Lovers and Liars Page 13

Tears of anger filled her eyes. ‘I long ago disowned my immediate family. After what happened to that good woman, I swore I would never be tied by man nor child, and from that day to this I’ve never regretted it.’

  John was sorry for the upset she had suffered and, to her surprise and gratitude, he told her so.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, I’m best on my own,’ she went on, calmer now. ‘I’ve no responsibilities. I’ve got my own business, which pays for all the help I get, and nobody to answer to …’

  While she chatted on, seemingly oblivious to his presence, John supped his tea and let his thoughts drift back to Emily. It was barely forty-eight hours since he had left her behind, and since arriving here he had walked the streets, not knowing or caring where he was. Some blind instinct had brought him back to Liverpool, although he had now decided against going back to sea. Oh, Emily … he yearned for her.

  It was hard to understand that she could just stop loving him, especially when they had spoken at great length of their feelings for each other and their plans for a future life together. He truly believed she had been as sincere as himself. And now, seeing her like that, so idyllically happy with her new man, and the two of them blessed with a beautiful daughter, was soul-destroying.

  It all seemed so final. And however much he might want to change what had happened, he realised there was nothing he could do but accept the situation.

  Emily had stopped loving him. That was painfully clear.

  In the early hours, after arriving back in Liverpool, wandering the streets and trying to fathom out where it had all gone wrong, he had slowly begun to think more clearly, and what he thought was this.

  As far as he could see, he had two choices. He could either throw himself into the murky waters of the River Mersey and end it all, or he could be grateful that Emily had found happiness, and forge ahead to do the best with what Fate handed him.

  In the end there was no choice at all.

  Whether he liked it or not, however much it weighed on his heart, he had to make a new life without her.

  He had money in his pocket, and plans to make. Tomorrow he would look for his old friend, Archie.

  So, with that in mind he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, though he knew he would not sleep.

  How could he, with Emily so strong in his mind?

  Woken by the delicious aroma of bacon, John climbed sleepily out of bed. He had slept like a log, oblivious to any of the noises outside. His first thought was Emily; his second was the hard-earned money that would forge his future without her. Although he had left a substantial sum with Lizzie, he had taken enough to see him through, for a while at least.

  Always aware of thieves and opportunists, John had wisely taken precautions against someone stealing his money while he slept. He was sure that his landlady was vigilant in her choice of lodgers, but you never could tell. He’d locked his door too, mind …

  Going straight to the window, he took hold of the curtain and, drawing it aside, checked that his wad of money was still securely rolled into the hem. Archie himself had relayed the trick of hiding valuables in the curtain. ‘A thief will turn furniture upside down and tear your mattress from end to end, but he’ll hardly ever examine the curtains.’ That was his advice and John had never forgotten it.

  Having checked that it was secure, John decided to leave it there while he had his wash at the basin. The smell of that warm, crisping bacon was playing tunes on his stomach.

  Stripping to the waist, John filled the bowl with cold water from the jug and began to wash and shave. The generous layer of carbolic felt good and invigorating on his skin, and the swill of water afterwards made his skin tingle and shiver. It was a good feeling.

  At the dresser, where he had unpacked his kitbag, he shook out a clean singlet and soft collarless shirt, which he quickly buttoned on. That done, he was soon ready for a hearty breakfast.

  As always, when he went out of the door, locking it behind him, it was Emily who kept him company. She filled his heart and mind as he went down the stairs, and she was beside him as he entered the breakfast-room.

  ‘Good morning, young man!’ Harriet waved a knife towards the one empty table. ‘Sit yourself down and I’ll have your breakfast in front of you before you know it.’ With that she ambled away.

  As John made himself comfortable at the tiny table, the other two lodgers gave him the once-over. ‘Morning!’ The man who spoke was middle-aged, bald, and bore the hangdog look of someone weighed down with worries.

  Judging by the smart clothes and the newspaper laid out before him, John thought he might be a salesman or a clerk. ‘Morning,’ he replied with a nod of his head and a smile. ‘The landlady seems a good sort, don’t you think?’ The smile soon faded when the man looked away without another word.

  ‘You’re right. She is a good sort.’ That was the frail, elderly woman by the window. ‘I’ve lodged in this house for almost two years off and on, and never a cross word.’ She was buttering a slice of toast while peering at it through her lorgnettes; her hands, he noticed, were clad in old-fashioned lace mittens.

  John gave her a friendly nod. ‘Really?’ He wondered what she meant by the remark that she had lodged in the house ‘for almost two years off and on’, and thought maybe she was a relative of Harriet’s, who liked to pay a visit from time to time. Her scent of lavender and camphor made him think of his Aunt Lizzie.

  There was no chance to carry on any conversation, because the woman then took her leave, shortly followed by the man. A moment later, Harriet returned with his breakfast. ‘I wasn’t sure of what you liked best,’ she told him, ‘so I gave you a measure of everything. What you don’t want, you can leave. I won’t mind a bit.’

  Setting the plate on the table she watched his mouth open in astonishment. ‘My God!’ The plate was piled high with fried tomatoes, four rashers of bacon, three sausages, two eggs, a generous helping of fried potatoes, and two plump rings of black-pudding. ‘You must think I need fattening up!’

  ‘That’s because you do!’ she retorted. ‘You sailors are all alike. Surviving on meagre rations at sea, and afraid to spend your money on good food when you come ashore.’

  John took up his knife and fork. ‘How did you know I was a sailor?’

  ‘Hmh!’ Placing her two hands on her chubby hips, she gave him a knowing smile. ‘It didn’t take much. I knew it the minute I clapped eyes on you. Your kitbag, for one. You were browned from the sea-air for another. And you looked like you needed a good meal inside you. What! I’ve seen more fat on a dried-up chicken-bone.’ She gave him a curious look. ‘I suppose you’ll be going back to sea soonever you’ve spent your hard-earned money?’

  Digging the prongs of his fork into a juicy sausage, John took a bite; the sausage melted in his mouth, leaving behind all manner of sensational tastes. ‘That’s the best sausage I’ve ever tasted,’ he told her, his mouth full.

  ‘Ah well, that’s because I make them myself,’ she revealed. ‘Best cut of young pork, minced with a mangling of apple and a mix of my own spices, churned to perfection, then cooked on a wire tray over the pan.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I cooked some for the butcher once and he’s been after me for the recipe ever since. He won’t get it though. It was my mother’s.’

  John thought there was a deeper side to this woman than she ever let on. ‘I thought you said you didn’t bake if you could help it?’

  ‘And I don’t. Baking and cooking are not the same thing, young man.’

  John was curious. ‘Oh, and how’s that then?’

  Harriet explained the best she could. ‘Baking is kneading over a bowl for hours on end. It’s making bread and pies and such, and rolling out pastry until your back aches. Or it’s beating cake mixtures until your hand is ready to drop off. Y’see, cooking is quicker, not so laborious. In fact, it’s a pleasure.’

  John laughed. ‘Well, I never. I always thought they were one and the same.’

  She too gave a hearty laugh. ‘And now
you know different, don’t you? Oh, and you still haven’t answered my question.’

  John took another bite of the sausage, allowing the meat to ooze its juices onto his taste-buds. He gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘What question was that?’

  ‘I asked if you would be going back to sea?’

  ‘No, I won’t be going back … ever.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘I’ve got the time if you have.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Shaking his head, John cut a slice of the egg. ‘Do I get a drink with this breakfast?’ He wasn’t in the mood for talking about Emily, not even to this likeable soul.

  Harriet was mortified. ‘A mug o’ tea for you and a drop of the old stuff for me,’ she said. ‘I’ll sit alongside you while you eat your breakfast, and you can tell me all about your troubles.’ No sooner said than done, she was off and, in a minute, had the kettle whistling on the stove.

  John didn’t know whether to wolf down his breakfast and leave, or enjoy it at leisure while confiding his ‘troubles’ in Harriet.

  He didn’t have much time to ponder, because now she was back and seated opposite, a large mug of tea steaming in front of his plate, and a glass of what looked like wine in her hand. ‘What do I call you?’ she asked. ‘You must have a name.’

  ‘The name’s John,’ he answered. ‘John Hanley.’

  ‘Go on then, John Hanley,’ she urged. ‘Talk away. There’s only the two of us here now, and don’t you worry, because whatever you have to say won’t go beyond these four walls. It’s a rule of mine, never to pass on what’s told me in confidence.’

  For some reason John trusted her. This was surprising to him, as he had only just met her. As a rule, he was wary of strangers but somehow she had a way about her that made him think of Lizzie.

  So he opened his heart to her. He told her about Emily, and the plans they had made. He gave a short account of Clem Jackson, and how that monster of a man had the Ramsden family by the throat. He outlined how he and Emily had spoken at length, about their love and their future, and how he had decided that the only solution for them all was for him to go where he could make money. Afterwards they would be rid of Clem Jackson, and he and Emily would wed and raise a family. ‘But she didn’t wait,’ he said sadly. ‘She married some other man. They have a child – a lovely daughter.’

  Harriet had listened intently, and now she had a question. ‘When you saw her there, did you think she seemed happy?’

  John thought of Emily, of how she was laughing. He saw the light in her eyes and recalled how she and the man seemed to share such joy in the child, and each other. ‘Yes,’ he answered quietly. ‘She seemed happy enough.’

  Harriet could see his pain, and now as she spoke, it was with a tenderness that belied her clumsy frame and hitherto brusque manner. ‘For what it’s worth,’ she told him, ‘I think you must put her behind you and start again. It seems that someone else came along with the means of giving her the contentment she needed. Be glad for her. That’s all you can do.’

  John knew she was right and thanked her. ‘I can try,’ he said. ‘But I’ll never forget her.’

  She gave a knowing smile. ‘Of course you won’t,’ she said. ‘That first love is the one you remember for the rest of your life.’

  John was surprised at the softness in her voice, and when he looked at her as he did now, he was taken aback to see a lone tear run down her homely face. Realising he had seen it, she quickly brushed it away and was her usual brisk self again. ‘Right! Must get on.’ In a minute she was out of her chair and heading for the kitchen.

  A moment later John followed her. She was standing at the pot-sink with her back to him. ‘I wanted to ask you something …’ he began.

  When in that moment she turned round, he saw her puffy eyes and the hurried way in which she thrust the handkerchief into her pinny pocket, and he was sorry to have intruded. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he apologised. ‘It can wait.’

  As he turned to leave, she called him back. ‘If it could wait, you wouldn’t have come to the kitchen after me,’ she chided. ‘What is it you want to ask?’

  John told her about Archie. ‘He’s been a good friend,’ he explained. ‘His seafaring life is over, and now he has nothing to fall back on. The last time we parted, he told me he was looking for digs. He didn’t have much money, and he wouldn’t let me help. I’ve a feeling he has need of me, and the trouble is, I don’t know where to look for him.’

  Harriet considered the matter for a moment before telling John, ‘If he did find a place to stay, you’ll have to try every lodging-house in Liverpool until you find him. On the other hand, if he didn’t find one to suit his purse or person, you might try the inns hereabouts; it’s likely you’ll find him drowning his sorrows. If that fails, you’ll need to look under the railway arches. That’s where some unfortunate folks lay their heads when they don’t find a home for whatever reason.’

  John had an inkling of hope. ‘When I find him, and if he isn’t yet fixed up, is it possible you could arrange a bed for him here? I’ve got the money to pay, and it would only be for a few nights, until we get him a regular place. Is the back room still unoccupied?’

  Reluctantly, Harriet had to refuse. ‘I only have the three bedrooms, and Miss Hamilton came yesterday and took the last, so no, I’m sorry, I can’t do it.’

  As John thanked her and made to leave, she had an idea. ‘If it was only for two or three nights at the most, I dare say I could put a camp-bed in with you. It would be a squash and I couldn’t allow it for more than three nights.’ She paused. ‘I don’t mind telling you, I’m not happy about the idea. It’s not a big room at the best of times, and it would be a terrible nuisance cleaning around all that clutter …’

  Sensing she was about to change her mind, John gave her a hug. ‘Archie may have already found himself a bed,’ he pointed out, ‘but if he needs to share my room, I promise it won’t be for longer than three nights, and with me alongside, we can double the efforts to find him a place of his own.’

  Swayed and delighted by John’s impulsive hug, Harriet relented. But she had terms, and she stated them now. ‘I’ll want an extra shilling a day for use of the cot, and cleaning and such, and that will cover his breakfast as well. I’ll also need to give him the once-over before I agree altogether,’ she warned. ‘As you know, I’m particular as to who stays in my house.’

  John thanked her again. ‘I hope I find him, and that if I do, he’s in good spirits,’ he told her. ‘He’s not a young man any more.’

  For the next four hours, John tramped the streets and back alleys of Liverpool. He searched every inn along the dockside, his first call being at the Sailor’s Rest, where he had last seen Archie.

  ‘I’ve not seen him since the two of you sat at that there table.’ The same big, hairy landlord pointed to the table where John and Archie had sat talking. ‘Hey! If you’re in need of another bath, I’ll soon have one at the ready …’

  Disappointed, John thanked him and left to continue his search.

  The answer was the same at every inn, and now, two sore feet and a heavy heart later, this was the last. ‘Sorry, matey.’ The landlord shook his head. ‘Can’t recall nobody of that description.’

  Before he left, John asked the same of this landlord that he’d asked of all the others. ‘If he does come in, tell him John Hanley’s looking for him, and say I’ll keep looking till I find him.’ He didn’t give his address; revealing too much about yourself was never a wise thing. He had learned that along the way.

  Next stop was the railway arches.

  Going from the docklands, he crossed a network of narrow streets and, following the run of the railway-track, headed off towards the arches. What he saw there was a sobering reminder to John of the desperation that dogged the lives of so many in this big city. There were vagabonds huddled under sacks, ragged boys raiding middens for food, scowling, devious characters lurking at every cor
ner, and stray dogs roaming. The stench of urine and booze hung over every back alley.

  Hoping against hope that his friend Archie would be found safe and well, John intensified his search.

  When he had checked every nook and cranny, he sat dejected on the doorstep of a narrow house. He couldn’t think where he should look next, for he had already looked everywhere in the vicinity. Besides, he suspected Archie would never wander far away from the docks. Man and boy, he had always lived hereabouts.

  Suddenly, from somewhere close by, he heard a woman screeching abuse: ‘And don’t come back, you filthy, lying old git! Not unless you want the dogs tearing at your arse. Go on! Bugger off with you!’

  The tirade was followed by the slam of a door, then the sound of a man in desperate voice. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Sadie! I really have got property abroad. Anybody will tell you the same. When you and me get wed, I’ll take you there. SADIE! Let me in.’ There came the sound of a boot against wood. ‘Oh, sod you then! You’re not the only woman to be had, not by a long chalk. You’ll be the sorry one. You see if I’m not right, you miserable old cow!’

  Now, as the little man turned, it was to see John standing there, legs akimbo and a smile across his face. ‘Shame on you, Archie,’ he tutted with a shake of his head. ‘I knew you had a reputation with women, but I’d have thought you were past all that by now?’

  It took a moment for the little man to realise who it was, and when it dawned on him, he gave a loud whoop and a holler and threw his cap in the air. ‘JOHN! Well, I never!’ With his wispy hair stood on end, and a broad grin from ear to ear, he more than ever resembled a leprechaun. ‘I’m blowed if it’s not my old shipmate. Oh, but am I glad to see a familiar face!’

  Eagerly flinging his arms round John he almost had the two of them unbalanced. ‘What’s brought you back, son? Oh, look now, this calls for a drink, only I’m spent out. That bloody Sadie – took me for every penny, she did, then threw me out on the streets like some old baggage. What d’you think to that, eh?’

  John thought it served him right and said so. Soon, though, he had a comforting arm round his old mate, and was marching him off to the nearest public-house. ‘I knew you’d be up to no good,’ he chided. ‘Chasing women, causing trouble and dossing anywhere you could lay your head.’