by Tara Hyland
Still looking at Franny, Conrad said, ‘Are you going to the dance on Friday?’
‘What else would I be doing?’ she teased.
He was referring to the annual summer social, held in the local Town Hall. Franny was hoping Sean would take her.
‘Well, er . . .’ Conrad hesitated, clearly wanting to ask her to go with him. But as he looked between Maggie and Theresa, he chickened out. ‘Save a dance for me, will you?’
Ignoring the furious look on her sister’s face, Franny smiled up at him. ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’
Conrad blushed deep red. Then, after mumbling goodbye, he hurried back to his elderly mother.
Later, after everyone had left, Michael said to his wife, ‘I saw you talking to Conrad Walsh.’
‘He’s a good lad,’ Theresa acknowledged.
‘Aye,’ her husband agreed. ‘No doubt he’ll be coming to ask me the question about Maggie soon.’
Consolidation of smallholdings like the Healeys’ and the Walshes’ was becoming more widespread. It was common knowledge that Michael Healey favoured a tie-up between the two farms, through the marriage of his elder daughter to Conrad.
‘Humph,’ Maggie snorted. ‘Conrad’s never going to notice me with her,’ she glared at Franny, ‘flaunting herself in front of him.’
‘Oh, give over.’ Franny had heard the same accusations many times before. Her easy way with men was seen by the small minds of Glen Vale as evidence that she was forward. But while she liked flirting with boys, Sean was the only one who meant anything to her. Conventional Conrad couldn’t measure up to the dangerously handsome labourer. ‘If you want Conrad to notice you, it might help if you opened your mouth when he speaks to you.’
Unable to think up a smart retort, Maggie turned to their father. ‘Mark my words, Da. There’ll be no marriage between me and Conrad while she’s around.’
If she’d been hoping to gain some sympathy, she’d picked the wrong person to appeal to. Michael simply shrugged. ‘Well, if he’s not keen on you, Maggie, then our Franny will do just as well.’
‘Michael!’ his wife scolded.
But it was too late. Maggie let out a cry of distress and raced up the stairs to her room.
‘What?’ Michael looked around in bewilderment. To him, this was business; female sensitivities had no place here. ‘What did I say?’
Franny ran after her sister. They might argue like alley cats, but she still didn’t like to see Maggie upset. She found her in the tiny bedroom that the two girls shared, lying face down on the bed, crying. Franny went to sit beside her, putting a comforting hand on the other girl’s shoulder.
‘Ah, come on with you,’ she said, trying to jolly her elder sister along. ‘It’s not like I want Conrad. He’s all yours, sis, I promise.’
The words were meant to be comforting, but Maggie rounded on her, red eyes flashing. ‘Oh well, thank you kindly.’ She pretended to touch her forelock. ‘How very generous of you to let me have your cast-offs!’
Franny was immediately contrite. ‘You know I didn’t mean it like that.’
But her sister didn’t want to hear it. ‘Get away from me, you little hussy,’ she hissed. ‘Go to that gypsy you’re so willing to open your legs for.’ Seeing the shocked expression on Franny’s face, she smiled nastily. ‘You think I don’t hear you sneaking out at night to see that Sean? I know exactly what you’re up to with him, and I’d have told Mam by now if I wasn’t sure you were going to get into trouble all on your own. So go to him and leave me alone, dear sister. I want nothing to do with the likes of you.’
Maggie turned away then, burying her head into the pillow. Franny sat there for a moment, speechless. The venom in her sister’s voice had shaken her. It frightened her more than discovering that Maggie knew about Sean. She wanted to make things right with her elder sister, but didn’t know how, so instead she got up and left the room. She would let Maggie calm down and try to reason with her later.
It was hard for Franny to forget her sister’s vicious words. Even much later, when she was lying in Sean’s arms, she couldn’t stop thinking about them.
‘She must really hate me,’ Franny mused.
Sean, busy grazing her neck with his lips, raised his head briefly. ‘Ah, forget about her. She’s just a dried-up old cow.’
‘Sean!’ It was one thing for Franny to criticise her sister, but she didn’t like to hear it from others, even her lover. However much Maggie irritated her, they were still blood and he was the outsider.
Sean was repentant. ‘Look, I’m sorry. It’s just we have so little time together, and I don’t want to waste it talking about your feckin’ sister.’
It was a good point. There were precious few opportunities for her to sneak out to meet him. Why bother taking the risk if they weren’t going to enjoy themselves?
‘As always, you’re right,’ she conceded. Then to show she was sorry, she tilted her head back and kissed him. After a moment, Sean groaned deep in the back of his throat, and pulled her on top of him.
It was a month since that first night she’d come to him, and by now they had the routine down pat. The first time hadn’t exactly been pleasant for Franny. It had been more awkward and embarrassing really, and she remembered quite a bit of pain. She had bled on and off for a few days afterwards, and at first she’d wondered if something was very badly wrong; she’d even sworn to herself that if it cleared up she’d never do the same thing again. But once everything was back to normal, it was easier to forget her fears than refuse Sean.
Sometimes Franny wished they could go somewhere other than the small, hard bed in his one-room cottage. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic setting. He’d promised that once he had some money together he would take her to a hotel in Cork. They’d spent hours planning the occasion; concocting the lie she would tell her parents so she could stay away overnight. But, like a lot of Sean’s promises, the longed-for treat had yet to materialise.
Now he turned Franny onto her back, kneeling between her legs. It was only then that she realised he had forgotten something.
‘Wait!’ she said. ‘What about the . . . ?’
He looked confused for a moment, and she hoped he wouldn’t make her say it out loud. She didn’t particularly like the French Letters that he’d got off a soldier while he was in England – ‘the Army gave them out to all the men’ – but if they stopped her getting pregnant, she was happy to use them.
‘I’ve run out again,’ he said, sitting back on his haunches. She averted her eyes, wishing he’d cover himself up. However intimate they had been together, she couldn’t get used to his unashamed nakedness.
‘Could we not do . . . the other stuff, then?’ she said, as delicately as possible. This had happened once before, a few weeks earlier. They’d got around the problem then by Sean showing her other ways to pleasure him. Unfortunately this time he didn’t seem interested.
‘It’s not the same,’ he said, moving back across the bed towards her. ‘I want to be inside you.’
An image of her worn-down mother popped unbidden into Franny’s mind, and she shrank away from him.
‘But I don’t want a baby!’ She made no effort to keep the alarm out of her voice. She wasn’t sure what worried her more – eternal damnation or getting pregnant. Before, her monthlies had always been something to dread. But now seeing the reassuring stain on her knickers was a cause for celebration.
Sean burst out laughing, and she felt more of a fool than before. ‘Is that what’s worrying you? Well, you’ve got nothing to fear on that count.’ Then, to her embarrassment, he began to explain how she would be safe if he didn’t spill his seed inside her.
‘But why haven’t we done it that way before?’ She wasn’t willing to give in quite yet.
‘I didn’t think you’d believe me.’
Franny bit her lip and said nothing.
‘Don’t you trust me?’ It was the hurt look on his face that did it for her.
‘Of course I
do.’ It was always so hard to win an argument with Sean, even when Franny thought she was in the right to begin with. Somehow she always ended up giving in to him. ‘I just don’t want anything to go wrong, that’s all.’
He grinned down at her. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I swear.’
Afterwards, Franny lay in Sean’s arms. Usually the cuddling was her favourite part, but today she couldn’t relax. Birth control was illegal in Ireland, so it wasn’t easy to get hold of the French Letters. Luckily Sean knew somebody who worked down at Cork docks, and he smuggled them in from England. The black market price was exorbitant, but worth it for the peace of mind.
‘Are you going to see that friend of yours soon?’ Franny asked now.
Before he fell off to sleep, Sean promised drowsily that the next time he went into town he would sort something out.
But a week later, he came back from Cork empty-handed. Apparently his contact hadn’t been around, but he swore that he would go back the following week to see him.
Unfortunately, when the next weekend arrived, the docker still wasn’t anywhere to be found. Franny worried about continuing to lie together without taking any precautions. But she had no one to discuss her fears with, no one to ask whether Sean’s theory was right – apart from Sean. And he kept assuring her that it was perfectly safe and that he was being careful. And after she’d given in that first time, it was hard to justify why they should stop.
Chapter Three
‘Are you planning on stirring that anytime today, missy? Or are you hoping that if you stare at it long enough it will make itself?’
The sharp tone in her mother’s voice jolted Franny out of her daydream. The women were in the kitchen, baking a barmbrack for All Hallows’ Eve. Looking down at the mixing bowl in her hands, she saw that the yeast mixture was no closer to being folded into the flour than when she had started twenty minutes ago. The girl sighed then, and it was as though she had all the troubles of the world on her shoulders.
‘Sorry, Mam. I’m not feeling too good.’
Theresa peered at her daughter. Franny was a good little actress, and certainly not above feigning sickness to get out of work. But the girl’s pale face and listless demeanour told her that this time she wasn’t faking.
‘If you’re not well, then why don’t you go upstairs and lie down?’
Franny considered this for a moment, and then said, ‘Thanks, Mam, but I think I’ll get some air instead. That’ll help clear my head.’
Theresa gave a brief nod. ‘Go on with you now. Maggie can do your chores instead.’
‘That’s not fair!’ Maggie burst out. ‘Why does she get out of working?’
‘Because she’s sick,’ their mother said firmly. ‘She’d do the same for you if you were poorly.’
Maggie snorted her disbelief. ‘The only bug she’s got is laziness,’ she muttered. Franny had already taken off her apron and was on her way out of the door, but hearing her sister’s words she turned back.
‘Will you ever give over, Maggie?’ Her green eyes flashed with anger. ‘No wonder no man wants you. Your moaning is enough to make anyone with sense run a mile!’ With that, she flounced out of the kitchen, banging the door behind her.
Maggie stared after her, open-mouthed.
‘What’s up with her?’ Theresa was genuinely confused by her younger daughter’s behaviour. Franny was the good-natured one in the family. She usually brushed off Maggie’s little jibes with a laugh. It was unlike her to be cruel – thoughtless, yes, but never deliberately cruel.
Maggie, recovering quickly, said, ‘Mooning over yer man, no doubt.’
‘What man?’ Theresa looked over at her sharply. ‘That Sean, you mean?’
Her elder daughter hesitated for a moment, as though she was about to say something, and then seemed to change her mind. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m just guessing. Forget I said anything.’
Theresa didn’t press her daughter further, but as she began to knead the dough, her thoughts were on Franny. She had a bad feeling she knew exactly what was up with her youngest. And if she was right, it would mean trouble for them all.
‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a week since my last Confession.’
Franny felt the same prickle of nerves that she experienced every time she knelt in the Confessional box. It didn’t matter that the priest was behind a curtain and couldn’t see her face, he knew precisely who she was from the moment she opened her mouth. She wasn’t even sure why she’d come here today. But after escaping the farmhouse she hadn’t known where else to go, and the tranquillity of the old stone church at least provided a quiet place to think. It had just been a coincidence that the priest was holding Confession that afternoon, and she certainly had her share of sins to confess. But now she was here, Franny’s courage had deserted her.
‘Go on, child,’ the priest prompted.
The girl opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t form the words. After all, what was she meant to say – that she had fornicated, not once but several times over the past few months, and that her actions had resulted in what she had feared most: a baby, a bastard child, conceived out of wedlock, and likely to be born that way, unless she did something quickly.
Franny’s suspicions about her condition had been there for a while now. She’d kept her worries to herself for as long as possible, praying for a miracle, but when nothing happened she had finally plucked up the courage to tell Sean the previous day.
‘Are you sure?’ he had asked immediately.
It was a question she had put to herself a million times. Sometimes at night, lying on her back in bed, she would place a hand on her flat stomach, and feel sure that no child could be growing inside. But however hard she tried to convince herself, she knew it wasn’t true. It had been four months since she’d started sleeping with Sean, and two months now since she had bled.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said quietly.
It was admitting it out loud that set the tears off. Up until then, she hadn’t cried – she’d been in too much shock. But now she let her fears out. Needing the money, Sean had given in to her father and stayed on to help bring in the harvest, but with the winter closing in, he would have to move off soon in search of other work. She needed to sort this with him before that happened.
Sean put his arms around her. ‘Hush, don’t cry, my pretty colleen. There’s nothing broke that can’t be fixed.’
Franny let him hold her as she wept. He continued to whisper reassurances, until her sobbing finally slowed.
‘Oh, Sean,’ she sighed despairingly, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘What are we going to do?’
There was a moment of silence, and then Sean said, ‘I have an idea.’
Franny tipped her head up to look at him. ‘Tell me.’
‘There’s a woman I know of, back where I lived in London,’ he began carefully. ‘She’s a midwife, as good as any doctor. She helped a couple of girls I knew when they were in a similar situation.’
It took Franny a moment to understand what he was saying. She pulled back from his arms. ‘What do you mean?’ she said warily. ‘You’re not suggesting getting rid of it?’
He spread his hands in surrender. It was a gesture she was used to seeing. Initially she had liked Sean’s carefree approach to everything, but lately she had also begun to realise the other side to this: he wasn’t keen on responsibility.
‘But I thought we’d get wed.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She watched his face blanch.
‘Married?’ He choked over the word. He stood up abruptly, and she fell back on the bed. ‘Ah, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ He said it with an air of forced jollity, even attempting the cheeky grin that she’d come to know so well, trying to charm her. ‘You know I’m not the marrying kind.’
‘Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you invited me into your bed,’ Franny said crossly.
They stared at each other
for a long moment. Franny held Sean’s gaze, determined to shame him. Her heart was beating so fast that she feared it would explode. Was he going to let her down? But then something in his expression changed; his face grew serious.
‘You’re right, my darlin’,’ he said gravely. ‘’Tis time I started taking my responsibilities seriously.’ He went over and took her hand. ‘We’ll find a way through this – together. I promise.’
Hearing that, she’d felt relief flood through her: he was going to stand by her, after all. And, she reasoned to herself, was it any wonder he’d reacted badly to begin with? Finding out that he was going to be a father was bound to be a shock to him. It had hit her hard enough.
After their conversation, Franny had found it impossible to sleep, as she thought about everything that had been said. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but they could still make this work. They would have to get married straight away, and of course they would need to stay here on the farm for a little while, at least until the baby was born. But after that, they could go somewhere else, just the three of them. To England or America, and start a new life. It didn’t have to be the end. Not as long as they had each other.
Franny had been so eager that morning to tell Sean about her plans that she had got up while it was still dark, and hurried over to his little cottage. When he didn’t answer the door, she tried the handle. Inside, it took her a moment to register the scene: the stripped mattress, the empty wardrobe. Sean wasn’t there. And nor were any of his things. He had left her.
She was so shocked that at first she didn’t notice there was an envelope on the bed, with her name on. Seeing it, she felt hope rise within her. Perhaps he’d left instructions for her to meet him later, she thought wildly as she tore it open; maybe he wanted them to elope and he had gone to sort out the arrangements. But inside, all she found was a note with the address of the English abortionist he’d spoken about, along with two pounds – the equivalent of two weeks’ wages. Was that all she was worth?
