Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4)

by Sheelagh Kelly

Dickie looked. Parts of the baby’s head were bald where the first hair had been rubbed away. ‘He looks like a monk.’

  His wife laughed and contradicted him, crooning to the baby all the time he drank. When the bottle was drained, she laid him over her shoulder and oh, the ecstasy of feeling that tiny lolling head against her cheek, his breath in her ear, elating in the scent and feel of him … she never wanted to let him go, never.

  Oh, Dusty, why did ye have to do it? Dick bemoaned silently, feeling her rapture. Why do ye always have to torture yourself like this? She was the same at home, grasping any chance to hold an infant, always being plunged into depression when she had to let it go.

  ‘It’s puked down your back,’ he observed dully.

  Sally heard, raced in with apologies and a cloth, then removed the baby upstairs.

  There ye go, what did I say? Dickie, seeing his wife’s forlornness, started to rise. ‘Anyway, we’d better be on our way. Ye said ye wanted to take Sonny’s mob out, didn’t ye?’

  ‘There’s ample time for that.’ Dusty took solace in the little girl, lifting her back onto her lap and much to his displeasure, leaned back in a pose that told him they were going to be here for some time. With an annoyed tug at his trousers he sat down again, wishing that the boy would stop goggling at him. He was one of the most unappealing children Dickie had ever seen. Somehow, he managed to entrap a sigh as the youngster leaned on the arm of the sofa to study his gold guard chain.

  ‘Are you very rich?’

  This was answered with disdain. ‘What sorta question is that to be askin’ a gentleman?’

  Dusty’s eyes flashed, but she said with a sweet smile for the boy, ‘I’m sure Frederick can be excused for not realising he was addressing a gentleman.’

  Dickie felt that perhaps he ought to show some willingness and so began to interrogate little Julia, though he was not very proficient at conversing with children. This was rather an anomaly, for they seemed to be drawn towards him. Perhaps it was his good looks which lured them. Whatever it was, Frederick had apparently been hooked too, though Dick tried his best to repulse the adoration. Whenever Frederick butted in with an answer of his own, he would say, falsely polite, ‘Is that a fact?’ or ‘Ye don’t say?’ then ignore him to ask Julia another question.

  His ordeal lasted over an hour. He hoped it was about to be terminated when the children were herded to the lunch table, but even with his back to the man, Frederick somehow managed never to take his eyes off him. When, on the way home, Dickie showed no signs of volunteering an opinion, Dusty was forced to ask eagerly, ‘Well, what did you think?’

  His eyes wandered across the wide muddy road to where two horses bent their heads over an iron trough. ‘I think you make me mad the way ye act over babies when ye know ye can’t keep them. Why do ye do it to yourself, Dusty? Ye know it always gets ye down.’

  ‘Do I look down?’ she asked.

  On turning to her, he was forced to admit that she didn’t. ‘No, and that worries me too. You’re thinking it’s all cut and dried an’ it isn’t.’

  ‘At least they like us,’ argued his wife. ‘That’d be Belle’s main consideration, I would have thought. How d’you feel?’

  ‘The girls’re all right,’ he muttered, swinging his cane as he ambled deep in thought. Catching her stunned look he added more gently, ‘Aw come on, Dusty, what d’ye expect me to say – he’s an ugly little sod.’

  Dusty pulled up and snatched a furious look around her, but saw that there were too many folk to witness an assault on him. Instead she flensed him with her eyes. ‘What a despicable thing to say!’

  Seeing she was not about to move, he leaned against the wall of The Rose and Crown, inhaling beer fumes. ‘Well, ye’re surely not going to tell me ye’d want that looking at ye over the breakfast table every morning, sat there covered in scabs, pickin’ his nose.’ At her further fury he said, ‘Look, Dusty, when ye have children of your own you’re stuck with them no matter what they’re like, but when you adopt ye’ve got a choice. Ye wouldn’t go into a shop an’ pick all the bruised apples, would ye?’

  ‘Knowing my judgement, yes! I probably would. In fact I’ve already done it, haven’t I? Picked the rottenest damned apple of the lot!’ She grabbed the end of her black fur boa and gave it a vicious swing round her neck.

  ‘Aw, Dust …’ He used a thumb and forefinger to pull indecisively at his nose.

  ‘Don’t “Aw, Dust” me! And stop picking your nose!’

  His hand fell away swiftly. ‘I was only scratching!’

  ‘Huh!’ the boa slipped from her shoulder and, with great irritation, she flung it back into place.

  A man staggered out of the public house, suspending debate. Dick threw an irritated look at the sky, then resumed his mitigation. ‘Dusty, I’m only saying he’s not exactly the sort I’d choose for my son an’ heir – eh, where’re you off to? Dusty, come back here!’

  He pursued her as far as the limestone fortification that marked the entrance to Walmgate, but she hissed at him to go to hell, glistening rage in her eyes, and took the route along Foss Islands. With a low curse, he ceased his harassment and whacked at the stone Barbican, watching her jogging figure get smaller and smaller.

  In the wake of his wife’s scorn, he didn’t quite know which direction to take. He had no wish to follow her back to Peasholme, for there he would get another earful, if not from Dusty then from his sister. With a philosophical shrug and a swing of his cane he decided to go and investigate the old haunts which he had neglected the other day when in his wife’s company. So deciding, he passed under the arch of the Bar.

  Progress had barely touched Walmgate. If anything, it was even more rundown than when he had lived here, with derelict buildings and mean-looking people. Little attention was paid to the courtyard where he had been born. He didn’t really know what had brought him down here in the first place; he hardly wanted to be reminded of his lowly upbringing.

  He was debating whether to go into one of the many pubs in the thoroughfare, had just made up his mind to do so, when he pictured Dusty’s tearful outrage. She’d been so full of enthusiasm when they had set out – more so than he had seen her for along time and what had he done? Opened his big mouth and spoilt it for her. And there had been no need for it; all he’d had to say was, ‘The girls are beautiful, we’ll take them’, and she would have been happy with that. He’d had no call to say what he did about the boy. It was just disappointment made me act like that, he told himself. After getting used to the idea, he had been quite looking forward to being a father.

  It was no good, he would have to go and make peace with her. Slewing abruptly from the pub door, he crashed into somebody. Had the old man been less stoutly-built he would have toppled. As it was, he grabbed hold of Dickie’s coat to steady himself.

  ‘Do excuse me, sir!’ He attempted to smooth Dickie’s grey vicuna coat where his hands had rumpled it.

  Dickie doffed his homburg, smiled charmingly and said it was entirely his fault, before marching briskly on – until the dreadful thought struck him that he could have been the victim of a pickpocket and he stopped to make frantic examination of his wallet. Finding it still in place, he sighed with relief and strode on, puzzling over the old man with whom he had just collided; he was sure he knew him.

  The thought harried him for a good while longer until he passed a row of bloody carcases hanging outside a butcher’s shop and the realisation came – Edwin Raper! The man whom he and Sonny had terrorised as children and vice versa. How his brother would laugh when Dickie told him about the way old Bacon Neck had offered profuse apologies and smoothed his coat. Had he known Dickie’s identity there would doubtless have been a few choice insults. My, my, Edwin Raper! He must be positively ancient – had seemed ancient forty years ago. The coincidence caused Dickie to take more careful stock of his surroundings; he should be somewhere near Violet Nesbitt’s house now. It might be fun to call on her. But though he looked for her windowbox whi
ch in many summers past had provided him with bouquets of violets for his concubines, he was disappointed. As Walmgate finally came to an end he took one last glance over his shoulder for anything that might bring back memories, before striding on … then stopped and wheeled slowly to glare at the small figure who stood ten yards behind him. With a menacing scowl, Dickie crooked a finger and Frederick approached warily. ‘Would you be followin’ me by any chance?’ Frederick hung his head at the aggressive tone and scuffed his boot around a paving flag. He wore neither hat nor coat and his face was pinched with cold.

  Dickie cupped a hand to his ear. ‘I think I must be going deaf, I never heard a thing then. I said, are ye following me?’ Frederick mumbled a yes into his brown jersey, and was asked why. ‘I wanted to see where you lived.’ The man enquired of his reason. ‘I wondered if it was a nice house.’

  ‘An’ so it is, it’s a very nice house, but I can’t see why that would be of concern to you.’

  There was a pause, then Frederick cocked his pudgy, scab-encrusted face at the tall man. ‘So you’re not my new father, then?’

  Dickie was exasperated. ‘Hang me! Didn’t I make that clear back there?’

  ‘Are you going to have them two to live with you?’

  ‘The girls?’ Dickie shrugged uncaringly. ‘May do.’

  ‘They can’t go without me,’ the voice was priggish. ‘Aunt Belle says so.’

  ‘Does she now?’ Dickie bent down and thrust a satanic face at the child. ‘Well, they’ll have a bloody long wait, won’t they? Now turn around an’ get back to where you’re supposed to be, else ye’ll have Sally fetching the police to look for ye.’

  ‘I don’t know my way back,’ said the boy. His mawkish face was even more repugnant in its forlorn state – if that were at all possible, thought Dickie, who salvoed, ‘Ye’ll find it well enough with my boot up your arse. Now vamoose!’ He straightened and watched the boy slouch away, then called him back. ‘Oy! What was that you said?’

  ‘Bother,’ replied Frederick innocently.

  ‘No, it wasn’t! You called me a bugger – get back here!’ Dickie jabbed at the ground. But Frederick had more sense. Despite the man’s repeated order he continued to widen the distance between them. ‘I’ll have you next time!’ Dickie speared a finger at him, then spun on his heel and marched over Foss Bridge, muttering, ‘Little bastard.’

  * * *

  The stop he made at a jeweller’s to buy a trinket for his wife turned out to be wasted; when he arrived back at Peasholme Green he found he had missed Dusty by seconds. She had gone out for the afternoon with Mr Sonny’s family, Vinnie told him on his entrance. ‘She said she’d take lunch out, sir.’ He extracted his gold watch. ‘What about everybody else – have they eaten?’ All of a sudden he was famished.

  ‘Yes, sir. Mrs Feeney wanted to be finished for the undertaker coming.’ When Dickie nodded his understanding, Vinnie added, ‘The mistress an’ Mrs Teale have gone out as well. I’m to stay here and look after Mr Feeney.’

  ‘So I’m on me own?’ He looked piqued.

  ‘Yes, sir, just you an’ me.’ Vinnie blushed on realising that had sounded a bit familiar and hoped he didn’t take it as an invitation. Though she had not known Mr Richard in his youth his reputation had preceded him. Mindst… he was lovely. ‘I meant that John’s accompanied the mistress, sir, so I’m on me own as well.’ That sounded just as bad.

  He draped his long frame over the end of the balustrade and gazed upon her, filling the hall with his personality. ‘So, what’re we going to do with ourselves, Vinnie?’

  Her cheeks glowed more pink under this ocular rape. ‘I’ve plenty of work to keep me busy, sir.’

  Dickie’s voice caressed. ‘Is there anything I can do for ye?’ What simple enjoyment was to be had from making a woman blush.

  ‘Oh no, sir!’ Vinnie’s intention had been to go upstairs and collect something, but the way he was looking at her … he might see this as an inducement. Instead she headed rapidly for the kitchen.

  Dickie grinned at her retreating back. In the taut dress little bulges of fat hung over the top of her stays. ‘Er, Vinnie, would ye mind doin’ something for me?’

  She hardly dared turn. ‘What might that be, sir?’

  ‘Would ye fetch me a bite to eat? I’ve a terrible hunger on me.’

  ‘Oh, yes – yes of course, sir! Right away!’

  Dickie laughed inwardly at the sound of relief. The poor girl, she really thought he was going to ravish her, and with his father lying dead upstairs.

  ‘Is there anything special you’d like, sir?’ called Vinnie, poised to slam the kitchen door should his answer not be decent.

  He couldn’t help his natural inclination and treated her to a lascivious smile as he pushed himself from the balustrade. ‘Oh, any of your special bits and pieces that ye think I might be partial to, Vinnie.’ His eyes roamed wantonly over her as he made for the drawing room. ‘I’ll be in here when ye want me.’

  The maid vanished, leaving him to chuckle deep in his chest. Later, however, his humour was to desert him when Vinnie announced that the undertaker had arrived with the coffins, making him realise that he was the one who would have to deal with the man. After directing the lugubrious gentleman and his helpers to the correct place, he retired to the drawing room to puff morosely at a cigarette. What a homecoming.

  6

  Paddy, having been bought his present, began showing signs of boredom as the girls um-ed and ah-ed over what to choose and so the family had split into two groups. In the event, it was Dusty and the girls who were the first ones to return. After a cursory greeting Dickie’s wife ignored him, devoting her time to her nieces who had obviously enjoyed their afternoon with her – even Feen, who had sufficiently overcome her dislike of her aunt to allow the purchase of the blue dress which she now displayed. Her uncle said how splendidly it suited her. ‘But sure, you’d look good in anything, Feen.’ Her coquettish response spawned amusement amongst her sisters and she bumped the nearest giggler with a hip. His addition that his wife had very good taste was, however, met by a different air.

  ‘Oh no, I chose it myself,’ replied Feen, somewhat officiously.

  Dusty overlooked the implication in her niece’s tone and said it was an excellent choice. Unaccountably, this seemed to annoy Feen and she stalked off to her room, leaving her sisters to parade their gifts before their uncle. Dickie paid all the correct compliments, but in secret watched his wife’s expression at the girls’ preening. When eleven year old Amelia came up to accept his flattery he said with a less than gentle tug of one of her red-gold curls, ‘Ah I hope our daughters are as fine as you when they grow up.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had children, Uncle Dickie,’ said Liz.

  ‘Not yet, we haven’t,’ replied Dickie. ‘But we’re going to.’

  Dusty pinned him with a curious eye, then, at his smile of encouragement, said without thinking to her nieces, ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and put your new dresses on as a surprise for your grandmother when she comes in?’ and could barely wait for the door to close before saying to her husband, ‘Was that just a flippant remark or had you anything definite in mind?’

  He got up and strolled across to her, luring her onto a sofa. ‘I have someone definite in mind – if ye still want them.’ He traced gentle fingers over her cheek, and purred, ‘I’m sorry, Dust. D’ye forgive me?’

  She breathed a sigh and put her own hand over his, pressing it to her face. ‘Oh, Dick … d’you mean it? I couldn’t bear to build my hopes up.’

  ‘Course I mean it.’ He pressed his lips to hers in confirmation. ‘They’re lovely kids, an’ I could tell they like the idea of havin’ you as a mother. We’ll maybe call again tomorrow an’ ask if we can take them for a drive, if that goddamned car’ll go.’ Dusty was suffused with excitement which showed in the way she gripped his hand and asked where they would take them. He grinned fondly at her eagerness and flapped his arms. ‘Oh, I dunno … you know be
tter than me what girls like to do.’

  ‘Yes, but Freddie might not …’ She broke off as he appeared to get something in his eye and rose from the sofa, his back to her. ‘What’s the matter?’

  With his face still averted, Dickie made to light a cigarette. ‘I was thinking we might just take the girls.’ There was only hush. A furtive peep over his shoulder gauged her response; she was dumbstruck. He closed his eyes, took a bolstering drag, then employed gentle reasoning. ‘Three’s a bit too many for beginners like us, Dusty. We should give ourselves time to cope with a family, maybe get a lad in a few years’ time.’ He dropped the match into an ashtray and blew the lungful of smoke at the chandelier.

  His wife beheld him speechlessly for a moment, then put a finger to her chin and began to muse. ‘Mm, yes, you’re right … maybe then we’ll find one who fits our requirements, one who’s not so ugly as poor Fred.’

  There was another exasperated rush of cigarette smoke. ‘Aw, Dusty, it isn’t because …’

  ‘Yes, it is!’ She leapt to her feet.

  ‘Not just because he’s ugly!’ Still he avoided her eye.

  ‘Why then?’ she demanded, arms folded.

  ‘I don’t like him!’ Again, he sucked deeply on his cigarette.

  ‘You’ve only met him once!’

  He did not tell her about the boy following him. ‘Once was enough. I always know if I’m gonna like a person in the first few seconds.’ He faced her now and spread his hands. ‘Dusty, I know how much ye want these kids an’ I’m more than willing to take the girls. Won’t that suffice?’

  ‘It would do, yes, if we’d be allowed to just take the girls, but we’re not! Your mother says Belle wouldn’t hear of them going to separate homes, that’s why she took them in the first place, because they were going to split up.’ Dusty felt like crying.

  ‘She’s being stupid! Ye can see for yourself Fred doesn’t give a damn for them.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ She was told he just could. ‘It takes one to know one, eh? Just because you don’t care about your sister doesn’t mean everyone else is the same.’