The Liverpool Trilogy Read Online Free

neck-ache and even face-ache if she tried to smile through the discomfort. Had she not feared the knife, Lucy would have got rid of her extra flesh years ago.
    ‘Have you registered with a GP?’ Richard asked.
    ‘Not yet. But I’m used to a female doctor.’
    ‘My partner’s a woman,’ he said. ‘Celia. She’s part time. Not a part time woman, a part time—’
    ‘Doctor,’ Moira chimed in.
    ‘Oh. Right. I’ll think about it.’ Lucy fled the scene and bolted her front door. ‘What happened there?’ she asked the cat when she reached the kitchen. The cat simply twitched his tail and began a long monologue that was probably a complaint of some kind. ‘Oh, Smokey.’ Lucy picked up the heavy animal. ‘What are we to do?’ She didn’t want a doctor so close, was worried about having a doctor at all, because they all knew each other, didn’t they? And her notes, from Bolton, would very likely say more than Lucy wanted anyone to know.
    Next door, Richard Turner stood with his back to Moira and his gaze fixed on the river. He felt as guilty as sin, because he could no longer show love to the woman he had married. She had been a beautiful, tiny girl with a waist so small that his hands had spanned it. The more ill she became, the more he was forced to retreat. He could not manage to desire a person whose soiled underclothing he was sometimes forced to change. And the way she behaved was often embarrassing, as she carried on like a spoilt only child with doting parents who allowed her all her own way. Yet he did love her so much . . . Oh, what a bloody mess.
    ‘Richard?’
    ‘What?’ He didn’t turn.
    ‘She’s got magnificent assets.’
    ‘Who?’ He knew that the skin on his face had reddened.
    ‘Lucy.’
    He lowered his head. He had loved Moira for as long as he could remember – since his teenage years. ‘Behave yourself,’ he said eventually. ‘And stop trying to find concubines for me.’ At last, he turned. ‘I love you. There’s more to life than sex.’ That was his brain speaking, but the rest of him craved . . . oh, well. Best not to think about all the other stuff. Like the warmth of a woman, the sweetness emerging from between parted lips, his hand on a breast, on a belly— ‘There’s more to life,’ he repeated.
    ‘There has to be,’ she replied sharply. ‘Because you can’t make love to a woman in a nappy. So how have you been managing?’
    He shrugged and, as ever, was honest with her. ‘A few one-night stands with women I’ve met online. And a quick fumble with one of the temporary practice nurses – it came to nothing. But it has to be somebody for whom I only feel desire – no more than that. I can’t get involved.’
    ‘Why?’
    He walked across the room. ‘Because you’re my wife in sickness and in health, you daft cow – it’s in the bloody contract. Because we have three children and, with luck, we’ll be grandparents in the fullness of time.’
    Moira struggled to sit still. The shakes had started again, and there was no way of controlling her hands. ‘I can’t feel anything any more, Rich. Only pain, no pleasure. Even if I’m clean, it must be like making love to a side of beef. I don’t need to remind you that secondary progressive means no more remissions.’ She swallowed with difficulty. ‘You’re relatively young, and you need to sort this out, prepare for the time when I’m no longer here.’
    ‘Stop this. I mean it, Moira.’
    She laughed. ‘Is there nothing like a pizza parlour? You know how people phone if they want food – don’t they deliver thin crust or thick crust women with or without anchovies?’
    When she wasn’t being childish, she was priceless. He saw the crippled woman, heard the clever soul within. ‘With or without chips?’ he asked.
    ‘Without. Get a side salad. So, you want a busty woman with good legs and an undressed salad. Keep your figure, love.’
    Sometimes, he needed to weep and scream. He wanted his Moira back,