Touched by Angels (3 page)

She closed her eyes against the spit flying from his lips. This infuriated him even more, so he kicked the table on its side, sending the beef and cabbage flying.

Lil fell backwards, narrowly missing hitting her head against the mantelpiece, crushing both elbows. Scraps of cabbage were strewn around her. Robert had retreated against the far wall.

Winded, she said, “Robert, go outside.”

“No.”

“I
said
go outside!”

“No. Every time I goes outside… when I come back… ye’re bleedin’.”

“Cheeky little runt!” Enraged, Bob went for him.

***

Robert ran, just making the door, and tore out onto the street, where he crashed into the dust, shaking, knowing how close he had come to a cuff.

He saw Mrs O’Brien glaring at him from her top step, a dangerous gleam in her eyes, arms folded, with Big Molly standing beside her, pointing, but they were as nothing to the commotion coming from his own home.

Innocent of his impending fate, Robert heard something smash, and then, “… all yer fuckin’ learnin’ and yer oity-toityness, eh! Fink yer shit don’t stink, don’t yer? Talkin’ like a fuckin’ toff all the time. Fink yer better than me, don’t yer?”

“Get away from me!”

“Fillin’ that little tyke’s ’ead wiv all them big words. Givin’ ’im ideas ’bove ’is station. Wass ’e gonna do wiv all this learnin’ lark, eh? You fought o’ that? Loada shit, that’s what…”

“Get a proper job, that’s…”

“Real work’s wiv yer ’ands, not wiv all that learnin’.”

“What do you know about work?”

“Cheeky cah!”

Something else smashed.

“You get away from me, Bob Smith, or so help me God, I’ll…”

“Oh yeah. Wot yer gonna do, eh? Stick me wiv it? You ain’t got the guts!”

***

Lil was backed up against the parlour wall, holding the carving knife in a two-handed grip, her hair falling into her eyes.

“Come on!” he goaded, grinning, as he edged ever closer, “let’s see what yer fuckin’ made of, yer slag! Let’s see yer loose me guts all over the floor. Come on!”

His eyes were burning, his grin a feral flash of filth.

She was slashing blindly, shouting repeatedly, “Get away from me. Leave me alone!”

Then, just as she caught his arm, tearing more sleeve than skin, his fist struck the side of her face, knocking her to the floor. The knife flew end over end.

Before he could reach for it, a huge hand grabbed his wrist, spinning him round, and a fist landed squarely on his nose, another walloping him in the stomach. Two of the older O’Driscoll brothers dragged him out onto the street, where another punch threw him onto his back.

Lil ran out and heard one of the identical twins rasping, “Dat was fer punchin’ our Benny.”

He kicked Bob in the hip and added, “And dat was fer hittin’ yer woman. You leave her be,
and
our Benny, or you’ll have us to deal wid.”

“Piece o’ shite!” the other one said and spat at him, before they both turned away and left him sprawled on the street.

***

He thought he saw Robert before he passed out, but when he opened his eyes, he was horrified to see Sergeant Sharp, who said, with a big leer, “Well, if it ain’t my old chum, Bob Smiff.” He leaned closer, hands on knees, and added, “Ain’t your day, is it, me old mucker?”

Bob was suddenly gasping as a torrent of water from the street horse trough was poured over his head.

As he shook it and opened his eyes, he saw Mrs O’Brien holding a pail, as she said, “He’s the father o’ the house. Should be ashamed o’ himself.”

He just caught a glimpse of her grabbing Robert by the wrist and pulling him firmly away, before Sharp said, “Six months rock breakin’ would take the starch out o’ you, my lad; that, or a dose o’ the cat.”

As he was walking off, laughing, Bob muttered, “Piss off!”

“What was that?”

“Nuffing.”

***

Robert was having the starch taken out of him too, as he found himself over Mrs O’Brien’s knee, howling and struggling as the back of a varnished beech hairbrush came down again and again against his backside.

He had never known such pain, as the threadbare rug, and a Bible, placed there first, to warn him of the folly of defying the scriptures, loomed before his watering eyes.

In between each stroke, she was saying, “If that wastrel of a father o’ yours won’t discipline you, boy,
I
shall! With a will!”

She was sitting in the same wing-back chair he had seen Big Molly dozing in, while the girl herself stood watching from the door, arms folded, a spiteful smirk tugging the corners of her lips.

Mrs O’Brien was absurdly strong and there was no escape.

“In future, you will respect your elders and betters,” she said, as he finally stood, rubbing his rear, “and you may tell your friends to take heed. My brush awaits them too!”

When he left, tears streaming down his face, he wanted to get to his mum, who he could hear crying beyond the bolted front door.

His father was up against it, knocking and begging.

“Let me in! Please! I won’t ’it yer again. ‘onest. You just pissed me off.”

There was no reply, so he hammered on it with both fists and kicked it a couple of times, before crumpling down onto his knees.

Robert knew it was not beyond him to smash his way in and take his belt to her.

***

It was completely dark by now and Robert was making his way quietly past him, heading for the back alley, as Bob snivelled, “It’s gettin’ cold out ’ere, an’ I’m wet. That slag tipped water over me, an’ those Micks gave me a levverin’. I could get yoomonia and it’d be your fault.”

No reply.

“The kid’d be an orphan. You fought o’ that? ’e’d be in that work’ouse. I’ve ’eard they bugger ’em. Shag ’em raw. Is that what yer want?”

Still no response.

“Come on, please! ’av an ’art. You know yer me duchiss, always ’av been. Always will.”

Robert heard his voice fading as he made his way past. Two cats were fighting somewhere as he found the alley. There was a full moon, so he was able to move quite easily. He didn’t think it would be long before his father thought of coming this way, so he got a move on.

When he got to the back door, he found that it too was locked, though he heard his father shouting and bashing against the front door once more. Knowing that in his state, it would take him a while to get round here, he put his mouth to the wood, cupped his hands around his lips to amplify his voice, and called, “Mum, let me in. Mum!”

He kept calling, listening all the time, in between shouts, for his father’s approach, knowing he could be as quiet as a mouse when he wanted to be. It seemed to take forever for her to respond and he wondered how badly hurt she was. He felt the sting of fresh tears and he wished he were bigger. He’d had a few clouts himself.

He could see a faint glow through the kitchen window and knew that at least she’d lit the two oil lamps that stood one at each end of the mantelpiece in the parlour.

He heard a commotion from behind him and knew Bob had finally got wise. He had been sneaking round to surprise him, but in his drunkenness, had blundered into something, as a howl of pain and a clatter of metal came through the darkness.

“Mum, quick! He’s comin’.”

He heard the bolt sliding back and the moment he was inside, she shot it once more, before sweeping him into her arms.

Within seconds, both were in tears, though it was only in the light of the parlour that he saw her shredded ear, surrounded by redness and bruising. In that moment he hated his father more than ever.

The night wore on, though there was no more commotion from outside.

Maybe Sharp had arrested him after all, though they both knew from past experience it was more likely he had found a niche somewhere to sleep it off.

They were cold and hungry, but Lil grabbed him by both arms and said, as tears streamed down her face, “I want you to promise me you will grow up to be a good, decent man.”

“You mean, not like ’im?”

She shook him.

“He’s your father. Show more respect.”

He looked at her bewildered. Grown ups. He never would understand them.

“Promise me!”

She stared deep into his eyes and he replied quietly, “All right, I promise.”

“And it doesn’t just mean talking, or dressing nicely, or sitting in church
pretending
you’re good. It means a whole lot more besides. It should come from your heart.”

“All right,” he said, with more conviction. “I promise.”

He felt the tears drip from her chin onto his head and knew it wouldn’t be long before she would start talking again about how she wanted him to grow up in a world away from the opium and the grape. That she wanted him to be a success, a winner, a strong, tall man.

But instead she embraced him in silence and held him for a long, long time.

Five

The next day, Robert didn’t want to go to school; not for any reasons of laziness or neglect, but for genuine ones of worry. His father hadn’t come home, but it wouldn’t be long before he did, and there was no telling what he might do.

Sergeant Sharp’s threats were only any good in the very short term. As soon as his dad’s fear of him wore off, his old habits would be back.

“What did I say last night?” Lil asked him, as they heard the work whistles piping shrilly through the cold morning air.

“That you want me to be good. That’s what I’m tryin’ to be, by protectin’ you.”

“You have goodness in you already,” she assured him, as she stood at the sink washing the breakfast dishes, “but it will find better expression through your schooling. And in view of that, why did I see Mrs O’Brien taking you away last night?”

She continued scrubbing, not looking at him, her equivalent of an angry dog’s bark. Robert looked at the side of her face, shocked. He’d been certain she couldn’t have seen anything, or cared less, such was the state she had been in.

“Er… well, she was tryin’ to get me away before I got hurt.”

“Don’t give me that. She had a face like thunder.”

She turned suddenly and grabbed his shoulders with soapy hands, making him jump.

“You’ve been teasing Molly again, haven’t you? You and those little hooligans you hang around with.”

“No!”

“So what
did
you do?”

He was a hopeless liar and saw no sense in further bluff, so it all spilled out. She nodded several times, though if he thought any sympathy would come his way over the hair-brushing, he was sorely mistaken.

“If you play with fire you get burned, and for what you did, you’re lucky that this time only, I’m content to let it be. You know how the Irish are with their dead. Now off you go to school and learn how to behave.”

Just as he was about to leave, she produced a thruppenny bit from her dress pocket and said, “Bring me back a newspaper, and with the remainder, buy yourself a sweet.” He grinned and pecked her on the cheek.

***

As he was leaving, counting his blessings, he didn’t see his near-sober father loitering across the lane, in the thin alley that ran between the O’Briens and the O’Driscolls.

Bob Smith wanted a drink. Damp and miserable from a night spent half comatose in a neighbour’s back garden, after fetching up against a wheelbarrow, and taking the skin off one knee, he was watching his front door through the workers trooping past.

He knew exactly the moment when he would make his way across, and sure enough, ten minutes later, it came.

He saw the door being pulled open, and a moment later, out she came, with the small table she used for her fortune telling.

She placed it in front of the window, before going back inside, and reappearing presently with two stools. These she put either side of the table. Then, as she was going back in to fetch her crystal ball, he nipped across and was in.

She jumped, startled, as his arms were suddenly around her, crushing her breath, his filthy hands groping her breasts, pinching her nipples.

“Where’re yer pennies?”

“Get off! What pennies?”

“Don’t give me that shit. The ones you get from…”

“That’s all money to pay bills. Now get
off
me!”

His body odour made her gag. She was struggling, more frightened with every second, knowing this would end in one of two ways. He would either beat her up, or rip off all her clothes and rape her on the floor.

“I
said
get off me!”

“Yer me woman, ’an you’ll do as I sez, an’ you’ll shag when I sez. Now where’re the…”

She brought her heel down hard on his foot and he screamed, letting go.

“You’re not having any,” she told him, nipping over to the other table, by the fireplace, where she kept the ball. “We need it to pay the bills.”

She grimaced against the pain in her breasts and added, “Unless you want asylum with the King brothers. Then you’ll never sup again.”

Enraged, he made to hop towards her and reached out to grab her dress, missing her by inches.

She picked the ball up, and seeing his eyes flicking towards the open door, where he knew anybody might be eavesdropping, she knew that this time, he would leave her be.

“And you’ll not have me either, until you can wash first, and learn a few manners.”

She was tempted to say more, like telling him to report for work, for instance, but knew, that as she was ahead for once anyway, it was senseless provoking him further.

Mumbling, he hobbled to the door and after giving her an acid stare, skulked off.

She spent the rest of the morning sitting one side of the table staring into the heavy ball, seeing nothing but hundreds of tiny bubbles and an inverted image of the punter, always a woman, sitting opposite.

Many a time, she had drummed into Robert the evil of lying, yet lie she did, on the one hand hating herself for it, and on the other, watching the pile of precious pennies steadily growing, knowing that any other income, was at best, tenuous.