The Girl From Barefoot House (50 page)

‘Asleep, not that you’d care.’

‘I
do
care, quite deeply, as a matter of fact, but caring does me no good, Jose.’ He grinned. ‘The other day she called me a rapist.’

‘You probably are, amongst other things.’

‘Apparently, I raped me own wife, though she was perfectly willing at the time. I thought the bloody woman was on the Pill, else I wouldn’t have touched her. I’ll feel like a pervert every time I look at the new baby, even when it’s twenty-one.’

‘You’ll be pleased to know she’s turning over a new leaf when she’s had the baby.’

They smiled at each other. ‘In a pig’s ear, she will,’ Francie said.

Josie rinsed her cup. ‘I’m dead on me feet. I’m going home.’

‘Ta, Jose.’

‘What for?’

‘For everything.’ He kissed her forehead and gave her a brief hug. ‘You’re a cracking girl, you know. I’m dead lucky Lily’s got a friend like you. You’ve kept me sane over the last few months.’

‘I’m hardly a girl, Francie. I’ll be forty-seven next week.’

He winked suggestively. ‘You’ll always be a girl to me.’

‘Oh, shurrup, you.’ She gave him a shove. ‘Tara, Francie. I’ll go and see Lily in the hospital tomorrow.’

She was climbing into her car when she heard the scream, and she paused, unsure where it had come from. Then Francie opened the front door. ‘It’s Lily,’ he shouted. ‘The baby’s coming. I’m taking her to the hospital straight away.’

The scream had woken the little boys. They came creeping downstairs, looking scared, just as Francie’s car screeched away. ‘What’s the matter with Mummy?’ Simon asked worriedly. A wide-eyed Alec sucked his thumb.

‘She’s had to go to hospital a bit early. By this time tomorrow you’ll have a lovely little sister or brother. Won’t that be the gear?’

‘When will Mummy be home?’

‘In a few days. Come on.’ Josie held out her hands and they each took one. ‘Shall I make you some warm milk?’ It would be better if they didn’t return to bed immediately, with Lily’s scream still ringing in their ears. ‘Would you like a biccy?’

‘Yes, please, Auntie Josie,’ they said together.

They sat together on the settee, their small bodies tucked against hers. She had got on well with all Lily’s children.

‘Will the new baby make Mummy scream again?’

‘No, Simon.’

‘It’ll be a nuisance. Mummy said it will be a nuisance.’

‘She didn’t mean it.’ She stroked Simon’s pale hair, and wished Lily were there so she could give her a piece
of her mind. What a thing to say! She thought how beautiful the love was that young children had for their mothers, who could do or say the vilest things yet the love persisted – unconditional, loyal, totally committed. ‘The children love her,’ Ben had said once of Imelda. And she had loved Mam, oh, so much, so much.

‘Back to bed,’ she sang out when the milk had gone. ‘It’s school and playgroup in the morning.’

Simon was obviously a worrier. ‘Who’ll take us if Daddy’s not here?’

‘Daddy will almost certainly be back by then. If not, I’ll take you meself.’

Alec lisped, ‘We making cakes tomorrow, with currants.’

‘Shall I take one to the hospital for Mummy?’ Josie offered.

‘
Please
,’ Alec said eagerly. ‘And one for the new baby, too.’

After they had been tucked up in bed, Josie wandered round the house, trying not to think of Jack, failing utterly, thinking about him, cursing him, loathing him, loving him. I’ll find you, she vowed. You’re not getting away from me again.

She was about to make tea, but felt the urge for something stronger, so searched for bottles. There was beer in the fridge, but she hated beer. She found a bottle of gin in the sideboard, and wondered how much the legal limit was for when she drove home. A double – she’d risk a double, mixed with orange squash.

The hours crept by. She drank more gin, lay on the settee and tried to sleep, couldn’t, got up, had another gin, thought about Lily, thought about Jack, thought she heard a burglar, but it was next door’s cat scratching at the door, no doubt attracted by the light. She gave it
milk and let it out again – Lily would have a fit if she knew, she hated cats.

Four o’clock! A child started to cry. She went upstairs. Alec, in the bottom bunk, was sobbing hopelessly.

‘What’s the matter, luv?’ She held the small, shaking body in her arms. ‘Have you had a bad dream?’

‘Feel sad, Auntie Josie.’ He could hardly speak. ‘Feel dead miserable. Want my mummy.’

Simon turned over. ‘Shurrup,’ he muttered.

Alec quickly fell asleep, and Josie sat at the top of the stairs in case he woke again. Gosh, it was creepy, so quiet and so still. Alec’s wretched crying had disturbed her. She longed to be in her own house in her own bed. Hurry up, Lil, and have your baby, she urged.

The phone went just after half four. She raced downstairs and picked it up before it woke the boys. ‘Francie!’

‘Hello, Jose.’ His voice was curiously calm.

‘How’s Lily?’

‘Dead, Jose. Lily’s dead. She went into a fit or something, then she haemorrhaged, then she died. The baby’s dead, too. It was a little girl. We were going to call her Josephine, after you.’ He laughed. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this. Lily’s
dead
.’

They had put Lily in the pink nightgown trimmed with ivory lace that Josie had bought. Her lips were painted a delicate pink, her hair brushed away from the forehead made smooth by death and arranged in waves on the white satin pillow of the best coffin money could buy, which would have pleased her no end. Her hands were
crossed over her breast. She looked peaceful, serene, as she had never done in life. It was hard to imagine a cross word had ever emerged from the pink mouth, Josie thought in the funeral parlour as she gazed down at the still, silent figure of her friend. She still couldn’t believe Lily was dead. She half expected her to sit up and bark, ‘Who d’you think you’re staring at? Is that all you’ve got to do, Josie Flynn?’

The crematorium chapel was half-f – Lily’s children, her husband, her brothers and sisters, a few nieces and nephews, their husbands and wives. Josie was the only person not a relative. Lily had had few friends. Dinah hadn’t come. The new job was making her paranoid about taking time off.

At first, Josie didn’t recognise the tall, tanned, athletic man in the front pew, blond, fiftyish, in an expensive grey suit. Then she realised it was Ben. Ben Kavanagh!

So all the Kavanaghs had turned up for the funeral of their baby sister. Were they looking at each other, wondering whose turn it would be next? Their ma and da had gone, now Lily, the youngest. For which Kavanagh would the next funeral be held?

Daisy and Marigold felt guilty. They shouldn’t have taken offence and neglected their sister while she was pregnant. They should have made allowances. After all, Lily hadn’t been herself.

‘She realised it was her fault.’ Josie told them. ‘She was going to write from hospital and apologise.’

‘Well, she might have,’ Marigold said with a dry smile.

‘It would have been a first,’ muttered Daisy.

It was strange. No one seemed all that upset, as if they, like Josie, couldn’t believe Lily was dead. She had been
so noisy, had made her presence so forcefully felt, that it didn’t seem possible she had been silenced for ever.

Francie grieved for his lost wife, but felt no guilt for having found her a pain to live with, a fact that couldn’t be challenged just because she was dead. He arranged for the most lavish of funerals, because it was what Lily would have demanded had she known she was going to die. ‘I keep hearing this nagging voice in me head telling me what to do,’ he confided to Josie. ‘“I want roses on me coffin, red ones, shaped like a cross. Make sure you wear a clean shirt and a black tie for me funeral. And don’t drink too much afterwards, Francie O’Leary. Don’t forget, I’ve got me eye on you.”’

She would always be grateful to Francie for making life seem not quite as tragic as it really was.

Everyone went back to Marigold’s house in Calder-stones for a drink and something to eat. Marigold’s children were grown up, long married, and numerous grandchildren cluttered the rooms.

Josie grabbed a sandwich and a glass of wine, and hid in a corner. Perhaps because Lily wasn’t there, for the first time she felt out of place within the hubbub of this large family.

‘I wanted a word with you.’ Daisy approached, elegant in floating black chiffon. ‘It’s rather sad, I’m afraid. In a few weeks, Manos and I are leaving Liverpool to live in Greece.’

‘Oh, Daisy!’ Josie cried. ‘You’ve always been a permanent fixture in me life, almost as much as Lily.’

‘I know, and you in mine.’ Daisy smiled tremulously. ‘It was our Lily going that did it. Stanley and Robert live so far away, and I had no idea where Ben was. Marigold’s wrapped up in her family. There seemed no
reason left to stay, and Manos has this huge extended family in Crete. I miss being part of a family.’

Josie kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I hope you and Manos will be very happy in Crete. Twice in me life you’ve come to me rescue when I’ve been at rock bottom. I’ll never forget that, Daise.’

‘Promise you’ll come and stay some time, Josie. You’ll always be welcome. You’re one of Manos’s favourite people.’

‘I promise.’ Josie nodded vigorously, knowing she almost certainly wouldn’t. It was just that partings were much easier if you promised to see each other again.

‘I’ve been trying to escape from our Stanley for ages.’ Ben arrived in her corner. ‘You look great but, then, you always do. Have you sold your soul to the devil in return for permanent youth?’

Josie opened her mouth to laugh, but quickly closed it. Lily wouldn’t approve of people laughing at her funeral. ‘You can talk! You look wonderful, like a Nordic god.’

‘I’ve taken up tennis. I’m rather good at it. I’m champion of the local club.’ He grimaced. ‘
Senior
champion, in the section for the over forty-fives.’

‘Where exactly is the local club?’ she asked curiously. ‘It’s something all of us have wanted to know for a long time.’

‘Isle of Wight. Come on, let’s find somewhere quieter to talk.’ He took her arm and led her into the garden. It was full of children, but there was a bench right at the bottom, half hidden by an apple tree iced with pink blossom. ‘After Imelda died,’ Ben said when they were seated, ‘I felt I wanted a change of scene, for myself and the children. We drifted round the country for a while and I worked as a supply teacher. I kept meaning to write
to say where I was, but never got round to it.’ He shrugged. ‘I was pretty mixed up for a while. Then I got a job with an aeronautic design company on the Isle of Wight. We settled down, and it seemed too late to let people know, so I never bothered.’

‘Who told you about Lily?’

‘Read it in the
Echo
,’ he said surprisingly. ‘About this time last year, I felt dead homesick. Colette was already married and living in Dorset – I’m a grandfather of twins, by the way – and Peter discovered the social conscience I used to have myself. He’s in Cuba, working on a farm. I decided to look for a job in Liverpool, come home. I’ve been getting the paper ever since.’

‘It’ll be nice to have you back.’ She meant it sincerely. A Kavanagh coming, a Kavanagh going, and one gone for ever!

‘I can’t wait to be back,’ he said, ‘though I was expecting a right earful from our Lily when I showed my face. Instead, I feel gutted. I thought the Grim Reaper would have to drag Lily to her grave kicking and screaming when she was a hundred.’

Josie was glad of the buzz of activity in Barefoot House when she returned next day. William Friars had called when she was away. Havers Hill had decided not to publish
Death By Stealth
in paperback because of its initial mauling by the critics and the subsequent small sales.

‘He said he would graciously allow us to publish it.’ Cathy grinned. ‘I said I’d talk to you.’

‘Write and tell him to get stuffed,’ Josie said curtly. ‘I didn’t want the book in the first place. Tell him if he’d like to write another set in the war, we might take it.’

‘With pleasure. Have you had any further thoughts about that suggestion Richard made?’

‘I haven’t had time to think for weeks.’ Barefoot House seemed to have reached a plateau. There was only a limited amount of good crime fiction available. She didn’t want standards to drop by accepting work she might once have rejected, and Richard had come up with the idea that they extend their range to another genre of novel – science fiction, romance, war or historical, books for children. ‘I don’t know, Cathy. I don’t think I want to become a millionaire. I’m content with things as they are.’

Cathy left, looking disappointed. Josie chewed her lip and worried that she was letting down her staff by being too unadventurous. She should be looking for ways to go forward, not be content with standing still. Mind you, it would be
her
taking the risk, not Cathy, Richard or the others, and she wasn’t in the mood just now.

She scanned the post. There was a letter from Brewster & Cronin in New York, marked ‘Personal’. Val Morrissey had hired a private detective to trace Jack’s whereabouts, but had had no luck so far. ‘I’m worried about Jack myself,’ he wrote. ‘After all, the guy’s my father-in-law of sorts. I really liked him the few times we met. I’ll not give up until every avenue has been exhausted.’

There was no mention of Jessie Mae being worried about her stepfather. Josie opened the top drawer of her desk and took out the photo Val had sent in January. She was glad to have a face to put to his familiar voice. He was smaller than she had imagined, going slightly bald, very ordinary and rather nice. He was smiling happily at the camera but, then, this had been his wedding day. Yet the bride wasn’t smiling. Jessie Mae’s plump, pretty face was expressionless. She
didn’t glare at the camera, she didn’t smile, merely stared. She didn’t look happy, she didn’t look sad, or excited, or even faintly pleased that she had just married a relatively wealthy man who was crazy about her. Josie didn’t think she had ever seen such dead eyes before. ‘Jessie Mae’s had problems,’ Jack had said.

Well, at least his real daughter was upset. Dinah was hurt and angry that the father she had only just met had vanished from her life again. ‘I can’t have meant much to him, can I?’ she said bitterly whenever she called to ask if Jack had been found.