Run to Him Read online

  The residents of the Four Streets, young and old, made their way to the pub straight from evening mass. Hairnets and curlers bobbed up and down in the smoke-filled room. The bar stood four deep and the church was entirely empty, before the priest had had time to remove his vestments. The prospect of a free pint and a butty had created a minor, if dignified, stampede, straight out of the back of the church.

  It wasn’t just Fionnuala’s family who were proud of her. Everyone in the pub patted her on the back and scooped her into their arms with congratulatory hugs, delighted that of one of their own had brought respectability to the community. And God knows, after a double murder on the streets, they needed it. If Fionnuala could become a nurse, born as she was into a family that shared the poverty and faced the same struggles as they all had, then any one of their children could do it, too. With God’s blessing and strict attendance at mass, twice a day, of course.

  ‘Well done, Fionnuala. God, ’tis such a relief to know there is medical help on our own streets, with my hip being so bad now.’

  Nana Kathleen, from Nelson Street, had both of Fionnuala’s hands clasped in her own and Fionnuala felt the familiar sensation of a bank note being slipped into her palm.

  ‘Didn’t I tell yer mammy, when I read her tea leaves, I could see someone in the family putting on a uniform? Did I not?’

  ‘Sure, Nana Kathleen, she hasn’t stopped talking about it since I got the news from the Director of Nursing at the hospital. Her first words, when I handed her the letter, were, “Holy Mary Mother of God, Kathleen told me this was happening and I thought it was our Cathy’s lad joining the army.” I think the fact that she had it completely wrong sent her into more of a tizzy than the news that I had a place in the nursing school. That and the fact she had to run straight to the pub and ask Bill if she could use the phone, to ring Aunty Cathy in Clare and tell her that her lad Pat most probably wasn’t running away to join the army, after all.’

  Nana Kathleen laughed as she walked away to join her son and Mrs Keating pressed half a crown into her hand, as Fionnuala went in search of Mary, the only one of her sisters allowed anywhere near the pub. Her da would have Mary glued to his side, while his eyes, narrowed and as sharp and dangerous as a Stanley knife, would be on the lookout for any young lad who dared to speak to her.

  As Fionnuala shuffled through the crowd, Mrs Green, a widow for as long as anyone could remember, slipped a shilling into her coat pocket. Fionnuala was overcome with gratitude. Her pockets felt heavy and weighed down with silver coins. Not for the first time, she thought how much she loved being Irish and, familiar as it all was to her, she understood that the generosity of her neighbours, poor though they might be, was unique and unlike that to be found anywhere else.

  Now, suddenly, as she was squeezing her way past some of the younger men, she heard Bill, the landlord, begin to shout. ‘Quiet please, QUIET! Fred has asked Tommy Doherty to make a little speech for our Fionnuala, here. QUIET! Fionnuala, where are you?’

  Everyone in the room turned to look, as Bill thumped the base of a pewter pot on the bar, and slowly silence fell. Fionnuala felt the blood slowly creep upwards and flush her face. She was unused to being the centre of attention. As the eldest of eight, she was often the one looking after others. Maggie’s regimental domestic routine guaranteed that Fionnuala always had her share of housework and younger sisters to look after. Even Fionnuala knew it had been a miracle that she had passed the entry exam for nursing, so disturbed and fragmented had her studies been by the demands of family life. Now, Fionnuala stood, in shock, as Tommy Doherty began speaking.

  ‘I remember the day you were born, Fionnuala.’

  ‘So do I,’ her ma’s voice shouted out, from somewhere in the crowd. Everyone began to laugh.

  ‘I don’t.’ Fred’s voice.

  ‘No Fred, you wouldn’t. You were in here, until four o’clock in the morning with the rest of us, wetting the baby’s head and unable to manage your way the entire thirty yards along to your own back door. You somehow found yourself in the wrong house that night. ’Twas a right shock for Mrs Green the next morning, when she found you asleep in her outhouse,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Aye, ’tis true,’ said Mrs Green, who was five foot nothing and weighed around sixteen stone. She grinned at the thought of a fading memory, a night she hadn’t talked about for a very long time. As everyone turned to look at her, she took a sip of her Guinness, squinted as she primly adjusted her horn-rimmed spectacles and continued, ‘I only had me pink baby doll nightie on. Felt ashamed I did.’

  Fred put his hand over his face, shame-faced in his turn.

  Fionnuala looked around her as everyone rocked with laughter. She had to be up at six the next morning and report into the school of nursing at eight thirty. Her stomach did a somersault with nerves at the very thought. As the laughter died, Tommy presented Fionnuala with a gift she had never, in a million years, expected. The neighbours had clubbed together and bought her a suitcase and an engraved fob watch, along with a silver hairbrush set. The words Nurse Fionnuala Kennedy shone out at her from the back of the engraved Timex. She was holding in her hand the thing she could not afford to have bought and had dared not asked her parents for as she knew how tight money was, even though it had been on the list of essentials sent to her by the hospital. The worry of arriving at the nursing school unequipped had eaten away at her happiness for weeks and now, here she was, with the one thing she needed more than anything, the polished glass glimmering in her hand. She thought for the first time she may cry, but there was more. Fionnuala gasped when she saw the hairbrushes. They were so heavy and beautiful. She had never touched or seen anything like them in her life, and neither had anyone else. Not even Deirdre, who had organized the collection and had been in charge of buying the gifts for Fionnuala, and who now looked in astonishment at the silver hairbrushes.

  Tommy continued. ‘It was Aunty Maura here who bought you a nurse’s outfit on St John’s market when you were just three, and so we feel partly to blame.’

  At that exact moment, just as all eyes were on Tommy, Callum O’Prey slipped a glass into Fionnuala’s hand.

  ‘It’s a gin and orange squash,’ he whispered. ‘You look like you need it.’

  Fionnuala mouthed a thank you, lifted the glass up to her nose to inhale the intoxicating perfume and turned back to face Uncle Tommy. When she looked back round, Callum was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘And so, we send ye on yer way, Fionnuala, with our blessing. Every family on these streets is behind ye, and sure aren’t we the ones who are delighted that we can bring all our medical problems to ye, and if ye don’t mind, can we start with my—’

  ‘Shush now, will ye.’ Everyone burst out laughing again, as Maura put her hand over Tommy’s mouth.

  Tommy roared, as he raised his pint of Guinness and called for everyone to join him. ‘To our Fionnuala from the streets, and to her proud ma and da.’

  As everyone raised a glass, Fionnuala gazed around the room and felt as happy as she ever had in her life. And she knew this also had something to do with the warm feeling which had washed over her when Callum O’Prey had slipped the glass of gin and orange into her hand.

  ‘Boo,’ Callum said as, once again, he appeared from seemingly nowhere behind her.

  ‘God, you scared me, I never heard you.’

  ‘Ah, one of the tricks of the trade,’ said Callum, tapping the side of his nose.

  ‘And what trade would that be, Callum O’Prey?’ asked Fionnuala, tartly.

  ‘The trade that made sure ye had a nice set of brushes to commemorate setting away on yer nurse training.’

  Fionnuala’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘I can’t take them, then,’ she said indignantly.

  ‘Oh, for the love of Jesus,’ said Callum. ‘I should have kept me big gob shut. Fionnuala, don’t go getting all pious on me, now. Ye can’t give them back, so ye can’t, not without sending me back to Walton jail anyway, and you also can’t let everyone know
what I just told you about the brushes. The bizzies would run me off the street. They will all be thinking Deirdre got them and Deirdre will be thinking someone slipped them in, which they did.’ Callum grinned. ‘Ye know how it works. Jesus, isn’t it me who keeps the street in tea leaves?’

  Fionnuala knew this was true and she was also aware that to be prissy about the brushes, when she knew for a fact that the new Eubank in their outhouse had mysteriously appeared courtesy of Callum, was hypocritical.

  ‘Where did they come from, Callum?’ she asked him in a serious voice. ‘I have to know.’

  ‘Not from a house,’ he said, looking sheepish. ‘It was from a delivery to Lewis’s. No one will know.’

  ‘Promise me you will stop this and find a job,’ Fionnuala said earnestly. ‘It’s the only way to stay out of Walton jail, Callum.’

  She had placed her hand over his and, as he looked up at her, for the first time it struck him that he had found a way to make someone like him and it didn’t involve thieving. In fact, just the opposite. Fionnuala’s reaction to the brushes had not been at all what he expected. If he had done that for any other person in this pub, they would have been beside themselves with delight. There wasn’t a single family on the Four Streets could afford to buy a set of silver brushes and even if they could, wild horses wouldn’t make these people, who had known hunger, throw money away on something so frivolous.

  Fionnuala looked directly at him and her dark brown eyes owned him. All he had to do to please her was to agree not to thieve, and he realized that having Fionnuala proud of him for doing that would be worth foregoing the approval of every other family on the Four Streets.

  ‘Will you promise me, now?’ Fionnuala had some of her mother’s ways and like a dog with a rag, would not give up once she sunk her teeth into something.

  ‘I promise to stop the thieving, if ye give me a tail home?’ Callum said cheekily, catching Fionnuala off her guard and taking huge pleasure in watching her blush furiously.

  For a split second, Callum thought he had blown it and that she was about to walk away, but then she smiled.

  ‘All right,’ she said, ‘if you want, but you keep yer hands to yerself, Callum O’Prey. I will not be fighting for my honour in the entry.’

  ‘I promise,’ he replied, with a grin on his face.

  Fionnuala looked around and saw that her friends were calling her over. ‘I have to go and join Angela Keating and the others. Don’t tell anyone. Me mam and da wouldn’t be happy.’

  ‘I promise you that as well, Fionnuala.’ Callum grinned and doffed his cap.

  The grin quickly slipped from his face as she disappeared into the blue haze of cigarette smoke. He had no idea how to take Fionnuala’s honour. Callum had spent his entire life thieving for his neighbours. He was sweet seventeen and had never been kissed. Despite her boldness, neither had Fionnuala.

  Callum’s pal, Michael, came and stood at his side. Michael worked at the repair garage and every day he mixed with men of the world, men who had enough money to own cars. Michael was also from Dublin, unlike Callum’s family and most of the people on the Four Streets, who had originated from Mayo, Cork and every village in between.

  Callum looked Michael up and down. ‘Michael you must know things about girls, do ye? If I kiss a girl, am I taking her honour, now?’

  Michael furrowed his brow, lifted his cap, rubbed his Swarfega-coated, greasy hair and put his cap back down again. Michael did that every time he was asked a question, regardless of the depth or seriousness.

  ‘I would say it was now, to be sure. Once a girl has been kissed, that’s it. She’s not a virgin any more, is she, and there’s plenty more goes on. I hear about it all the time from the lads at the garage. There’s not much I don’t know about that kind of stuff now, so I’m sure that’s right.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Callum. ‘I never knew that. I’m still a virgin and I’m seventeen. I had better put an end to that soon, had I, Michael. Are ye a virgin still?’

  ‘Feck, no,’ said Michael with a note of disgust in his voice. ‘I’ve kissed loads of girls, so I have.’ And with that, off they both walked to the bar to refill their Guinness pots.

  Fionnuala left the do, whilst most people were on to ordering their fourth round. Bill wasn’t daft, she thought. Putting everyone in a good mood with free food made sure that their merriment emptied pockets and purses over his bar. Fionnuala had been so full of yawns and excuses that she must away to bed, because she had to be up and report to the nursing school early, that no one complained when she slipped out of the snug door and down the pub steps.

  The road was full of the Mersey mist that lay on the glistening damp streets and clung to the cobbles in the centre of the road, diffusing as it met doorways and windows and slipped in, under and into the cracks.

  She hadn’t caught Callum’s eye and deliberately didn’t look for him as she left. If he wasn’t watching her keenly enough to see when she left, then it wasn’t worth him having her tail home.

  She had no sooner turned into the entry than she heard his faint footsteps behind her.

  ‘Boo,’ he said again, for the second time that night, and this time Fionnuala laughed.

  ‘Away with you,’ she screamed. ‘May the cat eat you and the devil eat the cat!’

  Callum laughed, too. ‘Why do you think my nickname’s Dixie Dean?’ he said, smiling. ‘No one ever knows where I am. You shouldn’t walk out here on yer own, after all that’s happened around here lately,’ he said in a voice that was suddenly serious, a voice that made Fionnuala’s heart leap.

  ‘It’s nice that you are so concerned,’ she replied. ‘I will admit, I did feel a bit wobbly. I told my da I was walking with someone, so I’m glad you caught me up.’

  ‘I couldn’t get out of the pub fast enough, when I saw ye go. Ye know what my ma’s like. I had to let her know chapter and verse where I was off to, or she panics that I’m off robbing again. She’s really clingy now that I am the only one at home. She will be mighty upset if ever I end up back in jail. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  ‘Well, there’s another reason, then, why you have to give up the thieving, Callum, for yer mam’s sake. You are all she has. Now that her best friend has gone, she needs ye to be at home with her and help her. You know she thinks the sun shines out of your backside, don’t you?’

  Fionnuala and Callum both laughed at the thought of his mother. No matter what anyone had to say or wherever it was, Annie O’Prey was renowned for turning any conversation around to her wonderful boys.

  ‘You don’t need to please anyone, you know, Callum,’ said Fionnuala. ‘Everyone thinks ye are just great, anyway.’

  Now Callum’s stomach flipped over. Fionnuala had just said that everyone thought he was great. Not a living soul in his life had ever told him that before. His mother may have said so to others, but she had never said so to Callum. Unless, of course, she was passing on thanks for his latest thieving effort.

  ‘In fact,’ she carried on, ‘I’m not sure how many a family would have managed on this street, without yer help. It may not have been legal, but God, I have heard so many people say, “Thank God for Callum O’Prey”.’

  Callum stood still in the entry and Fionnuala, who had walked on a little, stopped and looked back. The words she had just spoken were words he had never before heard. Callum was always the wrong ’un. He had spent his life being told by the nuns how he was stupid and no good for anything. He had upset his mam with his holidays in jail, along with his adored big brother.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘Fionnuala, is that so? Is that what you have heard people say about me?’

  ‘Sure, of course I have, they say it all the time. Every time they place another order and you miraculously provide whatever it is they want, with absolutely no risk whatsoever to their own. Jesus, my mother canonizes you every time she runs the Eubank around the kitchen. But it doesn’t matter, Callum, it’s all praise built o
n sand, as it’s false and sinful and you have to stop now. People may praise you when they sweep their floors, but that doesn’t hand you self-respect and they don’t respect you for it. You put yourself at risk for the benefit of others and what do you get out of it? A criminal record, that’s what. Does it really bring you comfort in jail, knowing my mam is finding it easier to keep the kitchen clean?’

  Callum had been full of pride at the thought that his neighbours didn’t regard him as a complete idiot, but now Fionnuala’s words were dripping into his consciousness one at a time, and for the first time in his life, they were seeping through. Fionnuala was right. She was about to become someone, a decent person. People were already looking up to her and she was only seventeen. He wanted that too. The neighbours would never throw a party in the street for him. Callum realized this, with a sinking heart. He looked at Fionnuala and knew his life was about to change.

  ‘I have said to you that I promise – and I will keep that promise, Fionnuala. Ye see them stars, in the sky, they are my witness and I say this, that I will stop the thieving, on one condition, if ye let me have a kiss, right now.’

  Fionnuala had stopped talking. She looked down at the new suitcase in her hand and didn’t know what to say. She was only sure of one thing: she didn’t want to say no.

  Callum took a step towards her. Putting both his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her towards him and kissed her on the lips. It was a short peck to begin with, but then, after he had pulled away, with his cheeky smile and gleaming eyes, and announced, ‘Well that was nice,’ he kissed her again, slowly and for a much longer time.

  Fionnuala had no idea how long they stood there for. It was only the sound of old Mr Keating, stepping into the outhouse, just over the back yard wall from where they were standing, that brought her to her senses.