The Liverpool Trilogy (27 page)

‘What was?’

‘You nicking his money and bogging off with it.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry. He was wanting to cadge off me, trying to get me to sell my business to shore his up. I told him where to go, and he went. But I’ve been in your house in the past and seen your photo – that’s why I recognized you. In my line of work, we never forget a face.’

They prepared to part on good terms, and Lucy was about to step out of the van when a thought occurred. ‘Any chance of a favour? I’ll pay you.’

Mags nodded. ‘Ask away.’

‘Here’s my mobile number.’ Lucy passed a card to the beautician. ‘If you’re in Bolton this coming week, give me a call. If you can spare a couple of hours, I’ve a lovely friend who’d enjoy a bit of a makeover. And so should I.’

‘Right. You’re on, mate.’

They shook hands. ‘I like you,’ Lucy said.

‘Yes, I like you and all. I’ll do what I can for you and your friend before I go back to London for all these meetings. Then if you ever want a weekend break at Styles, I’ll try to do you a special price. You’ve good bones. I could do a lot with you.’

‘Thank you.’ Lucy waved as the van drew away. Leaning against the tinted windows of a monumentally expensive beauty emporium, she sent a text to David.
Didn’t want to disturb u. Have found Alan. Lucy xxx.

So. She knew where Alan was, but she didn’t know what he was up to. Did she need to know? Shouldn’t it now be every woman for herself? If she could just leave well alone, he would be out of her hair for ever. In which case, why had she bothered at all? Sometimes, she came perilously near to losing patience with herself. Yes, no, yes, no . . .

‘Hello, Lucy.’

Oh, bloody hell. She arranged her features in a fashion intended to be neutral. ‘Richard. I’m just on my way back home. You?’

‘I had to see . . . someone.’

‘This isn’t West Derby.’

‘Someone else.’

‘Ah.’ This kind of thing happened to men all the time, she supposed. They managed to love one woman, but to make love to many. Her attraction to Richard Turner was animal – well, it certainly wasn’t vegetable or mineral – yet she loved David. Richard was probably a toy, something disposable, an item to be thrown away after use. Because she was female, she wasn’t supposed to speculate in this manner. But she did, though nothing would persuade her to endanger her relationship with David. ‘I must get my car. Glenys has gone ahead – she’s my lawyer, from Bolton.’

‘I’ve been to see a lawyer,’ he said.

Lucy stared hard at him. He put her in mind of a deer that was failing to outrun a lioness. Yes, serious hunting was executed by the females of most species . . . ‘What’s the matter with you? All that banging around in the car last night, then the funeral pyre in the garden – your behaviour isn’t doing Moira any good. She told me about the moods. She predicted the fire-starting and the refusal to talk. Why make her worse?’

‘That was not my intention.’

‘Then straighten yourself out before I bring her back from Tallows.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He delivered a mock salute before walking away. As he moved, he found himself smiling in spite of everything. Lucy could order him around any day of the week – he relished the idea of being subservient to so magnificent a specimen of womanhood.

She watched him. He was attractive and overtly available. But he wasn’t for her, and she berated herself inwardly. After years devoid of all physical contact with a man, years during which she had scarcely contemplated sex, here she stood eyeing up the talent like a sixth-former on her way home from school. She marked it down as emotional regression and went to find her car.

Lexi was livid. The bloody nurse/receptionist at Richard Turner’s surgery had sent a letter to a Liverpool lawyer, copy to her. It stated that Miss Alexandra Phillips had joined the practice, had visited Dr Turner only once, and that the author believed the visit had been made with a view to entrapment.

She came at an earlier date (see enclosed records) for a medical examination, which I performed, as the doctor was out on calls. Thereafter, she had one appointment, and Dr Turner struck her from his list immediately after the consultation. I have no knowledge of their relationship, but I can assure you that any close contact between these two adults must have occurred before she joined this surgery. Our part-time doctor, Celia Cooper, will verify under separate cover that she never treated Miss Phillips.

They were all bastards. They would stick together no matter what, while she would be left like rubbish in a wheelie bin waiting for the council to dispose of her. It wasn’t fair. He’d had his roll in the hay, and now he wanted rid of her. Doctors, lawyers, police – they were all in cahoots, and her reputation would no doubt precede her if she put up a fight.

Laurel and Hardy were probably in on it, too. They worked for that well-stacked woman next door to the Turners, but they were in and out of the Turner house like rats in a sewer. Carol Makin, who was built like a tank, and her daughter, Dee Baxendale, were seasoned adversaries of Lexi’s. Dee, the opposite of her mother, did a fair imitation of a pipe cleaner, but she had a gob that could clear a drain from forty paces. Their Beryl suffered with MS, so they probably considered themselves experts in that area. Richard’s wife had the same disease.

Lexi would have to play very dirty. They would have trouble pinning anything on her, because she intended to play anonymously. Doc Turner would know who was waging the war, but he’d keep it to himself, since he was a coward. All men were cowards. Women, on the other hand, made things happen. And boy, was she about to make things happen! But she had to go home first and think about it.

As she turned towards the marina, she noticed Carol Makin on the top step of the house next door to the Turners’. Lexi lifted her chin and put her hands on her hips. ‘Was Weightwatchers shut, then, love?’

Carol raised two hefty fingers in a V-sign. She wasn’t going to start shouting her mouth off on Mersey View. But Litherland Lexi was here again, God save the Queen and may the best man win. ‘Dee?’ she stage-whispered. ‘Come here.’

Dee arrived, armed with a feather duster and one of the plastic pipes belonging to Lucy’s Kirby vacuum cleaner. ‘What?’

Carol pointed down the street. ‘Fetch,’ she ordered.

Dee shot down the road like greased lightning. Lexi, who seemed mesmerized, allowed herself to be prodded, pushed and steered like a cow on its way to market. In her high-heeled shoes, she was no match for Dee in the speed department, while shock accounted for her lack of reaction to this unusual form of persuasion.

In the hall of Lucy’s house, she was placed on a monk’s bench and ordered to stay. Dee muttered something about Mam having missed her way: she should have been a dog-trainer with all this fetching and staying. ‘I’m sorting me cupboards,’ she announced, before leaving the enemies to their own devices.

‘What are you doing round here?’ Carol began.

‘None of your business.’

‘I can make it my business if I want. I’m housekeeper here, and Dee’s my deputy. It’s our job to keep the place nice, and nothing can be nice if you’re part of the picture.’

‘I don’t have to tell you nothing,’

‘Then you can stay sat there like cheese at fourpence till Mrs Henshaw gets back with her lawyer. And the doc next door won’t be long.’

Lexi swallowed. ‘I left me bag in a taxi, and I was told the driver lived down here. I’ve been looking for him for weeks.’

Carol leaned forward. ‘Listen, you. There’s no taxi drivers along this stretch. They’re all doctors and lawyers and stuff like that – professionals. So bugger off and stay away if you know what’s good for you. Don’t go shouting on Mersey View, or they’ll be sending for the busies. We aren’t used to your sort in these parts.’

As soon as Carol stepped back, Lexi shot out of the house. She had to be at her till in half an hour, and she didn’t want to be late again. There were computers and printers in the office at the back of the shop. If she could force herself to be nice to Greasy Bleasdale, he might let her have a lend of his equipment for half an hour.

She staggered up to the main road, flagged down a black cab, and continued on her way to work. Mrs Turner was going to receive some very revealing letters. He said his wife knew he played away – did he think Lexi Phillips came down in the last shower of rain? It was time he learned never to kid a kidder. It was time he grew up. It was also time he learned a bit of sense, because he’d been let off lightly so far.

In the back of the cab, she removed the crippling shoes and tried to rub some life into her feet. Thank goodness she kept a pair of flatties in her locker at work, because she might be on shelf-stacking. She didn’t know which was worse – filling shelves or sitting on her arse for hours on end. But she did know that life wasn’t fair, and Richard Turner was having it too easy. Well, easy would be a thing of the past. She’d make damned well sure of that.

On his way back from Liverpool, Richard stopped at the house where his car had been cleaned. Shirley and Hal were leaving in just over a month, and Richard posted through the letter box an invitation for interview for the gardening jobs on Mersey View.

On his way back to the car, he saw Lexi passing in a black cab. Where had she been? What the hell was she doing in these parts? Didn’t she know there was nothing she could do? Witnesses at the practice would back him up, and as long as that was the case no medical council would turn a hair. But was his local reputation about to take a battering?

He went home immediately. Celia was taking surgery, so there was time for him to nip back and see if anything untoward had occurred. Two cars stood outside Lucy’s house – hers, and another that was presumably the property of her lawyer. The boyfriend, Dr Vincent, was to come back this afternoon to collect Lucy and Moira. He was suddenly glad that Moira was leaving. If Lexi was going to kick off, it would be easier without Moira in situ.

He entered his own house quietly. The dulcet tones of Carol Makin bounced off walls throughout the whole ground floor. ‘So I says to her, “What the bleeding hell are you doing round here, like?” And I shoved her on to Lucy’s monk’s bench, and I says, “They don’t have taxi drivers on Mersey View, because we’re all professionals.” And she went a right funny colour, because I’ve seen her round here before, and she knows I have. Are you taking both these skirts with you, love?’

‘I’ll have to, Carol. You don’t think Lucy’ll mind my accidents?’

Shirley chipped in. ‘No. She’s as sound as a pound, is Lucy. She’s managed you and your problems before. And if she can’t cope, she’s not daft. That David’ll get you some help.’

That David. Richard was sick to the wisdom teeth of that David. David Vincent had the best woman Richard had come across since meeting Moira, yet he seemed an airy-fairy sort of chap, always engrossed in thought, always here with his bloody dog and his bunches of flowers.

But Richard had other fish to fry. He walked into the sitting room. ‘Hi,’ he said with forced brightness. ‘Who’s been looking for taxis, then?’

Carol stared at him for a few seconds. She had her own theories about this fellow, but she had better keep her gob shut. Well, not shut, but on a low light. ‘Litherland Lexi. Expert in sailors, sex, shoplifting and supermarket check-outs. She’s a bother-causer.’

‘Ah. So you chased her?’

‘Dee did. With a feather duster and a bit of vacuum cleaner. My Dee might be thin, but she’s feisty.’

Richard smiled at his wife, and she returned the compliment. ‘You all right now, babe?’ she asked.

‘Yes, fine. I’ve come back for notes, then I’m off to visit the sick and the imaginative.’

‘The imaginative?’ Carol raised an eyebrow,

‘They imagine they’re too ill to work ever again,’ Moira replied for him. ‘Usually a bad back, till Richard finds them heaving furniture or climbing ladders. He copped one enjoying himself on a bouncy castle the other week. He’s supposed to walk with a stick, but he got caught out. Richard always finds them out in the end.’

‘And what do you do then?’ Carol asked. ‘Dob them in to the soshe?’

He smiled. ‘I have never in my life dobbed in anyone to the financial arm of the social services. I praise them to the hills, tell them how proud I am of them for having overcome such a terrible illness, and remind them to visit the job centre. In the end, they do. Most of them, anyway.’

This one was a right clever clogs. Carol had met his type before in posh houses she had cleaned: a gob full of marbles, always saying the right thing, then mucking about behind the wife’s back. And this wife deserved better, because she’d enough to cope with without a fancy-talking whoring fool for a husband. Lexi was looking for him. If he’d been with Lexi, he deserved a red card, bugger the yellow warning.

Carol made her excuses and left the house. She didn’t like him, didn’t like the way he looked at Lucy. Men took little notice of fat, shapeless women, but fat women noticed everything. As did Dee, who ate like a horse and managed to look like someone in the final stages of some eating disorder. No men looked at her, either. Carol and Dee were just essential items of furniture, but they missed nothing.

She found Lucy in the kitchen. Her friend, Glenys, was outside in the back garden. ‘I don’t like him,’ Carol announced. ‘He’s slimy, sly, and full of himself.’

‘Who is?’

‘That pie-can of a doctor next door. He looks at you, Lucy, as if he wants to rip your clothes off your back.’

‘He’s just sex-starved, Carol.’

‘I don’t think so. There’s been a well-known knicker-dropper hanging round. What are you laughing at? Have you never heard of a knicker-dropper?’

‘I have now.’

‘Well, if he can’t have you, he’ll take what he can get. And what he can get from Litherland Lexi is a damned sight more than he might have bargained for. She’s trouble. She’s had a row with just about everybody apart from next door’s goldfish – she could start a war in an empty room. And she’s hanging about like a bad smell on a hot day.’

Glenys came in. Carol summed her up as yet another dumpy little female who could pass through life without being noticed. A lawyer was a good thing for Glenys to be, because she could study people without fear of interruption. The invisibles were the ones who came nearest the truth, since few bothered to address them, yet it was the unaddressed who saw through all the talking, all the excuses. ‘Hiya,’ said Carol. ‘I’m the housekeeper, and I’ll be making breakfasts for guests when Lucy’s having a break. I’ll live here while she’s away.’