Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

  ‘Ye should. ’Tis a picturesque country.’ Patrick tapped the ash from his cigar. ‘Matter o’ fact, I’m thinking o’ taking a holiday there meself.’

  Francis smiled. ‘I should be interested to see you persuade your good lady to leave her work, but I’d applaud you if you could. She’s working far too hard for a woman of her years. I tell her that’s what we’ve got Nick for, to give her a hard-earned rest, but she pooh-poohs the suggestion.’

  ‘Actually, I was thinking to make it a solo trip,’ replied Patrick, drawing slight surprise from the other. ‘As ye say, ye’d need the devil’s own luck to get her to leave her work. Anyway, I. doubt she’d want to come.’

  ‘Would you like me to have a go at her?’

  ‘No, no… don’t do that, Francis.’ Patrick regarded him carefully. There was something behind that look, but Francis was damned if he could read it. Was he meant to? ‘I always said I’d go back, ye know, an’ I never yet did. Fifty-three years it’s taken me. How’s that for indecision?’

  ‘Is that how long you’ve lived in York?’ The Irishman lowered his head. ‘It’s a long time.’

  ‘It is. It is.’ Patrick lifted a decanter. ‘Would ye care for another?’

  Francis refused. ‘When were you thinking to go?’

  ‘Oh, next week maybe.’

  ‘Good Lord, next week? But it’s Christmas.’

  ‘Sure, don’t I know?’ – Bloody Christmas again, Thomasin would say when he’d gone, he always does it to me. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to wait till it’s warmer?’

  ‘It may not get warmer for me, Fran.’ Again, that look. They were interrupted by Erin. ‘Sorry to disturb you, gentlemen. I left my knitting in here, I think – ah, there it is!’ She was making a little jacket for one of Belle’s children. ‘I’ve cast off for you,’ supplied Patrick. Erin smiled at Francis who said, ‘What do you think of your father taking his holiday in this weather – mad, isn’t he?’ Looking at Patrick he knew straight away that he had spoken out of place. Erin paused in her exit. ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it – where would you be gadding off to?’

  ‘Oh um, I just thought I’d have a week or so in the old country…’

  Her face lit up. ‘At last! Oh, I’m going with you!’ She spoke headily to Francis. ‘He’s been promising to do this for years.’

  ‘What about the factory?’ asked her father.

  ‘Blow the factory! I’m not Mother, you know. I’m entitled to a holiday.’

  ‘Oh well… I’d be a bit of a burden to ye, Erin, me being so slow. Ye’d be better going with Belle in the summer. ’Twould be a grand trip – mother and daughter.’

  She laughed. ‘You won’t be a burden! I’m not exactly in the first flush of youth. And even if I did manage to get Belle to go with me what use would it be without you to show us where you were born? Francis is right though, it is a bit cold. Why don’t you wait till summer an’ we’ll all go as a…’

  ‘No, Erin. I’ve already got my ticket, I don’t want to waste it.’

  ‘All right then, awkward, I’ll go buy…’

  ‘Erin, I do not want company!’ Patrick looked away at the expression he had created. ‘I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to speak like that, it’s just this damned indigestion making me irritable.’

  ‘Oh, go on your bloody own if you want to! I’m sorry I asked!’ Erin swept out. As if it wasn’t bad enough, Belle worrying her by going to Africa, he had to desert her, too. Francis apologised as Patrick covered his face in despair. ‘Ah no, don’t worry, Fran. I would’ve had it to come anyway.’

  ‘Is there any particular reason why you have to go on your own, Pat?’ asked Francis, searching the Irishman’s troubled features.

  Patrick did not answer. But after a short period of silence he said, ‘I know you’ll take care of Tommy for me, Fran.’ And it was at this point that Farthingale understood the reason for the winces of pain, the impromptu ‘holiday’.

  ‘Oh, Patrick.’ He reached out a concerned hand, as atrophied by age as Patrick’s own.

  ‘No, don’t say anything,’ came the quietly-delivered order. ‘An’ don’t tell Tommy.’

  ‘She has a right…’

  ‘No. I don’t want her to feel beholden, her or any of them. Just tell me I can rely on you to see to things here.’

  ‘You can, of course you can, Pat.’ Francis pulled his hand back, somewhat distraught. ‘I think I will have that brandy, if you don’t mind.’

  * * *

  ‘I wonder if Father’s there yet.’ Up until ten-thirty on this chilly morning Sonny had been working on a new fabric design in his study, but now he had deserted his drawing board and sat drinking coffee with his wife, watching their little red-haired son play with a jar of coloured pencils. He was not so averse to being interrupted from his work these days, realising what fun he had missed when Nick was this age. ‘I hope he’s all right – I mean, he is eighty. Mother doesn’t seem to realise that. I wish she’d told me before he’d gone – maybe I could’ve persuaded him to let me go with him.’

  Josie held out a biscuit to the little boy who came to sit on her lap. ‘There’s nothing to stop you going after him.’

  ‘Aye… that’s an idea. I don’t like to think of him all on his own, grumpy though he might be.’ Sonny began to filter through the pile of mail that had arrived with the coffee and, selecting the one he recognised as being from his brother, read that first.

  Dear Son,

  Well, here we are again at that dreaded time of the year. When I was a kid November always seemed to be the time to look forward to Christmas and my birthday. Funny how when you 're young you can’t wait to gain another year then when you get to our age you tend to try and forget birthdays. Christmas isn’t much fun when you get older either, is it? I suppose it still holds pleasure for you, what with you having youngsters. The adoption societies here haven’t been any sweeter towards us, I’m afraid. Dusty’s getting very depressed about it. We’ve tried dozens of places but they don’t want to know – apparently I’m not respectable enough. Personally, I couldn’t give a toss about adoption, what do I want with kids? But I hate to see what it’s doing to Dusty. Christ, they won’t even let us have one that nobody else wants. It’s killing her, Son. I’m going to have to get her away from this big empty house for a long holiday before she goes really crazy. But I’ll come to that in a minute.

  Delighted to hear about Nick’s boy! My little brother a grandad, eh? You poor old sod. At least that’s one thing I don't have to worry about. I was privileged to read that he’s named after me – or was that just coincidence? Thanks for the photograph of him. Dusty says to tell you he’s a handsome baby – well, he would be with a name like that. Sad to hear that the old fella is failing. At least he’s keeping off the juice. Maybe the old bastard needs some sort of shock to get him back into his old form. Now, that’s where we come to the holiday, Son. Well, it’s a bit more than a holiday. I’m in a spot of bother. I won’t go into details, but there was this woman…

  ‘Aye, there would be,’ murmured Sonny, bringing his wife’s eyes round to quiz him.

  Just a platonic relationship you understand. Well, how was I to know she was married to one of the biggest bastards in New York? Anyway, to cut a long story short, he’s going to cut something of mine short if he catches up with me, so you can see why I need somewhere to lay low for a while. At first I thought a month or so in Florida might suffice. Then I got to thinking…

  Oh, Lord. There was always trouble when Dickie got to thinking.

  As I said, Dusty is very depressed about this adoption lark. Part of it’s her age, of course. It mightn’t be so bad if she had some other family here but she’s only got me and I’m not much comfort, am I? She’s never felt totally at home here like I have. Even though she’s got no close relatives in England she still looks upon it as home. We’ve always said, of course, that we could never come back because of being wanted by the law. But that was twenty-five years ago, Son, I can
’t see anything coming of it now, can you? And you said in your last letter about Dad needing a jolt to bring him back to his old self…

  Sonny made a noise like a bullock on the rampage, startling his son who almost jumped from Josie’s lap. ‘He can’t!’

  ‘John, do you have to shout like that?’ Josie tried to soothe the child but Sonny wasn’t listening.

  I know we agreed to keep me ‘dead’ but I’m getting to the stage where I might soon be permanently dead and I feel I just have to see you all again, even if it’s only for you to tell me to bugger off. It’s your letters, you see, Son. They just make me want to share it all. I must be getting old or something. As I said, it’ll only be for a holiday. America’s home. It’s no good writing to tell me not to come – I’ve made my mind up. I knew what you’d say so I set sail shortly after posting this letter. Our ship docks on the thirtieth of December, so this year I’ll be wishing you a Happy New Year in person. Pave the way for me, will you? I’m really excited now at the prospect of seeing you.

  Much love

  Darby and Joan.

  ‘He’s coming home! Josie, this is going to kill Dad off altogether!’ Sonny’s stomach was churning. ‘I’ll have to intercept him before he leaves that blasted ship and tell him he can’t come! What port would a ship from New York dock at – Southampton?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ breathed Josie, rocking back and forth in an effort to calm the weeping boy.

  ‘Neither have I. I’ll have to make enquiries. Damn the little sod!’

  ‘John, will you please stop swearing!’

  ‘Sorry – but what will this do to Mam and Dad, Jos?’

  ‘It’s not just Mam and Dad! How’s Nick going to feel? And Erin. What if you can’t intercept Dickie before he gets here? If your paths cross and he comes to York while you’re waiting at the docks…’

  Sonny moaned. ‘Forty-eight and he’s still causing as much trouble as he did at fourteen! There’s no way out – I’ll have to tell them.’ She asked when. ‘There’s no point in sitting here nursing it until he arrives on the doorstep, is there? But I can’t get over to York before this evening… I don’t suppose you fancy a ride with me, do you?’

  She had managed to settle the child and nodded supportively. ‘And Nick?’

  Sonny heaved a sigh. ‘I wish he still lived under the same roof. I could do without having to break this news twice.’

  * * *

  Later that day, Sonny called at the Leeds store, only to be told that his son had gone home early. It was just as well, thought Sonny as he drove over to Nick’s house.

  ‘Are we expecting you?’ A tousled-looking Nick met his father in the drawing room to where Sonny had been shown by a maid. His father replied in the negative. ‘Thank God – I thought I was going the same way as Grandad.’ He hooked his braces over his shoulders and finished buttoning his shirt. ‘Excuse the state.’

  Weighed down by his problem, Sonny hadn’t really noticed. ‘I should be the one to apologise for barging in like this but I’ve got to go over to York and I wanted you to know first.’

  ‘Well, it’s very kind of you to tell me, Father…’

  ‘Not about going to bloody York, you fool – where’s Win?’

  ‘Upstairs. She’s er, indisposed.’ Nick wore an impish expression.

  All of a sudden the man understood the reason for his son’s disarray.

  ‘Oh, sorry… I hope I haven’t spoilt anything?’

  ‘Fait accompli,’ grinned Nick and rubbed his groin. ‘It’s just that the afternoon seems to be the only time that child of ours sleeps. Would you like some coffee?’

  Sonny shook his head. ‘I haven’t time… Nick, I know it’s a bit late in the day to tell you about your real father.’

  Nick sprawled into a chair, one of his legs draped over the arm. Presented in this devil-may-care pose he gave a strong reminder of Dickie, though he was as fair as Dickie was dark. ‘I seem to remember you explained all that when I was a kid.’

  Sonny stared up at the light fitting. ‘Not all of it… there’s something I’ve been keeping from you.’

  Nick saw how difficult it was for his father to phrase this and out of kindness formed the words for him. ‘You mean that he didn’t really die in that fire.’

  Shock paled Sonny’s face and his eyes descended like ton weights. ‘You’ve been reading my bloody letters!’

  Nick made pained objection. ‘What sort of thing is that to accuse your son of?’ Then he gave a relenting chuckle. ‘Aye, well… maybe I did have a peek – just a little one, mind.’ He lit a cigar, offering one to his father who refused with a sharp exclamation.

  ‘By God! If I were my father and you were me you’d find yourself on that carpet spitting teeth! Thank your guardian angel I’m a forgiving soul…’ He reverted to his sombre state, trying to eject the next sentence. ‘Did…’

  ‘Rosie didn’t know,’ Nick reassured him.

  ‘Good… good.’ Sonny nodded gratefully, then looked into his son’s face. ‘So… this is all a bit of an anticlimax, isn’t it? You know, Nick, life must be very boring for you – no one ever seems able to surprise you.’

  Nick smiled, thinking of Win’s hidden passion. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ He took a drag of the cigar, blowing the smoke up to the ceiling.

  ‘How would you feel about seeing your real father?’ asked Sonny.

  ‘I thought I’d made that plain years ago: I regard you as my real father. Though I must admit,’ he leaned forward to tap his cigar against an ashtray, ‘I would like to meet your brother some time, if only to see if he lives up to his image as a member of the Hellfire Club.’

  ‘Ah, I think you might find him a bit tame these days.’ Sonny accomplished a smile. ‘I’m certain he’d like to meet you, too. He’s always been interested in your progress – course you’ll know that.’ His face was accusing now.

  Nick merely laughed as Sonny went on, ‘Aye, I think Dickie’d be proud to see how you’ve turned out… that’s obviously one of the reasons why he’s coming to visit us.’ He laughed aloud at the rapid change in his son’s visage. ‘Oh, God, I’ve done it! I’ve finally managed to surprise him!’ Abruptly, he strode to the door.

  Nick’s dumbfounded face pursued him. ‘Eh, hang on! When’s he coming?’

  Sonny swivelled and pointed. ‘Just for badness I’m going to keep you in suspense. I may decide to grant you more details when I’ve been and told your Nan – eh, and don’t go reading any more of my letters!’

  * * *

  Thomasin expressed her delight at this unexpected visit from her son and his wife. ‘I thought it was Francis! He’s taking me and Erin to the theatre. Oh, come and sit down – where’s little carrot-top?’ When told that he had been left at home she said, ‘Aw, meanies! What’re you two doing here, then – not that it isn’t nice to see you, of course.’

  Sonny looked at his wife, but was given a reprieve by Francis’s entry. Greetings were exchanged and all sat down to partake of a sherry for the play did not start for another hour. Sonny just didn’t know where to begin. The conversation centred mainly on his little son, his grandson and Patrick’s trip to Ireland.

  ‘I had begun to think he was improving till he sprang this on me,’ said Thomasin. ‘What a time to choose for a holiday, leaving me to prepare for Christmas alone, all the gifts, the party to arrange…’

  ‘Come on, Thomasin, you’ve done it for years.’ Francis seemed a bit impatient. ‘You thrive on it.’

  ‘Aye, so I do,’ she granted. ‘But it’s still inconsiderate of him!’

  Erin agreed. ‘Grumpy old devil. He can take my daughter all over the Continent but when I ask for a little trip to see his birthplace it’s too much trouble.’

  Francis held back his retort to ask Thomasin, ‘Didn’t anything other than the time of year he chose for his holiday strike you as odd?’

  ‘Patrick’s been behaving oddly for a long time.’ She sighed. ‘It’s an awful thing to say of someon
e you love but I think he’s going senile. It’s hopeless trying to hold a conversation with him.’ Francis objected. ‘Well, you must have more patience than I have, Fran. It was Rosie’s death that did it, you know. That’s what started it off. You’d think after all this time he’d be able to perform rationally in company even if he is still grieving in private. All of us have to, don’t we?’ She looked at Sonny who gave a melancholy nod. ‘I still miss her, you know.’

  ‘You always will,’ said his mother softly. ‘The pain might lessen but it never goes away.’ She gave a little sound of amusement. ‘Dickie would’ve been forty-eight this Christinas – it’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? I can’t picture him with greying hair – come to that; I could never picture your father with greying hair. Eh, he was the loveliest man I ever set eyes on…’ Her face softened as she travelled back in time – made love to Pat again, bore his babies. ‘Do you realise that the year after next we’ll be celebrating our Golden Wedding? Fifty years and never a cross word!’ She chuckled. ‘If we both last that long of course.’

  ‘Mother…’

  ‘Thomasin…’

  Sonny and Francis laughed as their voices emerged simultaneously. The latter waved Sonny to go ahead. ‘Oh no, it was nothing really…’ Sonny glanced at his wife who urged him with her eyes: get it over with! ‘Oh, I was just going to say d’you remember when Dickie disappeared for those three years, Mam, and we all thought he was dead?’

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘Will I ever forget? My God, I thought I was seeing a ghost when I met up with him at that auction. By, he was a fly devil! I can laugh at it now but I was as mad as anything at the time – and not just because he’d got the financial betterment of me, neither. To think he kept us believing he was dead all that time…’ She moved her head, as if still disbelieving it. ‘And there he was, bold as brass.’