‘Albert’!
Cecilia opened the door and her husband came inside. He was carrying his holdall and a plump, white chicken, still warm, which he put down carefully on the floor. He was the first to break the few moments’ silence.
‘Well now, isn’t my lovely wife after going to give her man a hug, then?’ He put his arms around her but she averted her face so that their lips didn’t meet. ‘Sure, and you’re pleased to see me, aren’t you, Cissy?’
Albert Martin was a stocky, well-built, muscular man, his hugs like those of a bear, and however angry Cecilia often felt about her husband and his erratic lifestyle, there was still a place in her heart for him. He was the children’s father, after all, the man she’d fallen for the moment she’d drawn a pint of Guinness for him at the bar where they’d first seen each other. Those wicked Irish eyes, that irrepressible laugh, his conjuring tricks, his deftness with a pack of cards … and his harmonica that he played with expert ease to anyone who would listen. All the favourites, the sing-along tunes that automatically drew people around him in the bars or pubs, wherever he went. He had certainly drawn Cecilia to him more than sixteen years ago, and he hadn’t had to ask her twice to be his wife … She had instinctively known that he was a kind man who would never treat her brutally, and he never had. He’d never laid a finger on either her or the children.
But neither had he provided for them, not really … because Albert liked freedom, an unrestricted way of life, and it didn’t seem to bother him that he was hardly the perfect husband. After a very short time into their marriage, he’d taken off, jaunty as you like, and Cecilia hadn’t seen him again for eighteen months. Then, after Lexi was born, he’d gone back to his family in Ireland and hadn’t returned for five whole years. which had made Cecilia believe that he’d deserted her for good. But eventually he did turn up, and in the next few years Phoebe and Joe were born and life returned to its rackety, unpredictable normal.
When he did come home he would always bring gifts for the children and money for her – money which Cecilia always hid away safely in case she ever got really short. And it seldom bothered her that she would always be the main bread winner because she was used to it by now, used to fending for herself. She had accepted her lot, and was as happy in her role as Albert was in his. Theirs was a strange alliance, she sometimes thought, but it worked well enough – if she let it.
Albert’s “business” was a variable affair consisting of buying anything he could find at low cost and then selling on at a profit. He had a shrewd eye for a bargain and would spot things in markets or wayside stalls, buy in sufficient quantity to encourage a quick sale, then cycle to the outskirts and convince prospective buyers that he was giving them the chance of a lifetime. And when business stalled for a bit, he would find work on any farm that needed an extra hand, or in any pub that could do with a skilled puller of pints. As long as he was never anywhere for long, Albert Martin was happy. And whether it was his willingness to put his back into anything asked of him, or whether it was the luck of the Irish, he was seldom short of food or shelter – for which he was rarely expected to pay. It did mean he’d sometimes shared a straw bed with a farm animal or two, and it always surprised Cecilia that whenever he came home her husband was seldom dirty or bedraggled despite his wayward existence. Tonight, he was wearing a pair of baggy, workman’s trousers and one of the warm, cotton twill shirts Cecilia had made him, loose at the neck. The large, hessian holdall he was never without was on the floor at his feet.
Now, reluctantly, he let go of her, and Cecilia instinctively drew her dressing gown around her, tying it tightly around her waist. ‘How did you find us, Albert?’ she enquired casually. ‘Of course, I had no way of letting you know that we had changed addresses since you were last home.’
He grinned down at her. ‘Yes – it was a bit of a shock to find that our cottages had all gone but I soon found out what had been going on and they told me at the pub where I’d find you.’ He gazed around him. ‘Sure, an’ this is a very posh room, Cissy … this is what they call a “parlour”, isn’t it?’
Cecilia half-smiled. ‘Yes, I suppose it is, Albert,’ she said. ‘And our kitchen is bigger, too. I’ll show you around our property in a minute. But I expect you’d like something to eat?’
‘No thanks, Cissy. I stopped on my way for bread and cheese and a pint. But I’d love a cup of tea if you’ve got one.’ He glanced down. ‘I was given this bird at my last farm … thought it would do for our dinner tomorrow.’
Albert picked up the chicken and holdall, and together they went through the kitchen and into the scullery, where Cecilia filled the kettle and put it on the gas stove. She turned to look up at him.
‘See what luxuries we have now, Albert? And we have a bath, and our own lavatory – and the fireplace in the kitchen is just for sitting around, now. Mr McCann is keeping us all up to date … so long as we can pay the extra.’
Albert whistled through his teeth as he glanced around, clearly impressed, and presently they went back into the kitchen with their tray of tea, where they sat opposite each other as if he’d never gone away.
‘So, Albert, has business been good for you these last months?’ Cecilia said.
‘Not bad, Cissy, not bad. Good days, bad days. You know how it is.’
As she gazed across at him, Cecilia was fairly certain that he must often be unfaithful to her. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. He was an attractive man, and plenty of women would flirt with him and wouldn’t he want to respond in the natural, masculine way? Men could do what they liked and get away with it, they could have their fun and just walk away. No fearful repercussions for them.
Cecilia shut her mind against those thoughts. There was no point going into matters like that. They were better left alone.
‘You didn’t come home at Christmas, Albert,’ Cecilia said. ‘The children were very disappointed.’
He sighed heavily. ‘No, sorry about that, Cissy. But there was family trouble over there at the time … one of my brothers got himself into a bit of a mess with the law, to I stayed to help sort things out.’
Cecilia didn’t bother to reply to that. Loyalty to all those brothers and sisters over there, his family – but what about this family? His children?
He bent down to pick up the holdall. ‘I’ve brought some little gifts for my bairns,’ he said, ‘and something for my beautiful wife.’ Reaching right into the bag he drew out a small parcel, wrapped in pretty paper. He winked across at Cecilia. ‘This is for my favourite wife.’
Slowly, Cecilia took it from him and opened it. And when she saw what was inside she caught her breath for a second. It was a dainty shawl in black lace, scalloped all around the edge and heavily embossed with jewelled colours of red and green and purple and slashes of sun yellow, and it glistened and shone in the light as she carefully draped it around her shoulders. Not that she ever went anywhere where she could show it off, Cecilia thought briefly, but that didn’t matter. She’d never owned anything as lovely as this and it felt so light and luxurious.
‘There now,’ Albert said softly, ‘and didn’t I know that it was just the thing for my Cissy?’ He got up and put his arms around her. ‘Cissy, my anamchara, my soul mate, my sweetheart.’ Then he placed his lips tenderly on hers.
How did he manage to worm his way back into her good books each time? This absent soul mate, this far-away sweetheart? But he did, and she smiled up at him.
‘Thank you, Albert, for the shawl,’ she said, glad that she had something to give him, too. It was a waistcoat – the same pattern as she’d once made for Mr McCann, in yellow and brown check which would go nicely