Free The Secret Journey by James Hanley Page B

which belied her real nature. She was wearing a blue print dress, her arms, plump and white, bared to her elbow. The hands were very red, the nails broken, and on the palm of the right one lay the mark of a burn, a great weal stretching right across it. Her body was firm and supple—the breasts bulged as though resenting imprisonment behind the thin dress. Mr. Kilkey noticed all these things as he watched her lay the table. One would have thought these two persons were father and daughter. They were so dissimilar. Mr. Kilkey was ugly. His large bald head could not boast a single hair. His skin looked dirty, and it had a sort of shine about it. As one member of the family had remarked, Joseph Kilkey’s skin looked like wet leather. To the deficiencies of a begrudging Nature Mr. Joseph Kilkey had added a philosophic contentment. People might say he was ugly—even pock-marked—unsuited for such a young woman as Maureen Fury, but this never affected Mr. Kilkey, who was wont, like a true philosopher, to observe Mr. Joseph Kilkey from the inside rather than the outside. At this moment life was very full for him. It was exciting, adventurous, glorious, and beautiful. They had been married now over two years. He had thoroughly settled down. A child had come. But there was that little discordant note, that ripple in the calm waters of content. He wasn’t quite sure of his wife. He had hoped that the child would weld them closer together. He had learned very quickly that he must weld himself to the child. The woman still stood outside, hesitating, not quite sure, as it were, whether she could go on or not. So it appeared to Mr. Kilkey. He was a decent man, hard-working, honest, and like a good Catholic he attended his duties. His pleasures were simple, sometimes too simple for his wife, who was wont on occasions to rail against his meanness. Moderation in all things was Mr. Kilkey’s motto, and he had observed, too, that only those pleasures and interests which could be afforded were real pleasures.
    â€˜You look really swell to-night, Maureen,’ said Joseph Kilkey. ‘Lovely!’
    â€˜Do I?’ she replied.
    â€˜Yes, you do,’ observed the man. There was something lovely and graceful about even the way in which she swept crumbs from the table. He liked to see her moving about. Maureen reposing quietly in the chair was not half so attractive as the Maureen who now laid the supper. ‘Come along,’ she said. ‘I’m going to the first Mass in the morning.’ She signalled to him by rattling the cup on the saucer. Mr. Kilkey joined her at the table. As soon as he sat down he began: ‘Hasn’t that boy pulled out, Maureen? And what a length. He pleases me no end—he’s lost that sly look he used to have. Seems more honest and frank, more sure about himself. But he doesn’t like me yet. Not as much as I’d like him to, anyhow. He doesn’t like my face, maybe.’ Mr. Kilkey laughed heartily, whereon the woman said angrily,
    â€˜Fool! You old fool! What ideas you get into your head.’
    â€˜Nothing happened, I hope?’ he commented warily. ‘Everything go off all right?’
    â€˜Lots has happened,’ replied the woman. ‘You’ll soon see where your generous spirit has landed you. You damned fool! And I’m a bigger one for ever being a party to it.’
    From that moment the meal ceased. Mr. Kilkey didn’t want any supper. Maureen went on, ‘D’you know that confounded woman in Banfield Road is pressing Mother?’
    â€˜Well! Tell us more about it. Don’t sit there with a long face. Dear! Dear!’ He suddenly leaned over the table, caught her by the hair, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Maureen, dear, don’t let us get excited about anything. I had a job to get the child asleep as it was. Now, please talk quietly. What is all this about your mother being pressed?’
    â€˜It means that