by Martina Cole
Kevin Carter, Briony’s driver, was surprised by the look on her face when she emerged from her sister’s house. Her usual good nature seemed to have deserted her and her face was a mask of anger. She got into the back of the car.
‘Elizabeth O’Malley’s, pronto.’
Without further ado, he drove. Briony sat in the back. Wrapped in her coat, she stared out of the window at the passing streets. Children played on the pavements, men lounged against the lampposts. It was like going back in time. The streets were no different from how they had been when she was a child. Since the war times had changed. Only the people in these streets had been passed by. They still lived in the same back to backs, soot-blackened and small. They still kept a few chickens if they could afford it, or a rabbit or two in a hutch knocked up out of a jerry crate. They still lived hand to mouth, still had that look of hopelessness about them.
The car pulled up outside Elizabeth O’Malley’s and Briony got out slowly. It was seven-thirty, still light enough to see everything that was going on around her. A group of ragged children hunched around a doorway, their game of five jacks forgotten as they gazed at the lady in the deep green coat who owned a car. One little girl scratched at a festering flea bite on her ankle and broke the skin. She dabbed at the blood with dirty fingers.
Briony saw curtains twitching, and a mother with a young child on her arm stopped where she was and stared at her. Briony recognised her: Lily Bains, a girl she had gone to school with. She smiled and nodded and banged on Elizabeth O’Malley’s front door. The knock resounded through the house and instinctively Briony knew no one was there.
‘Lily, do you know where she is?’
Lily stepped back a pace, unsure whether to talk to Briony, a woman who was spoken of in hushed whispers these days; the girl with whom she had once played Tin Pan Alley and shared some childish dreams.
Briony walked towards her. ‘Come on, Lily, cat got your tongue? Where’s the old bitch O’Malley? Have you seen her son?’
Lily heard the gentle tone and shook her head. ‘They went out about an hour ago. I think Mother O’Malley was moving because they had some bags. I hope she was, I can’t stand the old cow.’
Briony forced a smile.
‘Any idea where she could be moving to? Has she anyone who’d put her up like?’
Lily shook her head again and the child smiled. Briony saw the caries in the child’s teeth already; he was no more than a year old.
‘The only place she’s welcome is the church, and I don’t think she’s really welcome there. How are you, Briony? You look really well. Really smart.’ The last was said with admiration.
‘You look well and all, Lily. This your boy?’ She stroked the child’s face with soft hands. He chuckled. Lily puffed out her cheeks, aware that they were being observed. Now Briony had singled her out for attention, she could brag about how she had grown up with her and people would be impressed.
‘I’ve got four, this is me youngest. I married Danny Little, remember him?’
‘I remember him, he used to show us his birds’ eggs.’
Briony knew the O’Malleys were long gone, and somehow she was reluctant to leave Lily, a reminder of times past. Of her real youth.
‘He still collects them, Briony. Knows all about birds does Danny boy.’ Lily’s voice dropped. ‘I heard you’re doing well. I’m glad, Briony. I’m glad you got away from here. You was always a clever girl, always had your eye to the main chance, you did!’
Briony smiled. ‘That was me, all right, Lil. It was lovely seeing you. You must know where I live. Come round one day and we’ll have a cuppa, talk about the old days.’
‘Maybe I will and all.’ Both knew that she wouldn’t, that her children were infested with lice and she wouldn’t have the guts to take them to Briony’s house, but it was nice to be offered and she respected Briony for that. Opening her bag, Briony took out all the money she had in it, about eight pounds, and pushed it into Lily’s hand.
‘No! No, Briony, I can’t take that! No, it was lovely to see you, and talk to you. I don’t want your money.’
Briony laughed then.
‘Well, you’re the only one who don’t! But you’re the only person I really want to have it. Take it, there’s plenty more where that came from!’
Lily looked at the money in wonder.
‘I won’t say it won’t come in handy, girl!’
‘Listen, Lily, if ever you need anything, you come to me, right?’
She nodded, tears in her eyes.
‘Thanks, Bri. It’s funny but we was at rock bottom today. Danny got laid off at the docks. This’ll keep us going for a good while.’
Briony and Lily embraced, the child between them crushed by their bodies. He shouted to remind them he was there.
‘Tell Danny to go and see Bobbie Phillips tomorrow at the Royal Albert. He’ll have a job, I’ll see to that.’
Lily nodded, her throat constricted.
‘Tara, mate, see you round.’
‘Tara, Bri, and thanks again.’
Inside the car Briony was aware of Kevin Carter looking at her as if she’d gone mad.
‘Saint Vincent’s church, Kevin.’
Her face looked more relaxed than it had earlier and she waved at her friend until they turned the corner of the street.
Father McNamara was not surprised to see Briony Cavanagh in his hallway. He smiled at her and showed her into his library.
‘Now then, Briony, what can I do for you?’
‘I’m looking for Elizabeth O’Malley and her son, Joshua.’
The priest nodded. ‘I see, and why would you be looking for them. You’re related now, aren’t you? Didn’t I see him married to your sister not two weeks since?’
Briony smiled.
‘You did, and now he’s left her. I want to have a little talk to him. Only I can’t find him, or his mother.’
The priest lit himself a cigar and puffed on it for a moment to get it fully alight.
‘That woman is like one of the deadly plagues, a mouth on her like nobody’s business. Has she put you out like?’
‘You could say that, Father. Now have you seen them?’
‘No, I haven’t seen them.’
Briony stood up.
‘Thanks anyway. I’ll just keep looking. Do you know if they have any relatives at all? Someone they could go to?’
The priest looked at the girl before him, weighing up in his mind whether to speak out or not.
‘Sit back down and tell me what’s happened. Then I’ll answer your question.’
Briony sat back down and told the priest about Eileen, a carefully edited version, leaving out the juicier bits.
‘So Eileen’s in a terrible state and he’s to blame. I want to see him and set the record straight once and for all. I think I owe him that much.’
‘Poor Eileen. She was never right, that one, I saw the change in her myself, God love her and keep her. Didn’t she used to work for that feller with the moustaches who owned the blacking factory and half the dock properties?’
Briony screwed up her eyes to slits and nodded. ‘As I did, Father. I worked for him as well.’
‘Ah, that’s right indeed.’
Briony and the priest looked at one another in unspoken communication.
‘She wasn’t right, poor girl. Maybe the work was too hard for her? I remember your father taking Communion afterwards every week, regular as clockwork.’
Briony didn’t say a word. If you took Communion, you had to have your Confession heard. She knew the priest was telling her he knew exactly what was wrong with Eileen and still she didn’t speak.
The priest sighed. He had hoped to trade information. This girl and her family intrigued him.
‘Well now, if I remember rightly, Elizabeth O’Malley has a brother in Islington. He’s a bit of a demon by all accounts, another one with religious mania. I don’t think they really get on, but that’s not surprising, is it? You ask around Islin
gton and I’m sure you’ll find him.’
Briony nodded and stood up.
‘Thanks, Father.’
‘Would you like me to go and see poor Eileen?’
‘My mother would like that, Father. There’s just one thing, before I forget.’
‘What’s that, my child?’ The priest looked up at her with his hands clasped together on his lap, cigar clamped firmly between his teeth.
‘Don’t ever try and find out my business or my family’s again. What you guess and what you know is up to you. But in future remember where the money comes from for your expensive cigars and whisky, because there’s plenty of other churches who’d welcome me with open arms. No questions asked.’
She left the room, leaving a stony-faced Father McNamara whose Havana cigar had suddenly lost its expensive taste.
Chapter Twenty-three
Eileen was tucked up in bed in the house where all her troubles had started. Cissy and Mrs Horlock fussed over her, Molly stared at her in bewilderment, and Briony soothed her. But inside her head nothing was right. Her thoughts seemed to run off on tangents; she wasn’t sure what was fact and what was fiction. She stared vacantly around her, smiling at times but always quiet. Too quiet.
Briony left her in Mrs Horlock’s capable hands and she and Molly retired downstairs to the library to talk.
‘You’re good to have her here, Briony.’
Molly’s voice was stiff. She was still upset about what Briony had said to her, and wasn’t sure how to approach her daughter now. Briony turning on her had shocked her more than she cared to admit. Molly liked to think that everything was fine, that the horrors her daughters had experienced were now relegated to the back of their mind, as they were to hers, but Briony had brought them all back. She had reminded Molly that in her own way she had played an integral part in their unhappiness, that in effect she had condoned what her husband had set out to do. Molly lost no sleep any more over Paddy’s demise. In fact, since then she had experienced a measure of freedom which would have been unheard of had he still been alive. Now she had to try and ingratiate herself once more with this powerful daughter.
‘I think I’ll get another quack in to our Eileen in the morning, Mum. There’s a bloke from up West, Scottish name, treats Lord Palmer’s son for shell shock. He’s the best in his field for mental illness.’
Molly nodded but kept her peace. Only rich people could afford nerves and mental illness. She believed still that the devil made work for idle hands. In Molly’s eyes a good day’s work looking after a few kids and a husband and house was more than sufficient to keep a woman from thinking. Thinking was a bad thing. Too much time for thought and you started sickening.
‘I’ve asked around and about. It seems Joshua has an uncle in Islington, I’m going there later. Kevin Carter’s out now with a couple of others tracking him down. If he’s there we’ll find him. I’ve got to shut his trap up in some way. But the main thing at the moment is our Eileen. Getting her better if we can. Though I think, eventually, she’ll have to go away.’
Molly nodded again.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mum, have a go at me, fight me, but don’t keep being so bloody passive, it don’t suit you. If you’ve anything to say, any thoughts on all this, say them! I can’t stand you quiet, it’s unnatural!’
Molly opened her eyes wide and nodded once more, infuriating Briony even further.
‘God give me strength!’
‘Oh, he’s given you that, Bri. He’s given you enough already for ten men.’
Briony laughed gently.
‘Oh, it can speak then?’
‘I can. It’s whether or not you’re interested in what I have to say?’ There was a semblance of Molly’s old spirit as she spoke and Briony was pleased.
‘Mum, think about this. When did any of us ever listen to you anyway? That never shut you up before, did it?’
Molly grinned then. Briony was joking, she was over the worst, the sun was out and everything was going to be all right. Briony would look after them all. The weight was lifted from Molly’s shoulders and she could relax again.
Kevin stood uncertainly in front of Tommy Lane.
‘If she knew I knew where you were, Tommy, there’d be murders.’
‘I know that, Kev, and I appreciate you telling me everything. Is Briony all right like, in herself?’
‘Oh, yeah. Well, I mean, she seems all right. But I think all this with her sister has shocked her more than she’d ever admit. You know Briony, she’s more close-mouthed than the government.’
Tommy smiled in spite of himself.
‘True. So Joshua has something over her, has he? Well, ain’t he the brave bastard! Milk and water, I booked him. Wouldn’t say boo to a mouse on a mortuary slab. Well, we live and fucking learn, don’t we? Still, don’t worry, Kev, I’ll find the ponce and sort him out. In fact, me and you can go and see this bible basher now. Maybe I’ll get a bit more out of him than you did.’
‘Suits me, Tommy. I just want to give Briony a break. Her sister’s bad, I saw her meself. She’s ill, mate. That bloke’s worked her over and all, black and blue her arms were. But he never touched her boat race. Well, he wouldn’t, would he? What a turn up, eh?’ He shook his head in silent disgust.
‘Sit down and I’ll get changed. Help yourself to a drink.’
Tommy left the room and walked up the stairs of his new house in Stratford. As he entered the bedroom a female voice said, ‘Are you coming back to bed, Tommy?’
Shirley Darling, as she was called, held out one long slim arm towards him. He smiled.
‘Sorry, Shirl, but business beckons. Get yourself dressed and trundle off now. There’s a good girl.’
Shirley sat up in bed, the sheet dropping away to reveal enormous breasts. ‘Oh, Tommy! Can’t I wait for you to come home later?’
‘Nope! Dressed and home for you, young lady. I’m busy.’ He pulled on his clothes with a nonchalant air.
‘You’re a wanker, Tommy Lane!’
He laughed out loud. ‘Very ladylike, I must say.’
Shirley, who really liked Tommy, had always liked him and had been over the moon to climb into his bed, was upset that he was dismissing her like a two-bob tart. Her eyes screwed up and she said, ‘You are a wanker. As for me being ladylike, I’m no more ladylike than Big Briony, as they call her. They also call her the Poison Dwarf, did you know that? What’s the matter, Tommy? Frightened she’ll find out I’ve been here and little Tommy Lane’s been a naughty boy? Scared of her, are you?’
She froze as he yanked her from the bed by her arm. He ran her across the room and into the dressing room where her clothes were neatly folded on a chair.
‘Get dressed and fuck off. As for Briony, you ain’t even fit to walk on the same bit of pavement as her. Now take your stuff, take your big fucking trap, and piss off!’
Shirley sat on a chair naked, and rubbed at her arm. ‘You hurt me!’
Tommy made a tragic face. ‘NO! I never, did I? If you’re not careful I might just tell Briony what I’ve been doing all afternoon. Now if she frightens me, what must that thought do to you, eh?’
He left the room but as he walked down the stairs felt a wave of temper wash over him. So people thought he was scared of Briony, did they? Then he smiled. The Poison Dwarf! Briony would laugh if she heard that one. Collecting Kevin, he left the house, Shirley never once entering his thoughts. Unlike Briony, she was over and done with.
Padraig O’Connor was a thin wiry Irishman with burnished red hair, a red bushy beard, and large rough hands. Not a tall man, only five foot four, he gave the impression of great strength in his compact, tightly muscled body. His deep-set blue eyes had the glint of a man on the verge of religious mania.
Padraig went into the lowest of pubs and drinking establishments, giving out the word of the Lord. He knew his bible backwards and forwards, believing in the pure and simple sanctity of living your life by the word of God, the ten commandments and Leviticus. He dr
ank only water, Adam’s Ale, and ate simple foods. He also worked hard as a coal man, delivering the sacks everywhere, his hands and back ingrained with coal dust, a sign to the world that he toiled hard at good honest work. Drunks, women of the night and local priests ducked into corners and under hedges when they saw him coming. As Father Kennedy had once remarked, the man could make a top of the morning sound like a declaration of war.
Padraig was in The Green Man, his bible open at Leviticus, regaling the rather drunken customers with the Lord’s words on bestiality.
‘“Thou shalt not lie down with the beasts of the field.”’
A big burly docker shouted out, ‘I’ll agree with you there, mate, but what if your old woman looks like the fucking back end of a bullock? What then, eh?’
Everyone laughed. A tiny man with horn-rimmed glasses, carried away with drink and camaraderie, shouted out: ‘Your old woman sounds like the back end of a bullock! She’s got more mouth than a cow’s got...’
The docker stopped laughing immediately and, turning to the man who’d insulted his wife, said: ‘Do you want a bunch of fives or what?’
The little man’s head disappeared into his glass of ale and the docker looked around him for anyone who fancied having another go about his wife.
Padraig O’Connor carried on regardless, his words delivered in a loud voice, his whole demeanour taut and intense. He believed every word he said and couldn’t for the life of him understand how no one else could gain the enjoyment from the bible that he did.
The smoky atmosphere was burning his eyes and throat. He coughed loudly and the barman pushed a pint of beer on to the counter.
‘Go on, man, drink that. It’ll cool you down.’
Padraig shook his head.
‘A glass of water will be sufficient, thank you.’
The barman got him his water, and handing it to him, said, ‘Drink that and go. They’re laughing at you, can’t you see that?’
Tommy Lane and Kevin Carter walked into The Green Man. One look at the man at the bar drinking down a glass of water and they knew they’d struck gold. They stood watching as he started his preaching once more.