Laceys of Liverpool Read Online Free

was certain, she was forcing herself to touch him. She was a good, kind woman and felt sorry for him. She was probably feeling sick inside. The tender, loving look on her face was all put on. He seized her wrist and pushed her hand away. ‘I don’t want your sympathy,’ he said gruffly.
    He truly hadn’t meant to be quite so rough. He noticed her wince and rub her wrist when she went into the kitchen. Water ran, the gas was lit and John Lacey realised he had just hurt the person he loved most in the world. He looked at himself in the mirror. Sometimes he wondered if it would be better for all concerned if he did himself in.
    Alice had borne three daughters within two and a half years of her marriage to John Lacey. Fionnuala was only two months old when she had fallen pregnant with Orla and Maeve had arrived when Orla was still on the breast.
    Her husband realised something had to be done. Alice was barely twenty-one. At the rate they were going, they’d have a couple of dozen kids by the time she reached forty. Although strictly forbidden by the Catholic church, for the next five years, with Alice’s approval, he took precautions. Then the war started and they decided to try for a son. Nine months later, Cormac was born. Four children was enough for anyone and John started to take precautions again. It was easier now, with French letters available over the counter at the chemist.
    They were an exceptionally happy family. The girls were the image of their mam with the same brown hair and blue eyes. Cormac was a lovely lad, a bit pale, a bit small, rather quiet compared with his sisters. He had his mam’s blue eyes, if a shade or two lighter. Apart from that, no one was quite sure whom he took after, with his straight blond hair and neatly proportioned features.
    John didn’t mind when his wife went to work in the hairdresser’s in Opal Street. He earned enough to feed his family, keep them comfortable, but the girls were mad on clothes and it didn’t seem fair that the eldest was the only one who had new things. Anyroad, Orla was a little madam and would have screamed blue murder at the idea of always having to wear her sister’s hand-me-downs. Alice worked to dress her girls and she was happy at Myrtle’s. And if Alice was happy, so was John.
    At least that used to be the case. Now, it was the first war-free Christmas in six years. It should have been the best the Laceys had ever known, but it turned out to be the worst.
    Orla had made a show of herself at the Sunday School party, Fionnuala claimed. She’d sung ‘Strawberry Fair’ and ‘Greensleeves’. ‘Though no one asked her. I felt dead embarrassed, if you must know.’
    ‘Miss Geraghty asked who’d like to do a turn,’ Orla said haughtily. ‘I put me hand up, that’s all.’
    ‘Perhaps our Fionnuala didn’t hear what Miss Geraghty had said,’ suggested Maeve, the peacemaker.
    On Christmas Day, after dinner, when everyone was in the parlour, Orla offered to sing again.
    ‘That’d be nice, luv,’ Alice said quickly, hoping a few songs might lighten the atmosphere. It had been a miserable meal and though she didn’t like to admit it, not even to herself, it was all John’s fault. He glowered at everyone from the head of the table, snapped at the children, was rude to his wife. Even Billy, his brother, normally the life and soul of the party, had been subdued. By the time the pudding stage was reached the conversation had dried up completely.
    As soon as the food was eaten, Billy escaped to the pub. John wasn’t a drinker, but he used to like the occasional pint, particularly at Christmas. This year, he’d churlishly refused. He rarely left the house, except for work, when he wore a trilby with the brim tipped to show as little as possible of his face. At Mass he sat at the back.
    Cora was watching everything with a supercilious smile, as if she was enjoying seeing the Lacey family fall to pieces. Alice had never got on with her sister-in-law.