‘Playing cherry-wobs.’
‘She was on a bicycle,’ interspersed Liam.
‘Cherry-wobs?’
Cathy nodded. ‘You flick fruit stones up a drainpipe and when they fall out into the gulley, they hit some other stones and then you win all of them.’ She put a hand in her pocket and pulled out some disgusting cherry innards that looked as old as time itself. ‘They’ve been vinegared and dried to make them last.’
‘With no saddle,’ said Liam.
Bridie tutted. ‘You’re filthy, child.’
‘And no brakes. Her shoes will be ruined.’
Cathy sighed resignedly. ‘I got on the bike after I’d won the cherry-wobs,’ she said. She tried to look at the priest, could not quite manage to meet his eyes. He had very nasty eyes. ‘And I can ride standing up on a horse or a bicycle,’ she declared, mostly for his benefit.
Edith stepped to the fore. ‘You’ll come clean,’ she advised Cathy gravely. ‘But riding on a bicycle with no brakes can be dangerous. Shall we go upstairs to Aunt Theresa’s bathroom and get you clean? Then you can tell me about your adventures.’ She smiled at Bridie, nodded towards her nephew and removed the offending child from the scene.
‘You should keep a closer watch on her,’ said Liam.
Sam bustled in from the shop. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I heard someone knocking on my way downstairs. It was Mrs Charnley wanting her blankets, so I had to open up for her. Of course, she decided she needed a long chat.’ He looked from Liam to Bridie to Richard. ‘Where’s Edith?’
‘Cleaning the child,’ snapped Liam. ‘Catherine wants watching. I found her doing about fifty miles an hour on an old boneshaker of a bike. She shouldn’t be out when you have visitors. That girl needs to be taught some manners. Her mother should be keeping a closer watch on Catherine’s behaviour. The girl ought to have some discipline.’
Sam dropped his chin, thought for a moment. This was one of the many times when Liam was not quite likeable. ‘The little girl’s name is Caitlin, not Catherine,’ he said finally. ‘My wife knows exactly how to deal with the girls.’ Then he raised his head and looked Liam full in the face. Bridie must stay. He wasn’t going to stand still and allow Liam to strengthen the case for returning to Ireland. ‘Things are well in hand here, Liam. So you need not concern yourself.’
Bridie was dumbfounded for the second time this day. Here was Sam sticking up for her after he’d promised shop-bought clothes for herself and the girls. She knew what he was up to but, all the same, he wasn’t a man who parted easily with money. He must value her, or he would not have volunteered to open a clothing account. Also, he was holding his own with Liam, who was usually discussed with reverence and in hushed tones.
Liam Bell’s heart seemed to stand still for a second or two. Something told him not to inform Dad of the visit to Anthony’s house. He had intended to take his father aside at some point, had meant to describe Anthony’s attitude. But this was not the time, Liam advised himself. Not that he had anything to hide or regret. Oh no, he had atoned in full for any little sins he might have committed. Liam’s work was the work of God, so righteousness was on Liam’s side. Nevertheless, he would keep certain things to himself for now.
Noel crept past the dresser and tried to hide himself behind Bridie’s skirt. Because of his size, he failed miserably, so he curled into a tight ball. The atmosphere did not suit him. Cathy had left the room, and he felt the tension.
‘What is that?’ snarled Liam.
Sam sat down in his usual chair. ‘It’s a dog.’
Liam shook his head. ‘All the starving people in the world, and you decide to feed an animal.’
Bridie felt herself heating up. The ice melted beneath the ferocity of her anger, yet she remained outwardly composed. ‘There are things of value in the shop, Father Bell,’ she said. ‘Noel is a guard dog. He earns his dinners.’
‘I know there are items of value here,’ said the priest meaningfully.
Richard Spencer broke the ensuing silence by clapping Liam on the back. ‘Happy New Year,’ he said jovially. ‘Let’s help Bridget – I mean Bridie – by making the tea, shall we? After all, we can’t have the ladies thinking we are completely useless, can we?’
Sam and Richard shuffled about with kettle, teapot and caddy, but Liam Bell remained where he was. He stared hard at Bridie, was momentarily nonplussed when she did not lower her eyes. This one thought she was brave, then. She had travelled all the way from Ireland to get her hands on dad’s money.
Without moving her eyes, Bridie dug in the table drawer. She held Liam’s stare when she spoke. ‘Sam?’
‘What?’ He turned from the fireplace.
‘Here you are,’ said his wife. ‘A little gift to mark the new year.’ She placed a packet of Players Weights on the table. ‘That will save you rolling your own tonight, Sam.’
Edith Spencer sat with Aunt Theresa while Cathy splashed about in the little bathroom. Aunt Theresa looked ages younger than she had last year. ‘Bridie’s done a lot for you.’
Theresa grinned gummily. ‘She has that. Forced me to crawl on me hands and knees to get me dinner. Always left it near the door, she did. Tricked me into getting out of bed.’
Edith kept quiet. Like everyone else, she knew that Theresa Bell’s supposed inability to move about had been born of grief and obstinacy. Theresa had worshipped Anthony. After Liam’s ordination, something major had happened between the two boys. Although no-one knew the precise details of the argument, Edith was not surprised by the rift. Liam had given Aunt Theresa one hell of a life, had made his twin’s days miserable, too.
‘Did you bring the queer feller with you?’
Edith nodded. ‘We dropped him off along the road. He went to visit someone.’
‘That’d be Father Brennan,’ said the old woman. ‘There’s not many houses round here where that bugger could expect the welcome mat. As for red carpets – he’ll see none of them.’
Edith thought about mentioning Liam’s intention to call on his brother, but decided against it. Talking about the past was fine, but there was no point in causing the old woman to worry about any further arguments between her grandsons.
Edith Spencer’s biggest regret in life was that she had never borne a child. Cousin Sam’s wife had given birth to twin boys, then poor Maria had died within weeks. Edith had offered to rear the twins, but Aunt Theresa had kept them. And the boys hated one another. It was such a pity. Where there should have been joy, there had been years of agony. ‘Liam was never easy to manage,’ she said now.
Theresa let forth a hollow chuckle. ‘I never had a minute’s peace. Even before they were weaned, that one wanted more milk, more rocking, more attention.’ Her face softened. ‘Anthony used to just stop where I put him. Eeh, that lad’s a good one.’
Edith fiddled with the cameo at her throat. ‘Sam’s hard to understand. He telephoned Richard and told him about Anthony’s illness, yet he won’t visit him. Whatever happens, Sam seems to stand by Liam.’
Theresa sighed. ‘That’s a Catholic education for you. They have it drummed in that they’ve got to have respect for priests, as if priests are perfect.’ She paused for a moment. ‘But deep down, our Sam knows. He won’t face things, our Sam. Always takes the easiest road, never wants trouble. So he’s sided with what looks like good. But he’s not as daft as he makes out.’
Sam was not daft at all, thought Edith. He had built up a thriving business in an area of poverty, had taken on a capable young wife who would tend him in his dotage after caring for his mother. ‘So you won’t come down for something to eat, Aunt Theresa?’
‘When he’s gone. I’ve no intention of breaking bread with him. Whatever happened all them years ago, it must have been serious. Our Anthony’s never borne a grudge for this length of time before. No, I’ll come downstairs when Liam’s gone.’
‘When he goes, we go with him, I’m afraid.’
‘Then I’ll have my tea up here and I’ll see you nex
t time.’ Theresa pursed her lips for a moment. ‘Edith?’
‘Yes?’
‘We were good mates as well as sisters, me and your mam.’
‘I know that.’
‘I could ask her anything and she’d not let me down.’
Edith kept quiet, sensed that something of moment was about to be disclosed.
‘There’s these two horses,’ said Theresa at last. ‘A brown one and a white one.’
Edith maintained her silence.
‘I want you to take them home with you.’
The visitor nodded slowly. ‘Shall I put them in the front seat of the car or in the back? Or would they be better strapped to the roof?’
Theresa grinned. ‘Don’t start, Edith. I’m not messing now. See, our Sam got paid for taking Bridie on. Her dad’s a miserable old bugger, wanted her out of Ireland and away from her dead husband’s lot – they’re not Catholics. So he gave our Sam these bloody racehorses. From what I’ve heard, they’ve been leading the gypsies a merry dance. Any road, to cut a long story down to size, our Sam’s given Bridie these horses.’
Edith was surprised. She did not think of Sam as a generous type. In fact, the spread downstairs was quite exceptional. In the past, when Edith and Richard had visited at New Year or while on business in Rodney Street, they had been lucky to get a cup of tea and a fish-paste sandwich. ‘Why?’ she asked simply.
The older woman shrugged. ‘Well, for one, Bridie found out about the little arrangement, so happen our Sam’s ashamed. And for two, Bridie’s thinking of beggaring off back to Ireland.’
‘Really?’
‘Aye.’ Theresa leaned forward and dropped her voice to an even quieter whisper. Cathy was singing in the bath, but children had good hearing. ‘That one in there’s running a bit wild.’
‘Cathy?’
‘She’s a bright girl, a bit high-strung, but clever. Bridie doesn’t want the child’s cleverness to be turned to bad ways. A lot of criminals are clever, you know. If some of them in prisons had got a bit of a chance, they’d have used their brains well. Bridie’s scared of staying here, so the horses are Sam’s idea of getting Bridie to stay. She’s horse mad. So’s Cathy. She likes animals, that little girl. Have you seen yon dog?’
Edith nodded.
‘If she loves that thing, Cathy must have a good heart. Anyway, we want these here horses stabled and trained.’
‘I’ll do all I can, of course.’
Theresa patted her niece’s hand. ‘I knew you would, love. Aye, there’s a lot of our Ida in you.’
Edith went to get Cathy from the bathroom. For a few moments, she stood in the doorway and watched the child splashing and laughing, then she lifted her out and enveloped her in a towel. In that moment, while she dried Cathy’s hair, Edith realized how much she would have loved a daughter. Especially one like Cathy.
Seven
Diddy Costigan picked her way through a few bags of clothing and several small pools of water. It was washing day in the Costigan household. Like many with large families, Diddy carried the bigger weekly items to the wash-house in Burroughs Gardens. This was the place to be on a Monday morning – not only to achieve clean clothing, sheets and towels, but also in order to collect the juiciest gossip or to keep up with neighbourhood events. Professional washerwomen used the facilities almost every day, but housewives dragged their dirty linen and the world’s problems into this public place just once or twice each week.
The big woman opened her laundry sacks and made sure the colours went in one pile, the whites in another. She glanced around at a few familiar faces, wondered why everybody was so quiet. Armed with a bar of green soap and a scrubbing brush, she began her attack on the first of Billy’s collars. Her movements slowed as light began to dawn in her brain. The wash-house had gone quiet because Diddy, or someone belonging to her, was the subject of today’s discussion. She was the talk of the wash-house. How many times had she heard that said about some other woman? How many times had she uttered those words herself? In Scotland Road, you had to be in real trouble to become the talk of the wash-house.
She threw down soap and brush, raised her head, caught everyone in the act of swivelling to avoid her scrutiny. With her arms akimbo, Diddy addressed the assembly. ‘Right,’ she began, ‘what have I done, when did I do it, where did it happen and who’s going to clean it up?’
Every last woman in the room was suddenly engrossed in stain removal. The sound of bristle against fabric was all that broke the heavy silence.
Diddy bridled, breathed deeply, folded ham-like arms across her ample chest. ‘Minnie Houghton,’ she screamed, ‘have you gone deaf all of a sudden?’
Minnie dropped her washboard. It hit the stone floor with a clatter that resonated for a second or two. ‘Me?’ Black eyebrows met in a frown of mock-horror.
‘Yes, you.’
‘I’ve done nothing,’ said the woman in question, her eyes darting from side to side in search of support from other occupants of the vast room.
Diddy stepped into the aisle. ‘No, it’s me what’s done it, isn’t it? Will you tell me the details then I can run to confession and have my soul bleached while the whites soak? Because I’ll get to the bottom of this, girls.’
Minnie squirmed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Diddy’s eyes scanned all the familiar faces. ‘Elsie?’
The Elsie in question flew outside muttering something about forgotten starch.
Diddy began a slow march round the room. The slap of her shoes against the flags was loud, as if every thud accused a member of the Monday club. Whatever this was, it was big. If Jimmy had been up to his tricks getting food for the Nolans, all here present would have congratulated Diddy on her son’s inventiveness. After all, survival was important, and anyone who helped the truly destitute became the hero of the hour. ‘There’ll be nothing done here till I get some sense,’ shouted Diddy. ‘Even if we’re all here till Easter Sunday falls on the Tuesday before Christmas.’
Minnie Houghton lit a rolly, spat out some loose tobacco.
A woman with a crying baby opened her blouse and fed him. A few more lifted their heads and looked at one another.
Minnie coughed, took another drag on the thin cigarette. ‘It’s your Maureen,’ she ventured. ‘She’s carrying on. Well, that’s what we’ve heard, anyway.’
Diddy nodded. Their Maureen had been carrying on since learning to walk without falling over. Their Maureen had been born with the ability to obtain almost anything she wanted from men. As a beautiful baby, she had smiled for sweets. As an infant, she had danced and sung her way up and down Scotland Road for more sweets. These days, she won every amateur talent show for miles around. So what was new? What was different? ‘Go on, then,’ she ordered.
‘She’s set her sights,’ announced Minnie, her wavering tone betraying a level of nervousness.
‘Has she?’ asked Diddy sarcastically.
‘She has.’ Minnie inhaled another dose of courage, coughed again.
‘What are you smoking?’ asked Diddy. ‘Old rope? Will Dolly Hanson not let you have some baccy on the slate, Minnie?’
The spokeswoman caught her breath. ‘Your Maureen’s after Mr Bell,’ she announced. ‘According to what’s been said, like.’
Diddy howled with laughter. ‘What? That miserable old bugger? Him with the new wife, him with the . . . ?’ Her voice died. ‘You mean Anthony?’
Minnie nodded mutely.
‘I’ll kill her,’ declared Diddy.
The atmosphere relaxed immediately. Women left their washing to care for itself while they gathered in a solid knot of support round their old friend. ‘We were frightened of telling you,’ said Minnie Houghton. ‘With him being so much older than her. I mean, she hangs about with a few of the lads, like, but this one’s a schoolmaster, isn’t he? Oh, I hope there’s nothing in it.’
Diddy’s eyebrows raised themselves. Anthony Bell was a teacher, all right, but she reckoned their M
aureen could fill in a few gaps in his education when it came to the sins of the flesh, especially those parts of the flesh that should remain hidden. ‘I’ve tried to keep her busy,’ she informed the multitude. ‘Only you can’t be on top of them all the time, can you? I mean, she does three or four hours a day at Dolly Hanson’s, then there’s school. But I can’t follow her around when I’ve four others. Jesus, what next? Thank God Anthony Bell’s got more sense than most. He’s one of the few what doesn’t keep his brains in his trousers.’
Sheila Turner decided to throw her hat into the ring. ‘I know Maureen’s a worry, queen,’ she said. ‘Same with my Dorothy. Up the spout at sixteen and no sign of a wedding ring. You don’t know where to put your face. Shamed to death, I was. It never happened in our day.’
Those whose marriages had been hasty made no reply, but women who had been virgin brides or simply lucky nodded and made sympathetic noises.
Diddy leaned against a sink big enough to bathe a whole family. ‘Right. Who’s seen her and what’s going on? Let’s get at a few facts before I brain her.’
The fractured tale was put together until Diddy had a fair idea of the completed jigsaw. ‘So she’s going in there when she’s supposed to be out with her friends? When she says she’s visiting, he’s the one she’s calling on?’
A chorus of yeses formed the reply.
‘He’s too nice,’ pronounced Diddy. ‘He’d never say boo to a goose, and that’s the truth. Only he’d be better locking his door. I mean, she’s not a bad girl, our Maureen, but with her looks she’s older than her years. I’ll have a word. Thanks, girls. But next time, come out with it. I can’t be the talk of the bagwash. I’d be grey before my time.’
They went about their business, steeping, scrubbing, bleaching, rinsing. While washing hung in the heated drying frames, they appointed guards, did their shopping in turn. Diddy Costigan folded her sheets, passed the time of day with her comrades. Then she went home to ‘kill’ their Maureen.
Michael Brennan had been a parish priest for almost twenty years, the last five of which he had served at the church of St Aloysius Gonzaga. During his ministry, he had come across all kinds of people, but he had never encountered anyone quite like the young Father Liam Bell. He could not fathom the man at all, could not place a finger on what it was that singled out this person. There seemed to be no humour in him, no ability to laugh at or with others. Liam took life far too seriously altogether, would certainly not laugh at himself, would never allow others to find him amusing.
The Bells of Scotland Road Page 15