The Wasted Years

by Mary Larkin

  She had sent in word to her supervisor that she was ill. That gave her a week’s breathing space, but could she travel to Mackie’s every day? It would mean taking two trams … she would wait and see how she felt at the end of the week before making any decisions.

  She had just finished her breakfast when there was a knock on the door. To her surprise it was the chimney sweep. Small, wiry, grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘I couldn’t let you spend another night without a fire, missus, so if it’s all right with you, I’ll clean yer chimneys now. Will ye allow me t’work on a Sunday?’

  His infectious grin brought an answering smile to her face as she answered him.

  ‘Of course, of course! I’m grateful to you for thinking of me.’

  As she led the way into the sitting room, she said over her shoulder, ‘I’ll be glad to get the chimneys swept.’ She gave a slight laugh. ‘But as for lighting the fires, I haven’t any coal, so I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to light them.’

  ‘You’ve no coal, missus?’ he cried, aghast.

  When Annie smiled wryly and shook her head, the small man cried, ‘Well now, we can’t have that. Sure we can’t. It gets chilly at night, so it does. There’s a shop in the village that sells everything, an’ it opens on a Sunday. When I’ve done the chimneys, I’ll fetch you a small bag of coal and some kindlin’ t’tide ye over. But I’ve t’go t’Mass, so it’ll be about lunch time before I get back.’

  Annie smiled at him; she loved his strong brogue. Much broader than the Belfast tongue. Even stronger than the older folk like her mother.

  ‘Oh, thanks very much. That’s kind of you. Is the Catholic church far away?’

  ‘It’s just down in the village. Have ye not bin down?’

  Once more Annie shook her head. This man would think her a fool. ‘I just arrived here yesterday …’ she began apologetically.

  He interrupted her. ‘Never you worry. I’ll take ye down t’Mass, that’s if ye don’t mind travellin’ in the van, an’ then, sure, ye can buy yer coal and sticks yerself an’ I’ll run ye home again. I’ll be finished in time for ten a’clock Mass, so I will.’

  He waved her thanks away and started to connect his brushes, preparing to sweep the chimney. Not wanting to stand over him, she left him to it and went to get ready for church.

  Annie turned the bend in the road that brought her house into view and shock brought her to a standstill. Monday had dawned brisk but sunny, just right for walking, so when her bed had been delivered earlier that morning, she had decided to walk down to the shops for some fresh milk and bread and meat. She had enjoyed her tour of the village and was in an easier frame of mind as she dandered up the Serpentine Road. Now she stood undecided, unrest once more agitating her. A figure sat on the step outside her door, a child in her arms and another youngster playing on the lawn. Rosaleen was gazing out over the lough, and Laura had her back to Annie. Should she turn back before they became aware of her? Should she stay away until they tired of waiting and departed for home?

  Anger bubbled inside her. How dare she? How dare she come here, to Annie’s home, to contaminate it. How dare she! With steps that dragged, she continued on up the road and was at the gate before Rosaleen, lost in a world of her own, became aware of her. As she closed the gate behind her, Annie tried to form words to tell Rosaleen that she did not want her in this house, would prefer her not to come visiting, but her mind was blank, and when an excited Laura threw herself into her arms, she hugged her close.

  ‘Auntie Annie … Auntie Annie … we’ve come to see your new house, so we have.’

  ‘Have you, pet? That’s kind of you.’

  Rosaleen had risen to her feet. Clutching the baby to her breast, she watched Annie fearfully. She had every right to refuse to let her in. Would she? As Annie drew close to Rosaleen, the baby, with a happy gurgle, held out his arms to her and she instinctively reached for him and hugged him close, her cheek softly caressing the silky hair of his head. Her actions surprised her. She had thought that she would never be able to look at this child again, yet here she was, hugging him.

  Over the child’s head their eyes met. Annie was pleased to see by Rosaleen’s ravaged face that she too had suffered. Rosaleen looked how she herself felt: miserable beyond description.

  ‘Annie, it was only the once.’

  These words brought a howl of protest from Annie’s lips.

  ‘Don’t you add insult to injury!’ she cried. ‘On Friday night you didn’t know what I was talking about, and now you dare to insult my intelligence … me mam didn’t believe me da, and I certainly don’t believe you. Do you think I’m soft in the head?’

  She stopped her tirade to glance down at Laura who was pulling at her skirt for attention. ‘All right, all right, Laura,’ she said testily. ‘Let’s go around the back. I’ve the back door key.’ And with these words, she was committed to entertaining Rosaleen in her home, having to laugh when Laura exclaimed: ‘This isn’t a back door … have you no back door, Auntie Annie?’

  ‘No, love. I’m rich, so I am … I’ve a side door.’

  Begrudgingly, she showed Rosaleen over the house, receiving tight-lipped her obviously sincere words of praise.

  When they retired to the kitchen, Rosaleen produced an apple tart from her shopping bag and proffered it to Annie. ‘I’m hoping you’ll offer me a cup of tea. And, Annie … we’ve got to talk.’

  However Laura, who had kept the conversation going while they viewed the house, disappeared out into the back garden and the tea was drunk in silence. Both of them sat deep in thought, and the apple tart lay untouched. Once finished, Annie suggested that they sit out in the sun. That morning she had rescued two old deckchairs from the shed and they retired to these.

  Rosaleen was having difficulty forming words to explain to Annie how she came to be pregnant. She had decided not to mention that Sean and she had been friends before he met Annie. If she once heard that, there was no way Annie would believe that it was only the one time and she must never learn about the first time, never! No one must ever learn about the night up at the Dam. Annie must be convinced that it had been a one-off event. It was the only way that her marriage could be saved. The vague ideas and longings Rosaleen had harboured, that maybe Liam would bring Sean and she together, had slowly died in the face of her sister’s awful desolation. Annie loved Sean … And he?

  Well, she must not put him to the test. Sean must never learn that Liam was his son. Only she, Sean and May knew that they had dated, and only Sean and she knew about the night up at the Dam. May was in Canada. Somehow she must get word to Sean, and he must warn Betty never to mention to Annie that he had once been interested in her sister.

  Now she began, choosing her words carefully. ‘Annie … honestly … it was only the once.’

  The hope in the look that Annie turned on her made her want to weep, but it was quickly replaced by scorn.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Well, I can’t help that!’ Rosaleen cried in exasperation. ‘I’ve come here to explain … I don’t want you picturing Sean creeping down to my house every now and again.’ Her head jerked from side to side in denial. ‘It just wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all! It was just the one time. Sean’s not like that. You must know that he would have come out in the open about it … if … we’d been having an affair.’ Her eyes begged Annie to believe her. ‘It happened just after Joe died. I was unhappy and vulnerable. Sean comforted me … and one thing led to another.’

  Annie desperately wanted to believe her. Accidents did happen and she remembered how devastated Rosaleen had been when Joe died. And hadn’t she herself pushed Sean out of the house? Insisted that he go to see Rosaleen, and him just home after months at sea. Long, lonely months without a woman. Nevertheless they shouldn’t have, they had no right … he was Annie’s husband. But if they did, and if it was only the once, was there an excuse for them? Angrily, she pulled her mind back to reality. Rosaleen was tryin
g to fool her. Once? And there was a child? No, it was hardly likely.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  But seeing that Annie was weakening despite herself, Rosaleen asked, ‘Well, if you don’t believe me … what do you intend doing about it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, I want to know where I stand. Are you going to acquaint Sean with the knowledge that he’s a father, or shall I?’

  ‘He doesn’t know?’

  ‘Tut, Annie! Do you think he would just look the other way if he knew?’

  Annie felt this was true. Sean had no inkling before he left that the child Rosaleen had just given birth to was his. She had already convinced herself of this. There was no way he would have asked her to make an appointment with the doctor if he had known that there was nothing wrong with him. Rosaleen had fooled him as well.

  Now Rosaleen had her attention. ‘Do you intend telling him?’ Annie asked fearfully.

  ‘Not unless you are going to act stupid. Sean is a wonderful person … as you well know. Are you going to let him go?’

  ‘No, I am not!’ Annie’s voice was shrill. Imagine Rosaleen thinking she could walk off with Sean! ‘I’ll fight you tooth and nail for him.’

  ‘You don’t have to fight me,’ Rosaleen interrupted her. ‘Sean need never know about Liam, if you keep your mouth shut.’

  Annie turned the words over in her mind, then her head swayed from side to side in despair.

  ‘He’ll know. The minute he sets eyes on Liam, he’ll know.’

  ‘Why?’ At Annie’s surprised look, Rosaleen repeated, ‘Why? No one else has noticed.’

  ‘I did!’

  ‘Only you noticed. Look at him.’ She pointed to where Liam lay sleeping on a rug. ‘He’s not the picture of Sean, is he?’

  In sleep, Liam looked like the Magees. To Rosaleen’s relief, Annie shook her head. Not a very definite shake, but a shake nevertheless, and she pressed on: ‘He could have inherited his blue eyes from Joe’s side of the family, couldn’t he?’

  A nod this time from Annie, and Rosaleen knew she had won – or lost? – her case.

  ‘You have the right to maintenance, so you have,’ Annie said mournfully.

  Rosaleen tossed her head in disgust. ‘Huh! I don’t want maintenance. I’m far from rich but the business keeps me in comfort. I promise … I swear … that Sean will never hear from my lips that he’s Liam’s father.’ She spread her hands wide. ‘I can do no more.’

  Annie looked at her intently. At the heavy, pale gold hair, the classic high cheek bones, the wide-spaced green eyes, so like her own, and without thinking, she asked, ‘Are you in love with him?’

  The colour rushed to Rosaleen’s face and then receded, leaving her deathly pale.

  ‘Of course I’m not!’ And Annie was sorry that she had asked, because it was obvious to her that her beautiful sister was indeed in love with Sean.

  The following day, Annie met her next-door neighbour. She was in the back garden gathering rubbish up and putting it in a pile at the bottom of the garden to burn, when a light voice hailed her from the other side of the hedge. The hedge wasn’t very high and at first Annie thought her imagination was playing tricks on her, then the branches were parted slightly and she saw a small pale face with twinkling blue eyes.

  ‘Hello, I’m Minnie Carson.’

  ‘Hello. My name’s Annie Devlin and I’m very pleased to meet you. Can you come in for a cup of tea?’

  ‘I’d love to. I won’t be a minnit.’

  A few minutes later Minnie arrived around the side of the house, her arms full of flowers. The bunch was so big it almost dwarfed her. She was five foot tall, if that, about sixty years old, and bright and cheerful-looking.

  ‘Thank you very much.’ Annie sank her nose into the flowers and cried: ‘Oh, they’re lovely! Let’s go inside and I’ll put them in water.’

  As they sat at the kitchen table, Minnie told Annie all about herself. She was a widow, with two married sons who lived on the opposite side of town. ‘I was away at the weekend and I was going to call on you yesterday but you had company,’ she explained.

  ‘That was my sister and her children,’ Annie replied, and Minnie nodded her head.

  ‘I thought so … you are very alike.’

  ‘You think so?’

  Annie had always thought that she and Rosaleen were as different as chalk and cheese, but Minnie disagreed with her.

  ‘The planes of your face are the same … and your eyes, it’s just your colouring that’s different.’

  Annie grew silent. This tiny woman had noticed a lot, considering Rosaleen and she had been completely unaware of her. Had she overheard their conversation?

  Minnie realised that she had given away more than she had intended, and sought to put matters right. From what she had overheard yesterday, fate had handed this young girl a bitter blow. She needed to be admired and her courage bolstered up.

  ‘I saw you from the back bedroom,’ she lied, with a nod up at the back of her house. ‘I’ve a sewing machine up there … I was making curtains.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Do you sew?’

  ‘I was a stitcher before the war, but I haven’t a sewing machine,’ Annie said regretfully.

  ‘You can borrow mine. I’m away every weekend. You can have it any time you like. I visit the boys alternate weekends.’

  ‘Oh, that’s kind of you. Curtains are so expensive. I would love to make my own. You must get on well with your daughters-in-law to visit them so often.’

  ‘I do. But to tell you the truth, I’d prefer to stay in my own home. But since my husband died last year, the boys worry about me, and they insist I visit them.’ Her face lit up. ‘Perhaps, now that this house is occupied, I won’t have to trek across town every weekend. And before I forget, I’ll tell you another thing. I can get you material very reasonably. I’ve a friend in the business.’ She drained her cup and rose to her feet. ‘I’d better go now, but tomorrow you come and visit me.’

  They beamed at each other, and Annie said softly, ‘I’m glad to have you for a neighbour.’

  ‘And I’m glad you’re my new neighbour. I was dreading strangers coming, but I can tell that you and I are going to become friends. See you tomorrow … about eleven.’

  Coming out of the docks, Sean flagged down a taxi, too excited to wait for a tram or trolleybus. He sat in the front of the taxi, beside the driver, and directed him to approach the Serpentine Road via the Shore Road. He wanted to see what Greencastle looked like. As they approached it, his eyes took it all in. It was bigger than he expected: a row of small shops and a pub, the Railway Bar, on the right-hand side of the road, and another row of shops and whitewashed cottages on the left-hand side. This was all he had time to note as the car turned off near the start of the village and travelled up the Whitewell Road. Here, on the left-hand side, there was a housing estate and he observed that Greencastle had not escaped the blitz scot-free. No, some streets were partially demolished, but he also noted that as they left the Whitewell Road and climbed the Serpentine Road, it was barely touched.

  When his house came into view, he breathed a sigh of utter contentment, his eyes darting all over it in admiration as they approached. He had been surprised when Annie had written to tell him that she had decided to move into the house. Surprised, but pleased.

  She had been living there for over three months now. Had left Mackie’s a month ago to devote herself to decorating. Was she happy? Her letters were different. Not so demonstrative. All about the house … he had been perplexed, but soon would be able to judge for himself whether or not Annie regretted buying the house. He hoped not. He could picture them growing old together happily in this house.

  When he had paid the taxi driver and turned to enter the driveway, he was puzzled that Annie had not come out to meet him. Perhaps she was busy?

  He walked along the side of the house and stopped in amazement when he saw the changes made in the
back garden. Annie was there, awaiting his reaction.

  ‘You’ve been a busy wee woman!’ he exclaimed, as he walked along the lawn, admiring the shrubs that had been trimmed, the borders bright with flowers. Even the big tree had been pruned. ‘It’s lovely, Annie. Very nice.’

  She, too, looked lovely … beautiful, even … standing there. The late September sun highlighted the chestnut hue of her thick hair, showed up the spattering of freckles that spanned the bridge of her small, straight nose, and turned her eyes to hazel. The short, yellow cotton dress she wore showed off her long slim legs and honey-coloured skin, and he found himself examining her intently. Gone was the cocky young teenager that he had married, and in her place was a beautiful, composed woman. All this hadn’t happened overnight. How come he hadn’t seen the changes taking place? His conscience would not let him escape from the truth. It wasn’t because he was away so often. No, he had been too busy thinking of Rosaleen. Too preoccupied to see the beauty that his wife had become.

  ‘You look lovely,’ he told her sincerely, his eyes still on her face. She had made no effort to greet him. No face proffered for his kiss.

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled wryly, and flapping her hand at the garden, confessed, ‘Not all my work. I had a handyman in, an afternoon each week. I thought we’d better not let it go another winter.’

  As he approached her, she turned and led the way inside, saying over her shoulder, ‘The kitchen’s pretty much the same as it was … just a lot cleaner.’ She smiled at him, but he was aware that it didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Come see the sitting room.’