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

parting words to her, ‘Peggy, I won’t be here, but you have to act as though I am. If you get into a difficult situation, you have to ask yourself, “What would Maura say?” and if that doesn’t work, promise me you will go to the convent and speak to Sister, or the priest.’

With Maura’s words in her ears, Peggy took a deep breath and, looking up, presented her bravest face. Mr Heartfelt avoided looking directly at her, pushing back wayward and unusually long strands of hair over the top of his bald head, flattening them into place with the palm of his hand. Peggy’s heart sank. Mr Heartfelt, unlike his name, was not kindly. It was a cruel trick. His face was extraordinarily long and thin. He wore a knitted Fair Isle sleeveless jumper over a crisp white shirt with a maroon tie fastened so tight his Adam’s apple protruded over the top. He carried a buff-coloured folder in the hand that was not concerned with his balding pate.

Peggy’s eyes rested on the folder, knowing that her life and that of her parents and grandparents and those who had arrived through the gates of the Clarence Dock in 1848, during the time of the Irish famine, lay in that folder. They had come straight to the docks and every one of them had been employed by the dock board ever since. The house they lived in had belonged to her mam and da and to theirs before them. For over one hundred years, since Nelson Street was built, Peggy’s ancestors, all hard-working dockers, had lived there and the rent book was passed down from the eldest of one generation to the next. She was about to alter the course of her family history and all because she had married a man her father had begged her not to.

Her heart sank at the expression on Mr Heartfelt’s thin face. She thought of the last time she and Maura had been here together; they had laughed on the way home, Maura making fun of Mr Heartfelt all the way. ‘Why the long face, Mr Heartfelt, it’s only the rent?’ Maura had joked, mimicking the way he looked and spoke and the laughter had been such a tonic that Peggy had felt much better. Today, however, he did not greet her with the smile he always had for Maura and went straight to the point.

Peggy tried desperately to speak, for something about the look in his eyes had rung an alarm bell and she instinctively knew she had to ward off his words with some of her own and her mouth began to engage before her brain had time to think.

‘H-hello, Mr Heartfelt, you wrote me a letter—’ There was a loud crash and the ping of a bell from the direction of the counter. Peggy almost jumped out of her skin and stopped mid-sentence. She looked back at the receptionist, whose smile was openly mocking. The noise had been made by the typewriter carriage as she’d slid it forcefully along to the end.

Peggy turned back to Mr Heartfelt. What had she been saying? She had forgotten. Her mouth was dry, her head was spinning, black spots were swarming before her eyes. She had been out of the house for hours, had stood for so long, waiting, and she desperately needed to use the bathroom. Frank the Skank was shaking his head at her disapprovingly.

‘Mr – Mr Heartfelt, I would just like to explain…’

But he held up his hand and stopped her. ‘Mrs Nolan, I wrote to you asking you to call in to see me and I’m very sorry to be the bearer of bad news—’

Peggy’s panic reached her mouth as the words spewed out. ‘Oh, please, don’t you be worrying, I can pay the arrears off, I’ll have no trouble doing that. No, we just need the appointment at the hospital to come through so that someone can look at Paddy’s back and then it will all be back to normal. He’s sick, you see.’ Peggy’s head swam and she put her hand out to steady her against the wall; it landed on a drawing pin. She flinched and, pulling her hand back, rubbed it hard. A spot of blood appeared in the middle of her palm and she smeared it away.

Heartfelt paid not the slightest attention, simply thinking to himself, if I don’t get the rent book back from the Dohertys this one will do. In fact he hated this part of his job. It was a massive inconvenience – those who had inherited rent books were the worst. He looked over to Frank who nodded in his direction with a knowing half-smile and he recalled their last conversation.

‘We will get you the Dohertys’ house. The trouble with these people is that they feel a sense of entitlement, as though the house is their own,’ he had said to Frank. ‘Think it’s their right to keep it, even when they can no longer pay, because the rent book gets passed down the line. It’s a bloody nuisance.’

‘Is that why the Dohertys are still paying?’ Frank had asked.

Mr Heartfelt had shaken his head. ‘I’ve no idea what’s going on there. I know they came into money, but they bought a pub in Ireland and, by all accounts, it’s not doing too well. Maybe they are coming back?’

Frank had scowled. ‘That’s not part of our agreement; you owe me.’

Mr Heartfelt had looked nervous. ‘Frank, we can’t draw attention to ourselves, can we? I’ve written and asked for the rent book from the Dohertys and I’ve sent a bailiff’s notice to the house next door. You will get your house, two weeks, tops. You wait and see, it will all be done, Frank. You just get on with your end of the bargain.’

Mr Heartfelt could see Frank’s unwavering gaze, his disconcerting eyes, watching every gesture. Yes, this was definitely the part he hated; he much preferred to use letters and his brother-in-law