Libby’s grandmother would come up on the coach from Manchester and stay for a time, but then she began to buckle under the strain, and her visits grew less frequent. Still grieving after the loss of her own husband, Arthur, she eventually stopped coming altogether, and died in 1992, aged seventy-three.
Libby’s grandparents on her father’s side didn’t want to know them. They claimed it was Eileen’s fault that he had strayed and they could not forgive her. They thought she should have done more to keep him happy at home. The letter they wrote was very harsh. Soon after the event, they returned to their native Ireland.
When Eileen became too confused to be left on her own, Libby quit her job as a teaching assistant and began working part-time at the local supermarket, Aston’s. Thanks to their very good neighbour, the widower Thomas Farraday, Eileen was looked after, and even occasionally taken out for drives and for walks in the park.
Unfortunately, Thomas then suffered a health scare, and Libby was obliged to give up work altogether, in order to take care of her mother. That was five years ago, and now, her mother was her life. Thankfully, Thomas regained his health, and for that Libby was immensely grateful. It meant she could do a couple of hours each morning at the supermarket and get out of the house for a while.
Eileen continued to believe that her husband Ian would come home. But he never did, and Libby never forgave him, as her mother’s mental health worsened.
‘Hey!’ Eileen’s angry voice shattered Libby’s thoughts. ‘Did you hear what I just told you?’
‘Sorry, Mum. What was it you said?’
‘I said you’re not such a bad child after all,’ Eileen replied sharply. ‘You’re just a bit mischievous at times. So I’ve decided I won’t tell your father. At least not this time!’
Familiar with her mother’s mood swings, Libby kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘You must never do it again, though. Or I will tell him, I really will. And then there’ll be ructions.’
‘Oh, quick! Here he comes.’ Libby drew her mother’s attention to the figure coming down the stairs. Libby had never before seen the man – a scruffy, tousle-haired individual in his late fifties. ‘Let me do the talking, Mother.’
‘What’s going on ’ere?’ The man smiled from one to the other. ‘You two ’aving a bit of a barney, are yer?’ He was quick to sense the atmosphere, and equally quick to realise that the younger, pretty woman was not best pleased to see him there. Well, sod her, he thought, and sod anybody else who didn’t take to him. He had a living to earn just like other folks, and he would earn it in any way he could, good or bad.
Addressing Eileen, he asked, ‘This your daughter, is it? Not too keen to see me, is she, eh?’
‘Ignore her, Ian.’ Affording Libby a scowl, Eileen smiled up at the man. ‘She always was a difficult child! As you know.’
The man gave a curt nod of the head. His name was not Ian Harrow but Peter Scott, a bully-boy and laya-bout. Having spent the night with the crazy old bat, all he wanted was his payment.
Looking him up and down, Eileen struggled to remember. ‘I’m so glad you came to see us. You mustn’t go just yet, though. Oh dear, it’s been such a long time since you were last here. Please, won’t you stay for a cup of tea?’ Unable to remember him, she grew agitated. ‘Oh, and a slice of toast and marmalade, eh?’
‘What?’ He saw his opportunity. ‘I’m not ’ere for bloody marmalade!’
‘Oh, well, some bacon and eggs, then.’ The flustered woman turned to her daughter. ‘We do have eggs and bacon, don’t we?’
‘Sorry, Mother,’ Libby lied, hoping he might leave without any further fuss. ‘I didn’t have time to do a shop yesterday.’ This was an awkward situation; one of many over these past difficult years.
‘No eggs or bacon? Well, it won’t do, my girl. It won’t do at all!’ Raking her hands through her hair, the older woman began stamping her foot. ‘No eggs or bacon! You’re worse than useless! Can’t even mek a bed properly! However hard I try, you never learn, do you?’ Turning her attention on the stranger, she stared him up and down. ‘An’ who the hell are you?’
Peter Scott gave a sly, gappy grin. ‘Oh, now I see what yer at!’ The grin slipped into a scowl. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, you old cow,’ he hissed. ‘Oh, an’ I can tell you now – lying in bed with you turned my stomach!’
‘What d’you mean?’ Looking from the man to her daughter, Eileen was obviously confused. ‘What does he mean?’ she repeated worriedly. ‘What’s he saying?’
‘I’m warning yer, don’t try that on me!’ he snarled. ‘I don’t tek kindly to being conned!’
All the same, this time he thought he might have fallen on his feet. First the old one sidles up and asks him to go home with her, and now he discovers there’s an even better opportunity to get away with his pockets full. Maybe after he’s given the younger one a good seeing-to, an’ all.
Twisting the tale, he said, ‘Nice try, ladies – I’ll give you that. But it won’t work. Y’see, I ‘appen to be in the same line of business.’
‘What are you getting at?’ This time, Libby sensed real trouble. Like before, her mother had obviously thought this man was her husband and promised him the earth to come back home with her. It was not the first time that Eileen Harrow had scoured the streets for her missing husband, only to come across some ne’er-do-well ready to use the situation to his own advantage. ‘I’d like you to explain,’ she went on coolly. ‘And then I’d like you to leave!’
Scott laughed – a hollow, unnerving sound that sent the older woman cowering against the wall. ‘Lah-di-bloody-dah, ain’t we?’ Irritated, and anxious to get away, he pretended to search his pockets. ‘Yer thievin’ devils! Me money’s gone! I can see what yer up to now! Con artists the pair of yer! And clever with it. But not quite clever enough. It’s obvious that you set out to rob me blind. And I ’ave to admit, yer took me in good and proper at first, but now it’s clear as day what yer after.’
Taking a step forward, he concentrated on Libby. ‘You’re the brains behind it, while this one’ – he grinned at Eileen, who was still cowering against the wall – ‘is the bait. And no doubt the police will see it the same way after I’ve finished.’ He had to make them out as villains, or the younger one would likely call the police on him.
He outlined his interpretation of events. ‘So there I was, minding me own business, when this woman latched onto me, said she needed me to ‘come home’ with ’er. Enticed me back here, she did, and very convincing it was too. I didn’t realise I was being set up to be robbed.’ He congratulated himself on being witty enough to turn the tables on them. ‘I can see it all now. The two of you are in it together. Con-artists, just like I said. You set a bloke up an’ leave him wi’ nowt.’
‘That’s a lie!’ Libby retaliated. ‘You must have realised my mother is ill, yet you deliberately took advantage of her!’
He slowly clapped his hands together. ‘Oh, very good.’ He grinned widely. ‘So now, what do you think to my interpretation of events?’
‘I think you’re a liar and a rogue. And if you reckon for one minute that anyone would believe your story, you’re a damned fool!’
‘Is that so?’ The smile disappeared from his face. Leering at her, he hissed softly, ‘Well, that’s my story, word for word, exactly as it happened, and I’m prepared to tell it to anyone who wants to know.’ Anger coloured his voice. ‘Yer ought to be bloody grateful it were me she latched onto! There are men out there who might have given you silly pair a good hiding, an’ more. No doubt they’d ’ave