The Bells of Scotland Road (46 page)

‘As things stand, you can never be married to her.’

‘I know, I know!’

Michael Brennan rose from his seat and walked across to the fireplace. He leaned an elbow on the mantelpiece and stared at himself in the mirror. Reflected in the glass was a painting of Jesus
and Joseph at a carpenter’s bench. Next to that was a reversed view of St Peter’s in Rome. Rome would not allow this young man to express love for a woman who had been married to his
father. ‘What is sin?’ he asked of himself. A fat old man stared back at him, the same question on his lips.

Anthony remained seated. ‘Sin is hurting others,’ he replied.

‘Or hurting God Himself.’

‘God is in us, or so we’re told,’ replied Anthony. ‘He is concerned that we respect one another’s needs.’

The cleric turned round. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s a wonder that you weren’t ordained instead of himself.’ He walked back to the table and sat opposite
his guest. ‘I’ve been in love, you know,’ he said. ‘Three or four times. Priests wear no body armour against the onslaughts of nature. Of course, I never did anything about
it.’

Anthony stared at the round-faced man, waited with bated breath for the story to continue.

‘Loved a girl back home first of all. I was about sixteen, all spots and enthusiasm. Her family came over to England and I never saw her again, never heard from her.’ His eyes
clouded over and he rubbed them with the heels of his hands. ‘Margaret, she was called. Hair like buttercups and a voice as sweet as heaven itself.’ He pulled himself together.
‘During my ministry, I’ve become over-fond of a couple of other ladies.’

‘Here?’ managed Anthony.

The priest smiled. ‘Here and there – ’tis no matter. So I know how difficult this is for you. Forbidden love.’ He retreated into his thoughts for a few moments.
‘There are bigger sins, Anthony.’

‘Yes, I’m sure there are. Michael,’ said Anthony slowly, ‘even the state itself would be unlikely to encourage a union between a man and his stepmother.’

‘Does Bridie care for you?’

Anthony raised his shoulders. ‘I think she does. Of course, she’s grieving for Dad, because she did become fond of him. And Cathy’s had to stay behind in Astleigh Fold. Then
all this with Liam is terrifying. You know, she will need somebody once she settles back into life.’

‘Then why should that not be you?’

Stunned, the younger man stared hard at the priest who had been his confessor for years. The Catholic faith was extremely rigid with regard to matrimony, adultery and fornication. ‘But the
Church,’ he began. ‘The Church would—’

‘Sometimes, we need to look past the Church and into the face of God Himself. But first, we must look into your brother’s belongings.’

Bridie placed a bunch of large white daisies on her husband’s grave. Across the sea, in Ireland, there was another grave. Eugene’s grave. She shivered and pulled
her coat tightly across her chest. Slow, sad people moved about the cemetery with flowers and containers of water. Surely she was safe here in broad daylight? ‘Liam’s gone,’ she
whispered under her breath. ‘He isn’t here any more. I’d know if he was still around here.’ Sam was a mere six feet below this piece of ground. ‘You were a fine
man,’ she told the earth. ‘And I wish you were here now to meet Anthony and to know him.’

Anthony. She really should not think about him. It was not right for a new widow to want to run her fingers through thick, dark hair. She needed comfort, needed someone to care for her. The
people she was allowed to love – Shauna, Cathy and Muth – were her dependants. If only she could turn to that strong man. Anthony would look after her if she gave him the chance. She
was cold and lonely and terribly afraid.

She walked across a narrow path of gravel and perched on a bench, her eyes still fixed to the fresh mound of earth that covered Sam. A cross of flowers wilted among smaller wreaths and bouquets.
Like the poor man they covered, the flowers were fading away to nothing. He would have a stone. She would make sure that Sam and his first wife would be remembered, that their names would be carved
in fine Italian marble for all to see.

Leaning further back, she closed her eyes and thought about Sam. How scared she had been when Da had first brought her to Liverpool. How terrifying those trams had been, how loud this new world
had seemed. But Sam had been good to her. Sam had provided for her and the girls, had removed them all from Thomas Murphy’s field of vision. Da. He was staying at Dolly Hanson’s, Bridie
supposed. Poor Dolly had fallen in love with Da long before Mammy’s death. ‘He’ll be hanging around to see what I do with the horses,’ Bridie told Sam now. ‘But
he’ll not get his hands on them, so don’t you be worrying.’

She had come here to be alone with Sam. The funeral had been busy, hectic and noisy. Bridie felt as if she had not been allowed to say goodbye. She had been elsewhere when the heart attack had
happened. Only Liam knew how Sam had died. ‘If I’d been there, would I have saved you?’

Edith was back at the house with Shauna. Sticky-Fingers was Great Aunt Edith’s name for Bridie’s younger child. Everything had been returned, but Edith had been tight-lipped on her
return to Scotland Road. Shauna had done the rounds in Woolworths, had acquired several penny whistles and some brightly coloured rubber balls. There was something wrong with the child. She needed,
so she took. Shauna’s physical requirements were well catered for, so from which part of the child’s being did her need arise? Was she starved of affection? Did she miss her daddy?

Sam would have put everything into perspective. He would have lectured Shauna for a minute or so, would have explained that stealing was wrong. Now, there was no-one to share in the guilt, the
powerlessness. What was she going to do without him? He had been a father to her, a better parent than Thomas Murphy could ever have been. And she was selfish, because she was worrying about her
own future when she should have been grieving for the departed.

‘Mrs Bell?’

A hand touched Bridie’s shoulder. She turned. ‘Ah. Mrs Hanson.’

The chubby little shopkeeper walked round the bench and laid a small bundle of freesia on the grave before placing herself next to the widow. ‘What must you think of me?’ she asked
Bridie.

Bridie made no reply.

‘I didn’t know,’ muttered Dolly Hanson. ‘In the beginning, I didn’t know.’

‘What?’ Bridie resented the intrusion. She had come here to say goodbye and to work her way through her own thoughts and memories. At home, behind the shop, Edith and Muth were
chattering and reminiscing while Shauna played. Diddy and Billy were in and out all the time with soup and cakes, and Charlie was stumbling about in the shop tidying up and doing paperwork.
‘I came here to be alone,’ said Bridie. ‘To think. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been difficult to find a chance to think these past few days.’

Dolly nodded. ‘I’ll not stop.’

Bridie smiled apologetically. ‘Look, I don’t blame you. Mammy was ill for a long time, and I suppose he needed someone.’

‘He won’t marry me.’ Dolly regretted the words immediately. She should not have aired her troubles in the company of this poor young woman.

‘You’re lucky,’ replied Bridie. ‘He married Mammy, and she never thrived. My father is one of the cruellest people I’ve ever known. If he did marry you, there would
be a reason. If and when he does ask you, think about the shop. It would be his if you died.’

Dolly nodded. ‘My first husband was a bugger. I seem to go for the wrong sort.’ She thought about her son, an engineer with a merchant fleet. The shop was for him, she supposed.
Sailors had hard lives and often needed to retire early. ‘He’ll need the business,’ she said aloud. ‘Our Stephen. My husband died at sea before Stephen was born. The
shop’s for him, for my lad.’

Bridie smiled again. ‘Get rid of Da. Tell him to get back to Galway and rot.’ She straightened her shoulders and stood up. ‘I’ve changed my mind, Mrs Hanson. I’ll
walk back with you and tell you all about your lucky escape.’

Bridie took one final look at Sam’s resting place. He had done a lot for her in such a very short space of time. Sam had given Bridie some confidence, some security. She didn’t need
to think any more. ‘Thanks, Sam,’ she said. ‘I’ll never forget you.’

Anthony sat back on his heels. His knees ached after taking his full weight for ten minutes or so. He had emptied the wardrobe and was picking out the last of Liam’s
belongings. ‘That’s all the shoes and boots accounted for,’ he said. He grabbed a penny from the floor of the old wardrobe, handed it to the priest. ‘Here. Put that in the
collection plate.’ He got up and walked to the bed. ‘So – are all his things here?’

‘As far as I remember. We brought a couple of albs over from the vestry – they were miles too long for me, and they would never have covered my dignity.’ He patted his
substantial paunch. ‘As far as I can tell, he took little or nothing with him when he left here.’

The younger man gazed round the room that had contained his brother. Mushroom-coloured walls were adorned with holy pictures of St Anthony of Padua, St Aloysius Gonzaga, John the Baptist and
several prints of Our Lady. A statue of the Immaculate Conception sat on a chest of drawers, an extinct candle in a blue glass container at the figure’s feet. In front of the chest, a
prie-dieu with a leather kneeler bore marks left by a series of praying priests. ‘I’ll look in the drawers,’ he said.

Underneath socks and underwear, Anthony discovered a faded photograph of his mother. He turned this over, found pencilled words on the reverse side.
WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?
was printed in a childish scrawl. ‘See?’ He handed the picture to his companion. ‘Always, he resented being motherless. He blamed her, my father, me and anyone else who dared to
enter his field of vision. To this day, he’s punishing mankind. Well, womankind, mostly.’

Michael looked at the photograph. ‘A bitter child who grew to be a bitter man.’

‘A sick man.’ Anthony lifted out a wooden box. He pushed at the lid, but it refused to budge. ‘Locked,’ he said. ‘Do you have a screwdriver?’

Michael Brennan smiled grimly. ‘Not about my person, no. It may seem strange to you, but I’ve never found the need for one. Are you going to break that box open?’

Anthony shook the container. It was about the same size as a canteen for cutlery, but its contents did not rattle. ‘Papers, I’d say.’ He glanced at the priest. ‘If
I’m committing a crime or a sin of some sort, go out while I do it.’

Michael Brennan allowed his frustration to show. ‘Look at us,’ he said angrily, ‘we’ve jobs to get on with, and here we are doing detective work. How do I make the police
listen? I keep telling them we’ve a man missing and that he’s a hazard. Twice, I’ve done that. How many more times must I do it before they take notice?’

‘What was their response?’

‘The police say he’s a grown man who can come and go just as he pleases. They’re neither worried nor interested. They seem to think we’re making up half of it –
though Dr Spencer’s had a go at them, told them that Liam’s not right in the head.’ He glanced at the box in Anthony’s hands. ‘You’re Liam’s next of kin,
so do what you like with the box.’

‘Right, I shall. We must investigate for ourselves. This box may contain an answer.’

Michael pondered for a second or two before leaving the room in search of a screwdriver.

Anthony sat on the bed. Next to him were draped items of Liam’s vestmentry, greens and purples and golds laid out on top of the counterpane. The bed was mercilessly hard. It must have been
like sleeping between the tram tracks on Scotland Road, Anthony mused. But that was typical of Liam. The sins of the flesh were to be eradicated. Warmth and comfort were probably iniquitous
indulgences. Liam had a fondness for big words. Iniquitous was one of Liam’s words. He would never use a monosyllable when a longer word could be found.

Anthony placed the box on the floor and picked up a black stock. It hung limply from its dog collar, the four ties drooping from its sides. Liam had owned several of these false fronts.
‘Where are you?’ he asked the garment. ‘Where the hell have you gone?’ The clothing gave no answers. Everything was clean and folded. Not one stain lingered on Liam’s
garments. He wasn’t real, wasn’t human, wasn’t reachable in any sense.

The absent priest’s cope hung on a brass peg attached to the door. This plain black cloak with its hook and chain fastening was draped over a wooden hanger, the folds neat and precise.
Everything else, with the exception of several albs, lay on Liam’s bed. Maniples, chasubles and stoles made a rainbow of colour on the plain coverlet. Each piece looked new, almost unused.
Liam, even during infancy, had never come home from school dirty. When his hands had been slightly soiled, he had scrubbed and scrubbed until his skin had turned almost red-raw.

Anthony got up and picked Liam’s albs from the bottom drawer. He unfolded the white, long-sleeved shifts, looked for clues, found nothing but tissue paper placed carefully so as to avoid
creasing. Outward perfection had hidden so much. Never a hair out of place, never a mark on a shoe, never a straight thought in Liam Bell’s mind. Oh God, where was he?

‘Screwdriver.’

Anthony jumped, placed a hand at his throat.

‘You’re nervous,’ said Michael Brennan. ‘Would a drop of scotch steady you?’

‘No. Thank you. Liam’s a burden, but he hasn’t driven me to drink just yet.’

The priest produced some paper. ‘I hope you’re ready for this, Anthony. It’s a letter from Liam to me. It must have been delivered since we came in. He says he has been called
to Africa. Well, I heard nothing about that. Neither did the bishop, I’m sure.’

Anthony took a deep breath. ‘Why didn’t I speak up earlier, Michael? Why didn’t I scream and yell until somebody noticed? I’d a brother hearing voices while I did nothing
at all. Why didn’t I make someone understand?’

Michael touched Anthony’s shoulder. ‘Because you would have finished up screaming in a padded cell. You were never a hundred per cent sure, were you? In your heart, you felt sure
that Liam had done harm, but there was always a shred of doubt in your mind.’