probably not my type.’
Christine took a sip of wine while her daughter ordered coffee. Elaine fitted in just about anywhere. She had grown up in a steady and loving home in a beautiful little village, had been quick
to learn and good at studying, and was now a woman of the world. ‘Do you think you’ll marry?’ Christine asked.
‘Possibly. But I’ll choose my own victim, thanks. I’ll advertise for a sugar daddy with a weak heart, then choose the one who seems nearest to death.’
‘You are a terrible girl.’
‘And Mrs Charleson is a terrible woman. So her attitude changed the moment you told her I’m a lawyer?’
‘Oh yes. Very impressed, though a little jealous. She has absolutely no idea when it comes to hiding her feelings. But I don’t know how I’ll cope if she continues nice.
Something will happen very soon, perhaps a little dinner party for you, me, him and her. Just mark my words, because an extra birthday celebration for me is being arranged as we speak. If
you’re busy, she’ll postpone it. She’s made up her mind that Frank will marry someone useful, and she’ll fire all guns till she gets her own way.’
‘Mother, just say no.’
‘She doesn’t accept no.’
‘Neither do I, and you have to live with me.’
They sipped their coffee and indulged in a couple of after-dinner mints.
‘Right,’ Christine said at last. ‘Is it all right if I say you’ve met someone?’
‘Not really, Mother. Haven’t you always said that liars seldom thrive?’
‘So?’
‘So tell her you want your relationship to continue professional.’
It was Christine’s turn to almost choke. ‘Then she’ll treat me very badly.’
‘Leave.’
‘I need a job.’
‘We’ll find you another one. You can’t let her win.’
As Elaine drove homeward, they passed Brookside Cottage. ‘Frank isn’t home,’ Christine commented. ‘He never puts his car away in the garage. It’s a bit late for him
to be working, so she’ll be worrying about the company he’s keeping.’
‘Oh, forget them, Mother. Happy birthday, no more parties, get a better job. Let’s talk about something else, please.’
‘There’ll be murder done out yonder if I’m not mistaken.’ Pete Furness placed his bobby’s helmet on Polly’s table. ‘Were you
there?’ he asked her.
‘No. Do you want me to leave you two alone?’
‘Stay,’ Frank begged.
‘Nay, you’re not frightened of me, Frank Charleson.’ Pete had brought his inner Lancashire accent with him to Liverpool, and he’d hung on to it. ‘But Polly can stop
if you want. A cuppa would go down well, love. It was me against the world down at the Holy House. I’ve a tongue like the bottom of a birdcage, and it keeps sticking to the roof of me mouth.
Holy House? Nowt holy about that pub tonight.’ The Holy House was a pub about halfway between Polly’s Parlour and St Anthony’s. Men attending eleven o’clock Mass on a Sunday
piled into the pub after worshipping in the church and paid their respects to ale before repairing homeward for Sunday dinner.
Polly went into the kitchen to make a brew. She listened while Frank spoke. From time to time Pete interrupted, since he was taking notes in his little hard-backed police book, but the
eavesdropper heard most of what Frank said.
There had been several witnesses, folk just passing by, only he didn’t know who they were. But a Miss Hulme, a Mrs Mannix and a Mr Cross, all teachers at the school, had seen what had
happened. ‘They’d stayed behind for a meeting. You can catch them at school tomorrow, I suppose. I’ve no idea where they live, but I brought them back here.’ He paused.
‘They may decide not to speak up against a priest.’
Pete sighed heavily enough to be heard by the listener in the next room. ‘I know. Leave them to us. We can but try, but we’re talking solid Catholic in these parts, as you well
know.’
‘Solid stupid,’ was Frank’s declared opinion.
‘All right,
Christine took a sip of wine while her daughter ordered coffee. Elaine fitted in just about anywhere. She had grown up in a steady and loving home in a beautiful little village, had been quick
to learn and good at studying, and was now a woman of the world. ‘Do you think you’ll marry?’ Christine asked.
‘Possibly. But I’ll choose my own victim, thanks. I’ll advertise for a sugar daddy with a weak heart, then choose the one who seems nearest to death.’
‘You are a terrible girl.’
‘And Mrs Charleson is a terrible woman. So her attitude changed the moment you told her I’m a lawyer?’
‘Oh yes. Very impressed, though a little jealous. She has absolutely no idea when it comes to hiding her feelings. But I don’t know how I’ll cope if she continues nice.
Something will happen very soon, perhaps a little dinner party for you, me, him and her. Just mark my words, because an extra birthday celebration for me is being arranged as we speak. If
you’re busy, she’ll postpone it. She’s made up her mind that Frank will marry someone useful, and she’ll fire all guns till she gets her own way.’
‘Mother, just say no.’
‘She doesn’t accept no.’
‘Neither do I, and you have to live with me.’
They sipped their coffee and indulged in a couple of after-dinner mints.
‘Right,’ Christine said at last. ‘Is it all right if I say you’ve met someone?’
‘Not really, Mother. Haven’t you always said that liars seldom thrive?’
‘So?’
‘So tell her you want your relationship to continue professional.’
It was Christine’s turn to almost choke. ‘Then she’ll treat me very badly.’
‘Leave.’
‘I need a job.’
‘We’ll find you another one. You can’t let her win.’
As Elaine drove homeward, they passed Brookside Cottage. ‘Frank isn’t home,’ Christine commented. ‘He never puts his car away in the garage. It’s a bit late for him
to be working, so she’ll be worrying about the company he’s keeping.’
‘Oh, forget them, Mother. Happy birthday, no more parties, get a better job. Let’s talk about something else, please.’
‘There’ll be murder done out yonder if I’m not mistaken.’ Pete Furness placed his bobby’s helmet on Polly’s table. ‘Were you
there?’ he asked her.
‘No. Do you want me to leave you two alone?’
‘Stay,’ Frank begged.
‘Nay, you’re not frightened of me, Frank Charleson.’ Pete had brought his inner Lancashire accent with him to Liverpool, and he’d hung on to it. ‘But Polly can stop
if you want. A cuppa would go down well, love. It was me against the world down at the Holy House. I’ve a tongue like the bottom of a birdcage, and it keeps sticking to the roof of me mouth.
Holy House? Nowt holy about that pub tonight.’ The Holy House was a pub about halfway between Polly’s Parlour and St Anthony’s. Men attending eleven o’clock Mass on a Sunday
piled into the pub after worshipping in the church and paid their respects to ale before repairing homeward for Sunday dinner.
Polly went into the kitchen to make a brew. She listened while Frank spoke. From time to time Pete interrupted, since he was taking notes in his little hard-backed police book, but the
eavesdropper heard most of what Frank said.
There had been several witnesses, folk just passing by, only he didn’t know who they were. But a Miss Hulme, a Mrs Mannix and a Mr Cross, all teachers at the school, had seen what had
happened. ‘They’d stayed behind for a meeting. You can catch them at school tomorrow, I suppose. I’ve no idea where they live, but I brought them back here.’ He paused.
‘They may decide not to speak up against a priest.’
Pete sighed heavily enough to be heard by the listener in the next room. ‘I know. Leave them to us. We can but try, but we’re talking solid Catholic in these parts, as you well
know.’
‘Solid stupid,’ was Frank’s declared opinion.
‘All right,
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