Patsy of paradise place, p.1
Patsy of Paradise Place, page 1
Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Rosie Harris
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Copyright
About the Book
After years of neglect by her mother, when her father comes home from sea and sets up as a carrier at the Liverpool Docks, Patsy dreams of being a proper family again.
But when her father is killed in an accident and her mother returns to her errant ways, Patsy must keep the business going with the help of Billy Grant, the boy who worked with him. Billy is deeply in love with Patsy but she has fallen for the charismatic charms of fairground showman Bruno Alvarez, and believes that he is going to marry her.
One fateful night she brings him home to meet her mother who seduces him. Heartbroken but still in love with Bruno, Patsy discovers she is pregnant. Bruno has disappeared and even her own mother disowns her. Only loyal Billy stands by her in her troubles but when he is badly injured at work Patsy is left friendless and without a home. Will she and baby Liam ever be part of a family again?
About the Author
Rosie Harris was born in Cardiff and grew up there and in the West Country. After her marriage she resided for some years on Merseyside before moving to Buckinghamshire where she still lives. She has three grown-up children, six grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, and writes full time.
Also by Rosie Harris
Liverpool Sagas
Turn of the Tide
Looking for Love
Winnie of the Waterfront
The Cobbler’s Kids
Megan of Merseyside
A Mother’s Love
Waiting for Love
A Dream of Love
Love Changes Everything
Whispers of Love
The Price of Love
Welsh Sagas
Troubled Waters
One Step Forward
Pins and Needles
At Sixes and Sevens
Sunshine and Showers
The Power of Dreams
Sing for Your Supper
Love Against all Odds
A Love Like Ours
The Quality of Love
Ambitious Love
A Brighter Dawn
For my grandchildren:
Susie Harris, Kathryn Sak, Michele Harris,
Nicola Sak, Hayley Harris and Robert Harris
Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks to Rhona Caretti for specialised information, and to my Agent, Caroline Sheldon, for her help and advice.
Also to Kate Parkin, Kirsty Fowkes, Georgina Hawtrey-Woore, Lynne Drew, Joanna Craig, Anna Dalton-Knott, Beth Humphries, and everyone else in the Heinemann/Arrow team who have all played such a supportive role.
Chapter One
‘DAD … DAD? IS it really you?’ The skinny tousle-headed child, swinging from a rope tied to one of the lampposts in Paradise Place, scraped her clumpy boots along the pavement to slow herself down.
She peered through the murky gloom of a mid-December night in disbelief as a tall, muscular man carrying a heavy canvas kitbag on his shoulder came striding down the road towards her.
The next moment, Patsy’s exclamation of surprise and astonishment ended in a wild scream as the man dropped the kitbag and she found herself being swung high in the air by a pair of strong arms.
‘What do you think you are doing out here on your own at this time of night?’ he asked in a voice laced with concern.
‘Waiting to see if anyone else was coming out to play.’
‘At this time of night?’
Patsy giggled. ‘Sometimes Janie Grant or Maureen Murphy pretend to go to bed early and then they sneak out so that we can play chasers in the dark or creep up the jowlers and spy on some of the older boys and catch them smoking ciggies.’
‘Does your mam know about this?’
Patsy shrugged, but ignored his question. ‘Anyway, I don’t care if they come out now or not. You’ve come instead and that’s even better,’ she said fervently as she hugged him.
‘I’m not going to let you go away ever again!’ she vowed, locking her hands behind his neck and smothering him with kisses.
‘So if I stay at home will you promise not to sneak out in the dark to play?’ he asked, lowering her back on to the ground.
Feet placed wide apart, hands on hips, Patsy Callaghan tipped back her head and stared up at the giant of a man who towered over her, her green eyes wide with astonishment.
‘Do you really mean that?’ she asked in disbelief. ‘You really mean that you’re never going back to sea again?’
Patsy thought she must be dreaming. The last time her dad had come ashore he had been at home for three weeks and he’d taken her and her mam out for a day that she would remember as long as she lived.
He’d bought her a new green dress, some white shoes and a bow of green ribbon to tie in her hair and when she was all dressed up in her new clothes he’d taken them on the train all the way to Chester. They’d walked along the city walls and they’d sat by the river with a bag of buns and a bottle of pop and had a picnic.
John Callaghan stretched out a hand and ruffled her mop of unruly red curls. ‘It’s like I say, me darlin’ girl, I’m not going away any more. From now on I’ll be living at home with you and your mam.’
‘For ever?’ she gasped.
‘For ever and a day,’ he told her gravely.
Patsy drew in a deep breath. Father O’Brian must be right after all and your prayers did get answered if you prayed long enough and hard enough. ‘Does me mam know?’ she asked cautiously.
John Callaghan laughed, a loud jovial sound. ‘Not yet, so why don’t you run along indoors and tell her?’
Patsy hesitated, then slid her tiny hand into her father’s massive one. ‘Why don’t we do it together,’ she said and her face split into a wide grin.
‘Whatever you say.’ John Callaghan swung his kitbag up on to his shoulder and let his young daughter lead him by the hand towards the back door of the terraced house that was their home.
Patsy paused in the scullery and looking up at her father held a finger up to her lips. ‘Hush, don’t make a sound!’ she whispered. ‘Let’s surprise her. You wait here a minute.’
John Callaghan nodded. Carefully he lowered his kitbag to the flagstone floor leaning it against one wall.
As Patsy moved towards the door that led into the living room, walking in an exaggerated fashion on the tips of the toes of her laced-up boots so as not to make a noise, John Callaghan looked round him in distaste.
He sighed. Maeve had never been house-proud, which was something he couldn’t understand because she was so finicky and meticulous about her own appearance.
Her fastidiousness seemed to end there. It never seemed to trouble her in the slightest what Patsy looked like. Even when she was a tiny baby she could be filthy dirty and dressed in grubby rags and Maeve hardly seemed to be aware of the fact. Today he’d noticed that Patsy’s frock was soiled, and the hem hanging down, her pinafore was torn and the toes of her boots were badly scuffed.
He looked around him and even in the dim light filtering through from the main living room he could see that everywhere was utterly filthy. Dirty dishes and saucepans were piled up high in the stained sink, leftover food lay around uncovered and a distinctly unpleasant smell hung in the air.
Patsy had left the door slightly ajar and he could see his wife standing in the living room, leaning over the fireguard that was draped with clothes that she’d washed out and hung there to air, peering into the mirror above the fireplace.
A pretty woman with shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, she was attractively slim yet enticingly curvaceous. She was wearing the very latest silk jumper blouse in leaf green over a matching pleated skirt. The lower edge of the blouse had an elaborate crochet border that emphasised her shape and the cap sleeves were trimmed in the same way.
Her face was heavily made up and she was concentrating on outlining her mouth with a bright pink lipstick as Patsy entered the room.
‘Mam, there’s someone to see you,’ Patsy told her.
Maeve ignored the intrusion until she had finished applying her lipstick then turned briefly. ‘If it’s your Uncle Peter then tell him to go on to the pub and I’ll see him there like we arranged. I’ll be another five minutes at least.’
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‘Not now, Patsy, I’m trying to get ready to go out and I haven’t time for your silly games,’ Maeve told her peevishly. Then, as she looked back into the mirror and caught sight of the figure standing in the doorway she gasped in disbelief.
‘John?’ She swung round to face her husband. ‘This is a surprise! You nearly frightened the life out of me! What are you doing here?’
‘Hey, what sort of greeting is that for a man who has been at sea for almost a year?’ He grabbed hold of his wife, pulling her into his arms and kissing her hungrily.
Breathlessly, Maeve wriggled free. ‘Hold on, John, do be careful, you’re ruining my make-up!’ she complained, raising her carefully pencilled brows as she peered over his shoulder into the mirror.
‘You’ve got me mam’s lipstick all over your face,’ Patsy giggled as he released his hold on her mother and stepped back.
John Callaghan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then stared down at the vivid pink stain.
‘Why do you put that bloody muck on your face,’ he muttered.
Maeve gave him a withering look. ‘It’s what women do to make themselves look more attractive when they’re going out,’ she said sarcastically.
His gaze darkened as his eyes swept over her, taking in the low neck of her dress, the shining beads, dangling earrings, the pale silk stockings and the high-heeled shoes laced with coloured cords in the same shade of green as her dress.
‘Going somewhere special, were you?’
‘I certainly was,’ she told him as she turned back to the mirror and began repairing the damage he had done to her make-up.
‘And what about young Patsy, then? he asked in a steely voice.
Maeve gave him a puzzled look. ‘Patsy. What about her?’
‘If you were going out then what was Patsy going to do? Judging by the state of her and the way she is dressed you weren’t exactly planning to take her along with you.’
Maeve’s mouth twisted as she looked across at Patsy in her grubby cotton dress, torn pinafore and cumbersome boots. ‘You know bloody well that I wasn’t taking her with me!’ She laughed. ‘Patsy is a big girl now, in case you hadn’t noticed, aren’t you, luv? You don’t mind staying on your own if I go out for an hour or so, do you, pet?’
‘An hour or so? You mean for the entire evening and half the night, don’t you?’ John commented.
Maeve shrugged. ‘An hour or two or the entire evening, what difference does it make?’ she said lightly. ‘Once Patsy’s tucked up in bed and I’ve kissed her good-night she’s soon fast asleep so she doesn’t know whether I’m here or not.’
‘If she is asleep. More likely she’ll be lying there fretting and worrying, too scared to go to sleep,’ he argued. ‘A nine-year-old shouldn’t be left in the house on her own.’
‘Well, she won’t be on her own tonight, will she?’ Maeve smiled smugly. ‘She’ll have her dad here to keep her company.’
‘And for every night in the future.’
Maeve paused with her lipstick in the air, her mouth agape. ‘Yer wha’?’
‘I’ve decided that I’m not going back to sea any more.’
Maeve remained silent as she completed the task of outlining her mouth in brilliant pink but her brain was working overtime. What was he saying? Not going back to sea again? She couldn’t even begin to think of what that was going to mean. If John was to be at home all the time from now on then it would turn her life completely topsy-turvy. She felt annoyed. She hadn’t expected him home for another few weeks and this meant the end of her freedom for the near future.
As things stood, apart from the few weeks two or three times a year when he came home on shore leave she was free to do as she pleased. While John was away she didn’t bother to do any cooking and cleaning unless she felt like it, or if she was entertaining one of her many men friends.
If the place was a tip most of the time it didn’t matter, because there was only Patsy there to notice it. Maeve’s lips tightened: she’d soon cured Patsy of complaining about the state the place was in by making her help with the cleaning and clearing up.
If John was at home all the time though, that was another kettle of fish completely. He was a stickler for order and he’d expect the place to be clean and tidy all the time. He’d expect her to wash his clothes, iron his shirts and put food on the table at regular times. What was even more to the point, he wouldn’t approve of her gadding off out on her own three or four nights a week. In fact, he’d probably try and put a stop to it.
Now was probably not the time to let him know how much she resented his decision, she decided. As she turned from the mirror there was a feigned look of delight on her pretty face.
‘John, this is wonderful news,’ she cooed as she twined her arms around his neck and her glistening pink lips curved into a tantalising smile. ‘You’re really going to be home for good from now on? I can’t believe what I’m hearing!’
Patsy had been holding her breath as she waited for her mother’s reaction to the news. Now she let it out in a cautious sigh of relief.
From now on things would be so different, she thought happily. They’d be a proper family. She wouldn’t have to fend for herself when she came home from school, or spend long evenings sitting at the window staring out into the dark street, wondering when her mother would be coming home.
She was so afraid of being in the house on her own that she could never sleep. As soon as her mother had kissed her good-night and she heard her go downstairs and the front door slam and she knew she was on her own there were all sorts of strange noises and shadows that she never noticed when her mother was there. The rustling, scuttling noises as mice and cockroaches scurried about, and even the house seemed to creak and groan as if it was alive.
She’d once tried to tell her mother about her fears. Maeve had simply given her a hug and told her not to be so fanciful and then packed her off to bed early, telling her to get to sleep before she went out.
She had lain there with her eyes tight shut trying desperately to fall asleep, but it hadn’t worked. She was still awake when her mam came up to kiss her good-night and the moment she heard the front door slam she’d been out of bed and huddled by the window as usual, watching and waiting until she saw her mother coming home again.
When she saw her approaching, if she was on her own, then Patsy would scuttle back into bed and pretend to be asleep in case she came upstairs to check up on her.
With her dad at home all the time that would stop, she told herself gleefully. There would be no more lonely nights.
She couldn’t have had a more wonderful father, Patsy thought as she studied him. With his lean tanned face, shock of dark brown hair and gentle blue eyes he was the most handsome man she’d ever known. Her heart felt as if it was bursting with love and pride and she looked forward to boasting about the fact that he was home for good when she went to school next day.
She’d make him promise to come and meet her after school ended and that would stop all the teasing she had to put up with because he was so often away from home.
He was so tall and broad shouldered that he made her mother look slim and dainty as they stood there embracing. She had her arms locked round his muscular neck and she was gazing up at him with her wide-set green eyes as if she adored him.
Patsy sighed again. She knew only too well that those limpid green eyes could become emerald hard and the soft curving lips tighten into an unforgiving line. And the dainty fingers that were at this moment stroking the blue stubble on John Callaghan’s cheeks could inflict a stinging slap, or curl into a fist that left bruises on her arms and chest when things didn’t go the way Maeve wanted them to do.
There were times, Patsy reflected, when she wished her mother was fat and blowsy like some of the other women in Paradise Place. They seemed to be content with their lot and stayed home at nights, and were always around for their kids when they came home from school. They were there waiting to give them a hug if they were unhappy because they’d been bullied, or console them if they’d been told off at school.
Nevertheless, she took a pride in the fact that her mother looked so lovely. She wished her own red hair shone like gold and that she was as neat and dainty as her mother instead of being so clumsy. She always boasted that her mother was as beautiful as a princess. If, sometimes, their house was so filthy that she was ashamed for anyone to see it, she always managed to dream up some excuse or the other as to why she couldn’t bring her friends indoors.
