Secrets of Our Hearts

by Sheelagh Kelly

  But he must try not to think of that, must throw himself into other pursuits, and try to concentrate of the festive season, which was not hard. Walmgate was even livelier at this time of year. The gypsies had arrived in their brightly painted caravans, and were camped on some waste ground down one of the lanes, their presence being objected to by some of the locals and fights breaking out at all hours of night and the day. There were huge flocks of geese being driven for slaughter, a terrible, strangled honking filling the air as hundreds met their end and yet more awaited; cattle, pigs and chickens too passing through the butchers’ yards, the fortnight before Christmas one long cacophonous disruption.

  Exhausted both from lack of sleep and from his day-time work, Niall was not relishing another evening shift of making toys as he plodded home that Friday night through the busy, illuminated streets. But, as ever, all weariness was put aside upon receiving his dear wife’s greeting.

  ‘And what has Father been doing at work today?’ Having hurried to divest him of his haversack and greasy old cap, she steered him to the table where his meal awaited, the look in her eyes making him feel utterly adored.

  Left with nothing to do, Niall sat down amongst his offspring, smiling at them and offering a proud boast. ‘I helped break a record.’

  ‘From the boss’s gramphone?’ Boadicea winked at the children and sat down to join them. ‘I should have thought that would get ye the sack!’

  ‘Eh, she’s a silly billy!’ Niall shook his head at his brood, and set upon his fish. ‘No, I mean we worked like blazes. The thirty of us took only four hours to lay eleven hundred yards of new track – that’s a record, that is.’

  Picking up her own knife and fork, Boadicea looked impressed. ‘How about that, boys? Your father helping to build the railways. Ye should be proud. Do any of you fancy working on the permanent way when you grow up?’

  ‘I do,’ said Juggy.

  The boys all laughed, Batty scoffing. ‘Girls can’t work on the railway.’

  Juggy looked to her father, who, to her disappointment, was to confirm this.

  ‘I’ll stay home and help Bo in the house then,’ offered Juggy, which earned her stepmother’s praise, and a smile from her father for such co-operation.

  He himself was to be less than co-operative, though, when Dominic sought a favour on his way to bed. ‘Have you got a pair of trousers I can borrow, Dad?’

  Almost falling asleep over his newspaper, and in the knowledge that he faced an hour of toy- making, Niall sounded rather testy. ‘Trousers – what do you want trousers for?’

  ‘Sister Bernadette asked us to bring some on Monday afternoon. We’re having a dress rehearsal for the Christmas concert.’

  Rubbing his eyes to prevent himself from dropping off, Niall looked vague. ‘You’d better go and ask your stepmother. She knows where everything is …’

  The excitement of the wedding over, and the reality of having a stepmother hit home, Dominic had no intention of asking Boadicea for any favour, and continued to address his father. ‘But they’re your trousers.’

  Frowning and puffing out his cheeks, Niall racked his brain. ‘I think I might have a pair somewhere – does it matter if there’s a rip in the backside?’

  ‘Who’s got a rip in the backside?’ Boadicea entered in a blast of cold air from the back yard, and to Dominic’s annoyance his father turned immediately to her.

  ‘The lad’s after some long trousers for his concert. I’ve got some torn ones somewhere …’

  ‘I can mend them,’ she offered brightly, knowing exactly where she could lay her hands on them. ‘They’re under the stairs. I’ll dig them out for you right now so’s I don’t forget.’

  Dom mumbled something inaudible on his way to bed.

  ‘What was that?’ A stern Niall cupped an ear.

  But Dominic had disappeared.

  ‘That lad’s looking for a good braying,’ muttered Niall to his wife, who brushed aside this decree.

  ‘Don’t blame him.’ Tis his grandmother’s influence.’

  ‘Hah! She’s not even seeing them and she’s still managing to cast her evil eye – and you want me to start letting them go to visit her again, Lady Bountiful.’ But he was not really annoyed at his wife.

  ‘Ah, well,’ sighed Boadicea, ‘in a few years they’ll be grown and she’ll no longer have such a hold on them.’

  ‘That’s a long way off yet,’ protested Niall. ‘Dom’s three years away from being big enough to wear them long trousers—’

  ‘Yes, he’s still a child,’ Boadicea pointed out firmly, ‘so just let him be. I can handle that one.’

  * * *

  As promised, the trousers were there waiting when Dom rose on Saturday morning. There had also been a moderate snowfall overnight, and, with more fun to be had outside, the eleven-year-old paid them little notice, and left them lying over the back of a chair whilst he and his brothers and sisters went out to play. Here in the street they were to stay, scraping the snow from their windowsill and neighbouring ones, and from every available surface with which to fashion missiles, until finally the meagre supply was exhausted and they turned to other things.

  Their father being at work, Boadicea spent much of her morning changing the linen in preparation for Monday’s wash – though she was not looking forward to trying to get it dry in this freezing weather. There were also the bedrooms to clean, before finally coming down to attend the living area.

  She could hear someone rummaging in the outside shed, and, assuming that it was Dom, left him to it, whilst she dusted and swept and tidied. But noticing that the trousers were no longer where he had left them, and that it had gone suspiciously quiet outside, she went out to investigate. And there he was with the trousers spread on the floor of the shed and a paintbrush in his hand.

  ‘You destructive little devil, what are you up to?’ The boy having almost dropped the brush in his haste, she carefully removed it before it dripped any more whitewash.

  ‘They’re only his old ones!’ Dominic objected.

  ‘I didn’t ask that!’ Clicking her tongue, Boadicea laid the brush atop the open tin. ‘I asked what are you doing? I thought you wanted these for the concert.’

  ‘Aye, but they really need to be striped ones, so—’

  ‘You thought you’d paint your own stripes on.’ Boadicea shook her head at such daft behaviour. ‘Why didn’t ye ask me before you did it?’

  He turned petulant ‘I thought it’d wash off.’

  ‘And who, might I ask, is going to wash them?’

  ‘That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?’

  She was astounded. ‘Why, you cheeky—’ and involuntarily she began to raise her hand.

  Dom took a step back into the shed. ‘I’ll tell me dad you’ve been flirting with the insurance man!’

  Boadicea hesitated only the slightest moment, before her hand struck his cheek, causing him to yelp. ‘Don’t you dare threaten me!’ she exploded. ‘You can tell your father what you like!’ And looking at his attitude, the resentful way he was beholding her, she had a sudden inkling what might have happened to her photograph. ‘And whilst we’re flinging accusations, I don’t suppose you know anything about that photo of me that went missing a while back?’

  Dom was brazen. ‘It fell into the fire.’

  ‘And you just gave it a little push – well, now we both know where we stand, don’t we?’

  Deeply offended, she bundled the ruined trousers up and shoved them in the dustbin.

  Seeing her go indoors, Dom expediently vanished too.

  Though he was to reappear and be seated at the dinner table with his brothers and sisters by the time his father arrived home just after one, it did not take a genius to gauge the subdued atmosphere at the dinner table.

  ‘Dare I ask?’ Niall sighed to Boadicea, as he warmed himself through before the fire, prior to eating. ‘What’s been going on here?’

  ‘I think Dom has something to tell you,’ Boadicea
invited the boy, ‘haven’t you, Dom?’

  The latter looked guilty: which was she going to mention first, the photo, the trousers or the blackmail? Whichever, he began with the lesser crime. ‘Sorry, Dad, them trousers weren’t quite right, so—’

  ‘They need to be striped, apparently,’ cut in his stepmother, her voice turning bright, ‘so I’m going to town this afternoon to buy some stuff, and I’ll ask Aunty Emma if she can run a pair up on her sewing machine!’

  ‘You don’t have to go to all that trouble,’ complained Niall, as he set on his meal.

  ‘It’s no trouble, that’s what I’m here for.’ Boadicea looked pointedly at Dom, but there was a gleam in her eye that told him he had got away with his impudence this time, but just let him dare to do it again …

  The final days up to Christmas were to bring no further trouble, which was a great relief to the one who had all the cooking, cleaning and shopping to do. Boadicea thanked heaven she was no longer forced to go out to work, as she struggled home through a layer of slush along Walmgate, which was seemingly miles longer under the weight of bags laden with Christmas fare, having to hurry, for the schools were breaking up early that day and she must be home in time to meet the children. The street was teeming with activity. Her head already banging with the noise of cars being driven past, and the Salvation Army band, she winced at yet another invasion, the metallic ringing of hammer upon anvil, and she glanced with annoyance into the farrier’s yard, where a horse waited patiently for his new shoes. Her ears hurting as much as her arms, which felt stretched beyond repair, the arrival of her turn-off was greeted with a great sigh of relief.

  Still, her own doorstep was some way to go, and staggering onwards, she decided to take the back route. Heading down a lane, trying to keep her balance on the slippery granite setts, she noted a figure ahead, a foreign-looking boy, dark- skinned, with a mop of black fuzzy hair, who was loitering at the end of the back lane. Cigarette in hand, he held her boldly with his eyes, and took a casual drag of his cigarette as she passed.

  Boadicea tottered on under the weight of her bags, calling blithely afterwards, ‘Don’t be late for your tea, Dom.’

  ‘No, I w—’ the black-skinned youth broke off, his tone stunned as he cast aside the cigarette and followed her to demand, ‘How did you know it were me?’

  ‘Sure, didn’t I spend the best part of last Saturday getting blisters on my feet looking for that material of those trousers?’ laughed his stepmother. Then, gauging the reason for his worried expression, she winked. ‘Aw, don’t fuss! I won’t tell your father you were smoking – but cut it out, it’ll kill ye – much as I’d like to see ye dead.’

  The boot-polished face split into a white grin as Dom kept pace with her and reached for her bags without being asked. ‘Here, let me carry them.’

  ‘My own native bearer?’ She sounded impressed. ‘Why, I might as well.’ And she shared her load with him, enquiring how his concert had gone as the pair of them made their way to the back gate.

  When they reached home the others were already in the yard, and burst out laughing at their brother in his outfit from the minstrel routine, Brian wanting to try on the black curly wig, and everyone laughing again as his little face was swamped by it. But for some there were more important matters to discuss.

  ‘Can we go see Father Christmas tomorrow?’ Juggy ran to beg her stepmother.

  ‘God love us, can ye not wait till I get in!’ Boadicea led the way into the house and dumped her bags with a grunt of relief. ‘Anyway, I thought he didn’t come till Christmas Day?’

  ‘No, he visits Boyes’s first,’ explained Juggy. ‘He has threepenny gifts and sixpenny gifts – I don’t mind if we only have the threepenny ones,’ she added helpfully.

  ‘That’s very amenable of ye.’ Having already gone without things herself in order to fulfil the dreams of others, this would be an extra burden on Boadicea. But things had been going so well between her and Niall’s children and she wanted to keep them that way. ‘Who’ll be coming with me to see him then?’

  Three hands shot up, Honor being too old to care. A glance at Dominic told his stepmother that he would have liked to come, but did not want to be considered childish. However, not wanting to be thought ungrateful, as his stepmother took the weight off her feet, he came to lean very close by her, happy now to be in such proximity – and not simply for the fact that he had accepted her into his family. Approaching manhood, despite his still boyish antics, Dom had begun to appreciate his father’s attraction for the voluptuous Bo.

  ‘Right, if it’s just the three of yese I think we can manage that,’ she decided, to great applause. Then she groaned at having forgotten an important purchase. ‘Aw! Juggy, darlin’, can ye save my poor feet?’ Taking sixpence from her purse, she begged, ‘Go get me ten Players for your dad, love.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ offered Dom immediately.

  ‘Er, thanks, all the same, Mr Helpful,’ Boadicea eyed him shrewdly, ‘you’ll have them all smoked by the time you get home.’

  At this, he gave a laugh of genuine affection, and, as his little sister ran off on her errand, and Honor unloaded Bo’s shopping bag, he bounded out to skid in the slush with his brothers.

  Unfortunately the weather was to get worse, Saturday opened with snow and sleet, but, having made a promise to the little ones, Boadicea felt compelled to brave this icy onslaught and take them to visit Father Christmas in his grotto at Boyes’ store. Setting off as early as was humanly possible to avoid the crowds, she was on Ouse Bridge at the moment of opening, but it appeared that everyone had had the same idea, for by the time they emerged from the grotto with their threepenny gifts, the store was heaving, people shoulder to shoulder in the aisles – and she had yet to buy a present for her husband. Thankfully it did not take too long to purchase underwear and a box of cigarettes, though now that the children had had their fun they were proving a burden, and so she allowed them to open their gifts, in order to keep them quiet. Quiet was not really the word, what with Brian and Batty constantly firing their guns at shop assistants, and the same enjoyment did not hold for Juggy who, having received a jigsaw, pestered to go home so she could play with it.

  ‘We can’t go home yet!’ protested a tattered Boadicea. ‘I’ve to get something for Ma. Be good, all of you.’

  ‘Ooh, can I play with it at Ma and Uncle Georgie’s house then?’ begged Juggy.

  Her guardian sighed and said, ‘Oh, I suppose so – sure, I’ll have to unload you rascals on somebody!’ And, after purchasing the items for Mrs Precious, she took them there.

  Everyone else out, Ma and Georgie were both in the kitchen when the visitors descended on them, he stirring a vast saucepan, she on her hands and knees carving up some old carpet with a blunt knife and her usual ham-fistedness.

  ‘Stop barking, Rusty, you know very well who it is – he’s just excited!’ she informed Boadicea and the children. ‘I’m making him a new bed for Christmas.’ And so saying she wrenched the circle of carpet free and tried it in the dog’s basket for size. ‘There – how’s that, little cherub?’ Seizing the yapping Pomeranian she gave him a hearty kiss and dumped him in the basket.

  Obviously unimpressed, the dog jumped straight out.

  ‘There’s no pleasing some folk!’ complained Ma, gathering up the remnants of carpet in her brawny hands, then clambering to her feet. ‘Anyway!’ She beamed upon the gathering. ‘Now you’re here are you stopping for your dinner? Georgie’s making some soup.’

  Boadicea thanked her, but said Dom and Honor would require lunch, and, ‘We’ve got to be back for Niall.’

  ‘What time’s he in?’

  ‘About one.’

  ‘We’ll have ours at twelve then!’ bellowed Ma. ‘That gives you plenty of time – you can take him and the others some home with you an’ all!’ Then, seeing the pile of chopped vegetables still on the table, added, ‘That’s if it ever gets done! Come on, Georgie Porgie, get a move on. Shouldn’t these veg be
in that pan?’ Using her large hands as a scoop, she began to gather the vegetables as if to assist.

  ‘Just let me fish the carcass out, dearie!’ came the old man’s warning, and this he only just managed to do before she started to hurl potatoes, carrots and cabbage into his saucepan.

  ‘There!’ She brushed her palms in businesslike fashion. ‘We’ll let it simmer for a couple of hours while we have a cup of tea – get the kettle on, Georgie!’ And leaving her poor flustered husband behind, she herded her guests into the antiquated living room, the dog trotting ahead.

  ‘Can I open me jigsaw now?’ beseeched Juggy, as she and her younger brothers found themselves places to sit amidst the aspidistras and stuffed animals.

  Granted permission, she crouched excitedly on the floor and displayed it to Ma, who in turn displayed amazement.

  ‘By, that’s a grand un!’

  This was overstatement, and Juggy knew it. Made of wood, and consisting of only a dozen pieces, the jigsaw was not to hold her interest for very long, though it was to prove a boon for others. Having put their sopping coats to dry by the roaring fire, Boadicea saw a way of keeping her charges occupied whilst she and Ma enjoyed a cup of tea, by organising a competition to see who could construct the jigsaw fastest – Brian being given a head start as he was only little – and she and Ma acting as umpires, counting out the seconds as each competitor took a turn: ‘One! Two! Three …’

  This was to be the source of much amusement till Mr Yarker came home, his disgruntled expression forcing the jigsaw to be packed away and the children to be quiet. Assisting with the latter, ever eager to please, Georgie then took them into his workshop, which smelled of wood and oil and varnish, and showed them the array of instruments that dangled from its roof, then entertained them with a tune on one of the fiddles. Here the children were to remain entranced, until Ma bawled for assistance.

  The house was filled with an appetising aroma of soup, and also all of its residents, when the children returned. Ravenous, they needed no encouragement to enter the dining room, where the boys underwent a bout of play-fighting with Eamonn and Johnny until told to behave. Then, as old Georgie appeared, everyone became intent on the steaming tureen, which he placed on the table, all eventually being supplied with its delicious contents.