Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4)

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘Oh no, it wouldn’t be,’ agreed his mother.

  ‘You could even call it a charitable concern.’

  ‘You could if you were talking to Soft Mick and not your mother.’

  Dickie folded his arms. ‘Well, it all depends on your definition of charity. I see it as giving money to people who need it.’

  ‘Giving?’

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘Well … lending.’

  ‘I see.’ Thomasin nodded curtly. ‘A loan shark.’

  ‘Mother, please!’ he cried in bruised voice and smote his breast melodramatically. ‘Look at my pretty little teeth. Are these the fangs of a shark?’

  Thomasin narrowed her eyes at his flashing smile.

  ‘I promise,’ he crossed his heart, ‘I’ve never eaten anybody. I don’t know why folk have such a bad impression of our business. I mean, you shopkeepers have your Christmas clubs, don’t yese?’ His mother laughed and asked what else he did, apart from running his ‘Christmas Club’. He re-crossed his arms and leaned back as if thinking, ‘Oh, I buy houses, give them a lick o’ paint an’ sell them again …’

  ‘You, soiling your hands with paint?’ Her face was held at a dubious angle.

  ‘Well, not me personally.’ He grinned. ‘My time’s spent on more important matters.’ At her enquiry as to what these might be, he mused. ‘Oh, this, that an’ the other.’

  ‘Now that I can believe,’ said his mother. ‘How does poor Dusty cope with you?’

  ‘Very heavy-handedly,’ replied Dickie, lacing his hands round the back of his neck and stretching his long body. ‘She’s a tyrant.’ He banged a fist several times against his yawn. ‘Sorry! I didn’t get much sleep last night.’

  ‘None of us did. Sonny tells me you’ve no children. That must’ve been a great disappointment for her. Especially … well, you know.’

  Dickie knew what his mother meant by especially – especially as he had sired at least two illegitimate children and couldn’t even give Dusty one. ‘Yes … it’s gotten worse with her lately as well, what with the adoption societies being uncooperative. She’s very low. That’s partly why I brought her over for a vacation.’

  ‘What’s the other part?’

  ‘I wanted to see my family, of course,’ he said brightly. ‘Can ye put us up for a few months?’

  ‘Oh, I was going to ask how long you intended to grace us with your presence. I don’t know why, but I had the feeling you might want to stay on a bit longer … maybe permanently.’

  Dickie hesitated before answering; did he anticipate a plea in her lightly-delivered statement? ‘Well … I don’t know about that, Mam. The house an’ everything …’

  ‘You had a house and everything twenty-six years ago, but that didn’t stop you uprooting yourself.’

  ‘Ah, that was a bit different. The law was after me then.’

  ‘Well, that makes me feel a bit easier having you under my roof.’ At her son’s questioning eye she enlarged, ‘Knowing the law isn’t after you this time.’ After waiting for a response but not receiving one, she added, ‘I won’t ask why they were after you.’

  ‘Best not,’ cautioned Dickie and was saved from explanations as Vinnie brought the tea in – though feeling his mother’s stare all the time that the maid was in the room he fully expected her to press the topic when Vinnie had gone.

  Instead, she proceeded upon desultory chat which contained no hair-raising questions. ‘I’ll bet you and Dusty found a difference in the old city after being away so long.’ She was told that he hardly recognised the place. ‘No, well that doesn’t surprise me,’ her voice was tart, ‘with the bloody Council knocking bits of history down right, left and centre.’ For many years Thomasin had been involved with the Yorkshire Architectural Society, whose aim was to save historic buildings from demolition. ‘Still… I suppose they’ve got rid of a lot of eyesores as well. Did you happen to see my shop while you were out?’ He told her they had passed one of its entrances but hadn’t gone in. ‘Ah well, you’ll have plenty of chance while you’re here.’ She looked momentarily annoyed. ‘I suppose some people’ll think I’m a mercenary devil for not closing it today, but never mind what they think … Have you any immediate plans?’

  His spoon tinkled round and round the cup. ‘I did have till Dad died. I was going to take you both all over the place, have a real good time. That’s what I bought the car for.’

  ‘You bought it in England?’

  ‘Yes.’ He tapped the spoon and laid it in the saucer. ‘I’ll probably sell it before we go home.’

  Home, thought Thomasin, that was a bad sign. ‘We’ve got a car, you know. Aye, our Sonny bought it for us …’ She took a sip of the tea, which tasted bitter for some reason; possibly because her palate was soured by grief. ‘Dickie, about what I said before – don’t you think you and Dusty could settle here?’

  ‘Mam, ye don’t realise what you’re askin’… it’s not just the house an’ business, all our friends are there.’

  ‘But your family’s here. At least consider it, Dickie,’ begged his mother. ‘I’ve got all of you together again, I’d like to keep it that way.’ Once more, the grey eyes misted. ‘You know, I remember the day you were born as if it were yesterday. And every year, on your birthday and on the day we thought you’d died, I’d see this little black-haired baby …’ She regarded him intently. Then, putting her cup aside, she rose and took a step towards him. He looked up at her, askance, but did not move. ‘You never did have very good manners – on your feet, lad!’ Dickie put his own cup and saucer on the wine table and rose swiftly, but uncertain of face. ‘Come here, I want to welcome you back properly.’ When he moved forth, she slipped her arms around his body as if he were still a little boy, though her head only came up to his chest. She pressed it there, closed her eyes and prayed – make him stay, Pat. Help me keep him here.

  Dickie enfolded his mother’s small frame and kissed the top of her white head tenderly … just as his father used to do. Thomasin delivered a last maternal pat, then broke free and, averting her face, said briskly, ‘Now hop it and send your wife in. I’ve barely shared two words with the poor lass yet.’

  4

  ‘Oh, it’s my turn now, is it?’ muttered an unenthusiastic Dusty when her husband relayed the summons. ‘I wonder what my punishment will be.’

  ‘She’s gonna ask you to talk me into staying,’ replied Dickie.

  Her eyebrows rose. ‘And here’s me thinking she’d be glad to get rid. No cuts or bruises?’ She examined him.

  He shook his head. ‘Completely unscathed – hey, Dusty!’ He pulled her back as she was about to detach herself from the gathering. ‘Be careful what ye say, huh? We don’t want to get her hopes up.’

  Her frivolity evaporated. ‘So, you were being serious about her wanting you to stay?’ At his nod, she once again used her eyebrows to express surprise before continuing her passage. Dickie watched his wife’s exit. Feen was watching her too and thinking, why on earth did he marry her? She’s so plain and dowdy, not good enough for him at all. He could have had anybody, I’m sure she must have tricked him into marriage, he would never have chosen her voluntarily. Oh, I wish … The door closed and Dickie turned to catch Feen’s mooning inspection. At his grin she blushed and looked away quickly.

  * * *

  When her daughter-in-law was seated, Thomasin began. ‘So, Dusty, what have you been doing with yourself in America?’

  With the points of her elbows resting on her abdomen, Dusty laced her fingers and tucked her thumbs under her chin, meditating. ‘Oh, trying to keep your son’s accounts legal, scouring the financial papers, a little charity work, celebrating a Silver Wedding … waiting for a baby to happen.’

  Thomasin’s face showed sympathy. ‘Yes, I’m really sorry about that, Dusty, you would’ve made a good mother. But still, there’s time. Dickie tells me you want to adopt.’

  Dusty hesitated and the green lynx eyes fell away from Thomasin. It was apparent how much it hurt to
say, ‘I doubt there’ll be much likelihood of that now; the adoption societies consider I’m too old and my husband’s too decadent.’

  ‘I can understand the latter part,’ said Thomasin. ‘But you, too old?’

  ‘I am fifty-three.’ Dusty’s lashes were still lowered as though the admittance were shameful.

  ‘You’d never think so to look at you,’ said Thomasin truthfully, then tutted. ‘Why should the adoption societies think that you have to be in your twenties to be a good mother? I mean, at that age you’ve barely finished your own childhood. Even thirty seems young to me nowadays. I see these bits of lasses making all the same mistakes with their children that I made with mine … you don’t realise how precious they are till their childhood’s gone overnight. If I had it to do now I’d make a much better job of it.’ There followed a self-mocking laugh. ‘Chance’d be a fine thing.’ Then a tear bulged over her lower lid. ‘Eh dear, I am missing Pat …’ She flicked the moisture away and braced herself. ‘Anyway, I’m getting off the track. Did your husband say anything of our chat?’

  Dusty’s lips twitched. ‘I think he was too surprised to find himself still intact.’

  ‘Ah well, I must admit if he’d come three or four weeks ago he might not have been treated so leniently.’ Thomasin’s face grew wistful. ‘But he’s part of Patrick. I’d be a fool to drive him away again, and Pat certainly wouldn’t want that to happen. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Dusty, to see how you feel about staying in York, or at least in England.’

  At first, Dusty looked speculative, plucking at a fold of black gown. ‘Well, it’s different to how I remembered it …’ Then she smiled broadly. ‘But it still feels like home. I could settle back here quite happily.’

  ‘And Dickie?’ Her mother-in-law’s question was tinged with anxiety.

  Dusty’s shrug was not heartening. ‘He’s been really looking forward to seeing you all, but I don’t know if he’d want to stay for good.’

  Thomasin pinned her with a grey eye. ‘You could persuade him.’

  ‘Huh! And you could plait quicksilver?’

  ‘You must have some influence over him, Dusty. You’ve managed to keep him for twenty-six years.’ Thomasin caught the sardonic response. ‘Oh, don’t tell me he’s still … ?’

  Dusty inhaled the musty smell of books, then let out a sigh that told all. ‘I’m afraid he’ll never alter where the ladies are concerned.’

  Thomasin rolled her eyes and nodded ironically. ‘But you’ve obviously learnt to accept his shortcomings.’

  Dusty bridled, ‘Accept nothing!’ then had to apologise for having shouted. Thomasin said it didn’t matter and observed that her son had retained his knack of getting folk’s hackles up; Dusty was to be admired for putting up with him. Dusty rubbed at her knee. ‘Well … he overlooks my failings so I guess I have to overlook his.’

  ‘Failings? You mean not being able to have a baby? But that’s not of your making, Dusty.’

  ‘No, but it doesn’t make me any less of a failure.’ How could she explain to this matriarch what it felt like, describe the feelings of longing and frustration that made her want to scream at her misfortune and tear out her sterile womb. She endured again the torment of those menopausal years, when one month stretched into two, bringing fresh hope that at last she might be pregnant. Only to have that hope snatched away time after time and finally dry up altogether, along with the last trickle of her womanhood.

  Thomasin stared into the green eyes. Up until now she had assumed the sadness in them to be for Patrick. Now she saw that it went much deeper than yesterday. It had taken years of emptiness to form that look.

  Dusty returned to the subject of her husband’s mistresses. ‘I did leave him once, but it was hopeless. Oh, I had no intention of going back to him.’ She assumed a self-deprecating air. ‘But he came after me and … well, you know what it’s like when he turns those eyes on.’ Thomasin nodded wearily. One look from those eyes and you were ready to forgive murder. ‘The thing is with Dickie, they genuinely mean nothing to him. I know it’s awful and I know that it seems I’m condoning his behaviour in a way, but if I didn’t think he meant it when he says he loves me I’d never stay with him and I can’t help despising the silly bitches. But if I ever caught him in the act…’ She shook her head ominously.

  ‘At least he doesn’t do it openly, then?’

  ‘Apart from the flirting which I can just about stand, no, he wouldn’t dare. But I know when he is doing it. He just gets that look on his face … Anyway, there’s nothing I can do to change him,’ she said hurriedly, ‘and I only get annoyed when I dwell on it so can we please change the subject?’

  ‘Certainly,’ obliged Thomasin. ‘Do you mind talking about your adoption plans? I don’t want to pry but I may be able to help you.’ The listener became alert. ‘I know of some children … the trouble is, you’d have to take three of them.’

  Dusty burst out laughing, then remembering Dickie’s father, put a guilty hand over her mouth. ‘Lord, I’ll take half a dozen if I can get them!’

  ‘Sorry, there’s only three.’ Thomasin smiled at the other’s enthusiasm. ‘It may be wrong of me to raise your hopes, but Belle did mention it herself before she went off to Africa – Belle is Erin’s daughter.’

  ‘Yes, yes I know all about her from Sonny’s letters,’ said Dusty, who knew that Belle had abdicated a brilliant career in mathematics to devote her life to waifs and strays. Her cat-like eyes were animated now. ‘She runs a sort of children’s home, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Mm, yes, but that makes it sound like an institution and it’s definitely not that. In fact, that’s partly the reason she intends to have these three adopted, so it’ll allow her more time for the others. The main reason being, of course, that she wants them to have a mother and father.’ She watched the flush spread across her daughter-in-law’s cheeks and condemned herself for using Dusty’s barrenness as a weapon for keeping her son here. ‘There’s just a small point,’ she concluded. ‘I don’t think Belle would be keen on them leaving the country. She’d want to keep an eye on them.’

  Dusty became stern. ‘You don’t have to use those tactics, Mrs Feeney.’

  Exposed, Thomasin laughed guiltily. ‘Eh, Dusty, I’d forgotten how shrewd you are … I’m sorry, it was a dirty trick. It shows you just how low I’d stoop to keep my son here. But that’s not to say I don’t want to help you in your own problem, lass. As I said, you’d make an ideal mother. Could you coax him to stay till Belle gets back?’ Dusty nodded and said she would do her damnedest. Thomasin continued, ‘It could be weeks, it could be months. Once she gets a bee up her bottom about something there’s no telling. Does Dickie – eh, it seems daft asking you questions about my own son, but he’s still a bit of a stranger at present – how does he feel about adoption? I don’t quite picture him as the doting father.’

  Dickie’s wife defended him. ‘For all his faults he does have an awful lot of love in him, Mrs Feeney.’

  Thomasin found the loyalty endearing, but clicked her tongue at the ‘Mrs Feeney’. ‘You’ll have to stop calling me that, Dusty. If you can’t manage Mother then Thomasin will do.’ The younger woman replied that, feeling partly responsible for Dickie’s extended absence, she had not liked to be too familiar. ‘I was damned mad at you when Sonny first told me,’ confessed Thomasin. ‘But if I can forgive Dickie then I’m sure I can forgive you, and I’m really happy that it turned out as it did. He couldn’t have a better wife. I’ve always thought so.’

  The green eyes embraced her. ‘Thanks, Mother.’

  The warmth was returned in Thomasin’s smile. ‘It’s only the truth – and yes, I know he is capable of love. I can tell he still thinks the world of you, despite his nasty little habits, I know he’d’ve treasured your children if you could’ve had them, but this is a different matter: can he be a father to somebody else’s?’

  ‘Like Sonny, you mean?’ Dusty shook her head in despair. ‘I just can’t say. I wish y
ou could’ve seen him when he got the news about Rosie. He was heartbroken. I know he foisted his responsibilities onto Sonny, but I also know how much he regretted that as he grew older. He loved to hear all the news about her and Nick. I’ve never seen him so upset as he was by her death.’

  Thomasin put her head a-slant. ‘I hope there’s going to be no trouble in that quarter? Over Nick, I mean.’ She received hasty assurance that her son had no wish to claim paternity at this late stage. ‘Good. It’s unsettling enough what with Erin showing her resentment, I’d hate to have Sonny at it as well.’ For her next comment she fell back on her old businesslike manner. ‘Now then, about these children. Belle isn’t going to hand them over just like that, you know. You and Dickie’ll have to convince her that you’ll make responsible parents.’

  ‘Well,’ Dusty arched her spine and gave a bitter laugh, ‘if it all hangs on Dickie’s sense of responsibility, we have as much chance of adopting those children as King Herod.’

  The businesswoman vanished. Only a mother’s longing was employed as bargaining power. ‘I’ll give you all the support I can, Dusty,’ swore Thomasin earnestly. ‘Just help me keep him here.’

  * * *

  When their parley ended, Thomasin remained in Patrick’s study, wanting to be alone with him. The solitude was brief; her friend and business partner, Francis Farthingale called to pay his respects. A servant had been sent earlier in the day to inform him of Patrick’s death, but on finding him not at home had been forced to leave a note.

  ‘Thomasin, I’m so very sorry I wasn’t able to come before now. I’ve been visiting family and just got home half an hour ago. I’ve come straight round …’ The old man’s grey face brimmed with condolence. During all the years she had known Francis he had been extremely thin, but age had emphasised the cavernous hollows of his face, and this evening his aura of sympathy made him look more skeletal than ever. Thomasin conveyed forgiveness into the sherry-coloured eyes, telling him he could not have done anything. ‘But I could have been here. My dear, I am sorry.’ Taking a creaking step nearer, he reached out for her.