Читать книгу Till the Sun Shines Through - Anne Bennett - Страница 11

Mary was glad to see her young sister arrive safe and sound and thanked Tom Cassidy, whom Bridie introduced her to, for looking after her so well. She could tell that the man more than liked her young sister but that Bridie was giving him no encouragement. Quite right too, Mary thought. After all, she knew nothing about the man and if Bridie was in the condition that Mary suspected she was, a man was the last thing she needed.

Bridie, for all that she knew she couldn’t see Tom again, was sorry to see him go and even sorrier when she realised that she’d hurt him. ‘I thought you liked me?’ Tom had said plaintively when he’d tried and failed to get Bridie to agree to meet him again.

‘I did … I do.’

‘But not enough to see me again?’

‘Oh Tom, I hardly know you.’

‘Well, isn’t that the point? You’ll get to know me. We’ll get to know each other.’

‘No, Tom.’

‘But why?’

‘I just … it’s just … I’m not ready for anything like that.’

‘It can be on your terms,’ Tom had pleaded. ‘We can meet just as friends if you want to?’

Oh, how Bridie had longed to say she’d love to get to know him better, to have a courtship like any girl her age would want. But she knew she couldn’t. So regretfully, she’d shaken her head. ‘Birmingham is new to me. I need to be on my own – to be free. I’m sorry, Tom, but that’s how it is.’

‘Is that your last word?’

‘It is.’

‘Then,’ Tom had said, ‘I suppose I must accept it.’

And he did accept it, though she could feel still his hurt and confusion. She’d introduced him to Mary and he’d been as polite as good manners dictated, but he couldn’t hide his unhappiness. Mary, however, had no time to worry over it. She wanted to get Bridie home as soon as possible, to get to the root of the problem, and Bridie was not averse to this either. With a bass bag in each hand, they gave a last wave to Tom before making their way to the tram stop outside the station.

The short winter day had ended and night had fallen again, bringing with it sleety rain. Bridie gave a sigh. ‘It rained nearly all the way to Strabane,’ she said. ‘Everything I wore and carried is probably ruined – my coat is still damp, even though I wore that Tom Cassidy’s coat for most of the journey and we tried to spread mine out as much as we could to dry it out on the train.’

Mary stared at her. ‘Strabane!’ she repeated. ‘How the Hell did you get to Strabane?’

‘I cycled.’

‘Cycled? All the way to Strabane?’

‘Mary, I had to go so far,’ Bridie said. ‘What was the good of me sneaking away in the dead of night and then being recognised at the first station?’

‘But still, Bridie, it was one Hell of a jaunt. God! It must be twenty miles – more even.’

‘I know,’ Bridie said ruefully. ‘My bottom can testify to it. In fact my whole body can. I’ve never ached so much nor been so cold or miserable in all my life. And I used your bike, Mary, and I had to leave it at Strabane. I’m sorry, I could see no way of getting it back to the farm.’

‘Well, it’s hardly needed there now,’ Mary said. ‘I can’t see Mammy and Daddy going out for a spin on it. Mind you, I’m surprised it wasn’t rusted away to nothing, it was second-hand when I got it.’

‘It was a bit,’ Bridie said. ‘I rubbed a lot off and pumped up the tyres, but I had to do it when I had a minute and no one else was about.’

‘How did you know the way?’

‘I didn’t,’ Bridie admitted. ‘I hadn’t a clue, I followed the rail bus tracks.’

‘God, Bridie, that was clever,’ Mary said admiringly. ‘And brave. Coming all that way by yourself in the dead of night.’

‘I wasn’t brave,’ Bridie said. ‘I was scared stiff a lot of the time, but I was also desperate.’

Her voice sounded forlorn and Mary felt so much pity for her her heart ached. She knew, however, if she showed sympathy openly, Bridie would probably cry. And so she said, ‘Never mind, pet, we’ll soon be home.’

‘Where are the weans?’ Bridie asked as they settled themselves on the tram.

‘Ellen was minding them till Eddie got home,’ Mary said. ‘I don’t take them out in weather like this unless I have to. Mind you,’ she said, ‘Eddie will probably be home now and spoiling them to death. He’s that soft with them, but then,’ she added, ‘I’d rather have him that way than the other way and the weans adore him.’

Bridie was pleased for Mary, even though she felt a stab of envy. It was obvious she still loved Eddie and that they were happy together. She couldn’t imagine anything so wonderful happening to her, not now.

‘I’ve left a stew ready to heat up,’ Mary went on. ‘You need something to stick to your ribs in this weather.’

Bridie was pleased at the mention of food. The breakfast she’d shared with Tom had done her little good as she’d deposited most of it in the Irish Sea and after her sleep on the ferry she’d woken up very hungry. At Crewe, where they’d had to change trains, Tom had bought them both tea and sandwiches, but that had been a while ago and her stomach was complaining again.

Once in the house, Bridie found it just as Mary said. Eddie was cavorting on the floor with his two wee sons and they were squealing with delight. ‘Will you get up out of that, Eddie,’ Mary said, though Bridie saw the twinkle in her eye. ‘God knows, I don’t know who has the least sense.’

Eddie got to his feet and grinned at her. ‘We’re only having a bit of a game,’ he said. ‘And I laid the table first and lit the gas under the stew. I knew you’d be back soon.’ Then he looked past his wife to Bridie and smiled at her. ‘Hello, Bridie,’ he said. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘Thanks, Eddie.’

Mickey hid behind his father, but Jamie remembered the young aunt who’d played with him in Ireland. ‘I’ve been to your house, haven’t I?’ he said. ‘Are you coming to stay in ours now?’

‘For a wee while only. Do you mind?’

Jamie shook his head. ‘Mammy said you’re to go in the attic with me and Mickey,’ he said, and he looked disparaging at his little brother before continuing, ‘He’s just a baby. He’s scared of you.’

‘Not scared, just a wee bit nervous,’ Bridie said. ‘You were probably the same at his age.’

‘I was not!’

‘Jamie, stop plaguing the life out of your aunt Bridie and sit up to the table this minute,’ Mary said from the cooker, and Bridie felt saliva in her mouth at the thought of food.

Later, with the children in bed and Eddie despatched to the pub, Mary handed Bridie a cup of tea and sat down opposite her near to the hearth. ‘Well?’

And because there was no point in beating about the bush, Bridie said, ‘I’m pregnant.’

It was what Mary had guessed from the cryptic letter Bridie sent, but she’d hoped and prayed she was wrong. It was the very worst news any unmarried girl could deliver and with a groan Mary replied, ‘Oh God.’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Bridie protested.

‘It doesn’t make a damned bit of difference whose fault it was,’ Mary said. ‘You know who’ll take the blame for it.’

Bridie knew only too well. ‘Why d’you think I ran away?’ she said.

‘Well,’ Mary demanded again as Bridie continued staring into the fire and made no effort to speak further.

‘What d’you mean – well?’

‘You know damned well what I mean,’ Mary said impatiently. ‘Who was responsible for putting you in this condition?’

‘I’m surprised you even have to ask,’ Bridie said in a flat, dead voice. ‘You know I didn’t exactly have the life of Riley on that farm. I didn’t have great occasion to meet men, let alone let them … well, you know.’

‘Then who?’ But even as Mary asked the question, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and an icy tremor run down her spine. A terrible, dreadful thought had just occurred to her, but she could hardly form the words. ‘It wasn’t … Oh dear God, please say it wasn’t Francis?’

Bridie looked at her, her eyes glistening with tears, her face full of misery and despair as she answered, ‘I’d like to be able to, but I’m afraid it was – my dear, sainted uncle did this to me.’

Although it was the news Mary had been expecting for Bridie to actually say those words shocked her to the core. ‘Dear Christ!’ she breathed. She covered her face with her hands for a moment and then she said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me it had all started again? By Christ, if you’d just given me a hint of it I’d have come over there and wiped the floor with the man.’

‘It wasn’t like that, ‘Bridie protested. ‘Don’t you think if it had begun again, I would have done just that? He’d done nothing, or even said anything the slightly bit wrong for ages. This came out of the blue, the night of the Harvest Dance.’

Mary was puzzled. ‘But Mammy said you went up to the dance with Rosalyn.’ she said.

‘Yes, and Frank was to leave us up, but in the end, he was ill and couldn’t do it, so Francis took us.’

‘Mammy said that in her letter,’ Mary said with a nod. ‘I must admit I was surprised when you barely mentioned the dance in your letter, I thought you’d be full of it.’

‘I left early,’ Bridie said. ‘I’d just heard about Rosalyn leaving for America and I was upset so I went outside so no one would see me crying. I decided to go for a walk before making for home – the dance was still going on and I didn’t want to go home too early.

‘Uncle Francis followed me into that small copse by the hall and he raped me.’ Bridie’s eyes filled with the tears at the memory. ‘After that, I didn’t want to tell anyone of the Harvest Dance, I wanted to forget what happened. Then I missed a period. Mammy noticed, but put it down to my being upset at Rosalyn leaving. After I missed my second period, I started being sick and Mammy was talking of asking the doctor to look me over.’

‘Does she suspect?’

‘Oh no,’ Bridie said. ‘Such a thought would never occur to her. She thinks I’m working too hard and need a tonic. That’s what I’ve let her believe too in the letter I left.’

‘Well, that’s one good thing at any rate,’ Mary said. ‘Now what are we to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Bridie said. ‘I thought you’d have some idea.’

‘What, Bridie?’ Mary snapped. ‘D’you think I’m some sort of bloody magician?’

Bridie felt crushed. Her one overriding thought when she realised she was pregnant was of getting to Mary. She’d thought no further than that. Now she realised, with a sense of shock, that the problem still existed: she’d just moved it from Ireland to England. Mary couldn’t work miracles, she had no magic solution, and she was as worried and pain stricken as Bridie.

‘Oh God, Mary, help me,’ Bridie pleaded. ‘There is no one else and to nowhere else I can turn. What am I to do?’

Mary’s heart constricted in pity for her young sister. She’d always had the solutions to Bridie’s problems. Even when Bridie had written about Francis interfering with her, she’d gone over to Ireland and sorted it out. But there was no easy way out of this problem, no get-out clause, and it would do Bridie no good to let her think there was.

There was only one thing to do, though her mind recoiled from even voicing the thought and when she did, she said it in little more than a whisper. ‘Bridie, have you considered the possibility of getting rid of it?’

‘Get rid of it!’ Bridie repeated in shock. ‘Isn’t that illegal?’

‘’Course it is,’ Mary said. ‘But I know people who’ve had it done. It can be dangerous though, not something to do unless you understand all the risks involved.’

‘It’s a mortal sin,’ Bridie said quietly.

‘Aye, there’s that to think about too,’ Mary agreed. ‘We’ll discuss all the options and then decide. All right?’

Bridie nodded her head and Mary said, ‘We must make our minds up quickly though. If you decide on abortion, we can’t delay. The later you go, the more dangerous it will be.’

‘How dangerous is it? What do they do?’ Bridie asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Mary admitted. ‘I’ve never been near such a place to know what they do, but I’ve known desperate women who have and, God, you’d have to be desperate to do such a thing. I just know it’s usually better to go to someone you know has done it before successfully.’

‘Well, God knows I don’t want to go through with it at all.’

‘Aye, I know,’ Mary said. ‘I’d feel the same.’

‘But I feel nothing at all for the child,’ Bridie said, almost fiercely. ‘I want nothing and no one belonging to Uncle Francis. That bloody man’s near destroyed my life and that of our parents. I hate him and I’ll go to my grave hating him and I know I’d hate the fruit of his loins too.’

‘Don’t cry, Bridie,’ Mary said, dropping to her knees and cradling Bridie to her. ‘I know how you feel about him and no one could ever blame you.’

‘Everyone would blame me, Mary, that’s the point,’ Bridie said, pulling herself from her sister’s arms. ‘But abortion is against the law.’

‘I know that.’

‘What if it was found out and I was put in prison, Mary? I’d never be able to bear that.’

Mary’s own stomach lurched at that thought.

‘And there’s the sin of it all,’ Bridie said forlornly. ‘There’s nothing I can do to atone for this if I go through with it but if I don’t …’

‘If you don’t, you’d be an object of derision and scorn to everyone and with the best will in the world I couldn’t let you stay here.’

Bridie stared at her sister, horrified. ‘Don’t look like that,’ Mary pleaded. ‘Don’t you see what would happen as soon as your condition was discovered? Ellen would have to be in the know and you never know how she would react to news like that, especially not being able to have children herself.’

‘But it isn’t just Ellen I’d worry about,’ Mary went on. ‘There are people around the doors from all over Ireland – Donegal even. There’s a woman known as Peggy McKenna not far from here at all. You’d hardly remember her from home, but she was the eldest of five girls – Maguire was her name then – so you may remember her sisters. Her people lived near Barnes Gap – they’d all have been at Barnes More School with you.’

Bridie cast her mind back. ‘There were Maguire girls I remember,’ she said. ‘They were all older than me and Rosalyn, not particularly friends or anything.’

‘Aye, well, it would do you no good being friends with this Maguire or McKenna either, for she’s a gossip and a troublemaker, a malicious old cow altogether. She’d love just to have a hint of something amiss. Oh, I tell you, Bridie, she’d make hay out of it, so she would.’

Mary saw the blood drain from Bridie’s face at her words. ‘Don’t worry about her,’ she told her sister. ‘We’ll have thought of something long before it becomes obvious. Peggy McKenna and her like will know nothing about any of this.’

Bridie knew, however, that it wasn’t just Peggy McKenna she had to worry about. If she decided to have this baby here, somehow or other, her parents would get to hear of it. Ellen or Mary might easily let something slip in their letters home to make her mammy suspicious, or indeed the priest might say that Mammy had a right to know and take it upon himself to tell her. Bridie had seen coming to Birmingham as a partial solution to her problems, a safe haven where no one would know her. Now she saw quite plainly that it wasn’t far enough away. She felt very frightened and alone as she looked at her sister, her eyes misted over again with tears. ‘But where could I go, Mary, if not here?’

‘Well, that’s it, love,’ Mary said. ‘There are few places. There are these bloody awful homes run by the nuns where you can hide away till the baby’s born and they take it from you and give it up for adoption. From what I heard from a girl who went in one of them, it was like a prison camp. They made them work hard, even while they were in labour, and were constantly reminding them of the sin they had committed and urging them to get on their knees and beg forgiveness.’

‘Oh God,’ Bridie said. ‘Is that what I must do to save my immortal soul?’

‘Bridie, love, it’s just deciding what’s best,’ Mary said. ‘Now, if you don’t like the idea of abortion, then the home might be the only alternative.’

‘It’s not just that I don’t like the idea of abortion,’ Bridie said. ‘I’m scared, and if I was to die, Mary, I’d go to Hell.’

Mary knew that too: the Church’s teaching ingrained into them both was clear. Abortion was murder and the murder of an innocent child … God! It was a desperate thought altogether. Both women were silent for quite a while, each busy with their own thoughts while the fire settled in the grate and the gas lamps hissed. Eventually, Bridie asked, ‘Does Eddie know?’

‘Yes, Bridie,’ Mary said. ‘Or at least he knows what I suspected from your letter.’

‘Aunt Ellen?’

Mary shook her head. ‘If she knew the half of this, she’d take the first boat home and punch Francis on the jaw,’ she said angrily. ‘And while we might all want to do that, it wouldn’t help at all.’