Put Out the Fires (53 page)

“Oh, ta, Bren!” Eileen said gratefully. “That means our Sheila can have me white straw boater.”

“Is there anything else you want?”

“Yes, there is, actually. Seeing as how we’re having a bit of a do, like, perhaps you could stick a note through Ruth Singerman’s door and tell her what’s happening? She might like to come if she gets back in time.”

“Okay, Eileen.”

“Is that you, Brenda?” Sheila called downstairs. “Can I borrow your pearl necklace?”

“Yes, but the stuffs started peeling off the beads at the back.”

“That doesn’t matter, that part’ll be under me collar.”

Gradually, the activity ceased, and everyone who was in Pearl Street that Wednesday afternoon left to catch the bus to Melling.

“I’ll see you in church, luv?” Sheila hugged her sister.

The blue frock was a bit too snug around her waist, but with the white boater on her brown curly hair and her face carefully made up for once, she looked remarkably like the comely, flirtatious young girl who’d married Calum Reilly nearly a decade before.

“Why don’t you wait for Nick and Cal to come back and we’ll all go in the car?” Eileen pleaded, suddenly frightened of being left alone.

“I’d sooner not trust the kids with anyone else on the buses. Anyroad, I’ve got to let all that lot in the cottage to lay out the food, haven’t I? I’m not leaving Aggie free to poke around.”

“Sheil!” Eileen called just as her sister was leaving. “Give Kate Thomas a ring when you get there.” When Sheila’s face fell, she added, “If you’re too scared to use the telephone, I’m sure one of the kids’ll work out how to do it. There’s one of them directory things on the table under the phone.”

After Sheila had gone, Eileen powdered her nose and applied her lipstick. She combed her hair back smoothly, clipped on her pearl drop earrings and put the hat that had been made out of Xavier Mahon’s fedora on the side of her head.

She stared at her pale reflection in the mirror. In an hour’s time she would be Nick’s wife, Mrs Nick Stephens.

She said the words aloud, “Mrs Nick Stephens.”

“Oh, God, I’m going to cry!”

Fortunately, her dad came marching down the hall dressed in his best suit. “Have you seen Nick and Calum?” he demanded.

“No, Dad. They’ve gone for a drink.”

“I know that, girl,” he said irritably. “I meant, have you seen the state they’re in? They’re outside, pissed as lords, the pair of them.”

“Oh, no!”

Nick was leaning on the Kellys’ windowsill, giggling uncontrollably. “We decided to wet the baby’s head in advance,” he hiccupped when he saw Eileen.

“You’re a bloody idiot, you!” She did her best to keep a straight face. “Look at the state you’re in! Where’s Calum?”

“Over there!”

Calum was standing on the pavement staring at the vacant space where Number 21 used to be. The house has gone!” he called, his face a picture of bewilderment. “It was there a few minutes ago, and now it’s gone.”

“Oh, well!’Jack said indulgently. ‘I suppose they’re just letting off a bit of steam. I’ve never seen Cal drunk before, and life hasn’t been exactly easy for the two of them over the last couple of years, has it?’

“You’re not fit to drive a car,” Eileen said exasperatedly to Nick. “Where is it, by the way?”

“There’s a big black Humber parked around the corner,”

Jack said.

Nick saluted. “That, sir, is probably mine. I can’t remember the colour when I borrowed it, nor do I recall if it was a Humber. However, I know for certain I parked it around the corner.” He turned to Eileen. “Are you suggesting I’m not fit to fly a car?”

“Go and splash your face this instant,” Eileen ordered.

“And you, too, Cal,” she shouted. “We’ll have to leave soon.”

“But how can I,” Cal looked on the verge of tears, “when there’s no sink?”

“There’s a sink over here you can use. Come on!”

Nick was looking at Eileen, eyes half closed and a stupid grin on his face. “We’d better do as she says,” he said out of the side of his mouth when Cal came wandering over looking lost and forlorn, “else Lord knows what she might do to us. She’s a fine looking woman, though, isn’t she, if a trifle overweight?”

Eileen gave an exaggerated sigh of resignation. “I’ll skin you both alive, if you’re not careful. It’s a good job there’s no neighbours about to witness this performance.”

“Don’t worry, luv, I’ll sort them out,’Jack Doyle said.

“Come on, Nick, there’s a good lad. Don’t forget, you’re getting married at four o’clock this afternoon.”

Chapter 23

It was the strangest wedding anyone in Pearl Street had ever witnessed: the bride with her belly fit to bust at any minute, the groom, a handsome officer in the RAF, with his collar askew and a silly smile on his face throughout the entire ceremony. Even the best man, Cal Reilly, didn’t appear quite sure where he was, and the female organist looked at least a hundred and had to be prodded awake every time she was supposed to play. It was a wedding in a million, one they’d remember for as long as they lived, and they wished, oh, how they wished, they knew the truth behind it all . . .

The tiny sun-drenched church was almost full. Just as the bride was about to walk up the aisle on Jack Doyle’s arm, a pile of strange women came pouring in and sat at the back, most of them dressed, believe it or not, in navy-blue overalls, which only added to the bizarreness of the occasion.

“What a pity Francis Costello isn’t here to see it,” Aggie Donovan thought wistfully, entirely forgetting that if Francis had been there the wedding wouldn’t have taken place. Just as the priest asked the question, “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife . . . ” the air-raid siren sounded in the distance, and Aggie noticed Sheila Reilly’s shoulders stiffen, and she remembered it was considered an unlucky omen for the siren to go when you were getting married. Still, that was probably a load of ould cobblers, Aggie decided.

Instead of answering, “I do,” the bridegroom hiccupped, “Yes, please.”

Aggie leaned forward and seized Sheila’s arm. “Is he a Catholic, Sheil?”

“He was lapsed,” Sheila whispered curtly back, “until this morning.”

The children had been in the garden of the cottage and stripped every rose of its petals, so that when the newly married couple emerged from the church they were showered with rose petals. Eileen Costello, no, Eileen Stephens, looked rather like a rose herself, everyone thought, all flushed and pink and creamy and a fraction overblown at the moment.

The women in overalls disappeared at that point, though Lord knows what it was they said to Eileen before they went, because they left her in a terrible state, virtually helpless with laughter, to such a degree someone had to rush inside the church in search of a chair and a glass of water.

They came pouring out of the churchyard, the entire crowd feeling infused with unnaturally high spirits, as if the oddness of the situation and its suddenness had evoked some rarely felt emotion, and marched up the High Street singing “Here comes the bride, fifty inches -wide”. People came out to their gates to watch. Eileen, who was arm in arm with Nick at the head of the unruly procession, protested vainly, “Be quiet, you’re making a show of us!”

The food was already laid out when they arrived at the cottage and six bottles of wine had miraculously appeared from somewhere. “Perhaps Jesus sent it,” Siobhan said knowledgeably, but it turned out later to be Jack Doyle’s contribution towards his daughter’s wedding.

“It smells dead lovely here,” Paddy O’Hara said, as everyone spilled out into the garden with their drink and sandwiches. “Take me to a tree someone, I’d like to lean against it. I haven’t leant against a tree with a mug of beer in me hand since I left Ireland when I was a lad.”

As soon as Paddy had been tanked up sufficiently, he was pressed to play his mouth organ and they all began to dance.

“Eileen!” Ruth Singerman found Eileen sitting exhausted on a deck chair. “We’ve just arrived. Congratulations! I’ve brought you a present. I’m afraid there wasn’t time to wrap it.”

“Jacob’s musical box!” Eileen cried, delighted. She opened the little blue and pink enamelled box and The Blue Danube tinkled out. “I always loved this, but how can you bear to give it away?”

“You were more of a daughter to Jacob than I was for a long time. I think he would have wanted you to have it.”

“He’s probably up there, watching, y’know, his fingers itching to get at his ould piano!” Eileen clasped Ruth’s hand. “Ta, luv. I’ll treasure it for as long as I live.” She looked at the woman keenly. Ruth had taken Michael’s cruel removal far better than anyone would have expected and the loss seemed to have made her and Matt grow closer than they’d been before, though a keen observer might have noticed they seemed more like great friends than lovers. “We’ve come through, haven’t we, you and I?”

Ruth glanced at Matt, who was laughing at something Brenda Mahon had just said. He looked thoroughly at home. Perhaps he sensed Ruth was watching, because he smiled and waved. “I think we have,” she said.

“Are you happy, luv?” Jack Doyle asked his daughter, though it was a silly question to ask. Her radiant face already told him the answer.

“What do you think, Dad?

He gave one of his rare smiles. “I reckon you’re happy.

He’s a fine lad is Nick - and Cal’s the salt of the earth, too.

Me daughters have both got good husbands. I’m a lucky man in that respect.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s a pity about our Sean.”

Eileen seized his arm impatiently. “Your son will have a good wife, Dad, I promise. Alice Scully will bring out the best in Sean.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we? I see that Kate woman’s here. I’d like a word with her about those tomato plants she gave me.”

Oh, yes, she was happy, Eileen thought as she watched him walk away, but there was one thing that would have made her happier. From time to time, she thought she saw a glimpse of Tony’s fair head amongst the children chasing each other across the dappled grass. He’d always wanted to have Nick for a dad . . .

“What are you staring at?” Nick came up behind and put his hands on her shoulders.

“A little ghost.”

“That would have made it perfect, wouldn’t it?”

Eileen nodded, sighing, “Dead perfect.”

Paddy O’Hara began to play The Wild Colonial Boy on his mouth organ, and, tired of dancing, everyone sat down on the lawn and began to sing. The sun slipped behind a cloud and a gust of wind suddenly lashed the trees, dislodging a shower of leaves which floated lazily to the ground like red and gold butterflies. Eileen shivered.

“I hope it’s not a rude question,” Nick said amiably, “but what time are this lot likely to make themselves scarce?”

“You don’t mind, do you?” She put her hand on his and looked up at him, worried. He’d envisaged a wedding with just the two of them there.

He squeezed her shoulders. “I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I’ve enjoyed myself tremendously. It’s like belonging to a great big family.”

“Our Sheila’s already started tidying up.” She could hear the clink of dishes being washed in the back kitchen and Siobhan and Caitlin had been despatched to all four corners of the garden in search of stray glasses. The dad’ll get rid of them all shortly. There’s a bus at half past seven. Anyroad, it looks as if it might rain.”

“Will he get rid of himself at the same time? I’d like at least a few hours alone with my new wife.”

“So,” said Nick, “we did it!”

“So we did.”

They stood facing each other from the far ends of the room. Everyone had gone, merrily drunk most of them, and the cottage felt abnormally quiet, though the wind had become a gale outside and the trees were rustling wildly. Birds sang and the sound seemed louder than usual, almost angry, as if they were cross at being disturbed or were trying to vie with the noise of the threshing branches.

Nick had removed his jacket earlier and rolled up his sleeves. His arms were a deep golden brown. He looked tired, Eileen thought with compunction. He’d been on the road all night, and had the journey back ahead of him.

But then, every time they met he was tired.

“Would you like a little sleep?” she asked.

He grinned and her heart turned over. “No, I bloody wouldn’t! Come here!”

She stumbled towards him and they came together in the middle of the room. He caught her in his arms and they stood for a long time wrapped together, not speaking.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered after a while.

“Christ, I can’t bear to leave you.” His voice broke.

“Oh, Nick! When will it be over? When will we all lead normal lives again?”

“I don’t know, my darling, I don’t know.”

They still stayed together, clasped in each other’s arms.

“How much time have we got?” Eileen whispered.

“Not long. Shall we go upstairs?”

“Yes, please.”

They lay on the bed, Nick’s arm across her belly. “I think I can feel the baby’s heart beating.”

“That’s me! I’m throbbing all over,”

“It’s you who should have the sleep,” he said tenderly.

“You must be exhausted after today.”

“I’m all right. I’ll have nothing to do tomorrer, will I?

Not like you.” She stroked his forehead and he closed his eyes. “Mmm! That’s nice,” he murmured.

He fell asleep eventually, as she guessed he might, and she lay watching his mobile face, his long lashes blinking from time to time as she continued to stroke his brow. His eyes had scarcely shut, when she began to feel very alone, despite his warm body next to hers.

“It’s always going to be like this,” she thought, “until he’s home for good.” Outside, the birds were making a terrible racket and the trees were working themselves up into a rage. Through the windows, she could see leaves were no longer fluttering to the ground, but being blown crazily, first one way, then the other. Suddenly, it began to rain and the downpour thundered against the window until it rattled in its frame.

She didn’t have to live here, in the cottage. She could stay in Pearl Street if she wanted, but she’d always known here was the place where she should be once she had the baby. She didn’t need the street, not like Sheila. She needed peace and quiet, the solitude to dream of Nick and think of Tony and look after her new child.