The excitement and speculation amongst the fifth years as to who would be selected to play the leads in the school opera was intense. Claire divorced herself from it and looked out at the garden to where the gardener’s boy swept up the leaves in golden heaps. Like scattered doubloons on the mossy grass, she thought, taking pleasure in the sight and in the simile. In three years Claire had made very few adjustments in her life, her friendship with the McArdles was, if anything, stronger. They were still her only friends and she continued with her solitary life, much as before. At first, the going had not been easy. Neither her mother nor her brother had any notion of what she had experienced or indeed been aware of the trauma she suffered and was still suffering, as a result of her early seduction and subsequent termination. She had tried to put it all behind her, but those events had left their mark. There were other hardships.
Since Claire had returned to school in September her mother had made no secret of the fact that she was finding it difficult to pay the household bills. She said she was sick, besides, of doing without the kind of necessities other families took for granted. What Annette really meant was she longed for the luxuries she had had to forfeit when the family was reduced to living on one salary. Annette had extravagant tastes, and in the days before Jim had walked out she had thought nothing of spending big sums on lace slips or silk blouses. Even now she occasionally indulged herself on a lingerie spending spree, but not as often as she would have liked. She was sick of having to make do; there had to be some legitimate way of improving her income. Claire echoed this sentiment. The years since her father had left them had been really lean. It did not help that her mother was such a poor housekeeper. She was a careless and impulsive buyer, and food either accumulated and turned bad in the fridge or was already past its sell-by date when purchased. At the same time, Claire recognised how difficult it was for her mother trying to manage on a Montessori teacher’s modest salary and her separated wife’s allowance. The only solution that occurred to Annette was to take in a lodger, and while Claire did not much care for the idea, she soon had to agree that the additional income made all the difference to their comfort.
Sheena weaved fantasies about Claire and the young teacher falling in love but Claire didn’t think there was any danger of this. While she was willing to concede that Austin was fairly good-looking, although still showing traces of teenage acne, most of the time he made her feel uncomfortable, wandering the house half-clad, showing bony knees and a thickly matted chest.
Now in the desk beside her Sheena was saying, ‘What’s keeping Attila?’ the fifth form’s nickname for the mistress of studies. ‘I’ll die if she doesn’t come soon.’
The school opera held in conjunction with St Gabriel’s each January, was the highlight of the year - and Sheena had set her heart on playing the role of Katya, the king’s daughter, kidnapped by the dastardly bandit, Rodrigo. Although her own voice was sweet and true, Claire entertained no such ambition and although her voice was sweet and true and she had performed well at the auditions, Claire wasn’t even sure she wanted a part. But Sheena told her not to be mad; there would be parties every night and all the fun of rehearsals.
There was a muffled shout from the girl on look-out and, seconds later, Sister Whelan came smiling into the classroom and held up her hand for quiet. When Sheena drew attention to her own fingers crossed beneath the desk, Claire felt sudden excitement.
‘I know you’re all longing to hear the names of the successful actresses so I won’t prolong the agony. I’m delighted to congratulate Sheena McArdle ....’ Sister Whelan paused for effect and, despite herself, Claire felt her stomach swoop, ‘and Claire Shannon!’
There was an enthusiastic burst of clapping and cries of congratulation. Sheena hugged Claire and confessed, ‘God! I thought I’d die of suspense,’ and Claire nodded shakily.
They rehearsed three afternoons a week during the term and every day during the Christmas holidays. The Revenge of Rodrigo was written and produced by one of the masters. Noel Ryan was tall and knife thin with a beautiful speaking voice which he used with sarcastic effect, mainly on the boys. He was quite charming to the girls. Claire was a little shy of him. Sheena flirted with him shamelessly. She had got her wish and been cast as Katya, playing opposite tall fair-haired Rory. Claire was Anya and her opposite number was dark and hirsute and renowned for his piano-playing.
Claire’s assurance on stage surprised everyone, especially herself. She began to enjoy being caught up in the make-believe of Rodrigo, finding relief, even anti-climax, in the melodramatic story-line, which seemed innocuous when compared to the turbulent happenings in her own short life.
Her mind could never really let go of the past. Even after three years she was still full of regretful longings and remembered shame, and was constantly preparing herself for the moment when Jane would find out and cast her off without a chance to explain. The opera was a welcome distraction and left little time for brooding.
Then one afternoon, she arrived at St Gabriel’s to find that her long-haired musician had got tonsillitis and been replaced by, of all people, Terry McArdle.
Claire did not know how she would ever get through the rehearsal. Sheena thought it very funny and kept giggling behind her hand. Terry scowled and folded his arms, darting glances at Claire from under beetling brows.
‘We’ll take the last scene next,’ Noel suggested. ‘It needs a good deal of polishing.’ His eyes wandered towards Terry. ‘In the final clinch your predecessor managed to look like he was about to be guillotined. Let’s see if you can do better, McArdle. Remember, you may be a great man in the back of a car but on stage it’s got to look real.’
Claire blushed. Usually the kiss was taken as given and the four of them moved on to the next and final stage, holding hands and singing the quartet. .
‘Just bear in mind that you’re kissing the object of your desire and, I might add, a very pretty young lady to boot.’
Claire and Terry gravitated towards each other. Terry stood, hands awkwardly hanging at his sides. His face was flushed and he avoided looking at her. Claire tried to move gracefully but she felt all hands and feet. Sheena always managed it better, she thought, miserably conscious of the attention she was getting from the rest of the cast. The boys were growling appreciatively in their throats and giving the odd jeering hoot. Terry had a reputation for being a knockout with the girls and this bashfulness on his part was highly amusing..
‘Very well,’ Noel said. ‘Let’s be having you.’
Terry stepped forward and took firm hold of Claire. She settled back on his arm and gazed fondly up at him as she was meant to. His face was very close to hers, his eyes wide and alert, staring grimly into hers. She had never realised they were so light a brown, almost golden. Eddie’s were a shade darker, she thought, just before Terry’s lips came down, blotting out thought. Neither moved for several seconds. There was pandemonium.
‘Cut!’ Mr Ryan said, moving forward. Claire and Terry broke at last. Claire felt hot and confused, conscious that for a few dizzy seconds she had forgotten where she was. She had never been kissed by anyone but Eddie.
Noel lightly applauded and sighed, ‘Thank God for at least one scene bearing the mark of authenticity.’ Claire blushed for the implication and Terry shoved his hair off his forehead and slouched scowling to rejoin his cheering schoolfellows.
‘Now let’s take that scene of yours,’ Noel turned to Rory.
After rehearsal Claire ran off without waiting for the twins. If she had to face Terry he might say something to her and she would blush and say the wrong thing. She wondered how she could go through it all again. Two more rehearsals and then the night itself.
She was amazed at how well the whole thing had passed off in the end. She was quite contained and even smiled at Terry before the curtain fell.
This year, the one before Claire sat for the Leaving Cert, was her best year with more time reading for pleasure before the pressure of exams began. The other girls in her class went out with boys and talked about their dates. They were fairly explicit but so far none of them admitted to going any further than kissing and petting. There was a lot of joking done about close dancing and the rigidity of male partners. Claire refused to get into the discussion. When she told Sheena that she got more fun curled up with a good book, Sheena had laughed. But it was true.
Sheena was doing a hectic line with Rory since the opera and kept asking Claire to come out with them and one of Rory’s friends, or even Terry, on a double date bowling or to the cinema, but Claire had no interest. It was true that for a while after the school opera, stimulated by Terry’s closeness, she had begun coming regularly in her dreams. Otherwise, she had not experienced any sexual feeling in three years and definitely did not want to be turned on again. Although she was not happy, she did not expect to be happy, nor could she ever remember being really happy. Not, she supposed, since Bella. That was the nearest she had ever come to happiness.
By contrast, her mother was the most light-hearted Claire had seen her since her father deserted them. Her brother seemed happier too. Christopher had missed another male in the house and Austin slipped easily into the absent parent’s role of sports enthusiast and TV companion - only later did he take on an additional role of Annette’s friend and comforter.
When the new contented Annette began urging her to go to discos and have fun (more, Claire felt, from a desire to get her out of the house than anything else) she gave her mother the same answer she had given Sheena. Anyway, there would be plenty of time for all of that in the summer months away with the McArdles.
By the end of the summer term, however, Claire finally gave in.
One Saturday afternoon she arrived at Claire’s door with Rory and a shy-looking boy called Alan. The four of them took a bus to Rathfarnham and walked up to the Pine Forest. There the boys produced a tonic bottle filled with whisky and passed it around. Claire drank her share and almost lost her footing coming back down the mountainside.
‘Enjoy our double date?’ Sheena asked, when Claire called over for a chat on Sunday morning. ‘Great fun, wasn’t it?’ She grinned. ‘Only don’t let on to your mother about the whisky.’
‘Of course not,’ Claire said. Whisky. Annette was getting through bottles of the stuff with the help of Austin, ever since the government launched its campaign to introduce divorce into Ireland. Although Claire’s father hadn’t actually spoken of marrying again her mother was convinced it was only a matter of time.
‘But how can he?’ Claire had asked shaken. ‘He’s a Catholic.’
Annette laughed grimly. ‘Once a Catholic always a Catholic, eh? That’s what they used to say about priests but it hasn’t stopped them. No, depend upon it if the bill is passed he’ll make an honest woman of her and cast the rest of us off.’ Claire had shivered at the finality of it.
Now Sheena was asking, ‘Want to go out with the boys again?’
Claire nodded. ‘Great! We’ll call for you on Saturday,’ Sheena promised.
‘I might go with you,’ Terry said, coming into the kitchen. He had been intrigued by Sheena’s veiled hints and thought it might be instructive to find out just what she and Claire got up to when out with his classmates.
‘Good idea but bring some cans,’ Sheena told him, giving Claire an impish look which clearly read, this will give the fellows a bit of competition.
That Saturday afternoon when they got off at the bus terminal, the boys grouped naturally to kick a tin can further along the country road. They crested the hill. Ahead of them, up another sloping road, a stream wound its way down through rocky banks.
‘Let’s go for a paddle,’ Sheena said, tugging off her runners. She hopped across the pebbly grass and eased herself down into the water. ‘Come on,’ she called. ‘It’s lovely.’
Within minutes she and Rory were fisting water over each other and Sheena was soaking wet. The other boys made quasi-helpful suggestions, like she should take off her wet shorts before she caught cold. Terry eyed his twin and said she’d never dare with them all watching her. At once Sheena stretched and did a sensual dance as she peeled off her shorts and T-shirt. Claire wandered away from the shouting group, bent to pull a blade of grass and place it dreamily between her teeth. She stood looking down the sloping road to where the foreshortened figures of three climbers could be seen moving ant-like, slowly upwards. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sheena dash madly past pursued by the boys.
When they eventually rounded Sheena up and escorted her back to the rock, she was shivering and exaggeratedly chattering her teeth. Rory made a great ceremony of wringing out her shorts and T-shirt and handing them back to her. They were almost dry. Sheena picked up her bra and took her time putting that on. The boys watched her openly. They walked deeper into the forest. When they got to their usual place they sprawled on the ground, and Rory produced the bottle. Claire soon began to get that, by now, familiar woozy feeling. Only this time the whisky taken in conjunction with beer inspired a feeling, not so much dreamy as out of control. How would she get herself down the mountain? She didn’t think she could even stand up. The June sun shone hotly on the tender flesh of her exposed thighs, increasing her feeling of inertia. A hand ran lightly over her knees and coasted higher to settle on her breast. She felt a love-bite on the right side of her neck and turned in that direction. Her lips met other lips. She kissed them and was kissed back. Most of the time she was not quite aware who was doing what. For a time the kissing and stroking continued but none of them went any further than that, and after a while they all fell asleep.
Claire set off with the Ardles in July, her mother absently waving her off. Since the Divorce Bill had been defeated Annette had stopped anticipating the worst and was looking forward to a lazy summer, without the burden of her offspring.
This summer, like the previous two, Jane commuted more frequently from their holiday cottage. Now that she was sole breadwinner, she felt she couldn’t be away from her practice for more than a couple of weeks. Besides, work helped distract her from thoughts of past vacations when she’d had Eddie and all her family around her. She considered that Sheena and Claire were well able to run the household in her absence and, even more important, take care of Ruthie. In this regard Jane was more than ever glad of Claire’s steadying presence. That Sheena was unreliable was regrettably true. Jane had long ago come to terms with her daughter’s shortcomings.
Every so often, Jane took Terry back with her to town. Sometimes she regretted leaving them all so much on their own, and especially him. She secretly feared he would fall into bad ways, and might even display some of the darker aspects of his father’s nature. These trips alone with Terry were an attempt to keep the lines of communication open with her teenage son.
In June, when he had turned seventeen, Jane had applied on his behalf for a provisional licence and Terry relieved her of some of the burden of driving, especially to and from the clinic at night.
Since Eddie’s death, besides increasing her time at the clinic to include three evenings a week, Jane regularly took surgery each morning and afternoon, excluding Saturday. Summer had made very little difference in the need for her services. There was, if anything, an increase in rape and violence at night on the summer streets. Jane’s consciousness of women’s plight, which had always been acute, increased with the passing of the years. She was now committed to representing and improving the lot of her less fortunate sisters.
With Terry gone a lot of the time and Sheena opting out of her responsibilities, Claire was left looking after Ruthie most of this holiday. Not that she minded. Besides being a way to repay Jane’s kindness to her, she loved the little girl as if she were her own sister and enjoyed the prospect of spoiling her. Sheena, who wanted to be off all the time flirting with boys, made no secret of the fact that she considered her small sister a drag on her, but Ruthie was never anything but a pleasure to Claire.
At eight years Ruthie was a biddable little girl and although the tragic events three years earlier had left her shy and inclined to be clingy, most of the time she happily played her own made-up games. She had an insatiable appetite for books and the only demands she ever made on Claire were for more stories. Claire made some up out of her head but, by the second week of the holidays, was glad to resort to rereading her own childhood favourites to keep Ruthie satisfied. It seemed to Claire that if she had been lucky enough at Ruthie’s age to have had someone like herself to befriend her, she would have grown up a happier, more integrated person, less likely to fall prey to the first sexual overture.
Claire wished that the whole episode with Eddie could be as cleanly wiped out as though it had never happened. That she could regain, not only her innocence but, with regard to Jane, her self-respect too. Claire would hold anguished monologues in her head, in which she tried to justify the whole sordid business. Failing, she would grow angry with herself, until she realised that Jane had never accused her of anything. It was her own conscience she had failed to convince.
Some nights Terry would stay in the cottage listening to the radio while Claire and Ruthie played Ludo or some other board game. When he did Claire never felt comfortable. She sometimes looked up to see him watching her with those dark tawny eyes, so like Eddie’s, and then all the guilt would come flooding back. What if Terry was to know of her association with his father? She didn’t think she could bear it if he did.
Claire got in the habit of settling down for the night at the same time as Ruthie. She hated being downstairs on her own after dark and always imagined faces looking in at her through the uncurtained windows. It was much cosier up in bed, sipping cocoa and reading her book.
Terry never came into their bedroom. That was a blessing. Claire was loth to admit it but he stirred a feeling of excitement in her. She was coming in her dreams again and it had to do with that afternoon on the mountain. She realised that the lips she had kissed so dreamily and unknowingly had not been Alan’s - how could they and he at the other side of Sheena? - but Terry’s. Deep disturbing kisses that seemed to reach down into her soul and go on for ever. So it was a case of never allowing herself to be alone with him.
Before long there was another cause for guilt.
Terry and Sheena were taking money from the housekeeping to pay for their bottle parties and she, Claire, had never said anything for fear of being called a prig or a goody-good. Jane had treated her from the very beginning of their relationship like an adult, and now here she was betraying her trust yet again.
Jane had no idea of any of this.
Like Eddie, in the past, she worked hard all week, then drove back to the country at weekends, intent on making the most of these few days with her children. She was like a sailor home on leave, crowding the all too few hours with the kind of things she most liked. And once back in the bosom of her family, she loved and indulged them to an almost foolish degree.
Jane was not aware that she was doing it, but she deliberately blanked her mind to anything unpleasant that might mar these brief get-togethers with her children. There was enough grimness in the shape of illness and death awaiting her on her return. It was unlikely that she would ever probe deeply enough to discover that Sheena and Terry were getting high most nights on drink or that Claire was left minding Ruthie practically all the time, as well as shopping for groceries and keeping the cottage tidy. On the surface everything was serene because Jane wanted it to be that way.
Terry understood his mother’s attitude perhaps better than any of them. He had that same ability to stick his head in the sand in order to avoid tackling issues that were, for one reason or another, distasteful to him.
Terry was a doer, not a dreamer and anything he was unable to settle with his fists made him uneasy. He always had to be in control and usually was. Since the previous summer he had put on an extra four inches, which brought him up to six foot in height, and although slim, he was sturdy and strong. There was a fearless streak in Terry which had the effect of disconcerting his fiercest opponent. The tougher and bloodier the fight, the better Terry liked it. Once he had identified his enemy’s Achilles’ heel, he coolly went for it, pounding away until he was victorious. He was not a dirty fighter. He was even a chivalrous opponent. But as he said himself, he just didn’t take crap from anyone.
For some time Terry had found himself strongly attracted to Claire. The strength of his feelings puzzled him, for he considered she was everything that he was not: Intellectual, refined, sensitive. Not his usual kind of girl. A real little Miss Dainty-Dot.
He’d always had a curiosity about her from the days they had played nurses and doctors in the stone garage. She was so cool and fair, remote. The day up the mountains, seeing her lying there in the sunshine, permitting liberties... exchanging kisses like she was some high priestess conferring an honour, yet managing somehow to retain that dreamy, untouched quality. She confused and excited him. Ever since the school opera he had found himself thinking of her, remembering the sensuous kiss she’d given him before the whole cast. Terry hadn’t encountered anything like it, not even the night he had lost his virginity to an older girl on the holiday site two years earlier. With that one kiss, Madonna-faced Claire had relegated his earlier experience to the inept fumble it had been. He thought of the other kisses stolen on the sunny mountainside and felt confirmed in his opinion that Claire Shannon, though she appeared so gentle and reserved, was breath-takingly sexy.
He wasn’t the only one on the holiday site who was attracted to her. Denis and Barney, two local lads, were always angling for introductions. Down on the pier at night after the disco, the beer sizzling in their bloodstream, they leaned on the wall and spoke lewdly of what they’d like to do with her if they ever got the chance. Even Terry was a bit taken aback the first time he heard them.
The boys were older than him which was part of their attraction for Terry. Denis was nineteen and Barney a retarded twenty-three, and they were hard drinkers, which also appealed to Terry. Most of the gang he and Sheena knocked about with were their own age or younger and, after one or two beers, were on their ear.
One night, after their usual drinking session on the pier, Terry and the two older boys walked back to the cottages. Well primed. Denis and Barney began jumping up and down scrunching the empty beer cans. Terry walked on ahead.
‘Hey, McArdle,’ Denis called after him, tripping on his training laces and falling over. ‘Come back here, you effer!’ Barney began shouting too. He did everything that Denis did. They were making an appalling racket.
Terry quickened his steps down by the side of the cottage, fully expecting Garda Deveney to open his window and bawl them out for disturbing the peace. Last time he’d threatened to take them down to the station. He was probably pulling on his pants right now, Terry thought, and would appear any minute, like a maniac in the doorway. When it happened he, for one, intended to be safely tucked up in bed.
The kitchen light was on and he wondered if Sheena had brought her current boyfriend Killian in for a snog, but when he slipped inside he found Claire on her own, heating milk on the stove. Her skimpy night-gown barely covered her thighs. When she turned he noticed the childish transfer on the front. Sleepytime Bunny. At the same time his senses registered the swell of her breasts. Anything but childish. He swallowed uncomfortably.
Claire angled the saucepan and poured milk into a mug. In her hurry to get away she spilt some on the counter. ‘Ruthie woke,’ she told him, mopping furiously. ‘I thought warm milk might get her back to sleep.’
Terry nodded, for the first time struck by how little Sheena helped with Ruthie. He felt an irrational anger at his twin. Always out enjoying herself, he thought. It didn’t occur to him that he was being equally selfish.
‘You should come out with us more,’ he said lamely.
‘I’d like that,’ Claire said. But who would stay with Ruthie? hung unspoken between them.
‘There’s another disco on Friday. Mum will be home then. You could come.’
‘Maybe. I’ll see.’
She turned off the stove. He stared at her indecisively. A picture flashed in his mind of Claire sprawled on the grassy knoll, eyes closed, knees apart. His desire flared. He wondered what she would do if he kissed her. Drink made him bold. He moved to bar her way.
She looked up at him, her face flushed, the expression in her grey eyes enigmatic. He bent his head and kissed her hotly on the mouth. She did not at once push him away.
To the boys outside the window, peering in, Claire seemed to be encouraging Terry. By the time she had freed herself from his embrace, they had ducked back around the side.
‘Did you see that?’ Denis rounded on Barney. ‘Standing there with her backside hanging out?’ He pretended to stagger. ‘McArdle has it bloody made.’
Barney chortled and went out of his way to kick a beer can. He would have begun stamping on it again only Denis shoved him on.
Terry roamed his room, all thought of sleep gone, his pants uncomfortably tight. ‘Dynamite, she’s dynamite,’ he kept telling himself. That one kiss had been even better than the ones he had stolen on the mountainside. Now he couldn’t concentrate on anything, not even getting into bed. He thought he was in love. He was damned sure he was in love. He wanted to go and tell her, to kiss her again.
Terry went out on the landing, now thoroughly aroused, and tapped gently on Claire’s door. There was no answer. He went inside.
‘Claire,’ he whispered urgently, overcome with a desire to kiss and hold her, find some release for this sweet aching tension. He stopped short at the sight which met his eyes. Claire and Ruthie lying side by side, with their eyes shut and their blonde heads nestling close together. Childish, pure.
Claire opened her eyes and looked at him.
‘What’s wrong?’ she whispered.
Terry felt as though he had been caught doing something criminal.
‘I thought Sheena was back,’ he gulped. He turned and stumbled out of the room.
While Claire was away in Waterford, Annette took things easy. She spent a lot of time in the garden, sunning herself and reading blockbuster novels.
With the advent of the school holidays Annette had lost not only her children but her lover as well. Austin had returned to Cork, leaving a big gap in her life. She had outlined her summer, stressing how peaceful and private the house would be. Austin had talked vaguely of a walking holiday in Germany with some other athletic youth. Annette still half-hoped that, missing sex if not herself, he would come up for a visit. One postcard from Bad Godesberg mid-July confirmed her suspicions that she was strictly term-time relaxation.
At the end of July Christopher returned home briefly, before going on a camping holiday to France with his father. Annette suspected it was to be a threesome. She washed Christopher’s grubby shorts and T-shirts and repacked them, with her usual disregard for niceties, in the same fraying plastic bags he’d taken with him to the Gaeltacht.
Three days and he was off again. She missed him to about the same degree as before, which was a good deal less than she missed Austin, and settled back to her solitary routine in the garden.
A fortnight later they drove right to her front door: Jim, Christopher and the Other Woman. Annette invited them all in. As she made them tea - Marissa declined to have a drink and Jim shook his head in the slightly censorious fashion of one who has once spent his evenings drinking himself unconscious - Annette kept up a string of bright inanities. She was both fascinated and repelled by Marissa. So strikingly ugly. She searched her mind for a suitable expression and came up with ‘belle laide’. Annette thought Jim was out of his mind.
She wondered at him openly flaunting the relationship, until later when he phoned to tell her that Marissa was expecting a baby. He hadn’t liked to mention it before her. Why not, Annette wondered. It was his, wasn’t it? He said they wished to make the fruit of their love legitimate. His actual words. He was seeking a Church annulment. Annette put down the phone feeling she had somehow been nullified herself, the past twenty years cleanly erased.
She reached for the whisky bottle and poured herself a stiff one, wishing there was someone with whom she could share this disturbing new development. What about Jane? She hadn’t seen her in ages and maybe now was the right moment to bridge the gap. But when she went across the street and rang the bell Jane’s latest teenage assistant, yet another of Teresa Murray’s many daughters, told Annette that Dr McArdle had just left for Waterford.
That same evening, in his mother’s presence, Terry asked Claire to come with them to the disco. When she hesitated he appealed to Jane.
‘Mum,’ Terry said. ‘See if you can get her to come.’
Jane squeezed Claire’s arm. ‘Off you go, love,’ she said encouragingly. She was looking forward to an early night and had given in to Ruthie’s plea to be allowed share her bed. They had taken the portable television into the downstairs bedroom and would watch for a while before falling asleep. ‘You’d like to go, Claire, wouldn’t you?’
Claire nodded. She had been a little shy of Terry all week, remembering his kiss and the way he’d come into her room afterwards. Of course, he and Sheena often went searching for each other in the night, to share some plan or thought. Admittedly, not as much these days as when they were younger. Now she felt pleasure at the prospect of an evening out with other young people, dancing, having a good time. She wore a red skirt, over a lightly boned petticoat, and a white, sleeveless blouse. She left her hair loose on her shoulders.
The disco was held as usual in a hall near the quay. Claire danced with Terry a few times, and then other boys approached and took her on to the floor. Sheena, who was with Killian, looked plump and provocative on a diet of chips and alcohol. She was wearing her low-cut frock and a pair of red heels, which Jane hadn’t seen yet.
Barney and Denis slouched about, feeling-up the girls. Every few dances the pair of them disappeared outside to tank up on beer. Claire could not understand how Terry was friendly with them. She shivered when Denis approached and put a hand like a brown glove on her bare arm.
Terry held Claire carefully, not with his usual careless swagger, shielding her from more boisterous dancers and, every so often, gazing wonderingly down as though to check it really was her in his arms. At the end of the evening, he hoped to kiss her again. Maybe even go a bit further and feel her breasts. Any more than that he did not envisage.
The disco over, Terry and Claire held hands and walked in step along the pier. They passed, without seeing, the usual intoxicated group under the quay wall, aware of nothing but each other. They spoke in short animated bursts, laughed self-consciously and then fell silent. An almost full moon shone luminously down upon a dark sea, quilted with waves.
At the end of the short pier, as if at some pre-arranged signal, they came into each other’s arms and kissed. When the earth steadied they turned and went, hand-in-hand, back to the bungalow.
Claire felt she could never get enough of Terry’s kisses. It was the afternoon on the school stage all over again, but with no witnesses. Not to begin with anyway.
They had come in to find the fire still smouldering where Jane had left it well banked.
In the beginning Claire had felt uneasy, though she didn’t know why. She felt it had something to do with the flickering fire only she couldn’t be sure. She wanted to stop Terry when he began poking and easing the sods, making them burn brighter. The fire had not been lit regularly on this holiday, not indeed since the days when Hugh took it upon himself to light it each morning. This night it cast an eerie glow about the room, throwing light on a footstool and on the spines of books in the bookcase.
A tall figure was poised motionless to the side of the bookcase, but it was merely Jane’s belted raincoat, hooked on the back of the door.
‘Clairey,’ Terry sighed, holding her very close.
His passion thrilled her but, at the same time, made her self-conscious. As she returned his kiss, she wondered how much longer she could hold out. She was like a foundered fish, desperately gasping air through its fins.
When he unbuttoned her blouse she made no attempt to stop him. He undid her bra and consigned it to the darkness. Her breasts jutted rosy and startlingly plump in the firelight. Terry gently stroked them, his expression a mixture of lust and reverence. Claire watched him, her own expression shy and proud by turns. It was a long time since her body had been so openly offered to another. She felt confused and, at the same time, conscious of a sweet aching desire to surrender.
She grew even more lax and allowed him to remove her skirt and petticoat. They were on the rug now. She had a sense of déjà vu. She shifted and made to sit up but he murmured pleadingly and she lay back again. He knelt between her legs, caressing the inside of her thighs with steepled hands, long sweeping strokes bringing her to a state of trembling arousal. Now he could have done anything with her, but Terry was holding back, unwilling in the throes of this new loving sensation to jeopardise their burgeoning relationship.
They were still in this position when Denis and Barney crept low under the window and reared up to look in through the uncurtained glass, blurry with condensation.. In his eagerness to see better Barney shoved Denis and a stone from the rockery dislodged, and thudded softly on the grass.
The noise, thought slight, was enough to recall Claire to herself and she came out of her daze and looked down in horror at her exposed breasts and pearly parted limbs. She snatched for her blouse and, holding it against herself, scrambled up. What was she doing here? Oh God, was she out of her mind? On the very spot where with Eddie...
With a shamed, inarticulate cry Claire gathered up the rest of her fallen clothing and ran up the stairs. Terry watched her in surprise, his senses drugged by heat and the sweet uprising of flesh, not at once connecting her exit and the faint noise beyond the window. Then came the ribald shout.
Terry’s mind cleared instantly. He hastily adjusted his clothing and went outside and stood on the moonlit roadway, his eyes raking the area. His earlier euphoria was replaced by a raging disappointment. Bloody morons! If he laid hands on them he’d leave them for dead.
The road was quite clear.
Terry went back inside and shot the bolt, then remembering that Sheena was still out drew it back again. He put the guard before the fire and went upstairs. Outside Claire’s door he hesitated, full of regretful longing.
Jeeze! He’d really blown the whole thing. Really messed it all up before it even got going. Remembering the sweet trustful way she had let him touch her naked body Terry felt like weeping. Oh Clairey. He turned away in despair and went into his room.
Terry threw off his clothes and went to the window. The sky had grown a shade lighter. Denis and Barney, he thought bitterly. Bloody bastards! As he reached his hand to jerk across the curtains, he looked down and saw the pair of them, hunched like predators, on the garden wall.
On Monday morning when his mother asked him, Terry was glad to drive her back to town. Claire avoided him, refusing to speak to him or let him explain. He didn’t think he could have stuck it another day.
Left to themselves the girls passed the week much as usual. Sheena said that she was going to the disco with Killian, taking it for granted Claire would stay home and mind Ruthie.
Claire didn’t much care if she never went to another disco. She was only sorry she had given in and gone to the last one. She would never forget Terry and herself hand-in-hand on the moonlit quay, talking, laughing, kissing. And then what had followed.
It wasn’t fair.
Tears welled and fell on the toast she was burning. She threw it in the bin and cut more bread. She found it hard to concentrate on anything. All the time she kept seeing the firelight and her own naked body. She tried to put it out of her mind but it kept creeping back. She grew hot whenever she recalled their jeering shouts.
She piled scrambled egg on triangles of toast and carried the plates into the other room. Ruthie toyed with crumbling egg. It was not her favourite tea but sometimes it was hard to know what to give her.
‘Eat it up,’ Claire told her. ‘It’s good for you.’
Ruthie pushed it away. She didn’t care if it was good for her. Upstairs, Sheena was an inordinate length getting ready for the disco. She came down at last wearing one of her mother’s silk blouses that was practically see-through.
Sheena winked and did a pirouette before going off to meet Killian. Claire raised her hand and let it fall. When was the last time she and Sheena had held a conversation. Sheena hadn’t even asked her how she had got on with her twin. It hurt to think how little interest her friend showed in her life. Sheena seemed to see or hear nothing outside her own pampered existence. Claire sighed and went to get out the draught board. She sat opposite Ruthie, absently moving pieces from square to square.
‘You’re letting me win,’ Ruthie complained. She hated it when any of them played down to her.
‘No, I’m not.’ Claire contradicted. She made a determined effort to concentrate. Even so, Ruthie won four games out of five.
‘My game again,’ she said triumphantly, ‘and I wasn’t even trying.’ She began straightaway laying out the pieces but Claire stopped her.
‘Why don’t we play beggar-my-neighbour,’ she suggested. Ruthie agreed enthusiastically. She loved cards even better than board games. Claire pushed all thoughts of Terry out of her mind and forced herself to pay attention but it was a relief when it was time to prepare the cocoa.
Claire tucked Ruthie into bed then went into her own room. She supposed it was better for the little girl to get used to sleeping by herself - Jane was trying to encourage her to become more independent - but she missed the warm feel of the little body curled beside her own. She took her time weaving the strands of her hair into one heavy golden plait. She snapped on a rubber band and tossed it back, got into bed and picked up her book.
She was reading a writer new to her - F. Scott Fitzgerald. The Great Gatsby was like nothing she had ever read. So elegantly written. Claire loved a good story but liked good style even better.
She turned another page and lingered on a passage. This wasn’t a book to be read in a hurry.
Downstairs a door clicked open. Subconsciously, she noted it, her eyes still fixed on the page. It was early for Sheena and Killian. Sheena usually had to be dragged away from the disco while still calling for encores.
Claire read on absently, not really taking the story in, her ear idly tuned to the next sound of the creaking stair. Seconds later her bedroom door opened abruptly.
She looked up, not yet alarmed, and saw Denis leering at her from the doorway. Claire sat bolt up in the bed.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, hearing the tremor in her voice.
‘Looking for you. What else?’
She decided to ignore what he’d said. This had nothing to do with her. If she admitted that it had she would start screaming. She got out of bed and stood facing him.
‘If you’re looking for Terry, he’s not here,’ she strove to speak calmly, but was sorry as soon as the words were out. Now he’d know she was on her own.
‘But I’m not looking for Terry, am I?’ Denis lowered himself on to the bed and bounced up and down, testing the springs. ‘Saw him going off in the car on Monday.’
Claire put a hand covertly to her nose. Close-up, the stench of stale beer and cigarettes was overpowering. She heard the stair creaking again and grew dizzy with hope. Barney appeared in the doorway.
‘‘What’s keeping you, Denis?’
‘Go downstairs,’ Denis ordered. ‘Go on. Look sharp.’
‘I want a beer.’
‘In the fridge. Take what you want.’
With a pleased grunt Barney disappeared. Claire heard him lumbering down the stairs. She gasped as Denis pulled her back across his knees and forced his tongue between her teeth. She gagged. When he slackened pressure she pulled back, choking and coughing.
‘I’ll show you how good it can be,’ he promised thickly. ‘Not like that crud McArdle. You’ll see.’
‘Oh God,’ Claire prayed. ‘Please help me.’
She twisted away from him and tried to run to the door. He caught hold of her plait and yanked her back. The pain was excruciating. She staggered against him and almost fell.
‘Let’s see your tits.’
He grabbed her pyjamas top. Only he was so drunk he’d have had it off her back. She gasped as dirty sausage fingers squeezed her nipples. She shoved him away with all her strength but he easily overpowered her and knocked her back on the bed, then fell on top of her, holding her hands rigidly by her sides
Ruthie was calling her. Claire painfully turned her head, saw the little girl struggling in Barney’s grip. He had his belt around her chest and he was laughing and letting her run a little distance from him, then jerking her smartly back to him. Like a cat toying with a small, frisky mouse.
‘Clairey,’ Ruthie sobbed. ‘Please help me, Clairey.’
Claire made a determined effort to shake off Denis. She almost succeeded but he held on to her plait. Her mind was beginning to blank, but when she heard Ruthie screaming, her courage asserted. She kicked out and felt savagely glad when she heard his grunt of pain. Suddenly the pressure lifted and she gasped in relief.
Killian was in the room. Claire saw him striking Denis with a sweeping brush, great cracking blows across his head and face. Denis fell whimpering to his knees, blood streaming from his forehead. Sheena had her arms around Ruthie, unbuckling the belt, comforting her. Barney had run off. Claire sat up and drew in a sobbing breath. ‘Oh thank God,’ she whispered brokenly.
That night they all slept together in the one room. Claire made Sheena promise not to say anything to Jane. Sheena protested, then seeing how upset her friend was, reluctantly agreed. Claire was afraid that Jane would think she had encouraged the boys to come into the house, afraid that Jane would think she wasn’t a fit person to look after Ruthie.
It was almost dawn before they settled down to sleep. Ruthie did not hesitate between beds, just climbed in beside her sister. That she wasn’t risking herself with Claire was obvious.
Claire felt a sense of isolation. She in her own bed and the sisters together. She did not sleep, just lay there, thinking that since she had come into their lives she had spelled nothing but trouble for the McArdles. Hugh, Jane and now Ruthie. She didn’t at all see it the other way round. That would come later, but not for a very long time.
Jane arrived back on Friday evening and noticed at once how despondent the girls were. She tried to discover the cause but when one or two attempts to get them talking failed, she let it go and went tiredly to unpack her things.
Later, they sat about the kitchen table, saying little to each other as they listlessly ate the Friday night take-away. Terry hung about for a bit after the meal, hoping for a thaw in Claire’s attitude, then took off moodily for his usual haunts.
Ruthie disappeared into the bathroom the minute he left. She was there so long that Jane sent Claire to see if she was all right. When Claire came back she said the door was locked and Ruthie wanted Jane.
Jane went out and spoke through the locked door. She asked if there was anything wrong.
‘Come on out,’ Jane begged her, ‘We’ll make cocoa and take it into bed with us. We’ll be lovely and cosy and watch television together.’
Ruthie didn’t answer.
Jane’s neck ached from the effort of bending and speaking through the keyhole. ‘You love it. You know you do.’
There was no sound. Perhaps she wanted Claire. Jane felt a little jealous. She supposed it was only natural that Ruthie would want to be with the older girl, who spoiled her rotten all week. While she was away in Dublin working herself to the bone. Jane couldn’t help a trace of self-pity
‘Very well,’ she said, trying to hide her hurt. ‘Sleep with Claire, if that’s what you want. Only come out now.’
The door remained closed.
In desperation Jane went up to Claire’s room and was surprised to find the girl already in bed. Sheena had gone off earlier to the disco with Killian, admittedly with none of her usual bounce.
Claire laid down the book she was holding. Jane wondered why Claire hadn’t offered to try and get Ruthie out of the bathroom.
‘I can’t understand what’s the matter with Ruthie,’ Jane said, noticing that Claire looked unusually pale. She felt a sudden stab of conscience at leaving her so much with the little girl. Not that Ruthie was a difficult child but she was inclined to be demanding since her father died. Jane suddenly regretted not insisting that Claire go with the others to the disco.
‘I think she’s a bit upset,’ Claire said.
Jane stared at her, unable to understand her detachment. Something was definitely wrong.
Jane sat down on the bed. ‘What is it, Claire?’ she asked gently. ‘Has something happened?’
Claire flushed and looked down at her book. Jane noticed the slim fingers gripping the cover, so tight the knuckles had changed colour.
‘I’d like to go home,’ Claire said abruptly.
Jane was taken aback. The very last thing she had expected to hear. ‘But I thought you were happy here,’ she said, bewildered. ‘Besides, there’s only another week before we all go home. Don’t you want to stay until then?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Claire faltered. ‘I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful but I’d really like to go at once.’ She looked desperately at Jane.
Here she was thinking something had happened and it was only that Claire had tired of minding Ruthie and wanted to go home. Jane felt an enormous sense of let-down but strove to be fair. After all, it couldn’t be much fun for a teenager left all day minding an eight-year-old. She shrugged and stood up.
‘Very well, Claire,’ she said, a little coldly. ‘If that’s what you want, I’ll drive you to Waterford tomorrow. As far as I know there’s a train around midday.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Claire said abjectly.
‘I’m sorry too.’ Jane was unable to conceal a note of disillusionment. ‘I had hoped you liked sharing these holidays with us. I know it’s not very exciting left with Ruthie so much but you should have told me before if you weren’t happy.’
Claire winced. She looked as though she were going to cry.
‘Well, it can’t be helped.’ Jane tried to smile. She felt deathly tired. ‘We’ll just have to get along without you somehow.’ A slight unintentional irony tinged her voice. ‘Goodnight, my dear.’ She went out without looking back or waiting for Claire’s reply.
As soon as the door closed Claire burst into tears. She knew that she had mortally offended Jane. She pulled the pillow over her face to deaden the sound and sobbed as though her heart would break.
Ruthie finally came out of the bathroom of her own accord. She appeared suddenly in the kitchen as Jane was reading the paper and threw herself weeping into her mother’s arms.
‘There, there, everything’s all right,’ Jane soothed her
‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Ruthie bawled. She was still dressed in her shirt and denims. Her tears soaked Jane’s blouse. After a while Jane said, ‘Let’s get you changed, love,’ and took her into the bedroom and undressed her. As she put her in a nightie she noticed the angry bruises on Ruthie’s chest. She said nothing, but she felt a stirring of fear. Who or what could have caused such marks? She lifted the little girl into bed and pulled the duvet over her.
Ruthie sat up. ‘Don’t go, Mummy,’ she cried. ‘You won’t, will you?’
Jane shook her head. The child lay down again and watched her undress, her eyes enormous in her pale face. Now Jane was convinced there was really something terribly wrong. She put on her dressing gown and drew the cord firmly about her waist. When Ruthie was asleep she went to sit by the fire until Sheena got home.
Just before eleven o’clock she heard the key in the door and Sheena and her boyfriend came in. It needed only a gentle prompt to get Sheena going and she blurted out the whole scary story. Jane was horrified. No wonder Claire wanted to go home, she thought, and Ruthie spent half the night hiding in the bathroom, the only room in the house with a lock. The animals, Jane thought in a rush of anger.
‘For God’s sake, Sheena, why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?’ In her weariness, Jane’s anxiety turned to exasperation. ‘I can’t understand why you didn’t.’ She looked severely at her daughter. ‘Most irresponsible.’
Sheena burst into tears. Jane stared at her aghast. Sheena never cried.
‘Oh darling, I’m sorry. Forgive me. I didn’t mean it,’ Jane babbled remorsefully, shocked by all these disturbing revelations. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying. You were marvellous, all of you. I was just so upset and worried. Please don’t cry.’
Sheena gulped and choked. She took the handkerchief Killian handed her and mopped her tears. When she could speak, she said, ‘But I wanted to ring you, Mummy. I really did, only Claire begged and begged me not to. She was afraid you’d blame her.’
‘Blame her... why should I do that?’ Jane asked, genuinely puzzled.
Sheena shrugged. ‘Dunno. She gets funny notions, Claire. She even wanted to go home before you came but felt it wouldn’t be right to leave Ruthie.’
Jane sighed and stood up. Poor Claire. She might have been Ruthie’s older sister the way everyone took it for granted she must accept responsibility for her. Jane felt ashamed at how casually they all used her. What an ordeal. She turned to Killian.
‘I can’t thank you enough for all you did,’ she told him. ‘I dread to think what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.’
‘It was nothing at all, Dr McArdle,’ Killian said, looking pleased. He was really rather a dote. Jane hugged him and Sheena shyly squeezed his hand. Jane looked at her watch and smiled at them both.
‘Off home with you now, Killian,’ she said gently. ‘It’s time we were all in bed.’ She saw him out and shut the door behind him. Sheena went tiredly up the stairs.
Jane suddenly yawned. It seemed like an eternity since she had got into the car that afternoon to drive to the country. She would get the whole thing straightened out, she promised herself. First thing in the morning she would have a word with Garda Deveney next door. But just now she couldn’t wait to get into bed. Before falling asleep she reminded herself that this was a sensitive situation and she must warn Terry to be careful what he said to Claire.
There wasn’t any need. Sheena already had.
For the next few days everything seemed back to normal. Ruthie appeared to be putting the ordeal behind her though she showed a tendency to wake up at night and cry for her mother. Claire too felt her spirits gradually lifting.
Jane had taken her aside the next morning and gently drawn the whole story from her. Claire cried as she told it, partly from distress and partly from relief that the air was cleared between them. Jane took her in her arms and comforted her. She told Claire she had decided to remain with them until it was time for them all to pack up and go.
‘So I hope you’ll think twice about going home. We really want you to stay.’
Claire nodded, then blushed when Jane went on to say how proud she was of the way she had fought off her attackers and done her best to protect Ruthie.
‘It’s a debt I can never repay,’ Jane said and hugged Claire again, relieved to see the look of shamed desperation ease from her face. ‘I want you to know I trust you completely and there’s no one I would rather have to mind Ruthie than you. Indeed, you have always been more of a sister to her than Sheena.’
Claire looked embarrassed. ‘But Sheena is really good with Ruthie,’ she protested loyally. ‘She’s always getting up at night to bring her to the toilet. Honestly!’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Jane said, unconvinced. She knew how little Sheena ever exerted herself. ‘So it’s a bargain?’ Jane squeezed Claire’s hand affectionately. ‘You’ll wait and come home with us at the end of the week?’
Claire nodded and shyly returned the squeeze. With Jane staying on in the cottage, she no longer felt such a desperate need to get away. One thing bothered her. Had Terry been told?
Jane nodded. ‘When he heard I’m afraid he got a bit carried away and took things into his own hands. You know Terry.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I suspect he rather enjoyed himself.’
Claire smiled, her heart lifting at the thought of him going to her defence.
By the middle of the week she felt so much better that she suggested to Ruthie that they get out the billy-cans and go into the field behind the bungalows to pick blackberries. They collected enough fruit to make a couple of pies and came giggling into the house, their lips and fingers stained purple. When Jane exclaimed over how much they had picked the two girls began talking at once.
‘We would have had loads more,’ Claire said, with an impish glance at Ruthie, ‘Only a certain young lady ate far more berries than she put in the can.’
‘Oh I like that!’ Ruthie moaned. ‘Don’t listen to her, Mummy. Claire ate twice as many as me.’
‘I don’t think so!’ Claire grinned at Jane. ‘I seem to remember someone saying, “One for the billy-can, two for me.” Now I wonder who in the world that was?’
Jane laughed and hustled Ruthie before her into the kitchen. She pretended to be cross, as she removed the evidence with a face-cloth and soap, but secretly Jane was delighted to see them so jolly. How could she ever have imagined that Claire resented minding Ruthie, when her affection was so apparent in every smile and caress she gave the little girl?
They were all very light-hearted that evening as they tucked into delicious slices of blackberry pie, topped with cream, that Sheena had generously offered to make. Besides, she was rather good at pastry and wanted to impress Killian, who had been invited to tea. Jane was just as glad to let her.
There were jokes made about Sheena’s pastry but there wasn’t a scrap left over. Terry sighed over his third helping and pretended to vomit. Sheena threatened to take it away from him and, while Killian held his arms, Ruthie ran giggling to get her brother’s dish. They all insisted he take back his words or forfeit the pie and Terry, pretending to be scared, dutifully begged for mercy.
Claire loved it when the McArdles cod-acted like this.
Great to see them perking up again, Jane thought as she watched their antics with a smile.