by Anne Bennett
‘Just another six months or so, till after Christmas,’ Maeve said. ‘Then we can get married in the spring.’
Matthew reluctantly agreed and sealed the bargain with a kiss. Maeve submitted eagerly to his embraces and kisses too, knowing they needed time alone. He never pressed her to go further than she wanted to – he was that type of man.
Sometimes, in his arms, she remembered the lovemaking of Richard with a pang of regret. Matthew did not disturb her senses in the same way at all, but she allowed him to go a little further as the weeks passed, feeling sure that was what he wanted. After being away for years and having no wife to offer him any sort of relief or comfort when he came back, she’d been worried that once she’d agreed to marrying him, he’d take his lovemaking further, especially as she’d already been married. But he seemed in no hurry, and seemed happy to go at Maeve’s pace, and she loved the man for his consideration and understanding.
Anyway, she’d had enough of Brendan groping and pawing at her just to satisfy himself to last her a lifetime, and until Richard came into her life, she’d lost all interest in sex. She imagined Matthew would be a gentle lover and was determined to please him when they were married. She owed much to him and she’d never forget it, or make him regret marrying her. Anyway, making love with Matthew would help banish the thoughts of her and Richard cavorting together, which she still thought of guiltily and far too often.
She was determined to make this Christmas, the first since she agreed to marry Matthew, a wonderful one for the whole family, with presents for everyone – provided of course that the things were in the shops. She’d already saved a tidy sum in the Post Office, and by Christmas there would be more. She was as excited as the weans and could hardly wait for Christmas morning.
TWENTY-FIVE
Gwen loved nothing more than a wedding and was very excited about Maeve’s, which was to be undertaken in a registry office with the reception held in a room off The Bell public house in Bell Barn Road.
‘D’you mind it not being done properly?’ she asked Maeve one day. ‘You know, in a church and everything?’
‘It doesn’t worry me in the slightest,’ Maeve said. ‘The way I see it, I was married to Brendan in a church by a priest. We made vows about honouring and obeying, for richer for poorer, for better and for worse. Those words haunted me for years. I want my marriage to Matthew Bradshaw to be totally different.’
The clergy, however, had different ideas. Eventually, the news of Maeve’s marriage filtered through to Father Trelawney. He quizzed Bridget about the hours her mother worked and presented himself at her doorway one Wednesday afternoon in late September.
Maeve used the Monday afternoons to do her washing and Wednesday afternoon to do the ironing. Often Elsie would come in and talk to her while she ironed, help her to fold the sheets and make them both fortifying cups of tea.
That afternoon Elsie was just about to go next door when she spotted the priest coming down the entry and decided to stay where she was. She knew fine where he was heading for and why. So did Maeve when she saw the man’s shadow darken the window.
She gave a sigh of exasperation, and put the crumpled clothes back in the basket, removed the flat iron from the bars of the fire, and made the tea she’d intended for Elsie before she answered the priest’s imperious rap on the door.
‘Well, hello, Maeve,’ he said, making his way into the room. Maeve helped him off with his hat and coat, which she placed over the back of the chair in which he sat. ‘We haven’t seen you for this long while.’
‘I do go to Mass, Father,’ Maeve put in quickly, handing Father Trelawney a cup of tea. ‘But I go to the early one.’
‘And why not at nine o’clock with your children?’
Maeve shrugged. ‘I have a lot to do on Sunday, Father. Matthew, my . . .’ she glanced at the priest and went on, ‘my fiancé likes to see something of me. We often go out for the day.’ But there was another reason, one this priest could never know. Since the confession Maeve had made at St Chad’s, when she’d admitted to killing her husband, she’d never gone to confession again.
There was no point, for she couldn’t truthfully say she was sorry for killing Brendan, or indeed that she wouldn’t have done the selfsame thing again. No priest could therefore absolve her sins, and sometimes she felt her soul must be as black as pitch. She couldn’t add to that the mortal sin of missing Mass but she wasn’t in a state of grace and therefore could not go to the rails and receive Communion. The old priest who took the early Mass was doddery now, nearly blind, and not aware totally of what was going on. He wouldn’t notice whether Maeve took Communion or not.
Not so Father Trelawney. He’d be down badgering about the bad example she was showing her children until in exasperation she might just hurl the truth at his sanctimonious face.
The priest watched Maeve’s face working. He doubted that she was being totally truthful and guessed she’d deliberately chosen to go to the one Mass he didn’t preside over. But there was no point in tackling her about that – she’d only deny it. There was a far more pressing problem that he had to address.
‘Matthew Bradshaw,’ he said. ‘Is he the man you intend to marry?’
‘I don’t merely intend to, it’s a fact. As I said, he is my fiancé and we are to be married in March next year.’
‘Maeve, the man is not of our faith,’ the priest reminded her gently.
‘I know that. What of it?’
‘Maeve, surely you realise the significance of this? Will he turn?’
‘No, Father, he won’t.’
‘Have you asked him?’
‘No, and I won’t either,’ Maeve snapped. ‘I married a man of my own faith and look where that got me. Matthew will make me a good husband and my children a good father. To be honest, I don’t give a damn what religion he is, or even if he has any religious leanings at all.’
The priest was affronted, Maeve could see, and he was also aware Maeve didn’t seem bothered about it. He shook his head sorrowfully and said, ‘You realise you won’t be able to marry in church.’
‘I know that. We are to be married in the registry office, like many before us.’
‘So, you’ll not be married in the sight of God, then. You understand that?’
Maeve gave a grim laugh and said, ‘D’you know, Father, I don’t think that God is as small-minded as you would have us believe.’
‘God will not be mocked, Maeve!’ the priest cried, shocked.
‘Will you listen to me, Father?’ Maeve said grimly. ‘It’s not God I’m mocking.’
‘Maeve, whatever you say, you will be committing adultery every time you sleep with this man Matthew Bradshaw. Any children born from the union will be illegitimate – bastards!’
Bitterness rose like bile in Maeve’s throat and her eyes sparked with anger. She turned to the priest and pressed her face close to his. ‘Who are you to call names of me and mine?’ she demanded. ‘I bring my children up to be decent human beings and good Catholics and I will continue to do so, and for their sake and no one else’s. As for any children I might have had with Matthew, I’m afraid that will never happen. I thought you knew that Brendan fixed that for me with one of his beatings. As well as him killing my unborn child, he damaged my insides so badly I can never carry another.’
Maeve saw the look of shock on the priest’s face and knew he hadn’t known, but Maeve had no sympathy for him. ‘Never again will you have a hand in controlling my life,’ she spat out. ‘I shall live it as I see fit.’
There was nothing further Father Trelawney could do. Maeve had made her position very clear and the priest was clearly offended. He got to his feet, put his cup and saucer on the table and accepted the hat and coat Maeve gave him without a word. She left him struggling into it, crossed the room and opened the door wide.
‘Good day, Maeve.’
‘Father,’ Maeve said, inclining her head slightly. As she watched him walk across the cobbled yard, reaction
set in. Her legs began to shake and she sat down at her table, sank her head in her hands, and wept.
And that was how Elsie found Maeve a little later. She put one arm round Maeve’s shoulder and pulled her hands from her face with the other hand.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Don’t let the old bugger upset you. You’ve wept enough tears in your life already to float a battleship. Don’t let that prating bloody hypocrite break you up.’
‘He said . . . he said—’ Maeve began through her gasping sobs, but Elsie cut across her.
‘Who gives a damn what he said? He said plenty to you before and none of it a blasted bit of use.’
Maeve knew Elsie was right, and she was the only one Maeve could talk to. She couldn’t load her confrontation with Father Trelawney on the children and neither Matthew nor Gwen Moss could begin to understand the power the priests had.
She asked for Nuala’s advice and opinion that night in bed, for her sister had come to know Matthew very well, especially as they now also worked in the same place. When Maeve’s hours had been reduced, Nuala had said she’d look for a job herself, not wishing to be a drain on Maeve indefinitely, and Matthew had got her set on at his place almost immediately.
So Maeve, valuing her opinion, said, ‘You know Matthew’s not of our faith, Nuala? Does it bother you, my marrying him?’
Nuala hoped Maeve hadn’t heard her gasp of surprise and dismay. She didn’t want to discuss Matthew. She’d managed to keep her own feelings for him in check so far and she swallowed hard and willed her voice not to break.
‘No. Not if you truly love him and he you,’ she said, and asked, ‘You do love him, don’t you?’
Maeve was nothing if not honest. ‘I care for him a great deal. I do love things about him, but not as I once thought I loved Brendan.’ And Richard, she might have added.
‘Maybe you did love him at the time.’
‘But then why didn’t it last?’ Maeve cried. ‘Is all love like that? Will it always shrivel up and die? If it does you can keep it! True deep friendship and caring for one another like Matthew and I do seems more enduring than a grand passion, don’t you think?’
‘I’m the last one to ask, aren’t I?’ Nuala said, hoping to close the conversation. Her heart was thudding against her ribs and the roof of her mouth was dry. She loved Matthew with all her being, but she thought he was unaware of it and Maeve must never, never know. She lay quiet for a minute and then went on, ‘After Christmas I’ll be moving out. You’ll want to start married life without me hanging on to your coat-tails.’
Maeve made a sound of protest, but Nuala knew she had to go; to stay and watch Matthew and Maeve together would be torture, and too dangerous for all of them. She went on, ‘No, listen, Maeve. There’s a girl I work with, and at home there’s just her and her mother and they have a lodger to help pay the rent. The one they have now is leaving to get married after Christmas. I’ve asked her to give me first refusal on the room.’
‘I thought you’d be moving with us.’
‘Now, why would I?’ Nuala said, and added, ‘You’ll need all the space and some time alone.’
Maeve knew Nuala was right, but she also knew she’d miss her about the place and hoped her sister wouldn’t find her new life too strange.
Maeve looked at Brian Hogan, the father of her late husband, as he lolled against her front door, obviously awaiting her return from her job at the shop. It was the Monday following the priest’s visit, and she had a mountain of washing awaiting her attention, but knew first she’d have to deal with the man she’d always detested.
She made him no greeting, and just managed to avoid wrinkling her nose at the fetid stink coming off him as she approached.
‘Come on,’ Brian growled. ‘I thought you finished at that place at one o’clock. My feet are stuck to the floor in this perishing cold.’
‘I do finish at one,’ Maeve said testily. ‘But I have to walk home, you know.’
She smelt the man’s sour breath, a mixture of stale beer and cigarettes and the decaying stumps of teeth going rotten in his mouth, and wondered, as she fumbled to open the door, how he’d known she was working in the shop. She surmised it must have been Father Trelawney that had told him.
Brian Hogan followed her in and looked about him, and Maeve was pleased that he could see the room looking so comfortable. There was a fire laid in the grate ready to set a match to, with a full scuttle of coal beside it inside the gleaming brass fender. She saw Brian’s eyes swivel to the wireless and accumulator one side of the chimney breast, the mantelshelf full of ornaments and knick-knacks, and the table covered with a blue-and-white-checked cloth, and was annoyed with herself for caring one jot about his opinion.
She noticed the man was stooped and now looked very old. She knew he no longer worked; he’d retired the previous year and now existed on the old-age pension. It wasn’t much, and Maeve hoped he wasn’t on the scrounge, for not a penny piece would he get out of her.
‘Any tea then, girl?’ Brian snapped out. ‘God, my tongue’s hanging out.’
Why didn’t she tell him to go to hell? Maeve thought. To get out of her life and leave her alone and get tea in his own house. Instead, she filled the kettle and lit the gas. She felt sorry for Carmel, the wife of Brendan’s youngest brother, who had the care of the crabbed old man.
Maeve remembered how at Lily’s funeral it was suggested she take on the care of her father-in-law, as she no longer had a husband to care for. She soon told the Hogan family what they could do with that notion, and in no uncertain terms. She’d made clear she’d not even cross the street for a man as vindictive and cruel as her Brendan had been and she knew his father was the same.
Still, it was apparent that there was little being done for Brian Hogan by anyone. He’d obviously not shaved for days, and while stubble covered one half of his face, grimy wrinkled skin covered the other, with sagging pouches beneath the bloodshot eyes and the hair matted on his head. He was fatter than Maeve remembered, with his distended belly straining at the buttons of his donkey jacket. The state of his filthy hands, with black-encrusted nails, that reached out for the cup of tea Maeve handed over turned her stomach.
She knew he’d slurp the tea, and was relieved that at least he drank from the cup and had not tipped it into the saucer as she’d seen him do before now. She wondered what he wanted, and how soon she could get rid of him, and decided to ask.
‘Why have you come?’
Brian swallowed another mouthful of tea, though it was scalding, wiped his mouth on the greasy sleeve of his jacket and said, ‘What’s this about our Kevin going to Ireland? Why did no one tell us?’
‘Why should we tell you?’ Maeve said. ‘Kevin’s well old enough to decide what to do with his life. If you were concerned about your grandchildren you’d have been down before this to see them. No one ever came from your house except Lily, and then not often.’
‘You could have come up to our house.’
‘The time or two I did, I wasn’t made welcome,’ Maeve said. ‘Anyway, Kevin’s gone. Is that all you’ve come to ask?’
‘People say he’s run away to avoid the draft.’
‘Well, they’re wrong.’
‘Funny thing to do, though, isn’t it? To just take up and leave like that?’
‘It’s not any of your business, but I’ll tell you anyway,’ Maeve said, facing Brian Hogan squarely. ‘Kevin went back to the farm because my father, who was running it virtually single-handed, had a heart attack. The farm will be Kevin’s after his death, so he obviously wanted to go back and help him.’
At her words, she saw the light of speculation leap into Brian’s eyes. ‘What d’you mean? Your old man will leave Kevin the farm?’ he blustered. ‘What does a lad of that age know? Best thing you can do when it does fall into his hands is sell it. Get a bit of money for yourself.’
‘I have no intention of doing that,’ Maeve said stiffly, knowing that it was the possibility of money that was
interesting Brian. One sniff of it and the whole Hogan clan would descend on her like a pack of wolves. ‘Kevin will keep the farm,’ she said. ‘It’s been in our family for generations and my parents think he’s a born farmer. I have no need of money.’
‘Ah yes,’ Brain said with a sneer. ‘I heard that you were getting married, and to a Prod as well.’ He licked his lips and said, ‘It’s disgusting, that is. Father Trelawney told me. And you only able to marry in the registry office. That’s not a proper marriage, not in the eyes of God it isn’t. You’ll be living in sin. I wonder what Brendan would make of it all?’
‘What Brendan would make of it?’ Maeve repeated with a screech. Fury almost consumed her. ‘Why should he make anything of it? The man’s been dead over three and a half years. And I’ll tell you something else: I’m free to marry anyone I like, and in any way I choose. I don’t give a damn for you, your family or your opinions.’
She crossed to the door and flung it wide open. ‘Go on, get out. You’ve had your say and much good it’s done you. I’m finished with the lot of you.’
Brian took his time draining his cup of tea and then got to his feet slowly. ‘Brendan should have beaten that bad temper out of you while he had the chance,’ he said with a sneer.
‘Get out!’ Maeve screamed, beside herself with rage. ‘Get out before I brain you with a bloody saucepan.’
And she knew she was capable of it. She forced herself to stand by the door as Brian shambled out. She wanted to launch herself on him and scratch his eyes and rake her nails down his face. She longed to knock him to the floor and bang his head over and over on the cobbles and kick his body as Brendan had often done to her.
She slammed the door shut when Brian was barely through it, shaking with temper. She refused to give way to tears. Brendan had made her cry time and enough and she’d not allow his father to let her weaken that way. She gathered up the washing in a frenzy. They’d seldom had such a good maiding as they had that day and after it Maeve found the bad humour had been worked out of her – and she saw the funny side of it. She wondered that she’d let a dirty shabby old man bother her and she remembered the look on his face when she’d bawled at him. She chuckled to herself and knew that she and Elsie would laugh about it later.
