The Liverpool Trilogy (129 page)

When Rosh reached the ground floor, Mam was on a slightly lower light. Still simmering, but not ready to boil over like a neglected milk pan. ‘Sit down, Mam.’

‘Why? I’m learning a new recipe called beef strong enough.’

The younger woman fought a smile. ‘You can’t cook that until you see the whites of your diners’ eyes. And it’s stroganoff. If you want soured cream, put a bit of lemon
in, and don’t forget the nutmeg.’

Anna sniffed and sat down. ‘Well? What more do you have to say for yourself, besom?’

‘Don’t fuss. I’ve something important to say.’

‘Oh yes? Is this you telling me to leave?’

‘No. Whatever happens, your home will always be with me. This is me telling you that you’ll be needed more than ever.’

‘Oh, I see. No rest for the wicked, then.’

‘No rest for any of us, Mam.’ Rosh paused. ‘Now, don’t go off at the deep end, because you might just drown at last. Look, I don’t want to leave Phil’s money
sitting in a bank making bits of interest. I want to use some of it to build a family business, something for the kids to fall back on, sell, or whatever.’

Anna nodded.

‘So I’ve bought the shop, and it comes with plans for a café at the back. There’s a chap called Clive Cuttle who used to do the six till two shift in the shop, and Mrs
Bailey’s asking him to come back. The two till six in the evening will be covered by somebody else, because I’ll be running the other side of the business.’

‘On your own?’

‘No. At first, everything will be literally home-made. The kitchen will be big enough to cook in, but for a while I’m going to buy pies and cakes made by housewives round here. We
have to get the food to the shop, so I start driving lessons next Monday, one lesson a day for two weeks including Sundays after Mass. If I fail, I’ll try again.’ Rosh looked at her
mother. ‘What’s the matter now?’

Anna was fanning her face with a hand. ‘I can’t speak.’

‘Why? What the plucked chicken’s up with you? Please tell me what stopped you talking, because I’d love to know how to make you shut up at will.’

Anna dried her eyes. ‘I’m proud of you. I am. Is there a refrigerator?’

‘Yes, and I’m getting one for here as well. You and I will make scones and fancies fresh every day. So, very simple to start with, but all beautifully presented with good cutlery and
crockery. No gingham. I was going to call it No Gingham, but I changed my mind. It’s Home from Home.’

‘Nice.’ The older woman blew her nose. ‘It’s so exciting and so brave. Home from Home is just perfect. Are you excited, Rosh?’

‘I am. A bit scared as well, but I feel like a kiddy on Christmas Day. Now, before you get cracking with your beef strong enough, I want you to write a list of everybody who won the best
cake or pie prize at the church and the school. Roy’s already on the list; his short pastry is second to none.’

‘That lad loves you, Roisin.’

‘I know.’

‘And you don’t love him?’

‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’

Anna raised both arms in a gesture of despair. ‘You’ve gone all undecided, so. What’s the craic? Did you get a sudden visitation from your guardian angel, or are you doing all
this as a bet?’

Rosh blew a loud, wet raspberry in the direction of her mother. ‘I’m trying to be truthful, trying not to open my mouth unless I’m absolutely sure. Upsetting those people
earlier—’

‘Has upset
you
. I’ll give this a week. By the time you’re driven daft – literally – by learning to drive, you’ll be back to your usual gobby self. Now,
will I curdle the cream by adding lemon to it, or will I put the cream in with the meat before squirting the lemon?’

‘Please yourself. The children won’t eat it anyway.’

‘Just as well,’ said Anna smartly. ‘There’s enough just for you, me and Roy. The kids are having a bit of yellow fish with a poached egg.’

Rosh’s heart skipped a beat; Roy was coming to dinner. It wasn’t love. Love was a blinding moment that led its victim all the way through life until . . . Well whatever it was, it
wasn’t like this. Roy was growing on her like mistletoe on a host tree. Not true, because he gave more than he took. He was not a parasite. The kids loved him. Did she?

Anna chose to eat in the kitchen with the children. ‘I’ll keep an eye out here,’ she yelled to Rosh and Roy from the doorway. ‘Alice has decided she won’t eat
anything yellow. Don’t ask; her mind works in mysterious ways its wonders to perform.’

‘Has your mother gone Biblical?’ Roy whispered.

‘I don’t know. Was that from the Bible?’

He shrugged; he didn’t know, either.

Rosh decided to cut to the chase. ‘This is her way of matchmaking,’ she said. ‘Next time, there’ll be wine, flowers, crêpes suzette and fingerbowls. She’s
made up her mind, and there’s nothing I can do about that.’

Roy swallowed nervously. ‘And?’ he achieved eventually.

‘And what? She’s my mother, a law unto herself.’

‘Rosh?’

‘What?’

Roy paused for a few seconds. ‘Is there a chance for me?’

‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘Eat your dinner. This beef strong enough’s no good cold.’ There were tears in his eyes; she couldn’t bear to look at the tears in case
they brimmed over. ‘You’re a patient man. Continue patient, please, because I’m not ready.’ Love was a blinding moment . . . The ‘yes’ had been automatic, almost
sight-impaired. It had come from her mouth, not from her brain . . .

The doorbell sounded, and Rosh thanked it for its timely intervention. But her relief was short-lived, because Lipstick and Nail Polish stood on the step behind a bunch of flowers almost as big
as the kitchen. ‘For your mother,’ she said. ‘Dad’s sorry.’

‘So am I.’ Rosh took the flowers and placed them in the hall before stepping out to the car at the kerbside. ‘Mr Collingford . . .’ He really should invest in some new
glasses. ‘I am so sorry,’ she continued. ‘I shouldn’t have . . . I bought a shop this afternoon.’ She was babbling, and she knew it.

‘What sort of shop?’

Rosh blinked stupidly. ‘Sweets, tobacco, newspapers . . .’

‘On the ground floor?’ he asked.

‘Yes, of course.’

He nodded, causing his spectacles to perform a tap dance on the bridge of his nose. ‘We need to talk, Mrs Allen. But I must leave you now. I shall see you here on Tuesday afternoon at two
o’clock. Is that a suitable time?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

Lipstick and Nails climbed into the driver’s seat, gave a little wave, then took off quickly.

Rosh closed her mouth with a snap. What an odd day this had been. She’d had the interview, said her piece, discovered that she’d cursed the wrong people, bought a business, chosen a
colour scheme for the café. And she’d given a half-yes to a not-quite proposal of marriage. ‘A lifetime lived in a day,’ she whispered as she rescued the flowers.

Anna was rendered speechless, and that was another novelty. An apology from a Collingford? She gathered all the vases in the house and began the business of containing the multitude of blooms
and spreading joy and happy comment all over the place. But her tone changed when she reached the dining room. ‘What’s wrong with your food?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing,’ Roy replied. ‘We got talking, then the Collingfords came to the door.’

‘Talking?’ A white vase was plonked in the centre of the dining table. Tall flowers prevented Rosh and Roy from seeing each other, which was just as well, as they were perilously
close to hysterical laughter. The situation was surreal.

‘And you were talking about what?’

‘Maroon-and-white striped curtains.’ Rosh kept her voice as sombre as she could manage. ‘For the café.’

‘That is a cartload of my eye and Betty Martin,’ announced Anna.

‘Who is this Betty Martin?’ Roy asked innocently.

‘She is just a saying,’ Anna snapped. ‘And I can tell from your faces that you weren’t talking about anything maroon and white.’

Roy nodded. ‘You’re right, of course. It was royal blue and cream.’

Anna stormed out.

Rosh moved the vase. ‘Coffee at your house, I think, sir. We can’t have a conversation without Big Ears poking a lughole in. Oh, and you’re on coffee and listening, and
I’m on talking.’

Across the road in Roy’s house, they drank his excellent coffee and listened to a concert on the Home Service. Coming here had probably been a mistake, Rosh mused. Whilst her mother was a
nuisance, she was also a distraction, as were the children. What a day this had been. ‘Roy?’

‘Yes?’

‘When you asked if you had a chance with me, what did you mean? What exactly do you want from me?’

His gaze remained steady. ‘Just to be with you. You know full well how I feel, how I’ve always felt. I think Phil knew, too. A day when I don’t see you is empty. Just be quiet
for a minute and listen to this bit. Close your eyes and allow Beethoven to touch your soul.’

She obeyed until the movement ended.

‘Beethoven says it all, Rosh. His father was a cruel man, or so I’ve heard. The torture and the passion are in all his symphonies. What I feel for you is in there, too. Because words
are not enough.’

Roy had been reborn with his father’s death. He had become louder, livelier and a great deal more optimistic. Because these improvements showed in all areas of his life, he now acted as
the glue that held his legal offices together, the one man who knew where everyone else should be at any given moment of any day. Rosh was turning into the shy one, she reminded herself now. Always
a gutsy woman, she found herself very aware of him, of the changes in him, and she was suddenly quieter. Why? What was happening? ‘You’re supposed to be listening,’ she reminded
him with mock severity.

‘And you’re supposed to be doing the talking.’

For once in her life, she was almost stumped. It had been her idea to escape to his house, to leave behind Mam and the children, since everybody valued Roy, and Rosh’s mother in particular
had taken on the role of matchmaker. ‘My mother has us married off already,’ she began carefully.

‘I noticed,’ he said.

‘There’s been just Phil for me, you see.’

Roy had lived in Phil’s shadow for what seemed like an eternity. ‘No woman has lasted more than a fortnight, Rosh. I seem to have a low boredom threshold. Oh, and we’re not
young any more.’

She bridled slightly. ‘Speak for yourself. I’m thirty plus a bit, and that bit is negotiable. On a good day, I’m thirty-one; today, I was thirty-twelve, because I hurt some
people.’ She paused. ‘Am I hurting you?’

‘Not at the moment, no.’ And he told her about his pain.

During the litany that followed, Rosh remained motionless. He hurt when she walked away from him and when she approached him. A table between them grew to the size of Everest, while his bed was
the loneliest place on the planet. ‘I’m obsessed,’ he admitted finally.

She agreed with that. ‘Yes, you’re a lunatic. We definitely know each other well enough. But we need to make time for us away from here. And be aware, she’ll be watching.
There’s no sense in trying to hide anything, because there’ll be gossip no matter what we do.’

‘I know. But I disagree with you; there’s no need for any courtship ritual.’

Yet again, Rosh had no idea what to say.

‘We already know each other completely,’ he whispered.

Rosh inhaled deeply. ‘Not quite completely. So we go directly to bed without collecting two hundred pounds? Like jail in Monopoly?’

He laughed. ‘I didn’t say that. Though it is just about the only thing we haven’t done together. Perhaps you’re right. We need to get away from this area and learn to be
together without the past dogging our heels. And out of reach of your mother’s sharp eyes and ears.’

‘She doesn’t need a special mention in dispatches. She’s a constant, a permanent fixture. Even if we do come through, Roy, she stays.’

He chuckled. ‘Poor Eric. He’s got new teeth, new trousers – even a new cap. He loved his old cap, you know. And she still makes his life a total bloody misery. What?’

But Rosh had curled into a ball of agony. Strange, how laughter could make a person ache so much. After a few seconds, she managed to catch her breath. ‘He came round on Thursday, and she
was cleaning cupboards. So she handed everything over to him, sat down, and read his paper.’

‘Cheeky mare,’ grinned Roy.

‘I’ve not finished. Neither had she. She examined his cupboards, said his work wasn’t good enough, and made him do it all again.’ Rosh dried her eyes. ‘But she has
knitted him a lovely cardigan. He told me privately that it itches something terrible on the back of his neck, but he has to wear it, and I mustn’t say anything. Oh, it’s a
shame.’

‘I know how he feels.’

‘You know how he feels? When did you last scrub cupboards for me?’

‘But I would if you asked me.’

‘Yes, you probably would. Tragic, isn’t it?’

‘Not particularly. I love you, and I won’t allow you to have dirty cupboards.’ After this statement, he crossed the room, sat next to her and pulled her into his arms.
‘Stop me at any time,’ he said seriously. ‘Like the ice cream man – stop me and buy one.’

She didn’t stop him. Sensations long forgotten returned within seconds, and she pressed him closer to her by encircling his neck with her arms. For her, the embrace became urgent, almost
desperate, yet he went carefully, almost with reverence. His hands on her clothed body simply rested on her softness, and she had her answer. This was meant. It had been organized by someone or
something outside the two of them. Phil?

Breathless, they parted and reclaimed their share of oxygen.

‘What were you selling?’ Rosh asked. ‘Stop me and buy one?’

‘Me. I was selling me.’

‘You’re priceless,’ she told him.

He looked at the clock. ‘Eight minutes.’

‘What?’

‘Our first kiss lasted eight minutes.’

Rosh clobbered him with a cushion. ‘You timed it?’

Between blows, he pleaded innocence. He’d just happened to glance at the clock when crossing the room. No, no, he hadn’t timed it, but might she stop hitting him so that they could
try to beat their record?