blasphemous.
‘I don’t blame you.’ Nell squeezed his hand, glad of the opportunity. Since she’d been able to tell the difference between men and women, she’d wanted to marry Ryan O’Neill. But she wasn’t pretty or glamorous enough. Ryan’s girlfriends always looked as if they had stepped out of the pages of a women’s magazine; perfectly made-up, beautifully dressed, drenched in expensive scent. Mind you, lately he’d taken up with Rosie Hesketh, who’d been at school with Nell and Maggie. Rosie had been a sturdy, argumentative little girl with ringlets, who’d done well in cookery and needlework and poorly at everything else, though if there’d been a prize for arguing, she would have won hands down.
‘I don’t know what he sees in her,’ Maggie had said flatly only the other day. ‘She hasn’t a brain in her head and she’s not exactly pretty.’
‘She’s got a determined chin,’ Nell pointed out.
‘Well, a determined chin isn’t anything to write home about.’
Nell, being no beauty herself, felt obliged to stand up for Rosie. ‘It was enough for your Ryan to ask her out.’
‘Humph!’ was all Maggie said.
Rosie wasn’t at the funeral, but she turned out to be in the O’Neills’ house when everyone went back for refreshments, having prepared sandwiches and baked cheese straws the night before. Bridie, Maggie’s little sister, was also there.
‘I would have helped with the refreshments,’ Nell said when they met in the O’Neills’ kitchen. Since leaving school, Nell and Rosie had done no more than nod at each other in the street.
‘S’all right, Nellie. I could easily manage on me own,’ Rosie said in a friendly manner. ‘Anyroad, Bridie here gave us a hand. Didn’t you, darlin’. She patted the little girl’s head. ‘Would you mind helping Nell take the sarnies around? Ryan’s seeing to the hard stuff,’ she remarked to Nell, ‘and there’s tea if folks want it.’
‘Me mammy’s gone to heaven,’ Bridie told Nell.
‘I bet she’ll be happy there.’ The poor child didn’t understand what had really happened, that her mammy was dead.
In the parlour, Iris was talking to Auntie Kath, congratulating her on being a candidate in the forthcoming by-election. ‘I do envy you,’ she remarked. ‘Being in Parliament must be incredibly interesting. I wish I could do something like that.’
‘Well what’s stopping you?’ Auntie Kath asked pugnaciously. She had Maggie’s dark curls and her pretty face sparkled with life and intelligence. She wore a black dress that was much too long, and clumpy-heeled shoes.
‘For one thing, I have a husband,’ Iris stammered, slightly taken aback by the woman’s attitude.
‘Does he keep you locked up or something?’
‘No, but he’s a doctor and I’m his receptionist.’
This was greeted with a contemptuous ‘Huh! Did you want to be a doctor’s receptionist when you were growing up?’
Iris was obliged to shake her head. In the manner of most little girls, she’d wanted to do all sorts of exciting things.
Auntie Kath seemed determined to prove her a total failure as a woman and a human being. ‘But your husband wanted to be a doctor and just assumed that you, his wife, would be his assistant. If you were the doctor, would your husband agree to being your receptionist?’
‘I doubt it very much,’ Iris was forced to concede.
‘It’s just so unfair,’ her tormentor raged. ‘Men automatically assume their wives will be on hand to provide free labour. It doesn’t cross their minds that women have ambitions too. And I bet your husband doesn’t even pay you a salary.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’ She would demand one as soon as she got home.
Auntie Kath was slightly more impressed when Iris told her she’d been a sergeant in the army, which was how she’d met Maggie, her niece. ‘What did you do there?’
‘I was a driver.’ Iris wanted to laugh, but remembered she was at a funeral. ‘I’m awfully
‘I don’t blame you.’ Nell squeezed his hand, glad of the opportunity. Since she’d been able to tell the difference between men and women, she’d wanted to marry Ryan O’Neill. But she wasn’t pretty or glamorous enough. Ryan’s girlfriends always looked as if they had stepped out of the pages of a women’s magazine; perfectly made-up, beautifully dressed, drenched in expensive scent. Mind you, lately he’d taken up with Rosie Hesketh, who’d been at school with Nell and Maggie. Rosie had been a sturdy, argumentative little girl with ringlets, who’d done well in cookery and needlework and poorly at everything else, though if there’d been a prize for arguing, she would have won hands down.
‘I don’t know what he sees in her,’ Maggie had said flatly only the other day. ‘She hasn’t a brain in her head and she’s not exactly pretty.’
‘She’s got a determined chin,’ Nell pointed out.
‘Well, a determined chin isn’t anything to write home about.’
Nell, being no beauty herself, felt obliged to stand up for Rosie. ‘It was enough for your Ryan to ask her out.’
‘Humph!’ was all Maggie said.
Rosie wasn’t at the funeral, but she turned out to be in the O’Neills’ house when everyone went back for refreshments, having prepared sandwiches and baked cheese straws the night before. Bridie, Maggie’s little sister, was also there.
‘I would have helped with the refreshments,’ Nell said when they met in the O’Neills’ kitchen. Since leaving school, Nell and Rosie had done no more than nod at each other in the street.
‘S’all right, Nellie. I could easily manage on me own,’ Rosie said in a friendly manner. ‘Anyroad, Bridie here gave us a hand. Didn’t you, darlin’. She patted the little girl’s head. ‘Would you mind helping Nell take the sarnies around? Ryan’s seeing to the hard stuff,’ she remarked to Nell, ‘and there’s tea if folks want it.’
‘Me mammy’s gone to heaven,’ Bridie told Nell.
‘I bet she’ll be happy there.’ The poor child didn’t understand what had really happened, that her mammy was dead.
In the parlour, Iris was talking to Auntie Kath, congratulating her on being a candidate in the forthcoming by-election. ‘I do envy you,’ she remarked. ‘Being in Parliament must be incredibly interesting. I wish I could do something like that.’
‘Well what’s stopping you?’ Auntie Kath asked pugnaciously. She had Maggie’s dark curls and her pretty face sparkled with life and intelligence. She wore a black dress that was much too long, and clumpy-heeled shoes.
‘For one thing, I have a husband,’ Iris stammered, slightly taken aback by the woman’s attitude.
‘Does he keep you locked up or something?’
‘No, but he’s a doctor and I’m his receptionist.’
This was greeted with a contemptuous ‘Huh! Did you want to be a doctor’s receptionist when you were growing up?’
Iris was obliged to shake her head. In the manner of most little girls, she’d wanted to do all sorts of exciting things.
Auntie Kath seemed determined to prove her a total failure as a woman and a human being. ‘But your husband wanted to be a doctor and just assumed that you, his wife, would be his assistant. If you were the doctor, would your husband agree to being your receptionist?’
‘I doubt it very much,’ Iris was forced to concede.
‘It’s just so unfair,’ her tormentor raged. ‘Men automatically assume their wives will be on hand to provide free labour. It doesn’t cross their minds that women have ambitions too. And I bet your husband doesn’t even pay you a salary.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’ She would demand one as soon as she got home.
Auntie Kath was slightly more impressed when Iris told her she’d been a sergeant in the army, which was how she’d met Maggie, her niece. ‘What did you do there?’
‘I was a driver.’ Iris wanted to laugh, but remembered she was at a funeral. ‘I’m awfully
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