‘About moving in?’ she tendered.
‘Oh no, I wasn’t really serious about that! No, I mean about getting married – do you think we could make it work?’
She was truly stunned now.
‘I could have a chat to Father Finnegan.’ Niall grasped at straws. ‘Then again, I don’t really care what the Church or anyone has to say. It’s something I’ve got to handle by myself – we’ve got to handle.’ He saw that she was in danger of weeping again. ‘Oh, look, I know it’s a risk,’ he said tiredly, ‘but so is everything. You don’t have to give me an answer yet …’ The click of the gate alerted him to an intruder, and he took her arm and set into motion again. ‘Just have a think about it.’
She allowed herself to be led, giving him a murmur of appreciation. ‘If you’re willing to take me on, then I don’t have to think about it.’
He had been distracted by the man with whom he shared a nod in passing, but now he looked back with interest at his companion. ‘You’ll marry me?’
‘Yes,’ she smiled sincerely, as they reached the gate.
15
The shock of the weekend’s revelation was to linger well into the next day. For the moment, Niall said nothing to anyone about the handicapped marriage he was to undergo with Boadicea. He was not even to discuss it with her, except to say they must postpone the ceremony until a more suitable time, for next month would mark the anniversary of Ellen’s death.
However, the cermony itself required some clarification, so, on Tuesday morning before work, he called in at the presbytery that was attached to the church, to seek information from Father Finnegan. As angry as he was with the man, his respect for the cloth demanded that he go to him for guidance. Niall’s religion was carved into his very fibre, and as much as he might bluff, he could not ditch it as easily as other things.
At first denied entry by a disgruntled housekeeper, after much insistence he was let in, but made to wait cap in hand in a hallway that smelled of toast, whilst the grumbling woman went to gain him access to the priest. ‘Don’t keep the man waiting,’ he heard Father Finnegan say. ‘He’ll be keen to get to work.’ And within seconds he was being shown into an austere dining room and invited to sit at the table.
‘Good morning to you, Niall – cup of tea?’ Father Finnegan was unfolding a starched linen napkin that seemed at odds with the shabby surroundings.
‘No, thanks, Father.’ He used two hands to drag one of the heavy dining chairs away from the table, then perched on its edge, as his host proceeded to breakfast. ‘You said I should come if I wanted to talk …’
‘Of course, of course!’ The priest tapped a spoon at the boiled egg before him.
‘I just need a few questions answered then I’ll be off.’
‘Fire away!’ said Father Finnegan, delving his spoon into the runny yolk, then taking a bite of toast.
‘I won’t beat about the bush,’ continued Niall, ‘you obviously know all about the situation …’
‘I haven’t had full access to the case,’ admitted the priest, crunching his toast, ‘just the gist of it. I’d like to have a long chat about it, when you’ve more time.’
Niall gave a quick nod, his eyes on a crumb that had lodged at the corner of Father Finnegan’s mouth. ‘Me and Boadicea still want to get married – will that be possible?’
‘In church? Yes, indeed! So long as the condition that led to the invalidity of Miss Merrifield’s first union is no longer present.’ Under Niall’s close observation, Father Finnegan stopped eating, and mopped at his mouth with a napkin, his eyes relaying his meaning. ‘You’ve spoken to her now, so you’ll know what I’m talking about?’
‘That she doesn’t want children?’ Niall looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes.’
‘You say “doesn’t”?’ The priest’s cheery mood altered somewhat. ‘That would suggest to me that her allergy towards procreation still exists.’
Niall gave a nod to show he had accepted this.
‘In that case, I’d warn you not to be rash in your decision.’ Father Finnegan had become concerned. ‘There’s a whole lot to consider; it should take more than a day.’
Niall bent his head, sounding helpless. ‘I gave it a great deal of thought. I can’t give her up.’
Father Finnegan gave an impatient little wave, and laid his napkin down. ‘You should know the full extent of your sacrifice before finalising your decision. If Miss Merrifield has told you she doesn’t want children, then I’m afraid you’ll be unable to marry in church.’ He saw the upset that this had created on the listener’s face, and responded, ‘How can the pair of you make your vows before God, knowing they’re lies? I’m deeply sorry for the pair of you, Niall, but there it is.’
Bitterly disappointed, Niall seemed not to know what to say.
‘Don’t mind if I get on with this, do you?’ Father Finnegan pointed at his egg, and when the other shook his head he took another bite of toast. As he ate he studied the one who was deeply ruminative. ‘So I suppose you’ll go ahead regardless and tie the knot in a register office?’
At this tone of resignation, Niall looked up, his blue eyes portraying despondence. ‘I don’t seem to have any choice. I’d have loved the Church to recognise our marriage, but, anyway …’ He shrugged, and tapped his cap thoughtfully against his hand. ‘If we do use a register office would that affect my children? I don’t want them to suffer because of something I’ve had to do.’
‘I can’t see how it would,’ said Father Finnegan. ‘So long as they continue to be raised in the faith.’
Niall covered every angle. ‘They might be looked down on at school.’
‘I’m sure not,’ the priest’s voice was kind, ‘but I shall pass on your misgivings to Sister Mary Magdalene.’
Niall thanked him, then slowly began to rise. ‘Right, well, I won’t keep you, Father.’
Father Finnegan chewed hurriedly, then rose to follow him. ‘Just a minute, Niall. No, no, I’m not going to try and persuade you against your wishes! I just wanted to add … should you go ahead with the register office, speaking personally, I’d be pleased still to see you both at Mass with your children.’
Niall’s mood lightened to a small degree. ‘Well, that’s something – thank you, Father.’ And, in receipt of an avuncular pat on his shoulder, he bade Father Finnegan good day, and went off to work.
Despite not having worked the lunchtime shift, with several hours of shoving an iron instead, Boadicea was running late that Tuesday afternoon. It had not seemed right to continue including Niall’s laundry with Mrs Precious’s, so yesterday she had decided to undertake the chore – she would after all soon be his wife. But the pile of ironing this had produced for today meant that other things must suffer. The stew had only just been put on the stove and would not be ready for ages, certainly not in time for when the children came home from school.
So, when they did arrive, famished as usual, she offered to make amends for this.
‘Not bothered,’ sniffed Batty. ‘I don’t like stew.’
Boadicea ignored the six-year-old, and continued what she had been about to say. ‘You can have some bread and jam to keep you going till your father gets in.’
A collection of dirty faces, tousled hair and socks round ankles, they gathered round to wait, whilst she removed several slices from a loaf and began to daub them first with margarine, then with jam.
‘We’ll put one aside for your big sister for when she comes home,’ said Boadicea, then, noticing that a wasp had drifted in, she added a warning comment. ‘Oh, look who’s smelled the jam pot!’ As the striped invader hovered closer, she kept her eye on it, and began to recite a rhyme from one of Juggy’s books, ‘One day we had a picnic with bread and jam for tea! We thought that there were two of us, but found that there were three …’ Still reciting, she balanced on one foot and slipped off her shoe. ‘For Mr Wasp had joined us, he said oh what a treat, if there’s one thing I do enjoy it’s bread and jam to eat – splat! No, you don
’t, Mr Wasp.’ The little ones burst out laughing as the insect was dealt an accurate blow with her shoe, and now lay squashed on the table.
‘By, you’re a good shot!’ came an involuntary shout.
‘What’s that, a compliment from Batty?’ She cupped her ear, looking pleased, then admitted with a smile, ‘Not really. He was drunk on apples, and easy to hit.’
‘I didn’t know apples made you drunk,’ Batty’s laughter gave way to a frown.
Boadicea took time to explain that it was only the windfalls that lay fermenting on the ground which were potent to smaller beings. ‘Don’t go giving yourself ideas. All ye’ll get is bellyache.’
‘So what?’ muttered Batty, and took his jam sandwich into the yard.
Still wanting to be popular, Boadicea chose to overlook his rudeness, though could not help her nostrils flaring slightly as she put away the bread, margarine and jam. ‘Could someone pick up that dead wasp for me?’
Juggy excused herself. ‘I’m not doing it. Gloria says, they can still sting when they’re dead.’
‘Maybe Dom can do it, then,’ said Boadicea, and was glad when this suggestion was taken up without too many grumbles, though only because Dom wanted to chase his sister with it.
Boadicea heaved a sigh as they charged from the house, leaving her to potter about until four twenty – at which juncture she turned on her smile again as Honor came through the front door. ‘Hello, love! I’m sorry, tea won’t be ready for a while, there’s some bread and jam to keep you going.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Honor quietly. ‘I’m off in the front to do my homework.’
Boadicea’s smile faded as the girl disappeared with her satchel and the jam sandwich. It might take a while to get to know this reserved child, but at least this was one who never gave any trouble.
However, someone else was about to give it. Boadicea had just turned her attention to another task, when a loud knock came at the front door. Upon answering it, she was faced with an immediate declaration.
‘I’ve come to take my grandchildren for their tea!’
Taken aback, she stared for a moment at Nora’s sturdy figure in its black, ankle-length coat and old-fashioned shoes and flowered hat, the determined thrust of that jaw, and the cold glint of her eye, before stating, ‘You can’t take them, it hasn’t been arran—’
‘Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do!’ Nora cut her off, thumping her own chest, then jabbing her finger at Boadicea. ‘I’m kin, you’re not!’ Unwilling to negotiate, she merely summoned the children in loud voice. ‘It’s your gran – come on, I want to see you!’
Honor being the first to hear this altercation, and already watching from the window, she abandoned her homework and went to the yard to call the others. Then out they all filed, squeezing past Boadicea and onto the pavement.
‘Your Aunty Harriet’s going to make us tea,’ announced their grandmother, and, grabbing Brian’s hand, she began to lead them away.
An alarmed Boadicea made one last attempt as she watched Juggy go skipping down the street along with the rest of the tribe. ‘Your father won’t like it,’ she warned, deeply concerned at having no authority to stop this.
‘He knows what he can do!’ A triumphant Nora waddled off with her five grandchildren, saying to them cheerfully, ‘Away, let’s go and catch the bus!’
Niall would normally have appreciated a quiet house when he came home, but this evening it was far too quiet, and within seconds of his entry it was to explode with noise.
‘Who the hell does she think she is?’ he fumed, hurling his haversack at the floor, and discharging his ire at Boadicea.
The latter held his dirt-streaked face, pleading, ‘What could I do, Niall? I’m not their mother. I’ve no legal claim on them.’
‘No, and didn’t the old bag take advantage of that!’ His greasy cap was to go the way of the haversack. But after this short outburst, he picked up the items he had thrown and hung them up, assuring Boadicea it was not she who incurred blame. ‘There was nothing you could have done. For God’s sake, I’m their father and she rides roughshod over me!’ For a few seconds it seemed to Boadicea as if he might head out for confrontation. But after second thoughts, and a deep calming breath, Niall plumped for inaction. ‘She’s expecting me to go charging up there like a bull at a gate, but I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. I’ll have my tea first, enjoy this bit of peace with me darlin’ before I go and fetch them.’ And he gave her a rough kiss and a wink as he passed her, on the way to wash his hands.
Reassured that he did not blame her, it was a happier Boadicea who served their meal, she too enjoying the fact that they could eat with just each other for company. There was a little less pleasure to be had from what Father Finnegan had relayed to him that morning. Even so, they were able to overcome their disappointment with humour, in the relaxing half-hour that followed tea, without a pile of washing-up and children to interrupt them. However, thinking she might appear selfish in mentioning how nice it was that there were only the two of them, her only reference to this was, ‘At least we’ve still enough stew left for tomorrow’s tea, and I won’t have to cook.’
Seated in a battered old armchair that was not nearly so comfortable as his own had been, Niall smiled sympathetically over his cup of tea. ‘Sorry, love, you must find it a bit of a push having to do for us between your shifts.’
From the table, she smiled back at him, her eyes roaming affectionately over his tanned face. ‘No,’ twas just today, I had something else to do.’ She did not complain that this had been his stack of ironing. ‘That’s why I was late in getting the meat on, and it takes so long to cook.’
‘Are you having to rush off after this?’ He had noticed that she was emptying her cup in erratic little sips. When she nodded, he sought to assure her, ‘Well, at least you won’t have to be in two places at once when we’re married.’
Boadicea was quiet for a few seconds, then leaned her elbows on the table, and watched for his reaction. ‘Don’t bite my head off … but I thought I might carry on working for a while. No, hear me out, Niall.’ She had seen his lips about to offer negation. ‘We’ve got cash flowing out the door like flood water, we’ve still to pay Reilly what we owe him – wouldn’t it be an idea for me to keep on working? It doesn’t have to be the pub,’ she forestalled any objection that they would never see each other. ‘I could get a few hours cleaning whilst the kids are at school.’
Male pride urged Niall to make a stand, but having relied on Harriet and Dolly’s wages in the past he could not honestly claim to have been the sole provider for his family. Common sense prevailing, it did not take him long to agree that it was a good idea. ‘It’s your life – you work anywhere you want, love,’ he permitted in warm voice, ‘but you’ll only have to do it while we whittle these debts. I couldn’t have you slaving yourself to death for us and grafting for somebody else as well. We’ll soon be on top of things, if I can manage to keep on grabbing any overtime I can.’
She gave a pleased nod, which was soon to change as she became alert to the time. ‘Right, I’ll have to love you and leave you, my dear.’ Still at the table, she picked up her bag, took out a compact mirror to check her appearance, and spent a moment smudging the merest amount of rouge upon her cheeks and lips and patting her hair, before rising with the intent of leaning over his armchair to plant a kiss on his brow.
But he rose to meet her. ‘Hang on, I’ll walk with you.’
And, leaving the house, they went together through the dark as far as Walmgate, whereupon Boadicea tilted her face for a parting kiss. ‘I hope you don’t have too much bother with Mrs Beasty.’
At this Niall’s mood altered, and his face was overtaken with that wolfish menace she had come to know well. ‘Don’t go getting all het up, now,’ she warned, as they went their separate ways. ‘’Tis only the kids will suffer.’
‘Oh, he’s finally remembered he’s got children!’ sneered Harriet, her square head
outlined against a yellow glow of electricity, as she answered Niall’s moderate tap at the door of her council house some twenty minutes later.
Under Boadicea’s advice, he managed to hold on to his temper for now. ‘Well, seeing as Nora said they were being fed here,’ he responded tartly, ‘I didn’t think there was any harm in feeding meself neither – no point us all having our tea ruined.’
‘They’ve had better than they’d have enjoyed from your barmaid!’ she retaliated.
‘I doubt that,’ Niall remained stiff, ‘but anyway, I’d appreciate it if you could send them out now.’
Nora had come to insert her rhinoceros hips next to those of her daughter, Harriet’s husband standing just behind, and the glow of electricity almost blocked out by the three of them in the doorway. ‘I’m not sure they’ll want to leave, they’ve had such a good time!’ she taunted.
‘Who’s going to fight me for them – me laddo there?’ Niall indicated Peter, who appeared not to relish this thought. ‘No, I thought not. Away, kids!’ Unable to see them, he projected a calm and cheerful instruction over the obstacle. ‘Let’s be having you home.’ And just as they had dutifully answered their grandmother earlier, the five responded to his call.
‘Can I take this with me, Gran?’ asked Juggy, clutching the toy farm her father had made for her, a plea in her blue eyes as she hovered on the threshold.
‘No,’ forbade Nora, ‘you’ll have nothing to play with when you come again.’
But, ‘Yes,’ corrected the child’s father, averting disappointment as he pulled her firmly onto the path, the toy still in her arms. ‘Because we don’t know when you might be coming again, do we?’ He fixed his mother-in-law with one last ominous glare, before turning towards the gate. ‘I might let you come again on Saturday, if everyone behaves themselves.’ And with his parting shot meant for Nora more than his children, he took them home.
Secrets of Our Hearts Page 34
