Through the Storm (18 page)

Part of the problem was he didn’t like the woman. In fact, he couldn’t stand her. Bert Hennessy, her dad, had been the epitome of a scavenging capitalist, earning his living by taking from the poor to make himself wealthy, and just as Jack’s daughters had inherited his blue eyes, Jessica had inherited Bert’s rotten philosophy. Not for her an honest day’s work in a factory or a shop. No, she had to start her own business. Embracing Jessica was like embracing everything he had fought against over his entire life.

‘Fine match, eh, Jack?’ Jimmy Quigley came up, rubbing his hands together with enthusiasm.

‘Excellent,’ Jack said, doing his best to equal Jimmy’s
enthusiasm
. The crowd were dispersing so he assumed the match was over. ‘Are we going home now?’

‘As soon as your Dominic’s got changed. You want to keep an eye on that lad, Jack. He could become a professional one day.’

Jack nodded. ‘I’ll do that.’

Jimmy began to chat about the game. He seemed to have memorised every single kick and assumed Jack had done the same. Jack managed not to disgrace himself; after all, Dominic was his eldest grandson and entitled to have his grandfather taking an interest. Apparently, he’d scored two of the goals and been responsible for the other. Jack made appropriate approving grunts from time to time.

‘D’you mind walking home with the lads, Jimmy?’ he said when the man paused for breath in the middle of his eulogy. ‘There’s someone I’d like to have a word with.’

‘Of course not, mate. I’ll see you in the King’s Arms tonight.’

The garage which Jessica Fleming had taken over was directly opposite the football ground, and the workshop doors were wide open as Jack Doyle crossed the road towards it. There was a large notice attached to the petrol pump, BICYCLES FOR SALE AND WANTED. He wondered if it had always been there, or was this some daft idea of Jessica’s?

There was the sound of women’s laughter coming from the back of the workshop where Jess was kneeling on the floor beside an upturned bike cleaning the rusty spokes with emery paper and another woman with unnatural carrot-coloured hair and still in her dressing gown was watching.

Neither noticed he was there for several seconds as he stood looking at the woman who disturbed him so greatly. She wore a pair of navy-blue overalls which were too short in the leg, exposing slender ankles. Although she’d tied a scarf around her red hair, little
tendrils
lay against her long white neck which moved gently as she rubbed the spokes. She was clearly putting every ounce of energy into the task.

‘Oh, we’ve got company!’ The other woman was the first to become aware of his presence. She looked at him coyly, pouting her lips in what she must have assumed was a seductive manner. ‘And what can we do for you, luv?’

Jack felt uncomfortable. He could have sworn the words held a double meaning.

‘Hallo, Jack,’ Jessica said sedately.

‘I just came to see how you were getting on, like,’ he mumbled.

‘In that case, I’ll love you and leave you.’ The top of the woman’s flowered dressing gown had fallen open, revealing a black lace nightie underneath. She paused too long before clutching the front together and giving Jack another coy look. ‘See you Monday, Jess.’

‘Have a nice weekend, Rita,’ Jessica said. The pair were obviously great mates.

‘Where’s Penny?’ Jack asked when the woman had left.

‘Asleep in her pushchair in the office,’ Jessica shifted her position, twisting her shoulders as if they were hurting.

Jack gestured around the workshop. ‘This is no place for a baby.’ He was angry with her for no reason he could think of, though perhaps the mere fact he was there was enough. He felt, unreasonably, that she’d drawn him into the place against his will.

‘Penny’s okay,’ Jessica said brusquely. ‘She’s happy anywhere.’

‘It’s not right,’ Jack burst out. ‘Why don’t you leave her with our Sheila and get a proper job like other women?’

‘Because Penny’s my child, not Sheila’s. It’s not right, shifting the responsibility onto someone else.’

‘In that case, why don’t you go back to Arthur?’ he said crossly. That would be the solution to everything. If she were out of his sight for ever, perhaps the longing for her soft white body would lessen. He’d forget her and life would return to. its inevitable and predictable pattern.

Jessica stopped work and looked at him with a mixture of amusement and outrage. ‘You’ve got a nerve, Jack Doyle,’ she snorted. ‘I’ve already told you once, it’s none of your business how I conduct my life. Did you come all this way just to tell me to go back to Arthur?’

‘I happened to be in the vicinity.’

She tossed her head and he noticed, fascinated, the way the little red curls on her neck fluttered wildly. ‘The trouble with you, Jack,’ she said hotly, ‘is you and your ilk can’t stand the thought of a woman being independent. It makes you feel scared, seeing one of us making a living on her own, particularly when she’s doing a man’s job. Perhaps I should have taken up dressmaking like Brenda Mahon and no-one would have minded so much.’

‘It’s nowt to do with that,’ he said, equally hotly. ‘I was thinking of Penny, that’s all.’

‘Penny’s none of your business, either.’ She squatted back on her heels and began to rub her right shoulder.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘My shoulder’s hurting a bit, that’s all.’

Despite himself, Jack’s innate chivalry came to the fore. ‘Here, let me do that for you. It’s no job for a …’ He bit his lip as he shoved her to one side, removed his jacket, and began to rub the spokes with a fresh piece of emery paper which was lying on the floor. ‘What are you up to, anyroad? I thought this was a garage, not a bike shop.’

‘It’ll be both from now on.’ She was behind him and he couldn’t see her face, but her voice was full of
determination
. ‘Someone mentioned how hard it was to get bikes nowadays. I drove round all the second-hand shops and pawnshops this morning and managed to get three.’ For the first time, he noticed two more bikes leaning against the wall, both in better condition than the one on which he was working.

‘I suppose you’ll sell them at a profit,’ he said sarcastically.

‘There wouldn’t be much point in doing it otherwise. I shall put an advert in the
Echo
this weekend.’ No, two adverts, thought Jessica; one under Articles for Sale and the other for Articles Wanted – and she’d put them in the
Bootle Times
as well. She’d left the telephone number of the garage with the shops that morning with the request they kindly let her know if they got more bikes in, and had written to Arthur and told him that, if things went the way she hoped, she would need the van, after all.

‘And if someone who’s hard up for a few bob offers you a bike, you’ll tell them it’s worth nothing, but you’ll take it off their hands for peanuts, just as a favour like.’ Jack could scarcely hide his contempt. ‘That’s what your dad used to do.’

‘I shall drive an honest bargain,’ Jessica said coldly.

‘Huh!’

‘I’m offering a service, Jack, a selection of bicycles all under one roof.’ She knew he didn’t like her, the attraction between them was purely physical, and she wasn’t prepared to change in order to alter his opinion – he had to take her as she was or not at all. Nevertheless, she felt uneasy that he seemed to think what she was doing was somehow dishonest. ‘Every time you buy a packet of cigarettes or a pound of sugar someone makes a profit. It’s the way of the world.’

‘Shopkeepers get their goods fair and square, not like your dad. The way he conducted business was little short of highway robbery.’

Jessica had reached the same conclusion herself some while back. She recalled when Bert Hennessy used to come home to their house in Pearl Street crowing over the fact he’d persuaded some poverty-stricken old women to part with a family treasure; a dish, a statue or a painting, which had perhaps been a wedding present and worth little when given, but become valuable with the passage of time. She’d crowed with him, particularly when the item was sold at a vast profit. She was an adult and Bert was dead before, looking back, she realised it was neither an honest nor an honourable way to make a living.

‘My father was wrong,’ she conceded briefly. ‘I shall offer everyone a fair price for their bikes.’ She’d only feel uncomfortable if she didn’t.

Jack turned, eyebrows raised. To admit, to him of all people, that Bert Hennessy had been wrong, in other words a crooked, twisting bastard of the worst sort, must have taken some courage. He couldn’t help but admire her. She might well be thoroughly irritating, but she was tough and a fighter. ‘As long as you do, I’ll come and give you a hand from time to time.’

He regretted the offer the minute he’d made it. It wasn’t that he minded the work, but he did mind helping to make a profit in a way he still felt wasn’t entirely above board, all of which only made him feel angry with Jess again, as if she’d forced the offer out of him against his will.

‘There’s no need,’ Jess said haughtily. ‘The whole thing’s my idea. I don’t expect help from anyone.’

‘There might be odds and ends you find hard to do, rusty bolts for instance,’ he argued – why was he arguing when he’d just regretted offering to help? ‘You haven’t got the strength to move this saddle, it’s completely rusted in.’

‘If there’s something I can’t do, I’ll just have to find a way to do it,’ Jess argued back, somewhat illogically. She
noticed
the spokes were gleaming on one wheel and he’d already nearly finished the other, whereas she’d spent all morning cleaning only a few. He stood up, turned the bike upright and clutched the saddle in his big hands. It twisted slightly one way, twisted more the other, and gradually began to move freely as he kept on. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up and she saw the muscles in his arms ripple. The coarse working trousers tightened over his thick haunches as he put his entire strength into removing the saddle, which must have been fixed on for years.

A shiver of desire passed through Jessica’s body which left her gasping, and it was a physical effort not to reach out and touch the broad taut neck which was so close. She made a sound and quickly put her hand to her mouth to prevent the sound from being heard.

Too late. Jack glanced in her direction. ‘Did you say something?’

Jessica shook her head numbly. Their eyes met and slowly, very slowly, his face flushed as he read the message in her eyes and on her face. Very carefully, he laid the bike on the floor and came towards her. She felt as if her insides had turned to liquid and could scarcely breathe as he approached …

At that moment, Penny decided to wake up. There was a whimper, followed by a gurgle and a slight crash as she attempted to scoot the pushchair out of the office, which was something she’d lately started to do.

The spell was shattered. ‘I’m coming, sweetheart.’

Jessica rushed into the office and picked her daughter up. Still shaking, she buried her face in the plump body.

‘Is she all right?’ Jack was standing in the doorway, his own face expressionless. The last few minutes might never have occurred.

‘She’s taken to regarding her pushchair as a scooter. I daren’t leave her outside shops any more, even with the brake on she manages to get a few yards.’

‘I’ll tighten the brake up for you. By the way, I’ve still got our Tony’s scooter in the washhouse. I made it for him when he was two. She may as well have it. I’ll bring it round one day.’

‘Thanks.’

Penny beamed at Jack. ‘Dada,’ she cooed.

‘She calls everyone that,’ Jessica said quickly. ‘Me, Rita, everyone. Do you mind holding her for a minute whilst I take these overalls off? It’s one o’clock, I’m going home.’ It wasn’t fair on Penny to work six full days a week. She’d take her into town that afternoon to see the decorations which were already up for Christmas – and deliver the advert for the
Echo
at the same time.

If only Penny hadn’t woken up, thought Jessica in the office as she struggled out of Dennis Mott’s overalls. Even so, it only brought the day when they’d make love again closer. She knew without a doubt that it was bound to happen some time, the sooner the better as far as she was concerned.

Outside the office, Jack Doyle wiped his brow with his free hand. ‘Jaysus!’ he muttered. ‘What’s got into me? If the baby hadn’t woken up …’

‘Dada,’ said Penny. She arched her spine and suddenly swung herself backwards as far as she could go, as if daring him to drop her. Jack managed to catch her before she slipped out of his arms.

‘You little bugger! You nearly went flying then,’ he said, frightened.

Penny pursed her lips and regarded him wisely. She clutched his ears and pressed her nose against his so he could scarcely breathe.

‘You’re a handful, Penny Fleming,’ he managed to splutter. ‘Just like your bloody mam, if the truth be known.’

‘Dada.’ She released his ears and laid her head on his shoulder. He glanced down fondly at the round curve of her cheek. Dada, she’d called him. He’d always loved
children
. It would have been nice if he and Mollie had had more.

Jack suddenly felt his blood run cold! Dada!

Sheila was always on about the similarity between Penny and Siobhan. ‘You’d think they were sisters. Wouldn’t you say so, Dad?’

He couldn’t recall having answered. Women always seemed to be seeing a likeness between people who couldn’t possibly be related. It hadn’t crossed his mind to do so before, but he began to work out the length of time between the night he’d found Jessica in number 5 – January, it was, the snow was thick on the ground – and when Penny had been born, which was September.

Nine months!

And Jess had spent more than twenty barren years with Arthur.

Penny raised her head and looked at him sleepily. Her blue eyes blinked with tiredness. Jack saw his own face staring back at him, just as he remembered doing when Eileen, his first-born, was the same age. Sheila had taken after Mollie. He knew without a doubt that this was his child.

Jessica emerged from the office dressed in a royal-blue jacket, slacks and jumper. She had removed the scarf and her long hair was held back with a slide.