They fell into step, each not having to ask where the other was heading.
‘Have ye heard then?’ asked Jerry.
‘Aye, I have and I have only one question: what the fecking hell is going on? Why would the policeman have murdered Molly? Why didn’t we know? ’Twas us what did for the priest, so how can he be taking the rap for us?’
‘That was more than one question, Tommy. Shall we call in to the Anchor on the way to the shop? Someone will have an Echo in there.’
‘Grand idea, but only for a quick one. Then ye have to help me mark out the streets with this block of chalk Harriet has given me for the races tomorrow, ’cause I couldn’t stand the thought of that one breathing down my neck, now, if it wasn’t done.’
With that, both men turned up the Anchor steps and into their place of refuge, where even someone as determined as Harriet wouldn’t dare try to reach them.
24
AS SOON AS it was light Harriet woke and reached for the list on her bedside table. She read down the long line of additions that she had written, either before she went to sleep or when she had twice woken during the night.
‘You couldn’t function without that list, could you?’ said Anthony, as they ate breakfast in his study.
‘Do you know, Anthony, if I lost this list, I would surely die. I could not think of anything worse, so please stop hiding it, even as a joke. It is no longer funny.’
‘Will your Mr Manning be coming to the Rose Queen competition today?’ Anthony teased.
‘I have no idea,’ she replied.
‘I only ask,’ he said, ‘because I know Alison is in charge of judging the Rose Queen and I saw his name, on her list of judges.’
Harriet looked at him, aghast.
‘Stop,’ she said. ‘For goodness’ sake, she hasn’t done that, without telling me, has she? The judges are due here for tea and sandwiches, at one o’clock, before they begin judging, at two. Why would she do that? Not that it makes any difference. He’s a judge, like any other.’
‘Really?’ said Anthony. ‘I think your friend may be trying to play Cupid.’
Now that it was finally the morning of the Rose Queen fair, Harriet realized she had yet to sort out an outfit for herself. And if Mr Manning was to be a judge, she wanted to make an effort to look special. Alone in her room, her stomach filled with butterflies, she became giddy as she tore through her wardrobe, looking for a suitable dress, while downstairs Anthony was reaching for his bible and a reason to believe. Not just for Harriet, the doubt of true faith.
Outside, the women were already marching their young boys down the four streets, to carry kitchen tables outdoors and cover them with cloths for the afternoon street party. The dockers, who were taking a day off, were building a platform and erecting side poles, just as Harriet had asked them, for the judging of the Rose Queen.
The coalman had scrubbed his float almost clean and covered it with sacking, a skirt of hessian sackcloth hiding the wheels.
Mothers who had stood at St John’s market at closing time the previous day, to buy leftover flowers and greenery, were laying them on the ground next to the float.
Two chairs, covered with white sheets and tied with pink-and-white ribbons, were being carried out of Mrs Green’s front door, ready to be lifted onto the lorry, as thrones for the Rose Queen and her maid of honour. The attendants would sit in a circle on the floor around their feet.
Harriet pulled up the sash window in her bedroom and shouted out to Maura, who was walking past with a cardboard box full of cakes. She thought that Maura looked sadder than usual and on a morning like this, too.
‘Morning, Maura. Are the girls excited?’
Maura looked up. ‘Everyone is excited, Harriet. Ye have done a grand job. It is going to be a special day today. Look, the sun is out, too.’
Harriet laughed as she ducked back inside. Now all she had to do, on top of everything else on her list, was try to make herself look halfway decent. At the thought of Mr Manning, her stomach turned a somersault. Little did she know that, at that very moment, his was doing the same.
‘Nellie, would ye get out of that bed. Everyone else is already out on the streets, doing their jobs. Come down and let me get those curlers out.’
Nellie stared at her Nana Kathleen. How could she tell her that she felt almost too sad to leave her bed? Her heart felt heavy and her legs even more so. Today was Kitty’s birthday, but she wasn’t here for the best party the four streets had ever known. It hurt too much. She didn’t want to move an inch, unless it was to slip further under the bedclothes.
Nana Kathleen sat down on the edge of the bed.
‘I know what’s up, queen,’ she said, ‘but do you know who is outside already, setting up the cake stall and being as bright as she can for everyone else? ’Tis Maura, Kitty’s own mother, and how do ye imagine she is feeling inside?’
Nellie felt embarrassed.
‘And Angela and Niamh, well, a pair of troupers they are, already downstairs in the kitchen, with their hair done, waiting for ye to go with them, to have their headdresses clipped in. Kitty was their sister. How do ye think they feel?’
Nellie’s eyes were full of tears as she threw her arms round Nana Kathleen and buried her head in her hair, breathing in the distinctive musty smell that was her nana: of tobacco and chips, mingling with her new, sticky, Get Set hairspray.
‘I know, queen, I know. We all feel it,’ said Nana Kathleen, as she stroked Nellie’s back. ‘Today is a first. A first birthday without her and for that we should be thankful for the Rose Queen. It will help it pass more quickly.’
By mid-afternoon the noise from the docks had been drowned out by the sound of music and laughter ricocheting around the four streets.
When Malachi and Little Paddy won the three-legged race, the cheers could be heard for miles.
To no one’s surprise, Angela was crowned Rose Queen. Her twelve attendants were dressed in peach-coloured dresses, all handmade in the Priory by Harriet’s sewing circle. They behaved regally, as though used to such grandeur and with no notion of the tattered clothes they would be dressed in the following morning. Maura and Kathleen did a roaring trade on the cake and jumble stalls, and with the bric-a-brac.
Little Harry had sidled up to Maura, holding out the purchase he had made with the sixpenny piece Tommy had given him for the morning.
‘Look, Mammy, I got this for you.’
Harry held out a square glass ashtray, washed and sparkling. It was one Maura had used herself when visiting another house on the four streets and it had been donated as a contribution to the bric-a-brac stall.
‘There’s a glass sugar bowl, on three legs, as well. Shall I get that, with another penny? We don’t have a sugar bowl.’
Maura looked at her son, whose pain was, she knew, as great as her own, yet his only thought was of how he could ease hers. She pulled him into her side.
‘The money is for you to buy sweets and things with, Harry. It’s for you to have a nice day with, not to buy things for me.’
As she ruffled his hair, Harry squeezed his mother’s waist and said, ‘I’m going to buy the sugar bowl.’
‘I don’t know what I did to deserve a lad as good as that,’ said Maura to Nana Kathleen who was serving next to her.
But Kathleen was preoccupied with something else. She had noticed a woman with a baby, who had been looking hard at Maura and was now walking up to the stall. There wasn’t a woman at the Rose Queen fair not known to either Maura or Kathleen. This woman wasn’t from the four streets, Kathleen could tell that much straightaway. But she did look familiar.
Kathleen nudged Maura, who was wrapping a slice of giggle cake in greaseproof paper for the youngest McGinty girl.
‘That’ll be a ha’penny, queen,’ she said.
The crestfallen look told Maura in a flash that the child had no money.
It was a look Maura knew well. She could smell shame a mile away.
Maura thrust the cake
into the little girl’s hand. ‘Well, there you go, then, you have it anyway. I need to be rid of it now.’
The child’s look of despair instantly vanished, to be replaced by one of gratitude. As she walked away, Maura watched her break the cake and hand half to her little brother, whom she was holding tightly by the hand.
‘That bastard McGinty. He doesn’t deserve to have kids as good as that,’ said Maura.
‘Are you Maura Doherty?’
It was a voice Maura did not recognize. She looked up to see the best-dressed woman she had ever laid eyes on, with an accent she could not identify, but which had a trace of Irish in it somewhere.
Maura looked instantly suspicious. ‘Yes, I am. Why?’ she replied. ‘Do I know you?’
‘No, you don’t, but you do know my sister-in-law, Brigid.’
‘Brigid?’ Maura looked incredulous. ‘Brigid doesn’t live here any more. She moved back to Ireland months back.’
‘Yes, I know,’ the woman replied. ‘My mammy visited her yesterday.’
‘Your mammy?’ said Kathleen, joining in the conversation. ‘Mrs McGuire, would that be now?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I am Mary, her daughter. I live in America.’
‘Jesus, by all the saints, would that be ye, so? That means ye are the sister of Sean, who ran off with my son’s wife, Alice.’
‘I am that, yes,’ she replied wearily. ‘And it is their sin, not mine. I am not here to talk about them, Maura.’ The woman’s voice began to tremble as she looked down at the baby in her arms.
The thought flashed through Maura’s mind that it was the sickliest baby she had ever seen.
‘This baby, Maura, is your grandson. I adopted him from the Abbey. He is the baby your daughter Kitty gave birth to. He is very ill and needs your help.’
Maura could not speak, but as she looked towards the Green, her eyes searching for Tommy, she saw her once again, on the very spot where Maura had first laid eyes on her on the day of Bernadette’s funeral. Alice, standing on the corner of the street, tucking her hair back into her hat.
Jerry had lifted Joseph out of his pushchair. The excitement of the children running around was all too much for him and he wanted to be on his feet, not pushed by his da.
‘Come here, little fella,’ said Jerry as he bent down to unclip his reins.
Once on his feet, Joseph grasped the handle of the pushchair, which Jerry slowly propelled along, and toddled down the street.
‘Let’s visit Nana Kathleen on the cake stall, shall we, and see what treats she has for ye?’
‘Shall I look after Joseph, Jer?’ Little Paddy appeared out of nowhere.
‘Aye, go on then, Paddy,’ said Jerry, failing to hide the relief in his voice.
He put his hand into his pocket. ‘And here’s a threepenny bit, Paddy. I’ll go and help Tommy now. You keep in my sight so I know where ye go. And buy yerself and Joseph a cake and play one of the games.’
‘Aye, I will, Jerry, thanks, Jerry.’
Little Paddy tied to the pushchair handle the piece of string he used as a dog lead for Scamp and lifted Joseph into his arms. He half staggered as he wheeled the pushchair towards the cake stall. Scamp had become a local canine hero. It hadn’t taken many minutes before everyone on the four streets knew that Paddy’s little friend had found a murder weapon.
‘I was thinking of charging people to stroke Scamp,’ Little Paddy had confided to Harry, ‘but I changed me mind. I don’t want Scamp to get above himself. ’Tis magic, Harry, that the Echo took our photo with Scamp. Who would have known that us playing in the graveyard would lead Scamp to the mallet, to be sure it was a miracle, it was.’
Little Paddy was delighted to have money in his hand. He had felt slightly detached from the fun, not having had a penny with which to join in, but that was Little Paddy’s life, always on the outside. Nothing in his life was quite enough.
He wasn’t loved enough, fed enough or respected enough. The kids on the four streets sensed who was the weakest in the pack and it was always Little Paddy everyone made fun of. His only true friend had been Harry, until now. Little Paddy and Scamp were enjoying hero status for having found the murder weapon, which had elevated Little Paddy to a level of contentment he had never known existed before today.
Harriet was aware that some of the children would have been excluded from the fun because they had no money, so she made sure much of the entertainment was free. However, she was also mindful of the fact that the aim of the fair was to raise funds for the new library.
Jerry waved across at Tommy, who was red in the face from blowing his brass whistle, trying to impose some sort of order on the eighty children running around, demanding to know which race was next.
Jerry ran over to help his mate and, as he did so, he noticed Harriet walking into the tea tent with one of the Rose Queen judges.
‘Well, if she wasn’t the priest’s sister, I would say that they was flirting outrageously now, wouldn’t you?’ he said to Tommy.
‘Jesus, I haven’t a fecking clue. Would ye stop that fight at the finishing line, Jerry? It was definitely Brian what won, will ye tell them for me.’
Little Paddy, having struggled with Scamp and an objecting toddler, put his foot down and, with it, Joseph back into his pushchair. He was already salivating at the thought of buying one of the huge cheese scones that he had watched Maura pile high on a plate. Little Paddy had had only a slice of bread and dripping for breakfast and his stomach had begun to rumble the second Jerry had placed the money in his hand.
‘Let’s go and get some grub, eh?’ Little Paddy said to Joseph who had voiced no objection to being put back in his pushchair, now that he was being pulled along by Scamp. Little Paddy spun the pushchair round to head towards the cake stall, but his progression was halted suddenly in midflight.
‘Oh, Holy Jesus, Joseph, is that yer mammy?’
It took Little Paddy only seconds to recognize the woman walking towards them. Her eyes were fixed on Joseph, and she appeared sadder than Little Paddy had ever seen her when she lived on the four streets.
‘Hello, Alice,’ said Little Paddy nervously. ‘Have ye come back?’
Alice glanced around. She was safe; everyone was busy. With her plain headscarf pulled low over her forehead and tied under her chin, she looked very unlike the Alice who had left the four streets only months before.
‘I have, Paddy. I’ve come to collect Joseph. I’m taking him with me now.’
At the sound of his mother’s voice, Joseph sat up in his pushchair and his bottom lip began to tremble. His mother had been absent for a large part of his very short life, but he knew her. He knew her features and her voice, and he put out his arms. He wanted to be close to her and feel her.
But Little Paddy swung the pushchair round, away from Alice. Joseph strained against the reins, beginning to turn red in the face and working himself up into a scream as he attempted to scramble his way out.
‘Right, well, ye see, Alice, Jerry has paid me, like, threepence to look after Joseph, so I can’t let him go until I take him back to Jerry first.’
‘Don’t be silly, Paddy.’
Alice spoke firmly but no louder than was necessary so as not to attract attention. The last thing she wanted was to alarm Little Paddy or her beloved son. The sight of him made her heart crunch in pain. She had been thousands of miles away, and here she now was, only six feet from him, yet the barrier between her and the child was just as if an ocean lay between them.
‘Don’t be silly, Paddy,’ Alice said again, her tone laced with tension. ‘I am his mammy and, look, he needs his mammy. He wants me to pick him up.
‘Shh, Joseph, Mummy’s here,’ she whispered, moving forward and bending down to unclip the reins.
Little Paddy broke out in a sweat. He knew this wasn’t right; he couldn’t run off and leave Joseph but he had no idea how to stop Alice either.
‘Oh God, no, please don’t get me into trouble, Alice. Shall I shout for Jer t
o help ye?’
Little Paddy looked around frantically. Jerry was down at the bottom of the green, organizing children to collect their prizes. Tommy had lined up a group of children for the next race. There were adults everywhere, but each was busy and distracted, and not one was looking his way. Music drifted over from the accordion, competing with the sound of children squealing and laughing.
‘Oh God, please, please help,’ Little Paddy whispered to himself, jumping up and down frantically. He shouted to Harry, standing on the side of the green, watching the games with Declan.
Little Paddy knew Harry couldn’t join in the races and so he shouted louder, ‘Harry, Harry, over here!’
But the noise drowned him out and Harry didn’t so much as turn round.
Little Paddy looked at Alice.
‘Please, Alice,’ he begged, ‘I think Jer will be mad with me and ye know what my da’s like. Please, Alice, don’t take him until I fetch Jer.’
Alice was struggling with the reins. When Little Paddy had fastened them and put Joseph back in his harness, he had accidentally crossed the leather straps. Alice paid no attention to Little Paddy. It was as if he weren’t there and she was in a world of her own, where only Joseph existed.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Her voice was heavy with frustration. ‘I will just take the pushchair with me. Sit down, Joseph, Mummy is here now.’
Joseph held out his hands. Alice leant forward and wrapped her arms round the son who had so obviously missed her. It tore her heart apart that he remembered her, that he loved her and wanted to be in her arms, that he did not pull away or condemn her for leaving him. Love was forgiveness and her baby son had needed no words. He had only his open arms. Alice knew she was forgiven. Leaning against the pushchair, she held him tightly, but he didn’t object. His crying subsided as hers began and her hot, salty tears ran onto his scalp, darkening his blond curls. Alice was not a woman known to cry, until today.
Joseph, comforted, allowed Alice to stand as she held onto his hand. He grasped her fingers tightly. He was not about to let her go or leave his sight. As she stood, she pressed the pushchair handle down and spun it round, ready to head towards the Dock Road.
The Ballymara Road Page 28
