Laceys of Liverpool Read Online Free Page A

Cora was so cold and reserved. She had made it obvious from the start that she didn’t want to become friends. She had, possibly, softened a little since Maurice was born, but Maurice himself seemed the sole beneficiary of this slight improvement. Yet she was strict with the boy, too much so. Alice had seen the cane hanging on the wall in her sister-in-law’s smart house off Merton Road, but had also witnessed the soft look in Cora’s strange brown eyes, almost khaki, when they lighted on her handsome son.
    Maurice was a Lacey to his bones. His gran doted onhim. Meg Lacey carried a photo in her handbag of John and Billy when they were little, and either one could have been Maurice they were so alike.
    Meg had Maurice on her knee, stroking his chubby legs – she made it obvious she had no time for Cormac. ‘Who’s my favourite little boy in the whole world,’ she cooed.
    Cora didn’t look too pleased. Her small, tight face was screwed in a scowl. Alice wondered what she would look like with her hair combed loose, instead of scraped back in a knot with such severity that it stretched the skin on her forehead. Except for the odd brown of her eyes, there wasn’t a spot of colour in her face. Cora scorned make-up and nice clothes. Today, she wore the plain brown frock with a belt that had been her best since Alice could remember.
    Orla sang ‘Greensleeves’ in a fine, strong voice. If there’d been the money, Alice would have sent her to singing lessons – Mrs O’Leary’s Daisy went to tap-dancing classes – but then Fionnuala would have demanded lessons in something or other and it wouldn’t have been fair to leave out Maeve, although her placid youngest daughter wouldn’t have complained.
    ‘Any requests?’ Orla enquired pertly when she’d finished her repertoire.
    ‘Yes, shurrup,’ Fionnuala snapped. It was said so viciously that Alice was dismayed. The girls had always got on well with each other. Perhaps, because the house was so full of love, they hadn’t found it necessary to compete. Lately, though, Fion, who Alice had to concede could be dead irritating at times, had become resentful of Orla, making unnecessarily spiteful remarks, like the one just now. It didn’t help when Orla, eleven, started her periods and the older Fion showed no sign. Alice wondered if it was the change in atmosphere thathad done it. The house may well have been full of love once, but it certainly wasn’t now.
    Oh, God! This was a
horrible
Christmas. Normally, she never let Cora bother her, nor the fact that John’s mother made such a fuss of Maurice and entirely ignored her other grandson. Alice was fond of Maurice, but it would have been easy to get upset. Instead, she and John usually laughed about it. Other Christmases, John organised word games. He sometimes sang, usually carols, in a rather fine baritone voice. He made sure everyone had a glass of sherry and told them amusing things that had happened at work. In the past, John had even been known to make Cora laugh. Now, Alice wasn’t sure what she wanted to do most, burst into tears, or scream, as two of her daughters squabbled, Maeve looked bored, Cora scowled, her mother-in-law cooed and John’s face was like thunder. Only Cormac was his usual sunny self, playing quietly on the floor with a truck he’d got for Christmas. If only her dad were there! He’d see the funny side of things and they could wink at each other and make faces.
    Suddenly, John grabbed Fion and Orla by the scruffs of their necks and flung them out of the room. ‘If you’re going to fight, then fight somewhere else,’ he snarled.
    Alice got up and left without a word. The girls were in the hall, holding hands, she noted approvingly, and looking shaken.
    ‘I
hate
Dad,’ Orla said spiritedly.
    ‘Me, too,’ echoed Fionnuala.
    ‘We weren’t exactly fighting.’
    ‘It was more an argument.’
    ‘Your dad gets easily narked these days.’ She put her arms round both her girls, they were