Tara Flynn

by Geraldine O'Neill

  The appearance of the blonde, over-confident Sally had thrown a spanner in the works. If she didn’t rapidly improve her attitude, something would have to be done. Biddy passed the fresh cup of tea back to Sally now and bit her tongue as the girl lifted the biscuit tin with the chocolate ones in it, and helped herself to two. They were special biscuits, reserved for Biddy and Ruby when they were in the house on their own in the afternoons. Occasionally, Tara might have one, but she would never touch the tin, unless she was offered. And now – here was that little blonde brat helping herself to them, without so much as a ‘please’ or a ‘thank-you’.

  Biddy went over to the sink. She washed the cups and saucers, and then started peeling the vegetables for the Sunday lunch, leaving the niece and aunt to their family chat. As the long curls of potato peel started to fill the basin, Biddy wondered how Tara was getting on back in Ballygrace. Just the thought of the place sent a shiver through her body. Nothing – not even the death of a friend – could entice her back to Ireland now. She rubbed the back of her damp hand over her forehead. It wouldn’t surprise her if she never went to Ireland again. She had no interest in the place any more.

  Then, a cold shiver crept over her, as she thought of Father Daly’s impending visit.

  “What are the fashions like in Ireland, then?” Sally asked, stubbing her Woodbine out.

  “What d’you mean?” Biddy said defensively. She had already been the butt of Sally’s ‘Irish jokes’, and wasn’t going to walk into any more.

  “I’m only askin’ – what are the fashions in Ireland like? Are they as up-to-date as around here?”

  “There’s plenty of big shops in Dublin,” Biddy replied, “and you can buy any type of clothes you like, as long as you have the money. The clothes are every bit as good as any in Stockport.”

  Sally sighed. “That doesn’t say much about Dublin! The fashion in Stockport and Manchester’s bleedin’ dowdy. You want to get yerself over to Liverpool some time – the shoppin’ there’s brilliant.”

  Ruby leaned across the table, and tapped a blood-red fingernail in front of her niece. “If Liverpool’s that bloody good, then you want to get yerself off back home.” She looked at her watch. “I’m sure there’s a train to Liverpool later on this evenin.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Sally protested. “I love Stockport, and anyway, me mam’s havin’ a bad time with her nerves. She’s driving me up the bleedin’ wall.”

  “Knowing you, lady,” Ruby retorted, “it’s the other way round. It’s likely you that’s drivin’ her up the wall. You’re a right rum ‘un, you are!”

  “Oh, Aunty Ruby!” Sally giggled, coming round the table to give the landlady a placating hug. “I don’t mean any harm. You know what I’m like – us bein’ family and everythin’.”

  The vegetable knife dropped into the murky depths of the basin. “I’ll be back in a minute,” Biddy said, and suddenly rushed out of the kitchen door.

  She took both flights of stairs two at a time, then made for her bedroom door. When she got inside, she flung herself on the bed and buried her face deep in the pillow. Why, oh why, she wondered, did things never go right? Why does everything always get spoiled? Scalding tears spilled onto her pillow. Since she had come to Stockport, her life had changed in the most wonderful way. All the bad things about Lizzie Lawless . . . and Dinny and the baby and . . . everything had been left behind. She had become a new person, a girl who had money and could afford nice fashionable clothes. A girl who could have a bath as often as she liked. She had become an ordinary girl. The kind of girl she had always wanted to be.

  Tara would die if she knew it – but Biddy had even told Ruby about the baby. One night, when she had come in from the late shift in the hotel, Ruby had been sitting alone by the fire in the sitting-room. She was holding a glass of whisky and dry ginger, and she was crying. Two coal-black streams of mascara poured down her rouged cheeks unchecked. More shocking still was the way Ruby had carelessly rubbed the sleeve of her pristine white cardigan over her tear-stained face.

  “Have a drink with me, ducks,” Ruby had begged, in a voice thick with alcohol. “I hate drinkin’ on me own – it only makes me feel worse. I was hopin’ you’d be in soon, all the others have gone to bed.” She tottered over to the glass display cabinet and took out another tumbler. She put it on the coffee table beside the bottles, and poured a generous measure of whisky topped with the dry ginger.

  “Thanks,” Biddy said, perching on the end of the sofa. She’d already had three lagers with Fred after work, and didn’t really feel like another drink, but she would never hurt Ruby’s feelings.

  “This is a terrible day for me!” Ruby said, leaning her elbows on her knee, and letting her blonde head sink into her hands. “This is the anniversary of the day me baby should have been born. Twenty-one years ago it was. It would have been twenty-one today!”

  “Your baby?” Biddy stupidly repeated. “But sure, you never had any children . . . did you?”

  “No, ducks,” Ruby snivelled. “But I should have done . . . I should ‘ave had a baby . . . if I’d never had it aborted. If I’d never have killed the poor little thing.” She wiped her streaming eyes with her other sleeve. “Me mam made me. I were only seventeen . . . nowt but a bloody kid meself.”

  “An abortion!” Biddy whispered. “Was it terrible?” She had heard dark stories about abortions.

  Ruby took a big gulp of her whisky and then grimaced, as though she were being forced to drink arsenic. “It were bloody awful! The bastards almost butchered me to death. It were a husband and wife together – and she was worse than him. Supposed to be a doctor an’ a nurse.” She sniffed loudly. “I were sick for weeks, and they left me in such a state that I couldn’t have any more kids. Maybe me an’ Bert would have had a happier marriage if I’d been able to have kids.” She held her glass up to Biddy, as though she were proposing a toast. “Make sure you have kids – it’s a lonely life for a woman who’s not been blessed with them.” She took another swig of her whisky.

  “I’ve already had a baby,” Biddy said in a whisper.

  “Have you, love?” Ruby didn’t sound a bit surprised.

  “Just before I came over here . . . I gave it up for adoption.”

  “Life’s bleedin’ unfair,” Ruby said. “I would ‘ave loved a baby.”

  “I couldn’t have kept it,” Biddy explained, her eyes fixed on the rug in the centre of the floor. “In Ireland they’re fierce strict about things like that, an’ I had no mother or no family to help me out. Tara’s the only one who knows over in England . . . apart from you now.” A panicky feeling suddenly came over her, at the fact she had exposed her carefully guarded secret. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” There was silence for a moment. Then, Biddy lifted her eyes and looked anxiously at the landlady. But Ruby was fast asleep.

  *  *  *

  The following morning when Biddy was frying sausages and rashers of bacon, Ruby had patted her shoulder and said: “Thanks for listenin’ to me last night. Don’t mind me, I’m a silly bugger when I’m pissed. I’ve got a right sore head this mornin’. How are you?”

  “I’m grand,” Biddy said, giving a relieved smile. She had hardly slept all night, worrying about the terrible thing she had divulged to the landlady.

  “Don’t worry,” Ruby said, as though she had read Biddy’s thoughts. “Anythin’ that was said last night is between you, me and the gatepost.”

  From that morning on, Biddy had felt a special bond with the landlady. They both shared a secret – and Ruby’s secret was darker than hers. She felt as though a great weight had been lifted off her mind. Ruby thought no less of her, even though she knew about the baby. Everything had been grand, even the bad news about Madeleine and her father hadn’t spoiled things. Oh, it was a terrible business, and she pitied the poor family. But she had never really been that close to Madeleine. They had nothing in common, with Madeleine being Quality, and if th
e truth be told, Biddy was jealous of Tara’s friendship with her.

  Now, there was nothing to worry about. With Madeleine gone, Biddy would be Tara’s best friend.

  Everything had been working out fine and grand, Biddy thought, as she lay on the bed. Until that Sally Taylor had appeared on the scene. In twenty-four hours, everything had been turned upside down. Ruby had a loyalty to the girl – being her aunt – but at the moment she was definitely seeing the spiteful Sally through rose-tinted glasses.

  Biddy sat up now and wiped her eyes. She would do nothing for the time being. She would go back downstairs and do her work, and she would be as pleasant as she could to Sally. Maybe things would settle down in their own time. She went into the bathroom and washed her face. She glanced in the mirror and was relieved to see she looked more or less back to normal. Then, she took a deep breath and descended the staircase.

  As she walked along the hallway towards the kitchen, Biddy’s body suddenly went tense when she heard Sally’s high-pitched laughter. She hovered about at the kitchen door, waiting until the conversation between aunt and niece had died down to enter.

  “You’ll have to find some sort of work if you’re staying,” she heard Ruby say.

  “I could help you out here,” Sally suggested.

  “That’s Biddy’s job and she’s a damn good little worker. I don’t need any other help.”

  Biddy’s heart soared at the landlady’s praise. She stood listening, hoping for more.

  “But it’s not fair. She’s already got a full-time job in the hotel,” Sally pointed out. “And she’s not here all the time, you said so yourself. I could cook and do the cleanin’ up the mornings she’s not here. I wouldn’t ask for anything, my board and lodgings would be enough.”

  “You, m’lady,” Ruby laughed, “could sell ice to an Eskimo.” She paused. “It’s early days yet. Just let me think it over.”

  Biddy put her hand on the doorknob.

  “I don’t mean no harm to her like,” Sally ventured, “but it’s not really fair that an Irish girl should come over here and take two jobs off us English. Surely one job’s enough for her? She’s landed on her feet here with you, Aunty Ruby. Most places would have run her the minute she opened her mouth. Those Irish can be awful ignorant – imagine havin’ a name like Biddy! It’s like something out of the ark.”

  “Enough of the jeering,” Ruby said sharply. “Biddy’s a nice girl and I wouldn’t let Tara Flynn hear you calling the Irish ignorant! She’d have your guts for bloody garters! She’s a lot more refined than you or even me. You should see the fella she’s gone over to Ireland with this weekend, He’s practically a millionaire, and good-lookin’ too. Be very careful what you say about the Irish – for they’re what’s keepin’ this house going.”

  “Oh, well,” Sally said petulantly, “that’s me put in me place.”

  Biddy opened the door. “Sorry about that,” she said walking over to the sink. “I was a bit short-took, it must have been somethin’ that I ate at the hotel last night.”

  “What’s the name of your hotel?” Sally asked, twisting a strand of blonde hair round her middle finger.

  “The Grosvenor,” Biddy replied.

  “Well, if that’s what the food does to you,” Sally scoffed, “remind me never to eat in there. It sounds a right dump.”

  “You’ll never need to worry about eating in the Grosvenor,” Ruby laughed. “You could never bleedin’ well afford to!”

  Sally raised her eyebrows. “An’ who says I’d be paying for it?” She drew her fingers through her peroxide hair, feigning a model-like mannerism. “Isn’t that what men are for? Just give me time to find me feet here, an’ I’ll soon have all the lads in the house fightin’ over who’s paying for me!”

  Biddy smiled to herself, and went back to peeling the potatoes.

  Around three o’clock, all the lads gathered in the kitchen for their Sunday dinner.

  “What’s to do with the fancy table?” Jimmy, the lad with the Geordie accent, asked. “It’s not Christmas or Easter or anythin’ is it?”

  “There’s no special occasion,” Biddy told them, “not as far as I know.”

  “Sit down, lads,” Sally commanded, as familiar with the lodgers as if she’d known them for years. She stood one hand on a hip and gave a little pout to show off her new orangey-pink lipstick. “Youse lads have been working hard all week, and youse deserve to sit down at a nice table now and again. An’ anyway,” she added, giving a giggle, “I wanted to prove that I’m more than just a pretty face. As me mam says, you don’t have to be plain to be practical.”

  “We’re spoiled for choice here,” Lofton laughed, “between the blonde and the brunette beauties! And both of them able to cook and clean. What more could a man want for?”

  The other lodgers gave a whoop of appreciation, and while Biddy was pleased with being called ‘the brunette’, she was more than annoyed with Sally. Much to her gall, Ruby’s niece had insisted on helping to prepare the meal, and had then set the table in a fancier manner than normal. She had raked around the kitchen, looking in cupboards and pulling out drawers until she found a matching plastic salt and pepper set, to replace the huge tin of salt with the rusty edge and the small box of pepper. The plastic salt and pepper set was adorned with a picture of the seaside on one side, and ‘A Present from Blackpool’ written on the other. Sally had also dug out some green paper serviettes which were left over from Christmas. The fact that some had a sprig of holly in the corner, and others were decorated with small poinsettia flowers, failed to diminish Sally’s enthusiasm about bringing an elegance to Sweeney’s Sunday dinner table.

  “What are we supposed to do with these?” Jimmy asked, holding up a serviette.

  “Keep your nose clean,” Ruby said, walking into the kitchen. She threw a warning eye at Sally. “And that goes for everyone.”

  As Biddy had anticipated, all the lads were eager to have Sally join them at the Erin Ballroom for the Sunday night dance. After they had finished their sherry trifle and tea, they all took turns at trying to persuade her.

  Sally made a good show of looking doubtful. “I’m not sure,” she said, batting her sooty-black eyelashes. “I should really wait until I’ve found a job, before I start goin’ out.”

  “One night won’t do any harm,” Biddy said, then she added generously, “an’ if you’re short of money, I’ll pay you in. I got me wages on Friday.”

  “Would you?” Sally squealed with delight. “That would be great! What time do we need to leave?”

  “We usually catch a bus around eight o’clock, so’s we have time to call in at one of the pubs in Levenshulme, for a drink before the dance.”

  Sally pushed her empty trifle plate away and stood up. “I’d better go and have me bath now,” she announced. “It takes bleedin’ ages gettin’ me hair set and dry.” And then, without a backward glance at the dirty plates and pans, Sally took her leave.

  After she had cleared up, Biddy brewed a pot of tea and then carried two cups and two chocolate biscuits upstairs to Sally’s bedroom.

  Sally, wearing a bright yellow dressing-gown, was busy putting curlers in her hair. “Ta, Biddy,” she said, taking a sip of the tea and a bite of her biscuit. “D’you know somethin’? I think you and me’s going to be good mates.”

  “It’s grand to have another girl around the house,” Biddy said with a smile. She casually leaned against the dressingtable drinking her own cup of tea. “What are you wearin’ to the dance?”

  Sally held up a shimmery blue top. “You don’t think it’s a bit too brassy for an Irish dance hall, do you?” she asked. “I’ve heard that priests sometimes come into Irish clubs, to check how the girls are dressed.”

  “It’s fine,” Biddy assured her. “I’ve never seen a priest in the Erin Ballroom. It’s a very glamorous place.”

  Sally sipped at her tea in between putting in rollers and smoking a cigarette. “You haven’t any ni
ce nail varnish and some remover, have you? Me nails are chipped, and I forgot to bring my own stuff. I’d borrow me Aunty Ruby’s – but have you seen the bright red stuff she wears?” She gave a sneering laugh. “I wouldn’t be seen dead in it!”

  “I’ve got a nice pink nail varnish that’d match your lipstick,” Biddy told her. “I’ll get it for you when I’ve washed up the cups.”

  Sally drained the remains of her tea, and pulled a face. “You want to tell my Aunty Ruby to buy some decent tea. I’ll bet she buys the biggest and cheapest box in the shop.” Sally rolled her eyes mockingly. “She can be a right cheapskate at times . . . me mam reckons she’s makin’ a mint out of runnin’ this place.”

  Biddy took the cup off her. “I’ll be back with that nail varnish shortly.”

  Back in her and Tara’s room later on, Biddy chose a pink dress to wear to the dance. She was confident she looked nice in it, because the last time she’d worn it, loads of the lads had complimented her on it. She laid it out on the bed along with her stockings and clean underwear, then she gathered her washing things together and headed for the bathroom.

  “I think Sally’s in the bathroom,” one of the lads called, as Biddy passed his open bedroom door. “She’s in and out of it, like a fiddler’s elbow,” he laughed.

  Biddy knocked gently on the bathroom door. “Will you be long, Sally?” she called. “I’ve still to get my bath.”

  “Eah . . . d’you think you could you use the one downstairs?” Sally called back. “I might be a bit longer.”

  “Okay,” Biddy said agreeably. “Call into my room when you’re ready for goin’ out.”

  *  *  *

  Biddy was pleased with the way her brunette hair had curled tonight. She twisted this way and that way on the little stool, looking in the mirror at her hair. She liked the way the lads had described her as a brunette.

  After the bad start with Sally, she had now decided that tonight was going to be a good night. She could feel it in her bones. As she applied her lipstick, she thought how well things were working out for her in Stockport. She loved her work in the Grosvenor, and she loved working with Fred the barman. It was grand to have him to go to the pictures with, or to go out for a quiet drink now and again, without feeling that she was stuck with him. Biddy knew she wasn’t ready to get stuck with anyone just yet. Not after the business with the baby.