It had been more years than he cared to remember since he had walked the streets of old Liverpool,
but it hadn’t changed much, he observed, though many of the old shops now had new frontages, and there were smart office blocks rising out of former bombsites. It was still the same old place though, he thought fondly.
Down at the Mersey, he leaned on the railings and watched the ferries coming and going. ‘Just like old times,’ he sighed. A feeling of contentment washed over him, although his
stomach growled with hunger. At least mealtimes were regular in prison; even a plate of slop was better than sod all.
When an old man took rest on a bench nearby, Trent told him, ‘I’m back, thank God! Back in Liverpool, where I belong.’
The old fella was amused. ‘Been away, have you?’
‘You could say that.’ Trent was in a good mood. ‘But now I’m back, and I’ve already rediscovered one old sweetheart
– my home town – and now I’m off in search of another.’
‘Old sweetheart, eh?’
‘That’s right … the prettiest thing you ever did see – older now, much like myself, but I don’t mind betting she’s still the beguiling creature that slipped through my fingers long ago.’
The old man tipped his hat. ‘Age don’t matter nothing,’ he declared with conviction. ‘It’s what’s inside that counts, the feelings
and belonging.’
‘My sentiments exactly!’ Trent affirmed. ‘She might have a few more wrinkles, same as me, and could be she’s not as lively as she was but I’ll tell you what, matey … I’ll only have to look into them beautiful eyes and like you say, nothing else will matter.’
‘Well, good luck to you.’ The old chap ambled away. ‘If you catch up with this sweetheart of yourn, don’t let her get away
this time, or like as not you’ll never get another chance.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry.’ That had been Trent’s avowed intention these twenty years – to find Lucy and hold onto her, one way or another. Then, seeing the elderly man moving away, he called out: ‘Hey! You there … Is the Prince Albert public house still open?’
‘What, the one on Victoria Street?’
Trent nodded affirmatively. ‘That’s the
one.’
‘Well, you’re in luck. There’ve been one or two old pubs closed down, but the Albert is still up and running, or at least it was when I last called in a few nights back.’
Trent gave a whoop of joy. ‘Then that’s where I’m headed!’ He had another question. ‘I don’t suppose Peter Bentley is still the landlord, is he?’
The old man shook his head. ‘Pete retired some years back,’ he answered.
‘His missus took bad and the work got too much for them, so they retired and bought one of them terraced houses on Gas Street. His eldest son Mike is the landlord now.’ He frowned. ‘Though I must say he’s not a patch on his father … stays out most nights gambling. His wife works hard though, bless her heart. They’ve got a woman living in and helping behind the bar. Between them, the girls manage
to make up for Mike’s shortcomings. You’ll find Pete calls into the pub most days, but he never interferes. He just sits at the bar chatting and lets them get on with it.’
It was enough for Trent to know that the pub was still up and running. ‘I might just look him up,’ he said. ‘Me and Pete Bentley supped many a pint together in the old days.’ Patting the old man on the back, he told him, ‘Nice
meeting you, matey. It’s a change to speak to somebody who isn’t looking for a fight!’
As the elderly man set off again, he mumbled under his breath: ‘Rough sort. I wouldn’t mind betting he’s just out of gaol. He’ll probably get drunk as a skunk and won’t be able to find his way to bed, let alone go after an old sweetheart!’
When he got to the Albert, Trent stood for a moment, just soaking in
the familiar things; that same worn dip in the pavement outside the door, where the feet of many a thirsty traveller had walked. The street-lamp which still leaned slightly to the left, and the name-sign over the pub door, cracked down one side, and creaking as it swung in the breeze.
Licking his lips at the prospect of that smooth dark liquid running down his throat, he pushed at the door, growing
impatient when it remained fast. ‘Damn and bugger it!’ He pushed again, and when it still wouldn’t budge, he banged his two fists on it. ‘Come on, open up!’
‘Hey!’ a voice called from a window above. ‘What the devil d’you think yer playing at?’
On looking up, Trent could see a shadowy face behind a fluttering lace curtain. ‘I’m a customer,’ he yelled. ‘Open the blasted door.’
‘You’re too early
– can’t you see we’re closed? Go on, bugger off!’
Something about the tone of the woman’s voice evoked a memory. ‘Lizzie? Good God, is that you, Lizzie?’ Stepping back to get a better view, he tried to focus on the face behind the glass. ‘LIZZIE MONK, IS THAT YOU HIDING BEHIND THE CURTAINS?’
‘Who’s asking?’ The voice sailed out, the face remained hidden.
‘It’s
me
, you fool! Edward Trent as
was.’
‘You lying bugger, Eddie were hanged years back … an’ if he weren’t, then he should’ve been.’
‘Look at me, you silly mare!’
Standing well back, he threw out his arms. ‘I’m not a ghost. I’m all flesh and blood, you can bet on that!’
Suddenly the window slid up and a woman’s face appeared; in her early forties, without lipstick and her long brown hair wild and dishevelled, she made an
awesome sight.
Trent was astonished. Some long time back, he and this woman had enjoyed a brief fling, but she had been a young girl then of barely sixteen, while he was over twice her age.
Nothing ever came of it, mainly because her elder sister Patsy took charge and drove a wedge between them. She tried every which way to drive him out of town and even informed their father of the affair.
After that there was no real sense in having the girl anyway; her virginity was gone, and so was the fun. So he left.
Besides, by that time, he had already met Lucy.
Lizzie Monk was eager fodder, while Lucy was elusive and unwilling. That only made him more determined to have her; which he did in the end. And he would have her now, just as before, once he had tracked her down. But there was
time enough yet. Meanwhile, he would catch his breath and enjoy whatever came his way, including Lizzie.
‘Well, as I live and breathe, it really is Lizzie Monk.’ He beckoned to her. ‘Come down ’ere, you little darling! I’m gasping for a pint.’ With the memories now stirring deep in his groin, he was gasping for something else too, but first he had to see the lay of the land.
Patsy was a loud-mouthed,
formidable type – not that Trent was worried about her in particular, but if she was still around, the bitch, she just might cause enough of an uproar to get him sent back inside, and that was not a risk he was prepared to take for any woman, let alone the likes of Lizzie Monk.
The latter appeared downstairs a good ten minutes later, looking more human with her hair brushed loose and her make-up
impeccably applied; in fact, she almost looked inviting. ‘I honestly thought they’d hanged you long since,’ she said, her brown eyes ogling the sight of him. ‘My God, but you’ve kept well.’
She noted the strong arms and the thick muscular neck, and his long coarse hair gave him a youthful look. ‘What are you now, Edward Trent? You must be getting on for sixty, but you still have the body of a
younger man.’
‘Never mind all that, me beauty.’ Grabbing hold of her, he swung her round, eagerly anticipating the fun they might have in store. ‘You’re the first familiar face I’ve seen in a long time,’ he told her, ‘and, if you don’t mind me saying, Lizzie my darling, you look as lovely as ever.’
Setting her on her feet he took stock of this buxom brown-eyed woman who, despite being in her
forties, was only lightly worn round the edges, and still somewhat of a looker.
Laughing, she shook her head in disbelief. ‘Eddie Trent, of all people! Where in God’s name have you been all these years?’ But before he could answer, she put her fingers to her lips, saying, ‘No! Don’t tell me. You’ve been locked up, haven’t you? My sister Patsy said that’s where you’d be – “locked up till he rots
away”, that’s what
she
said.’
His grin became a frown. ‘As I recall, your sister never did have a good word to say about me.’
‘You can’t blame her though, can you? I mean, I was still wet behind the ears when you took advantage of me. For some reason, from the first time she clapped eyes on you, she said you were no good.’ Lizzie scowled. ‘Come to think of it, she was right too, wasn’t she,
eh? Once you’d had your fun, you were away like your heels were on fire!’
‘Ha! You can thank your sister for that – and your father. Jesus! He was a crazy man.’
‘Crazy like you, you mean?’ It was all coming back now, how she had suffered at his hands, and still bore the scars to this day.
‘What! I’m nothing like him. He were a damned lunatic!’ Trent glanced about, wondering if they were being
watched.
She answered the question that was crossing his mind. ‘No need to be nervous.’
He took umbrage at that. ‘You’ll never see the day when Edward Trent is nervous. But I have good reason not to get involved in skirmishes and the like.’
‘Really? It’s never bothered you before.’
‘So, why isn’t he around?’ Lizzie’s father was the only person whose strength and temper matched his own. Because
of that, Trent held a slight but grudging regard for him. ‘Moved out the area, has he?’
‘You could say that,’ she replied. ‘Four years ago, our mammy took ill and didn’t get better, and he followed her soon after.’
He was pleased at that. ‘Oh. So you’re an orphan then?’
She laughed. ‘A bit old to be called an orphan, but yes, I suppose that’s what I am all right.’
‘And your sister?’ His intense
dislike for Patsy had never gone away. ‘Did she leave the same way as the other two?’ He wished.
‘That’s a cruel thing to say!’
He asked again. ‘Is she still around?’
‘Would it bother you if I said yes?’
‘Not particularly, no.’
‘Don’t give me that,’ she teased. ‘I know you, and I know you’re after bedding me, and you’re worried she’ll make life difficult for you. That’s the truth, isn’t it?’
‘What makes you think I still fancy you?’
She glanced down. ‘Because I can see the bulge in your trousers.’
He laughed out loud. ‘How do you know that’s not my baccy tin?’
‘Hmh! Funny shape for a baccy tin.’ She nudged him playfully. ‘Come on, then – do you fancy me or what?’
‘Mebbe. Mebbe not.’ He fancied her like he might fancy a cut of beef. At the moment,
any
warm, red-blooded woman would
do, just for the night, until he was satisfied, rested and cleaned up, and ready to face the one real love of his life.
‘There’s no need to hide and pretend,’ she promised. ‘I’m a grown woman now, or haven’t you noticed?’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve noticed all right.’ In fact, all he could see was the considerable size of her firm breast and the bold way she stood, legs astride, as though inviting him inside.
‘You never married then?’ he smirked. ‘Never got over me, eh?’
‘Don’t kid yourself! I got married a year after you left.’
‘Did you now?’ Damn and bugger it, he thought. On the one hand there was her sister Patsy, and now a husband to contend with. Bedding Lizzie Monk might not be as straightforward as he would have liked. ‘So, you’re happily wed then, eh?’
‘We might have been, if the bastard
hadn’t gone off with some tart from Ackeroyd Street!’
That was more like it, he thought. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Liar!’
‘No, I am really.’ He always prided himself on being as good a liar as the next bloke. ‘Bet you weren’t on your own for long though, eh? A good-looker like yourself?’
‘I was for a while,’ she answered soulfully. ‘Then I hitched up with the landlord from Daisy Street,
and life didn’t seem so bad after all.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Disappointment betrayed itself. ‘You’re not one to waste time, are you?’
‘It didn’t last long though,’ she grumbled. ‘All he wanted was a good time. He didn’t want to go serious, so I dumped him.’
‘So now you’re on your own again?’ he probed. ‘Or is there another man in tow?’
‘Well, kinda.’
He cursed under his breath. ‘Someone I know, is
it?’
She grinned wickedly. ‘His name’s Edward Trent … the only man I ever really loved, but he went away and broke my heart.’ She gave him a come-on wink. ‘I’m wondering whether he might stay this time?’
Secretly thrilled and giving little away, he answered quietly, ‘I’m sure he’ll stay, if you was to ask him nicely.’ The most satisfying thing in the world was making a woman grovel.
‘All right
then, will you stay?’
‘Only if you keep your sister at bay. I can’t be doing with nagging women.’ His smile slipped and his eyes grew darker. ‘Women like her send me crazy. They make me liable to turn nasty.’
‘She won’t nag you. If anything, it’ll be
me
she has a go at. But don’t worry, I’m not that foolish young girl any more. I’m all grown up, and able to take care of myself.’ Lizzie looked
him in the eye. ‘You would do well to remember that.’
Ignoring the hint, he asked guardedly, ‘So where does she live, this Harpy of a sister?’ He glanced up at the window. ‘Not here with you, I hope?’
‘Nope.’ She leaned closer. ‘As you can see, I work here.’ Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, making the hair stand on end. ‘Mike, the landlord, is away with his wife. They asked me to stay
the night to keep an eye on things. I do stay over on the occasional night, and up until recently, I used to live over. But I got taken advantage of, getting caught for extra hours at the bar and nothing in return. So, I took a little house on Dock Lane. It’s not much, but my name’s on the rent book.’
Dropping her hand to his nether regions she squeezed up to him. ‘We could go there later, if
you want?’ she said, nibbling his ear. ‘Mike and his wife are due back about eleven. I can ask the barman to shut the pub, and there’ll be no need for me to stay tonight.’
Trent gave her a smile that melted her at the knees. ‘You little hussy,’ he teased, and thought he might give her a kiss, but decided not to rush things. Make her wait, he thought, make her hungry for it. She’s not Lucy, but
she’ll do for a couple of nights, until I’ve got my bearings.