Into Exile

by Joan Lingard

  ‘I’ll leave you then,’ said Robert, ‘and get back to my work. See you later, Kevin.’

  ‘Shall we take a walk round?’ Mr O’Brien suggested to Kevin. ‘I’ll show you the barns to begin with.’

  ‘They’re fine-looking barns,’ said Kevin, as they turned their feet towards them. ‘Sure they’re a nice square shape.’

  ‘They are,’ said Mr O’Brien, who was proud of his barns, his home, and his farm. ‘Do you like the country, Kevin?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘You look a strong lad to me. I could make good use of those arms.’

  ‘I’ve done a lot of heavy work in my time.’ He had wanted to do different work, take apart television sets and radios, understand how they worked. But it wasn’t easy to do what you wanted in this world. There were many men who would be glad of a job at all.

  The barns smelled of hay and animals. The children would love it here, with hay to roll in, animals to help with, fields to run free in. They needed the chance of it. Kevin sighed and Mr O’Brien raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Anything wrong, lad?’

  Kevin shook his head.

  Mr O’Brien conducted him round the farm showing him every field, every animal. They saw most of it from his Land Rover. Mr O’Brien said that he hoped Kevin would get his driving licence for he would often have to drive.

  ‘There’s plenty of variety in the work, you know. Not like standing in a factory assembling things in a line.’

  There was no other house in sight from the farm: it was truly isolated.

  ‘You’ll get used to that,’ said Mr O’Brien. ‘We never think a thing of it. And there’s a bus to town two days a week.’

  Kevin nodded. ‘Two days a week!’ He imagined Sadie’s voice and her eyes round with horror at the restriction of only being able to go into the town on two days, and even then it was a small market town. He had Sadie’s voice in his head most of the day, just as if she was standing at his elbow making comments.

  ‘A grocery van calls on a Friday, I believe,’ said Mr O’Brien. ‘But my wife could tell you more about that. And then there’s eggs and milk from the farm.’

  ‘That’s not so bad, eggs and milk,’ said Sadie’s voice, ‘but what if I take a sudden notion for a bag of fish and chips?’

  Mr O’Brien looked at Kevin’s face beside him. ‘You think you’d like the life, don’t you? I mean, it wouldn’t be any good coming if you didn’t.’

  ‘I think I’d like it all right,’ said Kevin slowly. ‘But it’s a big step, you know. I have to think.’

  ‘Of course. You can’t decide these things in a flash. Your whole life’s involved.’

  His whole life. He had not thought of it like that but yes, it was true, once he came, it would be final, for he would not be able to put his family out of their home because he took a notion to change his job. And if Sadie did not come he would lose her for good. She had written to say that she did not want to, that she was afraid it would not work, and he thought she was right.

  ‘Well, what did you think of it?’ Brede demanded as soon as he opened the door. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful place?’

  ‘Great,’ he said.

  ‘And Mr and Mrs O’Brien, sure aren’t they the loveliest people?’

  ‘They’re very nice. I got on well with them.’

  ‘Good,’ said Mrs McCoy. She nodded with contentment.

  ‘We’re dying to see it on Saturday.’

  ‘Saturday?’ repeated Kevin.

  ‘We’re all going down to see it,’ said Mrs McCoy. ‘All of us. Robert has fixed it.’

  ‘But I haven’t said yes,’ cried Kevin.

  ‘You’ll not be thinking of saying no now, will you?’ said his mother, stricken at the thought that this haven of peace would be denied her.

  Kevin looked out at the backyard and thought of the fields he had walked through that day and could not blame her. She deserved a change of fortune. But he was angry with Robert arranging for the family to go before Kevin had made up his mind. He had known Kevin was still swithering and was trying to push him. Kevin hated being pushed.

  He told Robert so on Saturday when his family were running around the farm shouting and laughing and they were walking alone together.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Robert. Let them see all this first.’ He waved his hand. ‘How could I disappoint them now?’

  ‘I didn’t think I was doing any harm, Kevin. After all, you wouldn’t be wanting to deny them the chance of getting out of that hole in Belfast to live in the fresh air, would you?’

  ‘It’s not that easy, Robert, and you know it.’ Kevin forced himself to keep calm. ‘I have Sadie to think of.’

  ‘But there’s your mother and Brede and seven children to think of too.’

  ‘Sadie’s my wife.’

  ‘But she’s only one against nine.’

  ‘I don’t see it as a game of numbers. I’m torn right up the middle between the two.’

  They walked a little way in silence, then Robert said, ‘I’d never let my mother down. When you think what they do for you.’

  ‘You’d put her before Brede?’

  ‘I’m sure Brede wouldn’t see it that way. She’d want me to do the right thing by my mother.’

  Brede might. Kevin hoped she would. He felt glum inside, hoped now that she would be happy, that Robert would not disappoint her. There would not be much excitement in their union, but perhaps neither wanted that. He had excitement with Sadie, a feeling of freshness, of wonder. He might never find the same thing again. He kicked a clump of grass.

  Brede came running up from behind and slipped between them. She took a hand of each.

  ‘I’m glad to see the two of you becoming friends,’ she said.

  She smiled up at Robert. Kevin said nothing. He thought that he and Robert might easily clash, for Robert could not understand there were other ways of seeing things than his, other lives to be lived. He could not understand how Kevin had come to marry a Protestant girl in the first place and get himself into such a mess.

  ‘Gerald loves the animals,’ said Brede. ‘He’s talking to Mr O’Brien in the cowshed right now.’

  ‘Gerald might love the animals,’ said Kevin, ‘but that’s not going to turn him into a saint.’ At once he was sorry he had spoken so sourly and brought back the sadness into Brede’s eyes.

  They found their mother drinking tea and eating sultana cake in the Burkes’ kitchen.

  ‘This is just great,’ sighed Mrs McCoy. ‘A whole new life waiting for us. The children are all mad on it. They’ve never seen the like. And I think it’ll be the making of Gerald.’

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see about that,’ said Kevin. ‘Just because he likes a few cows!’

  ‘Cup of tea, Kevin?’ asked Mrs Burke.

  ‘No thanks. I’ll go on over and have a chat with Mr O’Brien.’

  ‘Kevin?’ his mother called anxiously. He looked back from the doorway. ‘You’ll not be turning it down?’

  ‘So what do you say to it now, Kevin?’ said Mr O’Brien, settling himself in his leather armchair and lighting his pipe. ‘Your family seem keen.’

  ‘They’re dead keen.’

  ‘And that young brother of yours is going to make a good cowman I’ll bet. He tells me he’s sixteen in the summer so I’ve promised him a job.’

  ‘Would you take him instead of me?’ said Kevin suddenly, and smothered the guilt he felt at offering Gerald to anyone, knowing what he knew about him.

  Mr O’Brien lifted the match away from his pipe. ‘Take him instead of you? But I want you both. He’s only a young lad.’

  Kevin sighed. It would have been too much to hope that he could put Gerald into his place. Gerald, who could scarcely keep out of trouble for two days at a time and would only earn a few pounds to start with. Kevin put a hand to his head. A pulse beat at the back of his temple like a loud tattoo. He did not know any longer what to think.

  ‘There’s something the matt
er, lad, isn’t there?’ The match burnt Mr O’Brien’s fingers. He tossed it into the hearth, laid his pipe aside. ‘Why don’t you tell me about it? I’m a reasonable man.’

  ‘I don’t know what you can do,’ said Kevin, ‘but I’ll tell you.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Sadie sat slumped in the train on the way home, her eyes closed, her mind automatically ticking off the stops on the line, so that when hers came she got up, moved to the opening doors and stepped on to the platform. She moved like a robot. That was how she felt after a long Friday at the supermarket, trapped under the fluorescent lights with the noise and smell of people around her making her feel that she could scarcely breathe or think. She thought of Kevin’s letter in which he had told her about Tyrone, the green fields, the horses cropping the grass, the red brick barns, the smell of hay. The station smelt foul and was littered with papers dropped by hurrying, indifferent people. She gave her ticket into the grubby hand of the ticket collector and walked down the street, her arms weighed down by the heavy bags of groceries.

  Rita was sitting on a high stool in the kitchen smoking a cigarette and flicking ash into the sink. Dirty dishes straggled across the draining board, not even properly stacked, but just lying where they had been dumped. There were usually dishes there when she came in, but this evening Sadie felt irritated by the sight of them and of Rita sitting on the stool with her legs crossed and a cigarette in her mouth.

  ‘You might have done the dishes,’ she snapped, immediately hearing her mother’s voice in hers. Her mother had said the same thing many a time when she had come home to find Sadie sitting in the kitchen not even noticing that there was a pile of dishes waiting to be washed. Sadie sighed, fed up with herself, and Rita, and the dirty kitchen.

  ‘I meant to,’ said Rita good-naturedly. ‘I forgot. I’ll do them in a sec. What’ve you got?’ She looked down at Sadie’s bag.

  ‘A chicken. Half-price. Skin’s a bit torn but it’s OK apart from that.’

  ‘Smashing. How’re you going to do it?’

  ‘Roast it, I suppose,’ said Sadie sourly, but Rita did not notice the sourness in her voice. She continued to sit on the stool and smoke whilst Sadie unpacked the groceries from the bags. She did all the shopping for the flat now and most of the cooking too, preferring it that way since the other two burnt or messed up the simplest dish. Rita prattled on about the latest gossip from the shop but Sadie did not listen. Her mind ran on with its own thoughts.

  This life was doing her no good. She was getting all bitter and sour inside, finding faults with the girls, but they were all right, in their own way. The trouble was their way wasn’t for her. She didn’t want to share a flat with a couple of girls at all. She wanted to live with Kevin.

  Kevin looked away from his mother’s trembling hands. She held them clasped in front of her to steady them.

  ‘Glory be to God!’ she spoke in barely more than a whisper. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when my eldest son would desert me in my hour of need.’

  ‘But Ma,’ he said patiently, ‘I have a wife to think of.’

  ‘But she’s a Protestant.’

  ‘She’s still my wife.’ He looked his mother full in the face again, not liking the light in her eyes, but not looking away this time. ‘We were married in the church.’

  ‘No good’ll come of a union like that.’

  ‘Why not?’ he asked quietly. ‘It’s up to us to make the good.’

  ‘You’d have been better off with a girl of your own faith.’

  ‘Perhaps. But it was Sadie I wanted –’

  ‘Bah! What was she? Nothing but a stupid little baggage that ran about the streets making trouble. I never thought you’d stoop to the likes of her –’

  ‘Stop it!’ Now he was shouting, and he had never shouted before at his mother. He calmed, went on, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout, but I couldn’t listen to you talk like that about Sadie.’

  His mother was crying now, rocking herself and moaning about her lot and the terrible troubles she had had to bear. He had never seen her like this, she had been so calm when he was a child, the rock everyone had leant on and expected never to change, a peaceful, moderate woman who made few demands on others. Now she was querulous and demanding, but he could not blame her. He went to her, put his hands on her shaking shoulders. She put a roughened hand over his, grasping it eagerly, and hopefully.

  ‘You won’t leave me, will you, son?’

  ‘Ma –’ He closed his eyes.

  ‘I need you, Kevin. You’re the only son I can depend on. You can’t go!’

  ‘I must.’

  She took her hand away, he removed his from her shoulders.

  ‘You can still go to Tyrone,’ he said. ‘Mr O’Brien is willing to let you all live there as long as Gerald works for him and Michael helps out at weekends and holidays.’

  ‘Gerald! What use is he? He’ll be in jail before he’s much older.’

  ‘Ach, don’t talk that way about him, Ma. Give him a chance. Maybe the farm’ll straighten him out rightly.’

  ‘He’s past straightening out.’ Her eyes were dry now, her voice steadier, and she was facing this fact of life as she had done many in the past, without flinching, not trying to escape the reality of it. ‘Sure I know my own son. He was a devil from the day he was born but with all the fighting and blood that’s been spilt he’s been turned into something worse.’

  Kevin was silent, recognizing the truth of his mother’s words.

  ‘I’m leaving, Rita,’ said Sadie. She laid the last package on the table.

  ‘Leaving?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘But what for?’ asked Rita, still astonished. ‘Is it because of the dishes?’ She jumped off the stool. ‘I’ll do them now. Look, Sadie, you don’t need to go on account of that. I know you get fed up with us at times –’

  ‘It’s not because of that.’ Sadie switched on the oven, took the chicken, pulled out the cellophane bag containing its innards and wiped down the skin. ‘I’m leaving London.’

  ‘Leaving London? But I thought you liked it. We have a great time, don’t we? And there’s Joe.’

  ‘I don’t want Joe.’ Sadie wrapped the chicken in tin foil, folding and tucking in the ends carefully. ‘I want Kevin.’

  ‘Kevin!’

  ‘You don’t have to go repeating everything I say,’ said Sadie irritably.

  ‘But you’re not going to go for that deal with his family and all that, are you?’

  ‘Why not? Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘But, Sadie, have you thought?’ Rita lit another cigarette, climbed back up on to the stool.

  ‘Of course I’ve thought.’

  ‘You’d live with his mother and sister and all those kids?’ Rita’s eyes goggled with disbelief.

  ‘There’s worse ways to live,’ said Sadie. ‘Anyway, there’s all that lovely country and fresh air.’

  ‘I never thought you liked the country much.’

  ‘Well, I do now,’ said Sadie and put the chicken into the oven even though it was not yet hot. She faced Rita. ‘I’m going to pack.’

  ‘Brede will be with you,’ said Kevin, feeling guilty at the thought of Brede always carrying the burden, of having to be the one who would be there in times of trouble. Brede would never escape. But he must! He must go back to Sadie or else he would lose her. ‘She and Robert can keep an eye on Gerald.’

  ‘They’ll not stop Gerald doing what he wants.’

  ‘And neither would I.’

  ‘No, maybe not,’ his mother admitted. ‘But I’d have you by me and I wouldn’t need to depend on Gerald. How can I think of him as the breadwinner? Anyway, what’ll he earn at his age?’

  ‘I’ll send you something every week, Ma.’

  ‘What can you send me?’

  ‘A couple of pounds. Three?’

  ‘Even so …’ Her voice was turning querulous again. It was her son she wanted, not his money, though she would need
that too with all the children to feed and clothe.

  ‘And Mr O’Brien said you could have a job working for Mrs O’Brien in the house, helping with the cooking and that.’

  ‘I could have a job? Have I not enough to do with all those children? Dear God, but I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be as cruel to me! Don’t you think I’ve done enough work in my life scrubbing and cooking and slaving for the lot of youse without having to go into another woman’s house and do the same for her?’

  ‘I know, Ma, and I’m sorry.’ He turned away from her. He felt helpless, he did not know what to say to her, he was letting her down, in her eyes at least, and she probably deserved something better after all the bad luck and hard work in her life. But there was still Sadie, his wife. And there was his own life. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated.

  Sadie did not sleep on the crossing. She stretched out on a settee in the lounge for a while but the excitement in her stomach would not let her lie at peace. She put on her coat and patrolled the deck, watching the dark glint of the water running beneath the ship. In a few hours she would be back in Belfast amongst the people she had grown up with and the sound of familiar voices round her. There would be the sound of gunfire and bombs too but those she did not think of tonight as the boat carried her steadily closer to the Irish shore.

  In the morning she was first down the gangway, running out through the shed and into the street, dodging porters and dockers and cars. She ran all the way home banging her suitcase against her leg as she ran. With her she had brought only clothes, leaving with Rita their dishes and linen.

  Her mother was frying bacon and eggs in the kitchen, the same flowered wrap-around apron girdling her hips, the same pink turban wound about her rollered head.