A Mother's Duty (12 page)

‘Keep your voice down,’ hissed Kitty. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen.’

Ben tugged on her hand. ‘Little John’ll sort him out.’

She looked down at him. ‘He’s not here, love. He’s gone to Scotland.’

‘He might be back by now.’

Kitty shook her head, not in the mood to explain just how far Scotland was if you were walking. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea. Then we’ll really have to get cracking or the guests won’t get fed tonight.’

Ben followed her, not wanting to let her out of his sight. It would be terrible if that man came back and he broke their windows and hurt Ma. As he drank his tea he kept looking at Kitty and the scratch on her face, thinking of the big Scottie and whether there was a way of getting in touch with him. He drained his mug and went upstairs to the attic bedroom he shared with his brothers. It was cold in the room but he was hardly aware of it as he wriggled under the large double bed and brought out a shoebox with holes punched in its lid. Inside, nestling in the straw, was a white mouse which he had managed to smuggle out of the pet shop. He placed some breadcrumbs on the linoleum and lifted out the mouse which he had called Twitchy. The tiny creature began snuffling crumbs and as Ben watched he was thinking of Celia. He stroked Twitchy a moment before placing him back in the box and under the bed. Then he hurried downstairs.

Mick was walking up the Mount as Ben was coming down it. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Mick, pouncing on him.

‘To the pet shop!’ He seized his brother’s coat. ‘Come with us, Mick. We’ve got to help Ma and we’ve gorra do it now in case he comes back!’

Mick was already fed up because footie practise had been cancelled at the last minute, so he was in no mood for any of his brother’s shenanigans. ‘What are you talking about? Who’s “he”?’ he said irritably.

‘A baddie man!’ Ben hung on to his sleeve. ‘He hurt Ma and took her money.’

Mick stared at him. ‘You’re kidding!’

‘No, I’m not,’ said his brother indignantly. ‘Cross me heart and hope to die! He pinched money from Ma and said he’ll be back for more.’

Mick could barely credit it. ‘If that’s the truth then why hasn’t she sent for the police?’

‘She’s worried about the guests and our reputation.’ Ben’s quick tongue stumbled over the words. ‘So I’m going for Little John.’

Mick’s shoulders sagged and his satchel and footie bag slid down his arm onto the ground. ‘I don’t believe this! You know he’s gone to Scotland. Besides what d’you think he can do?’

‘Frighken him off.’

‘Frighten,’ corrected Mick.

‘He’s frighkened him before. Remember Celia telling us about the man who was going to slash the puppies’ throats?’

Mick screwed up his face. ‘Somebody called Charley wasn’t it? Myrtle Whatsit’s bully boy.’

Ben nodded. ‘He’s got it in for Little John and’s been following him around. He mustn’t know he’s gone to Scotland. I thought Celia might know where he is. We’ve got to try and find him, Mick!’ Ben’s bottom lip wobbled. ‘I’m really frighkened. Frighkened Charley’ll hurt Ma and break our windows!’

‘OK! OK!’ said Mick crossly. He was fed up and hungry but Ben’s apprehension had got to him and he could see his brother was pinning all his hopes on him at least trying to get in touch with the Scottie. ‘I’ll go to the pet shop but you’re not coming. You go back home and sneak my stuff upstairs. You don’t have to tell Ma you’ve seen me. She’s not expecting me home yet but if you go missing she’ll worry herself sick.’

‘OK.’ Ben was happy to do as his brother said.

Mick draped his satchel over one of Ben’s shoulders and his bag over the other, ruffled his brother’s hair, and then with cold hands in his pockets hurried in the direction of St John’s Gardens.

When he reached the pet shop he was reluctant at first to bring up the reason for his being there, so he looked at the puppies. He would have much rather dealt with the matter himself than get in touch with the big Scottie and wished himself older and stronger.

‘Are you going to buy one?’ called over Celia after Mick had been there for five minutes.

‘No.’ He sighed and went over to her. ‘I need to get in touch with the big Scottie.’

‘What d’you want him for?’ Celia rested her arms on the counter and smiled at him from lively grey eyes.

Mick felt like telling her not to be so nosy. ‘He left something at our hotel in Mount Pleasant,’ he said in weary tones. ‘It’s Ma who insists I get in touch with him.’

‘What did he leave?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘Just curious. I won’t tell you how to get in touch if you don’t tell me.’

‘Then I won’t bother,’ he said, exasperated. ‘I’ll just tell Ma he’s vanished! Vamoosed!’

‘That would be a fib!’ Celia straightened. ‘What’s so deadly secret about this thing? I bet you want him for something else. Is your family in trouble?’

‘You really are nosy,’ burst out Mick. ‘I’ll leave it! We’ll cope without him.’ He turned and walked out of the shop.

Celia hurried after him. ‘Hold your horses. You don’t have to tell me if it’s that much of a secret. I could give you the telephone number of those Irish friends of his.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Mick. ‘Go back and look after your animals.’

‘You really are irritating,’ she said.

‘Same to you with knobs on!’ He waved his hand in the air without looking back.

Celia could have hit him. Instead she wrote out the telephone number on a scrap of paper and hurried after him. ‘Here!’ she said, thrusting the paper at him. ‘I hope yer get things sorted out.’ She ran back to the shop.

Kitty lifted her eyes from the scrap of paper and gazed across the table at Mick. ‘Do you think I should telephone?’

‘It’s up to you, Ma.’ He moved aside his maths homework book. ‘Our Ben’s worrying, and according to him this Charley has it in for the big fella. I think
he
should know that it’s down to him that we’ve had trouble here.’

Kitty was not so sure if it was all down to John but she was not going to bring Jimmy into the conversation with Annie still there. ‘I don’t see what good it’ll do,’ she murmured. ‘The big fella’ll be miles away now but I doubt if he’s got to where he’s going. If that’s true these Irish friends mightn’t be able to get in touch with him.’

‘Perhaps he’ll telephone them? Anyway, it’s worth ringing them if it makes our Ben happy.’

She nodded. ‘You’re right. Although I’ll feel a right prune ringing up this number without knowing the name of the person who’s going to answer at the other end.’

‘I suppose Celia thought we knew their name with knowing about them,’ said Mick.

Kitty glanced at him. ‘What’s this Celia like?’

‘OK. A bit nosy but OK,’ he said, lowering his head to his homework.

Kitty hesitated, wanting to know a little more. After all the girl was the big fella’s god-daughter, but Mick seemed to have lost himself in his work now and she decided not to disturb him.

The next morning she went down to the Post Office and put a call through from there. It was answered by a woman with a hint of an Irish accent who repeated the number Kitty had dialled and asked could she help.

Kitty hesitated before plunging into speech. ‘You don’t know me but I’m trying to get in touch with Mr McLeod, a Mr John McLeod, and I’ve been given your number.’

‘Your name?’ said the voice.

‘Ryan. Mrs Kitty Ryan.’

‘Never heard of you,’ said the voice cheerfully. ‘But I suppose that’s not so surprising. What is, is that you have our number.’

Kitty was taken aback. ‘Celia gave me it. You do know her?’

‘I know her.’

For a moment Kitty did not know what to say next. Then realised it might be helpful if she knew the woman on the other end of the line’s name. ‘Who am I speaking to, by the way?’

‘Mrs Rebekah O’Neill.’

‘Are you a widow?’ She did not know why she asked.

The voice sounded amused. ‘Are you?’

‘Yes. But—’ Kitty was wishing she had not asked now and said stiffly, ‘I don’t really know what that’s got to do with anything.’

‘Oh, I think it does if you’re asking me the same question and wanting to get in touch with John. You wouldn’t be the first widow to ring this number wanting him to help her.’

What was that supposed to mean?
thought Kitty. Her heart was starting to thump in an uncomfortable way and she felt terribly embarrassed. What was this Mrs O’Neill thinking and what was she to the big fella?

‘Are you in trouble?’ asked the voice at the end. ‘If you are perhaps—’

Kitty replaced the receiver and left the booth. She had been daft to telephone. If John McLeod had wanted her to be able to get in touch with him then he would have given her the number or an address where she could reach him. She would have to deal with Charley herself.

Kitty told Mick and Ben she had not been able to get hold of John. ‘It’s as I said and they don’t know where he is.’ She did not look up from buttering bread for a bread and butter pudding.

‘Couldn’t they send a letter to where he’s going?’ said Ben anxiously.

‘They might do that,’ she said brightly. ‘Don’t you be worrying. Everything’ll be all right. You’ll see.’

Despite her words Kitty felt as if a dark cloud hovered over her during the next few days, due not only to her concern over whether Charley would return but also to her wondering if she might have found out more about John if she hadn’t been so hasty in cutting short her telephone call.

The weather changed for the worse and there were blizzards, which were so bad that all football fixtures throughout the country were cancelled. Kitty found her imagination running riot, picturing the big fella frozen in a snowdrift. She sent up a prayer for him, comforting herself with the thought that he was used to being out in the open and would surely have found shelter.

A slow thaw followed and Monday morning found Kitty, Annie and the girl who came in to help with the laundry, hanging washing on the back basement room drying racks where there was a copper boiler and a deep white sink and small fireplace. Outside it was damp and miserable. When they were finished Kitty went up to one of the bedrooms belonging to a guest who had checked out that morning. It was whilst she was in there she heard the sound of breaking glass. She ran in the direction of the noise and cautiously opened the door, relieved that the room was empty. She bent to pick up the brick which lay among the shattered glass before gazing out of the window. Cold air came through a jagged hole, chilling her hot face. She had no doubts about who had thrown the brick. What a mess! Was that Charley? Her eyes rested on a brown-coated back on the other side of the road. Without thinking twice she ran out of the room still clutching the brick.

‘What’s up?’ called Annie and the girl coming out of the door under the stairs.

‘That swine Charley’s broken one of our windows.’

Annie’s mouth tightened. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Go after him, of course,’ said Kitty, opening the front door. She gazed about her and saw the man she thought was the culprit making his way down the Mount. She sped across the road, narrowly avoiding a coal waggon. The man went round a corner and she was just in time to see him disappearing inside Lewis’s departmental store. She made to cross the road only to be stopped by the policeman on point duty.

‘And where d’you think you’re going with that?’ he said. ‘It’s an offensive weapon.’ He tapped the brick with his truncheon.

‘It’s only a brick,’ said Kitty. ‘And the man—’

‘Don’t be smart with me,’ he interrupted. ‘I can see it’s a brick. What I want to know is were you thinking of smashing a shop window with it?’

‘Don’t be daft! I’m chasing someone. He—’

‘Going to hit him with it, are you?’

Kitty’s patience began to slip. ‘A fat chance I have of that with you stopping me,’ she said scornfully.

The policeman hunched heavy brows. ‘I don’t like your tone.’ He prodded her with his truncheon. ‘And I’ve a good mind to take you down to the station.’

Kitty lost her temper. ‘Don’t poke me!’ she yelled. ‘Why don’t you try catching a real thief if you’re so worried about crime! As for this brick! Here, take it!’ She shoved it against his chest and ran, but by the time she was inside Lewis’s it was too late. The man had vanished.

Annie was on the front step leaning on the yard brush when a shivering Kitty arrived back at the hotel. ‘Well?’ demanded her cousin. ‘Yer didn’t catch him, did yer?’

‘No, thanks to some stupid policeman,’ said Kitty crossly. ‘My feet are soaking and I’ll have to change my stockings. I’m splashed up to me thighs!’

‘Yer were wasting yer time. It wasn’t him. He’s been back here demanding money and threatening me. I stuck me brush in his face and told him to get lost.’ She gave a satisfied smile. ‘He didn’t like that one little bit.’

Kitty stared at her with a sinking heart but she did not say what she was thinking. Instead she said, ‘You gutsy thing! Let’s go and have a cup of tea and then I’ll have to get out the glazier and have that window fixed.’

Kitty was feeling intimidated but was nevertheless determined to carry on as if nothing had happened once she had seen the glazier. At ten minutes to four she put on her wellies and went to meet Ben from school.

She was standing at the junction of Bedford Street and Oxford Street when she heard her youngest son shouting her and caught sight of him on the other side of the road where there was a crowd of children. She waved, keeping her eye on him, only for him to be obliterated from her vision by a large shiny black car splashing its way between them. When the car passed there was no sign of him.

She hurried across the road, surrounded by children coming in the opposite direction and searched their faces but Ben’s was not among them. Where had he gone? Was he hiding like he did sometimes? She reached the opposite pavement and hurried first one way and then the other, searching steps and doorways. She began to feel scared remembering the way Ben had spoken to Charley and what his response had been. She told herself to calm down. She was letting her imagination run away with her. How could Charley possibly know Ben would come this way from school? Unless – unless he’d been keeping a watch on the house and had seen Teddy taking him to school? Her fear intensified and she ran homewards, slithering down the slippery pavements until a stitch in her side caused her to slow down.