George Coleman approached. ‘The barman’s been sorted, guv.’
‘Good. When will they learn that I’m not a man to be messed with?’
Grinning, George said, ‘I chucked him in the dock. Stupid bugger couldn’t swim, either.’
‘So what happened to him?’
‘I threw him a life-belt and walked away.’
‘Well, if he wants to survive, he’ll learn to swim to it or sink. Either way he won’t mess with me again.’
‘Any orders for tonight, guv?’
Vittorio frowned. ‘Yes. That young boy – you know, the one whose father owns the Pier – don’t give him too much credit. He’s a bad gambler and an even worse payer. If he wants a woman, he pays cash, understand?’
‘Sure. He’ll be no trouble – I’ll see to him personally.’
Walking away, Vittorio inspected the restaurant. He was a perfectionist and his staff were aware of this. The clients expected the best and they paid through the nose for it. The Club Valletta had a fine reputation and God help any of the staff who were not on their toes.
Satisfied at last that all was as it should be, Vittorio returned to his office, still annoyed at the audacity of the barman. No one crossed him and got away with it. He was a hard man but a fair one, he liked to think. OK, so he sailed very close to the wind as far as the law was concerned, but he supplied a good service. The Club offered an excellent, if expensive, night’s entertainment, the service was impeccable and the gambling honest. The Maltese was no fool. If the punters suspected they were being cheated, they wouldn’t come.
He thought suddenly of Lily. When first he saw her in the cafe, it had been his intention to bring her here as a prostitute, but after meeting her again, he knew he didn’t want that. He didn’t want any other man to enjoy the pleasures of her body. Vittorio gave a slow smile. She wouldn’t have it anyway – she’d made that
quite
clear. The girl was bright, articulate and highly amusing. He would enjoy getting to know her better. But there was no rush. She would eventually be a part of his life, of that he was sure. He could feel it in his bones.
Lily was unhappy. For the past three months Tom had been badgering her about getting married, and she could see that his patience was wearing thin.
Tonight they had been to the Palace Theatre, one of Lily’s favourite places. She so enjoyed the variety programmes, but she especially loved to watch the singers – Marie Lloyd in particular. She herself would love to go on the stage and perform. She imagined herself strutting about, getting the audience singing with her and hearing their applause at the end. It would be wonderful, she thought. She was saying as much to Tom as he walked her home.
But Tom was silent. She noticed that during the evening he hadn’t joined in with the singing either. She sighed, knowing what was to come. It was the same old argument.
‘You’d rather be doing anything than be me wife, it seems to me.’
‘Oh Tom, don’t start.’ She clung to his arm. ‘We’re happy, aren’t we?’
His stormy expression as he looked at her told her he wasn’t. ‘I don’t understand you, Lily Pickford. There are scores of women who would only be too happy to be asked to share me life.’
I’m not going to have him ruin a lovely evening, Lily thought. Besides, she was fed up with the constant pressure. ‘Then I suggest you ask one of them!’
She saw the fire in his eyes. ‘Maybe I should.’
They walked back to The Ditches in silence.
Lily never invited him inside the shop. He felt so strongly against her living there that she didn’t want him to see her humble corner. She herself was quite pleased with her little abode. She had acquired a clean mattress and bought some bed linen off Rachel Cohen – paid for out of her wages, naturally! She’d placed two screens around the corner of her bedroom to make it private, and with a washbasin and a mirror, she was quite self-sufficient. What more did she need at this time?
‘I’m going away, Lily.’
The sudden statement sent a chill through her. ‘Going away – where?’
‘I’m going to Ireland, to see me mother. She hasn’t been well.’
Lily was immediately sympathetic. ‘Oh Tom, I’m sorry. I hope it isn’t anything serious?’
‘She’s had pneumonia, but apparently is getting better.’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘I didn’t know how serious it was meself, until I got a letter this morning.’
‘You
are
coming back?’
He hesitated. ‘That all depends.’
She felt her stomach tighten. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Do I have anything to come back for, that’s what I want to know.’
Oh God, please don’t let me lose him, she prayed fervently. ‘You have me, Tom.’
‘Do I, Lily? I don’t think I do.’
She grabbed at his coat and held on. ‘Don’t say things like that, Tom. I love you.’
‘I’m not even sure of that any more. If you really loved me you would want to be me wife. You would have named the day. We could be planning our wedding, but you keep giving me excuse after excuse.’ His expression was cold. ‘What else can I think?’
She was beside herself. Yes, she kept putting him off, for she wasn’t able to marry him unless she lied about her age, but she couldn’t let him go like this. She loved him too much.
Holding his face tenderly in her hands, she kissed him. ‘I love you more than life itself. I want to be with you, for ever.’
There was a flicker of hope in his eyes. ‘You mean that, Lily?’
‘I mean it, Tom. Honest I do. When you come back from Ireland, we’ll sort out a date for the wedding.’
He clasped her to him, raining kisses on her lips, her eyes, her hair. ‘Oh Lily, darlin’, I was beginning to give up all hope. I want you so much. I want to hold you in me arms, make love to you, wake up beside you in the morning and know you’ll be there when I get home at night.’
Lily held him tightly, overwhelmed by his words. ‘I want those things too.’
He tilted her chin upwards, and kissed her tenderly. ‘When I come back, we’ll look for a house to rent. We’ll choose some nice second-hand stuff. One day you’ll have a place to call your own. I’ll work hard, you’ll see. It will be wonderful, being Mrs Tom McCann. You’ll never regret it.’
They held on to each other, exchanging kisses filled with passion. ‘We’ll make wonderful babies,’ he said softly.
Lily felt her cheeks redden. ‘Tom!’ she chided.
His laughter echoed down the street. ‘My, but you’re a shy one, for all your cheek.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘I’ll be gentle with you, darlin’. I’ll teach you how to enjoy being loved as a wife should. I know you’re a virgin, but there’s nothing to be frightened of. Love and sex go together.’
As he held her close Lily thought, No, Tom. Sex isn’t always about love at all.
‘I’ll be away a week, unless me mother’s really sick. If I’m going to be longer, I’ll write to you.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Will you? I’ve never had a letter in my life.’
‘In that case I’ll write anyway. Tell you how much I love you … and miss you.’
It was late when Tom reluctantly left her and she let herself into the shop, locked the door and sat on her bed, alone. ‘Well, I’ve really gone and done it now,’ she said aloud. Then she had a frightening thought. What if she had to produce a birth certificate? Not only would Tom discover her real age, but her name would be different. There would be so much explaining to do – and what would have to be revealed then? Her eyes closed in despair. She had committed herself to Tom, but was frightened of the consequences.
The next day, weighed down with her problems, she was uncharacteristically short-tempered with the customers, telling one woman who was unable to make up her mind over a dress, ‘Take it or leave it, missus! If you don’t want it, someone else will.’
When the woman walked off in a huff, Rachel pulled Lily roughly into the shop. ‘You just lost me a sale. I can’t afford to lose money, now pull yourself together. What’s up with you?’
Lily apologised. ‘I’m sorry. Tom has gone away, back to Ireland to see his sick mother.’
‘Humpf! That’s no reason to get snotty with the paying customers. He’s coming back, isn’t he?’
Lily nodded.
‘Then I suggest you go out there and work harder. You had better make up the loss by the end of the day, girl, or you’ll get a tongue-lashing from me.’
With a sardonic look Lily said, ‘I thought I’d just had one.’
That evening, Lily walked down to the Esplanade, thinking the sea air might blow away her troubled thoughts. En route she saw her friend Amy.
‘Blimey! You look as if the end of the world is near. If you were to wear a placard saying so, no one would doubt it.’
‘I’m in a lot of trouble, Amy.’
‘You’re not up the spout, are you?’
‘No,’ said Lily. ‘It’s worse than that.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Amy, looking worried. ‘Here, let’s sit on this bench and you can tell me about it.’
‘Tom’s gone to Ireland and I told him when he comes back, we’ll make a date to get married.’
‘Christ Almighty! Is that all? I should have such a worry.’
‘But you see,’ continued Lily, a deep frown creasing her forehead, ‘I’m not old enough. I can lie about my age, but they’ll need a birth certificate.’
‘That’s right, love. Even with your parents’ consent. Oh I forgot, you ain’t got none, have you?’
Looking at Amy, Lily drew in a deep breath. ‘Well, I have, but I don’t want to see either of them ever again.’
Laying a hand on her friend’s arm Amy said, ‘You don’t have to explain to me, love. Now I can see you do have a problem. Maybe I can help after all.’
With a look of disbelief, Lily asked, ‘How?’
Leaning closer, Amy lowered her voice. ‘Well, dearie, in my game you meet all sorts, and one of my punters is into a bit of forgery now and again. He owes me a favour – I’ll see what I can do. Just give me a few days.’
Hugging Amy, Lily said, ‘Oh, thanks! I was going out of my head with worry.’
‘Well, just keep your fingers crossed. Come on, let’s go and have a drink. Cheer us both up.’
The following morning, Lily was singing as she worked. Rachel, watching her, shook her head. ‘So yesterday you were hell in shoes, today a canary. What’s the story?’
With a smile that could light up The Ditches Lily said, ‘I’m going to marry Tom.’
‘
Mazel tov!
’ Putting her arms around Lily, Rachel hugged her and said, ‘That’s wonderful news. So why yesterday’s long face?’
With a shrug she said, ‘There was a little problem, but now it’s solved.’
‘So my dear, at last you’ll get all your dreams. A man, marriage, a home and respectability. I’m so happy for you.’ Rachel clapped her hands together in delight. ‘At lunch-time, take a jug to the pub, and fetch home some beer. We’ll celebrate. Am I invited to the wedding?’
‘Of course you are.’
Looking suddenly crestfallen Rachel asked, ‘Does this mean you’ll be leaving me?’
‘Why should it? I can still work for you. I don’t see what difference getting married will make.’
‘Have you discussed this with Tom?’
‘No, why should I?’
With a knowing look Rachel said, ‘You don’t know men, my dear. It strikes me that Tom McCann might have different ideas.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That Irishman has a lot of pride. He’s got a good job, he may want you to be at home, waiting on him.’
With a derisive snort Lily said, ‘I’m going to be his wife, not his bloody slave.’
Rachel’s laugh was hearty. ‘Ay yi! I can see this marriage is going to be very volatile. Still,’ she nudged Lily in the ribs, ‘making up will be a lot of fun, I’m sure.’
‘Really, Mrs Cohen! Such thoughts from a middle-aged lady.’ But Lily’s eyes twinkled as she chided her.
Tom McCann sat beside his mother’s bed, holding her frail hand in his. He’d been dreadfully shocked when he’d first seen her, for she had aged so much since he had last visited. Now she was propped up against her pillows, asking him about his life.
‘Are you happy, son?’
‘I am, Ma. I’ve got a good job and I’ve a lovely girl who’s going to be me wife. When I go back, we’re going to arrange the wedding.’
Squeezing his hand, his mother smiled softly. ‘Ah, that’s grand to be sure. Every man needs a good woman to take care of him. And mind you care well for your wife, Thomas. Will you be bringing her home to Ireland one day?’
‘I certainly will. I’ve told her all about the family, Newcastle, and the mountains.’
‘Ah, the mountains.’ Kathleen McCann looked out of her window and gazed at them, now bathed in late-autumn sunshine. ‘Every day I look at them and say good morning. I hope to be well enough to take at least one more walk among them.’
Tom was filled with sadness. The doctor had told him his mother was unlikely to recover.
‘One day you, Lily and me will walk them together,’ he promised.
Holding his hand tighter she said, ‘I don’t think so, son. I’m near the end of me days, and I’m happy to go to me Maker. Just you bring up your family with love and honour – that’s all I ask of you. I’m glad you came home and we were able to be together for a while.’
That night, Kathleen McCann slipped quietly away in her sleep.
After the funeral, Tom took a walk along the beach. He breathed in deeply and the smell of seaweed and salt air filled his nostrils. He watched the waves break upon the sand, looked back at the mountains and shed tears for his mother. One day he and Lily would come back here to live, he thought, maybe bring their own children. It would be with them he’d walk among the mountains, for the spirit of his mother would always be there.
The postman popped his head around the door of the shop. ‘Letter for Miss Lily Pickford.’
Lily rushed towards him. ‘That’s me,’ she said excitedly. ‘I’m Lily Pickford.’ She opened it quickly, and the smile faded from her lips as she read.
‘Something wrong, girl?’ asked Rachel, seeing her stricken expression.
‘Tom’s mother’s died. He’s staying on for the funeral and the wake. What’s a wake?’
‘They hold a party to celebrate the life of the person who’s just died.’
‘A party?’ Lily looked shocked.
‘Yes, and what’s wrong with that? All her old friends will be there, remembering the happy times. It’s not a time for sadness, it’s a celebration.’