Shoddy Prince

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Nat raised and lowered his glass. ‘Maybe I would if I knew what priapus meant.’ The punchline had hinged on this word.

  Noel laid an arm across the other’s shoulders. ‘Er, I think it’s best to say that it’s something which relates to a cult.’

  Arthur spluttered into his drink; the others cackled too. This was enough for Nat, who assumed they were laughing at his lack of education and did not say another word for the rest of the evening. By eight-thirty the bunch was extremely drunk, the jokes got sillier and the conversation more unintelligible. Nat had had enough. Downing the last of his beer he rose and muttered to Noel, ‘I’m off for a pee.’

  ‘Has to keep you informed of his movements, does he?’ All inhibitions removed by the liquor, Arthur did not even wait for Nat to be out of earshot before insulting him. ‘It’s a good job you invited us, old pal.’ He draped his beery frame over Noel, who wafted the air and laughed. ‘A fine last night you would have had if it was left to that boring little fart – he’s hardly said anything all night, apart from “I’m going for a pee!” You should take him with you to the Front, he’d soon bore the Hun to death.’

  Nat did not veer from his passage to the exit, but his mind seethed. If only you knew what I was thinking, the things I’m doing to you right now in my mind, the last word you’d have for me is boring. After relieving himself outside he returned to the table, but only to inform Noel, ‘I’m off now.’

  Tipsy and dishevelled though he was, Noel sensed his friend’s controlled anger and felt guilty at inflicting his other acquaintances on this reserved man. ‘I’ll come with you.’ He drained his glass and rose.

  ‘Hey, there’s another half an hour yet!’ slurred one of the others.

  ‘You stay with your friends.’ Nat was already on his way out.

  Out of desperation, Noel threw a pound note on the table. ‘Here! Don’t tell anyone or it’ll ruin my reputation. Enjoy the rest of the night, I’ll have to go, it’s an early rise in the morning!’ To cries of good luck and bon voyage, he hurried from the public house into the street. It was not yet completely dark but the alcohol had fuddled Noel’s brain and he squinted up and down the road for a glimpse of his friend. Catching sight of Nat, he ran after him. ‘Hang on! Come and have a drink with me at home.’

  Eyes directed ahead, Nat walked on. ‘I thought you had an early start?’

  ‘It isn’t even nine yet, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘Go back and drink with your friends then, if you’re quick you might catch last orders.’

  ‘Oh come on, don’t sulk!’

  ‘I’m not sulking, I’m just going home so I don’t ruin your party. Your friends just aren’t my type and if I stayed there I’d say something.’

  ‘I seem to remember that was the whole trouble! You hardly said anything.’ Hands in pockets, Noel swayed from side to side.

  ‘What’s the point? They have their views, I have mine.’

  ‘Then if you have views wouldn’t it be better to air them instead of keeping them to yourself? That’s what the art of conversation is all about, surely?’

  ‘And have your friends get their fun at my expense? No thanks.’ Noel looked confused. ‘I didn’t hear them do that.’

  ‘Oh, missed all the laughter, did you? I must’ve been hearing things.’ Noel removed his hands from his pockets and spread them in an effort to explain. ‘They weren’t laughing at you! They were just having a good time, that’s all.’ He was about to say more when he tripped over a paving flag and fell to his knees. ‘Oh, fack! Nat will you bloody well slow down!’

  The other swore too, then grasped Noel’s elbow and hauled him to his feet. ‘I don’t know about you having another drink, you wouldn’t be able to cram it in.’

  Noel rubbed his skinned knees. ‘I’m not drunk! It was the frigging pavement, that’s all. What did you mean, they were laughing at your expense?’

  ‘Look, it doesn’t matter.’ Nat began to walk on. ‘I’ll never meet ’em again.’

  There was concern in the other’s reply. ‘It matters to me if you think I set you up as a stooge.’

  Nat showed more exasperation. ‘I’m not blaming you, it was just… well, they seemed to think that I didn’t understand all their big words. Truth, be known, I didn’t,’ came the added mutter.

  ‘Big words?’ Noel frowned. ‘Do you mean priapus? Well, that’s not very big, at least not in their case. Mine’s quite huge.’ He laughed, then sighed at Nat’s lack of appreciation. ‘God, I hate explaining jokes, it shows how bad they are.’ He leaned on Nat. ‘In essence, priapus is a prick, that’s all.’

  ‘So are your friends.’

  ‘Well, they’re not really friends, more acquaintances. I just wanted to make a big do of it. I might not have the chance again.’ Even the liquor could not totally quell his nerves.

  ‘Aye, well, that’s why I didn’t cause any trouble, though I could’ve kicked that bloody Arthur’s teeth in.’

  ‘So, you’re not mad with me?’ beseeched Noel. The other shook his head. ‘Then come home and have a drink with me, Nat.’

  The other’s face laughed at him out of the dinge. ‘We’re almost to my door now. You might as well come in.’

  Noel agreed, until he remembered Talbot. ‘Oh, Christ, that bloody hound of yours.’ A frantic series of barks accompanied the turn of Nat’s key.

  ‘I’ve told you, as long as you take your hat off he’s a baa-lamb – aren’t you, me old pal!’ Nat bent to pat the three-legged dog who wriggled and snorted with pleasure and after a brief sniff at the inebriated Noel allowed him into the pitch-black interior.

  When the gaslamps were lighted and the two men were ensconced in the rosy glow of the parlour, one on either side of the fireplace, glasses of whisky in hand, Noel exclaimed, ‘I knew I had something to ask you! Did you get through the medical?’

  ‘No, I’m chuffed to announce I’m a complete physical wreck.’ Nat did indeed appear delighted.

  ‘Good!’ Noel raised his glass. ‘Here’s to your continued bad health! I say, how are things in the marriage stakes? Now that you’ve foiled all attempts to get you into the Army I don’t suppose you’ll have to marry that young lady who accompanied you to the theatre on Tuesday night?’

  Nat swilled the whisky around his glass. ‘I don’t have to, no, but she’s a nice lass is Olive and I could do worse, much worse.’

  ‘You won’t marry her!’ scoffed Noel, dribbling whisky down his chin and making a ham-fisted attempt to wipe it off.

  Nat gasped, pretending outrage. ‘How the hell d’you know, clever bugger?’

  ‘I just know.’ It was uttered with supreme confidence.

  ‘Want to put money on it, d’you?’

  Noel’s face remained drunkenly brazen. ‘A fiver!’

  ‘You’re on!’ Nat made a firm gesture with his glass. ‘By the time you come back from the Front I’ll be wed.’

  ‘Oh, Christ, don’t mention the Front.’ Noel clapped a hand to his blond, wavy head. ‘I’d almost managed to forget.’ He slumped lower in the chair, extending his legs so that his boots almost touched those of the other man, almost but not quite.

  ‘Shouldn’t’ve joined up then, should you?’ teased Nat, who was almost equally as drunk now.

  ‘Thanks for the sympathy.’

  ‘I’m not offering sympathy to the bloke who stole Bright from under me nose!’

  ‘Oh, we’re not going to keep harking back to that, are we? You had your chance, you wasted it. She’s going to marry me.’ And Noel was positive that she would eventually accept.

  23

  Whilst Noel went to war, waved off by Bright and Oriel, Nat remained at home. It did not concern him in the least that people thought he was a malingerer nor that he had received two white feathers in the post, but to the much younger Olive his rejection of duty was a different matter.

  ‘I would’ve expected you to be pleased about me not going away,’ he told her. ‘You’re always saying how terrible i
t is for sweethearts to be parted.’

  ‘It is,’ she insisted, ‘but – well, there doesn’t look to be anything wrong with you and people think you’re shirking.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less what folk think,’ replied Nat. ‘It might not look as though anything’s wrong with me, but I tell you, if any of them had to suffer bronchitis every year like I do they’d soon eat their words, and I’m sure I’m doing a darned sight more for the war effort than some o’ those who are at the Front. Anyway, less o’ that. When are we going to name the day?’ They had celebrated her coming-of-age last week. It had been Nat’s intention to make the announcement at her birthday party, but Olive seemed shy all of a sudden.

  ‘There’s no rush, is there?’ Olive studied the diamond and sapphire ring he had given her on their engagement.

  ‘Blimey! That’s a nice to-do. I thought you wanted to marry me?’

  ‘Well, I’m still only young.’

  ‘You weren’t too young when we discussed it before – said you’d marry me when you were twenty-one.’

  Olive twiddled the ring to catch the light, moving it back and forth. ‘I said I wanted to wait until after I was twenty-one. I didn’t say the minute the clock struck twelve on my birthday I’d rush down the aisle.’

  Nat’s attitude became more serious. ‘Do I detect an attack of cold feet here, Olive?’

  She dared not look at him, but nodded and, after a long pause admitted, ‘I’ve… well, I – I met this soldier…’

  He had to laugh. ‘How did I guess it’d be somebody in uniform!’

  ‘I didn’t mean it to happen!’ She looked at him now, her earnest face seeking forgiveness. ‘We just bumped into one another… I didn’t mean to hurt you, Nat, honestly.’

  ‘I’m not hurt.’ He wasn’t even offended; after all, he had been using Olive. ‘Well, maybe a little bit.’ He said this for her benefit rather than his own.

  Able to look him in the eye now that she had confessed, she pulled the ring over her knuckle. ‘You’d better have this back.’

  He refused. ‘No, you keep it. Sell it and buy yourself a nice wedding present.’

  Olive studied him for a moment, seeking mockery, but the offer was genuine. ‘Oh, you’re so nice! It’s taken me ages to pluck up the courage to tell you. It was nothing to do with you, it was just… well, it’s difficult for a girl if her chap’s not in uniform, you know.’

  He nodded sympathetically, whilst bursting with ironic laughter inside; there he was only the other week hoping to spare her feelings by not cancelling the wedding and here he was now being jilted! Well, this marked the end of his marriage plans. The only woman in his life was his daughter.

  * * *

  To Nat’s dismay he was to be robbed of much prized time with Oriel, for she announced a desire to cut down her hours in order to concentrate on the war effort. ‘I don’t want you to think that my work will suffer, I’ll do exactly the same amount but in a shorter time. We all have to do our bit, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Nat was even more introspective than normal. ‘Will it be voluntary work you’re doing?’ She said it would. ‘Can I enquire what kind?’

  ‘I expect it’ll just be rolling bandages or selling flags,’ admitted Oriel. ‘Though every little helps. First though, I have to help Mother dig up the back garden.’ With Noel’s departure the war had become more personal for both of them and Bright had decided that she would make her own small donation by creating a vegetable patch.

  Nat was not impressed. ‘That’s a man’s job!’

  Oriel arched a black eyebrow. ‘Hadn’t you noticed? All the men are at war – at least most of them.’

  Nat always felt that his daughter was having a go at him when she raised this matter, as indeed she was. ‘I’d be there if I could, y’know. I can’t help it if I failed the medical.’

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t insinuating that you were a coward, Mr Prince!’ How dare you say it, Oriel asked herself. He’s going to slap you one of these days. ‘I’m sure you’re doing very useful work of your own, and I know your young lady friend must be grateful to have you safe at home.’

  The emphasis on young had not gone unnoticed and helped to inject a terseness into his reply. ‘Actually no, I think Olive would have preferred a partner with a few wounds to his credit. So if this is your roundabout way of asking why you haven’t seen her for a couple of days…’

  ‘I’m sure I wasn’t trying to pry!’

  ‘…then I can tell you I’ve been jilted again.’

  Oriel enjoyed a private laugh of satisfaction but kept her face straight. ‘You don’t have much luck with women, do you, Mr Prince?’ He looked at her pointedly. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Miss Maguire, there are those who I find most trustworthy.’

  Oriel inclined her head in gratitude – if only you knew! But there was disconcertment too. It was something of an anomaly that she could delight in his praise, could actually enjoy being in the same room and having these exchanges with him, whilst at the same time she was seeking revenge amongst the pages of his accounts. As yet unable to pinpoint anything fraudulent, she convinced herself that she only stayed under his roof in order to find something she could use against him, but was this true? Was it possible to hate somebody and love them at the same time? Yet there was no way that Oriel would admit to fondness of him. She reverted to her business-like manner. ‘So, would it be all right if I cut down my hours, then?’

  And Nat could think of no good reason to refuse.

  * * *

  With the clocks gone forward an hour the mornings were lighter and work on the garden began very early. Bright perspired and toiled with her daughter throughout the early summer, digging and raking, weeding and planting. Towards the end of June seedling cabbages had begun to show through the brown earth. Between weeding and watering Bright sold flags for the Voluntary Aid Detachment, organized jumble sales and collected newspapers for recycling. At night she would pore over the ever-growing casualty lists in the Evening Press, not really expecting to see Noel’s name there for he was well back behind the lines, but one never quite knew…

  One evening after tea whilst she mused over the lists of fatalities produced by the Great Offensive, Bright muttered out of the blue, ‘I wonder if your father’s been called up.’ It was such a shock to Oriel that she almost regurgitated her meal.

  Her mother was quick to note the expression. ‘Aren’t I even allowed to mention his name?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘You can mention whom you like!’ Not knowing what to say, Oriel was shirty and looked for something to do, but there were only two teacups left to wash. ‘It’s none of my business.’

  ‘Don’t you ever wonder – I mean, I know what your feelings are about him – but don’t you wonder where he is, if he’s been killed or injured?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I do.’

  Her mother sounded so sad that Oriel felt incredibly guilty and would have liked to put her mind at rest, but to do so would spoil her own plans, not to mention the difficulty she would have explaining how she had come to be working for her father for so long without mentioning it before. She said nothing.

  Bright’s eyes continued to peruse the seemingly endless lists, then she gave a sharp intake of breath.

  Oriel stopped focusing on the hearth and looked afraid. ‘Is it Noel?’

  ‘No, tis my brothers… the two youngest.’ Bright glanced up at her daughter. There were no tears but her face was stark with sorrow. She lowered her eyes and read their names out loud. ‘Patrick and Eugene, both killed in action.’ Her hand came up to wind a strand of hair around her finger. ‘I wonder if they were married.’ She bit her lip and read on to the foot of the list. Her daughter came to look over her shoulder at the newspaper, resting her chin on Bright’s tawny head. ‘I should go and see Mother.’

  Oriel did not reply, sad only for her own mother’s sake; the rest of the Maguire clan could all be dead as far as she was concerned, after the way it had treate
d its youngest member.

  Bright slept very little that night, mulling over whether to go and comfort her mother. Morning brought decision. Travelling on foot and still numb, she went along to find the house she had left twenty years ago and had not visited since.

  More shock awaited. The Pig Market, the Three Cups and the squalid little houses had gone. A brand new road and a tramline ran through the place where her old home had been. Bright gazed along the new stretch of Piccadilly, as if hoping for her family to appear suddenly. When had all this taken place? Whenever in town she had always avoided this area for the memory was too painful, and now there was nought tangible to remind her. She turned and looked back towards Walmgate; little had altered there. Maybe the people who owned the fish and chip shop would know of the Maguire family’s whereabouts.

  No one had any idea. They were only able to tell Bright that the demolition had taken place about four or five years ago. Maybe it was as well, thought Bright as she wandered into town, unsure of her movements now; they wouldn’t thank her for opening old wounds when the new ones were raw and weeping.

  * * *

  By the time the clocks went back in October Bright had received six letters from Noel, all cheerful and written in his entertaining style. She carried them in her apron pocket so that in the event of an air raid she and Oriel had something to laugh about whilst they hid in the cellar. There were two more zeppelin raids on York that year and countless false alarms. However, there was no deception in the never-ending procession of ambulances that came day and night to the Military Hospital. Bright thought of the terrible wounds that Noel must have to deal with; wondered too if Nat was amongst those injured.

  Christmas came and with it a visitor, though it was not the one they had hoped to see; Noel was stuck in Europe. For a moment Bright did not recognize her elder sister, frowning at the grey-haired Irish woman in the threadbare shawl who stood shivering on her doorstep. ‘Eilleen!’ She hesitated before throwing wide the door. ‘Come in.’