Secrets of Our Hearts

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Niall barely noticed her go, so intent was he on Nora’s malice, all thoughts of work forgotten.

  His loud thumping on Harriet’s door was answered by husband Peter, who was knocked sideways in the rush to find the culprit. ‘Where is she?’ Niall bullocked his way into the living room of the council house, glared around him, then barged into what appeared to be the kitchen. When she was not there he simply bellowed: ‘Nora!’

  ‘What did you let him in for?’ Still in her dressing gown, a bad-tempered Harriet chided her husband, before urging him to remove Niall.

  But the latter stood his ground. ‘You do and I’ll bloody flatten you!’ he threatened Peter. ‘I’m not going till I’ve seen that vicious old bugger.’

  ‘Are you referring to my mother?’ Harriet adopted an air of superiority.

  ‘Oh, you recognise the description then – where is she?’ And then Niall saw for himself, as Nora suddenly entered, and he approached her so swiftly that they all feared she was under attack and rushed to stop him.

  ‘You vile old bitch!’ Niall had rarely used such a term to her face, but his manners were overtaken by fury. ‘Well, you needn’t think you’re seeing your grandchildren again after this!’

  ‘For what?’ Nora squared up to him, her eyes blazing. ‘For telling the truth! I’ll be seeing them again all right – I’ll be seeing them every day when I get custody!’

  Deaf to such idiotic threats, Niall was in no mood for games, his fists bunched as he gave a last retort before leaving. ‘You’re lucky I’ve got work to go to or I’d …’

  ‘What?’ asked his ex-mother-in-law nastily. ‘Send for the police? No you wouldn’t, because then you’d hear the truth! That you’ve married a murderer!’

  ‘You stupid evil old sod!’ Niall came back, as if to strike her, but Peter and Harriet held him off, albeit with great difficulty as he tried to be at his tormentor.

  ‘It’s right, Niall!’ gasped Harriet, struggling to restrain him, ‘She was up in court for killing her baby. Our Florrie knew her from Leeds—’

  ‘You’re all as evil as each other!’ Niall was thoroughly shaken – not because he believed it for a second, but because of the depths to which they had sunk. ‘I didn’t think even you lot could stoop that low!’

  ‘Don’t believe us then!’ parried Nora. ‘You’ll believe it soon enough when you hear from our solicitor. We’re applying to have them kids taken away from you!’

  Dismissive though he was of her tale, he was forced to respond to this threat. ‘Just try it!’

  ‘I will!’ Nora thrust her iron jaw at him. ‘You think we’re making it up, but we’ve got the evidence! The minute our Florrie heard that name she remembered – because it was the same year as her eldest was born and it really upset her reading about it! Our Harriet sat in the library for days going through the newspapers, and she finally found out what it was that fancy woman of yours has been hiding. I can give you the name of the paper and the date and you can look it up yourself if you don’t believe us.’ Her armour-plated hips waddled to a drawer, from which was taken a piece of paper bearing all the information needed, and she pushed it at him, trying to make him take it, then having to shove it into his pocket. ‘But it doesn’t matter if you believe me or not, I’m having our Ellen’s kids off you!’

  ‘Now, we’ve talked about this, Mam.’ Still holding onto Niall, having a care as to the invasion of her nice new home, especially with her own child on the way, Harriet proffered a word of reprieve for the father. ‘We can’t fit them all in here. Now that he knows what sort of woman he’s married to he can do something about her.’

  ‘I don’t need to do anything about her because it’s all lies. And I’m warning you,’ Niall wrenched himself free and made for the door, ‘I’d better not hear any more of it because, by God, you’ll regret it!’ Cause I’ll be the one going to a solicitor for defamation!’

  Nora ignored this, to yell, ‘I hope you’re going home to confront her! I’m not having my grandchildren left one more minute in the company of a murderer!’

  But Niall slammed the door, having no intention of falling for her tricks, instead jumping onto a passing bus that would take him to work.

  As much as he might ridicule her words, though, they had made his heart thud, and his gut churn. And as much as he might try to disregard them, they niggled at him throughout the bus ride, repeating themselves over and over again. Just when he had assumed things were looking up, that old witch had to go and spoil it. Yes, that was what she was: an evil old witch, determined to ruin his life with her lies.

  But what if it were not lies? Bo had lost a baby, she had told him so herself. He had assumed that the child had not come to term … but what if it had? Every time he moved in his seat, he could sense the piece of paper crinkling in his pocket, reminding him, until finally he was compelled to take it out and look at the details there, even though the very thought sickened him.

  The newspaper was one he took himself, but he could not recall reading of such an event – but of course not; it covered the whole of Yorkshire and he only took an interest in local affairs. Besides, who could remember what they had read twelve years ago, which was the date on Nora’s bit of paper. Infuriating as the woman was, she was right in that it must have taken Harriet ages to find it. Didn’t she have anything better to do? The piece of paper still clutched in his hand, he lifted concerned eyes to stare from the window, his mind in turmoil. The bus was rolling through town now. There would be a stop coming up soon. Should he alight whilst he had the chance, and instead of going to work visit the library and see for himself?

  No – he was furious with himself for even thinking to do this! For that would give it credence, and didn’t he have anything better to do than dance to Nora’s tune? Dark of spirit, acid curdling his stomach, he shoved the scrap of paper back into his pocket, and decided to remain on the bus as it travelled slowly through the thick grey blanket of fog. Only when it arrived at his destination did he alight. The fog had in no way dispersed. And neither had that sickening thought.

  Due to his lateness, the other platelayers had enjoyed their bacon sandwiches and were on the point of leaving the cabin when he got there. Promising the foreman he would be there right away, Niall brewed himself a mug of tea, tipped a quick dash of condensed milk from an opened tin, and drank it between collecting his fog signals. Then he picked up his lamp and hurried after the rest of his gang into the swirling mist. It was deathly quiet, the embankments clad in a thick fleece, this and the blanket of fog suppressing all but the noisiest of sounds.

  The freezing mist refusing to lift, his hair and eyebrows gathering icy droplets as he wandered along the line with his lamp, Niall was to remain on fogging duty for most of the morning. He paced several miles without even knowing it, barely aware of the shadowy figures who worked alongside him, nor that his extremities turned blue, as he fought to remain alert to his job of railway safety, whilst his mind was constantly dragged away by other things. But Nora’s horrible lie was only one of them; for some infuriating reason, the words of ‘Roses of Picardy’ kept going round and round his mind. Round and round and round, they went …

  For Christ’s sake! Attempting to direct himself yet again to the crucial task in hand, he took out another fog signal and bent to insert this small explosive device beneath a certain point in the rail. Then, all at once aware of being watched, he raised his eyes – and came face to face with the wolf. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. No more than three yards away, it peered at him from between two thorny bushes, its fur and whiskers glistening with beads of icy moisture as it crouched in the realisation that it had been seen. Neither of them daring to move, the wolf seemingly as mesmerised as he, Niall stared into its hazel eyes for an age, with the fog swirling around them, and the thoughts swirling around his head. Somewhere, far away, a horn sounded. He barely heard it, his eyes unable to tear themselves away from their vulpine counterpart.

  Then vaguely he be
came aware of pandemonium, of shrieking whistles and yells of alarm, and of something else bearing down on him, something large and deadly that forced his eyes to break away, and, as he turned his head, out of the fog loomed a train.

  His heart leaped, and with seconds to act, so too did Niall, hurling himself for the embankment, feeling his face raked with gravel as the wolf made a leap in the opposite direction – and disappeared under the wheels of the locomotive.

  ‘You mad bastard!’ As the train went on its way, out of the fog a series of lamps bobbed towards him, the men who carried them yelling at his insanity. ‘Didn’t you hear the horn? You’ll have us all flamin’ killed!’

  Heart still racing, almost vomiting at how close he had come to death, Niall issued abject apologies to all, grabbed his fallen cap and rose, to pant, ‘The wolf – where did it go?’

  A dozen angry faces condemned him, but the foreman’s was angriest of all. ‘Do you mean its head or its arse – ’cause they went in different directions! But I know where you’re going, Dolly bloody Daydream. For Christ’s sake, what’s wrong with you today? You’re no use to anybody – get yourself home!’

  And with this and other angry denunciations ringing in his ears, Niall left them surveying the bloody remnants of the wolf, whilst he himself staggered along the track to the nearest station, and caught a train back to the city.

  He fought against it. He fully intended to go straight home. But Nora had seemed so very convinced, that he just had to see for himself. So, instead of heeding his own judgement, instead of taking his wife on trust, he went to the library, and asked to be shown the incriminating newspaper. When the pertinent volume was brought out and laid before him, he went straight for the date that was written on Nora’s piece of paper. And there it was, as she had said – not in a great splash, just a couple of columns, for it was no one famous that had been killed, only a baby – there was Boadicea, fighting for her life, protesting that it had been a terrible accident, that after weeks of broken nights she had collapsed with exhaustion and had dropped her baby girl onto the bed, and from there, tragically, she had bounced onto the floor …

  His scalp crawling in horror, his pulse racing, Niall pored over every word of that murder trial, growing ever more nauseated as he saw that Nora had spoken the truth – but not the whole truth, and not the whole story, for in flicking to the following day’s edition, desperate to see the outcome of the trial, his heart leaped at the verdict: not guilty.

  A great wave of relief washed over him. He almost laughed out loud, almost wept, right there in the library, and clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent it. How could he ever have doubted that lovely woman, believed that vicious twisted old bitch over his wife?

  Leaving the musty volume open on the table, overwhelmed at the acquittal, Niall put on his cap, left the library and rushed home.

  Up to her arms in flour, her hands rolling out pastry, Boadicea’s face lit up at his unexpected entry, and he was filled with shame that he had believed for one minute that she was capable of such a crime. He went immediately to hug her, then stepped back and held her at arm’s length, a stupid grin upon his face.

  ‘What?’ she laughed in confusion at his odd behaviour.

  ‘I just love you,’ he breathed.

  ‘I love you too.’ She gave him a playful smack with a floury hand, then, when he released her, went back to her pastry. ‘What are you doing home? Not that it isn’t wonderful to see my dear husband! And look at you, you’re dripping – and your poor little lugs are blue.’

  She made as if to rid her hands of flour and come to help him, but Niall said: ‘No, you get on with what you’re doing,’ and he went to hang up his haversack, and his old mac, and to lay his saturated cap on the hearth, before flopping into a fireside chair to thaw out. ‘Where are the kids?’ He knew they should be here, for the school was still closed.

  She laughed. ‘They’ve gone with Emma to the pictures, remember?’

  Niall gave a sound of amusement too at his own lack of memory, then turned more serious as he prepared to admit the discovery that had obscured it. But how could he begin? The fire had caused his nose to stream. He trumpeted into his handkerchief, then put it away, and rubbed his hands briskly over his face, leaving them there and tapping a thoughtful finger against his nose as he stared at her.

  Boadicea was quick to pick up on his mood. ‘What is it? Has something happened at work?’

  He nodded, looking guilty, as he removed his hands to admit, ‘I nearly got meself killed—’

  ‘Oh, Niall!’ Her eyes filling with concern, she abandoned her baking, and came forward to hear the rest of his tale.

  ‘I saw the wolf, couldn’t take me eyes off it, didn’t hear the hooter, but that wasn’t all.’ He looked up at her, shamefaced. ‘I’ve done something awful.’

  She stared at him, waiting.

  ‘When I set off this morning,’ he began, ‘I bumped into Mrs Powers, and she told me that Nora had put this awful, this foul rumour about …’ He shook his head, his eyes turning dark in anger at the memory. ‘I didn’t believe it, of course,’ he went on quickly, looking at Boadicea, who had become very still and quiet, ‘and I couldn’t have anybody else believing it either, so I went round to Harriet’s and confronted her and her mother. They gave me all this bull about a court case – I knew I shouldn’t have listened to a word but Nora seemed so sure. She had the name of the paper and everything …’ Boadicea’s face had turned ghastly now. ‘It troubled me all morning – I know I should have taken you on trust, I know I was weak, but I just had to go and have a look for meself, if only to prove them wrong.’ His face pleaded with her to forgive him. ‘I’m really sorry, darlin’, sorry that I ever doubted you for one second, I know they only gave me half the story … but I have to admit that there was a brief moment when I thought it could be true, and for that I’ll never forgive myself. I know you could never have killed anyone, let alone your own child.’

  There was a strained silence. Then Boadicea said, ‘I did.’

  It was almost a whisper, and he saw how painful it had been for her to utter. ‘Yes, I know you did, love, but I know it was an accident,’ he assured her quickly. ‘I read to the end, I know you were acquitted.’

  She performed a slow shake of head, her eyes void of all emotion. ‘But I did it,’ she said, in the quietest of murmurs.

  Niall stared at her intently, cocking his ear to make sure that he had not misheard, and was about to ask her to repeat this. But the look in her eyes forestalled him, and then came an intense surge of shock that went right to his bowels and told him it was true, and his lips parted in horror, then just as quickly closed again as he swallowed, unable to respond.

  Her hands still caked in flour, her eyes fixed straight ahead, not seeing him but something else, something terrible, Boadicea stood there, like a child made to stand before the class to recite some awful deed. ‘Moira, we called her. Came out crying, she did, and almost from that moment she never stopped. Day and night, it was all she ever did. Day, after day, after day. She was such a lovely little thing when she did go to sleep – blonde hair, blue eyes, adorable as an angel – but the moment she woke up she’d start crying again, and her face would be all twisted and demanding, and if I didn’t get to her in time, to change her nappy, or whatever, she’d get louder and louder, and nothing would pacify her, and she wouldn’t feed, and I tried to put her to my breast, and she’d just go rigid, and her face would turn crimson, and she’d scream and scream, and her little hands would bunch into fists …’ Boadicea’s own hands bunched involuntarily, a sign of panic in her eyes as her voice picked up speed. ‘And the more I tried to feed her the more she screamed and writhed and fought against me, and my head was going round fit to explode, as if I was going mad. I was so tired – I hadn’t slept in days – and I’d just had enough – and I threw her – anywhere, and the moment I did it I regretted it ’cause I knew what was going to happen, and it did, for she hit the floor, and when sh
e stopped crying, I knew she wasn’t going to cry ever again …’

  Despite his revulsion, Niall’s compassionate heart went out to her, and he managed to speak, to clarify this dreadful misunderstanding. ‘But you didn’t mean it – you fainted and she bounced from the bed to the floor!’

  Boadicea shook her head, almost vomiting on the emotion that she was trying to suppress – had tried to suppress for years – her eyes and nose beginning to run. ‘She never even touched the bed, Nye. She went straight to the floor, and I sent her there.’

  If Niall had imagined there could be no worse horror than that he had suffered this morning, he now knew there could, for here it was, magnified tenfold, and he was unable to utter a word, unable to fathom how any mother could do this, let alone the one he had entrusted with his own children, the one he had adored. In his fevered brain, a picture arose, of Ellen with their firstborn, the look of fierce maternal love on her face, the look that had said she would die to protect her baby, and it made him want to throw up, that he had entrusted her children to one who had killed her own.

  ‘So … you got away with it,’ he breathed at last.

  Boadicea turned her face sharply to look him in the eyes, her own brimming angry tears, and her voice trembling with bitterness. ‘Yes, I got away with it. Instead of hanging me, they let me go, so that I could live happily ever after.’

  He met her ferocious glare. ‘But you lied to save your neck!’

  ‘And who wouldn’t?’ she flung at him, bashing the air with her fist. ‘How dare you sit there in judgement of me when you’ve no idea what I was suffering – still suffer! Twelve years, and not a day goes by when I don’t think of her, think of what she’d look like, whether she’d have eyes like my mother, what she’d be doing with her life if I hadn’t taken it!’ Her face twisted in grief and her voice cracked with an emotional plea. ‘But it wasn’t really me that did it – for I was out of my mind! I was eighteen! Little more than a child myself! I had no mother, no one to turn to!’