The Four Streets by Nadine Dorries Read Free Book Online Page A

arm under her back and round her shoulders. With his free hand he stroked the cold out of her other arm, which lay on top of the blankets. And there he had lain, holding onto his Maura until the sobbing had passed and she had fallen into a fitful sleep, until the baby, who was in her box on the floor down at the side of the bed, had woken them both for her feed at five.
    As he did every morning, Tommy lay on his side watching Maura feed the baby. Maura lay on hers. They were facing each other with the baby resting on the mattress between them. The room smelt of warm milk, wet nappies and lanoline. Tommy stroked the baby’s head but she didn’t break her stride to look at him as she sucked furiously at Maura’s breast. Even at three months, she knew the rough scaly hand stroking her downy dark hair was only that of her da; it was something he often did when she was lying in her box. Maura and Tommy smiled at each other and that was the last Tommy knew until Maura woke him again just before six.
    ‘The baby is in her box, she’s all fed and changed and will sleep now. Look after her, I’m off to mass.’
    It wasn’t yet six o’clock. Tommy smiled. If anyone got to heaven it would be Maura. There was no better Catholic than his wife. She set the standards in the street for the other women to follow and she was definitely Father James’s favourite.
    When Maura returned from mass, she quietly checked on the other children, who were all sleeping soundly. It was still early and what she couldn’t get done in the hour after mass and before they woke wasn’t worth doing. Whilst Tommy was in the outhouse and she waited for the fire to catch, she leant over to check on the baby in the box. The child was full and sleeping, but that didn’t stop Maura from picking her up and holding her against her whilst she rocked. Although the baby needed no comfort – not a sound did she make – Maura did and the only solace she could take right now was to hold her sleeping baby close.
    The fire suddenly caught as flames raced up the chimney. The bricks on the inside heated quickly, chasing the smoke back up the stack and out of the top to mingle grey smoke with grey mist. Maura was now shivering violently. Putting the baby back, she jumped up quickly and pulled off her coat, which smelt of wet wool and stale chip-pan fat.
    Both she and the other women had agreed the previous day to send the children off to school early and to keep the little ones indoors. Today was no day for footie games or laughter on the green, regardless of the weather.
    She looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece above the fire, next to a pair of Staffordshire pot dogs. They were the only things of value in the house, although they spent more time in the pawnbroker’s than on the mantelpiece.
    The morning routine of feeding and dressing seven children began in a hurry. Kitty took Angela, and Maura the twins. Tommy helped today as he was at home, and took over from Maura as baby Niamh had her next feed. Kitty took the twins to school and then returned to help look after the little ones until Mrs Keating, a neighbour, came in. The teachers wouldn’t bat an eyelid. They were all from back home and knew of the terrible tragedy that had struck the four streets.
    Tommy had brought chocolate back from the newsagent’s, something they had only ever had at Christmas before.
    ‘Don’t let them have any until ye see us turn the corner at the end of the street, now, Kitty, do ye hear me?’ Maura said as soon as Kitty came back in through the door. ‘What did Miss Devlin say to ye? Was she all right now about ye coming back home?’
    ‘Aye,’ said Kitty, ‘she was grand, Mammy, and she asked me to tell ye she would be putting in a prayer card in St Mary’s for Bernadette.’
    Kitty was smart and older than her years. Her childhood was doomed to be short as she shouldered the responsibilities of an elder sister. She didn’t need to be asked or told anything