The Liverpool Trilogy (89 page)

Her purposefulness attracted followers who tried to latch on without being noticed. They noticed each other, of course, though it was quite commonplace for the leader of this route march to
remain completely unaware that she was exercising a whole regiment. Unfairness set in when the shop hove into view. It was easily identifiable, as there was usually a queue outside. The ranks put a
spurt on and overtook their not-really-commanding officer, often leaving her to bring up the absolute rear.

When the shop door slammed and the
CLOSED
sign appeared, shoulders drooped and a corporate sigh was offered up by the whole congregation. Somewhere towards the back, a little woman would
be on the rampage, spitting, swearing and clobbering people with an empty shopping basket. It was all par for the course, and no one took much notice. This did not happen in Crosby, of course.
Crosby was too dignified. Underhand behaviour might elicit a quiet sigh of disgust, animal faeces on a gate and, occasionally, the odd unsigned letter that pulled no punches, but there were no
wrestling matches in the streets.

It was after one of these fruitless treks that Eileen was stopped in the main shopping area of Crosby village. Her newly arrived companion was Dr Tom Bingley, who was developing a habit of
popping up all over the place, and he was bearing gifts in the form of two tins of salmon and two oranges. ‘For you,’ he said.

She took out her purse to pay.

‘No, Eileen. I get these things from grateful patients.’ Even when pregnant, she shone. Clear eyes, glossy hair with escaping tendrils, perfect skin, slender fingers . . . Oh, he
shouldn’t look, shouldn’t be so bloody stupid.

‘Do you?’ She remembered telling his wife that he would do nothing to damage his precious reputation, yet just a year or so earlier, he had threatened to embrace Eileen in public and
cause a divorce. She didn’t trust him. He was warming up again, was working on a last desperate plan before she left Crosby for Willows. He was actually panicking. ‘Then I don’t
want them. The patients mean your family to have them.’

‘But the baby—’

‘Is my problem, mine and Keith’s. Leave me alone.’

‘I can never do that.’ His voice was low and quite chilling. ‘No matter where you go, it—’

‘Will never be over,’ she finished for him. ‘I am six months pregnant with the child of a man I would die for. He loves me so well and so thoroughly that I have no need, time
or energy for anyone else. I am off the market, Tom. Not just rationed and in short supply – I am completely out of stock.’ It was true. Any residual desire for this man had dissipated
completely. Did he care at all for his family? Was he aware that his son . . . No, she must not think of it. As the sole keeper of her daughter’s big secret, she needed to tread softly.

‘I love you, and you know it.’

He touched her hand, and she felt nothing apart from skin on skin. Well, almost nothing . . . ‘You love Marie, and she knows it.’

‘And you know I’d leave her for you. It makes no sense to me, either, so I just accept it.’

‘And I’m pregnant.’

‘And I noticed. You carry beautifully.’

‘My baby wants no new visitors calling in.’

Tom hid a smile with his free hand. She called a spade a bloody shovel, didn’t she? What was it about her? Why her? If he put his mind to it, he could surely find a quiet little woman with
hidden depths and raging hormones. But he already had that in his newly improved wife. Whenever he thought deeply about Eileen, which he did frequently, he realized that what he loved was her
playfulness, her outright silliness. He wanted to park her with cups on a draining board, carry her around like a sack of King Edwards, mess about before breakfast, chase her on the beach.

‘Tom, I have to get home.’

‘I’ll drive you.’

‘You’ve already driven me mad. Go away.’

‘I’ll miss you.’ Even a glimpse of her in the street was pleasure. The thought of Crosby without her was unbearable. Taking photographs to Willows for Phil was not going to be
enough, because he could not travel every week just to see Madam. He had already posted three packets. And Phil was living at a different address; he would probably stay there, as there was no room
at Keith’s place in Willows Edge. ‘Your husband knows how I feel about you.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is he angry?’

She shook her head. ‘He knows there’s no danger of me betraying him.’

‘Yet you’re tempted.’

‘No. I am not. He is enough for me, Tom. We have a very strong bond, and only death could separate us. I was happy with Laz, but this is perfect. So stay out of it, because you are wasting
your own time and mine. Oh, and don’t think about killing him, because if anything happens I’ll get the police on to you before you’ve breathed in. Now get out of my way, because
I am going home.’

‘You’re furious.’

She made no reply, turned and strode away. With her fingers crossed, she walked over to the opposite pavement and prayed that he would not make a scene. There was madness in him, and not a
little desperation. She knew how powerful and confusing love could be, knew the strength of his feelings for her. It hadn’t been like that between her and Keith. Keith had tumbled clumsily
into love, but she had eased her way towards him. She had chosen a good man, and had waited months to marry him.

The fool was kerb-crawling up Manor Road.

‘Do you have half an hour to spare, miss? Want to earn a few bob? My place isn’t too far away, and I’ve got some sugar.’

‘What are you after?’ she asked.

‘Just your body.’

‘That’s all right, then.’ Eileen climbed in next to her husband. ‘This baby is huge,’ she complained. ‘I think she’s going to turn up with a full suite
of furniture and a gas mask.’

Keith’s mind was still focused on Bingley. ‘I watched you with him,’ he said. ‘He isn’t giving up, is he?’

‘No. He’s behind us.’

Keith sighed and looked in his rear-view mirror. He understood the desperate mind of Tom Bingley, but had their positions been reversed Keith would have walked away. Perhaps in his twenties he
might have resorted to unusual methods, but he had grown up. Tom Bingley hadn’t; he was still a lad chasing pots of gold at the ends of rainbows. Dr Bingley’s childishness reminded
Keith of Jay . . .

‘We’ll be gone from here soon, Keith. And I look like the side of a house, so I doubt he’ll pursue me.’
You carry beautifully
, he had said.

Keith stopped the car and waited until Tom had overtaken him. The fact that he was still in the picture while Eileen was temporarily misshapen carried ominous implications. It was becoming clear
that the doctor’s interest went beyond the merely physical; he had fallen hook, line and waders for Eileen and was bent on reeling her in. ‘He loves you, and I can’t blame
him.’

She shook her head. ‘He wants me.’

‘While you’re pregnant? While you’re huge with our baby? Sweetheart, he’s crazy about you, and he’s out of control. He may think he’s clever, and he may
actually be clever, but he’s as capable as the next man of losing his page in the book. If he slips off the edge of reason, forty miles is no distance for a madman. I’m going to talk to
his wife.’

‘No.’

‘But Eileen—’

‘No,’ she repeated. ‘She’s been through enough. If anyone talks to her, it will be me. She’s been a frightened, lonely girl for as long as she can remember. Men are
not her favourite people, so leave her alone.’ Eileen took her husband’s hand. ‘Do you mind if we baptize this one Francesca Helen? We’d use the Helen, but the fancy first
name would be for Miss Morrison.’

It was ideal, and he told her so. Her mother was Helen, while his had been Ellen. ‘But we don’t want another Nellie,’ he insisted. ‘One’s enough.’

She agreed. The thought of another Nellie Kennedy caroming her way through life was exhausting. In truth, Eileen was exhausted anyway. Had she walked too far in pursuit of salmon? Had she . . .
‘Keith, we need to get home. Something’s wrong with me.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t feel well.’

Immediately, he set the car in motion. Should he drive quickly or slowly? Neither seemed right, so he went along at thirty. But he didn’t take her home; instead, he drove to Dr
Ryan’s surgery. ‘Stay there,’ he ordered before dashing into the building. If Tom bloody Bingley’s mithering had damaged Eileen, the man would be dead in an hour or two. She
had to be all right. She mattered more than any baby.

Pandemonium followed. A man who had been waiting to see the doctor about an ingrowing toenail forgot his discomfort and helped Keith carry Eileen through to the surgery, where she was placed on
an examination trolley. Keith stayed at the top end and held his wife’s hand while Dr Ryan dealt with the lower department. ‘The plug’s out,’ she announced.

‘What plug?’ the patient demanded.

Dr Ryan smiled at her. ‘This is pregnancy number five, and you don’t know about plugs?’

‘Only in sinks and baths,’ Eileen’s replied. ‘Can’t you shove it back in?’

‘Same principle as sinks and baths, but no, I can’t just shove it back. A plug of mucus wedges in the neck of the womb to protect the pregnancy. If it comes out, premature labour is
a distinct possibility. Now, listen to me, Eileen. You aren’t going to like this, but you sure as hell are going to follow my instructions. You will not walk at all. You will take wheat germ
and vitamin C. The vitamin C will be in bottles of orange juice – like the ones we give to children, government issue.’

‘Bugger,’ said Eileen quietly. ‘What about going to the lav?’

‘Bedpan.’

‘Shit.’

‘Exactly,’ said the seasoned medic. ‘Keith has to nurse you. You are about twenty-seven weeks. The closer we can get to forty, the better. For meals, you may sit up. Apart from
that, you lie flat with your feet raised higher than your head.’

‘How exciting. And how nice for a man who still thinks I’m a goddess. He’ll have to wipe my backside.’

The doctor continued seamlessly. ‘A nurse will come twice a day. You may develop pressure sores on your heels and on your rear, so Keith and the nurse will rub the areas with surgical
spirit several times a day. If you get sores, stop the spirit and ask the nurse for cream. Do not attempt to hold back faeces in order to avoid embarrassment. If you try to time bowel movements to
coincide with the nurse’s visits, you will harm the baby. The orange juice will keep you regular.’

Eileen closed her eyes. In her opinion, if men had to go through this kind of rubbish, on top of big bellies, exhaustion and pain, the human race would die out in decades. ‘And when my
legs seize up?’

‘They will be massaged and exercised gently on a daily basis.’

‘Whoopee.’

‘Don’t get excited,’ advised Elizabeth Ryan, sarcasm tinting the words. ‘We are going to save this baby. Mel needs a sister, and your lovely husband will enjoy being a
daddy. So shut up and get on with it.’

The patient opened one eye. ‘It could be a boy.’

‘It’s a girl,’ the doctor replied. ‘Don’t ask how I know, I just do.’ She spoke to Keith. ‘Take no nonsense from her. If anything happens, call me night
or day. If I’m not here, someone else will come to you. The main thing is to keep her still.’

‘She has a low boredom threshold, doc.’

‘I think we all know that. Oh, and the move to Bolton is not possible. I know it’s not ideal, but she must stay here in Crosby, in bed, until she has delivered safely.’

For Eileen, this last piece of information proved too much, and she burst into tears. ‘I’ll never get away from him,’ she sobbed. ‘And I’ll be a sitting –
well, a lying-down duck when you’re at work and Mel’s at school. He won’t leave me alone. You saw him today. He was standing there again, telling me how much he loves me.
I’m too tired for all that rubbish.’

Keith stroked his beloved’s hair and spoke to their doctor. ‘Bingley,’ he snapped.

‘I know. Miss Morrison told me.’

‘He’s just kept her standing on Moor Lane for about ten minutes. Eileen, I will not leave you except for shopping. I may even get someone to stay with you while I’m out for a
short time. He can’t be allowed to win, love. We mustn’t be defeated by a man as low as that one. For my war work, I’ll join the ARP and be a warden in the evenings while
Mel’s with you.’ He was terrified. He wanted to wrap her in cotton wool and lie with her until the baby was born. He also wanted to kick the living daylights out of a certain doctor who
was hurting Eileen.

‘Leave Bingley to me,’ ordered Elizabeth Ryan.

Eileen’s tears dried. ‘What can you do? What can anyone do?’

Elizabeth’s face was grim. At this moment, she was not a doctor; she was a woman fighting for one of her own sex. The woman wanted to kick seven shades of shit out of Tom, but the doctor
had to be in charge.

‘What can you do?’ Eileen asked again.

‘I can lose him his job.’ She picked up the phone and gave the operator a number. ‘Marie? Yes, yes, I’m fine. You? Good. That little makeshift ambulance the WVS has, does
it have a stretcher? Oh, great. Mrs Greenhalgh is in danger of going into premature labour. I need your ambulance here and two or three big men round at Miss Morrison’s house. Yes. Yes. I
want the furniture bringing downstairs again, and the cage round the bed. Thank you. That’s brilliant.’

Keith and Eileen breathed again. For a moment, they had expected Dr Ryan to tell Marie that her husband was out of order.

‘Don’t ask me any more questions about my . . . colleague. Sorry about your dining room, but you’ll have to store it upstairs.’ She glared at the supine patient.
‘You are staying downstairs because I don’t trust you. On the ground floor, you’ll be easier to watch.’

Eileen muttered something about handcuffs and the ill-treatment of innocent women. ‘Miss Morrison was a suffragette,’ she finished.

‘Shut up,’ Keith and the doctor ordered simultaneously.

Eileen shut up. There was a distinct absence of sympathy in the world these days. But she would save Keith’s baby, by heck, she would. He wanted a child, and he would have to work hard to
look after her, so he deserved the best child ever.