Dessie was now the one speaking faster. It was obvious he was anxious to leave, although he tried his best to hide it.
Noleen wanted to say that she didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of getting Paddy to agree to go, but she could see there was somewhere else Dessie wanted to be. He left with a wink and a smile. ‘We will all help, not to worry,’ he said as he raised his hand and turned towards his own home.
Noleen felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Whether it was the good cry, the promise of help, the warm hug or the reminder of the friends she knew she could depend on, she didn’t know.
I’m getting old, she thought to herself as she watched Dessie walk down the entry and disappear into the night. And you are getting brazen, Dessie. Living over the brush like that. Ah well, you are just a man like all the rest, she reminded herself. There wasn’t anyone who worked at St Angelus who wasn’t expecting Dessie Horton and Emily Haycock to announce that they were engaged any day soon. Even with all the good will of the hospital workforce, they couldn’t continue as they were for much longer. No one believed that Emily could keep sneaking up and down the entry and in and out of his house in the dark before Hattie Lloyd blew and kicked up a fuss.
*
Before she made to step back into her yard, Noleen took a glance down the entry and almost jumped out of her skin in surprise.
‘Flamin’ hell, Lorcan, you scared the life out of me. What have you done to yourself? Your head, ’tis shining like a Belisha beacon.’
There was genuine amazement in Noleen’s voice, as a boy she barely recognized stood before her. She had never seen his face not covered in dirt. She had assumed his hair was a dirty auburn and yet here he was, his freckled skin scrubbed white and gleaming and his hair so red it was practically glowing beneath the sulphur street light.
Lorcan grinned from ear to ear. ‘Dessie has taken me on at St Angelus, Mrs Delaney. I’m working as a porter’s lad now.’
‘With our Bryan?’ There was a hint of surprise in Noleen’s voice. She had always like Lorcan, had a soft spot for him. He sometimes slipped into the pew next to her at Mass and his catechisms were word perfect. He was the only Ryan she had known to attend Mass of his own volition, but then Lorcan had a lot to pray for.
‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ She gestured towards the pole Lorcan held in one hand and the brush head he held in the other.
Without any embarrassment whatsoever, Lorcan lifted his head and said, ‘Mrs Delaney, I’m trying to brush the kitchen, but the brush head keeps flying off the end of the pole and I can’t get it to stay on. I’ve been to Mrs Kennedy’s, but she’s at the bingo. Do you know how I can get it to stop flying across the kitchen? I kept putting it back on, but I nearly knocked me mam out, so I had to stop.’
Noleen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was so serious, so earnest, but the thought of the brush head flying and little Lorcan trying his best to fix it made her smile. She also felt the faintest flutter of jealousy, which she quickly sent on its way. She would love a night at the bingo. Lucky Biddy Kennedy. Despite what Father Brennan said about gambling being a sin, she would still go. Sure, the man wasn’t always right about everything and besides, she could always confess the following morning.
‘I’m just on my way back home now, I don’t want to bother anyone else. I’m going to make the tea when I’ve finished the floor.’
‘You are brushing the floor and making the tea?’ Noleen couldn’t keep the astonishment from her voice. ‘What are you making, Lorcan?’
The Ryan house was the talk of the neighbourhood. Jokes were created and circulated as a result of Mrs Ryan’s simpleness and the dirtiness of the house. One of the lads from the regiment had visited Paddy only the previous week and passed his own comment, having walked past the Ryans’ stinking back yard to reach the Delaneys’ house. ‘Even our dog wouldn’t eat off her floors and he sleeps in the coal house,’ he had said. Noleen had felt a pang of discomfort as he and Paddy had laughed. ‘Aye, well, there but for the grace of God,’ she had replied. Both men had looked up, momentarily confused. Neither understood her concern at another woman being laughed at. They passed no comment and instantly resumed their criticisms. She had wanted to throw the plate she was holding at Paddy and scream at him, ‘When did you last wash a floor or clean a window or wash the nets?’ But she didn’t. When his friend left, it was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘Bye, Jack, your tea will be on the table when you get home and your sheets washed and changed. Did you do that yourself, did you?’ But instead she smiled and sent her good wishes to his wife.
‘Did your mammy ask you to brush up, Lorcan?’
Noleen was now curious. Bryan did a lot to help in the house, but that was because of their situation with Paddy and her working all the hours God sent. It was something that was kept quiet. Everyone assumed it was their Mary who helped Noleen, but not a bit of it. Bryan did the heavy lifting and it was all done in secrecy. He would rather die than have his friends know that he washed dishes.
Lorcan proudly set his chin at her. ‘No, I do it all meself. I’m the only one at home now, Mrs Delaney. I have to look after the house and I don’t care, I’m not a cissy and I like doing it.’ Then in a much softer tone he added, ‘Mammy, she’s not very well today, Mrs Delaney.’ It was almost by way of an apology, as though he was already beginning to regret having revealed to Noleen, mother of Bryan, that he undertook domestic chores.
Noleen knew it was a lie about Mrs Ryan being ill. She had seen Lorcan’s mam slipping into the Anchor pub that afternoon when she’d been on her way to the greengrocer’s. She bit her tongue rather than shame the boy. Instead, she reached out and took the pole from his hands. ‘Come on, let’s go and see what Paddy can do with this. He’s a dab hand at fixing brush heads.’
Panic crossed Lorcan’s face. ‘Is your Bryan in?’
‘I think so. Why?’
‘You won’t tell him it’s me what’s brushing the floor, will you? Say it’s for me mam.’
Noleen shook her head in mock despair at his rapidly disappearing bravado. If only Lorcan knew. Her house would be closer to the Ryans’ if their Bryan didn’t pull his weight. ‘Come on, you. In,’ she said. She put her arms around Lorcan’s shoulders and gently guided him towards the light spilling out into the dark back yard from the scullery door.
Ten minutes later, Lorcan was sitting on the threadbare rug in front of the Delaneys’ fire, eating the last potato farl and drinking sweet tea.
Paddy rested the brush handle and the brush head on the coal bucket, which was wedged between his knee and stump, while he secured one to the other using a hammer and two long nails. ‘There you are, lad, as good as new. The pole didn’t split, thank God.’
Lorcan glanced up at Noleen and, placing his cup down, made to jump up.
‘Sit back down, Lorcan, and drink up your tea, would you.’ Noleen smiled at the boy. Bryan had already left to play pool with the other porter’s lads, Mary was round at the Tanners’ house and the boys were already in bed. They were alone in the kitchen and Noleen thought how peaceful it was and how nice to have Lorcan as a visitor. ‘I cannot believe that in a month of Sundays our Mary would want to brush the kitchen floor. Your mammy, she’s very lucky.’
Lorcan glanced in dismay towards Paddy, who immediately knew the right thing to say.
‘Oh, aye. There’s many a lad who wouldn’t lift his finger to help his mammy, but they don’t make great men.’
Noleen brought her own tea over and sat on the settle opposite Paddy, who held up the brush for Noleen to inspect.
‘What do you think of that, eh? It’ll be a long time before that brush head escapes again,’ he said. ‘When the brush wears down to the wood, lad, buy a new head and bring it here for me. I put them nails in and, if I do it right, I can get them out again without you needing a new pole.’
Noleen’s heart lifted. Paddy was smiling. The simple task of mending a brush head, bei
ng useful and needed, had lit his mood as well as his face. She could hear the pride in his voice at having been able to help a neighbour in need.
‘How are you finding work at the hospital, Lorcan? Does our Bryan give you the runaround like he does me?’ Paddy asked.
‘Oh no, Mr Delaney. Bryan is my boss. He’s teaching me what to do.’ Lorcan’s face was deadly serious.
Noleen laughed as Lorcan drained his tea. ‘Stop quizzing the lad, Paddy. Go on, lad, off you go. You have to be up at six, so don’t be cleaning all night, do you hear me? That’s what I do for a living and there’s not a lot of fun in it. We want better for you.’
For the second time, Noleen saw Lorcan smile as Paddy held the brush out to him. He took the brush and headed straight to the door. Just before the door closed, he turned back to them both and rewarded them with a grin.
‘Thank you, Mr Delaney, for fixing me brush.’ And then, in a second of silence, he was gone.
They both waited to hear the click of the back-gate latch before they spoke.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Noleen. ‘What a breath of fresh air that lad is. See you, Paddy Delaney.’ She waved her finger at him as she bent to retrieve Lorcan’s cup and plate from the floor. ‘I’ve always liked that Lorcan and he’s proving me right.’
Paddy grinned. Lorcan had been a welcome distraction from his earlier mood. ‘It’s been busier here than on Lime Street station tonight. First Stanley, then Dessie and now Lorcan. I’m worn out.’
Noleen decided she’d try and make the most of her night off. She had a spare half a crown in her pocket from an extra night she had worked the previous week. ‘Paddy, why don’t I go and get you some fags and a few bottles of Guinness for us both now that lot are all in bed.’
She slipped from the settle on to Paddy’s knee. Instinctively, Paddy turned his head towards the fire. There was a time when he would have leant back and pulled her down on to him and covered her face in kisses. Now, though, she felt his body harden and as he averted his gaze her heart constricted in pain.
‘Probably best to save the money. Have an early night,’ he said in a subdued tone.
Noleen’s heart sank. Until tonight she hadn’t cried for many years, but now that her tears had found a way to escape, they threatened to plague her again. ‘Good idea,’ she said as she wearily removed herself and walked towards the sink.
Any pleasure she had felt during the evening drained away, leaving her heart as heavy as a stone. Her shoulders slumped as she ran the taps into the enamel bowl in the sink. This time she didn’t even attempt to halt her tears when she heard the door at the bottom of the stairs bang shut as, without another word to her, Paddy took the steps up on his backside, one at a time.
He would never agree to her spending money on his enjoyment. He would only do that if he had earned it himself. Not even a bottle of Guinness. It was beyond his comprehension that his pleasure was hers. That buying the Guinness, sharing it together, chatting and laughing like they used to, would make Noleen happy. Bring some light relief.
A mirror bound in faded yellow plastic hung from a nail on the wall next to her. It had once been Paddy’s shaving mirror, in the days when he stood on two legs for such things. His face reflected back at her, not the Paddy of today but the happy groom she had married. The laughing, carefree man who had rejoiced with her every time she told him another baby was on the way. Paddy before the war. His reflection, distorted by her tears, was replaced with her own. Her bright eyes and wet cheeks shimmered and flickered in the reflected glow of the range behind. She thought of her marriage vows and the realization washed over her that there would be no more good times. No happy future. No more fun, laughter, carefree kisses or secret cuddles in the scullery when the children were around. Nothing to anticipate or look forward to together. No joy or let-up in the drudgery of their lives, until death did them part.
6
‘Well, what a performance this is all going to be,’ Matron said to Emily as they hurried across the front of the hospital to the theatre block.
Emily didn’t like to answer that it was a performance of Matron’s making. The opening of the new theatres had lasted for days and Emily knew as well as anyone that Matron was not usually the sort to make a fuss of things.
‘She is up to something,’ Dessie had said as they’d lain in their illicit bed earlier that morning. ‘I don’t know what it is, but the St Angelus mafia is doing its best to find out.’ He pulled himself up on to one arm and traced his finger down Emily’s arm.
Emily laughed. It was an insider secret that Biddy and Elsie, Madge Jones the switchboard operator, and domestics Branna and Betty Hutch had saved the day on more than one occasion by being one step ahead of Matron. Or, more importantly, by being one step ahead of those who sought to take advantage of Matron and the hospital.
Only an hour later, Matron was now striding ahead of Emily with resolute determination. The fanned dovetail frill on the back of her cap was starched to within an inch of its life and her cape was draped perfectly about her, hardly moving as she walked with her brisk, neat steps. Even in the coldest weather, Matron would never be seen bunching her cape at the front for warmth. ‘Standards, nurses!’ was an exhortation she barked out more than a dozen times a day.
‘I think a lot of people will be happy when today is over,’ said Emily, as tactfully as she could.
There was no response other than Matron checking the fob watch on her perfect navy blue matron’s uniform. Her silver buckle shone in the morning light. Emily, not in the school of nursing today, was wearing her sister’s uniform and self-consciously gathered her cloak to the front. She had cleaned her own buckle last night with cigarette ash, damp newspaper and spit, but it had been so long since she’d last worn her uniform, it had needed more than one wipe over.
Matron was on a mission; this much Emily could detect. She tried again. ‘It has been all go, hasn’t it, and such a drag for you, Matron. First the opening with the press and the mayor, now the visit from the MP. It will almost be a relief for the staff to start the first full day list and get down to some proper nursing tomorrow. And to think, that was what they were scared of, before all the official visits started happening.’
‘Yes, I must apologize to Sister Pokey,’ said Matron sheepishly. ‘I have made her task of commissioning the new theatres much harder. She has given the trained staff the afternoon off. She wants them as fresh as a daisy for the full list tomorrow morning. And once that first operating list has been safely and efficiently completed, I am determined that St Angelus will have a new maternity unit.’
Emily raised her eyebrows. ‘How are you going to do that, Matron? Surely the board won’t approve any more funding for at least another year after all this expense and hullabaloo. It was in the Echo a couple of nights ago. Did you see it? Everyone knows about the new theatre block now.’
‘Of course I saw it. What a pain that was. Why couldn’t we just open it and get on with the job? I didn’t want all that fuss.’ Matron seemed to realize she had snapped as she then continued in a softer tone. ‘Look, I think that by inviting the MP to visit, I can use him, Sister Haycock, persuade him to give us another grant as soon as possible. I want him to see the new theatres first, and then I’m going to impress on him how a maternity unit had to be sacrificed in order for us to have the new suite. If he doesn’t play ball, well then I have a story up my sleeve that I know he would not want to see in the newspapers about a hospital in his constituency. The new NHS won’t want to be tainted by what I have to say. Not when his party is in government. Oh no, he wouldn’t like that one bit. And do you know what the beauty of my little plan is, Sister Haycock?’
Emily was transfixed. She had never known Matron to be so animated. But then, Matron was a woman who was very used to getting her own way. Biddy had relayed to Emily a flavour of the tension that had ensued when Matron had been obliged to back the new theatre block at the board meeting. ‘Sure, she’s spitting feathers and chewing ev
eryone’s head off over there, so she is. Poor Elsie, she’s a nervous wreck. Can’t do right for doing wrong and when Dr Gaskell called in the other day, Elsie said he was as fast out the door as he had walked in and it slammed behind him. Now, what do you make of that then? That’s not like him, is it?’
Emily had done what she always did and changed the subject. She took information in, she never gossiped out. Now, looking up at Matron, she could tell that Matron had taken her defeat over the maternity unit very personally indeed. She shook her head in wonderment at the bright gleam in Matron’s eye.
‘Dr Gaskell has no idea what I am up to, because I haven’t told him. I’m setting off on this little crusade all alone because, mark my words, I know what they are all talking about in the doctors’ sitting room. Oh yes, they want a new X-Ray unit next. Well, over my dead body, I can tell you that. These new consultants are all a bit too big for their boots and I swear some of them aren’t even frightened of me.’
Emily couldn’t help herself as she began to laugh. ‘Oh, Matron, that is very funny. But let me tell you, I spent years being not just frightened but terrified of you! The nurses more than make up for some of the new consultants.’
The new theatres were now ready to swing into action the following morning. Although neither Matron nor Emily would admit it, both had loved visiting the unit every chance they got during the commissioning. Emily to see how her nurses were getting along preparing the unit and decommissioning the old theatres while keeping them running. Matron, to the puzzlement of all, to gaze endlessly at the sealed, pale green composite floor which neatly met the pale green tiled wall. Sister Pokey had become most concerned at Matron standing motionless as though her ear were glued to the wall. ‘Er, is everything all right, Matron?’ she’d enquired, only to be rebuffed with a very sharp ‘Shhh.’
The Mother's Of Lovely Lane Page 13
