The Wasted Years

by Mary Larkin

  Each in their own room, they were about to retire for the night when a knock on the door brought a frown to Joe’s brow.

  Putting his head around the door of Rosaleen’s room, he asked, ‘Are you expecting Annie to call?’

  ‘No … no, she never mentioned anything to me.’

  His eyes flicked over her in her negligee set, and he warned, ‘You stay here,’ before descending the stairs.

  Rosaleen examined herself in the full-length mirror. Joe would not agree with her but her negligee set was quite modest, hinting rather than revealing, and when she heard Sean’s voice in the hall, she descended the stairs without hesitation.

  Sean felt a lump rise in his throat as he gazed at the beauty of her. Face free of make-up and hair loose around her face, she looked about seventeen. Frowning fiercely, Joe turned to her. ‘Sean has called to say goodbye,’ he said unnecessarily.

  ‘So you’re off tomorrow, then, Sean?’ she said softly.

  He nodded, and when Annie proudly thrust her left hand forward, displaying the solitaire diamond ring, watched Rosaleen closely.

  Glad that she had been forewarned, Rosaleen exclaimed in admiration and hugged Annie warmly, before offering Sean her hand in congratulation.

  He sighed. He did not know whether to be glad or sorry; Rosaleen obviously did not care one way or the other whether or not he married Annie.

  ‘Look … why are we all standing around?’ Rosaleen cried. ‘Sit down, sit down, and I’ll make a cup of tea.’

  At this suggestion, Joe interrupted her. ‘I’ll make the tea. You had better put on something warm or you’ll catch cold,’ he admonished her. And with another disapproving look at her night attire, headed for the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll have to use the bathroom. Excuse me, please. Too much wine … ye know what it’s like.’ With these words, Annie followed Joe, to go through the kitchen into the bathroom, and Sean and Rosaleen were left alone in the living room.

  Aware of Joe in the kitchen, she whispered, ‘I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye.’

  ‘Never, Rosaleen. I could never do that,’ he whispered back.

  Not another word was uttered, but his eyes spoke volumes. Rosaleen lapped it all up, and wept inwardly for the loss of him.

  As they drank their tea, it was Joe who asked the question that Rosaleen desperately wanted to know and did not dare to frame.

  ‘When’s the big day then?’

  It was Annie who answered him.

  ‘I’m going to set things in motion. You know … see about letters of freedom and the like, and get the banns read. With us both belonging to St Paul’s Parish, it should be all right. Then the first chance Sean has of a pass, no matter how short, we’re going to be married. Isn’t that right, love?’

  Sean answered her question with a nod, and avoided looking at Rosaleen. Knowing full well that without a word he had just been telling her how much he loved her. He felt ashamed; he had no right to exploit Annie like this. Why did life have to be so mixed up? he thought in anguish. Annie was lovely … why wasn’t it her he desired?

  At the door, when they were about to leave, Sean said to Rosaleen, ‘Give Laura a big kiss for me.’

  ‘Would you like to see her before you go?’ she asked quickly, and when he nodded in delight, turned and led the way upstairs.

  Glad that Annie did not accompany them, and good manners forbade Joe to leave her, Rosaleen entered her bedroom, followed by Sean. The big double bed and large cot took up most of the floor space, and there was not much room for manoeuvre. Laura was stretched out in the cot, the clothes kicked away from her body, her chubby arms and legs spreadeagled, her cheeks flushed with sleep.

  ‘Ah, Rosaleen, she must be a delight to you and Joe.’ Sean’s voice was sad. If only Laura was his child.

  Close beside him in the confined space, Rosaleen nodded, her eyes hungrily devouring his profile as he gazed down at the sleeping child. Etching it on to her memory.

  ‘Are you not training her to sleep alone?’ he asked in surprise, knowing that his sisters swore that the earlier you started, the easier it was to train babies.

  To his amazement, Rosaleen blushed crimson and muttered, ‘It’s time enough. We haven’t the back room ready for her yet.’

  She doubted very much that Laura would ever have a room to herself; Joe’s problem was no better, and he was adamant about not seeing a doctor, saying there could not be much wrong with him for: ‘Haven’t I given you a daughter?’

  And what answer could she find to that?

  Becoming aware that the other bedroom door was open and that he was bound to see the bed with the clothes turned down ready for occupation, she added quickly, ‘We’re going to space our family.’

  Sean felt a great surge of resentment against Joe rise in his breast. Was the man a fool? Did he not know that Rosaleen needed to be loved? Such a well of sensuality going to waste. Did Joe not know that children could be spaced out without the withdrawal of warmth and comfort from the matrimonial bed?

  Then he remembered how good-living Joe was. Still, how could the man stay away from the beauty of Rosaleen? If only he was her husband … there’d be no separate beds. What’s more, he would take full responsibility for their actions. He would be the one to confess to birth control. Rosaleen would be free from worry.

  Now he questioned her. ‘Is that what you want, Rosaleen?’

  ‘Of course. Especially now that we’re going to war.’

  He smiled slightly at this. ‘I don’t think Hitler will be too bothered about Ireland. It’s too far from Germany. No,’ he shook his head and smiled reassuringly at her, ‘he’ll be concentrating his wrath on England for daring to stand up to him. They didn’t come near Ireland during the ’14–’18 war, so I can’t see the Germans bothering this time.’

  ‘Me da disagrees with you. He says that this time we’re building far more planes and ships for England, and that Hitler’s no doser and is sure to try to bomb Short and Harland and the shipyard.’

  Sean pursed his lips and a frown puckered his brow. ‘He could be right … yes, he could be right at that,’ he agreed.

  The urge to hug her one last time became overpowering and he turned away. Her hand on his arm, long slender fingers tipped with pale pink nails, stopped him.

  ‘You’ll take care, won’t you, Sean?’ she whispered softly.

  Placing his hand over hers, he fought the desire to raise it to his lips. ‘I’ll take care,’ he promised.

  When they had departed, she sadly climbed the stairs again, Joe on her heels.

  ‘I hope you realise that you were an occasion of sin in that negligee,’ he grunted, his lips a hard, tight line in his face.

  On the small landing, mouth agape, Rosaleen turned to face him.

  ‘I was no such thing!’ she cried, but already her conscience was beginning to plague her. Had she deliberately set out to make Sean desire her?

  ‘Of course you were. Look at it. It shows more than it hides.’

  For a moment she was at a loss for words, then she lashed out at him in retaliation. ‘Well, it doesn’t turn you on. So how was I to know, eh? Tell me that. How was I to know?’

  And with these words she entered her room and only the thought of the late hour and her sleeping neighbours prevented her from slamming the door.

  Burying her face in the pillow, she wept long and sore for chances lost. To think that she had not wanted a seaman for a husband because she had wanted someone to hold her close in the night! Chance would be a fine thing. Well, she had made her bed and now she must lie in it. And – miserable thought – Sean was to be her brother-in-law.

  Chapter 4

  At first the war made no difference to Rosaleen. Life went on as before, and remembering that Sean had said Hitler would not be worried about Ireland, she was inclined to agree with him. Then she became aware that Joe was worried and waited anxiously, knowing that he would confide in her when he was ready and not before. And sure en
ough, one night after they had finished tea, he confessed to her that work was drying up.

  ‘It’s a bad business I’m in at the present time, Rosaleen. Wrought-iron railings and gates.’ He grimaced. ‘Trust me! I couldn’t have been in a worse one. Iron’s like gold dust at the moment. It’s all being channelled into munitions factories.’

  ‘Why not concentrate on the brick building side of the business?’ she asked, thinking about the small sheds and garages he had been building lately.

  He shook his head and a rueful smile twisted his lips. ‘No one in their right mind is building anything at the moment … they’re afraid that Hitler will come and bomb it.’

  ‘There’s not much chance of him bombing here, is there?’ she asked fearfully.

  He shrugged. ‘It’s hardly likely. His troops are in the north of France now, and I can’t see them travelling a thousand miles across England and back again.’ With lips pursed, he shook his head. ‘No, I can’t see Hitler sending bombers all that distance … but who knows just what that madman will do? After all, we are supplying planes, ships and ammunition, and … God forbid! … if they take England, we’re sitting ducks. Still, I can’t see England falling to them. Churchill’s a great man … he knows what he’s doing. Ah, well,’ He sighed deeply. ‘Who knows? Maybe everyone will have the same idea and business will pick up,’ he finished on a more cheerful note, and Rosaleen breathed a sigh of relief.

  The war did make a difference to her father. He was in his glory. On the sick for months with a bad chest, he had despaired of ever getting work. The doctors in the Royal Victoria Hospital had forbidden him to return to Greeves Mill, where he had worked for thirty odd years in the flax store, and where he had picked up the linen dust that was the cause of his congested lungs. They had issued him with a blue card, stating that he was only fit for light work, so that he was compelled to obey their orders. However, light work was hard to come by and Rosaleen had watched him grow quieter and more depressed. Her heart ached for him, a young man of forty-five, on the dust heap. Her mother, pushing the Irish News open at the vacancies column at him every morning, had not helped any. It was as if she thought he wasn’t trying to get work, as if he was lazy.

  This wasn’t true. The vaguest possibility of a job that was suitable had him away, trying to get an interview. It had been no use telling her mother that he hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of most of the jobs advertised. Not with a blue card and the added stigma of being a Catholic.

  Now, at last, he had obtained employment. He had been started as gatehouse man in the Blackstaff Linen Factory. This was another one of the mills that flanked the Falls Road, whose books were full with orders for heavy duck material for tents and rucksacks, and other less heavy material for uniforms for the forces. Not great money, but being just down the Springfield Road a bit, within walking distance from Colinward Street as it were, there were no tram fares to worry about. No wonder his step was lighter, his mouth more ready to smile. At last, he could feel independent. It was indeed true that it was an ill wind that didn’t blow some good. If war had not been declared, resulting in a mad rush of young men to enlist, her father would never have got this job, and Rosaleen was happy for him.

  Her visits to May had become fortnightly instead of monthly as May drew near the end of her pregnancy. The first time Rosaleen had visited May, her heart had been quite literally in her mouth, and her knees had knocked hell out of each other as she nervously pushed the pram up the street where her friend lived. But, to her surprise, she noticed that the rows of terraced houses looked like any street on the Falls Road, with the same mixture of houseproud and couldn’t-care-less occupants. There was only one difference; some of the footpaths had the kerb edge painted red, white and blue. It looked ugly, took away from the quiet nature of the streets, and Rosaleen was glad that none of the street kerbs on the Falls Road were painted green, white and gold.

  May’s house was one of the houseproud: windows shining, net curtains snow white, and a well-scrubbed half circle around the spotless doorstep. It was with a mixture of pride and diffidence that she ushered Rosaleen in and, before settling down for a cup of tea and a gossip, took her on a tour of the house. It was a parlour house with three bedrooms, and in the smallest of these Billy had installed a bathroom suite, while the second bedroom was all decorated, ready for the arrival of the baby. Lovely nursery wallpaper and curtains made Rosaleen jealous as she pictured her own spare room crammed with Joe’s belongings.

  ‘It’s lovely, May. You must be proud of it,’ she said graciously, and smiled. May smiled in return.

  ‘It is nice, isn’t it, Rosaleen?’ she agreed shyly. ‘I never dreamed I would ever own a house like this. Billy’s a lovely man.’ She leant closer and her eyes begged Rosaleen to believe. ‘Honestly, Rosaleen, he really is.’ Her head nodded to emphasise her point. ‘Ye know, you don’t have to be a Catholic to be good.’

  Mouth agape, Rosaleen cried aghast, ‘Have I ever said otherwise?’

  May smiled faintly as she shook her head. ‘No, of course you haven’t. Still…’ her head tilted slightly and an eyebrow rose ‘… I get the feeling that you don’t approve of him.’

  ‘Ah, May, that’s not fair,’ Rosaleen cried in despair. ‘I think he’s a lovely man. It’s just … well, ye see … I worry about your soul,’ she finished lamely.

  At that, May laughed aloud. ‘Well now, how’s about you letting me do the worrying, eh?’

  ‘Willingly! Willingly! I’ll say no more.’ Rosaleen held up her hand, palm facing outwards, as if to ward off the reproach in May’s voice, and then gave her friend a sly glance from under lowered lids. ‘Does this mean that you want me to start being nice to Billy? You know, the odd wee embrace and the odd wee kiss? Just to show how much I like him.’

  ‘No fear. You keep all that for Joe,’ May warned her with a laugh, and Rosaleen turned away to hide her pain. Her joke had backfired. She had been caught on the raw. Joe did not want… all that.

  May’s son was born in February and all hell broke loose when Big John heard about it. Rosaleen was kept up to date on all the happenings by Annie, who, when the stitching factory closed down due to lack of material for ladies underwear, had found herself a job in Mackie’s Foundry.

  During the First World War Mackie’s had played a prominent role, producing bullets and components for planes, so it was no surprise when they were roped in by the ministry to supply ammunition. Now they were working round the clock. Annie worked alongside Colin Brady (that was another thing about the war, it supplied employment for many on outdoor relief), and brought all the news home to Rosaleen.

  It seemed that for a solid week Big John was drunk and eventually ended up in jail for being drunk and disorderly. When he was released, Kate and the lads would not let him back into the house and got a court order to stop him molesting her and the family. Of course Big John heaped all the blame on May’s head, calling down vengeance on her. Vowing to get even with her for ruining his life. Not wanting to worry May, Rosaleen never repeated a word to her. She could only hope that Big John’s threats to get his own back were idle ones.

  It was August of 1940 before work was started on the first air-raid shelter in the parish, but nobody worried about this. After all, during the First War, the Germans never came near Ireland and why should this time be any different? The shelter was built behind St Paul’s Parochial House and was large and fitted out with padded seats. It was much more comfortable than the other air-raid shelters that followed it along Cavendish Road. It was said that this was because it would have to accommodate the policemen from the barracks on the Springfield Road.

  August 24th was the day they started to build. Rosaleen was always to remember that date – it was the day Sean and Annie got married.

  Rosaleen was Matron of Honour, and with Sean being an only son and all his close friends at sea, he asked Joe to be best man. For her wedding dress, Annie had chosen cream chiffon, shot with a tiny pink flower pattern. T
he dress was long and swirled around her slim ankles and clung to the curves of her slim body. To her mother’s dismay, she shunned the conventional veil, saying that picture hats were in fashion, and wore one of these on her dark chestnut hair. She was breathtaking: her eyes glinting like emeralds, her skin clear and pure, and happiness radiating from her.

  Seeing the adoration in her eyes as they followed Sean about, Rosaleen could understand his wanting to marry her, in spite of the complications that might arise. She only hoped that he would make her happy, but not for one minute did she doubt that he could satisfy her. Annie was a very lucky girl.

  One thing was sure: as effectively as if he had used bricks and mortar, he had put up a wall between them, because by marrying Annie he had placed himself even further beyond her reach.

  Although Rosaleen was not aware of it, she was every bit as beautiful as Annie. Her dress was pale blue chiffon, and her picture hat was caught under the chin with a swathe of white chiffon, throwing into relief the pure oval of her face and turning her eyes to silver. Since the birth of Laura she was heavier, but this just added a seductive curve to her bust and hips and did not detract from her beauty.

  Much to Thelma’s annoyance, the reception was held at home in Colinward Street, but with not knowing just when Sean would obtain leave, this was unavoidable. Also to her annoyance, there were not enough clothing coupons for both Tommy and she to get new outfits, and he had to make do with the lounge suit purchased for Rosaleen’s wedding. Not that he was annoyed. Far from it! He hated breaking in new clothes and was happiest when wearing clothes that had matured. However, Thelma wanted Annie’s big day to resemble Rosaleen’s as closely as possible. They were both her daughters and she meant to do her best for them. To her delight, although rationing was beginning to be felt, she had managed to get caterers in at short notice, and the spread was lovely.

  To Rosaleen’s relief, Betty Devlin, having joined the WRENS, was not at the reception. She had been worrying about meeting Betty, but when she had inquired after her, Sean had smiled and told her to stop worrying, that everything was going to be all right. She did not agree with him, but then, how was he to know that things would never be all right with her again? Annie and Sean were having a few days in Dublin for their honeymoon and lying alone in the big double bed that night, Rosaleen tried to block the picture of them together from her mind, but fought a losing battle in which tears were shed. She awoke heavy-eyed the next morning and descended the stairs to find Joe still in the kitchen.