Born Bad

Three months’ trial, a generous travelling allowance, and he was virtually his own boss.

It was an excellent start.

Kathleen and Tom were also pleased with their day.

‘You’ve worn me out, so ye have,’ Kathleen groaned as they headed for the café on the High Steet. ‘I can’t believe a little fella like you could take longer than a cartload o’ women to choose a pair of shoes: Jaysus, Mary and Joseph! Sure, ye could make a living at it.’

‘I’m not tired,’ Tom announced proudly.

‘Oh, are ye not?’ Kathleen quipped. ‘Well, aren’t you the lucky one, ’cos I’m dropping on me feet, so I am.’

‘I’ve got money.’

‘Sure, I know that already,’ she answered. ‘Didn’t I see yer father give it to ye?’

‘I can buy you some new shoes, if you want,’ he offered grandly.

Kathleen laughed out loud at that. ‘Aw, ye little darlin’.’ She gently ruffled his hair. ‘Shall I tell ye something?’

‘What?’

‘Right now, I don’t think I’d even get a pair of shoes on me feet.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cos me poor oul’ feet feel like two fresh-baked loaves.’

‘D’you want to sit down?’

‘Ah, sure I wouldn’t mind that at all.’

‘I need an ice cream.’

‘Ah! So what you’re really saying is we should find a café, where I can sit down and you can have an ice cream, and we’ll both be happy, is that it?’

‘I don’t know.’ The little boy was confused.

‘Ah, but ye’re a joy to behold, so you are! Look, there’s a café right there, and a little table for you and me, right by the window. What d’you say then?’

‘Yes, yes!’ Tom did his usual leaping up and down.

Kathleen chuckled. ‘Y’know what, m’darlin’?’

‘What?’

‘Ye’re a fella after me own heart, so ye are.’ She tightened her hold on him, and as fast as her sore old feet would take her, she rushed him across the road. ‘Will ye look at that!’ she cried merrily. ‘Sure, me feet are getting that excited, they’re almost running!’

Unbeknownst to them, a small skirmish was unfolding some way down the street. ‘Get away from me, you dirty beggar!’ Shoving the woman aside, the man hurried on. ‘People scrounging in the street. Whatever next!’

‘I wasn’t scrounging!’ The woman was close to tears. ‘I was just asking the time, you miserable old devil.’

Clad in a plain dark dress fastened at the waist with a broad belt, she looked nothing like a beggar; yet she appeared waiflike, and there was an air of desolation about her that could be mistaken for hunger of a kind.

In her early thirties, she was painfully thin, with long, fair hair and small, distinctly pretty features. Her soft grey eyes told a story; of great sadness, and fear.

As she darted her anxious gaze up and down the street, the fear was like a living entity in those sorry grey eyes.

When the hand fell on her shoulder, she gave a small, frightened cry. ‘It’s all right!’ The man was a friend. Grey-haired and weathered, he was old enough to be her father.

These past years, because of her situation, he and his wife, Pauline, had taken it on themselves to watch out for her. ‘I saw you just now,’ he said as he led her away. ‘That bloody stupid man! He mistook you for some kind of beggar, didn’t he?’

She wasn’t listening, because now her attention was drawn across the street to the café, where Kathleen and Tom were settling themselves at the table. Kathleen was standing, talking to the little boy, and when suddenly she looked up, the young woman was shocked to her roots. ‘Oh, my God! It really is her! IT’S KATHLEEN!’

The man followed her nervous gaze. ‘Who’s Kathleen?’ he asked. ‘Is she a friend?’

Now she was talking to herself. ‘She’s got a child with her. Whose child is that?’ Seeming confused, she turned to the man. ‘She’s got a child! Kathleen’s got a child. Who does it belong to?’

As though a light had flicked on in her mind, she gave a soft, uneasy laugh. ‘Is it … is it?’ Giving a wry little smile, she shook her head. ‘No! It can’t be, can it?’

The man gave her a gentle shake. ‘Stop it now. You’re doing yourself no good being out here like this.’ He felt her hand. ‘You’re freezing cold, lovey. We’d best get you inside.’

She gave him the sweetest smile. ‘Did you see though? Irish Kathleen’s got a child with her.’ She had no way of knowing what it meant, but it gave her a warm feeling inside.

‘Would you like to go over and see her, this Kathleen? You could ask her whose child it is. That would put your mind at rest.’

‘No!’ Shrinking from him, her eyes swam with tears. ‘I was wrong about the child. I know that now. Besides, Kathleen would not want to see me.’ Just then in that raw moment, she remembered it all. ‘She was my friend once, but I lied to her.’

‘I see.’ Although he didn’t see at all. Nor did he understand her reluctance to say hello to someone who had once befriended her. ‘All right then. You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to.’

‘I want to go now, please.’

He had seen her like this before and it was a sad thing. It was even sadder to see her so obsessed with the child. It concerned him greatly.

‘We’d best go. I’ll make you one of my special cups of hot chocolate – do you a power of good it will.’

She nodded. ‘In a minute.’ Alan was landlord of the Bedford Arms, the pub on the corner. She trusted him and his dear wife Pauline above all others, but she would not be drawn on Kathleen.

‘Did you have a falling-out with that lady?’ he persisted.

‘I did not fall out with her! I already told you, she was my friend.’

‘Then you really should talk to her. After all, you need all the friends you can get.’

‘I’ve got you, haven’t I?’ She gave him a hug. ‘And Pauline?’

‘Yes, of course you’ve got me, and you’ve got Pauline, but you can never have enough friends, and this Kathleen does look a kindly old thing. You ought to get in touch with her … make amends for whatever it was that made her send you away.’

‘She didn’t send me away. I left. We all left.’ Unwilling to get into any further conversation, she threaded her arm through his and set him walking. ‘Hot chocolate sounds nice.’ She licked her lips at the thought of it.