September Starlings (50 page)

He stared at me as if I’d just arrived from another planet. I had re-enacted the whole scenario, was as near to the truth as anyone could possibly be without having witnessed his actions. ‘Clever, aren’t you?’ The words were not quite clear, and he stumbled slightly over the first syllable.

Anne squeezed my arm. ‘Dear God,’ she whispered. ‘It’s written all over his face.’

A sash window shot up, banged as it reached the top frame. ‘Can’t you lot take your bloody din in the house? I’m working tomorrow. We don’t all get Sundays off, you know.’

‘Sorry,’ called Anne. She took a small step towards the creature who was still my husband. ‘Had the divorce papers yet?’

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m contesting it. She’ll have to wait another two years if she wants rid of me.’

Anne shook her head pensively, as if considering a matter of great moment. ‘No. I think you’ll see sense, Tommo. After all, Laura won’t ever live with you again. And there are witnesses here who will testify to tonight’s little charade.’

‘What about my nose?’ he asked. ‘It’s probably broken.’

‘What about Enid and Irene Corcoran?’ Anne’s voice
was smooth, like the silk caress of a venomous snake. ‘They might be persuaded to change their minds about that little whist drive. I’ve a few pounds in the bank that could very well make them see things differently.’

His Adam’s apple moved convulsively, seemed to travel up and down his neck three or four times. He swallowed audibly, wiped his bloody nose on the cuff of a sleeve. ‘They’ll not listen to you.’

‘Won’t they? Aren’t they married now and both living in Crumpsall Street? I’d bet a year’s wages that they’d be happy to go out and buy a bit of furniture or—’

‘I’ll tell the law you’ve bribed them.’ He was breathing very quickly, and his voice rasped, as if having to fight its way out of a narrowed passage. ‘The police would come down on you like a ton of bricks.’

Anne looked at me. ‘Laura, would I bribe anybody?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘See?’ She reached out her hands and lifted her shoulders in a gesture that might have suited Shakespeare’s Shylock – except that Shylock probably never had a yard brush attached to him. ‘No-one will ever believe that I could break the law.’ She placed the broom against the wall, folded her arms, put her head on one side. ‘The Corcoran twins will gladly speak up now, I’m sure. They’re no longer under your twisted spell. When I explain to them that their perjury will be treated lightly, that the court will accept that you had threatened them, I’m sure we’ll have you convicted of murder before you can say knife. Or, as in this filthy case, before you can cough up the words “blunt instrument”.’

He stood very still, like a rabbit caught in false light after sunset. The yellow glare from my kitchen illuminated his features, made the blood on his upper lip black and menacing. ‘I want my kid,’ he muttered through clenched teeth. ‘Gerald is my son.’

‘I’ll have to tell him that one day,’ I replied. ‘And I only hope that he will be strong enough to take the good news, because I’m sure you’ll be in prison before long.’ I lifted a
hand, pointed at him. ‘There’ll be an injunction served this week. My neighbours will back me up. So get yourself out of my street.’

‘You’ll get no bloody divorce, though.’

‘Watch me,’ I said. ‘And watch the Corcoran girls.’

I took Anne’s arm and we walked into the house. When the door was closed, I sagged against it, allowed myself to slide down to the floor. ‘My legs have gone on strike,’ I said. ‘And thank God for that car of yours, Anne. If it hadn’t broken down, you would have been long gone by this time.’

She opened the stairway door, ran her eyes over the wall at the bottom of the flight. ‘It shouldn’t cost much,’ she remarked thoughtfully. ‘And I’ve a couple of grateful clients in the building trade.’

‘What?’

‘Well, we’ll have a door here, at the bottom of the stairs, then the lavatory can be moved into that lean-to. You can use the old lavatory building as a storage shed.’

‘You’re too good to me, Anne.’ My eyes were wet again.

‘It’s not a question of money,’ she said. ‘Safety first. That man’s as crazy as a monkey behind bars, and it’s bars he needs.’ She sat on the last stair, reached out and held my hand. ‘And to think that I used to shout at you for exaggerating. I never liked him, you know.’

‘I remember.’

‘Yet I thought you were being a bit dramatic at first. But just now, out there, I was standing within three feet of a psychopath. He’s obsessed with you. Dear God, I’m shivering like a half-set jelly.’ She struggled to her feet, picked up the kettle and warmed the pot with boiling water. ‘I’m going to get him.’ Her jaw was set. ‘Even if I can’t do it legally, I’ll make sure he’s finished.’ She brewed the tea, swished it about to thicken the mixture. ‘It would only cost about twenty-five quid to get him knee-capped. And I do work in the best circles, you know.’ She handed me a biscuit. ‘Eat, you need the sugar.
He should try living life like Frank did, with a limp and a smile.’

‘No,’ I pleaded. ‘Don’t descend to his level, please don’t go breaking his legs.’

‘You know I won’t, Laura. But imagining him in pain is so delicious and it’s no crime. However, it would do no harm to have him followed now and then. I don’t like this, don’t want to think about what might have happened if I hadn’t been here.’

I accepted the tea, swallowed several scalding sips. ‘Don’t worry. These walls are thin and I’ve a good set of lungs. And we can try for an injunction on Monday.’

‘Hmm.’ She folded herself into a dining chair, placed her cup on the shabby formica table. ‘Pieces of paper won’t mean anything to him, you know.’

I did know, how well I knew.

‘He’ll still be hanging about like a bad smell.’

I got up off the floor, dusted down my dressing gown, sat opposite my cousin. ‘This time, it’s you worrying and me being complacent. Frank’s death sort of numbed me, but I’m so ill-tempered underneath. I can’t manage to fear him any more. It’s as if he’s done his worst.’

She dipped a bourbon into her tea, looked nothing like an up-and-coming young solicitor. ‘Don’t believe it, kid. Don’t ever believe that.’

The youngish woman stood outside my front door, a battered suitcase resting next to her feet. She wore a navy coat which hung open over a black skirt and a white blouse, yet even though the clothes were of good quality, she managed to look untidy. A bell rang faintly in the chambers of my memory, but I could not name this person. Her hair was short, brown and wavy, and the slender feet were encased in heavy brogues. ‘Help’, she said.

‘I beg your pardon?’ It was one of those moments in life when you look at someone or something, when you know that you’ve seen him or it before, and you can’t place the
pieces of the jigsaw in a sensible sequence. It was a bit like
déjà vu
, only less weird. I dried my hands on the tea towel, pushed Gerald back into the house. I tried again. ‘I’m sorry, but …’

‘But what?’

‘Well, you asked for help. How can I help you?’

‘A cup of tea would go down great, Laura McNally.’

‘Holy cow.’ The words were out of my mouth before I could check them.

‘I’m neither holy nor a cow, miss. Now let me in and give some shelter to a failed nun before she keels over on your doorstep due to lack of sustenance and low blood sugar.’ She never paused for breath, didn’t smile. ‘My life’s a mess,’ she added. ‘And I’m out on the streets with no future and a bagful of clothes from the last century.’

‘Confetti?’ I leaned against the door jamb, needed its support. ‘Did they finally throw you out, then?’

She frowned. ‘The sisters do not throw anyone out. I walked. I did not need to be ejected. And my name is Goretti Hourigan. However, you may call me Confetti. Throughout my childhood, I was called Hooligan, but we shall draw a veil over that.’

‘But not a nun’s veil?’ I stepped aside, allowed her into the house. She picked up Gerald, sat him on the sofa, handed him some jumbo crayons. ‘Little boy, I stole these from school. Use them in good health.’ She turned to me. ‘Where’s the other one?’

‘Upstairs. He’s still young enough to need an afternoon nap. I’ll put the kettle on.’

While I made the tea, I listened as she educated my son. Within five minutes, he was reciting his two-times tables and had started to make inroads on the threes. ‘He’s bright,’ she shouted. ‘Like you used to be.’

I ignored the barb, picked up a tray, carried the tea into our tiny living room. ‘I made the cakes myself,’ I said. ‘Because I am still bright enough to follow a recipe.’

‘May all the saints be praised.’ She crammed half a buttered scone into her mouth, passed the remainder of it
to Gerald. ‘Life is about sharing,’ she said. ‘And I shall share with you my store of learning.’

I sat down, picked up the teapot, poured.

‘Milk and no sugar.’ She winked at Gerald. ‘I shall have to watch my figure if I’m to find a husband.’

Sitting next to an ex-nun is not a comfortable experience. When she was a nun, I understood her, knew what she was, how she thought, how she expected me to think. But here she was, doing her best to be outrageous, pushing her way into a life that was already hard to manage. Did she intend to stay? Would I have to share my bed with a woman who used to teach me, who used to pray and go to mass when she wasn’t actually working?

‘I’ll be taking advantage of your hospitality while I think,’ she announced.

My heart sank. I loved the bones of the woman, but the woman whose bones I loved was a nun, not a … a woman who stole crayons and looked for a husband.

‘Till my dowry comes through,’ she said.

It has been my experience that most disturbing remarks are made when someone within earshot has a mouthful of liquid. When I had finished coughing, I echoed the word. ‘Dowry? Is your family paying some man to marry you?’

She eyed me disdainfully. ‘Well, of course they are. You don’t think any fellow worth his salt would take me just for myself, surely? My dowry is to be four Arab-Irish racehorses and a smallish herd of cattle. The livestock should arrive at the docks in Liverpool at any moment. In fact, as we speak, there could well be a lorry full of beef and very superior horseflesh on its way down the East Lancashire Road.’

I decided that silence would be the best tack.

‘Have you a small field?’ she asked.

‘No, just a back yard.’

‘A tape measure?’

I pointed to my sewing basket. ‘You can stop this fooling around, Confetti.’

She swung to face me, her eyes bright. ‘What? I’m here
just now trying to place my animals. Would you kindly tell me how many cows can stay in your yard?’

‘None.’

The tape measure fell to the floor. ‘Never mind, we’ll just have to keep them in the street.’

‘Can I have a cow?’ Gerald, who usually found adults to be boring, was fascinated by the new arrival. ‘I like cows.’

‘Ah, I’m only kidding. But we’ll take a ride out on the bus and find some cows, eh?’ She glanced at me. ‘The dowry comes from the convent. It’s the money I brought in with me.’

‘I know.’

‘Then why didn’t you say so, you obdurate girl? Isn’t obdurate a lovely word?’

‘It was a favourite of Tommy-gun’s,’ I answered. ‘How is she?’

‘Crippled with pain and refusing to die. How many bedrooms here?’

‘Two.’ She was going to take over. She was going to walk into my existence, into my home, and treat it like her classroom. ‘Aren’t you going home?’

She shrugged the thin shoulders, ran a hand through Gerald’s hair. ‘They’ll not have me. My brother was almost a priest till he upped and married a girl called Siobhan O’Casey with a marvellous figure except for the bulge. The bulge became twins who had been conceived during one of Eugene’s breaks from the seminary.’

‘Ceme-tery,’ said Gerald.

‘Exactly. Anyway, my mother’s head was bowed in disgrace throughout the whole of Lent and right past Eastertide. No-one in our village ever mentions 1959. They say, “Well now, and didn’t the donkey die the year when Eugene Hourigan had to marry Siobhan O’Casey with the great belly on her?’ My mother can’t take such shocks. She has a delicate disposition and a temper that’s mortal cruel. So I’ll be staying in England.’

‘Oh.’

Confetti arranged the skirt about her knees, obviously missed the long folds of her habit. ‘Don’t you want me to stay? I’ll be company for you and I’m to be teaching soon at one of the local schools. I’ll go if I’m not wanted.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly. I just wasn’t expecting it and—’

‘You were expecting it, Laura McNally. Haven’t I been writing to you since the crack of creation, telling you about my unacceptable beliefs? They may well stop me teaching in a Catholic school, just because I agree with birth control. I’ve been on my way out since you were knee-high to an inkwell.’

She was so … enthusiastic. She bubbled with energy, brimmed over with excitement. And she had chosen me to be the witness to her own rebirth. I wished with every fibre of my being that I could feel flattered by her faith in me. ‘You’ll have to share my bed.’

‘That’s fine by me unless you snore. Do you snore?’

I sighed heavily. ‘I don’t know. I’m usually asleep when I’m asleep, so I’ve no way of telling.’

‘Did Frank complain ever?’

‘No.’

‘Right. That’s the interview over and you’ve got the job. I’ll pay you seven pounds a week and I’ll share the bills.’

So that was it. The good woman had come here as if demanding bed and board, was hiding her concern for me under a blanket of noise and fuss. ‘It’s not much of a house, a bit cramped,’ I ventured.

She clicked her tongue. ‘I’m used to a room with no space for a flea. We’ll be as snug as bugs here.’

‘Bug,’ said Gerald. ‘Bugger. Bugger, bugger, bugger.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Confetti. ‘Now there’s paper in my case, so I’ll get some for you and you can draw me some cows and some bugs. Then your mammy and I will cook some food and we’ll have bedtime stories if you’re good.’

He ran his eyes over her. ‘I’m four,’ he said disdainfully. ‘So I’m always good. But Teddy is a pest. His real name’s Edward, but we call him Teddy.’