The Bells of Scotland Road (13 page)

‘Does he still do his toenails in here?’ asked Theresa.

Bridie jumped involuntarily. Did this old lady read minds? ‘Yes,’ she answered.

‘Always got on my nerves, did that.’

Bridie stared at her mother-in-law. The eyes remained closed, but the features were very much alive. ‘Why are you offering to help me?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. Must be summat to do with being in me dotage.’ She opened one eye. ‘I’d nothing to get up for,’ she said. ‘After the General Strike, I
couldn’t think of one single reason for falling out of bed. I was no use, you see. When I’d finished rearing Anthony, there was nothing more to be done.’

A few beats of time passed before Bridie plucked up enough courage to ask, ‘Didn’t you look after Liam as well?’ Surely the twins had been raised together?

The other eye opened. ‘I told you before, I raised both, though I’m taking no credit for the way Liam turned out.’ The word ‘credit’ was spat, as if it meant
blame.

‘He’s a priest,’ murmured Bridie.

‘I know that.’

Bridie cleared her throat. ‘Aren’t you proud?’ Catholic families back home were delighted when a child opted for the holy life. ‘I’ve a cousin a nun, and her mother
was thrilled fit to burst about it,’ she added lamely.

Theresa made a guttural sound deep in her throat, as if trying to shift a terrible taste. ‘There’s good folk and bad folk, good priests and bad priests. I’d rather not talk
about him if you don’t mind. He got what he wanted, the bugger. He’s taken Anthony away from me. As for our Sam, he never did see sense. A dog collar’s a wonderful thing according
to your husband.’

Bridie leaned forward, decided to opt for a change of subject. ‘Muth, I don’t want to deprive you of your little bit of money. It doesn’t seem fair.’

‘There’s nowt fair in this life, Bridie.’ She shifted in the chair, flinched when her knee clicked. ‘The horses mean something to you, love. I heard. I was listening on
the stairs and, like I said afore, there’s not much wrong with my hearing. Let’s get your bloody horses back.’ She sniffed, took a handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘You fettle
for me and I’ll fettle for you.’

‘Fettle?’

The old woman’s face stretched itself into a wide grin. ‘Help. Do for. Look after. You’ve got me out of bed. Your girls have given me something to laugh at.’ She noticed
Bridie’s worried expression. ‘Has she gone off again?’

‘She has indeed.’

Theresa nodded. ‘She’s a rum one, is your Cathy. But then you’ve got to remember all she’s lost.’

‘Shauna’s lost everything, too.’

The small head snapped upward on its shrivelled stem. ‘That little one of yours is a tough nut, Bridie. She might be thin, but her head’s screwed on the right road. Anyway, she was
young enough to get over her dad’s death. Cathy’s on the sensitive side. She wants love. She wants attention and things to take her mind off this big move you’ve made.
That’s why she’s running about with Diddy Costigan’s tribe – there’s always a bit of adventure.’

Bridie didn’t like the idea of her daughter getting mixed up in Jimmy and Tildy Costigan’s style of adventure. ‘They steal.’

Theresa Bell chuckled. ‘Eeh, you want to talk to Elizabeth about that. According to her, it’s not stealing, it’s redistribution of resources. She reads, you know. Yes,
she’s an angry woman, is Diddy Costigan.’

Bridie was about to ask a few questions, but a commotion in the shop made her rise to her feet and rush out of the room.

Charlie stood behind the counter, his face apparently frozen by the sight before his eyes. A policeman hung on to Jimmy Costigan, who, in turn, hung on to a very large and very dead turkey.
‘It’s for the poor,’ the lad yelled.

The policeman turned on his heel in response to Tildy. Tildy, who was tough for her age, was beating her fists against the constable’s back. ‘Leave our Cozzer alone,’ she
screamed.

Behind Tildy, a tall, dark-skinned man lingered. Behind him, several more Lascar seamen were trying to crowd into Bell’s. Six or seven bowler hats were deposited on the counter. A
fire-surround blocked the doorway, and a small congregation of passers-by was assembling on the pavement outside.

After a few seconds, Bridie realized that one of the Indians was carrying Cathy. ‘Johnny bring baby home,’ the man said, bowing courteously. ‘His Master’s Voice,’
he added, nodding towards a gramophone. ‘From Bell’s – not Libby’s Milk.’

Bridie knew she was going insane. A very strange-looking man dressed in far too many clothes was cradling Cathy in his arms, talking about tinned milk and pointing out a gramophone on the
floor.

Cathy looked at her mother and burst into tears. ‘I did it wrong,’ she wailed. ‘I said Tildy had been knocked over, then I went to sleep.’

‘She fainted,’ said the policeman. ‘And while the butcher tried to revive her, this young man stole a turkey.’

‘For the poor,’ insisted Cozzer.

One of the seamen dragged Tildy away from the constable, got kicked for his pains.

Bridie pushed her way through the throng and took her daughter. She passed the policeman and spoke to Cozzer. ‘You will give that bird back now, Jimmy Costigan. Tildy – behave
yourself.’ She carried Cathy to the kitchen and placed her on the sofa. ‘Don’t move,’ she muttered. ‘Stay here with Muth.’

Back in the shop, she separated Cozzer from his ill-gotten gains, then advised the policeman to take the Costigan children back home. When only the Lascars remained, Bridie thanked them, then
watched in amazement as they struggled their way out of the shop with hats, gramophone, fire-surround, pots, pans and bundles of clothes.

‘Nice men,’ offered Charlie.

Bridie sank onto a stool. This was a crazy place. Nobody made sense and her daughter was turning out badly. She looked at Charlie, comforted herself with the thought that this poor boy was a
small piece of normality in a very confused world. ‘Charlie,’ she said. ‘This is an end of it. I can take no more. We are going back to Ireland.’

Sam Bell sat in his usual place next to the fire. On the table, slices of roast goose and beef were spread on platters covered in muslin, and the room sparkled with polish. In
little more than a month, Bridie had changed the place into a real home. She was a worker, all right. She got on with her chores, helped in the shop, dealt very well with Muth and, best of all, she
wasn’t a moaner. But, worst of all, she was intending to return to Ireland in order to protect Cathy from the Costigans’ bad ways. Sam was not a happy man. In spite of his firm
resolution, he had developed a soft spot for his young Irish bride.

He lit the first of today’s cigarette allowance, drew the smoke deep into his lungs, then coughed explosively. Christmas Day. Couldn’t he allow himself the odd extra ciggy on this
festive occasion? No. Moderation in all things had been Sam’s creed so far, and he was getting too old to alter the ways of a lifetime. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then carried on
smoking. He would miss her. She was lovely to look at, pleasant to the customers and, most of all, she was good to her husband.

In a few minutes, he would take a walk to the Holy House. Every man in the Scotland Road area strolled along to a pub on Christmas morning for a pint and a gab with his mates. The excuse given
for this ritual was that males were keeping out of the line of fire and ‘from under the wife’s feet’. Many sought to anaesthetize themselves beyond the knowledge that their
seasonal fare would be egg and chips, while others drank out of habit, just as they did every other day of the year.

Anthony would be here soon. He was probably out in the streets at this very minute, would be watching for Sam’s exit from the house. Today, Anthony would visit Muth. Muth loved Anthony and
Anthony loved Muth. The father of the Bell twins shook his head slowly. If only Anthony would make an effort. Liam was a bit on the sharp side, a sober-sided sort of chap, but he was a chosen man.
Anthony had little or no patience with Liam, and Sam stood by his ordained son. A priest in the family was a status symbol, something to brag about. Sometimes, though, Sam missed Anthony.
Sometimes, he wondered whether he had backed the wrong horse. No. Liam was a good man and Anthony should mend his ways and treat his twin with the respect a priest commanded.

The pawnbroker tapped away some ash and loose tobacco, tried to remember how life had been before Bridie. This was stupid, he told himself. He’d been a widower for years, yet he had grown
accustomed so quickly to the comforts of this second marriage. As, indeed, had Muth. Until Bridie had arrived, Muth had stayed upstairs sulking all the time. As soon as Bridie returned to Ireland,
Muth would, no doubt, go back to her life of self-imposed solitude, misery and constant whingeing. Living alone down here with his imprisoned mother upstairs held little appeal. The thought of this
household struggling to survive without Bridie was not attractive. Sam had even cut down on his fishing expeditions in order to make a go of this new liaison. Up to now, the world had offered few
diversions attractive enough to separate Sam from his hobby.

He took another drag of hand-rolled tobacco, looked at the tree Bridie had decorated so prettily. There were bits of tinsel, some baubles, strands of cotton wool snow, and a pretty
crêpe-clad fairy with a silver star-topped wand and feathery wings, teetering uncertainly on the topmost branch. A proper Christmas at last. And she intended to go hell for leather back to
Ireland after Christmas just because young Cathy had got herself involved on the fringe of a couple of very lightweight skirmishes.

Bridie entered from the scullery with two pans of peeled veg. She stirred the fire in preparation for her cooking, opened the door of the range oven, assessed the time her potatoes would need to
roast.

He cleared his throat. ‘Where are the girls?’

‘Upstairs,’ she replied, ‘playing in their room with their Christmas toys. The fire’s lit, so they’ll be warm enough.’

Sam threw his fag end into the grate. ‘You’re sure I shouldn’t go and get that dog? After all, I did make a promise. She’ll be expecting a dog, you know.’

‘There’ll be no need,’ she said. ‘We have a dog at my father’s house. I don’t want to be taking another across on the boat. The girls and the bags will be
more than enough for me to manage without running after a dog.’ She hated the idea of returning to Da. But what was the alternative?

Sam Bell broke every rule in his book by lighting a second cigarette while the first was still curling its way towards death in the coals. He didn’t want to beg and plead, refused to
demean himself by crawling to this woman or to any person of either sex, for that matter. Yet he needed her to stay. ‘We’re married,’ he said. ‘We should abide by our
marriage vows.’

‘I know that. I also know that my daughter is misbehaving. She’s not used to being locked up inside. In Galway, children can have all the freedom they need without stealing and
fainting all over the place while people thieve poultry.’

‘She won’t do it again,’ said Sam. ‘I’m sure she’ll settle down in time. Just give it a chance.’

Bridie turned and faced him fully. ‘I can’t take that risk, Sam.’

He nodded pensively for a moment. ‘And you hate living round here, don’t you?’

Her answer astounded both of them. ‘No, I don’t think so. The place isn’t great, what with all those terrible courts and people living so crowded and so poor.’ She
lowered herself into a dining chair. ‘But it’s . . . it’s lively. You know, there’s always somebody to talk to. It’s never boring.’ Well, it was often rather
boring in here with Sam, but boring was preferable to Da’s ranting. If only Cathy would behave.

She folded her arms as if trying to hold on to her resolution. ‘I can’t have them wild, Sam. It’s not even the fault of Jimmy and Tildy-Anne. They do what they do because
it’s necessary while the Nolans starve. But Cathy’s not used to this sort of life and I want her to be honest. We never had a lot of money to spare at home, but we wanted for nothing.
In Galway, she would not be tempted into all this stealing and making up of tales. You see, if my daughter turns out wrong, then I will be to blame for it.’

Sam had never been one for the women, yet he recognized that Bridie was one in a million. He’d listened to all the dirty talk over the years, had heard tales delivered by seamen who
pretended to have a girl in every port. But Sam Bell was not a lecher by nature. However, this one was a catch. Many men in the neighbourhood were jealous of a man with such a pretty bride. She was
lovely to look at, she had a stable temperament, good housekeeping skills and, above all, she was marvellous with customers. ‘Don’t go,’ he managed.

Surprised beyond measure, Bridie stared steadily at the man she had married. There was no harm in him. He had never hurt her or the girls, had always handed over adequate household funds, was
even-tempered and . . . and, yes, infuriatingly predictable and set in his ways. She felt a measure of pity for him, yet she could make no promises.

‘Please,’ he said eventually, ‘give it a bit longer.’ What would people say if she went off after such a short time? Would they mock him, accuse him of being too old and
worn out for a woman of Bridie’s tender years?

She looked down at her folded arms. ‘Marriage is binding, I know that. But I’ve a duty to my daughters as well as to my husband.’

‘Hang on for another week, then,’ he said. ‘Just till New Year. I’ll talk to Diddy and Billy, see what we can sort out.’ And he intended to acquire that dog, too.
He needed an arsenal with which to defend himself.

‘All right,’ said Bridie. ‘I’ll wait a few more days, then.’ She picked up a fork, polished it on her apron.

Sam stood up, threw away his second cigarette and made for the door. Had he been less sure of himself, he might have fancied that he felt love for this young woman. But no. Sam Bell had his head
screwed on too tightly for that. Far too tightly . . .

Anthony Bell waited until his father had disappeared into the pub. He blew warmth into his hands, then bent to pick up his parcels. She would like the pearls. He had spent more
money on that single gift than all the others put together. He walked, paused, thought about what he was doing, why he was doing it. Perhaps he should swap the labels about and give the pearls to
Grandmuth.