Read Midnight on Lime Street Online
Authors: Ruth Hamilton
Midnight on Lime Street (37 page)
‘Who said that?’
‘Belle did. They still talk on the phone. Women are allowed to ride in some races, and in a few years they’ll be able to ride in the National.’
The whole household, wrapped in coats or cardigans, assembled outside the kitchen to watch as Babs put Murdoch through his paces. She got him to walk, trot, canter and gallop.
‘Bloody hell,’ Mo said, ‘she couldn’t even ride a bike. How many times has she come home bruised and bleeding, jeans ripped and hair looking like an abandoned
bird’s nest?’
Angela laughed. ‘I think our little Baby Girl’s found her gift. Look at her standing in the stirrups with her arse in the air. Doesn’t she make it seem easy?’
Gordy joined the onlookers. ‘She’s brilliant.’ There was pride in his tone. ‘First time she saw him, she tumbled head over heels in love, climbed a fence, lay across the
back of a horse that could have killed her, and walked him. I knew then. She owns him; they own each other.’ He looked at Eve. ‘You were there; you saw it.’
‘I was there all right,’ Eve replied. ‘Frightened me to death, she did.’
Angela stared hard at him. ‘Are you two going out together?’
‘We are.’
‘That’s nice,’ Eve said. ‘She needed settling. I’ll just warn you now, when she starts throwing stuff, duck. She’s a crack shot with pots and pans. And words.
She has a very sharp tongue.’
‘I’m Irish,’ he answered as if this fact served as sufficient explanation.
Judy laughed. ‘We can tell.’
‘So I’m used to most things. My mother had a deadly aim with rabbits and hares, so we had to be quick getting out of her road. Daddy always said not to worry if we weren’t
clean at the table, for Mammy couldn’t see a thing close to. She could see for miles, but. Because of that, we had to avoid standing mid-distance between near to and far away when she had the
gun, as we weren’t sure about where one ended and the other began.’ He shook his head. ‘A mortallious troubled childhood for sure, we had. Her cooking was . . . interesting. But
she was a lovely woman in her own way. Like Babs. Babs is a one-off, only in a different sense. She cooks well. She knows the difference between salt and sugar, which helps no end.’
‘Babs is a gifted girl who avoided school like the plague,’ Eve said.
Sal piped up. ‘I do better cakes and pies, but she makes good dinners.’ She turned to Eve. ‘If you want a little break in Southport, Mr Crawford would be delighted to let you
stay. We know you’ve got . . .’ Her voice died.
‘Cancer. It’s just a word, Sally. It scares the daylights out of Kate, but it’s just a word. Yes, I might enjoy Southport, so I’ll think about that.’
Murdoch finished his display, nodding when his audience applauded.
Babs slid down the horse’s side like a true professional.
‘Get him,’ Babs told Gordy.
Gordy disappeared.
‘Get who?’ Mo asked.
Babs patted her horse. ‘Nicholas Nye, of course. Just wait a couple of minutes – we’ve a two-horse box.’
The blind donkey stole the show. Even the life-hardened Eve seemed moved by the relationship between the two beasts.
‘Inseparable,’ Gordy said. ‘Can you imagine when we go to racecourses with this pair? There we’ll be in the winner’s enclosure with a sweat-lathered horse and a
scruffy little Nye. Without his friend, Murdoch might refuse to run. He’s temperamental.’
‘Like his jockey,’ Eve said wryly. ‘They should do well together, cos they’re a right pair of loonies.’
‘You’re right enough, Miss Mellor. I took her for a meal she didn’t enjoy, so it was the chef they brought to the table while she educated him in the art of cookery. I
can’t take you anywhere, can I, sweetness?’
Eve chuckled – he knew exactly what the man meant.
‘No, you can’t.’ Babs watched her colleagues making a great fuss of Nicholas Nye. Placid as ever, the patient little beast stood while he was kissed, stroked, patted and told
he was an angel. Angela had changed, Babs decided. There was a softer side to her, as if the knife’s edge had been blunted. Eve’s illness was probably responsible for the shift in
Angela’s behaviour. On impulse, she hugged her ex-enemy. ‘Sorry for all the fights,’ she whispered.
A red-faced Angela responded, ‘No problem,’ before extricating herself from the shorter woman’s strangely powerful arms. ‘So you two gave up the lesbian bit, I take
it?’
Babs nodded. ‘We did. But she’s greedy – two boyfriends, if you please.’
‘Never!’
‘One’s younger than she is; the other’s the same age. They’re both nice in their different ways, and they both love the bones of her. She’s a good girl, Angie, but
we’re expecting a fight between the two lads.’
‘We’re all good – well, most of us are. People assume that we’re bad because of the job we do. Underneath all that, we’re as good as anybody else.’
Babs nodded her agreement. ‘One day, probably long after we’re all dead, the law will change and prostitution will be supervised and legalized. Until then, we can’t do anything
except keep safe. That killer’s still out there, I’m sure.’
Eve listened to their conversation, but said not one word. There were plenty of vehicles parked in the dock-side area, and she would be one of them. It would soon be three weeks since the last
killing, and the murderer would be hunting again any day now. The pattern belonged to a shift worker, she felt sure. If she knew that, the cops, too, would be aware. But an extra hand at the pump
was always useful; for the first time in her life, Eve Mellor was on the side of the law.
Postmen did shift work, didn’t they? Central post offices never closed, because mail needed sorting night and day. He fitted the profile, and Eve was on to him.
He picked up the Biro. If he wrote it, he might remember more accurately.
I’m sure I didn’t do anything. The bolt was on my bedroom door, and I remember fixing that and making sure the door was shut – I even stuck a chair
under the handle like I’ve seen them doing in films. My clothes were still on me when I woke, so I took them off and hung them up. The house was very quiet, though the outside world was
making noise – I could hear vehicles on the move. It was just after one in the morning, I think.
In pyjamas, I went down to the bathroom. Joe was sitting in the middle room drinking. There were six or more Guinness bottles on the table, and a half bottle of Scotch on the floor. He
was mixing his drinks, and I’ve never known him do that except on special occasions like somebody’s birthday party or the Christmas do at work. I said nothing and he said nothing.
It was the same when I’d finished in the bathroom – not a word spoken, so I just went back to my room, shot the bolt home, put the chair under the handle and lay down.
I couldn’t catch my sleep. Hearing Maude talking to me when she was dead must have made me jumpy. I caught the sound of him sobbing and clinking bottles down below. He’s no
friend of mine, I told myself. He’s a nancy boy, I kept repeating in my head. He likes me, and always thought I’d felt the same way about him, but where did he get that idea? Just
because I left my wife, he thought he was in with a chance. We were just different from the other blokes, odd men out, and we got together for that reason, because neither of us has much to say
for himself.
Then I heard him climbing the stairs. He stumbled a lot, and he swore a few times before reaching the landing. Very suddenly, he went still. I got up, crept across the room and put my
ear against the door, keeping a careful hand on the chair to stop it shifting. I could hear him breathing. Then he tapped on my door and started going on about how he loved me and how I
mustn’t leave him. His tongue stumbled over words, and I knew he was very drunk.
I felt sick. I was imagining what they do to one another, and I almost understood my mother and the way she used to carry on. In my book, there’s nothing wrong with making love,
but two men? Then I knew I had to get out of the house, because I wouldn’t be able to look at him, eat with him – could I even work with him? Why wouldn’t he give up and go to
bed?
He went all legal after a while, telling me in mixed-up words that the new law accepted a relationship between consenting adults over twenty-one unless they were in the armed forces. His
speech was slurred, but I got the gist. What was I supposed to do? Let him in and let him get on with whatever he wanted from me?
I waited until he’d gone away before creeping back to my bed where I lay as stiff as a board listening to him crying in the room across the landing. The crying changed to snoring,
and I fell asleep. In the morning, I got up and prepared myself for work. I’d changed shifts for one day and was on earlies. And I found him. He was just hanging there with his tongue
sticking out and the rope digging into his neck.
He looked terrible. It hadn’t been a quick death, or so I assumed. There’d been no Albert Pierrepoint in attendance to make sure things moved swiftly, correctly and as
humanely as possible. This looked like a case of slow strangulation.
It wasn’t me, it wasn’t. I was asleep, wasn’t I? And the bolt was still on, and the chair was stuck under the handle, so I hadn’t walked in my sleep. I think I
heard a cry at some point, but it probably got buried in my dream. Well, I had to phone the police and the ambulance, then tell work that Joe and I wouldn’t be in and why. I left
Joe’s body where it was, since he was clearly dead.
The police came. An ambulance arrived. Photographers and journalists, tipped off by God alone knew who, turned up and waded in. How long had I lived here, how long had I known Joe, where
did I work, had Joe seemed depressed, had the sudden death of his mother affected him? It felt like I was in the dock at the Old Bailey, but I didn’t kill him, did I?
They searched the house and found photos of naked men on top of Joe’s wardrobe. So I lied. No, I had no idea about his sexual leanings, and I’d been staying here to help with
Maude. Yes, I’m a postman, no, I wasn’t here when Maude died. Why was there a bolt inside my bedroom door? I lied again. Joe had put it there so that any lodger might have a degree
of privacy – another fib that can’t be disproved. Yes, I’m married, yes, I have children, no, I’m not divorced because I’m Catholic, blah, blah, blah.
I got a bit scared, worrying whether they would talk to Laura and whether she would mention the cross and chain. Thinking about it, I concluded that she will keep it all to herself for
the sake of the children, who don’t deserve to be taunted about a criminal father. I was glad when they all left, because I prefer to deal with people one or two at a time.
Thinking more clearly today, probably because I’m writing it all in my notebook. I’m remembering more events, though timescales can be confusing. A double funeral is next.
Both bodies are now with McManus the undertaker. Well, I think they are, though they might want a post mortem on Joe. And I’m in this sad little house with old wallpaper, chipped paint
and furniture fit for Bonfire Night. It’s clean, but shabby.
Poor Maude. She had a pervert for a son, and she never knew it. Perhaps she knows now. So, can I stay here with his ghost and hers hanging about like a smell on the landing? I suppose I
can. It’ll stop once they’re buried, and I’ve heard nothing more since Maude passed over.
I found the rent book, all paid up to date, nothing owed until next month. My own place. It’s an end of terrace, too, and the people next door are deaf as posts, bless them both.
They’re old; I’ll do their shopping. My brain’s running at top speed. There’s nobody to arrange the double funeral, so I’ll have to see McManus and get that
biscuit tin with all Maude’s papers in it. There are policies. Sideboard, left hand cupboard behind the willow pattern plates.
I’ll talk to the landlord. I wonder if Angela would come here instead of me going there? I could buy a bit of stuff, I suppose. We could improvise. I’ll phone the farm later
when I’ve sorted through Maude’s paperwork.
*
Eve slammed down the receiver. She was displeased, and the fuse leading to her temper had suddenly been shortened by . . . She shivered. What an arrogant, selfish son of a bitch
Carson was. In her large hands, she twisted a handkerchief, wishing it were his bloody neck. He wanted house calls. He wanted Angie to visit him. He needed massage, too. Both his housemates were
barely cold, and all he could think about was his own pleasure and relief. Where the hell did people like him come from? A mating between a devil and a witch?
Kate came through the door. ‘What’s up with you now, missus?’
‘Don’t ask.’
Kate sat. ‘Too late – I’ve asked.’
‘Give me a minute – I’m boiling over.’
Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘Shall I turn you down to slow-cooking?’
‘No. Let me sweat this one.’ She took a few deep breaths.
While waiting, Kate wrote out the greengrocery order and the butcher’s list. The cost of meat was ridiculous, and with Trevor Burns having ceased to be a customer, there was no longer
leeway on that side of catering. She crossed out rump and wrote in braising steak. ‘Have you calmed down?’
‘About gas mark seven, I’d say.’
Kate shook her head. ‘Let me know when you’re on simmer.’
‘I will.’
Kate continued with her shopping lists, wishing Jesus could come along and pass a hand over a few pairs of kippers and some large white sliced. If she mixed a bit of marge in with the butter,
would the girls notice? Angela would. Angela could probably smell Stork through the walls of a lead casket, so mixing was out. Bramley apples weren’t dear; Kate would make apple pies and a
crumble.
Eve spoke. ‘He won’t be coming here again, love.’
‘Oh?’
‘I told him to bugger off.’
Kate said nothing.
‘I said if he wanted blood drawing, he could do it himself with a razor.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘I did. He told me he’d blow us up to the police, so I said he should feel free, because he’s been a client, and I would say so. Then he threatened to do it anonymously, and I
said the same – I’d name him as our chief customer. He started screaming at me loud enough to puncture an eardrum. So I slammed the phone down.’ She paused. ‘There’s
something about Mr Postman, Kate.’