Daughters of Penny Lane Read online

  That click. She opened the door an inch or so, then closed it again. The click; she remembered it. ‘I must have been no more than two or three when we left here, Frank.’ The scents arrived – Dad’s pipe tobacco, Muth’s pan of scouse, a whiff of Derbac soap, the smell of clean, bleached sheets hanging from the pulley line. ‘I do remember, Frank, I do.’ She had worshipped her father, and had come to hate the woman who had given birth to her. For the first twelve years of Alice’s life, she’d been Muth’s favourite, the clever one, the sighted child, the angel. But as soon as Alice had begun to have opinions of her own, things had changed. ‘And my sisters were jealous of me, Frank.’

  The dog sat at the bottom of the stairs, his face an embodiment of misery. It was hours till feed time, and this wasn’t a proper place yet, since there were boxes everywhere. Removal men had positioned larger items of furniture, but much of the Quigley household was packed in cartons. And his mistress was expecting something else to happen, though he couldn’t work out what the something might be. He waited for her to move, but she’d gone into one of her quiet times, so the dog yawned, lay down and slept. If there was no food, he might as well absent himself from this new situation.

  Alice grinned at him. He could sleep at the drop of a hatpin, and oh, how she loved him. The Russian ironmonger promised to be interesting, too. Perhaps Penny Lane might turn out to be a good move.

  As she walked towards the rear living room, the area set aside for Dan, she heard muffled voices that gradually got louder. Her dad was crying, while her mother released a wail the like of which Alice had never heard before. A newborn screamed, but the sound ceased suddenly, as if somebody had switched off a wireless. This was day one, she told herself. The othernesses connected to this house would probably get worse . . .

  Returning to the hall, Alice stood by Frank and heard nothing apart from the dog’s snoring; it was plain that he hadn’t been disturbed by any of the sounds. But one thing was for certain sure: the house on Penny Lane, the place in which her life had begun, was not at ease. The trouble belonged to her parents, as had she. Well, as long as it didn’t bother Dan, she would cope, she told herself firmly. Dan had always been deaf and blind when it came to his wife’s visions, thank goodness.

  The front door knocker hammered. It was a lion’s head – now, how had she managed to remember that? Perhaps she’d noticed when following removal men in and out. She opened the door. Frank placed himself beside her. A tall, well-built man stood on the step. He gave off the odour of cement, and his facial skin was grey, as if the materials of his job had covered all exposed parts of his body. ‘Yes?’ she asked.

  ‘Mrs Quigley?’

  Alice inclined her head.

  ‘I’m Harry Thompson and I live next door. The builder paid me to help with the extension and fit your new bathroom, so I thought I’d call round and see if it was right for your husband’s needs. I’m really a plumber, but most of us have become jacks of all trades since the war.’ He glanced down at his feet. ‘I’ll take my boots off if you’ll let me in.’

  She widened the open door while he removed his workday footwear. ‘You’re all sand and cement. Go on, then. I’ll follow you through.’ She shook her head and grinned while walking behind him – he had sizeable holes in both socks, and his clothes were filthy.

  They stood in the new room, Frank between them. Like a spectator at a tennis match, he moved his head from Alice to Harry, from Harry to Alice, keeping pace with the lines they delivered.

  ‘So all you do, Mrs Quigley, is get the temperature right and push the wheelchair in. Of course, you’ll have to give him a bit of a wash first, but this will rinse the soap off him. When he gets a bit better for you, he might be able to climb in the bath.’

  Alice smiled sadly. ‘I don’t think so. The second stroke nearly did for him, you see. He’s a big chap, built on the same lines as yourself.’

  Harry nodded. ‘Right, I’ll stick a bell in.’

  ‘A doorbell?’

  He laughed. ‘An alarm. If I’m at home, I’ll hear it, then I can help you with him. It’ll ring in my house. Your dog’s taking it all in, I see.’

  ‘Yes, he does that. Never misses a trick, my Frank.’

  ‘Frank?’

  Alice nodded. ‘He was already Frank when I got him. Grief-stricken, he was, because his owner had died and he’d been locked in with her body for two days. He took to me straight away, though. I lived in a bedsit in Sefton Park, but I was allowed to keep Frank as a guard dog.’

  Harry chuckled. ‘What a ridiculous face.’

  Deadpan, Alice turned and stared at him. ‘Me or the dog?’

  ‘The dog, of course. He looks like he ran at a wall in top gear and pushed his nose in with the force of impact.’

  ‘He’s beautiful, Mr Thompson.’

  ‘Harry. I’m Harry. And yes, he is beautiful in a crazy, mixed-up way. It’s the two grey spots on his forehead – they make him look like a deep thinker.’

  ‘Oh, he’s that, all right.’ She looked round the room. ‘You’ve done a good job, but tell me why there’s a grid in the floor here.’

  He explained that he’d studied wet rooms when helping to fit facilities in an old people’s home. ‘The whole room’s a shower, because you’d never get a wheelchair over the rim of a standard shower stall. I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I went up to Maryfields and spoke to Dan himself, and the staff. Matron said a wet room was a good idea. And you’re right – he is about my size, so take care of yourself.’

  ‘What did Dan say about the bathroom idea?’

  ‘Well, he nodded when I told him, and I think he asked me to keep it as easy as possible for you. They say his speech is improving.’

  ‘It is, God help us.’

  He grinned. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘He’s very left wing. He could start a war in a shopping basket. He’ll be going on about it being 1946 and when will this bloody health system they keep talking about be up and running proper, and why are war widows given such poor pensions, and who does the adding up when it comes to income tax, because the soft bugger needs a new abacus. In words you might use as a plumber, he’s like a tap with a washer loose, drip, drip, drip. Pick a subject, and he’ll have an opinion.’

  Harry’s laugh was infectious. It seemed to rumble like thunder from his diaphragm before spilling out loudly enough to crack the tiles on which they stood. She found herself joining in until her stomach ached, while the dog, unamused by all the noise, left them to it. In his opinion she should have been looking for his blanket, but she seemed to think she had better things to do.

  Harry stopped laughing. ‘Do you want me to run a second alarm through to the other side? Vera Corcoran – she’s small, but she’s strong.’

  Alice took a long draught of oxygen. ‘No, thanks.’

  Harry grinned again. ‘Ah, so you’ve met her? We call her the Penny Lane Echo, because she knows the news before it happens, then spreads it all over the place. But she’s not a bad person, Mrs Quigley.’

  ‘Alice.’

  ‘Alice, then. And I might be as much at fault as she is, but this is truth, not decorated gossip. Her old man’s broken her jaw, her ribs and her collarbone. And I haven’t told you that. If she wears long sleeves in summer, that’ll be to hide the bruises. You’d use the alarm only when he’s not in, of course. I’d hide the bell. He doesn’t like her talking to people in case she tells somebody who’ll beat him up for being such a swine.’

  ‘No,’ she whispered in disbelief.

  ‘Yes,’ was his swift response. ‘When he’s at work, she goes about telling everybody’s business to keep her mind off her own problems. Twenty years ago, she was a grand-looking girl with a good figure and shiny hair. He soon knocked the shine out of her, and her lads have grown up thinking it’s all right to beat people up and steal. I feel sorry for her.’

  ‘So do I now. But we’re private people, me and Dan. No children, which is just as well, because he’ll t
ake up all my time when I’m not working.’

  ‘You work? How do you manage that?’

  ‘Sewing machine upstairs. That ship’s bell fastened to the wall above Dan’s bed is going to be his way of summoning me. I do alterations, wedding dresses including for bridesmaids, smart suits for women, kiddies’ clothes, curtains. I’ve a full order book. Mind, they usually have to find their own material, because it’s still in short supply. But I’m never out of work.’ There was pride in her tone. ‘I’m a qualified tailor and dressmaker and I don’t charge a fortune – tell your friends.’

  ‘I will. And don’t be frightened of asking Vera for help. She sat with my dad many an hour towards the end. I fetched him over from Everton, you see. Everybody else left and got married, but I was the youngest, and somebody had to look after him. He had a few bob, so I retired early to look after him, and went back to plumbing and building after he died. But I don’t know how I would have coped without Vera. She needs to feel important; appreciated, I suppose. Her husband’s cruel and her boys are wild, so she hasn’t much to live for.’

  Alice was the youngest in her family, but she could never have Muth living with her. Muth ruled now in her oldest daughter’s house, and no way would Alice even consider housing her unless all her remaining sisters died. And if that terrible thing should happen, Alice would still have to think very hard before opening her door. Compared to Alice’s mother, Vera Corcoran was merely playful, because Elsie Stewart was a monster.

  ‘Have you got food in for your tea?’ Harry asked.

  Alice failed to understand the reason, but she suddenly felt shy. He was nice. With a bit of spit and polish, he’d probably turn out to be quite handsome. ‘Yes, I’ve got everything I need, ta. Tell you what, though. If Dan’s orderly ever can’t get here, you could come in for ten minutes when you get home from work. You might help me get him out of bed and sit him in the wheelchair for his tea.’

  ‘I’ll be glad to. Then I’ll come back and throw him back in bed for you, eh?’

  ‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t quite manage to work out why, but she trusted this man, had recognized a kindred spirit as soon as she’d opened the front door.

  He smiled down at her. She was no bigger than two penn’orth of chips, but she had guts and humour. ‘Let Vera do your shopping, girl. Not at weekend; not while Corcoran’s there. Try to be nice to her, because she’s what they call isolated. He keeps her in her place, and neighbours avoid her. Give her something to live for, Alice.’ After a pause, he continued, ‘Vera was a bad picker. She chose him instead of me. Be good to her, I beg you.’

  ‘All right.’ She glanced at a clock. What was the matter with her? Why did she still feel slightly shy? ‘Dan’ll be home any day now.’ The invisible baby cried again. That would be the reason for her discomfort – perhaps she’d been waiting for it to happen. It seemed that her neighbour heard nothing.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ he said. ‘By the way, I like your dog.’

  Harry had definitely heard nothing. Alice sighed her relief. ‘So do I. And he loves Dan, so he’ll be company for him while I’m at work. Matron let me take him into the rest home a few times.’

  When Harry had left, she perched on her husband’s bed. Perching took effort, as the bed was hospital height; at five feet and two inches on a good day, Alice had to use a stool, a sturdy little item with two steps. This had been bought in hope, and in case Dan ever found the ability to get himself out of bed. She thought about Vera Corcoran and Olga Konstantinov. While occupying her mind in this way, she managed to avoid musing about Harry-next-door. He was a good, kind man, and she wasn’t thinking about him . . .

  The chaos that disturbed her nap after about twenty minutes would be ingrained forever in Alice Quigley’s memory. Being psychic was all very well, but the gift was seldom useful. Why hadn’t she seen what was about to happen here in this house on this day? So much joy, so much hope, both flavoured with sadness – surely the seventh child of a seventh child might have been granted a glimpse of what was about to take place?

  Harry must have left the snick on the front door, because it flew inward and crashed into the wall. Frank barked. It was his greeting bark, so the door-flinger was probably not an intruder. Alice jumped down from the bed and ran into the hall.

  It was Dan, her Dan, her Danny Boy. He was on crutches and swinging his legs into the hall. Oh, God, dear God, thank you!

  Alice sat on the next-to-bottom stair and burst into tears. ‘Why did nobody tell me?’ she managed through a torrent of saline.

  ‘S-Alice,’ Dan cried. ‘S-Alice!’

  Dr Bloom from Maryfields Convalescent Home bustled in. ‘He wanted to surprise you, Mrs Quigley. When he makes a decision, there’s no stopping him. Stubborn as the proverbial mule.’

  ‘Surprise?’ she answered, a handkerchief mopping up tears. ‘It’s a wonder I didn’t have a bloody stroke myself.’

  An ambulance driver entered the fray. ‘Where are we putting him?’ he asked.

  Alice waved a hand towards the door to Dan’s room. She rose to her feet just as the rest of the cast turned up. Olga Konstantinov led the way; she carried a lidded bowl. Vera Corcoran arrived behind Olga, and a cleaned-up version of Harry Thompson brought up the rear. He was wearing fresh clothes and a wide grin, and he winked at Alice.

  ‘Is this what they call a cabinet meeting,’ she asked, ‘or have I been invaded? Where’s bloody Churchill when he’s needed?’ She was babbling, and she knew why; she didn’t want Dan or Harry Thompson to see her all red-eyed and teary. She needed to pull herself together. The man she loved, the dear man she had married, was in the rear living room waiting for her. She shouldn’t be looking at another person, no matter how handsome he was. And he was definitely handsome without sand and cement decorating his features.

  When she entered his room, Dan was seated in an armchair. ‘S-Alice,’ he said again, a frown spoiling his face. The struggle with words was proving much harder than the difficulty with limbs. ‘S-nice,’ he managed. ‘S-room s-nice. S-garden.’ Almost everything he said continued to begin with s.

  She brought the two-step stool and sat on it, reaching up to hold the hands of her beloved man. ‘Dan, this is Vera from next door. I think she’ll help us with shopping.’

  ‘S-Vera,’ he answered.

  Vera beamed. A husband was talking to her without shouting.

  ‘And this is Olga. She has an ironmongery shop up the lane.’

  ‘S-Olga.’

  ‘I bring borscht,’ Olga announced. ‘Beetroot soup.’

  Alice allowed herself a small grin as she imagined what disasters might be created if Dan got within a yard of beetroot soup.

  Harry stepped forward. ‘You know me, Dan. I’ve done your bathroom.’

  ‘S-yes.’

  ‘Come,’ Olga ordered. ‘This man tired – is big day for him.’ She led the neighbours out of the house.

  Dr Bloom stood by Dan’s chair. ‘We’ll miss you, Dan. You’ve organized the workers and forced them to join unions. You’ve been the biggest nuisance we’ve seen in years, and I’ve found a speech therapist who will call in from time to time, because we need to be rid of your s.’

  ‘S-yes, s-we s-do.’

  The ambulance man glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll be off now.’ He grinned at Dan. ‘I need to get my s-ambulance back to base.’

  ‘Watch it,’ Dan exclaimed clearly.

  The doctor’s jaw moved south. ‘That’s the answer, Mrs Quigley. Annoy him. I think he’s been having us on.’

  ‘I daren’t,’ Alice said. ‘He might have another troke.’

  The ambulance man left chuckling.

  ‘It all right,’ she continued, ‘I’ve wallowed it for him. Twenty-five letter in the alphabet now.’

  ‘S-stop it.’ The patient closed his eyes. At the age of thirty-three, his Alice was more beautiful than ever. Would he ever share her bed again? Or was he destined to live in this room for the rest of his days? Stairs. For
him, a flight of stairs presented a problem the size of Everest. He’d been away for so long, and Alice was the sort who turned heads in the street. Had she found someone else? Might she leave him?

  He raised his eyelids and looked into her blue eyes. No. That wonderful, gorgeous, open face would have betrayed her. She was completely without guile, since she seemed to be almost unaware of her own attractiveness. Perhaps what her mother termed her ‘otherness’ made her different.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked when the doctor had left. ‘Any pain?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I missed you, Dan. Living in the bedsit in Seffy Park was no fun till I got Frank. I had to keep the wireless on and borrow library books. I never even enjoyed sewing without you.’

  ‘S-sorry.’

  ‘Sorry? Don’t be soft, lad. You got me out of that mess, remember?’

  He remembered. If she’d been any bigger, she might have lost her legs, but her neat little body had been protected by the kitchen table, a solidly made item that had covered her completely. He’d passed out afterwards, waking some hours later in a hospital bed next to which she had sat all night. ‘S-thanks, s-Alice.’

  ‘Oh, stop it. For better or worse, in sickness and health – remember?’

  He nodded.

  ‘You’re my boy, Danny, my beautiful, beautiful boy.’

  One side of his face smiled while the other side made an effort.

  ‘I’ll get you right. Now, I’ll make us a bite to eat, then we’ll put Harry-next-door’s bathroom to the test. All right? And I suppose this dog of ours will want feeding, too.’

  ‘S-wait. S-here.’ With his better hand, he took a sheet of paper from a pocket. ‘S-doc wrote s-for me.’

  He’d left off the s twice again! Alice scanned the page before reading aloud.