Friends and Lovers (5 page)

But live music was something else and it seemed to Viv that it was still echoing inside her head when she and Nick left the club. People vanished in different directions, some in search of alcohol at the nearby pub called The Vine because only soft drinks were served in the Cavern.

‘Are you hungry?’ asked Nick, gazing down at her as she shivered slightly in the cold air.

‘Starving,’ she said. ‘I had no thought for food with Mam turning up.’

‘Do you fancy a visit to Chinatown?’

‘It sounds OK to me.’ She slipped an arm through his as they began to walk and added in a warm voice. ‘I’ve never gone for jazz that much but I enjoyed the music when I really listened to it, and it made me think that perhaps I should give Mam a second chance. Aunt Flo’s in favour of a
family Christmas in California. It wouldn’t be so bad sharing a house with Mam if there wasn’t just the two of us on our own – and I can ask Aunt Flo about my father.’

‘What do you mean, ask your aunt about your father?’ Nick’s voice was unexpectedly sharp and she felt the muscle in his arm tense beneath her fingers.

‘Ask her does she know who he is. Mam won’t tell me. She got all uppity when I asked her,’ explained Viv. ‘She as good as said she didn’t know who he was, but she was lying because she told me he was dead years ago … but then she could have been lying about that then, I suppose.’ She glanced up at him. ‘Can you understand now, Nick, how difficult I find living with her? I never know where I am. She says and does things to suit herself, never mind whether it’s right or wrong.
And
she wants me as a blinking skivvy. She treated Aunt Flo and me like slaves in the old days.’

‘Maybe she’s changed? You ought to listen to her, Viv. Give her a chance. Only by doing that will you get rid of that chip on your shoulder.’

‘I haven’t got a chip,’ she said unconvincingly.

His smiling eyes met hers. ‘Do the impossible, love. Our Mavis never could forgive Mam. They don’t even write. I get the letters. It was me who knew first that she’s having a baby. That news should have been for her mother.’

Viv murmured, ‘You’re too good, Nick.’

He scowled. ‘Like hell I am!’

‘I can’t forgive my mother like you did.’

‘Would you forgive your father?’

The words took her by surprise. ‘Forgive him what?’

‘Forgive him for doing the same thing as you accuse your mother of … deserting you. You see your father as some kind of hero because he was probably killed in battle, but what if he’s still alive? As for your mother, you see her as a scarlet woman just because she couldn’t cope with you on her own.’

She flushed. ‘I don’t see them as anything of the sort!’

‘Don’t you? Have you ever thought that she might have thrown herself into having a good time to forget? That she couldn’t bear you near her after he had gone because you reminded her of him too much?’

‘You’re defending her again!’ Viv’s voice rose angrily. ‘Perhaps you still fancy her? There are men who like older women.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ He added softly, ‘When I first saw you I thought, I like this one. She’s got something. I still think that. Now shall we forget about your mother and mine and think of us? Tell me what you do for a living.’

Viv stared at him, her emotions in a turmoil. ‘Just like that?’ she said.

‘Tell me,’ he said quietly. ‘All about yourself.’

‘There’s not much to tell,’ she muttered. Even so, as they began to walk up Bold Street she told him how she had taken the first job the Employment had sent her to when she left school because she had needed the money. She worked in the Racing Department of Littlewood’s, the pools firm, working out the odds. She had been reasonably content there because she liked the girls she worked with and one of them, Dot, had become her closest friend. At this time of year, though, they weren’t very busy. The flat season was over and it was all national hunt race meetings. ‘I’m not much of a gambler myself,’ she said ruefully. ‘And now that Grandfather’s dead I’ve been thinking about looking for something else. What do you do, Nick?’

They had neared the delicately carved stone structure of the bombed St Luke’s church at the top of Bold Street and he paused to look at it. ‘I’m an architect. I finished my training before doing National Service. Look at the craftsmanship in this, Viv.’

‘It’s lovely.’ She tried to hide her surprise at his answer. Working-class lads didn’t often become architects. ‘I have my lunch in the grounds sometimes in summer,’ she added. Inside the shell of the building trees and grass had taken over from pews and pulpit and ivy had sent tendrils curling around empty window frames.

‘Lucky you,’ said Nick, smiling. ‘And talking of food, we’ll be there soon.’

They approached an area Viv did not know. It was brightly, almost garishly, lit by a string of restaurants.

Nick led her inside one of the smaller ones where paper lanterns hung from the ceiling and willowy oriental figures stared inscrutably from niches in the crimson and cream fabric-covered walls. Liverpool had the oldest Chinese community in Europe but Viv had never tasted Chinese food before.

She liked it, and by the time she had finished crispy Peking duck and illicitly drunk three glasses of white wine she decided that she did not want to go home and face her mother. ‘Where else can we go?’ she asked over coffee, not wanting to believe how late it might be or how the drink had gone to her head.

‘Quiet or noisy?’ murmured Nick, kissing her fingertips.

She giggled. ‘Quiet, after all that jazz.’

‘The local graveyard?’ He smiled and she believed that he was joking. ‘It’s the nearest anywhere of quiet distinction you can get,’ he added blandly.

‘Take me,’ she ordered, thinking she would have something to tell Dot when next she saw her.

The way was steep and the wind from the River Mersey whipped under Viv’s coat, up her legs and beneath the swaying hooped underskirt, chilling
the bare skin between stocking top and knickers. She was half frozen but was not going to admit it as he gazed up at the Anglican cathedral on St James Mount, looming above them in all its pseudo-Gothic glory. She should have guessed. She knew it well. Had been confirmed within its walls. ‘You’re crazy wanting to come here at this time of night,’ she said, shaking her head.

Nick put an arm round her and said, ‘I love this building.’ His tone was reverent. ‘It was designed by a Roman Catholic, Gilbert Scott, when he was only twenty-one. The foundation stone was laid in 1904 and it’s still not finished. It was bombed during the war but the work goes on. A job for life for some of the stonemasons, Viv. If I could design anything half as exciting …’ He paused, shrugged, and she felt his change of mood. ‘You couldn’t get a job like this today. Now it’s not beauty of form or outline that’s important. Now we’ve got to give the ordinary people what they want and money’s short and we’ve got to build quick. And it’s drains! Bathrooms! Bigger kitchens with wide windows! That’s what housewives want.’

Viv agreed but added, ‘You’re not responsible for those tower blocks going up, are you? They’re ugly and so
high
!’ She did not like heights.

‘No, I’m not.’ He smiled grimly. ‘At the moment I’m working on specifications for a school. But lots of people live in skyscrapers in America. It seems
to work there so why not here? It saves on land.’ Once again he looked up at the cathedral. ‘They didn’t worry about that in the old days so much.’ He hugged her to him. ‘Now come and look at the graveyard.’

He led her round the building until they could see far below them a large elongated pit. There were mossy gravestones half concealed. Trees rattled twiggy fingers. Instinctively she snuggled closer to him. Both his arms went round her. ‘There’s a spring down there somewhere,’ he whispered against her cold ear. ‘It’s supposed to have magical properties.’

‘Perhaps it could turn you into a frog?’ she said with a quiver in her voice.

‘Or you into a princess.’

‘Now you’re being fanciful.’ Her heartbeat, which had slowed down after the climb, had quickened again.

He kissed her ear and she thought what she wanted was respect from a man. A white frock on her wedding day that would really mean something. He licked the curve of her jaw.

‘You’re tickling,’ she whispered.

‘Well, look at me then.’

She looked at him and he kissed her, gently at first, then deeply as if he wanted to draw her inside out. She experienced such an upsurge of sensuality that it shocked her. She opened her eyes
and attempted to disengage herself but although his grip slackened he did not release her. ‘It’s a beautiful night,’ he said.

She looked up at the sky. It was beautiful. The wind was tearing the clouds apart and pale silver light spilt from the moon, lighting up the gravestones below and glistening on hoar-frosted grass. ‘Don’t say it,’ she responded as calmly as she could. ‘It’s a night made for love.’

His lips twitched. ‘I won’t say it.’ He pushed back the kiss curls from her forehead and pressed his lips against her eyelids. His fingers wandered down her cheek, stroked her neck. She caught hold of them before they reached her breast.

‘I don’t trust you, Nick Bryce,’ she said with a hint of breathlessness.

‘You can.’ His eyes teased her and he pulled her arm around his waist. ‘We only do what you want.’

‘I want to go home,’ she said.

He sighed. ‘I knew you’d lie.’

Viv protested but he silenced her with another kiss, and another. Despite, or because of, their effect on her, she pushed him away in the end. ‘Time to go home.’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly, ‘I think it is.’ And pulling her hand through his arm, he led her down the hill. It was when she was halfway down that she remembered her mother.

Hilda woke as the strains of ‘This Old House’ died away. The voyage had been tiring. She yawned, switched off the wireless and stood listening to the silence. She had been born here. A grim smile played round her painted lips. A long time before those two wildcats. The cheek of George answering her back, and the way Viv had stood up to her! She remembered how, when Viv had been a child, she had tried to put down her own mother by ignoring her after she had been away for a year or so. It had made Hilda feel two inches tall but she had not let it show. It had been bad enough knowing that she had allowed her sister to fill her place in Viv’s affections. And now – what chance had she of regaining that affection? She grimaced. Kids these days had no respect …

Kids? No! That was where she had made her mistake. Viv was a young woman and George
a man. She had got the shock of her life when he had stood and faced her. She wondered how her sister would feel if she saw him now. Despite her marrying Mike the sight of him would surely bring back memories of Tom, her first husband, and how it had been in the thirties when they were all so young.

There had been times when Hilda had been so jealous and resentful of Flo that she could cheerfully have strangled her, but nearly dying a few weeks ago had given her pause for thought and she had realised in hospital just how important family was and had become aware of the need to sort out a few things. As soon as she had got out she had headed straight for her sister’s home.

For a moment she thought of how happy Flora and Mike were and how envious she had felt. She had done the right thing leaving them, of course she had. Resisting the urge to flirt with Mike would have been a strain on her newfound resolution to turn over a new leaf. But she had banked on Viv being pleased to see her.

What had happened to her coffee? Where was Viv? Good Lord, she should never have said that about her father being no good. A lie would have been better. She had intended telling the truth one day. The whole truth, so help me God truth, but it was so hard! And the little devil that seemed to ride on her shoulder instead of the guardian angel
that Naomi Ruth had talked of, had caused her to protect her own interests. The whole truth would have done her no good at all.

Naomi Ruth would not have approved of her behaviour. Hilda remembered the elderly Pentecostal Christian she had met in hospital when she was feeling desperate. Death was leering at her from the end of the bed in the guise of a doctor in a white coat, and Hilda had been terrified out of her wits. Getting religion had suddenly seemed preferable to dying with no hope. But Naomi Ruth had prayed. Her whole church had prayed. Hilda had survived but Naomi Ruth had died. Even to Hilda that had seemed a little unfair, even granting that Naomi Ruth was eighty.

‘Lord, where is that girl?’ she said aloud. ‘Not as pretty as me at her age but clever, so Flo said. Out to catch George, of course. Perhaps she’s more like me than I thought?’

She opened the door and went in search of her daughter.

Hilda was annoyed. Where was Viv? And where was George? Had they gone together? She had left beautiful California without seeing Hollywood and the homes of the stars, and had paid a lot of money to come home to get to know her daughter because she had promised to do so to Naomi Ruth almost on her deathbed (some things even in Hilda’s point of view were sacred), and
now Viv had gone and vanished. It seemed unfair considering all the trouble she had gone to.

Perhaps they had only gone as far as next door? The Kellys … did they still live next door? A rare genuine smile lifted the corners of her mouth. It was years since she had thought of the Kellys. ‘“There were seven in the bed and the little one said, Roll over! Roll over,”’ she sang softly. Did God mind her finding some comfort in the memory?

Dominic Kelly had rolled right on top of her and she had belted him. He had hit her back, not too hard, then kissed her when she started crying. It had shut her up and she had not minded when he held her close and explored beneath her flannelette nightie. Her mother had just died and she could not bear the pain of her own grief. How old had she been? Ten – eleven? Over thirty years ago. Times had been difficult and they had got worse when her father had gone back to sea and Aunt Beattie had taken charge.

Hilda had never been her schoolmarm aunt’s favourite and in the early days her bare legs had often stung from the cane she kept under the sideboard. Hilda’s face tightened and her hands curled into fists. Then she shrugged. Forgive and forget it. All water under the bridge. At least there had been none of that for her daughter. Was Viv next door? There would be no harm in finding out if the Kellys still lived there.

She did not bother with a top coat although a few snowflakes fluttered on to her face. It was cold but it could not compare with conditions in New Jersey in winter. As she stood with her finger on the bell beside the partly glazed, shiny blue and white painted front door, she could not help comparing the two houses. Her father’s door and window frames were a dull green and paint was flaking off in places. Obviously the landlord had got away with murder for years and her father had been too mean to spend money having the outside of the house done up.

The door opened and the young man standing there filled the doorway. Her eyes devoured him. She had managed to pack up the ciggies but the opposite sex was still a temptation. His short hair was damp and tousled and there was a towel around his bare neck. He wore tight black trousers and a white sloppy joe. He looked twentyish, was a gorgeous example of manhood, and was the spitting image of his father. ‘Can I help you, missus?’

She switched on a smile. ‘I’m Hilda Murray née Preston. And you have to be one of the Kellys. Which one I couldn’t guess.’

‘Joe.’ His voice was interested. ‘Gran used to talk about you.’ Hilda wondered what she had said. ‘What is it yer after?’ he asked.

‘My daughter Viv. She isn’t in your house, is she?’

‘Nope. But I saw her walking up the back jigger from the bedroom window. Not long after George actually.’

Hilda did not let her annoyance show. ‘Girls!’ Her expression was rueful. ‘My turning up gave her quite a shock.’

He was silent but a voice called from inside asking who was at the door. He shouted back, ‘Hilda Preston, Dad.’

Several seconds passed and Hilda rubbed her arms. She was starting to feel the cold. The vestibule door opened and a man with thick, straight, greying hair loomed up behind Joe in the small space between the doors. He and Hilda stared at each other. He had been six foot at fourteen with the best shoulders she had ever seen. He still looked good.

‘I don’t believe it! The blinkin’ prodigal’s returned,’ said Dominic. ‘Bit late, aren’t yer, girl? The funeral’s been and gone.’

‘I didn’t know,’ she said with a tremulous smile. ‘How are you, Dom?’

‘Fair to best.’ He wore a cream Aran sweater which made his shoulders look even larger. ‘How’s yerself?’

She shrugged. ‘Can’t complain. Had a bit of a chest.’ She placed a hand on her bust and coughed.

His dark eyes followed the movement. ‘You’ll
have to look after it. Mam always said you were prone to be chesty.’

‘We used to have such terrible fogs. Remember us getting lost?’

‘I always knew my way about.’

A giggle escaped her and Dominic slanted a look at his son who was leaning against the doorjamb listening with obvious fascination. ‘If you’re going out you’d better hurry up, lad.’

Joe moved reluctantly.

‘Nice-looking lad,’ said Hilda.

Dominic shook his head. ‘Too young for yer, girl,’ he said in a teasing voice. ‘Besides, he’s not interested. Still prefers his mates, football and skiffle.’

‘My husband liked jazz. He thought he could play the saxophone. I met him at a dance.’

‘The second husband, I presume?’

‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘He died a few months ago.’

‘So you’re a widow.’

‘Yes.’ Her lips curved into a delightful smile. ‘And not a very merry one at the moment. I need cheering up, Dom.’

‘You haven’t changed.’

She sighed. ‘I’m older now.’

‘Any wiser?’

‘I hope so.’ She thought of the fun they had had together. They had learnt a lot from each other. She felt nostalgic for those days and determined to keep
the conversation going despite the fact that her feet were freezing in their patent leather high heels. ‘You’re still supporting the wrong team, I see.’

‘Up the Blues,’ he said dispassionately.

‘Your house looks nice.’

‘You want to get George to paint yours now the old man’s gone. Or aren’t you stopping?’

‘I’m stopping for a while if …’ She shrugged. ‘George has gone off somewhere and so has Viv. That’s why I called.’

‘Had a row did you? Money, I suppose,’ said Dominic.

She wondered if he had heard the row through the walls. ‘I was the eldest daughter,’ she said with dignity.

He made no comment and her expression relaxed. ‘Anyway, if I stay perhaps you could paint my door red and white?’

‘It’s the wrong time of the year,’ he drawled. ‘Besides the bristles would fall out of me brush with them colours. I wouldn’t mind working inside if you’ve got any jobs? Get laid off on the building sometimes at this time of year.’

‘Why don’t you come in now and see what needs doing?’ She smiled and said with a touch of satisfaction, ‘I can pay, you know. I’m a rich widow.’ They stared at each other in silence and she knew that the shiver she gave was not just due to the cold.

‘Might as well,’ he murmured. ‘The wife’s at her mother’s for the weekend. She’s crippled with rheumatism and the sisters take turns in staying with her.’

‘Good!’ Her smile dazzled. ‘No time like the present.’

He closed the door behind him and followed her.

The house looked quiet and peaceful as Viv opened the front door. She had told Nick to leave her at the corner of the street in case her mother was waiting on the doorstep, saying that she wanted no noisy confrontations. It had only been partly true. If the truth were told, to her shame, she did not want him meeting her mother. Hilda was a damn sight too attractive still.

‘What about America?’ he had asked. ‘Are you going or not?’

‘I haven’t decided. It depends on what happens when I get home.’

Well, she was home and there was no sign of her mother in the front room and the fire was almost out. She stood quietly, and caught the murmur of voices. She listened and recognised the deep tones of Mr Kelly from next door. Her feet in their ballerina shoes made no sound as she walked across the room. She stopped when she reached the partially open door and heard her mother say in warm tones, ‘You don’t know what a comfort it
was having you to turn to, Dom. I wanted to block out death and you helped me for a while.’

‘It was my pleasure. Although if I’d thought on about how your father would react to your being in our house, I mightn’t have been so reckless about letting myself go. We were lucky.’

‘Yes! And so young. I had no idea where babies came from.’

‘Do you think your Flora was aware of what was going on?’

‘Probably. Your brother wasn’t backward in coming forward and she was in bed with us, wasn’t she?’

Viv was rooted to the spot. What had been going on? Her mother! Aunt Flo! Both in bed with Mr Kelly and his brother! The next words ensured she would continue eavesdropping.

‘I don’t think I could have survived without sneaking off with you,’ said Hilda. ‘They were awful days and Father was so
cold
. I couldn’t get near him. He shut me out. Perhaps he blamed me for her dying?’

‘Perhaps he blamed himself? He was always away and you were only a kid.’

‘He expected me to cope, though. He had a high opinion of me then, Dom!’ There was a pause and when Hilda resumed speaking there was pain in her voice. ‘Aunt Beattie ruined things between us completely by always complaining about me.
He started to believe I was uncontrollable. That did something to me, Dom. I became what he believed I was. When I started with Viv that was it! He tore into me. I’ve never forgotten what he said.’ She laughed. ‘And there’s Viv and George believing me the world’s worst daughter because it seemed I didn’t care about him! Perhaps I was? But if so I had cause. He rejected me more than once. Although I still believed he might come round in the end.’

There was a pause and then Dominic said, ‘You should have let me know when he threw you out. I would have helped you.’

‘You couldn’t. You were in the navy and had a wife.’

‘I’ve a wife now.’

‘Pity,’ said Hilda, a smile in her voice.

‘I’d best be getting home.’

‘Yes.’

There was silence and Viv just knew they were kissing. Part of the conversation she had overheard thudded dully in her head. ‘You should have let me know … You had a wife.’ Could Dominic Kelly be her father? Oh, no! She turned and fell over the cat which yowled. There was nothing for it but to walk into the kitchen and confront them. Her head was held high but she felt as taut as a violin string. ‘I thought I’d come and ask you a few questions about my father again,’ she said brightly.
‘He couldn’t be Mr Kelly by any chance, could he?’

Hilda opened her mouth, then closed it before smiling and saying, ‘You shouldn’t listen at keyholes.’

‘I wasn’t listening at keyholes.’ Viv flushed. ‘And if you wanted all that you said to be a secret, you should have locked the front door.’

‘I was hoping you’d still be coming home despite the time. Didn’t I say so, Dom?’

He did not answer her question but said quietly, ‘I wish you were my daughter, girl. I always wanted one but the wife wouldn’t have any more kids after the three lads.’

‘Now that’s sweet,’ said Hilda, her expression hardening. ‘If you’d kept quiet, Dom, we could have passed you off as her long lost daddy and then I wouldn’t have her bringing the subject up again. Now you’d better go. I want to have a heart to heart with my daughter.’

‘That’ll make a change,’ said Viv, folding her arms over her breasts. ‘You never wanted to talk to me in the past. Are you going to tell me a bedtime story? You were never there for Red Riding Hood and the big bad wolf in the past. You much preferred the human kind.’