by Sharon Owens
‘Well, I've already added spring onions and grated ginger to the crab meat. Just put a spoonful of the mix on each strip of pastry and roll them up. Then brush the rolls with melted butter, and they go in the oven for ten minutes.’
‘Sounds easy.’ He reached for a packet of pastry.
‘I'll make some tea,’ she said. ‘I seem to be making tea every ten minutes since I came here.’ She fixed her hair when a long tendril slipped out of the jade clip.
‘You, um, you look lovely, Marie. I meant to say it earlier. You do look very nice.’
‘Thank you. So do you.’ As she stepped past him to fill the kettle he put his arm around her waist and suddenly they were kissing each other tentatively. She felt his curly fringe brush against her forehead and it was strangely exciting. He touched her hair with his free hand, and she could hear him inhaling the scent of Daisy's strawberry shampoo. His arms were hard and firm from playing the guitar. Although she felt ridiculous and giddy, she also felt like she had found something that had been lost. They kissed for twenty minutes until Bridget came barging in looking for fresh cream; and they almost fell over, they were so startled. There was nothing in this life quite as fabulous as a first kiss that was perfect, Marie thought. It was a precious experience that could never be repeated. She knew that she had just made one of her sweetest memories. Without anything being said, they knew they were now a couple.
Later, as they sipped their tea and sampled some of the pretty canapés, Marie and Michael realized that they were both feeling strangely relaxed. They began to chat at a normal pace, and the silent pauses between them were not embarrassing at all. At six o'clock, Marie lifted the turkey out of the main oven, and when it had cooled slightly Michael neatly sliced it up for the silver platter that was to form the centrepiece of the buffet. When Lily struggled out of bed at a quarter to seven, in a brave attempt to greet her guests, she found Marie and Michael laying their culinary creations out in neat rows on the rented platters, and talking away as if they were old friends.
That night, Lily told Jack that he had lost both bets. Michael and Marie did fancy each other after all, and the party food was ready on time.
However, Jack wasn't remotely worried about losing twenty pounds to Lily in bets. He was suffering from acute stage fright at the thought of his upcoming stint as DJ Nostalgia, as Lily described him on the tickets that Clare Prendergast had had specially printed.
17. A Knock at the Door
Thursday, 23 December
It was such a shock when it actually happened. Even though Bridget knew in her heart of hearts that it was bound to happen some day.
At nine in the morning, there was a knock at the door of the tavern on Maple Street. Lily was lying awake, feeling sorry for herself and her sore throat, so she was the one who went to answer it. She thought it might be the delivery of yet another fresh turkey from the butcher's. But when she opened the door, it wasn't the butcher's assistant that she saw standing there. Two police officers were waiting, side by side, with solemn expressions on their faces. The cobblestones were covered with a layer of slippery frost, and the policemen looked half frozen themselves.
‘Oh, my God, is this something to do with Trudy Valentine?’ Lily gasped. ‘Has Gerry Madden harmed her in any way? Let me check, is she in her bed.’ She turned back into the bar with her pulse racing.
‘Hang on a minute. Gerry who?’ called the first officer. Lily noticed there were tiny particles of ice in his moustache.
‘Madden. Gerry Madden. He's a bit unstable. They're in counselling together. He smashed a window here. I knew I should have said something when he asked Trudy out, but he seemed very calm. We thought he was on the mend.’ Lily bit her nails with worry.
‘And you are?’ The second officer got his notebook out.
‘I'm Lily Beaumont. I'm the landlady here. Is Trudy okay? Please tell me.’
‘I'm sorry but we aren't here about Trudy Valentine. This is to do with an employee of yours, Mrs Beaumont. A woman called Bridget O'Malley. She's a barmaid here, I believe? The job centre gave us this address.’
‘Oh, Lord, is that all? What has she broken now? She's very accident-prone, you know.’ Lily was so relieved that she wanted to laugh, no matter what the cost of Bridget's latest disaster. And it was laughable that the policeman had called her a woman. Even though Bridget was twenty-five, Lily looked on her as a small child.
‘I'm afraid we have some very bad news for Bridget. Her parents have passed away. They died last night.’
‘What?’ Lily's heart nearly stopped. ‘What do you mean? Her parents, did you say? Both of them have died? Both dead?’
‘That's correct.’
‘When? How?’
‘If you let me explain, I'll tell you how,’ said the second officer patiently.
‘It's very cold out here, by the way,’ added the first policeman.
‘Well, of course. Come in and I'll make some coffee. Come in,’ Lily said, and she opened the door wide, thankful that all the clearing up had been done the night before. The fire was still lit, just about, so she added some turf from the basket, and fetched a pot of scalding-hot coffee and some leftover pastries from the kitchen. Lily handed out plates and cups, and sugar and spoons. Poor Bridget, she thought. Lily was glad now that she hadn't read Bridget the riot act over her mishaps in the tavern. What would happen to Bridget and her three sisters now they were orphans?
The policemen sat down near the fire and placed their caps on the table. At once they looked more approachable. Lily relaxed. She always felt like she was going to be arrested when she was in the presence of uniformed officers. Even though she hadn't done anything wrong. They introduced themselves properly.
‘I'm Constable John Kelly,’ said the tall one with the moustache, ‘and this is Constable Steven Butterworth. And thank you for the coffee, Mrs Beaumont, it was very nice. Now, Mr O'Malley was unfortunately knocked down and killed by a lorry last night on the Lisburn Road.’
‘Oh, the poor man,’ said Lily sadly.
‘He was in an inebriated state and simply stumbled out in front of the vehicle,’ continued John Kelly. ‘It was an accident. There were several witnesses who saw what happened. The lorry driver was not to blame but he's in shock at the moment.’
‘I'm not surprised,’ she murmured.
‘They have him sedated in the City Hospital.’
Lily was deeply shocked. What a sad and lonely death for Bridget's father, she thought. How tragic for him to end his days on the cold, hard road! Killed by a stranger. And the lorry driver's life would never be the same again either. Tragedy, heaped upon tragedy.
‘That's terrible,’ she said. ‘I knew Bridget's father was a bit of a drinker, but this is just terrible. Did he suffer at all? I hope he wasn't in any pain.’
‘We don't think he was conscious after the impact. It was all over very quickly. He was dead when the ambulance arrived, which was less than three minutes later. The accident took place right outside the hospital.’
‘I see. But what about Mrs O'Malley?’ Lily was getting upset now, not for the dead man, but for Bridget herself. The poor child was still sleeping peacefully upstairs. Lily felt awful for all the names she had called Bridget, when she and Jack were alone together. Idiot, eejit, butterfingers, flake, floozy, sponger. And that she had been on the verge of firing her several times. It seemed that being accident-prone ran in the O'Malley family.
‘We went round to the house last night to inform Mrs O'Malley of the accident,’ said John Kelly. ‘And she collapsed on the doorstep.’
‘Took the news very badly,’ added Steven Butterworth. ‘We called an ambulance but she had a heart attack before it could reach her. She died in John's arms.’
‘Oh, my goodness, what a dreadful experience. I don't know what to say. How awful for you,’ Lily said.
‘It happens more often than you'd think,’ said John Kelly gently.
‘I couldn't do your job for anything.’ Lily poured
some more coffee and braced herself for what was coming next.
‘Can you tell Bridget we are here?’
‘I'll try,’ she faltered. ‘I hope I can find the right words.’
‘Just take a moment, Mrs Beaumont, to prepare yourself. I know you can do it. There'll be a post-mortem but it's all quite straightforward.’
‘I see,’ said Lily.
‘Yes. The accident was witnessed, and the dead woman had a registered heart condition and was severely malnourished,’ Steven Butterworth said, and put a whole fresh cream éclair into his mouth. He washed it down with half a cup of coffee, and smacked his lips. ‘Thanks for that, it was lovely.’
Lily's head was swimming. She hadn't heard of anyone in this country being severely malnourished since the days of the potato famine. How could Bridget's family life be this awful? Bridget never spoke about her parents, and Lily assumed they simply had nothing in common. But if they were both hopeless cases, as the policemen seemed to believe, then her childhood must have been traumatic. And hungry, no doubt. No wonder she was always eating. Lily suddenly recalled how she had laughed her head off when Jack's secret stash of soya milk had been found and drunk by Bridget. The girl was a phenomenon in the way she could consume so much food and yet remain so tiny.
Bridget hadn't been to visit her parents since she moved in above the tavern, and she hadn't phoned them either. Now Lily knew it was because they didn't have a telephone. Bridget was obviously trying to entirely ignore their living situation. But she would have to go through this nightmare ordeal at the mortuary. And arrange a double funeral too. And tell her sisters. Oh, Lord above!
Lily went up the stairs and knocked softly on the door. There was no answer. She ran back downstairs again and said, ‘Before I wake her, are you quite sure they were Bridget's parents? How do you know for definite?’
‘The O'Malleys are well known in the hospital, Mrs Beaumont. They've been into the emergency room on numerous occasions, with various injuries. Bridget's name is in the book as their next of kin.’
Lily nodded and went back up to the sitting room. This time she did not knock but went straight in and stole over to one of the beds beside the window. Bridget was sleeping with a contented smile on her face. The new blue blanket was tucked right up underneath her chin. She didn't look old enough to arrange a funeral for her own parents. Lily thought it was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do, just to have to wake Bridget up.
‘Bridget? Bridget, wake up. Can you hear me?’ Lily whispered. Bridget opened her big blue eyes and saw Lily's worried face hovering above her own.
‘It's my mum and dad, isn't it?’ she said after a second. ‘Which one?’ When Lily did not answer, she sighed loudly. ‘It's both of them? I suppose they burnt down the house? Fell asleep, smoking cigarettes? I always knew they would burn it down some day.’ And then Lily knew that she would have to tell Bridget the bad news herself. She couldn't make the poor girl wait until she went downstairs and faced the policemen on her own.
‘Oh, Bridget. You're right, it is your parents. God! Listen, there's no easy way to say this so I'll just say it. They have died, but it was an accident. Your father was knocked down on the road and your mother's heart gave out when they told her. There are two policemen downstairs and they have all the details. You might have to go with them to the hospital. But I'll go too.’ Lily held her breath for Bridget's reaction. Bridget reached out a small hand from under the blankets and Lily held it tightly. ‘I'll be with you, every step of the way,’ she said.
‘There's no need,’ Bridget whispered.
‘Don't be silly.’
‘I'll go to the morgue by myself, Lily. I'll be okay.’
‘Bridget, you can't possibly go through that ordeal on your own.’
‘I've caused you enough trouble already. The carpet, the bath, the teapot, the window, the perfume, the sofa.’ The girl must be in shock, thought Lily, to be going on about teapots at a time like this. What was that she said about a sofa, though? Lily's gaze darted across to her lovely over-stuffed chintz, and she noticed the small patch of ink on one of the arms. Oh, well, she thought. Another one bites the dust…
‘Bridget, you're no trouble at all. Please let me help you. You're in shock. Here, put on your robe and come downstairs for a cup of tea, or maybe a brandy to steady you?’
‘I never drank in my life, Lily, and I won't start now.’
‘Sorry, Bridget. I wasn't thinking. Of course you don't drink.’
‘I've seen the results of it once too often.’
‘Yes, I'm sure you have. Come on, we'll get through this day together.’
‘I don't want you to see their faces, Lily. You don't know what it's been like. They look so old. Far older than they really are. And their home is awful. Like a scene from Charles Dickens.’ Bridget got out of bed and put on a long blue coat over her pyjamas. Lily understood that Bridget's shabby robe was not fit to be seen by two officers of the law. She was amazed that Bridget could still be so proud, in the middle of her terrible loss. The two women went down the stairs together, after Lily told Jack what was going on.
Bridget was calm and quiet as they entered the bar. But when she saw John Kelly standing there, she finally crumpled and sobbed until her head was throbbing and her heart was sore. John put his arm around her, and patted her shoulder softly. He was well used to comforting the bereaved.
However, it was not for her late parents that Bridget wept so bitterly. She had given up on them many years earlier. It was because when she saw John Kelly, she knew he was the man she was destined to love for ever. Her entire body shook with the knowledge that he was the one for her. She felt a bolt of electricity dart between them, something that she had never felt with Gerry. There was a look in John's eyes that told her he was the man she would have grown old with. But now her useless parents had ruined that as well. How could John ever have feelings for her now, after he had seen the state of the two people who had given her life? Allowing for the twin possibilities that he was actually single, and that he found Bridget attractive, it was a situation without hope. She wept because she had no money for the funeral and because she was ashamed of her job and because she would be homeless again soon when the tavern was sold. She wept for her three sisters and all the Christmases they had spent hiding upstairs while their parents drank the dole money, and cursed various jolly celebrities singing cheery songs on the old television (a donation from the St Vincent de Paul charity shop). She wept because Gerry Madden had cast her aside like an old coat, the minute he met Trudy Valentine. And even though she didn't love Gerry any more, it had hurt like hell. She wept because she'd wished many times that Lily and Jack Beaumont were her real parents and she felt disloyal for wanting such a thing. Finally, she had no strength left with which to cry. John Kelly released her from his embrace, and asked Lily for fresh coffee.
‘You'll feel better soon,’ he said kindly.
Constable Butterworth gave Lily some general advice about the funeral arrangements while John comforted Bridget, and told her again the events of the night before. They gave the women time to dress, and then the four of them set off in the police car. Jack and the other three girls sat quietly in the kitchen, waiting for news.
In the mortuary, the bodies beneath the white sheets were obviously those of two short, thin people. They were like children, lying there under the spotlights. Lily didn't look at the faces of Bridget's parents but she knew they were small and battered, and dried up by a lifetime of hard knocks. Bridget identified them both with a slight nod of her head, while Lily waited by the door, and Bridget cried again as the relevant papers were signed. Then John Kelly drove them to the O'Malley home in a neat terrace with Victorian street lights and tiny front gardens. The priest was waiting by the front door, a gilt-edged missal in his hand. He was an old man, but very kind-looking. He attempted to put on a brave face for the occasion.
‘I'm most sorry for your loss, Bridget,’ he said, and they shook hands for
mally. ‘God bless you and your sisters in England. I said a Mass for you this morning.
‘Thank you, Father Damien,’ she said. ‘You were very good to them, always.’
‘That's all right, my dear. I prayed many times for them, that they would find the strength to get over their addiction. They were good people, in their hearts.’
‘I suppose they were,’ Bridget said, without much conviction. ‘This is my boss, Mrs Lily Beaumont. And Constable Kelly, who has looked after me today.’
‘Hello, Father.’ Lily smiled. John only nodded, and stood back respectfully.
‘Lovely to meet you, Mrs Beaumont. Bridget's parents told me she was very happy to be working for you.’
Lily duly told Father Damien that Bridget was a joy to have about the place. She was quite moved to witness such kindness from the priest. She'd have thought the old man would have been weary of scenes of sadness such as this. But he seemed genuinely concerned for the O'Malley family.
Bridget found a key in her handbag and unlocked the door. ‘Brace yourselves,’ she warned, as they went inside. The little house was cold and damp and all the curtains were closed. There was hardly any furniture in the sitting room, just two light armchairs and a spindly coffee table from the 1950s. The table was covered with empty spirits bottles, and a huge ashtray that turned out to be a charred and battered biscuit tin. Surprisingly, there was a full scuttle of coal beside the hearth, and some tartan blankets on the chairs.
‘Well, at least they had some coal and blankets,’ observed Lily, desperate to fill the empty silence. ‘They must have been quite cosy here, in the evenings.’
‘The St V de P Society provided everything you see in this house,’ said Bridget softly. ‘Mum and Dad would have slept on the bare floorboards, left to their own devices. The neighbours brought them food from time to time, and a social worker saw the bills were paid before they got their hands on the welfare cheques. They were hopeless, the two of them.’
Father Damien closed his eyes and said a prayer. John Kelly unplugged the television and put a fire screen across the hearth. A small pile of coal was still smouldering in the grate.
