For the Love of Liverpool Page 17

  Max swallowed audibly. He saw blue-white flesh, an open mouth, clenched fists and curled toes that had relaxed during the laying out. Trev had drowned. Perhaps the cold water had brought him round after the blow to his head, but he had definitely drowned. Water had dribbled from purple lips—

  ‘I am sorry, Michel. You do not wish to dig graves?’

  Max pulled himself together. ‘I don’t mind.’ After all, he was experienced, wasn’t he?

  ‘Alors, you are big, strong man. At first, the French gardeners may not talk to you – it’s just the barrier of language. But you and I can talk sometimes in the evenings. I have good wine and beer – what more does a man want?’

  At last Max smiled. ‘My mates back in London would want pie and mash.’

  The cleric laughed. ‘I have missed Londoners, and now I have one living in my house, perhaps. Madame Hédouin is my housekeeper, and she is good French cook.’

  ‘No snails,’ Max chuckled.

  ‘No frog legs,’ Pierre added.

  ‘No pie and mash, or jellied eels, or cockles.’ Max counted on his fingers.

  ‘Don’t the English eat a lot of curry?’ the priest asked.

  ‘Some do, some don’t. I’ll go and get my tent.’

  *

  Kate insisted on accompanying me to work today. I told her I don’t need supervision, but she wouldn’t listen. I sometimes worry about not worrying about that; Pete got fed up with Monica, didn’t he? But my girl’s different. She torments me constantly, and that’s part of the fun. So she’s here in the boardroom, messing about with the coffee machine and asking did I buy it from Noah. Her language just now does not qualify as ladylike. Ah, here comes trouble.

  In walks Amber Simpson. She’s dressed in a suit fit for a garden party at Buckingham Palace. Her makeup is perfect, her hair is perfect, her body is honed to perfection, too. After two steps, she stands still and watches my girl having an unsuccessful battle with the coffee machine.

  Amber sits to my left; I am in my CEO’s chair at the top of the table.

  Kate arrives bearing a tray that holds three suspiciously muddy cups of coffee. She announces that she can’t work ‘that stupid machine’ and parks herself opposite Amber, telling the manager of Chillex that property is always a good investment and she’s so pleased that Amber has found somewhere. So far, I am redundant. I decide to let it run. Do I have a choice?

  Kate is in full stride. I watch her fine cheekbones, the shine on her dark, dark hair, her mobile hands as she explains how she might help Amber. ‘Furniture’s expensive,’ she says. ‘I have a houseful of it in London. My plan is to bring it up here for storage, keep a few things that might do for our house . . .’ she flashes me a bright, white smile, ‘and you may pick and choose.’ A sip of coffee makes my lover frown. ‘Horrible,’ she declares.

  Amber blinks rapidly. She probably understands that this manipulative woman is attempting to manage her. ‘I can pay you something,’ she says.

  ‘No.’ The tone is firm. ‘I’d rather give it to someone who’ll treasure it.’ Kate lowers her voice as if conveying a seldom spoken and special confidence. ‘My first marriage was not good. Give my furniture a happier life, please.’

  I feel a bit sorry for Amber.

  Kate motors on like a well-tuned Rolls-Royce. ‘You and I have similar tastes, I suspect. In your letter, you enthuse about original features, so I know that many of my items would fit your bill marvellously.’

  The letter was addressed to me, so Kate has now implied that we keep no secrets.

  ‘My husband will help you with the deposit, we decided.’

  We? We decided? This is the first I’ve heard, I promise. Kate is trouble, but I already knew that.

  Amber glances at me, and I simply nod. So far, I’ve delivered not one syllable. Kate’s right. The coffee is bloody ghastly, but I’m enjoying the show.

  ‘I’ll take you to see the flats I’m designing if you so wish.’

  Oh, yes, Kate; keep friends close, enemies closer. At last, I speak up. ‘If you do take Amber to Merrilocks, use my car.’ Then I address Amber for the first time. ‘Her car’s a large Ford boneshaker.’

  A flustered Amber finally escapes the deluge of generosity. Meanwhile, Kate and I have something else on our minds.

  When they reached home, Brian was in the huge garden with six dogs and a lawnmower. Castor and Pollux followed man and machine, while Alex’s four ignored them. Brenda rushed to greet her boss and Kate, ticking off the things she needed to remember on her fingers. ‘You’ve two bees out,’ she said. ‘And Kylie’s keeping her baby. Tim phoned and said you’ve to turn your bloody cell phone on. Does he mean your mobile?’

  Alex nodded. ‘A couple of weeks abroad, and he’s talking American. Don’t tell me anything else, Brenda – I’ve had one hell of a day.’

  Kate tried to keep her face straight. Making love on a boardroom table was all well and good, but her back ached and she longed to lie in a hot bath. Even so, she followed her man outside and watched as he donned a glove and picked up bees clinging to the outer framework of their inside world. ‘Will they sting?’ she asked as the bees walked up his arm. With his sleeves rolled, he was exposing his forearms.

  ‘They know me,’ was his reply.

  ‘How many are there?’

  ‘It’s hard to do a head count, Kate. They keep buzzing off.’ He went through a complicated series of doors and returned his ‘girls’ to their beloved lavender. She watched in amazement as he changed colour while residents visited him; his white shirt was spotted, and his face was similar.

  ‘He’s marvellous, isn’t he?’

  Kate turned to see Brenda standing next to her. ‘Yes. Alex is the most precious man I’ve ever met.’

  ‘You love him.’

  ‘I do. From the minute I looked into those dark chocolate eyes, I was lost.’

  ‘And he held back?’

  ‘Of course he did, Brenda. It was his coping mechanism.’

  ‘Then I’m glad you understand him. He doesn’t allow many people in. His mother was away with the mixer.’

  This was a new one for Kate, and she couldn’t help envisioning an enormous Kenwood Chef with whirring blades to which a woman clung in the throes of desperation. ‘Oh dear,’ she managed.

  ‘Oh dear is right, love. He brought their Susan here once with some of her teddies, but she screamed the place down. The nurse and doctor who came with her had to hold her down and give her an injection. She can’t even visit her brother. Stephen very rarely comes back.’

  ‘From Australia?’

  Brenda nodded. ‘The uncle’s a millionaire with no kids, so Stephen will be set up for life. That’s why the granddad and grandma left their pile to Alex. Families, eh?’

  Kate watched while Alex, now bee-less, exited the honey farm. ‘We’re both sane,’ she told Brenda, ‘sane, but scarred. We can’t choose our parents, and we can’t be responsible for their mistakes. Mine are good people, but the man I married was a nightmare. I chose him. I’m the damned fool in my family.’

  ‘Not this time, queen. You’ve won the lottery with Alex.’

  ‘I know.’

  He joined the two women, as did Castor and Pollux, who were now bored with lawn mowing. ‘What are you talking about?’ Alex asked.

  ‘I was telling Brenda about our interesting day in the boardroom.’

  ‘Were you, now?’ The tone was dry.

  ‘She never said nothing about no boardroom.’ Brenda grinned.

  He awarded his partner a grimace. ‘Some situations are best kept secret,’ he advised solemnly, ‘and you interviewing a member of my staff is one of them.’

  ‘And about what happened afterwards?’

  He raised his eyebrows and then stalked into the house.

  Kate leant towards Brenda. ‘Did you say lottery? Well, perhaps three numbers for a few pounds. Or a lucky dip for next week?’

  ‘Oh, give it up, love. The man’s a prince, and well you know i
t.’

  ‘I do.’

  Alex dashed out again. ‘Kate, come in. We have to be ready.’

  ‘For what?’ But he’d disappeared again. ‘Oh, Brenda – what’s he up to now?’

  ‘No idea, queen. Just be glad he’s not sulking with John Lennon in the inner sanctum. But when Alex says move, we move.’ They moved.

  ‘Inner sanctum?’ Kate asked as they walked to the house.

  ‘I’ll tell you when we’ve time. Get upstairs and find out what he’s up to. Sometimes, he gets excited like a little kid. So you see the lively child, then the dead serious boss of a sizeable empire.’

  ‘I understand.’ Kate bent to kiss the forehead of a startled Brenda before running upstairs. She found a dampish Alex running about in circles with a towel wrapped round his waist. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Getting dry. Finding socks. Tim’s home. You’re going to meet Julia— Where’s my new blue shirt?’

  ‘I’ll go and ask Brenda.’

  ‘No time, no time. Get in the bath to stop your aches and pains.’ He ran to the door. ‘Brenda? Where’s that brand new blue shirt?’

  ‘In the walk-in wardrobe. I’ve took all the pins out,’ Brenda yelled.

  Kate closed the bathroom door and leant against it for a few seconds. The bath was already running; Alex had prepared it for her.

  She didn’t have time to linger in the sweet-smelling foam. The en suite door was opened by Alex, and his monologue, punctuated by curses, travelled through steam and the running of the telephone shower as she rinsed her hair. Tim and Julia were home. They’d arrived yesterday, but had been a bit jet-lagged. Julia’s mother was dead. ‘He sent me a lecture on keeping my phone turned on. We’re expected at his house, so get a move on, please.’

  *

  Oh, I hope it didn’t show in my face.

  Tim is very handsome, though not as beautiful as my man, of course. Alex is, on the whole, a quiet person – almost unassuming, as if he would prefer invisibility. Not with me, though his manner at work or in social situations shows the old ‘leave-me-alone’ self. With Tim and Julia, Alex remains at ease. These three spent time together years ago when at the University of Liverpool.

  The surprise is, Julia is plain. Aside from Elizabeth Taylor eyes, dark blue with a hint of violet, she is by no means pretty; the best adjective might be angular, as she is painfully thin, almost to the point of emaciation. Her cheekbones slice across her face like the blades on a pair of opened scissors, her hair is dull brown, and her mouth is unremarkable. She’s flat-chested, though her legs, albeit rather thin, are shapely and long.

  They came to the door together hand in hand, with Tim looking as proud as a peacock. This girl is the love of his life; his face glows with joy.

  Alex hugs Julia. ‘I wouldn’t have recognized you,’ he says. ‘How much have you lost?’

  Pain arrives in those lovely eyes. ‘Around forty pounds at the last count, I’m afraid. But I’m not ill, I promise. It’s just been . . . difficult.’

  ‘She’s lost too damned much,’ Tim says. ‘She kept forgetting to eat. I shall ply her with steak puddings, black puddings and treacle puddings.’

  ‘Cholesterol,’ Julia says. She shakes my hand. Her fingers are bony, and I handle them with care. The woman really does have the most amazing eyes. If she regains the weight, she might well be a stunner. I tell her I’m sorry about her mother, and she says it was a blessed release. ‘Mom was ready. She wanted to be with Dad.’ She has a soft, gentle voice.

  In the living room hangs a massive painting of a beautiful town or city. Tim points to it. ‘Julia did that before her father got too ill. She sent it to me years ago and made me promise not to hang it. I kept my word, though the painting was propped against a wall in my bedroom for a very long time. I covered it with cellophane so that I could see it. Isn’t she clever?’

  My business head is doing sixty miles an hour in a restricted area. ‘You must paint more,’ I tell her. ‘You are fabulous with architecture.’

  ‘Thank you. But it’s back to medical school for me.’

  I bite back words about talent and how it should pay off, but it’s her life, not mine. Inside, I’m screaming about Liverpool’s remarkable buildings, but I know I must keep my thoughts to myself. I ask her about the place in the picture.

  ‘Montpelier,’ is her reply. ‘Wonderful place to grow up in, not heavily populated, very pretty. We lived on the outskirts. Vermont’s a lovely state.’ She went on to sing the praises of her homeland before insisting that she adored Liverpool. ‘And Tim’s here.’ The arrival of a rosy hue along those honed cheekbones proves that her circulation is in good order, but she’s so frail.

  ‘She’s not going to college until I can get some meat on her bones,’ Tim insists. ‘One gust at the Pier Head, and she’ll finish up in Speke.’

  ‘Get to the point, honey,’ Julia begs.

  ‘OK. Alex, Kate – will you be our witnesses at the wedding?’

  Alex delivers that beautiful smile, the one that threatens to alter the pace of my heart. ‘You just try and stop us. We’ll be there, won’t we, princess?’

  I nod, hoping and praying that poor Julia will be closer to her normal self before the big day arrives. This is real, true love, the sort that survives a gap of several years and crosses oceans like seabirds riding thermals in the sky.

  Julia invades my thoughts. ‘I plan to gain twenty pounds first,’ she says.

  Tim laughs. ‘I’ll put suet on the shopping list.’ He has relaxed visibly after Alex called me his princess. It hits me then; this man really does care about us. We’re more than a pair of damaged people.

  Julia smiles. She clearly knows about me. I see in her face every line, every bone made sharp by long-term suffering. I cannot imagine what she has been through, nursing both parents during their slow journeys to the grave. But I notice, too, how she leans on Tim, how her hand never leaves his, and I’m filled with hope for her.

  She and I move to the kitchen, leaving the men to talk in private. We’re having avocado with smoked salmon, beef with all the trimmings including Yorkshires and, for pudding, Tim’s favourite since childhood, rhubarb and custard. I’m normally a chatty person, but this woman is quiet and sad because of her recent loss. ‘Is your house sold?’ I ask, mentally kicking myself for mentioning the family home.

  ‘We think so. Three offers so far, so we’re keeping our fingers crossed.’ We sit at the kitchen table while the vegetables take care of themselves. ‘Kate?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t want to be a doctor.’

  I nod. ‘Have you told Tim that?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Well, this is an unexpected honour; she confides in me first. ‘Then don’t be one, Julia. Do you need to work?’

  She nods furiously. ‘Lord, yes. Not for money, but for . . .’

  ‘For you, for fulfilment, for the person you are.’

  She beams at me, and those eyes light up like Christmas. ‘Yes.’

  We both ponder for a few seconds. ‘Art college, then,’ I advise her. ‘Don’t be afraid of disappointing Tim, because he’s used to life changes. He often advises his patients to do a U-turn, I gather.’

  She lowers chin and voice. ‘I can’t go through all that again, you see. You understand. As soon as I saw you, I thought you might. But watching people die, hearing them begging for euthanasia – I’ve been there. I wanted paediatrics, but children die, too. I have watched death for years.’

  ‘Twice,’ I say, though she needs no reminding. ‘Tim knows you need time to rest and to regain your proper weight. Tell him tonight. He will be one hundred per cent behind you on this, I promise. Look. Take your time. You’re about my height and build. I weigh . . .’ I try to calculate from stones to pounds and fail. ‘I am five feet nine inches, and I weigh about nine stone or just over. Work it out and aim for that. Exercise helps build muscle, too. When did you last look after you, Julia?’

  She tell
s me she can’t remember.

  ‘Be your own carer. Come to the beach with us and the dogs. Try Chillex – one of Alex’s clubs – because they’ll help you build your core strength. Go to Formby and hire a horse, start riding again.’ I grasp her hand. ‘You need to learn how to be young.’

  We jump up together to rescue vegetables and park them in the heated trolley. By the time we reach the table with our two plates each of avocado and salmon, I feel as if I’ve known the girl forever.

  She winks at me. ‘Tim?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not going back to medicine.’

  ‘OK.’ He doesn’t hesitate. ‘Put some weight on, and we’ll start the baby factory.’ He stares at her. ‘What?’ he repeats.

  ‘Liverpool College of Art,’ Julia pronounces.

  ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘John Lennon went there.’ He grins at Alex. ‘After he got expelled from Quarry Bank.’

  ‘Lennon was a genius,’ my lover snaps back.

  Tim will not be routed in his own house. I bite back a smile; this is like watching two hormonal teenagers fighting in a school yard. ‘He had half a talent. Without McCartney, he would—’

  ‘Would have been fine. Imagine.’

  ‘Do you still play that dirge once a year?’

  ‘Twice. Birthday and death day. Pass the bread and butter, Kate. I fancy a salmon butty.’

  Julia is giggling, and I relax. She was right to return to Liverpool. For her, this city means happiness, God love her. So we are a contented party, the food is excellent, and Julia is going to art classes. This is a perfect evening.

  Dr Giles Girling enjoyed his work at Alder Hey, yet he couldn’t shift his mind off thoughts of Kate Latimer, Owen or Price. On his rare days off, he drove to a lane at the side of Price’s house, hoping to catch just a glimpse of the woman who filled his dreams night and day. Twice, he’d seen her in the vast garden with half a dozen assorted dogs. Like an overgrown child, Kate played rough and tumble with the large animals, no fear showing as she fought for a ball or a Frisbee.

  Once, he got to talk to her in Williamson Square where she waited for her husband to take her to lunch in the city centre, but he cut the session short in case Alex Price showed up early. Giles had no chance, and he should give up, but obsession had him by the throat, and there was no escape – he was stalking her.