For My Brother’s Sins

by For My Brother's Sins (retail) (epub)

  There followed a look of surprise as Erin appeared in the doorway. ‘What’re you doin’ home? You usually have your dinner at work.’

  Erin leaned against the door jamb and twisted a lock of hair round her finger. ‘I won’t be having me dinner there any more.’

  ‘Why not?’ Thomasin rifled the drawer for an extra knife and fork, then set another place at the table. When Erin’s answer was slow in coming she spun round sharply. ‘I hope yer not going to tell me yer’ve lost yer job?’

  The girl pulled at her lower lip. ‘I had a row with Mrs Bradall and walked out. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Walked out? Walked out!’ screeched Thomasin. ‘Did yer think we were that well-off that yer could waltz out when yer felt like it?’ She pulled a chair away from the table and sat upon it heavily, placing a hand across her forehead. That was two wages short they’d be. She sighed. ‘Oh well! I suppose what’s done is done; my having a seizure isn’t goin’ to remedy it.’ Resignedly she picked up a ladle and began to divide the vegetables – no meat today, being Friday. The door slammed. ‘Here’s another one home for his dinner.’ Dickie slouched into the room. He looked at his mother’s hot, flustered face, wondering whether this was the right time to break the news.

  ‘Get them hands washed, yer look like summat off t’midden pile!’ It was obvious his news would wait. He disappeared swiftly into the scullery.

  ‘I don’t know what yer father’s gonna say,’ Thomasin was muttering when he slipped back into the room and took his seat at the table. ‘It’s hard enough havin’ to manage on what we have without another wage short.’

  Dickie’s fork paused in mid-passage: she knew! How could she have learned about it so soon? Drat! Miss Peabody must have told her, the old snoop. He gave a nervous cough. ‘I’m sorry, Mam. I promise I’ll get another as soon as I can.’ He wondered how much of the story she knew.

  Thomasin threw him an absent glance as she sliced into her meal. ‘Another what?’

  ‘Another jo …’ he bit off the word as the realisation came that she had not been referring to his dismissal. But it was too late.

  ‘What was that? What were you gonna say?’ she asked sharply, then, at his reticence, uttered a mournful groan. ‘Oh, God grant me strength! Not you an’ all.’ Her appetite completely soured she sent her knife and fork rattling onto her plate. ‘Good grief! I’m beginning to think Freddie Gash was right when he said the end of the world is nigh. I thought it was too good to be true, us being comfortably off for once in us lives. I’m gonna need a magic wand to be able to manage on yer dad’s wage alone.’

  Erin ceased arranging the sliced carrots into patterns. ‘What about your job?’

  ‘You may well ask!’ Thomasin propped her head in her hands and stared down into her stew. Trying to hang onto her patience she told them about Mr Penny’s death.

  Erin understood now why her mother had been so annoyed at her own admission. She leaned over and gripped Thomasin’s arm comfortingly. ‘I’m sorry, Mam, I wouldn’t’ve done it if I’d known. ’Twas the hot weather made me lose my rag.’

  ‘Me dad’s here!’ warned Sonny as the door slammed again and the sound of Patrick’s boots thudded down the passage. On his entrance four expectant faces turned to him. ‘I decided to come home after all,’ he explained his presence, then added facetiously, ‘just to see your smiling faces.’

  His wife ignored the witticism. ‘Before yer sit down, have yer anything yer’d like to tell us?’

  He threw her a puzzled frown, ‘Sure, an’ what would I be havin’ to tell yese? I’ve only been digging holes all morning.’

  ‘Well, thank the Lord for that.’ His wife relaxed and reached for another plate.

  Patrick shook his head and went to wash his hands. ‘Do I gather by that question ye’ve something to tell me?’ he shouted from the scullery. His query was met by a wall of silence. Three guilty faces stared intently at the table as he returned for his meal. ‘Well?’

  ‘They’ve lost their jobs,’ answered Sonny bluntly.

  ‘What, all of yese?’ cried Patrick, and at their dumb nods, ‘Jesus Mary an’ Joseph! Is it so rich ye think I am that I can afford to support a load o’ shirkers?’

  They all spoke at once, explaining that it was not their fault, that they were innocent victims of one of Life’s cruel twists.

  ‘One at a time!’ he bellowed, waving his hands and sinking onto a stool.

  Thomasin began her excuse. She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. ‘It’s Mr Penny, poor old soul. He died through t’night. Goodness knows how long he’d’ve been lyin’ there if his neighbour hadn’t got worried and fetched bobbies. I nearly had a fit when t’policeman came in this mornin’. I thought you’d had an accident or summat.’ She peeped slyly from the corner of her eye to see if her melodramatics had produced any sympathy, then blew her nose loudly. ‘I don’t know what to do about t’shop.’

  ‘Three wages gone and she’s worrying about the shop!’ said Patrick, then addressed his next question to his daughter. ‘An’ what’s your excuse, milady?’

  Erin suffered a twinge of regret for her impulsive action as she related the episode. ‘I’m sorry, Dad, if I’d known about the others losing their jobs I would’ve kept me mouth buttoned. I just got sick an’ tired o’ being treated like a slave. And this weather …’ she bit her lip. ‘I suppose I could go an’ apologise an’ ask for me job back.’

  Patrick shook his head. A flurry of brickdust peppered his stew but he seemed not to mind. ‘I doubt ye’d get it.’ He turned to Dickie who had been hoping his father had forgotten his presence. ‘An’ what’ve you been up to if I dare ask?’

  Guilty eyes avoided his father’s. ‘Well, ’tis a long story.’

  ‘I’m a good listener.’ Patrick speared a forkful of potatoes.

  Dickie cleared his throat. ‘Well, ye see Mr Hawksby he’s got this brother who’s got a son, an’ he’s just left school an’ he needs a job, an’ what with him being family, like, Mr Hawksby thinks it’s only fair that he gives him a job, so he said I’d have to go ’cause he couldn’t afford to pay the two of us.’

  ‘Well, that’s not right!’ spluttered Thomasin, rising to her feet. ‘He can’t do that. I’m off to give him a piece of my mind.’

  ‘No, don’t!’ Dickie pushed back his chair and shot upright.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Patrick suspiciously.

  ‘Well…’ stammered Dickie. Work, brain, work! ‘This lad, his … his mam’s just died! An’ his dad can’t work ’cause he’s crippled. So there’s only the lad what can earn the money. I couldn’t begrudge him t’job, could I? He needs the money more than we do.’

  Much to his relief Thomasin sat down again, enabling him to do likewise. ‘Eh, when you hear of other people’s troubles it makes yer wonder what yer’ve been complaining about, doesn’t it?’ sighed his mother, then added, ‘But why did you have to leave right away? Why didn’t you get any notice?’

  ‘Well, Mr Hawksby did offer to give me some,’ lied Dickie. ‘He said he felt really bad about havin’ to let me go and the least he could do was give me a couple o’ weeks notice. But I said, no, I’m a big strong chap, Mr Hawksby, I’ll easily find another job, you just worry about that poor lad o’ your brother’s. He was sorry to see me go, I can tell ye. Said he doubted his nephew’d do the job as well as I did.’

  ‘I hope you haven’t been spinning me a yarn,’ warned his mother, eyes narrowed. ‘If I find out there’s been any jookery-pawkery your bum will draw sparks.’

  ‘May God strike me dead, would I lie to you, Mam?’

  She gave him a shrewd look and his composure slipped a little. ‘I know you, remember. Anyroad, enough kallin. Yer can get yerself out after dinner, an’ don’t come back till yer’ve found a job. It’s all very well you being charitable, but we have to live on summat.’ She turned, to Sonny. ‘Tell yer what, you might as well take afternoon off an’ join your brother. Not that I don’t trust him, mind,’ she winked
, ‘but seein’ as you’ll be leaving school an’ needin’ a job yerself shortly today might be as good a day as any to start lookin’.’

  Sonny felt something inside of him deflate. For some time he had been nurturing the idea of entering an art college when he left his present school. Now there seemed no point in even mentioning it.

  ‘There’s nowt wrong, is there?’ asked his mother, noting his downcast expression.

  Yes! he wanted to shout, there is something bloody wrong. Why should I be the one to suffer because the rest of you can’t hold a job? But it was not in his nature to let anyone down when they were depending on him. ‘No, ’course there’s nowt wrong,’ he answered, and smiled at her to show he meant it. ‘Though I don’t know what Brother Francis will think.’

  ‘Brother Francis’ thoughts don’t put food in t’larder,’ said Thomasin. ‘Ah well, that’s two of us sorted out. Now all we have to do is get Erin fixed up. That’s a weight off my mind I can tell yer.’ She stacked the crockery and carried it to the scullery. On her return she had an idea. ‘Look, I know it’ll not be for long, but I’ll need some help at the shop if I’m to get organised for the new owner. How would you like to come an’ help me, Erin? Wage’d tide us over.’

  ‘I wouldn’t’ve thought it was any of your concern now,’ opined Patrick.

  ‘Well, it isn’t really … but yer never know, if the new owner sees it nice an’ tidy he might decide to keep me on.’ She went to brew the tea, leaving Erin to mull over her new employment.

  Chapter Five

  Receiving strict instructions not to go ‘scrawmin’ round that blessed slaughterhouse’, the boys ambled down the street towards Walmgate. The heat had in no way abated. Once out of sight of the house Dickie reached over his shoulder to grasp a handful of shirt, pulling the garment over his head. He screwed it into a ball with which to wipe his gleaming face and armpits. Sonny warned what would happen if their mother caught him, then moved into the shade to sit down.

  ‘Ah, nuts to her,’ said Dickie scornfully, enjoying the exquisite coldness of the wall as he slid his back down it to join his brother.

  ‘Not exactly gentry, are you?’ responded Sonny.

  ‘Ah, now there you’re wrong,’ said Dickie. ‘In a few years’ time I shall be a man o’ means.’

  ‘Huh! How can yer be a man o’ means around here?’ His brother gave a scathing gesture at the rickety buildings.

  ‘An’ who said anything about round here? As soon as I can I’ll be out an’ away to make me fortune. Ye’ll not catch this one rotting his life away in this slum – ye can come with me if ye like,’ he added generously. ‘Be my business partner.’

  Sonny shook his head, then laid it back against the wall of the public house. ‘No thanks, I’d rather take my chances here than get meself mixed up in anything risky – for ’tis bound to be risky where you’re involved.’

  Dickie curled his upper lip and raked his thumbnail over the grille in the pavement from where rose puffs of beery perfume. ‘That’s your trouble, Son; ye’ve no sense of adventure, no wish to improve yourself.’

  Coming from someone who had recently ruined any hopes Sonny had of bettering himself this was hard to stomach. ‘Well, I don’t see you makin’ much effort to improve yourself either,’ he said bitterly. ‘Ye’ll not find a job sat on yer backside.’

  ‘Is that any way to talk to a fella who’s gonna put ye right on the ways of women?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Dickie grinned widely. ‘Bellybuttons, Son, that’s what I’m on about. Ye did say this mornin’ ye wanted to hear about the lovely Bertha.’ He laughed as his brother leaned forward with interest. ‘God love him! Look at the wee fella’s eyes – like two glass alleys in a pig’s arse. Ye can’t wait, can ye? Right, pay attention – and put aside all notions o’ bellybuttons.’

  When he had finished, Sonny’s face disclosed his dubiety. ‘I think you’re pullin’ my leg!’ He pushed his brother, then said thoughtfully, ‘I can’t imagine Mam an’ Dad doin’ it, can you?’

  Dickie shook his head with a grin, then a period of speculation followed, after which he gave a groan. ‘Mother o’ God, I don’t feel like hawkin’ meself round in this heat, d’you?’

  ‘I don’t feel like hawkin’ meself round at all!’ snapped Sonny. ‘There’s things I’d much prefer doing than land meself with a stinkin’ job.’

  ‘Like painting, ye mean?’ guessed Dickie with some sarcasm. That was all Sonny seemed to care about

  ‘Aye, like bloody painting! I was hopin’ to go to art college when I left school, but you an’ the others’ve put paid to that, haven’t ye?’

  ‘Why didn’t ye say if it was so important?’ asked Dickie mildly.

  ‘How could I? After me mam’s said how much we need the money. We’re not all as selfish as you.’

  ‘Ah well, perhaps ’tis for the best Son.’

  ‘For the best? For the bloody best!’ yelled Sonny. ‘Isn’t there anything you’ve set yer heart on? Longed for so badly it’s like a pain?’

  Dickie grinned wickedly.

  ‘God!’ Sonny barked his disgust. ‘You an’ your bloody women. I’ll bet there was one involved in your dismissal from Hawksby’s wasn’t there?’

  ‘The boy’s a mind-reader.’

  ‘Sure, didn’t I bloody-well know it? Couldn’t I see ye were lyin’ through yer teeth to Mam.’ He cradled a badtempered scowl with his palm.

  ‘Now ye didn’t expect me to tell the truth, did ye?’

  Sonny gave a snort. ‘I never expect that – ye couldn’t if ye tried.’

  ‘Ah, begob now I’ve upset the boy.’ Dickie laid a friendly arm over his brother’s shoulder and hugged him. ‘Will ye not believe me when I say I love ye like a brother?’

  ‘You are my brother.’

  ‘An’ because o’ that I’m goin’ to fix ye up with my friend Bertha.’ Sonny couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped his lips and asked if Dickie had no interest in anything else. ‘What else is there – apart from money?’ Dickie ruffled his brother’s hair. ‘Are ye still mad at me?’

  Sonny shook his head and smiled despite himself. One could never stay mad at Dickie for long.

  ‘Good!’ Dickie planted a wet kiss on the other’s cheek.

  ‘Ye big soft Mick!’ Sonny laughed and wiped his face, then looked to the road where a man was calling for someone to hold his horse.

  Dickie was first to the scene, holding the horse’s head and flirting with the man’s pretty wife while he was absent at the post office. Before the carriage moved away Dickie was given a tip which he accepted with a servile tug of his forelock. Once the man’s back was turned, however, he stuck his middle finger in the air. ‘That’s the way to treat ’em, Son.’

  His brother gestured as a gaunt-looking individual approached. ‘Good afternoon, my fine fellows! And why are we not at our work?’

  ‘Ah, just the very chap, my good pal Bones!’ Dickie fell into step beside the newcomer, sprawling an arm across the angular shoulders. ‘Would ye kindly tell us if there’s any work to be had at your place by any chance?’

  Martin Flaherty – ‘Bones’, because of his extremely undernourished appearance – gave a derogatory leer. ‘Not for the likes o’ you, Feeney. Ye’ll not find many skirts to sniff around there – not to take your fancy anyways. Besides, I thought ye had yourself a good job.’

  ‘I did – but it seemed I was putting too much into my work.’ Dickie grinned at his brother who loped alongside.

  ‘Do I detect some sordid undertone to that remark?’ queried Bones. ‘Would there happen to be a lady involved in all this?’

  ‘Ah, God the boy’s too quick,’ sighed Dickie. ‘Aye, Bones, I’m afraid my fatal charms deserted me on this occasion – with Mr Hawksby I mean, not with the lady concerned.’ His face split into its familiar roguish grin.

  One could almost hear Flaherty’s bones rattle as he shook with amusement. He dipped into the bag he carried and p
ulled out a pig’s tail, stripping off the meat with his unhealthy-looking teeth then tossing the remaining gristle into the gutter.

  Dickie poked his nose towards the paper bag. ‘Giz one, Bones.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve only got twenty-three left.’ Bones showed his teeth then offered the bag to his two friends. ‘Don’t be takin’ a handful, mind.’ Sonny’s reminder that it was Friday was met by uncaring grins. Bones made great play of enjoying the meaty titbits. ‘Well now, ye mentioned a lady – anyone I know?’

  ‘Sure, a gentleman doesn’t tell,’ reproved Dickie, nibbling at the pig’s tail, then added slyly, ‘But if ye want to know the answer I suggest ye recite that flowery little verse to yourself. Ye know, the one that goes: “Roses are red… ”’

  Bones mentally recited the rhyme for a moment, then the allusion hit him. ‘God almighty!’ he exploded. ‘Not Violet?’

  Dickie swiftly pounced on him and clamped a hand over his mouth. ‘Ssh! D’ye want to get me a rope necklace? By the by, how did yourself do with our little friend from the fairground? I wonder, was she as tasty as her companion?’

  Bones shrugged and, as they reached the entrance to the iron foundry, started to veer away. ‘She was all right, I suppose.’

  ‘That means he never got anything,’ explained Dickie to his brother.

  ‘That’s all you know,’ replied Bones. ‘’Tis only that it’s beneath my dignity to talk about such things. Anyhows, you’re not going to tell me you had enough money to buy Bertha’s favours. If y’are then I’ll thank ye to return that threepence I lent ye for the sideshow.’

  ‘I’d not tell ye that ’cause it’d be a lie. For I didn’t have to pay a brass farthing. The girl fell in love with me the minute she set eyes on my gorgeous face.’

  Bones and Sonny exchanged sickened glances. ‘I can believe it an’ all, can’t you?’ said Bones, coming back to stand with them. ‘The slimy bastard.’

  Dickie laughed, unoffended. ‘Come on now, Bones, how about seein’ if ye can get your pals a job?’

  The youth scratched his nose thoughtfully and asked, ‘I suppose it’s no use asking if I get a fee?’