Secrets of Our Hearts

‘He’s lonely, is the lad,’ Niall overheard his mother-in-law murmuring to her daughters one night in early March, with greater understanding than he gave her credit for. ‘God knows, I miss Nell, but her husband must miss her twice as much.’

Drying his hands in the scullery, he cringed and gripped the rough towel, listening to the three talking about him for a while, and taking a few moments to compose himself before hanging the towel on its hook and wandering in to join them.

The only one still draped in black, Nora glanced up sympathetically from her knitting as he entered. ‘All right, love?’

He nodded, his face pensive and his voice loaded with regret. ‘I shouldn’t have let her go on her own. If the bike had hit me it wouldn’t have done any damage …’

Stricken by a bolt of agony, she rebuked him, ‘Eh, now don’t start that!’

‘How can you be to blame?’ demanded Harriet and Dolly, both misty-eyed.

‘Here!’ Resting her knitting on her lap, full of bluster to mask her grief, Nora made a grab for her purse and dug out some coppers. ‘We were just saying you need summat to take your mind off things. Get yourself out for a little bevy.’

Having enjoyed this pursuit only a handful of times during his entire marriage. Niall was taken aback, and did not seem particularly keen to go, for instead of taking the money from her he stared at the manly wrist in its delicate little gold watchband and shook his head.

But his mother-in-law’s hand remained extended, gesturing deliberately as she urged in a kind but forceful manner, ‘Go on! It doesn’t do you any good to be sitting with us women night after night. Go and find some male company. Anyway, you earned it.’

As of course he had. And so, in reluctant fashion he took the money, donned his cap and his army surplus greatcoat, and picked up the evening paper, saying, ‘I’ll take the press with me in case there’s nobody to talk to.’

The night was dark and cold; the kind of damp, depressing cold that permeates one’s bones and dilutes the marrow. Set between two rivers, which ever-threatened to break their banks, in its scooped-out saucer of land this city was not a good place to be in winter; like an overfilled cup in a puddle of tea, its lower reaches constantly a-drip. Niall was glad of his greatcoat, tugging its collar around his neck, chin and ears against the drizzle, as he made his way towards Walmgate, welcoming each intermittent splash of lamplight, before being plunged into gloom once more.

From behind a closed door came the sound of a man and women arguing violently, and pots being thrown; from another, a child’s pathetic wail. Niall jumped and stopped dead as a dog came barking at him out of an alley, and he kept a wary eye on it as he walked on. Seeking a drinking partner, he went straightaway to the abode of his friend Reilly, a short distance away on the other side of Walmgate. Pals since their schooldays, the two had gone their separate ways upon leaving there – Niall to the railway, and Reilly to Terry’s factory – and had met only a couple of times a year since then. They had last reunited at Ellen’s funeral. It might seem odd to some that such close friends did not get together more regularly – especially at such time of strife – but Reilly had said genuinely then, if Niall ever needed him he knew where to come, and that provided solace enough. It would be nice to meet again in happier circumstances and Niall found himself looking forward to it, as, just before the Bar, he turned off this main artery that was Walmgate, and entered a primary vein. Travelling beyond its many capillaries – the overcrowded alleyways and courts – he went down to its far end where, by a cut of the River Foss, was to be found his friend’s dwelling, a similar two-up, two-down to his own.

Reilly’s wife, Eileen, answered the door, warily at first, until she discerned his identity through the darkness – then she was immediately pleased to see him. An attractive little woman, dark of hair and eye, her face cracked into a munificent smile and she threw open the door.

‘Eh, look who it is after all this time – what’s your name again?’ And she gave a bubbling laugh. But in the next breath she was to issue disappointment. ‘Oh, you do right come when he’s working nights! He’ll be that mad at having missed you, Nye. Anyway, come in and have a cup of tea with me and get the neighbours talking. Eh, how lovely to see you!’ With an encouraging sweep of her hand she prepared to welcome him in.

Reminded of how this might appear to others, Niall went only as far as the doormat, though he retained his friendly smile as he took off his cap. ‘Er, no, I won’t stop, Eileen, thanks all the same. Me mother-in-law’s given me the money for a pint. I daren’t waste it; she might not grant me the opportunity again!’ Nevertheless, he did not leave immediately, taking a few moments to enquire after Eileen’s wellbeing – for he liked this small, but generously proportioned woman very much – and to share with her news of his children, about whom she was always quick to ask. If ever a woman was made for motherhood, this was she, with her soft ample bosom upon which a small head could rest, and her kind eyes and patient nature. It was a great shame the Reillys were childless.

‘Eh dear,’ she sighed, when he had finished bringing her up to date on his sons and daughters’ emotional welfare – particularly Juggy, ‘you never can tell what’s running through a bairn’s mind, can you?’

Niall gave a sombre shake of his head. ‘I try to buck them up as best I can, but—’

‘Oh, I’m sure you do, love!’ Eileen pressed his arm.

‘—it’s not the same as their mam, is it?’ he finished.

‘I’ll tell you, lad,’ bolstered Eileen, ‘you do a lot better than most.’ Acquainted with Niall for many years, she had never met a man so mindful of his children’s happiness. That alone would have earned her admiration, but he had also proved a loyal friend to her and Reilly too, at short notice – even in the middle of the night – coming to their aid when the flood waters threatened their furniture, and helping to shift it to higher ground. ‘They’re lucky to have you as a father – and you’re lucky to have them.’

‘Well, I don’t know about the first bit,’ came his self-effacing reply. ‘But you’re right about the second.’ Absent-mindedly, he wrung his cap.

Eileen studied his abstracted pose. ‘And how are you managing without her?’

‘So, so …’

She served a thoughtful nod, knowing that Ellen had been the only buffer between Niall and his awful in-laws. Personally, she had never been enamoured of Ellen either, thinking the pair badly suited, but one could not say this to a bereaved husband.

‘Anyway!’ Niall broke away from the spell that thoughts of Ellen had created. ‘I won’t keep you standing here being nithered to death.’ He gave a smile and a shiver, before backing away and replacing his cap. ‘Tell me laddo I’ll catch up with him another time.’

‘I will, love!’ With a brisk, smiling gesture, Eileen waved him off. ‘He’ll be that jealous I’ve seen you and he hasn’t!’ And with a last warm farewell, she closed the door.

Niall felt at a loss now as he made his way back towards Walmgate. There were a dozen public houses in this vicinity and he had no idea of where to dispose of his coppers. Eschewing the most notorious hostelries, which were a regular feature in the local press, he re-examined the one on the corner of the road from which he had just emerged. This might sport the usual advertising posters on its side wall, its brickwork chipped and scruffy, but it did not emit rowdy voices. He paused for a while, trying to see through the window but its glass was frosted and etched with fancy scrolls that advertised the commodities within: Wines, Spirits and Beer. The light from a gas jet illuminated a sign overhead: ‘The Angel’. He couldn’t get into much trouble in there, could he?

His self-conscious entry was quickly allayed by the bright warm atmosphere: a fire burning merrily in the hearth, gleaming brass, polished tables, sparkling mirrors, and pictures on the walls depicting scenes of fox-hunting and horse-racing. The bar shimmered with rows of spotless glasses. On its top shelf, above a row of optics, was an assortment of brightly coloured ceramic barrels, and other such decorative items relating to the trade. Removing his cap and flicking it to remove the droplets of rain, Niall folded it inside out, put it into his pocket and strolled across the tiled floor towards the counter of polished mahogany. The woman behind it smiled at him in a friendly but polite fashion – amply proportioned, but not one of your blowsy types, he decided with relief, more of a country lass, fair-skinned, fresh-complexioned, blue-eyed, and competent-looking – and there was a Celtic lilt to her tongue. Asking for a pint of bitter, he noted her strong-looking fingers on the pump. Strong, but not those of a peasant, for the nails were trimmed short and clean, and the skin was smooth with no blemish, as was that of her face. She was wearing lipstick, he suspected, though it was not heavily applied. Having lived here all his life, he knew most of the folk round this area, if not by name then by sight, but he had never laid eyes on this one before. He would have remembered that smile, that shape …

His inspection was knocked aside by guilt. It was not yet five months since his wife had died, scarcely time for her blood to be washed from the pavement, and here he was looking at another. He was as bad as Sean. Handing over his coppers, he gave peremptory thanks, then glanced around for a nook in which to sit and read his paper. First, though, he blew his nose, which had developed a dewdrop, courtesy of the roaring fire. Much too warm now to sit in his overcoat, he hung it on a stand before settling down to read.

But for some reason he could not concentrate on the pages and found his gaze being dragged back to the barmaid. He liked the honest way she had looked him straight in the eye when serving him, her face a sweet, open book. There was someone who would never belittle a man, thought Niall, someone who’d never cheat or lie or steal. Part of this assumption was to be proved correct a few moments later when she called out to a chap who had forgotten his change. She could just have kept quiet and pocketed it, but she hadn’t. Niall liked that. Affecting to read his paper, casting surreptitious glances from the print, he continued to observe as she chatted and laughed with other customers, his interest in part for the nice manner she had about her, but mainly for the attractive swellings under her jumper. Embarrassed to find himself reacting to them in base fashion, he tore his eyes away. What was the point in tormenting oneself over something one could not have? With no hope of concentrating on the press, after downing his pint, he went home.

Nora was there alone, waiting up for him. Harriet and Dolly had gone up to bed, the only trace of them being the scent of cocoa that wafted from their coats as he brushed against them in the passage. The elderly widow was partially ready for bed too, for her grey hair was dangling in a long plait over one shoulder. But for now, she sat by the firelight, employing its weak glow and that from the one remaining lamp as she squinted over her mending. Her iron jaw relaxed into a smile, as he hung his coat on a hook and came to join her by the fire. ‘You weren’t long. Didn’t you enjoy it?’

His nose beginning to run again from the sudden change in temperature, Niall pulled out a frayed handkerchief and trumpeted into it before answering, ‘Aye, it was a nice break, but I were hoping to have Reilly as company and he was working.’ His tone was dull and he made absentminded dabs at his nose. ‘No point being sat on me own. I might as well be in bed.’

Nora put aside her mending, lifted heavily corseted hips from her chair and went to fetch him some cocoa. ‘Never mind, he might be available next time.’

Her son-in-law nodded, shoved his handkerchief away, then sat rubbing his hands and staring into the glowing embers, conjuring pictures from them. Yet even then he could not concentrate, for he found his absent thoughts depicting not Reilly, but the smiling girl behind the bar.

Is this some fluke, asked a wary Niall, when his moment of wakening failed to produce that sensation of dread, or is it some miracle? Seemingly overnight, the weather had taken a turn for the better too. The sun shone, the air was crisp instead of damp, and the sky was clear and blue. The odd daffodil began to flutter along the grassy ramparts of the city walls. Where yesterday had been a brown and barren tangle of dormant briar along the railway embankment, there were primroses, and bees that zigzagged between them. At the shrieking whistle and clattering wheels of a train, startled lambs bucked and skittered, kicking their heels in the air. A stoat came out of hiding to enjoy the sun, his beady little eye ever alert for the delighted man who watched him as he darted like quicksilver among the rocks at the side of the track, his lissom body dipping and gyrating into nook and cranny, the sunlight gleaming on his russet coat, his entire being conveying the sense of rejuvenation that Niall himself felt.

With the following days proving that this was no aberration, at the end of the week when his mother-in-law doled out pocket money from the wage packet he had just handed her, Niall clinked it thoughtfully, before saying, ‘You know, I reckon you were right about that little trip to the pub doing me good …’

‘It must have done.’ She cast a shrewd eye at him. ‘If it’s made you visit the barber at last.’

Niall rubbed his shorn neck defensively, and sat at the table with his children. ‘Aye, well, I thought I’d better smarten meself up. I got a few disapproving looks from the landlady the last time I was in. I thought I might just trot along for another pint later on – don’t worry!’ He saw Juggy’s face turn anxious. ‘I’ll only be half an hour – that’s if Gran doesn’t mind?’

Pleased to be able to ease the widower’s unhappiness, Nora said generously as she served his meal first, ‘Why would I mind?’

‘Well, it is Lent …’ A time of self-denial.

‘Ah, yes,’ replied Nora and, to his consternation, she said nothing more on the subject as Harriet and Dolly finished bringing the rest of the plates. Whereupon, she sat down to murmur grace.

Niggled by disappointment, Niall hardly tasted the fish upon his fork, as he inserted it time after time into his mouth, all the while machinating how to get around this problem. But it turned out he did not have to, for later, after the children had gone to bed, Nora spoke again on the subject. ‘I’ve been thinking, you’ve been through enough deprivation lately – and it’s not as if you’ll be overindulging.’

Startled, Niall looked to Harriet and Dolly for agreement. ‘I don’t want to go upsetting anybody …’

‘You won’t upset me.’ Hardly seeming to care, Harriet flicked over the pages of her magazine, Dolly too murmuring permission as she mended the hem of her overall.

‘Oh, thanks!’ He projected a somewhat relieved gratitude at all of them.

‘I almost wish I could join you myself.’ Neither she nor her daughters would ever frequent such a venue, but, added Nora, ‘It’d be good to have a change of scenery sometimes.’

Niall was keen to oblige with the next best thing. ‘Well, if you can’t go there it’ll have to come to you. I’ll bring a couple of bottles home for you and the lasses – maybe some chips an’ all if you’re good,’ he added with a wry smile, as he went to towards the scullery, intending to tidy himself up.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

He swirled round at Harriet’s sardonic query.

‘Lent?’ she reminded him with a smirk. ‘Some of us are good little Catholics.’

Dolly emitted her goatish bleat of a laugh. ‘Don’t believe her, Nye! She reckons to have given up sweets, but she’s got a bag of mint humbugs tucked down the side of her chair. Don’t think I haven’t seen you cramming them in when you think nobody’s looking!’ She gave another mocking laugh at her sister’s outrage.

‘Mints don’t count as proper sweets,’ retorted Harriet, under her mother’s disapproving eye.

Niall feigned to wince, and said to Nora, ‘So, no beer and chips then – I’d better get out while the going’s good.’ And he shut the scullery door on them.

But Nora’s disapproval had only been pretence, and in his absence she exchanged warmer words with Harriet and Dolly. ‘He seems a lot chirpier does the lad, doesn’t he? Aye … I’m glad there’s something made him feel better, poor soul. ’Then she gave a heavy sigh and reverted to her faraway state of bereavement, her face haggard, and uttering wistfully, ‘I wish a glass of beer’d have the same magic properties for me.’

After a quick wash and shave, and a change of attire, Niall went upstairs and popped his head into the children’s bedrooms to bid them good night and also deliver a word of warning for them not to read too long in bed.

‘Dad, will you tell her to stop kicking me?’ begged Honor, from her cramped corner of the room that had been divided into two in order to separate boys from girls. ‘I keep reading the same sentence over and over.’ Lifting herself from the pillow, she tugged one of her plaits from beneath her head, with exasperation.

‘I’m not doing it on purpose!’ The small face protruding from the other end of the bed burst into angry tears. ‘There’s a lump under me bum.’

Niall laughed softly as he came to perch on their bed and to mop the tears. ‘I don’t think I want to know what it is.’

‘I mean the bed!’ Juggy sat up and gave a furious thump at the mattress.

‘You’re doing it again!’ Honor laid down her book in despair, and whilst her father tried to settle the younger child, she indicated the empty bed that was only eighteen inches away. ‘Couldn’t I just lie on that while I finish me chapter? I promise I’ll pull the covers straight and be off it before Aunty Doll and Aunty Harriet come up.’ Her aunts would be cross if they found their bed rumpled.

Since their mother had died, Niall had found it hard to deny them anything. ‘Go on then, but don’t fall asleep on it – and don’t let on it were me who gave you permission!’ Giving each girl a fond peck, he made for the other side of the partitioned room.

‘Right, untie your brother and get into bed now!’ His expression turned stern as he waited for Batty and Brian to remove the gag from Dominic’s mouth.

‘It’s all right, Dad,’ reassured his eldest boy with a grin, ‘I’m just letting them practise.’

‘For what – getting themselves a prison sentence?’ Impatient to be off, Niall seized Brian, who was seated astride Dominic’s torso, and put him in his rightful place in the bed, then helped free Dominic’s wrists from the bonds that Batty had tied. ‘That’s my belt! Now lie down, the lot of you, or I’ll be taking it to your backsides!’ But the boys saw him laugh to himself as he left.

‘’Night, Dad!’

‘Good night, sleep tight, mind the bugs don’t bite!’ called Niall cheerfully.

Downstairs, set to depart, he experienced a thrill of anticipation.

‘I hope your friend’s in this time,’ Nora called after him as he left.

‘Who?’ Niall stopped by the door, and wheeled quickly to frown.

‘Reilly, you clot!’

‘Oh!’ He had not even considered visiting his friend, but laughed swiftly now to cover his guilt, ‘Aye, well, if he is he is, and if he isn’t he isn’t. See you later.’

The night was still as dark and still as cold, yet not half so damp as it had been earlier in the week, and any chill he felt at being without his greatcoat was soon overcome by an eagerness of step. Neglecting Reilly, Niall went without delay to the public house he had visited last time, wondering whether she would be there to serve him.

She was. The saloon being almost devoid of other patrons, apart from one grizzled old toothless codger puffing on his pipe by the fire and a couple more playing darts, the golden-haired young woman approached him immediately with a smile of enquiry. Niall asked for a pint, then fell silent to await it being poured, snatching a glance at her whilst she concentrated on her task. Taking in as much about her as was possible without staring, he saw that her hair was shortish, though not, he noted with gladness, that severe kind of shingle that some women had adopted since the war, that looked as if it had been hacked at by garden shears; there was still enough of it to afford her femininity, and it certainly did the job for him, rippling in soft waves about her neck. In fact, despite the pink lipstick she didn’t seem one of those modern types at all, her face being in a way rather old-fashioned, which could have belonged to any period in history. No film-star glamour, just an overall impression of a really nice girl – well, he called her a girl but it was just a manner of speech; she was probably thirty or even more. But although he liked the look of her, and despite being the only customer at the bar, he made no attempt to engage her in conversation, for being a shy sort, Niall was hopeless at small talk. Segregated from females by his Catholic upbringing for the entirety of his schooldays, he had never really been able to relate to them since.

Wondering what she saw when she looked at him, he sought a glimpse of his own reflection, and was immediately dismayed at the wolfish face that stared back. There was a jaw that held too many teeth, and in consequence a few of them crossed over others – only slightly, but enough to annoy him. He had hoped to conceal them behind a close-lipped smile, yet this only made his mouth look bigger, for his lips were long and curled up at the outer edges, this prominent feature emphasised by the deep lines that ran from either side of his mouth to his sharp nose. His cheeks were tattooed with high colour by the elements. It was, in general, the raw-boned countenance of one who laboured hard to make an honest living, yet not, he decided, one to inspire female trust. The women in his street had known him since childhood, but strangers were another matter. And so, for fear of humiliation, Niall held his tongue.

Yet he was to experience a wave of pleasure when she herself instigated a dialogue, if only about the weather, saying in her soft Irish lilt, ‘How lovely it is to see the sun again, don’t ye think?’ She had been eating a cachou. Her breath smelled of violets, wafting all the way over the counter at him, raising foreign but deeply pleasurable emotions. ‘I could hardly believe it, winter just behind us and the yard like a sun trap – oh, it must have been seventy degrees! Sure, I only sat out for half an hour to take my break and came in like a tomato – well, half a tomato.’ She laughed and cocked her head, presenting one pink cheek for him to view.

Possessed of the kind of smile that came from nowhere, a chink of blue sky amongst grey cloud, Niall forgot any attempt at hiding his teeth and used them to full effect now. His eyes came bright with amusement, the skin around them crinkling, as he noted how very fair her skin was, and how easily it would burn. ‘Ooh dear, I bet you suffer in a real heat wave.’ It might not be eloquent, but Niall was rather pleased with himself for managing to uphold the discourse.

‘Aw, I certainly do! If I stay out too long I peel in strips – I look like the hanging gardens of Babylon.’

He laughed. ‘Wouldn’t suit you to work outside every day like I do, then.’

A fair, swan’s-wing eyebrow was arched, showing interest. ‘Oh, and what line of employment would you be in?’

‘I’m a platelayer on the railway.’ Niall leaned on the bar, thought better of it and stood erect again.

‘And what does that involve?’ she asked, her hand still on the pump and a careful eye on the beer that had almost reached the top of the glass.

‘Well, besides initially laying the track, I maintain it every day, walking along making sure it’s in good repair and that…’ It didn’t sound much of a job; he wished he had given a better explanation. ‘To make sure it’s safe.’

‘A very important position then.’ Handing over the beer, she took his money.

He gave a self-effacing shrug. ‘That’s not for me to say.’