Free The Secret Journey by James Hanley

Listen to that, duckins,’ shouted Mr. Kilkey, jumping up from his chair and swinging the boy up and down in the air. ‘Your uncle actually asks me if I like you much?’ The child’s cries became louder.
    â€˜I hope Maureen won’t be long,’ said Joseph Kilkey. ‘I’m tired. Just got home from work, and I have to be out extra early to-morrow.’ He sat down and began dancing the child upon his knee.
    â€˜There is something I could never have imagined,’ Peter was saying to himself—‘and it’s my ever seeing myself sitting in this kitchen looking at Joe Kilkey, my own brother-in-law.’ He who when he was a boy used to chase him with a strap every time he appeared in the little recreation hall of St. Sebastian’s, of which Mr. Kilkey was both caretaker and honorary secretary. And that fat, crying baby on his knee. ‘I wonder what Maureen looks like,’ he asked himself. Mr. Kilkey said, ‘Smoke if you want to, Peter. Dermod’s quite used to my shag, so your cigs. can’t hurt him. Well, you have come on. No doubt about it. You’d make two of any of the family, and certainly three of me. Are you glad you went? Did you like the life? D’you think you’ll stick the sea-life? By Jove!’
    Joseph Kilkey for the second time got out of his chair, and now began making circles round the one in which the youth sat, like a judge at a prize show, surveying, commenting. ‘I’m right glad you’re settling down to something, Peter. Your mother must be too. She’s had a rough time. Now is your chance to repay all she’s done.’
    Peter looked away from the man. Here it was again. The same old song, ‘Shouldn’t have done what you did. Say you’re sorry you did it.’ He switched off that subject.
    â€˜Are you getting regular work now, Joe?’ asked Peter. His eyes roved the mantelpiece until they fell upon what he sought—a small box inlaid with pearl which he had bought at Patras and sent home to his sister as a present ‘to keep the baby’s pins in,’ as he said on the note Mrs. Kilkey discovered inside it. ‘I wish Maureen would hurry,’ he went on, seeing no desire on Joseph Kilkey’s part to be communicative about his work. Perhaps work was sacred to him, and a thing too intimate to be mentioned. How ugly the man was! But how good!
    â€˜Joe,’ he went on, ‘are you going to drag Mother to the station on Friday or not?’
    â€˜This time,’ replied Mr. Kilkey, ‘I’m going to carry her. Make no mistake.’
    â€˜It’s funny,’ said Peter. ‘Mother likes you awfully now. I remember the time when she said she hated the sight of you. Did she ever tell you afterwards?’
    â€˜People never need tell me anything. I always know in advance when I’m not liked. But that wasn’t worrying me overmuch. Maureen and I get on very well together. D’you remember the day you went away, Peter …? I …’
    â€˜No, I don’t!’ replied Peter. ‘I’ve forgotten all that and only wish everybody else would. I wonder if Maureen will be long? I really came to see her particularly.’ At which remark Mr. Joseph Kilkey merely smiled.
    â€˜Well, maybe you could walk up as far as the chapel. You’ll find her there all right. She has terrific confessions to make always,’ Kilkey went on laughingly. ‘Now listen to me, Peter. Just get this silly idea that people look down on you right out of your head. People aren’t always thinking of your escapades. People have other things to do. Besides, they have their own importance to think about. What would people do if they didn’t talk? Go cracked, I suppose. I’m a chap who likes a quiet life. I never wanted to go to sea or see the world. I don’t think I ever wanted to do anything spectacular. I remember my mother saying to me when I was a