‘Want a hand carrying your things?’ offered Rob, addressing Maureen, much to Lucy’s annoyance.
She thanked him and soon they had joined the mad dash to the pier where queues were already forming. On the ferry Timmy fell asleep and it was Rob who carried him off the boat when they reached the Pierhead, covering the boy with his jacket. The rain sheeted down and they were soaked long before they reached the house. He followed them indoors.
They all stopped abruptly at the sight of the two men sitting at the table. Lucy recognised her uncle’s guest as the younger of the two Irishmen whom Timmy had pointed out at the Pierhead.
Mick pushed back his chair and stood up, his eyes on Rob. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Tush, Mick. Don’t sound so unfriendly. He’s related to Mr Jones,’ said Maureen, taking off her hat and shaking it. She turned to Rob. ‘Thanks a lot for your help.’
‘No trouble.’ He put the boy down and, without looking in the men’s direction again, left.
‘He’s forgotten his jacket,’ said Maureen.
‘Take it to him, Lucy. I don’t want him coming back,’ said Mick.
She hurried after Rob, leaping off the steps and shouting his name just as he was about to disappear up the passage. She had a feeling he wasn’t pleased to be stopped but he walked back towards her and took his jacket. ‘Thanks.’ He hesitated. ‘D’you know who that bloke is with your uncle?’
She was surprised by the question. ‘I think his name’s Shaun O’Neill.’ Rob thanked her and walked away.
The room was quiet when Lucy re-entered the kitchen. Her mother had placed a chair in front of the fire and was hanging her coat over it. She said abruptly, ‘I’m thinking it’s time your visitor was going, Mick. We’ll need to dry our things and get something hot down us before we catch colds.’
Shaun stood up, smiling at her. ‘It’s all right, missus. I’m on my way.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ said Mick hastily.
As soon as the two men had left the room, Maureen said to Lucy, ‘I don’t like him. He’s got shifty eyes.’
‘I think he’s up to no good, Mam. Timmy pointed him out to me at the Pierhead. He’s a punter. But it’s not that which bothers me. I overheard him speaking to another man about some mad scheme and him having found someone to help them and a place to meet. I’m thinking it’s Uncle Mick he’s found, and this is the house he meant.’
Maureen’s eyes flashed. ‘It’ll be some mad caper to make money, I bet! He’s always liked a gamble, our Mick. That’s OK if you’ve got the money to throw away, but we haven’t. I’ll have a word with him when he comes back.’ She had more than one word. Mick just sat there, elbows on his knees, looking downcast. ‘You’ve caught me out, Mo. You’re right, I have been gambling. I owe money and there’s a bloke after me. I’m thinking that maybe I’ll have to get away. To Ireland maybe. He’s not going to follow me there.’ Maureen and Lucy stared at him in astonishment. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said swiftly. ‘That there’s fighting going on there. But I’ll maybe go to Cousin Dermot’s farm. It’s peaceful there and I’ll help him with the animals and stay out of trouble.’
Maureen seemed satisfied. ‘I’ll miss you, Mick, but I’d rather you were safe from the moneylenders.’
Two days later they went and waved him off and everything settled down to just the way it had been before he’d come back from the war. Lucy briefly considered taking up Rob’s aunt’s offer of offcuts, but thought that as he probably worked for his aunt at the yard, the less chance she had of seeing him the better. There was something about him that disturbed her, made her feel restless and even more dissatisfied with her lot than she was already.
Lucy was feeling particularly fed up one day when she arrived home to find her mother had a visitor. She had burst into the house ready to air her grievances only to stop short at the sight of Callum seated in the best chair, wreathed in a haze of pipe tobacco smoke.
‘Where’ve you been?’ said Maureen, frowning as she looped a curl behind her ear and wiped her sweaty face with a cloth as she stood over the fire, stirring a pan. ‘I was ready to send out a search party.’
‘A big queue at Farrell’s again. I think I might have to go up to Miss Griffiths’ yard after all.’
‘Who’s she?’ asked Callum.
‘She’s sort of related to Barney Jones,’ said Lucy.
‘And who’s he?’ said Callum absently.
Lucy looked at her mother. ‘Don’t be staring at me, girl,’ she said sharply. ‘Why should I be interested in Mr Jones’s relatives – or him for that matter?’
‘But you and he are friendly, Mam,’ said Lucy, surprised.
Maureen gave a tinkling laugh as she removed the steaming, blackened pan from the fire. ‘Tush, girl! That doesn’t mean I’m interested in his family.’
Callum looked mildly annoyed. ‘Is he the fella that plays the piano at the cinema at the top here? He’s a Protestant, isn’t he? I would have thought you’d have had enough of them with the one you married, Maureen? Not that I’ve anything against the Welsh but I hope it’s nothing serious, darlin’?’
‘Didn’t you just hear me say I wasn’t interested in the man?’ Maureen’s colour was high as she bustled over to the table with the pan and a ladle. ‘But he’s kind and gives Timmy and Lucy sweets.’
‘Doesn’t come visiting here then?’
‘As if I’d allow it,’ she said with a toss of her head. ‘Are you going now you’ve had your say? The children will be wanting their suppers.’
He got up, knocking his pipe out on the fireplace. ‘It’s a flirt you are, Maureen, just when I thought we were getting on fine.’
’Of course we were getting on fine,’ she said hastily. ‘But enough said. Your mammy’ll be wondering what’s keeping you. Thank her for her offer and tell her I’ll think about it.’
‘Sure and I will.’ Callum reached for the tammy on the mantelshelf. ‘But I’m hoping you’re being straight with me about this piano player?’
Her expression hardened. ‘You’re pushing your luck if you still want to be made welcome here, Callum McCallum. I’ll not be answering to you. Now out of my house! My children need feeding.’ She turned her back on him, spooning scouse into bowls.
As soon as the front door slammed behind him, Maureen rounded on Lucy, holding the ladle aloft, a wrathful expression on her face. ‘Why did you have to go and mention Mr Jones, yer eejit? Callum won’t be forgetting him now. He’s that on edge I’m even scared to talk to the neighbours!’
‘Why’s he on edge? And why’s he so worked up about Barney Jones?’ said Lucy, her eyes on the dripping ladle, thinking about what Callum had said about Maureen being a flirt. ‘You told Callum that he’s only—’
‘I told, I told!’ Her mother whacked the table with the ladle and Lucy nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘What I told him wasn’t true! I’m very fond of Mr Jones and I don’t want anything happening to him while we’re away in Ireland.’
‘Ireland?’ Lucy’s heart leaped. ‘We’re going to Ireland?’ Her voice squeaked.
‘That we are! I have to see our Mick and I’m to take you two with me. We won’t be away long. Only a couple of days.’
‘Where’s the money coming from?’
‘Our Mick sent it.’ Maureen’s tone was abrupt. She sat down at the table. ‘Come on, get your suppers and forget about this for now.’
‘What about my round? I can’t let my customers down,’ protested Lucy.
Her mother put a hand to her head and groaned. ‘So many things to think about. I’m sure we can get someone to do it.’
‘Who?’ said Lucy. ‘Who can we trust?’
Her mother dropped her hand and began to eat. ‘Perhaps young Owen’ll do it. He doesn’t have to be in work until half-ten.’
Lucy did not like that idea at all. ‘Owen Davies! Remember what I told you about him at Christmas – and Uncle Mick seemed to think he fancied me! I don’t want to encourage him.’
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‘Don’t be silly. When did you ever have anything to do with him? Unless - have you been going into the projection room and asking questions about how things work? It’s not feminine to take such an interest in machinery.’
‘No, Mam.’
‘He’s a nice lad. Always polite.’ Two-faced, thought Lucy. ‘I’ll ask him,’ said her mother. ‘He can go up to that Miss Griffiths’ yard for offcuts. He doesn’t live far from there. In Daniel Street, I believe. His mother’s a widow. She cleans the liners when they dock. You’ll have to write down the addresses for him.’
‘Right,’ murmured Lucy, still not happy with the idea but knowing she had no choice but to fall in with her mother’s plan if she wanted to go to Ireland. She realised something else. ‘We can go and visit Dad’s grave!’
‘Aye, that’s true,’ said Maureen, looking sad. ‘I’ve never been able to face it before. Of course his parents never forgave me for not going with them that time.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I loved him though they didn’t believe it. Thought the marriage was a big mistake.’ She dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her pinafore.
‘Is that why we’ve never heard from them or seen them since?’ said Lucy.
Maureen did not answer and Lucy put down her spoon and leaned across the table. ‘If we visit Dad’s grave we could write and tell them we’ve been. Then they’ll forgive you and maybe invite us to live with them so we can be a proper family.’
Her mother looked at her as if she’d gone mad. ‘The last thing I want is to live with theml We’ll get by without their help, thank you very much! Now eat your dinner. There’s a lot to be done before we go to Ireland.’
Chapter Five
Lucy gazed at ships great and small as they left the open sea behind and steamed past Roches Point which marked the harbour entrance to the port of Cobh. It was a short distance from the city of Cork, on the south-west coast of Ireland. A natural deepwater harbour, it was the first and last European port of call for the transatlantic liners. Only eight years ago the Titanic had departed from Cobh to continue its ill-fated maiden voyage.
Seagulls wheeled overhead. There had been a downpour a short while ago but now the sun was peeping out from behind the clouds. Lucy gazed across the waves towards a granite spire which pierced the sky above slate-roofed houses. A carillon of bells sounded sweetly across the water and it was as if she’d been touched by magic. She thought of the tales her gran had told her and wondered if the ‘little people’ really did exist.
‘That’s the noon bells,’ said Maureen, her arm round Timmy who was sitting on the ship’s rail. ‘We’ll be landing soon. I was your age, Lucy, when we left here and Daddy filled my head with dreams of how wonderful everything would be when we reached Liverpool, but nothing turned out how I expected.’
‘What’s Cork like, Mam? It’s a funny name for a city.’
‘It comes from the Irish, Corcaigh. Which means “marshy place”. The marshes have long gone but there’s still the River Lee. It twists and turns, almost encircling the city centre, and there’s that many bridges you feel like you’re forever crossing the water. There are some lovely shops on St Patrick’s Street.’
‘But we’re not staying in Cork?’
‘No.’ Maureen looked disgruntled. ‘I’ve never been one for the countryside. Still, it won’t be long now before we see Mick. He’ll be waiting for us on the quay and I’ll be glad to make sure he’s all right.’
Lucy wondered why he shouldn’t be but didn’t ask. She was trying not to worry about anything. Especially Owen Davies doing her round.
But Mick was not on the quayside and they found themselves in the uncomfortable position of feeling they’d been forgotten as the minutes ticked by and there was still no sign of him. Maureen began to show signs of impatience. ‘I knew it! I just knew he’d be late,’ she said, tapping her foot on the pavement. Lucy wondered how she’d known that when she’d said she was convinced he’d be on the quay waiting for her.
Suddenly there was the sound of horses’ hooves and they gazed hopefully at the pony and trap that was heading in their direction. It stopped alongside them and a man, broad- shouldered and dressed in a shabby tweed suit, a broken nose in his weather-beaten face, called to them, ‘Is it Maureen and her children now?’
‘Cousin Dermot?’ A smile flooded Maureen’s face.
‘Aye! That’s me.’ He twinkled down at her. ‘You’re looking bonny, woman. And what nice-looking children.’
‘Don’t you be trying to softsoap me,’ she said, laughing. ‘Where’s that brother of mine? Digging potatoes or milking cows?’
‘Neither, woman. He’s off on some business in Cork. Yer’ll be climbing aboard now? I’m wanting to get away from here.’ He glanced in the direction of some men across the way, dressed in khaki and black. ‘Up with you all! I’m not wanting the Tans to get too good a look at me.’
Lucy did not ask why not but climbed into the trap with Timmy while her mother sat on the seat beside Dermot. He clicked his tongue, flicked the reins and they were off through the rainwashed streets. Nobody spoke. Lucy could tell from the way her mother held herself that something was bothering her, but it wasn’t until the port and the coast were left behind and fields of golden wheat, flowering potatoes and grazing cattle surrounded them on either side, that Maureen broke the silence.
‘I didn’t expect to see the Tans so soon.’
‘And aren’t they all over the place, the arrogant buggers?’ Dermot retorted. At her reproving look he added meekly. ‘If yer’ll excuse me language?’
She cleared her throat. ‘The violence is as bad as the newspapers say then?’
‘You’re not to be worrying yerself. You’ll be in and out of here before yer know it.’
‘I will that, but even so I worry. I don’t want out Mick getting himself involved.’
Lucy pricked up her ears but kept her gaze fixed firmly on the distant rounded hills, chin resting on her arms against the side of the cart.
‘You have Callum’s letter?’ asked Dermot.
Maureen reached into a pocket and took out an envelope. She waved it under his nose before returning it to her pocket. ‘I don’t know what he’s got to say to our Mick that’s so secret it couldn’t be sent through the post.’
‘Letters can go astray, woman, and Mick thought you’d be glad to come over with it and see how he’s getting on.’
‘I am,’ she agreed. ‘That younger brother of mine has caused me more worry than both my children!’
‘You mustn’t worry. Mick says he can take care of himself.’ There was a trace of irony in Dermot’s voice which made Lucy think he doubted the truth of this.
They turned off the road into a stone-infested, pot-holed, dirt track which terminated at a farmyard with a dung heap to one side and hens peck-pecking in scrubby grass and dirt. Smoke trickled from the chimney protruding from a thatched roof. The house was whitewashed and long and single-storeyed.
The front door opened and several more hens and a pig came squeaking and squawking from its dark interior. Timmy laughed and pointed. ‘Animals! I like animals.’
A woman with a tanned, wrinkled face stood in the doorway, carrying a galvanised pail and gazing up at them. She rattled off a string of words Lucy couldn’t make sense of but Dermot responded in the same language as his mother ambled over to him.
‘Down, children!’ ordered Maureen. ‘And don’t forget the bag, Lucy!
Flies zoomed in on them as they made their way to the house and hurried inside. Lucy stood staring about her. Somehow she’d expected something grander from the way her mother had spoken about her home in Ireland, but still this place was homely enough with well-worn furniture and a huge open fireplace, resembling a cave. There were shelves holding crockery and food jars of this, that and the other, and a sack of flour on the floor. Under a window was a sink with a pump and on the sills of both windows were statues: one of St Francis of Assisi and another of the Madonna and the Holy Child. A
scrubbed table twice the size of theirs at home stood in the middle and a couple of doors opened off the room.
The old woman entered and said something in English but with such a strong Irish brogue that Lucy couldn’t understand her. She beckoned to the children with a smile and began to slice bread. They’d had little to eat since leaving Liverpool and wolfed down the bread and butter, washing it down with buttermilk.
‘That’ll put some flesh on your bones, my girl,’ said their mother, getting up and speaking to the old woman in the Irish.
She scurried over to the fireplace, taking down a heavy frying pan. A flitch of bacon was lifted from a hook on the ceiling and several slices cut from it. Salt crystals clung to its smoky brown skin and soon the delicious smell of frying filled the room. Lucy’s mouth watered. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be so bad staying here after all.
But when the bacon and eggs came they were swimming in fat and she wasn’t so sure then. Still all that fat might give her some curves so she ate the lot, mopping up the grease with bread.
Afterwards Maureen settled herself on the sofa with a newspaper and suggested the children go and explore. But they had scarcely reached the outskirts of a wood just beyond the farm buildings where a couple of pigs snuffled in the grass when there was the sound of a motor engine. ‘Perhaps that’s Uncle Mick,’ said Timmy.
They raced back as quickly as they could and were just in time to see an open tourer roaring away along the dirt track. They watched until it was out of sight then, hearing voices coming from the house, went inside.
The room appeared to be full of men. Mick was lying on the sofa, groaning. His shirt was unbuttoned and his trousers undone. There was blood. Lots of it. Dermot’s mother was frantically rooting in one of the table drawers, while Maureen was over by the sink, working the pump.
The children ran over to her. ‘What’s happened?’ whispered Lucy. ‘Has Uncle Mick been in a fight?’
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