Secrets of Our Hearts

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Fazed by the jumble of his surroundings, Niall selected a chair that had not received the attentions of the tomcat, at least not today, though judging by the smell it had been visited many times before – and he had been bothered about coming here in his work clothes! Discommoded that Mrs Precious was still there, he remained silent and, trying to think of what to say when she did finally grant him and Boadicea some privacy, he perched stiffly against a background of dark, elaborate wallpaper with crimson roses and acanthus leaves, and brown varnish on the woodwork, such as favoured by Nora, and a velvet sofa the pile of which was so worn that it was all but bald. In fact velvet, tassels and other ostensibly plush furnishings abounded, not to mention more fantastic ones.

  Following his intrigued gaze to a black and tan rug complete with head, Mrs Precious beamed, ‘Like it, do you? That was Rex, one of our favourite dogs.’ Then she disappeared into the scullery to make a pot of tea.

  Laughter on his face, Niall tore his eyes from the lifeless glassy ones of the rug to engage Boadicea with an amazed whisper. ‘If that was her favourite I’d hate to see what she doled out to one she didn’t like! My God, she’s as tough as my mother-in-law.’

  Though there was no outright merriment, she did seem to share his amusement, and there was a gleam in Boadicea’s eye as she whispered back, ‘Will we pit them against each other and lay bets on who wins?’

  He surveyed her lovely face, so overwhelmingly pleased that they were speaking again, and grasping the moment told her, ‘I’m really sorry about your job …’

  ‘Ah, not to worry.’ Her reply was calm, almost carefree. ‘I’ve got it back now.’ And after a second, she added, ‘I was surprised not to see you in the pub.’

  This was going better than he could ever have anticipated. Yet his happiness was tinged with frustration. ‘What point was there in going?’ he bewailed of her. ‘I only went there because of you, and once you’d gone … I can’t tell you how—’ He was about to say how much he had missed her, but to his dismay someone else wandered in then through another entrance.

  ‘Ah, hello, Pop!’ Boadicea smiled at the intruder, who was accompanied by a ginger Pomeranian dog, which immediately trotted up to sniff at the visitor. ‘This is my friend, Mr Niall Doran.’

  Glad at being referred to as her friend, Niall put aside any exasperation over the man’s intrusion, plus his repugnance of the stinking little dog, which had jumped onto his lap. He rose to greet its owner, so ridding himself of the animal without appearing a heartless brute, as he bade Mr Precious a polite, ‘How do?’

  ‘Champion, thanks!’ The speaker appeared a kindly old man, slightly built with thinning silver hair but still obviously both mentally and physically alert, for at Boadicea’s introduction he had leaped forth like a stripling. It was clear he was still fit enough to work, for his clothes were those of a labourer, and the hand he extended was obviously a tool of his trade; its fingernails were gnarled and split and stained with varnish. Niall marvelled at the strength of the handshake, which was issued with more beaming enthusiasm than he had received from the man’s spouse.

  Mrs Precious returned then, to exclaim loudly with not a little indignation, ‘There you are, Georgie! Where’ve you been? I’ve had to make this tea myself.’

  ‘Sorry, dearie!’ The old man released Niall’s hand, and rushed forth to divest her of the tray, thenceforth to sit alongside her on the sofa and lay his head on her shoulder. ‘Just wanted to get my equipment in good order so I can devote my entire attention to you tonight.’

  Miraculously appeased by the little man’s petting, Mrs Precious explained to a bemused Niall, ‘Pop’s a wizard on the squeeze-box – in fact with all musical instruments. Make ’em, mend ’em, play ’em – why he can turn his hand to anything!’

  Her husband beamed modestly at Niall. ‘But without my dear wife I’d be nothing at all. I’m the luckiest man alive.’

  At this, Niall enjoyed an inward laugh. However, now that Mrs Precious had decided he was not such a threat as she had feared, she too began to view him more kindly. It was also evident from the way they both addressed Boadicea that they looked upon her as much more than a paying guest and that she returned this affection in equal amounts, calling them Ma and Pop as if they were family. It was clear too they each doted on the other. Watching them snuggle together on the sofa like a pair of old slippers, Niall wondered whether he and Boadicea would ever achieve such status – not unless he were soon granted some privacy, they wouldn’t. Beginning to feel irritated by the couple’s presence, however cosy, he tried to convey that he wished to speak to Boadicea alone.

  ‘Well, that was very nice,’ he announced, having drunk barely half a cup of tea before handing it back towards his hosts. ‘But I’ll have to go in a minute.’

  ‘I thought you were stopping for your tea?’ Mrs Precious accused with a frown.

  Niall looked momentarily confused, then exclaimed. ‘Oh, sorry! When you said tea I thought you just meant a cup of tea.’

  ‘Nay, that was just to keep you going!’ scoffed his hostess.

  He looked thoughtfully at Boadicea. There would be a meal for him at home, but he would much rather extend his stay here if it meant he would eventually get to speak to her.

  Mrs Precious misread his hesitation. ‘You needn’t think you’ll be getting Sunday’s leftovers. We’re having cutlets!’

  He tried to negate any insult, ‘Oh, I wasn’t—’

  ‘This isn’t your run-of-the-mill lodgings where guests are fleeced all ends up, and have to look after themselves! Everybody’s welcome at my table. We’re like one big family, aren’t we, Bo? You never go hungry here, do you?’

  ‘I do not,’ confirmed Boadicea with a smile.

  ‘I’m not a vain woman,’ continued Mrs Precious, ‘but if there’s one thing I do pride myself on, it’s cooking them a nice wholesome meal every single night.’ She noticed the grandfather clock. ‘By the by, isn’t it time you were getting those spuds peeled, Georgie?’

  ‘I shall do it right away, deary.’ And off went the meek and gentle old man to do her bidding, a beatific smile on his face.

  If Niall had been hoping the landlady would also soon depart, he was wrong, for as much as she boasted of her hospitality, it turned out that Georgie Precious was the one who performed all the chores around here, and his wife merely gave the orders. But she could obviously do no wrong by him, for as he scuttled in and out to receive instruction, his face wore a contented beam, and he patted her affectionately at every opportunity. Meanwhile, Niall had given up any hope of baring his soul to Boadicea, and had forced himself to be content with breathing the same foisty air.

  With her other half so employed, Mrs Precious sat forward, legs apart to display long bloomers, a hand on each sturdy knee and announced forthrightly to Niall, ‘Let’s be having it then! What’re your intentions towards our lass?’

  He looked shocked.

  ‘That’s quite enough, Ma!’ scolded Boadicea.

  ‘Is it?’ Mrs Precious was immediately put in her place, her expression on the verge of mildness. ‘Right, I know when to shut up.’ But she could not help herself from adding forcefully to Niall, ‘Just think on how you treat her in future!’

  ‘Ma!’ Boadicea dealt stern warning.

  ‘All right, all right, I’ll not say another word.’ Chastened, Mrs Precious sat back for a while, though Niall was to receive further keen inspection, her eyes trying to penetrate him, whilst he sat there feeling most uncomfortable. ‘Well, he’s not such a slimy cad as I was expecting, I must say.’

  Niall could not help an inquisitive gasp at Boadicea.

  ‘Sure, you’ll have him think I’ve been running him down! I didn’t say a word about ye,’ she told Niall quickly, ‘Well, other than a few choice ones, when the only way I could get ye to leave me alone was to give up my job.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why you’d want him to leave you alone,’ opined Mrs Precious, eyeing Niall up and down. ‘He’s not a ba
d-looking chap at all.’

  Boadicea blushed and shook her head in smiling exasperation. ‘No, he’s just got a foul temper on him.’

  Niall was embarrassed, and somewhat annoyed at having to discuss this before an audience. ‘Only ’cause we’d had our night spoiled! I did try to apologise but you wouldn’t let me.’

  ‘Let bygones be bygones,’ intervened Mrs Precious.

  ‘I have,’ replied Boadicea evenly. ‘Why do think he’s still here?’

  Looking into her face, Niall’s feelings of upset began to subside. He warned himself that, however frustrating it was not to have her to himself, he must not show any sign of temper. That he managed this during the hours that followed was an indication of how desperately he wanted her, for as the other boarders began to trickle in he found them even more testing than their landlady.

  Mr Yarker was the first of these to arrive. Niall looked up expectantly at the tall and slender, sour-faced individual in the gabardine mackintosh, and decided immediately that he did not like him. The countenance might be faded by middle age, but Mr Yarker’s tongue had an energetic edge, as it delivered not so much as a word of acknowledgement for those gathered, but launched into a tirade about the vermin menace in town.

  ‘Blasted pigeons again – look!’ He stood arms apart, to display the stain down the front of his fawn mackintosh; his accent was cultured but its tone was not. ‘Every bloody day alike, pigeons overhead, pigeons to the right, pigeons to the left – talk about the Valley of Death – I shouldn’t be surprised if there’s one in my bloody room when I go up! I almost broke my neck tripping over one of the wretched things just now.’ His diatribe ended on a note of glee. ‘Managed to land it a decent whack with my brolly though.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Yarker, how cruel,’ objected Boadicea.

  ‘Don’t fret, my dear young woman!’ Yarker held up his palm. ‘Its name was obviously Lazarus. Filthy blighter dropped another bomb as it flew off.’ And he flourished his tarnished trilby with a look of contempt. ‘Flying rats, that’s what they are, the bastards – please excuse my French,’ he added as swift afterthought to the women.

  Catching Niall’s disapproving frown, Bo quickly explained that this was a regular gripe of Mr Yarker, and in the same breath introduced the two men.

  Having removed the mackintosh to expose a crumpled business suit, Yarker exuded, ‘Delighted to meet you, dear boy!’ And the two shook hands, though Niall detected this was out of politeness rather than sincerity. He himself hated anyone superficial, and merely nodded. Moreover he was growing exasperated at these constant obstacles to his love life.

  Alas there was to be no hope of having Boadicea to himself, for by the time Mr Precious announced that tea was ready there were three more boarders to be served: Mr Allardyce, a clerk, whose greeting was quiet and polite, before he merged unobtrusively into the background; and two young cattle-drovers who were brothers, Johnny and Eamonn Mulloy. These two were much worse an intrusion, for their roughspun clothes had a combined smell of dung and alcohol, and judging by the happy demeanours above their neckerchiefs they had had one too many a tot after a day at the cattle market. However, Niall chose not to object to their overly boisterous handshakes, for they were much more genuinely affable than Mr Yarker, and being Irish had more in common with him than the very British middle-aged one, who now sat opposite with an air of open disdain for his table companions.

  ‘Serve the visitor first, Georgie!’ commanded Mrs Precious as her husband was about to place a meal before her.

  ‘As you wish, dearie!’ Beaming and dancing his way round the table, Mr Precious diverted his attention to Niall, donating three cutlets alongside two huge mounds of mashed potato and cabbage, so much of it, that it almost spilled over the rim of the plate.

  ‘That’s a very generous helping.’ Niall stared in awe.

  ‘Oh, he always likes to provide a bigun, don’t you, Georgie?’ boomed Mrs Precious.

  Unsure whether this was an intentional double entendre, Niall gave her a swift glance; her face remained straight, but her eyelid fluttered in a barely perceptible wink. Somewhat shocked, he found himself blushing and quickly bent his head, though he sensed that Boadicea was amused, seated as she was so closely next to him.

  ‘One tries, dearie!’ Mr Precious sang to his wife, then continued to rush around the table, laying down plates.

  Eventually, all were served. Unsure whether grace would be observed, Niall held back until his hostess tucked straight in, then he too picked up his knife and fork, surprised to experience the weight of solid silver, before putting them to work. He could feel the Pomeranian sniffing round his ankles under the table, and wished he dared kick it away with his boot, but seated next to Boadicea he would not risk injuring her instead. Casting surreptitious glances from the corner of his eye whilst he ate, he watched her separate the meat from the bone and carve it into dainty portions.

  ‘You haven’t got much gravy,’ Mrs Precious observed loudly. ‘Can I get you some more?’

  Niall swallowed before answering. ‘No, I’m fine thanks.’

  ‘Georgie, you’ve skimped on the gravy. Fetch this lad some more!’

  Mr Precious, who had just sat down, now leaped up and scuttled back to the kitchen, returning with a saucepan of gravy, which he tipped at Niall’s meal. ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘No, sit down now, dear,’ his wife instructed. Whereupon he left the pan of gravy balanced inelegantly on a sideboard and returned to his place at the head of the table.

  Resuming his own meal, Niall shot another sideways glance at Boadicea, watching her hands wield the cutlery, studying the fine bones in her wrists. He was not allowed this pleasure for long, for Mrs Precious seemed bent on chattering to him.

  ‘Do you sing, Mr Doran? We like a bit of entertainment after tea, don’t we, Pop?’

  Niall parted his lips to speak, but was to suffer a rude interruption.

  ‘You fucking little bastard!’ Eamonn, the young cow-walloper seated to his left, had snatched one of his brother’s cutlets and gnawed a huge bite out of it before the other could stop him. But as the laughing perpetrator threw the cutlet back on its rightful owner’s plate, the victim plunged his fork into his brother’s hand.

  His guffaws abruptly terminated in a yell, which also set the dog yapping, Eamonn observed his bleeding mitt for a split second, then used his own cutlery to similar effect, jabbing the tines into Johnny’s forearm. Whereupon, the prank escalated into a violent struggle, each seizing a knife and trying to impale the other – luckily only the table knives, and blunt ones at that, but still able to inflict damage as they were aimed in vicious stabbing motions again and again until, in their berserk efforts to avoid them, the brothers knocked each other from their chairs. Still they proceeded to tussle violently on the ground, the dog yapping and dancing frantically around them, whilst they tried to outdo its noise, snarling and calling each other all the names under the sun. It was no great mercy that, spilling from Irish tongues, and coming as fast and numerous as machine-gun bullets, the expletives were barely discernible; it was enough that they merged into one huge assault on the senses.

  Niall was horrified. He tried to shield Boadicea, knowing how much she detested displays of temper, whilst at the same time attempting to separate the fighters. But, in danger of being bitten by the dog, or injured by flailing limbs, he was eventually forced to look to the other males for support. To his astonishment, Mr Yarker continued to wade through his meal, his only contribution a look of deep disgust.

  ‘Right, that’s enough, boys!’ boomed Mrs Precious cheerfully. ‘Visitor present!’

  But the dog’s shrill yapping and the brothers’ violence continued unabated. In fact the situation grew even worse as one of the knives found its target, and blood began to fly.

  Still, trying to protect Boadicea, Niall was poised to make a grab, when Mr Allardyce suddenly rose like a jack-in-the-box. Presuming the man’s mission was to assist him, he was instead to witness a disp
lay of near hysteria. ‘Stop it! For Christ’s sake, stop!’ screamed Allardyce.

  Just as mayhem looked set to reign, Mrs Precious boomed one decisive word. ‘Georgie!’

  And, seeming to know her every wish, a determined smile upon his face, old Georgie grabbed the pan of gravy from the sideboard, tipped the residue on his plate, and, with remarkably calm and accurate aim, dealt first Johnny, then Eamonn, a resounding blow to the head. Niall felt Boadicea wince as the sound of metal against bone reverberated the brothers’ teeth. Though it did not knock the fighters out cold, it certainly stunned them to order, and, fearing similar treatment, the dog backed off too. There followed a pained hiatus, as the young drovers, still sprawled upon the carpet, observed their assailant, each rubbing his gravy-speckled head whilst the dog ventured back to laugh at them, wagging its tail and sneezing with excitement. Then, like castigated schoolboys, and regarding each other sullenly, Eamonn and Johnny dragged themselves back to their places, as did everyone else.

  ‘As I was saying,’ continued Mrs Precious to Niall, ‘we like a bit of entertainment, though we usually wait till after tea.’

  Apart from a lot of bone-sucking, the meal was to proceed without further racket. In fact, by the time it was over, so too was any animosity between the brothers, leaving their visitor amazed at how genial they had once again become, even to each other. That was the way families should behave, thought Niall, not bearing grudges like he had towards his own brother. And in that second, he wished he could make it up with Sean, but having no idea of his whereabouts, this was impossible.

  Afterwards, everyone was to repair to Mrs Precious’s sitting room. First, though, Boadicea helped Mr Precious stack the plates.

  ‘Do you want a hand?’ Niall thought to ask.

  ‘No need!’ sang Mr Precious gaily, as he rattled his way to the scullery.

  ‘There’s a girl comes in to wash up,’ explained Boadicea. ‘Go sit down. I’ll be with you anon.’