Coming Home to the Four Streets by Nadine Dorries (books that read to you .txt) 📗

in the envelope. ‘They don’t like to leave properties empty in case of burst pipes and irreparable and expensive damage.’

Maura shook her head. Her thoughts drifted to her house on the four streets. The carnival was coming. She remembered the excitement that surrounded the day, the games, the march and the knees-up in the Anchor pub when all the kids were in bed and being looked after by a variety of young girls who were allowed to stay up in order to babysit. It was always a highlight of the year. Maura organised the costumes, making a trip to the market for the fabric to supplement whatever fell off the back of the tramp ship.

‘I miss the trips to the market. Do you remember the white silk dresses we had last year? And wasn’t that just the thing, because the girls could use them for Holy Communion after,’ she said aloud as she remembered she and Angela putting their best foot forward for a carnival without Kitty. ‘Oh, Conor must be on his way back. It would be the first time he had let everyone down, so we have to keep paying the rent until then because, as God is my judge, they will need it to hide Conor’s drink in the back and Kathleen will have to be the one to dish it out.’

Maura’s voice had dropped an octave, even though there was no one to hear her. Without a doubt, the carnival would never be a day of fun and memories without an understanding between Captain Conor and the dockers. Just like at Christmas, the carnival fun arrived via wins on the bingo, Green Shield stamps, the butcher’s and the biggest contribution of all, the goods that fell off the back of a ship. Maura had no chance to say any more because Angela appeared in the doorway.

‘Mammy, it’s Harry, he’s really sick.’

Maura put down her glass and jumped to her feet. ‘Is it his chest, queen? Is his breathing not right, is he wheezy?’

‘No Mammy, it’s his arm, it’s hot all the way up and he’s not making any sense.’

*

Maura fought to keep the panic from her voice as she laid Harry down on the settle, his body burning as his mind rambled.

‘Get them off, Mam!’ he cried, swatting at his arms as Maura removed his pyjamas.

‘Tommy,’ she said, ‘go on, run. Get the bike out and get to the Deanes’. Ask Liam to take us to the hospital. Tommy, where is the nearest hospital?’

Tommy shook his head, feeling helpless and trapped. In Liverpool, he would have had Harry over his shoulders in a flash and marched down to St Angelus within fifteen minutes. ‘I don’t know, queen, but I’ll go now.’ And with one quick kiss on his son’s head and the whispered words, ‘Daddy will sort this out now, Harry. It’s a doctor you need and we will have you better in no time,’ he was out of the door and pedalling for his life, back to the Deanes’ farm.

*

Maura had never seen one of her children look so ill and she had sat through many a long night and trips to St Angelus with asthma and bad chests, the curse of living so close to the river Mersey. Her heart raced fast as she filled up a bowl with tepid water and began to wash Harry’s body down to reduce his temperature. Angela padded over to her mother’s side.

‘Angela, get me my rosary from the press,’ Maura barked at her anxious-looking daughter. Angela didn’t need to be asked twice; the sight of Harry’s curls, plastered to his scalp with perspiration, along with his rambling and wailing, set her own emotions on edge.

‘Here, Mammy,’ said Angela as the rosary slipped from her hand to her mother’s. Angela’s dark hair fell long and unkempt down both sides of her face, her eyes were wide, her thumb in her mouth and her precious teddy under her arm. ‘Here, Harry,’ she whispered as she placed her teddy into the crook of Harry’s arm.

‘Good girl,’ said Maura and smiled up at her. ‘Now change this water, would you? Not hot, not cold, we don’t want to shock him, just in the middle, for I have to keep washing him down to try and fight the temperature off.’

‘Ma…’ Harry opened his eyes. They were glazed and bright and for a moment they held Maura’s.

‘I’m here, Harry. Don’t you be worrying now, just lie there nice and still.’ Her son turned his head and looked about the room.

‘Where’s Da?’ Harry croaked.

‘Angela, get me some water for Harry to drink.’ She knew they had to get fluids into him whilst he could hold it down. She placed her arm around her son’s back and held the drink to his lips. Harry guzzled the water and Maura laid him back down. ‘Da’s gone for the doctor, Harry, he’ll be back in a minute,’ she said, but Harry wasn’t listening. His temperature had rapidly risen again and he began to ramble incoherently once more.

‘Mam, is Harry going to die?’

Angela had laid her hand on her mother’s shoulder. She had never seen anyone that poorly before and Maura felt the question like a slap across the face. She stared at her daughter. ‘No, Angela, he isn’t. The good Lord has taken one from me, he won’t be wanting another.’ But the very thought that that would even be a possibility chilled Maura to the bone and she began to wash Harry down again. ‘This water is hot already, Angela, bring me a jug of fresh.’

It felt to Maura as though the night would last forever as she waited for Tommy to return, raising her son’s limbs one by one and running the cloth soaked in tepid water along each one, whispering comforting words as she did so, while Angela sat in the rocking chair and slowly rocked back and forth, her eyes never leaving her mother or Harry. Maura hardly realised it, but