Her voice broke and Tommy put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Who’ll bring them up now? Your mum?’
Briony shook her head furiously.
‘No way. I’m going to bring them up. They’re my boys now. Mine. Daniel and Dennis Cavanagh. Aren’t you, my lovelies?’
She bent closer to them and Tommy sighed softly. ‘They’re O’Malleys, Briony. Eileen was legally married, remember?’
Briony shook her head.
‘No, you’re wrong. These two are Cavanaghs. Eileen gave them to me. I’ll be their mother, I’ll bring them up, and they’ll be brought up as Cavanaghs. That’s an end to it. I have great plans for these two young men, Tommy. Great plans.’
‘I’m sure you have, Briony.’
She was unaware of the undercurrent in Tommy’s voice.
‘They’ll have everything. Liselle will be like a sister to them. She’s a beauty, too. They’re the next generation of Cavanaghs and all living under one roof. I’ll make sure they have the world on a plate. The best education, the best of everything. I promised Eileen I’d look after them and I will.’
The bigger of the babies turned himself over and Briony picked him up tenderly.
‘Look at your Uncle Tommy, Boysie.’ She looked at Tommy and said: ‘We call him Boysie because he’s the bigger one. I don’t know why but he looks like a Boysie, don’t he?’
Tommy smiled and nodded agreement.
Briony kissed the child softly on his tiny rosebud lips. ‘Who’s their mummy’s little babies then, eh? Who’s my beautiful boys?’
She placed the child back in his crib tenderly and then picked up the other. Daniel snuggled into her arms naturally, used to the feel and the smell of her.
‘Oh, Danny Boy.’ She looked at Tommy again. ‘This one is the quieter of the two. As alike as they look, they’re different in many ways. Boysie is much louder. Danny Boy, well, he’ll be a thinker, I reckon. He’s the quiet one.’
Tommy watched her look at the child intently, practically drinking him in with her eyes.
‘They’re lucky to have you to look out for them.’
Briony shook her head and said truthfully, ‘Oh, I’m the lucky one, Tommy. It’s me who’s the lucky one. I can give these boys so much. And in return it’ll be like having my own boy back. Like having two Benedicts to care for. I owe it to Eileen and to myself to make sure these two little spats have the best that money can buy. And I’ll see that they do.’
He touched the child’s downy head and said, ‘Money can’t buy happiness, Briony. You more than anyone should know the truth of that.’
She pulled the child from him and said tartly, ‘Well, at least I can be miserable in comfort, can’t I? Which is infinitely preferable to being miserable as well as cold and hungry. Why must you always put the mockers on everything, Tommy? Why can’t you just once say something I want to hear? These two little boys deserve to be happy and I want to make sure they are. And the kind of happiness I want for them takes a great deal of money.’
Tommy sighed and said in a low voice, ‘Don’t try and make them happy, Briony, let them be happy. I often think you don’t know what real happiness is. All the years I’ve known you I can honestly say, hand on heart, I don’t know of one time when you was ever really happy.’
Briony put the child back in the crib. Facing Tommy, she looked into his eyes. The sight of her long neck and Titian hair enflamed him, she was so beautiful, so alluring. Her eyes were like emeralds glittering in her head. Her mouth was trembling as she said, ‘That, Tommy, is because I have never really been happy. Not since the day I gave up my boy. But now I have a second chance, and Eileen’s boys are that chance. She wanted me to do my best for them, and I swear on her grave that I will do just that. I’ll look out for them, and love them, all the days of my life.’
‘That’s very noble, but what about you, Bri? What about you having happiness? Don’t you want to be happy, inside yourself? Don’t you want to feel the same happiness you’re so determined to give to these two children?’
Briony shook her head in confusion.
‘But don’t you see, Tommy? I will find that happiness now. I’ll find it through them. With them. Because of them. Even today, when I’ve buried my Eileen, I feel a certain happiness, because I have these boys. Can’t you understand that?’
Tommy shook his head.
‘No. Frankly, Briony, I can’t.’
She watched him walk from the room. Then, sighing heavily, she turned back to the boys.
Tommy let himself out of Briony’s house. Getting into his car, he drove away from her. Inside he was in turmoil, because that last conversation had proved, as if he had not already known, that with the advent of those children he had finally lost her for good. She had not had much to give him before. Now she would have even less.
He acknowledged, bitterly, that he was jealous of Eileen’s boys, two little motherless boys. He was. Because today he had decided to take Briony back, and had found that she had even less need of him than before. It was ironic that after leaving her, after convincing himself he was better off without her, he had found out too late just how wrong he had been.
He felt a burning need to cry because he had just left behind the only woman he would ever care about, the only one he would ever want or need.
It was this knowledge that hurt him more than anything. Because he, himself, had broken the bond between them, and enjoyed himself while doing it. He had broken Briony’s heart and all along had been setting himself up for more misery than he had dreamt possible.
Briony had her sisters and those children. Now he was the one left with nothing. Because he wanted nothing else, and so nothing else would do.
She probably didn’t even realise he was gone.
St Vincent’s church was once more packed out. The new priest, Father Tierney, looked over the sea of faces and smiled. It did his heart good to see so many people here, men as well as women. It was the christening of the Cavanagh boys, as they were being called already. The highlight of the christening was seeing the film star Jonathan la Billière stand as their godfather, with Kerry as godmother to Daniel and Bernadette to Dennis. As he poured the holy water over the boys’ heads they both set up a wail that could be heard outside the church. Briony and Bernadette quietened the boys as Kerry sang. The church was hushed as her voice came out low and sweet:
Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home...
Everyone stood in silence as she sang. More than a few people would remark on the strangeness of the song and the way she sang it. And more than a few would also remark later behind closed doors on the dark-haired little girl who had sat up bright-eyed and alert as she viewed the proceedings from Cissy Jackson’s lap! She was darker than was natural, everyone tacitly agreed, but no one said it anywhere near the Cavanaghs.
Briony smiled at Jonathan and he grinned back. He was more than grateful to her for sorting out the business with Peter and Rupert. He had made a special journey back from America for this christening and the stir it had caused had been worth every mile of the journey. On that dreadful morning he had believed his whole career was over. When Briony, despite all her own troubles, had told him that it was sorted out, he had felt a deep, abiding thankfulness. He would do anything for her now. Anything.
Back at Briony’s house there was plenty to eat and drink. All the remaining sisters, together with Molly, Jonathan and Mariah, were sitting in Briony’s lounge chatting between themselves. Marcus came in with two bottles of expensive champagne.
‘This was Jonathan’s gift and I thought we’d open it now.’
Everyone took a glass and toasted the infants.
‘To Danny Boy and my Boysie!’ Briony’s voice was filled with love.
‘To the boys!’
Kerry sipped her drink and placed a crawling Liselle on the floor. Lissy, as she was now called by everyone, tried to pull herself up using Molly’s skirt as an anchor.
Kerry smiled at her mother who
strained to smile back. Liselle stood up uncertainly then dropped down on to her bottom with a thud. She set up a wail and Briony scooped her up off the floor and hugged her close.
‘What’s wrong then, Liselle Cavanagh? You’ll be walking soon enough. Kerry, this child is so intelligent I don’t know what to do with her! Look ... It’s as if she knows exactly what I’m saying.’ She kissed Liselle’s mouth and said, ‘Have you been here before, madam?’
Liselle grabbed Briony’s hair and pulled on it hard, laughing as Briony made a mock stern face.
Molly got up and walked away from the scene. No matter how often she saw the child, she still felt a deep dislike for her. The whole idea of the child’s father and the fact that he had lain with her daughter disgusted her.
She smiled, though, as she looked at the twins. Now there were two boys to be proud of! Her grandsons, the light of her life. In them was held out the hope of greatness. She knew that Briony would see they got everything befitting two such handsome lads. Who knew what they might become?
Kerry watched the change in her mother as she bent over Eileen’s boys and forced down the hurt she felt inside. Since the birth of the twins, Lissy had been left out in the cold. Oh, Briony still made a fuss of her, as did Bernadette. But the boys were the real focal point. They were twins for a start, so that made them special, and they were white. Wholly white. She tried to keep these thoughts from invading her mind, but still they plagued her at all hours of the day and night.
She drained her glass in one swallow and went to get herself another. She had seen the looks today, outside the church. The peering looks at Lissy as Kerry had stood, head high, with her daughter in her arms. People guessed, she knew that, but Lissy was her true love. She worshipped her daughter even while she resented the feelings the child produced in her at times. She poured herself another drink.
More Dutch courage. She found she needed it more and more as Lissy was growing up.
Briony saw Kerry toss back another drink and made a mental note to have a word with her. She was drinking a lot lately. Her eyes strayed to Marcus and Bernie. Now there was a match made in heaven if ever she saw one. They’d be married before long. She smiled as she thought of it.
Molly was still cooing over the twins and Briony smiled again. It was six months since Eileen had been laid to rest and the boys were now two fat healthy babies. The hurt of bereavement had lessened with them in the house. Briony had opened the Manor, which was going great guns, and now she smiled at Mariah as she thought how lucky she was. She had her health and she had money, plenty of it, and was making more by the day. She also had two little boys to care for, and if at times like this she thought of another little boy, it was now a bitter-sweet remembering. Danny Boy and Boysie had done a lot to assuage her guilt and hurt. But one day she would have Ben too, she was determined on that. One day he would know who she was.
Cissy came into the room, flushed and excited. ‘The Barking and Dagenham Post’s outside. They want a picture for the paper!’
Briony laughed as they all put on their hats and coats and trooped outside to her front garden.
The photographer lined them all up, with Briony in the centre, the two boys asleep in her arms. Her face was almost obscured by a large-brimmed hat. Beside her stood her mother on one side, and Jonathan, the real reason for the photograph, on the other. The rest of the family, including Mrs Horlock and Cissy, gathered around them. Kerry, also a celebrity, stood smiling while trying to hold a struggling Lissy in her arms as the flash went off with a loud crash followed by a blinding light.
The picture was the talk of Barking for a long time, and Briony kept a framed copy on her mantelpiece for the rest of her life. Every time she looked at it she would smile sadly. The only person missing was Eileen.
Briony laughed and joked through the rest of the day. Late in the evening, though, as she sat with Jonathan, she heard the twins cry. Leaping from her seat, she bolted from the room, leaving Jonathan staring after her and Bernadette and Marcus laughing.
The pattern was already set. The twins called, and Briony came running.
BOOK THREE
1947
‘Out of the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing can ever be made’
- Immanuel Kant, 1724-1804
‘He that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent’
-Proverbs, 29, xviii
‘Believe me! The secret of reaping the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment from life is to live dangerously!’
- Friedrich Nietzsche, 1844-1900
Chapter Thirty-three
‘I swear to you, Boysie, I ain’t done nothing! Danny, Danny Boy, tell him for Christ’s sake!’
Dickie Lawson watched as two identical faces peered at him through the gloom.
‘You’re a liar, Lawson. You tucked us up and we ain’t having it.’
Boysie grabbed him around the throat with one large fist. Tiny Dickie Lawson looked at him with terrified eyes.
‘Now I’m going to hit you, see, hit you so hard even your grandchildren will have an headache.’
Daniel stood by while Boysie began pummelling Lawson with his fists. As the man dropped to the floor, Daniel kicked him once in the stomach.
The twins looked at one another and smiled. Then, checking their suits to make sure they were still in pristine condition, walked out of the alleyway and along the Barking Road.
‘Little ponce he is! I tell you now, Danny, he better have my winnings by the end of the week or I’ll muller him. Mind you, after tonight I think he’ll be paying us out all right. Quick smart.’
Boysie looked around him as he walked, taking in everything and anything. Convinced that people were looking at him, admiring him. He had an air of arrogance that tended to draw people’s attention. Daniel on the other hand kept his eyes straight ahead. Of the two boys he was the quieter, the one who did the thinking, the one who was the planner. Unlike Boysie, who lost his temper in an instant and was just as quick to forget a fight, Daniel was unforgiving. He had to have a reason to resort to violence but when he did, he never forgave, ever.
They got into their car in Marlborough Road and made their way towards Manor Park where they lived.
Barking and Dagenham were still showing the signs of the war in great empty spaces filled with rubble. Dirty children were playing where terraced houses had once stood. The Becontree Estate was underway, new homes, shops and new churches to go up upon the rubble and ashes of the past. The spirit of the people, though hungry, homeless and drained by a war that left many of them without men or a place to call their home, was as it always had been. They’d won, and if the price they had paid was high, it was for King and country- though the wags said for a King they hardly saw and for a country that was going to the dogs!
It was the joke of London when Buckingham Palace was bombed and the King said he now felt like a Londoner. The silly old bugger should have been in the East End during the blitz, stepping across gaping holes in the road with electricity cables and gas mains open to the elements; he should have heard the screaming of the women and children as fires raged and people tried frantically to find relatives and even family pets. Suddenly even a scabby old cat was important.
Still, it was over now, the building had begun and a new breed of youth was emerging. The wide boy arrived in 1945 and was to become a role model for the children growing up. The country had undergone a change, a big change. Old values were slowly disappearing, the King and Queen were no longer just to be obeyed and worshipped from afar, the young ones wanted none of what their parents had endured. There was more work and money to be spent.
Women who had never been outside the home before had been earning good money in the war, and had enjoyed their independence. Now the ones with husbands back home were adjusting once more to being ‘the wife’, or ‘her indoors’, and the widows were keeping their heads above water as best they could. It was a sad woman who didn’t have a full belly once her husband wa
s demobbed. Children were being born left, right and centre, the new generation that was to change the world. Or so they thought.
As for Danny and Boysie, they had lived through the Blitz, seen bodies dug out of mounds of steaming rubble, and witnessed all the horrors of the war from the home front. They were changed as a result. Like many young men they had an outlook on life that shocked the older generation.
It was survival of the fittest now. That was the law of the streets where Boysie and Danny were about to make their mark.
As the twins drove home they chatted.
‘Shall we go up the club later? After the bit of business.’
Danny nodded as he drove. ‘If you like, Boysie. We’ve got to see The Aunt beforehand, though. I’ll drop round Auntie Bernie’s so we can get spruced up first.’
‘I can’t wait for tonight. It’s like a dream come true, ain’t it? I’m so excited inside.’
Boysie’s euphoria made Daniel laugh.
‘Just remember, after tonight, there’s no going back.’
Boysie shrugged. ‘I don’t want to go back, I can’t wait to get started.’
Bernadette and Marcus lived two doors down from Briony in Manor Park. The road they lived in was tree-lined and contained fifteen houses, all large and rambling, all with half an acre of gardens, and all looking very well kept. Bernadette’s still had the leaded lights from the original windows and the house was gabled. She lived there with Marcus and their two young daughters, Rebecca and Delia. The names were hated by the rest of the family, but as far as Bernie was concerned, they were classy. Bernie, as the years went on, had become obsessed with being classy. She opened the door to the boys herself and grinned at them widely.
‘Hello, me ducks. In you come. The bathroom’s free!’
Boysie grinned back at her. She was a bit of all right was Auntie Bernie. Both boys went up for a quick wash and brush up and came downstairs to a large mug of tea.