by Anne Bennett
At the door, Michael glanced back and, checking that Maeve was too far away to hear, asked, ‘What exactly is wrong with her? I mean I knew about the baby, but what else?’
‘We can’t discuss individual patients Mr . . .?’ the nurse said reprovingly.
‘O’Toole. I’m Maeve’s uncle.’
‘You’d have to make an appointment to see the specialist, Mr O’Toole,’ the nurse told him. ‘And even then it is up to the patient whether she wants you to know or not.’
The same information was given to Lily Hogan. The woman thought the whole thing ridiculous. So what if their Brendan’s wife had had a stillbirth? It wasn’t the end of the bloody world. She wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. Other women would have got up from their bed this long time and seen to their homes and their husbands, not lie in hospital wallowing in sympathy and being waited on hand and foot and feeling sorry for themselves. She told Brendan to put his foot down and insist she come home and do her duty, and send that interfering sod Elsie Phillips back where she came from. But Brendan, who’d had a sound ticking off from the doctor, who’d told him he could think himself lucky he wasn’t on an assault-and-battery charge, for once seemed reluctant to do that.
‘The doctors know what they are doing, Ma,’ he said.
But did they? That’s what she asked the nurse and they refused to tell anything. ‘I’m her mother-in-law,’ she snapped at the matron, whose face was so stiff it might have been dipped in the same starch as her apron and cap.
‘I don’t care if you are the Virgin Mary,’ the matron replied crisply. ‘Not only do we have to have the patient’s permission, but you’d also have to see the doctor.’
Lily was outraged. Fancy speaking to her like that and saying that about the Virgin Mary. It was blasphemous, that’s what. She made the sign of the cross to be on the safe side before going in to see Maeve.
‘It doesn’t do to dwell on it,’ she told her sharply. ‘After all, you can try again.’
‘I can’t, Lily,’ Maeve told her. ‘There is damage to my insides. I can’t have any more.’
That had Lily nonplussed for a minute, and she thought it probably explained why Maeve was in hospital. Brendan hadn’t told her any of that. ‘Still and all,’ she said at last, ‘sure don’t you have five fine weans already? That’s enough for anyone to rear.’
Especially married to your son, Maeve might have said, but instead she just agreed with her.
Only with Elsie could Maeve be herself. With everyone else she put on an act. Even those in Ireland were not told the whole story and though the sympathetic letters were a comfort to her, in her replies there was much she couldn’t say.
Elsie had the running of the house again, and though Grace helped as much as she could she knew she’d find it hard without their good neighbour next door.
As Maeve’s third week in hospital drew to a close Elsie said, ‘You have kids to be proud of, Maeve. Grace is like a mother to the little ones and getting to be a first-class cook. Even little Bridget is doing her share, washing the dishes and seeing to Mary Ann and Jamie – when he’ll let her, of course. As for Kevin, well, he’s a lad and a half. He orders the coal for you, and pays for it too. Says he’ll do the same every Saturday after work. He called round to me on Wednesday and asked me if I wanted any money, but I’m all right. Brendan can’t try any of his tricks on me like he does you, and that Gwen Moss gives Kevin a basket of food every Friday. I don’t know where she gets some of the stuff from. It does you good to see the kids tucking in like they do.’
Maeve wondered bleakly if anyone missed her at all – certainly everyone seemed to function perfectly all right without her.
Elsie saw the drop in her friend’s spirit and, guessing the reason, said reassuringly, ‘Of course, they talk about you all the time. It’s not the same place without you at all. Mary Ann is the worst, because she’s too young to explain to. She often cried in the beginning, and Bridget and Jamie never give over asking when you’ll be home again.’
Maeve wondered herself as day followed day. She realised how close Christmas was when the nurses began decorating the wards. She definitely didn’t want to spend Christmas in hospital and asked the doctor when he came on his rounds.
‘Oh, I see you’re fed up with us,’ he said in a bantering tone. ‘We patch you up, wait on you hand and foot and as soon as you feel better you can’t wait to go home again.’
‘My weans are missing me,’ Maeve said. ‘I feel fine now.’
‘You’re certainly better than when you came in,’ the doctor agreed. ‘I think you can go home in the next day or two.’
Maeve said nothing about this to Elsie. She saw no point in raising the children’s hopes only to have them dashed. She decided to wait until she had a definite date for her discharge. But the doctor was true to his word and just four days before Christmas Maeve went home, determined, despite everything, to make it an especially good one for her children.
She was scared meeting Brendan for the first time, and flabbergasted that he seemed determined to ignore the whole incident. She spoke to him as little as possible, but when she did, she made sure her voice did not tremble. She was determined, however she felt inside, she would not let the monster she was married to be aware of her fear.
However, Christmas was quite a grim time, despite the decorations Kevin bought to brighten the place up, and the piece of pork Grace had got from the market in the Bull Ring.
Kevin came round on Christmas Eve night, loaded with presents for the children, knowing his father would be out. Maeve was speechless, for the shops were bare and she, like many other mothers, had nothing but a good meal to offer the children on Christmas Day. But Kevin hadn’t bought the toys: they’d been donated by Gwen Moss and had once belonged to her son.
Gwen Moss loved having Kevin live with her. She envied his mother giving birth to a son she would be able to watch grow into manhood although she felt sorry that after his years in Ireland his mother had got him back only to lose him again. And for that reason, knowing Kevin’s brother and sisters would have nothing for Christmas, she’d taken him into the storeroom at the back of the shop and had found the strength to part with Stanley’s old toys.
On Christmas morning the children gave whoops of delight as they opened the stockings Kevin had helped fill. He’d saved his sweets rations to buy a bar of chocolate for each of them and he added a silver sixpence and an orange, which he’d queued for two and a half hours to get the previous Saturday evening, when he was given the nod by one of the stallholders he’d got to know that there were some due in. In all their lives, the little ones had never had an orange and Maeve could hardly wait till morning to see their faces.
But there were more delights: marbles and more cars for Jamie, a whip and top for Bridget and colouring books and crayons for both, and a book about someone called Little Black Sambo for Jamie, and Brer Rabbit for Bridget. Mary Ann had the truck full of bricks that had been Gwen and Syd’s present to their son on his first birthday. Gwen had felt a pang giving it to Kevin, but it was her way of trying to make it up to Kevin’s mother.
But Kevin hadn’t forgotten his mother or Grace either. He’d bought Grace a box of white hankies, lace-edged and with a G embroidered in one corner, and Grace thought they were far too lovely just to wipe her nose on and wondered if she’d ever use them for that purpose. Maeve, on the other hand, was delighted with the Minster silk stockings he gave her. They’d cost him three and elevenpence and some of his precious clothing coupons, but he thought his mother well worth it. He hadn’t let either his mother or Grace open their presents on Christmas Eve, but when he woke in his bedroom at the Mosses’ on Christmas morning he could imagine their pleasure and surprise.
He walked to St Catherine’s as he’d done every Sunday for nine o’clock Mass and met his family after it. He’d rightly guessed that his father would not be attending the early service. His mother was glad to see him and despite the crowds around her,
gave him a hug and wished him Happy Christmas, and Jamie and Bridget danced around him, holding his hands and crying he must come to the house and see what Santa had brought them.
But Kevin knew he could not do that. Promising he would come and see their new toys soon, he walked away from the family. Maeve watched him go and willed herself not to cry, knowing it would be noticed if she did. But Bridget and Jamie grizzled all the way home, and even Grace had a lump in her throat.
After that the day felt flat. Maeve tried to regenerate it and so did Grace, building up towers of blocks for Mary Ann to destroy and reading the two books the children had been given. And it might have worked. But the minute Brendan stepped over the threshold, after eleven o’clock Mass, sober, for the pubs were closed, and furious because of it, the atmosphere changed. Maeve felt as if a leaden weight had been attached to her innards and knew by the children’s muted excitement and lack of chatter that they were similarly affected.
The meal was eaten in almost total silence and it was Jamie that lit the blue touchpaper.
‘D’you think Santa left Kevin summat too, Mammy?’ he said. ‘Or is he too old now?’
Brendan leapt to his feet and lifted Jamie up by his shirt front, while his fist banged the table so that the crockery jumped. ‘I’ll not have that name mentioned in this house,’ he yelled into Jamie’s terrified face as he shook him like a rat. ‘Do . . . you . . . understand? He’s no bloody son of mine.’
Both Maeve and Grace were on their feet to protest, and Bridget and Mary Ann were crying and Jamie was screaming when he had the breath to do so.
Maeve saw Brendan’s face was almost purple and a pulse beat in his temple and she thought it was a pity he hadn’t killed himself before now in a fit of apoplexy. ‘Leave him alone!’ she yelled, beating at Brendan with her fists.
‘Leave him alone, did you say?’ Brendan said. ‘Leave him alone? Oh, I’ll leave him well alone. Will this satisfy you, you stupid barren sod, you excuse for a woman?’
And so saying, he threw Jamie from him. The child hit the wall and Maeve heard the sickening thud of his head knocked against it and he slithered to a heap, his face grey and his eyes rolling in his head. With a cry, Maeve and Grace ran to him and Bridget crawled under the table, dragging Mary Ann after her as the row raged above them.
Afterwards, Maeve knew the happy anticipation they’d woken with that morning and the wonder of the toys Santa had brought them had been wiped out. Only the ugly scene at dinnertime would be remembered. That saddened her, but she knew it could have been worse. At least Jamie had not been seriously injured, as he could have been. The cruel words Brendan had thrown at her were only what she was becoming used to, and she’d bawled back at him, ‘I wish you were dead, do you hear? I wish you were dead!’
Later she gathered the children around her. ‘You’re not to breathe a word of this to Kevin,’ she said. ‘Sure you won’t? Now promise me.’
‘Ah, Mammy!’ Jamie said. He wanted to tell Kevin all about it and get him to feel the duck egg on the back of his head and at least sympathise with him, but his mammy looked at him sternly.
‘Don’t you remember what your daddy did to Kevin last time?’ she asked.
Jamie nodded. He remembered only too well.
‘Well, do you want him to go through that again?’
No of course he didn’t. Jamie shook his head vigorously.
‘Then keep your lips buttoned,’ Maeve said firmly and, glancing at the others, added, ‘And that goes for you, Grace and Bridget, as well.’
And Grace sighed. The pleasure had drained out of the day for her too, and she wished it were over.
‘You go down to that bloody shop today and get some money off that son of yours,’ Brendan growled out to Maeve the second Friday in January as he ate his breakfast.
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
‘Brendan, we can’t take money off Kevin.’
Brendan slapped Maeve across the mouth. ‘I don’t want to hear his name.’
The sting in Maeve’s cheek enraged her. ‘Don’t you tell me what to say now,’ she cried. ‘God help me if I can’t say my own son’s name.’
Brendan grabbed her by the throat. ‘You do,’ he said, ‘and I’ll bust your mouth for you so bad, you’ll not be able to say anything for some time.’
Maeve was frightened, but she twisted from his grasp and faced him across the table. ‘Aye, that’s your style,’ she taunted, ‘bullying women and weans. Last time you came upon Kevin, you came out the worst and he’s just a boy yet. If I were you, Brendan, I’d be trembling in my shoes, for Kevin might easily come looking for you when he’s a man.’
The smile on Brendan’s face was one of pure evil. ‘There’s more than one way of killing the cat,’ he said, ‘and you’d do well to remember that.’ He saw the blood drain from Maeve’s face with satisfaction and went on, ‘Now, you go down to that shop today and get some money out of the bloody sod. He owes us, and he should give something into the house.’
Maeve knew that Kevin already gave plenty to the house, as well as the odd bits and pieces he brought from the shop and the things he bought in from the Bull Ring. But none of this could she share with Brendan and she had no intention of doing so. ‘Tell him you need the money,’ Brendan said. ‘He’ll believe you.’
‘But it won’t be for me, will it?’ Maeve said. ‘Let’s face it, Brendan, I’ll not have it long enough to see the colour of it. Kevin will know that as well as I do.’
‘If you mention that name just once more, I’ll knock your teeth down your throat,’ Brendan growled. ‘Do as you’re bloody told. If your precious son is as canny as you think, he’ll know what will happen to you if you come back empty-handed. Oh, and tell him you’ll come every week and you’ll be wanting the same.’
Kevin knew full well what the money was for when Maeve saw him later that day, and yet he couldn’t send his mother back with nothing. ‘Tell him I earn twelve and six,’ he said. ‘He’ll believe it. It’s a good enough wage for one my age.’
‘Why then, do you earn more than that?’
‘Maybe,’ he said with a sardonic grin, ‘Mr Moss recognises quality when he sees it.’
‘Aye, maybe he does,’ Maeve agreed with a wry smile, and added, ‘Modesty too, I’d say.’
‘Whatever,’ Kevin said with a shrug. ‘The point is, getting my father to believe twelve and six is the wage I earn, with half a crown of that going towards my keep.’
‘Do you pay keep?’
‘No, like I said, they recognise quality,’ Kevin said.
‘We’ve gone down that road once,’ Maeve said. ‘So, as far as your father is concerned, you’re left with ten shillings?’
‘Aye, and half of it is all he’s going to get,’ Kevin said grimly. ‘And if he argues, tell him to take the issue up with me.’
That was the last thing Maeve wanted. ‘Be careful, Kevin,’ she said. ‘Your father has it in for you. He’s made threats.’
‘He’s a windbag.’
‘Aye, he is, but he has friends who are out-and-out thugs. Don’t underestimate him.’
‘Jesus, Mammy, it’s you there in the firing line day after day. Don’t be worrying about me too,’ Kevin cried.
He pressed his mother down in the armchair in the living room of the Mosses’ flat. Syd had insisted Kevin take his mother there when she asked if she could have a quiet word with him, but Kevin could see she was uncomfortable. ‘Wait here, Mammy,’ he said. ‘The money is in my room. I’ll get it.’
Maeve sat and looked about her. The furnishings, she noted, were comfortable without being lavish. There was a carpet on the floor, well worn and obviously bought years before, like the brown moquette-covered suite with cushions of dull yellow and orange. It was pulled before a tiled fireplace where a cheerful fire was burning. The mantelpiece was filled with ornaments and photographs in silver frames.
Maeve strolled over and studied them. Every one was of the same child at v
arying stages as he grew up. Sometimes he was alone and sometimes with one or other of his parents. In the last one he was dressed as a soldier and Maeve knew he was one of many who’d not come home from the war, and she recognised the depths of Gwen Moss’s pain, though she’d never met the woman or her son.
Maeve knew that there was another flat, the same as the one she was now standing in, on the other side of the wall. Kevin had told her that the door for the adjoining flat, which had once led down to the grocery section of the shop, had been blocked off because the flat had tenants in it. But apart from that, the two places were identical, and Maeve marvelled at the spacious and comfortable home Kevin was living in.
As Maeve stood musing, Kevin came back with the two half-crowns. Maeve took the money home and hoped it would be enough to placate her husband and get him to leave her alone. It would indeed have to be enough, and he’d have to realise that, for it was all Kevin was going to hand over for him.
Brendan did roar and rant about the amount, and the ungrateful sod of a son he had, and Maeve had a split lip and an eye blackened for her trouble, and wasn’t at all sure he wasn’t really going to let her have it again. But, scared though she was, she stuck to her guns and stated forcibly that the lad could give them no more and Brendan had to be satisfied with it. He recognised a determination in her that he thought he’d beaten out of her years before and he guessed whatever he did to her, she’d ask for no more money from Kevin, so with a final punch that sent her reeling against the wall, he pocketed the two half-crowns and decided to say nothing else for now. He’d cook Kevin’s goose one of these days, see if he didn’t. But for now five extra bob a week would suit him nicely.
NINETEEN
In late March 1946, Brendan heard something that drove all thoughts of getting back at Kevin from his mind. He learnt of the deceit of his wife that so enraged him he could see only red before his eyes and he burnt as if with a fever at her duplicity. If she’d stood before him that day at the bar of The Bell when a man told him of the family allowance that she’d been receiving secretly for months, he’d have broken every bone in her body with his bare hands.
