Maybe This Time

by Anna King

  The knowledge of Shaun’s selflessness should have made Rory feel humble, but it didn’t. Instead it made him uncomfortable, as if he had been put in the wrong. And for a moment, as he stared hard into Shaun’s guileless face, he experienced a hatred for the happy-go-lucky man who, without knowing it, had delivered another blow to his already damaged ego. Yet he had the grace to feel something of a hypocrite as he thrust out his hand and gripped Shaun’s arm.

  ‘Give over, yer soppy sod. Course I don’t mind. Wouldn’t be much use if I did, would it? Nah! You go for it, mate, and good luck to yer. I’ll tell you this, though.’ With his other hand he punched Shaun’s chest. ‘If she says yes, you look after her, ’cos she’s one of the best, and I should know. G’wan now, get going before some other bugger gets his foot in the door.’

  He gave him a push, and Shaun, laughing now, said, ‘Oh, thanks, Rory. You don’t know what a relief it is to finally get it off me chest. The worry of it was beginning ter put me off me food, an’ yer know how much I love me grub.’

  They both laughed, loud, hearty laughter.

  ‘You’re a bloody fool, always have been,’ said Rory with a forced heartiness he knew he couldn’t sustain for much longer. The idea of Shaun and Josie together had caused in him an ache he couldn’t explain. After all, it was he who had finished with Josie, not the other way round. He needed to be on his own for a while, to think things through. With this in mind he said, ‘Look, I think I’ll pop into the pub for a quick pint, just the one, mind. Tell Mum I’ll be home in plenty of time for me tea.’

  Shaun said no more; he didn’t have to. The look of gratitude and relief in his eyes conveyed more than any words could have done. With his hands dug deep in his jacket pockets he strode on towards home, whistling a tuneless song.

  Rory walked slowly towards the pub, deep in thought. Well, that had been a turn-up for the book. Fancy Shaun wanting Josie. He still couldn’t believe it. In one way, it was a relief, because if Josie was willing to go out with Shaun, then Rory would finally be able to shake off the feeling of guilt that had hounded him since he’d broken off the relationship.

  He paused and blinked into the sun, his thoughts returning to his brother, bringing with them a feeling of resentment. A feeling brought about by the knowledge that he himself would be incapable of being so unselfish. There was no way he would stand aside and let some other fellow muscle in on a girl he fancied. He had wanted Josie once, and he had got her. He remembered the first time he had stopped looking on her as just a friend of the family, and seen her for the attractive woman she had grown into. It had been at a friend’s birthday party. Up until that time he had never seen Josie in anything but drab skirts and blouses, clothes bought by her mother. But that night she had been wearing a red silk dress, and her hair, normally tied back from her face in a tight old-fashioned bun, had been falling in waves over her neck and shoulders. She had looked stunning, and he hadn’t been the only man to notice the transformation. All of his friends had crowded round the bewildered young woman, who was incapable of handling the attention being paid to her. He had known in that moment he wanted her for his girl; and of course he had revelled in the open envy and admiration of the other men at seeing Josie snatched out from under their noses.

  He’d found out later that she’d had to creep out of the house wearing the dress she had made in secret, knowing her mother would never let her be seen in such a garment. Unfortunately the old cow had been waiting up for her after the party. Looking back, it was hard to remember if Mrs Guntrip had been more shocked at witnessing her only child being brought home by one of the Flynn brothers, or seeing her dressed in the red silk dress. Josie had never worn it again, for that vicious old cow had ripped it to shreds in front of her sobbing daughter. There had been an unpleasant confrontation, culminating in Josie being forbidden to go out in the evenings for nearly a month. But Rory wasn’t to be deterred so easily. In fact, if anything, the challenge of getting Josie had whetted his appetite; and he had got her.

  It had been so easy, with no effort on his part, or coyness on hers. She wasn’t like other girls he had known. He’d never seen Josie walking out with a friend, or on her own, like most girls of her age did on a Sunday afternoon, making the most of the weekend break from work. Of course there was a reason for that. Her mother! If ever he hated any human being, it was Mrs Guntrip. Right from the start she had tried to stick her oar in, playing on her bad health to keep Josie tied to her. She had attempted various ploys to split them up, including emotional and physical blackmail; but for once Josie had refused to be intimidated. Then her mother had come out in the open and said she didn’t want her daughter to take up with what she termed a common Irishman. Rory never knew how he had stopped himself from telling her what everybody knew: that she didn’t give a toss about what Josie wanted; it was more that she was afraid of losing her unpaid skivvy and nurse.

  When Mrs Guntrip had suffered a mild heart attack, it looked for once as if she wasn’t shamming. Josie continued to work, as she had done since leaving school, at Joe Lyons’ cafè, and when she was finished there, the rest of her day was taken up with running the house and looking after an invalid, for now Mrs Guntrip was completely bedridden in her upstairs room. How many hours had Rory spent in the Guntrips’ kitchen, watching Josie, weary after a day of standing, running up and down the stairs to answer the tinkling of the bell kept close to her mother’s hand? There had been many times when he had been sorely tempted to run up those stairs himself and ram the blasted bell down the old trout’s throat.

  If it had been anyone else but Josie he wouldn’t have put up with it. He was used to going out in the evenings, to the pub, or sometimes the variety halls, depending who was on the bill. In short he loved life and the pleasures it afforded him, especially when he had a girl on his arm. But he was genuinely fond of Josie, and knew that if he stopped seeing her, she would have nobody else in her life but her mother – and he couldn’t do that; not to Josie. To him Mrs Guntrip seemed like a witch. Every time he entered by the back door he was careful not to make any sound that might alert her to his presence, but she always knew when he was in the house. Perhaps, he had surmised, she had gauged it from Josie’s eyes, for Josie had never been able to hide her love.

  Recalling this now made him hot and ashamed. God! What must Josie have gone through when he had left her for Cathy? Look at what he himself had gone through since. Though to be fair, he reasoned with his conscience, he had never led Josie to believe

  there was any long-term future for them. The subject of marriage had never arisen, and she had never tried to push the issue.

  The memory of Josie’s goodness and kindness was now flooding back. If she had ever wanted to get her own back, by God she had got it. She’d had it in her power to openly gloat, to heap further humiliation on him, but Josie wasn’t made that way. There wasn’t an ounce of spite in her entire body; just like Shaun.

  His step now was heavy and slow. His pace quickened, then he came to an abrupt halt. Ahead of him, her back to him, was Josie herself. There were others walking along the pavement, but he would have recognised her anywhere, even though her posture was now slumped, as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. The sight saddened him, and quickly he turned left, taking a short cut through the rows of houses but in his effort to avoid Josie, he had forgotten that the short cut would lead him into Shore Road. His face set, he crossed over, passing the red-brick house that held so many memories for him; memories that were firmly in the past now.

  * * *

  As Rory entered the scullery, his mother came out of the kitchen.

  ‘Hello, son,’ she said quietly.

  He returned the greeting, then walked over to the sink, scooping up water in his cupped hands, splashing it over his face and neck, as he did every evening before sitting down to dinner.

  Annie stood behind her son, watching his every movement, her heart pounding with anxiety and love for her eldest son. Mix
ed with these emotions was anger, an anger so strong it momentarily frightened her. She had been brought up a Catholic, to love her neighbour and respect the sanctity of life; yet after her visit to Cathy Meadows, she had felt such hatred that for a brief moment the thought of murder had touched her soul. The feeling had been so overwhelming she’d had to slip into the church on her way home to beg God to forgive her for allowing the devil into her heart. Yet surely God would understand her lapse, for even St Patrick himself would have been hard pressed to keep his temper in check if he had been put in the same circumstances.

  Her gaze still fixed on her son’s back, Annie remembered her meeting with Cathy Meadows. She had been prepared to keep calm, to maintain a neighbourly interest in why Cathy had returned home, hoping to hear what she wanted to hear: that the woman who had broken her son’s heart was only back for a short visit. But the moment Annie had seen that painted, smirking face, all the words she had so carefully rehearsed flew out of the window. She had never been one to mince her words, and she had told Cathy Meadows just what she thought of her, letting loose with both barrels and ending with a warning to leave Rory alone if she knew what was good for her. That brazen hussy had listened in silence, then she had laughed. Laughed right into Annie’s face, telling the furious woman she would do as she pleased, and to keep her nose out of her business.

  ‘What’s up, Mum, yer look miles away.’ Rory was staring at her, his head to one side, a lopsided smile on his lips.

  Annie swallowed nervously. She wished now she had kept a civil tongue in her head when dealing with Cathy Meadows. Instead she had made matters worse, and all for nothing. She was still none the wiser as to why Cathy had come home, or for how long. So now she had to tell Rory the truth; and she was dreading it.

  Her breathing was becoming rapid as she tried to find the right words. They were there, in her mind and on the tip of her tongue, but as hard as she tried, they wouldn’t pass her lips.

  ‘Hello, Rory.’

  Jane came into the scullery, and Annie, her body slumping with relief at the reprieve, turned to her daughter.

  ‘Take the plates in, will you, love?’

  Jane looked first at Rory, who was drying his face with a towel, thus obscuring his vision. Which was just as well, else he would have seen the look that passed between his mother and sister. And Jane, realising that Rory didn’t yet know, did her mother’s bidding.

  ‘Well, get a move on, lad, before the dinner gets cold. Oh, and by the way, Freda’s here. Now I know ye don’t like her – I don’t much care for her meself – but she’s Pat’s choice, so we’ll be having none of your sly comments tonight, d’ye understand?’

  Rory grinned.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum. Even if I do let something slip out, you don’t have ter worry, ’cos she’s too thick to understand anything that has more than four letters in a word.’

  At any other time Annie would have laughed with her son, but tonight her mind was elsewhere. She knew she must act as normal for now, but tonight she’d get Rory on his own and break the news as gently as she could.

  Chatting as she would have done on any other day, she went through into the kitchen, her sweeping glance and quick shake of the head silently warning those seated at the table to hold their tongues.

  * * *

  Taking his chair beside Jane, Rory helped himself to the food laid out on the table. He was halfway through his meal when he happened to look up and found Freda staring at him. This in itself was unusual, for she disliked Rory as much as he did her. But what set alarm bells ringing was the satisfied smirk on her plump face, which told Rory that something was amusing her, and that something was obviously connected to him. The look in her eyes deepened and her smile grew wider.

  ‘Let us in on the joke, Freda, ’cos something’s tickling you.’

  Everyone at the table held their breath, then Annie, jumping into the conversation to prevent Freda from goading Rory further, said, ‘Did ye read the latest gossip about the King and that Lily Langtry? It was all over the Daily Mirror this morning. The auld Queen would be turning in her grave if she knew the shenanigans—’

  But Freda wasn’t to be put off so easily. Ignoring Annie, she addressed Rory, her tone haughty.

  ‘Why, I don’t know what yer mean, Rory. And anyway, if there was a joke, it’d be on you.’ Her face suddenly hardened as she remembered all the insults the man opposite had levelled at her. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t yer? Always looking down yer nose at me. You’re nothing but a jumped-up nobody, and—’

  Rory, his nerves still frayed by the events of the last two days, snapped back, ‘Oh, shut up, yer silly cow. If anyone’s a jumped-up nobody it’s you, so why don’t yer just shut yer gob and leave the rest of us in peace.’

  Pat slammed down his knife, his face suffused with anger, and was about to jump to Freda’s defence when she stood up, her face tight.

  ‘Well! I’ve never been so insulted in all me life.’

  Rory looked her up and down, then said wryly, ‘Well, sit yerself down, love, and let me ’ave another try.’

  Pat got to his feet and would have launched himself at Rory if Paddy hadn’t got between them.

  ‘That’s enough, the pair of yous. I’ll not be having me own sons fighting in front of your mother. Now sit yourselves down and behave, else I’ll throw ye both into the yard, and don’t think I couldn’t do it. I may be getting on, but I’m still capable of tanning your backsides, as big as ye are.’

  Pat and Rory glared at each other before resuming their seats, and the incident would have ended there if Freda had kept quiet; but she was bursting to tell Rory that his old girlfriend was back, revelling in the thought of seeing him brought low. Arching her eyebrows, she simpered, ‘Well, sorry, I’m sure. I didn’t know I needed permission to speak me mind; especially as I’m gonna be part of the family soon.’ She looked now at Pat, as did the rest of the family, hoping Freda’s remark wasn’t what they all dreaded. Annie turned to Pat and spoke quietly.

  ‘Is this true, lad?’

  Pat, his cheeks flushed, his body wriggling uncomfortably, answered, ‘Yeah, it is. Sorry, Mum, I was gonna tell yer.’ He shot an angry look at Freda. ‘Only I didn’t expect Freda to spill the news like this.’

  Ignoring the disappointment on the faces of everyone present, Freda again turned her attention to Rory, saying spitefully, ‘Ain’t yer got anything ter say, Rory? I mean, yer could at least offer me and Pat your congratulations.’

  Rory returned her stare. He couldn’t believe that Pat would get himself tied up with the blowsy, hard-faced bitch, let alone consider marrying her. He must be stark raving mad. Despite his father’s warning, Rory couldn’t hold his tongue. He glanced first at Pat, and saw his brother lower his eyes in embarrassment; then he slowly turned his head towards the triumphant Freda.

  ‘Offer me congratulations for what? Should I be happy that me own brother’s getting married to a fat old slag like you?’

  The words had hardly left his lips before pandemonium broke out. This time Pat came at Rory, his hands clenched into fists.

  ‘You take that back, Rory, right this minute. Or we can take it out in the yard.’

  Everyone was speaking at once, but over the raised voices Freda shouted, ‘You’ve got a bleeding cheek calling me an old slag. You weren’t so particular when yer took up with Cathy Meadows, and what was she but a slag? At least I don’t go round picking up one bloke after another, depending on how much money they’ve got. And she dropped you quick enough, didn’t she, when Barney Hobbs started flashing his wallet about. Then she goes off with some fat old man just so she could get her greedy hands on his money, poor old sod. But he couldn’t have been that stupid, ’cos by all accounts he’s washed his hands of her an’ all. So she’s come back home, looking for another mug to latch on to. If you’re quick yer might get her back, that’s if you’ve got a full pocket, ’cos she won’t look at yer twice otherwise.’

  Freda paused, he
r breath coming in short gasps, then she caught Rory’s eyes and experienced a moment of fear, for he looked as if he could do murder.

  The silence in the kitchen hung heavily, all eyes on Rory now.

  Aware of the scrutiny, Rory, a slow, dull red creeping up from under his collar, flushed darker still on his face and neck. His body stiffened, then, without a word or glance to anyone, he left the kitchen and headed for his room – and no one attempted to stop him.

  Once in the bedroom he shared with his brothers, Rory sank down on his bed. He didn’t move, couldn’t move; it was as if his body was frozen. Even his breathing appeared to have stopped. After what seemed to be an eternity he drew in a deep gulp of air as the reality of Freda’s spiteful words sank in. Fierce anger mixed with pain and amazement flooded his body. So she was back. His clenched hands began beating his knees. He’d kill her! If he

  was to set eyes on her again he’d kill her. Lifting his head, he looked in the mirror hanging on the wall. It could have been a stranger staring back at him, for he didn’t recognise the cold, hard-faced man in the mirror. Cursing under his breath, he got to his feet, his mind screaming out one question. How long was she back for? He had to know. There was an urgency in him now. Not wanting to face any of his family, he crept down the stairs, pulled open the back door and went out.

  Chapter Three

  Josie Guntrip was coming down the stairs carrying her mother’s empty tray when she heard the knock on the front door. Immediately her mother called out in a querulous voice, ‘Who’s that at the door, Josie?’