“Anyway,” I used to tell myself. “It’s only temporary. Soon he’ll have a real job. We’ll be a respectable family with lots of money.”
I lived most of my life back then in a daydream.
chapter fifteen
WHEN AOIFE WAS a baby, she used to sleep at the end of our bed in a cot. It was one Johnny’s sister had given me when she was born. I’d taken it home and washed it, given a lick of fresh paint and it looked like new.
I was lying in bed one night with the cot at the end. Aoife was a year old at the time and she had just started to sleep through the night. She was fast asleep and I was beginning to nod off when I woke to the sound of the front door closing. I could hear a clatter and a banging noise as if he was taking something into the hallway.
I listened to him coming up the stairs. I never knew what kind of humour he’d be in and I used to lie awake in bed, listening to hear his footstep so I could gage his mood.
If his step was heavy, it was a bad sign. It was lighter than usual tonight and he was obviously trying not to wake the baby, but I heard him fall against the wall in the hallway nonetheless. That meant he was drunk.
The door banged open as he entered the room. That set the baby off. Aoife was bawling her eyes out in no time. The noise went through my head and I jumped out of bed and ran to comfort her. I hated to hear her cry.
“Would you stop all the noise, Johnny,” I pleaded with him. “Shh, the baby, you woke the baby,” I repeated.
“I’m sorry,” he slurred, as he fell into bed fully dressed. He was rotten drunk. I could smell the booze off him and his eyes were blood-shot, but at least he wasn’t in fighting form and I heaved a sigh of relief as I lifted Aoife out of the cot and carried her into the sitting room of the flat.
Johnny was out cold on top of the bed before I got to the door, still with his coat on and his two shoes hanging out the end. It was pitch dark and as I fumbled for the light switch in the hall, I nearly fell over something.
“Jesus what was that?” I said out loud as I regained my balance with the baby in my arms. I turned on the light and there was a black refuse sack on the floor of the hall. I looked around me and there were about ten of them, all full to the brim.
Johnny was snoring loudly in the bedroom and I wasn’t going to wake him to ask what they were, but I was intrigued. The baby had stopped crying at that stage and her little head was nestling on my shoulder. She seemed sleepy so I tiptoed into the bedroom and placed her in the cot. I held my breath for a minute to see if she settled. It worked; she was asleep. Then I ran back out into the hallway. I couldn’t contain my curiosity.
What on earth had Johnny Smith brought home?
I pulled open one of the bags. It was like opening Christmas presents under the tree as a child.
“Jesus, Holy Mother of God,” I said. Inside were the contents of what looked like a gift shop. Different types of crystal wrapped in boxes—vases and glasses and funny looking ornaments, huge bowls that sparkled. I looked at the labels: Waterford Crystal.
“Waterford fuckin’ Crystal!” I said to myself. “Where on earth did he get this?”
Then I opened the other bags one by one. Some had more crystal and others were full of fur coats. They were real fur. I could tell by the quality. There were coats of all shapes and sizes and in different furs too. I guessed that some of them were mink. There was another bag full to the brim with ornaments— Wedgewood and China, expensive figurines and clocks that you’d have on your sideboard.
“Where did he get these from?” I muttered to myself. I knew well they were stolen. I tried on one of the coats. It came to my ankles and I swung around in it, holding it over my chest. It felt lovely, warm and soft.
I was getting tired at that stage so I went back to bed and slept. I dreamt I was walking through Dublin in a mink coat, the end kept trailing in the mud and it bothered me.
It was the next morning before I had a chance to confront Johnny about where the stolen loot had come from. He was very vague, skirting around the issue and refusing to give me a straightforward answer. But then that was Johnny for you. He’d rarely tell you outright where anything came from.
He was all pleased with himself mind you. He took the ornaments and pieces of crystal out of the bags one by one and placed them around the living room—on the mantelpiece, on top of the television, even on the floor with the baby crawling around in between them.
“Johnny, they’re gorgeous,” I had to admit I was impressed.
Then he threw one of the mink coats at me and I tried it on. “Look at me,” I laughed, as I turned around pretending to be a model in the coat.
“You look like Sue Ellen from Dallas,” he said and we both fell around laughing. I didn’t tell him about my dream. Later on that morning he went off to “work”. Work was now robbing.
“More lucrative and less hassle than taxi driving or running around, delivering packages on a motorbike,” he used to say. I didn’t argue. I had a baby to feed and another one on the way and I was happy just to make ends meet. I was two months pregnant with Molly at that stage.
Later that evening there was a knock on the door. I was alone in the house with Aoife. I knew it wouldn’t be Johnny, he was out working, and I rarely had visitors. I peered through the keyhole to see a tall guard outside.
“Oh my God,” I thought. “I can’t let him in.” I knew exactly what he was looking for and the front room of the flat was covered with all the stolen merchandise Johnny had acquired.
The baby was asleep so there was silence in the house as I tiptoed into the bedroom with my heart beating like mad. I sat down on the bed and listened to the doorbell ringing for the second, the third, then the fourth time. Each ring became more insistent and my heart beat faster as they did.
“What on earth will I do?” I thought. Suddenly I started crying. I felt angry and helpless. I didn’t want to be the wife of a criminal but Johnny had given me no choice in the matter.
I sat there crying and hoping the baby wouldn’t wake up so the guards wouldn’t find out we were there. I couldn’t even ring Johnny as the phone was in the hall, they’d hear me if I rang and there were no mobile phones back then. Eventually they gave up and I heaved a sigh of relief as I watched them drive off.
When Johnny came back at dinnertime I told him what had happened.
“Okay. We’ve got to get rid of the stuff,” he said, trying to act cool but I knew by his tone he was worried. If there’s one thing that ever scares him it’s the thought of going to prison.
“If we’re caught, I’ll be arrested for fuck’s sake,” he turned on me. You’d think it was my fault.
“I didn’t steal them,” I shouted at him. “What were you thinking of, bringing them back here?”
He stormed out of the kitchen.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to be quick. They could be back any minute.”
I followed him into the sitting room, annoyed that he’d walked out of the room before the argument was over but aware none the less that we had to move the stuff quickly or we’d all be in trouble.
“But where will we put them?” I said. He paused for a moment and stared out the sitting room window.
“In the canal,” he answered.
We spent ages wrapping up the crystal, the fur coats and the ornaments. Then we loaded them into black refuse sacks and I kept sketch while he reversed the car and we carried them out of the flat. I was exhausted by the time we reached the car but thankful the guards had not returned before we got rid of them. Both of us were convinced it was only a matter of time before we got another knock on the door. We knew they wouldn’t give up that easily. They must have got a tip-off from someone; perhaps it was one of the neighbours.
Johnny’s face was sweating and worried as he drove off with the black bags in the boot of the car. I heaved a sigh of relief however and went back inside. I made myself a cup of tea and sat in the kitchen, listening to the clock tick. I waited for the guards to s
how. I waited for hours that night, sitting there thinking about what I was going to say. I’ve never been good at lying, it just doesn’t come naturally to me and I was worried they’d see straight through me.
I needn’t have worried. They didn’t come back. I was still at the kitchen table hours later when Johnny arrived home. He’d dumped the refuse sacks in the canal at Portobello Bridge. Nobody saw him, he said, as he sat down in the kitchen.
“Remember, when they come back, we know nothing,” he looked me in the eye, making sure I understood.
The guards didn’t come the next day, or the day after that or the following day either. In fact they never came back to inquire about the stolen goods and it was only days later that we realised we’d over reacted. All those beautiful pieces of crystal and fur coats lay in a heap at the bottom of a dirty canal. I doubt anyone ever found them and if they did the ornaments and glass would be broken and the coats ruined. Years later we laughed about it but at the time it killed us. To this day I think about that mink coat. I’ve never had a fur coat and there have been plenty of winters when I’ve been without any coat at all.
I soon got used to Johnny bringing strange things back to the flat. One time he arrived home with a load of shoes and on another occasion he had boxes of cigarettes. He would never tell me where he got the stuff, or what he did with it afterwards, but I knew it was stolen. To be honest I didn’t want to know; it was easier that way.
One day he brought home a wedding ring with “I Love You” engraved on the inside. I knew he’d stolen it but I didn’t care. I was over the moon. I now had my very own wedding ring to wear.
Mind you I still held on to his mother’s ring although I didn’t wear it. I had to find the right time to return it. After we married Johnny rarely saw his family. The odd time one of his brothers would call around but he didn’t keep in touch with his mother at all. I suppose he didn’t need her now, he had me.
It didn’t take Johnny long to get used to robbing as a way of life. He’d go out to “work” as he called it first thing in the morning. When the kids got a bit older and started school he’d make up the fire before he went while I gave them breakfast. Then he’d drive them to school before he began his day’s work.
He always dressed well. His love of expensive clothes never left him and even if we had no money for food he’d make sure to buy the best of clothes and shoes. He needed to dress well for “work” he used to say.
He had all his suits made for him by the best tailors and he’d buy his shoes in Brown Thomas, or Fitzpatricks’s on Grafton Street. Nothing but the best was good enough for our Johnny. And he’d fool anyone he met. He looked like a well-to-do businessman. He could play the part too. He always had a talent for accents.
I’ve seen him switch from a working class Dublin accent to a Dublin 4 whine like that and then back again in a blink of an eyelid. He could pretend he was American or Scottish, or whatever the situation required and I’m sure he fooled many a tourist with tall tales before he slid his hand inside their handbag and stole the all-important credit card.
He loved stealing credit cards. I think he found it easier than lifting a handbag or carting home stolen merchandise. He never robbed houses mind you. Anything he brought home he acquired from one of his friends, or took from a shop or car.
He had no guilt about stealing. Johnny had never been religious. What’s more the men he hung around with all stole to make ends meet and he was easily influenced by them.
They all drank heavily and he got into the habit of stopping off at the early house for a few drinks before he began the day. All his mates would gather, they’d have a few pints or a shot of whiskey as they talked. The drink would calm their nerves from the night before—“the hair of the dog” as they say.
It never did to have the same criminals working the same areas. They’d discuss what parts of Dublin they were going to work. They’d rob from hotels and restaurants, shops and people on the street, they’d pickpocket little old women on the buses and they’d steal money from the wealthy students on Grafton Street. Many a night Johnny came home drunk out of his mind and boasting about how he’d robbed from a famous pop star or a politician. The more well-known the person was the better, and of course the bigger amount of money he’d stolen the more he’d boast.
chapter sixteen
YOUNG FRANCES WAS born three years after Molly and she too was perfectly healthy. I now had three lovely girls and I was extremely proud of them all. Aoife was four when Frances was born.
At that stage Aoife and Molly were old enough to share our double bed and young Frances slept in the cot. Fiona my sister would also sleep in the double bed if she stayed over and she often did. In many ways I took the place of her mother. None of us kept in touch with Ma; she had her own life now and she didn’t seem to care about us.
I don’t know how we all fitted into the one-bedroom flat. Luckily we were able to move to a new house just after young Frances’s birth. Johnny had put our names on a council housing list when we married and we were offered a two-bedroom semi-detached house in a sprawling estate outside the city. My sister Helen lived five minutes away so I was delighted.
“This will be a chance to start again,” I thought to myself. “It’ll be a new beginning. Maybe Johnny will ease up on the booze and get himself a real job.”
I moved into the new house full of hope. We didn’t have many belongings to take with us—just a few pieces of furniture that we loaded into his brother’s van. I remember opening the door of the new house and walking into the hallway—my hallway.
It was cold and drab, but it was a house, not a flat and it even had a little garden out the back and a patch of greenery in the front. There was no wallpaper on the walls and we had no carpets, but I was determined to make the place homely and set about cleaning it immediately. I asked Johnny to buy curtains and he reluctantly agreed. I had no say in what he bought however and he arrived home drunk one evening with green and brown patterned drapes. They were horrible but at least they kept the room insulated and gave us some privacy so I didn’t make a fuss. Of course he didn’t pay for the curtains. They, like everything else he acquired, were bought with stolen credit cards.
He used the cards to buy everything under the sun and became an expert at fraud. He’d steal the card and use it that same day, signing with the same name as was on the card. He was great at impersonating people’s signatures. Mind you, he never gave me cards to buy things myself and he’d only dole out the house keeping money under duress.
He’d often arrive home with “presents” as he called them. Although he had good taste in clothes for himself he’d bring home horrible things for me to wear. It was as if once we were married he didn’t want me to look good. He was extremely possessive and he’d be furious if another man even looked at me. I think that was why he wanted me to dress like a middle-aged housewife. I was still in my early twenties then and though I say it myself, I had a good figure. I never got a chance to show it off however. My younger sisters used to slag me.
“Look at those granny clothes you’re wearing Frances,” they’d say and they were right. I was forced to wear long skirts and dull looking cardigans that hid my figure and made me feel anything but attractive. I never had high heels or pretty dresses and I felt embarrassed walking down the street. I knew no man would look twice at me.
The credit cards couldn’t pay for our household bills, however. To this day I get a sickening feeling in my stomach when I see a bill of any sort land through the letterbox. In the past I worried constantly about how I was going to pay bills. I’d have to get him in a good mood and then ask him ever so subtly for the money. Chances are it would begin a row. I did my best to avoid any confrontation with Johnny. I only asked for money when it was absolutely necessary, it was too much hassle and it would always end in tears. I was becoming more and more scared of my husband.
He was moody and unpredictable back then and he was drinking more than ever. I’d smell it
off his breath the minute he walked in the door. Although he’d started by drinking lager he soon moved on to Guinness, and by now cider and gin and tonics were his tipples of choice.
I started having the odd glass of shandy a year or two after we married but I never got drunk. I didn’t want to and anyway he wouldn’t have liked it. He used to give out about other men’s wives who drank too much.
“Whores,” he’d call them. “Drunken Whores.” He was always talking about women in a derogatory way. He really didn’t like them much.
I was becoming lonelier and lonelier. I had drifted away from my family because Johnny didn’t like me mixing with them. I rarely saw Anto. He’d become totally addicted to heroin by this stage. The odd time I did meet him on the street and it killed me to look at him. His face was all shrunken and he had a distant, pained look in his eyes. It was as if he wasn’t really there. Then I heard through my sister that he’d got himself a girlfriend and was moving to England. I heard about his girlfriend Cassandra before I actually met her, and when I did, I have to admit I didn’t like her. She was a loud, brash young one from Dublin and she, too, was on heroin. I had always thought Anto would fall for someone gentle and sweet just like him, but thinking about it now, maybe it’s only natural that he’d go for someone stern and loud. They say men choose women like their mothers.
They only knew each other a few months before they decided to move. Both were on methadone at the time and they believed they had a better chance of staying off the drugs if they left Dublin. England seemed like a good option, Anto had heard there were jobs in construction over there. I hoped he could make a life for himself and I phoned to wish him well.
“Thanks Frances,” he said to me on the phone. “We’re going to try. This will be a new start for us now. Frances,” he paused. “You look after yourself, now.”
“Of course I will Anto,” I said reassuringly.
In Fear of Her Life: The true story of a violent marriage Page 7
