Midnight on Lime Street (20 page)

‘She already told me she was thinking of going. I didn’t know why or when, but she has mentioned it a couple of times just lately.’

Tom nodded. ‘Right, well, she’s thought, and she’ll be out of here this afternoon. Nobody feels safe at the moment – I’m sure you understand why they’re all
like cats on hot bricks.’

Eve turned her head and stared westward through the window. ‘All right, just go, will you?’ Her voice was cracking, and she felt dangerously close to tears. When had she last cried?
Mam’s funeral? She never wept; she always fought her way back, but where was her ammunition now? Admittedly, there were girls working the streets, some of whom might be grateful for the
safety she offered, but the cops were just a few hundred yards away.

‘You all right, Eve?’ Tom asked. ‘You look like you’ve swallowed a whole lemon without sugar.’

‘No,’ she admitted, ‘I’m a long way from all right. We’re shut down because of whatever’s happening across the fields – probably drugs or stolen goods
or some such thing – I’ve lost two girls to a man in Southport, and now Belle and Angela are quitting. I’m in a mess.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, we’ve talked about that, Belle and I. She knows some girls – or she used to. One of them was that poor Jean Davenport who got murdered. Let her
help you to find replacements. She’s what you might call astute.’ There was pride in the last six words.

‘Would she go to all that trouble for me?’

‘Yes, she would.’

‘Why?’

‘Belle cares about people, and she cares a lot about you. She’s always believed that places like this should be made legal, because there’s danger out there on the
streets.’ He reached across and patted a well-upholstered hand. ‘Take it easy for a couple of weeks, Eve. I have a phone at home, and Belle can let you know how things go. I’ll be
with her when she meets the candidates, so she’ll be in no danger from pimps and the like. The cops won’t be here forever, girl. And they might not bother you, though it’s best to
play safe and stay put just in case. Give yourself a break, will you?’

She managed a nod. ‘Thanks, Tom.’

‘You’re welcome. And I know Belle would say the same – she’ll be glad to help you and some of the street girls. They need to get indoors for safety’s
sake.’

The big woman looked at him. ‘Some days it’s like living in a bloody hen house, Tom. There’s no cockerel to keep order, and I won’t get one, because we don’t want
folk who remind girls of pimps or heavies. Women fight, you see. Babs and Angela were at it like mad bitches – hair and skin ripped at, black eyes, broken fingernails, and the sort of
language you might hear down the docks on a wet Monday. Once Babs put all Angela’s false eyelashes in an ashtray and set fire to them, so Angela cut holes in Babs’s favourite
blouse.’

Tom laughed – he couldn’t help it. ‘You thinking of giving up, then?’

She wasn’t sure, and she said so. ‘I’m tired,’ she told him.

He stood up and paced about. ‘You have to be here while the cops are nearby, so why not do it my way? Let Belle bend a few ears while you look after the farm, then decide after things
settle and the police have buggered off. If Belle finds you some good people, keep going; if she doesn’t, think about closing down. She won’t tell any of them where you are, but
she’ll let them know it’s a safe place.’

‘Lap of the gods, is it? Because the cops could close us down in quick-sticks, and we’d all be had up in court.’

‘I’m afraid it is the lap of the gods, love. I know so. That day when I went to work, lost my hand and nearly bled to death, I wondered what was the point of carrying on. We’re
still here, both of us, Eve. If I hadn’t lost my hand, I’d be stuck doing a monotonous job and living with a wife I didn’t like at all. It got so bad that even the arguments
stopped. When you get past quarrelling, it’s time to throw in the towel. She couldn’t live with my one-handedness, so off she buggered. Yes, she took my boys, but I’ve met Belle
and I couldn’t be happier. The lads will find me one day. Try to look on the bright side, because things will get better for you, too.’

She studied him. He was a good-looking man with a bit missing, and he was probably decent to the bone. ‘Belle’s a great girl,’ she managed finally. ‘Heart of gold, she
has, so you’d better look after her.’ Smiling weakly, she nodded her agreement to his proposition. ‘We’ll give it a try if Belle’s willing to talk to girls. And
she’d better take care of you, too, lad.’

He left her, and she had seldom felt so bereft. Kate would be down soon, she hoped, because the girls’ sleep patterns remained the same, and a midday breakfast/dinner needed to be cooked.
‘Bloody burglars or drug dealers in that flaming hut,’ she muttered, ‘they want wiping off the face of the earth.’

Kate appeared. ‘Sausage, eggs, beans and chips do you, love?’

‘That’ll suit nicely, thanks.’

Kate winked and cocked her head towards the open door. ‘There’s a handsome young man waiting to see you, Eve. I don’t think he’ll disturb our tenants; he knows
they’re homeless women.’ Her voice was loud; she clearly wanted to be heard in the hallway.

An invisible knife slid its sharp edge over Eve’s heart. The police were here. ‘Get Belle and Tom,’ she whispered. ‘Wait in the corridor on dining chairs. The food can
get cooked later.’

So this was it.

‘Tom?’ Kate mouthed. ‘Is he here?’

‘Just do it.’

Eve was alone again, but for a very short time.

Sally Hayes placed herself on the landing, her back against a wall, arms folded across her chest, a toe tapping on the carpet. She was fed up with almost everything, so she
must speak her mind while her dander was up. At almost eighteen, she should be allowed a say in matters that bothered her.

‘What?’ Babs asked, stopping in her tracks when she saw Sal’s frown.

‘There’s a long list of whats and a couple of whys.’

Babs placed a pile of laundry on a chair. ‘A list?’

‘A list. For a kick-off, I don’t like him lying in our bed and watching us. I don’t like him sleeping between us, because he’s keeping us apart.’

‘Neither do I, but what we must do must be done. And it’s his bed, any road. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had such good grub in my life. Next item on your
agenda?’

‘I don’t like cleaning.’

Babs puffed out her cheeks and blew. ‘Well, cleaning’s one of our responsibilities, if you remember. We had to get rid of Mrs Wright – she’s too nosy, too much of a
gossip. Nobody likes cleaning. Anything else?’

‘His bed bath. He messes with me and I have to mess with him.’ She pulled a face. ‘I hate touching him, and I hate him touching me. He messes with my hair, too, and fiddles
about with—’

‘I know, I know – he’s the same with me. Get used to it, Sally. There’s no free tickets through anybody’s life, so just put up and shut up. Or would you rather go
cap in hand to Eve? Because she likes you, and I’m dead sure she’d welcome you back with open arms and a brass band.’

‘No, I don’t want that.’ Sal shivered. One old man was more than enough.

Babs leaned against the wall. ‘Sally, you’re a big girl now. I can’t change any of it here, in this house. You knew he was an odd bugger before we came to Southport, but
he’ll look after us in his way—’

‘And that horse is in the kitchen again. That’s on the list, too. What if it shits in the house?’

‘He won’t.’ Babs glanced at her cheap Timex. ‘And it’s his dinner time.’

Sally’s eyes widened. ‘It doesn’t have dinners; it eats grass, doesn’t it? It should stay outside with its mother and the donkeys.’

‘I know he eats grass. They all eat grass. He comes in for his pudding. He likes carrots, apples and bread with a scrape of strawberry jam. When he’s finished, he takes something for
his donkey friend. Murdoch is very clever.’

Sal shook her head. ‘The bloody thing acts like it owns the house.’

‘The bloody thing is male, so it’s he. And he will own the house, just you mark my words. Murdoch’s talented and brave and kind, so stop whinging about him. I’m warning
you, Sally – Murdoch is not what Mr Macey would call negotiable. That horse will make us rich. He should be called Pegasus – I swear he can fly.’

‘You’d rather have him than me, Babs.’

The older woman picked up her bundle of towels and sheets. It was a close call at the moment, but she didn’t say anything. If Sally was going to be jealous of a horse, that was up to her,
and Murdoch was going nowhere. ‘I’ve things to do, Sally.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing. Clean the bathroom. Use that old toothbrush to do round the taps.’ She put the washing in the airing cupboard and walked downstairs. It was a bit strange, she supposed.
The whole area between sink and table was taken up by a beautiful animal in a context that was totally wrong for him. He looked like one of Don’s paintings of horses by Stubbs, but set
against a backdrop by some fool called Picasso.

Fascinated by a dripping tap, he was working on catching drops of water; meanwhile, two cats, who usually kept their distance, sat on the table trying to get used to the sight of a large mammal
in a medium-sized room. Four mongrels having a mad half hour raced in and out repeatedly, but Murdoch concentrated on the water until he saw Babs. He drew back his upper lip; this was possibly his
version of a smile, though she wasn’t sure.

‘Hello, baby,’ she said. ‘Have you been a good boy? If you have, you might be coming down with something. Shall I get you an Aspro?’

The horse answered her with a powerful neigh that seemed to rattle round the walls. Two hitherto brave cats shot like streaks of lightning out of the kitchen and into the hall.

‘Who’s my lovely bundle of trouble, then?’ She opened the tap a little further and put the plug in. ‘Now, there’s your little horse trough. First, take this apple
to Nicholas Nye, eh? And don’t tell Gordy I put a teaspoon of jam on your bread, else he’ll blame me if you get a funny stomach. Horses can die of funny stomachs, you know.’
She’d been reading again. Among all Don’s poetry books, there were volumes about horses and how to run stables and names for various items of tack.

Murdoch performed his famous three-point turn and took the apple to his friend. His understanding of English was excellent, even when it arrived decorated in Scouse or Irish colours. His
favourite person watched through the kitchen window while he passed the gift to his blind friend. He was adorable, and he knew it.

Babs fed the four dogs and blinked moisture from her eyes. She was a tough girl, hardened by life in grim streets, by abuse, by uncaring parents and by her own determination to stay alive and to
win. Win what? Was there anything on the planet more precious than Murdoch? Maybe he was her prize. The dogs were lovely, the cats were usually pleasant, the hens laid eggs, while the geese
continued protective of their household. And the dirty old man upstairs had saved them all. Everyone had a flaw. Don’s was difficult to deal with, but he swore he had never touched a child,
and she believed him.

Murdoch came back. Babs turned off the tap, and the horse decided to play bubbles, breathing into the water before raising his head to grin at her. She laughed at him. ‘You’re
man’s best friend, aren’t you? Dogs are great, but your lot – even the donkeys . . .’ She stroked his nose. ‘And you’re a big drip, too. Look at me, I’m
wet through, you sloppy creature.’

Sally stood in the doorway. ‘I need some bleach,’ she said, eyes round and staring at the massive beast. ‘It’s in the cupboard under the sink. Will you get it for me,
please?’

‘Come here,’ Babs ordered. ‘I mean it. Come here now.’

Sally approached the table tentatively.

‘Stand on this chair, Sally. Just do it.’

‘But I—’

‘No buts. Chair. Now.’

Sally climbed shakily onto the chair.

‘On the table,’ was the next command. ‘Any buts and you’re on the next train to Liverpool.’ Babs moved the chair. ‘Now, I’ll take his head while you
climb on his back. You can sit astride or lie across or do the bloody Gay Gordons on him, because he won’t throw you. Use his mane – he doesn’t mind.’

It took every ounce of her strength, but Sally managed. Unlike Babs, whose first ride had been taken on her stomach across the shining back, Sally managed to sit properly. ‘It’s high
up,’ she whispered, her throat dried by fear.

‘Relax. If you’re scared, he’ll feel it and get nervous.’ She spoke to Murdoch. ‘Outside, boy. Sally, bend down in the doorway.’

With one girl at his head and the other on his back, he manoeuvred his way out of the house.

‘You see?’ Babs was triumphant. ‘That was the worst of it, because you were in a small space. He’ll walk forever unless you gee him up. You’re the boss. I know
he’s a naughty devil, but he’s different with a rider. He likes you. Slide off and I’ll catch you. Stand, Murdoch, stand steady. Good lad.’

Don Crawford, whose health had improved greatly of late, poked his head through an open window on the upper storey. ‘Babs? There’s a young man on the phone for you.’ He closed
the window with a loud bang.

Babs caught Sally, ordered the horse to stay outside the house, then dashed inside to pick up the call. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Ian, Babs, Ian Foster. Phil and John are in the coal cellar at the farm, cos the hut’s crawling with cops. We’re filthy and tired – can you help?’

Babs’s brain shot into overdrive. She pondered for a few seconds. ‘I know a couple of men who will help us. Get as near as you dare to the farmhouse – into the cellar with Phil
and John if you can. I’m going to try to send a horsebox for you tonight, if that’s possible. Don’t worry about Eve – her hands are as tied as yours. Phone me back in about
half an hour. Don, you don’t need to listen in – he’s just a kid.’ She heard a click as the upstairs receiver was replaced.

‘Are you still there, Babs?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘It’s time to give ourselves up, but we need to be clean.’

‘Leave it with me, Ian. Phone me back.’ She ended the call.

‘What are you going to do?’ Sally asked after Babs had given her as much of the story as she knew. ‘Will you ring the police?’