It was left to Eamonn to sum up. His bowl almost depleted, he fished out an extra content and held it aloft and dripping between forefinger and thumb. ‘Great soup, Ma – but could ye leave out the carpet next time?’
With much laughter, Boadicea was to relate this incident to Niall, Dominic and Honor when she served their own portions an hour later, these having been gingerly transported home in Kilner jars. Juggy and her younger brothers were also keen to show their father the gifts they had received from Father Christmas, although not for long, as Boadicea sent them off to wash their hands and faces. For a change, this caused little fuss, for, with their father being more kindly disposed towards their grandmother due to the festive spirit, the youngsters were to visit her again that afternoon.
There was little objection to be heard from the adults either at having the house to themselves, and later, after washing up, Niall and Boadicea took great pleasure in being side by side on the sofa, lazily discussing what they would have for Christmas dinner.
‘Have ye made your mind up yet – turkey or goose? I’ve only three days to order one. Goose is only one and tuppence a pound – half as much as turkey. Then again, turkey’s nice …’ As she chatted away, Boadicea absent-mindedly stroked a masculine forearm, that emerged from its rolled- up sleeve, brushing the dark hairs back and forth, this way and that, and seeming to have no idea that she was making its owner shiver. His resolve to remain celibate swiftly wearing thin, Niall shifted closer, and began to nuzzle at her neck, and behind her earlobes, inhaling deeply and sending a shudder through the recipient, so that when his kisses moved to her lips, she responded willingly.
So willingly, that Niall could take no more, and he jumped up to light a cigarette, then turned to observe her, unable to say whether it made things better or worse, knowing that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. ‘I think I’d better just go out and cool off for a while,’ he told her on a stream of tobacco smoke. And with that he left to stride out his frustration on the pavements.
If only he knew, thought Boadicea, that this was just as frustrating for her, wanting him, yearning for it to go further, yet prevented by the knowledge of what might transpire from the ultimate embrace. Unrequited passion still inflamed her lower regions. In the hope of dampening this, and putting this free time to good use, she hurried to a cupboard, stood on a chair to reach its top shelf, and took out a bag of knitting, then set to sewing up the little woollen sections of the doll’s outfit she had been making for Juggy. She seemed to have been working her fingers to the bone on such things lately. But it was well worth the effort when she thought of that little pixie face illuminating on Christmas Day.
Eventually, having stitched up the final seam, she turned the red woollen coat the right way out, then went to fetch the new doll, and tried the entire outfit on it, being very pleased with her work and thinking how delighted Juggy would be too. But the sound of feet scampering through the front door sent her into a mild panic – she had not expected them back so soon. Performing with haste, she shoved the doll behind the cushion of the chair she was on, crumpled up the bag with its remnants of wool, and sat back clutching it to her breast with a smile of anticipation as Juggy burst into the room.
‘Me granny says we’re not to call you Mother!’
Her eyes pinned to that excited face, Boadicea’s smile remained fixed in disbelief, then slowly began to fade, like the sun behind a cloud. Of all the things the child could have thrown at her, she had not expected this. Her mind enumerating the many things she had done for Niall’s children – the washing, the cooking, the tending of wounds, putting up with their cheek and covering this up from their father, hearing their prayers, going without so that they might have a treat – her heart was cut to the quick. Immediately came the unwanted vision of her own lost babe, clawing at her heart – her very soul – as she tried to fight it away. These thoughts, and the sexual frustration over Niall, all erupted into one enormous grievance to drive her to the edge of tears, and, with the others following their sister in, Boadicea was compelled to turn away so that they might not see her distress.
‘Sure, I never asked ye to,’ she muttered to Juggy, as she rose to leave the room. ‘Call me what ye like.’
‘You shouldn’t have said that,’ Honor scolded her sister, with an eye on their stepmother’s hurried journey through the icy yard. ‘Look, you’ve made her cry!’
‘No I haven’t! She’s just off to the lav.’ But as Boadicea remained closeted for an awful long time and the reality hit home, Juggy was to become crestfallen. ‘I was only saying what me gran said,’ she mumbled.
Dominic looked worried too. ‘We’ll have to fix it up or me dad’ll go nuts.’
‘About what?’
En masse, his brood reddened and shrank as their father made an unexpected return. Demanding to hear what had been going on, upon their confession Niall clutched his temple in exasperation, then caught sight of the hastily hidden gift and dragged it from behind the cushion.
‘Look!’ He brandished the doll in its little red outfit at a tearful Juggy. ‘This is what Bo’s been making you for Christmas, you evil little …’ Frustration demanded that he throw the wretched thing, but it had taken too much hard work from the woman he loved and therefore he refrained from doing so, but his grip remained tight and his eyes extremely angry as he used it to berate them. ‘Weeks she’s spent making sure you all have summat nice to open – not to mention the months she’s been running about clearing up after you, and feeding you, and caring for you – and this is how you repay her! I’m bloody ashamed of you!’
Never had they witnessed such rage from him, and were so frightened that even the boys began to cry as he hammered his message home. ‘And there’ll be no playing games for any of you during the school holidays! If you want something to do I’ll make sure you have plenty of jobs – oh, yes!’ They hung their weeping heads in disgrace as he railed at them, yet Niall wondered if they had grasped the true immensity of what they had done to the woman he loved. Therefore, his voice was to crack with emotion as he hurled his last words at them: ‘And you can forget about Christmas – because you’ll get nowt!’
But of course they did, they being only children and he an adult who knew full well where the true blame should lie, and by the time Christmas arrived all broken hearts had been mended.
After a good cry in the lavatory, Boadicea had returned to find the children repentant and a loving husband to act as mouthpiece, who took her in his arms and told her that they had not really meant it, that they were only repeating their grandmother’s poison, and tried to persuade her that everything would be all right tomorrow, which it was.
And, if Boadicea was still privately licking her wounds as she returned with the rest of the family from Mass on Christmas morning, she was nevertheless gratified to see that the gifts upon which she had laboured were truly appreciated. Envisioning the day ahead as one of hard work, and expecting no other present than the stockings and bath salts she had received from Niall, she was therefore surprised and touched to find that Honor and Dominic had organised a whip- round to buy her a set of bowls for a dressing table – made of cheap green glass, but nevertheless much appreciated by the stepmother.
‘We all put in a tanner each,’ explained Dom quickly, receiving a commendation from his father.
‘Sure ye shouldn’t’ve spent all that money on me.’ There was a tear in Boadicea’s eye, and her voice was soft.
‘I can always earn some more,’ Dom shrugged generously.
‘Anyway, me gran gave us it,’ revealed Juggy, wondering why her father and stepmother laughed so heartily.
‘Poetic justice?’ murmured Boadicea to Niall, in a private aside, both of them wondering what Nora would say if she knew her money had been spent on her enemy. But much uplifted by the children’s gesture, she uttered profound thanks, and did not feel so put upon as she went to launch herself into the preparation of the festive dinner.
It was a stren
uous morning, but worth every ounce of hard labour, for Niall announced that the goose was the best he had ever tasted, and for once every single child was in unison, not one word of insurrection to ruin the day.
The festivities were not over by a long chalk, though, for they had received an invitation to tea at the Precious household, and so there was to be no sitting down after the washing-up, but a brisk walk through the snow.
Before they had barely set off, though, there was to be a surprise. Niall was in the process of locking the front door behind them when Gloria and her mother came out at exactly the same time. The Lavelles said hello to the children, but ignored the adults – there was no surprise in this – but as Gloria and her mother went on their way, another voice assailed Niall from across the street. ‘Merry Christmas, Mr and Mrs Doran!’
As Gloria and Mrs Lavelle turned to project censure for this show of disloyalty from two of Nora’s stalwarts, Boadicea looked round in smiling appreciation, and not a little surprise, as Mrs Hutchinson and Mrs Dunphy, slithered their way across the road to speak to her and Niall.
‘We just want to say,’ offered the monkey-like woman, grasping Bo’s forearm, ‘that whatever Mrs Beasty’s opinion, you’re legally married now, and you’ve proved yourself to be a good mother to these kids, and they seem to like you.’ Here, she bestowed a smile upon the children, who smiled back. ‘So that’s good enough for us – isn’t it, Gladys?’
‘Aye, she can be a bit over-zealous, can your mother-in-law,’ supplied Mrs Dunphy in confidential tone to Niall, her arms hugging herself against the cold. ‘I mean, Nora’s my friend, and I can understand her being upset, but I do think the rest of us should give you a chance.’
‘That’s very Christian of you, ladies,’ replied Niall charitably, though only willing to forgive them because they might prove helpful to Boadicea in gaining others’ acceptance. Bo donated a smile of thanks too.
‘Well, it’s Christmas, isn’t it?’ responded Mrs Dunphy. ‘We won’t keep you – enjoy your day out!’ And with this, she and her companion gave a last smile, then hurried indoors, leaving a delighted Mr and Mrs Doran to resume their journey to the Preciouses.
The family’s arrival prompted a fight, thankfully not between Johnny and Eamonn, who were charm itself as they welcomed the children in with a boxful of crackers. But a series of explosions from these ignited the dog, which started to bark and yelp, and in turn attacked one of the cats, which flew at it, and a screaming, spitting, snarling mêlée ensued, the animals whirling around in a corner, the whole room turned to bedlam … for twenty seconds. And then it was all over with the tossing of a bucket of cold water from old Georgie. The cat fled, the dog shook itself and sneezed, and those in the vicinity were forced to change their garments.
‘I do so love the festive spirit,’ announced Yarker, ridding his sleeve of the droplets, as water swilled around the carpet.
There was the hint of a smile on Niall’s face as he and Boadicea inserted themselves and their family into this bedlam. ‘And what contribution have you made to the season of goodwill, Mr Yarker?’ He winked at his wife.
The lugubrious face mused for a second, an inch of ash dangling precariously from his damp cigarette, as Yarker raised it to his lips and announced, ‘I didn’t kick a pigeon.’
‘Did you fetch anything with you to play with?’ boomed Ma Precious at the children, who shook their heads. ‘Never mind, we’ve plenty of games in the cupboard!’
‘How wonderful,’ came Yarker’s unconvincing comment to Mr Allardyce.
‘Right, Georgie, is that tea ready yet?’ bawled Ma.
‘Almost, dearie!’ came the voice from the kitchen.
Still bloated from dinner, Boadicea sought to suggest a little breathing space. ‘Oh, we’ve just nicely eaten, Ma …’ but this was to fall on deaf ears.
‘Right, everybody in here then!’ As her husband began to scuttle from the kitchen bearing plates, Ma’s brawny arms directed all others to the dining room, sweeping them forth as if herding sheep.
Wearing paper hats that had come with the crackers, the children were helped onto their chairs by Johnny, his brother and Mr Allardyce, Mr Yarker as usual remaining aloof, though he did deign to pass a cruet when requested.
‘That’s my exercise for the day,’ he responded to Niall.
Faced with the magnificent spread, Niall and Boadicea wondered how they were ever going to eat it, but it seemed churlish not to try when Georgie had gone to all this trouble. Even so, only a quarter of what was laid out was actually consumed, and much of it went into feeding the dog, not just the living one, either, for Niall was later to notice a mince pie in the jaws of the dogskin rug, and wondered which of his children was responsible.
And, as Ma had promised the children, after the trifle had been digested there were to be plenty of games, these being provided by poor overworked Mr Precious. ‘Don’t go doing that washing-up yet!’ his wife scolded. ‘Get that tiddlywinks from the cupboard!’ And all evening, she had him running about with nuts and glasses of sherry and all manner of festive titbits, so that even the children were outfaced.
‘No, thanks.’ Juggy shook her head, when a box of dates came to her. ‘They remind me of cockroaches.’
‘Such charming progeny,’ murmured Yarker.
‘I think I’ll pass too,’ Boadicea gave a disgusted laugh, as she tried to deter the younger brothers from jumping up and down on Eamonn. ‘Come on, now, boys, don’t get too giddy. Pa, if ye’ve got any breath left in ye, will ye not give us a tune on your concertina? It’ll give the poor fella a chance to sit down,’ she murmured to her husband, who sat beside her looking bloated and happy.
‘He’s not going to play what I think he’s going to play, is he?’ Niall pretended as if ready to weep. But no, there was to be a round of carols. Not until towards the end did Georgie turn sentimental, and begin to serenade his wife with one that made grown men cry.
‘“Roses are shining in Picardeee …”’
Though he was never to finish the song, for Brian was violently sick, and, after Boadicea had cleaned this up, Niall deemed it, ‘Time to go home!’
‘And a very merry Christmas was had by all,’ announced the dour Mr Yarker, reaching for a much-needed cigarette.
19
After a splendid festive season, it was back to labouring on the railway for Niall, though the next working week was to be a short one too, the very eventful year drawing to a close. Only one more day, sighed Niall with gladness, as he made his way home that evening through the snow and ice, more eager than most to see the back of 1935. He was keener still for the new one to bring good things for himself and Boadicea, which, if Christmas had been any example, it promised to do, the children growing more attached to her by the day, and she to them. Similarly, the neighbours; for, apart from those who were very close friends of Nora, most had taken up the trend set by Mrs Dunphy, showing a greater respect towards the new Mrs Doran, and so finally granting he and Bo the peace they craved.
Pondering on his success against the bigots, and all the good times ahead, his mind filled with thoughts of his lovely wife and the children who awaited him at home, Niall was therefore somewhat dismayed to find himself the subject of renewed interest. Across the road, undeterred by the inclement weather, two women were indulging in gossip, and following him with their eyes as he made his way to his door. Obviously it was him they were discussing, for, as he frowned back at the speaker she concealed her mouth behind a knitted glove, as if fearing he could read her lips. But the clouds of breath continued to emerge around the woollen mitt, hanging upon the freezing air, even after Niall went in.
Annoying though this was, he chose not to mention this to Boadicea, wanting nothing to spoil the happy warmth that overwhelmed him as he came through the door. The evenings with his family were short enough, without ruining it with such needless chat.
The next morning he had completely forgotten about it, as he made his way from the house into a thick
blanket of fog, aware only of the cold that pinched his ears, turning them purple and making them throb as he huddled into his old mac and slithered up the street on a sheet of frozen snow to catch his bus. Feeling eyes on him again, he glanced around, but could see only the swirling icy vapour, and, thinking himself deluded, he strode on.
‘Mr Doran!’
Come to fetch her milk from the doorstep, a shawl hugged about her bent frame, old Mrs Powers caught sight of him before he disappeared into the fog, and beckoned him to return, her face suggesting urgency.
‘I don’t believe it for one minute, but I thought you’d better know …’ The glaucous eyes peered up at him earnestly, as she tugged at his sleeve to delay him. ‘I heard an awful rumour in the sweet shop yesterday afternoon about Mrs Doran.’
Immediately, Niall bristled. Had the gossip been directed at himself it would not bother him, but his wife was a different matter, and his answer was sour. ‘I won’t ask who’s putting it about.’ Mrs Powers looked uncomfortable, but it did not take much to guess that it was Nora behind this, and so he asked quickly, ‘Come on then, love, what have you heard?’
‘I’m sure none of it’s true,’ reaffirmed Mrs Powers, ‘but you have a right to know: they’re saying that Mrs Doran was up for murder.’
Niall did not know whether to laugh or cry – felt as if he had been hit in the stomach. He stared at her, unable to fathom such vile canard.
‘I hate upsetting you, dear – I know what a lovely lady your wife is – I just thought you should know …’ Afraid of the mood she had created, Mrs Powers held his darkening face for a few sympathetic moments, then shivered and backed indoors.
Secrets of Our Hearts Page 43
