The Bells of Scotland Road (21 page)

He understood completely. ‘Diddy, you’re the best mother you can be in the circumstances.’

She looked at him, her eyes bright and wet. ‘When they put our Charlie in my arms down at the lying-in hospital . . .’ She swallowed, inhaled deeply. This topic was not raised very
often, because it upset Diddy so badly. ‘He was a difficult birth, didn’t want to put in an appearance at all. They took me from our front room to the hospital on the coal wagon, you
know. I was as black as a pot when I got there. When they told me he was different, I broke my heart. And it’s never mended, Anthony. I suppose I’ll never get over it.’

Anthony knew. Charlie had been damaged at birth, had been dragged out by panicking doctors. He was stiff down one side, slow in his speech, hard to understand. He would have gone far had he not
lacked oxygen during Diddy’s first labour. ‘He’s a good boy, Diddy,’ said Anthony.

‘I know. What happens to him after me and Billy are dead? I don’t want him to be on his own, but I don’t like the idea of Maureen or Monica or Tildy-Anne being stuck with
him.’

Anthony bit back a question about Jimmy. It was always assumed that the Cinderellas in a family had to be female. ‘Charlie could manage by himself,’ he told her. ‘He’s
got more sense than most, and I think you know that.’

Diddy shrugged, the movement almost listless. ‘Well, I suppose I won’t be around to worry about that when it does happen. But our Charlie was only the start. I’ve four more.
Are they growing up right, Anthony? You see, we’ve always helped people, me and Billy. And the children have just joined in. But Bridie set me thinking when she said about Cathy not being
allowed to run about with them while they’re looking for bits and pieces for the Nolans.’ She paused, pondered for a moment. ‘There’s more to life than Scotland Road,
isn’t there?’

‘Of course,’ he answered softly.

‘They might move away from here, my kids. They might go somewhere with gardens and velvet curtains. Or they might not be able to better themselves because of how I’ve brought them
up. Then it would all be my fault.’

‘No,’ he said firmly. Anthony lived in hope. Although the cycle continued to renew itself through early marriage and large families, he knew that some of the older pupils at school
had set their sights further afield. They wanted professions, indoor plumbing, fewer children and a full larder.

Yet he sympathized with this woman’s dilemma. She had been born into poverty, had brought children into poverty. Diddy and Billy worked hard, kept their brood fed and clothed. But Diddy
was beginning to look to the future, and she wanted better things for the next generation. ‘They will educate themselves out of the trap,’ he told her. ‘Your children will move
on, Diddy. They’ll have opportunities that weren’t available to you. And they’ll be good people.’

‘Promise?’

As far as he could remember, he had never heard Diddy sounding so uncertain. Maureen had frightened her. Diddy had realized today that life wasn’t standing still, that her fledgelings were
growing and preparing to leave the nest. She was hoping and praying that they would not allow themselves to repeat the age-old pattern of marriage, parenthood and the pain that came with
deprivation. ‘I’m sure they’ll turn out fine, Diddy,’ he said. ‘All of them will turn out fine.’

Bridie was surprised to find Edith Spencer at the back door. ‘I’m just ironing our Cathy’s clothes,’ she told Edith. ‘They go back to school in a
couple of days.’ What was this woman doing here again? She’d visited at New Year and, as far as Bridie understood, the Spencers were not regular callers in Scotland Road.

Edith stepped through the scullery and into the kitchen. ‘Where are the children?’ she asked.

‘Cathy’s round visiting the Costigans and Shauna’s in the shop playing. Charlie’s very good with her.’

Edith looked round. Everything was as neat as a new pin, just as it had been when Aunt Theresa had been in charge of the household. ‘I’ve come to sort out the horses,’ said
Edith. ‘They will be moved tomorrow.’

‘Thank you.’ Bridie’s heart raced. If only she could go to the Spencers’ farm. If only she could climb into a horsebox and hide throughout the journey, then canter across
meadows on Sorrel’s back. ‘Sam is making a gift of them to me.’

‘And to your daughters,’ said Edith. ‘He stressed that.’

Bridie set the kettle to boil, carried a batch of scones to the table. ‘He’s good to us,’ she remarked while splitting and buttering. And he was good. Sam was undemonstrative,
predictable, quiet and hard-working. But he tried to be fair.

‘Yes, he seems to care about you and the girls,’ replied Edith thoughtfully. Sam was a Scrooge. If a fool and his money were soon parted, then Sam Bell was a genius. Yet for the
first time, Sam seemed to be mellowing slightly. Perhaps he loved this woman, then. Perhaps his chainmail had been penetrated at last, because he’d shown little affection for his first wife,
had parted with few gifts in poor Maria’s direction.

‘Will you take a scone, Edith?’

Edith nodded absently. ‘This idea of yours about returning to Ireland – what’s happening?’

Bridie shook her head. ‘I really don’t have the answer to that. It’s strange, you know, because I like Scotland Road. I’m still shaken by the noise of it, but I’ve
an affection for the people. And it’s nice to have the picture houses and the theatre so close. We went to the pantomime at the Rotunda. It’s a beautiful place. They get variety shows
there, too. Then there’s the markets and the street entertainers – never a dull moment.’

‘But?’

‘But Cathy’s a very bright child. If she sees Jimmy and Tildy running riot, she’ll end up not following them, but leading them into mischief.’

Edith Spencer swallowed her pride and a bite of feather-light scone. ‘Would you stay with Sam if Cathy could be settled?’

‘Yes, I think we would stay.’

The unexpected guest drained her cup. ‘Then I’ll have her.’

Bridie dropped the butter knife. She tried to absorb Edith’s words, allowed them to dance about the surface of her brain for a second or two before taking them in. ‘Split up my
family?’ she managed at last. ‘I can’t allow that, Edith.’

The older woman placed her cup in the exact centre of its saucer. ‘Bridie, I live only forty-odd miles from here. Public transport means that we are almost neighbours. You see, Richard and
I can afford to send Caitlin to a private and very exclusive school where her abilities will be directed positively. We own a great deal of land where she can use up her energies without getting
into trouble. I am offering your daughter a future.’

Bridie bit her lip. ‘She’ll settle down here.’ There was doubt in the words.

‘And if she doesn’t? What will you do when she gets into the next scrape? Will you threaten to return to Ireland again? Because those threats unsettle children. It would be better to
go and be done with it rather than to keep mentioning it. You’re going, then you’re staying – how secure do your children feel in the face of such indecision?’

Bridie dropped into a chair. There had been so many changes in the girls’ lives – and in her own. Happiness was something all three of them remembered. Happiness was Eugene coming up
the lane for his supper, hay in his hair, cow droppings on his boots, the sun in his eyes. Happiness was warm soda bread eaten with butter next to the fire on a winter’s evening, cups of tea
consumed over books and columns of figures. He had wanted his own place, had started to save a little bit towards the dream of independence.

‘Bridie?’ Edith Spencer’s dark eyebrows were arched by concern.

Heartbreak was a farm labourer running along that same lane with tears coursing down his face. It was a hospital bed that contained a man too small to be Eugene, then a wooden box, also too
small for the man she had loved. Misery was Thomas Murphy screaming and ranting because his granddaughters had Protestant blood in their veins. Misery was knowing that she, Bridie O’Brien,
must save her children from the wrath of a tyrant who had driven her mother into the afterlife. ‘Let me think about it,’ she whispered. And it hadn’t turned out too badly, had it?
They were secure here, warm, fed, well dressed. Leaving Galway and doing her father’s bidding had not been such a bad thing after all. If only Cathy would behave. ‘It’s not a
thing I can decide about quickly. And I have to talk to Sam before I do anything.’

Edith understood. How could a mother part with a child? And why should Bridie hand over her daughter to a woman she scarcely knew? ‘Why don’t you visit, stay with us for a few days?
You can bring the girls – we’ll use the car.’ She cast an eye over the ragged animal who had stretched himself out in front of the grate. ‘Noel will be welcome,
too.’

Bridie looked at the dog. He was a fine animal in spite of his appearance. ‘He’ll mess up your car.’

‘That’s no matter.’

The hostess poured tea, sat with her guest and thought about Edith’s suggestion. A bit of fresh air would do them all good, and she would be able to see how Silver and Sorrel would be
stabled. ‘What about Sam?’ she asked. ‘He won’t leave the shop, and I’ll not come without talking to him first.’

‘Shall I ask him?’

Bridie shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’ It was her own responsibility, Bridie decided. She should talk to her husband about this. He would agree, no doubt, because he wanted her to
remain in England. All the same, he deserved some respect, and she would seek his opinion before making any decisions.

Maureen Costigan flounced out of the house and ran down the jigger. Mam was being a real pest. Dad wasn’t helping, either. He was just sitting there nodding, agreeing
with everything his wife said. They didn’t understand, didn’t even try.

She stopped a few houses down from her own and opened the back gate. Maureen was in love. This love had lasted throughout the previous school term, right from the beginning of September when she
had first looked closely at Mr Bell. He taught the juniors, but she made sure she saw him at least twice every weekday. There was a lot to do in a junior class. There was ink to mix, paper to cut,
the blackboard to clean. Maureen did all those things while Mr Bell marked his books.

Anthony. It was a lovely name for a lovely man. He was going to be her man, because she had made up her mind. Maureen knew that she was beautiful, was sure that she could have any boy she
wanted. But she didn’t want a mere boy. The one she had fixed firmly in her sights was a man, a real grown man. However, she failed to understand how or why the present set of circumstances
had arisen. Why wouldn’t he notice her? Why was she getting nowhere with him? All her life, she had achieved her own way where males were concerned. There should have been no problem. She
wanted him, therefore she should have him.

She pressed her ear against the scullery door. He was inside, was no more than a few feet and inches away, was probably reading or getting lessons ready for next week. When the door suddenly
swung inward, she gasped and stepped back. ‘You frightened me,’ she told him.

Anthony buttoned up his jacket and tightened the scarf around his neck. For the first time since his battle with bronchitis, he was on his way to the Throstle’s Nest for a pint. And here
she was again, for the third time today. ‘Maureen, I’m all right now. I’ve no temperature, no wheeze and no cough. So I can go and play in the Throstle’s Nest.’

Maureen bit her lip. She wanted to touch him and kiss him and tell him about this pain that was love. He would be able to kiss properly, not like the sloppy lads at school. They would be happy
together. She could move in here with him and still be right on top of her own family. Singing and dancing didn’t matter any more. Nothing mattered except being wherever Anthony Bell went.
‘I’ll walk with you,’ she offered hopefully. ‘The fresh air will do me good, too.’

‘No, Maureen.’

Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘I’m going that way,’ she said. ‘I’m visiting Bernadette McManus in Kew Street. So I’ll be passing the Throstle’s Nest
anyway.’

He sighed, pushed his hands deep into his pockets. She had to be told. From somewhere, he had to drum up courage and the words to match. Instead, he found himself giving a history lesson about
the Throstle’s Nest having been situated originally in the churchyard. ‘It had a big tree outside, and it was hung with cages that held pairs of singing throstles. That’s how it
got its name.’

She tried to keep up in more ways than one, because he had long legs and was very clever. ‘What’s a throstle?’ she asked.

‘A song thrush.’

They walked past Bell’s Pledges and to the corner where the Throstle’s Nest stood. He glanced at her, saw gaslit tears on her cheeks and led her up the side of the pub and into
Chapel Gardens. ‘It has to stop, Maureen,’ he said. ‘You must go back to your friends, to people of your own age.’

Maureen pressed the heel of a hand against her nose. If it started to drip and run, she would surely die of shame. ‘I love you,’ she mumbled.

‘No, you don’t.’

‘I do.’

He stepped away from her, took a handkerchief from his pocket. ‘Dry your eyes,’ he told her. ‘Then off you go to visit Bernadette.’ Teachers were in a vulnerable
position, he supposed. He had heard about crushes, about young girls hanging round the houses of schoolmasters and following their heroes everywhere. It was a forbidden love, his mind’s voice
said. But it was no more forbidden than . . . No, the foolishness about Bridie was over, wasn’t it?

Maureen blew her nose.

He was so sorry for her. She was obsessed, no more than that. Young people often fell head over heels for a mature person, only to discover that the idol in question had feet of clay or bad
breath or some other unforgivable failing. He reached out and touched her arm. ‘Go on, Maureen. I’ll talk to you at school.’

She nodded dolefully, then fled the way she had come, past Bell’s Pledges and into Wilbraham Street, where she lingered for a moment to dry her face. Bernadette McManus could wait.
Bernadette McManus had been a mere ploy.

Maureen did not notice a shadowy figure at the end of the street, as she was too busy preparing herself for home. Already in trouble with her parents for tormenting Mr Bell, Maureen didn’t
want to go into the house all shamefaced and tear-stained.