Midnight on Lime Street (39 page)

‘What?’

‘About your stepdad.’

‘You what?’

‘You heard me.’

Sally snorted. ‘He’s no kind of dad, step or otherwise. He married Mam to get to me.’

Babs waited before speaking again. ‘And what hurt most was that your mother let it happen.’

Sally nodded.

‘Ditto, Sal. So I fixed Uncle Charlie all by myself. He stuck part of his ugly body in my mouth, and I bit down. Hard. I just had time to throw bleach at it before he ran out screaming. I
don’t know what he said to the docs in the hospital, but they found out he had TB as well as a withered willy, and he died of the TB about a year later. I had to go for tests.’

Sally snapped her mouth shut. ‘Bleach?’ she whispered.

‘Yes, bleach. I kept a cup of it under my bed. Just had to wait for my chance. See, we’re quicker than they are even when we’re kids. The way we’re made – well,
part of it is to manage men. Think about some animals that give birth and spend the first few days or weeks stopping the father animal from killing the young. If you get a rogue male, he needs
isolating. I isolated him good and proper, babe.’

‘Weren’t you scared?’

Babs nodded. ‘I was terrified. But not too scared to crack my mother across the head with a mantel clock when she shouted at me for hurting Uncle Charlie. So she got the lot – the
clock, a back-hander across her gob and a bowl of cold water with peeled spuds in it. She was arrested for trying to choke me, and he died in the TB place. I don’t know where she is, and I
don’t care. I spent a few years with Auntie Phyllis, then I went on the game. So what about you?’

‘What do you mean?’

Babs reached across the table and held Sally’s hands. ‘You have to say it. You have to talk about it.’ She paused. ‘We can still get him, but first, you’ve got to
spell it out, give it up and let it go. It’s not too late.’

‘You what?’ Sally asked again.

‘He’s a drunk, yes?’

Sally nodded hesitantly.

‘And I have a schoolgirl’s uniform?’

‘Er . . . yes.’

‘Sorted.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing. It’s just an idea, and I have to think about it. Eve will help me, as will Lippy. He’s got people looking for the monks who hurt the boys, and that school will
close. The rest of the brothers wanted to stay, but Lippy Macey said no, end of. Well? Are you going to tell me all the details about what happened to you? Because that’s the most important
part. It’s holding you back from growing up, so the words have to be said.’

Sally bit her lower lip. ‘I know what I’ll do,’ she pronounced eventually. ‘I’ll write it down, because I don’t want to hear me saying it, OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Then you can read it and we’ll burn it together. Sorted?’

‘Sorted.’

‘Babs?’

‘Yes?’

‘What are you going to do to him? Bleach in his eyes?’

The senior servant of Mr Don Crawford rose to her feet. ‘I’m going to ruin his life like he ruined yours. Let me work it out. I want that stuff of yours written, read and burnt
before I start thinking about how to deal with him. But take my word for it, sweetheart, that bastard will be crushed.’

Sally gulped. ‘How?’ she whispered from a dry throat.

‘Eve and Angela.’

‘But you don’t like Angela.’

‘That’s all in the past, Sal. Angela knows people. Just set your mind on me in the schoolgirl’s gymslip and blouse, little plaits with bows at the ends. He’ll follow me
when I give him the nod.’ She pondered for a few seconds. ‘I think we’ll leave Mr Macey out of this, because he plays too fair. And there you’ll be waiting for your stepdad
with a couple of big bruisers.’ She smiled. ‘The happiest day of my life was when they told me Uncle Charlie was dead. I’d relived most of my story through the doctor, so that was
out of me system, which is why you need to let your history fly free. Then, when he finishes up dead or in a wheelchair, you’ll be yourself, who you were meant to be.’

‘Will I?’

Babs nodded. ‘See, you can start growing up after that.’

‘Oh, I hope so.’ Sally allowed a few beats to pass. ‘I think I’ve picked and I think it’s Bill.’

‘So do I. You’d better put Ian out of his misery, then.’

‘Cruel,’ Sally mumbled.

‘Cruel to be kind, love. He’s not old enough, anyway. Stick to Bill—’

‘And hope his plaster sticks to the ceiling.’

As victims of a chronic ailment suffered mostly by females of the species, both girls doubled over with laughter. They curled across the table like a couple of drunks, loud chuckles filling the
air, tears pouring down their faces. ‘And he comes home plastered,’ Sally managed after many seconds. ‘I . . . oh, God . . . I can’t be doing with drunken blokes.’

‘Stop it.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Oh, Sal, this hurts. I feel as if I’ve been stabbed in the stomach.’

‘I know.’ The younger girl managed to stop for breath. ‘What are we laughing at, Babs?’

‘No bleeding idea.’

Murdoch wandered in, but he didn’t bother to put his nose in Babs’s hair. He stood there nodding and neighing frantically.

Babs stopped laughing when she looked at him; she knew her horse well enough to understand his ‘come here’ stance. ‘What is it, lad? OK, OK, I’m coming.’ The horse
left the scene, and Babs prepared to follow him. But she didn’t go anywhere, because as soon as Murdoch made room for him, Bill staggered in bruised and bleeding. ‘Jesus, Bill,’
she breathed.

Sally stood and held out her arms. ‘Who did this?’ she demanded to know, although she thought she already had the answer.

‘Ian,’ he said.

Sally frowned. ‘Is he all right?’ If Bill was hurt, the younger boy might be in a very bad state.

‘I never touched him,’ Bill told her. ‘I just let it happen.’

‘Good for you,’ was Babs’s delivered opinion. ‘Clean him up, Sal, while I take Murdoch back to the paddock.’

In spite of a bloodied nose and swollen eyes, the apprentice plasterer grinned at his girl. ‘It was worth it,’ he said. ‘You’re worth it. I read the instructions today
and mixed me own plaster. It worked. Thanks, Sal.’

‘Is that all you want me for – me teaching skills?’

‘No. Ouch. That hurt, Sally.’

‘I have to clean you up. You’ll have two lovely black shiners tomorrow, and you could have stopped him.’ She wrapped ice cubes in two tea towels. ‘Put them against your
eyes.’

‘No. He loves you, Sally, and he’s only a lad. You’ve messed us both about, but no way was I going to bash a kid who’s been through what he’s been
through.’

She sat across the table from him. ‘I chose you, anyway.’ She paused. Should she tell him now that she’d been a prostitute?

‘I know.’

‘How? How do you know I chose you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You just said—’

‘Don’t start.’

‘But—’

‘Don’t start,’ he repeated, removing the cloths from his eyes. ‘We’ve plenty of time, so don’t fret. I want to be Master Plaster before I think about settling
down, and you said you wanted night school for baking so you can sell cakes and pies. We slow down a bit, yeah?’

She nodded her agreement. ‘You’ll get ragged at work over the state of your gob.’

‘It’s OK. I’ll tell ’em you did it.’

‘You won’t.’

‘Oh, I will.’ He covered his eyes. ‘Bugger off, Sal,’ he advised.

She walked away, though she stopped and turned in the doorway. ‘You know I worked at the farm? You know what I did for a living?’

‘Yep.’

‘Will you throw it in me face when you get mad?’

‘Nope.’

‘OK.’ And off she buggered.

Ian, John and Phil were a bit restless. They liked Gordy, and the house was OK, but they began to feel almost as contained here as they had while hiding in the scout hut.
Mucking out stables and doing homework set by their tutor kept them busy, but not full time, and they were bored.

‘I’m fed up,’ John muttered.

Ian sat in the kitchen of Dove Cottage bathing his knuckles in warm water with a drop of Dettol. ‘He just stood there and let me hit him,’ he complained.

‘You were lucky, then,’ Phil said. ‘He’s fitter than you.’

The pugilist halted his ministrations. ‘He’s won. He’s gone in there bruised and bleeding, and girls like that. It brings out the mothering side. Why didn’t he hit me
back?’

John, no longer the Stam, shrugged. ‘You’re a clever lad, Ian, so you’ve already worked it out. You’re stood there now looking after your own damage, and he’ll have
run to Sally. It’ll be all love and bandages in the big house.’

The injured man patted his knuckles dry. ‘Right, that’s it. We’re going out. It’s a decent enough day, so we can walk to the beach, have a break from here.’

Phil wasn’t sure. ‘We’re not allowed.’

‘I’ve been out,’ Ian said.

‘And see where it’s got you.’ John leapt to his feet. ‘Look, first we were hiding from the Pastoral bastards, now we’re being hidden from a drugs boss as well. They
could be anywhere.’

Ian laughed, though there was no joy in the delivered sound. ‘You think the brothers might be in Southport where Lippy Macey lives?’

‘They might not know where his house is,’ John snapped.

‘He owns the bloody school, doesn’t he?’ Ian was determined. ‘They’ll know where the owner of the building comes from. As for Boss, he’ll guess we
didn’t grass on him. Come on, you yellow-bellies. Let’s take a chance while Gordy’s out.’

Phil and John stared at each other. They both knew they couldn’t allow Ian to go out by himself, as he was in a very dark mood.

Although only one member of the trio wanted to get away, the other two followed. Ian was in charge; Ian made the decisions, so they followed their leader and hoped for the best.

While Babs walked Murdoch towards the paddock, she noticed Gordy kneeling on the floor talking to donkeys while checking their limbs. They were sweet animals, and he adored
them. Murdoch whinnied his approval – anyone who looked after Nye and his friends was a good person in the horse’s opinion.

Babs left Murdoch to chew thoughtfully on a bit of grass. This was going to be the moment that could cause her dismissal; Sal, too, might be losing her place here. But no. Don Crawford would
never allow Murdoch’s trainee jockey to leave the stage, while Sal was part of Babs’s package. ‘Sod it,’ she murmured.

Gordy rose to his feet and brushed a hand over his clothing. She looked lovely today. Well, she always looked good, but there was an extra sheen to her, as if someone had gone over her with a
tin of Mansion. ‘All right, love?’ If anyone had given her a coat of beeswax, Gordy would be set to kill the bugger.

‘I’m great,’ she replied, ‘but the rabbit died.’

‘What?’

‘The rabbit died,’ she repeated slowly, as if addressing an infant.

He tipped back the flat cap and scratched his head. ‘We don’t have rabbits. There’s Victoria and Albert,’ he waved a hand towards the geese, ‘then the dogs with
their stupid names, and the chickens—’

‘The dogs do not have stupid names. He got them all on the same day, so they’re Onesie, Tutu, Three-step and Four-time. Then his cats are Marmalade and Calico, but the rabbit
died.’

He remained confused until he noticed the mischief in her eyes.

‘Has the penny dropped?’ she asked.

He blinked stupidly until a glimmer of light touched his mind’s horizon.

‘Well?’ Babs asked.

Gordy nodded and swallowed hard. ‘When’s it due?’

Babs giggled. ‘That’s the right question. If you’d asked was it yours, you’d have had five minutes at most to live. It’s due in May. What’s up? What’s
wrong with your gob?’

Gordy emitted a long sigh. ‘You can’t ride.’

‘I know.’

‘And the old fellow bought you. Does he still visit in the—’

‘No. He’s knackered, and the slow-down pills make him sleep a lot.’ It was her turn to sigh. ‘But you’re right, he paid for both of us, Gord. We have to carry on
looking after him, me and Sal. And anyway, he’s pathetic – I couldn’t leave him like I couldn’t leave you or Murdoch.’

‘We have to get married.’

‘I know. So we should go and tell Don together. He can do or say anything he likes, but this kid needs a father.’

‘Shall we do it now and get it over with?’ Gordy asked.

‘No time like the present. But don’t forget to take your cap off while we see the lord and master. He’s funny about stuff like that.’

Hand in hand, they crossed the paddock and walked over the lawn. ‘Just a minute,’ he said. ‘Do you love me?’

‘Course I do, you Irish idiot.’

‘That’s all right, then. I love you, too.’

They entered Wordsworth House and found Sally weeping in the kitchen.

‘Sal?’ Gordy touched her arm. ‘What’s up?’

‘They’ve disappeared. Bill’s gone up to tell Mr Crawford.’

‘Slow down,’ Babs advised. ‘And sit down, too.’

Sally sat and caught her breath. ‘The tutor came to give them lessons, and they weren’t in the cottage, so he called here.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Bill was on a half
day, and he was with me. After Ian beat Bill up, all three of them scarpered.’

Babs’s face drained of colour. ‘Bloody hell,’ she whispered.

Gordy hugged her. ‘I’ll go and see did they write a note.’

Babs left Sal and went to phone Lippy Macey.

Lippy was, as usual, cool as a cucumber. ‘Stay where you are. I’ll be with you as soon as possible.’

Eddie, Holy Mary and Nellie (no longer smelly) were tired. Sitting still in a car all day was an exhausting business, and waiting for Boss to turn up at his mother’s
house made them jumpy. Every time the elderly woman left the house, she was followed. Relief offered by a bit of movement was short-lived, since she never went anywhere interesting, and Eddie was
fast running out of patience and vehicles. ‘We’ve had Sandy’s van, Eric’s Morris, my neighbour’s Austin, and my old banger.’

‘True,’ Nellie sighed. ‘Even Nelson’s affected by all this.’ She turned to Mary. ‘You’ll have to try to get through via the other side, Sister Mary
Veronica.’

Mary pondered. ‘Most of his gang are in jail. There are a few lower down the chain, I suppose, people Boss might recruit in times of what he’d call hardship. I could go back to being
deliverer of messages, but I wouldn’t know where to start.’