Till the Sun Shines Through (23 page)

The pet stalls always had a crowd around them, watching the boisterous puppies at play in their sawdust filled boxes, or the kittens mewing plaintively. There were chirpy budgies and twittering canaries, rabbits and hamsters in cages and fish swimming endlessly in glass aquariums.

‘I've never seen the point of fish,' Bridie said. ‘Just swimming round and round like that.'

‘No, nor me,' Tom said. ‘I wouldn't mind a dog though, but not here in the city centre. A dog needs space to run.'

Bridie remembered the dogs back home and agreed with Tom, but as they turned to leave, Tom touched her arm. ‘It's nearly seven o'clock,' he said. ‘Let's wait awhile.'

Moments later the clock began to strike. The noise dropped suddenly in the Market Hall and everyone turned their heads to watch. Four life-size figures appeared from the clock, three knights and a lady, and struck the bell with hammers seven times. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. ‘It's grand, isn't it,' Bridie said as the notes of the chimes died away.

‘Aye,' Tom agreed. ‘But a man was telling me the clock had a curse on it.'

‘Why?' Bridie asked as they made their way down the steps again.

‘Apparently the fellow that made it wasn't paid in full and he put a curse on it.'

‘Don't seem to have worked, does it?'

‘No,' Tom said. ‘Probably just a tale. Heaven only knows who starts these rumours.'

Outside, it had got much darker. The little blind lady selling carrier bags had gone from her pitch outside Woolworths and her place had been taken by old Gypsy Boswell, who claimed she could tell fortunes.

‘Jimmy Jesus is up on the soapbox,' Tom whispered, pointing to the man with white hair and a long white beard. He had a long brown coat, tied with string, and boots with the toes kicked out, but you forgot all that when you heard him speak, preaching the gospels in a soft, refined voice, urging you to repent of your sins and remember that God had given his only son to save mankind.

As usual, he was heckled. It was normally youths who began shouting at him and, as Tom and Bridie began walking towards Jimmy, one of them suddenly yelled, ‘Put a sock in it why don't you, old timer. Nelson must be sick of listening to you,' referring to the large sculpture of Nelson in the middle of the Bull Ring.

Jimmy Jesus's rheumy eyes sought the young man's for a second before he said, ‘He well might be, young man, but he at least is too much of a gentleman to say so.'

There was a ripple of laughter through the crowd and the youth coloured slightly, but could find no reply, and Tom smiled as he drew Bridie on.

There was so much to see: the man tied up in chains, who claimed he would get free when the money in his hat reached a pound, and around the corner from him a juggler and a man on stilts. Then there was a fire-eater and a man who lay on a bed of nails. ‘Come on, duck,' he encouraged Bridie. ‘Stand on my belly, why don't you? Promise you I won't look up your skirt like.'

Bridie shook her head, laughing, as Tom took her hand and like children they danced and pranced to the accordion and fiddle players assembled by the now closed Rag Market, singing the words to the old songs like everyone else around them.

‘D'you like cockles and whelks?' Tom asked as the strains of the Sally Army brass band, marching their way from the Citadel, were heard in the distance. ‘I've developed a taste for them since living here.'

‘I've never tried them,' Bridie admitted. Tom insisted she had a large dish, which he covered liberally in vinegar.

‘Well d'you like them?' he demanded when Bridie had sampled just a few, and though she tried valiantly to cover her distaste by nodding vigorously, he wasn't fooled. ‘Not everyone feels the way I do about these,' he said, taking Bridie's dish and tipping it into his own. ‘“Waste not, want not,” my mother used to say.'

‘You don't mind me not liking them?' Bridie said.

‘Why should I?' Tom asked. ‘One man's meat and all that.' And then he bent down and whispered, ‘Would you rather have a baked potato?'

‘I think so,' Bridie whispered back, and grabbing her hand again, Tom dragged her over to the baked potato stand. The potato was at first too hot to handle and Bridie had to jiggle it from hand to hand. When she eventually bit through the soft, slightly smoky tasting skin into the creamy potato beneath, she knew she preferred it above seafood, and munched happily as the Sally Army band marched into the Bull Ring playing and singing ‘Jerusalem' very loudly.

‘They do marvellous work,' Tom said to Bridie. ‘They're thought well of down at the Mission.'

Bridie often found Tom's views strange. She'd been brought up to believe that the Roman Catholic Church was the one true Church, founded by Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ himself. Every other religion was false and the people worshipping them destined for Hell. Despite the McCarthys' relative proximity to the border separating the Free State from the six British-ruled counties, she'd met few people from the Protestant faith until she came to England. She knew though that she was forbidden to take part in any service conducted by them, or even enter a non-Catholic church.

Tom, however, despite his years in the Seminary, had a far more liberal outlook. He worked with many religious groups and often recounted the lively debates they had about their varied viewpoints and now here he was saying the Salvation Army did good work. ‘Why the long face, sweetheart?' he asked as he finished the last of his whelks and licked his fingers.

‘I haven't got a long face,' Bridie protested. ‘I'm just confused about what you said about the Salvation Army, you being a Catholic and all.'

‘Sweetheart, we're on the same side,' Tom said. ‘The people we help have their own devil to fight. It's called extreme poverty and if we can help more people more effectively by banding together then why not? In the end, whichever way we chose to do it, we're worshipping the same God.'

It was a shocking statement, almost blasphemous. But as Bridie watched the earnest faces of the men and women of all ages from the Sally Army singing and playing their hearts out, she began to see what Tom meant.

They stayed to the end, singing the hymns they recognised and listening to those they didn't, and Bridie felt marvellous to be a part of it, all with solid, dependable, lovely Tom beside her. Eventually, the music drew to a close and Bridie saw a group of down-and-outs moving forward. ‘What's happening?' she asked.

‘They take the homeless over to the Citadel for soup and bread,' Tom replied. ‘They run hostels too and will try and find a bed for the old or those they think are ill. Like I said, they do great work.'

Bridie watched the old, shuffling men and even women falling into line behind their smartly dressed benefactors. They were the sort of people most would cross the road to avoid. They were ragged and dirty and probably smelled, yet they were welcomed warmly.

Tom and Bridie walked home, hand in hand through the dark streets, and Tom was happier than he'd been in a long time because he knew he was at last making headway with Bridie. He'd known when he'd listened to what had happened to her that he'd have to have immense patience and he had. He'd never press her, but he felt that night their relationship had moved forward a pace or two.

He knew he wanted Bridie as part of his life and he knew too there would be no opposition from her aunt and uncle or her sister and her husband. They all liked him and whenever he called at Ellen's house for Bridie he was welcomed in and tea and a bite often almost forced upon him. In fact, it was difficult to leave sometimes. But he never showed impatience, partly because he'd become fond of Ellen and respectful of Sam, but also because he knew that if he wished to marry Bridie before her twenty-first birthday, Ellen might have great influence persuading Bridie's parents to agree.

Bridie hadn't let herself think that far ahead. All she knew was that she was walking on a balmy spring evening, holding hands with the loveliest man in the world and going back to a home where she was loved. She had a supportive sister just around the corner and a job she enjoyed where she'd begun eventually to make friends. What more could she want?

She knew though what she did want and that was a letter from her mother. Tom Cassidy was fast becoming the most important person in her life and she'd written to her parents telling them all about him. But, like all the other letters, there had been no reply.

Terry had replied when he'd received a similar letter from Bridie. He'd said if Tom Cassidy was a good man and they loved each other then she should hang on to him. He was marrying his Jo in May and hoped for a cluster of children before too long and wished Bridie all the best.

Ellen could see that though Bridie had been cheered by her brother's letter, her mother's lack of response troubled her. So Ellen wrote her own letter, extolling Tom's virtues and said Bridie could look further and fare worse. But Sarah's reply stunned her, for she said Bridie was no longer their daughter and they had no interest in what she did or who she'd met.

‘The woman's inhuman,' Ellen said to Mary when they were alone. ‘I know Bridie running away would be hard to take, and thank God they never knew the real reason for it, but she can't disown her like this. Blood, after all, is thicker than water.'

Bridie was unaware of Ellen's intervention. Each Sunday, she wrote a letter to her parents but she had given up the idea of ever getting any kind of response. And so, that night walking back home with Tom, she was almost content.

Tom felt it too and also a softening in Bridie. That night for the first time, before her aunt's darkened house, he drew Bridie towards him and bent his head to give her a chaste kiss. He felt her stiffen in his arms, but he held her tighter and then, as his lips touched hers, she sprang back with a cry of alarm, threw her hand up and delivered a ringing slap across his left cheek.

When he'd held her tight against him, she'd imagined she was back in the little wood in Ireland, struggling with Uncle Francis and when Tom kissed her, she saw Francis's face and Francis's thick lips and she'd reacted in fright and panic.

But it wasn't Francis she'd hit, it was her dear, darling Tom. In the dim light of the street lamp, she saw the crimson stain of a handprint across his face and was mortified by what she'd done. ‘Oh God! Oh God, Tom, I'm sorry! So very, very sorry!' she cried as tears spurted from her eyes.

She stood up on tiptoes and traced gentle fingers around the mark. ‘I … I don't know what came over me.'

Tom removed her hand gently from his face and kissed her fingers. ‘I do,' he said. ‘And I don't want you to worry about it.'

‘But …'

‘But nothing, Bridie. You need time to forget what happened to you and learn to trust me. You may need a lot of time, but it will come. I'm a very patient man. Don't worry.'

‘You won't tire of me?'

‘Tire of you, not at all,' Tom said. He held both her hands close to his face as he said. ‘I don't know if you realise this, but I love you, Bridie McCarthy.'

‘Do you?'

‘I do truly,' Tom said. ‘These are just words I know, but in time I'll show you how much I mean them. And now, Bridie here's four more important words. Will you marry me?'

Tom hadn't meant to ask Bridie to marry him so soon, but the moment had just seemed right.

He could see Bridie was stunned. She was just staring at him, as if she couldn't believe her ears. And she couldn't. ‘D'you … D'you mean it?' she said at last.

‘I do.'

‘Oh. Then the answer is yes, Tom. Yes. Yes. Yes,' and Bridie's arms went voluntarily around his neck and this time when his lips met hers she didn't push him away.

But Tom knew Bridie still had a long way to go and so he didn't kiss her properly or for very long. And when he felt his own body stirring with desire for her, he moved away slightly, not wishing to frighten her to death altogether. ‘There are practicalities to consider,' he said. ‘Before anything else you will need permission from your parents for you're only nineteen.'

Bridie wondered how she'd get permission to do anything from parents who refused to acknowledge her, but said nothing. ‘In the normal way of things I should ask your father's permission,' Tom said, a small frown appearing on his forehead. ‘But in this case …'

‘Ask Uncle Sam,' Bridie suggested. ‘That's if you want to do it properly, but you know he won't say no. He likes you. They both do.'

Tom didn't forsee any problems there. ‘And I'll have to tell my parents too,' he said.

And then a thought occurred to Bridie. ‘Will they, your parents, expect you to go home and run the farm?' she asked. ‘Now you're not to be a priest.'

‘Would you mind being a farmer's wife?' Tom asked.

Bridie gave a shiver of distaste. How she would hate living just a few miles from her parents. She knew she would feel more than uncomfortable. And then, there was Francis. How in God's name would she ever face him again?

But then she looked at the dear, dear man before her and knew if he left her, her life would have no meaning and so she said, ‘Tom, I would go with you to the gates of Hell and back.'

‘Oh my darling love,' Tom said and his kiss was spontaneous and very, very sweet. ‘I know how hard it would be for you to move back, but that will be unnecessary.'

‘Oh.'

‘My sister is getting married,' he told Bridie. ‘She's the eldest, Agnes, and well over thirty. No one thought of it at all. The chap she's marrying is a man called Tony Canley and the Canleys have a farm on the borders of Antrim. But they had three sons and a fair few girls too and Tony is the third son. He'd been brought up to farming and yet the chance of him ever running his own farm is slim. Agnes wrote and asked me if I had any intention of coming back ever. I told her no and her and Tony could have the place and welcome to it.'