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 your pardon, but either way it proves we don’t really know each other, doesn’t it?’ Ill at ease, she worked the pump, filling the selected glass to a creamy head. ‘I think it’s best if we just keep our conversation for the pub.’
‘Suits me! On second thoughts, don’t bother with that!’ And thus saying he turned his back on the glass she had presented, went directly from the bar, and was to prowl in the darkness for half an hour in the hope of composing himself by the time he got home.
He might have succeeded in pulling the wool over Nora’s eyes. He might even have convinced himself that all was well, as he went on to perform his usual tasks during the ten days that followed. But all was not well, for despite every effort he failed to overcome his obsession with Boadicea. His face might often bear a smile but his heart was a vacuum. And eventually, that inconsolable longing was to drive him back.
That others might suffer because of this decision he was hardly to notice. Coming home that evening, his sole intention to fill his belly before going straight out again to The Angel, he found that the rain that drenched his clothing had also driven his children indoors. Juggy and her friend had set up a ‘house’ in the passage, laying out blankets and pillows for their dolls, talking to them as if they were naughty children. On seeing her adored father, the little girl beamed, and looked set to jump up.
‘Do you want me to come in now, Dad?’ she asked him.
But, intent on one pursuit, Niall was to stride over the obstruction she had created. ‘No, you’re all right to play for a while, love,’ he told her, briefly ruffling her hair before moving straight to the living room, and leaving a crestfallen face in his wake.
Her siblings were to fare no better, their pleasure at seeing him rewarded with a smile of lesser value, the younger ones’ request for a bedtime story receiving short shrift.
‘Oh, I’m a bit tired tonight, lads,’ was all their father murmured abstractedly, as he gulped down his tea. ‘Maybe somebody else’ll oblige.’
‘I’ll read you one,’ a kind-hearted Dominic told his little brothers. But it did not escape his notice that Father seemed not too tired to go out again.
The moment Niall walked into that pub his spirits miraculously soared. However, they were soon to plummet, for the object of his dreams appeared not to have missed him at all. She was chatting to some other man when he went up to the counter, and seemed reluctant to tear herself away, until the landlord prompted from the other end of the bar, ‘Eh, missus, are you going to serve Rockefeller?’
Smirking at Mr Langan’s pun, Boadicea came up to enquire of Niall, ‘The usual, is it?’
No apology, no how are you, even. Cut to the quick by her indifference, he nodded and placed the correct money on the bar. She served him as politely as she would anyone else, then wandered back to her previous conversation partner. Niall carried his pint to a table, pulled out a stool and sat with his back to her, inwardly sobbing with anger and frustration. Before he knew it his glass was empty. Against habit, he took it back to the bar for a refill.
It was the landlord who served him this time, affecting great astonishment. ‘Another? ’Struth! Don’t tell the taxman I’ve doubled me profits.’
Niall gave a sour smile, but accepted the teasing in good part, and, instead of returning to his table he remained at the bar to share a few desultory words with Mr Langan, cheered up slightly by the latter’s humorous ancedotes. Soon, though, the landlord was called away, and with no one to entertain him, Niall took a self-conscious sip of his beer,
