‘Internationale’ in a low, melodic voice. The spuds done, she peeled a parsnip and chopped up a cabbage, then wrapped all the wastage in the paper and took it outside to the dustbin at the bottom of the steps. It was then that she saw the gap where something had been cut out and remembered she’d meant to look for the cutting in his study - she liked to know what was going in. ‘I’ll look after dinner,’ she told herself. But after dinner, Marcus would be there. ‘No, I won’t, I’ll look now. It won’t take a mo.’
A scrap of paper was tucked under the blotter on top of the magnificent desk that had once belonged to Herbert Wallace. Nancy wasn’t the sort of woman who easily gave way to her emotions, but she felt the urge to jump up and down and shout, ‘Hurray’ when she read it.
‘Will Colm Caffrey, brother of Patrick Caffrey (deceased), please contact Messrs Connor, Smith & Harrison, Solicitors, of 47 Water Street, Liverpool, where he will learn of something to his advantage.’ There was a telephone number underneath.
‘Well, blow me,’ she gasped aloud, picked up the telephone and dialled the number with a shaking hand. ‘I’d like to speak to someone about Colm Caffrey,’ she said when a male voice answered.
‘We have had at least a dozen Colm Caffreys call at the office today, imposters every one. Are you about to claim that you are he, and that Mr Caffrey is in fact a woman?’ the voice enquired sarcastically.
‘No, but I know him,’ Nancy said breathlessly. ‘I know where he lives. I know he comes from Lahmera in County Kildare, that his wife is called Brenna and he has two boys, Fergus and Tyrone, and a baby daughter, Cara.’
‘Ah! I do believe we have located the real Colm Caffrey at last.’ The voice sounded relieved. ‘When can we expect him in the office?’
‘Tomorrow morning, first thing,’ Nancy promised.
Well, if anyone needed to learn something to his advantage, it was this young chap, Ambrose Houghton thought as he sat behind his desk opposite Colm Caffrey, his wife and small child. The man was badly in need of a shave, all three were dressed in tatters and the smell they emitted was vile. He wondered if it would look rude if he opened the window a few inches to get rid of it, but decided not to risk it. You could never tell, one of these days the chap might become a valued client. Anyway, the temperature outside was sub-zero and the smell was preferable to the cold.
‘Shall we get over the formalities first?’ he suggested. After asking the obvious questions, where was he born and when, his mother’s maiden name, plus a repeat of the other particulars supplied by the woman who’d rung the day before, and having established that this was indeed Colm Caffrey, brother of Patrick, now sadly deceased, he came to the point.
‘It would seem your brother didn’t write and tell you about the house he’d won,’ he said, and rather enjoyed the startled, unbelieving looks on the faces of Mr Caffrey and his wife. The latter had so far not spoken.
‘ Won !’ the wife squeaked now. ‘A house !’
‘A house,’ Ambrose Houghton repeated. ‘He won it in a card game and wanted the deeds made out to you, Mr Caffrey. He said he would write and tell you that very night.’
‘He did write and say he had a surprise for us,’ Colm Caffrey said, ‘but we thought we’d never find out what it was once Paddy had passed away, as it were.’
‘It’s a pity that the surprise has been so long in coming.’ From the look of the pair, it had arrived just in time. ‘It’s an end-terraced house in Shaw Street, Toxteth,’ he continued, ‘number one, with two downstairs rooms, a kitchen, two bedrooms, a box room and a small yard housing the lavatory and washhouse.’
‘And it’s ours ?’ Colm Caffrey said in a strangled voice.
‘Indeed it is, sir.’ The solicitor considered it rather admirable to address such a ragamuffin as ‘sir’ but the man was now a property
A scrap of paper was tucked under the blotter on top of the magnificent desk that had once belonged to Herbert Wallace. Nancy wasn’t the sort of woman who easily gave way to her emotions, but she felt the urge to jump up and down and shout, ‘Hurray’ when she read it.
‘Will Colm Caffrey, brother of Patrick Caffrey (deceased), please contact Messrs Connor, Smith & Harrison, Solicitors, of 47 Water Street, Liverpool, where he will learn of something to his advantage.’ There was a telephone number underneath.
‘Well, blow me,’ she gasped aloud, picked up the telephone and dialled the number with a shaking hand. ‘I’d like to speak to someone about Colm Caffrey,’ she said when a male voice answered.
‘We have had at least a dozen Colm Caffreys call at the office today, imposters every one. Are you about to claim that you are he, and that Mr Caffrey is in fact a woman?’ the voice enquired sarcastically.
‘No, but I know him,’ Nancy said breathlessly. ‘I know where he lives. I know he comes from Lahmera in County Kildare, that his wife is called Brenna and he has two boys, Fergus and Tyrone, and a baby daughter, Cara.’
‘Ah! I do believe we have located the real Colm Caffrey at last.’ The voice sounded relieved. ‘When can we expect him in the office?’
‘Tomorrow morning, first thing,’ Nancy promised.
Well, if anyone needed to learn something to his advantage, it was this young chap, Ambrose Houghton thought as he sat behind his desk opposite Colm Caffrey, his wife and small child. The man was badly in need of a shave, all three were dressed in tatters and the smell they emitted was vile. He wondered if it would look rude if he opened the window a few inches to get rid of it, but decided not to risk it. You could never tell, one of these days the chap might become a valued client. Anyway, the temperature outside was sub-zero and the smell was preferable to the cold.
‘Shall we get over the formalities first?’ he suggested. After asking the obvious questions, where was he born and when, his mother’s maiden name, plus a repeat of the other particulars supplied by the woman who’d rung the day before, and having established that this was indeed Colm Caffrey, brother of Patrick, now sadly deceased, he came to the point.
‘It would seem your brother didn’t write and tell you about the house he’d won,’ he said, and rather enjoyed the startled, unbelieving looks on the faces of Mr Caffrey and his wife. The latter had so far not spoken.
‘ Won !’ the wife squeaked now. ‘A house !’
‘A house,’ Ambrose Houghton repeated. ‘He won it in a card game and wanted the deeds made out to you, Mr Caffrey. He said he would write and tell you that very night.’
‘He did write and say he had a surprise for us,’ Colm Caffrey said, ‘but we thought we’d never find out what it was once Paddy had passed away, as it were.’
‘It’s a pity that the surprise has been so long in coming.’ From the look of the pair, it had arrived just in time. ‘It’s an end-terraced house in Shaw Street, Toxteth,’ he continued, ‘number one, with two downstairs rooms, a kitchen, two bedrooms, a box room and a small yard housing the lavatory and washhouse.’
‘And it’s ours ?’ Colm Caffrey said in a strangled voice.
‘Indeed it is, sir.’ The solicitor considered it rather admirable to address such a ragamuffin as ‘sir’ but the man was now a property
Similar Books
It's Always Darkest Before the Fridge Door Opens: Enjoying the Fruits of Middle Age
Phil Callaway, Martha O. Bolton
