Comet

by Andie J Fessey

  “You could say that,” O’Leary replied leaning back, placing a large cigar into his mouth, “you could say that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Will you stop running around like a bunch of lunatics and go and play outside?” Patty cried at her sons.

  He stood atop a stepladder, removing the cotton nets hung across the parlour windows.

  “Take a hold of this Iris Love,” she said, passing the net to her daughter, “whilst I go and give our Jack a clip over the ear?”

  Stood next to the frame of the ladder, Iris did not bother to offer to climb the wooden ladder herself, knowing full well the answer from her Mother.

  “Why me?” Jack yelled across from the doorway, pretending to shoot an imaginary rifle at his brothers.

  “Because young man,” Patty said, moving to him, “you are the closest one to me, that’s why.”

  “I’m not now,” Jack replied, hastily running into the hallway, before ascending the stairs two steps at a time.

  “If you’re going to play, at least do it in the yard or upstairs please?” Patty called, laughing out loudly, making her way to the bottom of the stairs.

  “Only if you promise not to hit us mam,” Jack called, peering through the gaps in the landing balustrade, before playfully sticking his tongue out.

  “Why you little…” Patty said, placing one foot on the bottom stair, continuing to laugh.

  “Sorry mam, honestly,” Jack said, moving his head back and banging it into the bannister, “Oww!”

  “There, God has punished you,” his Mother said, stopping her ascent and making her way back to the lounge.

  “He’s banged his head on the bannister, silly happeth,” she said, walking to Iris, still holding the net curtains.

  “Is he okay Mother?”

  Patty smiled at her daughter.

  Always concerned for the lads, bless her.

  “He’s fine Iris love, where there’s no sense there’s no feeling as they say,” she replied with a gentle chuckle.

  “They’re good boys aren’t they Mother?” Iris said, more a statement than a question.

  “They are that our Iris, they are that. Your Father would be so proud of them.”

  A sharp rap at the front door interrupted them.

  “One of you lads get that will you!” Patty shouted.

  Appearing from his hiding place under the stairs, Robert sprinted the length of the hallway and opened the brown wooden door.

  “Allo Robbie, is your Iris in?” the woman stood on the pavement asked.

  “Yeah, she’s in the front room with our mam, getting the nets down.”

  Maureen passed Robert, giving his hair a ruffle, the powerful aroma of her cheap perfume wafting into the house with her, as though she walked encased within a cloud.

  “Alright Iris, Mrs B,” she called, entering the parlour.

  “Hello Pet,” Patty said, “sit yerself down and I’ll go make us all a cuppa.”

  “Don’t worry about it Mother, you’ve done enough already today. I’ll go and make it,” Iris said, walking to her friend.

  “If you say so Iris, thanks love. I’ll just get this last net down then I’ll join you.”

  “Robert, grab a hold of the ladder for Mother would you please?” She asked her brother, now stood in the doorway.

  “Of course, I will our Iris,” he replied, walking to the windows.

  “I’ve got you Mam,” he said, grabbing hold of the wooden frame, as if his life depended upon it.

  “Thank you, Robert, I know I’ll be safe in your hands,” she answered, smiling.

  Just like his Father.

  Entering the kitchen, Maureen sat at the kitchen table. Comics, papers and coloured pencils lay scattered upon a large sheet of paper upon it, with depictions of various pictures of soldiers, planes and cars sketched by her friend’s brothers.

  “Taking up drawing lessons or something are yer Iris?” She asked, peering at the various pictures.

  Iris, filling a kettle full of water, glanced over her shoulder.

  “Har har. The boys have been occupying themselves.”

  “Sounds like they are occupying themselves with something else now,” Maureen replied, hearing the ‘Rat a tat tat’ noises from the hallway.

  “Keep it down!” Patty shouted from the parlour.

  “So, how’s you?” Maureen asked, taking one of the comics lay on the table. It was a copy of ‘The Victor’, obviously well-read with the pages ruffled and crumpled.

  “Me? I’m fine,” Iris replied, placing three cups on the thin wooden surface of the worktop.

  “Thought anymore about what that bloke asked?” Maureen asked, without turning her gaze from the comic she feigned reading.

  “What bloke?” Iris replied, staring at the cups.

  “You know exactly who I’m on about Iris, the good-looking bloke at Archie’s wake.”

  “How did you…?”

  “Oh, don’t worry Iris, I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything. I heard it from Jimmy.”

  “Jimmy?” Iris asked, attempting to remember any of the men who attended the wake, called Jimmy.

  “Yeah, little Jimmy Leatherbarrow, he was playing tick with your boys,” Maureen replied, “and some of the other lil uns, when he heard him asking you out.”

  “So, why would he have told you?” Iris asked incredulously.

  I’ll strangle him, when I get my hands on him.

  “Oh, he wasn’t telling me directly luv, I was just helping myself to another plate of those sausage rolls and the kids were stood around the table helping themselves to whatever. I think he only said it to wind Sheila’s lad up.”

  Turning around, Iris walked to the table, handing Maureen a cup of tea, before returning to fetch her Mother’s.

  “You’ve lost me Mo,” she said, sitting down and placing her Mother’s cup on the table, “what has Wally to do with anything?”

  “Oh, come off it Iris, sounds like the daft little tyke has a crush on yer or summat,” Maureen said smiling, raising her cup to her mouth.

  “Behave yourself Mo, Wally hasn’t a crush on me.”

  “Well, it must be Wally, as the only other kids stood around the table were your lot.”

  Iris thought to herself Maureen was likely trying to wind her up, but it didn’t take away the fact Jimmy overheard David asking her out and now Maureen knew too.

  “So?” Maureen asked.

  “So, what?”

  “So,” Maureen repeated, leaning to her, cradling her head in her cupped hands, staring into her eyes, “are you going to go out with him or not?”

  “Go out with who?” Patty asked, entering the kitchen.

  Thank you so much Mo!

  “Oh, hiya Patty, didn’t hear you coming.” Maureen replied, “did you see that Welsh lad at Archie’s wake?”

  Patty did not have to ponder the question before answering.

  “Aye, I do. Nice looking lad. I caught sight of him talking to our Iris for a while.”

  “Oh, he wasn’t just talking Patty,” Maureen said.

  “Maureen don’t! Be quiet please,” Iris pleaded.

  “No, carry on please Maureen,” Patty said, sitting down.

  “Mo no, Mother please don’t ask her to,” Iris said, feeling her cheeks redden.

  “Oh, I’m sorry love,” Maureen said with genuine sincerity, witnessing her friends discomfort, “I’m made up for you love, that’s all.”

  She really needs to stop being so sensitive!

  “Well?” Her Mother asked.

  “Well what?”

  “Are you going to let me know what Maureen here is on about or what? You know she’ll only tell me anyways,” her Mother replied.

  Raising her hands to her mouth, Maureen feigned mock indignation.

  “Whatever do you mean Mrs B?” She asked.

  “You know what I mean love, you can’t hold your own water in at times,” Patty replied, giggling.

  “I never am!” Maur
een retorted, smiling.

  “Close the door will you Mo, I don’t want the lads hearing,” Iris asked.

  Rising from her seat, Maureen walked across the kitchen. Looking along the hallway, she saw the boys now sat quietly on the step.

  Closing the door, she walked across to the kettle, to make another round of tea.

  “I think the lads will know anyway, seeing as Jimmy was telling them at the Wake,” she said, without turning.

  “Jimmy knows something and I don’t?” Patty asked.

  “I’ll tell you about it later Mother,” Iris answered, passing her now empty cup to Maureen, “David…”

  “David who?” her Mother interrupted.

  “Mother! You asked me and I’m answering you!”

  Smiling at her, Patty brought the cup of tea to her lips, nodding at Iris to affirm she would abide by her wishes.

  “David, the man you saw me talking to at the wake, asked me if I’d like to go to the pictures or something with him.”

  “And you answered him with what?” Patty replied, the cup of tea hovering in front of her face.

  “I told him I’d think about it,” Iris answered.

  “What does he do for a living? Where is he from?” Patty asked, placing her cup on the table.

  “He’s Welsh and he works for a blacksmith and…” Maureen began, before Patty cast her a glance, instantly stopping her.

  “He is from South Wales and works as an apprentice for a blacksmith called Bob in Woolton Village,” Iris said, “he’s been here for a couple of years in lodgings in Lime Street and seems a nice person.”

  “Is that all?” Patty asked.

  “Mother, we were at a wake for goodness sake. He likes to listen to music and can play the piano and that is all you two really need to know for now,” Iris said, taking a sip from her cup.

  “For now?” Maureen said, smiling.

  Refusing to take the bait, Iris continued to sip her tea whilst staring ahead.

  “Well Iris, you must know what you’re going to say to him by now,” Patty said.

  “And you’re not getting any younger love,” Maureen added.

  “Getting any younger? I’m only nineteen as you well know Maureen and I am two months younger than you!”

  “That may be, but I’m not in any danger of becoming a wallflower and you are,” Maureen said.

  “I’m not a wallflower!” Iris retorted.

  “Youngest spinster in Harrowby Street,” Maureen continued.

  “Alright Maureen, that’s enough,” Patty said.

  “Sorry Patty,” Maureen said, “I’m only thinking about her.”

  Looking from Maureen to her daughter, Patty knew Maureen’s heart was in the right place, it was a shame her mouth often became engaged, before her brain did.

  “Alright Iris, we’ll change the subject if you at least tell me your decision,” Patty said, “then we’ll change the subject.”

  Looking at the two of them in turn, Iris sighed.

  “I’ve said yes, I’ll go to the pictures with him and,” she began.

  “Oh, Iris tell me more!” Maureen interrupted.

  “What pictures? What are you going to see? What will you be wearing?” Her Mother asked.

  Iris raised her cup of tea to her lips, sighing both physically and emotionally.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dusk arrived over the city, a canopy of sombre colours.

  The scene above, as clouds drifted wistfully along waves of a smooth breeze, a celestial epitome of serenity.

  Unlike the scene unfurling below its heavenly embrace in Field Lane.

  “Grab its bloody reins!” O’Leary shouted at the three men, standing yards away from the large horse.

  They stood in the back yard of Archie’s property.

  The gates, having been unlocked via means of a large pair of bolt cutters, stood opened wide, a large van parked in-between the metals posts.

  “Grab it’s what?!” An obese man shouted in a high-pitched voice, stepping away slowly with careful steps, his rotund stomach wobbling.

  He kept his distance from the huge animal in front of him, in addition to an equal distance away from his boss, knowing all too well, his capricious behaviour.

  Comet had not yet reared, but the men stood around him caused him to feel apprehensive, feeling he may do so to prevent them getting closer.

  Snorting at them in frustration, he felt lost, alone, isolated and adrift upon a vast sea of fear of the unknown awaiting him.

  His human was gone, he knew it, he felt it, the void of emptiness eating away inside of him.

  “The bloody thing hanging off its neck!” O’Leary roared, thick veins pulsating and throbbing in his neck.

  “It’s not a rein Corey, it’s a halter.” A huge man said, stood nearby, staring at Comet.

  “I don’t give a bleeding rat’s arse what it’s called,” O’Leary said, “just grab the bloody thing!”

  The men moved in slowly, closer to the horse standing in their midst, towering in a height and stature of nobility and abject indignation, at their presence in his human’s abode.

  He did not know these men who stood around him, but the empathetic feeling he sensed from them, indicated to him some of them, maybe all of them were not ‘good’.

  Though, he felt beyond the periphery of his senses, the undeniable emotion of concern and protection from one amidst them.

  Sensing the obese man’s fear and apprehension, he snorted loudly, stamping his right hoof on the cobbles hard, as the man approached him.

  The fat man and the scrawny looking man alongside him, jumped back as one.

  “For God’s sake just grab the bloody thing!” O’Leary shouted, his short arms waving in the air, engulfed by his flapping sheepskin jacket.

  The two men edged forward again.

  Comet responded in turn by stamping his hoof again, and again, the noise of his shoe hitting the ground, reverberating throughout the still evening air.

  They paused in their approach.

  “Grab him, or you’ll be out on your bloody arses come the morning!” O’Leary ordered.

  Arne, known as Samson due to his height and broad muscular stature, stood back, but now slowly approached the animal facing him.

  “Calm down boy,” he said, approaching the mammoth horse, hands held in front of him at waist level, palms facing downwards in a gesture indicating he meant Comet no harm.

  “Calm down boy,” he said in a baritone voice, laced with tenderness and concern.

  Comet stared at him.

  He sensed this human was not like the others. The manner he spoke in, the way he moved confusing him slightly.

  It was exactly the way his human moved to him when Comet was younger, unsure of the horse’s temperament.

  “It’s okay boy, calm down.”

  As the man continued to slowly approach him, Comet snorted loudly, stamping one of his front hooves in defiance, but this did not have any effect on the man, now stood alongside him.

  Comet’s ears came back in another show of defiance, as the man slowly raised one hand up to his neck.

  About to step back, he found the man stroking his neck with a gentle, tender touch, unfazed by his snorting or the light stamp of his front hoof on the cobbled ground.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” The scrawnier of the other men asked.

  “What? Where did I learn to stroke an animal?” Arne replied, continuing to stroke Comet’s flank.

  “Well, you wouldn’t bloody well catch me anywhere near it,” the fat man, Brendan, said in falsetto tones.

  “You’ve no bloody choice Brendan lad,” O’Leary said, sneering in his direction, “I want that bloody thing back at the yard.”

  “But Boss, how are we going to get it there?” The scrawny man asked.

  “We could put it in the back of the van, there’s a ramp so it could walk up that,” O’Leary said, after thinking it over for a moment.

  “No can do,” Arne sai
d, continuing to stroke Comet, who had settled more.

  “Why the hell not?” O’Leary demanded.

  “It’s still full of metal from the last job over in Crosby,” Arne replied.

  “Why hasn’t it been emptied?” O’Leary asked.

  “As soon as we returned to the yard, we were told to head straight over here sharpish.”

  “For pity’s sake!” O’Leary exclaimed.

  “We could use the cart,” Brendan offered.

  “That cart,” O’Leary said, “will not be going anywhere.”.

  “What do you mean?” Arne asked.

  “Just grab the kit out of the back of the van, after you’ve tied that bloody animal up.”

  “You don’t mean to smash it up, do you?” Arne asked, looking to the cart stood in the centre of the yard.

  “What if I do? It’s mine! I bought it fair and square, so I can do what the hell I like with it, same goes for that bloody thing, it belongs to me now,” O’Leary stated.

  “But you could sell it on and make a few bob out of it,” Arne suggested, “It’s not a bad old cart, it used to be used by draymen down at the brewery near Upper Parliament Street. You can still see the name where the paint has faded. Maybe you could sell it to them?”

  “Don’t be getting all sentimental on me Samson, that bloody thing is going to be nothing but tinder by the time I’ve finished with it,” O’Leary said, sneering.

  Continuing to stroke Comet whilst the other two men returned to the rear of the parked van, Arne looked at O’Leary.

  If it was not for the fact he needed the money right now, he would have quit working for him a long time ago.

  “It’s okay boy,” he said gently into Comet’s ear, “I won’t let them hurt you.”

  Striding across the yard, O’Leary looked in disgust at the pieces of scrap and metal strewn around it, kicking out indiscriminately at pieces, causing them to fly across the ground.

  In a corner of the yard, stood the broken shell of the old sailing boat, the word ‘Dignity’ hand painted on one side.

  I should’ve bought that bloody thing as well and burned it.

  “Will this do boss, or do you want a grinder?” Brendan asked, returning from the rear of the van with a large hatchet.