Secrets and Shadows (6 page)

B
arry felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck and he tensed himself, sensing danger. He was walking home from school, and lots of other boys were making their way along Brunswick Street, but that didn’t guarantee safety.

McGrath and his friends, Nolan and Byrne, were walking slightly in front of him, and Barry had picked up on smirks and exchanged glances and he suspected that something was afoot involving him.

He knew that he shouldn’t have antagonised McGrath earlier in the playground, but he hadn’t been able to hold his tongue when the class bully had lectured the other boys.

‘Every bleedin’ foreigner in the country should be locked up!’ McGrath had declared. ‘Locked up or sent back where they came from!’

‘Why’s that, Shay?’ asked Charlie Dawson.

‘Because they could be spying on Ireland. My da says the Germans and the English both want Ireland as a base – so they have their spies here in case they invade.’

‘And what are they spying on?’ asked Charlie.

‘Airfields, harbours, army barracks, places where landing craft can come ashore, places for dropping paratroops.’

‘Right,’ said Charlie, sounding impressed.

‘We shouldn’t put up with all these foreigners; they should all be rounded up!’

McGrath said it with venom and he looked directly at Barry, but Barry didn’t respond.

‘But how would you round them up?’ asked Charlie. ‘How would you know who they were?’

‘Easy. You listen to them. And anyone who has an accent, you lock them up or kick them out.’

‘Really?’ said Barry, unable to hold back any longer. ‘So it’s Mountjoy Jail for Brother Fahy and his thick Kerry accent then?’ he said sarcastically.

Several of the boys laughed, but McGrath’s face darkened.

‘Do you think the war is a joke, Malone?’

‘No, I don’t. But locking up anyone with an accent is.’

‘A lot of Irish people died in the North Strand – and you’re making jokes,’ persisted McGrath. ‘But you don’t care, do you, you’re not Irish.’

‘My dad is Irish, my grandma is Irish, my cousins are Irish. Of course I care, but–’

‘
But?
But what?!’ demanded McGrath.

Barry answered calmly. ‘The North Strand raid was awful. I know, more than anyone.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I’ve been in raids, loads of them. But
one
plane bombed Dublin and it dropped
four
bombs.
Six hundred
planes raided Liverpool and dropped
thousands
of bombs. You don’t know the first thing
about air raids.’

McGrath didn’t have a ready answer, and Barry sensed that the other boys had been influenced by his argument. Quitting while he was ahead, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving McGrath looking a little foolish.

That had been this afternoon, but now, as Barry made his way home, he feared that McGrath was out to pay him back. They walked along Brunswick Street and approached the junction with Grangegorman. This was where McGrath, Nolan and Byrne turned off for Kirwan Street. If Barry could get past the corner he would be safe for another day. He didn’t want to run in fear, but he picked up his pace a little and began to round McGrath and his group.

‘Don’t be in such a rush, Malone,’ said McGrath, blocking his way.

The other two boys moved behind Barry, and he felt himself trapped, but tried not to show his anxiety.

‘Nothing to say for yourself?’ taunted McGrath. ‘You’d loads of lip earlier.’

‘Everything I said was true.’

‘You’re still a smart-aleck, English loudmouth. But we’ll put manners on you!’

McGrath nodded, and Barry felt himself gripped from behind by Nolan and Byrne. McGrath moved quickly, scooping the lid off a nearby dustbin full of factory ash. He swiftly dipped the dustbin lid into the dirty grey ash then approached Barry, who struggled fiercely.

‘Hold him tighter,’ said McGrath, and he drew nearer, holding up the ash.

‘No!’ cried Barry, unable to escape as the bully held the bin lid above his head. McGrath was so close that Barry could smell sweat from him, then McGrath tipped the ash all over his head.

Barry spluttered, blinded by the ash, then he was roughly pushed and he lost his balance, falling against the factory wall. He heard laughter, and rubbed his eyes, clearing them of the fine ash that his school cap had only partially kept off his face.

He rose shakily to his feet and saw McGrath and his friends running away, laughing.

‘Not so smart now!’ McGrath called as he ran up the slope of Grangegorman.

Barry was aware that other people were staring at him. Humiliated and furious, he quickly brushed himself down, then continued unhappily on his way home.

Grace stepped carefully over the cow dung that littered Stoneybatter as she travelled home from school. The dung was a nuisance, but Grace thought it was a small price to pay for the fun of seeing cattle being herded by the drovers right past the door of the cake shop. Hundreds of cattle were kept in pens in the nearby cattle market, and Grace loved the excitement when they were herded down Manor Street and Stoneybatter by the drovers and their
clever, barking dogs. She was slightly disappointed that so far she hadn’t seen an animal run amok, but a big black cow with saliva running from its mouth had mounted the pavement and gone past the window of the cake shop, and Grace reckoned that that was the next best thing.

She crossed the thoroughfare now, making sure not to soil her shoes, and made for the junction of Stoneybatter and Arbour Hill. As she reached the corner she saw Barry, his schoolbag on his back, as he too returned from school.

‘Barry!’ she called in greeting.

‘Grace,’ he answered in a lacklustre voice.

Drawing closer, she realised that something was wrong. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Your cap, Barry’ she said indicating the soiled school cap that he carried in his hand. ‘And your hair is all dusty.’

Barry said nothing, and Grace felt concerned for him. She laid her hand gently on his arm. ‘Who did this to you?’

Barry hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Shay McGrath and his gang,’ he said flatly. ‘It’s ashes from a bin.’

‘Why did they do that?’

‘McGrath doesn’t like me.’

‘And who’s this Shay McGrath?’

‘A boy in my class.’

Grace felt angry at this unknown boy. ‘Has he done stuff like this before?’ she asked.

‘He’s just said things till now.’

‘You can’t let him do this to you, Barry.’

‘He has a gang.’

‘Well, could you tackle him when he’s on his own?’

‘He’s always with them, and…’

‘What?’ said Grace encouragingly.

Barry looked down and spoke quietly. ‘Even if he wasn’t, I don’t think I could beat him. He’s big and tough and…’ Barry didn’t finish the sentence but just shrugged dispiritedly.

‘Tell your grandma then.’

‘No.’ said Barry. ‘That would only make things worse.’

‘How would it?’

‘If she complained they’d say I was a squealer.’

‘Let them!’ said Grace angrily. ‘That’s what bullies count on, Barry, that people say nothing. Don’t protect them.’

‘I’m protecting myself.’

This wasn’t how to deal with bullying, but before she could argue that he had to speak up for himself, Barry raised his hand to stop her.

‘I don’t want Grandma dragged into this. Promise you’ll say nothing,

Grace.’

Grace hesitated.

‘Promise!’

‘OK, I won’t tell her.’

Barry looked at her piercingly.

‘I promise,’ repeated Grace, then Barry nodded in acceptance.

‘Slip into our house first and we’ll clean your cap and hair,’ she said, ‘you can’t go in to your granny like that.’

‘All right. And don’t worry, I’ll…I’ll find a way to sort out McGrath.’

‘OK,’ said Grace and she fell into step beside him as they started walking up Arbour Hill, the air pungent with the smell from the piggery off Chicken Lane. Grace felt really sorry for Barry, though she knew he’d probably feel worse if she made that too obvious.

Was there something she could do to solve the problem? Ma always said that where there’s a will there’s a way. Was that just a saying though, or was it really true? She had to make it
be
true, she decided, then she continued on her way, her head spinning as she tried to come up with a solution.

‘G
reat shot!’ said Mr Pawlek.

‘Thanks, sir,’ answered Barry, pleased with the praise. He had scored a nice long-range goal in the schoolyard football game that had just broken up.

‘I’d be proud to hit a shot like that myself,’ said the drill teacher.

‘Do they play much soccer in Poland, sir?’ asked Barry.

‘Yes, a good bit.’

‘And what club do you support?’

‘A local club from my city – you wouldn’t have heard of them.’

‘Which city is that, sir?’

‘Danzig. Anyway, what I wanted to say is that you should try for the school Gaelic football team.’

Barry felt flattered. ‘Really?’

‘I know Gaelic football is different to soccer, but you have the ball skills. You should try for the team if you’re still here in September.’

‘Thanks, sir. But I don’t know if I will be. It all depends on my mum.’

‘Ah yes. Still busy making aeroplanes?’

‘Yes, sir. But if she decides I’m staying here in Dublin, I’d love to get onto the Gaelic team.’

‘Good. I’m not guaranteeing anything now – I’d have to talk
to Brother Hogan. But sport is a good way to impress your classmates.’

Barry wondered if Mr Pawlek had heard somehow of his problems with McGrath and his gang. They hadn’t bothered him in the couple of days since the ash incident, but Barry suspected that Mr Pawlek was right about sport. Answering his classmates’ questions about going to Liverpool’s famous Anfield Stadium had already helped break the ice – and lots of the boys had been impressed when he had told of seeing Irish soccer star Jackie Hurley playing for Manchester United. If he could also get onto the school team that might offer further protection against the threat of bullying.

‘If you want to get fit for the autumn, I’m running a summer sports camp this year,’ said the teacher.

‘Really? I’d love that, sir.’ Then a thought struck Barry. ‘I’d have to ask my grandma, though. Would she have to pay?’

‘There’s a small fee. I’m sure we can work something out.’

‘Thanks, sir, that would be great.’

Mr Pawlek nodded, and Barry decided that things were looking up. Then he noticed Shay McGrath and his friends. They were standing behind the drill teacher and they were all making licking motions with their tongues. Barry ignored them and instead made his farewell to Mr Pawlek. He walked towards the classroom door, discouraged that the problem with McGrath clearly hadn’t gone away. And while there might be hope for the future if he made it onto the school team, what was he going to do in the meantime?

Grace was eager to be off on the mission she had set herself, but she was afraid it might look suspicious if she didn’t finish her tea. She sat at the table with Ma, Granddad and Uncle Freddie. She didn’t want them enquiring about where she planned to go next, so she forced herself to have another slice of bread and not to appear rushed.

The bread today was discoloured due to poor quality flour. It made Grace wonder how Miss Kinsella so often managed to get top quality ingredients for the bakery. Outside of official rationing some people bartered and bought goods illegally on the black market. But Grace had grown to really like her card-playing, chain-smoking boss, and if Nellie Kinsella somehow got good quality supplies it wasn’t Grace’s place to question it.

Instead she now began spreading some of Ma’s homemade gooseberry jam on the bread to make it taste a bit better.

‘Smashin’ jam, that,’ said Freddie. ‘Amn’t I right, Grace?’

‘Yes,’ she answered unenthusiastically, not wanting to encourage her uncle when he played up to Ma like this.

Ma shrugged ‘Sure anyone could make it.’

‘Modesty will get you nowhere in this house, Nancy,’ said Granddad with a grin. ‘Take any compliments going.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Gorgeous jam,’ continued Freddie. ‘Sure, look at Grace, laying it on with a trowel. Between that and trying the cakes in the shop,
you’ll be as fat as a fool, what?!’

Grace gave him a look, and Freddie raised his hands in defence. ‘Only coddin’, Grace, only coddin’.’

‘You’re not exactly fading away yourself!’ said Granddad.

Freddie pointed at Ma. ‘Blame this woman here. Ever since she came to stay we’ve been eating like kings!’

‘Will you go way outta that, Freddie, ’deed and you haven’t,’ said Ma, but she said it with a smile.

How could she take any pleasure from Freddie’s stupid flattery
? Grace thought.

‘So, what do you make of the British and the Free French landing in Syria?’ asked Granddad.

Grace was relieved at the war becoming the topic of conversation and taking the focus off Freddie’s embarrassing efforts to butter up Ma.

‘They could wind up getting a right hiding in Syria,’ Freddie said authoritatively. ‘A right hiding’.

Grace felt like asking what he’d know about it – an electrician living in a neutral country – but instead she concentrated on finishing her bread and jam. Freddie started outlining what he would do if he was in command, and Grace decided that she couldn’t take any more. ‘That was lovely, thanks, Ma,’ she said. ‘Can I be excused please?’

Ma hesitated. ‘Everyone isn’t finished, Grace.’

‘Ah, sure let the child go. She doesn’t want to listen to Freddie talking guff,’ said Granddad.

‘Who’s talking guff?’

‘You are,’ said Granddad, ‘sure aren’t you always?’

‘All right, Grace,’ said her mother before Freddie could begin his counter-attack. ‘Be back by nine o’clock.’

‘I will,’ said Grace, rising from the table. ‘See you later.’ She headed for the door, trying not to show how anxious she was for the mission that lay ahead.

‘God, my head is addled here,’ said Grandma. ‘What’s a six-letter word meaning melodic?’

Barry was with her in the sunlit kitchen, Grandma in her favourite chair doing the newspaper crossword, while Barry sat at the table, writing a letter to his mother.

‘A word for melodic? Eh…musical?’ he suggested.

‘No, that has seven letters. It has to have six, and the fifth letter is h.’

‘Another word for melodic…’ mused Barry. ‘Eh…catchy?’

‘Six letters, the fifth a h – yes!’ cried Grandma triumphantly. ‘How did I not get that?’

‘I suppose we can’t all be geniuses,’ said Barry with a straight face.

Grandma laughed, and Barry smiled back at her, then watched as she happily filled in the answer, the evening paper propped up on her knees.

He had always been fond of his Irish grandmother, but since coming to stay in Dublin he had grown to know her better and his affection had deepened. But Grandma Peg had a gentle nature, and Barry felt that he couldn’t burden her with the problem of his being bullied. He also felt that he couldn’t ask her to pay for him to go to summer camp with Mr Pawlek. The drill teacher had said they would work out something on the fees, but Barry had no idea how well-off or otherwise Grandma was, and he didn’t want to put her on the spot. Then again, the idea of the summer sports camp sounded great. And if he was still here in September he wanted to get on the school team, especially if it meant an end to bullying by McGrath.

There was only one answer – he had to ask Mum for the money. Would she think spending cash on that was foolish? And could she afford it? He knew that she was earning good money in the factory, but maybe she would have to save that to come to Dublin on holidays. Back in Liverpool she hadn’t minded paying for piano lessons, however, and now he wasn’t getting those, so perhaps she could use that money for Mr Pawlek’s camp.?

He would have to sell the idea to her in his letter, and he thought about the Polish drill teacher and how he would describe him to Mum. Mr Pawlek was a good teacher, managing to be friendly yet still respected by the boys in school. He was certainly a bit nosey, what with all his questions about Mum and Dad, and where Mum worked in Liverpool, but Barry liked him. And besides, being nosey just meant that he was interested in people,
and surely that was a good thing?

Barry put down his pen and thought for a moment. He had asked for all the news from Liverpool, and enquired about his friends. He had also asked Mum if she had been over to the Wirral Peninsula – a place she loved – and if she had had candy floss on the promenade at New Brighton this summer.

He had been at pains to keep the letter positive-sounding, and had told Mum nothing of his troubles in school. She was concerned enough about Dad, and there was no point in worrying her about something she couldn’t deal with from Liverpool. So he would keep the tone of the letter happy, but would make it clear that he would really like to do the summer sports camp. His mind made up, he picked up the pen again and began writing, eager to make a good case.

‘Ice cream, a penny a lump, the more you eat, the more you jump!’

It was a rhyme that Grace had never heard in the North Strand. She had to smile as a group of children sang it at the heavy-set woman who came out of a shop in Stoneybatter eating an ice cream.

Grace continued on her way, turning into Brunswick Street, then stopping outside a couple of tenement houses where hordes of children were playing street games. She approached a girl of about her own age who was swinging a friend on a rope tied to a lamppost.

‘Can you tell me where I’d find Johnny Keogh?’ she asked.

‘That fella over there in the navy corduroys,’ answered the girl.

‘Thanks.’

Grace looked to the corner where a group of boys were playing a rough game of Red Rover Cross Over. Johnny Keogh was a stocky boy who carried himself with a confident air despite his clothes being a bit ragged. Grace could see at once that he was the leader of the group. She watched them for a moment, then heard the cry of
‘All in all in, the game is broke up!’

As all the boys returned to their starting point, she seized her opportunity and approached him.

‘Johnny Keogh?’

He turned around and looked at Grace with a hint of aggression. ‘Who’s asking?’

‘Grace Ryan. Can I talk to you?’

‘You already are.’

‘On your own. I don’t want everyone to hear.’

Keogh looked hard at her, then his curiosity got the better of him. ‘OK,’ he answered, gesturing towards the corner of Stanley Street. Grace followed him around the corner, where he stopped and faced her.

‘So, what do you want?’

‘I want to ask you a question,’ said Grace. ‘Do you like cakes?’

Keogh looked at her suspiciously. ‘What?’

‘Do you like cakes?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘But you don’t get them often, do you?’

‘What are you trying to make out?’ said Keogh aggressively.

‘Nothing,’ answered Grace, raising her hands in a gesture of peace. ‘I don’t get them often either. Or I didn’t before I started working in Kinsella’s shop. But now I do. I sample bits and pieces, and I get two free tarts each week – they’re gorgeous.’

‘What are you telling me for?’

‘You could have one of them. A whole rhubarb tart for yourself every week.’

Keogh looked at her with the air of someone who knew that nothing came for nothing. ‘What would I have to do?’ he said.