‘Just look at him,’ murmured Dusty to her brother-in-law, shaking her head. ‘The big daft clot.’ Sonny observed that he was trying to recapture his childhood. ‘Recapture it?’ Dusty sighed. ‘He never lost it. D’you fancy taking a stroll round the pond while this lot calm down?’
Dickie noticed the pair ambling off together. ‘Hey, stay away from the woods with my wife, Feeney!’
Sonny smiled at his partner, who was wearing a close-fitting lilac skirt with a minute waist and a train that brushed the grass, a matching bolero-style jacket with embroidery and guipure lace and a wide-sleeved blouse with a bunch of frills at her throat. ‘You know, you look younger than Josie – but don’t tell her I said so.’
Dusty smiled back at him from under the shade of her straw hat; its white feathers dipped gently in time to her saunter. She was silent for a time, then gave a little laugh. ‘You didn’t like me very much when we first met, did you?’
‘Oh … it wasn’t that I disliked you, Dust. It was just… well, Mam seemed to favour you more than Peggy, that was all. Gosh, it’s hot!’ The black mourning garb attracted the sun. He took off the jacket and slung it over his arm.
Dusty continued the theme. ‘I used to think you were a real dope over her.’
‘You’d’ve been right. As the saying goes, love makes fools of us all.’
‘I’d be the first to agree with that. But you’ve learned from your encounter, whereas I’m still being made a fool of.’ She saw him flush slightly. ‘I see you understand my meaning. Has he said anything to you about her?’
Cornered, Sonny rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably and shook his head. He had noticed how his brother’s voice lowered an octave when he was talking to his niece. ‘But it’s not serious though, Dusty. It’s just… Dickie being Dickie.’
‘Josie’s worried too, isn’t she?’
‘About Feen? Ah well, Josie’s just being daft.’
‘I’m glad you think so. Everyone else has such a low opinion of Dick, apart from your mother. But he’d never …’
Sonny stopped her. ‘I know that, Dusty. And I know he’d never do anything with Belle either.’
Her face showed dubiety. ‘Erin’s noticed. Oh, she hasn’t said anything, but I know she’s concerned.’
‘And what does Dickie have to say to all this?’
‘What one might expect him to say – what he always says.’
‘D’you want me to speak to him?’
Dusty shook her head, making the feathers on her hat shiver. ‘No, it’ll fizzle out. They always do. I hope I haven’t spoilt your afternoon by mentioning it.’ They walked on.
Dickie had ceased his pretend fight with the boys and flopped onto the long grass next to Belle and her mother, gasping his exhaustion. For a while he lay flat on his back, shading his eyes against the sun. Belle knew he was looking at her. So did Erin, who censured, ‘You’ll get grass stains on that white suit.’ Her annoyance stemmed partly from the fact that he had already abandoned his mourning clothes. ‘Why don’t ye go sit on the rug.’
Dickie hoisted himself on an elbow and grinned. ‘She doesn’t like me sitting next to her,’ he whispered close to Belle’s ear. Pulling at a blade of grass, he sucked on its root. A disturbed moth flittered round his head.
‘Moths round a flame,’ observed Belle. She, too, had cast her black, but the floating chiffon creation she wore was still respectful, in the colours of sweet peas.
The moth became an irritation. Dickie snatched it from the air and tossed it aside, leaving a gold smudge on his palm. It still fluttered pathetically in the grass. Amelia had seen the action and said indignantly, ‘You’ve left it half-dead!’
‘He has that effect on most of us, dear,’ said her Aunt Erin.
Amelia scooped the moth up and examined it. ‘One of its wings is broken. I wonder if I can mend it.’ With an accusing look at the culprit, she wandered off, still looking at her cupped hands.
Dickie had been still for long enough. He leapt up. ‘Right, who’s for a game of hide and seek?’ The younger children immediately gathered round enthusiastically. ‘You too, girls!’ he called to Sonny’s daughters.
‘I’m a bit old for games, Uncle,’ smiled Elizabeth from the shade of her parasol.
‘My God, decrepit at twenty-one,’ scoffed Dickie. He took off his white blazer and threw it down. ‘What about you, Feen?’
Up until now, Feen had been very morose, but at her uncle’s invitation the sulk was abandoned. Jumping to her feet, she joined the game.
Dickie rolled up his sleeves. There were white scars on his forearms where a pig had once bitten him. ‘We’ll have a slight change of rules. I’ll hide, you lot count to a hundred and try to find me – you too, Belle.’ He pelted off towards the wood calling over his shoulder. ‘The first girl to find me gets a kiss!’
‘I hate to think what the loser gets,’ breathed Erin as a sour-faced Amelia muttered some insult whilst trying to fix the moth’s wing.
Belle clambered to her feet and smoothed her chiffon robes. Her mother squinted up at her. ‘You’re not deserting us, are ye? Who’s going to get tea ready?’
‘There’s plenty of you, isn’t there?’ Belle pointed to the other women and began to count with the children.
Josie came to sit by Erin. ‘Mother’s looking well today, isn’t she?’
‘What?’ Too busy watching her daughter, Erin frowned. ‘Sorry, Josie, what did you say?’ When the statement was repeated she only half-agreed. ‘It’s a wonder she does, what with all the worry. But yes, she’s good for her age.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Josie. ‘If her legs weren’t so bad she’d be very good.’ She looked at Erin who had chuckled, then realised what she had said and laughed herself.
‘That must be the shortest hundred ever,’ remarked Erin with a smile as Feen, much to her mother’s consternation, dashed off into the woods. Seeing this, the others stopped counting too and streamed after her, Belle taking up the rear. For a time the clearing was peaceful.
Dickie looked down from his perch in the tree and watched the seekers thrashing about the undergrowth. Julia and Faith had stopped to pick bluebells. Fred whacked and poked amongst the elder bushes with a stick. Belle had caught up with Feen, though the latter tried her best to shake her off. Eventually she made a quick dash to her right, shouting, ‘I’ll go this way, you go the other!’
Belle continued alone. There was no urgency in her performance as she dipped into every hiding place. Dickie kept very still, draped over the branch, watching. Somewhere above him, a chaffinch warned of invaders. Belle came nearer. He would have jumped down and surprised her, but she saw him first and stood at the foot of the tree, hands on hips.
He swung like a gibbon from the branch and planted himself before her, spreading his arms. ‘I surrender. Claim your prize.’ When she simply laughed and made to turn away, he waylaid her. Still she just looked at him, a taunt in her eye. With a swift grab he pulled her to him and murmured into her face, ‘Come on, ye know you’re dying for it,’ then dealt her the most passionate kiss she could ever hope to have. Instead of struggling free as he had expected her to, Belle returned the kiss with a ferocity that shook him. Unprepared, he had widened his eyes when Feen burst upon them. He saw the look of excitement turn to dismay before the girl swivelled and ran back the way she had come, leaving him to be the one who struggled free.
‘Too much for you, am I?’ asked Belle triumphantly, then saw that his gaze was not directed at her and turned to see Feen’s dark hair flying out behind her as she ran. Her gleam of devilment faded as she turned back to him. ‘Oh … now look what you’ve done!’
‘Me? It was you who was making a meal of it.’
‘And why shouldn’t I?’
‘I’m a married man.’
‘That doesn’t seem to make much difference to you, why should it to me? Because I’m a woman?’
‘Well, I would’ve thought that’d make you pay some consideration to Dusty
.’
She gasped. ‘You really are the most hypocritical pig!’
‘You enjoyed it though, didn’t ye.’ The puckishness was back in his eye.
‘As I said before, why shouldn’t I? I have to make the most of these little acts of charity – doesn’t everyone keep telling me how starved of love I am.’
‘Like a bit more?’ He made a grab for her.
Belle smiled, then did something she hadn’t done for a very long time: she drew back her surgical boot and gave him the most horrendous crack on the shin.
* * *
Dusty looked round in surprise as a red-cheeked Feen plonked herself down on the rug beside her and said, ‘They’re so childish, aren’t they? Especially Cousin Belle. One would think she’d be here helping with the picnic – can I do that for you, Aunt?’ Still breathless, she reached for the pack of sandwiches that Dusty had been transferring to a plate and took over the arrangement.
‘Why, thank you, Feen, that’s very good of you.’ Dusty smiled through her confusion. ‘You didn’t find Uncle Dickie then?’
‘No, I got tired of looking for him.’ Feen spoke airily. ‘Belle found him first.’
Dusty looked up as Belle emerged from the wood alone. A fraction later Dickie burst from a different exit surrounded by laughing children. His wife poured him a cup of tea and asked casually, ‘Who won?’
‘Faith.’ Dickie flopped down beside her.
Dusty turned to look up at Belle who, though not outwardly perturbed, did not meet her eye. ‘Oh? The runner-up must have got a kiss too, then.’
Dickie knew that tone and immediately leapt up again. ‘Right, we’ll get a game of Rugby in while the women are organising tea! Where’s that ball, Fred?’ As promised, he had bought this for the boy’s recent birthday. ‘Come on, let’s sort the teams out. Son, you and me are the captains. I’ll have Nick, Eddie …’
‘Aye, don’t tell me,’ sighed his brother. ‘I get Paddy, Baby John …’ Dick laughed and conceded to fair play.
Josie had been watchful of events and had seen that all was not well with Feen. She came up to ask, ‘Are you all right, love?’
‘Of course,’ snapped Feen, still angry at her mother for the earlier episode.
‘We’re still one short on my side,’ called Dick. ‘Feen, come on, you can …’
‘I’m not playing stupid games,’ replied Feen.
Her mother heaved a sigh of relief that the infatuation was over and went to sit down again.
‘Aren’t you going to play?’ Erin asked her daughter.
‘Don’t be silly, Mother.’ Belle had felt her mother’s scrutiny ever since she had returned from the woods.
‘What’s silly about it? Ye played hide and seek, didn’t ye … or whatever else the pair of ye were playing in there.’
Belle simply looked at her mother coldly.
‘Well, whatever you’re playing, Belle, remember he has a wife.’ Erin turned to watch the match.
Sonny was demanding to know why his team’s goalposts were thirty feet wider apart that Dickie’s. His brother told him not to split hairs and the game began with Elizabeth as upholder of rules.
‘Don’t get too rough!’ shouted an alarmed Josie as her small son became enmeshed in the scrum.
Dick made a gentle pass to the boy. ‘Come on, Pad, run!’
Everyone pretended to chase Paddy while he, face abeam, ran for the goal. ‘Come on, come on!’ Dick scooped the child off his feet, tucked him under his arm and ran for the goal himself, setting him down and bawling, ‘Try!’
‘Foul!’ objected Sonny and grabbing the ball set off at full tilt.
Dick streaked after him. Sonny came within a foot of the goalpost when he felt his legs clasped and crashed down onto his belly. Indeed, it was some minutes before he could gasp, ‘Bloody hell, you’re still fit!’
‘I have to be, Son.’ Dickie clambered to his feet, still panting. ‘I’ve always got some bugger chasing me.’
Whilst they were still laughing, Paddy came up to stare at his father on the ground, asking, ‘Is he dead?’ Fred sneaked up and seized the ball. Elizabeth shouted that if they continued to flout the rules she was not going to waste her time umpiring. When the game proceeded she stalked back to sit with the women.
Fred was still running when Eddie performed a flying tackle on him. Both hit the ground heavily. Fred screamed and burst into tears. Dusty ran to comfort him. ‘Oh, come here, let me rub it better, love – where does it hurt?’
Fred clutched at his groin and sobbed. ‘There!’
‘Oh…’ Dusty’s hand faltered and she hid a smile. ‘Come on, let’s leave these big bullies, there’s some chocolate cake in the hamper.’ She led him away.
After a few more skirmishes and cries of cheat! and foul! the players were called to eat. Dick, avoiding his wife, sat beside Feen, but she removed herself to the far side of the circle and did not speak to him for the rest of the afternoon. Neither did Amelia, whose attempts to heal the moth had ended with it being smeared over her palm.
While they ate, Sonny spoke about next month’s exhibition at the York Art Gallery. ‘I’m looking forward to it, but there’ll be a lot of packing to do.’
Dusty said, ‘Oh, Dickie’ll help, won’t you, dear? He’s quite good at making exhibitions, expecially of himself.’ So saying, she took a bunch of grapes from the hamper, looked her errant husband in the eye and, with a pair of scissors, very deliberately snipped off two of the pendulous fruit. Dickie grimaced and crossed his legs.
After tea everyone relaxed and enjoyed what was left of the sunshine. Thomasin sat like a queen on her throne while they lounged at her feet on the rugs, posing for Dickie’s camera. Then Elizabeth and Sophia wandered off to talk of make-believe paramours and the children took their last chance of play before it was time to leave. Sonny produced a drawing pad. ‘I think I’ll get a few sketches while you’re sitting still,’ he told his brother. ‘Otherwise I’m never going to get that portrait finished.’ Since January there had only been two sittings and those had been brief.
‘Had I known it was going to take this long I’d never have mentioned it,’ grumbled Dickie. ‘If ye wait till after the trial you could take a deathmask and save us both the…’
‘Don’t make jokes like that!’ interrupted Thomasin angrily.
‘Sorry, Mam.’ Dickie looked chastened and played with his bootlace. He turned his eye on Dusty, then Belle; both were regarding him as though he were a leper.
‘Why do I bother?’ Erin asked the sky. ‘We organise this picnic to take everyone’s mind off the wretched business and one stupid thoughtless remark from you …’
Sonny was put out too, murmuring, ‘Dick, keep your voice down, the children might overhear.’
‘We’ve still got it to face though, haven’t we?’ said their mother. ‘Pass me one of those sandwiches, love, we don’t want to take them home.’
Erin complied, then fixed her eyes to the silver locket that dangled from Thomasin’s throat. ‘That’s a pretty little thing, Mam. Is it new?’
‘This? It’s the one your father bought me the first Christmas we were wed. Don’t you remember?’ Erin shook her head. Thomasin lifted the sandwich. ‘I thought I’d wear it for him. It’s our anniversary soon… forty-nine years. Would’ve been our Golden Wedding next year.’ She bit into the sandwich and made a face. ‘God, I think this pig’s celebrated its Golden Wedding, too. I can’t get my teeth through it.’
There was a long silence. Then Dickie frowned. ‘Hey … if you got married at the end of May and I was born in December …’
‘You were earlier than expected,’ said his mother swiftly. ‘Pass me a bit of cake, someone please, I can’t eat this.’
Dickie spent a moment staring at his sister. Erin wanted to giggle at the wounded expression. Instead she told him sternly, ‘You can get your hair cut before the trial; ye look like a poet.’
‘Now who’s mentioned trials,’ quipped her brother before saying t
o Thomasin, ‘Don’t look so worried, Mam. I know we’re going to get off.’
‘All right!’ His mother suddenly came alive. ‘If you’re so confident we’ll have a little bet on it.’ When he laughingly agreed she put the terms, ‘If we get off, you stay in England.’
‘Eh, now hold on, Mam.’ Her son was dismayed, and for the first time Nick was in total unison with his uncle.
‘You can’t welch on it now, I’ve got witnesses!’
Dickie looked amused at being so easily cornered. ‘Talk about heads I win, tails you lose – if I’m found not guilty I have to stay, if I’m found guilty then I’ll be staying anyway.’
I hope he is found guilty. Feen had isolated herself from both children and adults, but sat near enough to catch snippets of the latter’s discourse. She was not sure what the trouble was all about, for Father and Mother clammed up about it whenever their children came near, but she knew that there was to be a trial. A loud screech from Julia postponed her eavesdropping for the moment. Ripping up handfuls of grass and casting a malicious glance at Belle, she wished her uncle was being tried for murder. I’d rather him be dead than see him with her.
‘Still, we have to look on the bright side,’ Dickie was saying to the others. ‘Even if we are convicted the sentence shouldn’t be more than a couple o’ months’ hard labour – are ye good with a shovel, Mam?’ His sister told him he was stupid. ‘It’s the law that’s stupid. Ye’d think it was hardly worth their bother trying us for the measly amount that Mam claimed.’
‘Well, I’ve every faith in British Justice,’ declared his brother, hand sketching rapidly. ‘I’m going to book a holiday in Ireland for August.’
‘You both seem to have forgotten the adverse publicity that comes with this,’ said Erin. ‘Even if you’re found not guilty there’ll be wagging tongues.’
Dickie (Feeney Family Sagas Book 4) Page 32
