Miss Purdy's Class

by Annie Murray

  ‘Things seem a bit better now?’ Gwen ventured to suggest.

  Daniel nodded. ‘Oh yes. Annie and Pat helped us get the shop, and Mary and Paul went out to work. Vincent’ll be out looking for a job soon. Never feel I do enough for her myself, though.’

  They were silent for a moment, walking a spongy path cut through a patch of woodland area.

  ‘She worries about you. What all the politics will lead to.’

  ‘I know.’ There was wretchedness in his tone. ‘I wouldn’t upset her for anything, but I can’t do anything else. It’s my life.’

  ‘I think it’s . . . it’s amazing what you do,’ Gwen said fervently. She could barely find words for her thoughts, she was so full of emotion after what she had heard. ‘It’s brave and important and standing up for what you believe in!’

  Daniel stopped suddenly. ‘Not many people see it that way – that the world’s got to change. There’s got to be a revolution, to do away with the order of things as they are. Can you imagine living on, knowing things were going to stay as they are, with the tide of fascism sweeping towards us, a world where the jackboot rules, and the honest workers are trampled on?’

  ‘No!’ In her mind’s eye, Gwen saw a faceless line of soldiers tramping across the country, stamping on everything in their path. ‘No I can’t!’

  Daniel turned fully towards her, his eyes still fixed on hers. ‘God, you are a captivating woman, d’you know that?’

  Her body felt weightless, fluttery under his gaze, and deeper inside she felt a taut longing, a sense that she could not bear it if he did not touch her.

  ‘And you . . .’ She tried to say something but could not finish.

  He turned away and walked on along the path. Gwen took a deep breath, watching him in front of her, the wet jacket over his arm. A moment later he stopped. A little branching way led off under the trees, away from the main path.

  ‘Come on in here.’ He pushed through the wet grass and weeds, and she could never have not followed him, the white shirt, his striding legs. The warnings in her head were silenced, and it was as if she was tied to him, body and soul, could simply not be anywhere else.

  They were moving between young, spindly trees. The green woodland was lovely, their footsteps silenced by the sodden ground. A few yards on Daniel stopped between the trees and turning, dropped his jacket to the ground. Gwen did the same. Once more their eyes met and in a second they were clutching each other in an embrace such as Gwen had never experienced before. The strength of Daniel’s arms drew her to him, his hands moving on her back, hard body against hers, not holding back in the gentlemanly way that Edwin held her, but urgently, unabashedly wanting her pressed close.

  ‘I can’t keep my mind off you.’ He ran his hands down her sides, over her curving hips. ‘You’re such a beauty – God you’re lovely, you are!’

  His voice, his touch melted her. ‘Daniel,’ was all she could manage to say. ‘Daniel, Daniel . . .’

  She was lost to him, helpless with feeling as his face moved slowly closer to hers and she felt his lips exploring hers.

  Twenty

  Joey lay in a fever for four days. That was what they told him later. It was all a confusion of sounds, the blood banging in his ears, boots crossing the floor, clattering and coughing. At times he was aware of other people, and voices, a woman’s voice in particular which he thought was his mother’s, though she was talking in a strange way.

  ‘Ah, will you look at him now, Christie? He’s as thin as a sparrow.’ A cool hand touched his head and someone lifted him and dribbled water between his dry lips.

  ‘There y’are, darlin’,’ the voice said. ‘Come on, now – drink a bit of this, will ye?’ And he could remember trying to swallow and the feel of water running coolly down his throat and chin. He was half certain he remembered being held and rocked, but he knew that must have been a dream. In a blissful part of his dream he knew the arms around him were those of his teacher Miss Purdy, and he saw her pretty face smiling down at him.

  Dots of light wavered in the darkness. Sometimes the room seemed a fraction less dark, and a quiet stillness fell around him. The first time he could open his eyes properly and focus it was evening and dark outside, but he could make out an elfin face looking down at him, with a pointed chin and straggly black hair hanging loose over her shoulders. Seeing him look up at her, the young woman smiled. A tooth was missing at the side of her mouth.

  ‘Well, so you’re looking at me! Back in the land of the living now, are ye?’

  ‘Is the little fella coming round?’ A light appeared in the gloom, a candle held by a dark-haired man with kind, dancing eyes. There was an orange glow of firelight coming from one side of the room. ‘Well, here’s our little Lazarus – you’ll surely be wanting a hot drop of tea now then.’ The man moved away again.

  Joey tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t obey him. He felt himself to be all bones.

  ‘Don’t go thinking you can get up and dance a jig now.’ The woman laid her hand soothingly on his. The sound of terrible coughing came from nearby and Joey sensed there were several people in the room. He felt bewildered, but somehow safe and reassured.

  ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’ the woman asked. Her face was so pale and thin.

  Joey opened his mouth. He could barely remember how to speak. His throat felt closed up, but he noticed that it no longer hurt.

  ‘Joey,’ he rasped.

  ‘Joey? You’re a Joseph, are ye? Did you get yourself lost, coming in here?’ The man was back again now, behind the woman, holding a jam jar of milky tea. He squatted down and Joey felt his strong arms go round him to hoist him up into a sitting position.

  ‘There you go now – nice and sweet. It won’t scald you – I put a drop of cold in.’

  The tea was delicious: strong and syrupy with sugar and seemed to stroke its way down into his stomach, warming him inside. He drank, then stopped, closing his eyes for a rest. He was so weak that everything felt hazy and distant.

  ‘He’s had enough, Christie,’ the woman said. ‘Don’t go forcing him.’

  ‘No!’ Joey’s eyes snapped open and he clasped his hands round the warm glass, pulling it to his lips.

  ‘Sure, he’s like a little suckling lamb!’ the man chuckled. ‘Go on there now, little fella – you drink as much as you want!’

  At last he was satisfied and Christie gently laid him back down. It was only then Joey noticed that he was no longer lying on the bare boards, but on a mattress. He felt warm and comfortable and suddenly happy.

  Christie moved away, but the woman stayed at his side.

  ‘Where’s your mammy, Joey?’ she asked softly.

  Once again, he shook his head.

  ‘Is she gone to Jesus?’

  Joey wasn’t sure about this. He just stared at her.

  ‘Did your mammy pass away?’

  She could see by his eyes that this was so.

  ‘Poor little lamb,’ she crooned. ‘And what about your daddy? Won’t he be looking for ye?’ When she asked whether his daddy had passed away too, he shook his head.

  ‘D’you have a home to go to, Joey? No? Oh, poor little darlin’!’

  He found himself lifted and cradled against her soft breasts, then she rocked him gently.

  ‘You’re all skin and bone, so you are.’

  Joey heard the door open then and the sound of boots. Another face appeared, but all he could see in the gloom was a squashed-looking hat and a huge black beard.

  ‘All right there, John?’ the woman asked.

  The man made shy little nodding movements with his head.

  ‘Is he getting better?’ He had a high voice which seemed to come through his nose.

  ‘He’ll be grand.’ A sudden sly look came to her face and she whispered, ‘Did you get it for me?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘Thank Christ.’

  He pulled something from under his coat and a furious cry came from Christie across the room
.

  ‘Oh, God Almighty, John. How could you bring it to her?’ He stood up and rushed over to them. ‘No, Siobhan – for God’s sake don’t start!’

  But she had lain Joey down in a trice and scrambled to her feet, snatching the bottle from John’s hand. She took a long swig, shuddering as the liquid went through her, then stopped and wiped her mouth. Christie was at her, trying to pull the bottle from her hand. In a moment, he succeeded.

  ‘Don’t let Micky drink all the rest!’ Siobhan shrieked. ‘He always takes more than his fecking share. I want it – I need it, for the love of God I do!’

  Her tone was aggressive, out of control, and Joey felt a chill go through him. Now she really did sound like his mother. He curled up on his side and put his hands over his ears. He couldn’t block out the voices, though. Siobhan slid down beside him again and when she lifted him into her arms, the smell on her breath was strong and familiar. It stank of danger. He turned his head to one side, screwing his eyes tight shut. He had the strength for nothing else.

  ‘I want more!’ she demanded.

  ‘For God’s sake, Shiv!’ Christie’s gentle voice was hoarse.

  ‘Give it to me!’

  ‘John – will you leave her?’ There was scuffling the other side of the room. ‘You know what it’ll do to her!’

  ‘Just a little bit,’ John said. ‘Let her have a bit. She wants it.’

  In a moment John was back with the bottle and she drank again. The smell wafted over Joey. It made him want to cry and shout. He pushed the feeling down inside him.

  ‘That’s Christie over there.’ She nodded her head, though Joey wasn’t looking at Christie, couldn’t see what he was doing. ‘He’s my brother – my little brother, though you’d not know it the way he bosses me. And there’s John, who’d do anything I ask, wouldn’t you, John darlin’? Like a child he is . . . And then there’s Micky over there. You’ll hear him coughing. He’s none too good, is Micky. Are you hungry, darlin’?’

  Joey felt as if he was floating, couldn’t move. He did not want food. He felt sick now, instead of happy. He could smell the liquor and the woman’s body close to him.

  ‘Joey – little Joey . . .’ Siobhan was stroking his head, rocking. ‘You make me forget, little Joey, my baby,’ she whispered.

  She began to sing then, a sweet, lilting tune that he had never heard before and he closed his eyes to shut her out. A few moments later the singing stopped and her body began to jerk next to him.

  ‘I was going to have a baby of my own, Joey. He died, my little baby . . . They killed him inside me and I’m going to go to hell, saints preserve me.’ Deep, terrible sobs came from her and she was leaning over and clutching him close.

  ‘“The Angel of the lord declared to Mary . . .” Oh, John, give me a little drop more for pity’s sake!’ She drank again in long, greedy gulps. ‘“. . . And she conceived of the Holy Spirit . . . Hail Mary, full of grace, blessed art thou among women . . .” Oh, Lord God!’ Her hair fell over Joey, blocking out the firelight and her tears fell on his face. Her crying sounded very loud to him and he swelled inside with bad feelings. He wanted desperately to push her away, to run and run from these people but he hadn’t the strength.

  ‘Come on, Siobhan – come away now.’ Christie’s voice was gentle. ‘Put the lad down – let him sleep.’

  Joey was replaced abruptly on the mattress and he saw Christie trying to calm his sister. She was distraught, crying and fighting him as he struggled to keep hold of her wrists.

  ‘Let me go! Just feck off and stop bossing me, Christie. You’re not our daddy! I’m going – I can bring in the money as well – that’s what I’m good for, isn’t it? You know I am! Sister Assumpta always said I’d go straight to hell to sup with the devil . . . I’m already in hell, so what difference will it make? Go on, tell me that, oh so perfect Father Christie Cody . . .’

  ‘For God’s sake, Shiv, just keep quiet!’ Christie sounded distraught. ‘D’you want us thrown out of here? Don’t be like this. It kills me when you’re like this.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Shiv!’ She mimicked him in a spiteful tone. ‘Tell you what – I’ll do it with John. I’ll do the one thing I’m good for, eh Christie? John loves me, don’t you, darlin’ . . . No, don’t you come taking his side! You’re on my side.’ Her voice rose to a screech as John attempted to come to Christie’s aid.

  ‘What’s all the feckin’ racket . . .’ Micky’s confused voice protested from across the room, but then lapsed into coughing and incoherent mumbling.

  Siobhan pulled away from her brother and Joey heard her go out of the room.

  ‘Siobhan!’ John’s nasal voice called.

  ‘It’s no good – you’ll not stop her.’ Christie spoke softly, and his tone was despairing. ‘Not when she’s like that.’

  Hands still over his ears, Joey drifted gratefully into sleep.

  Over the following days as Joey recovered his strength, he began to make sense of where he was. There was never full daylight inside because all the windows were boarded up and only fragments of light crept in between the boards. The room seemed very big and he wondered if he was in a school, as he’d never seen such a large room anywhere else. Houses, so far as he knew, were tiny and cramped, though apart from the size this one felt familiar: boarded windows, the walls reduced to bare, crumbling plaster, bare, rotten floorboards and the stink of damp and smoke.

  ‘Whose house’re we in?’ he asked Christie, that first morning when he was truly conscious.

  ‘It’s no one’s.’ Christie turned to him from the fire, into which he was poking sticks. ‘We’re just borrowing it for a little while – like birds of the air looking for a place to rest. And we want to keep it that way.’

  Joey experimented with moving his body. He wanted to get off the prickly mattress. It felt as if he had been lying on it for years. His body felt weak and shaky, but he managed to get to his hands and knees.

  ‘You ready to get up now?’ Christie was beside him in the gloom, lifting him over to the fire. ‘Come on over here.’ Joey found he was sitting on the man’s coat. It made him think of Mr Simmons’s coat which had been stolen from him. There was a pan of water heating over the flames. Christie squatted beside him. Something about him felt safe.

  ‘You’re looking grand now this morning! I’m just making a hot drop of tea. It’s Sunday today – did you know that?’

  Joey enjoyed sitting looking into the flames. He didn’t feel like running away any more, now it was quiet and he was by the fire. His days spent sleeping in cold parks and wandering the streets alone already felt a long way in the past. He peered round the room. The sound of snoring aroused his memory of arriving. It was coming from a big, dark shape lying over to his left.

  ‘That’s Micky.’ Christie saw him looking. Joey could just make out a bearded face with thick, frightening-looking features. The other man wasn’t there and he wondered where the woman called Siobhan had gone, but a moment later saw that she too was asleep across the room. He remembered her crying and dread gripped him for a moment. But she was quiet now.

  He watched Christie as he tipped tea leaves into the pan of hot water and stirred them in with a sliver of wood. The man was thin and didn’t look very strong. His clothes were black, his hair was dark and curly and he hadn’t shaved for days, but his beard was nothing like as bushy as John’s or Micky’s. Joey noticed that he was hugging himself, shivering as if cold. He thought the man had sad eyes.

  ‘Here now.’ Christie handed him tea and a piece of bread torn from a loaf. His face was kind and gentle and Joey felt soothed by his company. ‘You get that down you.’

  Twenty-One

  ‘Millie – you’re looking ever so well!’

  Gwen found Millie waiting for her as she came out through the school gate. Millie smiled bravely. It was a day of showers and she was sheltering under an umbrella.

  ‘You’re not looking so bad yourself. In fact –’ she peered at Gwen – ‘you look lik
e a cat that’s got the cream! What’s come over you?’

  Gwen laughed. ‘I don’t know – must be the spring weather!’ How could she possibly say what was making her glow from the inside with love and happiness and excitement? Daniel, she thought, hugging the very sound of his name inside herself. My beautiful Daniel! He was busy this afternoon, she knew that, or she might have been rather less pleased to see Millie waiting for her.

  ‘Got time for a cuppa?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Yes, of course. Come on – let’s get away from here. Agnes Monk’ll be out in a minute.’

  ‘Oh Lord – I can’t say I’m longing to see her!’ Millie grimaced.

  They went to a little place along Wellington Street and ordered tea and currant buns. Gwen examined Millie as she took off her mac to sit down. She was wearing a green skirt and neat cream blouse with frills on the collar and cuffs.

  ‘You really do look better,’ Gwen said, trying to be encouraging. Millie’s freckly skin had some of its bloom back and she looked a little healthier, though tired and strained. As Gwen spoke Millie’s eyes immediately filled with tears.

  ‘Sorry.’ She wiped them with her hanky. ‘Keeps happening. I don’t know what’s come over me.’