she plucked, disgustedly, at her droopy black dress. ‘Grandma Dugdale said it were made for Cousin Bertha when she were my age and she were taller and fatter than me, an’ I want to change now,’ she said as soon as she saw her mother. ‘Great-grandpa called me his pretty little rose when I wore me pink cotton; he wouldn’t want me lookin’ plain an’ ugly in this nasty dress.’
‘Black shows you’re sad because Great-grandpa isn’t here any more,’ Sylvie said, slicing bread like a machine.
‘I can be just as sad in pink,’ Becky said obstinately. ‘I can be sadder, ’cos I’ll be thinkin’ about Great-grandpa an’ missin’ him instead of thinkin’ about me dress. How can I be a little ray of sunshine in this horrible old thing? Oh, did you see me daddy, Mammy? Did he give you a present for me? Is he comin’ back to the house? Grandma Dugdale said as how he were bound to bring me a present now he’s workin’ away, though she thought he would be too busy to come back to the Ferryman. I hope he brings me a leprechaun, ’cos he’s in Ireland, ain’t he? An’ I’d like a little green feller of me own.’
Sylvie laughed and rumpled her daughter’s flaxen hair. She and Mrs Dugdale had bought a tiny doll which they meant to present to Becky as a gift from her father. ‘Yes, I did see Daddy and he sent you a big kiss and – and a little parcel, which he gave to Grandma Dugdale. Now be a good girl and don’t ask Grandma to give it to you until all the guests have gone, because it’s bad manners.’
Becky began to ask why it was bad manners, but at that point the door flew open and Mr and Mrs Dugdale, closely followed by their guests, began to stream into the big room behind the bar. Mrs Davies, flushed and beaming, grabbed the kettle off the stove and began to pour hot water into the urn which stood ready, and very soon they were all too busy to answer questions.
It was past four o’clock in the afternoon before the last guests departed, and Sylvie carried Becky, clutching her father’s present, up to their room to change her out of the dreadful black dress and pop her into her cot for a much-needed snooze. It had all gone off rather well, Sylvie told herself, slipping out of her own dress and lying down on her bed. She would snatch a couple of hours’ sleep herself before going off to work. For a little while she lay there looking forward to her meeting with Constable O’Hara, but soon weariness overcame her and she fell asleep.
Chapter Three
‘Mr O’Hara! You told me last night to wake you at seven, so I’m doing it even though, so far as I can recall, this is your day off – or have they changed it again?’ The voice echoing hollowly through the door was his landlady’s and Brendan rolled over and groaned before shouting a stentorian reply.
‘Thanks, Mrs Taggart. You’ve a wonderful memory, so you have, for ’tis still my day off, though almost every shift I’ve worked lately has been messed about. But I’m going out today to see my uncle so I need to be up and about early.’
‘If you’re respectable, there’s a cup o’ tea in me hand which I’ll bring in so’s you can drink it afore coming down to breakfast,’ Mrs Taggart said.
Brendan assured her that he was extremely respectable and she came into the room, a small neat woman, her grey hair braided into a long plait and wound like a crown on top of her head. Brendan, accepting the tea with many thanks, thought how lucky he was to have found such a comfortable billet. Policemen had to be careful when they chose lodgings, or they might find themselves living in what amounted to a den of thieves, might even find themselves prosecuting the person in whose house they lodged. That was why the authorities always vetted one’s digs before allowing one to move in, though this had not been necessary in Mrs Taggart’s case. She was the widow of a police sergeant and had been letting her rooms to policemen ever since her
‘Black shows you’re sad because Great-grandpa isn’t here any more,’ Sylvie said, slicing bread like a machine.
‘I can be just as sad in pink,’ Becky said obstinately. ‘I can be sadder, ’cos I’ll be thinkin’ about Great-grandpa an’ missin’ him instead of thinkin’ about me dress. How can I be a little ray of sunshine in this horrible old thing? Oh, did you see me daddy, Mammy? Did he give you a present for me? Is he comin’ back to the house? Grandma Dugdale said as how he were bound to bring me a present now he’s workin’ away, though she thought he would be too busy to come back to the Ferryman. I hope he brings me a leprechaun, ’cos he’s in Ireland, ain’t he? An’ I’d like a little green feller of me own.’
Sylvie laughed and rumpled her daughter’s flaxen hair. She and Mrs Dugdale had bought a tiny doll which they meant to present to Becky as a gift from her father. ‘Yes, I did see Daddy and he sent you a big kiss and – and a little parcel, which he gave to Grandma Dugdale. Now be a good girl and don’t ask Grandma to give it to you until all the guests have gone, because it’s bad manners.’
Becky began to ask why it was bad manners, but at that point the door flew open and Mr and Mrs Dugdale, closely followed by their guests, began to stream into the big room behind the bar. Mrs Davies, flushed and beaming, grabbed the kettle off the stove and began to pour hot water into the urn which stood ready, and very soon they were all too busy to answer questions.
It was past four o’clock in the afternoon before the last guests departed, and Sylvie carried Becky, clutching her father’s present, up to their room to change her out of the dreadful black dress and pop her into her cot for a much-needed snooze. It had all gone off rather well, Sylvie told herself, slipping out of her own dress and lying down on her bed. She would snatch a couple of hours’ sleep herself before going off to work. For a little while she lay there looking forward to her meeting with Constable O’Hara, but soon weariness overcame her and she fell asleep.
Chapter Three
‘Mr O’Hara! You told me last night to wake you at seven, so I’m doing it even though, so far as I can recall, this is your day off – or have they changed it again?’ The voice echoing hollowly through the door was his landlady’s and Brendan rolled over and groaned before shouting a stentorian reply.
‘Thanks, Mrs Taggart. You’ve a wonderful memory, so you have, for ’tis still my day off, though almost every shift I’ve worked lately has been messed about. But I’m going out today to see my uncle so I need to be up and about early.’
‘If you’re respectable, there’s a cup o’ tea in me hand which I’ll bring in so’s you can drink it afore coming down to breakfast,’ Mrs Taggart said.
Brendan assured her that he was extremely respectable and she came into the room, a small neat woman, her grey hair braided into a long plait and wound like a crown on top of her head. Brendan, accepting the tea with many thanks, thought how lucky he was to have found such a comfortable billet. Policemen had to be careful when they chose lodgings, or they might find themselves living in what amounted to a den of thieves, might even find themselves prosecuting the person in whose house they lodged. That was why the authorities always vetted one’s digs before allowing one to move in, though this had not been necessary in Mrs Taggart’s case. She was the widow of a police sergeant and had been letting her rooms to policemen ever since her
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