The Liverpool Trilogy (42 page)

This was her swan song, and it would be colourful. She carried a final letter for his wife, plus a can of purple paint. It was going to be her finest hour.

David made doubly sure that he had disabled the outside light before joining Lucy in the dining room. They sat in twilight, each staring at a bank of small screens loaned to them by the father of a boy with leukaemia in remission. The man was a specialist in domestic and industrial security, but David wasn’t. He’d done his best, and the equipment had been tested by Lucy who had played the fool in front of all three hidden cameras. They seemed to work, and they performed in near-darkness, so the pair crossed their fingers and waited.

‘What time is it?’ Lucy whispered.

‘Five minutes later than the last time you asked,’ he replied.

She sighed. ‘I’m bored.’

‘Oh, diddums. Shut up and keep still.’

Lucy shut up for about three seconds. ‘The front door’s ajar?’

‘Yes.’

A few more seconds limped by. ‘David?’

‘What?’

‘You remember that killer conker you had?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘There was nothing vague about it. It wiped out your whole class and twenty-three of mine and Diane’s. It was a deadly bloody weapon. The Americans and the Russians argued about it.’

‘Right.’

‘Was it concrete?’

‘No.’

She poked him in the ribs. ‘Tell me.’

‘Bog off, Louisa. We all have our trade secrets.’

‘Tell me. Please.’

He pressed her to the floor and lay on top of her. ‘Do you think we’ve time for a bit of Chopin?’

‘No. But if you don’t tell me, I’ll tickle you.’

He kissed her long and hard, then dragged her back into a sitting position. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Here we are, behind a sofa with three television screens. We are positioned thus in order to catch a bad woman. And you want to tickle me, so that will give her warning not to venture into the house and on to
Candid Camera,
because I’ll be laughing like a drain.’

‘OK. I won’t tickle you.’ They separated. ‘Tell me about the conker, then.’

‘No, Louisa.’

‘Then tell me who stole my wedding ring from the soap dish in the shed.’

‘I claim the Fifth.’

‘You stole it.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘So who did?’

‘Moira. She stole it for me, OK?’

‘All right. I won’t ask about the wedding ring you’re having made specially. Don’t trust one woman to keep a secret from another woman. So, if I let you off about the wedding ring, which is to be a wedding-cum-engagement ring all in one piece, and I don’t know anything about it, tell me about your conker.’

David fought back a force ten gale of laughter. ‘Never ask a man about his conkers. It’s far too personal.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Shut up.’

‘I love you, David. Tell me about the conker.’

He allowed a long sigh to escape. ‘Vinegar, slow heat in the oven, clear nail polish.’

‘You bastard.’

‘That’s me. Hush.’

Camera one showed Lexi outside. She was rattling a can before spraying the wall. David hung on to Lucy. ‘Leave it, hon. She hasn’t done enough yet.’

Camera two saw her pushing the front door inwards. After standing still and listening for a while, she picked up some items from the coat stand shelf, then ventured into the living room. The third camera caught her stealing Moira’s jewellery.

Lucy shot from the dining room like a bullet from a gun. David felt transfixed as he watched his fiancée knocking Litherland Lexi to the floor. She was using her fists, and was probably doing damage that would show. He jumped up in order to intervene and, just as he entered the next-door living room, tripped in near-darkness over a stool that had been kicked into the doorway. Lucy was so engrossed in her revenge that she didn’t notice. David clambered to his feet and switched on the lights. His left knee hurt like hell. ‘Louisa?’

‘What?’

‘Stop. Right now.’

There was something in his voice that cut through the anger like a hot knife in butter. She stopped. Silence reigned for some time. Then Lexi tried to put back the jewellery she had stolen from Moira’s little folding table, and the money she’d lifted from the hall. Lucy came back to life in a split second. Like a trained boxer, she beat her fists into the woman’s chest and stomach. David, in pain and temporarily stunned, could only watch while his Louisa took it all out on this one woman. Lexi had done wrong, but she was in receipt of at least two decades of pent-up fury.

He grabbed the maelstrom and eventually contained it, though he was awarded several powerful blows during this difficult process.

Worn out, Lucy turned in her lover’s restraining arms, and it poured out of her. Language David might have expected from a chain gang flowed from her lips in a steady stream. ‘You’re dead, you whore. There’s another of your sweet letters for Moira, isn’t there? In the hall where you left dog shit, you filthy, diseased bitch.’

The language had improved slightly, thought David as he pushed Lucy into a chair. He inhaled deeply and spoke to Lexi. ‘We have you on TV. We have you with money from the hall, and jewellery from this room. The wonderful woman you tried to destroy is not here. By the way, our cameras work in darkness, so I have you spraying the wall as well as stealing. You’d better bugger off before Louisa gets a second wind.’

‘And you have her beating me up.’ Lexi thrust forward a determined chin.

David was ready for this one. ‘I’m sure a court will take our side, madam. Moira, the poor sick woman to whom you sent all those filthy letters, didn’t deserve any of this. Her husband intercepted every piece of your disgusting literature, so don’t pride yourself on having upset Moira, because we are here to protect her. She’s a bright, intelligent, strong woman, and her friend here was righteously angry with you for the letters, the graffiti we still haven’t seen, the dog dirt and now the thieving. His car isn’t here, so you thought you were safe. You thought he’d mistakenly left the door unlocked. You will never again be safe. We know people who know you.’

‘I’m leaving the room for a mo,’ Lucy announced. ‘It’s OK, I must just wash her off my hands. But first I want to get the letter she wrote to an absentee.’ She pulled away from him and went to retrieve the envelope. She returned, and after opening it she scanned the contents and spoke to Lexi. ‘I would advise lessons in basic English,’ she snapped before handing the paper to David and marching out into the hall.

‘What is the matter with you?’ he asked the cowering woman. ‘Why can’t you get on with your life and leave these people alone?’

‘He said he loved me and liked being with me.’

‘And that’s excuse enough for you to put dog excrement through the front door?’

Lexi hung her head. She was bloody injured, and something wanted doing about this lot here. The woman was a raving lunatic for a start, and this chap was too . . . too posh. ‘I want to go,’ she advised the floor.

He told her what he knew Louisa wanted. The film, including her attack on Lexi, should go to the police. Louisa would take her chances, as this was her first offence – if, indeed, it might be labelled an offence – and she might get a warning, a fine, or a suspended sentence. But Lexi would go to jail, since she already had a record. ‘Her sole aim is to get you locked away so that Moira will be safe.’

‘I’ve got a new job.’ Lexi swallowed painfully.

‘Tough.’

The phone rang. He heard Lucy talking while he glared at the seated offender. A couple of minutes passed before Lucy arrived at the doorway. She was pale, shaking and, at first, unable to speak. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

Lucy opened her mouth, but no words emerged.

‘Louisa?’

At last, the syllables began to limp from her tongue. ‘Simon’s phone’s switched off,’ she managed. ‘They’re out. They were out when we got here, weren’t they? There was no one in my house.’

‘Yes. I expect they’re with some of Simon’s friends from the hospital.’

She slid down the wall and sat where she landed. ‘Richard says we’re not to tell Simon. He wants to do it. We have to wait up till they come back.’

‘OK.’ He scratched his head. ‘And?’

‘She died.’

‘Who died, sweetheart?’

‘Moira did. Tonight.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Last night now, I suppose. That beautiful soul has gone.’

It was David’s turn to go into shock. ‘Did she choke?’ he asked after a few moments had passed.

‘Two heart attacks. Richard was with her. He’s back at the shed, and a doctor’s looking after him. But he wanted to tell Simon first, because he’s the oldest. He asked what we were doing in here, and I said we were getting rid of rubbish.’

Both stared at Lexi, who was weeping. ‘Bugger off before I let my lioness loose again,’ David said quietly. ‘She may be on the floor, but she’s still growling. Even I don’t trust her mood at the moment, and I’m engaged to marry her. Go on – get lost. If you’re very, very lucky, this may be the end of the matter. We’ve things to do, and we haven’t time to waste on you.’

Lexi rushed out.

They sat together on the carpet, sharing a silence that became a partnership, because they held on to each other like a pair of young animals looking for warmth. There was no need for speech, since she knew his thoughts, and he knew hers. A taxi pulled up. Lucy knew it was a cab, because diesel was noisy. ‘Go,’ she whispered. ‘Just tell him to phone his dad. Leave Lizzie with him – he’ll need her.’

Alone, she stared at Moira’s chair with the little shawl draped over the back. On a work table, embroidery silks shared space with pastels, watercolours and a multicoloured quarrel of knitting wools, waiting for the good days when hands were steady and pain was bearable. ‘I’m glad Richard was with you. I’m glad you liked my little play house, and pleased that you enjoyed your week.’

This house would be dead without Moira. She had put up a damned good fight against the ravages of her illness, had been strong, cheerful, stubborn and persistent. The woman had filled the place, not just because of all the equipment she required, but with the breadth of her character, the quirkiness of her personality. ‘I feel as if I knew you all my life, Moira.’

David came back. ‘Your boys are with them. They’ve gone up into the gods.’

‘Did Simon make the call?’

‘I didn’t stay. It was right to leave him with his wife and his peers.’

It was moments like this one that told Lucy why her love for this man was so real and at a depth that would never be reached by mere words. They had laughed and joked about the act of lovemaking, but when it came to abiding love, the man was pure Beethoven. And that, from Lucy, who was a great fan of Ludwig, meant something.

‘We’ll go back shortly,’ he said. ‘If they need us, they’ll find us.’

‘In my bed?’

‘Of course. First I must paint out the B A S T U R D on the front of this house, and I need to shift the surveillance stuff. I think Richard should not have to see any of that.’ He smiled wanly at her. ‘Yes, your bed. Where else would we be of comfort to each other?’

He was right again. Where else should they be?

It was cold on the steps. Built from concrete to hold back the Mersey after valuable real estate had fallen into the river, they completed a monochrome picture on this special day when the Christian world celebrated the birth of a holy child.

The dog didn’t mind the cold. Samson leapt about like a puppy, threatening the waves, coming back several times to deposit weed, a dead crab and a condom at the feet of the man who had brought him here. A dull, heavy sky hung low over a boiling river whose chief colours were pewter and darker greys. Even the crests on beating water looked like the aftermath of washday, sepia foam landing rhythmically on the stretch where Vikings had disembarked to claim territory. Blondell had built all the villages – Great Crosby, Little Crosby, Blundellsands and Thornton. ‘I see no ships,’ Richard said before ordering the dog to heel.

It wasn’t his dog. He had borrowed it as an excuse for leaving a house filled by people, coloured lights, gaily wrapped packages and dozens of cards that celebrated a day he didn’t want. Christmas had arrived early this year. Unlike Easter, it wasn’t a movable feast, so he was the one out of step. Again. London. Carpets and kindness. How long had he been back from that place? One day at a time? So many days squashed, forgotten, obliterated.

He turned to look at houses newer than his own. This was Blundellsands; this was the area Blondell had grabbed for himself, and it was valuable. Million-pound residences all in a row, fairy lights everywhere, trees in gardens illuminated by garish décor. What a bloody mess.

No. He was the mess. He could remember way, way back, but recent days, weeks and months had been compressed into a folder marked
Bad
, and he had disposed of it. ‘They say it’s temporary,’ he told his canine friend. ‘But I think I’ve lost it, old son.’

Samson, who had enjoyed a good upbringing, made a polite little noise in his throat. The house to which he begged to return had been interesting today. Scents of last night’s cooking had hung in the air, and he wanted to taste all that had been promised.

‘OK,’ Richard sighed. ‘It’s all right for you. You don’t have to pretend to be human.’

They began the walk back to Mersey View. Richard didn’t want to face the hopeful smiles, the dinner, his children. Harley Street had been acceptable, because he hadn’t needed to try, since it was just tufted Wilton and politeness and strangers. And expensive. Here was real, and he wasn’t ready for reality.

‘I have insight into my own condition,’ he told Samson. ‘That’s what they said, anyway. In other bloody words, I should pull myself together.’ He liked this dog. Moira had . . . Moira had liked this dog. ‘Let her in, Rich,’ he ordered himself. ‘Go there. Be there. Think about your wife. And for everybody’s sake, grieve, and let go.’

‘He’s out there running round like bloody Heathcliff in a mac.’ Carol Makin folded her arms across a bosom that was overly ample. ‘I’ve gone out of me way for him on Christmas Day, and he’s not here. I’ll kill him when I find him, I will. I’ll bloody crown him with me roasting tin.’