Goodnight Lady (52 page)

‘I never meant to kill him, you know. It was an accident. Here, I’ll make you laugh. Do you remember Sally Connolly and her talking dog?’

Briony laughed, remembering.

‘Yeah, she could make that dog do anything. It was a big bastard and all, weren’t it? I can still see the day it bit her dad for smacking her one.’

Eileen grinned.

‘That’s right. She’d given it half her dad’s dinner and he went garrity, and when he smacked her, the dog went for him. It had to sleep outside after that, and anyone who walked past their house got growled at.’

‘It wouldn’t let her dad in unless they got Sally up to calm the dog down!’

They both laughed together, remembering happier times. Eileen grimaced and Briony was immediately concerned.

‘You all right, Ei?’

She nodded. ‘Yeah, the baby’s moving that’s all.’

‘You looking forward to having it?’

Eileen wiped a hand over her face and ignored the question. ‘I was thinking the other day about when Bernadette was ill that time. Do you remember? You was only small yourself. She had the whoop. I sat up all night with her because Mum was flat out herself. I sat with her little head over a bowl of hot water. I really thought she was going to die. But the next day she was all right. The doctor gave me a sweet. Said I was a good girl.’

‘I was the one going out in the freezing cold to fill the kettle, how could I forget that? I was only a kid meself.’

‘You was five and Bernie wasn’t even two. Dad wouldn’t go out any more. He said he had to sleep to get up for work. Mum was just plain knackered. I hated him for that because you know something, he wasn’t working, Bri. He lied, said he had a day’s work but he never. You walked in and out all night filling that bloody thing.’

Eileen’s voice was sad now and Briony kissed her cheek. ‘Don’t get maudlin.’

‘I was eight years old. That was the year of Mr Lafferty’s party. That was a great day, weren’t it? Two barrels of beer, and all the faggots and peas you could eat! He won a big bet, a really big bet, and blew nearly the lot on that party. The next day he lost the last of it on another bet!’

Briony grinned.

‘That was Mr Lafferty all right. His daughter married a Salvation Army geezer, and he disowned her.’

‘I always liked her. Mrs Lafferty was down the pop the day after the party to get enough money to feed her brood. Mum was scandalised that she hadn’t had the sense to raid Mr Lafferty’s pockets while he was drunk and salvage a few bob!’

Sister Mary Magdalene came in with the tray of tea and Briony poured them all a cup.

Eileen drank her tea scalding hot, gulping it as if she was dying of thirst.

Putting down her empty cup she grinned, and the sight made Briony want to weep. Her face was like a living skull.

‘I needed that. It’s funny, you know, but I feel a lot better. Much better, in fact.’

The nun patted her hand.

‘You’re looking and sounding better, if I might say so.’

‘Mary? While you’re here can I ask you to do something for me?’

The nun nodded. ‘Of course, anything.’

‘When my baby’s born, if anything happens to me, will you be a witness that I want Briony to have it? You would have it, wouldn’t you, Bri? Don’t let Mum have it. I don’t want me mum bringing it up. I want you to. You and Kerry and Bernie. Promise me?’

Briony nodded.

‘Of course I promise, but nothing’s going to happen to you. You’ll get better. You’re better already. Look at you, nattering on. You’re halfway there already. So don’t think about anything like that. Now do you want another cup of tea?’

‘Please. Mary, I was just talking to Briony about when we were kids. I helped deliver Briony, you know. I was only three, but I was the one who held her head while me mum pushed her out. The midwife was late, and me and me mum delivered her between us. After it was over me mum sat me by the fire with Briony in me arms while she burnt the rags and the newspapers. I was just coming up four, but I can remember it clearly.’

Mary smiled.

‘Well, you would, something like that.’

‘I loved Briony more than the others, she was like my baby after that. The others came thick and fast, a few dead ones and a few misses, as me mum called them. But Briony was special to me. I’d helped her into the world, as if I’d given birth to her meself.’

Briony felt an absurd lump in her throat hearing her sister talk. A great rush of love for Eileen washed over her.

Eileen grimaced again, and her tea spilt into the saucer. She made a grunting sound and Mary and Briony both looked at one another in alarm. Taking the cup from Eileen, Briony pulled back the covers of the bed. Lying between Eileen’s legs, unmoving, was a tiny baby. She dropped the cup to the carpet with shock.

‘Jesus save us! Mary, get the doctor! For goodness’ sakes, get a doctor!’

Eileen lay back in the bed, a triumphant smile on her face. Briony stared down at the child. It looked like a skinned rabbit. Then it moved, its small hand making a fist, and mewled like a newborn kitten.

‘It’s alive! Oh, thank God, it’s alive.’

Sister Mary pushed Briony out of the way and took over. It was Briony who telephoned the doctor, Kerry and Bernie were outside on the landing and Mrs Horlock and Cissy were inside helping.

Briony pushed through the door, her heart beating like mad, her face flushed.

Cissy held the little boy in her arms by the fire, and Mrs Horlock pushed down on Eileen’s stomach.

‘What’s going on?’

Mrs H flapped a hand in front of her face and resumed her pushing.

‘There’s another little bugger in here or I’m a Chinaman. Come on, Eileen love, push!’

Eileen lay in bed, her face screwed up in concentration. Briony watched entranced as another head appeared. The child slipped from its mother without a sound then set up a lusty wailing as it hit the cold of the air.

‘Twins! Oh, Eileen, you’ve got twins!’

Kerry and Bernadette burst into the room at this and both began doing a little dance.

Eileen lay back, her face wet with sweat. ‘What are they?’

Mrs Horlock smiled at Eileen and said, ‘They’re boys. Two boys as identical as your own two hands!’

Sister Mary looked the children over and grinned. ‘They’re small, but they’re healthy. Who would have credited that, eh? Two of the little buggers!’

Kerry, Bernie and Briony, along with the other occupants of the room, all stood open-mouthed with shock as they heard the little nun swear.

She laughed with delight, her relief at the birth being over making her excited.

‘I think the Good Lord will forgive a bit of overexuberance at a time like this, eh?’

Eileen was cleaned up and both her sons placed in her arms at her request. She looked down into their tiny faces and smiled.

‘My sons, my boys.’ Her voice was thick with emotion.

Cissy and Mrs Horlock disappeared to make them all some breakfast. Bernadette and Kerry got dressed. Bernadette was going to fetch their mother and Kerry had to feed Liselle who had set up a wailing of her own. Briony hugged the tiny nun and hugged Eileen.

‘They’re beautiful boys, Eileen. And what a night! Why didn’t you let on you were in labour?’

Eileen smiled and said softly, ‘I wasn’t sure, to be honest. Take these two for me, Bri, would you?’

She took one baby and Sister Mary the other. As they unswaddled the babies and began to wash them, Eileen gave a long sigh.

Briony smiled at the nun. ‘She must be tired out, bless her.’

The nun placed a baby back against her chest and said sadly as she walked to the bed, ‘I think she’s been tired for a long time, Briony. She’s gone.’

Briony walked to the bed, one tiny baby snuggled into her breast, and as she looked at Eileen’s serene face, gave a loud cry.

The doctor arrived five minutes later, but he was too late. As Briony remarked to Sister Mary, he was fifteen years too late.

Briony stared down at the two children lying side by side in their cots. Each slept on his stomach, tiny hands clenched into fists as if they were born to fight. If one moved, the other moved. Just three days old and so alike it was impossible to tell them apart. As Briony looked at them, she was filled with love. Eileen had known what she was doing when she gave these boys to her. They filled a deep gaping void in her, that had been growing bigger and bigger in the years since she had handed over her own child. Now these two motherless boys assuaged that grief.

Briony had found two wet nurses, Lily Nailor, whose own baby had died a week before, and Carol Jarret, whose child was off the breast and being cared for by her mother. Needless to say, only Lily lived in. The two boys had already become the focal point of the house, along with Liselle. It seemed that after years of being peopled only by adults, the house was now full of babies. Everywhere Briony looked was evidence of them.

Molly was prostrate with grief. Even Briony had warmed to her at this evidence of her love for Eileen. She was taking the death of her child badly, and when Sister Mary had told her of Eileen’s dying wish that the twins should go to Briony, had acquiesced without a murmur. Briony felt already as if the boys were her own.

She stroked the two downy heads. They were so alike it was startling. Both had the same burnished copper hair that was already darkening, eventually to become a deep chestnut-brown, and both had deep-set blue eyes. They had nothing of their gentle mother in them, though Briony could see nothing of O’Malley in them either. She was glad. These were Cavanaghs, and would be called Cavanagh. She would see to that.

 

Jonathan la Billière awoke, a pain shot through his skull and he groaned. He looked at his watch, and groaned again. Sitting up in a strange bed, he was relieved to find himself alone. He had been partying with Rupert and Peter for three days solid and now he had woken thirsty, hung over, and stinking. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror opposite, he pushed his hands through his dark hair in consternation. He had deep shadows under his eyes and needed a shave badly. He lay back in the bed as he felt giddiness coming over him again. He was finished with drink, he promised himself that. He was due in Hollywood in less than a fortnight and had a lot to do before then.

He smiled at his own good fortune. The Changeling had shown everyone what he had always known: he was a damned good actor. The story was a melodrama about a man who comes back years later to claim his inheritance, after an evil housekeeper switches her child for the rightful heir. It was a stupid storyline, but he had made it work. He was the Changeling and he had given the part all he had. The film was a success, and now offers were pouring in thick and fast. He was pleased with himself, pleased at how his life was going. The boy from the South London backstreets, still alive in him, though carefully submerged these days, kicked himself each day to make sure it was all true.

He walked out on to the landing and realised he was in Peter’s house. He opened a door nearby, looking for a bathroom of some description. No luck. It was as he approached another door that he heard the noise. He stood still and listened carefully.

It sounded like someone crying.

Walking towards the sound, he opened Peter’s bedroom door. It was an act he was to regret all his life.

Peter was sitting on the floor naked; the whole room seemed to be covered in blood. It was even on the ceiling, great red splashes vivid against the white paint. The bed was one deep crimson stain, and on it lay a young man Jonathan could not remember seeing before. Beside him, sitting with his head in his hands, was Rupert.

Peter looked at Jonathan over his shoulder and said brokenly, ‘It was only a game, a silly game... I never meant it.’

He started crying harder, his face a mass of make-up and tear stains.

Jonathan put his hand to his mouth to stop the tide of sickness rising up in him. The fresh smell of blood was cloying, sickly sweet on the air. Staggering from the room, he ran down the stairs. He picked up the phone and dialled Briony’s number. She was the only person he could think of who would be able to sort out a mess like this.

 

Briony was at the house in twenty minutes. She walked through the door with her usual air of capability and common sense. The first thing she did was to give Jonathan a large scotch, then she went up and looked at the damage for herself.

Staring at Peter and Rupert, she shook her head in disgust. She didn’t bother checking if the boy on the bed was still alive. It was obviously far too late. He was no more than sixteen, she saw. His hands were tied behind him, and his legs were manacled to the bed. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. When she forced herself to look closely, she found that his head had been practically severed from his body. Nowhere in Briony’s wildest imaginings could she envisage a sex game resulting in this. And she knew more about the sexual wants of people than most. But this was out of her territory.

Peter was crying again. His face had two long glistening trails of mascara down it. Briony stifled an urge to let him feel some pain and scratch his eyes out.

Leaving the room, she went down to Jonathan. ‘Any servants here?’

He shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

‘I should imagine Peter has someone come in. With his lifestyle, he wouldn’t want anyone living here, would he? It stands to reason.’

‘What are we going to do, Briony? I didn’t know who to call.

If this gets out, my career will be over before it’s even fucking started.’ Jonathan clenched his teeth. ‘Why, oh why, did I ever take up with Rupert again? I must have been mad. The two of them were getting out of hand, and this is the result. You don’t know the half of it...’

He was nearly hysterical and Briony said, ‘Oh, shut up, Jonathan, let me think.’