Mersey Murder Mysteries Collection

Chapter 24

The typing pool at the offices of BICC, (British Insulated Callendar"s Cables), known locally simply as B.I. was its usual hubbub of sound, the constant clacking of typewriter keys interspersed with the chatter of the girls who manned the machines. Towards the back of the room, Marie Doyle sat busily typing invoices as to her right, her best friend, Clemmy (Clemency) De Souza sat at the neighbouring desk, typing letters for various departmental supervisors. Clemmy and Marie shared a love of music, and when she wasn"t seeing Brendan, Marie could usually be found in the company of the olive-skinned, pretty girl whose father had been a Portuguese merchant seaman. He"d met and fallen in love with a local girl when his ship had been docked in the Port of Liverpool many years ago, and Clemmy had been the first-born offspring of the marriage.

Together, the two girls would shop together, visit the various clubs where live music could be heard, and would also spend many a happy Saturday morning in town, listening to the latest record releases, squeezed together in one of the listening booths in one or more of the many record shops that had blossomed across the city in keeping with the rise of the pop music industry.

In recent weeks, Clemmy had noticed a distinct change in her friend. Marie had become moody and rather withdrawn and Clemmy, though only the same age as Marie, had a feeling that something serious now weighed heavily on her friend"s mind. As the two continued touch-typing, their fingers almost flying over their typewriter"s keys, Clemmy first made sure that Mrs. Marley, the supervisor who sat at a desk at the front of the typing pool where she could survey her territory with a quick glance around the room, wasn"t looking in their direction, she leaned to her left and spoke to Marie, just loud enough to be heard by her friend, though not by any of the other girls around them.

“Why won"t you tell me what"s wrong, Marie?”

“I keep telling you, there"s nothing wrong, Clemmy, honest there isn"t.”

“Good God, girl. How long have we known each other? D"you not think your best friend knows when you"ve got a serious problem in that head of yours? I"ve been waiting for you to tell me, but now I"m going to ask you straight out, are you up the duff, Marie Doyle?”

Marie almost laughed out loud at Clemmy"s words, but controlled herself, not wanting to attract Mrs. Marley"s attention.

“Look, Clemmy, let"s talk at lunchtime, okay? I"m not supposed to say anything, but, well, you are my best friend, and to be honest, I"m bursting with excitement, but I"m not allowed to show it, and by the way, no, I"m not bloody pregnant. What kind of girl do you take me for?”

Both girls found the next hour almost intolerable as they continued beating a tattoo on the keys of their rather out of date Imperial typewriters. B.I certainly needed to modernise their equipment if the girls were to achieve the level of productivity the company demanded of its workers. Clemmy desperately yearned to learn Marie"s big secret and Marie, at last, felt she could tell Clemmy her big, big news.

Finally, the lunch break arrived and the two girls quickly made their way to the canteen, where they both obtained a lunch of sausage and mashed potato, garden peas and gravy, then found a table in a corner of the vast room, at a table with no other workers in close proximity to them. Satisfied that they"d achieved a modicum of privacy, Clemmy immediately pushed Marie to open up to her.

“A"right, girl, tell. If you"re not bloody pregnant, just why have you been acting so funny lately?”

Taking a deep breath, and swallowing the last of a piece of sausage with a visible gulp, Marie replied.

“Me and Brendan"s goin" to America, but you"re not to breathe a word to anyone, d"you understand, Clemmy De Souza, not to anyone, especially not to your Mam and Dad.”

anyone“Bloody hell, Marie. What"s this all about, girl? You"ve never said nothin" about America before. Is Brendan mad or what, wanting to take you all that way, when you"ve never been further than bloody Birkenhead in your life?”

“That"s not true, Clemmy, and you know it. What about when Mam and Dad took us on that holiday to Blackpool, and to Spain a few years ago? Saved up for years to pay for that, they did.”

“Oh, right, yeah, sorry. But, it"s still only Blackpool and one trip to Spain isn"t it? It"s not exactly Las bleedin" Vegas, Marie. I"ll change what I said to you"ve never been out of Lancashire except for once in your life, and you can"t argue with that. So, why does your boyfriend suddenly want to whisk you off to America, and just where in America is he thinkin" of, by the way? You do have some idea how big that country is, don"t you, girl?”

Marie leaned across the table towards her friend and lowered her voice to what she felt was a nicely conspiratorial level.

“Keep your voice down, Clemmy, please. Look, he thinks his singing career might have a better chance of taking off in America. The music scene in Liverpool has grown a bit stale, so he says, and solo singers like him seem to have more success over there. You"ve only got to look at the U.S charts and all the big names over the last few years, like Bobby Darin, Bobby Vee, Elvis Presley, Ricky Nelson. There"s hardly been one really big solo singer over here, not counting Cilla of course, and she"s a girl.”

“Get away,” said Clemmy, sarcastically. “I"d never have known that, if you hadn"t told me.”

Marie waved a derisory hand at her friend and then continued.

“Anyway, he wants us to go as soon as possible, but nobody, not a soul, has to know what we"re doing. The lads from the group know, and they"ve all agreed to keep quiet until after we"ve gone, at least, I think they have.”

“Oh come on, Marie. You"re trying to keep a secret and you"ve let your brothers and Phil Oxley into it already. Why don"t you just tell half of Liverpool and then mention, “Oh, by the way, please don"t tell me Mam and Dad. And what"s to say your precious Brendan won"t take you over there and then dump you if things don"t go well for him and he runs out of money or meets some rich yank bird or whatever?”

“He won"t do that, Clemmy. He"s asked me to marry him. I"m going to be Mrs. Brendan Kane.”

“God, no wonder you"ve been all edgy lately. Just when is all this going to happen?”

“As soon he"s made all the arrangements. And my brothers won"t say a word. They"ve known me and Brendan have been sweet on each other for a long time, so it seems, and they just want me to be happy.”

“You know your Dad"ll go bloody mad if he finds out, don"t you?”

“But he won"t Clemmy. None of the boys will say anything and I"m telling you because you"re my best friend and I just felt I needed to tell, well, someone, or I"d have burst, you know?”

Clemmy fell silent for a few seconds, and after contemplating her friend"s revelation, finally spoke again.

“Well, there"s not much I can say, is there? You know I love you and want you to be happy too, but, by God, I"ll miss having you around. Who"ll I go shoppin" with on a Saturday now, or go dancing with?”

Marie"s face fell for a second, as though she hadn"t really considered not seeing her best friend again once she and Brendan left the country, then said,

“Look here, once we get settled over there, maybe you can come and see us, like, for a visit now and then.”

“Don"t be daft, Marie Doyle. When would I ever get the money to pay for a holiday in bloody America? I only work for B.I. you know; I don"t friggin" own the place.”

Marie reached a hand across the table, and took Clemmy"s hand in hers.

“We can write to each other, Clemmy, can"t we? We don"t have to forget each other. I"ll never have a better friend than you, I know I won"t.”

A small tear formed and slowly ran down Clemmy"s face and she quickly wiped it away.

“Aw, give over, look what you"re doing. You"ll have me crying like a baby in a minute. Look, we"d better hurry up or we"ll be late back from lunch and we don"t want to get a tongue lashing from bloody Mrs. Marley do we?”

“You did what, Marie?”

“I told Clemmy what me and Brendan are going to do. She"s my best friend, Mickey. She won"t tell anyone. She promised.”

“Are you crazy? Clemmy De Souza is a total airhead. She couldn"t keep a secret if her life depended on it. Half of bloody Liverpool will know all about you and Brendan going to America by this time next week.”

Mickey could scarcely believe his sister had told Clemmy about her and Brendan"s plans. Since the meeting at Brendan"s flat, he and Ronnie had carefully avoided saying anything about America to Marie when their parents were around. They restricted any discussion on the subject to the times when their parents were out of the house or when they might meet Marie for a drink in the pub or to share a coffee in the local café.

“She"s not an airhead, Mickey. She promised not to tell and I believe her.”

“Look, Marie, me and Ronnie"s gone out on a limb for you, girl, helping you and Brendan and keeping everything quiet as far as Mam and Dad are concerned. Last thing we need is big mouth Clemmy lettin" the world know about everything. How d"you think Dad would carry on if he found out all three of us have been keeping secrets from him, especially one as big as this? I"m going to tell Ronnie and we"ll see what he thinks about it.”

“Go ahead, Mickey, but what do you expect Ronnie to do? Whether you like it or not, I"ve told me best friend, and she"s promised not to tell anyone, and that"s all there is to it.”

Three hours later, after coming home from work to find a worried and irritable Mickey waiting for him, and having placated his fretting brother somewhat, Ronnie Doyle took a walk to the phone box at the end of the street, where he first made sure no one was around, and then lifted the phone and rang Brendan"s number. The conversation that followed was short and sweet. Ronnie explained his and Mickey"s worries but Brendan simply replied, “Don"t make a big fuss about it, Ronnie. Marie should know if she can trust her best friend or not. If Clemmy says she"ll keep the secret then that"s good enough for me.”

“You"re sure, Brendan? There could be big bother for all of us if Dad finds out what you and Marie are planning.”

“I"m sure. Biggest problem right now is this green card thing the Americans are talking about.”

“Eh?”

“Something to do with their immigration rules. I don"t get it myself. I"m trying to work something out even if it"s just a tourist visa to get us into the country to begin with.”

“Listen, Brendan, don"t you go letting our little sister down, you hear me?”

“There"s no way I"d do that, mate. You should know that. Look, Ronnie, I"ve gotta go, man. I"m doing a gig in Southport and I need to get on the road.”

“Well, okay, but be careful, Brendan, you hear me?”

“I hear you, see you, Ronnie.”

With those few words, Brendan ended the conversation, Ronnie finding himself left holding a silent phone in his right hand. Replacing the phone on its cradle, he pushed the door of the phone box open, made his way home, and on seeing his father in the sitting room, watching the television with his brother, he simply nodded to Mickey to indicate he"d dealt with the matter in hand. They"d talk later when they had a degree of privacy. Marie, it transpired, was out, enjoying a night at the cinema with Clemmy, the two girls excitedly having ventured to The Odeon to see the newly released Alfie, starring Marie"s favourite actor, Michael Caine. Both girls had bought the single of the theme song sung by Cilla Black and released earlier in the year, and had been mortified when they found the title theme for the movie had been sung by Cher, rather than local girl, Cilla.

Alfie,Ronnie walked through the hallway and entered the kitchen, where his mother sat in her fireside chair near the small coal fire, darning her husband"s work socks, and listening and laughing along to a repeated episode of The Clitheroe Kid on the radio. Hot as the kitchen felt, it was necessary to keep a small fire burning in order to provide heat to the boiler which in turn ensured they had hot water provision in the house. Winter or summer, the fire would be kept burning and the kitchen at all times stood out as the warmest room in the home, uncomfortable as it might feel in the heat of high summer. Ronnie leaned down, giving her a brief hug where she sat, then lit the gas on the stove and put the kettle on. A cup of tea would be just the thing to settle his nerves, he thought.

The Clitheroe Kid“Hope you"re making me one, too,” his Mum said softly, without looking up from her darning.

“Of course I am, Mam,” he replied as he waited for the kettle to boil. In a couple of minutes, the kettle began to whistle, Ronnie set about the time-honoured English ritual of first warming the pot, then brewing the tea, his Dad"s favourite, PG Tips, and, to all intents and purposes, life in the Doyle household appeared a picture of domestic normality. Future events would soon prove otherwise.