Secrets of Our Hearts

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Imagining each stage of her undress, and in danger of driving himself mad with it, Niall finally announced that he too should retire. Exchanging a civil good night with his hosts, he went first to the outside lavatory, then to the front room, leaving Mr Merrifield and Arthur enjoying their final cigarette of the night.

  Only when he had been tucked up for half an hour on the sofa did Niall get what he had been expecting all day, though it came in a rougher fashion than he would have preferred. His drowsy thoughts ripe with imaginings of Boadicea, he was disturbed by a sudden shaft of light, that quickly vanished again as someone came into the room and closed the door behind them. But he did not realise that both father and son were present, until one of them grabbed his shoulders and the other pinioned his legs to the sofa. Disconcerting and uncomfortable as this might be, he chose not to struggle, as the interrogation began. It was obvious they had been waiting for Boadicea to go to sleep before making their move – or at least to see if Niall would attempt to sneak into her room.

  ‘We don’t want to disturb anybody.’ This quietest of threats came from ex-Sergeant Merrifield, the one pinning his legs and whose bullet head leaned close enough for his victim to smell the beer he had been drinking. ‘We just want you to answer a question for us: why do you want to marry our lass?’

  Whilst Niall accepted this as a perfectly natural question for a father to ask, he found it difficult to respond on such an intimate level to someone he had just met, and under such physical handicap. ‘I would’ve thought that was obvious …’ he said.

  The old ex-army sergeant was quietly intimidating. ‘It isn’t just because you want her to look after your five kids, is it?’ Cause we wouldn’t want—’

  ‘Whoa!’ Unable to rise, Niall used his voice in an attempt to muzzle the other. ‘I can look after me own kids, thank you very much. I’m not marrying her for that.’

  ‘Ye do know she doesn’t want any of her own?’ Arthur took his turn at quizzing.

  Niall glanced up at the eyes of the one who pinioned his shoulders, that glittered through the dimness. ‘Yes, I am aware,’ he said calmly, before having to reattend Merrifield senior.

  ‘See, we can’t work out why you’d still want to marry her, if you know you’re not going to be able to touch her – and if you think that’s going to change once you get a ring on her finger, then think again, mister. If I hear you’ve tried to force—’

  ‘I wouldn’t!’ Niall sounded bruised, as he engaged the father’s eye, hoping to appear as determined as Merrifield. ‘I wouldn’t do that to any woman, least of all one I respect as much as Bo.’

  ‘Talk’s cheap,’ warned the ex-sergeant, in the quietly menacing tone that had disciplined troops. ‘I saw how you looked at my lass, the way you held her while you were dancing, and I want to make sure you’ve fully grasped how difficult this is going to be. In fact, one bloke already found it impossible. So you’d better be sure, because she’s had her heart broken enough. We’re not going to let that happen again. Do you get my drift?’

  Annoyed as he was at being threatened with violence, Niall gave a genuine nod. ‘You’ve nowt to fear. I swear on my children’s lives. I think the world of that lass.’

  Only then did they let him loose, both men standing back and allowing him to rise if he wanted to. ‘Aye, well,’ came an explanatory growl from the ex-soldier, ‘she’s thrilled to twitters with you an’ all – her letters have been full of you – but we had to make sure for ourselves.’

  ‘Does that mean I pass muster?’ chanced Niall through the dark, easing the pressured muscles of leg and shoulder.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Merrifield, stern again, as he opened the door and summoned Niall to follow. ‘There’s a bottle of whisky waiting to be drunk. Let’s see if you still give the same answers after you’ve had some of it down you.’

  Niall was to have no clue whether or not he had given the same answers, for by the time he was returned to his sofa he could remember little of what had gone before, and he slept until eleven the next morning. He must have passed with flying colours, though, for there was no recrimination when he finally dragged himself to the table – except from Boadicea and her aunt for the three examples of soused manhood for whom they must cook dinner – and when he finally boarded the evening train, her father and brother were both extremely genuine in their handshake.

  ‘See you at the wedding!’ called Boadicea, waving madly as the train chugged away from those loved ones on the platform, and her next words were for Niall as she gave a last flourish. ‘Didn’t I say they’d like ye?’

  They arrived back in York to a traffic jam, their bus from the station taking an age to reach home, due to the spectacular event of the last electric tramcar being driven before it. The tram bedecked with lights, the Lord Mayor at its controls and the tramway men in fancy dress, this procession was to travel ahead of Niall and Boadicea’s bus for most of the way, along a route lined with hundreds. And as if this were not obstruction enough to those weary from travelling, as their vehicle crawled past St George’s Field, they were to see that the Martinmas fair caravans were yet marooned, the illuminations from the procession glistening on the flood water and signalling to Niall that he would be spending another uncomfortable night amongst house guests.

  Still, he could not object after they had done him such a favour, and, after another day or two, the flood was to recede, permitting Niall to reclaim his overcrowded home, and allowing the Reillys back into theirs – though only after a massive bout of cleaning had been performed by all.

  In reward for this assistance and for giving them lodgings, towards the end of that week Niall was to be presented with a Readicut rug kit.

  ‘I know there’s no need,’ said Eileen, at his objection. ‘Call it an early wedding present if you like. It’ll give you something to do on a night when you’re married.’ She cocked an eyebrow in Boadicea’s direction. ‘Well, she won’t be letting you out, that’s for sure.’

  Both fully aware that her quip held more truth than Eileen could ever be told, Niall exchanged a self-conscious glance at his wife-to-be, who poked gentle fun at the gift. ‘Sure, is this supposed to be a hobby? Looks like more work to me.’ Having quickly replaced her bar shifts with four hours of daily cleaning at the school, to fit in with the children’s attendance, after only a day Boadicea was finding it very tiring.

  ‘Yes, but think what you’ll have at the end of it! There’s a hook in there for each of you, so if you go at it hard enough you might get it done for the wedding,’ suggested Eileen, with a wink at Reilly. ‘When did you say it was?’

  Niall had been hoping to announce the news to his children separately, but as the Reillys were close friends, and the youngsters were present, it seemed a shame not to take advantage. ‘Well, as you ask, and as we’ve got everybody together …’

  ‘Uncle Sean isn’t here,’ pointed out Juggy.

  ‘Never mind,’ said her father, with an affectionate look at Boadicea, who drew nearer to him, ‘we’ll tell him soon.’ And using his eyes to include the children in this joyful announcement, he revealed, ‘We’ve set a date – seventh of December.’

  ‘That’s only two weeks on Saturday!’ Whilst the dark-haired Eileen gave a childlike squeal and an excited hug of both, and Reilly pumped Niall’s hand, the happy couple waited for reaction from his children. With none of them appearing to be actually displeased, Boadicea and Niall must be content with that.

  It was imperative that Nora did not get to hear about the wedding before it actually occurred, otherwise she would surely spoil it. So the children were instructed not tell anyone until after the event.

  ‘Especially not Mrs Lavelle and Gloria,’ Niall impressed upon them, for the news would be quickly passed on. He himself had thankfully not bumped into Nora since their showdown, and he had no wish to hear her response to his marriage.

  ‘You can rely on us not to say a word,’ said Eileen, with a nod from Reilly, to whom she made a jocular addition.
‘Well, come on, my lad, we’d better make tracks so these two can start on their rug.’ And on this, they were to depart.

  However, after their friends went home, instead of the rug, Niall and Boadicea thought to pay a little more heed to the children, telling them that the wedding would involve a party, with lots to eat and drink.

  ‘And go see what’s in the front room!’ invited Boadicea, with a mysterious smile to the girls in particular.

  There were gasps of delight, as Honor and Juggy undid the brown paper parcels that contained their blue velvet dresses. ‘It’s that stuff we chose!’

  Their stepmother-to-be chuckled in appreciation. ‘Yes! Go try them on, let’s see what they look like – and there’s rig-outs for the boys too!’ And though these were only composed of white shirts, ties, shorts and socks, Niall’s sons were pleased enough to have new clothes.

  The dresses were a perfect fit, and the next ten minutes were given to disporting them, though eventually a smiling Boadicea had to apprehend Juggy, who was twirling like a dervish, and say, ‘We’d better put them away for the time being, else you’ll be sick of them before the wedding.’ And she folded them carefully into their tissue paper.

  ‘The house could do with sprucing up too.’ She turned to Niall then, having been eager for some time to put her own stamp on what had been his first wife’s domain. ‘D’ye think we could have a few rolls of wallpaper for the living room? I’ve seen a lovely leaf design …’

  Niall was more than happy to accommodate her. ‘You get it and I’ll stick it on at the weekend – no next weekend,’ cause I’ll have to scrape the old stuff off first.’

  ‘How many rolls?’ she cast her eye over the drab walls.

  ‘About five,’ he calculated.

  ‘It’s sixpence ha’penny a roll, so that’s …’ totting up on her fingers, she announced with pleasure, less than three bob!’

  ‘Two and eightpence ha’penny,’ said Dom, more precise.

  ‘Oh, we might have known me laddo would have it down to the last farthing,’ laughed his father.

  Boadicea looked amused. ‘Right, I’ll get it tomorrow – oh, and isn’t that handy?’ she beamed at her audience. ‘I’ll have five children to help me tear the edges off.’

  The next afternoon being Friday, upon coming home from school, the children were presented with a roll of wallpaper each, and set to work on carefully removing the half-inch selvedge from one side. This was to be considered no chore at all, for when the strips were all removed and wound into a tight spool, they could be used as streamers. Thrown and rewound, and thrown again, there was much fun to be had with these until bedtime.

  There was more on Saturday, when their father employed them in removing the old wallpaper, so many little hands ripping and picking and tearing at the walls he had dampened, the job was done by late afternoon. Then it was bath time for the grubby crew, and the long tin receptacle was dragged before the fire, the girls bathing first whilst their father and the boys waited in the front room, then Boadicea taking them into the scullery to wash their hair, whilst Niall and his sons had theirs.

  With no pub to go to, it was a mixed blessing that Boadicea could be here to participate, happy to be in Niall’s company, yet finding the children an awful lot to cope with, what with all the wet towels to dry, the tangled hair to comb, the teeth to inspect. But afterwards it was rather nice to see them all seated around the table, their faces all scrubbed and shiny as pink apples, as they waited to be served with bacon sandwiches for tea.

  Handing these out, Boadicea came to stand behind Niall’s chair and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Now,’ she asked gaily, ‘is that to everyone’s satisfaction?’

  ‘It smells lovely, thank you.’ In an automatic gesture of affection, he covered her hand with one of his, startling his children, for they had never seen him do that to their mother.

  Equally unthinking, Boadicea lowered her head to inhale him. ‘Mm, you smell lovely too – all of yese,’ she added to the children, as her face came up to beam at them. And for the first time, she experienced a wave of affection for them all, and began to feel like their mother.

  Even so, it was nice when they had gone to bed and all the washing-up was done and she could sit with their father alone. Niall obviously enjoyed this cosy feeling too, but, ‘I suppose we should do some of this blasted rug,’ he sighed after a while. ‘Seeing as how they were so kind to give it.’ And so, they pulled two dining chairs before the fire, seating themselves opposite each other, and close together – for it was only a small rug – then, with the canvas spread on their laps, they began to work from either side.

  It was a slow and boring process, the tufts of wool remaining one colour for several rows, though eventually it was to become more interesting when the pattern began. A picture of the finished article showed a formation of flowers, in shades of pink and green and red and lilac – far too feminine for a labourer’s hands, and Boadicea could not help smiling affectionately at the contrast. To prevent the rug-making from becoming too laborious, there was discussion of their wedding.

  ‘How many bottles of port should we get?’ she enquired of her husband-to-be, the reflection of the fire flickering in her blue eyes as she patiently worked. ‘And what kind? They start at three bob, though I don’t really want to buy cheap stuff …’

  ‘Pick a middling one, about five bob then.’ Niall tweaked another tuft of pink wool through an aperture in the stiff canvas. ‘I reckon three should do us.’

  ‘Are we having a cake?’ She paused to ease her fingers that were beginning to hurt from manipulating the hook, and watched as he carried on.

  ‘Have anything you like, love.’ Niall had left his first wedding arrangements to the women, and this one was to be no different – only in the way he felt. He glanced up to caress her with his smile, the fire glimmering his own eyes, before he reached for another strand of wool.

  Boadicea braced herself. ‘It has to be said: where will I be sleeping?’ One cheek red from the fire, her other slowly coming to match it as embarrassment took over, she covered her sudden bout of shyness by continuing with the rug.

  Infected by her awkwardness, Niall hesitated for a moment, before hooking through the strand. ‘You could go in the front room … but the kids don’t miss a trick; they’ll surely tell somebody. I couldn’t stand being the object of that kind of gossip. Besides,’ he looked up at her, ‘I want you beside me. I promise I’ll behave meself,’ he added, before lowering his eyes again.

  She nodded in warm agreement, and fell silent for a long time, as both pressed on with the rug.

  But it was making her fingers sore, and also her spine, and eventually she stopped to ease this, leaning back in her chair as Niall continued to work. His dark head bent over, his face concentrated on his task, he seemed to regard this as the most important thing in the world. Watching his masculine fingers working upon it, the muscles and sinews in his tanned wrists, Boadicea experienced a sudden flutter of desire in the pit of her abdomen. Involuntarily, she made a little sound, and he looked across at her with love – but then his face altered, as if he could read what was there, and as he stared into her eyes that danced with firelight, his own began to darken with sexual longing. The rug was only a small one. His lips had only a short way to travel as they reached across for hers. Capitulating totally, Boadicea felt herself lost in the taste and moist warmth of him, her eyes closed in ecstasy as her lips were possessed for long moments.

  Then in an instant she had torn herself away, looking flustered and not a little angry with herself. ‘Time for me to go!’ Throwing the rug aside, she rushed to put on her coat, and with a last quick peck, was gone.

  With no other recourse, Niall lit a cigarette, gripping it between his lips as he took out his frustration on the rug, working so strenuously upon it that his fingers looked set to bleed.

  18

  Niall had always been a prudent man, and this was to reap rewards at exactly the right time, for, just prio
r to his wedding, an endowment policy came to term, to be delivered in the form of a cheque by the insurance man. For some, it might have been tempting to be less frugal with the reception, but, never one for overt display, this recipient was determined to keep celebrations to a minimum, the money better spent in repaying his friend. Still, it was good to know that apart from the usual weekly outgoings, he and Boadicea would begin their married life free of debt.

  From the bride’s family, only her father and brother would be attending, Mr Merrifield and Arthur staying with Reilly for the night. Naturally, Boadicea would also have to invite Mr and Mrs Precious, who treated her as kin, and because of this she felt obliged to extend the invitation to Mr Yarker and Mr Allardyce – though not Eamonn and Johnny, who might reduce the occasion to a brawl. Thankfully, only the Preciouses accepted. Added to the four whom Niall had already invited, apart from the children, this made only eight guests to be transported to the register office.

  It was therefore disconcerting to find that there was to be an uninvited one upon the scene. In an act of pure coincidence, on that crisp and bright blue Saturday afternoon, as Niall and his entourage, in all their finery, emerged to meet the taxis that had just drawn up outside, who should be coming from the house next door, but Nora.

  It was difficult to say who was the most discommoded, the groom or his mother-in-law. Feeling Reilly’s hand upon his shoulder, Niall thanked God that Boadicea was not here to incur that same look as he was receiving; wanting to do things properly, she would be travelling from her lodgings along with Georgie and Ma, and had deputised Eileen and Emma to help Niall with the children.

  Up until this point, the antagonists had not spoken in weeks, for, although Nora did still occasionally visit her former neighbour, she had come to accept that she would not be allowed access to her grandchildren until she toed the father’s line; hence, in order to let the bad blood congeal, she had gone out of her way to avoid him. But that was impossible today.