Secrets of Our Hearts

by Sheelagh Kelly

  A sudden yell jolted him from his stupor. A squirrel, which Juggy had been trying to befriend, had run up her leg and bitten her.

  By the time Niall jumped forth to receive his crying child the furry bandit was halfway up a tree.

  ‘You ought to have been watching her!’ Nora scolded him. ‘I was busy seeing to Brian. I haven’t got eyes in the back of me head.’

  Fighting his annoyance, Niall comforted the snuffling child. ‘Come on, let’s go buy you an ice cream.’

  ‘Can I have one, Dad?’ yelled Batty from afar, now coming running.

  ‘I’m sure he’s got ears in his bum,’ muttered Niall to his wounded daughter, making her laugh as he had intended to do. Then he summoned the lad, and the rest of his brood. ‘Aye, come on then, Tiger Tim! We’ll all have one.’ And they tore across the lawns to join the queue by an ice-cream vendor’s van under the magnificent spread of a horse chestnut tree.

  In Niall’s absence, Nora rebuked her daughters. ‘You’re supposed to be helping me cheer him up!’

  ‘We can’t make him talk if he doesn’t want to,’ objected Harriet. Then as an afterthought she jumped up and brushed herself off, adding, ‘And I’m not even bothering to waste my time. I’ve better things to do!’ And with this she was hurrying away towards the wrought-iron exit.

  ‘Eh, I’ll swing for her when she gets in!’ spat Nora, then informed Dolly, ‘And you might as well not be here for the contribution you’ve made. Buck your ideas up.’

  ‘What do I say?’ wailed her daughter.

  ‘Just chuck him some of your usual scintillating conversation!’ chafed Nora, with a despairing shake of head. ‘At least let him know you’re alive.’

  Thinking to lend his mother-in-law some respite, once his children had been served their ice creams, Niall ushered them to the nearby bank of the river, from where they sat and licked their cornets, and watched as teams of rowers sculled by. Even after the treat was consumed, a majestic flotilla of swans was to hold their attention for a further ten minutes. Finally, though, he was compelled to return to where the women were seated.

  ‘Aunty Harriet’s gone,’ noticed Honor as they came across the lawn.

  ‘Mm,’ replied Niall, with scant interest. Though he began to study Nora and Dolly a little more closely now. By their attitude and by the way they clammed up and smiled at his arrival with the children, he guessed they had been discussing him and, from the opening remark, he was to deduce it had not been complimentary

  ‘Eh, look at this one, he’s clarted up to beggary!’ Immediately out came his mother-in-law’s handkerchief, which was given a lick and, using a fistful of his white jersey, she hauled little Brian to her and proceeded to wipe the daubs of dried ice cream from his cheeks and nostrils, giving Dolly a prompting glare as she did so.

  ‘And look at all them grass stains.’ Taking the hint, Dolly remarked on the little boy’s soiled knitted garments, and those of the other children. ‘Good job they’ve got their aunty to scrub for them.’

  In the act of sitting down, Niall looked at her sharply. He said nothing, but it was obvious that he had taken umbrage.

  ‘Still, they are here to enjoy themselves,’ added Dolly with a hurried grin.

  There was a long silence. Niall thought he saw a nudge pass between the women. They were up to something, he was sure of it now. Irritated by the soggy remnants of sandwich lodged between those tombstone teeth, he looked away.

  Dolly spoke again. ‘Mam and me were just discussing the Jubilee. Only another week and we’re into May.’ Easter had fallen late this year. ‘There’s heaps to be done if we’re to have a decent street party. For a start we’ll need to know what everyone wants to dress up as, so we can start making the costumes. What do you want to come as, Nye?’

  ‘The Invisible Man,’ he told her.

  Dolly turned crimson. ‘Well, there’s no need to be like that!’

  ‘Like what?’ he demanded testily.

  ‘If it were a woman who’d said it I’d call her catty!’ she told him.

  ‘And you’d know all about catty, wouldn’t you?’ muttered Niall under his breath as he turned away in annoyance.

  Dolly leaned forward with a hurt frown. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He refused to look at her but stared into the distance.

  ‘She was only trying to cheer you up, miseryguts,’ Nora objected.

  Niall gave a cynical laugh. ‘Has it occurred to you that some of us have nowt to celebrate?’

  ‘And has it occurred to you that some of us are putting a brave face on for the sake of others?’ retorted Nora, making a poorly veiled gesture at the children, who were looking decidedly uncomfortable at the exchange.

  Chastened over his selfish behaviour, Niall was grudgingly repentant. ‘Aye, well … I’m sorry. I weren’t thinking …’

  ‘The trouble with you is you think too much,’ corrected Nora. ‘Just snap yourself out of it, for heaven’s sake, and concentrate on your family. Things’ll come better if you do. You might even get a nice surprise.’

  Curious over the smug expression that accompanied this last part of her remark, Niall remained pensive for a second, then he reached out to the nearest child, rubbing Honora’s bony shoulders through the gymslip, and saying as cheerfully as he could muster, ‘All right, you’ve roped me into this blessed party!’ And for a few merciful moments he was to forget about Boadicea as, grabbing Dom, he set to wrestling with him on the grass. Whereupon, all the other children piled in to tickle Father, the afternoon rounded off nicely by his announcement that they would visit the Easter funfair on their way home.

  7

  But contrary to the promise of that afternoon, despite all the cheerful shop window displays that were to appear in the month of May, the red, white and blue bunting, and the special costumes made by Nora and her girls for the children to wear at the party, it looked like the intended celebrations were to be halted by a severe and unexpected snowstorm. So that instead of helping to set up the trestles in preparation of the weekend party, Niall found himself, with others from his gang, called upon to fight his way through the early morning blizzard to ensure the railway lines were cleared. And in the deathly hush of that white world, as his boots trudged their way through the frigid mantle that served to suffocate all vestige of spring, he found himself in despair again.

  Still unsure what to do about Boadicea he had tried his best to immerse himself in family life, yet still lived for Sundays, when he strove for a glimpse of her in church, overjoyed that she was still around, but having to exist on this morsel for an entire week.

  The wolf was in no such straits – his menu so plenteous with the glut of spring lambs that he chose not to eat them at one sitting, but seemingly killed them just for fun, or perhaps to devour later, secreting them under bushes, often close to the railway line. It was as if he enjoyed the danger, thought Niall, stumbling across one such carcass now. Narrowing his eyes against the icy flakes that settled upon his lashes, in the act of bending to pick up a rabbit that had been caught a glancing blow by train, he spotted a grey fleece protruding from the snow, and dashed away the layer to reveal a larger mammal. He peered down at it for a moment, feeling as stiff and lifeless as the sheep, wondering if it had been poisoned. Tired of waiting with their guns, sometimes throughout the night, the farmers had adopted dirtier methods. But so far to his knowledge their only bag had been birds of prey and some crows.

  A horn sounded, the lookout alerting the gang to an oncoming train, and Niall moved swiftly to safe ground, waiting until the locomotive steamed past before returning to examine the rabbit. Finding it recently killed, he shoved it in his haversack, having no qualm that what he did was illegal. In his view, wildlife was no one person’s property. It was part of nature, provided by God, and every man had a right to feed his family. Rejoining the gang, and proceeding to battle his way along the track with his lamp, he wondered if the wolf had a family, a mate. Or did it feel as cold and isolated as he?r />
  However, the fates that had ostensibly conspired to rob his children of their party were once again smiling by Saturday. The sun had burst forth and, under its brilliance, the layer of snow had begun rapidly to melt, so that by the time Niall got home that midday all trace of it had gone from the street. And, under that glow, with that drip, drip, drip of melting ice, it was as if his own problem had begun to melt too. For he had reached a brave decision: he would visit her at home on Monday.

  It had to be a week day. Loath to incur any scrap of suspicion from Nora, he would call on his way home from work. Then, if he was lucky enough to spend an hour or two with Boadicea, he could pretend he had been doing overtime, though in fact he would seek permission to knock off earlier than usual under pretence of having toothache. It was not quite the lie it seemed, for every cell of his body did ache, in anticipation of seeing her again.

  But for today he was determined to have fun with his children, and to have a pictorial record of this fine occasion – wielding his box camera as if to compete with the Monarch himself – for, as Niall rightly announced to those gathered, most of them here would never witness another Jubilee. He was even persuaded to join in the games, and to dance, once with Dolly, and again with Gloria from next door, which seemed to please them both more than it did Niall, though he managed to conjure a grin of enjoyment. But no amount of Jubilee celebration could completely erase Boadicea from his mind. Even in the midst of all this toasting – ‘To the King, God bless him!’ – he longed for Monday, when he would carry out his plan.

  The clock above a shop told him it was half-past four as he turned into Fossgate. Even having cleaned himself up as best he could in a public convenience, the fact remained that he was in his working clothes. Under this combination of sweat, ragged collar and cuffs, a greasy cap and muddy boots, he guessed that he must appear like something from the bottom of a dustbin. But all this was of little consequence. For his gay mood of Saturday had been somewhat dashed in church the day after, when he had managed to catch her eye, only to have her look straight through him. So, she would probably reject him anyway. She might not even be there.

  Even so, he refused to give up without one last try and, along the way, he inserted a penny into a chewing-gum machine with a view to freshening his breath. On the bridge now, his nerves almost got the better of him. Had he not wanted her so very badly, he might have gone straight past the archway and continued home. But giving his face a last wipe with a handkerchief, he went through the short alleyway and into the yard. Here he was to pause nervously before the Georgian mansion, with its scaling brown paint, its once graceful fanlight now rotten, and its windows bereft of putty, and he lifted his eyes to the upper windows, wondering which room was Boadicea’s. She had been right about her neighbours. In addition to the tripe being prepared in the building next door came an even more atrocious stench of intestines being washed and boiled to make chitterlings. Almost balking with disgust, Niall averted his senses and braced himself for the task ahead, took the two steps that led up to the large door, lifted its tarnished brass knocker and rapped out a summons. Too late to run away now. Cap in hand, he stood back to wait, his stomach bubbling.

  His knock was answered by Mrs Precious, the landlady. At least he assumed it was she, for the elderly woman whose figure filled the doorway had the build and attitude of a warrant officer, and, upon receiving his request to speak to Miss Merrifield she boomed a series of orders at him: ‘Come in! Wipe your feet! Wait here!’ Then she left him standing in the hall whilst she herself performed three manly strides to an elegant but badly neglected staircase, the ancient wallpaper hanging off it in fronds, and bawled up it.

  ‘Miss Merrifield – visitor!’

  Receiving a faint response, she wheeled to address Niall again, hands on hips, her voice demanding, ‘Friend or foe?’

  ‘Er, friend, I hope …’ Facing this rather intimidating woman, whose gun-metal hair was divided into plaits that were wound into buns and fixed on each side of her head in the manner of earphones, Niall struggled to explain his reason for being here. ‘Sorry for troubling you. I tried to have a word with her at the pub, but Mr Langan said she’d given in her notice.’

  Mrs Precious narrowed her sharp brown eyes, then exclaimed in a loud and knowing voice, ‘Oh, you’re that one, are you?’ And she looked him up and down as if he were the Prince of Darkness.

  Her victim was still stumbling over an answer when Boadicea appeared at the top of the stairs. He had forgotten how lovely she was. His belly turned a somersault as she leaned over the balustrade to see who it was, and afforded him a generous glimpse up her silken flowered skirt, almost to her thigh. Upon seeing him she faltered and looked as if she had been rammed from different directions by panic and gladness at the same time, and at one stage he feared she was about to rush back into her room, but she chose not to.

  Following Niall’s gaze, Mrs Precious saw the look of startlement that was still in evidence upon the young woman’s face, and barked, ‘Shall I get rid?’

  The yoke of Boadicea’s turquoise blouse was emphasised with a frill; he watched her toy with this for a number of seconds before she came to a decision. ‘No, no, that’s all right, Ma, I’ll see him.’ And her peep-toed shoes made their descent, her eyes fixed upon them as they trod the stairs, and not once looking at the man who had come to visit her. But when Niall lifted his own inspection above those slender legs in the tan stockings, and breasts that trembled ’neath the turquoise silk, he saw that her face remained worried, as if she were still in a quandary over what to do about him.

  Her landlady snorted, and dealt him a less than affectionate whack on the arm. ‘Think yourself lucky I don’t chuck you out on your ear. You’ve caused this lass nowt but grief these last few weeks! Having to leave her job because of you—’

  ‘Ma, it wasn’t that bad.’ Now arrived, Boadicea hurried to reassure her, and extended this reassurance to Niall, who was looking flushed with remorse. ‘’Twas less than a week’s pay I lost. I’ll be able to settle up with ye this week.’

  ‘I’m not bothered about cash! I’m bothered about what this one’s put you through!’ The woman in the incongruous floral pinafore continued verbally to assault Niall, who was beginning to wonder what on earth had been said about him.

  ‘No, no!’ pleaded a slightly impatient Boadicea. ‘Look,’ twas all just a bit of a misunderstanding. Mr Doran wasn’t responsible for me leaving and I’m back there now so—’

  ‘You’re back at The Angel?’ Niall had come alert.

  She nodded. ‘I realised what a big mistake I’d made.’

  He searched her eyes, wondering if her comment held a double meaning.

  ‘So no harm done,’ finished Boadicea, looking away and giving absolutely no hint as to her feelings for him.

  ‘We-ell, if you say so, dear.’ But the landlady remained suspicious as she announced loudly to Niall, ‘Are you stopping for your tea then?’

  Not daring to express how ecstatic he was to hear that she was back at the pub, he looked awkwardly at Boadicea, who dealt her landlady a brief nod to indicate consent.

  ‘Don’t talk much, do you?’ accused Mrs Precious. ‘We’d better fetch you a cup of tea right away, so’s to wet your whistle.’

  ‘Don’t put yourself to any trouble,’ said Niall hurriedly.

  The sergeant major in the floral pinafore beheld him as an idiot. ‘Would I offer if it were any trouble? Do you want one or not?’

  ‘Well, only if you’re having one,’ he replied, trying not to make any more fuss than necessary, but only succeeding in drawing more pithy comment from Mrs Precious.

  ‘God help us! No, I’m not having one! But I’ll make one for you if ever I can get a straight answer!’

  Only using it as an excuse to get rid of the woman so that he could speak to Boadicea in private did Niall respond, ‘All right, thank you, I will have one.’

  Mrs Precious threw another order at him. ‘Right, now that’s establi
shed, you can get your backside in here and give account of yourself!’

  Passing an uncomfortable grimace at Boadicea, and slightly encouraged by her smile, meekly he followed the landlady.

  ‘Visitor, Georgie, get the kettle on!’ Mrs Precious bawled ahead of her. Then, seeing the room was vacant, she demanded, ‘Now where’s he gone?’ And she glared around the room as if hoping to find her husband in some corner.

  Niall too looked around, astonished by what he saw. Stepping into the Preciouses’ living room was like being plunged back into the Victorian era. It was all aspidistras, Landseer prints and stuffed animals under glass domes. One display of flowers and foliage, birds, field mice and squirrels was so gigantic it took up an entire corner. The furniture was battered and second-hand, but had obviously been acquired from a much wealthier household, there being much mahogany, marquetry and inlay. He was still awaiting an invitation to take a seat when a cat strolled in, stalked up to him and rubbed its scent against his legs, before moving on to piss against several chairs, strutting around as if it owned the place, before having an altercation with its reflection in a broken mirror that was leaning to no particular purpose against a wall, finally to walk out in a huff.

  ‘Sit down!’ said Mrs Precious, with what she saw as a friendly inflection, though it emerged as more of an order than an invitation, her deep voice ricocheting off the walls.

  ‘If you can find a place,’ murmured Boadicea, only half joking, for every surface was cluttered. She cleared herself a spot, in the process having gently to disturb another cat, a female, which Niall had not previously noticed, it being fast asleep and blending with the silvery colour of the brocade. This one too left the room.