‘Damn right you won’t! I’m hanging on to this list, and if I ever get to hear you’ve been in any kind of trouble again it’ll be shown to that policeman.’ With great deliberation she folded it back into her pocket. ‘What the devil do you want with garden tools anyway?’
Shame upon his pixie face, the little boy shrugged. ‘We just wanted some weapons of war.’
‘War, is it? Sure, your father will give you war if he ever finds out!’ She caught a look of fresh alarm. ‘Ach, don’t fret, he won’t find out from me. But tell me, then, where did ye stash them? They’ll have to be returned somehow.’
‘We shoved ’em under a boat in Danny Wrigglesworth’s yard,’ he confessed.
‘He’s your fence, is he?’ Boadicea clapped a hand to her brow. ‘God help us!’ Then she heard the front door open. ‘Ssh, your father’s here!’
Both turned to present a smile to Niall as he entered, but his face did not reciprocate.
‘How did you get on with Nora?’ she asked immediately.
‘She’s been put in her place – but never mind her,’ he said. ‘What’s been going on here?’
‘Why, nothing at all!’ Boadicea issued lightly.
Detecting subterfuge from both the woman and the boy, Niall looked grim as he took off his jacket. ‘I’ve just been informed by Gloria Lavelle that we’ve had a copper here – couldn’t wait to tell me.’
Boadicea sagged, then overcame her reluctance, and blurted, ‘It was all a mistake! Someone claimed they saw Batty and his friends stealing some garden tools. I said it couldn’t have been him because he was with me all morning yesterday.’
‘But we both know that isn’t true, don’t we?’ Niall accused the conspirators. Still wound up from his encounter with Nora and Harriet, he expressed his rage to the ceiling, then shouted at her, ‘For Christ’s sake, can’t I leave this house for one minute?’
‘So what did you expect me to do?’ Boadicea protested. ‘Hand your son over to the cops?’
‘I don’t expect you to lie for him!’ Niall’s glare was filled with revulsion. ‘You should have waited till I got in. If my son is a thief then I expect him to be pun—’
‘Don’t say another word!’ She flushed with anger, her eyes holding a threat. ‘Before you start clambering into your pulpit, throwing recriminations, think very carefully about this: it isn’t just Batty that’d be punished, it’s the entire family who’d have to live with the shame, his father dragged through the courts, your name in the newspapers, made to look like an unfit parent – that’s what I was trying to spare ye, Niall. And small thanks I get!’
His glare no less corrosive, Niall wheeled on his son. ‘See what trouble you’ve caused? Well, mister, you can thank Bo for saving your neck—’
‘He did thank me,’ she intervened swiftly.
‘—but you needn’t think it’s saved your backside!’ continued Niall, and, seizing the child by one arm he hauled him from the chair and delivered three hefty slaps to his pyjama-striped buttocks and almost threw him at the stairs. ‘Now, get to bloody bed!’
Following Batty’s tearful exit, the father rocked his head in his hands. ‘Christ, what else could go wrong?’
‘Don’t say that,’ murmured Boadicea, still annoyed with him. ‘In my experience, something always does.’ She was now by the fire, prodding it with a poker, though it was merely for something to do rather than necessity.
‘I’m sorry I shouted at you,’ he sighed as he watched her.
‘That’s all right.’ Still levering the coals with the poker, she shrugged forgiveness, though the fact that it was not really all right was evident in that she remained aloof.
‘Come and sit down and give me the full story,’ he suggested gently, and when she had related it, said, ‘You shouldn’t have to put up with this.’
‘You’re right there!’ came the pithy rejoinder. Niall’s mother-in-law might have been thwarted in her attempts to ruin Boadicea’s chances with him, but his children were doing a pretty good job of it themselves. ‘Anyhow,’ she added, as if hoping to bring the matter to a close, for the episode had upset her greatly, ‘I don’t think Batty’ll do it again. He had such a fright.’
‘I’ll bet you did too,’ observed Niall.
She nodded, though did not tell him how much of a fright, and from then on an uneasy truce came into force, with Niall eventually coming to understand why she had covered up for his son.
‘But I’ll still have to go round to the Wrigglesworths and get these tools back, and try to return them to the owner,’ he said at the end of it all, and, weary of face, he slapped his knees and rose.
‘Niall,’ Boadicea projected weariness too, ‘can’t ye forget about being Mr Honest for one blasted day? Leave matters be, I’m begging ye. Sure, ye might get caught with the tools and ye don’t want the police involved again, do ye?’
Barely faltering, he shook his dark head.
‘Let the cops find the wretched things themselves.’ She came to stroke his arm. ‘Batty’s had his clattering, let that be an end to it. He’s not a bad lad. And now you’ve warned his granny off, and she can’t exert her influence, things can only improve.’
17
Whilst Boadicea’s relationship with the six-year-old was certainly to improve, and Brian and Juggy were not too difficult to handle either, there were still two others with whom she had yet to break down the barriers. Even without their grandmother’s manipulation, Dominic and Honor continued to be somewhat reserved in their attitudes, neither willing to approach Boadicea for anything they might need, no matter how friendly she tried to be. Dominic was often so bad that she wondered if he were visiting his grandmother in secret, though she chose not to divulge her suspicions to Niall. In a way, though, he was still easier to deal with than his elder sister, for at least Boadicea could chastise him for his cheek. A much quieter individual, Honor’s only form of rebellion, if she did not concur with something that Boadicea had said, would simply be to remove herself from the room. How could one deal with that?
In comparison, decided Boadicea, the neighbours were merely tiresome, and, unless Mrs Beasty decided to pay a visit to the street and stir things up again, their nastiness was restricted to cool looks. So long as this was the depth of their toxicity, she would find them no more discomforting than the weather. Besides, with Reilly and his wife, Sean and his, the Preciouses and her fellow boarders, she had many more friends than enemies. Moreover, she had found a soul mate in Emma, who herself had been an object of Nora’s venom, and, still now getting to know Niall’s children, could sympathise with all that Boadicea had to tolerate from them.
‘But for all that, it’s Honor my heart goes out to,’ lamented Boadicea, as she stood on the table and gazed from Emma’s window at the gloomy scene beyond, the pink and bronze chrysanthemums, bedraggled in the November fog. ‘As much as she tries to play the little woman,’ tis obvious she’s in desperate need of a mother’s affection, the age she’s at, somebody who can give her advice on female things. I mean, I fully agree with Niall not letting Mrs Beasty and her daughters see them until they can keep their poisonous thoughts to themselves, but Honor’s been left with no one to answer her questions – she’s not going to come to me, is she?’
Agreeing it was an awfully confusing time, being half-child, half-woman, Emma took pin after pin from a small cushion and inserted them through the hem of the silky jade-green dress, whilst Boadicea performed a slow rotation. ‘I don’t think you have to worry too much yet about her going with lads, though. She tells me she’s off mischiefing with her pal tonight.’
Her Irish friend responded with a groan. Having not previously heard of this local custom, it befell Emma to explain that November the fourth was designated Mischief Night, when the native children would get up to all sorts of impishness. ‘Just harmless stuff,’ she told Boadicea, ‘pinching rubbish from people’s bonfires, or tying a few front doorknobs together, so the occupants won’t be able to get out tomorrow mor
ning …’
Boadicea gave a circumspect laugh. ‘Well, if it gets no worse than that, I’ll be happy – do you want me to turn again?’
‘No, all done.’ Positioning the last pin, Emma stood back to check that the hem was level, and lauded the overall result. ‘Oh yes, very à la mode – Niall’s not going to be able to keep his hands off you in that!’ She saw the other blush in getting down from the table, and was swift to apologise, biting her lip. ‘Sorry, that was a bit cheeky. I just feel I’ve known you ages.’
Boadicea waved aside her own embarrassment, and used both hands to smooth the material that clung to her hips, studying the reflection of her ankles in the mirror that Emma had propped against the wall. ‘I wish I had known you for ages, or I’d have commissioned your services before.’ It was only by accident that she had discovered Emma’s talents – not that it would have been right to ask her to sew the girls’ dresses. ‘That’s perfect, thanks. Not like Mrs Precious would do it. I’ve trusted her before and it’s turned out all wonky – mind you, that could be my needlework.’
Emma smiled. ‘Well, you don’t have to worry about sewing it.’ This matter had already been coordinated. ‘I’ll do it for you this afternoon.’
‘Aw, no rush.’ Boadicea would not need the dress for a couple of weeks. Both she and Niall having managed to arrange a day off, she was finally taking him to meet her father and brother a week on Saturday. Having written to warn them of this, she had just received a warm response. But she mentioned none of this to Emma, for Niall was undecided yet who should look after his children. She referred to the dress again. ‘I know it’s only an inch too long, but it makes all the difference between looking like a woman of style or an old granny, with it flapping round my ankles like it did. I should have had it altered when I bought it. I knew it was too long but loved the colour. I was after buying a new one when I remembered this had been hanging in the wardrobe for months and I came over all wasteful.’ Careful to avoid the pins, she slipped the clinging garment over her head, and handed it to Emma before pulling on a tie-necked jumper and pleated skirt.
‘So will you be wearing it anywhere special?’ Emma gave the silken article a shake.
Boadicea replied with a white lie and a grin. ‘Not that I know of – not a secret wedding, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘Drat!’ Emma looked beaten. ‘And here’s me thinking I’m being all subtle’
‘Don’t worry, as soon as we make up our minds on a date, you shall be informed.’ Boadicea made a move for her coat and gloves. ‘Right, I’d better be away to my shift. Is there anything else I should do in preparation of this Mischief Night, apart from pray for rain?’
‘That won’t keep ’em indoors.’ Emma wrinkled her nose. ‘No, just make ’em a bit of bonfire toffee. That should please.’
Boadicea threw her eyes to the ceiling – ‘A good job it’s my night off’ – and she asked for the recipe.
Emma went to dig it out. ‘Oh, and tell them me and Uncle Sean’ll be round with a bag of fireworks tomorrow, but only if they’ve behaved themselves.’
‘I shall cross my fingers.’ Thanking Emma one last time, Boadicea left.
That same Monday evening, only the elder children being allowed out after dark, Honor’s friend Vera called for her at half-past six. Having been forewarned by Emma, Boadicea welcomed Vera in to wait, offering her some treacle toffee whilst making sure that Honor had warm gloves and coat to put on, even though this seemed to be resented as fuss. The same went for Dominic, though he was to exit alone. Their father had words for them both.
‘If you’re off mischiefing – yes, I do know what date it is,’ he said with a warning twinkle in his eye – ‘keep well away from this street. We’ve got enough enemies already without you creating any more – and don’t go setting any bonfires alight, Dom.’ ‘No point going out then,’ said his son, with a laugh as he went.
Niall shook his head in fatherly despair, then jumped along with everyone else in response to a canon-like boom, the result of someone shoving a banger down a drain.
‘’Tis like blasted Waterloo!’ Boadicea clutched her chest, then chuckled to reassure the younger ones, and was aided by their father, who gathered them round for a bedtime story as compensation for not being allowed the same privilege as their older brother and sister.
Outside, the darkened streets were populated with furtive figures, in balaclavas, wellingtons and gabardines, some pushing wheelbarrows, old prams and trolleys, collecting rubbish for their bonfires – or stealing it from rivals – others not satisfied with bits of wood, but detaching whole gates from their hinges, and spiriting them away.
Honor and her friend were to remain in their own street for a while, huddled against the cold and giggling as they concocted the rude note that would be shoved through Gloria’s door. Using the wall on which to rest her paper, licking her pencil to make the message more legible, Honor scrawled away in the darkness, ‘Dear Miss Lavelle, I have heard that you do not wear knickers, if this is true, please be so kind as to stand at the window tomorrow morning when I come by, and I will show you my willie, signed, The Milkman …’
On his way to meet his own friends, as ever, it was to be profit that was Dominic’s chief motive for mischief. Hearing the clink of coins from an alley, he pressed himself to the brick wall and sneaked a look round the corner, to see a group of men playing pitch and toss under a streetlamp. With their inefficient lookout being distracted by lighting a cigarette, an impish Dom took advantage, by suddenly shouting, ‘Police!’ – and the group scattered into the darkness, abandoning their coppers. Thus the cheeky perpetrator could dash in, scoop them up and flee, before anyone could notice his ploy.
Laughing to his pals some minutes later outside a corner shop, and chinking his coins as he related his audacious exploit, Dom only realised his act had been witnessed when a man came out of nowhere, grabbed him, and dragged him yelling into the darkness. His friends did the only thing they could. They ran and left him to it.
‘Did you see your brother on your travels?’ frowned Niall, when it was thirty-two minutes past eight and Dom was two minutes late. Honor had been in for some time and was seated in her nightdress with a mug of Ovaltine, in her usual ladylike fashion, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, though apart from writing the letter to Gloria she had knocked on many doors and run away.
His daughter was still in the act of shaking her head when a slight click and waft of cold air indicated that the front door had opened. Boadicea exchanged a knowing look with Niall, then, when no one came into the living room, she went ahead of him to check the passage – and found the boy trying to sneak up the stairs.
‘And where d’ ye think you’re off?’ she demanded with a grin. ‘Any later and you would have been in trouble – but come on now and have some Ovaltine.’
Slightly hunched, and walking in an odd way, Dominic tried to avert his face as he demurred her offer and continued for the stairs, but at his father’s summons, he was compelled to follow her into the light of the living room.
Boadicea put both hands to her mouth as Niall jumped up and accosted his son. ‘Who did this to you?’ he demanded of the bloody face, whilst Boadicea and Honor looked on in horror and sympathy.
Dom could hardly get the words out, so swollen was his mouth, and from the protective way he hugged his body, it was obvious he had been beaten about other parts too.
‘Who, did you say?’ yelled Niall, bending close to his son’s face. ‘That bloke who lives at thirteen? What did he hit you for?’
The father might have difficulty in making out what was being said; however, Boadicea had no trouble deciphering his motives. ‘Niall, wait!’ she cried as he launched himself at the door. ‘It’s dark, you don’t know for certain who it was – you could be arrested if somebody witnesses you hitting him!’
‘Then I’ll make sure I’m not seen!’ Niall hurled over his shoulder, before running from the house.
&
nbsp; ‘Christ Almighty!’ Boadicea uttered a sound of frustration, then hurried to fetch a wet cloth and made to tend Dom’s wounds. But he brushed aside her attempts, and she was forced to hand over the cloth so that he could do it for himself, wincing along with Honor as both stood to watch him dab at his mouth.
‘What on earth did ye do to anger the brute?’ she breathed.
‘Nowt,’ shrugged Dom, then instantly regretted it, for his face showed that every movement hurt.
‘Oh dear, ye poor thing.’ Boadicea stood by, her face a picture of compassion. ‘Take your shirt off and let me have a look what other damage he’s done.’
She moved as if to help, but Dom lurched away, emitting yet another groan of pain.
‘Well, your father will have to have a look when he comes in!’ she scolded in frustration.
Dominic was not keen to wait around for his father to return, and tried to slope off, but she bade him sit by the fire and handed him a cup of Ovaltine, and was to pace anxiously until Niall returned some ten minutes later.
‘Couldn’t ye find him?’ she asked immediately. ‘You weren’t long.’
‘It didn’t take long.’ His face still dark, though much of his fury had been worked out in giving the man what he deserved, he rubbed his grazed knuckles. ‘Don’t worry,’ he forestalled her look of anxiety, ‘he won’t tell the police. They were gambling and Dom pinched their money – Norman Whelan saw it, and he confirmed who it was. Luckily I found the bugger straight away.’
‘Did ye do much damage?’ Noting that Dom had finished with the cloth, Boadicea took it off him and handed it to his father, in order that the latter might tend his knuckles.
‘Well, I saw a couple of teeth fly out,’ admitted Niall.
‘Serve him right,’ she nodded with satisfaction, and went to lay a tender hand on the victim’s shoulder. ‘A good hiding is one thing, but that’s assault what he did to poor Dom.’
Niall’s beneficence was not to last. ‘Aye, well, poor Dom’ll be getting another pasting – from me, if he pulls that one again!’ He included Honor in his next instruction, ‘Come on the pair of you, off to bed now.’ And obediently they went.
Secrets of Our Hearts Page 38
