Queen of the Mersey (46 page)

He was still weeping, when he became aware that his back was being subjected to a violent assault. He looked up and found Caradoc Monaghan standing over him, battering him with all his might. He’d long been expecting an attack from one of Mary’s brothers and just stood there, taking it, like the coward he was. Why, though, was Caradoc grinning so inanely and regarding him in such a friendly way?

‘Gets to you, doesn’t it?’ Caradoc boomed, bestowing another painful slap on his back. ‘Meself, I cried worse than our Danny when he was born. I’ve just been to our mam’s, and the woman next door told me about Mary. What did she have, a boy or a girl?’

‘A girl,’ Duncan sniffed. ‘Flora.’

‘Congratulations, mate.’ His hand was pummelled furiously.

‘Thank you.’

‘I’m sorry we gave you the cold shoulder, Dunc, but it comes as a shock to find some geezer’s been at your little sister – and not just any old sister, but our Mary. But you stuck by her. Not every chap would’ve done that.’ Caradoc chuckled. ‘Anyroad, she’s not the first Monaghan who’s had to get hitched in a hurry, but don’t tell that to our mam.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Anyroad, Dunc, I’ll just say hello to Mary, then perhaps we could go for a drink? Wet the baby’s head, as they say. There’s a pub not far away and we can down a few pints before it closes. I’ve rung our Charlie, he doesn’t work far from here, and he’ll be along soon. The others will come tonight.’

After they’d been thrown out of the pub, Duncan spent the rest of the afternoon wandering along Southport beach with Caradoc and Charlie Monaghan, taking turns to swig from a bottle of whisky. When it was time to visit Mary again, he was sloshed to the eyeballs. Her six other brothers were there and, afterwards, they insisted the baby’s head be wet a second time.

One of the brothers, he couldn’t remember which, brought him home in a lorry, as he completely forgot he had a car, and wasn’t fit to drive it anyway. He arrived home, pleased to have been accepted into the bosom of the Monaghan family, but more confused than he’d ever been in his life before. Not only that, he vaguely recalled having promised to become a Catholic. On reflection, it didn’t seem a bad idea except, any minute now, he would disappear out of the Monaghans’ lives for ever and it wouldn’t matter what religion he was.

Next day, he went to the hospital on the train, nursing his first hangover and resolving never to have another. Mary was her old self again and greeted him cheerfully. ‘You look the worse for wear. Did you have a nice time last night?’

‘I think so,’ Duncan said gingerly because talking hurt his head.

Flora was in the nursery, wide awake. He was convinced she’d grown at least an inch and looked wiser and even more beautiful than the day before. How could he possibly go away and leave her behind, see her once or twice a year? That morning, he’d packed his books, ready to take with him when he left. When he got back, he unpacked them.

Ten days later, mother and baby were due to leave hospital. Vera had cleaned the flat thoroughly, though it hadn’t needed it. As a mother-in-law, Vera was an entirely different cup of tea to Laura Oliver. Duncan couldn’t help but like her. The awkwardness between them had disappeared with the birth of Flora and he enjoyed being fussed over in the way his own mother had fussed over him. Vera insisted on washing his clothes and making his meals. If he felt lonely on his own, he was invited to stay in Glover Street.

‘You’ll never feel lonely there, luv,’ she said comfortably.

As soon as Mary arrived home, she announced that, after a cup of tea, she’d like to take Flora for a walk. ‘I feel as if I’ve been in prison, not hospital. And I’d like to buy something, a new lipstick, or some scent, make meself feel human again.’

Flora was snugly wrapped up and placed in her new pram. They set off, Duncan pushing it, and he was amazed by the number of people who stopped to ask if they could see the baby. Some had seen them out on their evening walks and wanted to know if they’d had a boy or a girl. What was she called? How much had she weighed? Flora was showered with compliments and her parents warmly congratulated at least a dozen times.

Duncan was very quiet that night. Mary, cuddling a sleeping Flora in her arms, asked if he felt all right.

‘Yes,’ he said, not very convincingly.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Not really.’ He sighed. ‘To tell the truth, I feel a bit stunned.’

‘Stunned? What do you mean, stunned?’

‘I never dreamt I’d love Flora quite so much.’ He tried to hide the break in his voice.

Mary looked at him with understanding in her eyes. ‘You don’t want to leave, do you?’

He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said in a small voice.

‘Well, in that case, why not stay?’ she said sensibly. ‘Stay here, in the flat, and I’ll move in with Mam. You can see Flora as much as you want. It’d be best for her if she grew up with both parents around.’

Duncan’s heart leapt. Some of the confusion he’d been feeling began to ebb.

‘Won’t she think it funny, us living apart?’

‘I’m sure we’ll think up an explanation when we need to.’

‘You could leave her with me at weekends when you go dancing,’ he said eagerly.

‘I don’t think I want to go dancing any more. Something changed in me when I had Flora.’ Her eyes glowed as she softly touched the baby’s chin with her finger.

‘It’s made me feel far more grown up and mature. Dancing seems silly when compared to being a mother. Duncan?’

‘Yes, Mary?’

‘Would you like us to stay together? I don’t love you, and I know you don’t love me and would far sooner be with Hester, but perhaps we should try to make a go of it for Flora’s sake. Think about it first. You don’t have to tell me now, and I won’t be the least bit hurt if you say no.’

Duncan couldn’t think of what to say. Through the window, he could see a liner sailing past. Dusk was falling and the windows of the boat were bright pin-pricks of light. He realised he hadn’t thought about Hester since his daughter had come along. He also realised he couldn’t possibly have loved Flora more had Hester, not Mary, been her mother. It struck him that he quite fancied being a member of the Monaghan clan, being Vera’s only son-in-law. But what about having Mary permanently for a wife? Did she mean a proper wife? If so, he wasn’t too sure about that.

She was watching him and, as if she could read his thoughts, she said, ‘Of course, we’d need a bigger place, with three bedrooms; one for you, one for me, and the third can be a nursery. You can’t go on sleeping for ever on that settee.’

‘I’d like us to stay together,’ he said simply. ‘And we’ll get somewhere bigger.

I’ll have to find another job too.’ He wasn’t sorry he’d given up teaching and it would be nice to do something different for a change.

It all seemed very practical, like a business arrangement. All they were doing was making the best of a bad job.

Duncan discovered he had enough money in the bank to pay for a deposit on a house. The mortgage repayments would actually be less than paying rent. Mary was thrilled at the idea of being the first Monaghan to become a property owner.

They decided they’d live in Waterloo, within easy reach of the beach and the shops in South Road.

But before he could get get a mortgage, he had to find a job. With a First Class Honours degree and two years’ teaching under his belt, Duncan found it relatively easy. Within a month of Flora’s birth, he was working for the North-West Examining Board, which had its office in Southport. It suited him to sit, alone, in a quiet office, preparing O-level and A-level papers, though it wasn’t even faintly exciting.

The house they bought was in St John’s Road, a solid semi with three bedrooms and gardens front and back, in urgent need of modernising throughout. Mary, who’d turned out to be such a brick, set about decorating while he was at work, Flora in her carry cot on wheels, making approving little noises as she watched her mother work.

Flora was an increasing joy. It was a delight to watch her examine her toes, or giggle with ecstasy when Duncan played peek-a-boo with one of her fluffy toys.

Weekends, a couple of the Monaghan lads would turn up and help with the major work, like fitting a new bathroom suite or units in the kitchen; Vera still referred to her sons as ‘lads’, though Dick had turned forty at Christmas.

Duncan wrote to his parents and told them he was now a married man with a Catholic wife and baby daughter. As expected, his father didn’t reply, but his mother came to stay for a few days, very much against her husband’s wishes. She and Mary liked each other immediately. ‘I prefer her to Hester,’ his mother confided privately. ‘Hester was nice, but Mary’s got more life in her, and Flora’s a bonny little girl. I’m so pleased you called her after me, son.’

In another few weeks, Mary would be twenty-one, but the house wouldn’t be finished in time for a party. Vera offered to hold it in Glover Street on the Saturday, two days after the actual birthday.

On the day itself, Vera came to babysit, and Duncan took his wife to the cinema in town, then to dinner. They saw Singin’ in the Rain with Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds, and agreed it was probably the best, the happiest, picture ever made.

Over dinner, they discussed what colour tiles to have in the bathroom, and whether or not to buy a television.

Home again, Duncan drove his mother-in-law to Glover Street. When he returned, Mary was in the living room breastfeeding Flora. There was nothing faintly sexual about a woman’s breast when it had a baby attached. Duncan watched until the baby had had enough and Mary said, ‘Would you like to burp her while I make a drink?’

He held out his arms and curled his daughter over his shoulder, tenderly rubbing her back, while a wide-awake Flora wriggled mutinously against him. He was convinced she held on to her burps for as long as she could out of sheer perversity, just as she lay awake half the night, cooing, making chirruping, bird-like noises, and kicking off her blankets, as if determined her parents wouldn’t sleep until she slept herself.

Eventually, she made a gruff sound, like an old man, that always made Duncan laugh. He laid her on the settee so he could drink his cocoa. Mary changed her nappy, and said, ‘I’ll take her up and then I think I’ll turn in myself.’

‘I’ll go up first and switch Daisy on.’

The baby’s room had been the first to be decorated; white paper patterned with buttercups and daisies, white woodwork everywhere, white lace curtains, a white cot. It had a lamp shaped like a huge white and yellow flower on the dressing table that they’d christened Daisy, which Flora found quite fascinating. He switched on the lamp, glanced around the pretty white room with its creamy yellow carpet, wished he’d slept somewhere as charming when he’d been a child.

But his father scorned anything that might lift the heart, which included pretty lamps and pretty wallpaper. If it wasn’t in the Bible, he wasn’t interested.

Duncan was glad he was providing his own child with fond memories to look back on.

Mary came in and laid Flora in her cot. She looked quite sleepy for a change.

The bedclothes were tucked firmly around her. Duncan kissed his finger and put it against her lips. ‘Goodnight, sweetheart,’ he whispered.

They went on to the landing, leaving the door slightly ajar. ‘Thank you, Duncan, for tonight,’ Mary said in a low voice. ‘I had a marvellous time. The meal was lovely and I’ve never enjoyed a picture quite so much. And thank you for the present.’ She touched the gold locket around her neck. ‘It’s the gear.’

‘Well, you’re only twenty-one once in your life. By the way, happy birthday.’ He kissed her cheek and was never sure what happened afterwards. Perhaps it was her perfume, or the softness of her skin, or the fact she had given him the most beautiful daughter who’d ever existed, but next minute they were kissing, if not with passion, then with a certain amount of enthusiasm. Still kissing, they shuffled into her bedroom and fell on to the bed, where they made love with the same enthusiasm.

They fell asleep. When Duncan woke, it was pitch dark and Flora was having a long conversation with Daisy. He listened, his heart filled with love, and tried to keep his mind a blank, because if he allowed himself to think, he would only become confused again.

‘Are you awake, Duncan?’

‘Yes. Can you hear Flora?’

‘I think it was her who woke me. Duncan, was it all right – before?’

‘It was fine, Mary. What about you?’

‘It was fine for me, too. Goodnight, Duncan.’ She turned over.

‘Goodnight, Mary.’

It hadn’t been wonderful or magical or ecstatic, just fine for them both. Duncan allowed himself to think at last. He was a very lucky fellow. Things had turned out immeasurably better than he’d had a right to expect, yet he knew, Flora aside, there would always be a slight feeling of them being second-best. And he was pretty sure they’d always be second-best for Mary too.

The phone in Queenie’s office rang early on Saturday morning. It was Laura, asking if she was free for lunch that day. ‘I badly need someone to talk to.’

‘Of course. Would you like to eat in the flat or go somewhere else? As you know, I never use Freddy’s restaurant.’

‘I really don’t care, Queenie.’ She sounded very fed up.

‘Let’s go somewhere else for a change. How about Owen Owen’s? They serve excellent lunches.’

‘Owen Owen’s it is. Say about twelve-thirty?’

Queenie got to the restaurant first. When Laura came in, she was struck by how much she’d changed since they’d first met sixteen years ago. People were bound to change, but with Laura it seemed to have happened overnight, some time between Duncan marrying Mary, and Hester leaving home. Nowadays, she didn’t seem to care how she looked. Those stern horn-rimmed glasses were probably useful in the classroom, but she only needed them to read. She didn’t have to wear them all the time. Nor did she need to have her lovely hair cut quite so short, or wear such sensible costumes in such sensible colours; various shades of grey and brown. Her skin had lost its bloom, her cheeks were sallow, her lips pale.

Queenie longed to suggest she use a bit of make-up and buy some smarter clothes.