I was now seventeen years old, still wondering whether to go on to a college and take a course in something useful. I wanted to help people in some way and contemplated nursing but wasn’t sure I could stand all the mucky side of it, the blood and bedpans. Secretarial work paid well but an office would be the death of me. The idea of being stuck in some impersonal business all day, typing out letters, having to run around for an unpleasant stranger who had the right to shout at me and tell me what to do – I’d had enough of all that with Mean Millie. No, the air of “dark-roomed towns” was not for me.
I was very much in love with Ryan but still felt we were not entirely committed to one another. He seemed so sure of me yet he hadn’t even asked me to marry him properly or even hinted to anyone else that we were officially engaged. In a way, I felt trapped by the situation. I was in a limbo land of uncertainty that paralysed my freedom and actions. At the same time, I was entrenched in the quiet, regular life I now led; it was alluring in its simplicity and peace.
I loved looking after a home, cooking nice meals for Dad and taking care of things so that he could work hard, relax and have his pint at the pub with his mates now and then. There was time to read great tomes of books, think about deep and contemplative matters. Not for me the stuff teenagers seem to enjoy. I enjoyed pop music and thought maybe jiving could be fun but there was no one to go with and I didn’t want to learn to dance with strangers. Not that I could see Ryan ever taking me to dances. The excitement of the Fifties was passing me by while I lived like a little nun. Waiting for Ryan. Waiting for something … though I had no idea what it was.
This idyllic life couldn’t go on forever. I’d become good at cooking and debated some form of catering and had visions of becoming good enough to open up a smart restaurant in a little seaside town like Lyme Regis or down in Cornwall. Pleasant dreams perhaps, but mere fantasy, a hopeful, unattainable vision like my old silly notions of being a singer or a writer.
Dad never interfered, didn’t push me to go and find a job. He enjoyed having a reliable woman at home that wouldn’t nag him as Millie had done. I revelled in being my own mistress, able to sit down when I wanted, work till I was tired, run the place the way I liked. But it was unfair to Dad: money was always tight as a good part of his wages went to paying off the mortgage on the house in Broughampton. He no longer got rent allowance now that we had a keeper’s cottage. That at least was rent free and there was plenty of coal and other little amenities so we managed to live sparingly on Dad’s small naval pension. Neither of us wanted much and were content, cheerful and happy with a spartan existence. I’d never known anything else; it didn’t occur to me to be bothered.
Ryan came to see us just before it was time for him to set off for Merebrook Camp at Malvern, Worcestershire, where he was due to begin his six weeks’ National Service training. When he arrived at the door he made me laugh by singing the recruit’s lament, ‘For gawd’s sake, don’t take me … ’ It wasn’t often that Ryan was humorous and I was startled by his apparent lightheartedness. How could he be so cheerful when two whole years of his life were about to be taken away from him? One heard terrible stories about the conditions endured by the raw young recruits and there was always the fear of a posting to some unknown, unheard of, far flung eastern place. I didn’t want him to go.
‘I wish they wouldn’t take you,’ I said looking glum.
Dad Joe laughed too and said, ‘Do you good, lad. You’ll be so used to discipline, coming back to look after a lighthouse will be a piece of cake. And you’ll be in the Royal Engineers with your skills and training. You’ll probably have a great time.’
‘Yeah, really great.’
‘Get on. It does you boys good. I never regretted service life and I had a war to fight plus being involved in the bloody Korean blockade before my service ended. You’ve missed Suez, you’re safe enough. But the Army – what can one say about the perishin’ Army? Why didn’t you try for the Navy? I’d have thought you’d be suited for it and they always need engineers.’
‘No, thanks. I love the sea but prefer to view it from a lighthouse rather than a rolling ship’s deck. Anyway, they want you to sign on for seven years. Bugger that idea.’
‘Seven years!’ I gasped, ‘Oh, Ryan … that would be awful.’ He looked over at me, and grinned. ‘See, you will miss me, won’t you, Bridie?’
‘Of course, I’ll miss you, stupid.’
‘Ah, you will too. And I’ll miss you.’
We looked at each other for a few moments and felt a sudden sense of parting and sadness like a dark storm cloud blowing over the sun, blotting its light. I saw so little of Ryan and now I would see even less of him. How could we sustain our love like this?
‘It’ll soon be over.’ Dad smiled as if reading our thoughts. ‘Then Ryan’ll be back home and straight off to a lighthouse. You’ll have to get used to missing your man, Bridie.’
‘All the same, I don’t mind doing it,’ stated Ryan, ‘sort of feel it’s my duty, really. We younger ones owe it to you fellows who fought the war and saved us all. We owe you. That’s what I feel … so I don’t mind doing my bit though it’s not a lot in comparison. I just hope I don’t get sent abroad, that’s all. Don’t like foreigners much.’
He might have seemed resigned to his fate but the thought of sober, reclusive Ryan with a group of young men joking and messing about and making a racket as young men do, made me dubious. However, he didn’t seem to be worried. His time at college in London appeared to have loosened him up, made him more sociable, so perhaps this term in the Army might break down his silent barriers even more. But what would it do for me, creeping slowly further and further into my little nunnery? Towards the end of the year Dad dropped a bombshell that was to change a good many things in our lives for ever.
‘Bridie, lass, I’ve some good news for you,’ he said.
He’d had a month’s leave and gone off to Broughampton for a few days. He said he was going to catch up a bit with Millie and the boys and sort things out. He told me that Jim had done very well indeed and been accepted by Trinity College, Cambridge, where he would take Law. I already saw him as a barrister at the Bar with his wig and gown on and almost laughed at the thought of his laying down the law. Maybe he’d end up a Judge with all the red robes and the long wig though thankfully he no longer needed the nasty black cap on his table ready to sentence some poor bastard to the gallows. Poor Ruth Ellis had been the last to suffer that awful fate. However, the business of National Service loomed up for him also.
I don’t want to defer it. I don’t want to go at all, Jim wrote, and I’m going to see to it that I don’t.
Apparently he managed to get that old crook, Dr Barnes, to write a certificate saying he had always suffered from severe asthma and was totally unfit for service. I gathered that Dr Barnes performed this helpful service for several of his friends’ sons for a nice little fee. That was no surprise, but how Jim managed to believe in right and wrong yet was able to stoop to deceit like that amazed me. It did little to make me admire him. I thought of Ryan and his words about doing his bit and felt prouder and more in love with him than ever.
Andy was now in the sixth form, already showing signs of being a businessman and apparently dedicated to the idea of making pots of money. And he would; he had the flair for it. He used to sell all sorts of things at school when we were small kids; marbles, autographs, anything he could lay his hands on. He could always persuade some idiot to part with his pocket money. He seemed to know what people wanted and the right person to approach. There was no doubt he would do well.
As for Millie, Jim said she had changed a lot, gone downhill and taken to the bottle these days. He kept asking me to go and see her.
‘She asks after you all the time,’ he said. ‘I think she’s sorry now for the way she treated you and wants to make amends. Be a bit Christian, Bridie, go and see her, forgive her.’
Christian indeed! I cared for many people and helped whenever and wherever I could but I could not bring myself to forgive Mean Millie. The mere thought of her filled me with illogical, ancient fear. My heart still remembered her terrorising me and instinctively shuddered. Dad Joe was always saying I should go too, but I ignored the hints and pleas and made no comment. I made no comment in my reply to Jim either and wished they’d all leave me alone to make my own mind up. I brought Dad’s attention back to his opening statement.
‘What’s the good news, Dad?’
‘Millie is in a bit of a bad way but I’ve arranged for someone to come and help her out,’ he said. ‘We had a long talk about things and we’ve agreed to divorce. I should have done this long ago but I felt sorry for her. However, she won’t want for money or help. Her mum died a month ago and left her that big house in Dartmouth so she can sell it or go and live there as she likes. We’ll sell the house in Broughampton and some of the money from that will help out the boys at University. I want them to do well. I want them to do what they really want. I’ve no worries for Andrew; he’s a money spinner, that boy, and has his feet on the ground. But I’m not always sure about Jim. He’s a bit of a sensitive chap, an idealist.’
‘Jim’s very keen and works hard. He got his scholarship, didn’t he? He’s sure to do well, Dad.’
‘Oh, he’ll do well enough. He’s a perfectionist in all he does, over the top in many ways, like bloody Sidney Waterman. I think he pushes himself too much at times. He says he wants to be a barrister but we have no contacts at the Bar and it’s contacts you need to get on in that world. Still, he wants to succeed so maybe that desire will drive him. He always seems to charm the socks off people he meets so he’ll be sure to make the right connections. It’s who you know in that closed-in profession, not how good you are.’
‘That seems to be true of anything one wants to do,’ I said with a sigh.
‘Aye, you’re right, Bridie. Be thankful you’re not ambitious. Your life will be more peaceful. Contentment is a rare thing, these days. Jim will never be content but must aim high and one day he may fall. For now he needs to have money to keep himself as he gets on. It’s only thanks to old Gran Taylor that we could send the lads to nice schools. I’ll say that for the old biddy. She always helped out there. Millie may help him out now she’s better off but Andy’s her favourite so who can tell? I’ll make sure Jim’s okay, though – I owe it to the lad. Things will be a hell of a lot easier when we sell the house and have a bit of spare cash to play with. We’ll be well off at last, Bridie, do you know that? Life will be a lot easier.’
‘Life’s fine as it is, Dad.’
Dad looked a little sad and stared into the fire. Taking out his pipe, he opened up the pouch I’d given him all those Christmases ago and filled the bowl. He smiled as he looked at the pouch and the little tartan dog on it, now somewhat the worse for wear.
‘You’re a good kid, Bridie. You’ve turned out a treasure. You know, sometimes I look back and feel I’ve let you all down. I should have tackled Millie long ago, ended the farce of our marriage. But I ran away from it all the time, first in the Navy, then to the Lights. Now look at her, she’s a mess. She might have remarried, been happier with someone else.’
‘Why are you sorry for her now, Dad,’ I said angrily. ‘She’s an awful person. She could have asked for a divorce. You wouldn’t have refused, would you?’
He looked at me for a while in silence. ‘Bridie, she’s not so awful any more. She’s sad. A bit of an old soak, I’m afraid. You know, she was an unhappy kid and I married her partly to save her from a violent father. He used to beat her daily and more that I won’t repeat; you’re too young to hear of it. He was a bloody sadist. I felt so sorry for her when I met her; she was a frail, pretty, sad little thing. I always feel for the weak and defenceless,’ he added with a smile, ‘which is why I took you on when you were a little mite left all alone in the world. I’ve been a good dad to you, haven’t I, Bridie? I’ve done well by you.’
‘You have done well by me, Dad, and I feel like you are my true father,’ I said, tears welling in my eyes.
‘Me too,’ he said, ‘me too, Bridie. I love you as my daughter and always will. You’re a great lass and will make a great wife, whoever you pick upon.’
I lowered my eyes at this and smiled. Dad gave a low little laugh, ‘Oh aye, you’ve picked on someone already, that I know, and so have I, Bridie.’
Startled, I looked up at him again. His eyes were merry and happy.
‘What d’you mean, Dad?’
‘This is the real good news,’ he said, grinning all over his face. ‘Been up to Bournemouth and asked Sheila Waterman to marry me when my own divorce comes through. She’s finished now with that old misery Sidney Waterman, they’re all sorted and separated and she’ll soon be free. As soon as I’m free too, we’ll splice the knot. Isn’t that great news?’
It took a little while to sink in. I had my slow days. My first reaction was jealousy and possessiveness and I made a face.
‘Ah, don’t be jealous, Bridie, she’s been like a mum to you and now she will be your mum – especially if you and Ryan get together as well. Won’t it be splendid, all of us together as a family? I’ll leave the lighthouse service and find a stable job and we can all live together by the sea someplace. I’m considering applying for a post as harbour master. If you and Ryan do get married some time, well then it’s off to the role of keeper’s wife you’ll go! But that’s your choice. Sheila’s sick of it and frankly I’m all for a new adventures now.’
‘I’m happy for you, Dad!’ I said wholeheartedly and went over and gave him a hug. ‘Sheila’s a great person and I know you two care for each other. Of course, I love her as a mum and have thought of her as such for ages. Yes, let’s keep her in the family! That is good news.’
Dad looked as pleased as Punch and I felt he had never seemed so happy. The crafty fellow! We’d both been courting the Watermans on the sly. It made me smile.
‘Won’t you just do one thing, Bridie, love?’ said Dad. ‘It’ll please me a lot.’
‘What’s that then?’
‘Go and see Millie. She wants you to go. Just the once before she leaves the old house and goes off somewhere. Just the once, Bridie.’
I saw that he still had compassion for Millie deep down: she was, after all, the mother of his two sons. His story about her unhappy childhood did little to stir my sympathy, so cold were my feelings towards this woman. But in fairness, I knew I was being as mean as she was in my way. How could I judge her if I in turn was so unforgiving? I decided that I would go and see her soon, lay our differences to rest. Then maybe the anxious feeling would go away and I would be free and happy to get on with my life.
Walking along Summerfield Rd, Broughampton brought on a strange feeling of déjà vu. Little had changed around here in these few years. The greengrocer, the butcher and baker still had their shops in a neat row at the end of the road. Alf, the lad who used to help me carry the huge bags of spuds and vegetables as far as he dared, was now serving alongside Mr Britten in the shop. He still took out deliveries but in a smart little Ford van instead of a bike with a basket on it. He had grown into a nice young lad of about eighteen or nineteen. He recognised me at once: ‘It’s the red hair,’ he said. ‘I’ll never forget your red hair. No one else has chestnut hair like yours round here.’
We chatted for a bit about what was I doing now and that sort of thing. He looked at me with that appreciative glint I was getting used to, the way a fellow looks when he fancies asking you out but dare not.
‘You going along to Mrs Bosworth’s then?’ he asked as I bought a pound or two of cherries and some flowers from him.
I shrugged. ‘Well – reckoned it was time. She might be moving soon.’
‘Really? Where’s she going, then?
‘Oh, I’ve no idea of that.’
‘You going out anywhere after seeing her?’ he asked hopefully, ‘Could take you for a drink later if you fancy it. Talk over old times.’
What old times? We had no old times. But I smiled sweetly and said I was staying in Broughampton at the Red Lion and would set off early tomorrow to go home. I had a few other people to see, so ‘no thanks’ to the drink. Then I escaped when another customer came along and distracted him.
I walked down Summerfield Rd and looked at the houses. They hadn’t altered very much. Dr Barnes’ house was still there, looking exactly the same with its straggling rose bushes out front and tiny handkerchief patch of lawn that hardly seemed worth bothering over. It made me think of the time I fell down the stairs and broke my leg and how cold he had been; so disinterested in my fate beyond the necessary doctor’s duties, horrid man. Oh, how lovely – the almond tree still grew in Mrs Maybank’s garden! It used to flower a glorious pink every spring and was one of the few things that lifted my heart in those days; I would linger to stare at it while the blooms lasted, sorry to see the petals begin to fall. Millie had always moaned about it, saying those petals were a nuisance drifting into her garden, all over her path. To me, they looked like bridal confetti and I hated to have to go out and sweep them all up and put them in the compost bin. The old tree had grown a fair bit since then, its shade cast over the pavement and Mrs Maybank’s tiny front garden. Nothing much else grew in that garden because of the tree but it probably suited Mrs Maybank who was getting old and wasn’t bothered any more. The tree was worth a hundred boring red salvias, white alyssum and blue lobelia which decorated almost every garden border along the road; a burst of patriotic enthusiasm since the Queen’s Coronation.
Other familiar hedges, mainly privet and holly with some flowering currants or mock-orange here and there, had swelled out, overhanging the road side like a pregnant woman’s belly. An odd door or gate had been repainted a different colour but this was about the extent of any visible change. I had walked up this road so often with my bags of shopping and other errands that I knew every stone, crack, plant and weed in it off by heart. Now the road seemed dingy, tired and shrunk in some strange way. Of course, I had become bigger, but I knew it was subtler than that; gone was the feeling of weary dejection, the fear and the misery that had trailed with my footsteps up this road. I was grown up and felt elation at the thought that I was free of childhood passivity and intimidation.
I opened Millie’s gate at number three. Here things had changed. Little weeds were growing in the cracks of the paving stones. Millie would never have allowed that. I’d have been down on my hands and knees prising out those offending weeds with a kitchen knife. The garden, once neat and tidy, looked untended and uncared for. She used to keep plants in pots by the door which it had been my duty to water daily. Now pots of dried up soil stood against the wall with straggles of plants falling over the edges that looked as if they had been there for years, desiccating slowly into stumps and dried brown leaves.
As I raised my hand to ring the bell, I felt a sudden jolt in my gut. I wanted to turn and run away. What was I doing there? I hated this place and I didn’t want to see this woman. Why was everyone making me come to see her?
Be kind, I thought, she’s alone now and abandoned by everyone.
Swallowing hard and breathing deeply for a few moments, I rang and the sing-song chimes sounded deep into the house. I waited a while and my hopes were raised. Maybe she’d forgotten and gone out. I hoped so with all my heart. But the door opened at last and there stood Millie Bosworth. I almost bit back a cry of alarm. She was gaunt and thin now and her clothes hung on her frame. She seemed to have made an attempt at smartening herself with a bit of lipstick and powder but looked unkempt and untidy, not the smart, clothes-conscious Millie of yore.
She stood there and looked at me for a while. No smile or welcome greeting came to her thin lips.
‘Well, what are you waiting for, come on in,’ she said and her voice was just the same if nothing else. I suppressed a yearning to turn and flee down the path but instead followed her into the house.
She went ahead into the living room and sat herself down in her old armchair, waving at the sofa.
‘Sit down, then.’
Still the old tone of command, the way of acting as if I was nothing, no one, a servant expressly created for her use. My shackles rose. I wanted to scream.
I gave her the cherries and flowers. She waved them away.
‘Put them on the table,’ she said. ‘Why did you get gypsophilia? You know I hate the stuff.’
How could anyone hate those dainty white flowers?
‘I’m sorry, I forgot,’ I said meekly as I put the unwanted gifts on the table and bit back tears.
She surveyed me for a bit.
‘You’ve grown a lot,’ she said, ‘put on too much weight, I’d say. Your mother always had an ample figure and you’ll take after her. And you still haven’t cut that hair. Why don’t you get a bit more modern like other girls and have a perm? It would look better. But you’ve always been an old fashioned little thing. I suppose he wants it like that. He always liked long hair on women.’
‘Who d’you mean?’ I asked, puzzled. Did she know about Ryan?
‘Joe, of course,’ she said still looking me over with that disparaging look she’d always had.
I ignored this odd comment and changed the subject. ‘How are you keeping, Millie?’
‘Oh, it’s Millie now we’re all grown up, is it?’ she said. ‘Mrs Bosworth to you, if you please, as I’ve never been your mother and thank God for that. I’m not well at all, as you can see, not well. My head aches all the time and I feel dizzy. My legs bother me and I can’t walk that far these days. But no one gives a damn. No one rings or calls. Joe’s abandoning me but then he did that long ago, didn’t he? The boys are growing up and they’ve got their own lives now. No one cares whether I live or die.’
‘I’m sorry you think that. I’m sure they do. Dad said he was getting someone to take care of you.’
‘You know nothing about it,’ she said dismissively. ‘Joe is all talk, never does anything for me at all. The girl came for a day but she was useless. I don’t want someone getting me out of bed at eight in the morning to dress me. I don’t need someone to dress me or bathe me, I’m not that far gone yet! I want someone to cook and clean, that’s all. I sent her off with a flea in her ear.’
Millie paused in her tirade and stared at me again. ‘Go and put the kettle on,’ she said, ‘make us some tea, make yourself useful. You always were a lazy little thing. Make me a pot of nice tea. There’s biscuits in the tin. You know where things are.’
Indeed I did. Little had changed but everything was a good deal neglected and not as Millie had once taught me to look after things. There wasn’t much sign of cooking but the bin was full of empty tin cans and packets. How strange that this once fastidious woman should have slid into such a state of chaos and neglect. In a way it made me sad. I made the tea and put it on a tray with a doily, nice cups and saucers and a plate of biscuits just as in the old days.
I was always quiet about my tasks and as I came back with the tray I saw her taking a surreptitious little nip from what looked like a small flask of whisky. She hastily stuffed it behind her cushion and sat upright, pulling a cigarette from a packet on the table beside her.
‘You pour,’ she ordered and I obeyed as always.
I put the tea on the table beside her. When she picked up the cup her hand shook so badly that she almost spilt it. I pretended not to notice and sipped at my tea.
‘So what are you doing now you’ve left school?’
I was nonplussed. ‘Nothing yet. I’m just looking after Dad a bit and not sure what I want to do. I thought maybe some sort of nursing job, maybe even a cook. I like cooking and people say I’m good at it.’
‘Come and stay with me then, cook for me,’ said Millie. ‘I’m not well and I certainly need some nursing. I forget my pills, you see. I need someone to cook, to talk to me and be here all the time, someone who knows me – not some stranger. You can come back here, have the best room. I know Joe’s going to marry one of his tarts in Bournemouth, oh, I know all right. And he won’t want you in his little love nest then, that’s for sure.’
I put down my cup and for a moment felt the barb penetrate my skin. But I was determined not to let her get to me.
‘As it happens,’ I said with a forced smile, ‘we all get on very well together. I know the lady he wants to marry and she’s a wonderful person. Like a real mother to me. So you needn’t be worried on my account.’
Millie’s face went as sour as a lemon at this and the thin lips puckered up.
‘Oh, a nice little scenario,’ she sneered.
‘And I’m going to marry her son, too,’ I added, ‘when I’m a bit older.’
‘Are you now? Very cosy. And all live together in the Old Woman’s Shoe, I suppose? Very cosy.’
She tipped her ash on the floor and I almost went to pick it up but stopped myself. She turned her face towards the gas fire and seemed lost in thought for a bit. I stayed silent and looked around at the familiar furniture and fittings. I felt a little sick in the pit of my stomach but in some ways I was beginning to enjoy the verbal battle. I felt myself up to her little games now and wasn’t going to be beaten by them.
‘But who’s to take care of me?’ said Millie softly. Her knee was jumping up and down in a strange, nervous manner, a habit I’d never seen in her before and she put out her cigarette only to light another one immediately. ‘I’m getting so ill, I can’t sleep at nights, you know. I dream things, frightening things. I need someone with me, don’t you see? Come back and stay with me, Bridie.’
‘Why do you want me back?’ I asked puzzled. ‘We never really got on, did we? You never seemed to like me at all. Why do you want me of all people to come and stay with you, even if I wanted to – which I don’t?’
‘What d’you mean?’ Her tone was full of indignation. ‘I always liked you, took you in as a baby, put a roof over your head and food in your mouth, taught you to be a good housewife. Then you go off with Joe and leave me. How could you take my husband from me after all I did for you?’
‘After all you did for me?’ I was so stunned by this that I almost choked on my tea.
‘Didn’t I take you in, feed you, clothe you?’ she demanded.
I put the cup down. ‘Yes Millie, you did all that but you never gave me a moment of love, not a kind word or a smile. That’s real food, Millie, a smile and a hug. Sheila Waterman gave me all that and good food besides and an education. You gave me nothing but misery and fear.’
My heart was beating with the courage it took to say all this for Millie was one of those people that created a dark, frightening aura about herself, hard to combat. Her face went deep red and for a moment I wondered if her famous rage was about to explode and got ready to dodge the tea cup that she picked up with a fierce expression on her face. If she did throw anything at me I was prepared to walk out without another word.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ I said with equal ferocity and rose to leave.
She put the cup down hastily and fished out the whisky bottle from under her cushion instead.
‘Don’t go,’ she whined and took a swig. ‘Don’t leave me alone, Bridie. I always feel safe when you’re here. Why did you have to go and leave me?’
I sat down, astonished at this revelation.
‘You felt safe with me around? I was only a kid. You had two big boys. You felt safe because of me?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Safe from what?’
‘From him!’
‘Who, for goodness sake?’
Her eyes had a queer look in them. The woman was half mad as well as drunk. How could I hate this pathetic creature? She was falling apart before my eyes.
‘I’m well off now,’ she said suddenly, changing her tack. ‘Come and live with me and I’ll leave it all to you, Bridie. Think of it, you’ll be rich. You can do what you like. You don’t have to marry to get away from him. You can have a career, be a doctor, a nurse, whatever you like. And look after me.’
‘I don’t want your money, Millie,’ I said, ‘that’s yours and the boys. Help them. They’ve always been your dear little boys, haven’t they? Get Andy to come and live with you.’
‘He won’t come,’ she replied, ‘and it’s not the same. I need a girl with me.’
‘A servant, you mean,’ I said, beginning to lose patience with her weird ramblings.
‘A daughter,’ she said.
‘Oh, Millie, I would have gladly been your daughter if you had let me,’ I sighed, ‘but you never did, did you? God, you’re a strange soul.’
Hearing the compassion in my voice, she redoubled her whining efforts.
‘I wasn’t always kind,’ she admitted, ‘but you were always such a difficult, ugly little thing. Joe spoilt you, you know, he always did. But I knew why, I knew why. And in the end he took you off, all very cosy. And then the boys left and I’m alone and afraid he’ll come in the night like he used to. Don’t you see?’
I didn’t understand her at all. She was rambling and drunk. She couldn’t possibly be talking about Joe – half the time, he hadn’t been around and if there’d been any sex between them we’d all have heard it through these paper-thin walls. Then in a flash I recalled Joe’s veiled remarks about her father and how violent he had been … and more … he had said. I was still a sheltered young girl and understood little about sexual matters and my imagination found it hard to grasp what Millie was saying but I felt a sudden sense of horror. I came over, knelt beside her and put a hand on her arm. She shook it off indignantly.
‘No one will come in the night, Millie,’ I said gently. ‘No one will come and hurt you. I think you’re speaking of the past. Dad said your father hit you sometimes. But he’s dead now, isn’t he? There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘My father was wonderful!’ she said sharply, sitting bolt upright. ‘He adored me, I’ll have you know. I was his “little missus”, that’s what he said to me. And he gave me presents all the time. What are you insinuating, you nasty little slut! I’d just like to know how you managed to get Joe away from me. I’ll bet he was into your knickers in a flash and you got those legs wide open soon as you could, maybe even before you both left. You always were a little slut, walking off with him, leaving me in the house alone. Just like your mother, just like your mother. Joe always fancied her and for all I know, you’re his daughter!’
I fell back from her, horrified at her words. ‘Oh, my God, you’re crazy!’ I said and seized my bag and coat and began to leave. She jumped up from her chair with sudden alacrity and grabbed my arm tightly, just as she used to when I was a child.
‘You’re not going away again!’ she screamed. ‘You’re to stay and look after me now. You have to stop him coming in the night! You’ve come back to me, Bridie O’Neill! Stay with me. Leave Joe alone … why can’t you leave him alone? He’s found another tart, don’t you see? All men are bastards. Stay with me and you’ll be rich.’
I shook her off as if she was some foul, clinging animal.
‘I don’t want to be rich, especially with your money, Millie Bosworth,’ I said. ‘You’re sad, do you know that … sad! You should see a psychiatrist.’
‘I’m lonely, Bridie,’ she whimpered. ‘Don’t you care? Doesn’t anybody care?’ and suddenly all the temper and violence left her and she began to sob, her gaunt frame shaking and heaving.
‘I don’t care,’ I shouted. ‘Millie, I just don’t care what you are or what happens to you. You’ve been evil to me and I’ll never shake you off. You’ll haunt me all my life. I’m going now and I shall never come back again. Goodbye!’
And with that I walked from the room and out of the front door. She followed me and stood yelling disgusting obscenities about me and Dad as I hastened down the road. Some of the neighbours popped their heads out at the hullabaloo but I didn’t give a damn. I was getting out of that house and away from that evil, mad woman forever.