Rose of Tralee (40 page)

Then in the afternoon they had played games and forfeits had been the silly, loving sort – to kiss someone beneath the mistletoe, to sit on a lap, to
dance the tango whilst gripping, beneath one’s chin, a large Jaffa orange. And at tea-time their own party – Lily and the two girls, Colm and Tommy – had been augmented by a variety of guests, for Lily had insisted that anyone in the Vale who would otherwise be alone should come to their house for a Christmas supper of cold meats, potatoes cooked in their jackets and a winter salad, followed by hot Christmas pudding and cream.

After supper the guests had departed and Colm and Rose had donned their coats and gone out into the frosty air. Despite their hopes it had not been a white Christmas, but above their heads the stars had appeared enormous in the black sky and a slender crescent moon had looked as though it were caught in the branches of the big old tree at the end of the road when they stared up.

The streets were deserted, though the lamps shone gamely, casting a primrose glow on the frost-rimed hedges, and the two had walked along, not talking, their arms round each other, breathing in the peace and beauty of the night. They had peered, as they walked, into the lighted windows, admiring Christmas trees, decorations and the girls in their prettiest dresses, the young men in best suits, for St Domingo Vale was a good area and most of their neighbours were in work and earning decent money.

But they hadn’t stayed in their own neighbourhood; they had gone further afield, walking along Heyworth Street and seeing the little shops, which were always open, closed and the pavements, which were always crowded, clear of people.

‘We’ll go down to the docks, see what ships are in port,’ Colm had said. ‘I like to t’ink about the ferries goin’ across to me home, so I do. I bet there’s a party
in the sailors’ home an’ all ... they’re probably drunk as lords be now so we won’t go too close, but we’ll take a good look.’

But before they reached the docks they had to pass an area where the very poor lived, where the kids, even on a night like this, were out on the doorsteps, where from within doors they could hear the angry shouts of a father whose sleep had been disturbed or whose drinking had been deep, where the only fire had gone out hours since and where the women of the house came to the door to shout for their kids, hair unkempt, clothing ragged, quicker with a clout than a kiss even today.

Colm had put his arm protectively around Rose and tried to hurry her along, but Rose lingered. There were decent people here too, with neatly whitened doorsteps and tidy curtains, with clean, if shabby, children and a fire burning in the grate. And then they had seen, curled up in a darkened doorway, two children of no more than six or seven. They looked up listlessly as the two reached them and the elder, a skinny girl with lank hair and skin blotched with some sort of acne, held out a cupped hand in the gesture familiar the whole world over, the universal silent language of the beggar.

The two had stopped, appalled. On such a day, to see children like that! Colm had dug into his pocket and produced a handful of cash which he tipped into the small and filthy palm, speaking as he did so. ‘Where’s your mam an’ dad, kids? Sure an’ ’tis Christmas Day, you should be at home an’ warmin’ yourselves beside a good fire, not crouched on the step there. D’you live inside?’

The child took the money eagerly, cramming it into the ragged, cut-down man’s jacket which she wore,
but it was the small boy who answered. He looked healthier than his sister, if she was his sister, and had a pair of bright, intelligent eyes. ‘No, we doesn’t live ’ere,’ he said, jerking a thumb at the door behind him. ‘Me nanna used to live ’ere, but they took ’er away. We lives off of Netherfield Road, but Dad an’ Mam are both in tearin’ tempers, so we comes up ’ere, to be safer. Only ... only we’re awful ‘ungry, me an’ Suzie.’

‘You’ve got some money now, chucks, so perhaps you can knock someone up,’ Rose said. She dipped into her pocket and handed the small boy her own loose change. ‘Here, take this.’

‘Aye, an’ Miz Cobbett on the corner will open if you knock,’ Suzie put in. She stood up, then heaved the small boy to his feet. ‘T’anks, both. We’ll be fine an’ dandy now, me an’ Sammy.’

‘An’ if we takes some food ‘ome, likely Mam’ll keep Dad away from us,’ Sammy said hopefully. ‘Mam ‘ardly ever wallops us, but Dad ...’ He shivered. ‘Dad can’t ’alf swing ‘is bleedin’ belt.’

Rose and Colm watched until the small couple disappeared from sight, then Colm turned Rose towards him and gave her a hard hug. ‘Scary, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘That’s what can happen, alanna, if you marries too young an’ the kids keep comin’. Dear God, I’d not want to see any kid o’mine crouchin’ on a doorstep on Christmas night, keepin’ out of me way.’

‘You never would be like that, any more’n your own father is,’ Rose said. ‘My dad – I wish you’d knowed him, Colm – never lifted a finger to me though we didn’t have much money an’ I think Mam and he was quite young when they wed. But I agree wi’ you. They say it’s better to marry than to burn, but ... well, I’d sooner burn a bit, like, than end up livin’ in a place like this, wi’ poor kids what I couldn’t
afford to feed, let alone dress decent.’

‘It’s a lesson, so it is,’ Colm said as they turned by mutual consent and began to walk towards St Domingo Vale once more. ‘We’ll not marry till we’ve saved up a dacint sum, like, an’ can afford a house wit’ a nice bit o’ garden, an’ furniture, an’. . .’

‘I don’t know why we’re talking like this,’ Rose said presently, as they turned into Heyworth Street once more. ‘I’m not thinkin’ o’ marryin’ for a good few years yet – I’ve not met the right feller, I dare say. An’ you’ve not met the right girl, eh, Colm?’

‘I have so, and so have you,’ Colm said, pulling her to a halt. ‘I’d marry you tomorrow, Rosie Ryder, if I had the money. Don’t say I’ve never axed you!’

‘No, you haven’t,’ Rose said, dimpling up at him. ‘We’ve only been goin’ around together for a few weeks. Let’s have some fun first, Colm!’

‘Bein’ wit’ you is fun,’ Colm said, squeezing her small waist. ‘Shall us marry one day, though, Rosie? When we’re older?’

‘I’m not ruinin’ me chances of marryin’ a millionaire by tyin’ meself to you, Colm O’Neill,’ Rose said, laughing. ‘But you never know, mebbe one day...’

So they had walked home, teasing one another, but with a vein of seriousness running beneath it all, And when they had reached the Vale, Colm had put his arms round her and given her a loving hug and a number of kisses, and had then stood back and regarded her, smiling. ‘What say we start savin’ up right away?’ he said eagerly. ‘An’ you should come over to Ireland, so you should, to meet the mammy, an’ Caitlin. Will you come, girleen? In the summer?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rose said, confused. ‘Isn’t that sort o’ ... sort o’ serious?’

And then Colm had given a kind of crow, and lifted her right up and twirled round and stood her down on the pavement again. ‘Yes, it is alanna,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I’m serious about you.’

Rose stood there in the starlight, with a little breeze just stirring her hair, and looked up at him and thought that there was no one in the world that she would rather trust with her future than Colm. So she stood on tiptoe and kissed him with deceptive lightness, then nodded her head vigorously. ‘All right then; I’ll be serious about you too,’ she had said.

And now, with their arms about each other, they were saying good night and reliving their beautiful day.

‘Go on then; what was the nicest part of the day?’ Rose asked. ‘Was it dinner? Or playin’ forfeits wi’ half the neighbourhood? Or Chinese whispers? Or . . . ?’

‘It was you agreein’ to be serious about me – and to comin’ back to Ireland wit’ me, next summer,’ he said. ‘Oh, Rose!’

‘Oh, Colm!’

‘Oh, gracious, you two, if you don’t gerroff up to your beds you’ll turn into pillars of salt, like that woman in the Bible!’

Lily had come quietly up behind them and her daughter and Colm sprang apart, guilt no doubt written all over our faces, Rose thought, turning towards the attic stairs. ‘Sorry, Mam, we were just sayin’ good-night and talkin’ about what a great day it’s been,’ she said jerkily. ‘Has Mona come in yet?’

‘Just five minutes ago,’ Lily assured her. ‘An’ Tommy come in wi’ her, what’s more, so mebbe this house’ll settle down to sleep within the next hour or so.’

‘Well I’m goin’ up right now, an’ since Mona’s in
Mr O’Neill’s room she’ll be able to lie in tomorrow or make a din, or keep the light on without wakin’ me,’ Rose said, walking up the attic stairs and talking over her shoulder. ‘Oh . . . ’night, Colm. ‘Night, Mam. See you in the morning.’

Mona, getting washed in the bathroom right next door to Mr O’Neill’s room, then drinking her cocoa and cuddling down, wondered what her cousin would have said had she known with whom Mona had been considering sharing a flat. For, once Garnett had got her on her own in the little private room, he had sat beside her on the small, comfortable couch, put his arm round her . . . and suggested that it might be a good idea if he rented a flat for her use – one in which he might visit her whenever the opportunity arose.

Mona had been extremely shocked, to tell the truth. The sort of young men she knew simply didn’t make proposals like that. They either wanted to make love to you – which was only human, she felt – or they wanted to marry you. They did not, in her opinion, try to get the best of both worlds by renting you a little love-nest in which they would have, naturally, all the advantages of marriage without any sort of legal tie.

So she had told Garnett severely that he would do no such thing. ‘You want to have your cake an’ eat it, that’s what rentin’ a flat would be,’ she said, rather obscurely. ‘If you want the goods, you should marry ’em, Garnett. I never heard of such goings-on! And anyway, there wouldn’t be much point in it for you, either. Why, you’d be payin’ out for a flat you weren’t livin’ in, but you’d go on bein’ bossed about by your mam an’ your dad, just as if you were still a single chap.’

‘Well, I would be a single chap,’ Garnett said reasonably, having thought this over.’ And though I’d have the rent of the flat to find, you’d still be working, wouldn’t you?’

‘I’d still be workin’ if we was to wed,’ Mona had said equably, reasonably she thought. ‘Unless I fell for a kid, o’course. An’ that’s just as likely unwed as wed, they tell me.’

‘Well . . . but I don’t think my parents would approve of me marrying so soon,’ Garnett said after a few minutes, having examined the problem in his own mind, Mona supposed. ‘Nor they wouldn’t want me marrying a – I mean they wouldn’t want me marrying someone whose parents they didn’t know.’

‘I’ve gorra mam ... an’ a dad too, very like,’ Mona said, indignation causing her to forget her posh accent totally for a moment. ‘If you want me to dig ’em up an’ bring ’em round to your house, I dare say it ain’t impossible.’

‘Dig ’em up? They aren’t
dead
, are they?’ said Garnett, sounding shocked. ‘Only if they are ...’

‘Course they aren’t,’ Mona snapped. ‘I should ha’ said find ‘em up ... look for ’em, I meant. Me mam’s in the Pool somewhere, that I do know, but me dad ran off years back. Still, if that’s what you want ...’

‘It isn’t,’ Garnett said, so hurriedly that he cut her proposed sentence off short. ‘You don’t understand. My parents aren’t sn ... I ... I mean they’re very nice people really, but they seem to have got the idea that I’ll marry the daughter of one of Mother’s friends. I won’t, of course . . . but on the other hand, I can’t afford for them to cut me off without a shilling, just as I’m beginning to make my way in the world.’

‘Oh, yeah? An’ I suppose you’re goin’ to tell me they’d be delighted to find you payin’ rent for a flat
wi’ me in it,’ Mona said shrewdly. ‘I think if you put it to ’em ...’

‘No, no,’ Garnett said, sounding harassed. Clearly, he had not expected such spirited opposition to his plans. ‘The whole point of a flat, my dear Mona, is so that we can . . . we can enjoy a ... a friendship, without . . . without interference from either my parents or ... or your own.’

‘Well, my parents wouldn’t interfere with a wedding, but I’m not too sure about this flat,’ Mona said. ‘Tell you what ... I’ll ask me Aunt Lily when I get the chance, see what she thinks. Perhaps I’m wrong, an’ it would be perfectly awright.’

‘Your aunt?’ Garnett said, his voice rising to a squeak. He cleared his throat. ‘You . . . you don’t mean Miss Ryder’s mother? The aunt you live with? I really don’t think it would be sensible to ask her. Remember, we’ve been quite careful to keep our . . . our friendship from both our families.’

‘Yes, but that was before you suggested this flat,’ Mona said in an injured tone. ‘You can’t expect me to move out from me aunt’s place an’ not tell her where I’m going – or who with! Besides, I telled you, she’s been like a mother to me and before takin’ any big decision I should surely consult her.’

‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t mention the matter to Mrs Ryder,’ Garnett said with some force, removing his arm from around her shoulders and turning so that he could look into her face. ‘I have to work with Miss Ryder – suppose she were to let something drop before one of my brothers? Or my father? I tell you what, Mona, we’d best forget the flat, if that’s the way you feel. I dare say it isn’t quite ... I mean I wouldn’t want ... that’s to say ...’

He lost himself in the morass of half-sentences until
Mona, taking pity on him, said: ‘I’m sure you had your reasons, and it was kind of you in some ways, but perhaps you’re right and we’ll not mention the flat again.’

The rest of the evening had passed pleasantly, at least for her, though it did occur to Mona that Garnett’s mind was not entirely easy. He kept giving her anxious looks and sometimes answered a remark quite at random. What was more, he took her straight home when she told him she was tired, and was rather vague as to when they might meet again. ‘With Christmas so close, you’ll want to be with your own people,’ he had said as he helped her punctiliously out of the car. ‘Have a good time ... I’ll see you after the holiday, no doubt.’

Mona had waved demurely and gone round to the back of the house, giggling to herself. The cheeky sod, she thought, wanting all the fun of marrying without the expense of a wife. Still, he made up me mind for me, so to speak. When I thought of bein’ wi’ Garnett and puttin’ up wi’ those great legs an’ arms all over me, like a bleedin’ daddy-long-legs, it was a lot easier to say ‘no’ to his little plans. He had no intention of marrying her. No, indeed! He was destined to marry ‘Mother’s friend’s daughter’, no matter how he might wrap it up, but intended to have some fun on the side first. And then, Mona thought, clicking her tongue at such innocence, he thought he could dump me and pick me up whenever he wanted to, because I’d be dependent on him for me weekly rent.