Because of Fred’s wrestling commitments, he wasn’t around much at the weekends. The weekends were when he made his big money travelling to places like Liverpool and Newcastle. He said some weekend he’d take Biddy with him to watch him fight, but she didn’t really fancy the thought of watching two big men knocking the hell out of each other. And Fred was a nice lad – she wouldn’t want to watch anyone hurting him.
Anyway, with Fred not being about too much, it left Biddy free to do what she wanted when she wasn’t working. And to see whoever she liked. She gave her hair a good squirt of lacquer and wondered if she should take up smoking full-time. She had tried it once or twice with the other girls in the hotel but only recently had got the hang of inhaling the smoke. Earlier on in the kitchen this evening, she thought that Sally looked quite sophisticated when she was smoking, and she wondered if she might look more attractive if she were to take the habit up, too.
Biddy looked in the mirror now and held her lipstick between her two fingers as though it were a cigarette. She threw her head back the way Sally did, to avoid getting smoke in her eyes. She moved around on the stool, pretending she was chatting to people, and waving the cigarette about so that people would notice her painted nails.
Biddy put the lipstick back into her make-up purse. She would try a cigarette at the club tonight, and see if she could copy the way Sally smoked. If she felt comfortable, then she just might take it up full-time.
There was a tap on her bedroom door. “Are you ready?” Sally called. “The lads are waitin’ downstairs.”
“Are you all right?” Biddy asked her, as they walked along the street. “You seem a bit quiet.”
“I’m fine,” Sally said, chewing furiously on a piece of gum. “What are the lavvies like in this place?”
“The lavatories? Oh, they’re grand – well, they’re grand at the beginnin’ of the evenin’, but they get terrible messed up by the end of the night.” She gave Sally a sidelong glance. “And sometimes you have to wait in a fierce queue to get anywhere near them.”
A frown crossed Sally’s face and she chewed her gum all the harder.
As soon as they arrived in ‘The Wheatsheaf’ pub for a drink, Sally disappeared off looking for the ladies’.
“Is the young blondie one all right?” Sonny, the Dubliner asked. “She’s not joinin’ in the craic like she did earlier on.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” Biddy said with a shrug, “Ruby said she’s inclined to be on the moody side at times.”
“Not like our little darlin’ Biddy!” he said, leaning over to put a friendly arm around her. “You’re always the one way, whatever the weather.”
Biddy said: “Go away with you!” but she was secretly delighted, and deliberately leaned against him so his arm stayed around her.
After a few drinks, everyone started to move out of the pub in the direction of the Erin Ballroom. Biddy suddenly felt a hand clutching her coat sleeve as she walked out into the street.”
“Wait on us, will you?” Sally asked, her eyes wide with anxiety. “I need to go to the bleedin’ lavvie again . . . I’ve got terrible cramps in me stomach.”
“I think she must have the runs! She’s been in and out of the bog all night.” Danny called loudly as Sally rushed back into the ladies’, her cheeks flaming red.
Biddy told the lads to go on ahead, and she stood waiting in the pub doorway until Sally eventually appeared. “Are you all right?” she asked again. “You’re lookin’ fierce pale.”
“Am I?” Sally asked, in a voice that was not so sneeringly confident as usual. “Should I put a bit of rouge on, d’you think?”
“You can wait until we get to the Erin,” Biddy said, pulling her arm. “The lads went on ages ago, and they said they’d try to keep us a seat. If we don’t get a move on, we mightn’t get in at all.”
They had to stand nearly a quarter of an hour in a queue to get into the dance hall, and as soon as they got inside the door, Sally disappeared in the direction of the ladies’ room. Any sympathy Biddy might have had for her, was lost because Sally hadn’t said ‘thank you’ to Biddy for paying her bus fare and the entrance charge to get into the ballroom. She’d also accepted drinks from the lads without so much as a thank-you, as if she was doing them a favour. This, Biddy knew, would be the pattern if Sally was to stay on permanently in Stockport and she dreaded the thought.
The band was brilliant, and as soon as it started playing Biddy asked Sally if she wanted to get up on the floor.
“Maybe later,” Sally replied in an off-hand manner. “We’ll give them a chance to warm up first.”
“I thought you were always the one first up on the dance floor,” one of the lads called across the table to her. “You were braggin’ about that this afternoon. We’re all dyin’ to see how you shape up.”
“I have to be in the mood for dancin’,” Sally said in an irritated voice. “An’ I don’t like all this Irish music – I prefer the more up-to-date stuff that you get in the dances in Liverpool.”
“If Liverpool’s that great,” Sonny said with his Dublin candour, “you should go back there.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Sally said quickly. “It’s just I’m not used to it – it’ll probably grow on me.”
“Come on then,” he said standing up, “let’s see how good you are at jiving.”
She glanced over anxiously at Biddy, who was just making her way to the dance floor with one of the other lads.
Biddy looked over at Sally several times, wondering how she was feeling. She didn’t look as if she was enjoying herself at all. All the other couples on the floor were laughing and chatting and singing along with the band, and really throwing themselves into the serious business of jiving. Sally was holding herself very stiffly and not looking at all like the great dancer she had boasted to be earlier on. Then suddenly, mid-dance – and without a word of explanation to her dancing partner – she took flight in the direction of the lavatory.
“Jaysus!” Sonny, said as he passed Biddy on his way back to the table. “How did we get landed with her? She’s as odd as two bloody left shoes.”
Ten minutes later, a red-faced Sally appeared back at the table.
All eyes were on her.
“I’m feelin’ a bit poorly,” she said moodily to no one in particular. She had turned her seat away from Sonny, blocking him out from her view and ignoring the fact she had left him standing on the dance floor like a complete idiot. Apologies were not something that came naturally to Sally Taylor. If they had, she would never have left Liverpool in the first place. For all her stories, it was obvious that she found running away easier than saying she was sorry.
When the dance was over, Biddy stood waiting for Sally at the door of the dance hall, just as she had waited for her in the pub earlier in the evening. She said nothing when a pale and sweaty-faced Sally eventually came out. They walked together to the bus stop in silence.
“Why didn’t you go off with that fella from Manchester that you were dancin’ with half the night?” Sally suddenly said, as they boarded the late-night bus. “Didn’t you fancy him?”
“He was all right,” Biddy replied, “but I didn’t like the thought of leavin’ you to go home on yer own.”
Sally bristled at Biddy’s pity for her. “I would have been fine,” she countered. “I could have gone back with the lads from the house.”
“They might not have been very nice to you,” Biddy said quietly. “They’ve been laughin’ and jeerin’ at you goin’ to the lavatory all night.”
Sally coloured up. “D’you think they noticed I had the runs?” she whispered. “I’d die if they knew that.”
Biddy nodded gravely. “I think they did.”
Back at Sweeney’s lodging house, there were the usual cups of tea and banter after the night out.
“So you weren’t impressed with the Erin Ballroom?” Sonny asked Sally.
�
�It was okay,” Sally said, drinking a cup of water. She was frightened to drink anything else, and reckoned that the few drinks at the Erin had made her condition worse. She’d had to rush upstairs to the lavvie the minute she’d come into the house. “It was just the mood I was in . . . I’d probably give it another go again next week.”
“Well, I reckon that you wasted your money tonight,” Sonny commented lightly.
Biddy bit her tongue, and didn’t say: ‘Well, actually, it was my money, not hers.’
“What d’you mean?” Sally put the cup down and folded her arm defensively. She often liked a good row with a lad that fancied her – she found that it made them run after her all the harder. Unfortunately, her stomach was not in the mood for a row tonight.
“Well,” he said, looking at the other lads in a sniggering manner, “I reckon that you would have had a better evenin’ for the price of a penny.”
“What the bleedin’ hell are you gettin’ at?” Sally snapped.
Sonny was not in the least bit fazed. He had already decided that her pretty face and blonde hair were all she had going for her. He liked a girl who didn’t mind enjoying herself and having a laugh. In his book, Sally was too full of herself – and he was still annoyed at being left standing on the dance floor without a word of apology. “I’m just sayin’ that you might have had a better time if you’d put a penny in the slot of a public shithouse. You could have saved yer money and saved yer legs runnin’ backwards and forwards, because you were in it the whole bloody night!”
Sally opened her mouth to answer him, but her words were drowned in jeering laughter from the other boys.
“Just ignore them,” Biddy said, getting up from the table to put her arms round the blonde girl. She walked her out into the hall. “You go on up to bed, and I’ll bring you a cup of boiled milk in a minute. They say that’s the best cure for diarrhoea.” Her voice softened. “I’m sure you’ll feel fine in the morning . . . d’you want me to give you a call around seven to help with the lads’ breakfasts?”Sally paused for a moment. There was no way she was going to face that jeering pack again. Not in the morning – not ever. “No . . . if I feel fine in the morning, the only thing I’ll be doing is headin’ back home.”
“But I thought you were stayin’?” Biddy asked in a shocked tone. “I thought you an’ me were goin’ to be great pals?”
A sudden cramp came low down in Sally’s stomach. “Sorry, Biddy – but I think I was a bit hot-headed when I left me mam’s. I only did it to spite her.” She turned towards the stairs. “Maybe you could come and visit me in Liverpool. I could really show you how to have a good time there – the dance halls are tons better than that crappy place tonight.”
“Thanks, Sally – I’d like that,” Biddy said in a cheerful voice, and went back into the kitchen to boil the poor girl’s milk.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Tara was up early on Monday morning. She had slept surprisingly well, but when she awoke with daylight glinting through the curtains in her old bedroom, she sat up with a heavy feeling in her heart. This was her last day in Ballygrace, and it was going to be one of the worst days of her life.
“A good breakfast will set you up for the day,” Kitty said, as she bustled about organising the table. “I’ve baked some brown and white cakebread, because I know you like it. No doubt yer friend will have a fry in the hotel in Tullamore, so he’ll be well set up too. He seems a grand fellow – have you and him been courting for long?”
“We’re not courting . . . we’re just friends.” Tara chose her words carefully. “I’ve only known him for a short while. He’s one of the customers in our office and my boss knew he was coming over to Ireland this weekend.”
“He’s been very good to you,” Kitty said. “He seems to think a lot of you.”
“Yes,” Tara agreed, “he has been very good.” She knew she was deliberately being evasive with her aunt, but what was there to say?
“When do you think you’ll come home again?” Kitty started spreading thick, creamy butter on the home-made bread.
“I don’t know . . . it depends on work and everything.” How could she say she was saving every penny towards buying her own house in England, and that a holiday would take a big chunk of her money? And that wasn’t the only reason. There was Gabriel Fitzgerald – and he was only one of a number of other reasons.
“I’m just thinking about your father,” Kitty said quietly. She turned towards the new range they recently had installed. “He’s been asking about you a lot. In his own way, I think he misses you.”
“How is he?” Tara asked, feeling a stab of guilt. “I would have gone to see him and Tessie – but there just isn’t the time.”
“We’ll give him your excuses, tell him you were only here overnight.” She put a plate full of rashers, sausages, black and white pudding, and an egg in front of Tara. “He got the sack out of the factory.”
Tara sighed. “What happened this time?”
“The same as usual – drink and missing time off work.”
“They’ll be struggling, Tessie and the family.” Tara lifted her knife and fork. “Thank God he left me with me granda – I don’t know what would have happened to me if I’d been brought up with him. We’ve never seen eye to eye.”
“And yet he has a fondness for you,” Kitty said. “You can tell by the way he talks about you. He was fierce worried when you went off to England like that. He was back and forward here for weeks, checkin’ if we’d heard anything from you.”
“Was he?” Tara said with some surprise.
“And he heard that Mrs Scully was gabbin’ about you bein’ sacked by the Fitzgeralds, and he tackled her about it. He told her in no uncertain terms that you’d left of yer own choice – which was the truth.” Kitty smiled. “I believe she’s buttoned her lip a bit more since then.”
Tara’s heart sank at the mention of her old adversary. She had caught a glimpse of the housekeeper being helped into the church the previous evening, shrouded in two huge black mourning shawls. A long one around her ample body, and a heavy black veil over her head and shoulders. Two other women had linked her in, while she sniffled and cried into her hanky. In spite of her feelings towards the nasty old woman, Tara had felt a twinge of sympathy. Life would never be the same for Rosie Scully ever again. Instead of looking after a family, she would only have Mrs Fitzgerald and the new baby. They would all rattle about in that big empty house.
Mick joined them at the table and the conversation changed to the more mundane business of the poultry. As they ate their breakfast, the thought struck Tara that Elisha Fitzgerald might not stay in Ballygrace House on her own. With Gabriel in Dublin, she would have no family close by. She would probably sell up and move back to Dublin.
Tara’s fork halted halfway to her mouth. If her intuition was correct – today might be the last chance she would have to see Gabriel Fitzgerald.
* * *
Frank turned up in plenty of time for the funeral Mass, dressed immaculately in a sober black suit and tie, and a sparkling white shirt. Kitty fussed about getting him a cup of tea and some of her bread, which he politely ate, even though he had eaten a huge breakfast already.
In the midst of her confused thoughts about the funeral and Gabriel, Tara noticed how relaxed Frank seemed in the modest little cottage, chatting to Kitty and Mick. He was sitting now discussing the turf-cutting up the bog with her uncle, in the same easy manner he had discussed the different wines in the fancy restaurant in Manchester.
Frank Kennedy was a man for all seasons. A man who would fit in well with the lower classes or the Quality, and be accepted by both.
He was so different from Gabriel Fitzgerald Tara thought. Frank was a grown, independent man with his life already in order and his future well mapped out. And Tara knew instinctively that if she wanted it there would be a place for her in Frank Kennedy’s glittering exciting future. Something told her they were a pair
of a kind.
As she sat opposite him, at the scrubbed kitchen table that had been part of her childhood, she felt a surge of warmth towards him. The sort of feeling that she had only ever felt towards Gabriel. As yet, Frank did not engender the feverish excitement that came instinctively at the sight of her first, young love. But the possibilities were there.
Kitty pointed out several times that was a slight drizzle as it neared the time for the eleven o’clock funeral mass.
“That’s no problem,” Frank said cheerfully. “We’ll all go up the church in the car, so.”
Tara saw Kitty’s eyes light up at the prospect of a ride in the fancy motor, and she bit back her automatic refusal. “That would be grand, Frank,” she replied instead. What difference would it make now? Everyone had seen her in the church last night, and there would be no novelty in her appearing today. With the weather being so miserable, people would be rushing, heads down against the rain, and probably wouldn’t even notice who had arrived in the fancy black car. She could slip in and out of the church unnoticed, without having to face the gauntlet of the other parishioners, heading to church on foot.
Tara gritted her teeth when they arrived at the church to find a huge crowd waiting on the funeral cars arriving. The weak sunshine had seen off the recent drops of rain. The situation was made even worse when several of the men moved to the gates, presuming that Frank Kennedy’s car was one of the official mourning cars, or at least a VIP from Dublin who had come to mourn William Fitzgerald.
Her face burned red under the black mantilla, while Frank came to open her door, and then the passenger doors at the back for Mick and Kitty. As they gathered themselves together to make for the church, two shiny funeral cars rounded the corner and slowly loomed towards them.
Tara Flynn Page 41
