“No really Frances. I mean it.”
I put down the phone and cried to myself. I found it hard to take affection from anyone. I wasn’t used to it and if I let down my guard and felt sorry for myself, even for a few minutes, then I felt I would fall to pieces. I wiped away the tears and gave out to myself for crying. I put Anto out of my head and got on with the daily chores. Life carried on and a few months later he phoned to tell me he was off the drugs and had got himself a job as a counsellor in a community centre. He was now counselling young children who had become addicted to heroin. I was pleased for him, pleased that he was picking himself up and making a life for himself.
I still saw Helen the odd time. She lived around the corner and it was hard to avoid her when we first moved in. I kept in touch with Fiona too. I tried to visit my father once a week but I could never stay long.
Johnny hated me being away from the house for any length of time. If I left I had to tell him where I was going and when I’d return. He used to phone the house about ten times a day just to check that I was there. If I wasn’t in when he rang, he’d hit the roof and I’d pay for it later with an argument.
I hated fighting with him so I’d do whatever it cost to keep him happy. I’d visit my father and then rush back to the house so he wouldn’t be angry with me. Looking back I realise I was totally under his thumb but at the time I didn’t realise, I just wanted to keep the peace.
To give Johnny his dues, he was good with the kids while they were young. When he was in a good mood he’d play with them. I always remember him lifting them off the stairs in their pyjamas and carrying them into the sitting room so they wouldn’t have to feel the cold tiles on their little feet. He’d lift Aoife first, then Molly and they’d squeal with joy.
“Look at me Ma,” Aoife would shout.
When they questioned me about his job I told them he drove a taxi, that he borrowed it from his brother and gave it back each evening so they never saw it.
He’d often bring home presents for the children— toys or clothes or sweets, everything was bought on other people’s credit cards, even the lollipops and bars of chocolate.
Johnny always had problems apologising. His way of getting around it was to spend. Whenever we fought he’d bring home something for me the next day. Sometimes it was a household item like an ornament or set of plates, on other days he’d have a pair of shoes or a piece of jewellery for me. I didn’t want his presents, I’d have preferred an apology any day, but I’d say nothing.
The fights became more frequent and we were becoming more distant. What had started as a loving and happy relationship had by now turned sour.
He seemed to have lost all respect for himself and also for me. The truth is I was afraid of him and he knew it. That gave him a sense of power, which he just couldn’t handle. He began by verbally abusing me whenever we’d fight. Then he started to hit me every now and then. At what point it became a habit I’m not sure but I do know it coincided with his drinking. The more he drank, the more aggressive and ultimately violent he became.
The violence was sporadic at first. Weeks would go by sometimes without a fight and during those times I’d try to keep the peace. Trying to keep Johnny in a good mood was like stepping on eggshells; I’d never know when he would blow up in my face. I became more and more nervous and that just seemed to annoy him. I started to believe that I was at fault.
“I’m just an irritating person,” I used to think. “If I did everything he wanted then these fights wouldn’t happen. Next time will be different,” I used to promise myself. “Next time I’ll make a special effort.”
He’d cause a fight over the simplest of things. Something as simple as his dinner not being ready at six o’clock. I’d always bring it in to him in the sitting room so I could feed the kids in peace. He loved brown sauce, but if for example, I forgot to bring it in with the meal then there would be hell to pay.
He’d start jeering and taunting me. I’d say nothing at first. I’d sit on the sofa and stare at the ground. I’d try counting to ten.
“Just count and keep on counting until he stops,” I’d think. “Let him think he’s won.”
But it didn’t work. The anger would build up in me. It was a terrible overwhelming anger and Johnny always knew exactly how to provoke a response in me. He knew which buttons to press. I’d sit there listening while he ranted and raved about the fact there was no brown sauce on the tray.
I’d take it at first, breathe deeply and keep counting. I used to think that if I tried hard enough I could drown out his voice with my own in my head. It never worked. What got to me more than anything else was his tone—a high-pitched, abusive tone that tortured my mind. If it were anyone else I’d have been able to handle it, but not him.
Suddenly he’d have pushed me too far, I’d explode—let loose. The words would hop out of my mouth as if I had no hold over them. That was when the real trouble began. Then he’d smile that old sadistic grin of his.
“Think you can answer me back? Do you? Think you’re better than your husband?”
“I’ll answer you back if I want to,” I’d scream in rage.
“How dare he,” I’d think, “How dare he talk to me in that way.”
But that would enrage him all the more. He’d swing his arm back and aim for me. Then I’d get it; straight in the jaw. I’d fall back with the pain and the pressure would send me flying against the sofa. And then he was off.
Once he’d thrown the first punch there was no stopping him. Next he’d go for my lip, then maybe land a black eye on me. He’d keep on punching me until I was a grovelling mess—cowering on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. The children would be crying in the kitchen. Little Aoife was only a toddler when the beatings started. She’d come running in and stand over me, looking at her father in shock as he went back to his dinner, staring at the television as if nothing had happened and shovelling food into his mouth like there was no tomorrow.
Then he’d get up, say nothing and walk out. I’d sit there and weep, pitiful tears of pain and anger and helplessness. I’d wait to hear the front door slam, knowing then that the coast would be clear. He’d be gone to the pub for the night and I’d have nothing to worry about until he came back drunk out of his mind, when the pub closed.
chapter seventeen
I DIDN’T TELL anyone about the beatings. As I said before, I wanted to block them out of my mind. What’s more I felt helpless. I had to stay with my husband for the sake of the children. I had no income and no way of earning money. I’d only ever had a job for a few weeks when I was 16 and besides, my confidence was so low that I honestly believed I wasn’t capable of working.
Johnny used to tell me I was stupid.
“Ignorant, ugly and fat,” he used to call me. “Sure how would you ever hold down a job and what other man would have you?”
I believed him. It didn’t occur to me to tell the guards either. I was brought up in a community where the police force was scorned. To inform the guards of a crime, any crime at all, was considered the lowest thing you could do. I thought of them as enemies rather than people who could protect me and anyway I thought, “What good would it do?” If they did bar him from the house I’d be on my own with the children and we’d be destitute.
I’d heard about shelters for battered wives but I knew little about them. I imagined them as horrible places where poverty-stricken women queued for soup and slept on flea-ridden mattresses with their children. There was no help-line that I knew of at the time and no media coverage of domestic abuse. It wasn’t that long ago but women suffered in silence back then and so did I.
I tried to make the best of our life together. I lived for the days when he was in a good mood and I looked forward to seeing my family or little treats like cream buns in the afternoon, or watching Dallas on television. I know now that it was no life. I was young and beautiful and in my prime. I should have had a social life and friends. I had neither.
The only ti
me I ever got to go out in the evening was when he decided to bring me out on the town the odd time. Then I had no choice; I had to do what I was told to. I never had anything pretty to wear and I’d have rather stayed at home, but he would insist that I come with him.
He’d arrive home and announce that he’d booked a meal for us in a restaurant. They were always expensive restaurants too. Johnny didn’t do things by half. Besides he got a kick out of spending other people’s money so the more expensive the better and he’d pay for it all by credit card.
He’d make me dress up for the occasion and then we’d drive into town. Fiona usually minded the girls so we wouldn’t have to worry about them.
Those times should have been good but I was always so worried about getting caught that I honestly didn’t enjoy them. My heart would be in my mouth from the moment we’d walk into the place.
“Good evening Mr. ‘ so and so’,” the waitress would say as she hung up his expensive coat. He’d call himself by the name on the credit card. We’d sit in the restaurant and I’d feel horrible. He always looked so better dressed than I did but I couldn’t let him know how I felt.
“What’s wrong with you?” he’d say. “Are you not having fun? Come on now, give us a smile.”
I’d smile nervously and look around the room. I envied those other people. Ladies dressed to the nines in pretty dresses and high-heeled shoes, laughing animatedly with their husbands. They had no idea how helpless and scared I felt.
I’d be determined to make the best of the situation but looking back it was comical. Johnny would sit there and read the wine list.
“Give me a bottle of your most expensive wine,” he’d say to the waitress in his grandest accent. He didn’t even drink wine usually but he knew how to put on an act. Then he’d order the most expensive items on the menu. We regularly ate lobster, fillet steak, and caviar. Mind you our fridge at home would be empty and I wouldn’t have the money to buy a loaf of bread. But in the restaurant, we’d eat ourselves silly and order dessert.
“Have anything you want,” he’d say proudly. You’d think he was paying for it himself. He’d sit back in the chair when he’d eaten all he could and smile benignly at the waitresses.
You had to admire him. He knew how to play the wealthy businessman. I’d laugh to myself. “If only they knew where we came from,” I’d think. “If only they knew the truth.”
Johnny would drink most of the bottle of wine and then he’d ask for another one. I’d sit there and pray he wouldn’t get too drunk.
He was always clever though. He knew when not to draw attention to himself. We’d finish the meal and pay for it all by credit card. Johnny would leave a generous tip. Then we’d saunter out of the place as if we were the wealthiest couple in the world. Johnny would put his arm around me as we left and the other customers would smile graciously.
The manager of the restaurant would open the door for us and we’d sail through it, nodding and smiling.
“We must come here again,” my husband would say in a loud voice. I’d smile just to keep him happy but inside I’d be a nervous wreck until we got home. I always had a feeling the guards would be after us as soon as they found out about the card.
We’d avoid going back to the same restaurant for a while in case they remembered us, but we went to all the best places in Dublin.
I remember one day Johnny rang me in the middle of the afternoon.
“Pack your bags.”
I could tell he was excited by his voice. “We’re going to have a night of luxury.”
“Jesus, what has he got in mind now?” I thought to myself. He was always so unpredictable and although it was one of the qualities that attracted me to him in the first place, it unnerved me now. He arrived home that evening, all excited, like a little child.
“We’re going to a posh hotel in town,” he announced. “I’ve booked us in.”
I hadn’t planned on going out and I had no babysitter for the three children. Young Frances was still just a baby.
“But Johnny I can’t possibly go to a hotel. What about the kids? I can’t leave them on their own.”
I knew the thought wouldn’t even have occurred to him.
“Sure can’t you get a babysitter?” he said, annoyed that I hadn’t been pleased at his harebrained idea.
“Or your sister Helen, sure ask her?”
I hated having to unload the girls on Helen. She had enough to worry about but I knew there was no other way. It would be too late to get a babysitter and there was no way he’d take no for an answer. I got on the phone to Helen and she agreed to take them for the night.
We arrived at the Westbury Hotel in the city centre in our best clothes. Johnny had bought me a dress for the occasion—a cotton, knee-length dress with pink and black flowers. It was prettier than anything he usually brought home and I was pleased. As usual we were treated like royalty by the staff. They smiled and nodded as we walked into the hotel restaurant where we enjoyed a slap-up meal and two bottles of champagne.
“Bring some more champagne to the room waiter,” Johnny slurred but he kept up the accent. We were staying in the penthouse suite that night.
The next morning he once again paid for everything with a stolen credit card. Looking back I don’t how we got away with it. We’d always be careful about what name we used. It had to be the same as the one on the card. We’ve been in every restaurant and all the best hotels in Dublin. In later years we even went on package holidays to Spain and everything was paid for with stolen credit cards. We never once got caught.
chapter eighteen
I GOT BAD news one day about Anto. My sister phoned me to tell me that he was HIV positive. “HIV positive?” I said. I didn’t even know exactly what it meant until Helen explained. I hadn’t heard from my brother in a long time. I knew that he had a family but I’d never met them. I thought what a pity it was that they didn’t know my children, their first cousins.
The girls were getting older at that stage and we never brought them anywhere. There were no trips to the zoo or the cinema, or even the park. I was too scared to do anything without Johnny’s permission so sometimes I’d ask him to bring them out for the day.
“Ahh, go on Johnny,” I’d say. “They’re only young and they should be out seeing things like other kids their age.”
One day he agreed to take them to Malahide beach. Our neighbours had two little girls around the same ages and they were going.
I knew the neighbours to say hello to. I’d stop and make small talk when Johnny was out and they’d invited us to come along. It was a lovely, sunny day and I knew the girls would be delighted but I was nervous. I found myself increasingly nervous back then. There was always the fear that Johnny would let us down, but as always I determined to make the best of the situation.
“Maybe he’ll be on his best behaviour,” I thought. I fooled myself into believing that things would run smoothly.
I packed a picnic. Then we all bundled into the car and followed the neighbour’s car in front of us. The sun was shining and Johnny was in great form, singing songs as we drove along and getting the girls to join in. They were beside themselves with joy, jumping up and down in the back of the car.
We found a sheltered spot on the beach and spread out a rug to sit on. Our neighbours were nice people. They were a little bit older than us. Their children were well-behaved little girls; Sharon was seven, a year older than Aoife and Fiona their youngest was the same age as Molly. Young Frances was still only two-years-old. She was walking by then and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The kids were overjoyed to be playing on a beach. They’d never seen sea or sand for that matter and they took to it like ducks to water. Aoife jumped up and down with excitement, “Oh Ma, this is so great, I love it here Ma, I want to stay forever.”
The girls made sand castles and ran around in the sunshine while I unpacked the picnic and made small talk with Fidelma. She was a nice woman with a kindly face and I felt relaxed in her c
ompany. I was good at putting on a front for strangers. I’d smile and pretend I didn’t have a care in the world. I’d act as if Johnny and myself were a loving couple. Inside however I’d be praying that he wouldn’t give the game away, insult me in front of them or lose his temper with the kids.
No matter how much of an act I put on I always felt different to other women. Their worries seemed trivial compared to mine because I lived on the edge. It always created a void between us. The fact is I was a battered wife and they were not. I often wonder whether people like our neighbours knew the truth about Johnny. Did they guess what he was like? Perhaps they’d heard the rumours, people must have gossiped about us. Looking back I realise they probably thought me standoffish, or cold and unfriendly.
That day on the beach Johnny was on his best behaviour. I couldn’t believe how charming he was and I was delighted.
“Maybe this is the new Johnny,” I thought. “Perhaps the bad times are over.” He was all charm, pretending to be a loving husband, a great father. The neighbours lapped it up and I sat there grinning watching young Frances totter around on the sand.
Things ran all too smoothly for about an hour and a half. I should have known it was too good to be true. Suddenly Johnny stood up and looked at his watch.
“I just remembered Frances, I have to meet some- one,” he said, as he looked down at me from his standing position. The sun was directly behind at him and it blinded me when I looked up at him.
I was taken aback. I knew well he hadn’t made an arrangement to see anyone. He was going to the pub. I could have killed him. Here he was letting me down in front of our neighbours. I didn’t know what to say.
“I won’t be long,” he added and I could hear the guilt in his voice. He checked his watch again. “It’s half two now. I’ll be back in an hour.”
There was nothing I could say so I smiled sweetly, “Do you really have to go Johnny? The kids will miss you.”
But it was no good, the thirst was on him and he was determined to appease the God of alcohol. He turned and walked off down the beach to the car park. Aoife ran after him, “Da, Da come back,” she shouted.
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