Baker's Dozen Read online

  Ronnie sniffed and nodded miserably. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, clenching them hard, so his nails bit into his skin. The pain stopped him making a disgrace of himself.

  “Yes, sir, I’m Ronnie.”

  “How is your mother?”

  Mr Caine reached down underneath his counter and put a barley sugar drop down in front of the shivering boy.

  “She’s crying, Mister, and so are me sisters. The house's just like a wet weekend.” Ronnie gave the greengrocer a watery smile. He had a reputation to keep up around here. He wasn’t known as the class clown for nothing. He peeled off the cellophane and popped the barley sugar into his mouth. The sweetness helped.

  “Glad you’re not, son – not now you’re the man of the house.”

  Ronnie frowned. He hadn’t thought about that. Eileen was older than him and always bossed him about, but she was only a girl after all. His brothers were much younger - babies, just learning to read and write. He stood a bit taller and blinked rapidly.

  Mr Caine looked at the vases in his window. He didn’t keep a lot of cut flowers. You couldn’t round here. Only a few people had the money for such frivolities. Gladys wanted to get rid of them, so they had more space for the fruit and veg., but he liked flowers. His dad had sold them and so would he, no matter what Gladys said. They brightened the place up and customers often said how nice they smelled, when they came in for their spuds and cabbage. He often thought that was why he did so much better than Jones down the road. Now he was a mean man. Would always take a sprout off, if it tipped the scale over, never leave it on.

  “What type of flowers does your Mam want, Ronnie?”

  “She didn’t say. She told me she wanted as big a bunch as the money would buy.”

  Mr Caine glanced down. The pathetic heap of coins wouldn’t pay for more than a few of the cheapest flowers. They’d be lost on top of a coffin, especially since Jimmy Mac had been a tall man. He wondered for a moment where Kathleen had found enough money to bury him. Jimmy must have paid up the insurance somehow, or his mates on the docks had helped. They took care of their own down there and pitched in to help. Even so, Kathleen would barely have money for food in future, never mind flowers, with all those children on her hands. Jimmy Mac had been a good sort and he’d enjoyed listening to him singing, down at the pub on a Friday night. Mr Caine made a sudden decision.

  “How many of you are there at home now, Ronnie?”

  Ronnie counted on his fingers, his face screwed up in concentration. “Mam, Me, Eileen, Hughie, Brendan, Ellen and Anne, Willie, and the baby.”

  “Nine of you, that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A lot of mouths to feed.”

  “So me Mam says.”

  “What kind of flowers does your Mam like best, son?”

  Ronnie grinned. He knew the answer to that question. “She loves yellow roses. She says they’re sunshiney and she wore them the first time she ever met me Dad.” Ronnie pulled a face over such female soppiness and the greengrocer smiled.

  “Give me the money and come back at tea time. I’ll make up a nice bunch of flowers for you to take home. Tell your mother Mrs Caine and I are very sorry about your dad.”

  “Ta very much. Tar rah.” Ronnie bolted out of the shop. He shut the door with a thump, desperate to get away without crying. It had been touch and go for a while. The old man was right - he had to be grown up now, even if he was only twelve. Mam and the children needed him.

  Dusk was falling when Ronnie proudly carried the wreath of nine yellow roses home to his mother.

  “Oh, how lovely.” Kathleen smiled for the first time since Jimmy died.

  “Mr Caine said he'd put in a rose for each of us.”

  “What a kind man he is. Did you tell him how much I love yellow roses?”

  “He asked me what flowers you liked best and I told him,” Ronnie said proudly.

  “Did you thank him properly?”

  “’Course I did.”

  “Off you go, then.”

  Kathleen carried the wreath into the parlour where Jimmy lay in the open coffin. For once, no one was sitting with him and they were alone together. Gently she laid the flowers beside him and her sight blurred as she looked down. Not for the first time she imagined he was only sleeping. Any moment now he would open his eyes and smile at her. But he did not.

  In the stuffy room, the fresh scent of the roses seemed to intensify around her like a cloud. As she breathed in their perfume, she was suddenly twenty-one again.

  Her father came into the parlour and held out a small box to her.

  “For me? But you’ve already given me my present, Dadda.” Kathleen touched the new gold watch she wore on her left wrist.

  “The watch was from me, these are from your mother.” Jack Daley carefully pinned the yellow roses to the shoulder of her white lace evening frock. “She loved them almost as much as you do.”

  “I wish she could have been here with us today. I miss her so much.”

  “So do I, but time moves on and no one can hold it back.” Jack sighed. “I know you don’t like Cora even though she’s a kind woman and...”

  “Let’s not discuss this again, not on my birthday,” Kathleen said, rather more sharply than she had intended. Somehow, the magic of the day was tarnished by even mentioning the woman. And Dadda expected them all to live together! Jack’s face flushed and Kathleen backed off before he could shout at her. “Dadda, we don’t have time to talk about important things now. We’ll be late for the party and everyone is waiting for us.”

  For a moment it seemed as if he would not be distracted, then his frown vanished. Her argument had won. “You’re right; we’ll talk tomorrow. Come on, let’s go, but we don’t need to run. They can’t start without us.”

  Father and daughter walked down the street to the local pub. The happy mood seemed to be restored, although the peace between them was fragile and temporary. Kathleen slipped her hand through her father’s arm. Why did Cora have to come between them? If only life could be as it used to be, but time did move on. She must forget about the future for this evening and enjoy herself. After all, she would never be twenty-one again.

  Jimmy resisted the impulse to slam the door and shut it carefully behind him. The sound of his wife’s voice and the baby’s screams came clearly through the flimsy wood. The old biddy downstairs would be up complaining again. He shrugged. Lizzie could deal with her. That was only fair. She was the one who made most of the noise, because he’d learned early on not to answer back. How had he ever got himself into such a mess?

  He was still on the stairs when the strip of light under Mrs O’Bannion’s door started to widen. With a turn of speed he hadn’t used since school, Jimmy flew out of the house and down the street before she could catch him. He’d never get away from her and he was late already. He sprinted off towards the pub.

  He was gasping for air and had to slow down before he got there. He leaned against the wall, with his chest heaving. When his breathing eased, he glanced up at the golden harvest moon, sailing in the darkened sky. For a moment Jimmy's heart contracted. All his childhood, he'd watched that moon, gliding across the waters of the bay and gilding the hills with its splendour. He'd been free then, far away from the squalor of these city streets, with their noise and dirt and too many people. He'd even had his dreams. None of them would come true now. He was a prisoner here with no chance of escape. His childhood fantasy had been to sail away, over the seas, to strange new lands. In those days he’d never thought of sissy things like happiness and love, only about derring-do and high adventure. Now he worked on the docks and sang for a few extra pennies, which immediately vanished into Lizzie’s grasping hand. How he wished that he had never met her. She was older than him and good-looking. He’d been flattered she’d chosen him and he’d been stupid. His mother had warned him, but he hadn’t listened to her. When Lizzie told him about the baby he’d never questioned that it was his – then. Unfortunately, the
poor little scrap looked so much like Billy Jacobs he couldn’t help be suspicious now. He shook himself. He had to get on; he had a job to do this evening.

  The back room of the hotel was hot and crowded. There was barely space for Kathleen to squeeze between the tables. Some of the guests had already started drinking and the noise of the talking and laughing was deafening. Kathleen's cheeks started to glow with the heat and the compliments people paid her. All their neighbours were present and her old friends from school, at least those who had someone to take care of their children.

  “Congrats on the baby, Susie,” she murmured as she passed the new mother.

  “He’s a good little boy, better than Sally - doesn’t squeal all day long.” Susie seemed happy and not as tired as when Kathleen had seen her last.

  “Why don’t you find a nice lad and have a baby of your own?” asked Sue’s husband, Harold, with a grin. Kathleen laughed, but the question stung a little as she walked away. Out of all the girls in her class, only Kitty Garrity and herself were still unmarried.

  She was glad to move on to the table where the other typists from Digby’s were sitting. That old dragon, Mr Barnes looked comical in his best black suit and tall wing collar. He seemed to be strangling in the starched folds. The collar was the sort of thing an undertaker would put on for a funeral not a man going to a twenty-first party. Kathleen couldn’t help giggling to herself when he looked away. She took a long time to reach her father's table at the top of the room. She didn’t notice Cora until she was almost on top of her.

  “Many happy returns of the day,” Cora rose from behind a sad-looking potted palm. She held out her arms, as if she expected to be kissed. Kathleen started to draw away, until she caught sight of her father’s face. There was a distinct appeal in his eyes. He didn’t want her to make a scene. With a pang, she realised this was planned, to show everyone that they were a happy family. Kathleen thought of turning her back and walking away, but her father didn’t deserve such a public slight. She let herself be embraced, wrinkling her nose at the woman’s smell – a combination of cheap scent and warm body odour. She brushed the rouged cheek with her lips and quickly drew away. She had done enough and her father looked relieved. Cora patted the seat beside her and Kathleen dropped into it, unable to think of an excuse to leave.

  Her father rose from his place and thumped the table until all the noise died away.

  “Thank you for coming here tonight. The food will be arriving shortly, but we've got some first class entertainment for you now. Ladies and Gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Jimmy McNeil.” Jack Daley sat down, everyone clapped and there was a bustle at the back of the room.

  Mrs Jackson, who played the organ in church, came forward and took her seat at the upright piano. A tall young man pushed his way through the crowd to stand beside her. Mrs Jackson spread her music out and had a few mumbled words with the singer. She struck the first note and the room went silent. Jimmy McNeill gave a little bow.

  “This is a special request for Kathleen, our birthday girl, tonight.” He straightened up, took a deep breath, and began to sing in a soaring tenor voice:

  “I'll take you home again, Kathleen,

  Across the ocean wild and wide,

  To where your heart has ever been,

  Since you were first my bonnie bride...”

  Hot tears started into Kathleen’s eyes. Her mother used to sing this song to her every night, before she went to sleep. The words seemed to bring Mamma back into the room, but the way they were being sung was different. They seemed like a caress. She stared at him.

  Jimmy stood there proudly, sure of himself as he sang. He was good-looking in a quiet sort of way. He had dark hair and eyes ‘that had been put in with a sooty finger’, as people said. He wore an ill-fitting jacket, which had obviously been made for someone bigger, but his other clothes were neat. He had put on a clean collar and tie for the occasion. Kathleen wondered if she had seen him before. Probably, but she might easily have passed him in the street without a second glance. She certainly hadn’t noticed him in the crowded room before he was introduced. Now, as he sang, he seemed to be transformed.

  Their eyes met and Kathleen nerves tingled as if she had stepped into cold water. She shivered. For an instant his voice hesitated and then continued as if nothing had happened, yet Kathleen knew it had. The singer worked the room with his eyes, but every so often he deliberately turned to her and smiled. She never remembered afterwards what he sang, although she joined in “Begin the Beguine,” with everyone else.

  The doors opened. Mrs Jackson stopped playing. Jimmy bowed and waved to the audience. He finished his drink and put his glass down on top of the piano. Everyone went into the adjoining room for the buffet. Kathleen followed her guests, but she kept looking around her for the singer. Food was the last thing on her mind. She did not think she could eat a mouthful. A strange sense of excitement had come over her and she was shaking inside.

  Someone gave her a glass of shandy and she clutched it to her as she moved through the crowd. As the line thinned out, she still hadn’t found him. Perhaps he had gone home already. Surely not? She went over to Mrs Jackson and asked her.

  “Oh, no, dear, of course not. There’s a second half to come after we’ve had our tea. He’s good isn’t he?”

  “He could go on the music halls with a voice like that.”

  “He’s got a wife and young baby, so I suppose the money isn’t regular enough for him.”

  Kathleen gasped as if she had been kicked. Whatever had she been thinking of? He was married already. Yet she had felt that impact when he looked at her and she knew that he had felt it too. Suddenly the people and the smoke and the atmosphere choked her. She needed to go and get some fresh air. The bowling green would do. It would be cool outside and she could compose herself away from people’s eyes. She manoeuvred her way around the tables. As she passed, she overheard snippets of conversation about the singer.

  “... only a lad...”

  “She says they fight like cat and dog. She hears the noise through the ceiling.”

  “... not been married long...”

  “Had to get married though...”

  “Good voice...”

  “Not from round here...”

  Afterwards, Kathleen wondered what would have happened, if she had not gone out onto the bowling green that night. Perhaps she’d have settled for someone else, lived her life around here and had children just like everyone else. She wouldn’t have known what she was missing. But she did go and her life was never the same again.

  Jimmy stood alone at the far end of the terrace, a darker shape in the shadows. Only the red glow of his cigarette marked his position. She had not expected to have the opportunity to speak to him alone and she hesitated. Then some force, outside her consciousness, drove her forward and slowly she walked towards him. The moon slipped from behind the clouds and she could see him clearly.

  Afterwards, Jimmy said that she appeared to him like a faerie figure, all clothed in silver moonlight. That was the instant, he told her, when she crept into his heart and never went away.

  “Hello.” He smiled at her.

  “Hello.” She felt gawky and tongue-tied, like a little girl again. “Thank you for singing for me tonight...” Even to her own ears, her words sounded trite.

  “My pleasure. Happy birthday to you and many more of them.” There was an emotion behind the conventional phrase she had never heard before. “Are there any other songs you would like me to sing when we go back in?”

  “You’ve already sung my favourite, “Kathleen”. That was my lullaby and it reminds me of my mother.”

  “What sort of songs do you like?”

  “I like all kinds of music. Do you have a favourite you like to sing?"

  “I do, but you won’t know it.”

  “Why not?”

  “It comes from the island where I was born. Everyone sings it there but I’ve never known anyone but me sing it over
here.”

  “Will you sing it for me, please?”

  Softly he began,

  “When the summer day is over,

  And its busy cares are flown,

  I sit beneath the starlight,

  With a weary heart alone...”

  “How lovely. You’re right - I’ve never heard it before.”

  “When I sing the words, I can see the green hills and the waves breaking over the rocks down in the bay.”

  Silence fell for a moment. Kathleen could hear the longing in his voice and at last she said softly, “You miss your home, don’t you?”

  “Very much.”

  “Do you ever think of going back?”

  “All the time. I dream about it sometimes, even though it's silly. Would you like me to tell you what I dream?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Someday I’ll meet a girl like you. I’ll ask her to come home with me and she’ll say ‘yes’. We’ll sail away in the moonlight on the midnight boat and live happily ever after.”

  “Lucky girl,” Kathleen murmured.

  Jimmy grinned. Afterwards, he wondered what made him say the words but he did. “If I asked you, would you make my dream come true?”

  “Why don’t you ask me and find out?”

  Jimmy stepped back and looked at her. Kathleen wondered what he saw, for the moon had vanished and they were now in shadow. He took a deep breath, as if he were gathering up his courage, and then he said clearly, “Kathleen Daley, will you come home with me and make all my dreams come true?”

  Kathleen’s heart raced and she could hardly say the words. Ever afterwards she wondered how she had the courage, but in that moment she knew no fear or doubt.

  “Yes, I will,” she said firmly.

  “You will?” Jimmy felt as if he had been turned into stone. His hands trembled as he laid them on her shoulders for the first time. “You mean it?” He started to stammer. “I can’t offer you marriage, you know. I’m married already and she’ll never divorce me.”

  For a moment Kathleen thought of what everyone would say about her, if she ran away with a married man. They would condemn her for breaking up his marriage. All the tongues would wag and she’d never be able to face any of them again. They’d be outcasts, but they would be together. That was enough. She did not care about anyone else. Her father and her sister had their new lives. Her mother might have stopped her, but Mamma had always wanted her to be happy.