Kitabı oxu: «Love Me Tender»

ONE

Mary Sullivan heard the dragging feet in the entry and swung the door wide to see her eldest daughter Kathy just about to push it open. The dejected sag of Kathy’s shoulders told its own tale as Mary drew her inside. ‘Wait, pet,’ she said. ‘I’ll brew us both a drop of tea.’

‘No, Mammy, I can’t stay,’ Kathy said. ‘I’ve left Barry minding the weans.’ She shook her head angrily. ‘Oh God, it’s no job for a man.’ She looked at her mother, her deep brown eyes sombre, and said, ‘D’you know, he was over at Northfield today, after a job on the building he’d heard about. Course, it was gone by the time he got there and then he walked back to save the tram fare. But the thing is, his boots are falling off his feet and I don’t know whether it wouldn’t have been better to pay the fare and save his boot leather.’

‘Ah, girl, I’m heart-sore for you,’ Mary said.

‘I couldn’t stand the look on his face, Mammy,’ Kathy cried. ‘I took the few coppers he’d saved and went down the Bull Ring. I got some bones and vegetables cheap, you know how they sell them off at this time of night. At least I’ll make a nourishing meal with it tomorrow.’

Mary looked at her daughter sadly. ‘Wait,’ she said, and went out of the room, coming back a minute later with a loaf wrapped in a cloth.

‘Ah no, Mammy, you do enough,’ Kathy protested.

‘We have plenty,’ Mary said. ‘Sure everyone in the house is working now but Carmel, and she’s turned twelve, she’ll be left school in a couple of years. Take it.’

‘I will,’ Kathy said. ‘For the weans, at least. Barry said they must have the best food first. He’s terrified something will happen to them that they won’t be well nourished enough to fight. I can understand it; after all, his two young brothers were taken with TB and his da was out of work at the time. Barry said there was little money for food and none at all for doctors, or medicines, and the youngsters were too weak to fight it on their own.’

‘He’s a good man you have, Kathy, and a good father,’ Mary said. ‘Things could be worse. Maybe in the new year Barry’s luck will change. God’s good.’

Kathy sighed. She had no hopes for the new year, for Barry had been out of work for four long years and she dreaded Christmas, with nothing for the weans at all. She was beset by worries. Her daughter Lizzie needed new boots – the ones she had pinched her feet and Kathy’d had to line them with cardboard to keep her feet dry – and Danny only had one jumper that fitted him now, and that was ragged and all over holes. She couldn’t lay all this at her mother’s door and so she kissed her goodbye.

There was another worry pressing on Kathy’s head, but it was nothing she could share with her mother either, or anyone else for that matter. Barry never made love to her any more. They slept side by side in the same bed and could well have been strangers. Often Kathy would long for Barry’s arms around her, or his lips on hers – not of course that she could say that to him, but still she missed the closeness they used to share. She knew he wanted no more children till he got a job, but still…

She was not to know that Barry realised how quickly kisses and cuddles could lead to other things, and he couldn’t risk it. If it wasn’t for his in-laws helping, the two children he had would go to bed, time and enough, with empty bellies. It tore his heart out that he was not able to provide for his own weans. God forbid he would bring another into the world to the same fate.

Lizzie and Danny were the only ones Barry could be natural with. He’d never been an inactive man before unemployment, and had never given much of a thought to the children either. Their rearing would be down to Kathy, like his had been down to his mother. But he’d been laid off before Danny’s birth, and now the boy was three going on four, and Lizzie six and a half.

At first, like many others, Barry had gone to meetings, listened to rallying calls and taken part in marches and demonstrations, but all to no avail. He knew he had to get out from under Kathy’s feet during the day, but hanging around street corners was not for him and there was no money for the pub, so he began to go for long walks.

He tended to veer away from the town, a thankless place to visit when he had money for nothing in the city centre shops. At first, his feet took him towards Calthorpe Park, or often as far as Cannon Hill, where he’d walk hour upon hour and return home tired and more dispirited than ever. However, one day, tired of the same route and with his stomach yawning in emptiness, he turned down Bristol Passage into Bristol Street and from there on into Suffolk Street, coming out at the top end of town by the Town Hall, and there he saw the lending library.

Barry had never been inside the library; there had been no occasion to. Although he could read, since he’d left school there had been little leisure to do so. Except for now, he thought, and he went in, glad of the blast of warm air, for the day outside was raw and his clothes were pitifully threadbare and thin.

It was very quiet also, quiet like Barry had never met before. He’d grown up in a small back-to-back house, first among a clutch of brothers and then with a family of his own, where noise was part of life and everyone knew everyone else’s business. The silence of the library was like a balm to Barry’s bruised soul, and the only sound was that of his boots on the wooden floor.

And then he saw the papers, such an array of them laid out, presumably for anyone to read. He sat down, and as he read first one and then another, his hunger was forgotten and the time sped by, although the papers made frightening reading. After a few days of intense study of the political situation in Germany, he was more aware than most of the mad little Austrian ruling the country. He knew that if only half the tales coming out of that beleaguered place were true, the man was a dangerous and vicious maniac, and he wondered how long the rest of Europe was going to stand by and watch. He said none of this at home for, God alone knew, Kathy had enough on her plate and it would serve no purpose frightening any of the family, possibly needlessly.

He progressed from the papers to books to fill the long winter evenings, and was choosing some one day when his eyes alighted on the children’s section of the library. He could buy little for his children, on twenty-six shillings a week for himself and Kathy, and two shillings extra each for Lizzie and Danny, but the lending library was free, and so he began to bring books home for them and read to them regularly.

Lizzie loved her daddy. He had more patience than her mother and was gentler somehow. He’d taught her to love books and write her name before she went to school. She liked nothing better than to snuggle down in the chair with him, her on one side and Danny on the other, and listen while her daddy read to them.

And that was how Kathy found them when she went in that day, and for some reason it irritated her seeing them all cuddled up cosily together. ‘Get up out of that,’ she said angrily. ‘Sitting there and the pair of you like a couple of tinkers! Get down to the cellar this minute, you need a wash before bed.’

‘Oh, Mammy!’

‘Do as your mother bids you,’ Barry said, scattering the two from his knee.

Lizzie glared at her mother. Mammy always spoils things, she thought, she’s always shouting. But wanting to live to see her seventh birthday, the little girl said not a word, but walked across the room and took her brother’s hand at the top of the cellar steps.

Barry stopped Kathy as she was about to follow the children. ‘Solly came by,’ he said. ‘One of the men has been taken ill at the market, he says he’ll put a word in for me.’

‘Regular?’

‘Well, till the man’s better. Even a couple of days is better than nothing.’

‘Is it?’ Kathy snapped. ‘And what if the means test people get to hear of it? What then?’

Barry was silent. He knew Kathy had a point, but he’d been pleased, almost excited, and had expected her to feel the same. After all, any job was better than no bloody thing at all. ‘I thought,’ he said at last, ‘I thought I could buy the weans things for Christmas, a wee orange each or maybe even a skipping rope for Lizzie, I know she’d like one.’

‘You know she’d like one!’ Kathy repeated, and her eyes flashed with temper. ‘What’s this “like”, all of a sudden? The things I’d like, I have to go without. The child needs new boots on her feet and you talk about a skipping rope.’

‘They’re only weans, Kathy.’

‘I know that,’ Kathy snapped. Suddenly it was too much for her and tears of frustration ran down her cheeks. She needed her husband’s arms around her to comfort and reassure. He was quick enough to put them round the children, but now he held them by his side, terrified that the dam keeping his own feelings in check would burst if he attempted to hold his wife close, as he longed to.

‘I do my bloody best,’ he said grimly.

‘Well, it’s not good enough,’ Kathy burst out in hurt anger. ‘You make me sick. Get out of my way, I must see to the weans.’

Barry stared at his wife in silence for a minute, and then snapped, ‘Oh, I’ll get out of your way all right. I’m away to me ma’s, where the welcome is always warm and the company’s better.’

‘Go to hell for all I care,’ Kathy snapped back, though her heart sank.

Below, in the damp, chilly cellar, Lizzie and Danny waited and listened. Lizzie knew it was all her mammy’s fault. Her daddy couldn’t help being out of work, lots of daddies were, and she shouldn’t have shouted at him like she did. When she heard the slam of the door and watched her father’s feet walk over the cellar grating, she began to shiver, and it wasn’t just from the cold of the place.

Kathy, descending the steps, was ashamed of herself. She shouldn’t have gone for him like that. God forgive her for what she’d yelled at him that evening. What had he been doing that was so wrong when she’d come in? Just amusing the weans with a story while he minded them. Was she jealous of her own children? No, she told herself, that was silly, but she knew that if she wasn’t careful, by the time Barry did get a job, they’d only have the shreds of marriage to hold on to, and when she went into the cellar, the children’s accusing faces filled her with guilt.

From then on, Barry and Kathy’s relationship deteriorated steadily, though they never spoke of the argument again. Barry had been bitterly hurt by Kathy’s accusation that he hadn’t tried hard enough to find work, and he couldn’t forgive her for it.

He did get a fortnight’s work in the market, and in a gesture of defiance bought a skipping rope for Lizzie and a toy car and marbles for Danny. He put them in the stockings they hung up on Christmas Eve, together with a shiny penny, a small orange and a bar of candy each. It was a grand Christmas morning for them, though Barry hardly spoke to Kathy and his only smiles were for his children.

Kathy longed to say she was sorry, but the words choked in her throat. Later, when they went to her mother’s and Mary produced the children’s presents – a pair of new shoes for Lizzie and a jumper she’d knitted for Danny – Kathy was consumed with shame that she and Barry weren’t able to buy those things for the children themselves, even though she was very grateful. Mary waved away her protests. ‘Let us do it while we can, child. God alone knows how long young Michael will be in work, with him turning sixteen in the new year.’

Kathy knew fine what her mother meant. Her youngest brother Michael had been an errand boy at Wrenson’s, the grocer’s shop, since he’d left school two years earlier. Once the lads reached sixteen, they were normally replaced by a school leaver, who at fourteen would work for less money. It was no good moaning about it; that was the system. Everyone was keeping an eye out for Michael, but the family knew that he would probably be drawing the dole with Barry before long.

So Kathy said nothing more and put Lizzie’s old boots away for Danny – maybe she could afford to have them soled sometime. Anyway, for a wee while longer the children were all right, and she blessed the fact that she had her close family all around her to help out all they could.

Mary knew things weren’t right between Kathy and Barry, but she said nothing, not even to her husband Eamonn. Though both seemed fine with the children, there was a definite frostiness between them. Few would have seen it – there was much jollification when the family all got together, and bad feelings could often be successfully covered up – and she hoped it was just a temporary thing.

New Year’s Eve was celebrated as always at the Sullivans’, where all the clan and many neighbours crammed into the little house and the children took refuge under the table with eatables they’d pilfered. Pat, the eldest of the Sullivans’ sons, was the ‘First Foot’ after midnight and arrived at the door to a chorus of ‘Happy New Year!’ carrying some silver coins, a lump of coal and a bottle of whisky that Eamonn had hidden away. They all drank a toast and hoped that 1938 would be a better year. Mary was glad to see Barry with a wide smile on his face for once. Of course that could be put down to the amount he’d drunk, not that it had been excessive but Mary had the idea that he and Kathy lived on bread and scrape and not much of that. On that sort of diet it didn’t take more than a drop or two to knock a man off his feet. She worried they’d both become ill if they didn’t eat more, and Barry needed to keep his strength up so that if he got a job, he’d be able for it.

She did what she could by feeding the children as often as Kathy let them come, and often sent round a pie or bit of stew and the odd loaf, but she had the feeling that it fed the children only. They were certainly sturdy enough and had the well-nourished look missing from many of the ragged, bare-footed children one saw around. God, it was desperate, so it was, how some of them lived.

Lizzie was a carbon copy of her mother, with jet-black hair and dark-brown eyes with long black lashes, but she still had the bloom Kathy had lost. Her face was the open one of a child, not the old face of many of the urchins, and her cheeks had the pink tinge Kathy’s had once boasted. She also had her mother’s wide mouth, but no worry lines were there to pull it down.

Danny had his father’s sandy hair, and a bit of the chubbiness of babyhood still clung to him. He was very like his father, with his round face, and he had the same-shaped nose and mouth as Barry, but his deep-brown eyes were like those of his mother and sister, for his father’s eyes were grey. Indeed, Mary thought they were fine children, and enough to look after when a man had no job. Thank God Kathy had had no more after Danny.

Kathy pleaded tiredness just after twelve, and Eamonn helped her carry the sleepy children home and put them to bed, but Barry stayed on longer, pouring out his troubles to his good friend, Pat. He and Pat had been through school together since the age of five, and it was through him that Barry had begun courting Kathy. Pat’s own wife Bridie was known as a nag, but he was so easy-going, it seldom bothered him. ‘Water off a duck’s back,’ he was fond of saying, but he sensed that whatever was wrong between Barry and Kathy went deeper and couldn’t be laughed off.

‘I don’t know what she wants me to do,’ Barry complained. ‘God knows I’ve looked for work hard enough. If I stay in she nags, if I go out she complains. If I play with the weans I’m spoiling them and I could be doing something useful.’ Barry shook his head from side to side in puzzlement at it all.

‘God, Barry, don’t be trying to understand women,’ Pat said. ‘What goes on in their minds is beyond me altogether, we just have to put up with it.’

Barry wondered if he could. There had been times before Christmas when he’d wanted to walk out and leave them all to it.

‘Come on,’ Pat said. ‘It’s a new year, a new start, nineteen thirty-eight will be your year, you’ll see.’

Barry chinked his glass against his brother-in-law’s. ‘New year, new job,’ Pat said, and Barry was infected by his optimism.

‘Aye,’ he agreed.

It was much later when he made his unsteady way home. Once inside his own house he began to see the stupidity of thinking that way. New Year’s Eve was just a day like any other, and he was just as unlikely to get a job in 1938 as he had been in ’37, ’36, ’35 or ’34. God, the dole was a living death that ate away at you inside, and now he’d got Kathy pouring scorn on him for not trying hard enough.

Upstairs, Kathy was either asleep or pretending to be. Either way, it suited Barry, and he slid in quietly beside her. God, what a life, he thought. I have a wife who lies beside me like a stranger and who hardly talks to me, and he remembered with a twinge of nostalgia the heady days early in their marriage when they couldn’t get enough of each other. Now, Barry thought, Kathy had settled without complaint into a sexless relationship. Maybe sex hadn’t been important to her. Maybe she’d just pretended that it had. He’d known from his limited sexual experience that most women didn’t enjoy it, and he thought that in Kathy he’d found a gem. Just went to show it was all put on, a pretence, or surely she would have said something by now. Ah, but what the odds, what could he have done even if she’d said anything? Once he’d loved her so much, but it seemed a lifetime ago now. With a grunt that was almost a groan, he turned on his side away from Kathy and settled to sleep.

*

One raw February day, the O’Malley household was roused by a furious knocking on the door. The clock showed barely six o’clock, and Barry struggled into his trousers and ran down the stairs to find young Michael on the doorstep. Michael had been on the dole for just over a month, as everyone had expected. Now he was breathless, both because he’d run from his house and also because of excitement.

Barry pulled him inside, for the wind was fierce. He knew something must have happened for Michael to be there so early in the morning, and in such a state of agitation. ‘What is it?’

‘They’re…they’re setting on at BSA,’ Michael panted, hardly able to get the words out.

Barry hadn’t been aware he was holding his breath till he suddenly let it out in a loud sigh. He’d been expecting bad news of some sort, but this…He remembered how once he’d been like Michael, shooting off in all directions, chasing one job offer and the hundreds after it. He couldn’t feel excitement like that again, but he couldn’t dim the light in Michael’s eyes. ‘Where did you hear it?’ he asked.

‘Paddy Molloy came in this morning and was after telling Da. He was set on yesterday. His cousin told him about it.’

‘BSA the cycle place?’

‘Aye.’

‘And this was yesterday?’

‘Aye, last night.’

‘Any vacancies will be long gone by now, Michael.’

‘No, it’s new lines, I’m telling you,’ Michael burst out. ‘Molloy said there’ll be jobs for us all, and the new lines aren’t making bicycles.’

‘Well what, then?’

‘Guns.’

‘Guns?’ Kathy exclaimed. Neither Barry nor Michael had seen her come into the room. Now she stood before her brother, Danny in her arms, and repeated, ‘Guns! Did you say they’re making guns?’

‘Aye, Molloy told us. A lot of the old workers have been made up to inspectors, he said.’

‘But what do they want so many guns for?’ Kathy asked.

‘How should I know?’

Barry thought he knew only too well, but he didn’t share his thoughts. Instead he said, ‘Well, I’m away to get dressed. It’s worth going for if all Molloy says is true.’

Kathy looked after him. She couldn’t even feel pleased, and certainly not optimistic. God alone knew she’d been pleased enough in the beginning, when she’d thought Barry would be set on any day and he’d been flying all around the place on one unlikely jaunt after another, until hope had dimmed and dejection set in. ‘Have you time for a drop of tea?’ she asked her brother.

‘No, we’ll have to go as soon as Barry’s ready. We’ll need to be early to have a chance.’ He’d just finished speaking when Barry entered the room, pulling a jumper over his head and grabbing his coat off the hook on the door. Lizzie was trailing behind him.

‘Have you any money?’ Barry asked Kathy. ‘We’ll have to take the tram there at least.’

Kathy tipped out her purse. ‘Two and threepence,’ she said. ‘All the money I have in the world,’ and she extracted a shilling and gave it to him. ‘Good luck,’ she said.

‘Thanks.’ Barry made no move towards her, but she hadn’t expected a kiss; that had stopped some time before. Instead he lifted Danny from her arms and kissed him soundly before setting him on his feet, and then bent down to Lizzie and, kissing her cheek, said, ‘Pray for me, pet, this could be it.’

Kathy felt tears prick behind her eyes as she watched Barry and Michael stride down the road. She might have been a dummy for all the notice her husband took of her. She gave the children their breakfast, supervised their wash and helped Danny get dressed, but her mind was far away. She had no hope left that there’d be a job for Barry, and she feared he’d come back more morose and depressed than ever.

‘It’s all right, Mammy,’ Lizzie assured her, catching sight of Kathy’s worried face as they walked to school. ‘I’ve prayed to the Virgin Mary.’

Oh, to have a child’s faith, Kathy thought, but she smiled at her daughter and gave her hand a squeeze. She couldn’t help wondering, though, what BSA wanted with so many guns, and why they should take on Michael and Barry when neither of them knew a damn thing about making them.

But when Barry came back, one look at his face told Kathy he’d been successful, and when he caught her around the waist and hugged her, she suppressed the thought that if Lizzie hadn’t been at school and Danny at her mother’s she wouldn’t have got a look-in. ‘I start tomorrow at six,’ Barry said. ‘Michael’s working along with me and we have as much overtime as we can take.’

‘That’s great, so it is! Great!’ Kathy said, and she felt the worry of the last years slip from her.

‘Is that trying hard enough for you?’ Barry asked, his face stern.

‘Oh, can’t we forget that stupid quarrel?’ Kathy said. ‘I was sorry as soon as I said it. God, how many times I wished it unsaid.’

‘You never told me.’

‘I’m telling you now, and I am sorry, Barry, truly I am,’ Kathy said, facing her husband.

Suddenly Barry was seized by desire for his young wife. ‘You could show me how sorry you really are,’ he said, and his face was very close to Kathy’s, his voice slightly husky. She could read the expression in his eyes and knew what he wanted. ‘We have the place to ourselves and it’s been a bloody long time.’

Too right, Kathy thought, and though she had plenty to do, she turned the key in the lock of the door to the street and the one into the entry, and followed her husband up the stairs.

Lizzie really missed her father when he went to work, though she sensed everyone else was pleased. Her mother didn’t snap so much at her and Danny now, and she was friends with her daddy again. Lizzie often saw them laughing together, and Daddy sometimes kissed Mammy when he thought no one could see.

So they were all happier, and Grandma said that, ‘Things are back to normal again, thank God,’ and only Lizzie was the slightest bit miserable. Her father worked long hours and any overtime going, and he got home too late and too tired to play with Lizzie and Danny as he used to. Often he was so late they were in bed when he got in and he had only time to give them a kiss. Danny had often fallen asleep, but Lizzie would wait, however tired she was, for her father’s tread on the stairs.

It was June now and almost Lizzie’s seventh birthday. Just after it, she would make her first holy communion. She knew most of her catechism and things were going along nicely at school, but no one at home seemed bothered. Who would make her dress, Lizzie wondered, or could she choose one, in the market? She imagined a veil with flowers on the band at the front like she’d seen others wearing. She longed for white sandals, which would be the prettiest shoes she’d ever had in her life, and white socks, so different from the grey woollen ones of winter and the bare legs of summer.

Eventually she broached the subject with her mother. ‘You’re neither having a dress made nor am I buying one; you’re having Sheelagh’s.’

‘Sheelagh’s?’ She was having to wear a cast-off from her hated cousin Sheelagh! Why hadn’t she thought that could happen? Her cousin was a year older than her and so had had her first communion the previous year. ‘And are the veil and the sandals and socks from Sheelagh too?’

‘Yes, and you can take that look off your face, miss, before I take it off for you,’ her mother said angrily. ‘I know your father’s working now, but there’s a lot of things we need and it’s silly to spend money on things Sheelagh already has.’

Lizzie knew she was right, but it made it no easier to bear. Nor did the party that her mammy arranged for Lizzie’s seventh birthday make it much easier either. She’d never had a party before, and the jelly and blancmange and tinned fruit had been delicious and she should have been thrilled. But across the table sat her hated cousin with a silly smile on her face that made Lizzie want to smack her. Sheelagh was a spiteful cat, and Lizzie knew what she was thinking, and she knew that she’d tell them all at school that Lizzie O’Malley was wearing her old communion dress.

But before long, Lizzie had more to worry about, and that was confession! Miss Conroy had let all the new communicants look in the confessional box, and of course they’d rehearsed and rehearsed all they would say, but that was nothing like the real thing.

The night before, she lay in bed thinking about it, and the more she thought, the more despairing she became. It was her first confession, and for that reason she’d had to examine her conscience not just for the last week or fortnight, but for the whole of her seven years. Lizzie decided there were a devil of a lot of sins you could build up in seven years, and she thought of all the bad things she’d done.

Disobedience – she wasn’t very good at doing as she was told. Not that she openly disobeyed her mother, or even her grandma – she might be bold, but she wasn’t stupid, and she had no wish to shorten her life. Forgetting prayers – oh, how easy it was to slip between the sheets at night if her mother and father didn’t come up straight away and make her kneel beside the bed. Then, when they did come up, Lizzie, not wishing to leave her warm bed, would often say she’d already said her prayers, so that was adding lies to it. And in the morning she was up and away and had started the day before she gave a mind to them, and then something more interesting would claim her attention if and when she did ever remember. Then there was fighting – she wondered if that was a sin; if it was, her soul must be as black as pitch, she decided, for she’d fought with Sheelagh for as long as she could remember.

And who would be hearing confession? It mattered because Father Flaherty was likely to give you a whole decade of the rosary for forgetting your prayers once, while Father Cunningham was much kinder and more understanding. But did you know who it was when they had the screen between them and you, and then voices were probably muffled in the box?

Lizzie decided she’d better not say she’d been too bad, for if it was Father Flaherty on the other side, she might spend the rest of her life on her knees. She’d say she’d been disobedient and cheeky and sometimes forgot her prayers; it would be better not to say she couldn’t be bothered sometimes. Anyway, three sins would do for now, Lizzie thought, as she curled sleepily in the bed. She had a mind it would take quite a few confessions to account for seven years of sins.

In the event it wasn’t so bad at all. They sat in the pews in the dimly lit church that was almost as familiar to them as their classroom, and shuffled down the rows, one by one, towards the confessional box in their turn. Strain as the children might, they could hear not a word spoken, just a tantalising mumble, and Lizzie was glad no one could hear the bold things she would tell to the priest.

Lizzie’s friend Maura Mahon told her that priests went blind into the confessional – it was well known, she said – and when you’d confessed, as soon as you left the box, anything you told them was wiped from their memory. Lizzie thought that very comforting, even if it was only Father Cunningham hearing the first confessions of the children.

Lizzie was given three Hail Marys and a Glory Be as a penance for the list of sins she told to the priest and Maura had the same, but Mairead Cleary had to say a whole decade of the rosary! Ask as they might, none of the children could get her to tell them what she’d said to be given such a heavy penance. Maura whispered to Lizzie she thought you’d get little more if you murdered someone and Lizzie was inclined to agree.

Certainly Mairead looked sorry enough as she knelt at the rails of the side altar with the statue of the Virgin Mary before her. She had her head bowed for a long time, but then one Our Father, ten Hail Marys and a Glory Be can’t be said in a couple of minutes. When Lizzie saw Mairead make the sign of the cross and then drop a coin in the box and light a candle, her eyes nearly popped out of her head; she’d never had money for candles.

‘She’s just making sure,’ Maura whispered. ‘She’s lit a candle so that Our Lady will put in a good word for her with God.’

‘She must have done something desperate, all right,’ Lizzie said with awe.

Her mammy had always said the Clearys were a funny bunch. She said it was strange these days to have the money they seemed to have to splash about when never a one of them appeared to be in work to earn it.

But all the same – a whole decade of the rosary…

The Saturday night before Lizzie’s first communion was the same as every other Saturday night as far back as she could remember. Her mammy would fill the boiler in the cellar early in the evening, and later her daddy would lift the large tin bath from the hook on the back of the cellar door and fill it with buckets of water from the boiler and cold from the tap so that Kathy could bath the children and wash their hair. Lizzie loved her bath, though in the winter the cellar was freezing. Now that her daddy had got a job, he’d bought an old oil stove which stank like mad but at least made the place warmer.

Lizzie was particularly glad to have her hair washed if she’d had stuff put on it to kill the nits. Every Friday night she had to sit over a newspaper while her mother attacked her with the nit comb, and if any were found, smelly lotion had to be put on her hair, and on Danny’s too, and left all the next day, and it stank worse than the oil stove.

That Friday night, nothing had been found in Lizzie’s hair, but her mammy gave it a good washing anyway to make it shiny. Then she carried Danny upstairs, and Lizzie’s daddy came for her with a towel he’d been warming by the fire while her nightclothes were draped over the guard to air.

Lizzie glanced over at the communion dress hanging from the picture rail. She knew her mother had washed it and starched it before ironing it to take some of the limpness out, and it looked quite pretty really. Kathy knew something of her daughter’s feelings; she’d been the eldest in her family and had had a new communion dress that later had to do for both her sisters – Maggie, who was six years younger than her, and Carmel, the baby of the family – and the same with the confirmation dress a few years later. It would have been nice to get Lizzie a new one, but such a waste with Sheelagh’s just lying there. It wasn’t as if they had another girl in the family to pass it on to either, though there would be one more O’Malley before Christmas, for since her sex life with Barry had resumed in February, she’d not had a period.

‘Do you like it, pet?’ she asked Lizzie.

‘Yes, yes, I do, I just wish it hadn’t been our Sheelagh’s.’

‘Now, Lizzie.’ But Kathy, though she rebuked her daughter, knew what she meant for, God forgive her, she didn’t like the child either, and was less than keen on her mother, Bridie.

She often wished Pat wasn’t quite so easy-going, for he’d allowed himself to be led down the aisle by that Bridie Mulligan, and everyone knew what she was. Sheelagh was one in the same mould, and yet Pat was the gentlest, most considerate and pleasant man you could wish to meet.

There would be no more children in that family, if you could go by what Bridie had told her. After Matthew was born, three years after Sheelagh, she’d said Pat would have to tie a knot in it, for he was not getting near her again. Kathy had been shocked, because even though she and Barry were having their own problems, those were connected with Barry having no job. Yet Pat had been steadily employed, and Kathy was sure it was wrong to be cold-bloodedly planning your family that way; it might even be a sin. Still, Bridie could well look after her own immortal soul; Kathy had enough worries of her own.

Lizzie felt like a princess, and as she glanced along the row, she knew her dress was just as nice as all the other communicants’. She’d discovered that most girls with older sisters or cousins had handed-down dresses like hers, and not all the mothers had done such a good job as Kathy at making them look like new. And it was far better than having a dress loaned to you by the school, as some did if their families were really poor. Lizzie would have hated that.

Really, she thought, no one would have known her whole outfit wasn’t new, for the dress and veil were sparkling white and her daddy had put white stuff on the sandals to cover any scuff marks. Her mammy had bought new white socks in the end, for she said Sheelagh’s had gone a bit grey, and that morning she’d given Lizzie a missal with a white leather cover that was so beautiful to look at it was almost a shame to use it. Her grandma had given her a new rosary as she entered the church, and now she played it through her fingers and attempted to pray.

But she was too excited to concentrate and couldn’t help feeling sorry for the boys sitting the other side of the church, for all they had were the white sashes loaned to them by the school. Their shirts were white, of course, and she guessed a fair few were new, but they looked very drab next to the girls in all their finery.

Lizzie’s tummy rumbled as she’d known it would, for she’d not been able to have anything to eat or drink that morning as she was taking communion. It was only right, for she knew the little round tablet was not bread but the body and blood of Jesus Christ. It was a miracle, the priests said, that happened in the mass. It always made her feel a bit sick, that thought, but she never told anyone, they’d think her awful. She felt sick now too, waiting to take communion for the first time. Probably, she thought, it was because she was hungry, and she’d feel better when she had her breakfast in the school afterwards.

Lizzie knew the family would all be there for her that Sunday morning. In one way she was glad, but on the other hand, she knew that if she fidgeted too much, or looked round, or dropped her collection pennies, she’d catch it later. She knew where they all were, for out of the corner of her eye she’d seen her Auntie Maggie and Mammy and Daddy arrive with Danny between them, and all the others behind them. She glanced round once to smile, but her mammy made an impatient gesture with her hand that Lizzie knew meant for her to turn round and face the front. She did, but not before she saw Michael and Carmel, who Lizzie felt were too young to be called Uncle and Auntie, grinning back at her. Carmel was only twelve and could remember her own first communion; she knew how Lizzie would be feeling, and how her empty stomach would be churning at the enormity of it all.

Kathy watched all the earnest young communicants and hoped that it was a safe world they were growing up in. The news she listened to on the wireless at her parents’ house was disturbing, as it was in the newspaper Barry had taken to bringing home in the evening. She knew that there was great trouble in Germany. Barry had explained that Hitler seemed to want to own the whole of Europe, and they weren’t making guns in the quantities Barry said they were making them just to put in some vast storehouse. She said a fervent prayer for the safety of her family, especially Barry, Lizzie, Danny and the unborn child she was carrying, and as the strains of the organ filled the church and she stumbled to her feet for the first hymn, a chill of foreboding ran through her body.