For the Love of Liverpool by Ruth Hamilton

Author:Ruth Hamilton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan

Ten

It’s been emotional. I have just stolen a line from Vinnie Jones – in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, I think.

While we listened to the recording, I held Alex’s hand, which went limp occasionally, as if he were responding again to the hypnotist’s voice. All that blood, the lawn in his bad dreams turning from green to a muddy brownish red . . .

I stand and switch off the machine. Turning back, I kneel in front of him, and he places his hand on my head, threading his fingers through my cropped curls.

Finally he manages to speak. ‘You’ve heard the nightmare; now, I must give you the real thing.’ He pulls me up, and I return to my place next to him on the sofa. ‘Aside from Tim Dyson, you’ll be the first to know my terrible truth.’

I nod; this is a huge deal for him. Here it comes. I am ready for this. I have always been ready.

It was a bright, white day with a blazing sun so Alex closed the curtains, returned to the sofa, stretched out and placed his head on Kate’s lap.

‘It wasn’t a great marriage,’ he began carefully. ‘Dad was silent, while Mum was quite the chatterbox when she took us out to parks or to the seaside – as long as he didn’t come with us, Mum was great. She was extraordinarily beautiful, often compared to a star called Maureen O’Hara, a big name in old films, round about the middle of last century. Mum had long, wavy hair in a lovely shade of auburn; it hung down her back and shone like satin. I suppose her face was perfect when she was happy, but she was never happy at home.’

Kate stroked his head, gently scraping fingernails against his scalp.

‘About once a month, Dad came home slaughtered, too drunk to get his key in the door. The shouting and subsequent arguing always woke me and Stephen. Strangely, I was devoted to Dad. He taught us to ride bikes, play cricket, swim, dive, catch fish, dribble a ball across a field.

‘What neither of us knew was that he hit our mother.’ Alex felt Kate’s legs stiffening. ‘Yes, darling, you’re not the only one. My mother, anxious not to worry us, never screamed or cried. We found this out only after our father died. The doctor probably broke all the rules by telling my big brother the truth, but the person he was talking about was dead, so perhaps it was OK for him to speak.’

Kate stroked his forehead, found it damp, and patted it dry with a tissue.

‘So our mother was quite the stalwart. Then Susan was born. At first, she did what all babies do – she suckled, cried, dirtied her nappy. She was late to walk. One of her legs seemed stiff, and she dragged it about from the hip for a while. Susan didn’t speak. Mum’s hair started to turn silver in streaks among the glorious auburn. She wore it shorter, and people asked where she got it coloured.

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