Rose of Tralee (45 page)

‘Rugs over the line and beat ’em till there’s no more
dust,’ Mrs Kibble said breathlessly. ‘Then we’ll clean down the paintwork and scrub the linoleum. Oh, with a fine day like this to aid us it’ll be done before you know it.’

Rose fetched the rugs from Mr O’Neill’s room and rather enjoyed walloping them with the cane carpet beater. Then she laid them over a chair in the kitchen and went up for the ones in Colm’s room. Being in a smaller room he only had two – one decent-sized brown one by his bed and a smaller rag rug in front of the washstand. She lifted them in her arms and saw a sheet of paper beneath the larger of the two rugs. It looked like a letter, but it was none of her business, so she carried the rugs downstairs and hung them over the line, beat hell out of them – and all the dust – and returned them to the kitchen. ‘I’ll scrub the lino now,’ she told Mrs Kibble cheerfully. ‘Then the floors can be drying whilst I tackle the rest of the rugs.’

Up in Colm’s room again, she got down on her hands and knees, with a bucket of hot water and a bar of strong red soap, and began to scrub. She wafted the page of the letter under the bed and had to crawl to fetch it out again, then she glanced at it and smiled. She guessed that the round, childish scrawl belonged to Caitlin – Colm must have lost one page of his letter beneath the rug. She looked at the date, which was 26 December, and thought nostalgically back to Boxing Day, when she and Colm had sat in the front room writing their thank you letters, and Colm had told her that back home in Dublin, Caitlin would probably be doing the same thing.

Well, he had been right. She glanced at the letter, knowing she should put it on his bedside table, with his book to hold it down, but unable to resist a peep.

Dear Colm,

Oh it’s been such a good Christmas! I got some lovely presents, so I did, but easily the best was my gold necklace! Oh you are kind, the bestest brother in the world, Mammy says so too, she says me necklace must have cost a pretty penny and I was a lucky girl to have a brother who’d save up his money and then spend a grosh of it on his little sister!

Dear Colm, thank you, thank you! I weared it to Mass yesterday and everyone telled me how beautiful it was and how lucky I was as well, to have such a thing. I said Mammy might borrow it to go out with Daddy, but she said no, it was a precious thing and I was to put it away in its box in me room, and only wear it for very best.

Oh, I liked the chocolates too and the dear little bracelet but the necklace is me best thing and

The page ended there; clearly it had been a longer letter but the rest of it was either saved in a drawer somewhere or thrown away. Rose sat back on her heels and frowned. A necklace? A
gold
necklace? But of course Caitlin must have been mistaken, Colm could not possibly have afforded to send his little sister a gold necklace. Probably it was an ordinary gold-coloured one, which he had bought at one of the shops on Scotland Road and put in a nice little box. He was a good brother, he would get her the nicest thing he could afford ... but a
gold
necklace?

Rose had put the letter on the bedside table; now she picked it up again and reread it with care, her heart beginning to thump. She could not believe that Colm had stolen the necklace, it was too absurd, particularly not to give it to his baby sister . . . but it
was odd. Really very odd.

Still, it was useless to wonder, she had better get on with her work. She began to scrub once more.

An hour later she went up to the room again, this time to replace the rugs. She took a deep breath and began to go through the chest of drawers. It was an awful, sneaky thing to do, she told herself, but she could not rest until she found the rest of that letter. Of course she knew, in her heart, that Colm would not take what did not belong to him, but. . . well, she would feel easier if she could read what else Caitlin had written.

She found letters, quite a bundle of them. Colm, it seemed, never threw one away. Caitlin’s had a piece of thin red ribbon around them, his mother’s a piece of blue silk. Feeling miserably guilty, she flicked through the pages until she came to one which did not appear to have a first page. She took it out, spread it on the bed, and began to read.

I’ll value it always, so I will [the letter went on]. Mammy says the flower in the centre is a rose, but I think it’s one of those blue things ... an iris. Or maybe a lily. But it don’t matter what it is, Colm, I love it and love it and you’re the bestest brother in the whole world. Cracky says he’ll buy me a ring one day, gold, like me necklace. Ha ha I telled him, you’ve got to earn a grosh of money to buy gold!

Now I’ll tell you all the other things I had, Colm. I had a box of coloured pencils from ...

Rose stopped reading, feeling sick and frightened. A rose or a lily in the centre of the necklace? Ah, dear God, her mam’s necklace had a gold lily depending from the centre. Her father had given it to his wife on
their tenth wedding anniversary, it was the only modern part.

‘Rosie? Is the floor dry in Mr O’Neill’s room? If so, I’ll bring the rugs back up and we can lay ’em.’

Rose put the second page of the letter back into the bundle and, after a moment’s hesitation, picked up the first page too and inserted it in its rightful place. It had been sneaky of her to read it, sneakier to search out the second page and all it had done was thoroughly upset her. She could not believe that Colm had taken her mother’s necklace, she just could not! But suppose ... suppose someone else had taken it and dropped it in the garden, or the road, or along the jigger? Now if that had happened and Colm had picked it up – he wouldn’t perhaps have realised its value. He would have sent it to his sister without a qualm. Wouldn’t he? Wasn’t that possible, and the most likely explanation? The only snag was that he had not realised, had not come clean when Mam had got so upset about her loss.

‘Rosie!’

‘Oh, right. Sorry, Mrs Kibble,’ Rose said, crossing the room and going onto the landing. ‘I’ll come down for the rugs – the floors are dry. I’ll just put them in place, then I’ll fetch Tommy’s curtains and bedspread down and begin turning out his room.’

For the rest of the day she worked steadily, but her mind was elsewhere. She could not make up her mind whether to ignore the letter or mention it to Colm. Surely, knowing as she did that he could never have taken what was not his, it would be all right just to
ask
him about Caitlin’s present? But then he would have to be told how she knew that the present had been a necklace and about the flower hanging from the chain as well. And he would realise she had
snooped through his things, had actually taken out the page of a letter from the bundle ... oh, she could not tell him what she had done, she would just have to live with what she had found out.

‘You’re looking tired out, love,’ Mrs Kibble said that evening, as Rose began to iron the curtains which had dried so beautifully out in the sunny yard. ‘We shouldn’t have done so much, with you only just over the flu yourself. I’ll finish these, you sit down and take a rest.’

‘I am rather tired,’ Rose admitted. She left the ironing board and flopped into a chair, stretching her feet out towards the fire. ‘What a blessing it’s Lancashire hot-pot for supper, Mrs Kibble, at least all the work was done this mornin’, more or less all we’ve got to do is serve up. Oh, what time should the apple pie go in?’

‘It’s cooked already, it only wants warming; there’s a rice pudding in the back of the oven, though, which should come out; it’s been simmering away for hours,’ Mrs Kibble said, putting the cooled iron down in front of the fire and taking up the newly heated one. ‘If you’d like to do that, Rosie dear ...’

Rose got a stout cloth and brought the rice pudding out swathed in its folds; it was done, the skin crackly brown, the rice, she guessed, a lovely, thick primrose colour. She put it to one side and pulled the kettle over the fire. ‘I’ll make a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘Mam might like one, wi’ a scone or a Welshcake. It’s another hour afore the fellers come in.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Mrs Kibble said, ironing away with great swoops of the flat. ‘Is Lily coming down for the evening meal or will she have it in bed?’

‘I’ll ask when I take the tea up,’ Rose said. ‘I popped in during the afternoon, though, and she was
sleeping like a baby. She looked really well, pink-cheeked and warm with the bedding pulled up round her ears. I wouldn’t be surprised if she got up properly tomorrow.’

‘Good, good. Let’s hope no one else goes down with this wretched flu,’ Mrs Kibble said. She finished the curtain she was working on and hung it tenderly over a chair-back. ‘Presently we’ll re-hang these and have that tea – I’m parched!’

‘Ready, Rosie love? Then pass me over them hot plates an’ I’ll serve up.’

Rose, sitting at the table with Colm on one side of her and Mrs Kibble on the other, went on staring into space. Colm nudged her. ‘Rosie, your mammy said . . .’

‘Oh, sorry!’ Rose got to her feet, then glanced back at her mother. ‘Did you ask me to fetch you the mashed potatoes, Mam?’

Everyone laughed. ‘Oh queen, you’re in a dream again,’ Lily said reproachfully. ‘I dunno what’s the matter with you lately an’ that’s the truth. I’ve got the spuds right in front of me, an’ the sprouts an’ carrots are in front of you. No, I want the plates off the back of the stove so’s I can dish up.’

‘Right,’ Rose said. ‘Sorry, Mam. I ... I can’t seem to concentrate, somehow.’

‘That’s clear enough,’ her mother said. ‘How did work go today, queen? Your first day back’s always tiring, I reckon.’

‘It was fine, thanks,’ Rose said. ‘But I were the only one in, in the typing pool, that is. So Mr Lionel sent Ella up to give a hand, an’ there’s a new girl, Miss McMaster, who was doin’ her best. I’ll be glad when the others are back, though.’

Mona, picking up the serving spoon as Rose put the plates down in front of her mother, said: ‘The others? Who’s away now, then?’

Rose heaved a sigh. ‘Mr Garnett’s poorly,’ she said. ‘An’ that’s a blessin’, since there’s fewer folk to dictate letters. But since Miss Rogers an’ Miss Dupont are still off sick, an’ Miss McMaster don’t do shorthand yet, there’s too much work anyway.’

‘Mr Garnett poorly? How long’s he been off, then?’ Mona said casually. ‘I’ll dish up the mash, Aunt Lily, if you’ll pass me the plates as you put the salt beef out.’ She turned to Sean, sitting beside her. ‘Mash an’ sprouts, Mr O’Neill?’

‘Please, Mona,’ Sean O’Neill said. ‘I’m mortal fond o’ mashed spuds – well, you know what they say about the Irish.

There was more laughter; Rose, joining in late, heard her own pathetic attempt at a giggle and felt ashamed. She took the plate from Mona and doled some carrots onto it, then handed it to Colm’s father. Get a hold on yourself, girl, she thought desperately. Remember that no one here knows what you read in that letter and try to forget it. There’s no point in dwelling on what’s over and done with.

‘Yes please, Rosie,’ Colm said. Rose stared at him. Had she spoken aloud? She glanced around the table and everyone was laughing, looking at her. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and said, stiffly: ‘Does that mean you’d like some carrots?’

‘Yes please, Rosie,’ Colm repeated. ‘You’re in a dream an’ a half this evenin’, alanna. I t’ink you’ve gone back to work too early an’ now you’re too tired to t’ink straight. I was goin’ to ask you to come to the flicks wit’ me, but now I wonder if you’d be better goin’ straight to bed an’ havin’ a good sleep so you’re
fresh tomorrow mornin’.’

Rose turned to look at him. His firm mouth smiled at her, his eyes were gently concerned for her. She realised, from his expression, that he knew something was badly wrong and wanted her to tell him, so that he could reassure and comfort her. Abruptly, the indecision which had haunted her ever since the discovery of the letter disappeared. She loved him, he was a good man, but whilst the niggle of doubt remained she could never be entirely at her ease with him. ‘Well, I don’t know if I’m up to the cinema, but I’d like a bit of an outin’,’ she said. ‘Just a quiet walk an’ a bit of a chat. Or a tram ride ... we could go down to the Pier Head an’ watch the shippin’ on the Mersey. I like doin’ that at night, when the shippin’s all lit up an’ excitin’, makin’ you think of foreign parts an’ adventures, far-away places.’

‘Right, that’ll suit me, I’m after enjoyin’ a walk meself, an’ a look at the shippin’,’ he said easily. ‘When the meal’s cleared away, then.’

‘I wouldn’t mind a breath o’ fresh air,’ Mona said. ‘Shall we tek a walk too, Tommy? Or are you workin’ in that garage again?’

Rose thought that Mona rather missed his company. She knew her cousin was definitely seeing another man – or men – but she still felt that Mona would sooner have had Tommy. Only it seemed that Tommy wasn’t into a steady relationship; he liked several girls rather than just one. How lucky I am, Rose thought, that Colm isn’t like that. For the first time for several days she began to eat her food with appetite. Soon, very soon now, she would confide in Colm and have her doubts put at rest. ‘We’ll go as soon as I’ve helped Mam wit’ the washing up,’ she confirmed now. ‘It’ll be great to have a walk in the
fresh air, Colm – I’m glad we’re not goin’ to the flickers, a walk will really do me good.’

Rose let Colm jump off the tram ahead of her and settled cosily against his side as they walked across the cobbles towards where the water glimmered darkly in the starlight. She felt safe and comfortable . . . happy, too. She would tell Colm, making a clean breast of how she had read his letter, and he would explain, forgive her, and she could go back to loving and trusting him totally once more. Not that I ever stopped, exactly, she reminded herself now, trying to keep up with his longer strides, but it’s been worrying me, there’s no doubt about it, and that’s made me stiff with him a bit.

‘Now isn’t that a beautiful sight?’ Colm said, indicating the dark expanse ahead of them. The tide was right in and the water reflected the lights of the shipping and also those on the Pier Head, so that the wind-ruffled surface was flecked with a thousand diamonds of light, some white, some yellow, some green and red. ‘Do you fancy a sit-down or would you rather walk, alanna?’