Free A Mersey Mile by Ruth Hamilton Page B

of bacon, opened the cafe door and listened. ‘Yes, the cavalry’s on its way. If our lads and Everton’s can hold the bishop back, Brennan will be spending
his first night where he belongs.’
    Knitting needles, crochet hooks and wool appeared while Polly went to make more tea. Communal gatherings like this one took place in times of trouble, and the cafe was chosen by all whose
businesses were contained in what Frank termed the mile. With the exception of pubs, Polly’s Parlour had the most chairs, so she had no competition, but she was only too delighted to be their
place of safety. For how long would this cafe continue to be their refuge?
    She found Frank and his companions playing dominoes at the table. He would make a lovely dad.
    ‘They cheat,’ he said as she passed through to the kitchen.
    ‘Course they do,’ was her answer. ‘It’s all part of their culture.’
    Pete Furness followed her. ‘We got him, Polly. Hi, Frank, and hello, kids.’ He placed the keys to Frank’s car on the sideboard. ‘Thanks for the car, pal. Little Billy
Blunt has internal bleeding, a punctured lung and compound fractures to one arm. They’re keeping him asleep for a while, but he’ll have to sit up soon for his chest’s
sake.’
    ‘How was Brennan?’ Frank wanted to know.
    ‘Crying like a baby.’ Pete struggled not to laugh. ‘They gave him a guard of honour, all standing to attention and saluting as he passed. Now, they’ve gone down Everton
way with their new Orange mates. I’ll never fathom folk round here.’
    ‘Foreign parts for you,’ Polly told him. ‘Took you three years to understand the language. Are you having a cup of tea?’
    ‘No, I’m going to run and be there when he’s charged.’
    Frank told him to keep the car till morning.
    ‘Thanks.’ The good constable retrieved the keys and rushed off to watch while the wheels of justice began to turn. As he passed once more through the knitting circle, he was
bombarded with questions, though nothing was going to stop him, because he’d visited Billy. For Billy’s sake and for the Blunt family’s peace of mind, Pete wanted to see Brennan
in front of the magistrates tomorrow morning. Sometimes, being a copper was OK.
    Cal was drunk and snoring, the resulting noise reminiscent of the trumpeting of a rogue elephant. His attendant had been and put him to bed, which had proved a difficult task,
since Cal had made very little sense after an unusual amount of alcohol. The poor lad still needed nappies during the night, as he couldn’t always manage to reach the commode by himself
during the hours of darkness, though he had regained some daytime control. Frank was failing to settle on the sofa. There was too much noise from the man in the bed, and Polly was just above their
heads in the rear bedroom.
    He wanted her. But he was determined to be patient, so he urged himself repeatedly to remain strong. After dragging sheet and blanket round his ears, he reminded himself to be thankful. Mavis
and Fred Blunt were the ones in real trouble, with their youngest child in hospital.
    His hand hurt. Again, he concentrated on the little lad with his broken arm and rib, because an injured hand was nothing in comparison. She was so near. He longed to feel her breath on his
cheek, her hair under his good hand. But it was going to be a difficult night, and he must grin and bear it. He might manage to bear it, though grinning might well prove to be impossible.
    Cal’s snoring had started to deliver a different sound; he was making as much noise as a ship moored in dock on New Year’s Eve. Sleep promised to be impossible to achieve, so Frank
counted his blessings. Polly came top; his mother was not on the list.
    There was no peace to be had down at the local police station, either. Father Brennan screamed constantly for whiskey, brandy – anything to combat the pain in his face.
He was given tea and aspirin, which he threw at the wall while using language