Read Online The Angels of Lovely Lane by Nadine Dorries - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nadine Dorries
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distance and in their place was nothing by which to count the hours of the day. She had begun to miss the cows and the stability they represented before they were even out of the village.
There was no sign of Patrick or of his poor beaten mother and greedy father. She had thought that as the van pulled away they might have slipped into view, knowing a free drink would be in the offing in the Brogan kitchen. She knew they would not be able to stay away for long, and that within the hour one or other would be round at the house to check that she had actually left.
‘Mighty grand of you to be off to St Angelus,’ Mr Joyce commented as the farm faded into the distance. He had cleaned the van in her honour, and her mammy had looked pleased as he pulled up outside the house.
‘You’ll be leaving in style, Dana. I like that.’ Admittedly, the floor of Mr Joyce’s van was carpeted with potato sacking and cabbage leaves, but it still smelt better than her father’s, which had been used for transporting the pigs to Castlebar market only the previous day and had yet to be washed out.
Mr Joyce had told her every day she had done well to be accepted by St Angelus, usually within five minutes of her arriving at the shop. Dana was grateful for his praise. She had received little from anywhere else. Until the past few days, she had been made to feel as though having done well and winning her place at St Angelus were being perceived as a crime.
The road was rough and bumpy, cut into the hills a century ago by starving men in return for a handful of grain and barely touched since. Her mother’s old leather handbag, given to Dana for Liverpool and now perched on her knee, was a weight in itself. Stuffed with the food her mother had made for the journey, it pressed down on her woollen skirt, prickling and chafing the scratches still raw on her thighs.
A feeling of relief washed over her as Mr Joyce put his foot down on the accelerator and the farm shrank to a small dot in the distance. As it did so, tears stung the back of her eyes. The village she had known and felt safe in all her life suddenly felt far too small, and dangerous. It was tainted. An entire lifetime of safety and comfort within familiar boundaries had been destroyed within seconds by the actions of one man. She had promised her mother in the café in Galway that she would return home as often as possible. How could she do that now, with a monster living next door and a father she felt she no longer loved?
She would cross that bridge when she had to. Right now, she couldn’t get to Liverpool fast enough. A city she had never before set foot in suddenly felt like a safer and more comfortable option than living next door to Patrick O’Dowd. Patrick, who had grown into a threatening and violent man, who had Dana in his sights and would not be satisfied until she was his.
Chapter four
Biddy Kennedy lifted her freshly baked apple pie out of the oven and shuffled across the concrete floor towards the sink in her oversized slippers, worn down at the back and holed in the toes, to set the enamel plate down in front of the window for the pastry to cool. There was no need to open the window, because the draught that whistled through the cracks did the job well enough. It was the fourth day in January, and as Biddy took a deep breath she detected a change in the breeze that blew up from the Mersey. The rain was pouring steadily, as it had been for most of the day, and the moonless winter sky was black and forbidding.
‘Snow is on its way,’ she said to the cat, who had jumped on to the wooden draining board and now pushed himself up against her hand, purring. ‘Get down, you thieving bugger.’ She picked him up and set him down on the floor before she shuffled back across the kitchen and closed the oven door.
And then opened and closed it again. A smile of satisfaction crossed her face as the door clicked shut. Her range had been damaged during the war and a month ago
There was no sign of Patrick or of his poor beaten mother and greedy father. She had thought that as the van pulled away they might have slipped into view, knowing a free drink would be in the offing in the Brogan kitchen. She knew they would not be able to stay away for long, and that within the hour one or other would be round at the house to check that she had actually left.
‘Mighty grand of you to be off to St Angelus,’ Mr Joyce commented as the farm faded into the distance. He had cleaned the van in her honour, and her mammy had looked pleased as he pulled up outside the house.
‘You’ll be leaving in style, Dana. I like that.’ Admittedly, the floor of Mr Joyce’s van was carpeted with potato sacking and cabbage leaves, but it still smelt better than her father’s, which had been used for transporting the pigs to Castlebar market only the previous day and had yet to be washed out.
Mr Joyce had told her every day she had done well to be accepted by St Angelus, usually within five minutes of her arriving at the shop. Dana was grateful for his praise. She had received little from anywhere else. Until the past few days, she had been made to feel as though having done well and winning her place at St Angelus were being perceived as a crime.
The road was rough and bumpy, cut into the hills a century ago by starving men in return for a handful of grain and barely touched since. Her mother’s old leather handbag, given to Dana for Liverpool and now perched on her knee, was a weight in itself. Stuffed with the food her mother had made for the journey, it pressed down on her woollen skirt, prickling and chafing the scratches still raw on her thighs.
A feeling of relief washed over her as Mr Joyce put his foot down on the accelerator and the farm shrank to a small dot in the distance. As it did so, tears stung the back of her eyes. The village she had known and felt safe in all her life suddenly felt far too small, and dangerous. It was tainted. An entire lifetime of safety and comfort within familiar boundaries had been destroyed within seconds by the actions of one man. She had promised her mother in the café in Galway that she would return home as often as possible. How could she do that now, with a monster living next door and a father she felt she no longer loved?
She would cross that bridge when she had to. Right now, she couldn’t get to Liverpool fast enough. A city she had never before set foot in suddenly felt like a safer and more comfortable option than living next door to Patrick O’Dowd. Patrick, who had grown into a threatening and violent man, who had Dana in his sights and would not be satisfied until she was his.
Chapter four
Biddy Kennedy lifted her freshly baked apple pie out of the oven and shuffled across the concrete floor towards the sink in her oversized slippers, worn down at the back and holed in the toes, to set the enamel plate down in front of the window for the pastry to cool. There was no need to open the window, because the draught that whistled through the cracks did the job well enough. It was the fourth day in January, and as Biddy took a deep breath she detected a change in the breeze that blew up from the Mersey. The rain was pouring steadily, as it had been for most of the day, and the moonless winter sky was black and forbidding.
‘Snow is on its way,’ she said to the cat, who had jumped on to the wooden draining board and now pushed himself up against her hand, purring. ‘Get down, you thieving bugger.’ She picked him up and set him down on the floor before she shuffled back across the kitchen and closed the oven door.
And then opened and closed it again. A smile of satisfaction crossed her face as the door clicked shut. Her range had been damaged during the war and a month ago
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