A Liverpool Song (7 page)

Helen dried her eyes. Daniel’s disappointment on learning that a second girl was on the way had cut her to the quick. Sarah and Cassandra were perfect little girls; why did men set so much
store by reproducing creatures of their own gender? Being female hadn’t held her back; she and her sister were both successful. Kate, who described herself as a go-getter running out of go
and getting tired, owned an employment agency. Fortunately, she had an excellent manager, and was no longer full-time. Helen, a lecturer in modern languages, was currently on maternity leave.
‘Kate?’

‘What?’

‘We do what Mummy and Daddy did. We have part-time nannies.’

‘Yes, I suppose we do.’

‘Then why . . . why do we blame them?’

‘Because they were occasionally too wrapped up in lurve to spend time with us. Rosie can read, you know. I made damned sure they could both read by the age of three. And I play with them,
make cakes with them, talk to them whenever I’m with them. What did we get? A vague good night at bedtime, an occasional story from that tedious fairy-tale book, meals in the nursery and just
each other and Eva for company. Living with an ageing Romeo and Juliet was tiresome. I’m quite determined to fall out of love with Richard for the sake of my children. It’s my maternal
duty.’

Helen leaned back and closed her eyes. Kate had always been strong, opinionated and amusing, while she, younger by a relatively short time, was quieter and more thoughtful. She appreciated her
sister, but Kate could be rather tiring for a new mum who was breastfeeding, exhausted and unhappy because her husband needed a son. ‘Kate, he wants me to have another child as soon as
possible. I don’t want to be pregnant again. Not yet, anyway.’

‘Bloody selfish bloody men.’ The older sister drained her glass. ‘Look, he can’t make you do anything. The law changed yonks ago. He doesn’t own you – you
aren’t a serf. You committed the sins of giving him a beautiful daughter and a sweet new baby girl. If he wants a son, let him rut elsewhere.’

Helen shuddered. ‘I adore Daniel, as you know very well, Kate. I can’t share him. I couldn’t bear the idea of him having special moments with another woman. That would kill
me.’

Kate held her tongue for once. Daniel Pope was not all he seemed, but she wasn’t prepared to break her tall little sister’s heart. While in his cups, he’d tried his luck with
Kate, two of her friends and even with the caterer at one event. A jeweller, he travelled in Europe and South Africa. Much of his time was spent in Amsterdam, where matchless diamonds were
outnumbered only by women very happy to entertain a man, especially a wealthy one. ‘Helen, get your strength back, then tell him to piss off. Two children are enough. We should replace just
ourselves, because the world’s already crammed and polluted.’

‘I don’t want to lose him, Kate.’

In Kate’s opinion, the sooner Daniel buggered off, the better. Helen was stunning, even now with some of the baby-weight still lingering. She was tall, full-breasted and owned a waist that
would be tiny again within weeks. Her legs were perfect, and a flawless waterfall of dark, shiny hair flowed halfway down her back. Both girls had the startling, bright blue eyes inherited from
their parents, but Helen’s were huge, with lashes that touched her cheeks when her eyes were closed. If Helen would just put herself back on the market, she’d be snapped up faster than
goods in Harrods’ New Year sale.

Kate had no illusions about herself. She was shorter, less curvaceous and nowhere near as pretty, yet she attracted men like flies round an open jam pot. Kate was a challenge, and it showed. Men
liked a challenge, while she enjoyed swatting flies, so her life was fuller and easier than Helen’s.

While half the male students were in love with her, Helen’s head and heart were full of Daniel. She needed a new man, but she didn’t even know it. ‘Show him a yellow card,
sweetie. Deliver a lecture on fair play, and red card him if he still refuses to be grateful for what he has. Your husband is an arrogant twit. Look at Richard. He’s babysitting so that I can
spend the night here. In the morning, he’ll wash Philip and Rosie, feed them, dress them and take them to school and nursery. He’s a bloody godsend. I really don’t know how
I’d manage without him.’

‘I know, I know. But Daniel works so hard, always on the go, travelling, buying, looking for the best at lower prices, negotiating deals—’

‘Yes, we all know how difficult life is for a millionaire, Helen. It must be terrible; up in the air in triple-A class, champagne, pretty hostesses serving his meals. Awful. Especially for
a man with no son to inherit his empire. Pope the Jeweller must go on, you see.’

‘You hate him.’ Helen’s voice was a mere whisper.

‘I didn’t say that. I’m just glad I married a boring defence lawyer.’ She loved her Richard wholeheartedly, but he, like everyone else including herself, was the butt of
many of her jokes. ‘Actually, he’s not boring. He’s defending a murder suspect next week. She’s a very elegant woman of fifty who’d had enough of her husband’s
philandering. Cutting bread for toast, she was. Big house, seven acres and a lovely orchard – a wonderful life if you just glanced at her.’

‘And?’

‘She cut an extra slice. His throat.’

‘Hell’s bells.’

‘Quite. So she washed the knife, washed her hands, picked up the phone and told the police what she’d done. “I made sure he was dead before I phoned you,” she said.
Apparently, he’d fathered several children, none with her. She couldn’t have babies. Perhaps you can’t carry boys? But stay away from the bread knife, sweetie.’

Helen swallowed. ‘Will Richard win the case?’

‘Undoubtedly. He has so many witnesses, they’ll have to take a number out of a machine like they do in the haematology clinic. The judge will fall asleep due to boredom. Actually,
it’s a female judge, so that’s a help, because she’ll probably listen. Two women say they were drugged and raped, and one poor girl gave birth to a disabled child. By the time
Richard’s done his turn, everybody in the court will be congratulating the widow. Oh, and she’s got post-traumatic stress disorder, so she’s lost her sheen. She twitches a lot.
Richard reckons the twitch alone will get her off.’

‘Who’s speaking up for the dead man?’

‘Nobody. Even his family couldn’t stand him. There were seven people at the funeral, and one of them was in a box. Four carried him, one was the undertaker who led the coffin in,
while a vicar of some sort stood at the front. When the deceased went through the curtains into the furnace, everybody sighed with relief and went for a quick dip in beer at a nearby pub. Even the
vicar took a paddle on the wild side and had half a shandy. I’d love to have been there, but I would have swelled the numbers. Anyway, I’d have applauded when he went into the fire. I
wouldn’t have been able to help myself.’

Cassie began to wail on the baby intercom. It was a hungry cry. Immediately, Helen jumped to her feet.

‘Hang on, hang on,’ Kate said. ‘Do you have your milk in bottles?’

Helen nodded.

‘Then leave her to me.’

‘She won’t accept the rubber teat yet, Kate.’

‘You wanna bet? You’re the adult, and she learns your rules. Start early.’ She left the room and walked upstairs. After lifting the baby from her crib, she placed her on the
plastic mat and changed her nappy. ‘Right, kiddo. I’m in charge this time. Let’s show Mummy how good we both are. Don’t let me down, or I shan’t let you forget it for
the rest of my life.’

Downstairs, Kate took the bottle from Helen. ‘Go away,’ she whispered. ‘Stay out of her eyeline and leave me to it. Now. Booty, booty, bootiful girl, Cassandra. This is your
Aunt Katherine speaking. In the event of difficulty, an oxygen mask will drop down, so wear it. Exits are here, there and everywhere. Your lifebelt is under your seat, and we are currently cruising
at a height of thirty thousand feet. What I’m not saying is that in the event of difficulty, this metal object will go into the ground like a sharply honed javelin at the Olympics, but never
mind. You won’t feel a thing.’

Helen, open-mouthed, stared at her sister and the baby. Cassandra Jane Pope was sucking from a bottle while her aunt talked nonsense. How did Kate manage so well? Everyone took notice of her.
Babies, pensioners and all in between cooperated with her. It might have been easy to succumb to jealousy, but Helen loved the terrible, wonderful, crazy woman who was her sister. ‘I love
you, Katherine Mary,’ she said.

‘And I love you, Helen Andrea. This is one helluva smart kid. She’s talking to me with her eyes. Boys are such dull, slow creatures during these early weeks. Philip was rather like a
chunk of red meat, colourful, but lifeless. Rosie was born a comedienne. She never stopped smiling and making us laugh.’

‘Like her mother, then.’

‘Thank you. We do our best, don’t we, Cassie? Don’t we? Come on, it’s half time.’ She removed the bottle, sat the baby upright on a knee, left hand providing a
second, firmer spine, right hand spread across the infant’s jaw. Two belches and a gurgle later, Cassie was rewarded with the rest of her bottle.

‘How do you happen to know what to do every time?’

‘Study. I read. I watch, and I did a course in psychology after my degree. But I seem to know people the minute I meet them. It’s not all a bed of roses, Helen. Sometimes even my
heart breaks. I’ll meet a decent man in his fifties, well educated and experienced, and I try to stay upbeat for his sake, because we are a recruitment shop. But I know that some smart kid
with a meaningless degree will get the job. Kids come cheaper. Media studies, bloody sports science – they’ll be giving honours in breathing soon. I mean, look what you have to offer
– three languages, plus a bit of English, swearing included. I did politics, philosophy and economics – all relevant to my area of work.’

‘Yes, it’s sad.’

‘Sad? The place is going to the dogs. Teachers get through on a wing, a prayer and more vodka than Russia makes. I’m lucky. Philip’s teacher can spell my son’s name. Will
wonders ever cease?’

The phone rang. Helen picked up the nearest handset. In her opulent sandstone mansion, there were at least ten to choose from. ‘Hello? Helen Pope here.’ She smiled. ‘Ah, Daniel
Pope. I think you may be my husband.’ The smile began to fade. ‘What? Will you say that again? Tomorrow? Right. Right. Who was that? Who the hell was that? Goodbye.’

Kate studied her baby sister. Helen’s face was an unusual shade of grey, and her breathing was wrong. ‘Helen? Helen, what’s the matter?’ There had been no sloppy kiss
delivered into the mouthpiece, no declaration of undying love, no mention of the children. Suddenly, Kate was glad she had come, because Helen was going to need her.

Helen pulled herself together and fled upstairs.

Kate followed at a slower pace with Cassie asleep in her arms. When the baby was back in her crib, Kate entered the master suite. She found her sister dry-eyed and staring at herself in the
mirror. ‘I’m beautiful, Kate,’ she whispered. ‘Even I can say that, because it’s a fact, not a piece of self-praise.’

‘You are, my love. You’re Mummy all over again, but taller and even more of a stunner.’

‘Then why?’

‘No idea, Helen. Was he . . . was he with somebody?’

Helen nodded. ‘A woman arrived when he was talking to me. She shouted “Hello, darling”, and Daniel covered the mouthpiece, but I still heard him hissing at her. “Fuck
off, you stupid bitch.” My heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe. It was a waking nightmare. I felt as if I might drop dead at any second.’

‘I noticed.’

‘Kate?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘Bring me the large scissors from my sewing and tapestry kit.’

‘Why?’

‘Just do it.’

It was on this evening in early October 2000 that Katherine Rutherford found herself on a dizzying learning curve. The sweet, biddable, loving girl named Helen was not a bottomless pit of
goodness. With no expression on her face, no tears, no words, Helen cut many thousands of pounds’ worth of Savile Row’s finest products to pieces. Murdered silk shirts, abbreviated
trousers and armless jackets were piled in a huge heap on the walk-in wardrobe floor. His underclothing was shredded, as were his socks. On top of the heap, she placed a wedding photograph, then a
second picture of herself. In this black and white photograph, Helen smiled at the camera. All she wore was that smile, diamond earrings and necklace, and a pair of sky-high heels.

‘Come,’ she said.

Kate, now reduced to playing the part of an unquestioningly obedient servant, followed Helen into what she termed the dungeon. The first cellar room contained Daniel’s photographic
equipment. Cameras were smashed, and more nude studies of the photographer’s wife suffered the same fate as his wardrobe. Helen cut up negatives, tore at silver umbrellas and destroyed
lights. In the second, smaller room, she opened a safe and emptied it of precious gems, completed jewellery items and heaps of cash, all of which were thrown casually into a bin bag. ‘This is
stuff the taxman needs to know about,’ she said, almost to herself. She then moved to the wine cellar, where some priceless vintages were stored.

She couldn’t be bothered with a corkscrew, so she threw the more expensive wines at the walls. ‘Stand back, Kate. Glass flies, and you don’t want any red ruining your
clothes.’ By the time she was finished, the place looked like a murder scene. ‘Right, that’s that done. No need to bother with the whites and rosés – he doesn’t
like them. Now, we pack.’

‘What? But where—’ Kate realized that argument and suggestion would be fruitless.

‘He’ll be on a plane very shortly,’ Helen said. ‘He will understand that I haven’t taken kindly to his ongoings, so he won’t wait until tomorrow.’ She
turned and looked at her sister. ‘Did you know?’

‘Well, I—’

‘DID YOU KNOW?’

Kate nodded.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because . . . well, I didn’t want to hurt you. And the messenger sometimes gets shot. Where are we going?’

‘To Daddy’s. It’s bigger than your house, and I quite like Blundellsands.’