Orla went on her own to Micky’s house in Chaucer Street to tell him he would shortly become a father. Alice followed an hour later, apprehensive and nervous, worried the Lavins would react as badly as John had and there’d be a scene. She was surprised to find Micky had already told his mam and dad and they were delighted at the news.

She was taken into the shabby parlour, which had obviously been given a quick dusting because there were still smears of dirt left on the sideboard. A broken orange box burnt in the grate. To her further surprise the room
contained one of them new-fangled television things, which she later learnt had fallen off the back of a lorry – one of the Lavin lads just happened to be there at the time.

‘They’ll be wed with our blessing,’ Mrs Lavin said grandly. ‘Won’t they, Ted? We can have the do afterwards in the Chaucer Arms – our Kathleen works there as a barmaid.’

‘I doubt if Orla will want much of a do. Will you, luv?’

‘No, Mam.’ Orla was sitting as far away from Micky as she could in the small space provided by the parlour. She looked pale and subdued, as if they were planning her funeral rather than her wedding. Micky was watching her anxiously. He was crazy about her, Alice realised, and a lump came to her throat. Were two lives about to be destroyed by this marriage? Three, if you counted the unborn child. Last night she had suggested Orla forget about Micky and go away to have the baby.

‘And what would happen to it?’ Orla asked thinly.

‘It would have to be adopted.’

Orla shook her head. ‘No, Mam. That would be dead irresponsible. I’d feel terrible for the rest of me life.’

‘So would I, if the truth be known. I couldn’t stand the thought of me first grandchild being brought up by strangers.’

One of the younger Lavins was being despatched to buy a bottle of sherry so a toast could be drunk to the about-to-be-married couple. Mrs Lavin wondered aloud if it was too late to go round St James’s church that night and post the bans: ‘So they can get spliced at the earliest, like.’

Alice found herself warming to the good-natured, red-faced woman, with her kind, generous manner and her equally kind husband. She felt deeply touched when the
subject of where the young couple would live was raised and Mr Lavin said instantly, ‘They can sleep in the parlour. We don’t want our Micky giving up his apprenticeship and we wouldn’t ask a penny off him, would we, luv? Not when he’s got a wife and a kiddy on the way.’

Mrs Lavin’s plump, worn face creased into a broad smile. ‘The good Lord always seems to provide sufficient food for the table. At least, so I’ve found.’

It was so different from John’s attitude the night before. ‘John and I will help out, of course,’ Alice said, feeling obliged to include her husband in the offer.

‘They’ll get by,’ Mrs Lavin said placidly.

Orla uttered a strangled cry and fled from the room.

They got married, Orla Lacey and Micky Lavin, on the first Monday in March. The Nuptial Mass was at ten o’clock. Although the bans had been called for the last three weeks, few onlookers turned up at the church at such an early hour. There were no wedding cars to attract attention, no bouquets or buttonholes, no bridesmaids.

In place of the bride’s father, who had unfortunately been struck down a few days before with a severe bout of flu – or so Alice told the extravagantly sympathetic Lavins – Danny Mitchell gave his granddaughter away. Lacey’s hairdresser’s was closed for the day. Maeve was on afternoon shift at the hospital, so had no need to ask for time off. Cormac, who found the whole situation completely baffling, stayed away from school. He’d thought people only got married because they made each other happy, but all Orla did was snap people’s heads off every time they spoke, particularly Micky’s.

Bernadette Moynihan took the morning off to be with her friend on such a stressful day.

‘I’d imagined having a great big bash when the kids got married,’ Alice confessed tearfully as she got ready. ‘Y’know, picking the bride’s and bridesmaids’ dresses, ordering flowers and the cake, arranging a nice reception with a sit-down meal. But this is going to be awful and John not being there only makes it worse.’

‘What’s Orla doing about her job?’ Bernie asked.

‘She’s given in her notice. She had no choice, did she? Any minute now she’ll start to show.’

Orla looked like death in the simple blue suit her mother had bought. She held a white prayer book in her white-gloved hands. Throughout the ceremony, Micky couldn’t take his troubled eyes away from her stony face.

‘She’s going to make his life hell.’ Alice’s heart sank. This was a nightmare of a wedding.

‘The letter came this morning to say he’d passed, which means he’ll be off to St Mary’s grammar school in September. You should see the list of things we’ve got to buy!’ Alice laughed and made a face. ‘He was a bit put out to find he’s got to wear a cap, but he’s going to keep it in his blazer pocket till he gets to school.’ Blazer! She never dreamt she’d have a son who’d wear a blazer.

‘I suppose it’s nice to have some good news for a change,’ said Mrs White who came once a month for a shampoo and set. ‘Your Cormac passing the scholarship makes up a bit for Orla.’

‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ Alice enquired in an icy voice.

‘Well . . .’ Mrs White must have been put off by Alice’s tone. ‘Nothing, really.’