Secrets of Our Hearts. Sheelagh Kelly

the same conclusion.

      His mind on this, he emerged from the scullery, again having to avoid Brian.

      Hair in neat plaits, and in her nightgown, Juggy came straight to him. ‘Can I have a story, Dad?’

      His thoughts interrupted, anxious to be off, Niall glanced down at the elfin face, still forlorn from yesterday, and immediately his glazed expression melted. Grabbing a book from a shelf, he led her to his chair. ‘Away then, sparrowshanks!’ He pulled her onto his lap, where she snuggled in, her head against his chest. ‘But don’t get too comfy, ’cause it’s just a quick’n!’ But this was issued with a hug. Batty came running too, in his striped pyjamas and with happy round cheeks, reminding his father of a character from a comic. ‘Away then, Tiger Tim!’ Niall hauled him onto the other knee, then shouted to the youngest – ‘Put that lorry down, Bri!’ – finally to read them four pages from All the Mowgli Stories, before thoughts of Boadicea were to overrule his good intentions.

      After a swift good night kiss to his little ones – for there was now less than ten minutes to get there – he was on his way.

      Sunny by day, it might have been, but it was still only April and the nights retained their wintry chill. Without his greatcoat and feeling the nip, Niall huddled into his jacket, his excitement tempered by concern as he travelled brisklythrough the dark, passing from the labyrinth of terraced streets and alleys, under the thick stone archway of Fishergate Bar and its crenellated battlements that were scarred both by time and civil rebellion, past the row of stinking cattle pens that ran directly parallel to these same medieval walls, along Fawcett Street, with its public houses crammed full of drovers from today’s fat-stock market, and on towards Fishergate.

      An ominous smell of carbon hung in the air. Approaching the charred hulk of the cinema, he saw that he was not to be alone. A small number of other cinemagoers, unacquainted with the disaster, had turned up to see the film and were standing there in bemusement. To his great relief Boadicea was amongst them.

      She did not see him for the moment, her profile slightly hidden behind her fur collar, which she had tugged around her neck and cheeks, but he knew it was her. Relaxing, he eased his pace and made a quick check of his attire before continuing, his lips twitching in fun as he moved up silently behind her.

      ‘If you didn’t want to go out with me you only had to say, you know. You didn’t have to burn the place down.’

      She spun round at his comment, looking as relieved as he was, then giggling heartily at the joke. Then she covered her mouth in guilt. ‘Oh God, you’re terrible! It’s people’s livelihoods – we really shouldn’t be laughing!’ But all the same she expressed further mirth at the ironic concurrence and so did Niall.

      ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be here.’ He continued to appraise her lovingly, his smiling eyes fixed to hers, which were shining and alert, her cheeks and nose reddened by the keen air. ‘I didn’t find out meself till I got home, and then I realised I’d no idea where you live so I couldn’t let you know.’ Not expecting her to be so forthcoming, he was delighted when she did not hide her address.

      ‘You know where Dorothy Wilson’s Hospital is on Foss Bridge? Well, between there and the old Malt Shovel in Walmgate you might’ve seen an archway, go down there and you’ll find a Georgian mansion – sounds grand, doesn’t it? Oh, I’m terribly grand!’ She stuck her nose in the air, flicked it haughtily, then laughed at her own quip. ‘No, it’s just a boarding house, dropping to bits really, and we’re right next to a tripe dresser – stinks to high heaven – but the people are awfully nice. What about you? Do you live on Walmgate itself?’

      Unlike her, he was imprecise, though not through any reason of concealment. ‘No, I live down one of the streets, down t’other end, near the Bar.’ He hovered self-consciously over what to do next, rubbing his large hands and looking around as if in search of a venue. ‘Well, we can’t hang about here in the cold … where would you like to go now?’

      She followed his gaze to the Edinburgh Arms, and gave a cryptic smile. ‘Not in there, for sure.’

      ‘Aye, it’d be a bit of a busman’s holiday for you, wouldn’t it?’ laughed Niall. ‘Come on then, it’ll only take us ten minutes into town. We can make our minds up when we get there.’

      They embarked on a long stretch of pavement that sloped in gentle descent through the darkness towards the floodlit Minster and bar walls, walking independently of each other yet with an air of closeness between them. To their left, merging with the night sky, loomed the tall, smoking chimney of the glassworks, and along the way lurked other sinister intrusions; yet, totally in thrall to his companion, Niall saw none of them, his eyes remaining steadfastly on the lighted path ahead.

      As usual it was Boadicea who initiated the conversation, enquiring cheerfully, ‘Well then, Mr Niall Doran, and what have you done today at work?’

      Having been struggling to think of a topic, he perked up instantly to tell her. ‘Have you read about the wolf that’s going round eating sheep?’

      ‘Oh, yes!’

      ‘Well, I saw him again today.’

      Boadicea showed deep interest, sucking in her breath. ‘You’ve seen him before then?’

      ‘Aye! I was the first to report him – well, me and the rest of the gang!’ Niall hurried to correct the impression that he was bragging. ‘We’ve seen it plenty of times.’

      ‘Come on then, tell me all about it!’ she urged.

      And so he did, this providing enough conversation to take them right the way into town.

      Uninformed as to York’s picture theatres, and asked which one she would care to visit, Boadicea plumped for the Electric, simply because it was near to where she lived and, in passing, she had liked the look of it. This caused Niall a moment’s awkwardness. It might look like an ancient Greek palace, with its tall pillars, its huge archway graced with plaster garlands and swags and a theatrical mask, and be guarded by a grandly uniformed commissionaire, but beyond that entrance was a fleapit. However, there was another source to his discomfort as the usherette’s torch showed them to their seats, namely the main film on show, ironically titled The Man With Two Faces