hour and a half later, he had drunk a pint, had a strip-down wash and bedded the landlord’s daughter, twice. And now he was on a bus, headed for Kitchener Street, a mile or so from the docklands – number 14. He checked his notebook and scanned the many names there. Yes, that was it – Lucy Baker at number 14, Kitchener Street, Liverpool.
‘Will that be a return ticket, or one way?’ The conductor had his ticket-machine at the ready.
‘I might be coming back, or I might not.’ Edward liked to hedge his bets, especially as he didn’t quite know what awaited him. ‘I’ll have a return ticket, if you please.’
‘Return it is.’ Turning the handle on his machine, the conductor ran the ticket off. ‘That’ll be tuppence ha’penny.’
Twenty minutes later, the arrogant young seaman was strolling down Kitchener Street, checking the door numbers as he went. ‘Here we are!’ He had remembered the street as being long, with every house looking the same; narrow doors and white-stoned steps, and netted curtains up at the windows. But yes, this was the one – halfway down and looking exactly as he remembered. He rapped hard with the knocker.
After a couple of minutes, a plump, red-faced woman flung open the door. ‘What the devil d’you think you’re playing at?’ she demanded angrily. ‘I’m not deaf but I will be if you keep rattling the door like that?’
‘I’m looking for Lucy Baker.’ He’d forgotten that familiar lilt of the Liverpudlian tongue; it was a comforting sound to a man who had travelled a hostile world.
‘The Bakers don’t live here no more.’ Leaning forward, the red-faced woman looked up and down the street. Content that she would not be overheard, she confided, ‘There was a bit of a to-do in the family, if you know what I mean.’ And seeing that he did not know, she went on, ‘Ted Baker – Lucy’s father – he took another woman to his bed, d’yer see? Then his poor missus chucked him out, and rightly so if you ask me!’
‘I don’t need to know all the ins and outs,’ he told her irritably. ‘I just need to find Lucy.’
‘I’m coming to that. When Lucy’s dad was thrown out, he moved in with his new woman – went to live on York Street, they did – and good riddance to ’em! This house became vacant, and me an’ my Eric moved in. Been here a while now.’
‘So Lucy went with her father, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Did I say that?’ She liked to tell her story properly, and wasn’t finished yet. ‘Well, soon after she gave him the old heave-ho, his missus upped sticks and buggered off and nobody knows where she went.’
‘So where is Lucy?’ Frustration rose in him. ‘What happened to her?’
‘Oh, aye, you might well ask!’
‘I am asking, and I’d be obliged if you’d give me an answer.’ Trent had no patience with folks like this, especially after the travelling. He’d come a long way to get here, and no doubt he’d be going a long way back, sooner or later. So, there was no time to be wasting.
‘All I can say is, it’s a good job Lucy was the only child.’ Folding her fat little sausage arms, the woman rattled on: ‘Y’see, her mam had such terrible trouble bearing a child. Lost four of ’em over the years, she did, an’ as if that isn’t enough to be putting up with, ’er scoundrel of a husband ends up in some other woman’s bed. Shame on him, that’s what I say!’
‘That’s enough o’ the chatter, lady! All I want is the whereabouts of Lucy.’ Another minute and he might end up strangling the old biddy.
Not one to be bullied, she declared sharply, ‘Hold yer ’orses. I were just getting to that!’
‘For Chrissake, woman, get on with it, then! Where the bloody hell is she?’ When he now took a step forward, the red-faced woman took a step back.
‘She’s moved in wi’ Bridget.’
‘Who the hell’s Bridget?’
The fat little woman gave a wicked grin. ‘Everybody knows Bridget!’
‘Well, here’s one who doesn’t.’ When he took another step forward, she took another step back. ‘I couldn’t give a toss about Bridget. Just tell me where my girlfriend is, and I’ll trouble you no more.’
‘All right! All right! There’s no need to get aeryated. I already told you, I were coming to that.’
When he glared at her, she nervously cleared her throat and hurriedly explained, ‘Bridget is a woman well-known in these parts … particularly by the men, do you get my drift? Oh yes, she might be generous with her favours, but she charges well enough, and so do her girls, though o’ course we ain’t supposed to know about what goes on in that place. The bizzies’ll put her away if she’s found out, an’ none of us would want to be responsible for putting Bridget away, nor any of her girls neither.’
She took a well-deserved breath. ‘For all her wrongdoings, she’s gorra good heart, has Bridget, and she’ll help anybody in trouble. Lives along Viaduct Street, number twenty-three. You’ll find Lucy there.’
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