Free A Mersey Mile by Ruth Hamilton

of bed and looking for catapults and pea-shooters. Everton’s moved in as well. I’m off duty, but I’ll be called in again when I’ve taken Frank’s car back.
We’ve a job to keep folk rational when this kind of thing happens.’
    Johnny stood next to his brother. ‘Even the Proddies are after his hide, Fred. Everybody loves our Billy. There’s no harm in the boy. People are baying for blood all over the
neighbourhood.’
    The policeman shook his head thoughtfully. ‘You’d best not encourage folk to take the law into their own hands.’
    Hot-blooded Johnny folded his arms. ‘What are we supposed to do? Leave him where he is till the bishop shifts him a few hundred miles away to keep him safe? They don’t want the bad
publicity, you see. But he’ll not get far tonight, because we’ve forty men surrounding the presbytery and a dozen inside keeping him trapped. So you go and arrest him. He’ll be
there. Brennan’s going nowhere but the police station tonight, Pete.’
    Pete Furness scratched his head. ‘They won’t attack him, will they?’
    Johnny answered for everyone. ‘Much as we’d like to kick seven shades of muck out of him, the answer’s no. A prison sentence is what’s needed. Let’s see how he goes
on living among his own kind. They’ll sort him for us, cos actually most of them serving time aren’t really his kind. Big difference between thieves and kiddy killers.’
    ‘Nobody’s going to die,’ Mavis managed through quieter sobs.
    ‘That’s right, love.’ Fred held her close. ‘But it won’t be for want of Brennan trying, the drunken old bugger.’
    Constable Peter Furness left them to their vigil. He stood for a few minutes outside the hospital gates and pondered. Scotty was a largely Catholic area, but it was ready now to turn on one of
its pastors. Roaders were a tough breed, stoic, humorous and usually kind, but if one vulnerable member of their society was injured, all were hurt. He stirred himself and climbed into the borrowed
car. They had better not clout the bloody priest. In court, righteous anger would count for next to nothing.
    Polly was forced to open the cafe. This had happened before in times of crisis, when what she termed the Mothers’ Union turned up for a meeting. Kids got under
everyone’s feet as usual, yet the gathering of females was a necessity. Wives and mothers made most household decisions, and when husbands and older sons were out of reach, the activities of
those missing menfolk merited as much concern as children’s.
    Polly produced a huge pot of tea and left it on the counter where the women could help themselves. Frank’s contribution was to be put in charge of half a dozen youngsters in the middle
room. He switched on Cal’s television, and his charges were immediately riveted to the news. Television remained a novelty to most, so they were fascinated.
    Meanwhile, Hattie Benson, greengrocer and spokeswoman separated from a brutal husband, was in full flood and off-topic, as ever. ‘That dog’s never chewed its food proper. Breathes it
in, more like, which is what it did with me dad’s teeth. I’ve been stuck down Maddox Street listening to folk planning on giving a dog an enema. Well, let’s hope me dad’s
set does its job down there, cos the bloody hound never chews with its gob. Me dad’s waiting on his choppers coming out the other end. Can you imagine using teeth what have come out of a
dog’s arse? Oh, I left them to it and came home.’
    Polly called the impromptu meeting to order. ‘Right, girls. Let Hattie’s dog deal with her dad’s falsies, because there’s worse trouble on. Ida? I believe you know the
score.’
    Ida Pilkington, who was newspapers, sweets, tobacco and local gossip, stood up. ‘There’s about a dozen of our men in the priest’s house with him, and the rest are outside
singing – definitely not hymns. Anybody with kids out loose, go and find them, because the language down St Columba’s is