it when I go to meet Pete’s family.’ Harriet’s young man was a comparatively recent acquisition, but already both were smitten.
‘I doubt it would impress them,’ smirked Ellen. ‘It’s that so-called wolf he’s supposed to have seen again. I reckon he needs specs.’
‘I’ve told you, it’s not just me!’ objected Niall, a smile on his face yet slightly annoyed that his wife should denigrate him thus, and in front of his children too. Even if it was intended as a jest it was no way for a woman to address the breadwinner. ‘All the other lads have seen it.’
‘They’re having you on!’ Ellen was relentless in her teasing. ‘I bet one of them’s got hold of a big dog and touched it up with a tin of paint.’
‘Don’t believe me then!’ Cigarette in mouth, Niall dismissed the laughing doubters, but remained adamant as he dealt out cards to his children for a game of Happy Families. ‘Dick Kelly says he’s going to set a trap for it. You’ll be laughing on the other side of your faces when he does.’
‘Well, don’t be fetching the stinky old thing home here,’ warned his wife. ‘If I’m ever lucky enough to get a fur coat I’d like it to be genuine.’
However, by the time autumn was in full flush, what Ellen had assumed to be a figment of her husband’s imagination turned out to be quite real. Niall and his workmates had seen it a few times now; but more pertinently it had earned a wider notoriety for killing and partly devouring sheep, its gruesome attacks being reported in the newspapers. It was definitely not a dog, said the experts. And there was Niall’s name in print, being one of those witnesses interviewed. So they had to believe him now, didn’t they?
On the contrary, they teased and tormented him even more, Nora and her daughters, that the following Sunday during dinner, Harriet decreeing mockingly, ‘Eh, he’ll do anything to make himself look important!’
Smarting beneath his fixed grin, feeling his children’s eyes on him as they watched for a reaction, Niall continued in his stoic silent manner to eat his dinner, and awaited his wife’s contribution. But for a change Ellen stuck up for her husband, laying down her knife to lean over and pat him, saying with genuine affection, ‘Aw, he’s important to us, aren’t you, dear?’
Niall returned her smile, half-expecting some clever comment from one of the others.
So it was no surprise when Dolly added, ‘Aye, if we didn’t have him who else could we poke fun at?’
‘I’m sure you’d find somebody, Dol,’ muttered Niall, which everyone took as a joke.
Then the clink of cutlery displaced chatter as all became intent on the delicious roast.
After dinner, with Nora and Dolly in the scullery washing the pots, Harriet ironing work overalls, and Ellen escorting her children to Sunday school, Niall relaxed in his brown leatherette armchair and took up the newspaper, which had so far remained unread due to morning Mass. This was his favourite time of day.
He must have been napping though, for when the children came home he was jolted awake to find the paper in a crumpled heap on his lap. Refreshed, he laughed at himself and greeted them.
‘Look what I’ve got, Dad!’ From under his jacket Batty presented a small toy car.
‘Why, you little demon!’ scolded his mother, then quickly explained to her husband, ‘The fly beggar must have picked it up whilst I wasn’t looking.’
Niall was at once stern. ‘Eh, now then, Bartholomew Doran, what have I told you? You can’t have things unless you’ve got the money to pay for them.’
‘It doesn’t belong to anybody,’ protested the innocent. ‘It were just there on the road.’
‘Is this the sort of thing you’ve learned at Sunday school?’ demanded his father. ‘No! Now, take it back. There’ll be a little boy looking for that.’
‘But he wouldn’t have lost it if he’d looked after it,’ reasoned Batty. ‘You told me people don’t deserve to have things if they don’t look after them.’
‘Never mind what I said!’ retorted Niall firmly, his voice rising. ‘And you can stop trying to wheedle your way round me. It’s not yours, now take it back to where you found it.’ He shook his head in disbelief at Ellen. ‘How did we raise such a freebooter?’
Covering a smile, his wife led the little boy away to replace the stolen item. Niall spent a few moments chatting to his other offspring before they were made to attend certain duties, at which point he rustled his newspaper to order and resumed reading.
The rest of the afternoon was comparatively peaceful, everyone sitting reading or sewing or other suitably quiet pursuits. Towards five o’clock Nora went to put the kettle on and, discovering there was no tin of peaches in the pantry for tea, returned to appoint an errand boy. Despite this being the Sabbath one could always buy what one needed around here from those who were not observers.
‘Dom, nip out and get me some.’ His grandmother delved in her purse.
Engrossed in an adventure story, Dominic seemed reluctant to tear his eyes from it, and was tardy in moving to obey. ‘To Mrs Madden’s?’
‘No, she’s too pious to open on Sunday. You’ll have to go to that one by Navigation Road.’ Nora handed her eldest grandson a coin.
‘I’ll go, Mam.’ Ellen jumped up to intercept it. ‘I need something meself.’
‘He’s nearly eleven,’ scolded Nora, ‘I think he can find his way.’
‘I know that!’ Her daughter gave a light reply and performed a quick tug of her silky blue jumper over trim hips. ‘But I said, I need something myself.’
They all knew it for a lie. Ellen was much too protective of her children, never allowing them to cross the road on their own, standing at the school gates to wait until they had gone in safely, waiting for them again at home time, even though the school was close by, ever fearful that something would befall them, unable to relax unless they were safely under her care.
‘What is it then?’ challenged her mother.
‘Just something!’ Ellen gasped. ‘Bloomin’ heck, do we have to have an inquest?’
Niall hardly lifted his eyes from the newspaper. The children were his wife’s concern and he rarely interfered.
But Nora shook her head in exasperation. ‘You’ll still be holding his hand when he walks up the aisle, you will! Stop mollycoddling the lad.’
Dom looked most insulted, flopping back in his chair and huffing as he reached for his book. ‘There’s no need for me to go if me mam’s off then.’
‘You’ll go if you’re told to go,’ cautioned his father from behind the News of the World.
‘It’s all right, he doesn’t have to,’ negated Ellen.
Dom might have been excused but his five-year-old brother leaped up to accompany her.
‘There’ll be no sweets,’ warned his mother, in strict manner, ‘especially for those who take things that
