Into Exile

by Joan Lingard

  ‘Hi!’ said Joe.

  ‘You!’ she said.

  ‘That’s not a very sweet greeting.’

  ‘I don’t feel sweet today.’

  ‘Rita said you’d not been at work. I was worried in case you were ill and here all alone.’

  She pushed back her hair. ‘I’ve been sleeping all day. I must be an awful looking sight.’

  ‘You’re as beautiful as ever.’

  ‘Oh you!’

  ‘Are you asking me in then?’

  ‘I suppose you might as well come in now you’re here.’

  She told him all her troubles, about Kevin and his large, demanding, needy family, about his religion and hers, about the strong letter she had written. Joe listened quietly to the great flood of words that poured out of her. She had never really talked so fully to anyone about Kevin, not even Lara. Lara did not want to know too much.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sadie,’ said Joe. ‘What a scene!’

  ‘What a scene,’ she echoed gloomily.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Honest I am.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  She found that she was. Joe went off to buy fish and chips. She dressed, made the bed, tidied the room, glad that another human being was coming back into it, that she would have someone to eat and talk with. She had always needed company, had never before sat around in rooms alone doing nothing.

  Fish and chips and Coca-Cola. She and Kevin had often had the same for their supper. She put the thought of Kevin out of her mind.

  ‘Fancy going to the pictures?’ Joe asked, when they had finished eating.

  Yes, she did fancy it very much, she decided. It was a long time since she had been to the cinema; usually Kevin was studying or playing darts or they had no money.

  They enjoyed the film and afterwards Joe brought her home, parting with her after only a quick kiss on her cheek. She felt grateful to him for that.

  ‘Thanks, Joe,’ she called after him. ‘For the movie and everything.’

  ‘Joe’s a good friend,’ she told Rita next morning.

  Rita rolled her eyes. ‘Is he growing on you?’

  ‘Don’t talk daft!’

  Miss Cullen heaved into sight so Rita disappeared. Where had Sadie been the previous day? Miss Cullen wished to know. She might at least have sent some word to say she was ill.

  ‘I wasn’t ill,’ said Sadie, the devil rising in her, wanting to enjoy the astonishment on the other woman’s face.

  ‘You weren’t ill? Why weren’t you at work then?’

  ‘I just didn’t fancy coming.’

  Sadie was given her cards more or less on the spot. She sailed happily into the cloakroom to tell the girls.

  ‘I’ve been fired,’ she cried, and waved an envelope. ‘One week’s wages.’ Less what she owed for a dress. But she did not mention that. That would reduce the drama of it.

  They clustered around, half envious, half pitying her.

  ‘There are other jobs,’ she said gaily. ‘Doesn’t do to get in a rut.’

  She had always hated staying too long in one job: she was bored before long. Her mother used to despair, holding her rollered head between her hands and moaning, ‘You’ll be the death of me yet, Sadie Jackson!’

  When she emerged into the street she wanted to run and jump and sing. She was free! And inside that big ugly building the girls were shifting from foot to foot selling shoes and cards and elastic and yawning and wishing the clock hands would crawl round and release them for their coffee break and then lunch and then finally to go home. That was no way to spend a life.

  Sadie idled round the shop windows choosing clothes, bright kitchen ware, curtains. She was not going back to that grisly lonely room for her first day of freedom. She wandered until she came to the café where Rita and her friends often gathered. She sat at a table by the window and drank coffee.

  She had had a feeling Joe would come.

  ‘Surprised?’ she asked, when he came in through the doorway and saw her. ‘I’ve been fired!’

  He laughed. ‘You don’t seem bothered.’

  ‘I’m not. That stupid Cullen woman was driving me round the twist. Oh, I’ll go and look for another job tomorrow but today I’m free.’

  He knew how to spend a day of freedom; she had thought that he would. He took her to Brighton on the train. He had money which he spent on her, spoiling her, making her laugh and shout in the face of the winter wind. He bought her a yellow silk scarf to tie round her hair, perfume to dab on her wrists, chocolates to eat as they walked along the promenade looking at the green-grey sea. They had lunch in a warm restaurant with soft carpets, served by a waiter with a white napkin over his arm. She did not ask Joe where his money came from. Rita said that he worked hard for spells, earned a lot, then took time off. Sadie did not even want to know how or where he earned his money. It was a day away from the depressing business of trying to make money stretch when obviously it wasn’t going to, of talking of what they would do when they were rich. It was good to have a day in which you didn’t feel poor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Kevin tore Sadie’s letter into tiny shreds, took it into the yard and stowed it carefully away in the dustbin so that no one else in his family would read even a part of it. Silly little fool! He stood in the yard burning with rage. What was the point in ranting at his mother for having nine children? They were here, weren’t they? And the things Sadie had said about his church … He shook his head, sighed, went back into the kitchen to pick up his plastic lunch box which Brede had filled.

  ‘What were you doing out there?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What did Sadie have to say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘She must be missing you.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll be off then, Brede,’ he said. He saw the anxious look in her eyes as she watched him go.

  As he went through the hall he called up the stairs to the other children, ‘Get up and help your sister. And don’t be late for school.’

  It was like old times going down the street in the early morning with his lunch box in his pocket. Mrs Rafferty was at her door in curlers and apron leaning against the jamb, her sharp eyes missing nothing.

  ‘You back for good then, Kevin, are you?’ she called across to him.

  ‘Don’t know yet.’ He did not slow his stride. He felt her eyes on his back until he turned the corner.

  He liked going round the streets in the truck. He liked being on the move, going from district to district, looking at the houses, thinking about the people who lived in them. And Dan Kelly was easy to be with, talkative at times, quiet at others. He was quieter now than he used to be, perhaps because of age, more likely because of the troubled times and of Kate. Many people had things to be quiet about.

  ‘Aye, she’s a different girl, Kevin,’ he sighed. ‘She never goes out. Maybe you could look in and see her now and then. She was always fond of you. Just as a friend, I mean,’ he added hastily.

  The days passed quickly. They piled scrap on the truck – there was no shortage of that in Belfast – brought it back to the yard, sorted it and shifted it, sold what they could. Kevin looked in on Kate for a few minutes after work every night; she gave him a cup of tea and fresh baked potato or soda scones. After that he went home to find Brede labouring over the cooker, the children clamouring and hungry, Gerald sullen in a corner with few words for Kevin. He hates me, Kevin thought, appalled by the knowledge, not understanding properly how such hate had risen up. He talked a lot to Michael and the next boy Joseph, trying to instil in them that they must not follow Gerald just because he was older, that they had to make up their own minds about things. Kevin felt as if he had aged ten years since his father died.

  Their mother’s health picked up steadily. They visited her in the evenings, he and Brede, taking one of the other children in turn. She sat up in bed smiling, pleased to see them and hear that all was well. She questioned Bre
de closely about the housekeeping even though she had complete faith in her. But she had to ask her about everything, the price Brede was paying for butter, were the children going to bed on time, had Joseph been taking his medicine? Brede answered patiently, knowing her mother’s ways. And before they left Mrs McCoy would give them instructions, telling them what they already knew. Rent, insurance, milkman. She had to rest easy in her mind.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Brede,’ she said. ‘And you’ve turned into a fine man, Kevin. It’s good to have you back.’

  His mother’s words stayed in his ears, but in Sadie’s voice, ringing like a reproach. When they got home he went into the front parlour where the two youngest children were sleeping, took out the pad of blue lined paper and sat down with the light shaded to write to Sadie. ‘Dear Sadie,’ he wrote, then paused to bite the end of the pen. He hated writing letters. He wanted to see her and talk to her. There was an ache in his throat that threatened to choke him. ‘I am sorry I have not written before but I was mad at your letter. But now I have forgiven you. Mother is getting better but it will take time. I hope to come back soon. Love Kevin.’ It didn’t say enough but he could not think what else to write. He couldn’t be bothered to write about Gerald and Michael and Joseph or the scrapyard. And she would certainly not want to hear about Kate.

  He went out to post it. As he passed the Raffertys’ house Brian came out. Kevin had heard he had been released, and no charge brought. They had been both friends and enemies. Kevin did not stop but Brian called after him, ‘Hey, hang on a minute, Kevin.’

  Brian fell into step beside him. ‘No hard feelings, eh, Kev? Might as well let old scores lie.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Kevin, not caring about the old scores, but not wanting to take up his friendship with Brian Rafferty again.

  ‘I’m glad you saw the light and left that Prod over there in London where she belongs.’

  So that was what they thought, that he had left Sadie. He did not answer though part of him wanted to speak out and lay his full claim to Sadie and tell the world he was going back to her. The other part made him keep quiet, to protect his family.

  Thinking of his family led to thinking of Sadie’s, particularly of her brother Tommy, whom he knew and liked. He wanted to see Tommy, to talk to him of Sadie; he needed to talk to someone about her, to make him feel closer to her.

  The streets were fairly quiet for not many people moved about at nights if they could avoid it, unless they had ulterior motives. Some men still went to pubs in spite of the bombings, refusing to give in totally to the disruptors. He might find Tommy in a pub near his home.

  There was a risk going to Sadie’s home area, that he was aware of, but he had taken it before and he knew his way around. Outside the pub on the corner of the Jacksons’ street he paused to look about, then quietly pushed open the door a few inches. The pub was busy, full of noise and smoke. His eyes scanned the men, searching for Tommy or Mr Jackson. If the latter was there he would let the door swing back and walk away.

  ‘Are you going in or out then?’ asked a man behind him.

  He went in, it seemed the easiest thing to do. The man followed him. Kevin frowned, thinking that the man seemed familiar, not wanting to find anyone familiar here but Tommy. And then he saw Tommy leaning against the counter talking to two other men. At the same moment Tommy saw him. He almost called out in surprise but stopped himself in time. He stood staring at Kevin until his friends also turned to look. Tommy put his beer down on the counter and elbowed his way through the crowd.

  ‘Kevin! It is you, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s me right enough.’

  ‘Where’s Sadie?’

  ‘London.’

  The man who had followed Kevin into the pub had now turned to look at Kevin as well and was eyeing him in a puzzled way as if he should know him.

  ‘Who’s that over there?’ muttered Kevin.

  ‘Mr Mullet. A friend of me da’s. You once had an argument with him when you took Sadie to Bangor. Let’s get out of here.’

  They left at once, walking quickly, knowing that if Mr Mullet’s memory returned they could be followed by a dozen members of the Loyal Orange Lodge who would have gladly flattened Kevin. They walked towards the centre of the city where they went into a café. Sitting in a corner they drank coffee and Kevin told Tommy about Sadie and the death of his father.

  ‘Aye, it’s terrible,’ sighed Tommy. ‘I’m thinking of emigrating myself. I have it in my mind to go to Australia. Sure you’d need to be nuts to want to stay here.’

  ‘Your mother and father’ll not like that?’

  ‘Maybe not. With Sadie gone and all. But what can I do? I’ve my own life to think of. I want to be sure of having one. I can’t let them stop me.’

  No, agreed Kevin, Tommy could not. For himself it was not so simple. Mr and Mrs Jackson had one another and no young children to support.

  ‘You’ll take good care of Sadie, won’t you?’ said Tommy awkwardly before they parted. ‘I’d like to think she was all right.’

  ‘I’ll take care of her,’ promised Kevin.

  Robert, Brede’s fiancé, came up from Tyrone for the weekend. He was a pleasant boy with an open face and eyes that followed Brede everywhere.

  ‘He’s real soft on you, Brede,’ said Kevin, making Brede’s cheeks turn pink. ‘And he’s a nice lad. He’ll make you a good husband, I’m thinking.’ He was Catholic too so they would have no problems that way. Not that Brede would have thought of marrying a Protestant. It would cause too much trouble, she would say if she was asked; besides, she would like it better to live with someone of her own faith and then they could rear their children together with the same beliefs.

  ‘I don’t know when I’ll be able to marry him though,’ said Brede. ‘I’ve told him so and he wasn’t happy.’

  ‘You’ll marry him when you’re good and ready,’ declared Kevin, who saw in his mind Brede going off to Tyrone and himself trapped here unable ever to abandon his mother.

  Robert came back the next weekend unexpectedly. ‘I’ve news for you,’ he said as he came in through the door, cutting off Brede’s cry of surprise. ‘I think I know what to do. About your mother and that.’

  ‘Sit down, Robert,’ said Kevin. ‘And make him a cup of tea, Brede. The man’s got a plan in his head.’

  Brede filled the kettle, her eyes shining. She trusted Robert, had known he would think of something. He had said that he would before he left the weekend before.

  ‘Well,’ said Robert, ‘the cottage I have is one of three joined together.’

  ‘They’re on the farm,’ Brede interrupted, ‘and when you look out of the window all you can see is fields and sheep and trees.’

  ‘Now,’ said Robert, ‘the other two happen to be empty.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Kevin, leaning back in his chair.

  Brede set two cups of tea on the table. ‘You’ll be hungry, I’m thinking?’ she said to Robert.

  ‘I could eat a bite,’ he said. ‘My mother and father live in a cottage on its own a few yards over,’ he explained to Kevin. ‘My dad’s been on this farm for twenty years. Mr O’Brien, the farmer, is short of workers and that’s why the two cottages are standing empty.’

  ‘So he’d rent them to us?’ said Kevin slowly. ‘A family this size’d certainly need two. You couldn’t get seven kids in one.’

  Robert looked up at Brede first before he answered. ‘Aye well, he wouldn’t rent them exactly. He’ll only have farm workers in them, you see. But he’d let you have them if you were to work for him, Kevin.’

  ‘Work for him? On the farm you mean?’

  ‘You wouldn’t mind that so much, would you, Kevin?’ said Brede eagerly. ‘After all, you’d be out in the air all day and we’d be away from these dirty streets. You’d work with animals and crops instead of old scrap and smashed motor cars. Wouldn’t you like that better? It’s beautiful there, in County Tyrone.’

  It might have been heaven, from the sof
tness in her voice and the happiness in her face, the way she talked of it. Robert looked at her fondly and Kevin felt a rush of homesickness for Sadie. He left the table abruptly to go and stand by the window. Brede flipped over Robert’s bacon in the pan and dropped in an egg.

  ‘Great smell, Brede,’ said Robert.

  She put the bacon and egg on a plate and set it in front of him. ‘Now eat that and you’ll feel the better for it.’ She rested her hands on her hips. ‘What do you think then, Kev?’ He turned to her. ‘Wouldn’t it be fine for all of us to get away from here? It’d be better too for Gerald.’

  ‘He could get in trouble just as easy in County Tyrone. There’s trouble enough near the border. And Provos too.’

  ‘But not as many. And he might change when he gets out into the country. It’s a chance.’ Her voice had changed now: it was pleading. ‘And Ma would love it, to go back to the place where she grew up. She’s never been happy in the city. She’s missed the flowers and trees –’

  ‘All right, don’t go on!’ cried Kevin fiercely.

  Robert stopped eating. He looked in surprise at Kevin, fork halfway to his mouth. Brede’s lower lip moved, then her top teeth came down and held it fast.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Kevin. ‘I didn’t mean to shout. But you seem to have forgotten one thing, Brede. Sadie! Even you don’t want to know about her now.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ whispered Brede.

  ‘I have a wife in England, Robert. My family wishes she didn’t exist but she does and I can’t just leave her. I don’t want to. You’ll know how I feel even though you’re not married yet to Brede.’

  Robert looked uncomfortable. ‘Aye,’ he sighed. ‘I know.’

  ‘But I’m not asking you to leave her,’ said Brede. ‘She could come to Tyrone with us!’ Her face lit up again. ‘The two of you could live in one cottage with two of the children, Robert and I could have another two, and Ma would have three with her. We can all help one another.’

  ‘Like they do in Israel,’ said Robert.

  ‘You don’t mind, Robert,’ said Kevin, ‘starting your married life with Brede’s family running all over you?’