‘Will ye have another cup of tea, Patrick?’ Maggie’s hand shook as she poured the steamy brown liquid into the best enamel mug in the house and stood back while he picked it up and surveyed it with a mean eye.
The boys were lined up against the wall, sitting on a long, rickety form. It had once been a pew in the little chapel on the hill, which had been allowed to fall into ruin because no one worshipped there anymore. This had more to do with the sinking ground beneath the ecclesiastical premises, due to over-mining, rather than a lack of faith in the community.
‘So, I seem to have me a fine family,’ Patrick said, breaking the uneasy silence at last. ‘You’ll have to tell me who you all are. It’s been a long time. Speak up, now. You, lad. You with the glasses and the pasty face. Can’t hear you, boy. What did you say you were called?’
‘He’s called Desmond,’ Billy spoke up at last, seeing that his eldest brother was having great trouble finding his voice.
‘Can’t he speak for himself then?’
‘He’s bad with his nerves, Patrick,’ Maggie said in a hoarse whisper. She steadied herself quickly against the old Welsh dresser, making the pitiable collection of crockery rattle tonelessly. ‘It makes him stutter.’
Billy watched his mother in awe. He had never seen her sober up so quickly. This man who claimed to be their father seemed to have miraculous powers over her. And judging by the look on Jack’s face, Maggie wasn’t the only one to succumb to them. Jack was usually garrulous to a fault, but he hadn’t uttered a word since being ordered to come downstairs, tousle-headed and half-dressed. He just sat there, mute and shivering although there was a good fire licking at the sooty chimney.
‘A boy with nerves! I ask you. Can I have spawned that one? You must have gone with someone else on that occasion, Maggie, me darlin’.’
‘No! Oh, no, Patrick. Never. I would never do a thing like that.’
‘You wouldn’t, would you? That’s not what I’ve heard. No sooner had me boat docked and I was hearing the name of Maggie Flynn. Fellas not fit to wipe their backsides on me shoes sayin’ how cheap she was for them as can’t afford the real thing. Would that not be you they’re talkin’ about, eh, hinny?’
For answer, Maggie shook her head vigorously and Patrick, whether satisfied or not, decided to ignore her and continue interrogating his four sons.
‘You. The one with the squint and a runny nose. Which one of my offspring are you?’
‘Thomas, mister....er...Da....I’m called Thomas.’ Thomas rubbed his lazy eye as if trying to wake it up, then wiped his nose on the back of his hand and then on his trousers.
‘He can’t remember you, Patrick. It’s been ten years.’
‘Aye, it has an’ all. And I feel every one o’ them years weighing heavily in me loins. It’s a long time for a man to be without his wife.’
Maggie tried to speak, but only succeeded in some unintelligible mumbling into the cupped hand she held in front of her quivering mouth.
‘You.’ Patrick pointed at the third boy in the line, whose head came out of his jumper like the head of a turtle and his eyes popped out on stalks. ‘You must be...let’s see....yes. You must be Jack. You’ve all grown, except this pathetic little tadpole.’ He swiftly passed over Jack and fixed his eyes on Billy. Billy returned his cold blue stare, unwavering and apparently unafraid, though if truth be told, he was having to clutch his hands under the table to stop them from shaking.
‘That’s our Billy!’ Maggie said nervously.
‘Aye, so he said. Who’d ha’ believed it. By rights you should be dead, son. If I’d had me way the day you was born...’
‘Patrick!’ Maggie interrupted quickly before he could go on and frighten her youngest child even more with his wild ramblings. ‘Billy, go and ask Colleen if she has a few biscuits to spare, there’s a good lad.’
Billy didn’t rush away. He took his time, all the while keeping one eye on the big Irishman who smelt of fish and brine and engine oil all mixed up with acrid sweat.
Colleen refused to believe him at first when Billy told her that his father was back. Perhaps she simply didn’t want to believe him. She made no pretence of the fact that there had never been any love lost between Patrick Flynn and herself.
‘He must be mad,’ she said, tapping her forehead and picking up a variety of biscuit tins and shaking them. ‘What does he want to come back here for after all this time?’
‘He says he’s finished with the sea,’ Billy told her. ‘He says he’s come back home to stay. Me mam’s scared, and so are the others.’
‘But not you, eh, big man?’ Colleen gave a short laugh, shaking out her long red hair from her shoulders and running scarlet painted fingernails through the tight curls. ‘You, Billy, are the one person he didn’t expect to find here. If I was you, darlin’, I’d stay well clear of him. We beat him once. I don’t think he’d let us get away with it again. Patrick Flynn doesn’t forgive or forget. Whatever reason it was that brought him back here, he’ll be out for revenge and he’ll take it at the first opportunity, believe me.’
‘Don’t worry, Billy,’ Bridget told him, giving him a sisterly hug that made him squirm with embarrassment. ‘You can stay here with us if you want, can’t he, Mam?’
‘Aye, pet. Billy’s always welcome here.’
Billy’s brows lowered as he let her words sink in. He scratched his head, making a mental note to steal a bar of that special soap that killed nits, because he was infested again. Laura wouldn’t let him near her if she thought he had nits. She’d caught a flea from him in the summer and her mother nearly had a thousand fits. Laura was thereafter forbidden to leave the house, except to go to school, for three months.
‘Why should I stay away from him, Aunty Colleen?’ he asked as she placed in his hands a tin with half a dozen dry biscuits in it. ‘What’s he done?’
‘What’s he done?’ Colleen straightened her shoulders and shook out her rusty tresses again. ‘What hasn’t he done would be a better question, Billy. I suspect he’s done a lot more than either you or I know about too.’
‘I don’t know nothing, Aunty Colleen.’ Billy scratched again at his head and his stomach growled at the thought of the biscuits in the tin he held. ‘Mam’s never mentioned anybody called Patrick Flynn. Is he really me da?’
Colleen’s thin, plucked eyebrows shot up and he heard her draw in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
‘Aye, lad. Well, he was married to yer ma when you was born, and he left her the same day. Your Maureen would remember him, and Desmond. The others would be too little at the time.’
Billy heard a raised voice penetrating the dividing wall between his mother’s house and Colleen’s. His eyes rolled like glossy marbles and he licked his lips, for they had become surprisingly dry.
‘I’d better get back there,’ he said and started to hurry out.
‘Billy!’ Colleen caught up with him, placed her hands on his thin shoulders and bent down so that her face was on a level with his.
‘Aye, Aunty Colleen?’
‘You listen to me, Billy Flynn. If he lays a finger on you, tries to hurt you in any way...well, you come round here, even if I’m busy, or if I’m out. There’s a spare key always kept under the doormat for emergencies. Promise me, now.’
‘Why? What would he want to hurt us for, Aunty Colleen?’
She stared at him for a long moment then she cleared her throat, straightened her back and patted him on the head.
‘Never you mind, son,’ she said. ‘But you have to promise me, eh? Just let yourself in and lock the door behind you. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Aunty Colleen.’ Billy gave a tight, grimacing smile. ‘Ta. And thanks for the biscuits.’
Colleen nodded, smiling back. He had no sooner crossed over the doorstep than she shut and bolted the door. She lay back against it, her heart pounding, her mouth cold with fear. Who’d have thought that Patrick Flynn would come back after all this time? And why had she been such a fool as to move into the house next door to his family? She would have been better off staying in the hovel she’d been in. Though, when she came to think about it, she wouldn’t have been any safer there. Wherever she was, she knew that Patrick Flynn, if he had a mind to, would seek her out and...
The thought of what that man could do to her, if he thought about it, turned her blood to ice. Not just for her own safety was she afraid, but for the safety of her daughter, Bridget. That sweet, darling girl was the light of Colleen’s life, and everything that was meaningful and precious. If Patrick ever laid a finger on the child she would swing for him. She really would.
Swallowing dryly, Colleen went to the scullery, feeling her fear attacking the pit of her stomach and her legs. When she reached into a drawer her fingers trembled so much that she could barely grip the knife she drew out and held up before her face. The light from the small square, opaque kitchen window glinted on the old, worn blade. It was her old mam’s gully, passed down through three generations, but it was lethal enough to put paid to that murdering swine.
Looking about her, she located her bag and slipped the knife inside, placing it so that it was easily accessible. There wasn’t a violent bone in Colleen’s body, but she knew she would be able to kill to defend herself and her daughter. She was amazed that murdering bastard Patrick had survived this long, for there were plenty who would like to see him dead.
* * *
Laura Caldwell trailed her feet as the family walked home from church the Sunday after Billy told her his father had mysteriously turned up. He came to see her yesterday, on the pretext of delivering a message to his sister, but Maureen Flynn had taken the afternoon off. She was walking out with the baker’s lad and sporting a tiny diamond chip engagement ring she was so proud of showing it was becoming an embarrassment.
Billy was nowhere to be seen. Normally, he would be hanging around the church grounds and would pop up as if he was there just by chance. It both amused and vexed Laura. She did not exactly appreciate the attentions of this ten-year-old ragamuffin, but ever since the day he was born, she had felt a strange affinity with him. A responsibility that had arisen on that memorable occasion of his birth.
Laura often slipped him a sixpence from her purse rather than put it in the collection plate in the church. And she turned a blind eye when his sister baked extra pies and cakes and left them on the kitchen windowsill for him to collect, together with bags of fruit and vegetables. Her parents would have been appalled to think that their daughter was mixing with the likes of Billy. Only her grandfather would have understood, and approved. Like Laura, he was very fond of the little lad who had survived against all odds. He had an air about him that you couldn’t ignore. A certain charisma that made him special.
But the news Mr Flynn was back in Felling wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to hear. The man had a black reputation that made everyone shudder the moment his name was mentioned. Her grandfather claimed he was surprised the fellow wasn’t in gaol long before now and warned Laura about him.
‘He’s an evil bastard,’ Albert Robinson said when she whispered what Billy had told her as they sat in church, the whole family in a line on their own special pew. ‘God forgive me for swearing in His house.’
‘But what did he do, Granddad?’ Laura asked curiously, for she was aware that the memory of how he nearly suffocated his newborn son wasn’t the only terrible crime the big Irishman was connected with.
Albert thought about her question, probably weighing up whether or not she was old enough or mature enough to be given a truthful answer. The congregation was asked to rise in order to sing The Lord’s Prayer and on the line ...in presence of His foes... he leaned heavily against her, his mouth pressed against her ear, and whispered so that nobody else could hear him.
‘They say that he was responsible for the death of his wife’s half-brother, though the police said it was an accident. They worked in the slaughterhouse together and William Graham ended up with one of them meat hooks through his neck. Somebody must have seen it happen, but nobody would come forward. Too scared they are of him. He’s a dangerous man is Patrick Flynn, so you keep an eye open for him. Just be thankful he left when Billy was born. Happen he’ll have forgotten it was you that said he put a pillow over the poor little mite’s face.’
Laura felt a cold chill creeping through her as if her blood was turning to ice, starting in her extremities and ending up in her heart. Only her grandfather would be so honest with her. He was the only one who believed, finally, what she had told of that day more than ten years ago. Not many people would believe the fanciful tales of an eight-year-old girl, but he had.
She opened her mouth, listening to the introductory chords of the organ, but found she couldn’t sing a note. The thought of what might become of her if Mr Flynn took it into his mind to seek revenge made her feel physically sick. Suddenly, her knees gave way and she sat down on the shiny, wooden pew with a thud, frightening her mother, who thought she was ill.
‘Come along, Laura,’ Elizabeth Caldwell said as the church emptied and she moved on ahead, pushing her husband in his wheelchair. ‘Stop lagging behind. Maureen will have the dinner ready and you know how we all hate cold roast beef and gravy. Not to mention soggy roast potatoes.’
Laura no longer had an appetite. She slowed her pace even more and looked frantically around her, searching the faces of the congregation. Billy wasn’t there and neither, thank goodness, was Mr Flynn.
* * *
It was on Good Friday of that year that Colleen had the misfortune to bump into Patrick. She had been so careful, hiding behind the locked doors of her house, scurrying like a shadow up and down dark back lanes and alleyways rather than be seen by the one man who had ever frightened her, though she would never admit it to anyone, least of all to Patrick himself.
She should never have taken the short cut past the Slakes, but it was late and she was tired. The shipyard workers were long finished their toil for the day and were ensconced in the nearest riverside pubs, drinking their overtime pay and putting the world to rights.
It was an eerie world after dark, especially when there was no moon. Only the breathy swish of the tide coming or going made any sound, apart from the slap of Colleen’s feet on the wet, sandy mud flats. The silently watching trees and rocks the size and shape of great bears that seemed to rear up, appeared ugly and threatening.
Colleen veered to the left where the path wound itself between flats and quarry. When it rained the water formed deep pools here where the ground had been blasted and dug away, or just eroded by the swirling eddies of the tidal river. There were pools deep enough for a child to drown in, which was why children were warned to keep well away from the place, and most of them did.
Colleen quickened her pace as much as was possible in that place where the mud threatened to suck her down. In the distance she could see tiny pinpricks of light as she neared the first streets of the town. Over and above the sound of her own steps, there was, suddenly, a heavier splat, splat, splat. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her nothing. The darkness was too dense and a thick mist was rolling in from the invisible sea. She prayed to God it was only a stray dog, but she didn’t allow herself to slow up and plodded on breathlessly.
The other footsteps were gaining on her, overtaking her. She rounded one of the bigger boulders and suppressed a scream as a figure appeared before her. The figure, too, gave a sharp gasp of surprise, and then she recognized the childish giggle that was tinged with nervous tension.
‘Billy Flynn, what the blazes are you doing down here at this time of night, eh?’
Billy wiped his nose on his sleeve and glanced all around him nervously, though there was nothing to be seen.
‘Me mam sent me to find me da,’ he told her. ‘He didn’t come home th’ night and his supper’s goin’ dry in the oven...and burnt black too probably.’
‘Serves him right, then,’ Colleen told him with a short, sharp nod then she reached out and patted his cold cheek. ‘Come on home, pet. He’s not here. He’s probably down at the pub or...’ She was about to say that Patrick was more likely than not comforting himself with one of the local women, but refrained. ‘Come on, hinny. It’s not good to hang about here.’
Everybody knew how the place was the haunt of tramps and perverts. Sometimes the gypsies hung out there and there were tales of children being abducted and never seen again.
‘I promised me mam I’d not go home without him,’ Billy said, his blue eyes shining like bright sapphires in a stray shaft of light as the moon peeped momentarily from behind a black cloud. ‘I’m off to The Fiddlers to see if he’s there. It’s Friday night and he’s supposed to be bringing us some fish and chips.’
‘What about his supper in the oven, then?’
Billy grinned. ‘Nah. It always burns. Me mam’s not a very good cook. She gets drunk and forgets what she’s at.’
‘Well, all right, but you be quick and come back the long way round. It’s safer than this hellhole.’
Colleen watched as Billy trotted away from her, thinking that she would have been well advised to take her own advice about going the long way round, but she was almost home now, so it didn’t matter. Thankfully, it was only a few hundred yards to the bottom of her street. In fact, she could see the flickering, yellowish glow and the halos from the gas lamps.
And that’s when she sensed, yet again, that she wasn’t alone. Her mouth went dry as she turned and saw that it wasn’t Billy who had decided to come with her after all.
‘Hello Colleen, darlin’. I’ve been hopin’ to catch up wi’ ye.’ Patrick Flynn stepped out of the shadows, the mud making foul slurping noises beneath his boots. ‘I’ve got something for ye...’
Colleen’s blood ran cold, and then her whole body stiffened with absolute fear. The moment she had dreaded for as many years as she could remember had finally come. She knew it and so did he. It had been foolish of her to think that she could avoid him forever.
Patrick Flynn took no prisoners when the mood for revenge was upon him. And no person, male or female, had the guts to bring him to justice. He was careful, aye, and a clever man, despite his illiteracy. He could strike and leave no clue, no witnesses, or none that would be believed, even if they could summon up the courage to shop him to the authorities. She had seen it happen before, on more than one occasion. Colleen was tough and no coward, despite her small stature. However, she knew well that common prostitutes had no legal rights. This, and the fact that she had a daughter to protect, always prevented her from coming forward with damning evidence.
She threatened Patrick with the police the last time she had seen him, the day he did his best to put an end to the life of his newborn son. And she might have exposed him then, had he not disappeared without trace. Every day she prayed for retribution, though she was not a devoutly religious woman by any means. The prayers had not worked. He turned up once more, when least expected. Alive, filled with hate and twice as repulsive.
‘Let me come by, Patrick,’ she said, her voice quivering nervously in her throat. ‘You can’t afford to make a mistake at your time of life.’
‘I’m not about to make any mistakes, Colleen,’ he snarled at her like a rabid dog, ignoring the run of slimy saliva that dripped from his loose mouth. ‘I’ve only ever made three mistakes in my life. The first was to get myself tied to Maggie, that useless, scrawny bitch,. The second was to let that puny bastard of hers live when even the priest hisself thought it was God’s will to let him die.’
‘Aye, well even God makes mistakes. That little Billy was no mistake though. The bairn is worth ten of you, Patrick Flynn, and always will be.’
‘Not for long, he won’t, when I gets me hands on ‘im, thievin’ little good-for-nowt.’
‘If he steals, it’s to put food on the table,’ Colleen said, sticking out her chin with a surge of stubborn audacity. ‘And speaking of thievin’, where did you get them boots you’re wearing, eh? I seem to remember that I gave them to young Billy, and right proud he was of them, too.’
‘Too good for the likes of him. Let him gan barefoot, like the rest of the bastards around here.’
Colleen shook her head in disbelief that any man could be so uncaring for children, whether they were his or anybody else’s. Thinking that a more gentle tack might work better with him, she softened her voice.
‘Aw, come on, Patrick, let bygones be bygones.’
She might have known that he wouldn’t be fooled.
‘Ach, is that what you think we should do, Colleen, me darlin’?’ He was standing before her, legs splayed, fists punched into his thick waist, though ready to fly into action if she made any hasty move. ‘How’s about a kiss or two for your old pal, Patrick, eh? For old time’s sake.’
Colleen’s throat went peculiarly tight at the thought. She tried to swallow and ended up giving a choking cough that resounded in her ears. This was the most dangerous place of all, where the mud flats merged with the quarry ponds. People had died here. Children, tramps, drunkards. And prostitutes.
She backed away, scared now, as Patrick pressed his odorous body close, but he had her cornered, for there was nothing but a wall of sandstone behind her.
‘Patrick, be sensible,’ she mumbled with difficulty as one hand clamped tightly around her chin, forcing her head back until she felt her scalp graze the rock. ‘At least let’s find somewhere a bit more comfortable, eh? Come on, man!’
‘What makes you think I want us to be comfortable, Colleen? You were all set, ten years ago, to see me in prison. I was a fool to run away, but me head was all confused.’
‘That was a long time ago. If I’d been going to do anything, I would have done it long before now.’ Colleen squirmed feebly as his fingers squeezed her flesh and his pelvis ground hard into her, making it impossible to move. ‘Don’t do this, Patrick. You’ll not get away with it this time.’
A shower of dust and stones rained down upon their heads. Colleen cast her eyes up in time to see a movement, a small white face illuminated in a shaft of moonlight before it pulled back out of sight. Patrick looked up too, but she wasn’t sure that he had seen Billy. She hoped to God he had not, for it would be the death of that poor little lad.
‘Patrick, Patrick!’ She tried to scream out his name to divert his attention, but the noise that emitted from lips that were already turning blue because of the pressure of Patrick’s hands now around her throat, was no louder than the squeak of a frightened mouse.
He pressed into her even more, pushing her down, scouring the rock with her body until she was lying flat and he was on top of her, pressing her into the sludge. She couldn’t fight him off, couldn’t move her arms or her legs. She couldn’t even feel them anymore. All she could feel was the tightening of his hands as he strangled the life out of her. As her head seemed to grow and explode under the pressure of his iron fingers she saw floating before her the faces of her darling Bridget and Billy, and she feared for them.
Then the darkness became full of blinding stars and even Patrick Flynn’s foetid breath was gone, together with all his weight and she was floating, like a feather in the wind and sinking in the dark mire until, one by one, the stars faded and total blackness took over.