The Girl From Barefoot House (49 page)

Lily had always been house-proud, but now it became an obsession. Not a speck of dust was allowed to rest for a second in the house in Halewood. Windows and mirrors were polished daily, the bathroom cleaned, carpets vacuumed, towels changed, clothes washed.

‘I thought you had a squeegee mop,’ Josie said when she called one day in the lunch hour and found Lily on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor.

‘It doesn’t get in the corners,’ Lily puffed.

‘And what are the dishes doing in the sink when you’ve got a dishwasher?’

‘I don’t trust the thing to get them properly clean.’

‘I suppose you’ll be doing the washing by hand next,’ Josie said laconically.

‘What do you mean by that?’ Lily straggled to her feet and wiped her brow. She opened the kitchen door and dumped the bucket outside.

‘Come off it, Lil. You’re not fooling me. You’re deliberately wearing yourself out to make everyone suffer, particularly poor Francie. There’s no need for any of this.’ She nodded at the sink and the wet floor. ‘If you’re so concerned about being clean, pay someone else to do it.’

‘Do you seriously think I’d let another woman clean my house?’ Lily glared at her, enraged.

‘I don’t see why not. Another woman cleans mine – two, actually. They come on Saturday morning and clean the offices at the same time.’

‘That’s different.’

‘No, it’s not, Lil.’ Josie led her friend into the spotless living room and sat her down. ‘Stop making such a martyr of yourself. It’s driving all of us doolally.’

Lily got to her feet. ‘I’ll make some tea.’

Josie pushed her down again. ‘I’ll make it. Do you want me to collect Alec from playgroup?’

‘No, ta. Our Samantha’s getting him. Those flowers in the window are crooked.’ She made to get up. Josie shoved her back.

‘I’ll do it. Now, you stay there while I make the tea. When I come back, if I find you’ve moved an inch I’ll biff you.’

While she waited for the kettle to boil, she put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. In a perverse way Lily was enjoying being overworked and miserable. Francie claimed to be at his wits’ end. ‘The only thing I can do to please her is allow meself to be endlessly nagged. She snaps at the lads, even when they try to help. One of
these days, so help me, I’ll kill the bloody woman, baby an’ all.’

Lily rowed with both her sisters. ‘Our Daisy had the cheek to tell me I was
lucky
to be having a baby at my age. Just because
she
couldn’t have one, it doesn’t mean
I
have to be glad. I said to her, I said, “You don’t know what it’s like to bear a child, Daise. You’re talking through the back of your neck.” Now she’s taken umbrage. Not that
I
care,’ she finished haughtily.

And Marigold had the nerve to admonish Lily for chastising her own boys. ‘“I beg your pardon,” I said to her, “I
beg
your pardon. Just who do you think you are? These are
my
children, and I’ll talk to them however I please. If you don’t like it, you can lump it somewhere else.” So she did!’ Lily gave a fiendish grin. ‘I don’t give a damn. Some sisters
they
are.’

Even Samantha found reasons for giving her mother a wide berth, and Gillian, at university, no doubt forewarned, found something else to do during the Easter holidays rather than return to Liverpool. Francie was suddenly inundated with orders, all urgent, and had to work late. Only the two little boys were left but, then, they had no choice, and Josie. She came every lunchtime and most evenings to sit with her friend because she had the miraculous knack of coping with Lily’s tantrums, of never taking offence, of giving as good as she got and somehow managing to love Lily, despite her numerous faults.

Lily’s blood pressure rose alarmingly at eight months, her ankles swelled, her head ached. The doctor, who came every day, ordered her to rest. Only Lily could make resting an ordeal for everyone around. She was bored. ‘I can never get to grips with a novel, you know that,’ she
said when Josie brought her a pile of books to read. She didn’t like magazines, they were too bitty, she announced when Josie brought them instead. Daytime television was nothing but rubbish. She couldn’t sew, she couldn’t knit or embroider. ‘I’d write a letter, but who is there to write to?’

‘There’s your Stanley and Robert,’ Josie said helpfully.

For some reason they wouldn’t do. ‘I’d write to our Ben if I knew where he lived. I wonder where he went, Jose?’

‘I don’t know, Lil.’ Ben hadn’t been heard from in years.

‘Give us his address and I’ll write to Jack.’

‘My Jack?’ Josie’s jaw dropped. ‘Jack Coltrane?’

‘How many Jacks do we know?’

‘All right, Lil. I’m sure Jack will be pleased.’ Jack would probably feint with shock.

Jack phoned a week later. ‘I’ve had this very odd letter from your pregnant pal, Lily. Is she okay?’

‘As okay as she’ll ever be. What did she have to say?’

‘In a nutshell, that you’re a walking saint, and we should get married again immediately. She goes on in a muddled way about life being short and it shouldn’t be wasted. It’s rather touching in a way.’

Josie said nothing, and Jack went on, ‘I suppose she’s right, about life being short and stuff, though I don’t go along with the walking saint bit. Saints don’t throw a guy’s plays on the floor and kick them.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said abjectly.

‘Too late, I’m afraid.’ She imagined him grinning, and was surprised when his voice suddenly became harsh. ‘Josie, you’re a beautiful, vital woman. You should have married again years ago.’

She cradled the receiver in both hands. ‘You weren’t here to marry, Jack.’

‘Forget about me, damn you!’ he yelled. ‘I made a lousy husband the first time, and I’d make a worse one now. You must meet a whole heap of eligible men when you’re running that business – marry one of them, for Chrissake.’ There was a pause, then a noise that might have been a sob. ‘Sweetheart, my sweetheart,’ he groaned, ‘I love you too much to marry you. You deserve something better than an old, washed-up has-been like me. I’ve had it, Josie. I’m finished, over the hill. Forget me, my dearest love, and find someone else.’

‘Jack!’ she cried, but the line had gone dead, and when she tried to ring back she got the engaged tone, and continued to do so the next day and the day after. A week later the receiver was still off the hook. In desperation she rang Val Morrissey in New York to ask if there was anything wrong. He might know. He’d been seeing a lot of Jessie Mae.

‘Didn’t Jack tell you?’ he gurgled happily. ‘Jessie Mae and I flew to Las Vegas last weekend and got married. I’ve written to you, expressing my everlasting gratitude. We wouldn’t have met if it hadn’t been for you. You won’t have got the letter yet.’

She was conscious of her heart beating rapidly in her chest. ‘Did Jack go?’

‘No, but Jessie Mae came to me with his warmest love.’

‘So he should be at home?’

‘I don’t see why not. He didn’t say he was going away.’

If it hadn’t been for Lily, she would have flown to Los Angeles there and then. As soon as the baby’s born, she vowed, we’ll go, me and Dinah. They’d hoped to go at
Easter, but Dinah had changed jobs again to become an assistant editor with a leading publisher, and was unable to take time off. Josie had no intention of giving up so lightly on Jack Coltrane, not this time.

‘Did Jack get my letter?’ Lily enquired. It was the last night Josie would spend with her pregnant friend in the house in Halewood. The baby wasn’t due until the fourteenth of May, two weeks off, but Lily was going into hospital the next day so that her blood pressure could be regularly monitored. It was still too high.

‘Yes, luv. He was very pleased.’

‘I hope he takes my advice. I’d like to see you happy, Jose.’

‘I’m already quite happy.’

‘Happier, then.’

Josie didn’t say that the letter had probably arrived at the worst possible time for Jack – and for herself. Jessie Mae had just married and Lily rambling on about life being short, time being wasted, had unsettled him. He’d said things that, without the letter, it might never have entered his head to say. She changed the subject. ‘I’ve brought you a prezzie – two prezzies, actually.’

‘Goodie! I love prezzies. What are they?’

‘Open them and see.’ Josie handed her a George Henry Lee’s bag. ‘One’s so you’ll look dead gorgeous when you’ve had the baby. The other’s so you’ll smell like a dream.’

‘Oh, Jose. It’s lovely.’ Lily held up a filmy pink nightie, thickly trimmed with ivory lace. ‘And Opium! I
love
Opium. It’s me favourite.’ She sprayed behind her ears, and heady, exotic musk perfumed the air.

‘That’s why I bought it.’

They were sitting together on the settee and Lily
grabbed her hand. ‘You’ve been the best friend in the world, Jose,’ she said in the clear, sweet voice she rarely used. ‘No one could have had a better friend than you. You’ve always been there for me, ever since we were six.’

‘And you for me, Lil.’

‘No.’ Lily shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t. I’ve always been too selfish to think of anyone but meself. But everything’s going to change after I’ve had the baby. These last few weeks, I’ve had nothing to do but think.’ She sighed massively. ‘Poor Francie, I couldn’t wait to get me hands on him, but I’ve led him a terrible life. Yet he’s a husband in a million. Neil was, too.’ Her face softened. ‘And me kids! They’re lovely kids, Josie. I’m never going to snap at them again. Our Marigold was right to tell me off, and I was horrible to our Daisy. I’ll write to them from hospital and say how sorry I am. I’m going to turn over a new leaf, Jose.’

Josie had heard all this before and didn’t believe a word of it. ‘You’re all right as you are, Lil,’ she lied.

‘Light the candle and I’ll try and relax. Do you mind nipping upstairs first, make sure the lads have settled down? They’re both a bit upset about me going to hospital. Oh, and switch on the landing light. It’s getting dark.’

The boys were fast asleep in their bunk beds. The walls were full of
Star Wars
posters, and Simon was clutching a plastic Darth Vader to his chest. The younger Alec slept with a teddy in his arms, his feet protruding from under the duvet. She covered them, suddenly feeling tearful at the sight of the perfect childish feet, the still pearly toes. It was many years since she’d done the same thing for her little girls.

When she went downstairs, Lily had already lit the
candle and drawn the curtains. ‘I don’t find it all that relaxing,’ she said. ‘The doctor suggested it, said it might calm me mind, but I keep wondering where the draughts come from that make it flicker. It reminds me of when we had candles during the war, in that cellar we used as a shelter.’

‘Aunt Ivy had an oil lamp. Phew, it didn’t half stink. I only used the shelter once. There was a spider.’ Josie shuddered. ‘It was
huge
.’

Lily set off on a long, winding journey of memories. ‘Remember the fairy glen, Jose? … Remember when you had a crush on Humphrey Bogart? … Remember that boyfriend I had, Jimmy something? Or was it Tommy? … Oh, and the pictures we used to see! I’m sure they were funnier in those days, and the men were much more handsome – except for Humphrey Bogart!’ Remember this, remember that, when this happened, when that.

‘Remember Haylands. Oh, we had a glorious time, didn’t we, Jose?’

‘Wonderful.’ Josie felt hypnotised by the flickering candle. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. The scenes, the memories, seemed unnaturally real. She could smell the flowers in the fairy glen, the salty sea air at Haylands, the cigarette fumes in the picture-houses they’d gone to, the choking tang of yellow fog that used to hang heavily over the Liverpool streets, sometimes for days.

Lily’s voice was getting sleepy. ‘Remember the time I came to Bingham Mews? I met Neil going home on the train. Laura was such a sweet little girl, Jose. You must be very proud of her, having such a responsible … job … in … London.’ Lily’s head fell on her chest. She was asleep.

‘Laura’s dead, Lil. Dinah’s in London,’ Josie murmured under her breath. She longed for a cup of tea, but felt too indolent to move, still fascinated by the dancing flame which cast agitated shadows over the room. She tried to think of reasons to make herself get up, but if tea wouldn’t do it, nothing would.

I’ll ring Jack!
She blew out the candle, and was on her feet in an instant, swaying dizzily because she’d risen too quickly. It was half past ten, but only half past two in Los Angeles. In the hall, she dialled the number with stiff fingers, and felt a surge of relief when she heard the dialling tone, which meant the receiver had been replaced. A woman answered after three rings. ‘Hi! Shit, I can’t read the number. Sorry about that. Hi, again.’

‘I’d like to speak to Jack, please. Jack Coltrane.’ She was too relieved to wonder why a woman was answering the phone.

‘Sorry, honey. He doesn’t live here any more. I’m Lonnie Geldhart from the realtors. This property is up for sale.’

‘Where has he gone?’ Josie cried frantically. ‘Do you have his new address?’

‘No, honey. I’ve never even met the guy.’

‘But when the house is sold, you’ll be sending him the proceeds. Oh, please, I have to know.’

‘Gee, honey. I’d love to help,’ the woman said sympathetically, ‘but the money’s being split between his kids – Tyler and Jessie Mae, I think their names are. I can give you their addresses if you like.’

‘It’s all right, I know where Jessie Mae is. Thank you for your help.’

‘Any time, hon. I hope you manage to find the guy.’

Josie replaced the receiver. ‘You’ve done it again – disappeared,’ she whispered. ‘Val Morrissey said he
didn’t know where you were.’ She stamped her foot, forgetting the sleeping children upstairs and their pregnant mother on the other side of the wall. ‘You
bastard
, Jack Coltrane!’

Francie entered the house through the back door. Josie was in the kitchen, on her third cup of tea. ‘Been working late,’ he said brazenly.

‘You’ve been drinking.’ Josie curled a caustic lip. ‘Don’t deny it, Francie. I can smell it on your breath.’

‘Only a couple of beers after work, Jose. How’s her ladyship?’