Into Exile

by Joan Lingard

  She crushed the telegram against her side. She could not bear to have him hurt. He rocked her a little, keeping his arms round her.

  ‘What’ll we do the day?’ he said. ‘Sure isn’t it fine when you don’t have to go to work?’ It was one of Sadie’s Saturdays off.

  She closed her eyes, leant back against him.

  ‘Hey, what’s up with you?’ He turned her round, saw that she held something in her hand. ‘What is it? Who was it at the door asking for us?’

  She held up the telegram. He took it from her. They went into their room together and closed the door.

  He sat down on the bed. She stood near him, her eyes large, fixed on his face, as he slowly slit open the envelope and removed the small piece of paper. He read the message, his lips moving soundlessly.

  ‘My da’s dead,’ he said then. ‘Killed. By a bomb in a pub.’

  She sat down beside him, not touching him. He passed her the telegram and she read it for herself so that she would believe it. It had been sent by Brede.

  ‘He must have gone for a drink,’ said Kevin. ‘He often did in the evening. And the bomb went off.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sadie. Her lips felt stiff and dry.

  ‘It happens all the time,’ said Kevin.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sadie.

  ‘My da always had plenty to say,’ said Kevin. ‘He was always sounding off but he never would have harmed a man.’

  ‘No,’ said Sadie. She had not met him and now never would.

  Kevin read the telegram again. It said so little and yet so much.

  ‘I shall have to go home,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ said Sadie, knowing that she would not be able to go with him and stand by his side and give comfort to him and Brede and his mother. She would have to stay here wondering and waiting. All her life she had hated waiting.

  ‘My mother will need me,’ said Kevin.

  ‘Brede too.’

  Kevin was the man of his family now, the eldest son. There were so many small children, needing care and attention. Some of the boys ran wild, causing great concern to their mother.

  ‘I suppose you could always go over too and see your family,’ said Kevin, but Sadie shook her head. It would not be the right time for that and besides, they had only enough money for Kevin’s fare and she would have to keep her job.

  ‘I’ll take the night boat from Liverpool,’ said Kevin.

  There were things to do. He went out and sent a telegram to Brede to say that he was coming, and he found out the time of the trains from Euston Station. These were practical, necessary things that kept his body functioning. On the way back he went into the church to light a candle and say a prayer for his father’s soul. Whilst he was gone Sadie ironed his two shirts and packed his suitcase.

  She cooked him a meal. He ate very little even though she tried to coax him, saying that he had a long journey ahead and he would have a lot to do when he arrived home. His face was pale, his eyes dark; he had gone in spirit from the room, was already in the kitchen of his house where his mother would be sitting with the neighbours coming and going bringing sympathy and gifts of food.

  It was Sadie who wept before he left. He patted her shoulder and let her cry against him.

  ‘You’ll be all right whilst I’m gone, won’t you?’ he said. ‘I’ll write and let you know how things are going on. And you’ll go and see Mr Davis and tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can?’

  She did not dare to ask how long that would be. He did not know himself.

  ‘Take care of yourself,’ she said, her throat rough. She was thinking now of his safety, for he was going back into a Catholic area where many people would resent that he had married a Protestant girl.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’

  He kissed her and then he went, walking quickly, looking back only once. The room was empty, as empty as if he had been gone a long time. She could hardly believe he had stood here a few minutes before. She shivered, cold right to the middle of her body, remembering the cold she felt when their friend Mr Blake had been killed. Death makes you cold, she thought. She put on Kevin’s thick rough sweater. It smelt of him, comforted her a little. She sat before the fire rocking herself, wishing she was with him. In death people gathered together, closed their ranks, reaffirmed their family ties. Kevin was gone to be with his family, his rightful place at such a time. They would feel close to one another, talk, weep, keep one another warm. Sadie ran her hands over the coarse wool, arching her shoulders inside the sweater.

  ‘Kevin,’ she said softly. ‘Kevin.’

  It was midday. The cheap clock they had bought when they first came said so. It stood on the mantelpiece between pictures of their families.

  Midday on Saturday, and all the rest of the weekend stretched ahead.

  She went next door and knocked at Lara and Krishna’s room but there was no reply. Then she remembered that they were going to have lunch with the Menons. She wandered along the street and met the old man with the dog.

  ‘My father-in-law has been killed by a bomb,’ she told him. ‘And Kevin’s gone home.’

  The old man shook his head. ‘These are terrible times,’ he said. ‘People murdering one another.’

  ‘I suppose times have always been as terrible,’ said Sadie.

  ‘And as good,’ said the old man, surprising her for she did not think that any part of his life could be called good, unless it was on account of his dog.

  ‘Each day has something good in it,’ he said.

  She nodded. Meeting and talking to him was good, was no part of the terrible side.

  ‘Will you come home and have some lunch with me?’ she said. ‘It’ll only be beans on toast,’ she added.

  ‘I like beans on toast,’ he replied.

  They had quite a gay lunch. She could not understand it: Kevin’s father was dead and the grief in her was real and yet she could sit and laugh with this old man and pat his dog and part of her was even happy. She tried to explain what she felt to Mr Dooley but he did not find it strange, he said. It was all part of life, he said, for even in a bad patch you found yourself thinking it was worth living.

  ‘Kevin will come back to you. He’ll have a hard time in between but he’ll come back and you’ll be happy together.’

  ‘You’re a very wise old man, Mr Dooley,’ she said solemnly, and he laughed, for he had never been called wise before and would never have thought that he was. To end life alone in a room with a dog was not wise; it was not planned, it had happened.

  ‘I’ve just lived a long time. That gives me some advantage over you. But not much. You’re young, Sadie, that’s a big thing.’

  When he went home she fell asleep in front of the fire, exhausted.

  She awoke, stiff and crumpled, in the dark room. Kevin would be in Liverpool now, waiting for the boat to carry him across the Irish Sea.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The crossing was stormy, in keeping with his mood. After the initial numbness, when he had seemed to feel very little, anger had taken over. Rain swept the deck of the ship, splashing against his face. He walked with his shoulders hunched, hands clenched inside his pockets, not caring whether he was soaked or borne over the side by the wind into the bucketing, dark water. No one else walked the deck; they slept in neat narrow berths or dozed open-mouthed in the stale atmosphere of the saloon. At least they did if they were not being sick. He almost wished that he could be sick, so that he would be absorbed by that, and not by the terrible pain in the middle of his chest. He had never known anything like it before.

  His father was dead. And he wanted to kill the man who had put the bomb in that pub. He had trained himself not to fight every time he was riled. But this was different. His father had been murdered.

  His father had died and he had had no chance to make peace with him before he died. They had parted on good terms in Belfast but when his father had heard of his marriage to Sadie he had written him a strong letter telling him he n
eedn’t bother his head about coming home as long as he had a Prod for a wife. If only his father had written to say, ‘Never mind, son, I don’t mind about your wife, bring her home and we’ll take her in as part of our family.’ But he hadn’t written that and he never would have done. It ate into Kevin that his father had died with a feeling of bad blood between them. It was hard to bear, as well as the loss of his father himself.

  Kevin spent the night on deck.

  By morning the storm had blown itself out and they came up Belfast Lough in peace. He watched the boat slide through the calm water leaving a white ripple to mark its passage. He looked at the green shores of Antrim and Down on either side, soft and blurred in the early morning light, and a thrill surged through him. It was his own country. He was coming home.

  He had not realized how homesick he had been during these months away. In their dingy London street they had remembered only the bad things of home, the fighting and burning and the desolate streets. But here there was land green and sweet: his native land.

  His anger was spent. He did not want to kill the men who had planted the bomb. That way was a hopeless one: he knew it too well. He did not even want to know who the men were, whether they were Protestants bent on destroying a few Catholics or Catholics who had been keeping the bomb in the pub before they took it to put in a car or building to cause havoc and destruction.

  When the boat docked he was impatient to leave. He was first to set foot on the gangway. He went down it quickly and hurried into the sheds, through the piles of cargo and the gathering people. Outside in the street his brothers Gerald and Michael were waiting for him. He slapped them on the back, put one arm on each shoulder. They had grown tall, would soon be men. Gerald was fifteen, Michael thirteen.

  ‘Boys, it’s great to see the two of you! You’ll soon be as tall as me.’

  ‘I leave school this year,’ said Gerald.

  ‘Sure he’s hardly ever there as it is,’ said Michael.

  ‘I’ve other things to do,’ said Gerald, and Kevin felt uneasy, having some idea of what those things might be. Gerald had always been fired with enthusiasm for the IRA.

  ‘How’s Ma?’ asked Kevin.

  Gerald’s face went dark. ‘Poorly. We’ll sort out those gits yet!’

  They passed gutted buildings, patches of bare ground. Soldiers went by in trucks and on foot, walking warily with eyes shifting from side to side. When two had passed, Gerald spat into the gutter.

  ‘Fat lot of good that’ll do,’ said Kevin, and then he was quiet. It was not the time for arguing with Gerald. He allowed the boy to talk. He was full of boasts of what he had done.

  ‘He’s a Provo,’ said Michael, glancing over his shoulder.

  Kevin looked at his brother Gerald as if he was a stranger. He did not want a brother of his to be a killer.

  ‘He helped tar and feather Kate Kelly,’ said Michael with a giggle. ‘Him and a crowd of women. Did you read about that over there?’

  ‘Aye, I read about it and it made me want to boke!’ said Kevin vehemently. ‘Of all the stupid cowardly things –’

  Gerald swung round and caught Kevin by the arms.

  ‘Take that back or I’ll lay you out!’

  ‘I’ll take nothing back. It’s time you heard a thing or two, Gerald McCoy. You might think you’re the big brave lad but you’re the stupidest –’

  Gerald lifted his right hand and punched Kevin in the mouth. Blood trickled from one side. For a moment the three brothers were still on the pavement. Michael giggled nervously.

  Gerald stood defiantly, feet astride, eyes steady and hot, watching Kevin. Kevin took his handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed his lip, put it back. Then slowly he took hold of Gerald’s arms. Gerald came to life struggling and wriggling. He kicked out catching Kevin on the shin. Fury surged through Kevin. He pushed Gerald against the wall and pinned him there, forcing his head back against the bricks. He was bigger and older than Gerald and much stronger too, with years of work in his arms. The younger boy was powerless. He gasped and spluttered.

  ‘If you do that again I’ll bash the brains out of you,’ said Kevin. ‘And if you tar and feather another girl I’ll do the same.’

  Then he pushed Gerald to one side. The boy fell on to one knee. He waited there for a moment looking down on the pavement before he got to his feet unsteadily.

  ‘Let’s go home now,’ said Kevin. ‘And remember that your father’s dead and not even buried yet and the sight of two of her sons fighting would break your mother’s heart.’

  They walked in silence the rest of the way through the streets. Gerald walked with his head down. He would not be as easily squashed as he looked, Kevin knew. Kevin’s heart was heavy at the thought that he and his brother had been fighting within an hour of his return home.

  Brede met them at the door.

  ‘Oh Kevin!’ she cried, putting her arms round his neck.

  He hugged her, lifting her off her feet. Gerald pushed past them to go up the stairs.

  ‘What’s up with him?’ asked Brede.

  ‘He and I had a bit of a dispute, you might say.’ Kevin touched his lip involuntarily.

  ‘Did he do that?’ Brede frowned. ‘He’s a wild one, Kevin, and I’m real worried about him. I don’t know how he’ll end up.’

  ‘Is that you, Kevin?’ His mother had opened the kitchen door and stood there waiting for him. She had aged. He went towards her.

  ‘Sure it’s me right enough, Ma!’

  She hugged him close to her, reluctant to let him go in case he might disappear. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the edge of her apron and made him sit by the fire in the kitchen whilst she and Brede cooked him a good breakfast of ham and eggs and fried potato bread.

  ‘Kevin, I’m so pleased to have you home!’

  ‘And I’m right pleased to be home.’ He looked round at the old familiar kitchen, the small room in which his large family ate and his mother washed and ironed and cooked. She was looking ill: her face was drawn and the skin beneath her eyes was purple as if it had been bruised. The cream and red clock ticked on the dresser, and above it hung a replica of Christ on the Cross.

  Kevin ate well for he had had little food for twenty-four hours and the long cold night on deck had left the life in his body lowered. His mother sat across the table drinking a cup of tea, watching him eat, each bite he took giving her pleasure. He would need all the energy he could get.

  ‘You’re the head of the family now, Kevin,’ she said.

  Kevin frowned down at his plate, not wanting to look her in the eye. He had eight younger brothers and sisters and a mother who were now his concern. And on the other side of the Irish Sea he had a wife of a different faith. He closed his eyes for a moment. It all seemed too much.

  ‘’Deed you must be tired after such a night,’ cried Mrs McCoy. ‘You’ll be needing a lie-down.’

  ‘No, no,’ he told her. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I don’t want to lie down.’

  Brede had made all the arrangements for the funeral. The neighbours and priest had helped them.

  ‘What about Uncle Albert?’ asked Kevin, for no mention had been made of him.

  ‘Poor Albert,’ sighed Mrs McCoy. ‘He was with your da in the pub and he had a leg and an arm blown off him. I think it’d have been as well if he’d been taken.’

  ‘Dear help us!’ Kevin shook his head. So Uncle Albert would never tie up his old car with string again and set off on one of his famous journeys. He had loved going on journeys in his old car.

  ‘He’s lying in the hospital in a dreadful state,’ said Mrs McCoy. ‘And your Aunty Patsy’s in a terrible state and all, as you might imagine.’

  ‘But you’re not,’ said Kevin.

  ‘What’s the point? I’ve the children to think of. I have to live on.’

  His mother asked him about his life in London but did not mention Sadie, and neither did he. It was an odd conversation for his life in London meant Sadie. But instead he talked of his
job and the business of the city and the unfriendliness of the people compared to the ones who lived in their own street.

  ‘There’s nothing to beat your own kind, Kevin,’ sighed his mother.

  When she went upstairs Brede asked about Sadie.

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Kevin. ‘She sent you her love and to tell you she was sorry about Da.’

  Brede smiled a little sadly. ‘I wish all this trouble was over, Kev, and then you could bring her home.’

  ‘Could I ever?’ he demanded.

  He got up from the table and went to stand by the sink looking out of the window at the small backyard and the brick wall behind it and then at the backs of the brick terraced houses in the next street. Nothing grew in the backyard except for a few weeds pushing determinedly up between the broken concrete.

  ‘Kevin,’ said Brede.

  He turned round.

  ‘I’m engaged,’ she said shyly.

  ‘That’s great! Who’s the lucky man?’

  ‘A boy from Tyrone. He’s called Robert. I met him down at Aunty May’s.’

  ‘Isn’t that marvellous?’ He whirled her round.

  She said, ‘But I don’t know if I can marry him now.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘I was going to go and live in Tyrone. But how could I go and leave Ma after what’s happened?’

  ‘But you can’t give up your own chance, Brede,’ said Kevin.

  ‘Ma’s not well.’ Brede sighed. ‘Her strength’s never been the same since her operation. It’s not had a chance to pick up with all the kids to look after. And Gerald’s a terrible worry to her all the time.’

  ‘And now Da’s gone,’ said Kevin slowly, sitting down at the table again, ‘she’s on her own and not able.’

  ‘She’s worked hard all her life,’ said Brede. ‘Too hard.’

  ‘Don’t you do the same, Brede.’ Kevin spoke urgently, for he had always seen Brede following in the image of their mother.

  Brede shook her head. ‘Times are changing, Kevin. My life’ll never be like hers. I won’t have nine kids and live in a dirty city street. I was going to –’