The Bells of Scotland Road

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘Shut up,’ said Molly. ‘If you’ve nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.’

  Alice grunted, then swallowed more ‘cough medicine’. Her business had dwindled to a mere trickle. ‘Bloody upstart,’ she cursed quietly. Still, Bridie Bell would be getting her eye wiped any day now. Alice had whispered a few choice words into a few choice ears, because it wasn’t right. Nobody else seemed to bother about Bridie and Anthony Bell, but Alice’s long-ignored religious knowledge was being used at last. The bold Bell trollop and her stepson were going to be knocked off their high horses, even if those horses had been racing certainties.

  Molly Barnes, a true romantic at heart, smiled tearfully as she watched the ongoings. Bridie Bell’s two daughters were bridesmaids, as was Tildy-Anne Costigan, but there was no sign of Maureen. The girls looked lovely in their little blue dresses, though Tildy was making a pig’s ear out of the proceedings by waving and yelling at everyone she recognized.

  Billy Costigan walked tall, his elder daughter by his side. Diddy would be waiting in the church with Bridie, the whole of Dryden Street and Sam’s mother. Sam’s mother was slipping away into a world of her own, but she remained a caution. Maureen should have come, he told himself. She was doing all right, was working at the Sacred Heart school alongside young Cathy.

  Nicky groaned. ‘Slow down, Dad. Let them all see my frock.’

  Billy obliged. ‘Sorry, love,’ he said. ‘I must have quickened up without thinking.’ He measured his pace to suit hers. Their Maureen would not go near a church. She hadn’t been to mass since . . . for three years or more. As a patient at the Good Shepherd, she had screamed and created when the nuns had tried to get her into chapel. At Sacred Heart, the sisters knew about Maureen’s strange aversion, so they never asked her to attend services. Maureen cleaned corridors, emptied bins, replenished ink and chalk supplies, polished furniture. She lived with Cathy at Cherry Hinton, worked for Edith and Richard, seemed unable to wind down, was always, always on the go.

  Nicky waved to her friends. ‘Look, Dad, there’s Sarah Millington. She’s getting married next month.’

  ‘Very nice, love,’ replied Billy. Maureen hadn’t even been invited to this wedding. She hadn’t visited Scotland Road for over a year, seemed happy and fulfilled where she was. Happy? he asked himself inwardly. Would his little girl ever be happy again? But this was a joyful occasion, he reminded himself. Determinedly, he relegated Maureen to the back of his thoughts and led his older daughter up the aisle.

  Michael Brennan took a bite of cake, then brushed the crumbs from his stock. The wedding had gone very well, and the reception was loud enough to wake the dead. A ceilidh band played Irish jigs while the populace whooped and clattered about all over Fairy Mary’s dance floor. Mary Turner herself was well gone. She had consumed large amounts of alcohol and was giving lessons in Irish dancing, a feat made difficult by limbs which were suddenly disobedient.

  ‘Look at her,’ smiled Anthony Bell, ‘she’s enjoying herself.’

  Fairy Mary was a dignified woman who usually stuck rigidly to tap, ballet and ballroom. However, the Irish blood in her veins was responding to the energetic music, so all thoughts of propriety had disappeared fast.

  Michael Brennan cleared his throat. ‘How’s the job?’ he asked his companion.

  Anthony, depending on lip-reading, smiled. He was enjoying his work in Astleigh Fold. The only fly in the ointment was the fact that he and Bridie were not together permanently. He nodded towards the exit, opened the door and went out to the landing.

  Michael joined his friend.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Anthony. The priest was redder than usual about the face, was twisting and turning the glass in his hand. ‘Michael?’

  The cleric shrugged, swallowed the last of his cake. ‘There’s been a slight problem,’ he said. This was not the time, but when would he see Anthony again? ‘People hereabouts know about you and Bridie. These things do have a habit of getting out.’ He sighed heavily, his head shaking slowly from side to side. ‘The diocese has been on to me.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Anthony pushed back his shoulders, waited. Let them all think what they liked, but he and Bridie had made love only twice. Anthony had been celibate for almost three years, but that was his own business, his and Bridie’s.

  Michael shrugged, as if trying to make light of his difficulties. ‘Bridie still comes to Communion,’ he began.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And . . . well . . . someone has spoken out of turn, Anthony. I was sent for. Two monsignors accused me of condoning adultery. They put forward the usual argument – a sinner must intend not to re-offend if he wants absolution.’ He coughed, drank some whisky. ‘My marching orders would be on the doormat within days, they said, if I didn’t make a certain promise.’

  ‘Did you make it?’

  ‘No.’ Michael Brennan placed the empty glass on a window-sill. ‘If I had absolved a murderer, I would understand. You and Bridie were made for each other – anyone can see that. Folk around these parts know about your relationship. Some don’t approve, some couldn’t care less, others are happy for you. But one particular person has complained.’ It was Alice Makin, he felt sure. Alice Makin had been making a lot of noise about Bridie’s cheap money-lending. ‘The result is that I am now . . .’ He searched for words. ‘I am now blackmailing the Church.’

  Anthony gasped. ‘How?’

  The priest laughed mirthlessly. ‘I told the posse all about Father Liam Bell, the missing stole and the probability that he has committed rape and murder.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘Stalemate,’ he said. ‘You know, Anthony, I think I might go in for chess. Strategy is my middle name.’

  The younger man ignored the banter and homed in on the main issue. ‘So they are worried that you might spread the word about Liam. Will you?’ Anthony knew the answer before it came.

  Father Brennan sat on the top step and waited until Anthony was seated beside him. ‘Too much suffering lies that way,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s Maureen and her family to think about. But I put the clergy in a tight corner, I can tell you. Then, I started to wonder. About wheelings and dealings within the Church, about compromise, about people starving while Rome prospers. It’s not the first time I’ve entertained these thoughts.’

  Anthony nudged his friend. ‘Will you give up the ministry?’

  ‘Will I hell!’ chuckled the priest. ‘Why should I? I’m priest right through to the bone, and that’s an end of it. There’s corruption wherever you look, because where there’s humanity there is sin. However, the whole thing took my breath away for a while.’

  ‘I’m sure it must have.’ Anthony would tell Bridie. Bridie could go elsewhere for confession. Although she had not committed adultery, had not been guilty of recent fornication, Bridie was in love in spite of Rome’s rules on the subject of affinity. The poor girl would be continuing to confess sins of thought and word, because she expressed her love each day on the telephone and each week in writing.

  Oh, well. St Aloysius Gonzaga was not the only Catholic church in the Scotland Road area. When she had done the rounds of the immediate vicinity, she could go further afield and confess her sins all over Liverpool. ‘Cathy’s becoming aware,’ he said quietly, ‘and we worry, Bridie and I, about the example we are setting.’

  Michael rose, walked to a window and stared down at the road. A scuffle had broken out near the Throstle’s Nest and the police were having difficulty in rounding up the participants. ‘You could buy an annulment, I suppose. Film stars have done it. While the poor and the battered stay tethered, those with money can break free of previous marriages. All Bridie has to say is that her marriage to Sam was not consummated.’

  Anthony joined his friend at the window. ‘But it was consummated.’

  The priest shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his dark jacket. ‘Sam wouldn’t mind,’ he said.

  ‘But it would be wrong,’ cried Anthony. ‘You know how Bridie is – she won’t lie
unless she has to.’ He lowered his chin and his voice. ‘Michael, are you condoning this sort of behaviour, this buying of annulments?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the parish priest. ‘My faith is firm, Anthony. It’s old-fashioned and long-established, because it goes right back to Pope Peter, to Jesus and to the Almighty God who sent Jesus to us. We mess about with the faith. It’s only natural, only human. I want to see you and Bridie married. The smaller sin. You must always remember to measure the odds.’

  ‘So you mean—’

  ‘I mean that the future is more important than today is and than yesterday was. The example you set for Cathy and Shauna will set them up for life.’ He rattled some coins against a rosary, dug deep until he held the cross between hidden fingers. ‘Anthony, I am in a position from which I might bargain. Bridie will be able to make a substantial donation toward diocesan improvement. And I can assure you that Sam will give his blessing the day you marry Bridie. Let me negotiate an annulment. Of course, there is a second and much more powerful argument, because the poor girl was coerced – even forced into her marriage with Sam.’

  Anthony took a deep breath and pondered. Bridie was what Grandmuth called ‘a bugger for stubbornness’. Would she barter her principles in order to achieve matrimony with him? Would she be prepared to lie? ‘I’ll need to talk to Bridie,’ he told Michael. ‘For a quiet woman, she can be as determined as a mule. But she may well agree if you take the tack about her being pressed by her father to marry mine. I do know this much, Michael. We would both be prepared to lose our Church in order to have each other. That would be later, of course, after the girls are grown and gone.’

  ‘She loves you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Depend on that,’ said the priest. ‘And the rest will simply follow.’

  Diddy Costigan’s hat was at a rakish angle, the veil dangling over one eye, a feather pointing due west towards the sea. ‘Shauna! Get back here,’ she roared.

  Shauna O’Brien stuck out her tongue and ran off past Bell’s shop. Her dress was ripped right across the empire-line seam, its blue folds tripping her as she made her escape. The upper bodice was smocked and elasticated, and it rode up towards her neck as she fled. Cathy was after her. She could hear Cathy screaming and shouting as she overtook Mrs Costigan.

  ‘Shauna, you’ll be flayed,’ cried the older sister. ‘Come back at once.’

  Shauna wasn’t going back. She was fed up with bridesmaidship, wanted to get out of the stupid long frock and into something a bit more easy. Also, she didn’t like Nicky, Graham Pile, Mrs Costigan, Mr Costigan, Cathy, Mammy, or anyone else in the neighbourhood.

  Cathy caught up with her sister, grabbed an arm and swung the angry child round. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Shauna.’

  ‘Well, it’s true,’ replied the younger O’Brien girl. ‘She is ugly. Graham’s ugly, too. And Big Diddy’s ugly and—’

  ‘You’re the ugly one,’ said Cathy mildly. ‘Would you ever take a look at yourself?’ She dragged Shauna to a shop window and forced her to view the reflected picture. ‘There you are, so,’ Cathy said, knowing that she sounded just like her mother. ‘With your face all twisted in temper and the dress ripped to shreds. Your ugliness is inside, Shauna, and you’ll have to work very hard to keep it hidden.’ She shook the small body. ‘Badness inside makes badness outside. You’ll be a hideous bride, Shauna O’Brien, if anyone is silly enough to marry you.’

  Shauna stuck out her tongue, yelped her dismay when her older sister smacked her face. ‘You are not to hit me!’ she howled.

  Cathy was so annoyed that she could not contain herself. Nicky was not a pretty girl; Graham was hardly a handsome man. But madam here had behaved dreadfully, had lost her temper good and proper.

  Diddy joined the two girls. A couple of detached hairpins had found purchase in the pale-mauve netting of her brand new hat. ‘Don’t . . . don’t smack her, love,’ the big woman advised Cathy. ‘She’s only a little girl.’

  Shauna didn’t want Big Diddy Costigan sticking up for her. ‘I’m not little,’ she said. ‘And I’m not fat, either. I’m just right.’

  Cathy stamped her foot. ‘Shut up, Shauna. You are just about the most horrible, desperate sister a girl could ever have. You steal, you cry and howl for your own way, you upset people on their very special day.’ She turned to Diddy. ‘Bend down, Mrs Costigan, till I straighten your hat.’

  Diddy tore off the offending article. ‘It was driving me soft, anyway,’ she said. ‘Feathers sticking in people’s ear holes and me eyes going funny through the veil.’

  Shauna stopped whimpering. ‘Graham has got funny eyes,’ she declared. ‘I told the truth.’

  ‘The truth doesn’t always want telling,’ replied Diddy sadly. ‘Sometimes, we just keep quiet about how people look, because they already know how they look. You see, Shauna, you aren’t perfect. Nobody’s perfect.’

  ‘I’m pretty,’ mumbled Shauna.

  ‘But Cathy’s prettier,’ said Diddy. ‘Because she has a sweet face and she tries hard to be nice. You don’t. No-one will like you, Shauna, if you carry on upsetting folk.’ Diddy liked Shauna, though. She saw past the mischief, past the noise and into a sharp little soul that would settle down and turn out marvellous.

  Bridie arrived on the scene. She glanced at the hatless and breathless Diddy, took in the sight of Cathy and Shauna. Cathy was well again, had recovered completely from the iron deficiency. And Shauna was developing into a strong, healthy child and a pain in the neck. Poor Cathy, who had been the big girl for so long, was trying to control the spoilt and spiteful infant who was currently preparing to run off again. ‘Move at your peril,’ said Bridie without raising her voice.

  Shauna froze. Mammy went extra quiet when she was really cross. Diddy sniffed, took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her brow.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Bridie.

  Cathy, arms akimbo, told the tale. ‘Graham offered Shauna some cake, and Shauna refused. He asked her why she wasn’t eating, and she started complaining about the dress.’

  ‘It’s a stupid dress,’ remarked the younger girl to no-one in particular.

  Cathy picked up her tale. ‘She tore the front seam, then told Nicky she was ugly.’ Cathy smiled at Diddy. ‘And she’s not ugly, because she looks great and everybody said so.’

  Bridie shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘Shauna, you will not be allowed to play for a week. You will bring home no friends, and you will sit in your room after your tea.’

  Shauna shrugged. She never brought friends home anyway, and she had grown tired of playing in the shop with Charlie Costigan and his father. Charlie was boring. Everything was boring. Cathy had the best of it, because she lived out in the countryside with horses and very rich people. ‘I don’t care,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘You will,’ said Bridie coldly. ‘You will care, Shauna O’Brien.’

  Shauna kicked the paving stones with the toe of a white shoe. ‘I want to go and live with Cathy.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ replied Cathy. ‘Anyway, Aunt Edith wouldn’t have you. The way you carry on, no-one will want you, no-one at all.’

  Shauna bit her lip. Nobody loved her. She was beautiful and nobody loved her. Except Anthony, but he liked everybody whether they were beautiful or not. ‘I shall run away,’ she declared.

  Bridie inclined her head. ‘Run if you like,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But try to be nicer when you reach wherever. Otherwise, you’ll be running for the rest of your life.’ Bridie spoke to Diddy. ‘Bring Muth home, will you?’ she asked. ‘She’s in a corner with a plate of jelly. Then I’ll sort her out once I’ve sorted out this cheeky madam.’ With a plate of jelly, Muth could be described as armed and dangerous. Bridie dragged her younger daughter along the road towards a short prison sentence in her bedroom.

  Cathy took Diddy’s hand. ‘Anthony says our Shauna’ll improve with time.’

  ‘Course she will,’ came the cheerful answer. ‘Let’s fa
ce it, love, she couldn’t get much worse. Could she?’

  Martin Waring sat on a backless stone bench in the garden at the rear of Tithebarn. With deliberation, he kept his eyes on the book in his hands, refused to listen to Liam. Liam was becoming impatient. Liam was worried about something hidden in a storeroom at the back of a shop. Liam was a nuisance.

  He gave up, closed the book, closed his eyes. The sun was warm on his face, though a tiny breeze provided a pleasant fan that ruffled his hair and his beard. ‘Go away,’ he said inwardly.

  Battle commenced. ‘You don’t give a damn about me,’ declared Liam. ‘I am the one who hears the voice of God.’

  ‘I hear Him, too,’ replied Martin. ‘And remember, it was I who held you back. It was I who taught you self-control.’

  ‘You? I invented you,’ roared Liam. ‘And now, I’m the one in danger.’

  Martin was not in danger. He was a baptized and confirmed Catholic who was studying to become a frère. The interruptions from Liam Bell were slowing his progress. An annoying fact was that Liam could have helped with the scholarship, but the priest was too engrossed in his own business. Martin vowed that he would not listen to Liam.

  ‘You’ll fall if I fall,’ said Liam. ‘You can’t survive without me.’

  Martin was annoyed. He had gone out of his way several times for Liam, had made sure that Liam was up to date with developments in the Bell family. ‘Go away,’ said Martin wearily.

  A shadow loomed. ‘Brother Martin?’

  He opened his eyes.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ said Brother Nicholas. ‘May I join you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Martin shuffled along the bench to make room.

  ‘You seem preoccupied.’

  ‘Studying,’ explained Martin.

  ‘Ah.’ Nicholas lifted his head and looked at the beautiful day. He had watched Martin for several minutes, had noticed the lips moving, the facial expression changing as the man struggled to learn enough to become a full member of the brotherhood. ‘I think we may have a job for you,’ said Nicholas.