“You’re lying,” she said, voice trembling, hoping—desperately wishing—that it were just a lie, just another way for her mother to hurt her.
Kathleen shook her head and her eyes flashed angrily as all of the emotions she had kept hidden for the past twenty-one years came pouring out of her in one livid flood of hateful words.
“He raped me, and took away my life, and left me with you! I hated you from the moment you were born, and that never went away. I should have taken my mother’s advice and got rid of you!”
Kathleen drew in a sharp breath when she realised what she had said and clapped her hand to her mouth as if to stop another torrent of abuse escaping.
“Why didn’t you get rid of me?” Rosina asked, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“I thought it would be different. I thought you would be more mine than his,” Kathleen said miserably.
“And you never loved me, not for a second,” Rosina sounded so sad that Kathleen regretted her harsh words.
“I did love you, I do,” she said and paused. “I tried to love you.”
“That’s another lie!” Rosina stood up, the certificate falling to the floor. Kathleen, the enormity of what she had done hitting her, slumped down to the floor and wrapped her arms around herself.
Rosina turned and walked out of the house without looking back. As she closed the door behind her, she heard her mother wail from the kitchen and she shivered. It was the sound of an animal in terrible pain, and she staggered away from the house, down to the gate. At the gate, she looked back and tears filled her eyes. Her throat felt raw and a moan escaped from deep inside her.
My father – a rapist!
As the thought crossed her mind, Rosina gagged and stumbled out of the garden and into the road. When she reached the gutter she leaned over and threw up the dinner she had eaten hours earlier. When she had finished she got back onto the pavement and held onto a lamppost for support.
Suddenly the door opened, and Rosina looked up to see Kathleen illuminated by the light of the hall.
“Rosina?” Kathleen called out into the street.
Rosina didn’t answer, instead she forced her feet to walk further onto the pavement, and clinging to the gardens walls and fences she started the long walk back to Connor.
When Rosina crashed through the front door of Mary’s house she was on the verge of collapse. She had cried all the way home, sobbing and retching uncontrollably, as she walked along. Connor came out into the hall and he hobbled over to where she was bent double by the front door.
“Rosina, hey, hey!” He panicked and put his arms around her. “What’s happened, did someone hurt you?”
She shook her head and Connor watched helplessly as the tears continued to course down her face.
“Was it your ma?” he asked, quieter now, and she nodded, the tears falling from her face like droplets of rain.
“Mam!” he called. “Something’s wrong with Rosie, come here!”
Mary came running and taking one look at Rosina she hauled the girl up and pulled her into the lounge. Mary clasped Rosina’s hands tight between hers and looked up at Connor.
“She’s had one helluva shock. I bet her mother’s upset her again.” She turned her attention back to Rosina. “Can you tell us what happened?”
Rosina clutched Mary’s hand and stared, wide-eyed, at the pair of them. They wanted her to tell them what had upset her so, but she felt so ashamed by the truth of her parentage she couldn’t face it.
“Okay, no pressure. Connor, you go and get me some whiskey and a blanket. This girl’s as cold as ice,” Mary instructed Connor and he turned and hurried out. When he had gone, Mary turned to Rosina.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
With Connor gone it was easier somehow, and she managed to get her weeping under control as she recounted the story to Mary.
“She must be lying,” said Mary when Rosina had finished.
“No, I know it was true. I wish I didn’t know. I feel…dirty.” With that, fresh tears rolled down Rosina’s cheeks and Mary enveloped her in a hug.
“You’re not—it’s not your fault, girl,” she whispered and felt tears sting her own eyes as the girl clung onto her as if she were drowning.
Connor came back and gave his mother a questioning look. She shook her head and he retreated from the room.
It seemed like hours later when Rosina slumped against Mary and she realised that the girl had fallen asleep. Mary gently covered her with the blanket that Connor had left and went into the kitchen where Connor was waiting.
“She’s asleep,” Mary said and looked at the whiskey bottle that she was still holding. “Think I could do with some of this.”
“What’s wrong with her?” asked Connor in hushed tones.
Mary took a deep breath and told Connor everything that Rosina had told her. Connor was white-faced as he listened and, when Mary finished, he stood up to go to her.
“Leave her.” Mary put her hand out and clutched Connor’s arm. “She needs to rest.”
Connor sat down and put his head in his hands.
“This is all going to be tough, Connor,” said Mary. “Are you sure you want to do this? That poor girl is going to be in turmoil for a long while.”
“Of course,” exclaimed Connor. “I love her!”
Mary nodded and covered Connor’s hand with her own.
“You love her, lad, I’ve no doubt of that. But, Connor…are you in love with her?”
Connor laughed. “What a strange question!”
“But how do you feel about her? Tell me,” demanded Mary.
“I told you, I love her. I want to protect her,” replied Connor. “What’s this all about?”
Mary hesitated before answering. “It’s important to have passion.”
Connor laughed, more out of embarrassment than humour.
No, listen, lad. I can see you love her, and of course you do, she’s the sweetest girl I’ve met and you’ve the biggest heart in this county. But you can’t be with her to protect her, not solely, anyway.”
Warning bells sounded in Connor’s head and he paled slightly. Seeing that her words had made some sort of impact, Mary stood up and collected up the empty mugs.
Connor wrapped the tablecloth around his fingers, a frown of concentration knitting his brow. Could there be any truth in his mother’s words?
* * * *
Alia, Bronwyn, and Barry sat down to their Christmas dinner, each lost in their own thoughts. It was a quiet, somber affair, most unlike the normal rowdiness of the Ranger household. After the meal was finished and the gifts had been opened, Bronwyn stood up.
“I’m popping out for a while. I won’t be too long,” she said. Before she left, she went into the kitchen and wrapped up some of the leftover food, along with a hefty slice of the so far untouched Christmas cake.
It was bitterly cold outside and she wrapped her coat tight around her as she hurried along the deserted streets towards the army barracks.
When she arrived at the gates there were a couple of soldiers milling around and she called out to them. They looked up and one of them wandered over to her.
“Do you know Stuart?” she asked.
“Stu Jackson? Yeah, want me to get him?”
“Please,” she said and waited while the soldier went off towards the barracks. Moments later Stu came out and when he saw her he jogged over to the gate to let himself out.
“I just brought you these,” she said, handing him the package. He took it and a smile lit up his face as he pulled back the tinfoil she had wrapped the food in.
“Wow, thank you,” he said. “This is great.”
“I thought you could make use of this, too.” She pulled a bottle of Irish liqueur out of her coat.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he said. “But I’m grateful. We don’t get anything like this in here.”
“It’s to say thank you, for helping me last night.” She turned to go.
“Wait!” he called after her.
She turned back again.
“Can I see you again?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said and for a moment they stood in silence, smiling at each other.
“Soon,” Stu said.
She nodded and shoving her hands deep in her pockets, she walked off down the lane. Stu let himself back into the barracks and looked once more at the food she had given him. He didn’t know what had possessed him to ask her out, and he felt slightly guilty about it. He couldn’t kid himself that he was just interested in her as a friend either. Pushing the worries out of his mind, he went in search of Carter to see if he wanted to share the food.
* * * *
Boxing Day dawned and Bronwyn awoke confused from a half-forgotten dream about Connor and Stu. She didn’t know what it was about Stu, but he had been on her mind frequently since her visit to the barracks yesterday. She got up and opened the curtains, feeling a childlike excitement when she saw it had snowed during the night. Then she saw Barry in the garden and she tapped on the window. He didn’t hear her; he was engrossed in whatever he was doing.
“What is he doing?” she said to herself as she watched him walk around the shed, looking as though he had lost something.
Pulling on her dressing gown, she went downstairs and out the back door.
“Barry?” she called. “What are you doing?”
He jumped when he heard her and spun around, a wild look on his face.
“Bronwyn?” he peered at her. “Is that you?”
“Of course. Who did you think it was, your I.R.A mates come to get you?” she was joking, but his eyes widened in fear at her words.
“Are they here?” he asked. Walking backwards, he stumbled around the back of the shed.
“No, I was joking.” She followed him and came around the corner of the shed. “Barry, are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Tell them I’m not here, tell them I’ve left!” he was babbling now and he flapped his hands at her. “Go, before they come out here!”
Bronwyn knew something was very wrong and she reached out to catch hold of his hands.
“Barry, nobody is here. Just you, Ma, and me. That’s all.”
She watched as his expression changed from one of confusion to clarity.
“Sorry, sis. Think I must still be drunk from last night,” he said.
“You didn’t drink last night. You stayed in, with us,” she replied. He didn’t respond to this, instead he moved past her and out into the open garden. She watched as he returned to the house and shook her head. Something was wrong with Barry. Drugs, maybe? No, Barry wasn’t into that and, if he were, she would know about it. Suddenly she heard her mother calling her from the house so she came back into the kitchen.
“Bronwyn, that Connor’s on the phone and he doesn’t sound very good,” she said.
Bronwyn frowned and going into the hall, she picked up the phone. Alia leaned back against the kitchen door and listened in on Bronwyn’s side of the telephone conversation.
“Connor…what…slow down…” Bronwyn cast a worried look at Alia and nodded as she listened to him.
Suddenly her face turned white, she clutched the phone, and held her hand out in a subconscious gesture to her mother. Alia hurried over and waited while Bronwyn hung up the phone and turned to her mother, ashen faced.
“What is it? Is it Rosie?” Alia asked.
“Oh, my God, Ma, this is bad,” said Bronwyn.
“What is? Has something happened to her?”
Bronwyn talked as she gathered her coat and bag together.
“Apparently, Rosina went to her mother’s yesterday, something about getting her birth certificate, and when she questioned Kathleen about her father, Kathleen said she didn’t know his name. He’s not dead. He raped her and she got pregnant!”
“Good God!” Alia crossed herself.
“Rosie’s distraught. I’ve got to get over there,” said Bronwyn. “Ma, when I’m gone will you keep an eye on Barry for me? Something’s up with him.”
Alia watched Bronwyn leave the house and pondered upon Bronwyn’s words. She had noticed that there was something up with Barry, but, unlike Bronwyn, he was a closed book, and unless he wanted to talk about whatever was troubling him, there would be no point in asking.
* * * *
Barry sat on the windowsill of his bedroom and watched Bronwyn leave the house. He gripped the curtain, watching in terror as five or six men, all wearing black suits, came out of the shadows and started to follow his sister.
“Leave her alone!” he cried and banged on the window.
But the men paid no heed to his plea.
They didn’t listen because they were not really there. The men who had been stalking him, and were now following Bronwyn, existed only in Barry’s mind.
* * * *
When Bronwyn arrived at Connor’s house, he was sitting on the front step. He looked up as she approached. She sat down next to him to catch her breath after running most of the way across town.
“What happened to your face?” he asked as he studied her black eye.
“Oh, Danny,” she replied. “It’s no big deal.”
“He’s a fucking lunatic, Bronwyn. You should stay away from him.”
“I intend to from now on. How’s Rosie?” she asked.
“Not good. She’s in bed, won’t get up, won’t talk or even cry. She’s just sitting there,” he replied, looking up at her.
She felt a huge amount of pity for him when she saw the pain in his eyes.
“I can’t believe it. I’ve known her my whole life, and her bitch mother as well. I can’t understand what made Kathleen so mad to tell Rosie this.”
“I think it was me,” said Connor and kicked at the crutch lying at his feet. “Rosie said when Kathleen saw the ring she went mental.”
“Ring?” Bronwyn was confused.
Connor smiled and for a second a look of joy dispelled his serious expression.
“I asked her to marry me,” he said.
For one moment, just one split second, Bronwyn was devastated. The feeling shocked her for she had no reason to feel that way, but she quickly painted a smile on her face and Connor took her shaken expression for one of joyful surprise.
“Congratulations, you two belong together,” she replied.
He looked at her then, faces inches apart, and it seemed to Bronwyn that he looked right into her and saw every part of who she was. There was an awkward silence, then the moment passed and Bronwyn stood up, dusting off her jeans.
“Can I see her?” she asked, not looking at him.
“Sure.” A flush spread over his handsome face and he leaned back and pushed open the door. She hurried in, running up the stairs as if to flee from whatever had happened back there at the door. When she opened one of the doors upstairs and looked into the room, all thoughts of Connor
vanished as she saw Rosina sitting in the bed, wide eyes staring at nothing in particular, looking very small and fragile in the large bed.
“Oh, Rosie,” she spoke from the doorway and Rosina looked up, startled. When she saw Bronwyn, her face crumpled and she held out her arms in a gesture a child would use to beckon her mother.
Bronwyn ran over to the bed and held Rosina as a fresh torrent of tears started.
“What can I do? Is there anything I can do?” asked Bronwyn. Rosina pulled away and grabbed a crumpled tissue off an already large pile on the bedside table.
“Nobody can do anything. I wish I didn’t know,” Rosina wailed.
“But you do know, and you have to deal with it, then leave it alone.”
“I know, but he…” Rosina trailed off and glanced around the room before leaning in close to Bronwyn. “He raped her! How can I forget that? Nobody would ever want me, knowing that I’m a product of a rape!”
Bronwyn gripped Rosina’s shoulders and shook her hard.
“Connor wants you! He asked you to marry him, you bloody lu
cky cow!” Despite her true feelings, Bronwyn couldn’t help smiling at the thought of little Rosina James getting married. Rosina brightened for a moment and she opened the drawer of her bedside table to retrieve the engagement ring. Bronwyn took it and admired the sparkling sapphire.
“Beautiful. But, Rosie, you should be wearing it.” Bronwyn caught hold of Rosina’s hand and tried to put the ring on.
Rosina grabbed it with her right hand and put it back in the drawer. A frown crossed her pretty face and she looked down at the floor.
“I don’t feel I should be wearing it. I don’t think I deserve to wear it.”
“But Rosie—”
“No, Bronwyn,” Rosina interrupted. “I feel like I’m not me anymore. Connor’s such a good person, and he loved what he thought I was. He doesn’t want this me—this dirty, unclean me.”
“Oh, Jesus, Rosina, that’s not true. I just saw him outside, and when he told me that he’d asked you to marry him, his face lit up like a bloody Christmas tree!”
Rosina smiled and for a moment Bronwyn thought she’d gotten through to her friend.
“Connor’s too decent to go back on his word now. It might be easier if I left him.”
“Easier for who? Not him. You’ll break his heart!” Bronwyn was exasperated and she got off the bed and walked to the window. “And will it be easier for you? No, you’ll just pine for him. The only person who would benefit from that would be your fucking mother! Oh, she’d love that. She’d have won, don’t you see?”
“I don’t want to talk about her. I can’t even begin to think about her,” replied Rosina. “I feel sorry for her anyway, having to give birth to me, keeping me and looking at me every day, reminding her…”
Bronwyn turned and slammed her hands against the window in frustration. There was going to be no getting through to Rosina, she could see that now. And for someone like Bronwyn, who was used to always getting what she wanted, it was incredibly infuriating to be unable to get Rosina to see that none of this was her fault.
Freedom First, Peace Later Page 11
