A Mersey Mile (53 page)

‘Oh, give them one of your pills, then.’

They watched their visitor as he drove away. ‘Now, that’s a good man,’ Tom said. ‘Few and far between, these days.’

She opened her eyes. Two people stood next to the high hospital bed. They were staring at her. The light was bright, too bright. To escape the glare and the pain in her head
and neck, she went back to sleep.

Christine grabbed her husband’s arm. ‘She didn’t know me.’

‘She didn’t stay awake long enough to see properly,’ he replied.

‘It’s going to be Christmas soon. I want her home by then.’

‘It’s out of our hands, Christine.’

She nodded wearily. It was a waiting game, but who would win? Could anyone win against odds like these?

Father Chris Foley entered his presbytery. This was to be a big, ecumenical Christmas, the first so far in these parts. Mary was a Methodist, Joseph a Catholic, while the angel
Gabriel attended a Church of England school. The dress rehearsal was tonight, and Chris had persuaded Frank to help him out. Something had to be done to make Frank snap out of his sad frame of
mind.

Billy Blunt was up to no good; Chris felt it in his bones. It was connected to a couple of sheepskins acquired by the lad in exchange for helping in Bartletts’ Butchers. Billy was head
shepherd, and God alone knew what the child’s plans were. Chris grinned as he ate the meal left by his housekeeper; Billy would drag Frank out of the doldrums.

The front door opened. ‘Chris?’

‘Hello, Frank.’

Frank entered the living area. ‘Did you get to see Gladys?’

‘I did, and she’s grand. You’re early.’

‘For a reason,’ Frank said before placing himself in a chair opposite his best friend. ‘I want absolution. There’s no point in the confessional box, because you know my
voice as well as you know your own.’

‘So you want to confess face to face?’

‘Yes. And it has to be you, as long as you don’t make me laugh.’

‘Laugh? You haven’t laughed since London. Though the committee they sent up to look at us was hysterical. No change of plan, of course. We’re still to be demolished, and there
are no short-term plans to rebuild on the site. I’ll just go and get the essentials.’ He fetched his stole and stood for a moment deep in thought. This, then, was probably the reason
behind Frank’s long silence. His decision to quit the faith had seemed so final, yet . . .

‘Chris? You’re standing there like a shop dummy.’

‘Am I?’

‘Yes. So, what’s the matter?’

Chris smiled. ‘Why, Frank?’

‘Do I need a reason to ask for absolution?’

‘No, but I’m curious.’

Frank nodded. ‘All right. A quarter inch in any direction, and that bullet would have killed me.’

‘Ah, so you’ve been thinking, is it?’

‘And praying. And trying to come to terms with being alive and having a beautiful wife and a lovely daughter. Then there’s Elaine Lewis and her poor mother. I mean, Elaine scarcely
knew what she was doing, though she seemed so self-assured and proud. I’m grateful. So I’m back, put up with it.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ Chris kissed the stole of advent, a beautiful item in purple and gold. He placed it across his shoulders and down his chest before laying a hand on the head
of his closest friend.

‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,’ Frank began. ‘It’s been years since my last confession.’

‘Kneel on a cushion, Francis. Welcome home.’

Ida and Hattie, in charge of wise men and shepherds, were flustered. The wise men were idiots, while the shepherds showed a marked lack of self-control; had they been in charge
of a flock, there would have been many lost sheep.

‘Billy Blunt?’ Hattie yelled. ‘Get your backside and your front side in here immediately, if not sooner.’

Billy’s head insinuated itself round the door of the school hall. ‘Did somebody shout me?’ he asked innocently.

Ida went to break up a fight between Gold and Myrrh. Frankincense had disappeared with Mary. As Frankincense was Catholic and Mary was Methodist, their long-term relationship didn’t look
too promising.

‘Billy, what are you up to?’ Hattie asked.

‘I’m not doing nothing.’

The greengrocer folded her arms. ‘I know you’re not doing nothing, because you are up to something.’

‘Me?’ he asked, wide-eyed.

‘No, your shadow. Go and find Mary and Frankincense. They’ll be holding hands in the Wendy house. Ida?’

‘What?’

‘Gold’s gold’s ripped.’

‘You what?’

‘The gold stuff covering his cornflakes box – it’s torn.’

Frank and Chris walked in.

‘Where’ve you been till now?’ Ida demanded to know. ‘Frank, have a go at mending this gold, will you? Father, Billy Blunt’s looking for a courting couple –
she’s five, and he’s eight. So now we need somebody to look for Billy Blunt while he’s looking for . . .’ She blew a strand of hair out of an eye. ‘Just sort it
out,’ she snapped. ‘And why are you late? This was all your idea, Father.’

‘Guilty as charged,’ he replied coolly, ‘and I’m late because a soul wanted saving.’

Ida shook her head. ‘Always the same story.’

‘Sorry,’ Chris mumbled. ‘It’s the truth this time.’

Frank tried to put Gold’s gold together with glue and sticky tape while Ida adjusted crowns and cloaks, though she was still one wise man short, and Chris set off on a Billy-hunt. He found
Mary and Frankincense, then Polly at the outer door. ‘Go at once to the hall,’ he ordered the children. They fled.

‘Did he do it, Father Chris?’ Polly asked.

‘He did, so.’

‘And is he OK?’

‘He’s great.’

‘Who would have thought?’ she said, almost to herself. ‘Frank the unbeliever confessing—’

‘No,’ Chris said, interrupting her flow. ‘Look at those who believe completely without doubt or question, Polly. Look at the eejits who bow and scrape and know the Latin Mass
by heart. Then consider your husband and me. Yes, me. I fight for my faith and with my faith. Frank saw death, and it pulled him up sharp. Here we are, a few weeks later, and he reached his own
conclusion, opened his own gateway to the future. There’s value in that.’

She nodded. ‘So quiet, he was.’

‘That’s because he had a long way to walk. Thomas was the greatest disciple in my book, since he doubted and had the guts to say so. And it was in St Thomas’s hospital that
Frank was saved. Now, we seem to have mislaid one Billy Blunt.’

‘Oh no.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Is he up to something?’

‘I’d bet me best cassock on it. You cover the infants’ side while I do the junior classrooms.’

Minutes later, the two met in the hall, each Billy-less. On the stage, the finishing tableau was being arranged. Shepherds (minus their leader) and wise men stood mute and motionless while Mary
held the infant with Joseph posed behind her left shoulder.

A blur of activity broke the spell. Daniel the sheep, who was better used to being Daniel the spaniel, shot across the stage like a bolt of black-and-white lightning. He didn’t like being
hot, hated the sheepskin that was tied to him. He didn’t like being on a lead while inside a building and he certainly didn’t like being bossed about by Billy.

The manger was upended, while Mary’s blue cotton veil got caught in the backdraught. Despite the chaos, the doll playing Jesus was heard calling ‘Mama’ before hitting the
floor. Three wise men threw down their gifts and fled without seeking guidance from the star or from Gabriel, who fell off his perch during an uncontrollable bout of laughter, while Billy, refusing
to let go of Daniel’s lead, was dragged across the stage.

Methodists, Anglicans and Catholics in the body of the hall clung together in bunches of hysteria. Frank and Chris managed to capture dog and child. Frank sat on Billy while Chris calmed the
dog.

‘I just wanted it to look real,’ Billy cried.

‘Shut up,’ Frank ordered. ‘There’s real, and there’s frightening people out of their seats.’

Chris agreed. ‘And putting Daniel in a sheepskin is cruel. It’s too hot for him.’ He sat on the floor next to Frank, a trapped Billy, a sheepskin and a panting spaniel.
‘Why do you always have to do your own thing, Billy?’

‘I don’t know. I get ideas. I thought we should have a sheep.’

‘He’s not a sheep,’ Frank snapped. ‘He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’

‘A spaniel,’ Billy insisted.

‘All dogs are wolves,’ Chris said.

‘Are they?’ The child’s eyebrows shot skyward.

‘Of course they are. Push them too far, and they run. Very brave creatures who came and sat by caveman’s fire and helped him hunt for food. Respect Daniel, Billy. If you want a
sheep, dress a human. Frank?’

‘What?’

‘You’ll be Billy’s sheep, won’t you?’

Frank glared at his Father Confessor. ‘Are you crackers, Chris?’

‘That’s a matter of opinion. Shall we take a vote?’

Polly arrived with a weeping Mary. ‘It’ll be all right on the night, folks,’ she said. ‘A bad dress rehearsal means a good performance.’ She cuddled the star of the
show. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she added.

‘Not if I’m being a sheep,’ Frank groaned.

‘Whose idea was that?’ Polly asked.

Frank and Billy pointed forefingers at Chris, while the dog pointed his nose in the same direction.

‘Father Chris, when will you learn? He’s too big for a sheep. More like a woolly mammoth, my Frank. Were they extinct when Jesus was born?’

Frank released Billy and stood up. It was time for order to be restored, and he was the man to do it. He walked towards the chaos that had been a stage.

Chris and Polly watched. ‘He’s with us,’ she said, sniffing back a tear. ‘Thanks, Father Chris, for bringing the lost sheep home.’

‘I thought you said he was a mammoth?’

‘No. He’s our boy, and we’re lucky people.’

‘We are so, Polly.’

‘What do you mean, you haven’t killed it yet? Where’s poor young Father Cummings?’ Frank paused and held the telephone receiver away from his face for a
few seconds. He took a deep breath before re-entering the fray. ‘Chris, for a priest, you don’t half tell some porkies. Has his family arrived?’ He paused for the reply.
‘Right. Are you coming? Are you sleeping here? OK. Roger and out, you fool.’ He replaced the receiver.

Polly was setting her Christmas table. ‘What’s he up to now?’ she asked.

‘Don’t ask.’

‘I’ve asked.’

Sighing, Frank sat on the sofa and picked up his daughter. ‘He reckons to have a huge turkey running round the garden with Mr Cummings behind it waving an axe. That new priest is taking
over for Christmas with his mam and dad so that Chris can come here. He can have the camp bed in my office. I despair of him, Pol. What do you think, Beth?’

The child delivered a perfect if rather damp raspberry.

‘Good girl,’ Polly chuckled.

‘Out of the mouths of babes,’ Frank sighed. ‘So, that’s Chris in the office on the camp bed, Cal, Linda and Cathy in the granny flat, Mother upstairs in Beth’s
room, Ida and Hattie in the spare room. As for . . .’ His voice died.

‘Christine and Richard?’ Polly asked.

‘They said they’d call in this afternoon.’

‘We must be mad, Frank.’

‘Absolutely. Have you had your head tested, love?’

‘No. They’re more interested in my nether regions while I’m expecting.’ She sat down. ‘Are you sure you’re up to seeing Elaine?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I’m sure. She sounds pretty harmless, babe.’

Polly shivered. It had never occurred to her that she might sit and eat cake with the woman who’d tried to kill Frank.

Frank read his wife’s thoughts. ‘She was ill.’

‘I know she was. It could have killed her even though it wasn’t cancer. But I can’t get what happened out of my brain, the way she turned and shot you. It runs through my head
sometimes, like a trailer for a film. Christine says she’s a bit like she was at fourteen, all horses and hairstyles.’

‘And a bit weak all down her left side, Pol. We’re Christians, aren’t we? She’s not been charged because of all the medical evidence. So, as Chris says, we have to open
our hearts and our doors. Just knock back a Guinness and let it all happen.’

‘OK. But stay away from her, lad. She loved you.’

‘She was mentally ill.’

‘Like I said, she loved you.’

He laughed.

‘Well, I should know,’ Polly insisted. ‘I suffer from the same disorder. Have you peeled all the sprouts?’

‘I have.’

‘And put streaky bacon on the turkey and two spuds in its belly to keep it moist?’

He nodded gravely. ‘And I’ve done pigs in blankets. Cal’s bringing white sauce and brandy butter, Hattie’s done the pudding and Ida’s made a cake. Stop
worrying.’

‘I’m trying.’

‘Yes, you are. Very trying.’

She stood up and returned to the kitchen. Everything would be all right; it had to be all right.

‘I’m putting Beth in her playpen,’ he called. ‘There’s not a lot of room in there; it’s full of her Christmas presents. But I’m going for Hattie and
Ida. Will you manage?’

‘Yes.’ Of course she would manage; she was a woman, wasn’t she?

Christmas dinner was in full swing. Added to the usual condiments was a lecture from Ida on the subject of indigestion remedies. After making her way through Milk of Magnesia
and bicarbonate of soda, she began on a list of ingredients that sounded as if they might have been put to better use on a building site.

Chris raised an eyebrow and interrupted. ‘You left out eye of newt and toe of frog, Ida.’

She frowned. ‘Are they any good?’

His answer was buried under gales of laughter.

Ida gazed at her fellow diners. ‘What have I done now?’ she asked.

‘We’re eating,’ Polly said when the chuckles stopped. ‘We’re eating, and you’re going on about stomach ache. Are you trying to say something about my
cooking?’

Hattie saved the situation. ‘You’d do better talking about my cooking, Ida. All the sixpences sank to the bottom of me pudding. I’m going back to plain flour next year. I think
all the fruit’s sunk, too. So any indigestion will be my fault, not Polly’s.’

Ida changed the subject by announcing that she was off upstairs to loosen her corsets. Hattie followed her; she intended to remove her restraining underwear altogether.