Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4)

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘I’m not bloody leaving you to get my son into trouble. I’m coming with you.’

  Dickie laughed. ‘Why, you horny old bugger, you were coming all along, that’s just an excuse to give Josie. Ah thanks, Nick!’ The shoes had arrived. Swinging his slippered feet to the carpet, Dick asked if the boy was asleep. Nick told him that all was quiet and handed him the shoes. Dickie shoved his feet into them and tugged at the laces … and tugged … and tugged. Instead of tightening, they stretched to almost a foot long. Dickie started to laugh. ‘The buggeroo, he’s swopped my shoelaces for liquorice ones!’

  Sonny had to laugh at Freddie’s joke while his brother went off to find more laces. But when his son asked him to bring the car round to the back door, hilarity ceased.

  * * *

  ‘Right, where do we start!’ Dick clapped his hands and rubbed them in glee. Spotting a group of not bad-looking girls, he stuck his fingers in his lips and emitted a shrill whistle. As the group approached, Sonny made a last ditch attempt to stop this. They had parked the car elsewhere and walked to this notorious soliciting ground, with Sonny looking over his shoulder at every step of the way.

  ‘Look, you’re going to land us in trouble, there’s a man with them.’

  Dickie ignored him and stepped forward to greet the females, putting his arm around one to show he had made his choice. ‘Good evening,’ he said congenially to the pimp and raised his hat. ‘My colleagues and I are from the Society for Friendless Girls. Is there some wee charitable act we can perform for three of your ladies during the next hour?’

  Sonny panicked. ‘Eh no, Dick, not for me!’ but one of the women was already clamped firmly on his arm. He threw a helpless look at Nick who was similarly encumbered. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Just copy what I do, Son,’ grinned Dickie, making the girls laugh.

  Sonny was exasperated. ‘I didn’t mean – look, Dick, I can’t be seen with this.’

  ‘Eh, I do have a name, y’know!’ objected the prostitute.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend but I’m a happily married man and so is my son here. We don’t have to resort to this.’ He saw the lust in Nick’s eye and hissed a warning. Nick shrugged.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Feeney, sir.’

  Sonny turned to the speaker in horror – it was Kelly, the overseer at his mill. He performed a stumbling greeting and Kelly walked on, but not before his sly grin had made it obvious what he thought. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ he raged at Dickie and finally succeeded in removing himself from the woman’s grasp. ‘You’ve humiliated me in front of one of my workers. It’ll be all over the mill tomorrow – oh shi … Dickie, d’you realise he could tell the police your whereabouts?’

  ‘Then threaten to fire him,’ suggested Dick casually, and tightened his hold on the girl. ‘Now then, my petal, where can we go for our romp?’ She led the way with Sonny complaining bitterly behind. Once in the seedy hotel, Dickie leaned on the reception desk. ‘Three rooms, if you please, my good man.’

  ‘Count me out!’ barked Sonny and disengaged himself from the pack. ‘You can meet me back at the car when you’ve finished betraying your wives!’ He marched off, leaving the woman to crab about the loss of custom.

  Nick exchanged looks with his uncle, then turned back to the man at the desk. ‘Two rooms.’

  Dickie looked at the spare woman and held out his hand to her. ‘Ah well, Christmas comes but once a year – as Mrs Christmas said.’

  * * *

  The next morning, Sonny alerted his ears for any mention of his brother on the factory floor, but judging by the smirks on his workers’ faces, Kelly appeared to have been too busy laughing over catching his employer with the prostitute to notice the fugitive with him. That evening, having suffered a day of acute embarrassment, Sonny lectured Nick about the debauchery of the night before, saying that if he wanted to cheat on Win then that was his private affair but he must not fund any more nights out for Dickie. Nick felt guilty enough about Win already and so agreed without persuasion. However much Dickie cajoled and pleaded he refused to hand over money, saying he could not afford it, leaving Sonny able to embark on holiday a little easier in mind.

  With the police still stationed outside the house and no car to get him into town, Dickie took to lying in bed late on a morning, whilst Frederick roamed the house at will. On Bank Holiday Monday he rose at eleven and looked out of the window to see that the police guard had gone. Delighted, he went down to tell the others but was informed rather sullenly by Fred that the family would be out for the day. Dickie tutted and picked up a newspaper which told that with no sightings of the wanted double murderer police were assuming that he had fled the country. ‘Hah! So that’s why they’ve taken the watch off.’ He put the paper aside and looked business-like. ‘Well, I should get in touch with Dusty and make some arrangements, I suppose. Where’s Nick gone – did he say?’

  ‘The seaside,’ mumbled Fred. ‘He said he couldn’t take me.’

  Dickie looked interested and rubbed his chin for a moment. After a brief sortie to the kitchen he was back, wearing a straw hat. ‘Come on, Fred, we’re off to Scarborough!’

  With little money at his disposal he entertained the idea of rifling through his host’s cupboards, but for once conscience prevailed. Besides, he had come up with a better form of transport than the train. Sonny had ferried all his household staff with him to Ireland but he had not taken the car. He had also left his son a spare set of house keys. After pelting down the drive and making sure that they were not under surveillance, the pair went over to Sonny’s house, where Dick lifted one of the pictures from a wall, silencing Freddie’s accusation of theft with the retort that his brother had told him he could have one. He carried it out to the rickety stable wherein lay the car. Then, with the picture on the back seat they drove to Scarborough.

  * * *

  Dick answered his son’s worry that they might be caught, by saying that amongst the Bank Holiday crowds they would be anonymous, and this turned out to be so. Parking the car in town, they took one of the cliff railways down to the seafront and first visited the gentlemen’s washroom to remove the grime thrown up by the car wheels. Outside again, the smell of carbolic and urine was whisked away on the breeze, replaced by a more mouthwatering variety. Dick passed the boy a half-crown and told him to go buy them both something to eat. ‘I’ll just stand in the sun and take the sea air.’ He put a cigarette to his lips, found that the emery on his matchbox was ripped and instead struck a match on a shop front. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he glanced idly at the trippers promenading … amongst them a police officer who was heading straight towards him.

  Frantic, he looked round for the boy but Fred was still in the shop. There was the urge to run – once free of his pursuer he could always double back for Fred. But the boy would be frightened if he came out and found himself deserted. He made the hardest decision of his life and remained where he was, waiting for the officer to reach him.

  The young constable clasped his hands behind his back and aimed a supercilious eye at Dickie. ‘Do you know it’s an offence to strike a match on a shop front, sir?’

  Dickie’s lips parted in surprise. ‘No… no, I was unaware of that, officer. Ye see, the sandpaper on my box was all scuffed … Sorry.’ He found it hard to keep his face straight.

  ‘There’ll be no charge this time, sir – but I suggest you buy a new box of matches.’ The constable was about to turn away when Fred, having come out of the shop and read the situation, came crashing into him, wrapping his arms tightly round the officer’s legs. ‘Run, Dad!’

  The constable tottered under the onslaught and Dick put out a steadying arm before wrenching the boy free. ‘Freddie, look where you’re going! Ye’ll be causing an accident. Off ye go to the beach and I’ll be along in a minute.’ Shoving Fred at the kerb, he said, deeply apologetic, ‘I’m dreadfully sorry, Constable! As ye can see I have my hands full with the boy.’

  Adjusting his helmet, t
he officer gave him a sour look and walked away. Dickie headed purposefully across the road.

  ‘I thought he was arresting you!’ Fred could not understand the man’s wrath.

  Dickie glared down at the earnest face, and after a moment’s thought, relented. ‘Well … I suppose it did look that way. Thanks, Fred.’ The boy asked what happened and his father laughingly told him. ‘Now, where’s that food? I’m starving.’

  Fred dipped into his pockets and brought out two bags of sherbet. Dickie almost collapsed. ‘I meant get something substantial! Christ, I’ve only a couple o’ bob left till I sell the picture … Oh, come on, we’ll go get a proper meal.’

  * * *

  When they came out of the café it was high tide, forcing the hordes of day trippers onto a strip of dry sand close to the railings. Fred wanted to go and build sandcastles but Dickie said he didn’t intend to be crushed to death and instead they strolled along the Foreshore Road where lines of horses and donkeys hung their heads in the sweltering heat, swishing their tails against the attack of flies. Constantly dodging the army of parasols that posed a threat to ear and eye, Dick led his son around the bay to the gribbled walls of the harbour where the stench of sun-baked fish soon drove them back the way they had come and up a cobbled incline to the town. Fred used the man’s jacket to haul himself up, whining that Scarborough was all steps and slopes.

  ‘I thought I was supposed to be the old fella,’ said Dickie when they reached the top. ‘Look at ye, Puffing Billy.’

  But the sight of a toyshop on Eastborough had a miraculous cure on Freddie’s lungs. Eyes filled with awe, he dragged his father inside. After picking up several items he pounced on a game and asked, ‘Will you buy this for my birthday, Dad?’ Dickie asked how much it was. ‘It’s seven and six – look, it’s got a real electric buzzer in it.’

  ‘Seven and six? Forget it. I can stick a wasp in a matchbox for nothing and ye’ve got your buzzer. Besides, ye’ve been reckoning on having that many birthdays ye must be about fifty-six by now – too old for games.’ He took the box off Fred and after putting it back on the shelf, hustled him from the shop.

  Outside, he gave a furtive glance to see if the shopkeeper was looking, then picked up a bucket and spade from the selection on display. ‘Here, Happy Birthday.’

  ‘You have to pay for them,’ the boy instructed. When this was met with impiety, he used Dickie’s own words to remind him, ‘Do you want to add theft to the bloody charges?’

  Grinning, Dickie handed over a shilling. ‘Okay, Conscience, go pay for it – but that’s the last time you swear at me, ye hear?’

  At Fred’s request they re-took the cliff lift to the seafront, and spent a good hour in an underground grotto crammed with vulgar amusements. Fred spotted some coconuts on a shooting gallery and saying that he had always wanted one, begged his father to win one for him. When this was accomplished, Dickie said they needed a stone from the beach to smash it open.

  ‘I don’t want to eat it,’ said a horrified Freddie. ‘I want it to keep and look at.’

  ‘God, you’re the queerest bugger unhung,’ sighed his father.

  When the tide ebbed the rest of the afternoon was devoted to donkey rides, paddling, stuffing down platefuls of cockles, watching the women bathers, their wet cotton suits adhering to every contour of their bodies, and small girls in great florid hats, pinafores tucked down bloomers. At the end of the day when the tired mokes were led back to their pasture and the sunburnt crowds made their exodus to the station, neither the man nor the boy felt inclined to join them. With one of the last coins left in his pocket, Dickie suggested they take refreshment and made for the nearest public house where he ordered two pints of beer and two meat pies. The landlord indicated the top of the boy’s head, the only part showing above the counter. ‘How old is he, then?’

  ‘Fifty-six – he’s a dwarf.’ Dickie led the boy over to a quiet corner where the pies were consumed. Fred only had a sip of his beer and said he didn’t like it. ‘Get it down ye,’ said his father. ‘It adds lustre to your cluster.’

  ‘What’s a cluster?’

  ‘Never mind, I’ll sup it.’ Scarborough was like a different town without its crowds. The evening sun shone down on a beach deserted but for a row of bathing machines, a ton of waste paper and a trail of donkey droppings. Dickie looked back on the afternoon with pleasure and felt as young as his companion. Enthused, he told Fred, ‘Let’s make a camp, spend the evening under the stars. Come on, we’ll get the car and go along the coast a few miles, we’re easy prey now the crowds have gone.’ So hand in hand they walked, skipped and ran to the place where they had left the car and drove some six miles south, until Fred espied a wondrous bay where the sea glimmered sapphire and turquoise in the last rays of the sun.

  Pulling the car off the road, they embarked on a somewhat treacherous path down to the bay, deserted of all other beings. Here, between the limpet-encrusted rocks the sand was firm and clean, sweeping round into a wooded headland. Once more, they threw off shoes and stockings, Freddie laughing at his father’s chalk-white legs as they answered the call of the sea. The last hour before dark was given to dallying in the gentle swell of the waves, tottering over banks of shingle, exploring rockpools with their bright green weed and strands of bladder-wrack, tiny darting fish that tickled the feet, until the sun sank into the ocean and Fred complained of being cold. Dick picked up his gritty blazer and laid it around the juddering shoulders. With Fred riding piggyback, he clambered up the high bank of red clay to search for a bivouac.

  Once over the top of the incline the land dipped. In this tree-lined hollow they made camp. Dickie ordered his son to look for anything that might come in useful to them. Knowing his father’s unpredictability, the boy was rather hesitant in showing his find – a coil of wire, some paper and a tin can – but the man seemed pleased enough. Dickie then built a fire, saying that they would have to break into the coconut to stem their hunger. Alarmed, the boy said, ‘I’ll get you some bread and cheese!’ and ran over to a bush, presenting Dickie with a handful of hawthorn leaves. At the man’s look of disdain, Fred insisted that he eat them, then sat on his coconut in a manner of protection.

  Before retiring, they wandered up to the top of the slope to take a last look at the sea. Their legs swished through the knee high grass, disturbing a squadron of tiny purple moths. Fred blinked tired eyes and stared out over the glittering ocean. ‘It’d be nice if we were all together, wouldn’t it?’

  Dick thought of his wife and the girls. ‘It would that.’

  ‘I wonder if God’ll help us?’

  ‘Don’t ask me about God, I’ve never understood Her – well, it has to be a woman, doesn’t it? A man would never have all those sneaky tricks up his sleeve.’

  The boy looked wistful. ‘Sometimes, I wish I was somebody else.’ He tilted his face up at Dickie. ‘Have you ever looked at another person and wondered what it feels like to be them, and sort of made your mind go into their body?’

  ‘No, I sure haven’t. It’s hard enough being me without taking on some bugger else’s worries.’ After a period of thought, he asked, ‘How would ye like to spend a week here, Fred?’

  ‘I’d like to spend forever here.’

  ‘Ah, well now, there’s some places in America like this, ye know,’ replied Dick cheerfully.

  ‘But when are we going to get there?’

  Dickie was pensive again. ‘I don’t know, Fred … But be sure we will.’ He shivered. ‘Jeez, I should be tucked up in bed now with a hot maid – water bottle!’ He laughed at the intentional slip, then spotted some rabbit droppings. ‘Come on, I’ll teach ye something ye don’t know.’ Choosing a place away from the camp, he laid two snares, using the coil of wire that the boy had found. After which, with Fred almost asleep on his feet, they settled down by the fire.

  * * *

  In the morning, Dickie was the first to wake. One of his legs had gone dead. Raising himself onto an elbow, he saw that Frederick
was the cause; curled up like an ammonite, his head was pillowed on the man’s thigh. Dick stared down at the sleeping face and the happiness of the previous day flooded back. He grinned to himself and, dipping a finger into the cold ashes of the fire, ever so gently drew a moustache on Fred’s upper lip. At the finished result the grin bloomed into laughter. His body vibrated, waking the boy. After a moment’s confusion, Fred rubbed his eyes, yawned and smiled. His father blurted another laugh, causing Fred to grumble, ‘What’s funny?’

  Dickie took out his cigarette case, flipped it open and showed Fred his reflection in the mirrored interior. Fred scowled, making his father laugh aloud. ‘I thought we needed some disguise, Fred! Ah, come on, don’t sulk, I’ll let ye give me one.’ He sat patiently while his son drew a moustache on him. After which there was a boyish enactment of cops and robbers, then Dickie lit another fire and advocated a dip in the sea before breakfast.

  The sky and sun were bright but from the temperature of the water it could have been winter. They scampered, blue and shivering, back up the beach. With no towel to dry them, their clothes were difficult to pull on, rasping uncomfortably around their sand-coated limbs. On the way to check the snares Dick remembered that yesterday they had passed a field of cows, and scrambled to the very top of the cliff to find them. Cornering one of the animals, he used the tin can for a pail and managed to syphon enough milk for breakfast. After a quick gulp each, they proceeded to the snares.

  ‘Ooh, you’ve got one!’ Fred jumped up and down excitedly as the terrified rabbit, caught by its middle, waited in mute acceptance of its fate. ‘You are a clever dad.’ He squatted and watched with interest while his father handed him the can of milk, disentangled the snare and held the rabbit by its ears and hind legs. ‘You’re not meant to hold it like that, though; you’ll hurt it. Can I have it?’