Secrets of Our Hearts

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Niall might have felt a sense of accomplishment at having laid down the rules, but Boadicea could not help noticing that the children he had brought home were very different from the ones that had been taken from her on Tuesday – not in their father’s presence of course; they were too sharp for that, and knew that any disrespect would earn a good hiding. But, evidently under the tuition of their grandmother and aunt, they were unusually aloof with her when she came round to feed them on Wednesday – as aloof as little ones could be without forgetting to be so – and it was plain as day they had been instructed to shun the one who was responsible for their father’s fall from grace.

  Watching them pick at her reheated stew, Boadicea felt a twinge of annoyance, though nothing too severe, and not towards the children, for she knew who was responsible.

  ‘It’s not as good as me gran cooks.’ Batty screwed his face up in the apparent torment at having to eat it.

  ‘I’m mortally wounded,’ replied Boadicea, uncaring of his attempt to insult her as she swept up some ashes from the hearth and generally tidied the place for Niall’s homecoming. ‘I thought ye said ye didn’t like stew anyway?’

  ‘I only like me gran’s.’

  Adopting a more adult approach, Honor instructed her brother, ‘You should eat something, or you’ll starve.’

  Boadicea appreciated this help. ‘Yes, there’ll be nothing else,’ she warned.

  Juggy too chipped in with sage advice to her brother: ‘Me gran says, you should be polite and eat stuff even if you think it’s horrible.’

  Pursing her lips, Boadicea continued to tidy, and the meal was eventually consumed, though with no end of sighing and face-pulling.

  ‘You can go out to play now,’ she told them dispassionately, after Honor had helped her clear away the plates. But left alone, she could not avoid a feeling of dejection, at having spent much time in trying to create a rapport with them, only for their grandmother to demolish it in hours.

  After the washing-up was done, there was another hour or so before Niall would get home. Desiring to make the most of the last bit of summer, Boadicea wandered to the open front door, and leaned there watching the street scene for a while, enjoying the gentle rays upon her face. In the middle of the road, Honor was winding her skipping rope, the neighbour, Gloria, holding the other end, and both of them lashing it as fast as they could, whilst Honor’s friend jumped up and down doing ‘bumps’. Gloria had been having fun until now, but, catching Boadicea’s observation, she delivered a dirty look that compelled the watcher to turn away.

  This provided no escape, for others were intent on registering their combined disapproval of her too. A monkey-like woman, Mrs Hutchinson, and another Mrs Dunphy, both of whom Boadicea knew to be Nora’s cronies – though only after Niall had spoken to them in her presence and both had cut him dead – had broken off their gossip to look down their noses at her, both with pursed lips. And again, Boadicea tore her eyes away.

  This time, she was met by a smile and a wave from old Mrs Powers, who had dragged a chair onto the pavement to enjoy the sunshine and to watch the children.

  Grateful for this show of support in the staunch Beasty stronghold, Boadicea waved back, then watched the children too. Along the street, the boys were taking turns on a friend’s trolley, careering up and down on it, socks round ankles, a madcap gleam in their eyes, whilst little Brian hopped about on the periphery, dying for a go. ‘Will ye not let your brother have a turn?’ she called to Dominic eventually, when the four-year-old ran to her whining.

  ‘Go get football press,’ muttered Dominic, with a sly grin at his pals.

  ‘What was that?’ Unable to decipher the vulgarity, but guessing that the laughter was at her expense, Boadicea clicked her tongue and went to fetch a halfpenny from her purse. ‘Here you are, Bri, run and get yourself some sweeties.’

  Easily bought, the little one forgot all his grandmother had told him, and for one second his face lit up for Boadicea, then he grabbed the coin and ran.

  Keeping her eye on the little figure, whilst he scampered up the street and through the open door of the shop, Boadicea then turned her attention to Juggy, the child for whom she felt most affection, who was seated on the kerb with an old knife, meticulously carving moss-laden chunks of soil from between each flagstone. These narrow strips of green were then transferred to what looked like a shallow tray.

  ‘Tidying up the pavement, Jug? That’s a good lass.’

  There came a heavy sigh. ‘No, it’s for my farm! And my name is Judith.’

  ‘Sorry, my mistake. Is that the one ye brought back from your aunt’s?’ Boadicea had briefly wondered what was in the case, of which Juggy was so protective.

  ‘Yes.’ The small hand continued to slice along the flags with her blade. ‘I’m making a field.’

  Boadicea came to squat nearby, her fond blue eyes examining the ‘farm’. An ingenious contraption made by Niall, when closed it looked like a wooden suitcase that could be toted around with the animals inside; but when the catches were flicked, its two halves opened to reveal a walled farmyard, with little pens for the animals. Not that there was much stock at the moment. Boadicea smiled to herself as she watched Juggy’s small hands press the strips of moss firmly into position; then, satisfied with her field, the owner began to place lead animals on it: one cow, one sheep, and a camel.

  ‘That’s a rare breed ye have there. I should think that’s the only camel in Yorkshire.’

  Feeling herself the object of Boadicea’s amusement, Juggy pushed the dark brown hair away from her cheek, streaking it with dirt as she looked up, her expression daring the woman to laugh. ‘Me teacher says a camel can survive anywhere.’

  ‘Sure, what would I know?’ Boadicea pleaded ignorance. ‘If they can have a wolf in Yorkshire, they can have a camel too. Hey, you’d better take care of that sheep in case the wolf should come and eat him! Maybe I should buy you a few more when I go to town, just in case?’

  Knowing her grandmother wouldn’t like it, Juggy tried hard not to smile, and concentrated on her farm, as she murmured, ‘Me gran says, I shouldn’t ask people to buy me things …’ There was a long pause. ‘But I wouldn’t mind a pig, if you’re off.’

  ‘A pig it is!’ Boadicea rose to stretch her legs, happy to have found some leverage against Nora. Then, receiving another dirty look from Gloria, she sighed to herself, checked that Brian was safely home from the shop, then went indoors to reheat the stew for Niall’s tea.

  With Juggy in receipt of the little toy pig, the rest bribed with sweets, by Friday Niall’s children were once again becoming acclimatised to Boadicea’s presence. Alas, Saturday brought another visit to Tang Hall. And, with the latter becoming a regular event, it appeared that this was to be the way of things for some time to come: Boadicea using the week to try to rebuild some empathy with those who were eventually to be her stepchildren, Nora destroying it in one fell swoop, and generating a lot of hard work and not a little bribery for the week ahead.

  Try as she might not to let the childish comments affect her – in the knowledge that they were being used by one who should know better – as the insults began to pile up like threatening letters from the bailiffs, Boadicea could not help feeling a little aggrieved towards Niall’s brood. Consequently, it became a pleasure to have them out of the way on a Saturday afternoon, and to have Niall to herself. With all parties warned that Honor must bring them home at a prescribed time – and so far this being adhered to – Niall had no need to trail the mile to Tang Hall. Hence, he too seemed happy enough with the arrangement, though ever since Boadicea’s revelation on Low Moor, he had been slightly different towards her, becoming fidgety when they were alone, and more prone to drifting into bouts of abstraction, as if he might be reconsidering his plans to marry her.

  Had she dared to ask, she would have found that this was not the case at all. Though Niall was certainly in a state of limbo, it was merely the time of year that was responsible for his introspecti
on. September was drawing to a close, the screech of martins beginning to fade, only a stalwart few remaining to scythe the clouds, and finally these too dispersing for warmer climes. In the ancient graveyard opposite the church, leaves began to tumble from the overhanging sycamores, filling the air with their pungent perfume, and the gutters knee-deep for the sport of children. The skies became leaden, tipping their contents o’er distant hills, and sending a rush of water into the Vale of York, to threaten the banks of Ouse and Foss. However unwelcome all these signs, to most, they constituted naught more than a typical autumn, but for Niall they marked the anniversary of his wife’s death.

  Thus, he was particularly glum as he travelled home that Friday, knowing what heartache Monday would bring for his much-loved children, and his mood exacerbated by the weather. Night was coming in as he and a mass of others – on bicycle, bus, by car and on foot – splashed their way home through the city. Even through the smoke of countless chimneys, which mingled with falling darkness to create a denser pall, the Minster still dominated the backdrop, a monument to a faith that was not his. His own little church was tucked out of sight, behind that city wall towards which Niall was quickly making his way. And, as he went, oppressed by the rain and the noise of traffic, he could not prevent his mind’s descent to all things funereal, reliving that fateful afternoon that had ended in tragedy, but had started out with laughter over his wolf. Nothing had been seen of the predator for months now, nor word either, both hunters and journalists grown bored with its fate. Perhaps it had died from its wounds in the summer after all, thought Niall. If not, it would be awfully bedraggled living under such conditions – or even washed away.

  Beneath Skeldergate Bridge over which he strode, the ever-rising river glistened like a black swollen snake, ready to burst free of its skin. Before him, the limestone keep atop its grassy mound had already gained liberation: the grim outer wall of the castle that had once obscured it now virtually demolished by the tide of progress that was sweeping the city. Progress, sighed Niall to himself – would that a little of it might affect his own situation. Hurrying from the bridge, he twisted his mouth in discomfort as the rain suddenly intensified, and prayed that there would be drier weather on Sunday. Needing no persuasion, he was allowing Nora and Harriet to take his children to lay flowers at the cemetery. It would have been hypocritical to go himself, but he could not help feeling a certain sadness over Ellen, the mother of his children. Pray God the poor little buggers would have some sunshine to lighten such an awful occasion. His prayers included Boadicea too, for it was she who had to suffer each time the youngsters returned from their grandmother’s influence. Bo thought he did not see, but he had noticed how subdued they were in her presence, and how hard she tried to forge a bond. But so long as they were under Nora’s sway, their loyalties would remain divided.

  Striding on through the dark over another bridge, his head down against the rain, he had almost reached the lock gates at Castle Mills – at which point it was his habit to cross the road – when a quick glance to right and left brought a familiar figure into range, and he started in recognition.

  ‘Sean!’ Experiencing a burst of hope, he accosted his brother, who had been heading straight past towards Fishergate, and waited for him to look back.

  Sean did cast an involuntary response over his shoulder, but held this only briefly; upon seeing who it was, he maintained his pace.

  But Niall persisted, ‘Hang on!’ And he stretched out his arm as if to detain the other. ‘I’ve been wanting to bump into you for ages. I didn’t know where you live or I would’ve been to see you!’

  With a large gap between them, Sean did deign to pause then, but his attitude was not one of welcome, his eyes narrowed and his cap tilted against the driving rain, as he waited only to see what else would be said.

  ‘Where did you move to?’ Niall approached, to portray the anxiety of an older brother.

  ‘Alma Terrace,’ came the grudging information.

  ‘Where’s that – oh, up near Fulford barracks, isn’t it?’ Niall’s nod mirrored Sean’s. ‘I think I’ve seen it when I’ve got the ferry across to South Bank. Nice street.’ He conveyed admiration. ‘So … how are you then? You’re looking well.’

  ‘We’re all right, thank you.’ The reply was coolly formal. ‘Both of us, in case you’re interested.’

  Niall looked suitably repentant, tapping his rain-soaked boot and staring down at it, as he murmured, ‘That’s why I’ve been keen to see you, to say how sorry I am for what I said, and for letting Nora ruin your wedding day. It was unforgivable.’

  ‘Yes, it was.’ Having uttered this Sean turned to go.

  ‘Aw, hang on!’ His whole attitude begging forgiveness, Niall caught hold of the other’s wet sleeve, but lightly, so as not to provoke annoyance. ‘Just let me tell you – you’ll get a good laugh out of it, if nowt else.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said his brother, poker-faced.

  ‘I mean you’ll be pleased to hear I got my comeuppance! She did the exact same thing to my house.’ Having succeeded in regaining Sean’s attention, even if this was resentful, Niall carried on in stilted fashion. ‘Robbed me of all my furniture, dragged my name through the dirt – everything she did to you she did to me …’

  ‘So now you know what it feels like,’ responded Sean, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his mackintosh, his shoulders hunched and his face puckered against the cold rain. ‘And I suppose I’m meant to be all understanding and say, “Oh, it’s all right, let’s be pals again”?’ He curled his lip. ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve!’

  Mirroring the other, Niall shoved his own hands into his pockets, and hung his dripping head, submitting totally, whilst his brother berated him.

  ‘You let me down!’ accused Sean, as cars, buses and lorries splashed through the puddles, competing to drown out his voice. ‘You’re my brother, you were supposed to be on my side, but, no! You preferred to side with that vicious lot! All I wanted to do was to marry the lass I’d chosen. You didn’t have to like it, but you could have trusted me – should have trusted me – to make my own choice, even if you disagreed with it.’

  Niall made a complete surrender, not responding at all, his downcast eyes remaining fixed upon the black pavement that was sluiced with rain, whilst his brother harangued him. And eventually Sean’s temper was to be dampened too.

  The lips might have stopped ranting, but the resentment was still evident; lifting tentative eyes now, Niall was to see it simmering upon his brother’s face, which was highlighted by one pair of headlamps after another, as the traffic continued to drone past. ‘I read about Ellen in the paper,’ muttered Sean. ‘Must be almost a year now?’

  Niall gave a solemn nod.

  ‘I suppose you’ve found somebody else, have you? That’s what all this is about?’ Sean received another sign of affirmation. ‘Aye, well …’ His jaw twitched, and he looked away. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, but it obviously didn’t hurt for too long then, did it?’

  Even accepting that he deserved every ounce of this, Niall wanted to pre-empt any hostile word against Boadicea that might be thrown in revenge. ‘I was bloody stupid, I said some rotten things, and I want you to believe how sorry I am, Sean, I really am. You were right, it’s only now I’m in your shoes that I can see how terrible it was for you both … she looked a nice woman, your wife.’

  ‘She is,’ snapped Sean, irritated as much by the noise of the traffic as by his brother.

  ‘So is mine,’ said Niall. ‘At least, she’s not my wife yet, but we’ll be getting wed in a month or so – not that I’ve given the kids a definite date. You’re the first person I’ve told, so if you should happen to see them—’

  ‘Where the hell would I see them?’ Sean’s anger erupted again, and at once Niall was contrite, for there was pain in his brother’s voice. ‘That’s what hurt so much when you cut me off! You knew how I loved them kids of yours!’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Niall closed his eye
s to show exasperation with himself. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I was wrong to keep them from their uncle, and you can see them again any time you like. They’d love to see you – you’re welcome any time.’

  ‘Aye, well, mebbe …’ Sean was not wholly responsive, his tone sullen as he looked away again, to scan the darkness of the swollen river and its imperilled barges.

  ‘I know Boadicea’d like to meet you – that’s her name.’ Niall gave an clumsy grin. ‘Bit of a mouthful, isn’t it? But she’s a lovely lass. The kids like her, so there shouldn’t be too much of a problem with us getting married, if Nora leaves us alone.’ His brother’s reaction was simply to harrumph. But noting that Sean had stopped hopping from foot to foot as if to escape, Niall sought to enquire about his sister-in-law. ‘Emma, yours is called, isn’t she? Did you have any family with her?’

  There came a shake of head, Sean’s response made doubly sombre in the knowledge that he himself was to blame for the lack of fertility. He did not say this to Niall, for was it not obvious?

  However, there was to be no commiseration from his brother, not even the batting of an eyelid, for his pity would not be welcomed. ‘There’s heaps more I want to tell you,’ tendered Niall, the rain dripping off him. ‘Will you come for a drink with me, for old times’ sake?’

  ‘What, now?’ Sean swiftly negated this with a look of disdain. ‘No, I’ve got to be home. Emma’ll wonder where I am – besides, I’m pissing wet through.’

  Thoroughly dispirited by the rejection, Niall gave a forlorn nod, and made as if to let his brother go. ‘Aye, well, it was good to see you, kid …’

  But his unusual meekness in accepting the chastisement, had obviously had an effect. ‘You can come round next Sunday for a cup of tea, if you like,’ came Sean’s gruff invitation, along with an address. ‘That’ll give me enough time to talk the wife round.’