The Keepsake. Sheelagh Kelly

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СКАЧАТЬ all of whom had survived – few families could boast that – and here he would be, forever. Just in time – for Etta had gauged his flicker of despair causing her smile to falter – the warmth of contentment flooded back into his gaze, he and she composing their smiles as a more serious outpouring came from his mother, who undid her apron and tidied her hair for the party.

      ‘As if I haven’t enough expense with that blessed brother of yours rushing a wedding upon us – Holy Mother, I’ll never get over the shame, never!’ Aggie stopped in her tracks to press her cheeks in horror at the thought of Jimmy-Joe’s impending fatherhood. Then her eyes were all of a sudden directing fake malevolence at Marty again. ‘And I swore I wasn’t going to let it worry me today, and now you’ve gone and reminded me of it, thank you very much!’ And in an unstoppable attack she began to drive him towards the front door. ‘Out, out with ye now, and not another word of complaint – go and have a party in your own street if this one isn’t good enough for ye!’

      ‘It’s good enough!’ cried Marty, covering his head and backing away, trying not to trip over a giggling William. ‘Please don’t hit me, Ma, I’m begging ye!’

      ‘My God, he’ll have the –’ Red crashed into a few seconds of unconsciousness before finishing his sentence – ‘polis on us with his daft goings-on.’

      ‘Are we off then before all the food’s gone?’ croaked Uncle Mal.

      A happy Etta shook her head laughingly, then slowly and patiently began to guide the frail nonagenarian towards the front door.

      Managing to control his affliction, Red arose to shuffle after them, an expression of disbelief upon his burnt face. ‘’Tis a fine thing if you’ve only your belly to worry about, and you nudging your century!’ And to Etta, ‘If I’d known he was going to live so long I’d never have taken the ould bugger in. I can’t believe he’s still walking round with this flu knocking people off right, left and centre, like poor Johnny and Joan.’

      ‘Neither can I,’ marvelled Etta, and to her charge, ‘Tell us your secret, Uncle Mal.’

      With painful slowness, the old man cupped his ear with a bony, liver-spotted claw.

      ‘What’s your secret for a long life?’ she repeated in louder tone.

      ‘Keep breathing,’ said the ancient, with a mischievous grin.

      And to fond laughter, the Lanegans moved out into the sunshine, to join in the Hope Street celebrations.

      Table of Contents

       Cover Page

       Title Page

Epilogue

1

2

3

4

5

       6

       7

       8

       9

       10

       11

       12

       13

       14

       15

       16

       17

       18

       19

       20

       About the Author

       Also by Sheelagh Kelly

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       1

      Marty Lanegan was skylarking his way along a corridor of the grandest hotel in York, lolloping like an ape for the entertainment of a workmate to have him double up in laughter, when his antics were stalled by a furious argument. Abandoning his audience, he paused to listen and to grin at the choice insults which jarred with this Edwardian elegance, that were hurled like clubs between father and daughter. He knew this to be the relationship for he had witnessed the arrival of the scowling but very handsome young lady and her papa late yesterday afternoon, and had opined to the rest of the staff that she looked a proper handful.

      ‘You mean you’d like a handful,’ the page had leered.

      Well, that was no lie. She was the most stunning girl Marty had ever seen: hence his unusual keenness for work this morning. He was about to put his eye to the keyhole when the door opened, forcing him to leap back or be bullocked aside by the angry gentleman on the point of exit.

      The boot boy sought to explain his proximity. ‘I’ve just come to check if there’s any shoes need cleaning, sir!’

      This was met by suspicion, the man’s cane held at a threatening angle. ‘Somewhat late in the day for that, isn’t it?’ It was well after breakfast.

      Marty’s reply displayed just the right blend of courtesy and helpfulness, delivered with the faintest lilt of Irish brogue. ‘Some guests forget to leave them out, sir, so I make constant trips up here. I like to provide good service.’

      ‘If СКАЧАТЬ