An Irish Heart Read online

  Just for the sake of factual correctness, it should be mentioned that, at the time of Dawber’s association with the gang, its leader was a young gentleman who, in all respects apart from his obvious criminality, quite fulfilled the title – for he came from a family of money, and went about always, even while his dirty-looking associates were trailing after him, in a crisp suit and waistcoat. His name was Mr Curtis.

  Though Mr Curtis’s story gave the appearance of being one quite interesting and fantastical, Kerry did not go very far to indulge my curiosity. As she spoke, her hateful fixation was concentrated only on Dawber – so the name of Mr Curtis, quite naturally, came into the conversation only along those points where his own behaviour came to play in that other fellow’s actions.

  I was quite fascinated by the sometimes (or, rather, mostly) illegal antics of that unfortunate band of fellows. When Kerry recounted, with a deep frown painted across her face, some of the worst of the plans and schemes of the notorious Mr Curtis, I was perhaps a little too intrigued.

  When it seemed as though Kerry had finished with her tale, I leant forward in my seat, and could not help but ask:

  “Well? How did he die?”

  Kerry only nodded, as though there had been nothing at all strange or inappropriate in my question.

  “He and the others were swiping a house,” she said. “That of a rather well-to-do young woman, who supposedly lived alone – which meant only her butler, her maid, and her cook, of course. So, the boys had got inside, and were just about through clearing out the loot that Curtis had had his eye on – when there came something of a kink in the plan. The young woman had a fellow in her room. He heard the boys about, and came bounding down the stairs with a pistol in his hand. Dawber was on the lookout, you see – so he got it first. Full in the chest, was how he got it. But when the others heard the shot, they flew just about as quick as lightning out the parlour window. One of them got nipped in the leg as he jumped out; but that was all.” She shook her head. “Eight months before the twins were born, that was.”

  I would have offered some kind of condolence, which seemed the thing to do at the time; but I got the distinct impression that Kerry desired no such thing. In fact, I was nearly certain that I saw the corners of her lips turning up into a grim little smile.

  “But they do say,” said she, “that the good Lord works in His own mysterious ways. That lout caused me nothing but trouble, all those years I knew him – keeping out all hours of the night, coming home soaked from the bottle, and running round in between with more lassies than you could shake the old stick at.” She crossed her arms, and nodded resolutely. “Yes, oh yes, I say. Mysterious, mysterious ways.”

  Needless to say, that was the last time that I ever heard her speak of the good Mr Dawber. And it wasn’t that I felt particularly sorry for him, you see – but with all that rain that night on the stoop, which filled up the dead grass of the lawn like a little pond; and the sad-looking buildings all about, looking on the Warners’ cheerful little porch with envy, it was hard not to take the story somewhat to heart.

  “I do hate this place,” I whispered, glancing about in the darkness with wary eyes.

  “What was that?”

  I looked to Thea. For a moment, I had forgotten she was there; and with the misery and blackness all around, setting a very poor backdrop for something so bright as she, it was not difficult to see why.

  “Oh, nothing,” I said, reaching quickly for her hand. “Just thinking aloud, I suppose.”

  “I’d ask what about, if I really thought you would tell me.”

  I squinted towards the house opposite, thinking that I had seen something move there. “And I’d tell you,” I said, “if I thought that it was anything interesting.”

  Never mind. Nothing moving there.

  She said nothing; so I looked back and smiled. “I love you,” I said.

  “Is that what you were thinking about?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, well.”

  I waited.

  “Do you love me, too?”

  She leant her head close to mine, and kissed my cheek.

  “What kind of a question is that?”

  “Just tell me.”

  “You know I do.”

  “All right, then.”

  I kissed her face, and closed my eyes; then turned my face just a bit. Just enough to see the curtains of the parlour window, falling back into place.

  “Well, then,” I said, with a slow sinking feeling starting up in my chest.

  “What?”

  “Someone was looking at us through the window.”

  She looked back towards the window; then at me. “What matter?”

  “I dunno. Should we go in?”

  “I suppose.”

  Up the steps we went, and through the front door. We kicked off our boots beside the door, and then looked into the parlour. Everyone was there, and it seemed as though they were making some sort of an effort to look as though they had been doing whatever they were doing for quite a while now – talking, a bit too loudly; reading the newspaper; sitting still, head against the back of a chair, eyes closed.

  Mrs Warner sat in the great armchair beside the window. “Hello, dears,” she said. “I see you’ve got yourselves all wet.”

  We said nothing, and everyone was quiet for a minute – that is, until Joseph spoke. “I don’t see why you don’t get married,” he said. “I’ve never even seen married folks kiss as much as you do.”

  I was not sure what to expect next. Everyone but Joseph was expressionless; none of them looked like they were going to say anything else.

  But Mrs Warner smiled. “Oh, come now. You look like two frightened mice. There’s no need for it.”

  “Of course not,” said John, reaching out to pick up a toy that had rolled away from one of the twins.

  “Why don’t you come and sit?” Sally suggested, scooting over on the sofa, and pulling Mary-Anne into her lap. “It’s early yet.”

  Thea and I sat down without a word. (The others seemed to be having trouble finding topics for conversation, as well.)

  Finally, though, Kevin stood up. “Isn’t anyone going to say anything?” he asked loudly.

  Kerry looked at him. “No, Kevin. No one’s going to say anything.”

  “Why not? Because they’re such nice people?”

  “Kev,” John said warningly.

  Kevin sighed. “You know, John, I’m getting really tired of you talking to me like that. You’re my brother, not my father.”

  “You’ll stop that right now,” Mrs Warner said.

  “What’s going on?” asked Mary-Anne.

  “Nothing, love,” Sally answered. “Why don’t you and Joseph go into the kitchen with the twins?”

  The children groaned, but each of them took a small twin by the hand, and trudged into the next room.

  As soon as they had gone, Kevin spoke again. “Well,” he said, “at least I know now why Thea seems to want nothing to do with me.”

  “As if she would want anything to do with you, anyway,” I snapped.

  “Well, I suppose we’ll never know. I’m inclined to believe that your influence is quite irreparable.”

  “Stop it, Kevin,” Thea said coldly. “You’re only making a fool of yourself.”

  “I don’t care much who I am to you,” John said to Kevin. “You’ll stop this offence immediately. These young ladies’ lives are of no concern to you.”

  “Quite right, John,” said Mrs Warner, nodding her head in that assured manner of hers. “I think it would be best if you went on next door, Kevin.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Kevin, clearly disbelieving.

  “I think not. There’s no room for undue disrespect in my house.”

  “Undue? What do you mean, undue? Is it only me – or did you not see what I saw, out on the porch?”

  “We saw the same thing, Kevin. And what was it, really? A little peck on the cheek! The only difference, my boy, i
s what we seem to be making of it.”

  “Which makes me the only sane one here, I suppose.”

  “Who are you to judge?” Kerry asked.

  “A more righteous individual than you, apparently.”

  Donny snorted. “Come off it. You’re only upset, because you know now that you’ve no chance with Thea! Everyone knows it – you’re only fooling yourself.”

  “Go and get some rest, Kevin,” said Sally with a frown.

  “Unbelievable,” Kevin muttered. “All of you are unbelievable.”

  He stomped out of the house, then, slamming the door behind him. There was a round of collective sighing.

  “I do hope he finds a way to get over himself,” Kerry said.

  Donny laughed. “He will. Sooner or later.”

  “I’d prefer sooner, rather than later.”

  “Knowing Kevin,” Mrs Warner said, “he won’t speak to any of us for a while. Just let him be.”

  “He’d better pull himself out of this moody mess, or I’ll kick him out of the house.”

  “Just send him over to us,” Sally said. “We’ll lock him in the spare room.”

  Everyone laughed. Except for me.

  Mrs Warner turned to me and Thea. “Listen, dears. Don’t let Kevin’s attitude make you feel uncomfortable. None of us feel any differently about you now, than we did before.”

  “Thank you,” Thea said, her voice rather hoarse.

  “Well, you’re quite welcome – even though there’s nothing to thank me for.”

  Things seemed to be all right, for the most part. But I still didn’t feel good about it. There was something about the look on Kevin’s face; something about the fury in his voice. I felt like I was inflating, inflating like an overfilled balloon. I could almost feel my skin tightening.

  I did not want to feel as if I were in a competition with someone – not for the thing I cared about most.

  After several moments’ quiet, Kerry said, “I suppose we’d better be heading out. I’ll just fetch the boys.”

  “I’ll help you,” Donny said.

  They all said their goodnights, then, except for Donny, who would return after he had helped Kerry put the boys to bed. The door opened, and out went John; out went Sally, Donny and Kerry; out went Mary-Anne and the twins.

  “Well, I’m off to bed,” said Mrs Warner, after they had gone. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  We said goodnight, one after the other.

  And, with that, only I and Thea remained in the parlour. The recent presence of all those additional bodies, and their immediate disappearance, left me feeling tremendously tired.

  “Are you going to go to sleep?”

  I jumped at the sound of Joseph’s voice. I had forgotten he was still in the flat.

  “Yes, Joseph,” Thea said. “We’re going to sleep. You do the same.”

  “All right,” he said. “I’m going to steal the sofa before Donny gets back. Then he’ll have to sleep on the floor.”

  I said nothing. I stood up quickly, and made my way to the bedroom.

  I had to make an effort not to slam the door. I went to the window, looking out into the moonlit street. I wished that the window were a door; and that I could step right out of it. The walls, the ceiling and the floor – all of it was suffocating me. I did not want to be there anymore. I did not want to have to look at those people anymore; I did not want to have them looking at me.

  It was a few minutes before Thea came in. I was still looking out the window; but I heard the door shut quietly behind her.

  “I think you hurt Joseph’s feelings,” she said.

  I snorted. “You’ve done worse to him.”

  “That’s not fair. I didn’t know him then.”

  “A bitch to strangers! Ah, that’s all right, then.”

  I still wasn’t looking at her, but I could tell by her silence that she was momentarily stunned. I did not know why I’d said that; but I knew that I would end up regretting it.

  “Why are you being this way?”

  I closed my eyes, and the moon vanished.

  “Are you upset about what happened?”

  “Would that be a crime?”

  “Well, no. But it would be stupid.”

  I turned around. “Did you just call me stupid?”

  “No. Is that what you heard?”

  “I’d slap you if you were closer.”

  “Your legs don’t work?”

  I realised that I was breathing heavily. I inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly.

  “Let’s stop now,” I said. “Before this gets any worse.”

  Thea said nothing – which, at the rate we were going, was better than something.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Me, too.”

  “Do you mind?” I asked. “Them knowing, I mean.”

  “No,” she said. “Why should I?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Whenever you say you don’t know, it always means that you do. Don’t you think I know that by now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Thea sighed. “No, Katie, I don’t mind. I don’t mind, because there’s nothing to mind about – we’ve done nothing wrong, and we have no reason to feel guilty. We have nothing to hide.” She looked into my eyes. “Or, at least, I know that I haven’t.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She looked away. “Nothing.”

  “Why don’t you just say it?”

  “It’s just – well, you seem to be the only one with a problem here! Why the attitude?”

  “I have an attitude? Mine isn’t even comparable.”

  “To whose? Kevin’s? What do you care what he thinks?”

  My voice was a low hiss. “I don’t! But I have to ask you, Thea – why is he so upset about it at all? Why would he act so betrayed, if he has no reason to feel that way?”

  She was speechless.

  “How was your trip today, Thea? You never told me.”

  Her mouth actually fell open, before she asked: “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Katie?”

  “You know exactly what I’m saying. Just tell me the truth.”

  “This is insane! How can you even ask me such a thing? Are you trying to break my heart?”

  I sighed. “You know, making it all about you isn’t going to convince me of anything.”

  “You don’t know a thing,” she said, perhaps a bit too loudly. “Evidently you know nothing about me. You’re being ridiculous, and you’re making me angry. I won’t have it, do you hear me? I’ve done everything for you that one person can do for another. And this is what I get in return? It’s absurd. If this is what your love is like – well, let’s just say that you’d make a nasty opponent.”

  “You’re coming ever closer to finding out what that would be like.”

  She glared at me. “I can’t believe that you’d speak to me this way. It makes all the rest of your behaviour seem like nothing but a never-ending charade.”

  “You say it as though I started this mess.”

  “What mess is that? This conversation, or our life?”

  I felt as though I had been stabbed directly in the heart.

  “I can’t do this,” I whispered. I averted my face, dashed out into the hallway, and then out of the house.

  Chapter 18

  I walked through the dark streets for what seemed like hours, hardly attentive enough to remember to glance over my shoulder occasionally for the Hounds – or any other ne’er-do-well who might be happening about. I could scarcely see for the tears that filled my eyes, spilling over to mix with the dust on the cobbles at my feet.

  The moon was dim, barely a sliver of a crescent in the sky. It seemed that the stars were covered by clouds. I shivered in the wintry air, wishing for my cloak.

  What a night it had been! I tried not to think about her, but thoughts of Thea filled my mind. I could not push them away. I struggled to remember who had said the first rotten thing t
o whom; but even the exact words we had spoken, were lost to me. All I could recall was that look in Thea’s eyes, that expression of sour love and bitter regret. It made my heart ache to know that it was I who had turned her love sour, I who had made her bitter. Yet, even as I dwelled in a state of untimely remorse, I was also consumed by anger. Why should I blame myself? After all, she had done her part in making me leave.

  The pitch blackness that surrounded me did little to improve my mood. I had wandered into a street whose lamps were out. I squinted to see.

  “My, my, we meet again! And after such a short time, I do say.”

  I whirled about. The voice had come from somewhere behind me – it was vaguely familiar, but try as I might, I could not place it. I stared hard into the darkness, eyes squinched, moving slowly backwards.

  Then he stepped into an area of – how would I have described it? – slightly lighter darkness. I recognised him immediately.

  “Chilly evening, isn’t it?” asked Tyler Ashley. “And you without a coat, I see.”

  “I’m fine, thanks very much.”

  He laughed. “I see you’ve turned scaly on me again. Here, then, don’t be that way.” He walked over to me, and shrugged out of his overcoat, slipping it quickly round my shoulders. “Better?”

  I nodded stiffly.

  He began to walk, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “My God,” he said. “With cold like this, it’s going to be one hell of a winter.”

  I stared straight ahead, choosing not to respond.

  He gave me a sideways glance. “You look rather ruffled.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Your face is set like a stone statue. Your teeth are clenched. Your expression is relatively venomous, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “Venomous,” I said softly, rolling the word around on my tongue.

  He gave a small nod. “Yes,” he said solemnly. “Just like a snake.”

  “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.”

  “Well, it’s true,” he said. He reached over quite suddenly, sliding a hand beneath the overcoat. I jumped back, ready to run if need be.

  He laughed. “Goodness, I’m only grabbing a smoke.”