Secrets of Our Hearts

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Niall rubbed his shorn neck defensively, and sat at the table with his children. ‘Aye, well, I thought I’d better smarten meself up. I got a few disapproving looks from the landlady the last time I was in. I thought I might just trot along for another pint later on – don’t worry!’ He saw Juggy’s face turn anxious. ‘I’ll only be half an hour – that’s if Gran doesn’t mind?’

  Pleased to be able to ease the widower’s unhappiness, Nora said generously as she served his meal first, ‘Why would I mind?’

  ‘Well, it is Lent …’ A time of self-denial.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ replied Nora and, to his consternation, she said nothing more on the subject as Harriet and Dolly finished bringing the rest of the plates. Whereupon, she sat down to murmur grace.

  Niggled by disappointment, Niall hardly tasted the fish upon his fork, as he inserted it time after time into his mouth, all the while machinating how to get around this problem. But it turned out he did not have to, for later, after the children had gone to bed, Nora spoke again on the subject. ‘I’ve been thinking, you’ve been through enough deprivation lately – and it’s not as if you’ll be overindulging.’

  Startled, Niall looked to Harriet and Dolly for agreement. ‘I don’t want to go upsetting anybody …’

  ‘You won’t upset me.’ Hardly seeming to care, Harriet flicked over the pages of her magazine, Dolly too murmuring permission as she mended the hem of her overall.

  ‘Oh, thanks!’ He projected a somewhat relieved gratitude at all of them.

  ‘I almost wish I could join you myself.’ Neither she nor her daughters would ever frequent such a venue, but, added Nora, ‘It’d be good to have a change of scenery sometimes.’

  Niall was keen to oblige with the next best thing. ‘Well, if you can’t go there it’ll have to come to you. I’ll bring a couple of bottles home for you and the lasses – maybe some chips an’ all if you’re good,’ he added with a wry smile, as he went to towards the scullery, intending to tidy himself up.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  He swirled round at Harriet’s sardonic query.

  ‘Lent?’ she reminded him with a smirk. ‘Some of us are good little Catholics.’

  Dolly emitted her goatish bleat of a laugh. ‘Don’t believe her, Nye! She reckons to have given up sweets, but she’s got a bag of mint humbugs tucked down the side of her chair. Don’t think I haven’t seen you cramming them in when you think nobody’s looking!’ She gave another mocking laugh at her sister’s outrage.

  ‘Mints don’t count as proper sweets,’ retorted Harriet, under her mother’s disapproving eye.

  Niall feigned to wince, and said to Nora, ‘So, no beer and chips then – I’d better get out while the going’s good.’ And he shut the scullery door on them.

  But Nora’s disapproval had only been pretence, and in his absence she exchanged warmer words with Harriet and Dolly. ‘He seems a lot chirpier does the lad, doesn’t he? Aye … I’m glad there’s something made him feel better, poor soul. ’Then she gave a heavy sigh and reverted to her faraway state of bereavement, her face haggard, and uttering wistfully, ‘I wish a glass of beer’d have the same magic properties for me.’

  After a quick wash and shave, and a change of attire, Niall went upstairs and popped his head into the children’s bedrooms to bid them good night and also deliver a word of warning for them not to read too long in bed.

  ‘Dad, will you tell her to stop kicking me?’ begged Honor, from her cramped corner of the room that had been divided into two in order to separate boys from girls. ‘I keep reading the same sentence over and over.’ Lifting herself from the pillow, she tugged one of her plaits from beneath her head, with exasperation.

  ‘I’m not doing it on purpose!’ The small face protruding from the other end of the bed burst into angry tears. ‘There’s a lump under me bum.’

  Niall laughed softly as he came to perch on their bed and to mop the tears. ‘I don’t think I want to know what it is.’

  ‘I mean the bed!’ Juggy sat up and gave a furious thump at the mattress.

  ‘You’re doing it again!’ Honor laid down her book in despair, and whilst her father tried to settle the younger child, she indicated the empty bed that was only eighteen inches away. ‘Couldn’t I just lie on that while I finish me chapter? I promise I’ll pull the covers straight and be off it before Aunty Doll and Aunty Harriet come up.’ Her aunts would be cross if they found their bed rumpled.

  Since their mother had died, Niall had found it hard to deny them anything. ‘Go on then, but don’t fall asleep on it – and don’t let on it were me who gave you permission!’ Giving each girl a fond peck, he made for the other side of the partitioned room.

  ‘Right, untie your brother and get into bed now!’ His expression turned stern as he waited for Batty and Brian to remove the gag from Dominic’s mouth.

  ‘It’s all right, Dad,’ reassured his eldest boy with a grin, ‘I’m just letting them practise.’

  ‘For what – getting themselves a prison sentence?’ Impatient to be off, Niall seized Brian, who was seated astride Dominic’s torso, and put him in his rightful place in the bed, then helped free Dominic’s wrists from the bonds that Batty had tied. ‘That’s my belt! Now lie down, the lot of you, or I’ll be taking it to your backsides!’ But the boys saw him laugh to himself as he left.

  ‘’Night, Dad!’

  ‘Good night, sleep tight, mind the bugs don’t bite!’ called Niall cheerfully.

  Downstairs, set to depart, he experienced a thrill of anticipation.

  ‘I hope your friend’s in this time,’ Nora called after him as he left.

  ‘Who?’ Niall stopped by the door, and wheeled quickly to frown.

  ‘Reilly, you clot!’

  ‘Oh!’ He had not even considered visiting his friend, but laughed swiftly now to cover his guilt, ‘Aye, well, if he is he is, and if he isn’t he isn’t. See you later.’

  The night was still as dark and still as cold, yet not half so damp as it had been earlier in the week, and any chill he felt at being without his greatcoat was soon overcome by an eagerness of step. Neglecting Reilly, Niall went without delay to the public house he had visited last time, wondering whether she would be there to serve him.

  She was. The saloon being almost devoid of other patrons, apart from one grizzled old toothless codger puffing on his pipe by the fire and a couple more playing darts, the golden-haired young woman approached him immediately with a smile of enquiry. Niall asked for a pint, then fell silent to await it being poured, snatching a glance at her whilst she concentrated on her task. Taking in as much about her as was possible without staring, he saw that her hair was shortish, though not, he noted with gladness, that severe kind of shingle that some women had adopted since the war, that looked as if it had been hacked at by garden shears; there was still enough of it to afford her femininity, and it certainly did the job for him, rippling in soft waves about her neck. In fact, despite the pink lipstick she didn’t seem one of those modern types at all, her face being in a way rather old-fashioned, which could have belonged to any period in history. No film-star glamour, just an overall impression of a really nice girl – well, he called her a girl but it was just a manner of speech; she was probably thirty or even more. But although he liked the look of her, and despite being the only customer at the bar, he made no attempt to engage her in conversation, for being a shy sort, Niall was hopeless at small talk. Segregated from females by his Catholic upbringing for the entirety of his schooldays, he had never really been able to relate to them since.

  Wondering what she saw when she looked at him, he sought a glimpse of his own reflection, and was immediately dismayed at the wolfish face that stared back. There was a jaw that held too many teeth, and in consequence a few of them crossed over others – only slightly, but enough to annoy him. He had hoped to conceal them behind a close-lipped smile, yet this only made his mouth look bigger, for his lips were long and curled up at the oute
r edges, this prominent feature emphasised by the deep lines that ran from either side of his mouth to his sharp nose. His cheeks were tattooed with high colour by the elements. It was, in general, the raw-boned countenance of one who laboured hard to make an honest living, yet not, he decided, one to inspire female trust. The women in his street had known him since childhood, but strangers were another matter. And so, for fear of humiliation, Niall held his tongue.

  Yet he was to experience a wave of pleasure when she herself instigated a dialogue, if only about the weather, saying in her soft Irish lilt, ‘How lovely it is to see the sun again, don’t ye think?’ She had been eating a cachou. Her breath smelled of violets, wafting all the way over the counter at him, raising foreign but deeply pleasurable emotions. ‘I could hardly believe it, winter just behind us and the yard like a sun trap – oh, it must have been seventy degrees! Sure, I only sat out for half an hour to take my break and came in like a tomato – well, half a tomato.’ She laughed and cocked her head, presenting one pink cheek for him to view.

  Possessed of the kind of smile that came from nowhere, a chink of blue sky amongst grey cloud, Niall forgot any attempt at hiding his teeth and used them to full effect now. His eyes came bright with amusement, the skin around them crinkling, as he noted how very fair her skin was, and how easily it would burn. ‘Ooh dear, I bet you suffer in a real heat wave.’ It might not be eloquent, but Niall was rather pleased with himself for managing to uphold the discourse.

  ‘Aw, I certainly do! If I stay out too long I peel in strips – I look like the hanging gardens of Babylon.’

  He laughed. ‘Wouldn’t suit you to work outside every day like I do, then.’

  A fair, swan’s-wing eyebrow was arched, showing interest. ‘Oh, and what line of employment would you be in?’

  ‘I’m a platelayer on the railway.’ Niall leaned on the bar, thought better of it and stood erect again.

  ‘And what does that involve?’ she asked, her hand still on the pump and a careful eye on the beer that had almost reached the top of the glass.

  ‘Well, besides initially laying the track, I maintain it every day, walking along making sure it’s in good repair and that…’ It didn’t sound much of a job; he wished he had given a better explanation. ‘To make sure it’s safe.’

  ‘A very important position then.’ Handing over the beer, she took his money.

  He gave a self-effacing shrug. ‘That’s not for me to say.’

  ‘Ah well, you look very fit on it. ’Tis a lovely complexion ye have.’

  It was not in the least artful, but Niall felt a blush spread over his cheeks, and he took a quick sip of beer. Despite having managed to shake off the acute shyness of his youth, outside the family home he remained self-consciousness and he did not appreciate being stared at so directly. When confronted thus, in the manner of a dog his eyes would flick away as if to divert the watcher’s gaze. This time, however, it failed to have the required effect, and he was compelled to blurt: ‘I thought it’d be busier than this, being payday!’

  Seeing not the miserable countenance that Niall conjured of himself, but the face that his friends and neighbour saw, one that was quiet and strong and approachable, she removed her eyes from it to steal a quick glance at the mahogany clock on the wall. ‘Oh, don’t worry, they’re just biding their time for a good night. We’ll be rushed off our feet in half an hour.’ She took his money to the till, saying on her way, ‘I haven’t seen you in here before. Just passing through, are ye?’

  Disappointed, though unsurprised, that his previous visit had made no impact on her, Niall chuckled softly. ‘No, I’ve lived round here all me life.’

  ‘A bit longer than me then. This is only my fourth week of working here.’ She beamed as she gave him his change.

  This would be the time for him to move away from the bar and find a table. He could have taken his pick tonight, but chose to remain where he was for the moment, wanting to continue the dialogue but not sure how. He took another sip of beer, hoping she would help him. Instead she began to potter about the bar, refilling shelves with bottles. It was perforce left to him.

  He licked the foam from his long upper lip and cleared his throat nervously as she came past, and said, ‘You’re from Ireland then?’

  ‘How very perspicacious of you.’ A smile removed the barb from what might be misinterpreted as snide.

  However, this comment instantly demoted her in Niall’s estimation – he had enough of such sarcasm at home, people thinking they were being clever or witty – and the fact that she did not appear to intuit his annoyance served to deplete her standing even further. Instantly he revised his former opinion of her as a kind, old-fashioned type. Nevertheless, he was forced to stay put for she was still speaking and it would have been rude to turn his back.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking – how the divil did I get away with a heathen name like this in Ireland!’

  Eyes fixed on his glass, he shook his head, still annoyed about her previous sarcasm. ‘I wasn’t even aware of your name.’

  ‘There’s me told then.’ She grinned, but was obviously stricken with embarrassment from the way she seized a cloth and began to polish a nonexistent smear on the mahogany counter.

  ‘Sorry … I just haven’t heard anyone mention it.’ Despite himself, he wanted to make her feel better, and asked, ‘What is it then?’

  This appeared to restore her friendliness. ‘Aw, me and my big mouth – I could’ve got away with it. I’m not sure I want to tell you now.’ She tilted her head as if paying the matter great consideration, but this was merely play-acting. ‘Ah, go on then. It’s Boadicea Merrifield.’

  Niall couldn’t help but be impressed. ‘That is a rum’n!’

  She laughed gaily at his expression. ‘Don’t I know it – and all my father’s fault.’ Still only the two of them at the bar, she leaned both forearms on it and, without the slightest prompting, launched into the story of her life whilst Niall sipped his drink and listened.

  Her father, a sergeant in the army and resolutely English, had fallen in love with a colleen whilst on duty in Ireland, and against natural disdain of its inhabitants had sought permission to marry her. This had been refused at first by her family, until he had become a convert. With Boadicea’s father often away for years at a time on foreign service, and her mother declining to go with him, she had been born and brought up amongst her mother’s kin. Hence the Irish accent. Up against them and the Church, her father had been forced to baptise his child Mary, but in his presence she continued to be Boadicea, and the brother who followed her, Arthur. Her name had caused all sorts of friction, and even without the nuns’ insistence on it she would have called herself plain Mary at school so as not to draw attention to herself. ‘Even when I came over here I got an awful lot of leg-pulling – ’tis a wonder I’m not walking round with one leg longer than the other, the amount I got. Not that I care. ’Twas the name my father chose for me and I’m sticking to it.’ Her smile showed that she was immensely fond of her father. ‘I rather like having a name that no one else has – well, not many, anyhow.’

  ‘So how come you are over here, then?’ asked Niall, having warmed to her again.

  Her face clouded slightly and she tapped her short fingernails on the bar. ‘Oh, things …’

  ‘Are your parents still there?’

  ‘No, my mother died—’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ His softly uttered sentiment was genuine; he knew what that felt like.

  ‘Thanks,’ she was equally sincere in her response, ‘but it’s been a good few years now. Anyway, with her gone, there was no reason for Dad to be in Ireland, what with all the back-biting he suffered. So he came back here with Arthur. He’d left the army by then, o’ course, though they did call him up to train the recruits during the war – I suppose you’d have been too young to see any fighting?’

  Niall nodded quickly. Like many of his age, it was rather a sore point that he had not con
tributed.

  She mimicked his nod. ‘Anyway, as I say, he and Arthur came back to live here. I stayed on for a while with Mammy’s folks, but I couldn’t get work, so that’s why I came over, and also to be nearer to Dad and me brother – although I’m not so near as I was, me being in York now and they in Manchester. I only get to visit them a couple of times a year.’ Seeming to think she had spoken long on herself, she smiled and asked ‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’

  Immediately Niall shook his head, then looked awkward. ‘Well, I did have a brother, but we don’t see each other.’ Before she could ask why, he posed a query of his own. ‘Don’t you miss Ireland?’

  ‘Oh, sure.’ Her eye was momentarily wistful. ‘It’ll always be home.’

  ‘Whereabouts are you from?’

  The wistfulness turned to impudence. ‘Would you be any wiser if I told ye?’

  Niall felt his jaw twitch in irritation; she was doing it again. ‘I just meant what county.’

  ‘Mayo,’ she eventually revealed.

  ‘That’s where we’re from!’ exclaimed Niall.

  Boadicea seemed to find this hilarious. ‘Sure, ye don’t sound like it!’

  That really annoyed him, for he was immensely proud of his Irish heritage. But he kept his tone equable. ‘Aye, well, maybe that’s because we’ve been here sixty years.’

  ‘Nor do you look that old,’ came her teasing addition.

  ‘I meant my great-grandparents.’ He decided to end this humiliation there and then by tipping back his head, draining his glass and bidding the barmaid a curt farewell, leaving her smile fading to bewilderment.

  ‘Have you been upsetting my customers again, Miss Merrifield?’ quipped the landlady, a no-nonsense type of Yorkshire woman, having witnessed the terse departure, moving to stand beside her.

  ‘Heaven knows.’ Totally mystified, Boadicea shook her head. ‘And here’s me thinking I was giving him compliments. Sorry for losing you business, Mrs Langan.’