Secrets of Our Hearts

by Sheelagh Kelly

  His blush deepened.

  ‘I wish me dad could have been here, but I know he’s looking down on me and saying he couldn’t have picked a better stand-in …’

  ‘Steady on, Hat, you’ll have me roaring.’

  ‘Aye, me and all.’ Harriet straightened her shoulders, and with a deep breath to steady her nerves, she grabbed her bouquet with her usual no-nonsense approach. ‘Come on then, let’s get this done.’

  And walking as if she meant business, she preceded him from the house.

  Thereafter, he was to take her arm, and escort her past an audience of well-wishing neighbours, through the network of terraced streets, and onwards to the church. It had seemed silly to hire a vehicle to carry them only a hundred yards or so, and Harriet was not averse to having as many folk as possible admire her on the way.

  It was a very fine day, with not a cloud in the sky – though perhaps too hot, thought Niall in his starched collar and dark suit, and he was glad they were almost to the church. Its stone walls presented a brighter patchwork in this afternoon sun, the smoother of the blocks still buttery as new, providing great contrast to those rougher ones that were engrained with almost a century of soot. Finally he and Harriet reached its entrance, to excited exclamations from those who clustered within its low outer walls, awaiting the bride. Niall offered a few words of calm to the smaller bridesmaid, Juggy, who was jumping and twirling in her pale blue gown, which threatened to dislodge the flowers in her hair. She was not the youngest bridesmaid, for another niece, aged five, was there to balance the wedding photographs. But she was certainly the most giddy, and at Niall’s directive, the sensible Honor and her Aunt Dolly – also in pale blue – took the seven-year-old in hand, and steered her into position behind the bride, and in front of the other maid of honour, a friend of Harriet’s, at the same time showing her how to hold her posy.

  Standing prepared now in the cool stone entry, Niall and Harriet took simultaneous deep breaths, and shared nervous smiles. Then, as the organ struck up, they became serious again, and embarked towards the large stained-glass window over the altar. Moving slowly to the accompaniment of the music, Niall felt a thrill as he imagined another, dearer, arm in his, but this was only to last a few moments, for at the end of the aisle his role was over as he handed his sister-in-law over to her groom. From then on, he took a step back, and paid solemn heed to the Nuptial Mass.

  Following what seemed like hours of serious matters, he and the rest of the congregation finally moved on to a reception at a Co-operative hall above a parade of shops. As weddings go, thought Niall, it was a very nice do, though much of his own enjoyment was coloured by the thought of what the morrow would bring. Which was why, at the end of the sherry-soaked reception, when he and others went to the station to wave the happy couple off on the train to Scarborough, the smile on his face was as wide as if he himself had been wed.

  Up until half-past one in the afternoon, that Sunday was the same as any other: Nora first up to light the fire and to make sure Dominic arrived on time for his duties as altar boy, to help the little ones dress for church, to cook the dinner, which was eaten at the same hour. The only thing different was that Harriet was not there to wash up afterwards. Still, there was a capable thirteen-year- old, Honor, to help her grandmother, and Niall made sure he did his part by helping to stack the pots and carry them to the scullery. After everything was done, he sat down to read his paper, and to let the meal digest, Nora eventually doing likewise, the children settling down to read until it was time for Sunday school.

  But today, when Niall found himself succumbing to the afternoon heat and his head began to loll – at which point he would normally have drifted off to sleep – he chose not to allow his eyes to close; instead, from the corner of them, he watched Nora’s grey head nodding this way and that, as she drifted towards slumber. Two flies zizzed lazily around the light fitting, occasionally colliding, and the sound of this brought her suddenly back to consciousness. Eventually, though, her head came to rest.

  Carefully folding his paper, Niall murmured to the children, ‘I think we’ll give Sunday school a miss, and have a walk to Rowntree Park instead, what do you kids reckon?’

  Roused from her encroaching slumber by the eager yells of acceptance, Nora pressed her hands to the wooden arms of her chair as if to rise, though her eyes were dazed. ‘I’ll just have to splash some water on my face …’

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to bother yourself, Nora.’ Niall gently pressed the elderly woman back into her chair. ‘Stay here and put your feet up. I’ll see to them.’ The children’s hair and dress was still neat from their morning trip to Mass.

  She looked grateful, but was concerned enough to ask, ‘Can you manage them all on your own?’

  ‘Aye, you stay and have a nap. Honestly, we’ll be all right. I’ve got Honor to keep the little uns in line.’ Satisfied to have pacified their grandmother, he turned to the children. ‘Now then, you can all get yourselves to the lav before we go.’

  There was an immediate dash, though Honor dallied to ask: ‘Can we take our swimming cossies, Dad?’

  ‘Not today, darlin’.’ He hated to see her disappointed face. ‘But I promise we’ll go again soon, and you can take your cossie then. Now, go and hurry that lot up, will you?’ There had come the sound of arguing over the use of the lavatory.

  Appeased, she straightened her white broderie anglaise dress, then tripped into the yard.

  ‘Tell you what I will take, though,’ muttered Niall, and grabbed his Kodak from the sideboard to examine the film counter. ‘We’ll use the last of this film up, so’s I can get it developed and we can see our holiday snaps.’ He slung the camera around his neck, looking forward to having a photograph of Boadicea that he could treasure in her absence.

  ‘Can we take some bread for t’ducks, Gran?’ Waiting her turn for the lavatory, Juggy ran in to ask.

  Nora had settled back again, her eyelids heavy and her voice weary. ‘Well, there’s some stale stuff I’ve put aside, but you’ll have to do without your bread and butter pudding.’

  That was good enough excuse for Juggy, who hated the dish. She ran off to get the bread. Then, after what seemed like an eternity to Niall, his children were ready to go.

  ‘Come on now.’ He herded Batty, Brian and Juggy to the door. ‘Let your gran rest in peace.’

  ‘You make it sound as if I’m dead,’ chuckled Nora, her eyes closed now.

  It would be a lot easier if you were, thought Niall, smiling as he left.

  With Dominic striding ahead, the sensible Honor in charge of Batty, and Brian riding on his father’s shoulders, Niall used his right hand to hold the youngest steady, whilst his left was grasped by Juggy. Thus he escorted his brood towards Walmgate.

  ‘This isn’t the way to Rowntree Park,’ pointed out Honor when, at the end of the street, her father whistled to alert Dominic, and redirected him across the main road and towards town. ‘We normally go down past church and over Castle Mill’s Bridge.’

  ‘I know, but there’s somebody else coming with us, and she lives at t’other end of Walmgate.’ Niall braced himself for the explanation to come.

  ‘Who is it, Dad?’ Juggy squinted up at him through the sunshine as she swung along on his hand, hopping and skipping.

  He had wanted to be further from home before he told them. Upon learning it was a woman they might take fright and run to Nora. Still, he’d never find out their opinion by pussy-footing around. ‘It’s somebody I want you to meet,’ he began, as they passed the King William, the smell of ale gusting from its open door. ‘A lady. She’s really nice …’

  Dominic’s bold stride faltered. He turned and paused to examine his father. ‘Are you gonna marry her?’

  ‘No!’ Niall laughed away the boy’s suspicion, and, unable to deliver a touch of reassurance, for both hands were occupied, he tried to convey it in his expression. But then he sought to be more truthful. ‘Well, not today … I might do in the future.’ He
snatched an examining glance at each of the other children, apart from the one travelling on his shoulders, whom he could not see. All appeared similarly confounded, and had fallen quiet. He decided to add a few words of explanation. ‘It’s a long time since your mam died – I’m not seeking to replace her, I could never do that – it’s just that I’ve met this lady, and I like her very much, so I want you to meet her and tell me what you think, that’s all. Don’t worry, I won’t be getting married tomorrow.’

  Noting Dominic’s sullen expression, he became slightly uneasy. Having not figured largely in his plans before, his children’s behaviour had greater bearing now. What would happen if Boadicea didn’t like them? But of course she would. Anxious to dispel his own fears as much as theirs, he offered words of encouragement, and hurried the youngsters to the other end of Walmgate, then through the alleyway to Boadicea’s lodgings.

  Here there was to be a comical moment, when he knocked at the door and Ma Precious answered, in her usual sergeant-major style. His children’s faces fell, thinking that this was the woman he wanted them to vet.

  ‘Now then!’ boomed Ma, above the yapping of her ginger Pomeranian. ‘Brought your tribe with you, I see. Herd ’em in, then!’

  ‘No, we don’t want to bother you,’ began Niall.

  ‘Good,’ cause I won’t let you!’ came her cheerful holler.

  Used to her by now, Niall laughed, and lifted Brian down from his shoulders, reassuring him that the dog, which sniffed around his ankles, would not bite, before speaking again to its owner, ‘No, I just meant we’re off to Rowntree Park, and we’ve come to ask Boadicea along.’

  ‘Can I come for a ride on the swings?’ Ma suddenly bent towards the children, bringing her face down to theirs and unsettling the smaller ones, though Juggy made laughing retort.

  ‘You’d break ’em!’

  Ma came upright in mock offence. ‘Are you saying I’ve got a big bum?’

  Then even the more timid children laughed, causing the dog to emit its high-pitched yap until Mrs Precious stuck her slippered foot under its rear. ‘Shut up, you noisy beggar!’

  ‘What’s going on here?’ By now Boadicea had appeared in the background, having somehow heard Niall’s voice amid the ruckus.

  ‘They’ve come to take you to Rowntree Park!’ Ma told her.

  ‘That’s very kind!’ After slight hesitation – her eyes flitting over the neatly clad brood, the girls in white dresses, the boys with shirts and ties – Boadicea came forth, beaming.

  ‘Kind?’ scoffed Ma. ‘No fat bottoms allowed, apparently!’ But the children could tell from the way their father laughed that this was not someone to be afraid of, even though he had not introduced her.

  He seemed eager to introduce the other woman, though. ‘This is Miss Merrifield, who I was telling you about—’

  ‘Boadicea – but you can call me Bo!’ Smiling, she leaned forward to shake the eldest child’s hand. ‘’Tis such a mouthful otherwise,’ she said to Honor, engaging with the others too, before turning her beam on Niall. ‘Thanks for the warning – just as well I had on my best clothes!’ She tweaked the puffed sleeves of her dress, which was basically pale turquoise, but with a rich network of navy and green upon it, so that it looked as if she were wearing a section of butterfly wing. ‘And I see you have yours on. Just hang on, I’ll only be a few minutes!’ Her toes peeping through white sandals, she tip-tapped up the stairs to her room.

  Niall eyed her fondly as she fled, knowing her well enough now to guess that her flamboyant performance hid a bundle of nerves, and admiring her for overcoming them. Had he been the one under scrutiny and the children been hers, he would never have been able to appear so natural.

  ‘And you can come in while you’re waiting!’ ordered Mrs Precious. ‘Georgie’ll want to meet this lot.’

  Niall steered his children ahead of him, issuing a greeting to the occupants, first Mr Precious and then the others. ‘We’re not here to spoil your peace,’ he was quick to tell Mr Yarker, whose face had turned even sourer than usual upon being interrupted from his after dinner nap. ‘We’re off as soon as Boadicea comes.’

  ‘Pity, I was hoping for a game of skittles,’ murmured Yarker, eyeing the band of children uncharitably, though Mr Allardyce offered a less facetious smile.

  The children were looking nervous again as they came further into the room to be surrounded by all its bizarre objects, staring round-eyed at the stuffed animals under glass, Brian tripping over the dog-skin rug, and having to be picked up and set on his feet again. But all were soon put at ease by old Georgie, who obviously loved children, for he came grinning forth with a large jar of sweets in his gnarled, stained hands.

  Not all the children had pockets, so Mrs Precious instructed her husband, ‘Go find some bags and share ’em out – but none for brass-face here; she says I’ve got a fat bottom!’

  Juggy giggled nervously, hoping this was only a joke, though she was none too sure, until the kind old man summoned her along with the others to help share out the sweets.

  Brian seemed entranced by all the stuffed creatures in the room, and by the Pomeranian, who was now attempting to mount the head of the dog-skin rug, as it lay unresisting with glazed eyes.

  ‘Is this a zoo?’ he asked his father.

  ‘What an astute boy,’ commended Mr Yarker, whilst the adults sniggered. ‘I sometimes wonder myself.’ And he distracted the dog from its crude attentions, by a swift jab of his foot.

  ‘What’s funny?’ Boadicea came back into the room, carrying her handbag.

  Red with mirth, Niall shook his head and changed the subject, instead offering her an apology. ‘Sorry for not giving you prior notice, but I just had to grab my chance.’

  ‘That’s all right! I’m pleased to meet your children any time.’ The brave performance might be a little contrived – it was easy to see how Boadicea coped so well as a barmaid – but the smile she gave was genuine. ‘They’re very well behaved, like their father.’ Then she spoke to them directly, ‘I believe it was your aunt’s wedding recently – did you girls enjoy being bridesmaids?’

  Honor and Juggy merely nodded, too busy eyeing the fair-haired woman up and down to concentrate on what she said.

  ‘Ooh, I made a lovely bridesmaid,’ Mrs Precious told Juggy, quite seriously, ‘not that you’d believe it.’ Then she gave a sly wink at Niall.

  ‘Right, we’d best be off, then,’ he said brightly, seeing Boadicea was poised with her handbag on her arm.

  Unnoticed before, Batty had threaded a length of cord through the dog’s collar, and now began leading it towards the door.

  ‘Oy, where do you think you’re going with that?’ demanded his father, Boadicea most amused. ‘It’s not yours!’

  ‘Can’t we just take it for a walk?’ tendered Batty, stroking the animal protectively.

  But his father was adamant. ‘I can’t handle you lot and that as well.’

  ‘Besides, he’s my baby, aren’t you?’ sang Ma, and, scooping the little ginger dog to her proud bosom, she snuggled her face into its fur.

  Eyelids heavy, Mr Yarker threw a look of disgust at the scene.

  Niall responded with an apology. ‘Sorry to disturb your nap, Mr Yarker! Batty, put that cord back where you found it. See you later, Ma. Thank Mr and Mrs Precious for the goodies,’ he added final instruction to the children.

  Then, all niceties conveyed, he and Boadicea made for the outside world.

  ‘And where is it you’re taking me, did Ma say?’

  ‘Rowntree Park. Just t’other side of the river,’ he explained to her. ‘It’s a memorial for all Rowntree’s blokes who were killed in the war. There’s a lake and lovely gardens, fountains—’

  ‘Sounds grand,’ interjected Boadicea, with an enthusiastic glance at the children.

  ‘—tea room, stuff for the kids to play on,’ continued Niall, ‘Bowling greens – ooh, all sorts.’

  ‘Swimming baths,’ put in Honor, who had not spoken until now.


  Niall glanced down at his eldest child, seeking chastisement in her tone. ‘Aye, well … we couldn’t really go in there today.’

  Boadicea seemed to sense his unease, saying cheerfully, ‘Because of me? Why, ye should’ve said – sure, I love swimming!’ And addressing herself mainly to Honor, she added, woman to woman, ‘We must definitely take our costumes next time.’

  Then, taking the younger children’s hands between them, the elder ones remaining aloof, Niall and Boadicea shepherded them from the alleyway, to be rendered half-blind as they came into brilliant sunshine, then across the road, and following the tramlines into the short stretch of Merchantgate. Thenceforth they made their way up its gentle incline, skirting the black and white timbers of the Red Lion, and turning left to head in the direction in which Niall had just come – though by route of Piccadilly rather than Walmgate, the two roads running parallel for fifty yards or so, until Piccadilly veered away and curved around a grubby row of warehouses, finally to merge with Fishergate. Then came two bridges to cross, first over the Foss, with its industrial barges, then the wider Ouse, which had pleasure craft and rowing boats too, followed by a stroll along the bank amongst dozens of others in their Sunday best, beneath the dappled shade of an avenue of trees.

  Whilst Boadicea expressed vast relief at escaping the fierce sun for a while, smiling and chatting with Niall, Honor took command of the smaller ones and walked slightly ahead, occasionally snatching a glance over her shoulder at the woman who walked alongside her father, as if trying to gauge the depth of their relationship. Cheeks bulging with sweets, the boys seemed to have lost interest in Boadicea now. Dominic swooped on a stick, and, pretending it was a sword, served his smaller brother a series of thrusts in the chest, which sent Batty complaining to his father that he wanted a stick too, forcing Niall to search. Then, of course, Brian had to have one, which all added time to the journey.

  ‘What is it with boys and sticks?’ demanded Boadicea, laughing at Niall’s sons up ahead as they crossed swords, thrust and parried. ‘They’re never happy unless they’ve a weapon in their hand.’