The Aul’ Man

*****

Cormac was home late. The flu was doing the rounds. Two book-keepers were sick. He mashed the last of his potatoes into the gravy, forked it into his mouth and put down his knife and fork. Beth was busy at the sink.

"That was grand. I enjoyed that."

"That you finished? You want a cup of tea? There’s still one warm in the pot. Oh, there’s a letter on the dresser for you."

He picked it up, slit it open with his thumb and read it.

"Cormac. Mother of God. What’s wrong?"

"My mammy and daddy are dead." Cormac’s shoulders heaved and bucked under his sobs. "So is uncle Thomas." He rose from the chair and went into the garden where he stood alone in the dark.

John stood up to follow him.

"Leave him alone, son," Beth held him back. "Let him be just now. Don’t shame him in his grief."

Beth picked up the letter from the floor, where it had fallen.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Holy mother of God." She laid the letter on the table.

"Mother, now what’s wrong?" John made to lift it.

"No. Please don’t touch it. It’s private. I shouldn’t have read it. Your father will tell you in good time."

"If it’s more bad news, I want to know. Don’t leave me wondering." John reached again for the letter.

"It’s not bad news. It’s just something your father will want to tell you himself. And don’t say that I know anything. It’s all right son. If it was bad, I would tell you. I wouldn’t hurt you like that. Don’t say anything to anybody. Now, promise me. You’ll hear soon enough"

"Aye, all right, but you’ve fair got me worried."

"No need. I promise you." She smiled at him, though she did not feel like smiling. This meant a parting. Beth hated partings, especially from her children.

"All right, Aul’-man? Come and sit down." Cormac had come back in from the garden. "I’m awful sorry about gran and granda Sleanagh. And uncle Thomas. Here, I’ve poured you a wee dram. Drink that down. It’ll steady you."

Cormac sat down at the table. "Thanks, son." He sipped at the whisky. "No. Take it away. I’ve no taste for it just now."

Beth came over from the sink where she had been standing. Bending over, she kissed him on the forehead.

"I’m awful sorry Cormac. I’ll make a fresh cup of tea."

"I’d like a cup of tea, Beth. Thanks." He took his handkerchief from his pocket and gave a blow into it. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly.

Picking up the letter, he said, "Where’s Mack tonight?" He put the letter in his pocket.

John looked at his watch. "It’s past seven o’clock. He was closing the shop up tonight. He was going straight to the house after closing up. He should be there by now."

"How’s that tea getting on, Beth? When we’ve had it, we’ll walk down to Mack’s. I want to talk to him. That’s if he’ll stop long enough to talk to us."

"I know. He’s really making a nice job of the house. Him and Jimmy McKellar are putting in the new fireplace tonight. Ann’s a lucky lassie, moving straight into such a great house when she gets married."

"You’re right there John. I wish your mammy and I could have had something like that. Remember the Rieds Beth? Is there any of that cake left? That nice cherry-cake we had last night? Cut me a slice of it there. Thanks."

"You all right now Aul’-man?" This was a familiarity seldom used. Among themselves, the boys referred to Cormac as the "Aul’-man," but seldom. if ever, did they address him by it.

"Aye, son. I’m fine. It just came as a shock. Suddenly there it was. They’re dead. I knew they had to be dead. They’ve been dead – what - five or six years already. They must have been eighty-odd, the both of them; a good age. And Thomas as well. I wrote to Thomas every year since I came to Scotland. Never had the scrape of a pen back from any of them over there; till today.

Ah, Beth, that’s grand."

He took the cup from her.

*****

"Why did he leave it to me? Why not to uncle Harry’s boys. Why not to you, or divide it between all the nephews and nieces?"

"Well, Mack, we’ll never know for sure, but I think you’ll find that he had a soft spot for me. He wanted me to stay there, learn the trade and take over from him, while I was staying with him after I left the farm. He probably thought, that I was well settled, and wouldn’t be needing it. You’re young and starting out, so he’ll have thought you’re next in line to inherit the farm, so to speak. It’s still the way their minds work. The oldest son gets the farm. I suppose, in a way, when I think about it, I’m surprised he never left it to me, as I’m the real next-in-line. We’ll never know."

"What am I going to do with an old house in the back of beyond in Ireland? I’ve never been there. I’ve never seen the place. What’s it like, Carlingford?"

"Well, remember, it’s been more than thirty years since I saw the place, but it’s a beautiful part of the world. The Lough is amazing with the hills all round it; and the Carlingford mountains at the back are glorious. You should see them in the autumn when the bracken’s turning colour. You could live in worse places."

"Who said anything about living there? I’ve no intention of going to live there. I’ll probably just sell it and stay here in the shop with John."

"Now, I didn’t mean it like that. It was just a manner of speaking. But you’re quite a wealthy young man now. You’ve a house, and forty-odd pounds in your pocket. Why don’t you and Ann go over for a few days? I’m sure, if you wrote to your uncle Harry, he could find you a bed for a few nights. I’ve a notion he’d like that fine. And you could look around the place and see what the possibilities are. You never know. You might fall in love with the place and never come back."

"Aye. Why don’t I do that? I’ll talk to Ann tonight. We’ll go after we’re married. We’ll make the honeymoon of it. She would like it, and so would I. And like you said, I can afford it, can’t I? Why not? John can do without me in the shop for a week or so.

*****

"Afternoon Eric. Is it too late to wish you a Happy New Year?"

"I don’t think so, Cormac. They say it’s all right before the end of January. It’s only the seventh."

"In that case, Happy New Year." They shook hands.

"Anything special, or just routine?"

"New Year visit. We do it every year." The sales rep. produced a bottle of whisky from a bag. "Compliments of AGL. Thanks for the good co-operation in 1922, and here’s to more of the same in 1923."

"That’s very generous of you. Thank you." Cormac put the bottle in a drawer. "Did you have a good New Year?"

"I did. Our family always has a big party at the bells. We’ve been doing it for years. Quite a tradition. It goes on all night. We always hold it at my mother and father’s. There’ll be forty of us there."

"Sounds a bit like us at Christmas. We always have good fun."

"I suppose you didn’t hear about Greg Barclay?"

"No. What happened?"

"Dead."

"What? How did that happen? He’s just a young man. Was he ill or something?"

"Drowned coming home from the New Year party at the Orange hall on New Year’s morning. He left the hall at about four o’clock, and they found him in the river on the Thursday afternoon. They think he fell in. They say he was pretty well-on when he left the hall."

"That’s terrible." Cormac sat down. "I’ll write a wee note to Marge. I’ve met her quite a few times at the bowls. That’s terrible."

"They found out he was on the fiddle."

"My God."

"He was sending out false invoices for small amounts. He was getting them paid into the petty-cash account. He was in charge of that, so he could draw out the payments as cash for the petty-cash box, and was putting it into his own pocket. He had stolen forty or fifty pounds in a year. Did you not notice anything?"

Cormac hesitated. Christ, now what do I say? They might find out about the blackmail. And they’re sure to see the invoices he sent me when they check it all out. Are they setting a trap for me here? This could be a pack of lies to make me admit something. Jesus, what am I going to say? He’s dead. Nothing can happen to me now. I can tell them about my letter. They might even have found it.

"I did. I noticed that a couple of invoices for breakages looked like duplicates and sent him a wee note querying them. He sent me a note back saying just to ignore them. I assumed he just tore them up. I never heard anything more about them."

"Have you still got the note he sent back?"

"No. I threw it away. Should I have kept it?"

"It might have helped us find out exactly what he was up to. No, don’t worry. It’s not that important. Wish to God the others had been as careful. You seem to be the only one that noticed anything. Could I look at the invoices in your files?"

"I’d have to ask Mr. Hutchinson about that."

"Ah, just leave it then. It’s not that important. I wish you’d mentioned it to me at the time. We could have caught him at it. It wasn’t a lot, but still …"

That night after tea, Cormac took the dog’s lead from the hook.

"Fancy taking the dog out John?"

"Aye, why not? It’s dry enough now."

They walked out along the Kilwinning Road to where the street lamps stopped.

"Greg Barclay’s dead."

"Oh aye. What happened to him?"

"Drowned on New Year’s morning on his way home from a party in the Orange hall. Fell in the river."

"That’s a shame. Well, that’s the end of your problem then."

"Did you have anything to do with this?"

"Me? How the hell would I have anything to do with it?"

"I don’t know John, and I don’t think I want to know. You’re a deep bugger at times. It’s funny that it happened after I told you about him."

"Do you think I went over there and threw him in? I was down at Larry and Irene’s till the wee hours. I didn’t get home till nearly seven o’clock. I had a good drink in me. I couldn’t have thrown myself in the river, never mind anybody else. No Aul’-man, it’s just a coincidence. A happy one. We’re well rid of him."

They turned and went home. John was thoughtful. I wonder if they’ll be back looking for a return favour.

*****

"Cormac. Give me your hankie."

Beth blew her nose as quietly as she could, so as not to draw attention to herself. She dabbed the tears from her eyes and put the handkerchief into her handbag. She hung onto Cormac’s arm with both hands. There was a terrible draught in the church which made the candles flicker and jump. It was an unseasonably cold, rainy Saturday in May. Beth shivered.

"Dearly beloved. We are gathered here together today, in the presence of God, to join in Holy Matrimony, Cormac Anthony Sleanagh, and Ann Philomena Lawler." Monsignor Friel led the couple through their vows to the accompaniment of floods of tears from Beth. She used up handkerchiefs from Cormac, John and Dan besides her own tiny thing.

After the Nuptial Mass, they had the wedding-breakfast in number 37 which turned into a party that continued till four in the morning.

The new couple left the following day, in beautiful sunshine, to catch the boat to Belfast, to spend a week’s honeymoon in Carlingford with uncle Harry.

It had been a great wedding; everybody agreed.

*****

The train hissed and clanked into Carlingford station. It was spring, the year after the letter with the news of uncle Thomas had arrived in Kerlaw. From the window, Mack recognised Harry at once. They stepped down onto the platform. Mack lifted the suitcase down.

"Mack, Ann. It’s grand to see you both." Harry had just as little trouble recognising Mack. "Give me that case, Mack. The trap’s just outside. It’s a five minute ride out to Rathhamilton."

Ann held onto her bonnet as the shiny, black trap bowled down a well-made road along the north side of the Lough, behind a sleek, black pony called Tip.

"Daddy Sleanagh said it was beautiful here, but we never realised he meant it was this beautiful."

"Sure enough; Carlingford’s a lovely part of Ireland. We’ll get you settled in when we get home. It’s just round the bend there. You’ll see the roof showing through the trees over there just in a minute. There it is now look."

Harry turned the trap into the farm road. It was a couple of hundred yards up the little hill to the farm-yard in front of the house. Harry’s wife, Bridie, came out to meet them as Tip pulled up.

"Oh look at the pair of you. Mack, I’d have known you for a Sleanagh anywhere. And Ann, you’re so pretty. You’re lovely. You must be exhausted , both of you. Come away in, I’ve got the kettle on. The tea’ll take but a minute to set. Gerry and Graham are up on the hill behind. They’ll be down before long and you’ll meet them too."

"Bridie, will you give the pair of them peace. They’ve not stepped down from the trap yet, and already they’ve had our life-history."

"Oh go away with you Harry Sleanagh. Sure, I’m only making them welcome to Ireland. It’s not every day I get to meet new relations. Is it? You’re both very welcome to Rathhamilton. Come in. Come in and sit down while I get the tea ready."

Harry looked on in exasperation. Mack caught his eye. The look they exchanged was enough. The womenfolk went into the house.

"I’ll put the horse away. I’ll be there in five minutes."

"I’ll come and give you a hand," said Mack.

"No need, no need. Go on in and sit down. I’ll be but a couple of minutes."

"I’ll come and give you a hand," said Mack firmly with a broad grin.

"Ah, right. A nod’s as good as a wink. Come on over to the stable then."

"She’s a beauty."

"She is that. Bred her myself. I’ve a small herd out the back. I’ve eight of them now. It’s a bit of a hobby. I breed them and show them. It’s the only diversion I get."

"Aye. I can imagine. A place this big must take a lot of your time. The Aul’-man never let on it was as big as this."

"Well it wasn’t when he was here. I bought the farm next to the old place. It’s nearly four times bigger than when your father knew it."

Harry had Tip out of the harness and rubbed down, before Mack could take his hands out of his pockets.

"Go over to the box in the corner there, and bring her an apple. She deserves a sweet bite. She’s been a good lass. Haven’t you, my beauty?"

Mack came back with an apple in the palm of his hand. Tip picked it off delicately with her lips and crunched it. Harry turned her into the paddock beside the others.

"Let’s get into the house and suffer these cackling women. Is Ann as bad as Bridie? If I’d known what Bridie was like before, I swear I’d never have married her. I’ve had blisters on my ears ever since. God help me."

"Get away with you. She’s lovely, and you’d be lost without her."

"Sure, I suppose you’re right, but she’s still a penance at times." They both laughed.

Between meeting all the relations, being shown around the area, looking over their new property and generally being holiday-makers, seven days passed and they found themselves on the boat back to Winton. They had no chance to discuss their experiences in Rathhamilton. They sat in the saloon, looking out over the North Channel.

"You know this is one of the most dangerous bits of sea in the world."

"Who told you that?"

"The Aul’-man. He was a fisherman for a year or so before he settled in Ayrshire."

"I never knew that. Well you’d never think it was so dangerous today. It’s a lovely day for a sail. It’s been a wonderful week. I’ve fair enjoyed myself."

"Aye, so did I. What did you think of Carlingford?"

"I liked it. You?"

"I liked it as well. I’m surprised how much I liked it. I had no idea that the house was so big. With the big workshop, it’s huge. John would be jealous of such a big shop."

"Maybe we could open a shop there. You know all about running a shop."

"Aye, I’d thought about that myself when I saw how big it was. But there’s only three or four hundred folk living in Carlingford. You’d need a lot more than that to make a shop profitable."

"I suppose you’re right. Now if it was a pub, that would be enough folk to make it worthwhile. The way they drink there. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen." Ann laughed.

"I know. There’s nothing else for them to do. There was only one dirty, wee shebeen in the place, and it was always full. They were going in there at nine o’clock in the morning. And as far as I could make out, it never closed. I wonder when the owners ever got to their beds."

Mack gave Ann the impression he was making idle conversation, but she had set him thinking

. *****

The brothers took it in turns to open the shop in the morning. They would brush the place out and put the kettle on for the first cup of tea. Mack walked down the hill. It was a Wednesday morning in March, mild and cloudy.

What the devil, he thought, noticing the big, front windows.

"Fuck them," he exclaimed angrily, biting his tongue at the expletive he abhorred.

Both windows were daubed with whitewashed slogans: ‘fuck the pope; God bless King Billy; papish bastards.’

He opened the shop and cleaned the windows with soap and water. Thinking it was just the work of a drunk on his way home from the pub, he did not mention it to the others.

The following week, John found the same thing.

"I had it last week. I thought it was just some drunken prod having a bit of fun at our expense. Never really thought any more about it. It’s likely the same eejit," said Mack, when John let his anger get the better of him.

"I wouldn’t get steamed up about it. There’s probably somebody further up the street who’s been whitewashing the house and them eejits have stolen the bucket and did this to the shop."

"You’re probably right, but if I get my hands on him, I’ll wring his neck."

Over the next four weeks, the shop was whitewashed with Orange slogans six more times.

"I’m going to stay in the shop at night, till I catch them." John was in fighting mood.

"What’ll you do? Go out and fight them? For you can be sure there’ll be more than one of them. This isn’t just a drunk coming home from the pub. If it was, he’d be bored with it by now. No, this is something more organised."

"Paddy, I don’t care. I’m fed up with it, and I’m going to break some heads."

"John, if anybody’s head’s going to get broke, it’s likely going to be yours."

"So what am I supposed to do; wash the shite off every morning for the next ten years?"

"I’d rather see you do that than visit you in the hospital."

"Or worse," said Mack. "Look, just ignore it. I bet you it stops within a couple of weeks."

"Aye, I suppose you’re right. But what happens if it doesn’t?"

"We’ll worry about that when it happens. I bet you I’m right. If it’s still there in a month, I’ll buy you a bottle of Bell’s’."

A week later, both windows were smashed."

"I shouldn’t have listened to the pair of you," John grated.

"Fair enough. You were right. But, me and Paddy are still right about you not staying in the shop at night. This is serious. They’re out to get us."

The damage was reported to the police, who did nothing except make up a report. John, who did not believe in insurance, paid Eamon Slavin, the local Catholic builder handsomely to replace the windows. Two weeks later, to the day, they were broken again. Written on the pavement were the words, ‘papists fuck off.’

Again, the police made a report. At John’s request for increased patrols in the street, the police promised to do so. John and Mack stayed in the shop each night for a week. They saw neither hooligans nor police. Thereafter, the three boys and Cormac, took it in turns, in twos, to guard the shop each night. No-one saw any trouble-makers or extra police patrols. After a month of peace and quiet, while the four became more and more tired, the night-vigil was stopped.

*****

"Aye, peritonitis; a burst appendix. She was rushed into Stobhill in Glasgow on Thursday night."

"Mother of God. Is she all right?"

"Not really. She’s awful ill. The doctor said it was touch and go. I’m just going up to see her now. I’m getting the ten-past train. If I’m going to catch it, I’ll have to get my skates on. It’s a quarter to, already."

"You wait there. I’ll get my coat and handbag. I’m coming with you." Beth hurried back into the house.

"Cath, Cath. Where are you?" Cath came up from the garden.

"Dorrie Banks’ sister Elsie’s in the hospital in Glasgow. I’ve just heard. Dorrie and me are going up to see her. She’s very sick. You stay in the house till I get back. I’ll be back before tea-time. Make sandwiches instead of your dinner. I’ll make the dinner at night when I get back. Tell the rest of them where I am. Your daddy’s away to the football. Will you be all right?"

"Of course I’ll be all right. What’s wrong with Mrs Bank’s sister?"

"Burst appendix. Now, don’t leave the house empty." Beth shrugged into her coat, lifted her handbag, and went out.

Visiting time was from two till half-past. Elsie was semi-delirious. Dorrie was very upset.

"Beth, I’m going to stay with her. I’ll get a train back tonight. You don’t mind, do you?"

"Don’t be silly. It’s your own sister. You stay here. I’ll get back to Kerlaw all right on my own. Do you want me to do anything for you?"

"No, Craig knows where I am. He’s taking care of the weans. Everything’s arranged in the house. If you see him, tell him Elsie’s not too good. Right, away you go. It was awful good of you to come up with me. Away and get your family fed. If they’re like my lot, they’ll starve if I’m not there." Dorrie gave a wee smile. Beth squeezed her hand.

"I’ll look in on Craig and the children to see if they need anything. I’ll see you at Mass in the morning. Don’t you worry about anything. I’ll make sure they get fed."

Beth caught the tram back to the city centre. She got off outside Mason’s department store in Argyle Street. As I’m here, I’ll get some underwear, she thought. It won’t take ten minutes. Inside, she walked up to the ladies department on the first floor. Forty-five minutes later with several sets of underwear, a jumper and several pairs of stockings, Beth walked back down the stairway to street-level.

"My God, that’s awful like Cormac," she muttered to herself. She stopped on the landing halfway down, where she could look out over the ground-floor sales area. A couple with two children were in the children’s shoe department. The girl admired her feet in a mirror. The boy was bored.

It is Cormac. That’s his coat and cap. What is he doing here? She stood and watched. The four moved nearer to the stairway. Mother of God, that’s our Maggie. The girl was in her mid-teens. She watched as shoes were bought for both children. The girl reached up and kissed Cormac as she was given her parcel.

She followed the four and saw Cormac embracing the woman as they went through the barrier for the Helensburgh train at Central station. She remembered the Helensburgh train-ticket in his pocket from several years previously. At a distance she followed him out into Gordon Street where he crossed the road and went into the Corn Exchange bar.

Beth turned the key in the door at Hillhead Street at quarter past six. Cath met her in the hall.

"Hello Mammy, how’s Elsie?"

"She’s awful sick. The doctors think she might die. Dorrie stayed with her."

"Mammy, are you all right. You look terrible."

"No, I feel terrible. I’m going to my bed. Where’s Maggie? You and her can make the dinner. Tell Maggie to go round to Mr. Banks’ and see if they’re all right. I promised Dorrie that I’d look in on them, but I’m not up to it."

Beth went to bed. She stayed there for three days. She refused to have the doctor. On Wednesday morning, she resumed her normal routine.

"What the devil is wrong with my mother?" The boys were in the White Hart.

"I have no idea. She’s hardly said a word to the Aul’-man since the weekend. Have they had a falling-out?"

"Not that I know of. You heard or saw anything John?"

"I’m no wiser than youse."

*****

At half past eight, the three oldest boys were sitting in the back corner in the White Hart. Mack got a round in. He had his beer as did Paddy. John’s preference was Bell’s whisky. They nodded to acquaintances as they came and went. It was obvious, the Sleanaghs did not want company.

"Well how much do you think it will take?" John, as ever, got to the heart of the matter.

"That’s just it. I haven’t a clue. If it were here, I could go to half a dozen folk that we know, and they would be able to give me an idea. But nobody here knows what things cost over there. It could be half, it could be double."

"You’re sure the building’s in good condition? You don’t want to start on something and then find out that the bloody place is ready to fall down." Paddy was the practical one.

"I’m pretty certain of that. The place is very well built. I did look at it carefully, inside and out. I’m no surveyor, but there were no cracks in any of the walls, and I got my hands on a screwdriver, and poked at all the floors, ceilings and beams I could reach. Everything was like iron. I couldn’t stick it in a bit, anywhere. No, I’m pretty certain the building’s as sound as anything."

"Exactly how big is it?" Paddy again.

"I made a sketch. Ann went out with Auntie Bridie one day, and I walked down to the workshop, just myself. I’ve got it here. Now, it’s just a rough sketch. and the measurements are paces, big ones. So you can easily count them as a yard." Mack showed them a page from a notebook. John took it.

"Jesus. Is this true? The workshop’s 18 paces by 12? That means it’s 54 feet by 36. That’s a wee town hall. And the house built onto it is 36 by 36 feet? And the whole thing is two stories? It’s huge." He did some quick, rough arithmetic.

"That’s about six and a half thousand square feet of floor-space. And you’ve got," he paused again to do his sums, "almost twenty five hundred square feet of land next to it. Jesus Christ. I wish to hell I had that kind of property here in Kerlaw. I’d be a bloody rich man."

"Don’t forget, the upstairs floors have got sloping roofs. They’re lofts. You can’t stand upright at the sides. The roof has got a steep pitch though, so you can stand up in most of it."

"It’s bounded on three sides by the street. It’s perfect for a pub. I suppose, they’ll not be making too many difficulties about things like building permits and stuff like that." Paddy returned to the practicalities.

"There is just one thing, though. What the hell do you know about running a pub?"

"You should see them over there. At the rate they’re sinking the stuff, the pubs run themselves. No, I’m not worried about being able to run a pub. I’ve been in the shop long enough to know how to run a business. And I’ll not be long learning to pull a pint."

"What will you do about the wee shebeen that’s there. He’ll likely be selling the stuff at half the price you’ll be charging?"

"Aye. It’s something to think about. I might buy him out. There again, maybe I’ll just leave him there. He might take away the rough trade and leave me with the more respectable folk. There’s probably room in the town for two pubs anyway."

"Anyhow. Here’s what I think you want to do. You need to get back over to Carlingford, get an architect to make you a plan and a builder to give you a price. Only when you’ve got that, you can start to make some kind of decisions. Right now, you’re just wasting your time."

"John’s right. It hurts me to say it, but he’s right." Paddy laughed and went to get another round.

"You’ve still got that money Thomas left you. Use that to see whether you’ve got a workable plan. If it’s not, then that property’s still worth a lot of money. Sell it and use the proceeds for something else. You can’t lose."

"What about the shop? I’ll need to be taking a lot of time off."

"Bugger the shop. I’ll not be paying you for the time you’re not there anyway." John punched him on the shoulder. "We’ll manage without you. If you do decide to go to Carlingford, we’ll have to anyway, won’t we?"

"I’ll go back next week. I’ll book my ticket tomorrow."

"Now hold your horses. Just wait a minute. If you go charging off next week, you’ll only spend your time trying to find an architect and builder. Get uncle Harry to do that before you go. Then, when you get there, you can start doing the business right away." John tapped his temple knowingly. "Listen to your wee brother. He knows what he’s talking about."

"You’re right. I’ll write to him tonight."

"You’re keen on this, aren’t you?"

"I am, and I can’t believe it myself. If you’d told me I’d be like this, three months ago, I’d have laughed at you."

Paddy came back with the round.

"Here get that down you."

The three brothers discussed a range of plans and possibilities. John enjoyed the buzz of new ideas with the accompanying element of risk. Mack was wound up with the excitement of a possible new life. Paddy was bored. Mack would either do it or he would not. Endless debate about the relative merits of one plan against another made him thirsty.

"Whose round is it? I’m empty."

"Aye, just a minute. Now, if you were to borrow the money in Ireland, I bet you the interest there’s not as high as here in Scotland. That could save you twenty or even twenty-five quid a year right there. Here. There’s ten shillings. Away up and get a round in."

Paddy took the bank-note John proffered and went up to the bar.

"I’m all right. I don’t need another yet. Just get yourself and Mack a pint."

Paddy looked at the few drops left in John’s glass thinking, the tight bugger’ll make that last till it’s Mack’s round again. No wonder he’s got money in his pockets. He never spends any. They stayed talking till Mrs. Martin rang the bell.

"There’s last orders. It’s my round. What’ll you have?"

"Sit down John. You’ve done it again. That’s ten o’clock, and drinking-up time. As usual, you managed to miss last-orders."

"I never heard the first bell. Are you sure?"

"Aye John, we’re sure. I’ve had enough anyhow. I didn’t want any more tonight. Drink up and let’s get up the road. Mother will have the kettle on. I’m hungry."

*****

Where is that thing? Why can’t a body find anything in this house? Beth rummaged through the pile of old magazines. The Scots Magazine was a family favourite every month. April was flicked through and discarded. March went the same way. January too. Where is February? There you are. On page 24 there was an article on Helensburgh. As a regular advertiser, Clyde View Guest House was featured in it, with a picture of the proprietor and her two children.

I knew I’d seen that girl before. I remember thinking at the time that she was awful like Maggie. Wilson, 35, West Clyde Street; Beth wrote it down and put the paper in her purse.

The following Saturday, Cormac was at Rugby Park in Kilmarnock for the game against Queen of the South. Beth caught a train to Glasgow, and then to Helensburgh. She walked up the three steps and pressed the brass bell-push. Ellen opened the door.

"Is your mother in?"

"Would you like to come in and I’ll go and get her."

Beth stepped into the hall. Ellen disappeared.

"Good afternoon. Can I help you ….." Maisie’s throat closed. She tried to generate some saliva with which to say something..

Eventually, "Come into the sitting room." Maisie led the way through and gestured to an easy-chair. Beth sat down. Maisie sat opposite her. The fire in the hearth seemed to shrink in the chilly atmosphere.

"How did you find us?"

Beth explained.

"That article in the magazine was against my better judgement, but the reporter was very persuasive. Ah well. What’s done’s done. What happens now?"

"The two children are Cormac’s? The girl is the image of our Maggie when she was that age."

"Yes, they’re Cormac’s. And there was another one. You saw Phillip and Ellen. Corrie died."

"You mean there were three?"

"We made Corrie in Girvan before he met you. She died when she was twelve. She would have been thirty-one this year." Beth was still.

"Were the pair of you married?"

Maisie smiled. "No, I took advantage of a sweet, young, innocent lad, straight off the boat from Ireland. He ran away the next day and never knew anything about the child. We met by accident in Paisley when she was 12. She died the same year, just weeks after Cormac saw her for the only time."

"What happened?’

"Diphtheria."

"I’m sorry."

"After Corrie died, I fell on bad times and Cormac wanted to help me. He wanted to make up for not being there for the child. He felt very guilty. At first I told him to go to hell. I was that angry at him for running away and leaving me. But he kept coming back and he helped me get back on my feet. And then we just fell in love again. He’s a wonderful man. You’re a very lucky woman."

The two women were quiet for several minutes.

"I’m going to put the kettle on. D’you want a cup?"

"I came here with murder in my heart to scratch your eyes out."

"I know. We can go out into the garden if it’ll make you feel any better."

"Why are you not the brazen hussy I wanted to find? I should have known that he wouldn’t have had anything to do with anybody like that. Damn the man. I can never stay angry at him. Aye, dammit, give me a cup of tea."

"What are we going to do?" The tea was too strong for Beth. "If we force him to choose, one of us is going to be heartbroken. And so will he be. And think about the scandal. Could you face that? He’d probably lose his job as well. Everybody will end up losing, especially the children, the younger ones at least. I’ve been sharing him for all these years. It’s not that difficult. I loved him first, and you married him first. So we both have a claim on him. And we both love him, and he loves the pair of us. I can live like this if you can. Truth be told, you’ve been living like this all these years as well. You just didn’t know about it. If we don’t tell him we know about each other, we can just go on as we did before. I have a good life, and so do you. We’d be mad to throw it away."

"I’ll have to think about it." Beth was wondering what she was going to tell Father Boyle the next time she went to confession.

Neither Father Boyle nor Cormac ever found out about the mutual deception pact. Beth was wracked with Catholic guilt over her lack of candour in the confessional. She went to a church in Glasgow where she was not known, but the priest there gave her no absolution.

"You are condoning the sin of adultery, and are therefore also guilty of the same sin."

Beth came to realise that the Sacrament of forgiveness was a very unforgiving one. Having to choose between God and man, she chose her man; half of him.

They never shared a marital bed again.

*****

"What in the name of God is that?" Cormac sat straight up in bed. Beth grasped at his arm in the dark. It was a week after the vigils had stopped.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, on the front door. Cormac swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He heard footsteps running down the stairs from the attic. By the time he had his trousers on, he heard Paddy opening the front door.

"Paddy, the shop’s on fire. John sent me up to tell you." It was half past three.

"You stay there," Cormac told Beth. "Me and Paddy’ll go down and see what can be done. You keep the young ones here. I don’t want them out at this time of night"

In the meantime, Paddy was a stumbling about above in the attic, as he fought his way into his clothes in the darkness.

The display in the shop-window was badly damaged. A brick had been thrown through the right-hand window, followed by a bottle of paraffin. The bottle had landed a good distance into the shop, and had not broken. The burning, paraffin-soaked rag, meant to ignite the paraffin from the bottle, landed on the crepe-paper of the window-display. It made a good blaze but did not get far enough into the shop to ignite what paraffin had spilled from the bottle.

There was a lot of damage from smoke and the water from the fire-hoses. Structural damage was restricted to the window area. A lot of stock was made unsaleable, but, in the meantime, John had discovered the benefits of insurance.

*****

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