Biddy knew that life only too well, and Dessie was equally aware of the repercussions. As head porter at St Angelus he felt a responsibility to try and do something for the fatherless homes. The war and all he had seen drove him to try and make something worthwhile come out of it and that was why he ran the porter’s boys like a regiment. It was to honour his men, his friends, the lads’ fathers, and to uphold their values and all they had given their lives for.
Two pots of tea and a plate of black-market tarts later, it was decided that Lorcan would be taken on as a porter’s lad at St Angelus.
‘I’ve heard it all now,’ said Elsie. ‘We are taking on vagabonds and thieves, are we? Not sure what Matron will have to say about that.’
‘She won’t know, Elsie,’ Dessie replied curtly. ‘She leaves that to me. And besides, you can’t tar Lorcan with the same brush as the rest of the family. I knew his da, remember. He was a great man if ever there was one. The mother isn’t the sharpest knife in the box, never has been, but ’tis a fact that house began to fall apart the day her telegram arrived. I don’t think she ever got over it. Some might say that given the melancholy that infected her, she didn’t do a bad job. It’s not as if she ended up on the corner of Scottie Road like some from around here. Lorcan has brought himself up. He’s a lad who has studiously stayed out of trouble and Noleen Delaney told me once, he’s a regular at Mass.’
Elsie looked suitably contrite. Dessie sounded very angry. He had the ability to alter his tone enough to convey any message without raising his voice, and he was definitely cross. She rose and began to clear the plates.
‘His clothes are falling to bits,’ said Biddy. ‘Even with a coat on, Matron will notice if he comes to work dressed like that. He was always the scruffiest kid on the street. If it wasn’t for Sister Theresa, he would never have owned a pair of shoes.’
‘I’ve noticed that before today, Biddy,’ Dessie replied. ‘Who hasn’t? The lads will have something fierce to say, never mind Matron. Some of them might even think they can drop their own standards if I let boys like Lorcan start in the state he’s in. Send him to the back gate of St Angelus at four tomorrow. I should have everything organized by then. You know, those Ryan lads, if they had come to me before they started thieving, I could have shown them a different life.’
Biddy raised an eyebrow. It was J.T. Ryan who replenished her tea chest and she knew the brothers had a pact never to steal from those, like her, who used the black market. But the black market had never been enough for the Ryans and so they fell in with the Bevan boys, an association that had led them all the way to jail.
Dessie picked up his mug and drained the tea before placing it back on the table with a bump and continuing with his theme. ‘Always talking about getting to America, those Ryans,’ he said, ‘and every one of them an out-and-out thief. You know the eldest went missing on VE Day? Came to the street party and then disappeared after he had filled his pockets with food, broken into the convent and lifted the money from Sister Theresa’s desk drawer.’
Elsie wriggled on her chair, keen for vindication. ‘Everyone around here knows that, Dessie,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that enough to make you think twice? You’ve gone soft in the head, both of you.’
‘No, Elsie, it’s the right thing. Give Lorcan a chance. Get him some decent clothes, fill his belly with food, find him a job, a reason to hold his head up in society, and if he wants it, he will become a transformed character, you mark my words. And with God’s blessing he will keep away from the Bevan boys.’
‘Aye, with God’s blessing.’ Biddy crossed herself as she rinsed the empty teapot under the tap. ‘Because those Bevan boys are the root of all evil and they are too often around here.’
Minutes after Dessie had taken his leave, Elsie made to follow him. ‘Right, I’m off to me own house. Be careful, Biddy. I think Dessie might have made a mistake this time. No good ever came from a Ryan boy and if Lorcan is involved with the Bevans, it could come back to bite you. Matron won’t tolerate a bad’un at St Angelus.’
‘I know that, Elsie. I’ll be keeping a close eye on him.’
The sound of Lorcan rinsing under the tap in the scullery filled the kitchen. He’d been in there for ages, no doubt scrubbing hard at several weeks’ worth of grime. The back door slammed as Elsie left and for a moment, clutching the teapot in her hands, Biddy stood and stared at her own reflection in the window above the sink. She had been lonely for a very long time. Finding clothes for Lorcan, washing his hair, sorting him a job with Dessie, feeding him, had all had an effect. Her eyes filled with tears. Once more, she was needed, just when she had thought no one would ever need her again. She had mothered her boss Emily Haycock half to death until she had fallen in love with Dessie. But Emily was a grown woman. An independent woman. Lorcan was just a boy. A shy, cold, hungry boy and his ‘Thank you, Biddy,’ had pulled at her heart. She would do more than look out for him, she would fight for him and he would not let her down, of that she was sure.
*
The following afternoon, as Lorcan Ryan left the porter’s lodge at St Angelus with Dessie’s words ringing in his ears, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. The two green pound notes Dessie had given him crinkled in his pocket and brushed against his leg. He’d never had such cargo in his pockets and he nursed the notes as carefully as if they were two unexploded hand grenades. If he hadn’t been carrying the heavy brown-paper parcel tied with string in his arms, he would have held on to the money with both hands, for fear of it falling through one of the many holes in his pockets. With every few steps he took, he turned his head and looked back to make sure that the notes hadn’t slipped out on to the path behind him and that he wasn’t just imagining the scratching of the unfamiliar green paper against his bare skin.
Dessie had issued his instructions in a fair but firm tone.
‘Go first to the wash house for a full bath, and scrub your hair again. Biddy has done a good job, but it will take a dousing of hot water to get your colour back and the way Matron likes it to be, Lorcan. Tonight, go to Biddy’s. She has a nit comb and will give it a good comb through. Keep putting your head under the water until it runs clear. I have already been and spoken to the women at the wash house. It’s all paid for and they’ll run you a full hot bath, not the couple of lukewarm inches that most people get. I paid for double carbolic soap as well, so don’t waste it, Lorcan, use every shaving.’
Lorcan didn’t know what to say, and so, as he always did when in doubt, he looked at his feet and swallowed hard.
‘I picked you up these clothes and boots at Chan’s up on Scottie Road.’ Dessie held the brown-paper parcel out and dropped it into Lorcan’s outstretched arms. Chan’s was a well-known high-end pawnbroker’s. They only sold on shoes and boots that they had re-heeled and re-soled in house so that they made a top price. ‘It’s a pair of boots, two shirts and two pairs of trousers, vests, a waxed seaman’s jumper, underpants, a new cap and white hankies. I insist that every porter’s lad carries a clean hankie in his apron pocket and on the Monday inspection I check every one, so don’t think you can get away with not having one.’
Lorcan looked shyly up at him and hugged the parcel to his chest.
‘If you have trouble getting anything washed at home, Lorcan, go and see Biddy. She washes on Sundays. She told me to tell you, she will drop whatever you have in the boiler for you and no doubt give it a run over with the hot iron too. Biddy wants to help you, Lorcan, so don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. In return, make sure you help her out and put her own washing through the mangle, fill up her coal bucket, clear the moss away from the outhouse roof slates. The things Biddy struggles to do herself. She likes to keep the place smart.’
Dessie knew that a nice house, a clean house, was not something Lorcan was used to. ‘Say, “Yes, Dessie,” please, Lorcan.’ His voice dropped and became more gentle. ‘That way I know you understand what I’m asking of you.’ He could see bewilderment etched on Lorcan’s face. ‘Just
so I know. It’s something you will have to say a lot at work, especially on inspection day.’
‘Yes, Dessie,’ said Lorcan in a clear and definite voice as he lifted his head and looked up at his new boss. He sounded very much as though he was aiming to please. He quickly lowered his head again, his eyes never leaving Dessie’s gleaming boots. Boots he had often seen marching up the entry, making him feel mortally ashamed of his own.
Dessie was one of the few men Lorcan knew who had known his own da and still mentioned him. Lorcan had been too young to remember much about time spent with his father. What he did recall was a blur. A ride on a pair of shoulders from a man in uniform who was so tall Lorcan had been able to see over the entry walls as he was jogged up and down along the cobbles. A man who smelt of shoe polish, gunpowder and leather. But he did remember the boots that shone like Dessie’s and the sounds of the leather being cleaned. The spitting, and the polishing back and forth, and watching from his mother’s lap in front of the fire as he was hushed into sleep by the repetitive, rhythmic brushing.
Biddy had told Lorcan that Dessie made the porter’s lads line up in the yard and have their boots and attire inspected before every shift. Everyone knew about the military manner in which Dessie ran his workforce. Only Dessie was unaware of his reputation as the regimental sergeant major of St Angelus Hospital.
‘Good lad. Right, here’s two pounds. Spend some of it on food to keep your mam going until your payday. Now that you are fourteen, she will lose her widow’s pension. Keep a few pennies by for yourself, for some boot polish and for your breaks at work. On Friday nights all the lads go to the Irish Centre with their pay packets, but they only have two, three pints at the most. Any lad who drinks his pay packet away doesn’t have a job come Monday. Have you got all that, Lorcan?’
Lorcan was now nodding furiously. Two pounds? He swallowed hard. He could barely believe what he was hearing, but he responded on cue. ‘Yes, Dessie. I’ve never been to the Irish Centre. I don’t…’ His words trailed off. He thought that Dessie was thinking he was like his brothers, who had never been out of the pub. He looked down at his boots.
‘Don’t let me down, Lorcan. If it wasn’t for Biddy, I don’t think I would be taking you on. Your brothers have a bad reputation. I’m risking a lot of flak for trusting you, but I knew your da, he was a mate, and I’m trusting that you are of his blood and that you’ll take after him. You have a lot to thank Biddy for. And you keep away from the Bevan boys, do you hear?’
Now, on his way to the wash house, as he made to turn into Clare Street, Lorcan saw walking towards him the same Bevan boy he had seen at St George’s Hall. There was a purpose in his step and he was heading straight for Lorcan. Lorcan’s stomach churned. There was no doubt that he had been waiting for him, had probably been following him.
‘Rankie Ryan! God, would you look at the state of you. I’ve a message for you. I’m Kevin Bevan. I’m the Bevan boy that has the brains. I carry the messages, organize the jobs and I have a big message for you my lad. What’s in there?’ He poked his fingers into the brown-paper parcel and stared at the string tied in a neat knot.
Lorcan’s heart began to hammer in his chest. If this boy took the parcel, took his new things, how could he explain himself to Dessie? And, more importantly, to Biddy, who had put such faith in him and persuaded Dessie to take him on.
‘Answer me, what is it?’
He now prodded the parcel so hard, Lorcan staggered back a few steps, but he was saved by the wall from falling backwards. His mind raced as he gripped the parcel harder. He could not lose this. No one had ever given him anything before. This was his own and this hideous, leering boy could not take it from him. It was his.
Kevin Bevan’s face came closer to Lorcan’s. He could see the whites of his eyes shining and smell his putrid breath.
‘It’s the dirty washing,’ he stammered. ‘I’m taking it to the wash house.’
Kevin Bevan’s nose wrinkled. ‘The wash house?’ He immediately lost interest and moved straight to the purpose of his search for Lorcan. ‘The message is that you have to take your brother’s place on the jump-over.’
‘The jumper?’ Lorcan frowned. The Bevan boy might as well have been talking in a foreign language.
‘The jump-over, you stupid git. Where you jump over the counter in the bank and rob the money from the drawer. Then you jump back over and leg it. Your brother said we could store the tools under the floorboards in your house.’
Lorcan was none the wiser and stared at Kevin’s boots. They were dirty, black and tied with brown laces. It occurred to Lorcan that if Kevin knew that there were boots in his parcel, he would most definitely help himself. He remembered J.T. telling him that the mark of the Bevan gang was the brown laces in black boots and he had said it with pride. ‘I’ll have earned the brown laces soon,’ J.T. said. ‘The next job and I’m done.’ The parcel weighed heavy in Lorcan’s arms and he willed himself to keep on holding it up and to not move.
‘Your brother wanted a bike to get away on after he had done the job,’ Kevin Bevan continued. ‘Said it was too much money and the bag would be too heavy to be sure his legs wouldn’t buckle under him. Thought he would be able to do more than one jump-over if he got himself a bike. Wanted to get away, he said, to America. Then the stupid eejit got caught. That’s what he was up to, nicking the bike, but us Bevan boys, we still want the job done. It’s an order. And J.T., he’s sent you a message from Walton.’
Lorcan’s head shot up. How could J.T. get a message out of Walton? No one had been to see him. That was impossible.
Kevin Bevan continued. ‘He says you now have a debt to him, that the responsibility falls on you and that you are to do what I say and none of your nonsense. He says you’re as good a runner as him, so we will be calling on you to take his place.’
Lorcan stared at the mud-spattered boots and didn’t answer. It was the truth: all the Ryans were good runners, and Lorcan was the best of all of them. What tools did he mean?
‘Are you going to answer me or what? Jesus, are you as stupid as your feckin’ mother? No, you won’t do,’ said Kevin. ‘What the feck is J.T. thinking about? We need someone who has a clue what’s going on. You Ryans, you aren’t all you’re cracked up to be if you ask me. Living on your family’s reputation, I’d say. What you doing anyway, carrying around dirty washing wrapped up in paper, you big girl.’ He smacked the parcel with his hands and it almost fell out of Lorcan’s hands.
‘I won’t be doing no jump-over.’ The voice that said the words didn’t sound like Lorcan’s and even he was surprised. ‘Tell my brother I have a proper job now, as a porter’s lad at the hospital, and I won’t be doing no jump-over. I’ll be looking after Mam and the house.’
Silence fell. Lorcan was terrified. He wondered if Kevin Bevan was about to hit him. But instead he roared with laughter.
‘We don’t want you, mate. You’re a big girl. Doing the bleeding washing. What use are you to us? I’ll find someone who knows what a jump-over is, but that’s your brother cut out of the job. There won’t be a penny. You can deal with the consequences.’ Kevin Bevan walked away. ‘Not a bleeding penny to your house,’ he shouted over his shoulder.
Lorcan turned slowly and watched as Kevin retreated. His knees began to tremble and his hands shook. His mouth felt dry and he swallowed hard. He could not believe what he had just said, and what was more, he was still standing. Kevin Bevan hadn’t hit him, he had laughed and walked away.
Lorcan felt the two pounds burning into his leg and thought of Dessie. He couldn’t let Dessie down. Dessie was trusting him and no one had ever done that before. The entire time Kevin had been talking to him, he had been terrified that he would check his pockets for money. Now that the coast was clear, he began to run, with the parcel in his arms and faster than J.T. ever had, all the way down Clare Street. His heart was pounding, and not just from the sudden exertion. He knew that when his brother found out what he had done, there would be troubl
e. But Lorcan didn’t care. No one had ever shown the slightest bit of care for him. He had lived his life trying to be invisible, different from his thieving brothers, unnoticed, and as a result, no one really knew Lorcan and Lorcan knew no one. Now, because he had run to the home of the only woman in the neighbourhood who had ever given him the time of day, he had new friends, Biddy and Dessie, and he would rather die than let either one of them down. He thought what Biddy’s reaction would be if he told her about the jump-over and he knew, without a second’s delay, that she would be both bitterly disappointed and horrified.
*
Warm and clean from his hot bath and wearing his new clothes, Lorcan made his way back from the wash house to his own house. He felt so smart and proud, he could barely keep the grin from his face. All the way, his hand kept straying up to his new, slightly oversized cap, feeling the rough finish of the tweed, and not a single hole to poke his finger in. He had never known a prouder day in his life.
‘Are you there, Mam?’ he shouted as he entered the kitchen.
‘I am, Lorcan, is that you?’
Mrs Ryan was sitting in her chair as though nothing had happened and as if having spent a night in a police cell was a regular occurrence. On the table stood a plate of crumbs and the remains of a fish-paste sandwich. Someone had brought her food and lit the fire. He guessed it was Biddy, but the house was filthy and she wouldn’t have stayed long. There were lice in the house, the sores on his legs told everyone that. Biddy had probably been on her way back from work when she called in. He knew Elsie didn’t like his mother, had no time for lazy women, but his mother wasn’t deliberately lazy, she was simply befuddled and confused and sad for a lot of the time.
Lorcan had lived with dirt all of his life and had never really noticed it, but after having sat in Biddy’s kitchen, he could suddenly see how bad their house was. His mam didn’t appear to understand what to do or that being the dirtiest family on the street brought shame and made people look down their noses at them. People had looked at Lorcan with pity or disgust in their eyes for all of his young life.
The Mother's Of Lovely Lane Page 8