by Cody Young
“I’m not,” he said, and his words were cold and crisp. Then he added in a cryptic whisper, “Things would have been different in London, if that were true.”
Katie shook her head and glanced away. They were not going to discuss this in front of the children. “It could make things worse, not better.”
“Why are you so dead set against this, Katie? I thought you were on my side.”
Because I know it won’t work, she thought, but she kept that to herself. “It’s risky and very expensive.”
“The cost is no concern of yours,” Michael announced haughtily, “and I’m the one taking the risk.”
Chapter Fifteen
Michael was teaching the boys to play checkers on the scrubbed pine table and Katie was washing dishes the next Saturday afternoon when Mrs. Jessop appeared in the doorway. Michael frowned, resenting the interruption. “What is it, Lizzie?”
“There’s a Private O’Brien calling.”
Michael frowned. “Who?”
He didn’t know anyone named O’Brien. Not on visiting terms, anyway. And most of his friends were in the RAF, not the Army.
“Some Irish boy in uniform, asking for Katie,” Mrs. Jessop added, pursing her lips in disapproval.
Katie’s knees instantly buckled, and she grabbed the edge of the sink to stay upright.
“He’s in the library,” said Mrs. Jessop, “and he looks like the sort of oaf who might break something valuable if we leave him alone in there for long.”
“Oh dear God in heaven,” Katie choked out, and Michael frowned. Katie wasn’t prone to using blasphemy lightly.
“Is he your fancy man, then?” Roy inquired.
“Roy!” said Mrs. Jessop. “Just when we thought your manners were improving.”
“I can’t see him,” Katie pleaded. “I can’t.”
That worried Michael. What had the man done that Katie was too scared to even look at him?
“Can we have a look at him?” Alfie asked, curiosity roused.
“Certainly not,” Michael said. “He’s Katie’s visitor.”
“I can’t see him,” she repeated, trembling in obvious fear.
Mrs. Jessop was getting impatient. “What do you want me to do with him, then? Send him away?”
“Could we do that?” Katie turned to appeal to Michael.
“Yes, we could,” Michael said doubtfully, “but aren’t you anxious to find out what he wants?”
Katie looked stricken.
“You think you know what he wants?” Michael asked, turning around in his chair to try to read Katie’s face.
She turned from him and gazed out the window. She was breathing in a funny way, as if she couldn’t get quite enough oxygen in her lungs.
“Can’t we go and have a look at him, Mister Lord? Does he have red hair like Katie, Mrs. Jessop?”
Roy interjected. “He’s not her bruvver. He’s her boyfriend.”
“No, he is not,” Katie nearly screamed. She covered her face in her hands and to everyone’s acute embarrassment, she started to cry. Michael knew he had to take charge of the situation before things devolved into any more chaos and confusion.
“I’ll talk to him, Katie,” Michael said, decisively.
“I’ll have a few words with the man, wish him good luck in the war, and send him on his way.”
“Good luck in the war!” Katie swung round sharply. “Mrs. Jessop? Are you sure he was in Army uniform?”
“Of course I’m sure. Private, First Class, British Army. His uniform is practically new. I’d say he’s only recently enlisted.”
“Oh dear God,” Katie moaned. “Why would he do that?”
Alfie looked up. “Why don’t you go and ask him?”
Katie just screwed up her apron in her hands and turned her head away.
Michael knew the mystery guest was Katie’s former boyfriend and the father of her child, presumably. He wished he didn’t have to face the man in this contraption. He reached the door, and hesitated for a moment. An idea came to him.
“Jessop, is the library door closed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. If you wheel me into my study, he won’t see me go by. Then if I get into an ordinary chair and sit at my desk, I’ll look just like an ordinary bloke, won’t I?”
“You never look like an ordinary bloke, Mister,” Roy observed with a sniff.
“We can put the wheelchair out of sight, can’t we?” Michael asked.
“Why can’t he see the wheelchair?” Bob wanted to know.
“He wants more respect,” Roy explained, toying with Katie’s abandoned lunch on the table.
“Yes, Roy, I do. A little more from you might not go amiss, either. Jessop, find my RAF jacket. I think it’s hanging in the hall.”
Mrs. Jessop hurried into action, grasping the handles of the wheelchair and pushing Michael toward the door. “We’ll get it on the way,” she said, conspiratorially.
Safely ensconced in the study behind his rosewood desk, Michael arranged a few pieces of paperwork artistically in front of him. He nodded to show the man in.
The man who appeared in the doorway was tall and dark. Not as tall as he, Michael observed with a certain amount of satisfaction, and not as slender either. This man was broad-shouldered, built like a coal-heaver, with a rough-hewn look about him. But then, a lot of women liked that kind of thing, Michael thought ruefully. Katie had liked that kind of thing, once.
“Private O’Brien? Forgive me if I don’t stand to greet you. I’m recovering from an injury, you understand.”
“A war wound, sir?” O’Brien’s eyes flickered with interest.
The impertinent fellow had an open face, with bright blue eyes. Dark brows above them, well-defined brow ridges — a strong, masculine countenance. Obviously Celtic.
“That’s right. A dogfight. Didn’t go so well for me. I bailed and came down on somebody’s roof. Bit of a bumpy landing.”
Michael often found the only way he could talk about what had been one of the worst events in his life was to play it down with a joke.
“Sounds like a real adventure, sir. A story to tell your grandchildren.” O’Brien gave a melodic Irish laugh and seemed genuinely impressed.
“Yes, yes, great fun.” Michael tried to put the same twinkle into his own eyes although the mention of the grandchildren he was never likely to have was a little close to the bone. “Please, sit down.”
O’Brien pulled up a chair. He was one of those men who couldn’t sit neatly; he was all long, loose limbs and huge, hulking shoulders. Michael struggled to ignore mental images of Katie with this man — dancing with him, kissing him, and the rest. He tried to fight the images invading his mind: Katie in this man’s powerful arms, her naked body against his. Oh God. Michael swallowed hard and forced himself to concentrate on the conversation at hand.
“How can I help you?” he said, and the words came out like bullets. Inwardly, Michael cursed, because he’d wanted to speak with that laconic air of disinterest people of his standing liked to use.
“Well, sir, it’s Kathleen I’ve come to see. She works here, I understand?”
Michael had no idea her name was Kathleen; he’d assumed it was Catherine.
“My family is very friendly with hers back in Ireland,” O’Brien added.
“Really? That’s not the impression Katie has given me.”
That was the first remark that seemed to unsettle O’Brien at all. He frowned, and his dark brows drew close together for a moment. “Look, I don’t know what she’s told you, but Katie and I were certainly very friendly for quite a while. And I need to see her. She’s not answering my letters, you see, and I’ve got a number of things I need to ask her … ”
“If she’s not answering your letters,” Michael said, leaning forward as if explaining basics to a foolish young cadet, “one might possibly draw the conclusion that Katie would rather leave the acquaintance in the past, where it belongs.”
“She wouldn�
�t do that. Not if she had a free choice. You don’t know the full story. You don’t know what she’s like.”
“Actually I’ve come to know Katie reasonably well over the last few months. I’ve grown rather fond of her, in fact. And I know more about Katie’s past than you might expect.”
O’Brien blanched. He turned his dark green cap round and round in his hands, thinking what to say next. “So that’s the way of it, is it?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
O’Brien sighed sharply and got to his feet. “Have you even told her I’m here?”
“I have. She didn’t want to speak with you.” Michael felt that he had to add something to convince the man so he kept talking. “She seemed very surprised you had enlisted in the British Army.”
O’Brien’s face darkened, and Michael knew he had been right to throw in that little detail. It obviously struck a chord with the man.
“She was in love with me!” O’Brien protested. “Far more in love with me than I was with her — at that time at least. I won’t believe she’s finished with me until I’ve heard it from her own mouth.”
“People’s feelings change. Especially when they’ve been treated shabbily.”
O’Brien’s face flashed with anger. “Who are you to talk about treating people shabbily — sitting there behind your fancy desk telling me lies about my Katie? I’m leaving for the frontline soon and I need to see her. If you really know what happened between us, you’ll understand why. But perhaps you’re just bluffing. Tell her I’m on my last pass, and I must talk to her before I go. Tell her I’ve got a room at the pub in the village and I’m staying until tomorrow.”
Michael realized he was shaking with rage and hoped desperately it didn’t look like fear. The adrenalin coursed through his veins and he wanted with all his heart to jump up and grab the man by the lapels of that brand new jacket. He needed to shake some sense into him after the condition he’d left Katie in, the filthy swine. Perhaps it was just as well he was unable to get up, lest he laid the man out cold on the Axminster carpet.
Mrs. Jessop had already come to the door, startled by the sound of raised voices. She looked questioningly at Michael, waiting for his instructions.
Michael managed to gather his wits about him. “I think it is high time we terminated our discussion. Jessop, show Private O’Brien the way out, if you please.”
• • •
Katie waited in the tiny scullery with bated breath. She had sent the boys to the nursery with strict instructions not to come down until the coast was clear. She tried to finish the dishes, but she dropped a plate in her distress and watched it shatter on the floor into dozens of pieces.
Tom. Wanting to see her. Tom. In the British Army.
She dropped to her knees and started picking up the broken pieces. Her fingers were wet and soapy and in her distress, Katie was clumsy. She picked up several jagged pieces before she realized she’d cut her finger. Her heart had been aching so much, she hadn’t even noticed the pain. She shuddered, feeling the sharp sting of the cut now, and wrapped her finger tightly in her apron, not wanting to see the blood. Katie struggled to dispel images of her own blood on the blanket that night in the station. The night she gave birth to Tom’s baby.
Then she heard Michael’s voice.
“Katie?”
She stifled a sob. “I’m in here. Has he gone?”
“Yes. Come out here, Katie. I can’t possibly get this bloody thing in there.”
She emerged, and he gestured her to sit on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Do you want me to tell you what he said?” Michael asked.
“Yes. Tell me everything.”
• • •
She only had to ask at the post office, they would know where he was staying. There were only the two places anyway — the hotel by the golf course or the Dog and Whistle. Katie’s money was on the hotel, as Tom had always been a bit of a snob, but it turned out he was at the Dog and Whistle.
She wished she could have walked in there anonymously, but there was no escaping the fact that the whole village was about to know her business. It would, undoubtedly, get back to Michael.
The bartender directed her to the snug, where Tom was having a jar. He looked different in uniform. It suited him. That khaki green color went well with his dark hair. He rose to his feet when he saw her and set his beer on the mantelpiece.
“Katie! Thank heavens you’ve come. I’m leaving on the first train to London tomorrow.”
His blue eyes twinkled like the Irish Sea, and he bent to give her a kiss. Just a chaste peck on the cheek, but she caught a whiff of the beer he’d been drinking, and his six o’clock shadow grazed her face. He was the sort of man who needed to shave twice a day to stay really smooth.
“Tom.” She could not inject much warmth into her greeting, but the emotion rose high when she asked the next question. “What on earth possessed you to volunteer?”
“Better than staying at home, missing all the fun.”
“Fun?” Katie said, spitting the word like a curse.
“A chance to travel, see the world.”
“You have hated the British all your life, and now you are going to fight in their war for them? For fun? For a chance to see a hole in the ground and your blood and guts spilled just before you fall into it?”
“That’s no way to speak to a man who wasn’t afraid to stand up and shoulder a gun.”
“What about running your father’s business, making changes like you told me in your letter. Have you left your mother to cope with all that?”
“She’s got Dervla.”
“Your sister is ten years old, Tom!”
“I needed to spread my wings,” he said. As if he were a restless angel.
She sighed, and changed the subject. “Why are you here?”
“To see my heart’s own darling,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye and a bit of a grin playing about his lips.
“Don’t, Tom,” she said. “I know you well enough now not to fall for it.”
His face suddenly became serious, as he obviously thought to try a different tack. “We need to talk, Kathleen.”
Katie knew the reason. “You want to hear about the child.”
“A man likes to know, when his life’s in danger, if he’s got a son or a daughter to leave behind.”
“You left that chance behind a long time ago.”
“I’m only asking if it was a boy or a girl, Katie.”
She reeled away from him. Her own little girl. Tiny little hands and feet. Her hair, in damp curls, stuck to her tiny fragile head.
“I can’t talk about it, not even to you.”
“Hey, Katie, love. You’ve gone as white as a sheet,” he said. “Sit down and I’ll get you a drink.”
Hastily, anxiously, he made a place for her by the fire, and she let him push her down onto the seat. There was real concern on his face, and her attitude toward him softened. He checked the change in the pocket of his new khaki trousers before heading to the bar. Katie watched him go, shambling along in his army boots, and she felt sick at heart. He leaned forward on the bar, his large frame looking out of place.
He looks like a brute, thought Katie, so different from Michael in almost every way. A handsome brute though.
Tom returned with a gin and tonic, the drink he used to buy for her back in their hometown. Mother’s ruin, Katie thought immediately. It’s what you were supposed to drink if you didn’t want the baby.
But she had wanted her baby, desperately. If only Tom had faced up to his responsibilities and asked her to marry him, she could have given birth in Ireland, kept her little baby and watched her grow.
Tom’s fingers touched hers as he passed her the drink.
“I think I made a stupid mistake letting you go, Katie.
“I think you did, too.”
“We need to discuss things properly. I’ve got a room upstairs.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going up there
with you.”
“Finish your drink. Then we’ll talk.”
• • •
Michael rolled into the kitchen where Roy was sitting alone at the kitchen table, struggling with his homework. It was unusually quiet and tranquil, apart from the occasional epithet from Roy’s lips as he frowned his way through a long list of words to learn for a spelling test tomorrow.
“Where is everyone?”
“The little kids are in bed, and Alfie’s just gone up, too, with one of your old comic books. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not that much,” said Michael.
He had a look over Roy’s shoulder. The boy’s method of committing words to memory was to write them out, over and over again in the back of his rough book with a heavy, inky hand.
“Where’s Katie? She usually helps you with that, doesn’t she?”
“Dunno. Sorry.” The answer was meant to sound nonchalant, but it immediately rang alarm bells for Michael, who knew the sound of a cover-up when he heard one.
“Her hat and coat are not on the hook,” Michael observed. “Roy? Where’s Katie?”
Roy looked up and gave a sigh. “Gone out.”
“At this time of night? On her own?”
“Well, I don’t think she’ll be on her own for long, mister. She went to the Dog and Whistle.”
“She’s gone to see O’Brien?”
Roy gave up the pretense and shut his book. “You should go after her, Mister Lord. Don’t let that paddy fella get her.”
Michael stared at the boy. A great, ugly looking fellow he was going to be with his shaggy dark curls and his chubby face. It would be easy to believe Roy had some gypsy blood in him. “If only it was as easy as that.”
“Well, just wait then. He’ll be stopping bullets before long, won’t he? Maybe one of us will get her in the end.”
It always came as a shock to Michael when Roy said something that clearly indicated that he saw himself as a rival for Katie’s affections.
“Don’t pass judgments on things you don’t understand, young man.”
“I understand you’ll let her slip through your fingers unless someone puts a grenade underneath you. Do you want me to take you down there so you can get her back?”
“What?”