Emily gently collected Cathleen into her arms. ‘You and Danny have a chat,’ she suggested, ‘while I go and make you a brew.’ She knew how much he loved to be alone with Danny, when the two of them would talk about things only men appreciated.
‘Aye, go on then, lass,’ he replied. ‘An’ see if Aggie’s got any o’ that bread-puddin left an’ all.’ He licked his lips. ‘By! Your mammy meks the best bread puddin in the whole world!’ He pointed to Danny. ‘While you’re at it, lass, you’d best fetch your young man a helping an’ all.’
Being referred to as Emily’s ‘young man’ put a smile on Danny’s face, but Emily made a mental note to correct her grandad’s thinking once Danny was gone.
‘I wouldn’t say no to another cuppa, but I’m full o’ those tasty muffins,’ Danny said politely, rubbing his tummy appreciatively.
With Emily out the door, Danny told the old fella, ‘That was wicked of you.’ He wagged a finger. ‘You know very well I’m not her young man.’
Thomas gave a sly little chuckle. ‘Mebbe not. But you’d like to be, wouldn’t you, eh?’
‘You know I would,’ Danny told him.
‘And have you asked her?’
‘I have. Time and again, on my knees, on my feet, and even once with my face covered in Cathleen’s chocolate.’
‘So what did she say?’
‘What she always says.’
‘I see.’ The old man nodded knowingly. ‘She’s still hankering after John Hanley, is that it?’
‘She loves him, that’s why.’ Danny envied John that kind of love, especially when he’d been away so long and in his opinion didn’t deserve such loyalty.
The same thoughts invaded the old fellow’s mind. ‘Where the devil is that young scoundrel, that’s what I’d like to know!’
Danny could see how the old man was in danger of getting too excited. ‘That’s not for us to know, and not for me to comment on,’ he said guardedly.
The old man didn’t agree. ‘Ah, well now, that’s where you’re wrong!’ he declared. ‘That young bugger will get the length o’ my tongue if he ever does come back, I can tell you! What kind of a man is it that gets a young girl with child, then goes off to Gawd knows where and never a word in over two years.’ His voice shook with anger. ‘Like my own cowardly son, he’s run for his life, that’s what he’s done. By! They’d neither of ’em best come back to these parts in a hurry, because they’ll ’ave me to deal with, I can tell yer!’
‘Take it easy, Tom.’ Afraid he was working himself up to fever pitch, Danny changed the subject. ‘I’ll tell you what though,’ he said, ‘I reckon you’d give anybody a run for their money, eh? What!’ Clamping a hand over the old man’s now clenched fist, he feigned admiration. ‘You’ve a fist like a hammer. They tell me you were a bit of a fighter in your time, is that right?’
‘Oh, aye!’ Tom’s proud old eyes were alight with memories. ‘They said I were one o’ the best street-fighters around. It got so they couldn’t get any man to stand against me. It were a shame, but once the police got on our trail, we had to move into ’fficial premises. After that it all got too organised like. Above board and proper, if yer know what I mean? All Queensberry rules and regulations.’ He shook his head woefully. ‘It were never the same after that.’
Danny knew the story well. ‘I’ve heard it from my da time and again,’ he revealed. ‘He loves to talk about it; raw fighting in the back alleys and such. “Skin and blood up the walls and bits o’ flesh under the feet,” that’s how he puts it. Then how it changed when the authorities took over. Mind you, according to him, there was corruption by the bucket-load, even in higher places!’
The old man nodded enthusiastically. ‘Oh aye, that’s true enough. By! There were some bad buggers behind the scenes. The old way were the best though – big money changing hands at the drop of a hat; men facing up to each other on impulse, bare-backed and wound up so tight they’d fight till they dropped. I’ve known men go down and never come up again, and others would walk away and leave ’em there. No rules nor regulations then. No ropes nor bells. Just bare knuckles and raw courage.’
Danny chuckled. ‘Men were men and to hell with all the rigmarole!’
Thomas Isaac smiled, his heart heavy with nostalgia. ‘They were the good days,’ he mused. ‘Days when you knew who your friends were and if called on, you’d put your own life on the line for a mate.’
Danny saw the tears gathering. ‘There are still men like that,’ he told him. ‘Although mebbe they’re not so thick on the ground.’
‘Mebbe!’ The anger returned. ‘But there’s more evil bastards than there are good ’uns!’ Lowering his voice, he said vehemently, ‘There’s one bugger right ’ere under this roof. If I were twenty years younger, I’d do for him tomorrow, so I would!’
Danny nodded his understanding. ‘I know who you mean,’ he said quietly. ‘But there’s nothing to be gained by tormenting yourself.’
‘Aye, I know that.’ The old man glanced at the door again. ‘By! He’s a bad bugger, is that one though!’
Danny let it be known, ‘I wish there was something I could do, but there isn’t, more’s the pity.’
As always, the old man had the answer. ‘Marry the lass, then it’ll gi’ you the right to be rid of him.’
Danny shook his head. ‘I can’t marry her against her will, Tom, and well you know it.’ One way or another he believed he’d got the full picture of what was happening here at the farm. ‘And even if Emily did agree to marry me, it isn’t as simple as all that, is it?’
The old man knew that was only too true. ‘Happen not,’ he conceded. ‘The truth is, that bastard’s got us tied up every which way.’
‘Don’t lose heart, though,’ Danny counselled. ‘Folks like him will always come undone in the end. Be patient. It’ll all come right, you’ll see.’
Every time he and the old man were alone together, the matter of Clem Jackson came up. It was a torture to the old man, and apart from offering money, Danny couldn’t see how he might interfere where his offer of help had already been rejected.
The old man seemed to read Danny’s mind. ‘If you and our Emily were wed, it would put a spoke in his wheel. You could find out things. You’d have a certain right, d’yer see?’
With a careful choice of words, Danny had to stop it right there. ‘We’re not wed, Grandad, and, unfortunately, not likely to be. So it might be best if we don’t get down that road. Let’s leave it at that, eh?’
In fact, they had little choice, because now Emily was back, with a tray containing a dish of cold bread pudding and two mugs of tea. ‘I hope you are ready for this, Gramps,’ she said, her quick smile lighting up the room. ‘Mam’s given you a helping and a half, although she says it’s a funny sort of a breakfast.’ She set the tray down before making good her escape. ‘Mam’s baking and Cathleen’s asleep. I’ve got a pile of washing bubbling in the copper, so I’d best be off.’ With
