Secrets of Our Hearts

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘Well, it’s my house and I’ll do as I like!’ She was always mentioning Ellen’s name, trying to make him feel guilty, and succeeding. Even so, that would not stop him. In danger of losing his temper, Niall fought to inject a note of reason. ‘Look, Nora, I’m very grateful for all you’ve ever done, but all this hostility … wouldn’t you be happier living with one of your lasses?’

  ‘Huh! I know what you’re after!’ threw Nora. ‘You want to get rid of me so’s you can move your bit of skirt in.’

  ‘Don’t be so disgusting!’ But she was right in a way, for with his mother-in-law here he could not even invite Boadicea to tea.

  ‘Who’d look after Ellen’s children?’ Again, Nora used his dead wife to batter him. ‘You needn’t think I’m deserting my grandbairns!’

  ‘You could see them whenever you like.’

  ‘I know I can!’ volleyed Nora. ‘’Cause I’m staying put!’

  Unable to eject her bodily, Niall did not know what to do, matters growing steadily worse over the weekend. In times gone by, a trip to confession would make him feel cleansed, but not this Saturday, not for many Saturdays, for there could be no absolution for one who was intent on condemning himself to hellfire. And one look at Nora’s face was to be instantly reminded of his sins. The children could not help but be aware of the atmosphere now, and obviously talked about it between themselves, though they clammed up whenever interrupted by an adult. Having decided it was best not to involve them until the argument with their grandmother could be resolved, Niall had gone alone to his meetings with Boadicea. However, even this was to require an explanation.

  On Sunday morning on their way to Mass, whilst her elders were still lethargic from lack of breakfast, Juggy was her usual talkative self. ‘Can we go see Bo this aft, Dad?’

  There was a horrified silence, everyone glancing round at Nora, who marched behind with a determined glower. Then the little girl received a sharp dig from her thirteen-year-old sister and was told to ‘Shush!’

  Hanging on her father’s left hand, rosary beads clutched in her right, Juggy looked up at him, her blue eyes quizzical. ‘Haven’t we got to talk about her?’ she asked rather sadly.

  ‘Best not,’ muttered her father, but he was to pacify Juggy with a wink, as they came to the church gates.

  Thenceforth, there was no chance for such discussion. The two girls went in ahead, to sit with others from their school, the younger boys remaining in their father’s charge. As much as he detested his mother-in-law, Niall retained enough manners to stand aside and wait for her to catch up.

  But instead of polite thanks, Nora made an irritable gesture for him to proceed. ‘Don’t be expecting me to rush!’ And so he went in, escorting Batty and Brian ahead of him.

  September warmth gave way to the chill of stone, the smell of fried bacon from neighbouring homes to the scent of polish and candle wax, though sunshine did manage to penetrate this otherwise dim interior via a stained-glass window, a ray of it catching the gleam of polished brass and the fine carving of the rood screen. Both boys having to be lifted up by their father, Niall’s sons dipped their fingers into the holy water and crossed themselves, then were handed over to their grandmother, whilst their father did the same. Then Niall led the way up the aisle, his eyes flicking to right and left, investigating each stone vestibule, Nora taking up the rear with the two boys. Dominic was already in the sacristy in his duty as altar boy.

  There was only a short way to travel, for the church was not large, which was how it was quite easy for him to spot Boadicea. Positioned at the far end of a row, she was on her knees at the moment, head bent. With a generous expanse of pew directly behind her, it seemed only natural for Niall to insert himself into it. Genuflecting before the altar, he moved in behind her. His mother-in-law lipped a protest at this diversion from her usual place. Nevertheless, after bobbing in respect, Nora ushered the two boys into place, and moved along the pew herself. But when the woman in front lifted her head from prayer, and turned her face slightly, so that Nora caught her profile and saw who it was, there was even more intake of breath. You’ve engineered this, her eyes said to Niall.

  Hearing this chuntering, Boadicea shot a furtive glance around, and immediately smiled at the sight of Niall and his children moving into position behind her. Batty grinned back, though was soon looking guilty, as his grandmother dealt him a prod with her knuckle, and directed them all to their knees. Whereupon, Boadicea turned her eyes straight ahead, allowing Niall the privacy to pray, though she was to remain acutely aware of the mother-in-law’s presence, even as Mass began.

  The congregation rose as the priest entered attended by the altar boys. Catching sight of his family behind Boadicea, and his grandmother’s grim expression, Dominic was so busy reviewing the situation that he trod on the back of Father Finnegan’s heel, causing the priest to stumble and to turn around and deliver a ferocious glare. Not until his heel had been slipped back into its shoe, could the procession continue.

  Solemnity restored, there came a rustle of clothing, as the worshippers knelt en masse.

  ‘In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen!’ chanted Father Finnegan, his singsong echoing from the stone walls. ‘Introibo ad altare Dei …’

  Head bent, Niall crossed himself and, for the next hour or so, was to lend himself totally to prayer, occasionally shifting on his knees, or easing his buttocks on the hard pew, but dutifully uttering each response without a thought for the woman in front, confessing to Almighty God, and to the Blessed Mary ever Virgin, and to Blessed Michael the Archangel, and to Blessed John the Baptist, and to the holy Apostles, Peter and Paul, and to all the angels and the saints, that he had sinned exceedingly in thought, word, deed, and struck his breast three times – ‘mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!’ – and beseeching the holy ones to pray for him, and crossing himself once more, as the walls resounded again to Father Finnegan’s Gregorian incantations, that they might all be granted pardon, absolution, and remission of their sins. ‘Amen!’

  The congregation fell silent, as the priest moved to the altar and kissed it. Then came more chanting, and responding, mainly from the altar boys, and from a few like Niall who had been an altar boy himself and knew the Latin Mass off by heart, the rest of the congregation praying in silence, and then it was time to stand for the Gospel, and then to sit for the sermon …

  Four-year-old Brian had begun to fidget, and scrambled to kneel on the pew, staring over its wooden back at the person behind and causing them much annoyance before his grandmother deftly reached across and dragged him off. And for an age he was forced to listen to Father Finnegan ranting on, trying to whip up the congregation into contributing as much as they could, for, ‘The stone work has fallen into terrible disrepair, and I know you’ll want to put this right …’

  Through all this talking, and the reciting of the creed, the congregation alternately sitting and standing, Brian continued to wriggle in boredom, at one point slipping off the pew and moving to stand behind Boadicea, tapping her on the shoulder with a grin, until yet again he was forcibly hauled back by his grandmother – much more roughly this time – as a bell sounded.

  ‘Behave, Jesus is coming!’ hissed Nora into the child’s ear, at the same time nipping him to order.

  ‘Suscipe, sancte Pater, omnipotens aeterne Deus,’ chanted Father Finnegan, presenting the host to the altar …

  Standing by with his little jug of wine, intrigued by what was going on behind him rather than the boring Mass, Dominic found his eyes straying once again to the pew where Boadicea sat directly in front of his grandmother. So busy was he, concentrating on this, that he almost jumped out of his skin when a chalice was thrust under his nose and shaken furiously. With a swift, repentant glance up at Father Finnegan, whose face rebuked him a second time for this dereliction of duty, he was quick to tip wine into the chalice, and after that, to keep his head down.

  It was time for the offertory. Niall arched his aching back,
then sat patiently to wait as the collection plate chinked its way towards him, passing from pew to pew. A faint smile played about his mouth for Boadicea, though she did not turn to see it, but sat quietly waiting as others in front dropped silver and copper onto the plate, then passed it along the row. Finally it came to her. Being at the end of the pew, it was incumbent upon her to offer the plate – now heavy with donations – to the person behind, and for them to hand it back along their row. But as it reached her, and she was about to make her own offering, an arm shot out from behind as if to grab the plate in her stead. Guessing who it was, she reacted swiftly and held onto it, determined that the Beasty one should not win. There was a challenge in Nora’s eye as she used two hands to snatch possession, her thumbs and fingers clamped firmly on the rim of the plate, but Boadicea was equally firm in her grip – hence a tug of war began, both women pulling it this way and that, each unwilling to let go – until one of them suddenly did.

  Boadicea could not help a covert grin at Niall as his mother-in-law staggered backwards, the plate still in her hand but its contents hurled high above the pews, coins flying through the air, to come clattering and clinking onto the tiles and to roll beneath the pews. All heads turned – including Father Finnegan’s. Amongst a great deal of hissing and clandestine tittering, Niall’s children joined others who began to scramble on their hands and knees for pennies, but were soon hauled and nipped into line by their humiliated and furious grandmother.

  Sharing the quiet but firm discipline of his children, Niall then pursed his lips at Boadicea to throw her a twinkling look of reproof. The money being eventually collected from the floor and returned to the plate, the service could be resumed, and to the smaller ones’ discomfort there was yet to follow another episode of incomprehensible chanting, and more bells …

  ‘Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus …’ chanted Father Finnegan, which begat more kneeling and praying, and beseeching, and praising and crossing of breasts … and eventually Communion of the faithful.

  Niall’s mother-in-law had not yet recovered from her humiliating ordeal, and kept her head down as she moved to the altar rail, to receive the body and blood of Lord Jesus Christ, with others – though not Niall, nor Boadicea neither, Nora was very quick to note. After many more words of prayer, ablutions, pleas for mercy and Hail Marys, Mass was finally over. Niall rose to join the slow exodus from church. Still angry at being made the centre of attention by his fancy woman’s stupid antics, Nora was first out of her pew. She shoved the boys ahead of her, but was only able to go so far, for those nearest the door were causing an obstruction, as they lined up to share pleasantries with Father Finnegan. Allowing his irate mother-in- law to barge to the fore, Niall waited for Boadicea to reach the end of her pew, and when she did, he took her arm, unashamed of being seen with her. Honor and Juggy shared a half-worried, half-pleased smile. Then the elder girl laced her fingers through those of her sister, and, with Niall cupping a gentle hand to Honor’s skull, all four of them moved slowly to the exit.

  Over the tops of shorter folks’ heads, Niall could see his mother-in-law’s twitching impatience to be out and away, though she was to remain trapped, for Father Finnegan was spending rather longer talking to Mr Langan than most. Finally though, the priest grasped the landlord’s hand, shook it, then released him, allowing the flow to resume.

  By the time Niall and Boadicea got to the door, Father Finnegan’s patience appeared to have worn thin, for he spared them barely a smile, though he did hold Niall’s gaze as he said, ‘I’ll be wanting to talk to you later, Mr Doran – maybe tomorrow night, if that suits?’

  ‘I’ll be in, Father,’ murmured Niall, with some misgiving, and with that he and his small party were out of the church.

  ‘Juggy was asking whether we could see you this afternoon,’ he paused in the morning sun to ask Boadicea, Nora having shot off home to prepare breakfast, dragging the boys with her. ‘Maybe go to the park again?’

  ‘That’ll be grand!’ She smiled down at the little girl, who grinned back, and at Honor, who gave only a tight little smile, then looked away to follow her grandmother’s robust departure.

  ‘Right, well, we’d best be off!’ beamed Niall. ‘The smell of that bacon’s making me famished – see you later!’ And to his daughters’ astonishment he dealt Boadicea’s cheek a kiss, before accompanying them home.

  13

  On Monday, when Niall arrived home for his evening meal, who should be seated at the table but his parish priest. Having hoped to enjoy his tea before the expected arrival, he was therefore peeved, not least because alongside Father Finnegan was Harriet and her husband, plus of all people, Dolly. All raised a cheery exclamation at his entry, but, knowing them to be reinforcements, Niall saw it for the ploy it was, and was not overly warm in returning their greeting as he went straight through to wash his hands.

  ‘This is just like the old days!’ claimed his mother-in- law, using an oven-cloth to place an earthenware pot of stew at the centre of the table. ‘Me and my lasses back together. I’ve invited Father Finnegan to stop for tea with us, Niall,’ she threw this casual addition, ‘seeing he was good enough to come round.’

  Good enough to come round, retorted Niall to himself – come early on purpose so he could get fed into the bargain.

  ‘I fed the children earlier,’ continued Nora. ‘They’re all out playing, so we won’t be disturbed. Now, come and sit yourself here, and get that down you …’

  ‘This is nectar indeed, Mrs Beasty!’ Father Finnegan gave an appreciative sniff as a plate of the Irish stew was doled out to him. A pleasant- looking man, he appeared five years younger than Niall, the hands upon the cutlery unused to manual labour, his cheeks round and smooth and retaining a boy’s innocence, though the exceedingly sparse brown hair that failed to hide his scalp told that he was over forty. He was also possessed of a smile that warned any observer it would be difficult to pull the wool over this one’s blue eyes; eyes that were shrewd and candid, as they levelled themselves at the man who had just sat down beside him. And there were faint traces of County Cork as he said: ‘You don’t know you’re born, Niall! A grand cook like this at your disposal.’

  ‘I must say, I’ve missed your cooking, Mam,’ admitted Dolly, in agreement with the priest. ‘And she does a lovely cottage pie, Father!’

  ‘Harriet must’ve inherited your knack, Mrs Beasty,’ contributed Peter, bumping an affectionate shoulder with his spouse.

  ‘Well, it’s nice to know you appreciate my daughter, Pete,’ returned Nora.

  It was all very amiable – for the duration of the meal at least – but only an idiot would not guess that all the compliments were for Niall’s benefit, to make him see the error of his ways.

  After the plates were cleared away, though, there was a very different tack. Instead of washing up, Nora made them each a cup of tea, then sat down again alongside her daughters and sons-in-law and the priest, and gave Father Finnegan a nod to show he had the floor.

  ‘Care for a cigarette, Niall?’ The cleric took a packet of Woodbines from the pocket of his soutane, and stuck one between his lips.

  Niall shook his head. ‘No, thanks, Father.’

  ‘Anyone else?’ The packet was whizzed around and shoved away so quickly that, even if they had wanted a cigarette, no one would have had a chance.

  Dolly jumped to her feet and struck a match for him.

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’ Inhaling deeply, the priest narrowed his eyes against the smell of sulphur, then, through a cloud of tobacco smoke, said, ‘You know this can’t go on, Niall, consorting with a married wom—’

  ‘Sorry, Father,’ his victim forestalled him, ‘I’m pleased enough to see you, but if you’re here to give me a lecture, you’d be wasting your breath.’ Niall sank half the contents of his cup in one go, not caring that the tea was too hot, just wanting to get out of here.

  ‘I don’t see it as a waste at all, Niall.’ Father Finnegan spread his legs beneath the cassock, and l
eaned on his knees, the cigarette untouched and its smoke curling lazily to the ceiling. ‘I’m here to stop you committing yourself to the fires of eternal damnation – because that’s where you’ll be going if you continue to dally with the likes of Mrs Dunne. Nora was concerned enough to tell me all about it.’

  The surprise of hearing Boadicea’s married name for the first time prevented Niall from responding for a moment.

  ‘He says he’s going to marry her when she gets divorced, Father,’ Harriet butted in, yet her face was respectful.

  ‘How can you marry her, Niall?’ The priest looked dismayed. ‘You know the union would be adulterous. The Church doesn’t recog—’

  ‘Recognise divorce – yes, I’m fully aware of that, Father.’ Niall’s mood was growing darker by the minute. ‘But don’t ask me to choose between Boadicea and the Church, because I don’t think you’d like the answer.’

  ‘May God forgive you,’ came the reply, the priest’s blue eyes, and everyone else’s, condemning him.

  ‘I love that woman!’ protested Niall, glaring back at him, then looking round at all his accusers.

  ‘You may think you do, Niall,’ a grave Father Finnegan shook his balding head, ‘but it’s not pure love you feel, the kind a man feels for God, the kind he feels for his children. Would you truly violate the teachings of Christ, those things you’ve held dear since you were a little child like Brian, for the sake of carnal desire?’

  Niall shot to his feet. ‘I’ve told them and I’ll tell you, there’s nothing like that going on!’

  ‘Is this why you haven’t been to confession in many a week?’ remarked Father Finnegan. ‘Because you were fully aware that an imperfect confession would make it impossible for you to take Communion, that I would never permit you to accept the body of Christ if for one second I thought you were violating that holy Body with adulterous association?’