‘Did he seem keen?’
‘I think he asked me to the theatre next week, but I’m not sure which day, or which theatre,’ she said as her brother Stan came into the room.
Stan plonked himself down at the end of the table and waited for a bowl of porridge to be placed in front of him, before gulping down the contents like a dog drinking water on a hot day. When he’d finished, he flicked off the top of a bottle of Bass and drank it in one draught. ‘I’ll have another,’ he said. ‘As it’s Sunday,’ he added, burping loudly.
Maisie never spoke during Stan’s morning ritual, and she usually slipped off to work before he had time to air his opinions on anything that crossed his mind. She rose from her place and was just about to leave for the morning service at St Mary’s, when he bellowed, ‘Sit down, woman! I want a word with you before you go to church.’
Maisie would have liked to walk out without responding, but Stan wasn’t beyond dragging her back and giving her a black eye if the mood took him. She sat back down.
‘So what are you doin’ about that two hundred nicker you’re in line for?’ he demanded.
‘How did you find out?’
‘Mum told me all about it last night when you were out on the town getting laid by your American fancy man.’
Maisie frowned at her mother, who looked embarrassed, but said nothing. ‘For your information, Stan, Major Mulholland is a gentleman, and what I do in my spare time is none of your business.’
‘If he’s an American, you stupid bitch, let me warn you – they don’t wait to be asked, they think everythin’s theirs by right.’
‘You speak with your usual first-hand knowledge on the subject, no doubt,’ said Maisie, trying to remain calm.
‘Yanks are all the same,’ said Stan. ‘They only want one thing, and once they’ve got it, they bugger off back home and leave us to finish the job, just like they did in the first war.’
Maisie realized there was no point in continuing the conversation, so she just sat there, hoping this particular storm would blow over quickly.
‘You still haven’t told me what you’re doin’ about the two hundred quid,’ said Stan.
‘I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ said Maisie. ‘In any case, how I spend my money has got nothing to do with you.’
‘It’s got everything to do with me,’ said Stan, ‘because half of it’s mine.’
‘And how do you work that out?’ asked Maisie.
‘On account of the fact that you’re livin’ in my house for a start, so I’m entitled. And let me warn you, girl, in case you’re thinkin’ of double-crossin’ me, if I don’t get my fair share, I’ll beat you so black and blue, even an American negro won’t give you a second look.’
‘You make me sick, Stan,’ said Maisie.
‘Not half as sick as I’ll make you if you don’t cough up, because then I’ll—’
Maisie stood up, marched out of the kitchen, ran down the hall, grabbed her coat and was out of the front door before Stan had come to the end of his tirade.
When she checked the lunch bookings that Sunday, Maisie quickly realized she’d have to make sure that two of her customers were seated as far away from each other as possible. She put Mike Mulholland on his usual table, and Patrick Casey on the far side of the room, so there wasn’t any chance of them bumping into each other.
She hadn’t set eyes on Patrick for nearly three years, and wondered if he’d changed. Did he still have those irresistible good looks and Irish charm that had so captivated her when they’d first met?
One of her questions was answered the moment he entered the room.
‘How nice to see you after all this time, Mr Casey,’ she said before accompanying him to his table. Several middle-aged women took a second look at the handsome Irishman as he crossed the room. ‘Will you be staying with us for long this time, Mr Casey?’ Maisie asked as she passed him a menu.
‘That depends on you,’ said Patrick. He opened the menu, but didn’t study its contents.
Maisie hoped that no one noticed her blush. She turned, to see Mike Mulholland waiting by reception; he would never allow anyone but Maisie to show him to his table. She hurried across and whispered, ‘Hello, Mike. I’ve reserved your usual table. Would you like to follow me?’
‘I sure would.’
Once Mike had turned his attention to the menu – although he always had the same two dishes every Sunday, soup of the day followed by boiled beef and Yorkshire pudding – she walked back across the room to take Patrick’s order.