‘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.’
‘Ah well, you look very fit on it. ’Tis a lovely complexion ye have.’
It was not in the least artful, but Niall felt a blush spread over his cheeks, and he took a quick sip of beer. Despite having managed to shake off the acute shyness of his youth, outside the family home he remained self-consciousness and he did not appreciate being stared at so directly. When confronted thus, in the manner of a dog his eyes would flick away as if to divert the watcher’s gaze. This time, however, it failed to have the required effect, and he was compelled to blurt: ‘I thought it’d be busier than this, being payday!’
Seeing not the miserable countenance that Niall conjured of himself, but the face that his friends and neighbour saw, one that was quiet and strong and approachable, she removed her eyes from it to steal a quick glance at the mahogany clock on the wall. ‘Oh, don’t worry, they’re just biding their time for a good night. We’ll be rushed off our feet in half an hour.’ She took his money to the till, saying on her way, ‘I haven’t seen you in here before. Just passing through, are ye?’
Disappointed, though unsurprised, that his previous visit had made no impact on her, Niall chuckled softly. ‘No, I’ve lived round here all me life.’
‘A bit longer than me then. This is only my fourth week of working here.’ She beamed as she gave him his change.
This would be the time for him to move away from the bar and find a table. He could have taken his pick tonight, but chose to remain where he was for the moment, wanting to continue the dialogue but not sure how. He took another sip of beer, hoping she would help him. Instead she began to potter about the bar, refilling shelves with bottles. It was perforce left to him.
He licked the foam from his long upper lip and cleared his throat nervously as she came past, and said, ‘You’re from Ireland then?’
‘How very perspicacious of you.’ A smile removed the barb from what might be misinterpreted as snide.
However, this comment instantly demoted her in Niall’s