Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4)

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘Okay, forget sisters and let’s stick with Fred! I ask ye, Dusty, who’d want to take him? Be honest, ye didn’t think much of him yourself, did ye?’

  ‘Yes, I did!’ She tried to ignore his sceptical eyes but failed.

  ‘Oh … all right! He hasn’t much to recommend him, I’ll admit – but for pity’s sake! If everyone thought as you did the poor child would never find a home. Nobody expects us to love him straightaway, but I’m positive once we get to know him …’ She shook her head emphatically. ‘I’m sorry, Dick, but even if we were allowed just to take the girls I couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear to see the rejection on that child’s face. You’re viewing this from a very selfish attitude.’

  ‘All right, so I’m selfish!’ he acknowledged insolently and flicked the cigarette ash at the hearth. ‘But in this case I think it’s the right thing to be. If we take these kids it should be because we want them for what they are, not from some sense of benevolence. What sort o’ people would we be if we took them ’cause we felt sorry for them, then didn’t spend any time with the little sods ’cause we didn’t really like them?’

  ‘What sort of logic is that?’ Dusty hollered at him … but then she recognised that there was a certain kind of sense to his words, and after a moment she came to stand with him, face desperate. ‘Couldn’t we just take Fred out with us once or twice?’ she implored. ‘Give him a chance to show us his graces?’

  Much as he detested the idea, Dickie had only to look at that tormented face to know he couldn’t refuse. It would be tedious, yes, but it did not have to mean further commitment and it would serve to keep Dusty quiet until Belle came back. At which point, Dickie could manipulate his niece – because he was adamant that when he returned to America, Frederick would not be sailing with him. ‘Oh… all right, we’ll take old grog-blossom too.’

  ‘Aw, don’t call him that, Dick!’ But she was happier now. Along with the compromise, he gave her the present he had bought on his way home. ‘Oh, my birthstone! Aren’t you clever. It’s lovely.’ Dusty tried to slip the ring of beryl stones on a finger but it jammed at the knuckle.

  ‘It’s supposed to go on the little one,’ he corrected her fondly. ‘Apparently it’s a Christening ring but I didn’t know that when I pointed it out to the jeweller, it just caught me eye. He said it was for a man to give his wife on the birth of their first child and, well … it seemed a good idea. I know it’s kinda premature, but I thought it might bring us a bit o’ luck.’

  She gripped her finger, caressing the ring with blissful eyes. ‘I’m sure Erin’ll be the first to notice.’

  ‘Hey, now don’t you take any more sass from her,’ warned Dickie; his wife had brought with her some very expensive jewellery which she had not yet worn, partly because of her father-in-law, but mainly because of Erin. ‘If she says anything…’

  ‘Oh, she doesn’t say anything,’ responded his wife. ‘She just has this very eloquent sniff.’ She laughed and was thanking him with a kiss when his mother and the rest of the family returned, their cheeks and noses pink from the cold. The couple broke away at the jocular comments from Sonny and, with a laugh, Dick swung his small nephew into the air. Now why couldn’t I have one like this? he asked himself at Paddy’s squeal of laughter as a bit of rough and tumble ensued. Dusty watched them and, reading her husband’s mind, felt the old familiar pang. Then she noticed Erin’s eyes on the ring and instinctively covered it with a hand.

  ‘Guess who I saw this afternoon,’ Dickie told his brother. ‘Old Bacon Neck.’ He spent several minutes laughing over the episode, until his mother broke in to enquire if the undertaker had been. Dickie stopped laughing and said that he had.

  ‘I suppose I should have been here to deal with him,’ said Thomasin, ‘but I just couldn’t face it.’ Dickie told her that he had not been sure if she would allow Mrs Whatsemame in the same room as his father, so had asked them to shove her in the front room across the hall and leave Patrick upstairs.

  ‘You make it sound like you’re discussing an old bit of furniture, shove her in the front room indeed. I don’t mind them being together. Your dad liked Mrs Howgego. Anyway, you can bring him down later. I’ll just go and see what they’ve done to him.’ Her daughter asked if she wanted company but Thomasin made soft refusal. ‘Not just now, love. I’d like to be on my own for a while. Go up and see him later if you like.’

  Why it should make a difference, seeing Patrick in that box after he had been dead for two days, Thomasin could not say, but it did. The horror showed on her face when she slipped back into the drawing room. There was further upset when Sonny’s girls made a dramatic twirling entrance in their new outfits. Whilst their mother condemned their insensitive actions, Dusty sagged in recognition of her own thoughtlessness and apologised on the girls’ behalf. Her mother-in-law was quietly dismissive. ‘Don’t be daft. Pat loved a bonny dress. You’re not doing him a disservice, quite the opposite.’ But Josie said in firm voice that they could still take them off. Watching her grand-daughters troop dispiritedly from the room, Thomasin called to the eldest, ‘Eh, it’s your coming-of-age soon, isn’t it?’ The young woman turned and nodded, eyes lowered. ‘In that case I should save your dress for when you’re dancing with all those handsome beaux at your party. Don’t waste it on us.’

  Liz smiled for this little kindness and closed the door. At the girls’ departure Thomasin met with further remorse from both her daughters-in-law, Josie adding that they could not possibly countenance a party now. Thomasin’s voice showed how tiresome she found this. ‘For God’s sake, I’ve said it doesn’t matter! Do we really have to look like crows just to show how much we thought of him? And you will not cancel that lass’s party, that’s the last thing Pat’d want… God, I wish Friday was over.’

  * * *

  Most of Thursday morning was devoted to tinkering with the car which, after much swearing from Dickie, made a bronchitic return to working order. Telling the others that they were going sightseeing, Dickie and his wife drove to Belle’s after lunch and asked permission to take the children out. It had not been Dickie’s idea to include all of them, but his wife said they couldn’t possibly be so mean as to take only the three. Consequently, the green and yellow vehicle was dangerously overloaded as it chugged away down Hull Road.

  The drive lasted only for as long as Dickie could stand Frederick’s breath on his neck, the boy craning eagerly over the seat in order to learn every aspect of driving. At the first open space he hauled on the braking handle and made the terse suggestion that they all go and stretch their legs. Taking his wife’s arm, he sauntered along the frost-furred path, watching the children scamper from one discovery to the next, bending and peering into the bushes, collecting pine cones and beech masts. God, will ye ever look at him, came the dismal thought. What a mawk. He had tried very hard to find just one thing to like about the boy, but had failed.

  However, he pretended he was enjoying himself for his wife’s sake – although there was no need for deception where the girls were concerned; he found them quite beguiling. ‘Ah, aren’t we the lucky ones to be blessed with such company, Aunt Dusty!’ He smiled broadly as the effervescent Julia danced up to pile her ‘treasure’ into his hands for safekeeping, her more timid sister clinging onto Dusty’s coat. ‘Like two little flowers outta the hedgerow.’ Julia asked what sort of flower. ‘A celandine,’ came the prompt reply. ‘Bright an’ golden as the sunshine.’ He stuffed his coat pockets with pine cones, while the recipient of his flattery giggled and shrieked in her highly-strung manner.

  ‘I like woses,’ announced little Faith from behind her thumb.

  ‘Well, isn’t that remarkable?’ Dickie donned amazement. ‘Wasn’t I just about to say that in your pretty pink coat you’re the very image of a rose, an’ twice as sweet.’ He chuckled as Julia managed to persuade her sister to leave go of Dusty and the two pranced off to scavenge the countryside.

  ‘What am I?’ Frederick had taken possession of Dusty’s fur m
uff which he was stroking as though it were a pet.

  Smile paling, Dickie glanced down at the boy. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘What sort of flower am I?’

  It required little thought. ‘Hogweed.’

  Dusty hid her exasperation and patted the boy’s shoulder kindly. ‘Boys aren’t meant to be flowers, Freddie. They’re meant to be tough an’ protect their womenfolk. And you look very tough to me. Go run after your sisters an’ make sure they’re safe.’

  ‘They don’t need protection,’ opined Frederick. ‘I’ll stay here and look after you.’

  Dickie glowered. ‘Why would she need you when she’s got me to protect her?’

  The boy said in hoity-toity voice, ‘I’ll bet you don’t know what an alchemist is.’ Dickie muttered that he did, but it wasn’t a fitting subject for little boys. Fred recognised the bluff and told him gleefully, ‘It’s a person who can turn ordinary metal into gold.’

  ‘Oh, really? I thought he was just called a clever bugger – onward, little pilgrim.’

  Frederick eyed him speculatively, then dashed off.

  ‘If this is an indication of what you’re going to put him through when we get home,’ came Dusty’s quiet remonstrance, ‘then I’ll give up all ideas of adoption.’

  He hung his head. ‘Ah, I’m sorry, darlin’. I really meant to be nice to him. It’s just that when I open me mouth …’

  ‘I don’t think you ever intended being nice to him,’ said Dusty. He protested that he had, but she stopped and pulled him round to face her. However, when he met her eyes, he saw not anger but apology. ‘Look, I realise this has all been a bit one-sided. I’ve been thinking only of myself, not considering that you have as much right in the choice of our children … if it’s anybody’s fault that Frederick’s being treated this way then it’s mine, for forcing him onto you when you didn’t really …’ She groped for the right words. ‘What I’m trying to say is, maybe we should wait.’

  ‘We’ve been waiting, Dusty.’ She smelt the kid of his gloves as his hands cupped her cheeks. ‘Girl, you’ve put up with me for all these years, I’m sure I can put up with him.’ Before she could object to his irrational statement, Dickie called the three children to him, telling the others to walk on. He bent and put his hands on his knees, saying in confidential tone, ‘Now, is any of ye good at keeping secrets?’ Faith wanted to know what a secret was but her sister and brother shouted her down with their positive answers. ‘Good,’ replied Dickie. ‘’Cause this is just between the five of us, no one else is to know. How would you like it if me an’ your Aunt Dusty were your new mother an’ father?’

  Above the loud noises of approval from the girls, Frederick reminded him impatiently, ‘I thought you said you weren’t gonna be our mother and father.’

  ‘Well, I had to say that in front of Sally, didn’t I?’ Dickie managed to look pleasantly upon the boy. ‘Big secret an’ all that. D’ye like the idea o’ going to America with us?’

  ‘Yes.’ Frederick slipped a hand into the man’s. ‘Do I call you Dad now?’

  ‘Er, no, better keep to Uncle Dickie until we get all the legal stuff sorted out with your Aunt Belle. A secret now, remember.’ He smiled and winked at his wife. ‘It’s said now, Momma; we’ve committed ourselves.’

  His wife embraced him with gratitude, but soon he broke free to grab Frederick and hoist him onto his shoulders, galloping madly along the country lane and back to his wife. Each in turn received their precarious ride. Dusty laughed at the expression her husband was pulling on his bouncy return with Faith. ‘What a face! She isn’t that heavy, I’m sure.’

  Freed of his rider, Dickie presented his back for his wife’s inspection. ‘Is there anything on me shoulders that wasn’t there before?’ Receiving a puzzled no, he laughed ruefully and ran a hand over his neck before putting it to his nose and sniffing. ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’

  Dusty caught the inference. ‘Oh … she hasn’t really, has she?’

  ‘Aye, a wee accident, methinks. But I’ll leave that to you.’ He patted her and smiled sweetly. ‘That’s what mothers are for, is it not?’

  * * *

  They returned home at three-thirty and found that Nick had arrived with his wife Winifred. She was a quiet and unobtrusive young woman, pliable to her husband’s demands without being totally submissive. Introductions were made. Dusty’s greeting was warm, but she could not hide the fact that her interest lay more in the baby whom Win carried. As any mother, Win did not begrudge the attention lavished on her infant, and handed him over willingly to the other woman, the better to greet Nick’s uncle. Naturally, her awareness of the true relationship lent spice to the meeting.

  Dick was his usual flirtatious self, kissing her hand and telling Nick what a lucky man he was, having no recourse to flatter, for Win was indeed very pretty. Her eyes were hazel with little flecks of light in them and had a slightly oriental tilt at the outer edges. Her nutbrown hair had been collected into a soft knot on her crown to form a cottage loaf; free from the attention of hot irons, it gleamed even in this poor light. The sickness that she had been suffering lately did not show in her complexion which bloomed with health, and neither had her last pregnancy spoilt her figure – as Dickie’s eyes verified. At first Win found this attention from such a handsome man very pleasant, especially as she did not feel at her best. But his prolonged gaze soon became embarrassing and, feeling flushed, Win unconsciously linked her arm with that of her husband as if in need of his protection. It was at this point, watching the effect on his own wife, that Nick understood his father’s potency. ‘If you’ll excuse us …’ he murmured to Dickie, and led Win over to the sofa.

  Dickie stood watching the couple for a moment, then noticed that his brother stood alone by the window, and wandered over to him. ‘You all right, our kid?’

  Sonny smiled at the old term of endearment. ‘Aye … I’ve just been shifting Dad into the front room with Mrs H. for his viewing. Nick and John helped me to carry him down. God, we had a hell of a job with the lid being loose. I had visions of us tipping him out.’

  Dickie gave a vacuous smile, more pertinent matters occupying his mind: one being the deep conversation he had not yet had with Nick, his son; the other being the baby boy over whom Dusty was still drooling … the one who was, in actuality, his grandson. Hell no! He felt much too young to be a grandad.

  Sonny noticed the wistfulness in his brother’s eye and followed its course. What he saw took him off-balance. He had always thought of himself as a secure man, but here was Nick’s real father; what would be the outcome? It mattered little that Nick was a grown man, nor even that he had sworn he would never look upon anyone but Sonny as his father, Sonny knew how persuasive his brother could be. And then there was his grandson … but it wasn’t his grandson, it was Dickie’s grandson. Someone gripped his knee. He glanced down and a smile replaced the worry; no one could take Paddy away. He lifted the child into his arms. ‘Ah, and what does this fine fellow want – a good hiding?’

  ‘No, a good story,’ answered Paddy with a cheeky smile.

  Sonny groaned. ‘Sorry, Uncle Dickie, this bloke’s dragging me away.’

  Seeing her husband was on his own, Dusty came up and held the baby out to him. ‘I’ve just realised – Paddy is Johnny’s uncle.’ Dickie laughed and took hold of the child.

  ‘Mind his little arms!’ Erin warned her brother. ‘You nearly pulled them out of the sockets.’

  ‘He’s all right, aren’t ye, Johnny?’ The moment Dickie spoke, the baby burst into tears and was quickly handed back to his mother. ‘Dear God, ye’d think I was an ogre – Feen!’ He noticed her eyes on him. ‘Come and sit your sweet self beside me an’ show your nephew I’m not so bad.’ Shyness prohibiting any uninvited approach, Feen was delighted to imbibe of his flattery. Yet even whilst seeming to concentrate his entire attention on her, Dick watched the fair-haired young man and wondered how to approach him. There was scant chance here of a pri
vate conversation. To aid thought, he lit a cigarette.

  ‘Oh, not another of those blasted things,’ moaned Thomasin as Nick prepared to light up too. ‘You’ve just put one out. It’s like a taproom in here. I can scarcely breathe.’

  It was the opportunity for which Dickie had been waiting. ‘Oh see, Feen, even my own mother’s agen me.’ To her infinite disappointment, their cosy chat expired. ‘Come on, Nick, we’ll puff our weeds someplace else – is Dad’s study OK?’ With his mother’s grateful consent, he rose and discarded the cigarette in the ashtray. ‘On second thoughts, Nick, you can treat me to one of your cigars.’

  Nick had been waiting for this too – not wanting it, but expecting it. With a reassuring wink at Sonny he followed the other man out of the room. Watching her husband exit with that handsome young man, Dusty felt insanely jealous of the woman who had borne Dick’s son; then just as quickly repelled this madness – how could one feel jealous of a dead woman?

  It was quieter in Pat’s study. Dickie sat in his father’s chair and bit the end off the donated cigar, spitting it at the hearth. The fire in here was low, but this being a small room it was adequate. ‘Mm, very smooth.’ He took an appreciative drag as Nick, standing over him, withdrew the matchflame and put it to his own cigar. ‘D’you always buy such expensive smokes?’

  The match burnt down before Nick managed to ignite his cigar; he struck another, filling his nostrils with sulphur. ‘Not if I can get someone else to – these were a gift.’ The end of the cigar began to smoulder and glow. With a flourish, he tossed the dead match at the fireplace, missing.

  ‘I wish my friends bought me presents like this.’ Dickie rolled the smoke round his tongue.

  ‘Did I say they were from a friend?’ Nick took a seat.

  Dickie raised an eyebrow and tapped the cigar. ‘No? Well, with enemies like that ye sure as hell don’t need friends.’