Part 8 (2/2)
”Lime Street, it'll be three pound ten pence. I'll give you a shout.”
”Thanks mate.”
”Yeah.”
The bus drew away and they had to stagger to the nearest free seats, holding on to the hanging straps and bars. Sylvie had wanted to go upstairs, wanted to see Liverpool unfolding before her. She had never been so far away from home before and this city with its history and pop culture fame excited her.
”Do you know Liverpool Samuel?”
”Not so much, I think it's changed a lot in the last few years. When I was a kid, a teenager, we used to come now and again, it was quite a stretch but sometimes a gang of us would do the trip. I should think I can find my way about, it's quite compact in the centre, all the shops and so on are pretty close. Near the station and St John's Market.”
”Can we go and see the Cavern, you know the Beatles place?”
”Well, you can but it's not in Matthew Street any more, it's been moved and I think that misses the point doesn't it?”
Disappointment clouded her face and he realised she was treating the trip as a day out, a mini break. She truly had no idea the danger they were in. He didn't want the spark of excitement to fade from her eyes and so he pushed the worries away.
”You can see the ferries though, on the Mersey, and the Liver Birds and so on. I think I can get us to there from Lime Street. There are some beautiful buildings and there are some Beatles memorials and stuff.
”Great, it's silly I suppose but I love the Beatles, my mum used to play them and it always seemed to me that it must have been a brilliant time, the sixties, all the stuff that went on.”
”Yes, of course I missed it but my mum had friends who knew Liverpool well and they used to talk about it. I don't think they realised at the time what a difference it would make to the city. Up until then it was all faded glory with the docks in trouble from Union disputes and the big boats, liners, not coming so much. It's a place that seems to go up and down, riding high for a few years and then down in the doldrums. Anyway we'll have a wander round. He took hold of her hand and tucked it into the fold of his arm.
The little glow of happiness had touched him, how much had he lost, so many precious days he had spent in the dark and now, with this little sc.r.a.p of a girl the curtains were drawing back. He wasn't sure he could do it, it had been too long and he couldn't convince himself there could be a future, the trouble he was in was overwhelming. When he fired the warehouse with the gang members locked inside he had known he was throwing away his life and acknowledged that on some level it was deliberate. He didn't want it, the empty existence, without Marie he was on a suicide trip and he was just trying to take as many of them with him as he could.
Was it his time now, could he go back to hope and love and fun, he couldn't remember a time not drenched in misery. What if it was time to let himself begin to feel again, where could it go? They couldn't have a life together just running continually to stay alive. He heaved a great sigh, it was never going to be possible to start again, he had gone too far. So, today would be what it was and if there was a tomorrow he would take it as well but he wouldn't think ahead more than that.
After a drive of about thirty minutes the driver yelled out.
”Lime Street, 'ere ya' are mate, 'ere's shops. I 'ope you've got ya money ready, she's got a glint in 'er eye your bird.”
The other pa.s.sengers laughed quietly, this was the northern humour and rough friendliness Samuel remembered and Sylvie had heard about. As a Southerner she had never really thought there could be so much difference but these people were ready to laugh and to help and she liked them instinctively. She knew of course that there were huge problems, as with any big city and the struggles were many but she had met with nothing but good humour and simple kindness, yes she liked the north.
She was enjoying being here, and especially being with this complicated, damaged man and for the first time in years she was happy. She didn't know what his thoughts were, his deep misgivings weren't evident and so, as they clambered down from the bus into the hurly burly of the city, she felt antic.i.p.ation and excitement the like of which she hadn't experienced since she was a child.
One of the great advantages of much maligned clone city centres is that the shops are so familiar, Bristol, Bath, Norwich, Oxford and yes, Liverpool, it doesn't matter, it's easy to find what you're used to, the place where you know the jeans will fit and the tops are always on the large side. In a very short time they had bought jeans and sweats.h.i.+rts, socks, spare trainers, underwear and things for sleeping in. They had soap and shampoo, Sylvie had some creams and deodorants and he had insisted she buy herself a bracelet she'd tried on, dull metal and black cord but she loved it. He fastened it around her wrist and planted a kiss on her smiling mouth. They could have been any young couple, out on a spree that would leave them eating beans for the last days of the month or maxing out on cards which would wait in ambush for them on pay-day.
The bag of money, the spectre of history with Phil and other dreadful memories tucked away in the back of Samuel's mind were walled up, not allowed out, they were having fun and as young animals will they lost sight of the danger prowling on the dark edges of reality.
Chapter 35.
An Italian restaurant in a refurbished fruit market restored their flagging energy with pasta and wine. Later, doing the tourist thing, swinging carrier bags from their fists coaxed them from watchful to careless. They looked at the river sliding past on the way to Ireland and the great white birds watching out from their shackled perches high above the Three Graces. They wandered the old streets and the new malls. Sylvie was entranced, for her Liverpool was grubby, scarred and weathered, rebuilt, refreshed and renewed, a diverse melange with a magic of its own, maybe part imagined but none the less she felt it.
On the walk back to the bus station she cried out.
”Oh look, what's that? See there, the sculpture, do you know what it is Samuel?”
He shook his head as they walked across the pavement to stand beside the bronze of a woman perched on a bench feeding birds. It was poignant and beautiful. Eleanor Rigby.
Sylvie swiped away a stray tear, both were lost in their own thoughts of what might have been, hopes of what could be and wishes too precious to be acknowledged.
”Poor little thing, she looks so lonely, so brave but, oh I don't know, empty. I know it's because of the song but doesn't she look lonely Samuel.”
He nodded at her, the little plaque, ”To all the lonely people” touched him. It was him wasn't it, lonely, brutalised and unwanted and Sylvie, though she had lived with people, they'd didn't value her, didn't care and so she was just as alone in her different way. Marie, in those last moments, dying on the street while he was thousands of miles away, even though she carried their child, had she been lonely and frightened. He couldn't bear it, couldn't let the thoughts creep in again, he had driven them away and no matter what he must not go there again. All the lonely people.
He turned and strode off drawing her after him and in silence they made their way back to the bus stop and the number thirty six.
The little hotel welcomed them, the windows blazed with orange light and the sign in the car park was a beacon in the gathering dusk, it was a happy thing that they had a place to come home to.
They collected the key and toted the bags upstairs, it was warm after the rawness of the wind and they were looking forward to the shower, a lie down and then they would venture out again in their new clothes, to find somewhere to eat.
As the door swung open their fragile world spun and collapsed into a vortex of disbelief and fear.
”Ah, you're back, at last.” The voice was calm, quiet and yet immensely threatening, the gun was terrifying and the atmosphere electric.
Samuel pushed Sylvie behind him, tried to s.h.i.+eld her from the man sitting at ease on the bed. He was thrusting her away trying to force her back into the hallway.
”Christ Sylvie, run. Run!”
She was petrified by fear and indecision and the moment was lost. The hefty thug had left the bed, crossed the room and pus.h.i.+ng against the wood installed himself between them and the only means of escape. The gun was levelled directly at Sylvie, she had instinctively reached out towards Samuel but her hand was grasped and twisted backwards so, with an ease born of long experience, he held her captive and in pain in front of him, a s.h.i.+eld where none was needed for the only thing Samuel carried were the jeans and tops they had shopped for in their other existence short hours ago.
”Let her go. Just let her go. She has nothing to do with anything. Let her go.”
”Oh, I don't think so,” as he spoke the gunman twisted Sylvie's arm causing her to screech. ”Quiet now b.i.t.c.h, don't want you raising an alarm, quiet or I'll just off your boyfriend here and now, then we'll see what fun we can have you and me.”
She gulped back the tears, her body shook, she stared at Samuel the terror in her eyes tearing at his heart. He hadn't had a chance to take it in yet, reality had turned on its head in an instant leaving no time to react.
”Better still, why don't we just get it together now, I'm sure you'd enjoy a little pantomime wouldn't you Samuel? How are you anyway, it seems like such a long time since we saw you. You've been missed, you have no idea how much we wanted to see you, to have some time with you. I wanted to show you this for one thing.”
He held out his hand, the one holding the gun, the skin was puckered and red, the little finger missing and the ring finger twisted and deformed.
”Now how do you think that happened? Well, I burned it you see, on a red hot door handle. Silly of me wasn't it.”
As he spoke he swung his fist sideways. The flying blow connected with Samuel's face, the grip of the gun tore at his cheek and split his lip, blood flooded down his chin to drip onto the front of his jacket. He staggered backwards but didn't fall, Sylvie squealed again.
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