Awakening to that same image on Monday morning, he was forced to relinquish it, for there was no way round this. He was desperate to look his best for Boadicea, but that would immediately give the game away. Best clothes on a weekday? Must be going to see a woman! It was with some irony that he recalled a similar phrase directed at his brother. And now he was taking the same furtive path as Sean – not that they were cast from the same mould; no, he wouldn’t have that. Sean’s only reason for deceiving his mother-in-law had been to save his own skin, whereas Niall’s action was to prevent her being hurt. For as much as he had condemned Nora in the past for her tyrannical nagging, she had been so good since Ellen’s death, so compassionate in her handling of him, he could not have expected better treatment from his own mother. How could he hurt her by announcing that he had met someone else? The time would come when he would have to tell her. But not yet, not until there was really something to tell.
Yet despite this professed noble reason, his choice of venue was not without guile. The dark interior of the picture house would help to shroud him, and make it less likely that he be spotted. Imagining himself there beside Boadicea, perhaps with his arm around her to quell her squeals of fright at the horror film, the feelings of anticipation and sexual excitement grew, so that by Monday tea-time he could barely sit still for five minutes – not that he had the luxury for there was less than half an hour before the rendezvous, leaving him little time for ablutions.
To this purpose, unaware that he was being watched, he wolfed down his tea.
‘You’ll give yourself bellyache,’ observed Harriet, turning a page of the evening newspaper. ‘What’s the rush?’
‘I’m off to the flicks.’ He had been dreading this moment of explanation. But apart from the murmur of slight surprise, Nora and her girls seemed pleased about his change of pastime.
‘Well, I hope you weren’t thinking of going to the Rye,’ Harriet chuckled, without looking up from the paper.
Pricked by guilt, Niall hoped she would not comment on his blush. ‘Why’s that?’ he asked, head lowered, still eating.
‘It’s burned down.’
‘What?’ His eyes shot up. ‘When?’
‘Saturday. It’s in here.’ She held up the print for him to see. ‘I was just saying to Mam, that explains all the fire engine racket we heard.’
His fork still poised midway between plate and mouth, his plans so unexpectedly demolished, Niall groaned.
Misreading his dismay, Nora asked, ‘Was it something you really wanted to see?’
‘What?’ He turned vague eyes on his mother-in-law who, with his children lined up before her, was performing her weekly search for nits, roughly positioning each head over a white cloth on her lap before running her comb through it. Breaking away from his thoughts about Boadicea, he set upon his meal again, saying hastily, ‘Oh no … no, it doesn’t matter. I’ll go somewhere else.’
‘There’s a good one on at the Picture House!’ Dolly jumped in eagerly. ‘I wouldn’t mind coming with you.’
Luckily, Niall had researched the programme. ‘That’s one o’ them soppy ones, isn’t it? I don’t really fancy that. I might try George’s instead.’
‘Oh, if it’s that historical thing about the Duke of Wellington you can stick it,’ sniffed Dolly, as he had known she would, and she went back to plaiting Juggy’s hair ready for bed.
‘It won’t go, Dad!’ On his hands and knees, little Brian had been attempting to shove a homemade toy lorry across the square of carpet at the centre of the room, but now hurled it away in frustration.
‘Eh! We’ll have less of that,’ warned Niall. Then, at a show of repentance, ‘It’ll wheel better on lino, son.’ And he indicated the brown linoleum around the edge of the room, to where Brian quickly shuffled.
‘Well, I’d best get ready then.’ Still chewing, Niall clattered his knife and fork onto the empty plate and carried it briskly towards the scullery. ‘Can I just have a wash before you do the pots?’ Nora granting his wish, he climbed over Brian, and pulled the door shut after him.
Ensconced in the tiny scullery, he underwent a quick wipe with a flannel, generally smartening himself up, exchanging his working trousers for less ragged ones, his dusty boots for shoes. But that was the easy part. What the hell would he do about Boadicea now? What if she had heard of the Rialto fire and was in this same dilemma? He had no idea how to let her know, nor where she lived. The only thing for it was to head for the original venue and hope that she had reached the same conclusion.
His mind on this, he emerged from the scullery, again having to avoid Brian.
Hair in neat plaits, and in her nightgown, Juggy came straight to him. ‘Can I have a story, Dad?’
His thoughts interrupted, anxious to be off, Niall glanced down at the elfin face, still forlorn from yesterday, and immediately his glazed expression melted. Grabbing a book from a shelf, he led her to his chair. ‘Away then, sparrowshanks!’ He pulled her onto his lap, where she snuggled in, her head against his chest. ‘But don’t get too comfy, ’cause it’s just a quick’n!’ But this was issued with a hug. Batty came running too, in his striped pyjamas and with happy round cheeks, reminding his father of a character from a comic. ‘Away then, Tiger Tim!’ Niall hauled him onto the other knee, then shouted to the youngest – ‘Put that lorry down, Bri!’ – finally to read them four pages from All the Mowgli Stories, before thoughts of Boadicea were to overrule his good intentions.
After a swift good night kiss to his little ones – for there was now less than ten minutes to get there – he was on his way.
Sunny by day, it might have been, but it was still only April and the nights retained their wintry chill. Without his greatcoat and feeling the nip, Niall huddled into his jacket, his excitement tempered by concern as he travelled brisklythrough the dark, passing from the labyrinth of terraced streets and alleys, under the thick stone archway of Fishergate Bar and its crenellated battlements that were scarred both by time and civil rebellion, past the row of stinking cattle pens that ran directly parallel to these same medieval walls, along Fawcett Street, with its public houses crammed full of drovers from today’s fat-stock market, and on towards Fishergate.
An ominous smell of carbon hung in the air. Approaching the charred hulk of the cinema, he saw that he was not to be alone. A small number of other cinemagoers, unacquainted with the disaster, had turned up to see the film and were standing there in bemusement. To his great relief Boadicea was amongst them.
She did not see him for the moment, her profile slightly hidden behind her fur collar, which she had tugged around her neck and cheeks, but he knew it was her. Relaxing, he eased his pace and made a quick check of his attire before continuing, his lips twitching in fun as he moved up silently behind her.
‘If you didn’t want to go out with me you only had to say, you know. You didn’t have to burn the place down.’
She spun round at his comment, looking as relieved as he was, then giggling heartily at the joke. Then she covered her mouth in guilt. ‘Oh God, you’re terrible! It’s people’s livelihoods – we really shouldn’t be laughing!’ But all the same she expressed further mirth at the ironic concurrence and so did Niall.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d be here.’ He continued to appraise her lovingly, his smiling eyes fixed to hers, which were shining and alert, her cheeks and nose reddened by the keen air. ‘I didn’t find out meself till I got home, and then I realised I’d no idea where you live so I couldn’t let you know.’ Not expecting her to be so forthcoming, he was delighted when she did not hide her address.
‘You know where Dorothy Wilson’s Hospital is on Foss Bridge? Well, between there and the old Malt Shovel in Walmgate you might’ve seen an archway, go down there and you’ll find a Georgian mansion – sounds grand, doesn’t it? Oh, I’m terribly grand!’ She stuck her nose in the air, flicked it haughtily, then laughed at her own quip. ‘No, it’s just a boarding house, dropping to bits really, and we’re right next to a
tripe dresser – stinks to high heaven – but the people are awfully nice. What about you? Do you live on Walmgate itself?’
Unlike her, he was imprecise, though not through any reason of concealment. ‘No, I live down one of the streets, down t’other end, near the Bar.’ He hovered self-consciously over what to do next, rubbing his large hands and looking around as if in search of a venue. ‘Well, we can’t hang about here in the cold … where would you like to go now?’
She followed his gaze to the Edinburgh Arms, and gave a cryptic smile. ‘Not in there, for sure.’
‘Aye, it’d be a bit of a busman’s holiday for you, wouldn’t it?’ laughed Niall. ‘Come on then, it’ll only take us ten minutes into town. We can make our minds up when we get there.’
They embarked on a long stretch of pavement that sloped in gentle descent through the darkness towards the floodlit Minster and bar walls, walking independently of each other yet with an air of closeness between them. To their left, merging with the night sky, loomed the tall, smoking chimney of the glassworks, and along the way lurked other sinister intrusions; yet, totally in thrall to his companion, Niall saw none of them, his eyes remaining steadfastly on the lighted path ahead.
As usual it was Boadicea who initiated the conversation, enquiring cheerfully, ‘Well then, Mr Niall Doran, and what have you done today at work?’
Having been struggling to think of a topic, he perked up instantly to tell her. ‘Have you read about the wolf that’s going round eating sheep?’
‘Oh, yes!’
‘Well, I saw him again today.’
Boadicea showed deep interest, sucking in her breath. ‘You’ve seen him before then?’
‘Aye! I was the first to report him – well, me and the rest of the gang!’ Niall hurried to correct the impression that he was bragging. ‘We’ve seen it plenty of times.’
‘Come on then, tell me all about it!’ she urged.
And so he did, this providing enough conversation to take them right the way into town.
Uninformed as to York’s picture theatres, and asked which one she would care to visit, Boadicea plumped for the Electric, simply because it was near to where she lived and, in passing, she had liked the look of it. This caused Niall a moment’s awkwardness. It might look like an ancient Greek palace, with its tall pillars, its huge archway graced with plaster garlands and swags and a theatrical mask, and be guarded by a grandly uniformed commissionaire, but beyond that entrance was a fleapit. However, there was another source to his discomfort as the usherette’s torch showed them to their seats, namely the main film on show, ironically titled The Man With Two Faces. What would Nora think if she could see him? As if this were not enough, he was to suffer more self-torment at finding himself surrounded by courting couples, each squashed as closely together as decency would allow, whilst he sat there rigid and uncertain in his seat beside his companion in the dark. Still, Boadicea seemed to enjoy the show, despite the frequent scratching at her legs, and a good laugh was to be had not only from the accompanying comedy film, but from the newsreel showing German troops marching in goosestep.
‘What kind of an army marches in that silly fashion?’ Boadicea made fun of them as, after the closing National Anthem, she and Niall emerged from the cinema. ‘They look as though they’re auditioning as dance girls, kicking their legs in the air.’
He echoed her amusement, whilst stepping around her in chivalrous fashion onto the outside edge of the pavement. ‘Aye, not much of a threat, are they?’
‘You didn’t enjoy the main picture very much, did ye?’ she asked as they strolled side by side in the lamplight.
Niall glanced at her quickly. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘’Twas just that ye looked a bit glum.’
‘Oh, no, that was just my normal face!’ he joked. ‘I thought you’d know that by now.’
‘Thank God,’ she laughed in relief. ‘I was afraid my choice might not have been to your taste.’
‘No! I like anything with Edward G. Robinson in it.’ How could he tell her that it had been the title that had caused his unrest, that had made him ashamed to be with her?
‘Good, because I enjoyed it.’ She smiled up at him. ‘And the company. Thank you, Niall.’
‘My pleasure.’ Any residue of guilt was instantly quashed by that smile, and by the sound of his name on her lips. He would have liked to remain in her company for much longer, but she lived only a few hundred yards from the cinema and here they were on Foss Bridge already.
Not wanting the journey to end, he paused and leaned over the dirty stonework of the parapet, affecting to see something in the water.
‘Must’ve been mistaken,’ he smiled at her as they set into motion again, using this excuse to slacken his pace even further. Then both fell quiet for a moment, the only sound that of their shoes clip-clopping alongside each other on the pavement.
The bridge was all too short; they were almost to her lodgings. The smell from the fried fish shop growing ever stronger, and making him salivate, Niall wished he could afford to offer her some. He did have enough left in his pocket for two bags of chips, but it would be a total embarrassment if she asked for fish as well.
He struggled to think of something else with which to detain her. ‘It’s the King’s birthday this year, isn’t it?’
‘Doesn’t he have one every year like the rest of us then?’
Niall stopped in his tracks, unable to prevent a frustrated gasp.
His companion stopped too. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I thought I’d heard the last of them!’ His reply was quietly forceful.
‘Last of what?’ Boadicea’s face was clothed in amazement.
‘Them bloody smart remarks!’
She issued a laugh of astonishment. ‘Sure, I was only cracking a joke – least I thought it was!’
‘Well, it sounded as if the joke was at my expense and I get enough of that at home. All I meant was, it’ll be his blasted thingertikite – his jubilee! Anyhow, it’s not important,’ he finished rather huffily and moved off again. ‘I was only going to ask if you’re off to a party.’
‘Mrs Langan will organise something at the pub, I’m sure.’ Boadicea glanced at him curiously as they walked. ‘God, you’re a touchy little soul, aren’t ye? I’ll hardly dare say another word.’
After a moment’s defiance, he hung his head. ‘Well, maybe it’s me, having to put up with too many catty remarks from my in-laws.’
She stopped again, her tone reassuring but slightly reproving too. ‘Niall, there’s a great difference between catty and witty. I’d never try and make fun of ye – in fact I’m really quite offended that ye’d think I would.’
‘Sorry, it’s me being daft,’ he offered quietly.
As they walked on, Boadicea tried to offer encouragement, leaning into him for a moment with a smile that cajoled. ‘Sure, there’s nothing to stop you giving as good as ye get, ye know. I rather like the odd verbal joust.’
Niall’s gaze was focused on his shoes. ‘Nay, it’d take me a week to think up summat clever.’
She laughed, but her face showed sympathy. ‘God love ye, I didn’t mean ye have to be a genius, just offer a bit o’ backchat, ye know.’
He continued to look at his feet. ‘I can’t see why you have to make snide remarks to people if you like them.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a stuffed shirt!’ she took a risk in teasing him.
‘I’m not, honestly!’ he protested, lifting his eyes from the pavement to look at her. ‘It’s only that I prefer to call a spade a spade, so’s everyone knows where they stand. I like a laugh as much as the next bloke.’
‘Is that so?’ She indicated a building. ‘Well, at that house there lives the meanest, grumpiest old divil you’re ever likely to meet. I dare ye to knock on his door and run away.’
‘That’s just childish,’ he accused, but she had made him smile.
‘I’ll bet ye never even did it when you were a child,’ c
hallenged Boadicea.
‘Yes, I did!’
‘When?’
He had to cast his mind a long way back. ‘Probably when I was about ten.’
‘Time ye did it again then.’ She stood there defiantly, obviously waiting for him to take up the challenge, but he refused with a laugh. ‘Spoilsport!’ She pretended to sulk. ‘In that case I’ll bid you good night, Mr Doran.’
For a second, Niall’s face was clouded by dismay until he realised that all she meant was that they had reached the archway that led to her home. Then he smiled, though this was tinged with disappointment as he escorted her down the unlit alleyway to the crumbling mansion in which she lodged.
Here, uncertain how to leave her, he asked with some trepidation, ‘Would you come with me again next week?’
‘If you’ve a mind for the baiting.’
‘I’m sure I’ll get used to it.’ He bared his teeth, covering them with a self-conscious hand, though his voice remained uncertain.
‘Then I will,’ she told him. ‘Thank you.’
Relieved that his good behaviour had been rewarded, thinking that he had never felt so happy, Niall cocked his smiling face. ‘I think Gary Cooper’s coming to t’Picture House. They’re showing Our Gang an’ all – I like them.’
‘Ah, already prepared again, I see!’ Even now she could not resist teasing him. Staving off his protestations with soft calming laughter, and agreeing to the time and place, she concluded with an impish expression, ‘Let’s hope that place doesn’t burn down too.’
Niall chuckled. He wanted very much to kiss her, but, having not so much as held her hand, dared do nothing now that might jeopardise this fragile friendship. ‘Well, good night then. See you next Monday …’ Still smiling, he backed away, not wanting to tear his eyes from her, until she turned and entered the lodging house, then he too went home with a bounce to his step.
Secrets of Our Hearts Page 11
