Yet, whilst his happiness flourished over this decision, so too did his guilt, for, acting totally against character, he had lied to those at home about the recent change in his social habits, had made out that he had joined the Railway Institute where there were all kind of activities to take one’s mind off one’s sorrows – feeling guiltier still at using a dead wife as his excuse. But nothing could have deterred him now from seeing that lovely Celtic lass.
Obsessed as he had become in his mission, hoping like some callow schoolboy to disguise his tracks by way of sucking peppermints, Niall did not realise for a while that such uncharacteristic behaviour had spurred others into action. Not until that Friday evening did he see disaster loom. He had opened the door of the pub, about to enter, when, alerted by a police whistle, he turned swiftly to see two officers bearing down on a youth who ran for his life, their truncheons at the ready. But it was something even more unnerving that caught his eye. Looking as startled as he himself felt, Harriet stopped dead in her tracks, making it obvious she had been following him.
Instantly defensive, Niall took a step backwards into the street, allowing the door to swing shut as he turned to confront her, his stance indignant. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’
His sister-in-law’s expression of guilt was quickly replaced with one of determination, as she bustled up and thrust her face at him. ‘And what are you playing at? Cracking on you were going to the Institute—’
‘Can’t a bloke change his mind? I decided I couldn’t be bothered to trail all that way – me legs do get enough punishment at work, you know!’
She tapped his chest knowingly. ‘You can’t pull the wool over my eyes! What’s going on, Nye?’
‘Nothing!’ But Niall felt the heat of embarrassment as it rose up his neck, turning his face red. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’
Confronted by his anger, Harriet failed to interpret the underlying guilt, but instead took it as indication that her mother had been correct, he was trying to conceal something. ‘I’ll bet you’ve been nowhere near the Institute. You’ve been coming here all the time, haven’t you?’
‘I haven’t!’
‘I don’t believe you!’ came the blunt accusation.
‘And what if I have?’ he demanded testily. ‘What has it got to do with anybody else? You’ve no right to be following me!’
Harriet grasped his upper arm in an act of concern. ‘Look, Nye, it’s only for your own good. We can see how you miss Ellen. I still can’t believe she’s gone so it must be ten times worse for you, losing your wife …’
At the sound of her name his belly flipped again. How could he have let himself be caught out in such shameful fashion? Now he guessed how his brother must have felt.
‘But you can’t drown your sorrows, you know,’ said Harriet. ‘You’ll just pickle your liver, and then where will your children be?’
When her victim continued to frown at her blankly, obviously unwilling to admit his problem, she added a lively incitement. ‘If you think you’ve been covering it up with peppermints you’re wrong!’
In the wonderful realisation that he was not being accused of anything worse, Niall felt his chest flood with relief, eventually demanding with a forced, dry bark, ‘You think I’m turning into an alcoholic?’
‘You might not accept it, but this is how it starts,’ reasoned Harriet.
But this evinced only humour, Niall shaking his head and his face creased with laughter, such was his relief. ‘You daft bugger! How could I afford it with your mam doling out my spending money?’
At this, Harriet let go of his arm and paused to consider the matter, her face undergoing a gradual dawning.
‘In fact,’ Niall went on strenuously, ‘I’ve been told off by t’landlord for making my pint last an hour and a half. Come and ask him if you don’t believe me.’ It was a safe enough invitation; she would never be seen in a bar.
‘No, no!’ His sister-in-law was looking somewhat relieved herself now. ‘I’ll take your word for it … of course it makes sense … sorry, it’s just that we’ve all been so worried for you, Nye.’ She inclined her square jaw in an attitude of repentance, her glassy grey orbs searching his.
‘Thanks,’ he said with gratitude, though suddenly awash with renewed penitence at so deceiving her. ‘But don’t be. I just need to get out of the house for a while. These dark evenings are getting me down …’
‘Well, I hope you’re not staring into your glass, moping.’ She wagged a finger at him, though satisfied enough with his explanation.
‘No, there’s usually a game of darts or dominoes to occupy me.’ That was true; at least there would have been had he wanted to disrupt his happier pursuit for a more trivial one.
Accepting this at last, Harriet apologised again. ‘Well, I’m sorry we thought the worst of you. Carry on and enjoy yourself.’ And with that she backed away into the darkness, saying she would go home now and vindicate him with her mother and sister.
Glad of her departure, Niall considered himself lucky, told himself he should be more careful and should not pursue this doomed liaison. And at that moment he seriously considered it. But, pushing open the door to the saloon, his eyes lit up as they settled upon Boadicea, and just as quickly, his former resolution was quashed.
Tonight would mark a turning point, he decided, as she greeted his arrival at the bar more warmly, more personally than usual. There was a definite connection between them – he was sure of it from her eyes. The exchange with Harriet had fired him up. Upon asking for his pint in the normal fashion, he found the nerve to blurt an additional request. ‘Could you get tomorrow night off and come out with me?’
There was fleeting disconcertment. Then Boadicea raised her fair eyebrows and, with a rather mocking chuckle, said, ‘It’s good to tell you’re not accustomed to pubs.’
Taken aback by this unexpected response, he looked blank.
‘Saturday’s our busiest night!’ she declared.
His embarrassed laughter joined hers. ‘Oh aye, sorry, I was forgetting what day it is!’ She had done that to him – made it so he could think of nothing else. Sometimes he was unsure what planet he was on, never mind what day of the week it was. Undeterred, he blurted quickly, ‘Sunday then?’
‘I’m afraid I’ll be working that too. Sorry.’ Wearing an apologetic smile, she finished pulling his pint and handed it over.
Not wanting to sound desperate in asking which night she was free, he nodded quickly, handed over payment and murmured, ‘Maybe another time then,’ and he hid his discomfiture in his glass.
Boadicea dealt him another brief smile, though not another word, before moving on to serve someone else. Receiving no encouragement, Niall retired to his usual corner to nurse his wounded pride.
Deeply disappointed and utterly confused by her attitude – one minute seeming to welcome his attentions, the next giving him the brush-off – he chose not to go to the pub on Saturday, almost managing to remove his mind from her by helping his children prepare for their coming roles in the St Patrick’s Day procession.
At least, though, he did manage to grab sight of her on Sunday, if only at Mass. She looked so lovely, so angelic with her rosy cheeks, and her golden hair curling from under a new green hat, he couldn’t understand why no other man seemed as interested as he. But to feast his eyes on her would give him away, though the glimpse he allowed himself was totally insufficient, and the thought of another evening without her unbearable.
His eye on the clock for opening time, directly after tea he decided to risk his mother-in-law’s wrath and visit Boadicea at her place of work.
There were more stunned faces, naturally, over this detour from the normal Sabbath routine.
‘Not going to Benediction? But you always love to go!’
It was indeed Niall’s favourite service, but, ‘Not tonight. I don’t feel like it.’ However, it was obvious he was intent on some venture for he had risen.
‘Where you
off then, Dad?’ asked Juggy.
‘Mm?’ Niall examined himself in the mirror. Seeing that the sprig of shamrock in his lapel was rather wilted, he went to the scullery and delved into the bucket for a fresh one and was pinning it on as his daughter asked again: ‘Where you off?’
He looked down at her now. ‘Oh … nowhere.’
‘The same place he goes the rest of the week,’ muttered Nora, casting a tight-lipped expression at Harriet and Dolly, who looked similarly disapproving.
Niall ignored this, but catching the six-year-old’s fearful expression, he addressed her more gently. ‘Don’t worry, Jug, I’ll be here when you get home from Mass.’
Hardly noting that his daughter was not fully reassured, he turned to Nora. ‘Would you mind taking the kids?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ retorted his mother-in-law somewhat sniffily at being taken for granted.
‘Thanks.’ Warning his children to be good, Niall went directly along the passage to the front door, as he did so overhearing a stern addendum from Nora.
‘A good job there are more dutiful souls around to maintain the children’s religion whilst others fall prey to the evils of drink!’
But he chose not to heed the disparaging comment, and soon his entire thoughts were once again fixed on Boadicea, determined that she would be swayed.
Needing no other alibi than it was Sunday, his weekday casual garb was displaced by a navy-blue double-breasted suit and tie, a silver watch chain gleamed upon his waistcoat, his shoes were buffed to a high gloss, and his dark hair also groomed. How could she turn him down? There was a fresh confidence to his step, a sparkle to his eye, as he swung open the door of the saloon, marred only by the fact that she was not behind the bar when he arrived, and so did not immediately witness this new Mr Doran. For the moment that did not concern him, for she might be serving in the snug. It was busier tonight, being St Patrick’s Day, the bar all decorated in green.
Provided with his glass of Guinness by the landlord, Niall remained at the counter in the expectation of chatting to Boadicea when she did finally come around this side, occasionally running a finger around the inside of his starched collar, and admiring his reflection in the mirrored glass behind the bar, what little there was of it between the bottles of liquor and the row of green pennants. The pint had been three-quarters consumed by the time he accepted that she was not coming.
Forcing himself to sound casual, swilling the dregs of his pint round his glass as a prelude to buying another, he remarked, ‘Barmaid’s late tonight.’
‘She doesn’t work on a Sunday,’ Mr Langan informed him.
Niall’s heart dropped. And then he immediately stiffened, the surge of disappointment being quickly overwhelmed by anger that she had lied to him – lied simply to get rid of his unwanted advances. Tossing the last of his drink down his throat, he wished the man a curt good night and left.
5
‘Not going out?’ enquired Nora on Monday evening, when her son-in-law remained in his work clothes for longer than was usual – long after the children were in bed – and sat in preoccupied fashion staring into the fire.
Still deep in thought and brooding over being made a fool of, Niall took a moment to glance up at her and the other women who closely examined him, then shook the frown from his brow. ‘No, I think I’ll have an early night …’
Harriet and Dolly exchanged looks of relief that he was not resorting to alcohol again; though both were to feel concerned that his recent good mood should have relapsed so quickly, as he added in lacklustre voice, ‘I just can’t bring meself to go to bed.’
Nora empathised with his reluctance. ‘Too much room in it, I know. ’Sfunny, when my Dom was alive I was forever bashing and prodding him, trying to grab meself more space, but afterwards …’ Her voice trailed off in a wistful sigh.
His mind somewhere else, Niall picked at the hard skin on his workman’s fingers. ‘Seems a bit daft, me having that double bed all to meself, and the rest of you squashed in together. Why don’t we have a shuffle round, and I share with the boys?’ His suggestion came out of the blue.
Though it choked Nora to say it, she broached a possibility; for if one brother could do it, then so could the other. ‘Well, I didn’t like to suggest it meself. I thought maybe you might decide you want to get married again some day.’
He looked shocked that she might have guessed what had been behind his nocturnal jaunts, and tried to read what was in her eyes whilst delivering adamant rebuttal. ‘No, no, there’ll never be anyone else for me.’ After his humiliation by Boadicea, he had finally decided to be content with his lot. ‘Unless of course I lose my chief cook and bottle-washer,’ came the half-jocular addendum.
His mother-in-law looked gladdened by this show of allegiance, her masculine face and steely grey eyes projecting warmth, as much as they were able. ‘No, I’ll always be here to see you’re fed and watered. I just thought I’d make sure. Wouldn’t want to hold you back … I should have known you better,’ she concluded fondly. Harriet and Dolly too looked pleased about his loyal decision.
‘Well then,’ Nora rubbed her hands thoughtfully, as if intending business, ‘if you’re quite sure, Nye, we will have that shift about tomorrow.’
His soulless nod conveyed certainty. ‘If you wait till I get home I’ll give you a ha—’
‘Nay, just you leave it to us!’ Nora’s tone impressed upon him that she would not dream of this. ‘You work hard enough as it is, me and the lasses’ll organise everything, won’t we?’
‘Well, if you don’t mind—’ began Niall.
‘Mind?’ cried Harriet, springing up to make cups of cocoa and tweaking his cheek playfully in passing. ‘I thought you’d never ask! After twelve years of having our Dolly’s toes stuck in me face, I’ll be up at the crack of dawn to turf you out of bed.’
There was soft laughter then, and discussion over who would sleep where.
Hence, for Niall, it was his last night alone. From then onwards, he would sleep alongside his boys.
For a whole week he managed to stay away from the pub. Yet try as he might, he could not forget Boadicea, nor her lie that had so hurt and insulted him. It niggled at him day after day, demanding an explanation. If nothing else, he would have that.
Staving off any qualm from Nora and her daughters, he convinced them that tonight’s venture was not a regression to his previous drinking habits. ‘But I reckon I should force meself to go out once a week, if only for the sake of sanity – mindst, I could have changed me mind by the time I come in!’ That was certainly true, the outcome dependant on Boadicea’s apology.
It might have been an idea, thought Niall after a catastrophic evening, to grant her the chance to offer one first, before steaming in with a smart comment. The look on her face as he said it…
‘You must have long arms, being able to pull pints when you’re somewhere else.’
It was obvious she had translated the remark, for she had the grace to blush. ‘Oh, yes, Mr Langan said you’d been in …’ Slightly flustered, she picked up a glass and prepared to fulfil his requirement.
‘Get a better offer, did you?’ He did not meet her eye, hoping it was obvious that underneath his stiff exterior he was furious with her.
‘No,’ she said firmly, grasping the ivory handle of the pump. ‘I was at home. I had things to do.’
‘If you didn’t want to go out with me why didn’t you just say?’
‘It’s not that …’ She fought for an explanation. ‘I was just thunderstruck that you’d even ask. I wasn’t expecting it from a married man. I didn’t know what to say.’
Niall’s blue eyes brimmed with indignation. ‘You think I’d ask you out if I was married?’
Her own eyes were cynical. ‘A bachelor has no reason to visit a pub in order to get his newspaper read. Sure, I know a married man looking for a bolthole when I see one.’
‘Oh, so now I’m a liar as well!’ He was grossly insulted.
‘If I’m wrong then I beg your pardon, but either way it proves we don’t really know each other, doesn’t it?’ Ill at ease, she worked the pump, filling the selected glass to a creamy head. ‘I think it’s best if we just keep our conversation for the pub.’
‘Suits me! On second thoughts, don’t bother with that!’ And thus saying he turned his back on the glass she had presented, went directly from the bar, and was to prowl in the darkness for half an hour in the hope of composing himself by the time he got home.
He might have succeeded in pulling the wool over Nora’s eyes. He might even have convinced himself that all was well, as he went on to perform his usual tasks during the ten days that followed. But all was not well, for despite every effort he failed to overcome his obsession with Boadicea. His face might often bear a smile but his heart was a vacuum. And eventually, that inconsolable longing was to drive him back.
That others might suffer because of this decision he was hardly to notice. Coming home that evening, his sole intention to fill his belly before going straight out again to The Angel, he found that the rain that drenched his clothing had also driven his children indoors. Juggy and her friend had set up a ‘house’ in the passage, laying out blankets and pillows for their dolls, talking to them as if they were naughty children. On seeing her adored father, the little girl beamed, and looked set to jump up.
‘Do you want me to come in now, Dad?’ she asked him.
But, intent on one pursuit, Niall was to stride over the obstruction she had created. ‘No, you’re all right to play for a while, love,’ he told her, briefly ruffling her hair before moving straight to the living room, and leaving a crestfallen face in his wake.
Secrets of Our Hearts Page 9
