Secrets of Our Hearts. Sheelagh Kelly

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      ‘There’s one thing I can do about it right now!’ declared Nora, in warlike form, gathering her daughters. ‘Come on – you an’ all!’ And her hand made a graphic summons at Niall as she led the procession back to Sean’s house.

      No one locked their doors around here for there was nothing to steal; Nora found something though, as she barged straight in and made for a cottage piano. ‘We’ll have this, for a start! Ellen, grab that end.’ She herself took hold of the piano and started to heave it, groaning and squeaking, across the brown lino, her daughter shoving from the other end. ‘Dolly, grab them Staffordshire dogs! Hat, you do the kitchen!’

      ‘You’re taking all his stuff?’ questioned a slightly amazed Niall, for the moment hanging back.

      ‘It’s not his property, it’s ours!’ Nora grunted and grimaced over the shifting of the piano, banging her shins as she fought to manoeuvre it over the bunched-up carpet that acted as a wedge against its wheel, her anger anaesthetising the pain. ‘I gave our Eve most of the things in this house when she got married, and I’m damned if that little bitch is having the benefit – now are you going to help us or just stand there gawping?’

      It took Niall only a few seconds to realise that what Nora said was quite true: she had donated most of the furniture here and many of the utensils, for she had done the same for all her daughters. With only the briefest qualm that Sean would come home and have no chair to sit on – but had he not brought it on himself? – he began to assist with the removal. Nudging Nora aside and telling his wife to leave this to him, he freed the piano from the bunched-up carpet, then hauled it along the passage, its castors emitting an ear-splitting squeal of protest before he hefted it over the doorstep, bumped it onto the pavement, down the kerb and across the street, eventually to install it in his own front parlour alongside Nora’s bed – for this was where she slept.

      ‘I’d rather have to climb over the blasted thing to get to me bed than let him keep it!’ rasped his mother-in-law.

      Then, under the curious eyes of the neighbours and anxious children, he and his angry female bandits proceeded to travel back and forth, transporting piece after piece of furniture, box after box of utensils and pictures, until there was no further room to cram in anything more. All that remained in Sean’s living room was a table, an old sofa, and the echo of contemptuous voices.

      For once, having washed their hands of the affair, Niall and his womenfolk were not outside to meet Sean’s return. Had they been so, they might have glimpsed through that window, denuded of its lace curtains, the heartbreaking scene of a man come home to such wanton pillage that he broke down in tears.

      ‘What have we done to them that’s so bad, Em?’ he sobbed quietly to the wife who tried to comfort him. ‘My own brother treating me like this – I know he was in on it – leaving you with not even a kettle.’

      Emma crooned and patted him tenderly, donating her handkerchief. ‘Don’t worry about me, dear. Look!’ Temporarily she rushed away, trying to sound cheerful and to salvage a ray of hope. ‘There’s a little pan here we can use to boil some water, then we’ll have a cup of tea and make a list of the things we need to buy.’

      ‘It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?’ Sean’s tone was desolate as he looked about him at the plundered room. ‘Yesterday was the happiest time of my life …’

      ‘Aw, mine too!’ Teary-eyed, she hurried back, linked his arm and squeezed her support, trying to bolster him. ‘It still can be if we refuse to let this get us down. I’m sorry about all your things, but we can get some second-ha—’

      ‘It’s not pots and pans I’m bothered about!’ He dashed away his angry tears. ‘What gets me is the spite that’s behind it – that they left you with nothing to manage your house with!’

      ‘I think that’s the whole point,’ Emma told him quietly with a sad little smile, knowing he was not cross with her but with them. ‘They don’t see it as my house … and neither do I, truth be known.’

      He dealt a rapid nod of understanding. ‘Well, we can soon remedy that! After we’ve had our cup of tea, I’m off back out to put it up for sale – in fact I don’t think I can even bear to spend another night near that wicked lot.’

      ‘You might not have to,’ came the sardonic reply from Emma, and she made for the stairs to check whether Nora had taken their bed too.

      But no, it was still there, scorned and all alone in the bedroom.

      ‘Well, she wouldn’t take that, would she?’ scathed Sean, wandering up to join her, his face bleak.

      ‘No, but she’s pinched all the spare linen.’ Having opened a cupboard, Emma quickly closed the door on empty shelves, again trying to make light of the incident. ‘There’s one good thing: we won’t have much to shift, will we?’

      Sean tried his best to raise a chuckle, saying as he embraced her tightly, ‘As long as I’ve got you I’m not bothered about owt else.’ But it was only half true, for he just could not get over the fact that such a deed had been perpetrated by his own flesh and blood. He doubted he could ever forgive that.

      And upon leaving to throw themselves on the charity of Emma’s parents, for however long it might take to sell his house, he threw one final look of disgust at Niall’s abode.

      ‘Well, that’s me and him finished. As far as I’m concerned he’s dead. I wouldn’t even go to his bloody funeral.’

      ‘Don’t say that. It’s not Christian,’ his wife scolded softly.

      ‘Neither is reducing your own brother to a pauper,’ muttered Sean. ‘From now on, he’s no kin of mine.’

       3

      Whilst continuing to be the subject of gossip for many a day amongst the neighbours, Sean was rarely mentioned in his brother’s household again, except for when Father Finnegan or one of the nuns dropped in on their parishioners, whereupon the sinner was roundly castigated in his absence, for marrying out of the Church. Other than this, the mere whisper of his name became taboo.

      And yet, Niall observed, when any residue of anger was allowed a voice, it was not over Sean’s disloyalty, but more his financial gain.

      ‘Is there no justice?’ spat Ellen, on learning from their next-door neighbour, on this autumn Saturday afternoon, how much her brother-in-law had netted from the sale of his house. ‘The jammy bloody devil, why should he and that tart be rewarded when it’s our lass who put all the hard work into it?’

      Though similarly angry, after a brief outpouring, her mother gave stoical reply. ‘Well, we did what we could to rescue Eve’s things. Short of taking t’house down brick by brick there’s nowt much else we could have done. Thanks for letting us know, though, Mrs Lavelle. Will you stay and have a cup of tea?’

      Clad in black, with an air that nothing good would ever happen to her again, the neighbour gave one of her typically heavy widow’s sighs. ‘Aye, I might as well; I’ve nowt else to see to.’ And she flopped her rear onto an Edwardian armchair, signalling for her daughter, Gloria, who accompanied her, to do the same.

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