Mother’s Only Child (15 page)

‘It’s just that I’m not sure about Barney,’ Bella said. ‘Will he marry her?’

‘It could be that he will have to marry her.’

‘Aye, but will he?’ Bella asked.

‘Dear God, I certainly hope so, for if he refuses, the girl’s life will be destroyed,’ Dora said. ‘And the shock of it will likely kill her father.’

Bella knew it would and Maria herself would be well aware of that. God Almighty, Maria had the sort of life she wouldn’t wish on anyone, so who was she to judge her? So when the girl expressed a wish to see how her mother was, Bella offered to go with her.

‘The post office is shut from half-twelve on Saturday,’ she said, ‘and Maggie can cope with the rest, especially with Mammy on hand, though she’ll be over the road seeing to your father.’

‘Oh, you’re very good,’ Maria said. ‘I’d welcome the company.’

‘There,’ Bella said, patting Maria’s hand. ‘I would say it’s a desperate place to visit on your own.’

Dora said none of this to Barney when he called at
the door, because she had a feeling he wouldn’t like the thought of Maria going to the hospital, so she just said Maria and Bella were away in Letterkenny.

Barney was sorry not to see Maria herself, but there was no help for it, he had to ask Dora to explain to Maria that he wouldn’t be able to take her out that evening as he had to do a job of work for his brother. He didn’t say what the job was and Dora didn’t ask, but privately she could bet it wasn’t something totally legitimate.

The hospital was on High Road. It was a two-storeyed, low-pitched, pleasant-looking building of light honey-coloured brick. In front of it were lawns encircled with a stone wall. Visitors entered through a wrought-iron gate that opened on to the pavement, and up a path with a lawn on either side. Some of the windows were open, Maria noted with pleasure as she and Bella approached three steps leading up to an arched doorway.

Even inside the building was pleasant. The autumn sun shone through the window and the whole place was airy and clean. The nurse behind the desk seemed surprised, though, that they wanted to see a patient in the psychiatric unit.

‘If you wait a moment,’ she said coolly, ‘I will get someone to speak to you.’

‘Probably some poor souls are put in here and forgotten about,’ Bella said, seeing Maria biting her bottom lip in agitation.

Maria nodded, but the nurse had looked at them in such an odd way—as if they each had two heads, or maybe needed places in the asylum themselves.

The man who came to see them, who introduced himself as Dr Thorndyke, a clinical psychiatrist, was little better. ‘I’m afraid we don’t encourage visitors,’ he said. ‘It upsets the patients.’

‘Doesn’t it upset them more, thinking they are forgotten?’ Maria asked.

‘Believe me, Miss…Mrs…‘

‘Miss Foley. Maria Foley. Sarah is my mother,’ Maria said. ‘She was so distressed when she was brought here.’

‘Indeed she was. She had to be heavily sedated,’ the doctor said. ‘In fact, she is still on medication. Even if I approved of it, there would be little point in seeing her. She wouldn’t know you.’

‘But, surely she isn’t going to stay like that all the time she’s here, is she?’ Maria asked.

‘We will use whatever medication we feel necessary to deal with your mother,’ Dr Thorndyke said stiffly. ‘She is now in my care and it is not for you to question my methods.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘We must await results and see what is best for her,’ the doctor said firmly. ‘You can do no good for your mother at the moment.’

‘Can I come again?’

‘I wouldn’t advise it,’ the doctor said. ‘Your mother’s mental balance is precarious. Any undue excitement or upset could harm her. I’m sure you understand it is in your mother’s best interest that you leave her care to the professionals.’

Maria was defeated. There was nothing more she could say. How could she insist of seeing her mother and risk causing her harm? Anyway, she knew, looking
at Dr Thorndyke’s implacable face, that she could insist all she would and he still wouldn’t budge. And maybe he was right. What in God’s name did she know what ailed her mother, let alone how to go about curing it? She shook her head helplessly and Bella took her arm and led her back outside.

Dr Thorndyke watched the two dejected figures walk back down the path. He sighed. It wouldn’t have done neither of them any good to see the woman brought in just over a week ago, heavily sedated and in a strait-jacket to avoid her hurting herself or others. With her vacant eyes and drooling from her mouth, he very much doubted she would ever be right again. The daughter would probably come to that decision in time, but for now, nothing would be gained by that young girl witnessing the deterioration in her mother.

Maria was quiet most of the way back and all the words Bella thought of to cheer her died in her throat. This was no small thing that could be eased by a few words of comfort. Maria held herself to blame. It was no good people saying she could do no other—she had put her mother away and the guilt that had lodged in her heart after making that decision had been hammered into place by their visit to the hospital. But for her father’s sake she put a bright smile on her face when she returned home.

Maria had been disappointed when she was told that Barney would be unable to meet her that night. She’d have liked to dance the night away and try to crush down the memories of that day. She wondered what job of work it had been and
presumed he would tell her when she saw him at Mass in the morning.

Barney had never been so scared in the whole of his life. He was scared of everything, including another so-called friend of Seamus’s, who went by the name of Eamonn Duffy. He’d shaken hands with the brown-haired, scowling man, who’d nearly crushed his fingers in his vicelike grip and who frowned at him so hard his bushy eyebrows met above a nose that looked as if it had been broken a number of times. And if he thought Seamus aggressive in his speech, he couldn’t hold a candle to the belligerent way Eamonn spoke. Not that he spoke much at all. He issued staccato-like sentences and his replies to anything asked were brusque, rather than succinct.

All in all, Barney neither liked nor trusted him. One job and that was all, he’d made clear to Seamus.

He had no part in the raid, but it had apparently gone like clockwork, though he’d sat in a state of such agitation he’d badly wanted to pee. But he’d had his brief: he had to stay in the car, with the engine running and the doors open, and that’s what he had done.

He’d waited for alarms to start ringing, police whistles to be blown and coppers’ feet to pound across the cobblestones. But none of that happened. In the black night, the only figures that appeared were Seamus and Eamonn.

‘Get going, Barney,’ Seamus commanded and Barney got going, while in the back, Seamus and Eamonn congratulated each other.

‘So easy, it was no challenge,’ Seamus said.

‘Aye, like taking candy from a baby.’

That night, after Eamonn had been dropped off, Seamus peeled off notes from the wad in his hand. ‘One hundred and fifty pounds,’ he said. ‘All right?’

It was more, much more than all right, and yet Barney forced himself to say nonchalantly. ‘It’ll do, I suppose.’

‘It had better do, you greedy young bastard.’

Next morning Barney was full of apologies. ‘I could do none other,’ he said to Maria. ‘Seamus needed a driver and his was taken ill with appendicitis.’

Maria, thinking Barney was referring to the job she thought he was doing legitimately, patted his arm soothingly. ‘Don’t fret,’ she said. ‘Such things can’t be helped.’ She smiled at Barney and took his hand as they went inside the church.

Later, when the Mass was over and they were wandering back, still hand in hand, Maria said, ‘Will you come and have a bit of breakfast with us, Barney? Maybe you can persuade Daddy to eat something. He’s like skin and bone. I’ve pleaded with him but he will eat nothing for me. It upsets me when he goes on like this.’

‘Leave him to me,’ Barney said.

Barney was far less patient with Sam than Maria. ‘Stop being such a selfish bastard,’ he told him, when he’d again refused anything to eat.

‘She doesn’t deserve this sort of life,’ Sam said.

‘She doesn’t deserve to be upset either.’

‘I just don’t feel like eating.’

‘No, you’re too full of whiskey and poteen,’ Barney said. ‘Look, Sam, I know it helps and, God alone knows, if I’d had the accident you had, I doubt I’d
cope any better, but all I’m saying is go easy. We seldom go anywhere any more because you’re usually too drunk. It would please Maria if you’d just swallow a few mouthfuls of something. God knows, it’s not much to ask. She has one hell of a life, so stop thinking about yourself all the time.’

Sam did see the sense of what Barney said. So when Maria came into the room and her father said, ‘I think I could take a few spoonfuls of porridge now, Maria,’ she was delighted and knew she had Barney to thank.

After breakfast, he came up to her as she washed the dishes in the scullery, pinning her against the sink as his hands cupped her breasts.

‘Barney!’ she cried, as Barney pushed himself against her.

‘Feel what you have done to me,’ he said.

Maria dampened down the excitement she felt rising in her. It wasn’t the time or the place. Dora, Bella, anyone could be in on them, and if she didn’t nip this in the bud, she’d be so worked up herself she wouldn’t be able to think straight.

‘Barney, I—’

‘Just looking at you, does this to me,’ Barney said, thrusting himself against her.

‘Stop, please. Daddy needs seeing to and anyone could just walk in.’

Barney took no notice and when he spun Maria around to face him and kissed her, she returned it just as eagerly because she wasn’t able to stop herself.

Leaving Sam asleep after dinner, Barney and Maria went for a walk. They were some distance from the
house when the rain began coming down in sheets so that they were drenched in minutes.

Barney took hold of Maria’s hand. ‘Let’s run through the rain like weans.’

They ran madly up the village street to arrive at the door sopping wet and laughing like a couple of hyenas. They entered quietly enough, though, mindful of Sam, though he was still dead to the world.

‘Is your dress wet too?’ Barney asked as he towelled his hair dry with a lascivious look at her. ‘You could always take it off and let me keep you warm.’

‘My dress is fine, thanks,’ Maria said primly. ‘And it’s staying put, but my hair’s wringing. Can you pass me another towel?’

Later, they sat before the range, drinking cocoa, Maria on the rug, her feet touching the fender, while Barney teased the knots out of her tousled damp hair and brushed it smooth.

He put down the brush suddenly and began nuzzling Maria’s neck.

‘Stop, Barney.’

‘Stop, Barney,’ he mocked gently. ‘That’s like saying stop to the wave crashing on the seashore. Your hair is tangle free and gorgeous, and I am burning up inside. Let me take you upstairs and undress you and make love to you?’

‘Barney, we can’t,’ Maria said. ‘The day I did that, it was…I wouldn’t like you to think I had ever done anything like that before. I’m not that sort of girl. Anyway,’ she added, as Barney lifted her from the floor and onto his knee, ‘it’s the middle of the afternoon.’

‘So what?’

‘Please, Barney,’ Maria said, ‘it wouldn’t be right.

Barney knew what Maria was angling for: a promise of marriage. His brother had told him that was what all woman wanted but he didn’t want to go down that alleyway—not for some time, if ever at all. He loved Maria, desired her, lusted after her, wanted to make love to her often, but he wasn’t the marrying sort. He knew he had to do something, though, or Maria would never let him make love to her again.

That night he confronted his brother with the problem.

‘What shall I do about it, Seamus? I only have to stand near her and I’m so hard it hurts.’

‘Buy her a ring.’

‘I told you I don’t—’

‘Listen, you bloody little fool, I am talking engagement ring. You’ve got the money after that latest job. I’ve bought a few of those in the past if a girl is unwilling. You don’t have to go on with it when you get fed up with them. She’ll probably be scared of getting pregnant, of course, and if you have any sense you should be scared of that too, so use a bloody johnnie. They sell packets of them in every barber shop in Derry.’

Maria thought one of the worst things about the war was the blackout. It always seemed worse when she came out of the lighted factory to make her way home. It took a minute or two for her eyes to adjust, and so Maria nearly walked straight past Barney, who was lounging in an entry, waiting for her.

When she felt the tug on her arm, she shone her shielded torch into his face. ‘Barney!’ she said in surprise and then shock took over. ‘Has anything happened?’

‘Everything is fine,’ Barney said. ‘I came to meet you. I have something to show you.’

‘What?’

‘Not here, not in the black night. I thought we might go for a drink.’

‘I can’t,’ Maria cried. ‘I have to catch the bus at twenty-five past five for the next one only goes as far as Quigley’s Point.’

‘You won’t need a bus,’ Barney said. ‘You mind the time I did that driving job for Seamus?’ And at her nod went on. ‘He gave me the loan of the car to fetch you.’

‘Still…‘

‘Just one wee drink?’

Maria laughed. ‘You sound like Daddy,’ she said, and allowed Barney to lead her into a nearby café, as the pubs were not open yet, and order tea and scones.

‘What is it, Barney?’ Maria said when the waitress had laid the things on the table. ‘I haven’t time for this.’

‘Oh, I think you can take a little time,’ Barney said. He withdrew the ring box from his pocket and gave it to her. When she opened it, she was speechless, for she’d seldom seen anything so exquisite. It was nothing like Greg’s solitaire. This ring had an emerald stone in its centre. ‘The colour of your eyes,’ Barney said. And this was encircled by diamonds that caught the lights of the café, which brought the waitress’s attention on them.

‘God, what a ring,’ she breathed, and Maria extended her hands so that she could look more closer. The waitress looked straight at Barney and said, ‘I know the cost of a ring like that. You must be a millionaire. Still, congratulations and all.’