He and Boadicea left alone now, a tired-looking Niall examined her face as she went about clearing the mugs away, and his tone was one of despair. ‘I’ll bet you’re thinking you’ve made a big mistake in taking me on, aren’t you?’
She looked at him sharply, for indeed, she did often feel as if she were reaching the end of her tether with these incidents. It was only because of her adoration of Niall that she put up with them. But her face softened, ‘Aw, well, he might be a little divil, but the prank didn’t warrant such a thrashing.’
Niall continued to rub his knuckles as he spoke, his expression become distracted. ‘I’ll go up and check him in a minute, see there’s nowt broken. Same can’t be said about t’other fella.’ For a moment he looked sinister, then this was repealed as he gazed upon her again. ‘You won’t give up on us, will you?’
She came to him immediately, and put her loving arms around him. ‘So long as you won’t give up on me.’
‘A saint like you?’ he said, with a heartfelt kiss. ‘Never.’
This beatification that Niall had conferred was to come in most handy the next day too, for it was Honor’s turn to reap the results of the previous night’s mischief. The smell of bonfires and gunpowder already in the air, Boadicea had become concerned that the eldest child had not yet returned from school, and poked her head into the street to see where she might be, only to witness sparks of temper flying from next door.
‘No good hiding up there!’ Bereft of teeth, Gloria was inflicting her vocal impediment on someone who was apparently lurking at the top of the terrace. ‘Get yourselves down here!’ And as the two reluctant figures approached, Boadicea was alarmed to see that one of them was Honor.
‘Thought you’d sneak out this morning before I could catch you,’ lisped Gloria as the schoolgirls arrived. ‘Yes, I know it was you, milady! Even though you tried to disguise your handwriting, I know it well enough.’ She brandished the incriminating note at Honor, who, with her friend Vera blushed in shame. ‘That’s disgusting that is! Well, if you think I’m teaching you to dance now, you’ve got another think coming. In fact, I’ve a good mind to tell your father …’
Boadicea sought to intervene at this point, and, with the rest of her charges having followed her to investigate the noise, she stepped onto the pavement. ‘Is there some kind of trouble?’
Gloria turned to flourish the note under the intruder’s nose then, her gums spraying spittle over the group of listeners. ‘I should say so. Just have a look at that!’
‘The rest of you, go get your coats, then you can clear off to play,’ Boadicea commanded the ones who had followed. Then, in calm manner, she took the note, her lips twitching as she read it, finally to look up and say, ‘Well, I’m very, very sorry, Miss Lavelle, it must have been awfully upsetting for ye,’ here she gave a stern look at the schoolgirls, who continued to hang their heads whilst the rest of the children gawped from afar, ‘but I don’t think there was any malice intended.’
‘Oh, well, I might have known!’ lisped Gloria, her toothless cheeks pink with outrage. ‘They probably learned that sort of language off you. They were never like that before you came along!’
‘Yes, well, I’ve said I’m very sorry.’ Boadicea set her mouth, and shoved both girls into the house before she lost her temper.
‘I’ll have that note back!’ demanded Gloria. ‘I want to show it to her father.’
‘I can do that perfectly well, thank you,’ came Boadicea’s crisp response, before slamming the door.
In the living room, Honor and her friend were to remain shamefaced under Boadicea’s mild chastisement. ‘It’s not the sort o’ thing your parents want to hear, is it?’ she asked them softly. ‘I’m surprised at ye.’
‘Sorry,’ came the quiet joint apology.
‘Ah, well, that’s enough for me.’ Boadicea’s warm tone signified that the matter was over and done with, and she threw the note on the fire. ‘So long as you’ve learned. I’m not condoning it, mind! It wasn’t a very nice thing to do, and I can’t say I liked having to deal with it. But I think you’ve had enough telling off now, and your father shan’t know about it, Honor, nor yours, Vera – unless that soft biddy next door cares to give you away.’ Amusement had begun to tweak her lips, as she told the pair with some indignation, ‘Imagine her thinking I’m the one who taught ye such rude words – the cheek of it!’
Honor and Vera were still blushing, but relieved enough to display similar amusement.
‘And what was all that about her teaching yese to dance?’ Boadicea asked them.
‘She was going to show us how to do that jazzy stuff,’ Honor revealed.
There was a cynical laugh from Boadicea. ‘And where would Gloria get any dancing practice, with no teeth to her name? If it’s jazz ye want ye should’ve come to me. They say I’m not a bad dancer. I’d be happy to teach ye.’
Sitting on the arm of a chair now, and swinging her black-stockinged leg, Honor showed appreciation for this, thinking that her grandmother must be mistaken about this woman, who was really quite kind. Then, she added rather sadly with a look at her friend, ‘But Gloria’s the one with the gramophone.’
‘Not the only one,’ announced Boadicea, with a proud air. ‘Don’t I have one myself back at my lodgings? I shall get your father to carry it over – that’s provided he’s still talking to us if he finds out about your little contretemps with Miss Lavelle – and I’ll teach you all the moves. See, who needs Gloria when ye’ve got me!’ And giving them a smile, she announced, ‘Right, I’d better have a look how those baked potatoes are getting on for your Bonfire Night tea!’ And she disappeared into the scullery.
‘She’s lovely, in’t she?’ Vera was overheard to say. ‘I’ll bet you’ll be glad when she comes to live here all the time.’
Pricking up her ears for the answer, Boadicea waited in suspense.
‘It’s not the same as your own mam, though,’ lamented Honor.
As if there had not been enough fireworks already, true to Emma’s word, she and Sean were to turn up after tea with a paper bag containing the real thing. With Reilly and Eileen making a contribution too, the small back yard was to resound with colourful explosions for a good hour after tea – thankfully none of them from Gloria, who was content to have said her piece. It was a pity that Boadicea was the only one who had to go to work, and, added to Honor’s declaration, this left her feeling rather out of things for a day or two.
But there were bridges to be built, and as an adult Boadicea must be the one to construct them. Thus she was to follow through on her promise to have Niall transport her gramophone here on Saturday, and spent much of that afternoon conveying dance steps to Honor. At the end of which, Niall remarked that, notwithstanding his daughter’s natural reserve, he could sense a definite improvement between the pair.
Satisfied that everything was coming together, she and Niall began seriously to discuss a date for their wedding, so that they might inform her father during the coming visit – though the latter presented a slight problem in itself, for Eileen and Reilly had been put in charge of Niall’s children so much lately, it seemed almost indecent to ask if they would perform this courtesy yet again, and for an entire day.
Circumstantially, they were spared having to do this, for it was they who would be performing the favour. Under onslaught from months of rain, York’s rivers could finally take no more. With the Foss Basin overflowing into his home, along with much sewage, Reilly was obliged to call upon his friend to help transport as much furniture as possible to the upper floor before the deluge struck, and to seek temporary accommodation. This was to be gladly given, Niall having the greater obligation for favours past, and welcoming him and Eileen into his home, for as long as necessary.
Whilst this would likely only be for a few days, Reilly had an idea how to make things more comfortable for everyone. ‘It’s worked out quite well in a way,’ he said, after an exhausting evening of shifting furniture, to much ironic laughte
r from his wife. ‘No, listen, woman. Niall and Bo are off to Manchester tomorrow. It’s a bloody long way to go for the day.’ He addressed himself mainly to Niall now, ‘why don’t you stay overnight, and make a weekend of it? Then me and Eileen can have your bed,’ he ended with a crafty grin at his wife.
‘Eh, you’re not so daft as you look.’ She nodded approval.
‘He is,’ returned Niall, with his customary dry wit. ‘My bed comes with a little lad in it.’
‘Oh, he’ll be locked in the shed along with the rest of ’em the minute their father’s out the door,’ said Eileen matter-of-factly, before responding to the genuine issue. ‘No, but he’s right, Nye, you’d be mad to rush there and back in a day. We don’t mind taking them to Mass and everything. We love having them, don’t we, Reilly, as long as we can give them back?’
Though the idea was greatly tempting to Niall, he was unsure how to answer for Boadicea, who was presently at work, and would be working on Sunday, as far as he knew.
‘Surely she can get dinner time off,’ appealed Eileen. ‘Even if she still has to work the night, if you set off from Manchester after Sunday dinner you could be back in time for her evening shift.’
Niall wondered whether Bo would think there was something underhand in his query over whether her father had enough room to put them up overnight.
‘Well, there’s one way to find out,’ said Reilly, his big face showing enthusiasm as he began to rise. ‘You and me’ll go and ask her—’
‘Oh yes!’ Eileen exclaimed knowingly. ‘And leave me here to mind the kids.’
‘Just for a last half,’ wheedled her husband. ‘There’s only an hour till closing.’
‘Last half my foot,’ said Eileen to Niall. ‘I’ve known him get three pints down his neck in a fraction of that time.’
‘Well, I’m going to need summat to send me off to sleep,’ objected Reilly, ‘if I’m having to kip on the floor.’
‘Oh, you poor hard-done-by soul, go on then!’ She gave a smirk and, with great amiability, shooed the men from the living room. ‘And I’ll put my time to better use, shall I, in making up a bed for us in the front room?’
Reilly clapped his hands in a rapid little gesture of success, as he and Niall headed for the pub.
‘Sorry I can’t give you my bed till tomorrow—’ began Niall to his friend.
‘Ah, doesn’t matter!’ Reilly nudged him and laughed. ‘Eh, you’ll have to get rid of Brian out of it when you get married, though.’
Niall laughed too, and said not one word to the contrary.
It did not go down too well with the landlord when Boadicea asked during that very busy Friday night, if she might skip her Sunday dinnertime shift as well as the two Saturday ones already granted.
‘Tell you what,’ he hinted, in less than helpful tone, ‘why don’t you take every night off? There’s not much point me having a barmaid who’s never here.’
And so, in the knowledge that she would soon be handing in her notice anyway, upon marriage, Boadicea felt it only fair to enact this suggestion, thus leaving the landlord to bemoan his loss, for her affable and garrulous nature had earned popularity amongst his customers.
It was as well that she was such a good talker, thought Niall, upon finally getting to meet her father the next day, for William Merrifield was a man of few words. Obviously this was not through any form of shyness, for he had a cheery and efficient air as he welcomed in his guests – and his marble- green eyes spoke volumes as they took the prospective son-in-law’s measure. Still, the stockily built man had little to say for now, and it was clear that Boadicea had inherited her fluency from her mother, similarly her looks – for which Niall was most grateful, for ex-Sergeant Merrifield had a head like a bullet and a face that was heavily creased from his wartime experience.
Arthur’s appearance was nothing like as hard, and he shared the blue eyes, fair hair and fresh complexion of his sister, though not her loquacity, for he was as unforthcoming as his sire. With Niall himself being the shy type, it was left to Boadicea to promote conversation, and this she was to do most admirably.
But, as uncommunicative as Mr Merrifield and Arthur might be, they showed great decency towards their guests. No matter that their red-brick terraced house had only two bedrooms, upon hearing that Niall and Boadicea would now be staying the night, they refused to show inconvenience, her father saying immediately that he and his son would move in together, his daughter could have his bed, and there was a comfortable sofa in the front room for Niall.
‘I’ll get your Aunty Violet to cook dinner for us tomorrow, as well,’ said Mr Merrifield, his accent a strange mongrel mix, due to living in various barracks amongst all different types. ‘She insisted on coming to do tonight’s tea for us when she heard you were coming – said me and Arthur weren’t up to providing anything decent – so she can ruddy- well do us dinner as well.’ He threw Niall a sardonic smile, his eyes less critical of the visitor now.
Arthur too dropped his reticence, his sentence exposing an Irish twang. ‘We’ll be having a night out an’ all, as you’re staying.’
Boadicea took no time at all to agree. ‘Oh, can we go somewhere there’s dancing?’ The recent practice with Honor had fired her up.
Her father did not know of such a venue, but Arthur said there was a large pub that catered for such tastes. ‘There’s a good band playing – do you like dancing, Niall?’
‘Aye …’ Niall was quietly keen, raising his thick eyebrows to display accord.
Arthur must have noticed the gleam in his eye. ‘Sure, don’t think you’re dancing with my sister all night,’ he berated, causing Niall to suspect he was only half-joking. ‘I haven’t seen her in ages, and I intend to make the most of it.’
Niall took this in good part, though when evening eventually descended, and the four went out to the pub – after they had been treated to an exceptionally nice meal from the aunty – it appeared that Arthur had been serious about wanting to partner his sister. For he was to claim the first two dances with her, and her father the next, leaving Niall to sit at the side and covet the one in the jade-green silk, which clung to every part of her body, and he with nothing more exciting than a pint of beer to curl his hand around.
Boadicea sought to apologise for this, when she was finally allowed to flop beside him to catch her breath after a lively series of footwork. ‘Ye’ll have to forgive them, Niall, they see so little of me –’ her smiling blue eyes adhered to him, as she performed an unconscious tweak of her silken lap to smooth away the ruffles, completely unaware how alluring the swish it made as it brushed against the stockinged thigh beneath was to Niall’s ears, ‘– but I swear, the next one’s for you.’ Her eyes became stern as she moved them to her father and brother, including both in her light rebuke.
‘I’m not sure I’ll be capable of standing up, let alone dancing, the way your dad’s treating me,’ laughed Niall, as Mr Merrifield placed another full glass before him, and he sipped it slowly, so as to make sure this debilitation did not come to pass.
And when the band struck up a blues number, he was quick to stake his claim, grabbing Boadicea’s hand and leading her to the floor, and from then on there might have been only the pair of them in the room. The fingers that had a moment ago met only hard glass, now enjoyed warm flesh. Urged on by the soulful music, its seductive rhythm, Niall pressed his hand to the small of her back, caressed its curve through the silk, then drew her gently against him, so that he could feel her belly against his as they swayed from side to side, and cheek to cheek, warmth against warmth, every nerve aware of her, bringing such ecstasy …
Correspondingly entrapped by the moment, Boadicea gave way to its rapture, closed her eyes and allowed herself to savour the hardness of his jaw against her cheek, the fiery heat of his hand on the small of her back, even though it was winter outside, and the similar burning heat in her groin. Not caring who looked on, nor how unwise it was to let herself be so intoxicated by the music, she
sashayed her hips in time to his, deafening herself to the warning voice in her head that demanded she hold him at arm’s length, but instead giving in to a deeper need, which made it impossible to tear herself away from this man she loved and desired above all. However much it might torment each of them afterwards, knowing it could lead nowhere, they were desperate to take solace in any form of contact, both in thrall to that seductive rhythm until its very last note.
It was the only dance they were to enjoy. Upon returning to his seat, releasing her fingers that had been so lovingly entwined in his, Niall found another drink pressed into his hand, and for the rest of his time there, this was all that was on offer to him, save for the joy of sharing her gaze.
Their tongues loosened by the beer, father and son were to be quite conversational with Niall, as all returned home, where Boadicea made them a plate of sandwiches before finally deciding it was time for bed.
‘Thanks for a lovely night. Shall I make the sofa up before I go?’ she asked Niall, then vanished for five minutes, returning to say that the bed was made. ‘Good night, all!’
‘Night, Bo,’ said her father and brother in unison, but made no move to retire themselves, though Mr Merrified apparently decided that he had been trussed up too long and he began to strip off, throwing both his tie and his collar aside, and rolling up his shirtsleeves to display tattooed forearms. ‘Ah, that’s better!’
Niall felt relaxed too, due as much to the drink inside him as the cosiness of the room, and this inducing him to lounge in his armchair as if at home. For a short while he was to recline there with the men, their sparse comments about football and horse racing interjected by the puffing of cigarettes, and the creaking of floorboards as Boadicea moved about the upstairs room.
Secrets of Our Hearts Page 39
