‘Mrs Fenton, if you’d seen thousands o’ your fellow countrymen and women – not to mention children – reduced to living skeletons and prepared to kill for a cupful of grain then I doubt that even one so pious as yourself could continue to believe in God. ’Tis a wonder that child there was ever born with the conditions that her poor mother had to suffer, so don’t be givin’ me any o’ your holier-than-thou stuff, ye know nothing about it, any of it.’
Hannah stood erect. ‘Well, I’m sure I beg your pardon, Mr Feeney. I did not fully appreciate your reasons for dismissing your faith. I suppose I must apologise.’
‘Ah sure, ’tis me that should apologise,’ he answered ashamed at his outburst. ‘I was very rude – an’ after that lovely supper; ’twas unforgivable. You weren’t to know my circumstances. Well, I must be off an’ get this child to bed. Thank ye once more for your splendid hospitality.’
Hannah summoned a weak smile.
‘Ah, Thomasin!’ exclaimed Patrick. ‘’Tis your mother ye’ve inherited your pretty smile from. Why, to put the two o’ yese together one’d think ye were sisters.’
Thomasin giggled as she showed him and Erin out into the street. ‘By, yer a charmin’ devil. Tryin’ to butter me mam up. I bet yer like that wi’ all t’women, aren’t yer? One look at them twinkly eyes an’ they’ll be fallin’ all over yer.’ She could feel his laughter though he made not a sound.
‘Aye, I seem to have quite a way with the ladies; could have any woman I fancy – hold on, if that’s true then what am I doing cavorting with the like o’ you?’
Thomasin joined his laughter. ‘By, wait till I get you married, yer won’t half suffer.’ She bobbed suddenly and attempted to kiss Erin. ‘’Night, Erin, see yer soon.’
Patrick answered for the child. ‘Aye, very soon, muirnin.’
‘Moowhat?’
‘Muirnin – darlin’,’ answered Patrick softly, and kissed her.
Chapter Nineteen
Thomasin fought to escape the nebulous confines of sleep. She opened her eyes, then quickly closed them again as the brilliant darts of morning sought to drive her blind. Turning her head away from the light’s source she attempted once more to open them, experiencing the sharp thrill of surprise which had accompanied each waking second during that first week of married life. It took a great deal of getting used to, seeing another head on the pillow after sleeping for so long alone. She wormed her body into the hollow that his sleeping form offered, sliding a mischievous hand over his belly.
What a fiasco the wedding had been. There had been a fight – an actual full scale battle between her side and his, with people throwing food as well as punches and her poor mother ending up in floods of tears due to ‘that dreadful Mrs Flaherty’ who had started it all. And after all was over, the hall wrecked, food ruined, Molly had the audacity to say, ‘Sure ’twas a lovely wedding, pet, just marvellous. If I have one little criticism to make ’twould be on the manners of your relatives – sure, they’re so uncivilised.’
The insistent pressure of her hand brought him slowly awake to blink sleepily at her, then smile as he remembered where he was. Their bodies, relaxed and saturated with sleep, came together, an automatic fusing of magnets. Slow and easy, lazily engaging, their early morning love bore little similarity to the frantic throes of evening. Each sank inside the other, into a cavernous eternity of pleasure, of needing and belonging, until the burning core of passion was finally extinguished.
Thomasin’s flushed face lay against the damp heat of his shoulder, breathing in the sensuous musk of love. ‘If I shut my eyes now,’ she murmured dreamily, ‘I could almost imagine I’d died an’ gone to Heaven.’
Patrick ran tender fingertips over her breast as his eyes travelled around the stark room. ‘Ah, ’tis a long way from Heaven, Tommy,’ he sighed regretfully, then twisted his body so that he was looking down into her face once again. ‘God, when I look at all this I still can’t believe ye consented to marry me. You look outta place here, ’tis no fit life for a lady. Ye deserve more, an’ I’m going to give it ye.’
‘Oh, Pat, you are funny,’ she stroked the sweep of his shoulder, ‘calling me a lady. How many times do I ’ave to tell yer? I’ve got all I want here. Have I ever said it weren’t good enough for me?’
He pulled free a scarlet tendril of hair that had clung to her mouth, ‘I know ye’d never dream of asking me for anything, Tommy,’ he replied softly. ‘But I want to give ye nice things; I need to give ye them for me own self-respect. I can’t expect ye to live like this for the rest o’ your life; I’d be less than a man if I did. No, now that the fine weather has arrived there should be plenty of overtime and spare jobs that need doing, an’ I’ll be the first in the queue. We’ll soon be able to add a couple o’ nice bits o’ furniture to the place to make it look nice until I’ve saved enough for another place.’
‘Patrick, I don’t want yer workin’ all hours God sends just because yer’ve somehow got it into yer head that this isn’t good enough for me,’ she protested. ‘An’ neither do I want yer comin’ home too tired to make love to me.’
‘Sure, I’ll never be too tired for that,’ he reassured her, then rolled onto his back and stretched noisily as the knocker-up tapped on the window with his pole. ‘Jazers, is that the time already? I’ll be late for work.’ He swung his legs over the side of the bed and began to pull on his clothes, then paused to ask over his shoulder, ‘D’ye know what day it is today?’
‘I do believe Friday comes after Thursday.’
‘’Tis me birthday.’
She sprang into a kneeling position and hooked her hands over his shoulders. ‘Aw, why didn’t yer tell me? I would’ve bought yer summat.’
‘I thought I’d just had me present,’ he joked.
She laughed and pulled him back onto the bed. ‘Would yer like another one?’
‘God forbid!’ He escaped her and resumed dressing. ‘I’ll be worn out before ever I get to work.’
‘Yer must be past it,’ she scoffed. ‘How old are yer?’
‘Let me see,’ he pondered whilst buttoning his breeches. ‘I think I’d be thirty-two.’
‘Why, yer poor old devil, no wonder yer not up to it.’ She leapt out of bed and pulled on her clothes before taking his arm. ‘Would yer like an’ ’elpin’ ’and down the stairs, me old soldier?’
He cuffed her lightly. ‘I’ll give ye helping hand. Ye can go butter some bread for me to take with me. I haven’t time for breakfast what with all your wicked goings-on.’
Thomasin slipped past him and ran downstairs to the kitchen where she quickly prepared the bread and tucked it into his haversack. Patrick splashed some water onto his face, gave it a cursory wipe, then kissed his wife and left for work, seconds before Erin stumbled sleepily into the room looking for something to eat.
Thomasin had adapted remarkably well to her domestic role. Patrick had made it perfectly clear that there would be only one breadwinner in the house so she had given up her job at the bakery. Much as she valued her independence, she was loathe to start an argument over what Patrick obviously considered a paltry matter and, as he pointed out, who would look after Erin if Thomasin were at work all day? So for the first time in her life she had backed down; then had instantly regretted it for she soon found out that Patrick’s wage was nowhere sufficient to run a household. But then, she kept reminding herself, had she not known what it would be like when she had married him? And, all in all, they were very happy.
The one thing that marred their contentment was Erin’s animosity, which had not waned by one degree. Thomasin had tried incredibly hard – too hard perhaps – to win her over, but the child simply ignored her. The verbal enmity that she had offered at the beginning had reduced itself to a stony barrier of monosyllables – Sometimes, thought Thomasin, it’s as if I’m not here.
Erin munched at her breakfast, closing her ears to anything which her stepmother might have to say, and thought about her new friend Bridie O’Hara. Of co
urse, Bridie had always been a friend, but not close like she was now. It had all come about when they were loading the handcart to move house. Bridie had spotted the harp strapped securely on top of the pile of furniture and had asked to whom it belonged.
‘’Twas my father’s,’ Patrick had replied. ‘But it belongs to Erin now, or it will do as soon as we can find someone to teach her how to play it, for I’ve never been the musical sort meself.’
‘Ye can stop looking,’ Bridie had answered. ‘Sure, I know everything there is to know about harp playing, I’ll gladly teach her for ye.’
‘Are ye sure ye don’t mind?’ said Patrick. ‘She can be a bit of a handful at times.’
‘I’ll be glad o’ the company,’ Bridie had told him, and from thence had sprung the mutual bond often encountered between the very old and the very young.
Thomasin was speaking. ‘I said do yer want to go see Granny today?’
Erin nodded and took her empty bowl to the sink.
‘All right,’ replied Thomasin. ‘I’ll just do these pots then we’ll go. Shall we take your harp wi’ us so’s yer can ’ave another lesson?’
Erin nodded again.
Half an hour later the child was playing happily in Bridie’s home while Thomasin sat gossiping to Molly.
‘Have ye not brought Erin?’ enquired Molly, placing a cup of tea in front of her guest.
‘She’s in Bridie’s takin’ her lesson,’ explained Thomasin. ‘To tell yer the truth I’m glad o’ the rest. It’s hard work tryin’ to ’ave a conversation wi’ somebody that hates the sight o’ yer.’
‘Aw, ’tis not just you,’ Molly told her. ‘She’d hate anyone who tried to take her mother’s place; they were very close.’
‘But that’s what I keep tellin’ ’er,’ stormed Thomasin. ‘I’m not tryin’ to take anyone’s place. It’s like talkin’ to a brick wall. I ask ’er all sorts o’ questions about ’er mam, tryin’ to show an interest like, but she just clams up. I don’t know which is worst, havin’ to deal with a load o’ cheek or a wall o’ silence.’
‘Ah, she’ll grow out of it,’ said Molly, dropping a lump of fat into a pan which already had a liberal coating of grease. ‘D’ye mind if I cook this here egg for Jimmy? Poor darlin’, he’s ill in bed so I thought I’d give him a little treat.’
‘Aye, I’m thinkin’ o’ givin’ Pat a treat, it’s his birthday today.’
‘Oh, sure ye’ll be having a party then?’ issued Molly hopefully.
‘I most certainly will not,’ replied Thomasin, putting her cup to her lips, ‘I’ve had enough o’ parties for the time being.’ Once again she pictured the disastrous wedding.
The egg sizzled and spat over the fire and a wayward draught wafted the smell under Thomasin’s nose.
‘Are ye feeling all right, love?’ asked Molly, looking at the sickly pallor on her companion’s face.
‘I will be in a minute.’ Thomasin took in deep breaths, trying to fight down the wave of nausea. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong wi’ me this week, I can’t seem to stand the smell o’ fryin’.’
Molly laughed and gave her a knowing wink. ‘When’s it due?’
The meaning of her words escaped Thomasin at first, then suddenly the full impact of them smote her. There were quick calculations. No, it couldn’t be! She had hardly known Patrick five minutes, it couldn’t happen that fast – could it? A nagging doubt crept into her head: my God, it could be Roly’s. She tried frantically to recall the last time he had made love to her, then fought to reassure herself. No, all those months with Roland had produced nothing, they had been too careful. It was only when she had met Patrick that all her meticulous planning had gone to pot. It must be Patrick’s – had to be.
Molly misread the distraught expression. ‘Don’t give yourself kittens.’ She patted her friend’s hand. ‘I fell with my first the very second I was wed. Ye’ll get used to the idea.’ She added congratulations.
‘Don’t tell Pat,’ pleaded Thomasin. ‘I haven’t told him yet. S’truth, I didn’t even know meself.’
‘Sure, won’t it be a nice surprise for him?’ answered Molly.
‘I hope so,’ muttered Thomasin.
Despite Erin’s protests, Bridie sent her out into the yard to play with the other children. It was not good for a child, she said, to be with an old lady all the time, she must go and seek younger company and leave Granny to have a nap.
So Erin slouched sulkily into the yard where Peggy and Norah Flaherty were playing kiss catchings with Jos Leach. Her peevishness was soon washed away by the girls’ shrieking laughter as Jos tried to catch hold of them, and before long she was begging to join their fun. She ran screaming as the simple-minded youth lumbered merrily after her, leaping over the piles of dirt and trying to hide behind Peggy’s skirts.
‘Ah’ve got yers!’ Jos’s huge hand clamped her shoulder as he bent over and took his reward, his slobbering mouth soaking the side of her face.
‘Ugh!’ She wiped a hand over the wet patch, then smiled up at Jos to show there was no ill-feeling and took hold of his hand. She liked Jos, he was not like the other grown-ups, he always had time to play with her. ‘Let’s have another game,’ she decided suddenly, and Jos willingly agreed.
He danced about the yard in his clumsy, childlike fashion, emitting guttural cries of glee in his attempts to ensnare Erin, forgetting about the other girls completely as she was his favourite.
‘What the bloody hell’s going on ’ere?’ Edwin Raper came out into the daylight, his killing over for the time being. He wiped his gory hands on the filthy apron at his waist and advanced on the gumptionless apprentice. ‘Oy! I don’t pay thee to run about like a bloody looney all day, yer big daft kid. In’t it time yer grew up? Look at yer, eighteen years old an’ still playin’ bairns’ games. Get yer arse back inside an’ clear up that pile o’ guts.’
With a hangdog expression Jos Leach loped off towards the abattoir. Raper then turned his indignation on the three young girls. ‘An’ I’ll thank you lot not to be takin’ my assistant away from his work. Bugger off, the lot o’ yer.’
The girls were adhered to the spot, especially Erin, who was absolutely terrified of the butcher. She thought him the ugliest man she had ever seen; he had hairy arms and smelly breath, and whatever he did behind those blood-spattered doors it was certainly something horrid. The thought made her shiver. Unlike the other children in the yard she was a sensitive child. She had watched sheep and cows enter the building, heard their cries. Ugh, nasty, nasty man.
‘Well, what yer still stood gawpin’ for?’ cried Raper, then crouched down, made his hands into claws, opened his mouth wide in a snarl and stuck out his tongue. ‘Blaaaargh!’
The girls screamed and fled as the butcher gave a bloodcurdling laugh and returned to his work. They burst into Molly’s kitchen and startled the life out of the poor woman.
‘God in Heaven!’ she cried, clutching her swollen stomach. ‘D’ye want me to give birth to a monster? What’s the matter with yese?’
‘That nasty Mr Raper chased us,’ panted Erin, flopping onto the floor to play with baby Martin.
‘Oh, we’ll soon sort him out,’ announced Thomasin. ‘Shall I go an’ thump him for yer?’
Erin wrinkled her nose, then shook her head.
‘Then we’ll go to shop for some sweeties,’ Thomasin decided and went towards the door. ‘I’ll mebbe see yer tomorra, Moll – an’ keep mum about you-know-what.’
Chapter Twenty
That evening Thomasin made a small but significant mistake that worsened matters between Erin and herself. After the platefuls of Yorkshire Pudding – a delicacy new to the Feeneys – she served up a joint of mutton which she had purchased with her personal savings as a birthday treat. When Erin’s plate remained untouched she was compelled to ask, ‘Is there summat wrong, love?’
Erin gave Patrick a forceful stare then looked at the meat on her own plate. ‘I can’t eat it.’
Patrick rammed an
other forkful into his mouth. ‘What d’ye mean ye cannot eat it? ’Tis wonderful stuff.’
‘’Tis Friday.’
His fork faltered. ‘Gob, the child’s right, an’ here I am forgetting — still, ’tis no concern to me now an’ surely you can forget about the rules for once, colleen. Thomasin’s gone to a great deal of expense to buy this.’
Thomasin was still puzzled. ‘D’ye not know that good Catholics never eat meat on a Friday?’ asked Erin, coldly polite.
‘Aw… aw dear.’ Thomasin squashed her cheeks between her palms. ‘Aren’t I just the one? I’d clean forgotten. Eh, I’m that sorry, Erin.’
‘Sure, you can’t be expected to cater especially for her,’ said Patrick. ‘Erin, ye’ll not waste a good meal. It won’t matter just this once.’
‘’Tis a sin.’
‘Since when has anybody who gives a Flaherty baby rabbit droppings to eat as currants ever bothered about sinful? When I say eat it you eat it.’
‘I’ll be sick,’ protested Erin.
‘So was Brendan Flaherty — eat it!’
‘Here.’ Thomasin snatched up the child’s plate and scraped the meat onto Patrick’s. ‘That’s that sorted out. There’ll be no more arguin’ now.’
Patrick flung down his cutlery, temper flaring. ‘Thomasin, I have told that child to eat it and eat it she will.’
‘Oh, stop makin’ such a song an’ dance about it! I don’t know, here I am thinkin’ I’m doin’ yer all a favour an’ we end up fightin’. Listen, it was your idea to bring that bairn up a Catholic, yer can’t be cboppin’ an’ changin’ to suit yerself, yer’ll only confuse ’er. If yer gonna do it, do it right.’
Patrick calmed down and picked up his knife and fork again. ‘Aye, you’re right o’ course. ’Twas only you I was considering though. All that trouble…’
‘’Tisn’t trouble if one o’ yer’s enjoyed it,’ said his wife.
‘I have, indeed. ’Tis just as well you’re a good cook else I mightn’t’ve married ye.’
A Long Way from Heaven Page 19
