The Four Streets

by Nadine Dorries

  Once the door had safely banged shut, she could see his shadow, still silhouetted through the two mottled sheets of opaque glass. His hat made his profile look more like that of a gangster than a priest. He wasn’t going to give up that easily although the closed door muffled the noise. She wished hard that he would just go away. She shuffled over to the foot of the stairs and sat herself down on the bottom step, taking care not to trip over the long shawl her father had brought home – it never failed to surprise her how much fell off the back of a seagoing liner – and had left out to be wrapped around the baby to keep him warm.

  As she lifted Joseph onto her knee and adjusted his position, he turned his head towards her chest, pecking frantically like a little bird in the nest looking for food. She had no idea what he was doing. Light and warmth flooded the hallway as Alice opened the kitchen door. Her footsteps sounded, slow and heavy, on the linoleum as she walked down the hallway.

  She made no mention of the priest as she handed Nellie a bottle and said, ‘Here, give him that. It will shut him up.’ She turned on her heel and walked back into the kitchen and the warmth of its fire, closing the door behind her as she went.

  The previous evening, Nellie had sat and helped her father feed the baby when he got home from work. She had watched him change the disgusting nappy, full of his black and dark green meconium. She had held the baby’s head whilst her da splashed water on his bottom and she had shaken the Johnson’s talcum powder over him, creating a cloud that made them both splutter and laugh. She helped to fasten the nappy pin, terrified she might put it through his wiggly bits. Her father showed her how to put the back of her hand on the inside of the nappy, flat against Joseph’s abdomen, as a shield, to stop that happening. And Nellie had giggled as little Joseph decided, once again, to empty his bladder, which went straight into her father’s face as he bent to fold the new nappy over his son.

  How she wished her da was here now and not at work. How she wished Nana Kathleen would hurry back. She was still shaken from the priest’s visit. He had finally moved away from the door. She nervously put the teat of the bottle into Joseph’s tiny mouth. He helped her out by latching on immediately and suckled frantically while his wide-open eyes stared gratefully into hers.

  She was overcome with love for him. She knew Alice’s coldness better than anyone and that her job would be to protect him, whilst her da or Nana Kathleen couldn’t be there. She shifted her arm under Joseph’s back and brought her hand up to support his neck. As she cradled him in her arms, she whispered into the side of his face, ‘Don’t worry, Joseph, I will look after you.’ Her tears fell from her cheeks onto the floor. Lonely and lost, she never felt the ghostly arms slip gently around her shoulders, or the tender kiss on her own cheek, but she did suddenly feel much better.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was a normal morning on the street. As Nellie crossed the road to ‘run a message’ to the shop on the corner, she heard Peggy shouting at the school welfare officer.

  ‘I have five feckin’ pair of shoes and nine kids, would ye like to choose which feckin’ kids stay at home, come on then, come on in, will ye, King Solomon, and choose.’

  Peggy stood back and held the front door open, to usher the welfare officer into the house, at which point he banged his book shut and fled down the street. He was no stranger to being shouted at but Peggy scared him more than most.

  ‘Do ye think I want four feckin’ kids hangin’ round me neck all day, eh? You don’t come here, mister, and complain about my kids not being in school until you bring some feckin’ shoes with you. Can you ’ear me?’

  He was already gone, speeding away in his Morris Minor up the Vauxhall Road.

  ‘There, he won’t be back in a hurry,’ said Peggy to no one in particular, before she went back inside and carried on shouting, this time at the kids.

  He would be back, without the shoes. Peggy would shout at him, again. He would flee to his car, as always, and on it went, a well-rehearsed, recurring drama.

  ‘Jeez, can you hear Peggy giving out,’ said Maura to Kitty, who was on her way out of the door to school. ‘She will be giving this street a bad name, the way she’s carrying on, so she will. I’m going to ask Kathleen to talk to her.’ Kathleen was back and settled into number forty-two. Her son Liam and his wife Maeve were running the farm back home so Kathleen had decided to stay put in Liverpool, until her job of bringing up Nellie was done.

  Maura had made the same comment to Tommy the previous evening, although he didn’t appear to be convinced it was a good idea.

  ‘Why don’t you have a chat with her yourself?’ Tommy had said, thinking that it would surely be a useless exercise anyway. A letter from the Pope wouldn’t stop Peggy shouting.

  ‘Because I don’t want to fall out with me next-door neighbour and she has respect for Kathleen, her being older and all that,’ said Maura.

  ‘Maura, me love, our street is on the list for slum clearance, how much worse a name can we get than that, I ask ye?’ Tommy said reasonably.

  Maura had muttered on under her breath, that the only way she would be taken out of her house would be in a box, but Tommy had stopped listening. He was studying the form of the horses for the three-thirty at Kempton, his newspaper laid out on the kitchen table. The children were growing and the sanctuary of the outhouse was no longer his; there would always be one or the other knocking on the door for him to get out.

  Tommy didn’t really mind. He had never raised his voice to any of his offspring and they all regarded him as a big softie, compared to every other da on the street, other than Jerry. Their peers often felt the belt or the slipper. All Maura’s children knew how lucky they were to have such a gentle man as their da and he was adored by them all.

  Tommy took the pencil from behind his ear, ready to draw a circle round the name of his favourite filly, and became aware that someone was standing next to him. He looked up to see Kitty by his side.

  ‘Hello, Queen, where’s your mother?’ said Tommy, in sudden surprise.

  ‘She’s gone next door to see Kathleen,’ said Kitty, as she pulled out a chair and sat down at the table next to him.

  ‘Jaysus, thank God for that, I thought I’d gone deaf there for a minute, Kitty.’

  He looked sideways at Kitty and they both burst out laughing, something they used to do all the time, but getting a laugh out of Kitty these days was much harder work than it ever had been when she was little.

  Tommy folded the paper, a natural subconscious gesture, which he had no idea he was making, in order to show Kitty she had his full undivided attention.

  ‘Is everything all right, Queen?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye, Da, not bad. I’m taking the kids out for a picnic to the Pier Head to see the ferry.’

  Kitty always spoke in the same tone these days. No ups or downs, no stream of chatter, interspersed with giggles. Tommy thought to himself that Kitty was like half the child she once was. A bright burning lamp turned down to dim. It was a long time now, years even, since he had seen the old Kitty.

  ‘Grand,’ said Tommy, ‘but have ye been afflicted with a blindness, Kitty? Have ye not noticed, it’s fecking freezing and there’s snow on the ground? What kind of picnic is that?’

  They laughed again as Kitty explained, ‘Da, there’s been snow for months. I’m going crazy being stuck indoors.’

  Then she became sombre, as she came to the real reason she had sought out Tommy, just as soon as she could get him on her own.

  ‘Da, will ye do me a favour?’ she said, quietly, glancing nervously over her shoulder and out of the kitchen window to see if Maura was returning.

  ‘Aye, Queen, what is it?’ He had already reopened the paper, but now looked up and closed it again. He could sense Kitty was about to ask him something serious.

  ‘I don’t want to be confirmed, Da. I don’t want to go to the Priory for me confirmation lessons and I’m too scared to tell me mam,’ she said in a rush.

  ‘Jaysus, Kitty,�
�� spluttered Tommy. ‘Why don’t ye ask me to tell her ye is joining the circus, it’d be easier.’

  ‘I know, Da, but I just don’t want to and I know she will give out so much.’

  Tommy smiled. This was the daughter Maura still hoped might one day become a nun. He was secretly pleased. It was the last thing he wanted for his precious Kitty.

  For a man who only ever wanted a quiet life, breaking this bombshell to Maura was not something he would look forward to, but he wouldn’t let his princess down.

  ‘Come here and give yer da a hug. I’ll find a way, Queen. I don’t know how right now, but I will do me best.’

  ‘Thanks, Da,’ said Kitty as she hugged him tight. She closed her eyes and wished she could be honest with him, but the shame wouldn’t let her.

  Nellie had arrived at the corner shop.

  ‘Two ounces of red cheese, please,’ she said as she handed the money over to Sadie, the shopkeeper, to ring into the till.

  ‘OK, Nellie love, here you go, and tell Nana Kathleen to grate it now, as it will go further. And don’t forget to let her know I will be over on Saturday morning for me tea leaves now, will yer, Queen?’

  Nellie loved the fact that everyone wanted to pass a message to Nana Kathleen, even the teachers at school. Nana Kathleen had become everything from a Sunday school teacher to a marriage guidance counsellor, and she was the fount of all knowledge. No one knew how she did it, but nothing got past Nana Kathleen and there wasn’t one bit of gossip she didn’t already know by the time she was told it. She wasn’t a gossip herself, but the keeper of all secrets. Nana Kathleen’s friendship with the Granada TV man was paying dividends. It was amazing the rewards she could reap, for nothing more than a cup of tea and a slice of cake.

  Kathleen read the tea leaves and her reading day was on a Saturday. The house became like Lime Street station as every woman from miles around came to have their tea leaves read. She sat at the head of the kitchen table whilst Nellie and Kitty made cups of tea and the women went in and out all morning.

  Her palm had to be crossed with silver, which meant everyone paid sixpence, and it was the sixpences that paid for the two bottles of Guinness. But if Nana Kathleen thought someone was stretched for the money, as they went to give her the sixpence, she would press an extra one back into their own palm so they came out sixpence up, as well as feeling better for hearing a bit of good news in the tea leaves.

  ‘Kathleen’s so good,’ said Brigie to Peggy, one morning as, having left Kathleen’s kitchen, they were walking down the entry to their own back doors. ‘How could anyone have known I had a letter from America last week? I’ve told no one and it’s been sat on the mantelpiece next to the telly since it arrived.’

  ‘Sure, it’s a mystery, so it is,’ said Peggy, ‘and no wonder she gives Father James short shrift, she wouldn’t want him spoiling our fun, now would she.’

  ‘I’m amazed Maura hasn’t kicked up, her being so religious an’ all that, but even she’s getting her tea leaves read, can ye imagine and their Kitty’s even making the tea!’

  Both women roared with laughter on their way home, one thinking there was a windfall on its way, and another expecting a surprise visitor from overseas and a letter from a tall government building. No one ever questioned that there was never any bad news from Nana Kathleen on a Saturday morning. Bad news was as rare as Irish sunshine in Mayo on an April morning.

  Kitty ran up to Nellie, as she left the shop.

  ‘Nellie,’ she called, ‘let’s collect up Joseph and the kids and walk them down to the Pier Head and watch the ferries, do ya fancy that?’

  Nellie dashed back home with Kitty and began the process of packing Joseph into his pram for the trip. They were going to take Harry, but he had just fallen over on the entry cobbles and skinned the top of his knee. Maura was liberal with her brown iodine on cut knees and it smarted like nothing else.

  ‘Blow, blow, BLOW!’ they could hear her shouting, as far as three doors away, while she sloshed the pungent-smelling liquid onto Harry’s knee. It stung like hell, as his screams ripped the morning air.

  They collected Peggy’s latest baby, to pop into the Silver Cross with Joseph, and sat a couple of toddlers on the navy-blue apron. Another was so desperate to join in, she lay on the wire shopping tray underneath. There were six little ones from various houses on the streets, holding onto various parts of the chrome frame and the handles, all trotting along beside Kitty and Nellie. They looked like travellers moving a caravan to a new destination.

  Tucked down either side of the pillows to keep them warm were bottles of formula for the babies when they woke. Two empty glass pop bottles full of water were pushed down by the side of their legs for drinks for the other children during the day, along with a pack of Jacob’s cream crackers, sandwiched together with jam and wrapped up in greaseproof paper. The closest Liverpool had to a delicacy.

  They would be gone for only a few hours. The wind down at the Pier Head was biting, but Kitty didn’t care. She had wanted to escape the four streets, to look out over the wide expanse of water. She felt for the first time in years as though she could escape the stress. Her da was going to stick up for her. She had been terrified at the thought of having to go to the priory for her confirmation lessons and being in the building alone with Father James. Her da was going to save her.

  Maybe, if her ma was all right and didn’t kick up a fuss, she could tell her parents about Father James and his visits to her bedroom. Even as she thought it, though, she knew she would never have the courage to take that step. She still couldn’t risk not being believed, of having to justify what she was saying. She would have to live with the shame until she could get away altogether, but she was worried about Angela. Would he move on to Angela next?

  The little ones had enjoyed the change of scene and the adventure, but were starting to tire. As they headed back, two of Peggy’s boys began misbehaving, and getting home took much longer than reaching the pier. The snow had begun to fall again and Kitty and Nellie were relieved to turn the corner at the bottom of the street. If only they had turned the corner either two minutes later or two minutes earlier, if only they had done lots of things differently that day, then disaster might never have struck.

  Callum O’Prey had brought the car round to the house to show off to his mammy. Callum had spent his life searching for things to show off about and impress his mammy with. He used to be the fastest runner in the street, and for that he had the privilege of robbing the bread vans every time there was a ‘bit of a do’.

  Callum could cater a party for twenty out of the back of a bread van making a delivery. He stole to order. The more he stole, the more respected he felt. The van driver never knew where his sausage rolls and custard tarts ended up.

  The car was a shiny, brand-new, grey Ford Anglia. No one else on the street owned a car. Neither did Callum. It was stolen.

  People like Callum didn’t own cars. The idea of stealing one to keep was just too fanciful; he wouldn’t have known what to do with it. He fully intended to take it back to Dale Street, where he’d found it. He didn’t even have a driving licence. Callum wasn’t that much of a rogue; he was just an underprivileged boy from a loving home in desperate need to be someone, even if just for one day.

  He wanted to be a big man, one his mammy could brag about, like Mrs Keating from next door did about her lad, who had become a sergeant in the army. Callum had tried to sign up, but had failed the medical on account of his chronic asthma, made worse by the roll-ups he chain-smoked each day.

  ‘Sure,’ Callum had said to the friend who was walking with him as he stole the car, but who refused to get in, ‘yer man is inviting me to take a spin, or why would he have left the keys in it now?’

  He had driven a few bangers before around the wasteland at the back of the garage where his pal, Michael, worked, and it had been easy. Callum was fascinated by cars and engines but, in his world, people from the four streets would never own a car. He wasn’
t very brave and hoped the owner was having a very long lunch so he could get the car back before anyone had noticed it had gone.

  Today, he loved the smile on his mammy’s face as he spun her the line about how a man in town had asked him to run a few messages in his car for him. He stayed just long enough to drink a cup of tea with his mammy, eat a cheese sandwich and have a show-off. He loved the fact that as he enjoyed his fifteen minutes of fame, every child on the street was hanging around the car, looking in through the windows and yelling through the door of the house, ‘Callum, is that car yours, will ye give me a ride?’

  ‘Oh, Callum,’ his mammy trilled, ‘fancy that, you driving round in a smart car. Yer man must know ye to be a trustworthy person, brought up the right way.’

  She was even bragging at the door, as she saw him off to carry on with his errand, and shouted down the street to her neighbours, ‘Would ye look at our Callum now, would ye,’ her face flushed with pride and pleasure.

  ‘Did ye not need lessons to drive that, Callum?’ shouted Peggy from across the road, having known Callum since the day he was born.

  ‘I can drive all right, Peggy, but I have to get back to yer man now,’ Callum called as he dived back into the driver’s seat, not wanting to answer any probing questions.

  As Callum left the house, he felt like a hero and six feet tall, rather than the five foot two caused by a lack of meat and poor nutrition. He revved up the engine to impress everyone, as he let out the clutch. But the car went nowhere. It was winter and the road was frozen hard with packed ice. It had been cleared in town by the snowploughs, but in the four streets, as no one had a car, the area hadn’t been touched. Callum’s knowledge of driving was rudimentary and he pressed down harder on the accelerator, thinking that it would make the car move.