by Mary Larkin
For six wonderful weeks Susan was very contented with her lot; life could not be better. William was coming on like a house on fire. Bright as a button, he viewed the world around him with gurgles and smiles. She was due to return to work at the beginning of September and was looking forward to it. The weather continued to be fine and warm with just the odd dull or wet day. Graham had had a relapse after the night out at the dance. He was confined to bed for three weeks and Alison spent a lot of time at his home. Once he was on his feet again, she went about with a smug smile on her face like the cat who had stolen the cream. It appeared to all concerned that her every wish was Graham’s command. He certainly appeared to be living up to his promise to make Alison happy and stay out of Susan’s hair. What more could she ask?
She saw Jim twice a week; he wanted to see her more often, but tentative efforts to get him to include William in some outings so that they could go out on a Sunday afternoon, for instance, had so far failed. This worried her somewhat, but she convinced herself he needed time to get accustomed to her being a mother. Hadn’t he said, ‘It will take a bit of getting used to’?
To her joy she received a letter from Donald Murphy. Being a maintenance fitter, he had to work during the annual summer holiday, which in Darlington was the last week in July and the first in August. Now he wrote to inform Susan that, starting the second week in August, he was thinking about visiting Northern Ireland to see for himself some of the places she had told him about. He intended travelling up through Scotland to Stranraer and crossing on the ferry to Larne, and wanted to know if he could possibly call and see her and her wee son while he was over? He also asked if she could recommend a good guest house. He would have a three-week break.
As it turned out, Alison was accompanying Graham and his parents to Killarney the first two weeks that Donald would be in Belfast and she was quick to suggest that he could have her room, as it was much bigger than the spare room. It was with trepidation that Susan approached her father and asked if she could offer Alison’s room to Donald for a fortnight.
‘And what has Alison got to say about that?’
‘It was her suggested it, Dad. And Donald was a true friend to me when I lived in Darlington. I could always rely on him.’
Trevor’s eyebrows gathered in a frown. ‘Is he . . .’
‘No,’ she anticipated his question. ‘He’s not William’s father.’
‘Then by all means invite him to stay.’
Inwardly she marvelled at how her father had mellowed in his attitude towards Catholics. There had been a time when he would not have allowed one over his doorstep, let alone hold a civil conversation with one. Now he and Jim got on quite well together. She gave into her instinct to hug him. He released himself quickly from her embrace, but, although embarrassed, she could see he was nevertheless pleased.
She replied that day to Donald’s letter, assuring him of a good Irish welcome, and informed him that he was to stay at her parents’ home. Once he knew dates and times, he was to be sure to let her know immediately what ferry he would be on and when he would arrive, so that she could arrange for someone to meet him at Larne harbour and pilot him to Belfast, him being a stranger to the Emerald Isle.
During her stay in Darlington, Donald had endeavoured to teach her how to drive and had been quite pleased with her efforts. Now she regretted not keeping it up. It would be so handy to be able to drive. Her father’s car often sat unused in the garage at weekends because neither she nor Alison had a driving licence. Perhaps Jim would give her some driving lessons if she asked him? Men were not very forthcoming where women learner drivers were concerned, but perhaps if she worked on him, he might just agree to teach her.
Her excitement bubbled over when she told Jim about Donald coming to visit. They had been to the cinema and were sitting in the car outside the house talking when she told him the news. At first she didn’t notice his withdrawal as she babbled on about how good Donald had been to her. Eventually she broached the subject of learning to drive.
‘Maybe you’ll give me some driving lessons, Jim. Donald will be so surprised if I can drive. He warned me to keep it up or I’d just lose all my confidence. I was coming along great, too. Then I got word about Mam and I had to come home. Will you help me, Jim?’
It was some seconds before she realised he was not responding to her. She turned in her seat and eyed him warily. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘You seem very excited at the idea of meeting this bloke again.’
‘I am.’ She warned herself to be careful; not to give Jim cause for jealousy. ‘He was a very good friend to me when I was over at Aunt Edith’s. I’d have been lost without him.’
He still refused to meet her eye. ‘Is he William’s father?’ he asked flatly.
To her surprise she found that she wanted to lash out at him and tell him to mind his own bloody business. After all, she at last despairingly admitted to herself, he had shown very little interest in William so far, so what did it matter who the father was? Then she remonstrated inwardly. He had the right to know the truth, but it was something she could never tell him. If anything was to come of their relationship, he would have to take her at face value.
‘No, he’s not!’ Her tone of voice brooked no further questions.
He ignored her reticence and suddenly reached out and gripped her hands tightly. ‘Susan, it would be easier all round if you would only tell me the father’s name. Surely you can trust me not to broadcast it?’ His tone deepened. ‘Can’t you see? I need to know,’ he cried in anguish.
If she were to confess to him now, she could imagine how he would react the next time he saw Graham. There was no way he could act normally and all her conniving would be in vain. Leaning towards him, her eyes beseeched him. ‘Jim, I can’t! I can never tell anyone.’
‘Why not?’ he cried in bewilderment. ‘You make it sound like a virgin birth! Did you not realise what was going on until it was too late, or something? Is that why? Did he take advantage of you?’
She remembered the intensity of her brief union with Graham, the pain and the pleasure, and cried, ‘No! No, far from it. I can never accuse him of that. It was by mutual consent.’
He threw her hands from him in disgust. All the doubts and dark thoughts he had harboured for a long time erupted. They came into his mouth and, without thought of the consequences, he spewed them out in despair. ‘You must have been seeing this guy while you were dating me all those months ago,’ he accused. Ignoring her wild shake of the head and the piteous moans of denial coming from her lips, he continued. ‘Were you, Susan? If we had done it that night, would you have palmed William off as mine? Eh, Susan? Is that why you were so keen? Was I intended to be the fall guy? When I didn’t play ball, is that why you ran off to England?’
The enormity of this tirade was like an icy wind blowing through her, leaving her numb to the core. She gaped at him in horror, eyes and mouth stretched wide. How could he think that of her? All these weeks while he dated her he had been harbouring these terrible dark thoughts. Distraught, she cried, ‘How can you think that?’
‘Why not? Can you blame me? You certainly have never shown such passion since,’ he muttered bitterly.
Slowly a hot rage consumed her at his audacity. How dare he! All this time he had been waiting for her to throw herself at him again. Who did he think he was? Well, he would have a long wait! Never again would she risk rejection such as she had been subjected to at his hands. Her tongue was sharp when at last she found her voice and upbraided him, ‘Shall I tell you why that is?’ she hissed. ‘It’s because I’m afraid that maybe this time you might think I’m easy prey and that I’ll let you have your way with me and then run away again, perhaps leaving me with another child. Besides which, you’re not exactly the world’s most passionate lover yourself, you know! It’s not too hard for me to control my emotions when I’m with you. We may as well be an old married couple for all the passion you show.’ Aghast at the effrontery of her rem
arks, she fumbled for the door handle. The close confinement of the car was becoming unbearable. She must get away before he insulted her further, in retaliation. He would never forgive her for attacking his ego like that. But it was true! There had been no great moments of passion between them, as once there had been. Even at the dances when they had danced close together, there was no great awareness; no longing to be alone. Not on her part, anyhow. He must have noticed it too. She had been foolish enough to think it was out of respect for her.
Before she could open the door, his hands suddenly gripped her shoulders, shook her and roughly pulled her towards him. ‘You want a display of passion, do you? Eh? How about this?’ His lips were brutal as they crushed against hers, and she tasted blood as she frantically tried to escape his savage kiss. ‘And this!’ She struggled to be free, but he held her firmly in one arm and his free hand was relentless in his endeavour to hurt. He tore wildly at her blouse. It was of flimsy material and the buttons gave easily under his attack. Pushing her bra roughly to one side, he cupped her breast and kneaded it with sharp, cruel fingers. ‘Is this how you like it? Eh, Susan? Is this how it was with him? Do you like it rough?’
With one last desperate push she managed to free herself from his grasp and this time her groping hand found the door handle. Gripping the ends of her blouse together with one hand to hide her nakedness, she grabbed her bag, stumbled from the car, almost falling, and raced blindly up the steps. With hands that shook she had the key out, the door open and was through it before he had time to get out of the car.
He gazed after her in stunned silence. Dear God, what on earth had possessed him to attack her like that? He, who had never once lifted a hand or raised his voice in mock anger at his sisters when they were disobedient? He looked down at his hands; they were trembling, and no wonder! He was shaking all over. He started to get out of the car - he had to beg her forgiveness, explain how her silence had been tormenting him all these weeks. He must somehow get her to understand that he was only human and needed to know the truth. Then he sank back in his seat in defeat, his hands washing over his face in anguish. She could never have a rational conversation with him now. Not the state she was in. And who could blame her! How she must hate him. He might wake the whole household if he went after her. He cringed when he pictured how Trevor would react if he saw her torn blouse. Head in hands, he sat for some time regaining control of his shaking body, then slowly set the car in motion and drove away.
Passionless! Did you ever hear the like of it? She thought him passionless. He wanted to weep at the very idea. If only she knew the times he had wanted to ravage her; arouse her to awareness such as she had known before and, declaring his love, ask her to marry him. Well, why hadn’t he, he ranted inwardly? Because he wasn’t sure how she felt towards him. What if he was unable to arouse her? The emotions they used to ignite in each other at the slightest provocation were no more. He had hoped to rekindle them. Now it was too late. He had ruined everything by losing his self-control like some wild beast. Besides, now there was the child to consider. He found he couldn’t work up any great enthusiasm for this other man’s offspring. Perhaps if she had trusted him enough to tell him the father’s name he might have felt differently. Then this would never have happened. Surely he had the right to know his identity, if they were to marry.
Susan stood trembling with her back pressed against the door in the dark hall, willing him to go away. What if he came to the door and created a scene and woke her father? There would be hell to pay. At last she heard the engine start up and, with a sigh of relief, pushed herself away from the door. It was too early to lock up for the night. Alison couldn’t be home yet. They had made arrangements to leave their door key on the hall-stand so that the last one in would know to lock and bar the door. There was no sign of Alison’s key. Wearily, she climbed the stairs. Perversely, now that Jim was gone, she derided him for not following her. He must surely have known how upset she was; why hadn’t he tried to put matters right? Offered some kind of apology for his bullish behaviour? But then, could she ever forgive him?
She paused outside her parents’ bedroom, but all was silent, except for the usual rhythmic snoring from her father. William must be in his cot. Continuing on up the stairs she entered the nursery. She had managed to get William into a routine whereby he slept in his cot most of the night and had insisted that her parents bear with her and use the intercom when babysitting. He lay in his usual spreadeagled position with the bedclothes kicked off. Bending over the cot, she gently caressed his small head and pulled the blankets back over him before entering her own room and quickly undressing.
She had just pulled on her pyjama coat when she heard light footsteps on the stairs. A tap on the door and her mother entered the room, holding the other half of the intercom.
‘I thought you might need this, Susan,’ she whispered.
‘Thanks, Mam, but really, you shouldn’t have got out of bed. You should have just turned it off. After all, he’s right next door to me, I would have been sure to hear him.’
‘It’s still quite early. Your father is snoring away, but I was reading.’ She peered intently at her daughter. ‘Are you all right, love?’
‘Yes! Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘I have a confession to make. I was on my way to the bathroom and I glanced out of the landing window earlier on and I saw you leave Jim’s car. You seemed in a big hurry to get away from him. Have you two had a tiff?’
Suddenly it all proved too much for Susan and, covering her face with her hands, she sank down on the bed. ‘Oh, Mam. I don’t know what to do. Jim doesn’t want William.’
Quickly crossing the floor, Rachel sat down beside her and put a comforting arm across her shoulders. ‘Perhaps he just needs time?’
‘You must surely have noticed, Mam, how we never take William out with us? Even when Jim’s in the house he pays little attention to him. He’s yet to hold him.’
‘You can’t very well take him to a dance or the pictures, Susan,’ Rachel reasoned gently.
‘He wants to see me more often, but I’ve tried to get him to take me and William out at weekends. You know, to the park or the beach, even over to the zoo. Just to let him get to know what a lovely baby William is, but Jim never takes the hint. He just doesn’t want to know.’
‘From what I’ve heard, he seems to be a nice, hard-working, caring lad. Even your dad likes him, and you know how he feels about you girls dating Catholics. Not many men would support their families like Jim has, since his father died. Perhaps that’s why he’s reluctant to take on someone else’s responsibilities. Don’t be too rash, Susan. Give him more time.’
‘Time won’t change anything. You see, he insists on knowing who the father is.’
‘Ah, now, Susan. He has the right to know. Surely you can at least confide in him?’
‘That’s just it! I can’t, Mam! Once he knows, his opinion of me would be so low, he’d walk away for ever. So I’d be daft to tell him.’
This revelation left Rachel aghast. ‘Ah, love,’ she muttered in despair. ‘What’s going to become of you? No matter who you meet, they will want to know the truth.’
‘Yes, I know! And there’s those I could tell, and they would respect my wishes and it wouldn’t make any difference to them. But not Jim! Mam, I wish I could explain. It’s all such a sorry mess. I only wish I could tell the truth. Get it off my chest. Indeed, it would be a relief! But too many people would be hurt.’ Tears continued to flow.
Bewildered, Rachel gathered her close, at a loss how to comfort her daughter. Who on earth was this mystery man? ‘Don’t take it so much to heart, love. If he’s the one for you, he will marry you in spite of everything. If not, you’ll meet someone else. You’re young! You’ve your whole life ahead of you.’ She rocked her daughter gently until at last the sobs petered out and the tears stopped.
Dabbing her eyes with the corner of her pyjama jacket, Susan said, ‘You’re right, Mam. But if he comes back
tomorrow - not that I think he’d have the audacity, but if he does - I don’t want to see him. You’ll make some excuse for me, won’t you? I need time to think.’
‘All right. I’ll do my best,’ Rachel promised sadly.
Next morning Susan was appalled to see bruises on her upper arms and breast. She hadn’t realised Jim had been so brutal. But then, she did bruise easily, she reminded herself, only to cry in retaliation that he had no right to abuse her at all! No right whatsoever!
She had to get out of the house in case he returned. There was no way she could face him at the present time. She would phone Ruth and see if she was free, and if so, perhaps they could go to the park for a picnic. This plan, however, was quickly abandoned. Ruth would guess right away that something was wrong and would wheedle the truth out of her, and she didn’t want to make any confessions she might later regret.
At breakfast Alison gazed at her in concern. ‘You look awful this morning, Susan! Are you ill?’
‘No, William was restless during the night. I didn’t get much sleep.’
‘Was he? I didn’t hear him. But of course I was home late and was out like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow.’
Rachel came to Susan’s rescue. ‘I was thinking that perhaps your father . . .’ An eyebrow was raised towards the foot of the table, where Trevor was scanning the morning paper as he ate breakfast.
Aware of the sudden silence, he glanced up. ‘Did someone speak to me?’
‘I was wondering if you would run us all down to Enniskillen to visit my parents today. They haven’t seen William since shortly after he was born. They would be so pleased.’
‘I don’t see why not. But it will only be a flying visit, mind. I don’t fancy driving home late at night. I’d probably fall asleep behind the wheel.’
