Foreign Affairs

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, William, the lad is giving her a goodnight kiss. I know you didn’t kiss me until we were engaged, but thankfully not all young men are as prim and proper as you were,’ Theresa retorted. Her husband was speechless. He sat on the bed, shaking his head.

  ‘It must be the medication you’re on. It’s affecting your mind,’ he muttered.

  ‘Well it’s a pity I didn’t go on it a long time ago then,’ Theresa said curtly. She heard Rachel come upstairs, go into the bathroom and a few minutes later go into her own room. Only then did she put the key back in the lock and open the door.

  ‘If you say one word to Rachel tomorrow morning, you’ll be sorry,’ she warned grimly before closing the door gently and slipping back to her own room. Twenty minutes later she heard Ronan come in. Theresa lay in bed, contented. She had got the better of William. He was afraid to upset her in case she had another attack. Before, he would have completely ignored her protests and gone right ahead and caused a row. For the first time in her life she had power over him. Was she going to use it!

  Rachel undressed and hung her gorgeous white dress in the wardrobe. She sat at the dressing-table and cold-creamed her face. It was vital to take make-up off after a night out. All the models said that. Tonight she felt like a model. She felt pretty and sophisticated and happy. She’d gone to her Debs and made a triumphant entrance. She’d danced the night away. Drunk wine, and most importantly, been kissed by Harry. Rachel leaned her chin on her hands and remembered the moment his lips touched hers. It had been glorious. But even more glorious was the deep French kiss he’d given her at the garden gate. Feeling Harry’s tongue in her mouth, gently exploring and caressing, had been a revelation. She could have stayed kissing him all night. He’d liked it when she’d hesitantly slipped her tongue into his mouth. She was shy at first but she got braver and in the end they kissed just like film stars in the pictures. She’d felt like Ali McGraw in Love Story. All that practising, kissing her arm, had paid off.

  Rachel sighed happily. She could honestly say this was the best night of her life. It more than made up for all her misery at school. She pulled her nightdress over her head, unchained the amethyst pendant and removed her earrings. The gold R would never leave her neck, she vowed as she got into bed and pulled the sheets up around her.

  She was going to spend weekends with Harry in Dublin. Even if she had to tell fibs. The gold R would give her courage, she thought, fingering it gently. Too happy to sleep, she lay going over everything that had happened, from the moment Harry put the chain around her neck to the passionate pleasure as he kissed her. Eventually, she fell asleep, smiling.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘Stay this weekend,’ urged Harry. ‘You won’t be in Dublin for much longer once your exams are over. Tell your da you’re going to study the effects of glacial erosion in Donegal or something.’

  ‘I can’t, I’ve used that excuse before.’ Rachel sighed. She and Harry were strolling through the grounds of Trinity on their way to Bewley’s for a cup of coffee before she got the bus to Bray. Harry was doing his best to try and persuade her to stay in Dublin. She wanted to stay with him. Staying with Harry was the loveliest thing.

  She’d been on tenterhooks the first time she’d stayed, just before Christmas. Sure that her father was going to come knocking on the flat door. Harry spent the evening trying to pacify her. In the end he’d asked if she wanted to go home, because if she did he’d get the last bus to Bray with her. Rachel calmed down and told herself she was being schoolgirlish and silly. William wouldn’t dream of doubting her word. He’d never think in a million years that she would tell a deliberate lie. Even now, months later, she could still remember how flustered she was as she mentioned in the most casual tone she could muster that she was going on a field trip with the geography class. They would be staying in hostels, she fibbed. Her face was beet-red, her palms were sweating, she was sure the word LIAR was written all over her forehead. Apart from calling it ‘high-falutin’ nonsense,’ William hadn’t put any opposition in her way. He’d read her textbooks and had to admit that teacher training had changed greatly from when he’d been a student decades ago. These new practices didn’t impress him at all, he declared disdainfully. But Rachel knew he was just annoyed because he couldn’t pontificate to her about what he didn’t know. That made her feel superior to her father. It was a heady experience.

  She was actually enjoying her studies and the looser structure of college life compared to secondary school. She’d become friendly with Pauline, the girl she’d met at the interviews. They often went to the Cat & Cage for a drink with the rest of their classmates. After her success on the night of her Debs, Rachel made herself go to some of the college social events. She found to her surprise that she quite enjoyed herself, although her shyness was still a major problem. But she had a much better social life than she’d ever had in Rathbarry, although it was always a pain having to leave to catch the last bus to Bray. It gave her secret satisfaction that her father had to drive to Bray and collect her and had to stay up past his usual bedtime of eleven p.m. If he’d allowed her to live in, there would have been no need for such nonsense. Her mother would not have had the heart attack and Rachel wouldn’t have felt obliged to live at home.

  Theresa was very pleased that Rachel was mixing with the others in her class and enjoying her studies as well. She had been delighted to hear that Rachel was going on a field trip. Rachel felt awful about lying to her mother. But somehow she felt if Theresa knew where she was going to be, she wouldn’t disapprove. Her mother was extremely fond of Harry and often gave Rachel a tea brack, a soda loaf or scones for him.

  After that first lie, it had got easier. Ronan knew, of course. Now and then he stayed in Dublin too, on the pretext of studying. The three of them, and sometimes Pauline, would stay in Harry’s shabby flat eating pizza, playing Scrabble and drinking wine. Rachel felt happy and carefree on these weekends. For the first time in her life she was having fun.

  She was also having a very enjoyable love affair with Harry. She’d come a long way from kissing her forearm, Rachel thought happily. Now when she stayed with Harry she slept in the big sagging double bed with him. The first few times she’d stayed he’d slept on the sofa and given her the bed. But gradually she grew to know and love and trust him. She plucked up her courage one night and said she wished he wouldn’t sleep on the sofa. He got into bed and cuddled her and they’d started to make love. Harry was very gentle and patient with her and did not pressurize her when she said she didn’t want to go the whole way. Rachel couldn’t believe that she was so daring. She was actually sleeping in the same bed as a man . . . naked. If her father knew he would have apoplexy on the spot. And would Glenda, Mary and Eileen ever believe it, that the caterpillar who was Specky-Four-Eyes Stapleton, had become a gloriously happy butterfly.

  ‘Come on, Rach. Stay for the weekend and we’ll go out to Howth for a picnic and go to a ballad session in the village later,’ Harry urged, and she wavered.

  It sounded so enticing. Howth was one of their favourite spots. But her exams were very near and she had to study. Besides, she’d promised Theresa that she’d go with her to the May procession in honour of Our Lady. Her mother would be very disappointed if she rang to say she wouldn’t be home for the weekend. She couldn’t let her mother down. Not even for Harry.

  ‘I can’t, Harry,’ she said regretfully. ‘I promised Mam I’d go to the procession with her, I can’t let her down.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You can’t.’ Harry had a soft spot for her mother. ‘Come on, let’s go to Bewley’s and I’ll go to the bus with you after we’ve had our coffee,’ he said resignedly.

  As the bus dawdled along at a snail’s pace through Shankill, Rachel thought wistfully of Harry alone in the flat in Dublin. Now that her first year in college was almost over, she longed even more for the liberty living in would give her. Her mother seemed much better the past few months. Her father, though he was
still as strict as ever, seemed to be getting used to the idea that she had a social life of sorts. Maybe over the summer months she might reopen the question of living in college. It would make life much easier for her. Commuting to and from Rathbarry was an awful waste of time, and very tiring. Her father might rethink his opposition to her leaving home. She had studied hard. Her exam results might sway him if they were good, she thought hopefully as Bray Head came into sight.

  Her father was waiting for her, frowning with impatience. The bus was very late. ‘Hurry along, Rachel, I’ve got a meeting with the parish priest and the board of management and I’ll be late. And if there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s being late,’ he grumbled.

  Good enough for you, Rachel thought unsympathetically. Nobody asked you to be my taxi-driver. I’m perfectly capable of making my own way home. She could have left her bike in St Angela’s and cycled. But William was terrified she’d be knocked down on the dual carriageway. He drove at his usual sedate pace of forty mph hogging the middle of the road, oblivious to the cars behind him. Once they got onto the dual carriageway, they were passed by irate motorists, some of them giving William the two fingers. Rachel was used to it and switched off as her father launched into his usual diatribe about how speed kills.

  ‘I’m going straight to the meeting, I’ve had my tea,’ her father said as they drove up to the house a while later. ‘Your mother’s waiting to have her tea with you.’

  ‘OK,’ Rachel said, delighted at the chance to have tea and a natter on her own with her mother. Her father drove off and she stood at the gate inhaling the sweet country air. The cherry blossoms were out and her mother’s garden was a riot of spring flowers. Theresa loved gardening. Rachel smiled as she walked around the back of the house to let herself in the kitchen door. She’d bought an almond ring and a Bewley’s brack, her mother’s favourite, for tea.

  ‘Hi, Mam, I’m home,’ she said cheerfully, as she walked in the back door. Theresa was sitting at the table with her back to her, listening to The Archers. She didn’t answer, her head was bowed as if she’d dozed off. ‘Mam, I’m home, I’ve got an almond ring and brack,’ Rachel said gently, putting an arm around her mother’s shoulders. Theresa’s head lolled sideways. ‘Mam! Are you all right?’ Rachel said in panic, her heart pounding. Her mother’s breathing was very laboured, her skin was waxen and she was unconscious.

  ‘Jesus, Mam! Mam, wake up! It’s all right, I’ll call the doctor. Oh God! Oh don’t do this to me, let Mammy be all right,’ she begged, laying Theresa’s head down on the table. With trembling fingers she opened the little leather book of phone numbers that Theresa kept on the stand by the phone. Doctor Dunne. Where was his number? She was all fingers and thumbs as she flicked through the pages, the names a blur as she tried to read them.

  ‘Oh God, God, please help. Don’t let Mam die,’ she wept as she let the book fall. Conscious that every minute was vitally important she made herself calm down and picked up the book and eventually managed to dial the number.

  ‘Hurry, hurry,’ she muttered frantically. The doctor’s wife answered the phone. Panic-stricken, Rachel gabbled the details to her. Seconds later the doctor came on the line. ‘I’m on my way, Rachel, I’ll call an ambulance,’ he said and hung up.

  Her mother was a dreadful colour when Rachel went back in to her. ‘Mammy, Mammy, I love you, don’t die. Don’t leave me on my own,’ she sobbed, putting her arms around her. ‘Come on, Mam, wake up. It’s Rachel. I’ve got your favourite almond ring,’ she urged. ‘The doctor’s coming. I love you, Mam. I love you more than anyone in the world. Please wake up.’ Rachel’s heart was pounding so fast she thought she was going to faint. Her terror was so real she could almost taste it. Ever since her mother’s attack the previous year, she’d feared this moment. It was her nightmare come true. She didn’t even know enough first aid to help Theresa. Her mother gave a strong shudder and a horrible rattling noise came from her throat.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Rachel screamed. ‘Mam, Mam,’ she pleaded as her mother’s body grew limp. ‘Mammy, don’t be dead. Mam, I love you.’ She sank to her knees knowing with a deep and fearful dread that her mother was dead. The one person in the world who truly loved and protected her was gone. From now on she was on her own.

  Minutes later, the doctor, the priest and William arrived. In a daze, Rachel watched the doctor test Theresa’s non-existent pulse and slowly, sadly shake his head. The priest knelt beside her to whisper an Act of Contrition in her ear and give her the last rites as the doctor went to Rachel’s side and helped her up from the floor. William was sitting in the armchair with his head in his hands. ‘She was fine when I left,’ he muttered. ‘She was looking forward to having her tea with Rachel, she had the table all set and everything.’

  ‘Sit down, Rachel, I’m going to give you a sedative. Your mother didn’t suffer. It was a massive heart attack,’ the doctor said kindly. He sat her down in a chair and went out to the phone and cancelled the ambulance and called the undertaker.

  ‘There’s no need for an autopsy, because of her history. I can sign the death certificate,’ he explained to William. ‘Rachel, take these and come and lie down,’ he said, handing Rachel some tablets and a glass of water.

  ‘I don’t want to leave my mother,’ she said dully.

  ‘Rachel, there’s nothing you can do for her now,’ Father Walsh said compassionately. ‘Her soul is gone to God.’

  Rachel stood up and went over to her mother and put her arms around her. ‘I’m staying with her, leave me alone,’ she said fiercely. She kissed the top of her mother’s head and her eyes brimmed with tears. Despite her illness and hard life, Theresa still had soft golden glints in her chestnut hair although it was liberally sprinkled with grey. She smelt of rosewater. The scent Rachel always associated with her. ‘I’m here,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not going to leave you alone with all these strange men. I know you’d hate that. I’ll mind you, don’t worry,’ she murmured into her mother’s hair. Gently she rocked Theresa in her arms, crooning softly, whispering endearments. ‘You’re the best mother in the world,’ she spoke very softly. ‘Thank you for all the times you stood up for me against Daddy. I know it was all my fault that you had your heart attack last year. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it.’ She started crying again. Heartbroken sobs wrenched her body. Her father stood up and came over to her.

  ‘Stop that crying now, Rachel. It won’t do your mother any good. Go and do what the doctor suggests.’

  ‘You fuck off,’ she said viciously. William couldn’t believe his ears.

  ‘Rachel,’ he hissed.

  ‘It’s all right, William, it’s the shock. I’ll handle it,’ Doctor Dunne said hastily.

  ‘Come and lie down, Rachel,’ he said firmly.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘I think perhaps it would be nice to say the Rosary,’ Father Walsh suggested gently.

  ‘Yes, Father.’ Rachel nodded. ‘Mam would like that.’ They prayed as they waited for the undertaker to arrive. The steady monotonous tone of the priest dulled Rachel’s panic. Theresa had always said the Rosary. The Rosary was familiar. Doctor Dunne saw the hearse arrive.

  ‘Rachel,’ he said kindly, ‘say goodbye to your mother for a little while, you can see her again later in the funeral parlour. I want you to go upstairs and choose what you think Theresa would like to be buried in. Will you do that for me?’ He stared into her eyes, his gaze firm but sympathetic.

  ‘Yes, Doctor,’ she replied, responding to the authority in his voice. She walked upstairs in a daze. Her mother was dead, she told herself. Theresa was gone. She’d never see her again. Ever. ‘Oh God, I’m scared.’ She shivered sitting on Theresa’s bed. She picked up her mother’s scarf and buried her face in it. It still smelt of her mother’s perfume. Rachel could hear the sound of men’s voices downstairs. She had to go back down, she couldn’t leave Theresa on her own with all of them. She hurried out on the landing and saw Sergeant Roach’s w
ife coming up the stairs.

  ‘I have to go down to Mammy, I have to go down. I can’t leave her down there with all of them. What are they going to do to her?’ Her voice was high with hysteria.

  ‘I’ll be there, I’ll stay with Theresa until they’re finished,’ Mrs Roach soothed. ‘Doctor Dunne said you were going to get the clothes to dress her in. I’ll come back up in a couple of minutes and we’ll pick them together, there’s a good girl,’ Mrs Roach said comfortingly, giving Rachel a hug.

  ‘What am I going to do without Mam?’ she whispered. ‘I wish I was dead too.’

  ‘There, there, there,’ the sergeant’s wife said sadly, patting her head as if she was a child. ‘There, there, there.’

  The next few days were a living nightmare. When she saw her mother in her coffin in the funeral parlour that evening Rachel finally realized that Theresa was gone. For ever. Ronan was in a dreadful state. At least she’d been with her mother when she died. He hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. Rachel and he cried in each other’s arms as they stood at the foot of their mother’s coffin. William urged them to control themselves. Such public displays were anathema to him and the more upset his children were, the further he distanced himself from their grief.

  Harry called to pay his respects, shocked by the suddenness of the death. William was not pleased to see him. Harry didn’t want to cause tension so he kept his visit short and told Rachel he’d see her at the removal of the remains. The neighbours were extremely kind and brought in cakes and bracks and tarts for the callers. All the coming and going to the funeral parlour, and then to the church the following evening, kept Rachel and Ronan busy. And they had to make tea for all the people who called. She didn’t have time to think. She didn’t want to think. It was too frightening to think. At night Rachel took the tablets the doctor had given her and fell into a drugged sleep almost immediately. And woke in the mornings feeling heavy-headed, dry-mouthed and woozy knowing that something awful had happened and trying to remember what it was. Then memory would return and reality would intrude on her drug-induced amnesia. Panic and fear would grip her and her heart would start its frantic frightened pounding.