Rainbow's End (35 page)

‘We’ll comb our hair first,’ Garvan said. ‘Comb it straight back, like this . . . wet it wit’ seawater . . . then do up your shirt buttons . . . Now we’ll pass muster.’

And oddly enough, they did. They didn’t need to go back along the prom but walked at the very edge of the little waves and even stopped and spoke – kindly – to one of the children they had robbed. Unrecognised with shirts on and with tidy hair, they listened – sympathetically – to the story of the bad boys who had robbed the child of her new red spade.

When they got back to their own particular part of the beach, Mammy fed them on the lovely sandwiches and cake and lemonade which Maggie had so carefully packed up for them. The twins ate, because they were always hungry, and lolled on the sand and wondered aloud how Maggie was getting on.

‘She’s seein’ her sister Aileen,’ Mrs Nolan reminded them. ‘That girl, that Aileen, she’s no better than she should be, I wouldn’t wonder. She’s marryin’ a feller who works at the house, though. Maggie’s a good sister, she’s checkin’ that all’s well there.’

Garvan and Seamus did not even exchange glances; they did not need to. They knew that Maggie and Liam were courting and very little they thought of it, but they would never have told their mammy. The twins were not often good, but at keeping secrets they were excellent. And besides, they were terrible fond of Maggie, so they were, and they liked Liam pretty well too, considering. They saw no reason why their mother should not approve, yet they both realised that she would not. The twins recognised that their mammy considered Maggie to be several rungs further down the ladder than the Nolans, which meant she would not wish Maggie and Liam to court one another. So they just nodded when Mammy talked of Maggie visiting her sister and wondered silently, between themselves, where she and Liam would have gone today.

At going home time, however, they had by no means exhausted the pleasures of the seaside.

‘Mrs O’Farrell is further up the beach, wit’ Biddy an’ Eileen,’ Garvan said, panting, as he and his brother arrived back from yet another expedition along the shore. ‘Mrs O’Farrell says we can go home wit’ them, later on. They’ll give us tea, she says.’

This blatant lie was easily swallowed by their mammy, who regarded the O’Farrells with awe and envy. Mr O’Farrell was a headmaster, no less, and Mrs O’Farrell, who had once been ordinary little Rosie Allen and had lived in a tenement not ten minutes from where the twins’ mammy had been brought up, now had a maidservant and held ‘At homes’, which were the envy of her peers. Biddy and Eileen O’Farrell were thirteen and fifteen and plain as pikestaffs, with knobbly knees, large feet and stringy hair, but they were considered by the entire neighbourhood as ‘little ladies’ and Mrs Nolan was keen to be on good terms with the family.

‘The O’Farrells?’ Mrs Nolan said therefore, craning her neck and peering back along the beach. ‘Where? Ah, I see them. Yes, of course you may stay with them, if you’re sure they don’t mind. You’ve got your return tickets?’

They had. They assured their parent that Mrs O’Farrell had been very keen for them to join the party.

‘Hmm. I wonder if it might be better if I went along and spoke to them myself,’ Mrs Nolan mused, giving Seamus a nasty moment, though Garvan’s expression did not alter. ‘After all, we were friends at school, Rosie an’ meself.’

‘Well, you could,’ Garvan said judiciously at once. ‘But they’re a good way off, Mammy, right round the point there. And didn’t you say you wanted to catch the six-ten train? You’ve only got ten minutes, you know . . . I spotted a clock as we came back along the shore.’

Kenny, who had been snoozing, woke up, sneezed and said that in that case they had all better get a move on and began to gather their things together.

Seamus was really impressed with his twin’s cool-headedness. He watched his mother drying Ticky’s little wet feet and cramming them into his hand-me-down boots, and scrabbling round to repack the remnants of food, the teapot, the cups, and trying to hurry all the while, with the thought of walking up the beach to see the O’Farrells gone as completely from her head as frost in June sunshine.

And when, presently, he and Garvan walked up the beach with them and waved them off, he saw a clock himself and turned to his twin. ‘It’s six o’clock now; the clock you saw earlier must have been fast,’ he said. ‘Good job!’

Garvan gave him a chilly look. ‘Clock? What clock? I saw no clock,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t want Mammy chasin’ up the O’Farrells; did you?’

‘No,’ Seamus said. ‘You’ll not be a navvy nor a machinery feller, Garv. You’ll be right up there at the top of the heap, so you will!’

Garvan gave his thin, unamused smile. ‘Mebbe,’ he said. ‘We’ll do it together, whatever, Shay.’

And so they had their glorious day together, though they caught an earlier train than Liam liked.

‘I won’t put your mammy’s back up and make her cross when it’s not askin’ too much of us to get back a bit early,’ Maggie insisted steadfastly as they walked down towards the beckoning blue sea. ‘If I’m back and wit’ the tea made she’ll be pleased wit’ me an’ life will be a lot easier, so it will.’

So they made their way homeward with a feeling of quiet contentment, at least on Maggie’s part, because they had had such a glorious day. It had been as though they were both children again, but with that special glow that being in love brings. Together, they had explored the shore, walking, paddling, collecting shells. They had dug a huge sandcastle and filled its moat with seawater, found flat pebbles to skim over the calm ocean, laughed at each other’s efforts. Because the day was so warm and sunny Maggie soon dispensed with her jacket and sandals and strolled beside Liam, in his open-necked shirt and flannels, quite comfortable in her thin cotton dress, and found herself absurdly pleased when they were snapped by a beach photographer.

‘It’ll be a reminder of the wonderful day we’ve had together, only we mustn’t let your Mammy see it,’ Maggie said.

‘No indeed,’ Liam replied. ‘She thinks we’re up to quite different games today. It’d right put the cat in among the pigeons, so it would.’

When hunger had driven them from the beach they had licked ices, drunk ginger-beer and eaten a variety of seaside goodies – winkles, hooked from their shells with a pin, fat pink shrimps, cockles, bursting with flavour. The hot August sun had shone on them and they had both begun to glow from its warmth. ‘Especially on me nose an’ me forehead,’ Maggie said ruefully, as they climbed aboard the train which would take them back to Dublin. ‘Oh, but it’s been the most wonderful day of me entire life, Liam! I’m so glad we did it!’

The carriages were full of other home-going people, many with small children. Liam squeezed Maggie’s hand discreetly as they stood in the corridor, swaying to the rhythm of the train, happy to stand because you could get closer that way. Then, in the crush, he put both arms round her and drew her to him, so that had one fallen the other would have been dragged down as well. But they didn’t fall, they simply clung, smiling blissfully, and enjoyed the journey.

They got off the train still dizzy with happiness, and headed for home, just two tiny cogs in the milling crowds, but two very happy little cogs, Maggie thought, clutching Liam’s arm so that they didn’t get separated. ‘What a day it’s been,’ she breathed. ‘Oh Liam . . .’

‘We’ll not need to split up today and go home separate, since it’s not even six o’clock yet and Mammy said they’d not be back until half-past the hour,’ Liam said, cuddling her hand against his side. ‘If you’d not been so stubborn, Maggie McVeigh, we could still be on the beach! Still, perhaps it’s better . . .’

He stopped short, tugging Maggie to a stop too, and stood on tiptoe. ‘Well, would you believe it! Can ye see the fly-sheets, Mags? It looks like . . . it looks like . . .’ He began to move again, tugging her along with him. ‘We’ll get a bit closer before I go jumpin’ to conclusions.’

They reached a newspaper vendor, who was selling papers as though they were hot cakes. To Maggie’s astonishment Liam handed over his coppers and held the front page of the paper in front of her eyes. Wordlessly, he pointed.

‘War!’ Maggie gasped. ‘Well, I never did! Is it true, d’you suppose, Liam? Are we really at war wit’ Germany?’

‘We are. And they’ll want every fit man to fight, so they will,’ Liam said. ‘Will I be called upon, I wonder?’

‘No! Liam, you can’t go, your mammy needs you, and the others too. And meself, of course. The good Lord alone knows where it will end.’

Liam folded the paper and put an arm round Maggie’s waist. ‘Come on, let’s hurry. I’ll give you a hand wit’ the tea, then I’ll mek meself scarce, come in later.’

‘Oh Liam, you are good,’ Maggie said breathlessly as they crossed the tenement hallway and began to climb the stairs. ‘But you’re not to think of goin’ off to fight for the English – you’ve said enough t’ings about them these past twelve months, so why do it if you don’t have to?’

‘Oh, the English! Sure and it’s not the English that I’m thinkin’ of, but the Irish,’ Liam assured her. ‘If I fight it’ll be for the Irish – and for the King, of course. The King’s a feller after me own heart – he’s for Home Rule . . . everyone knows it.’

‘Well, you’re not likely to be meetin’ the King if you go off to the war, only a lot of murderin’ Germans,’ Maggie said. ‘Liam, promise me you won’t do nothin’ rash!’

They had reached the Nolan landing. Liam pulled her to a halt and glanced around him but the quiet was absolute, the sense of an empty house awaiting occupation complete. Slowly, luxuriously, he took her in his arms and began to kiss her, then to hug her so tightly that Maggie could scarcely breathe. ‘I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,’ he muttered against her ear. ‘Let’s go inside, pretend it’s our own house and we’re married folk. Look, Maggie, I might have to go for a soldier, so I might, just you remember that next time you push me away! I love you, alanna, and now we’ve got a moment alone, we could . . .’

‘We mustn’t. They might come home at any minute,’ Maggie breathed as Liam pushed open the boys’ bedroom door, but she did not break free of his hold and went meekly with him into the room. Her heart was thumping raggedly and her skin burned from the sun and salt wind, but she told herself that she would do nothing foolish, nothing wrong. Only it would be so nice to lie on the bed with Liam’s arms around her and . . . and pretend a little.

They sat down on the bed and Liam, after some very mild caresses, began to push her gently backwards. Maggie, who had told herself that a cuddle lying down was surely no worse than a cuddle standing up, discovered that it was. It was . . . dangerous, she decided, tugging herself out of Liam’s embrace. The thought of Liam going away, joining the army, made her want to . . . to give, but even lying on the outside of the bed, on the checkered counterpane, made her feel wanton and wicked, made her want something more. It was
not
the sort of thing that a sensible girl such as herself should do, she decided, struggling into a sitting position.

‘Aw, c’mon, Maggie, just a few kisses,’ wheedled Liam. ‘Sure an’ would I hurt a hair of your head now? Just relax a bit and . . .’

The bedroom door shot open. Kenny, red-faced, round-eyed, with his hair all on end, stared in at them. And before Liam had even got to his feet, Kenny had glanced over his shoulder and bawled at someone behind him, ‘It’s all right, Mammy, Maggie is home. She’s in here, wit’ Liam.’

It was one of the worst moments of Maggie’s life, apart from when she’d learned about the tragedy in Dally Court. She sat there, with her hair half down and her face bright scarlet from embarrassment, shame and the sun, as helpless as a bird before a snake, whilst Mrs Nolan stared at her as though she could not believe her eyes.

Liam was the first to move. He got to his feet, smoothed down his clothing self-consciously and began to try to explain. ‘It’s war, Mammy, war’s been declared! I . . . I met Maggie and we walked home together, we were talkin’ . . .’

‘Liam, what were you t’inkin’ of? To behave so wit’ a girl who’s more like a sister to you than . . .’

‘No, Mammy,’ Liam said sharply. ‘No! It wasn’t what you t’ink. The truth is, me an’ Maggie’s been promised this twelve-month, only she’s very young yet, an’ not earnin’ a proper wage here, so we thought we’d not say . . . there seemed no point in tellin’ you until . . .’

‘
What
did you say?’ Mrs Nolan said in a dazed voice. ‘I can’t believe me own ears! Why Liam, an’ I thought you were a young feller wit’ a head on his shoulders.’ She crossed the room and caught hold of Liam’s hands, holding them in both hers, shaking her head and beginning to cry as she did so. ‘Oh, what’ll I do, wit’ me children actin’ like mad t’ings?’ she said in a despairing voice. She turned away from Liam and seemed to notice Maggie for the first time. ‘Out of here, madam, an’ get Ticky cleaned up an’ ready for his bed, then you can start on the tea,’ she said, her voice very cold. ‘I’m wantin’ a private talk wit’ me son.’

Maggie got to her feet and stumbled from the room, casting a last despairing glance at Liam as she closed the door behind her. She had known it would be bad, but had not dreamed Mrs Nolan would react so strongly. She wished she could have stayed, but Liam always said he could handle his mother. Now is his chance, Maggie thought. Oh, poor Liam!

Inside the boys’ room, Mrs Nolan sat down on the bed and patted the place beside her. ‘Sit down, Liam,’ she said heavily. ‘Now let me get this right. You’re t’inkin’ of marryin’ Maggie McVeigh. My dear boy, my very dear son, Maggie McVeigh comes from a poor slum family who’ve never had nothin’. If you’d a fancy for her . . . well, I’d not approve, though I’d not forbid ye, either. Young men . . . hot blood . . . But marriage! Liam, I’ve fought an’ worked an’ scrimped to keep me kids fed an’ clothed, to give you an education, a chance in life. What’s more, I’ve been real good to Maggie, you can’t deny that, but she’s still just the little skivvy what takes care of . . .’