A Different Kind of Love

by Jean Saunders

  Once the decision about Christmas had been made, Kate wrote home and told her family she would be arriving on Wednesday, the day before Christmas Eve, and that she would telephone Father Mulheeney to meet her at Temple Meads station.

  It was naturally a busy time of year for the priest, but she had no doubt he would want to make sure his wayward ewe lamb was still surviving. Luke put through the call for her two weeks before the day.

  “Is it really Katie Sullivan who’s calling?” the priest said, elaborating the obvious as usual. “Sure and ’tis good to hear your dulcet tones, me wee one. But you’re not wanting to tell me any bad news, I trust?”

  “Not at all, Father,” Kate said, feeling just as awkward with him as she ever did, knowing she was hardly an asset to his flock. “I wondered if you would be able to meet me at the train station when I come home for Christmas. I know it’s cheeky to ask, and if you’re far too busy, I’ll understand.”

  “Not at all, not at all! In fact, I was asking Donal when we would be seeing you again, and he didn’t seem to know. But I’ll see to it, Katie girl, and ’twill be good to see your smiling face again, since your mammie tells me you’re in much better spirits these days.”

  “Yes, I am. Thank you, Father.”

  She gave him the details quickly, and put down the telephone with a huge feeling of relief, For some reason her hands felt quite damp.

  “What is it about a priest that always makes you feel such a sinner?” she said to Luke with a laugh.

  “Maybe it’s the fact that they invite all those confessions, whether or not you’ve got anything to confess,” he said, just as lightly. “I can’t say I know very much about it, but it’s all part of the Catholic ritual, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Kate said.

  And although she’d had plenty to confess, wild horses wouldn’t have dragged her secret out of her in the confessional. And in Father Mulheeney’s eyes such neglect would be a sin in itself, to add to the major one of fornication.

  “You’ve got that lost look in your eyes that hasn’t been there for quite a while, Kate,” Luke said. “If the priest has such an effect on an innocent young girl, I can quite see why hardened sinners wouldn’t care to risk having their secrets wormed out of them.”

  “Everyone has secrets, Luke, even me,” she said, her eyes bright. “But they wouldn’t be secrets if we shared them with everybody. And can we please change the conversation?”

  Especially since she was nothing like the innocent Luke assumed that she was. But she could hardly tell him it was one of the main things that made her uncomfortable whenever she thought about Father Mulheeney.

  He met her as arranged at Temple Meads station after the tediously long journey from London. She had decided to travel with as few clothes as possible for the few days she would be away, but she was weighed down with parcels for the family, and with the gifts that Luke and Mrs Wood and the other lodgers had insisted she take with her to be opened on Christmas Day and not before.

  It was like having a second family, and Kate had made sure she left gifts for them all as well. She could imagine them opening them on Christmas afternoon after they were all satiated with Mrs Wood’s succulent roast goose and plum duff, and the bottles of stout and beer the neighbours had promised to bring in.

  There would be gifts under the tree that Kate and Doris and Faye had helped to decorate, and there were so many paper trimmings around the room they almost needed the gas light on permanently to counteract the gloom. There was mistletoe, bought from a barrow in the market, instead of being gathered from the trees and hedgerows the way it would be done at home. The girls had caught Luke under it, naturally, and Thomas Lord Tannersley had kissed Kate soundly, insisting in his theatrical way that it wasn’t every day an elderly gent kissed such a pretty leading lady. And Luke had kissed her…

  “Ae you warm enough, Katie girl?” Father Mulheeney said, as they climbed into his old car outside the station. “There’s a rug to cover your knees and you’d do well to use it, for it’s getting to be real nose-nipping weather now.”

  Kate laughed, doing as he said, and pushing away the image of herself in Luke Halliday’ arms, while the rest of Mrs Wood’s household cheered.

  “I haven’t heard that expression since I left home,” she said to the priest.

  “I daresay London folk have their own quaint ways, but you know we’re blunt enough to see things as they are.”

  “And this is really nose-nipping weather,” she agreed, hoping he wasn’t going to go into one of his pious tirades all the way home to Edgemoor. “I’ve told them about our morning mists down here, Father, and how pretty the fields are then, compared with the awful yellow pea-souper fogs in London. I’ve already had a taste of them, and it really is a taste. It gets right down your throat and into your lungs.”

  If she was babbling a little, he didn’t seem to notice it, and she was glad to see he was more interested in concentrating on his driving until they were out of the town environs and heading towards the Somerset village.

  “You’ll be coming to church with your family tomorrow night, of course, Katie,” he said, when the familiar roofs and spires and farmhouses began to come into view a while later.

  “Of course,” she said quickly.

  “Good. And you’ll be glad to know we’ve lit candles for you while you’ve been away.”

  She felt a spurt of anger. He made it sound as if she’d either been at death’s door, or done something terribly wrong. She knew she’d done the latter, but he didn’t know it, and she really didn’t see why she should be made to feel guilty over Walter’s betrayal.

  “Thank you, Father, but there was really no need,” she managed to murmur.

  He glanced at her. “There’s no mortal so perfect that they can’t be thankful to have candles lit for them in God’s house, girl,” he said more sternly. “But ’tis clear from the look of you that you’ve got over your bad times, and for that we must all be thankful.”

  He was like a dog with a bone, Kate thought irreverently, stirring up all the memories she was trying so hard to forget. Coming home had been bound to evoke them, and she didn’t need further reminding from this old man.

  Away across the fields, where the cottages were dotted about like the illustrations in a child’s picture book, she could see the curl of smoke from Vi Parsons’ cottage. Kate had already wondered if she could bear to call on her, or if the visit would be too embarassing on both sides. Vi had been a good friend, and although she had always trusted her not to say anything about the miscarriage, deep inside Kate wanted a bit of reassurance on that score. But there was no need to make up her mind in advance, sometimes it was best to let events take care of themselves.

  “Nearly there,” Father Mulheeney remarked above the chugging of the car engine, as if registering the silence of the girl beside him. “I daresay it will all seem a little strange to you after all this time, Katie. It aways feels odd to come back to a place after a time away, even though it’s where you belong.”

  If he was trying to make her feel guilty at going away, it was having the opposite effect, thought Kate. London was her home now, and this village was the alien place. It was where she had first met Walter, and away on that hillside he had seduced her. She gave a sudden shiver, as the unwanted images of herself and Walter, writhing in ecstasy on the sweet-scented grassy slopes, surged into her mind. They were images she didn’t want to recall, or to remember the caress of his fingers on her skin, or his mouth seeking the inner warmth of her, and teasing her into an erotic response she hadn’t even known she was capable of feeling. She didn’t want to remember his hoarse words begging her to touch him and caress him. To kiss him in a way that had seemed so foreign to her at first, but which had opened the floodgates of desire in her so that she was willing to do anything he wanted … be anything he wanted…

  “Kate, are you all right?” she heard the priest say sharply. “You’ve gone very pale, my dear girl.”

>   She was breathing very shallowly, as if she was about to faint. She pushed down the pulsating feelings she didn’t want with a great effort, and forced a smile to her lips.

  “I’m quite all right, Father. I’m probably over-excited at coming home and seeing my family again.”

  “Then you’d do well to calm yourself, girl. An over-indulgence in excitement is not good for you.”

  “I’ll try to remember that, Father,” Kate said solemnly, but she was struck with a great desire to laugh at his words, because how could any normal person be expected to completely control excitement, any more than they could control sadness, or happiness, or pain?

  As they neared the cottage, the door burst open, and two small figures came hurtling outside, prancing up and down beside the car until it stopped, chattering and squealing like a pair of magpies. Kate opened the car door and enveloped them both in her arms.

  “We’ve been waiting for you for ages and ages, our Kate! Have you brought us any presents?” Maura shouted. “Mammie said you’d be sure to bring us some stuff from London!”

  “Now then, you girls,” Father Mulheeney admonished them. “You know it’s a sin to be covetous.”

  “But it’s Christmas, Father,” Kate said with a laugh, her spirits upflifted by the sudden glow of being in familiar surroundings which had been oddly missing until that moment. “And you can’t blame these two little sweethearts for wanting their presents, can you? Jesus had His presents on His birthday, didn’t He?”

  She didn’t know why she said it, nor even how the words slipped out, but they obviously seemed to satisfy the priest. He nodded, as if to imply that Kate Sullivan wasn’t totally a lost soul if she could speak of her scriptures so easily and naturally.

  “We’ve collected branches and berries for the parlour, and Donal’s bringing back a tree tonight. We waited for you, our Kate, to help us decorate it,” Aileen shouted now.

  They were so het up that Kate wondered if their voices were ever going to regain a normal pitch. She hugged them both, loving the childish excitement in their eyes, and the way that Maura seemed to have filled out and blossomed in the months she had been gone.

  “Will you come in for a cup of something, Father?” she asked with a smile. “I know Mammie would wish me to ask you.”

  “Thank you, no, child,” he said. “As you might guess, there’s plenty of work to be done at this time of year, but I’ll be seeing you all tomorrow night at the midnight mass. Enjoy your time together, all of you. And Kate – ’tis good to see you back in the bosom of your family again.”

  Once he had helped Kate unload the packages that had the girls squealing with anticipation again, he left them to their giggles as the old car backfired, smoking like a chimney as it chugged away. The Sullivan girls instantly forgot him as they hugged one another, and the smaller ones escorted their sister into the cottage, arms linked.

  Alice was in the kitchen, and the warm familiar smells of crusty meat pies and baked apples met Kate’s nostrils as they went into the cottage and dumped the packages on the old sofa. The smells made her nose tingle and her mouth water. It was a long time since breakfast, when she had last eaten anything.

  “Mammie,” she said, reverting to the old childhood name she used to use. “It’s good to be home.”

  “Then sit you down and I’ll make us both a nice cup of tea,” Alice said briskly, unable to bring herself to hug and kiss this beautiful girl who was her daughter.

  If they had been a kissing family, she would have found such demonstrations easy, but they weren’t, and she contented herself with fussing about with tea making and putting a huge plate of scones and butter and jam on the kitchen table to tide them all over before the evening meal.

  “So what have you brought us, our Kate?” Maura said.

  “Now, you girls remember what I told you, and let Kate catch her breath,” Alice said severely. “You’ll not get any presents until Christmas afternoon, and not then, if you don’t behave yourselves.”

  “You’d better do as Mammie says, and try to be patient,” Kate said, smiling. “Things are all the better for waiting.”

  She caught her mother’s glance and gave her a reassuring smile. It said that she was well, and recovered, and that there was no need to refer to what was past ever again. Kate knew the unspoken messages would suit Alice, who had always found it difficult to speak of personal matters, and even less to know how to deal with a daughter who had almost committed the sin of marrying a bigamist.

  “When will Dad and Donal be back?” she said.

  “In a while. They’re doing some treecutting in the village in return for a Christmas tree and some logs for the fire. If you want to take your things up to your room, Kate, get the girls to help you.”

  “I haven’t brought very much, except the presents. But I daresay they’ll be better off in my room for the time being, before little fingers start poking about to feel the shape of things inside the wrapping paper.”

  “We wouldn’t!” Aileen said.

  “Yes, you would,” Kate laughed, “so you can just help me carry it all upstairs to my room, then let me unpack my things in peace, and I’ll be downstairs again before you know it.”

  She needed that small space of time to be on her own. The last time she had been in her old bedroom she had been preparing to leave for London. She had been entering the unknown, and it had all turned out infinitely better than she could ever have dreamed it would. But she couldn’t quite forget the awfulness of that other morning, here in this bedroom, on what should have been her wedding day, when she had been presented with Walter’s cruel letter.

  Kate looked around her slowly, gazing through the window at the wintry panorama beyond. The day was drawing to a close, and the fields were spangled with the first hint of evening mist. She could hear the bleating of sheep from a nearby farm. It was reassuring and comforting and familiar. She recognised the rich sense of continuity in the old country ways, more enduring than all the fads of fashionable city life. Everything here was the same, and only she was different. She didn’t want to think of herself as not quite belonging any more. It was good to be home, she kept telling herself, even though the very last thing she had thought as she watched Father Mulheeney drive away from the cottage, was whether she would have the nerve to ask him if she could telephone through to a London number on Christmas morning to wish Luke a merry Christmas.

  She would never do such a thing, of course, unless they had had a telephone here at the cottage. The very idea of it was so absurd that it lightened the small tinge of unease she felt, imagining the very ordinary Sullivans getting above themselves and owning a telephone, just so she could hear Luke’s voice from all those miles away!

  It was just as absurd as admitting to herself that she was missing him already.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Long before Brogan and Donal came home, Kate had begun to feel more relaxed. She could hardly help it, once her small sisters came banging on her bedroom door, begging to see all her new clothes, and to hear all about London.

  “Is it bigger than here?” Maura said.

  “Much bigger,” Kate said, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s a very noisy place too, with huge buildings, and lots of motor cars and trams, and a big park where the ladies and gentlemen go walking on Sunday afternoons—”

  “And a palace where the king and queen live,” Aileen put in. “We learned all about it at school.”

  “Have you seen ’em, our Kate?” Maura said excitedly.

  Kate had to laugh, shaking her head. But Maura was looking so much better these days, no longer so pale and pasty, that she couldn’t dampen her enthusiasm.

  “Kings and queens don’t go walking the streets like ordinary folk, you ninny. They’re far too busy doing all sorts of important things.”

  “What things do they do except kinging and queening?”

  “I don’t really know.” Kate had forgotten how inquisitive they were, and she knew she’d s
oon be out of her depth. “Anyway, do you want to see the frock I’ve got for Christmas Day, or not?”

  It was easy to divert their attention, and to show off the forest-green, low-waisted frock, with her favourite handkerchief points at the hem. It wasn’t as fancy as one of the silkier ones she posed in for the photos, but when she wore it with her long green glass beads, she felt like the proverbial million dollars.

  “Mammie don’t like us wearing that colour,” Aileen said at once. “She always says green’s unlucky.”

  “Well, I like it,” Maura said, fingering the soft, warm material. “I wish I could have a new frock for Christmas Day.”

  Kate didn’t answer. Among the Christmas parcels she had brought home were two new frocks especially for the girls. Until now, they had always had home-mades, mostly from left over bits of fabric from Granby’s Garments. This year, they would have ready-mades for the very first time in their lives, bought from the bargain basement of a West End shop. It gave Kate a good feeling to know she could do this, even though she had forgotten her mother’s aversion to the colour green.

  It was all superstitious nonsense, anyway, and any bad luck due to come Kate’s way had surely been and gone. She certainly didn’t intend to let it bother her.

  They all heard the men’s voices at the same time, and the girls jumped off Kate’s bed, shrieking that Donal would have brought home the tree. They dragged Kate downstairs, where she was enveloped in a bear-hug from her less inhibited father.

  He had the whiff of the outdoors about him still, but it was a woody and familiar smell, enhanced by the bits of fir cones and pine needles sticking to his crumpled tweed jacket.

  “You’ll have our Kate all prickled up, Dada. Put her down and let her catch her breath,” Donal said with a grin.