ignored this, but catching the six-year-old’s fearful expression, he addressed her more gently. ‘Don’t worry, Jug, I’ll be here when you get home from Mass.’
Hardly noting that his daughter was not fully reassured, he turned to Nora. ‘Would you mind taking the kids?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to,’ retorted his mother-in-law somewhat sniffily at being taken for granted.
‘Thanks.’ Warning his children to be good, Niall went directly along the passage to the front door, as he did so overhearing a stern addendum from Nora.
‘A good job there are more dutiful souls around to maintain the children’s religion whilst others fall prey to the evils of drink!’
But he chose not to heed the disparaging comment, and soon his entire thoughts were once again fixed on Boadicea, determined that she would be swayed.
Needing no other alibi than it was Sunday, his weekday casual garb was displaced by a navy-blue double-breasted suit and tie, a silver watch chain gleamed upon his waistcoat, his shoes were buffed to a high gloss, and his dark hair also groomed. How could she turn him down? There was a fresh confidence to his step, a sparkle to his eye, as he swung open the door of the saloon, marred only by the fact that she was not behind the bar when he arrived, and so did not immediately witness this new Mr Doran. For the moment that did not concern him, for she might be serving in the snug. It was busier tonight, being St Patrick’s Day, the bar all decorated in green.
Provided with his glass of Guinness by the landlord, Niall remained at the counter in the expectation of chatting to Boadicea when she did finally come around this side, occasionally running a finger around the inside of his starched collar, and admiring his reflection in the mirrored glass behind the bar, what little there was of it between the bottles of liquor and the row of green pennants. The pint had been three-quarters consumed by the time he accepted that she was not coming.
Forcing himself to sound casual, swilling the dregs of his pint round his glass as a prelude to buying another, he remarked, ‘Barmaid’s late tonight.’
‘She doesn’t work on a Sunday,’ Mr Langan informed him.
Niall’s heart dropped. And then he immediately stiffened, the surge of disappointment being quickly overwhelmed by anger that she had lied to him – lied simply to get rid of his unwanted advances. Tossing the last of his drink down his throat, he wished the man a curt good night and left.
‘Not going out?’ enquired Nora on Monday evening, when her son-in-law remained in his work clothes for longer than was usual – long after the children were in bed – and sat in preoccupied fashion staring into the fire.
Still deep in thought and brooding over being made a fool of, Niall took a moment to glance up at her and the other women who closely examined him, then shook the frown from his brow. ‘No, I think I’ll have an early night …’
Harriet and Dolly exchanged looks of relief that he was not resorting to alcohol again; though both were to feel concerned that his recent good mood should have relapsed so quickly, as he added in lacklustre voice, ‘I just can’t bring meself to go to bed.’
Nora empathised with his reluctance. ‘Too much room in it, I know. ’Sfunny, when my Dom was alive I was forever bashing and prodding him, trying to grab meself more space, but afterwards …’ Her voice trailed off in a wistful sigh.
His mind somewhere else, Niall picked at the hard skin on his workman’s fingers. ‘Seems a bit daft, me having that double bed all to meself, and the rest of you squashed in together. Why don’t we have a shuffle round, and I share with the boys?’ His suggestion came out of the blue.
Though it choked Nora to say it, she broached a possibility; for if one brother could do it, then so could the other. ‘Well, I didn’t like to suggest it meself. I thought maybe you might decide you want to get married again some day.’
He looked shocked that she might have guessed what had been behind his nocturnal jaunts, and tried to read what was in her eyes whilst delivering adamant rebuttal. ‘No, no, there’ll never be anyone else for me.’ After his humiliation by Boadicea, he had finally decided to be content with his lot. ‘Unless of course I lose my chief cook and bottle-washer,’ came the half-jocular addendum.
His mother-in-law looked gladdened by this show of allegiance, her masculine face and steely grey eyes projecting warmth, as much as they were able. ‘No, I’ll always be here to see you’re fed and watered. I just thought I’d make sure. Wouldn’t want to hold you back … I should have known you better,’ she concluded fondly. Harriet and Dolly too looked pleased about his loyal decision.
‘Well then,’ Nora rubbed her hands thoughtfully, as if intending business, ‘if you’re quite sure, Nye, we will have that shift about tomorrow.’
His soulless nod conveyed certainty. ‘If you wait till I get home I’ll give you a ha—’
‘Nay, just you leave it to us!’ Nora’s tone impressed upon him that she would not dream of this. ‘You work hard enough as it is, me and the lasses’ll organise everything, won’t we?’
‘Well, if you don’t mind—’ began Niall.
‘Mind?’ cried Harriet, springing up to make cups of cocoa and tweaking his cheek playfully in passing. ‘I thought you’d never ask! After twelve years of having our Dolly’s toes stuck in me face, I’ll be up at the crack of dawn to turf you out of bed.’
There was soft laughter then, and discussion over who would sleep where.
Hence, for Niall, it was his last night alone. From then onwards, he would sleep alongside his boys.
For a whole week he managed to stay away from the pub. Yet try as he might, he could not forget Boadicea, nor her lie that had so hurt and insulted him. It niggled at him day after day, demanding an explanation. If nothing else, he would have that.
Staving off any qualm from Nora and her daughters, he convinced them that tonight’s venture was not a regression to his previous drinking habits. ‘But I reckon I should force meself to go out once a week, if only for the sake of sanity – mindst, I could have changed me mind by the time I come in!’ That was certainly true, the outcome dependant on Boadicea’s apology.
It might have been an idea, thought Niall after a catastrophic evening, to grant her the chance to offer one first, before steaming in with a smart comment. The look on her face as he said it…
‘You must have long arms, being able to pull pints when you’re somewhere else.’
It was obvious she had translated the remark, for she had the grace to blush. ‘Oh, yes, Mr Langan said you’d been in …’ Slightly flustered, she picked up a glass and prepared to fulfil his requirement.
‘Get a better offer, did you?’ He did not meet her eye, hoping it was obvious that underneath his stiff exterior he was furious with her.
‘No,’ she said firmly, grasping the ivory handle of the pump. ‘I was at home. I had things to do.’
‘If you didn’t want to go out with me why didn’t you just say?’
‘It’s not that …’ She fought for an explanation. ‘I was just thunderstruck that you’d even ask. I wasn’t expecting it from a married man. I didn’t know what to say.’
Niall’s blue eyes brimmed with indignation. ‘You think I’d ask you out if I was married?’
Her own eyes were cynical. ‘A bachelor has no reason to visit a pub in order to get his newspaper read. Sure, I know a married man looking for a bolthole when I see one.’
‘Oh, so now I’m a liar as well!’ He was grossly insulted.
‘If I’m wrong then I beg