I was up sitting dry-eyed at my window by 6am after the longest Friday night of my life. I watched the light gather itself behind the three hills to the east. Muckle, Aghabovey and Sessiagh are smoky blue as the mist starts to lift. I chant the names and places, the ground I have been standing on for sixteen years, like a prayer. We are on top of Dergmoy and Glebe is to the left. The mighty River Cloon still runs down between us and forks at the point of the river field in Johns Farm before it flows steely and cold under the Castle Bridge in Carncloon ten miles away. Nothing’s changed but everything is different.
The deep-scarlet sky fades to pink then to streaks of gold. Red sky in the morning, tramp’s warning. The warning doesn’t last long. After an hour all the pretty colours have been wiped out by the daily pigeon-grey sky that brings the promise of soft rain, the only constant in the churning of the days.
I see my father walk around the end of the barn on the way to his cows, his pipe already lit. He doesn’t blink. What will he be thinking today?
I am thinking he will not rescue me but I will be rescued. Someone will come for me and pull me from this latest wave of Mammy’s madness before I am washed away. I will them to come: Kathleen, Eileen, Bridie, Sheila, Kathleen, Eileen, Bridie, Sheila, Kathleen, Eileen, Bridie, Sheila. One of them will stop her with a silver bullet.
Out of the fog comes Father Pat O’Connell’s face, the face of someone who has seen much worse things than an unmarried pregnant girl and who might be able to prevail upon my mother to just let me have the thing so I can give it to Auntie Eileen and get back to my A levels! But with his face comes the face of John Johns.
He was going to marry me? ME? A knocked-up girl he looked down on when there were a hundred women like moths smashing their faces against the light from his Tilley lamp and him oblivious to the stench of burning wings. He must have chosen to do this; Daddy would never have asked, Sadie neither. I realised it must have been Bridie; she must have begged him to step in for now to help the scandal blow over.
I would have to get to John Johns and talk sense to him. Didn’t he understand that he was spoiling his own chances of a proper marriage? I could get married again if I abandoned my faith; I could cross over and turn to be a Protestant divorcee otherwise how would Joe and me manage when we made up?
No one came to rescue me. I hadn’t really believed for a second that they would. I had already been dealt with. The decent thing was about to be done. I was only a prisoner ’til then. Then I would run. I would run from the chapel if I had to, oh Yes Siree Bob! Wouldn’t that be a nice little bit of icing on the cake? After Mammy had dropped the bomb of John Johns, I begged Mick to get Kathleen or Eileen. A red welt below his left eye let me know he’d been caught on the phone. My sister and my aunt came together on the Thursday night and battled through to my bedside. All three of us pretended we couldn’t hear the abuse that trailed them up the stairs. I had been made by them, she roared, and now look at the mess I was in. Pah! I was their doing, not hers.
I don’t know what I thought they would do or could do and they only had another whole day to do it in. But they were both too upset to think straight. They checked and double-checked that no rape had occurred, no drugging, no blackouts or other fits or seizures that might account for the fact that I had ruined myself. When they finally understood that I was to blame, that I’d been awake, that I was complicit, they had nothing to say, no words of comfort.
– What possessed you? Kathleen cries. Now you’re never going to be able to leave this bloody place!
– Mary, I can’t imagine what you were thinking, Eileen wails.
Why couldn’t she, at least, understand that I had been thinking after a fashion. I’d been thinking this is the first chance I’ve had in sixteen years to do what I want. I’d been thinking I wanted to know what making love felt like. I’d been thinking that being joined to someone else would stop me from floating up out of my body. I’d been thinking that just for half an hour I could stop watching myself.
They had to leave me with no hugs, no kisses, no swearing, no boiled sweets, no reassurances that it would be alright, one day, with just one gift. Granda Ban had been told; he had nothing to say, no words of wisdom or condemnation, but he sent me Granny Moo’s ancient brown handbag. When she was still with us, it was used to transport her unopened packet of linen handkerchiefs, her rosary beads and a bottle of smelling salts. Auntie Eileen and me managed a giggle over it. If one fails, try the other, she said before she set herself and Kathleen off crying again and they both had to run out. I’m left holding the bag ’til I feel a sort of tremor from it that would normally scare the bejesus out of me but which is oddly comforting as I let it travel through me, a sort of feathery hug from beyond the grave.
The ceremony had been set for 3pm to keep Mammy’s dreaded gawkers to a minimum. My family were pinned behind their paper roses: white for the boys, red for the girls. Kathleen, Matthew and Mick were there but Liam, Brendan and Dominic weren’t coming back. Auntie Vi and Auntie Harriet had shown up nice and early to enjoy Sadie’s disgrace and were corralled in the Good Room.
Mammy had gone as far as Derry to get herself an outfit, braving the petrol bombs and rubber bullets, to secure enough polyester to cover her arse as the Mother of the Bride. I hear it rustling against her petticoat as she comes up the stairs.
– Why are you not dressed yet? It’s nearly time.
– Are you going to make me go through with this?
– Yes, I am, no better woman for the job!
– I can’t marry John Johns! We’ve not spoken more than two words to each other our whole lives.
– So? You should be grateful there’s anyone willing to take you at all.
– But I’m only sixteen! Sixteen! I can’t get married. Please, please, I’m begging you to see sense! I’ll give it away! I’ll give it to Eileen! Anything …
I didn’t think she’d slap me on this day. It would ruin the photos. I was wrong. Bam! I held my face; it was on fire. It was always worse when you didn’t see it coming. Mentioning Auntie Eileen was like waving a red rag at a bull.
– Babies are from Good Holy God. Your father will do his duty today; he will walk you up the aisle, which is a lot better than throwing you out into the street where you belong, Mary Rattigan, do you understand me? You’re getting off lightly. Now dry your eyes and get dressed.
I was to wear a pink suit. It was heavy wool, a box jacket would hide the bump, the skirt was knee-length. It had been bought in Harper’s, the Protestant drapers in the town, so that no tales could be carried to Catholic neighbours. There was a pair of pink plastic shoes. The only white was the tights.
– Try your hardest to do something with that awful hair? Even you should make the effort to look nice on your wedding day!
The shoebox was on my lap. I pulled them out and put them on the bed. Wasn’t that bad luck, new shoes on a bed? I dragged the tights on and over the tiny bump and got into the itchy, scratchy suit.
The track of my mother’s fingers still showed on my cheek. In pure badness, I combed my awful hair into two high pigtails and tied them with big white bows so that everyone could enjoy them. White, pink, pink, white, different pink – that was better. If you can’t wear pigtails on your wedding day when you’re knocked up, lonely, broken-hearted and sixteen, when can you wear them? What was Joe Loughrey doing today, far, far away in the US of A?
I put on too much black eyeliner with a shaky hand, and a big slash of pink lipstick, and tried to ignore the fact that my chin wouldn’t stop wobbling and no amount of swallowing hard helped. I hung at the door for a moment, both hands steadying me in the frame. The bed had a dent in it where I’d lain all morning. I couldn’t wait to crawl back into it and pull the covers over my head. If the monsters can’t see you, they can’t steal you. The clock ticked. I had to go, ready or not.
The effect on Mammy was just what I wanted. She looked away in disgust and tutted as if to say let her have her snotty way just one more time and then we’ll deal with her later. The effect on Daddy was not what I wanted. I still wanted him to love me, to look after me.
– Mary, he says flinching, I think that might be a bit much.
A bit much? A bit much? I was being married off to a man who barely acknowledged I was alive and who didn’t even have anything to do with the bump, but black eyeliner and pigtails was a bit much?
– I don’t think it is, Daddy, I think it’s just fine.
He nodded and I knew then that I would go quietly, I’d never be bold enough to act the blackguard when Daddy was doing his duty. He’d not said a cross word to me. I couldn’t hurt him again.
My heart lurched at the chapel where I had been christened, made my First Confession, First Holy Communion and my Confirmation. I had white dresses for all of them except this. My mother hooked my arm under my father’s and stayed behind me to block the exit.
At the altar there was the shocking sight of John Johns in an immaculate suit and white shirt. I knew I’d never see a more beautiful man. Not a single thought showed on his face as he was presented with a pregnant tart in pigtails. He could hardly miss the welt on my cheek. He could have anyone he wanted, anyone; why had he hobbled himself for me? I’d never have took him for a man who would willingly enter into a farce. I stumbled but Daddy kept me on track and gave me away. It was his job.
Father O’Brien gathered us all together in the sight of God and all but galloped through the ceremony; there was no Mass, a first for me at weddings. It was only a few minutes before we arrived at the exchange of rings and I suddenly understood that this man, this man who was respected by the whole townland for his honesty and frankness, had gone somewhere and bought these two rings. He had carried them in his pocket for three days and he had allowed the lying, two-faced priest to bless them. Now he was going to swear in front of Good Holy God that he meant it all? He had never spoken to me.
I’d always known that Catholics had a gift for hypocrisy, I’d witnessed that first-hand, but this was breathtaking. In that moment, I hated him more than I had ever hated anyone, Mammy included. He hadn’t asked how I felt about being handed on like a broodmare. He hadn’t saved me; he had saddled me. I started to shake. Mammy’s neck craned forward, Father O’Brien squeezed my shoulder. My palms were sweaty. John’s fingers were cool and dry as he cupped my hand to pass me the ring. I pushed it on; it was a perfect fit. The gold band he’d bought for me was too big.
A huge sigh went up after as my mouth said ‘’til death do us part.’ I hadn’t kicked, screamed or bitten and now I was right again in God’s eyes and so everyone relaxed before they were herded out and into the parish hall by my mother to have a sandwich tea.
The parish hall was bare apart from a long table hung with a brown gingham cloth. The sandwiches all had lettuce, even the tinned salmon. A tower of butterfly cakes quivered in the cold. The faded brown velvet curtains on the empty stage were tied back with a tasselled brown rope so we could enjoy the single vase of cheerless flowers standing there. Mrs Byrne got the party started by cranking up the urn and trying not to look like she’d die of happiness.
Auntie Eileen’s eyes were glazed open and her smile was nailed on; Bernie looked upset, ever sensitive to moods. Kathleen stuck close to both of them. John Johns went over to talk to them and Bernie flung her arms around him. He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head. If she but knew it, she had just outstripped every woman in the room except me. My hideous aunts told me how lucky I was to land such a handsome man. Somehow I had become someone who other people patted. You look lovely, grand, pat, pat, pat.
A photograph was taken of the whole group, then one of me and him standing side by side, close enough to have our wedding suits touch, one of me and him with Bridie between us, but when it came to me and him and Mammy and Daddy, I walked away and sat down. Bernie jumped up and got into the photo so for evermore, amen, Mammy would have a shot of herself looking at Bernie in total disgust. John linked arms with her and told the photographer to go ahead. Bernie beamed her biggest smile and Eileen finally laughed.
Alright? says Mick. ‘Alright’ didn’t really touch it. Poor Mick! This awful afternoon wasn’t good for his nerves. I hated that I had upset him. He was holding a cup on a saucer like it was a chalice.
– Don’t cry, Mary. Please, for God’s sake, don’t cry.
– How am I goin’ to get out of this, Mick? How?
– This’ll blow over. John Johns is a decent fellah to do this. At least it’ll get you out of the doghouse now that you’re legal and all?
– As long as I can get back to school, I don’t care so much!
– Ah, Mary! You always did love the auld books!
Mick was trying to wipe a load of black eyeliner off me when John Johns came over. He’s my husband, I thought to myself, but I’m not his wife, not now, not ever, so help me Good Holy God and His Virgin Mother.
– We’d better make a move. There’s a ceilidh here tonight.
Soon people would be dancing through this cold empty place and I would be at home, confined to my room for months: no Lizzie Magee, no Joe Loughrey, no school books. The party was dissolving as quickly as it had been forced together. Auntie Eileen had already taken Bernie outside, first time either of them had left a party willingly. My sister’s eyes begged me not to say goodbye, as if I would ever have found the strength. My father checked his watch: the cows would be waiting for him at the hill gate.
Poor Bridie was standing alone wringing her hands. She looked ridiculous in a big navy-blue lacy hat that she’d bought or borrowed for the occasion and her broken down-at-heel Sunday shoes. It had made my mother tut loudly. She herself had on a much more fetching green felt hat with a jaunty feather tucked into its darker-green ribbon.
Father O’Brien was walking around with his arms wide as if he was nailed on an imaginary crucifix, but really he was just herding us all out of his parish hall and away back to our lives. His duty was done, Father Martin O’Hara had been successfully painted out of the picture, and he wanted us gone before the fiddle and tin-whistle players showed up to get the craic started.
There was a kerfuffle at the cars. I had turned to get into Daddy’s car only to be intercepted by Mammy who hissed at me to get sense, what was I doing with everyone watching? Trying to make eejits out of us all? She pointed at a blue car that John must have borrowed to make it nicer for his mother.
– You get in with Bridie, says John Johns.
– That’s right, darlin’ girl, you pop in here beside me. There now, there now.
She put her hand over mine and we were driven away like we were the happy couple and he was the chauffeur. I looked back to see if I could see Mammy and Daddy or any of the boys following. The house would be locked in case the UDR paid a visit and I didn’t want to be stuck out on the street. The same trees counted me home too fast but John Johns didn’t stop when we got to The Hill. He was driving me down and down into Johns Farm. The potholes juggled us this way and that. I started to panic.
– Stop! Let me out here. I don’t want to have to walk back. Stop, stop, stop.
I pulled at his shoulder, even though I never wanted to touch him. He didn’t even turn round, just changed down through the gears to keep the car from crashing into the wall by the orchard at Johns Farm, his knuckles white on the wheel.
– Oh, Mary, sure you’re to live with us now. You have to live with your husband, that’s how it works!
– No. No. No, that’s not what’s going on, Mrs Johns. This was just for show. I’m not really going to live down here. Please stop!
We were on the street at Johns Farm. It was two miles to get home and I was wearing stupid plastic slippers. I thought I was going to be sick.
– Please can you take me home? I didn’t know I wasn’t going home. Please? Please? Please take me home!
He didn’t answer me but got out of the car and took an overnight bag that I recognised as Kathleen’s out of the boot and walked past me into the house. Bridie was crying; her auld dog, Brandy, was whining and jumping around her feet. I saw the Tilley lamp come on in the kitchen. The weak yellow light hit the ground outside where the three of us stood in various states of distress. The big clump of leafy sycamores by the entrance to the river field were dark against the dusk sky and one small blackbird belted out its cheery song. Two miles away, my bed with its blankets and sheets that smelt like me was empty. It didn’t have me hiding in it. I didn’t have it to keep the monsters away.
By the time I walked to the half-door, John Johns had taken off his suit jacket and was unbuttoning his shirt cuffs. I was struck by how big he was in the little kitchen, how very tall. He didn’t speak but the set of his mouth said it all: he was far from happy with what he’d taken on. My bed called out to me, the only spot in the whole of The Hill where I’d felt safe.
– Are you going to take me home? Please? Please can I go home now?
– You are home.
He walked away from me to the Lower Room, carrying Kathleen’s bag. I looked at Bridie; she was still crying. She tried to pull herself together.
– You see, darlin’, your mother had it all arranged. The few things you’ll need tonight are in the bag; John picked it up on the way to the chapel. She knew you wouldn’t have thought of it, don’t you see?
I tasted the vomit before it reached my mouth, just making it to the side of the house, where it sprayed all over one of the rose bushes. As I wiped my lips, John walked out and past us, dressed for the feeding. A farmer’s work is never done. I saw the disgust on his face.
– She’s in the Lower Room, he said to his mother who nodded.
– Come on, sweetheart, come inside and I’ll get you a cup of tea? How’s that, eh? A nice cup of tea to heat your stomach? I was as sick as a dog every day I was expectin’. Come in, come in, sit down and I’ll get the fire up to boil the kettle.
I was shepherded inside and made to sit on the old sofa which was parked in front of the range. I had always loved this house but now its four walls tilted towards me, crushing me into the leather. Bridie banged about, shovelling coal and wood and rising smoke. I was home, for better or worse, in sickness and in health. A wave of the purest hatred rose up inside me for my mother. For my father I had a deep well of disappointment. They had washed their hands of me. They had sold me down the river and the bump with me. I drank the tea that appeared in my hand. Bridie had put a spoonful of sugar in it and she was right: it did heat my stomach. I felt it travel through me, warming as it went.
I had become someone’s wife. I had left home without even knowing it. Joe Loughrey had abandoned me and I couldn’t even hate him for it when it was my own fault. Kathleen and Eileen must have known but they hadn’t understood that I could be this dense with all my book learning. I was home – but only for tonight. One night only was all I would give to this sham; tomorrow I was going back to The Hill. Mammy couldn’t make my life any more unpleasant than it already was.
I’d always wanted to get away from The Hill but now I’m not ready. I want to be just along the hall from my brothers. Who was going to make Matthew milky tea when he was sad? Who was going to look after Mick if not me? I hadn’t said goodbye; I hadn’t told them to watch themselves. I’d be good; I’d not be seen or heard for all the months it took the bump to go away if Daddy would give me another chance, just one.
Daddy wouldn’t stand for me being left down here to rot. I would promise him that I wouldn’t be seen or heard and this time, this time he would stand his ground. After all, he was the man of the house. Mary’s come home, he’d say. I’d hide behind his back while she banged the frying pan on the range in fury at his impudence. This is where she belongs, he’d say, and that would be the end of it. I’d be home and he’d look after me; he wouldn’t let her hurt me any more. Mary is not to be hit again, he’d say. Mary’s been hit enough. Yes, yes, Daddy would make it better. I’d get through that first night on my sliver of hope that I would step back into my life one day.
The Lower Room was what would be the living room in a normal house, the Good Room, like the Good Room where we kept the framed reminders of our sacraments at home. It had a flowery sofa, covered in huge burgundy flowers, a sort of rose or peony maybe, and it smelt damp. There was also a brown leather chair that was a match for the sofa in the kitchen, but which had split open to show its horsehair stuffing, and a heavy wooden wardrobe with an oval mirror running the full length of it. The walls were painted brown to waist height, cream on top.
The ceiling was painted wooden boards that might have been white at some stage but were now faded to grey with smoke stains. Several large holes told the truth that there were rats living up there. There were windows at either side of the room, one looking out to the orchard at the back, one looking on to the street. The back window had a rose bush growing too close and the thorns hit the pane and screeched and scratched when the wind blew. As I stood there, a fall of soft rain started a gentle drum on the red tin roof.
On the back wall, a makeshift bed had been set up. It was behind a clothes horse that had an old cream blanket edged with blue hung over it. The bed was just a base; it would seem that John Johns had made it from rough wood he must have had lying around the place. The fact that he had prepared for me made me rage inside. Who makes a bed before speaking to the bride? The mattress was brand new, covered with linen sheets folded neatly back. A stained feather pillow in striped black and brown was sticking out of the clean pillowcase. There were at least three blankets on it and one of Bridie’s quilts.
John had made the bed very high. I had to climb on to it and when I settled myself my legs dangled over the edge in their stupid pink plastic shoes. I was too lonely to cry. The holdall had my toothbrush, a nightie, a facecloth and a bar of Camay soap from the set of three that Mammy had got from Auntie Vi the previous Christmas. I was spoilt.
My eyes were dry balls as I stared into the darkness settling around me. Now and then I switched on the torch that Bridie gave me, in case I needed to ‘go out’ in the night to the dreaded Tin House. But she had also told me to ‘go easy on the torch because batteries were very dear’. Good Christ, I couldn’t be expected to live in a house with no running water, no toilet that wasn’t a walk away in the dark and no electric light? Home had had plenty wrong with it but at least had those!
I’d give my mother such a piece of my mind when I went back to The Hill. I didn’t care how much I would have to pay for it, how many slaps I would have to take for my own good. When I lay down in my wedding suit and pulled the blankets over my head I could still hear the deft clip of the rats’ nails.