‘What are we going to do?’ asked Lucy, not liking the sound of an angry Mick with a gun.
Maureen sighed and her shoulders drooped. ‘You’re asking me questions I don’t have answers to.’ Her voice was low and troubled. ‘There’s been a big funeral in Cork for Terence McSwinney. Remember he was arrested when we were over there? He starved himself to death. Took him over seventy days to die.’
Lucy’s blood ran cold. How could anyone bear going hungry that long?
‘His chaplain’s saying he’s stronger dead than all the living forces of the British Empire.’ Maureen glanced at her daughter. ‘You understand what this means, Lucy? Now McSwinney’s paid with his life for a Republic of Ireland, the fight’ll go on until the rebels win – and only Our Lord knows how many lives that’ll take. Perhaps it’s just as well our Mick is coming home. He’s my brother after all and we were close when we were young. I just wish Callum hadn’t opened his big mouth!’
* * *
It was early in November when Lucy arrived back from the timber yard to find her uncle seated in front of the fire. He had put on weight, filling the seat of the chair. No longer did he look the least bit like the wiry, smoothcheeked man in the photograph on the mantelshelf. His fox-red hair was close-cropped and his drooping moustache curved into points to either side of his chin. He wore baggy dark blue trousers and a shirt of the same colour.
‘You be nice to your Uncle Mick now, Lucy,’ said Maureen, placing a stool in front of her brother. ‘We’ve all got to be nice to him to make up for what he’s been through.’ There was a look in her eyes that signalled, Do whatever he says, for God’s sake!
‘Of course I’ll be nice,’ said Lucy, trying to drum up some enthusiasm, but she had a headache and was feeling tired. ‘Are you glad to be home, Uncle Mick?’
‘In this dump?’ He rolled his eyes in a way that was reminiscent of her mother and thrust out a leg, thumping his foot on the stool. ‘Take off my boots, girl, so my feet can breathe!’
She remembered doing this for him the last time he’d arrived home but she was less keen this time. She sat listening to him talking to her mother and didn’t like what he had to say. ‘This bloody Mr Jones! You put him out of your mind, sister, or I’ll give you what for! I won’t have you taking up with another bloody Englishman.’
‘Barney’s Welsh.’ Lucy shot a glance at her mother. He didn’t sound very brotherly, not like the old Mick at all.
‘That’s right.’ Maureen stroked her brother’s shoulder. ‘And I’ve told you, Mick, there’s nothing in it. You shouldn’t be taking any notice of Callum. He’s just jealous!’
‘And has reason from what’s he’s said. The trouble is, you’re a good-looking woman. Maybe I should do something to stop him fancying you…’
‘I’m not knowing what you mean, Mick. Mr Jones is a cripple. You can’t go hurting him.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of laying a finger on him. I was talking about you, sister.’ He reached up and gripped the hand that lay on his shoulder, squeezing it. ‘You know what we do to traitors?’
Maureen gasped. ‘You’re hurting me! And I’m no such thing.’
Lucy paused in what she was doing and glanced at Timmy, who had also stopped what he was doing and was staring at his mother and uncle open-mouthed.
‘I’m your brother. You should put me first,’ said Mick, exerting more pressure. ‘You’ll not be seeing him again!’
‘Yes, Mick. Anything you say,’ Maureen squealed, tears springing to her eyes.
He released her. ‘You see you do and we’ll get on fine. Just like the old days.’ Running a hand over his face and hair, he ordered, ‘Now get me something to eat. I’m hungry.’
Lucy would not have believed he could do such a thing to her mother if she hadn’t seen it for herself. She should have done something to stop him but he was so strong and heavy. Still, maybe it wouldn’t happen again. She could only hope so.
He glanced down at her and smiled. ‘Are you having a struggle there, girl?’
‘A little, Uncle Mick. They’re such big boots.’ Lucy gave a final tug, the boot came off and she toppled backwards. Again, just like before. But he didn’t laugh this time, just told her to stop messing about.
‘Perhaps you’d like her to run up to the pub with the jug for you?’ said Maureen.
‘Yes. She can do that.’ Mick surprised Lucy by touching her cheek gently with one finger. The red hairs on the back of his hand tickled her skin. She couldn’t make him out and felt confused. ‘Get them to fill it with best bitter.’ He took a coin from his pocket and flicked it in her direction.
She caught it deftly. ‘What about your other boot?’
‘Your mammy can do it. You be off, and take your brother with you.’
Lucy didn’t argue but took the chipped blue jug and left, followed by Timmy. They had not closed the front door behind them when she heard her uncle say, ‘That boy’s getting to look more like his bloody daddy every day. I hope you’re not spoiling him?’
‘He’s my only son and has no father. Who else is there to spoil him but me?’
‘He shouldn’t be getting spoilt at all. I’m thinking that maybe I should stay on here. The boy needs a man about the place. He’s got to learn that life won’t do him any favours.’
‘So – you’re not going back to Ireland?’
‘Didn’t I just say that?’ growled Mick. ‘Dermot wanted rid of me anyway. There’s things I can do here.’
‘You mean get involved in—’
‘Keep your mouth shut, sister! D’you want the neighbours knowing our business? Is the front door closed?’ There was the sound of heavy footsteps.
Lucy and Timmy fled.
Neither of them spoke until they were through the passage and into Bostock Street. ‘I’m frightened, Luce,’ whispered Timmy, hunching his narrow shoulders and slipping a hand into hers. ‘I don’t like him.’
‘You mustn’t be frightened,’ she said firmly. ‘And what are you whispering for? He can’t hear you.’
Her brother’s blue eyes expressed doubt. ‘How d’you know? He might be magic.’
‘Don’t be daft!’
‘It’s not daft. Sir has eyes in the back of his head. He’s always telling us.’
Lucy smiled. ‘That’s just to make you behave when his back’s turned. If Mam doesn’t see Uncle Barney, things’ll be OK.’ Goodbye dreams of having him for a stepfather, she thought. Although what about Mam’s job? More often than not she saw him when she went in to clean.
‘Uncle Mick doesn’t like me because I look like our dad,’ muttered Timmy, kicking at a stone.
Lucy knew he was right but felt a need to reassure him. ‘It probably isn’t that at all. The way he goes on about Mr Jones, I think he’s jealous of him. We just have to be nice to Uncle Mick like Mam said.’
But it wasn’t easy to be nice to their uncle because he wasn’t nice to them. Not that they saw a lot of Mick despite his not making any effort to find work. He made the excuse that the wound he’d incurred in Ireland was still giving him trouble, but that did not stop him from going out and not coming back until late at night. And when he was home, more often than not he was oiling or polishing his revolver, which made them all uneasy.
One day Mick seized Timmy by the throat as he passed his chair and held the gun to the boy’s head, barking, ‘Your money or your life!’
Timmy shrieked, ‘I’ve got no money, Uncle Mick! Don’t kill me!’
Maureen yelled at her brother to stop frightening the boy and Lucy sprang forward and seized her uncle’s arm and tried to break his grip. Mick laughed and pushed first Timmy away, then Lucy. ‘I’m only playing with the lad. He’s a cissy.’
‘He’s not! Anyone would be frightened if they had a gun held to their head,’ said Lucy, trembling as she hugged her brother.
‘That’s true, Mick,’ said Maureen, eyes wide with fright. ‘Why don’t you try and get yourself a job? The money you gave me when you first
came home is running out.’
His face froze. ‘Are you complaining, sister? You know I’ve got work.’
She swallowed. ‘I meant proper work! Not being a lap dog to that O’Neill fella, getting yourself involved in things you’re best staying out of. I need regular money from you, Mick. If it weren’t for my job and Lucy’s, we’d be in the workhouse.’ Inexplicably Mick did not appear to have remembered Maureen worked at the cinema where Barney Jones played the piano. ‘It’s not right, us keeping you. You’re eating us out of house and home.’
‘Stop moaning, sister! I’ll get you money.’ He glared at her and took up a scrap of black velvet cloth and carried on polishing his gun, whistling a marching song through his teeth.
Maureen left him and went upstairs. The children followed, not wanting to be alone with him. Lucy sniffed as they came to the landing. ‘What’s that smell?’
‘Don’t ask!’ said Maureen wearily. ‘And there’s no need to be following me. Mick won’t hurt you. He’s just being a tease, that’s all.’
‘He’s not nice,’ muttered Timmy, leaning against a wall. ‘I’m scared he might hurt you again, Mam.’
Maureen laughed lightly. ‘He won’t. Now I’ve work to do. You go out and play.’
‘What about my making sweets, Mam? Remember we said we’d try coconut ice? Did you get ingredients?’
Her mother’s mouth tightened. ‘And how can I be doing that when we’re needing more coal and extra food? You’re going to have to forget selling toffee apples and sweets for the moment. Now go out and play!’ She went into the bedroom and slammed the door.
Worried and disappointed, Lucy went downstairs with Timmy and out of the house. Should she spend her own money on ingredients? But if she did that her mother would immediately want to know where she’d got it from and Lucy was determined to keep her secret hoard. Things might get worse.
When she went to bed that night she realised what the smell upstairs was. Paraffin! She mentioned it to her mother who almost bit her head off. ‘Why should we have paraffin in the house, you eejit? You’re imagining it.’
Lucy thought she might have imagined it once but not twice. So where was the smell coming from?
Chapter Seven
The next day Mick was in a better mood, joking with his sister and even complimenting Lucy on how well she was doing selling firewood, ruffling her hair and tickling her under the chin. She suffered the indignity, wanting to get a closer smell of him, and was convinced his clothing reeked of paraffin. But what was he doing with that? What was he up to? No good, she’d bet. When she saw the newspaper headlines in the Liverpool Echo, Lucy felt sure she was right. There had been arson attacks down by the docks and it was suspected they were the work of a cell of Sinn Feiners in the city.
The following Saturday was a dull damp day and the children were indoors when Mick limped in at lunchtime. He took off his wet coat and hung it on a nail then sat down in front of the low-burning fire. There was a brooding expression on his face and he smelled of drink. After a single glance in his direction, Maureen and the children kept quiet.
‘That lad should be out playing,’ he said abruptly. ‘You’re turning him into a nancy boy, letting him play with slates and chalk. He should be out with the other lads playing football.’
‘The damp’s not good for his chest,’ said Lucy swiftly, glancing at her mother.
‘He needs toughening up. When I was a lad…’
Maureen interrupted him. ‘He was out earlier with Lucy, selling the firewood, and came in shivering. Will you be going out again later, Mick? Only…’
‘I’ve just come in! Wanting to be rid of me already? Boy!’ Mick snapped his fingers at Timmy. ‘Get some coal for this fire. I want it roaring up the chimney!’
‘We’ve hardly got any coal, Uncle Mick,’ said Lucy. ‘Why d’you think we’ve got our coats on?’
He glared at her. ‘Shut up and sit down! Unless you want to feel the back of my hand?’
Lucy sat down, her body tense, wanting to hit him.
Mick thumped the arm of the chair with his fist, startling them all so much they visibly jumped. ‘I’m sick of being told we can’t have this and we can’t have that. Boy! You come over here and take the bucket and get some coal.’ Timmy, pale and trembling but with a resolute expression on his face, went over to the fireplace where his uncle sat. The next moment the boy was flat on the floor and groaning. Lucy and Maureen started in his direction, only to be held back by Mick’s outstretched leg and arm. ‘Let the lad get up himself!’ he roared.
Lucy’s heart was beating so fast with anger and fear she thought it would jump out of her chest. How dare he make them feel like this? How dare he! She watched her brother struggle to his feet and saw that not only was he clutching his stomach but that a lump was forming on his head.
‘I-I can’t believe you-you just did that!’ gasped Maureen.
‘It was an accident! The boy’s clumsy,’ growled Mick. ‘That’s what comes from staying in and messing about with chalk. Fresh air’ll clear his head. Get him out of here!’
For a moment Maureen just stared at him and then she screeched. ‘It’s cold and damp out there, you eejit! Will you talk bloody sense! Do you want him dead?’
Mick pushed himself up out of the chair and slapped her across the face. The force of the blow knocked her head sideways. Lucy screamed and flung herself at him. He seized her by the arm and threw her so that she landed on her bottom on the floor. It hurt and for a moment she was too shocked to move. Maureen’s back was towards Lucy and she could see her mother’s shoulders shaking and hear her making a keening noise.
‘Stop that! It makes you look ugly!’ shouted Mick, his hand hovering above her head. ‘Stop it! Or I’ll hit you again.’
The crying shuddered to a stop.
Lucy decided to stay on the floor. It felt safer there. She rubbed her upper arm, waiting, not knowing what would happen next. Mick turned his back on them, muttering to himself, feeling with one hand along the mantelshelf. For what seemed like an age nothing happened. Lucy could see a spiral of smoke weaving about his head. Timmy looked at her and in an attempt to reassure him she winked.
His mouth trembled into a smile and cautiously he inched towards her, carefully avoiding his mother’s feet. She appeared oblivious of him. As soon as he reached Lucy, the girl took his hand and slowly they backed towards the door, their eyes on Mick. Carefully Lucy turned the knob and pushed the door open with her bottom. She looked at Maureen, not wanting to leave her, but her mother’s attention was on Mick. Lucy delayed no longer but left the house.
They stood on the step, trembling. She glanced around the court, marvelling that nobody was rushing out to see what was going on. They were probably all huddled indoors, ears to the walls, having heard the commotion but feeling too scared of Mick to interfere. Perhaps they’d guessed he might have a gun. She didn’t blame them for staying out of the way. Suddenly she noticed next door’s black and white cat cleaning itself on the step and somehow the ordinariness of the action reassured her. She slipped her hands into her pockets and her fingers curled about something inside one of them. She brought out two tickets for the kids’ matinee that day. Timmy had given her them yesterday to look after. Lucy considered herself too old to go these days but the matinee was actually where she’d like to be right now.
Timmy tugged on her arm and looked up at her with anxious eyes. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘How does the kids’ matinee sound?’
He grinned. There was no need for words.
For a short while in the warm darkness of the cinema Lucy could forget what had taken place earlier. Last week Perilous Pauline had been left hanging from a cliff edge. Now all that mattered was finding out how she was going to get out of trouble. Children cheered as the rope to which she clung managed to loop itself about the stump of a tree halfway down a cliff and stopped her from dashing out her brains on the rocks below. Within a short space of time she was
in trouble again and the audience couldn’t wait to come back again next week.
The lights went up and Lucy heard the clump, clump of Barney ascending the aisle towards them. ‘Hello there, Lucy, Timmy.’ He beamed down at the pair of them. ‘How’s tricks? Getting on with your uncle?’
Timmy groaned and Lucy dug him gently in the ribs, remembering her gran saying that families should stick together, come what may. ‘We’re getting on fine,’ she said. Barney chuckled. ‘Timmy doesn’t sound like he is.’
‘He says I’m a cissy,’ said the boy, jutting out his chin. ‘He tripped me up deliberately and punched me in the stomach. He said I need toughening up. I don’t like him.’ Barney shook his golden head. ‘I don’t know what to say. These ex-soldiers! I know what you’re suffering, boyo. He’s a big man, is he, your Uncle Mick?’
‘Fat,’ said Timmy, unfolding his arms and making a large circle. ‘He frightens me.’
‘A bit of healthy fear is no bad thing,’ said Barney thoughtfully. He patted Timmy’s head, took a couple of sweets from his pocket and gave them one each. ‘My regards to your mother. I haven’t seen much of her lately but I suppose she’s busy now your uncle’s home?’
Lucy nodded, wishing she could tell him the truth about Mick, but what could Barney do? She now felt guilty about leaving her mother and hurried home but when they arrived the house was empty. Had her mother gone in search of them? Lucy decided to look for her. She told Timmy to stay in the house where it was comparatively warm, adding that she wouldn’t be long.
She did not have to look far, bumping into her mother in the passage. ‘Are you OK, Mam? He didn’t hit you again, did he?’
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