Read Online The Liverpool Trilogy by Ruth Hamilton - Free Book Online
Authors: Ruth Hamilton
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front door opened, though she scarcely heard it. ‘I’ll have to go to Chester. I can’t leave my son like that, can I?’
‘No. They’re your weak spot, as I’ve said before, and I’m glad they’re there. Paul’s in no danger, but if his accident brings you to your senses I’ll be glad. It’s about time somebody knocked a bit of grit into you. They’re your children for always, Lucy. When they’re fifty, they’ll still be your babies. Heart attacks aside, you should come clean and sue the bugger.’
The call ended, and Lucy burst into tears. She’d never been much of a weeper, but her little lad had almost drowned, and the shocking news had cut deeply into her maternal core. She hadn’t been there for him, for any of them. Glenys was right, the three of them would be her children until the end of her life. It was nothing to do with age.
‘Lucy?’
She looked up. ‘Richard.’
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ He lifted her from the chair and held her in his arms. ‘Come on, love. Tell your Uncle Richard – I only came in to thank you for straightening out her indoors. What’s happened?’ She felt wonderful, smelled delicious. She wasn’t like his other women, because she would become serious business if anything delightful were to happen.
And it all poured out, half drowned by tears. Her husband wasn’t dead, though he seemed to be working hard to get to the hereafter. Her son was in hospital after an accident on the Dee, while her daughter was with Alan.
‘Your husband?’
She nodded against his shoulder. ‘For twenty years, he— That doesn’t matter now. I have to get to the Countess of Chester hospital. I meant to keep my distance during the divorce, you see. I wanted all the dirt out of the way, but—’
‘But accidents happen. ‘I’ll drive you to Chester.’ It was plain that he intended to take charge. He planted her back in the chair and picked up her phone. He spoke to someone and asked to be put through to Dr Beddows. ‘Charlie? Yes, it’s Rich. Look for a young man name of . . .’ he covered the mouthpiece and waited until Lucy had given the name, ‘Paul Henshaw. Went down with his ship on the Dee. Yes, yes.’ He waited.
Lucy almost smiled. There was none of the captain in Paul, but there was plenty of the comedian in him, just as there was in Richard Turner.
‘Thank you,’ he said before placing the phone in its cradle. ‘Under observation, no apparent damage except to his dignity. He says the effing boat was an effing death trap, and he wants his mother. I shall make sure he gets his mother, though I hold out no hope for the craft. It’s flotsam, I’m afraid.’ Richard went to talk to his wife.
Lucy wiped her face. Twice today she had heard from Glenys. As the lawyer had expected, Tallows was one hundred per cent Lucy’s. So there would be no need to repurchase it, as all fault lay at the door of the building society and at Alan’s feet. Or his hands. His hands had done the forging. She could go home. Did she want to go home? No. She wanted to see her son, and she mustn’t think beyond that.
This second call had frightened Lucy. All three offspring were past the cuts and abrasions that were part and parcel of childhood, yet they remained vulnerable. Now, Alan. Did she care about him? If she didn’t, why was he sitting in the second row of her brain, just inches behind her waterlogged son? Why did the word ‘duty’ remain on her agenda where he was concerned? She would not worry about him, as he wasn’t worth the energy. Heart attacks, though . . .
Richard led her to his car. ‘It won’t take long,’ he assured her. ‘And we know for a fact that he’s in no immediate danger, so don’t worry.’
‘Thank you.’ The man was the embodiment of everything her parents had wished for her, but she had rebelled, and . . . If she hadn’t married Alan, she wouldn’t have had Paul, Michael and Elizabeth. But if she’d married a doctor, her parents would
‘No. They’re your weak spot, as I’ve said before, and I’m glad they’re there. Paul’s in no danger, but if his accident brings you to your senses I’ll be glad. It’s about time somebody knocked a bit of grit into you. They’re your children for always, Lucy. When they’re fifty, they’ll still be your babies. Heart attacks aside, you should come clean and sue the bugger.’
The call ended, and Lucy burst into tears. She’d never been much of a weeper, but her little lad had almost drowned, and the shocking news had cut deeply into her maternal core. She hadn’t been there for him, for any of them. Glenys was right, the three of them would be her children until the end of her life. It was nothing to do with age.
‘Lucy?’
She looked up. ‘Richard.’
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ He lifted her from the chair and held her in his arms. ‘Come on, love. Tell your Uncle Richard – I only came in to thank you for straightening out her indoors. What’s happened?’ She felt wonderful, smelled delicious. She wasn’t like his other women, because she would become serious business if anything delightful were to happen.
And it all poured out, half drowned by tears. Her husband wasn’t dead, though he seemed to be working hard to get to the hereafter. Her son was in hospital after an accident on the Dee, while her daughter was with Alan.
‘Your husband?’
She nodded against his shoulder. ‘For twenty years, he— That doesn’t matter now. I have to get to the Countess of Chester hospital. I meant to keep my distance during the divorce, you see. I wanted all the dirt out of the way, but—’
‘But accidents happen. ‘I’ll drive you to Chester.’ It was plain that he intended to take charge. He planted her back in the chair and picked up her phone. He spoke to someone and asked to be put through to Dr Beddows. ‘Charlie? Yes, it’s Rich. Look for a young man name of . . .’ he covered the mouthpiece and waited until Lucy had given the name, ‘Paul Henshaw. Went down with his ship on the Dee. Yes, yes.’ He waited.
Lucy almost smiled. There was none of the captain in Paul, but there was plenty of the comedian in him, just as there was in Richard Turner.
‘Thank you,’ he said before placing the phone in its cradle. ‘Under observation, no apparent damage except to his dignity. He says the effing boat was an effing death trap, and he wants his mother. I shall make sure he gets his mother, though I hold out no hope for the craft. It’s flotsam, I’m afraid.’ Richard went to talk to his wife.
Lucy wiped her face. Twice today she had heard from Glenys. As the lawyer had expected, Tallows was one hundred per cent Lucy’s. So there would be no need to repurchase it, as all fault lay at the door of the building society and at Alan’s feet. Or his hands. His hands had done the forging. She could go home. Did she want to go home? No. She wanted to see her son, and she mustn’t think beyond that.
This second call had frightened Lucy. All three offspring were past the cuts and abrasions that were part and parcel of childhood, yet they remained vulnerable. Now, Alan. Did she care about him? If she didn’t, why was he sitting in the second row of her brain, just inches behind her waterlogged son? Why did the word ‘duty’ remain on her agenda where he was concerned? She would not worry about him, as he wasn’t worth the energy. Heart attacks, though . . .
Richard led her to his car. ‘It won’t take long,’ he assured her. ‘And we know for a fact that he’s in no immediate danger, so don’t worry.’
‘Thank you.’ The man was the embodiment of everything her parents had wished for her, but she had rebelled, and . . . If she hadn’t married Alan, she wouldn’t have had Paul, Michael and Elizabeth. But if she’d married a doctor, her parents would
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