When Claire went across to Sheena’s house after school the next afternoon, Jane looked at her and said, ‘Claire! Is something the matter?’ Claire began to cry. Embarrassed, she put her hands up to her face and scrubbed her eyes.
‘Claire, come into the kitchen.’ Jane pulled her gently across the threshold and put her sitting down. All control gone, Claire sobbed brokenly.
‘I’m such a nuisance,’ she moaned through her tears.
‘Nonsense,’ Jane said, ‘You’re anything but.’
That made her cry more.
‘Don’t bottle it up,’ Jane said. ‘Let it all out and then you can tell me what’s wrong.’ She turned away to heat milk in the microwave for the milky coffee Claire loved. Claire dried her eyes. She felt very tired, as though she had been walking a long time.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said, taking a sip
Jane smiled. ‘Good. You looked so cold and pinched when you came in. It’s what you need.’
Claire nodded.
‘Okay,’ Jane said, after a moment. ‘Now tell me. Is it your father?’
At the mention of him the tears blinded Claire’s eyes again. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice hurting her throat. ‘He left yesterday... we were having lunch and he just got up and...’ She couldn’t go on.
Jane sighed. ‘It’s hard, Claire. I know! But maybe it’s for the best.’
How could it be? She had lost her father as surely as if he were dead.
‘What I mean to say,’ Jane went on, correctly divining her expression, ‘your parents will now have a chance to assess and correct what’s gone wrong between them. When you are too close to someone it’s often hard to find the right solution. A bit of space can work wonders, you know.’
Claire stared at her uncomprehendingly. What had all of that got to do with anything? Her father had walked out on them. He had left them, not for the best, but to go and live with some other woman. There! What she’d tried to keep from admitting was out. ‘I hate him and I’m glad he’s gone,’ she said passionately.
‘Try not to blame him too much,’ Jane said gently. ‘I’m sure he’s as sad as any of you. Men find it much harder than women to analyse their feelings.’ She leaned across and squeezed Claire’s hand. ‘You are such a lovely girl, Claire. It would be a tragedy if you became bitter and allowed this to ruin your life.’
Claire allowed her hand to lie in Jane’s trying not to weep again. Jane seemed to sense this.
‘Don’t be afraid of emotion, Claire,’ she said. ‘It can sweep us away but isn’t that better than being cold and unfeeling.’ After a moment she went on, ‘I would like to think if you ever had any little problem you felt you couldn’t tell your mother that you would bring it to me.’
Claire was startled. Had she found out, was that it? It was like someone you had stolen from hinting they knew what you’d done and expecting you to give yourself up of your own accord. Only Jane couldn’t know, or could she?
So successfully had Claire compartmentalised her feelings about Eddie that up to this she had experienced little or no guilt. It was all so fantastic, so out of the ordinary, so beyond her control. True, in fantasies she sometimes saw herself confessing and begging Jane’s pardon. Then Jane was the one to take her in her arms and stroke and pleasure her. Claire sometimes saw herself like a small rubber ball bobbing about between the pair of them, veering rather more slightly towards the one than the other, depending on which way the current was pulling.
‘Think over what I’ve said,’ Jane stood up. ‘Remember, love, I have your best interests at heart.’
Jane was her friend, she told herself. She really was.
‘I have to take the children to the dentist at five so I’d better round them up.’ Jane smiled at Claire, ‘Why don’t you stay on a bit. Teresa went home early. You can pull the front door after you.’
It was warm in the kitchen, a nice contrast to her own house. Claire felt drowsy and relaxed, like she felt in a warm bath, reluctant to move but knowing she should climb out and dry herself. She sat on, promising herself every minute to get up and go home. She always had a lot of homework on Monday nights.
She awoke to see him standing in the doorway.
‘What! All on your own. Where is everybody?’ Eddie advanced into the room, removing his topcoat and flinging it in a chair. He stripped off his gloves and laid them on the table. He gave her a little sidelong smiling glance, in high good humour.
‘So we are alone at last, Claire-bear.’ He’d heard Ruthie calling her that. She didn’t know whether she liked it or not. She felt muzzy from sleep. Her hair was dishevelled, her mouth dry. Her gymslip was crumpled, riding high on her bare thighs. She saw him glancing down at them.
He turned away. She thought he was going out again but it was merely to switch off the light. In the gloom she saw him coming towards her.
In late spring, just after Hugh made his Confirmation, the Irish government announced their proposal to insert an amendment clause in the Constitution. By voting Yes in the referendum Irish people would ensure that abortion would never be legalised in their country.
In their different medical camps Eddie and Jane McArdle were taken up with campaigning against the amendment on the grounds that it was unnecessary. Eddie maintained that the law, as it stood, provided for the physical and mental well-being of pregnant women who found themselves in a dangerous life-threatening situation. Doctors were making their own compassionate decisions and could be trusted not to allow a developing foetus to endanger the life of the mother. He claimed too that the wording of the amendment was faulty and, if passed, would leave the way open to all kinds of misinterpretation. He was ultimately proved to be right but none of all this was clear at the time of the referendum.
Jane was concerned that the amendment might even prevent pregnant women from leaving the country to seek abortions abroad. For some years she had been involved in counselling the victims of rape as well as giving her professional services to a birth control clinic two days a week. In no way involved in assisting in or procuring abortions, or even offering referral advice to patients, she supported women’s right to freedom of choice and movement.
As polling day drew near everyone was becoming more and more confused, and debates waxed ever fiercer between the less restrained of the pro-lifers and the right-to-choose activists. There were some nasty scenes in the city following demonstrations and pregnant single women went in fear of insult and attack.
Because of the nature of her counselling work Jane was asked to go on television. She sat opposite the interviewer, smiling with an assurance she did not feel, and sincerely stated her views, saying she was against abortion and honestly believed all truly dedicated doctors were of the same opinion but, at the same time, she believed in the constitutional rights of women and felt the amendment could jeopardize those rights.
‘So in effect,’ the interviewer said, ‘you are saying that you support the right of women to seek abortion.’
Jane shook her head. ‘I support their right to information regarding it and the freedom to make up their own minds.’
‘To have an abortion?’
‘Or not to have one.’
The interviewer folded his arms and tried another tack. ‘So if a very young girl came to your surgery and it transpired that she was pregnant as the result of incestual rape, you would have no qualms about turning her away?’
Jane had never been in such a position in all her years as a doctor but she had often wondered what she would do in such a situation. She tried tried to give an honest answer. ‘I cannot say for certain what I would do but my personal view on the matter is that in a very extreme case, for instance, where there might be a substantive risk not only to the life but the mental state of a women who was pregnant, say, as the result of rape or incestual abuse there might... just might... be an argument for abortion.’
‘Can you clarify this?’
‘If, say, the trauma suffered by the victim at the prospect of carrying the child full term was so great that she became suicidal or showed indications of trying to harm herself.’
Nine years later such a case would come before the Supreme Court and the judges would decide that a fourteen year old girl, pregnant reportedly due to rape and thought likely to commit suicide if she was prevented from having an abortion, could be considered to come within these terms. But at the time Jane was speaking no such case had ever come to the public’s notice, although it was highly probable such cases existed.
The interviewer, delighted at having provoked her into what he regarded as a contradiction of her earlier statement, began to harass her and twist her words, querying whether it was possible for a doctor to hold a personal opinion as distinct from a medical one on such a serious matter as abortion.
Jane held her own as well as she could. She spoke movingly on the rights of the unfortunate women, victims of rape and sexual violence that she counselled in the clinic, but her compassion was the very weapon the interviewer used against her. By the time the interview was over the majority of viewers were confused as to Jane’s ethics and had gained the impression that she was actually in favour of abortion, irrespective of circumstance.
During and after the show there were the usual amount of abusive calls from cranks and misogynists. In the Sunday papers there was a follow-up and Jane was denounced by a bishop who said it was a sad look-out for Irish motherhood when the likes of Jane McArdle were given peak viewing time in order to corrupt and seduce the youth of the country.
Jane tried not to be too cast down by the more vituperative of the letters that came pouring. She felt she had been grossly misrepresented and contemplated writing a letter to the papers clarifying her views, but Eddie strongly advised her against it, believing that the less said the sooner the whole thing would be forgotten. Sheena enjoyed all the notoriety. She told Claire she was hoping her mother would go on the Late, Late Show to vindicate herself. That would be really great.
Hugh fared rather worse as a result of all the publicity. He came home one day, his forehead badly gashed. Jane thought he must have been in a fight, although as a rule Hugh was peaceable enough. Terry was the one who regularly fell in the door with a cut and swollen lip. She was not unduly worried until one evening she noticed bruising on Hugh’s back when he was undressing for bed. When questioned he mumbled something about slipping off the high bar at gym. He tried to make light of it but when she pressed him, reluctantly admitted there had been one or two bullying incidents on his way home from school.
‘Don’t fuss, Mum,’ Hugh said anxiously. ‘I can handle it.’
But could he? Jane wasn’t so sure.
It seemed that his spectacles had triggered off the first ill-natured remarks and after that, she suspected, the situation had escalated. Jane was incensed and rang St Gabriel’s to make an appointment to see the headmaster.
He received her in his study with barely concealed dislike and, still seated, waved her to a chair. Jane, taken up with her grievance, hardly noticed his lack of courtesy. She told him why she had come.
He assured her anything out of the ordinary, even something so commonplace as spectacles, could draw forth the venom of the bullies in a class. He shrugged and said that it was regrettable. He didn’t seem to feel there was anything he or anyone else could do about it.
Jane proceeded to speak her mind with no uncertainty. It was disgraceful, she said, and not to be tolerated. The bullies should be singled out and suspended. The headmaster listened with a bland expression. When she ran out of words he spoke about the danger of jumping to conclusions. A tumble in the playground hardly constituted an attack. She fumed as she listened to this bland whitewashing of the incident. Tripped indeed! She came away in a fury of hurt and dissatisfaction.
Maybe the school authorities had seen the television interview. No one could say for sure bu her enquiry received scant attention and the bullying continued. Hugh refused to discuss the matter, insisting he could defend himself. In desperation, Jane spoke to Terry.
‘Leave it to me, Mum,’ he said. ‘I’ll fix those bastards.’
Terry and a few of his classmates concealed themselves in the bushes at the end of the avenue, leading up to the school, and lay in wait for the bullies. As they drew near Terry gave the signal and he and his chosen band rushed out. Terry caught hold of the ringleader, a boy called Mark, and slammed him into the ground. He sat astride him and pinioned his arms.
‘If you ever lay a finger on my brother again,’ he told him, ‘I’ll break your neck.’
The boy struggled and squirmed under him but offered no further defiance. Terry had gained a reputation for being a formidable adversary and, for a while after that, they left Hugh alone.
The leaves on the silver birch in the McArdle’s back garden hung like pods, about to unfurl, and in the overgrown mass of vegetation behind Claire’s house the broom fountained yellow-gold against red brickwork. There were only two weeks to go before the end of the spring term and she and Sheena were counting the days. The McArdles had decided to go away to their holiday bungalow for Easter and Jane had asked Claire to go with them.
‘It will do you good,’ Jane said. ‘You’ve been looking very pale lately. Even Eddie has noticed. It’s a beautiful spot and the sea air will be just the thing to put colour back in those cheeks.’
Jane admitted she was feeling the effects of the past few months herself and looked forward to lazing about for two weeks. ‘Don’t feel you have to be grateful or anything,’ she told Claire with a smile. ‘You’ll be earning your keep looking after Ruthie as well as putting up with me when Eddie is playing golf. You may be sure Sheena won’t be much in evidence. If I know that young lady she’ll be off gallivanting with the boys.’
Claire didn’t really mind. She had no wish to meet boys. She really welcomed the break from her own house though, and especially her mother. Not that she didn’t appreciate the efforts Annette was making since her father left home. Each week the two of them went to a film together and bought fish and chips on the way home. Some nights they got on really well, others they hardly spoke to each other. When this happened Annette would lose her temper and accuse Claire of being selfish and unsociable and then inevitably she would start cataloguing Jim’s faults. Claire recognised that her father had faults, but he wasn’t there to defend himself, that was the difference. When she said so Annette would cry in exasperation, ‘For God’s sake, Claire, anyone would think from your attitude I drove him away. He was the one who strayed. It wasn’t the first time either. but because I loved him I forgave him. I still do in a way but it’s just not the kind of love to withstand such a marriage.’
Claire considered that it would be a relief to be out of the line of fire for a whole fortnight. She deliberately kept herself from thinking of Eddie. There had been two further occasions of intimacy in the months since the February day in the kitchen, but even those she had put out of her mind and they had assumed a dream-like quality, as though they had happened to someone else. Actually, the intimate Eddie was becoming more and more distant from the father-figure Eddie, whom she met often in the presence of his family. This fatherly Eddie, unlike the other, presented no threat.
Annette did not raise any objection. She was feeling worn out herself after the spring term and looked forward to two weeks of freedom from early rising and Montessori teaching.
These days she felt all strung out by the time she reached home in the evenings. With the approach of the good weather the little boys and girls she taught were full of repressed energy, just bursting to get out of school and into the air. At home her own children were also taking their toll on her. Since Jim had moved out of the house the three of them had been thrown into the claustrophobic proximity of one parent families. Every little grievance was magnified and it took as little as the absence of a favourite breakfast cereal to spark off a family row. It seemed to Annette that in her children’s eyes she was always at fault. Of the two, Christopher, though less analytical and probing than Claire, was inclined to be the most censorious and clearly still blamed her for the family split. So Annette readily agreed to her daughter going away with the McArdles for Easter, only too glad to have her burden halved for the next two weeks.
The McArdles travelled in convoy to Waterford and arrived in Dualeen late afternoon. It was a lovely day, like the middle of summer. Along the coast road the sea sparkled invitingly, the waves only lightly capped with lacy foam. Claire was sorry when they left it behind and turned inland.
The McArdle’s holiday house was actually a dormer bungalow, and bigger than it looked from the outside. Claire found she was sharing an upper room with Sheena and Ruthie. The boys were across the landing. Downstairs, with a separate bathroom of their own, was Jane’s and Eddie’s room.
Wherever they went in Dualeen everyone seemed to know the McArdles and because she was with them Claire got friendly smiles and nods of the head. It was her first taste of life in a seaside town and she loved every minute.
On the beach, which was two hundred yards from the bungalow, the children played sand cricket and skimmed stones in the waves. Ruthie, helped by Hugh, made linked rows of turrets on the shore, endlessly filling, patting down and upending her bucket. The mild weather looked as if it would never end.
Jane sat on the rug, like a queen amidst her subjects, sunglasses shoved high on her forehead, a book dangling from one relaxed hand. ‘This is the life,’ she sighed every few moments, wanting to hold on to these first blissful moments of the holiday, not yet taking for granted the fact that she really was away, with no patients to see or urgent cases to consider for the next two weeks. And the weather! ‘Not like April at all,’ she gloated. ‘More like the middle of June.’
Claire, like Jane, hugged to herself the thought of all those sunny days ahead of her. For the first time in her life she felt part of a family, a real family, with brothers and sisters to share her happiness. She wandered away from Sheena and Terry and lay down on a corner of the rug beside Jane. Contentedly she took up her book. Villette. Another great story and even better than Shirley, which she had just finished the week before coming away. When Claire liked an author she read everything she could lay her hands on by that author, feeling it gave her a great sense of the person, almost as if she knew them. Sometimes she just let the book slide out of her hand and felt the sun an aching violet pressure on her lids. Lately she was feeling lethargic. She was just as pleased to laze about playing snap with Ruthie or noughts and crosses with Hugh. She thought she might be getting her period.
With her eyes shut, she heard the shouts and laughter as though from a great distance. She kept her eyes tight shut, afraid if she opened them she might find herself back home again. When at last she chanced breaking the spell and let them fly open, the sun nearly blinded her and she gazed in wonder at the sea and sand, the smiling faces turned towards her.
‘C’mon, lazybones,’ Sheena cried, plumping down on the sand beside her, ‘we’re going to play cricket and we need you.’
Claire marked the page of her book and got up reluctantly. She could have lain there for ever. Jane watched her with a smile, glad to see her so relaxed.
Not far from the bungalow there was a hotel, a large white building at the top of a sandy sloping road. There was a pool table in an annex beside the bar and the hotel served delicious afternoon teas. Jane often took the children there and she would sit reading a magazine, with a gin and tonic at her elbow while they sampled the cream cakes and petit fours.
‘This is my Black Forest Gateau,’ she would joke, raising her glass. Eddie sometimes joined them and he and Jane would withdraw to the bar, leaving the children to their own devices. Claire always felt easier when he wasn’t with them. It was a relief when he went away for two days to play golf in Rosslare.
There was a funfair set up in a field behind the hotel and the children went there as often as they got money from Jane. Hugh partnered Claire in the dodgem cars, and she hung in breathlessly beside him, her heart in her mouth. He knew she hated the jarring collisions and he did his best to ferry her safely out of danger, but every so often Terry and Sheena came at them out of the blue and the two cars would come crashing to a halt. Ruthie was not allowed to ride the cars and she would be jumping up and down, impatient for them to finish. Claire took her on the chair-o-planes and the two of them held hands and whirled screaming high above the crowd. Ruthie loved them but afterwards Claire felt so sick she thought she was going to throw up.
In the evenings they stayed home and Jane cooked up lots of chips and whiting in batter. Sheena and Claire took turns, lowering the fish basket into the hot fat. Sometimes they had party nights, when Eddie and Jane invited in couples from the other holiday bungalows and the adults either played cards or shuffled about the floor in lazy time to Elvis or the Beatles.
Sometimes the neighbouring couples brought their children with them and Claire and Sheena had to organise them in another room. Eventually the younger ones became cranky and would have to be carted home and put to bed, so the girls earned themselves quite a bit of money baby-sitting. By the time the partying parents came stealing shamefacedly in, Claire and Sheena would be fast asleep on the settee, but, within minutes, they would be fully awake and hurrying out of their respective cottages, clutching fivers or even tenners. Stumbling back to their own bungalow, they would plan how they would spend it. Once it was so late that the first blush of dawn suffused the sky and they saw the men setting off in their fishing boats to bring in the catch.
Another morning, tiptoeing in the door, the girls found Eddie still sitting, glass in hand, by the fire. Although the weather was so mild as to be almost summery, the nights had a nip to them and the McArdles kept plenty of turf stacked beside the fireplace. Hugh was usually first up in the morning and, by the time the others struggled down, he would have the fire lit and be sitting by it, listening to his Walkman. Later in the morning it was let go out and only lit again when evening came.
Now the fresh sods Eddie had arranged on the dying embers had begun to catch, sending a flickering glow about the room. Jane had already gone yawning to bed and Sheena, perhaps fearing that her father would make her do the washing-up before retiring, fled upstairs crying, ‘Last one in bed’s a rotten turnip,’ and abandoning Claire to him.
Claire hesitated, drawn by the heat of the fire for she was chilled from hours of sitting in the unheated cottage. Eddie seemed half asleep, nodding over his whisky. She lingered, warming herself at the blaze.
Sheena’s shout awakened Hugh out of his second sleep. He stirred and dozed until it became evident that he would have to get up and take a leak. Too much lemonade before bedtime always had this effect on him. He was reluctant to go down the steep wooden stairs to the toilet and contemplated peeing in the bowl on the washstand, but fear of Terry’s wrath deflected him.
Hugh swung his feet on to the floor and shivered. Elsewhere in the bungalow the polished boards were warmer underfoot but in this room, which was really little more than a boxroom, lino had been put down. He looked longingly at the washbowl and then at the sleeping hump in the bed. Terry would almost certainly tell everyone if he used it. Hugh shuddered. He would be mortified if Claire found out. He opened the door and crept down the stairs.
The house was very quiet. At the turn in the staircase he looked through the banisters and noticed the fire still burning. Someone had piled on more sods and the flames were leaping high up the chimney with no guard in front of the fire. One stray spark and they could all burn in their beds. He was about to run on down when something in the corner moved, so slightly he might have imagined it, a sod of turf shifting in the creel or hot ash settling in the grate. Then he saw the bodies on the rug. For a moment he could not distinguish who they were. He peered closer and, in the shifting firelight, recognised Claire’s long blonde hair fanned out on his father’s bare stomach. He had always thought that hair so pretty. At that moment she lifted her head slightly and he saw what she was doing.
Hugh crouched down in the shadows and began to cry softly to himself. It was the first time he had cried since Hero died. He turned, almost in slow motion, and with great effort, got his legs to carry him back upstairs. He crept into his room and quietly closed the door. Careless of Terry, or anyone or anything in the world, he peed in the bowl and got back shivering under the covers. When he closed his eyes he could not rid himself of the vision of Claire and his father.
Claire went through the morning feeling like she was going to get sick. Her throat kept gagging as though she had swallowed some of the stuff. She hadn’t wanted to do it but Eddie had insisted, pressing her head down lower and lower until her face was pushed into his pubic hair. ‘Please...’ she had said in a low voice. ‘Oh please!’ But he had kept her at it. She was afraid if she refused or told him how much she hated it he would be angry with her and might even tell Jane to send her home. She hung over the toilet bowl dry-retching and would have stayed in there longer only Terry was banging on the door, wanting to get in.
Claire came out and went into the bathroom, which was separate from the toilet, to brush her teeth, taking a long time over it and repeatedly rinsing out her mouth. The memory came back to her, indelibly etched on her brain. She spat again and again, coughing until her throat hurt, remembering the force with which he had driven into her mouth. She felt violently ill again.
‘Claire, my dear, are you all right?’ Jane asked, coming in after her and gently closing over the door. When Claire looked up, white and exhausted, from the washbasin, Jane thought she had never seen such abject misery on a human face before.
Jane was too familiar with the early stages of pregnancy to be in much doubt about what was the matter with Claire, and was both shocked and saddened. How could it have happened to Claire? she wondered. She was so young, not yet fourteen, still a child. Such a tragedy. Jane couldn’t have felt more depressed if it was Sheena or Ruthie.
She persuaded Claire to come into her bedroom gently examined her. What she saw confirmed her suspicions. Claire’s breasts were blue veined and rather fuller than normal, with a thickened, orange peel texture to the nipples.
‘Good girl,’ she said, her heart aching for the shame she saw in the girl’s eyes, ‘Now there’s one more thing I’d like from you.’ She gave her a bowl and told her to go into the toilet. Later that morning Jane got a home pregnancy testing kit from the local chemist. As she had suspected, Claire was pregnant.
From the girl’s bewildered attitude Jane surmised correctly that Claire was not fully aware what had happened to her. Like most youngsters of her age, her periods were scattered and light, and she wasn’t even sure when she had her last one. From what she could tell from her brief examination, Claire was at least ten weeks pregnant.
Jane sighed and cursed nature’s ill-conceived system, whereby girls hardly more than babies themselves were given fully effective reproductive equipment long before they were mature enough to cope with it.
Jane decided to take a trip back to town to consult a colleague who specialised in the area of rape crisis and decided to take Claire with her. There was only a few more days of the holiday left and she was anxious to get the girl home before her condition became apparent to the others.
Jane decided she would say nothing to Eddie. In such a crisis, she considered, men were rarely much use. Eddie would more than likely tell her that it was Annette’s business, not hers. Jane had no great confidence in Annette’s ability to cope with this particular kind of situation, but while she was in town she would have a chat with her. Another suspicion was beginning to form in her teeming brain. She was visited by a memory of how upset Claire had been after her father had walked out on them and, putting this and a few other impressions together, believed she knew who the father of Claire’s baby might be. And if her suspicions were correct ... Jane shuddered at this new aspect of the situation and the effects of it on the unborn child.
Claire packed her case with lowered spirits. She felt somehow as if she were in disgrace. It was nothing Jane had actually said but Claire sensed her reserve. She closed down the lid, thinking how happy she had been the day they arrived and what fun it had been taking out her belongings and laying them on the shelves, along with Sheena’s and Ruthie’s things. How she wished she could reverse time and be starting all over again. She stood, eyes closed, swaying slightly until Sheena and Terry came running in to tell her that Jane was ready to go.
‘I’m to bring your case down,’ said Terry importantly. He swung it off the bed and went rapidly out of the door. Claire and Sheena looked at each other.
‘See you the very minute we get back,’ Sheena promised, almost recovered from her disappointment at being left behind. ‘Why can’t I come too?’ she had asked her mother indignantly. ‘I’d love to visit the book fair in the Mansion House,’ Jane’s excuse for bringing Claire. Only her mother’s promise to bring her back a treat had succeeded in soothing her feelings. Now she put her arms around Claire and gave her a hug.
‘I’ll miss you, Claire-bear,’ she said wistfully. ‘It’ll be dull here with only the boys and Ruthie.’
Claire hugged her back, feeling immeasurably cheered. She went to say goodbye to Ruthie and blinked back easy tears as the little girl clung fondly about her neck. Of Hugh there was no sign. When she went out to the car Jane was in the driver’s seat and Eddie was lifting their cases into the boot.
Annette was taken by surprise when she opened the door to find Jane and Claire on the doorstep. She had not expected her daughter back until Saturday and now here she was on Tuesday afternoon. Annette could not help feeling cheated. She had counted on two whole weeks. Nothing ever worked out the way you expected.
While Claire went up to her room Jane sat down with Annette in the kitchen and proceeded to quiz her about Claire’s health. Had Annette noticed anything amiss with the girl lately? Was she depressed or unusually nervous or unable to sleep? Was she as affectionate as she usually was?
Annette shook her head. She felt vaguely apprehensive and at the same time irritated by Jane’s questions. They could have equally applied to any one of them, she thought. They were all of them going through a difficult time since Jim deserted them. Christopher had started smoking. She had smelled it the minute she came in the front door. When she went upstairs he had been sitting on the edge of the bath with the window open, puffing away. All his class were doing it, he’d said defiantly. Annette was shocked. He was only eleven, for God’s sake! She herself wasn’t sleeping well. And she often felt depressed these days. Why was Jane going on like this about Claire, who had just been away on holiday?
‘Get to the point, Jane,’ Annette sighed.
‘It’s just that she seemed rather depressed away on the holiday,’ Jane said, ‘I was wondering if you had seen any signs of it yourself just before she went away. Whether you had noticed her any less affectionate or outgoing? You know, not so inclined to give you a hug?’
‘Claire has never liked being hugged, not by me at any rate. Anyone would think I was her enemy. She has always been prone to nervous outbursts and nightmares, but if there is anything seriously wrong, please tell me.’
Jane debated whether or not to give her the whole truth. It was a tricky situation. She could hardly say that she suspected Claire’s father of abusing her. Jane had met Jim only once or twice and he had seemed nice enough. She could be making a terrible mistake. She decided the best thing might be to edit her declaration until she had discussed the situation with another doctor.
‘I’ve noticed she’s a bit run down, getting dizzy spells,’ Jane hedged. ‘She could be anaemic. I’m arranging for a colleague of mine to take a look at her.’
‘Is that all?’ Annette was relieved. ‘Why didn’t you say so? I was beginning to think she had leukaemia or something dreadful.’
Jane got up. ‘Can I take it you’re in agreement if I book her into hospital overnight?’
‘Surely it’s not that urgent?’ Annette looked surprised.
‘No point in putting it off,’ Jane told her. ‘Now is as good a time as any. Don’t forget she’ll be back at school next week.’
‘Whatever you think, Jane. You’re the doctor,’ Annette said, half-joking, half-resigned, and secretly glad for anyone to take on the burden of looking after her children. She saw Jane out, then fortified herself with another cup of coffee before steeling herself to go up and hear all about the wonderful seaside holiday.
That afternoon Eddie took his sons to play at the local golf course. On the drive there he noticed that they seemed unusually subdued. Normally, Hugh noisily vied with Terry for his father’s attention but today he did not even seem to be listening to anything Eddie said. And Terry for once had little to say.
Glimpsing Hugh’s pale, woebegone face in his rear-view mirror Eddie blamed his son’s apathy on too many late nights.
‘Bed early for everyone tonight,’ Eddie announced with a sardonic grin, and waited for an outcry. When none came he was amazed. ‘And that includes you too, Terry my boy,’ he added, in case his eldest son believed his seniority would save him.
‘Sure Dad,’ Terry said, gazing absently ahead. Eddie sighed and drove through the entrance to the club in silence.
That morning Terry had come upon evidence that Hugh had been been too lazy during the night to visit the toilet, and vigorously tackled him.
‘Smelly little wimp,’ Terry had jeered, disdainfully flicking drops from off the end of his fingers. Instead of humbly begging his pardon, Hugh had suddenly backed him on to the bed with such force that his head cracked against the brass bedstead. Next thing Terry felt an iron, unrelenting knee on his windpipe.
‘Shut the fuck up!’ Hugh said in a coldly menacing voice, ‘or I’ll make you bloody well drink it.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Terry croaked, but with a lot less force.
Who did Hugh think he was anyway handing out threats like that? He had a bloody nerve!
Terry hoisted the bag containing the golf clubs on his shoulder and as they strolled on to the first tee, debated whether to raise the urinary incident. He cast a speculative glance at his brother’s preoccupied expression and regretfully decided to hold his tongue. You could never be sure with Hugh just how he’d react. Terry frowned. For a while this morning he had felt - not scared exactly - but well, apprehensive. Definitely apprehensive. Despite himself, Terry felt the beginnings of a grudging respect for his younger brother.
Hugh played badly, every shot wide of the mark. By contrast Terry seemed inspired. On the second hole he placed the ball only an inch short of the green and, with his second shot, lobbed it into the hole. Terry was noisy with delight.
‘Remind me some time to show you how to win, Hugh,’ he boasted.
‘I thought you already had,’ Hugh said thoughtfully. Terry flushed and walked in sulky silence to the next tee.
Eddie played his shot. It landed on the green. Pleased he turned and ruffled Hugh’s hair. The boy twisted away. When Eddie picked up his clubs again and moved on, Hugh was careful to avoid going close to his father.
Some hours after Jane had arrived back in town she sat in a small clinically furnished room with its surrounding walls covered by posters on every aspect of pregnancy and birth control and outlined her suspicions to the quietly listening woman who was her friend and colleague.
‘Although I am not absolutely certain that it was the father, and short of asking the child outright I have no way of knowing for sure, yet somehow it all seems to fit. She was terribly upset when he left and yet relieved too in a way, saying she hated him and was glad he was gone. The mother also revealed one or two things which strengthened my conviction: namely the girl’s inability to express physical affection, as well as her tendency to nightmares and nervy and irrational outbursts. Classic symptoms of this kind of tragic situation.’
‘It certainly bears all the hallmarks,’ Detta said thoughtfully. ‘How old is she?’
‘Her birthday is around about the same date as my daughter’s and Sheena won’t be fourteen until the middle of June.’
‘Only kids,’ Detta said soberly. ‘What I would be most concerned about is her mental state if she were forced to carry the baby full term.’
‘My feelings exactly,’ Jane agreed. ‘Some years ago when her baby sister died Claire suffered severe trauma at the time and is not entirely recovered from it yet. I honestly believe her present dilemma could be the unhinging factor.’
‘So Jane,’ Detta gave her an appraising look. ‘are you saying she should have a termination?’
Jane sat very still. Yes, she supposed she was. She had not thought she would be put to the test so soon. Jane shuddered and, realising Detta was still waiting for her answer, slowly nodded.
‘Yes, having taken all things into consideration.’
Detta reached for the telephone. ‘Okay, Jane,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m fully in agreement. In view of her shaky mental condition and the risks involved, the girl should not be put through the ordeal. The sooner she’s seen to the better.’
When Detta put the telephone down it was all arranged that Claire would be admitted to a privately run clinic next day, ostensibly to have a D and C carried out. She would be kept overnight and allowed home on Thursday.
As soon as she reached home Jane rang Annette and told her that Claire was booked in for her check-up next day.
‘They may want to do certain tests so she must be fasting,’ Jane said. ‘If you like I can bring her there myself, but it will be early. Eddie is driving up from Waterford first thing to be at his consulting rooms before nine and I’m aiming to be back with the children by midday.’
‘I understand,’ Annette said bewildered, not understanding at all. At least, not about all the rush where Claire was concerned. ‘I’ll have her ready. And thanks for everything.’
Jane put down the phone and went to have her tea. She felt tired and was aware that she had just taken a huge decision on Claire’s behalf. But now that it was done, she felt it had been the right one. In the circumstances it would have been too callous to allow her to continue with her pregnancy. As Detta so rightly said girls at this age were still only children themselves and must be protected.
Next day Claire followed Jane over the gleaming parquet floor, overnight bag in hand. She waited while Jane spoke to a woman at the reception desk and tried not to feel lonely when the woman beckoned her down a corridor and showed her into a room.
‘Take off your things, love,’ she said, ‘and slip this on.’ Claire recognised the theatre gown from the time she had been in hospital having her appendix removed. She gazed at it uneasily.
Jane put her head round the door. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, seeing Claire’s troubled expression. ‘There’s absolutely nothing to be alarmed about.’ She came in, smiling encouragingly. ‘I’ll wait with you until you’ve undressed.’
Claire’s back felt chilly. She slipped down deeper in the bed and gradually began to warm up. A dark-haired nurse came in with a hot water bottle and slipped it under the covers. That helped quite a bit. When Jane had kissed her and gone away, Claire lay looking at the light beyond the window. If felt strange to be in bed so early in the day. Various people, nurses and, she supposed, a doctor came in to sit on the bed and take blood from her arm and ask her to give them a specimen of urine. All of them seemed to think she was older than she was and that she was suffering from painful periods. Not that her periods were ever pleasant but Claire wouldn’t exactly have described them as painful. She still wasn’t quite sure what she was doing there.
‘You won’t know yourself afterwards,’ the nurse who took blood from her said. ‘You’ll be glad to have it over with, pet.’ She stroked Claire’s hair back from her forehead and said how pretty she was. ‘A right little blondie!’ she smiled. Claire felt a sudden pang, remembering the first time Eddie had called her that. They were all so kind to her that she felt like crying. Lately she was becoming so weepy. She had only to read something sad and the tears began flowing at once. Even as she thought this her eyes filled up. She reached under the pillow for a tissue.
‘Ah now,’ the dark-haired nurse said, coming in the door again. ‘You’re a bit lonely I expect. I have something here that will relax you.’ She handed Claire a tablet and told her to take a sip of water to wash it down. In a few minutes Claire began to feel drowsy.
‘What still awake?’ It was the same nurse bending over her. ‘You’ll be going down to the theatre in a minute.’
Theatre? Claire’s head felt muzzy. She knew there was something she should remember but it eluded her.
She lay flat, gazing dopily at the moving ceiling. They she realised that she was moving. She was rolling along, vaguely aware of a murmured conversation going on over her head. Someone was helping her off the trolley on to a high bed. She felt them doing something to her arm. More voices seemed to be telling her that she and Sheena had got first prize for best performance, script and theatrical production. So that’s what she had been trying to remember! But as soon as she’d grasped it, there was a slight pricking sensation and the thought was blotted out.
‘Wake up now, Claire...’ She was at the bottom of a deep dark tunnel, and a voice far away at the top was calling down to her. ‘That’s it, pet... open your eyes.’ She was back in her room, wearing her own nightie, and they had taken out her appendix. Again. Her hand moved sluggishly, in search of the wadded bandage on her stomach, slid smoothly over the healed scar, and dropped lower to encounter the pads between her legs. So her period had come at last. She fell into a doze.
Next day Claire got dressed and sat on the bed expecting Annette to collect her. The door opened and the smiling dark-haired nurse popped in her head.
‘Claire dear,’ she said. ‘here’s Dr McArdle come to bring you home.’ Claire was surprised. She had understood that Jane would not be returning until Saturday. Then Eddie stood in the doorway, smiling his beautiful sad smile.
‘Well Claire, and how are you feeling?’ He came and put his hands over hers. ‘I was sorry to hear you weren’t well.’ He sounded infinitely kind. Concerned.
Claire struggled not to cry. She could feel it creeping up and taking over her. She felt her throat painfully constrict. Suddenly she could keep it back no longer. She began to sob.
‘Oh now, now, pet...’ the nurse came forward to put an arm about her. She rocked Claire comfortingly against her shoulder. ‘There now!’ she said, delicately picking the strands of hair out of Claire’s trembling mouth, and looking apologetically over her head at Eddie.
Claire slept and woke and slept again, as though she were starved for sleep. Dehydrated too. Whenever Claire reached out for the glass of water Annette left beside the bed, it had miraculously filled up again.
Every few hours she struggled down to the bathroom. The tide between her legs flowed heavier than ever. She had never seen so much blood. She had cramping pains in her thighs and stomach and felt bewildered why this period should be so much heavier than any that had gone before. Maybe it was because it was so much longer since her last one. She wondered if it had any connection with what they had done to her when she was asleep. She felt frightened. If only she could talk to Jane, she thought, but Jane wasn’t due back from Waterford for another two days. Weakly, Claire adjusted her clothing and slowly returned along the landing. Once she was back in bed she fell asleep at once.
She awoke a few hours later. It was growing dark outside, the light fading beyond the undrawn curtains. She drank and slept again. The next time she awoke the house was very quiet, and the glass was empty. Claire lay there for a time, feeling it was almost beyond her to get up until thirst forced her out of bed in search of water. She filled her glass at the cold tap in the bathroom and drank deeply. To her relief the bleeding had eased. She carried the brimming glass back to her room.
As she passed her mother’s room she glanced in. The bedside lamp still burned. Annette must have fallen asleep with it on. Claire took a step into the room to turn off the light, moved as much by a desire to have contact with her mother as anything else.
The bed was empty.
She went to the top of the stairs and was about to go down when she heard voices. And the clink of glasses, the drone of conversation. Every so often it was punctuated by her mother’s high excitable laugh and Eddie’s deep answering chuckle. Claire felt dizzy. unreal. Her knees began to shake and for a moment everything went black. When her head cleared she turned and stumbled back to bed.
Within a few days of her arrival home Claire felt well enough to get up and go about again, though she still felt tired and inclined to tears. The half-waking dream she’d had of Eddie’s laughter mingling with her mother’s, she brushed aside, refusing to dwell on it.
Until it happened again, only this time the sounds she heard came from Annette’s bedroom.
In Dualeen Jane took her children to the hotel for their tea and announced her intention of eating out for the rest of the week. She was feeling too worn out after the emotional events of the past few to stay in and cook. The children were delighted at the prospect and noisily planned what they would eat.
‘Daddy starved us when you were away,’ Sheena said. ‘I must have lost pounds.’
‘That’s right,’ Terry agreed. ‘And he made us go to bed at seven. Seven!’ he repeated in disgust. ‘Like Babe Ruthie here,’ he added mockingly, which brought forth a storm of protest from his little sister.
‘I’m not a baby. Baby yourself, Terry.’ She pummelled him with her fists and he laughed and rolled playfully with her on the grass
Hugh did not join in the bickering but Jane was too busy with her own thoughts to notice how quiet and withdrawn he was. Before leaving town she had changed her mind and rung Eddie to tell him about Claire. If anything should go wrong in her absence, she wanted Eddie to be aware of the situation. He was an excellent doctor and she trusted in his judgement implicitly. She was relieved when he not only grasped the situation but even suggested picking up Claire himself from the clinic next day. Jane had put down the phone satisfied. But on the long drive to the country the enormity of what she had done began to break on her. Jane was no longer sure she should have acted so quickly. With time to reflect she was painfully coming to the realisation that she had acted on a wave of outraged feeling. Even if she had taken time to suss it all out it still didn’t alter the fact that the decision was not legally or morally hers to take. Ever since she had been engaged in a kind of mental dialogue as she attempted to justify her actions and make peace with her conscience. She was still uneasily tussling with the latter as she entered the hotel that evening.
Jane followed the waiter to the table he indicated and absently waved her children to their seats. But I only acted out of humanitarian feelings as a doctor and a friend, she took up her defence once more. Someone had to help Claire. ‘Yes,’ the relentless voice retorted in her head. ‘There’s no argument about that but it wasn’t only up to you.’ Jane sighed, weary of pursuing this avenue of thought, and picked up the menu.
‘Mum, I’m starving,’ Terry complained. ‘Can I have steak?’ It was the dearest item on the menu and he was delighted when she nodded, hardly aware of his request.
No, she couldn’t regret that it was done, Jane’s thoughts ran on. Only for originally keeping the whole thing from Eddie. And Annette, who had every right to be informed of the situation. Jane realised now that she had been afraid Annette might stop her and reasoned that for all she knew Annette might have been fully aware of the situation, yet turning a blind eye. Statistics suggested that in many cases of child abuse the mother already knew the score. If this were the Shannon’s case it would have been cruel to subject Claire to any more pain or mishandling. So Jane argued with herself as she toyed with her steak, feeling depressed, her appetite suddenly gone.
‘Aren’t you going to finish it?’ Sheena asked, and was delighted when Jane allowed her remove it to her own plate. They were all acting as though they had not been fed in days. Ruthie too was eating heartily, and even stealing chips from her plate.
Jane ordered a brandy and sat sipping it gloomily. Pull yourself together, she advised herself grimly. You only did what had to be done. Someone had to take responsibility and you were the one most qualified. Still, she couldn’t help feeling guilty.
Sheena came over to see Claire the minute she got back from Waterford and Claire’s heart rose at the sight of her, and stayed up. It was the beginning of feeling better.
‘Daddy is buying another dog for Hugh,’ Sheena told her. They were in Claire’s bedroom, sitting on the window seat. ‘The funny thing is, Hugh isn’t a bit pleased and keeps saying he doesn’t want it.’
Claire was not surprised, knowing how much Hugh had loved Hero. ‘When is he getting it?’ she asked.
‘Don’t know. Before he goes back to school, I suppose.’ Sheena lost interest in her brother and excitedly raised the bag she was carrying. ‘Claire! Shut your eyes and don’t look till I tell you.’
Claire obediently closed her eyes.
‘Now!’ Sheena sounded exultant. She was holding up a pair of shiny black patent leather shoes, with tiny taffeta bows on the pointy toes. ‘Mummy bought them for me as a present for looking after Daddy and the others while she was away. Aren’t they fab?’
Claire nodded. She loved them but was scared to death of them. Translated, they meant dancing and boys. Unknown territory. Sheena slipped them on and wavered up and down the room. ‘I can’t wear them until my birthday, Mummy says, but that’s light years away.’
Another two months actually.
‘I’ll die if I can’t show them off before then.’ Sheena sighed dramatically. Claire grimaced in sympathy. She was beginning to feel a dragging tiredness. She leaned against the wall.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ Sheena said, delving deep again, ‘I brought you a present.’ She pulled out a fluffy little pink bear with a striped bow and presented it to Claire with a flourish.
‘Thanks!’ Claire propped it in the window, feeling touched and pleased.
‘It was Ruthie’s idea actually,’ Sheena admitted. ‘She said let’s bring home a cuddly bear for Claire-bear.’
Claire laughed. Trust Ruthie not to forget her. When Sheena went home she sat him into the beer mug Christopher had brought her back from his school trip to the Rhineland. She got undressed and climbed into bed. It was a relief to be lying down again. She closed her eyes and thought about Hugh and his new dog.
Eddie had become concerned by Hugh’s despondency and, thinking to cheer him up, bought him the puppy. It was another cocker spaniel but, unlike Hero, was male with white markings. When Hugh displayed no interest whatever in the new pet Eddie was at first surprised, then angry.
‘Very well,’ he said curtly. ‘Since you don’t appreciate the gift it will be given to your brother.’ But even this had no effect. Hugh just shrugged and walked away. Eddie stared after him, baffled. No dog could ever replace Hero in Hugh’s heart so there was no use even trying. It was like expecting Romeo to forget all about Juliet and console himself with another girl from the Capulet family. Besides, the puppy was a present from Eddie, and Hugh wanted nothing from his father. Once Eddie’s most ardent supporter, he now repudiated his father utterly.
Jane was troubled. She could not exactly pinpoint the moment when she had first noticed Hugh’s disenchantment with his father. She thought it might have been before the holiday but couldn’t be sure. All she could remember was how excited Hugh had been about Claire coming away with them for Easter. He had talked of nothing else for days. Jane sighed. So much lately seemed to revolve around Claire.
Jane had called over to see Claire the day after she returned from Waterford, but beyond enquiring how the girl was feeling and if she was sleeping all right, thought it wiser to leave well alone. She had no way of gauging if Claire realised just what had occurred or even been aware that she was pregnant.
‘You should be out in the sun in this good weather,’ she advised her. ‘Get some colour in your cheeks.’
Claire said nothing.
‘I’ll put you on an iron tonic,’ Jane said, adding, ‘Don’t worry. I have one that tastes really nice.’ She chatted on, unsurprised that the girl was listless and withdrawn. It was only to be expected, she thought. Nor was she surprised by her brief, almost monosyllabic replies. Claire had never been gregarious.
In one way it was a relief. What was the point in discussion at this stage? Jane asked herself, as she scribbled a prescription. Better to try and put the whole thing behind them. Jane shuddered at the thought of Annette finding out what had happened. She didn’t know what she would say in expiation if Annette ever did.
She kissed Claire. ‘I’ll come over soon again, love,’ she promised. ‘And don’t be shy about dropping over to us. You know you’re always welcome.’
Claire gave a wan smile, her first lightening of expression since Jane had arrived in the door. Thank goodness for the resilience of youth, she thought. She gave Claire’s arm a fond squeeze and went back across the street.
Taking everything into consideration Claire was doing very well, Jane told herself, as she went into her house. Not that she could hope to escape without some emotional scarring, Jane reckoned.
Jane made a deliberate effort to put the whole unhappy business out of her mind and almost, though not quite, succeeded. She had learned from her work as counsellor not to allow herself the luxury of wallowing in excessive pity or regret. To do so would render her emotionally unfit to help others with their troubles. In Claire’s case, however, her affections and emotions were already so closely engaged that she had found it difficult to distance herself. Jane was also troubled by a vague feeling, almost a presentiment, that some day she would be required to pay dearly for her actions. She shrugged uneasily. Maybe she was being fanciful.
Strangely, she and Eddie had never discussed the matter. Although she kept expecting him to bring it up he never did. She eventually put it down to reticence on his part. Claire was entitled to her privacy and, after all, it had really nothing to do with him. At the same time to have been able to discuss it with him would have afforded Jane great relief.
Which brought her back to her worries about Hugh. What was to be done about him? She only wished she knew.
That night Jane was awakened by sounds of something moving stealthily about the house and, thinking the puppy had been left in, threw on her housecoat over her pyjamas and went downstairs. In the dark she almost stumbled over Hugh, who was crouched at the foot of the stairs, seemingly in earnest conversation with himself.
‘What are you doing up at this hour, Hugh?’ she asked. He paid her no heed but just stared fixedly past her and it was only then that she realised he was asleep. She strained her ears to hear what he was muttering and thought she heard him saying Claire’s name over and over. After a moment, she put her arm about him and gently guided him back to bed.
She stayed with him until his breathing became even and relaxed. Once or twice after Ruthie was born, when he was adjusting to the strain of the new baby and she herself had little time to spare for him, he had sleepwalked like this. She wondered if it had anything to do with the constraint between his father and himself.
When Jane was satisfied that Hugh was sleeping peacefully she returned to her own room, leaving the bedroom door ajar so that she would hear him if he got up again, As she eased herself under the quilt, Eddie opened his eyes and mumbled, ‘Where were you?’
‘The loo,’ Jane told him, not wanting to go into the whole thing about Hugh, not just then.
‘Cut down your fluids before bedtime,’ Eddie advised, and fell asleep again.
Jane lay awake for a while thinking about her son, slightly disturbed by the incident and wondering if the bullying at school might have started up again. He’s at such a vulnerable age, she thought. Maybe the best thing would be to take time off to bring him to a film or the Zoo without any of the others, and he might be encouraged to confide in her. She would do that, Jane decided, and fell asleep herself.
But although she genuinely meant to carry out her resolution, Jane agreed soon afterwards to take on an extra couple of evenings at the clinic, and became so burdened by pressure of work that beyond occasionally reminding herself to do something about Hugh, never got around to it.
Meanwhile the rift between Hugh and his father deepened. What he had seen that night in the holiday bungalow festered in Hugh’s memory like an unpoulticed sore. As soon as he went to bed at night and turned out the light the whole scenario played again behind his closed lids, with the same shocking intensity: the flickering firelight, the two figures, Claire’s softly pleading voice and the inexorable hand on her neck, forcing her to do that obscene thing. Hugh felt a chilling hatred for his father and thought that as long as he lived he would never forgive him. Never!