The remodelling of Johns Farm was finished by the end of August, after the hottest summer any of us could remember, and we painted the whole thing white like a giant Christmas cake. The house was further linked to the barn with a glass conservatory that looked out to the orchard. John had built out the back to a huge kitchen with room for the table and chairs, and four bedrooms in all. I didn’t think about the bedrooms in case I broke out in hives.
He had made a special room for Bridie on the ground floor with her own bathroom, and the sheer excitement of it: a second bathroom under a skylight on the second floor. To go from no toilet to two toilets overnight is a rarely experienced joy. We kept the concrete floor in the kitchen: concrete never wears.
I was amazed by the space when we cleared out all the tools and the dustsheets; the pink skimmed walls with not a bump were the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. He had been so clever, sketching what he wanted before getting an architect to draw up the plans, and he and his pals had built a palace. I bought Serena’s school uniform the same day we piled twenty cans of white emulsion into the boot of the car.
I painted the walls downstairs late into the nights. John was painting the whole upstairs but he had caved in to Bridie who had begged for a bit of auld flowery wallpaper. She couldn’t look at all that white: she’d think she was locked in the Tyrone Fermanagh! She had gone straight to the rolls of dainty blue roses climbing on delicate green stalks when she was let loose in McGoran’s hardware place.
I had to help him line up the slim stems and petals and our hands kept touching, our hips kept touching and our forearms. The fine dark hair on his arms was softer than it looked. My mouth had never been so dry; John kept clearing his throat and exhaling through his lips. It must have been the dust. When the last strip was up we stood back to admire it.
– Bridie’ll love that!
– Let’s hope she doesn’t want carpet to match, Mrs Johns!
I wished he wouldn’t smile at me with those teeth and expect me to say something, anything. I wished he’d stop calling me Mrs Johns. I backed away from him and made for the caravan and the last of the few nights I had with my girl before she went to pre-school. Pre-school for pre-cocious, John teases her, and she screams with laughter as if she understands she’s miles ahead of the herd.
Serena took to school like a duck to water. The first day I went to collect her she came out holding hands with a little girl called Nora Reilly and I had to speak to her mammy who was also at the gate. I got the usual look: the ‘oh, you’re Mary Johns, the quare wan who disappeared after disgracing yourself’ look. The look I dreaded. But I kept the ‘I’m just a normal girl picking up her daughter from school’ face on ’til I had walked to the top of the town. I hoped to God no one could see or hear my heart flailing about.
Because it was her first day, John was picking us up in the car and we were having fish and chips from the takeaway for tea. Serena found shyness at last as the waves of loving attention washed over her. It was John’s neck she hid her face in. He squeezed her tight and covered her ears with kisses ’til she had time to recover.
We had the lovely vinegary chips on our laps in the barn and we covered Serena’s schoolbooks and jotters with the last of the blue-rose wallpaper. Serena Bridget Johns, she got me to write on the books, The Nursery, St Patrick’s, Carncloon. My mother hadn’t even marked the day with an insult.
By Friday, Rosaleen Reilly had asked her to go for a sleepover with Nora – what we called going to stay at somebody’s house before America got involved. Just like Lizzie and me, they were inseparable after five days. It was the first night she would be out of Johns Farm since she was born, or out of my bed for that matter. Her excitement swept the lot of us up. Bridie had sewn her a pair of pink gingham pyjamas with a matching pink gingham teddy-bear pyjama case to put them in. She packed her toothbrush and agonised over whether or not Bosco and Blue Ted would cope without her for one night? I said they could both sleep in beside me and I’d explain: it would be for one night only and we’d all have to cope without her.
I got her to take her Cabbage Patch doll so that its weirdy face wouldn’t freak me out. Bridie was off to the bingo, the two of them talking about what to wear, two little birds twittering about what would be the Very Best Outfit for such an exciting excursion.
John Johns was outside clearing farming stuff off the back seat, like it was a Sunday. His mother always sat up front for the weekly trip to Sunday Mass, with the other two women in his life in the back. He pulled round to the door to save their shoes from the mud. Serena got in and sat still, looking straight ahead while John Johns mock-inspected her. She always had to be immaculate, not a hair out of place and with her shoes shining. They both loved that game and he always said A-plus before she giggled. Bridie got in and fussed around and then they both waved and waved like they were off to London to look at the Queen instead of the town ten miles away.
I waved and waved back as the street grew dark and I was left alone with just the trees for company. The caravan glowed yellow with the Tilley lamp; a few moths fluttered their dusty wings against the light. The house stood large and dark and empty, all white and grey and smelling of cut wood. I let myself in and wandered from room to room, my steps echoing. There were no rats, no ticking clock, no kettle singing on the range, no shouts of laughter from my girl or Bridie stirring tea. There was no pretend-husband stepping lightly. There was something, though, the slightest agitation of dust, and when I turned I saw her.
Granny Moo stood in the new doorway between the house that Johns Farm had been and the house it had become. She put her finger to her lips to stop me from screaming and then she pointed at the kitchen. I jerked my head around as headlights swept the length of the wall. John Johns had come home and when I looked for the messenger she was gone. I was quaking in my boots when he walked in looking bigger and more alive than ever. I could see the pulse in his neck, thick with blood.
– You’re back.
– Yes.
– I thought you’d probably go for a pint at O’Carolan’s instead of doing the drive twice.
– I went in but Scrumptious Connolly can never let me pass. He was wondering when I was going to have some waynes of my own.
John Johns’s mouth was dry; he licked his lower lip. Two seconds, three, four, five … I made for the upstairs bathroom and the lock on the door. He was outside by the time I’d bolted the door and slid down under the glass top to hide myself.
– Jesus, Mary, we can’t go on like this – two dry husks moving around each other! Mary, open the door, please. Mary? MARY!
– I can’t!
– Let me in, please …
I couldn’t answer; what would I say? If I broke now I’d have to admit that I was fine to stay here in this day-in, day-out, every-day-the-same farming life. He could hear me thinking.
– Mary, you can’t keep me out forever!
– I can and I will!
He knocked his forehead gently against the glass before he walked away.
Bridie was already up and at the old range in her new kitchen boiling the kettle when I got dressed. I stood beside her trying to avoid her eye. I had to speak, although it seemed like my voice was coming from someone else, someone who sounded like they were in a deep hole.
– How was the bingo?
– Grand, grand, same crowd as always. It’s not the same without wee Serena, is it?
– No, it’s not the same.
– Children are a gift from God, they really are …
– I know that.
God! If only she knew how much I wanted to have another baby. I’d give my eyetooth for one, or two or twenty! But I’d have to do it with John Johns. It seemed totally impossible. Me and him? Together, like that? My whole body started to shake at the very thought of it. I’d probably die of embarrassment. He would see me with no clothes on. The very thought of his Body Part A coming anywhere near my Body Part B sent it into a tailspin. Bridie sniffed a few more times and finally got enough of a hold on herself to voice what was making her snivel, like I hadn’t been able to figure it out.
– John’s a good man, y’know, Mary? There’s worse men. Mary? I say, there’s worse men? This life … and him … might not be what you wanted but it’s what you have?
– I know, I know. I could have done a lot worse. Drink your tea, Bridie.
Outside was bright sunshine and the oblivious fields. I stayed out all day; I did my work, cleaned the byre, swept, carried, dug and toiled ’til the sweat was running down my aching back. I stopped for dinner with Bridie; she’d made us potatoes and fried fish, not burnt, and I was delighted to have the warmth of it, I felt so hollowed out. I could hardly wait for Serena to come back.
I was waiting at the end of the lane where it dropped away from The Hill when I saw her running to me. She jumped into my arms without even a hello. As soon as I felt her I knew something was wrong. She pressed every inch of herself into me and held on for dear life.
– Serena? What’s the matter?
– Nora says Dada isn’t my real daddy.
– What? What did you say?
– I told her he is my daddy! He is my daddy?
She was as white as a sheet but I hadn’t lied to her and I wouldn’t start now. I’d always known it would come to light but I wished with all my heart that John was standing beside me for this one. He’d know what to say; he’d know how to say it to make it better. For Serena he could always make things better.
– Look at me! He is your daddy! And do you know why? Because he’s always been here and he always will and he loves you to The Hill and back. You know that, don’t you?
– Yes, Mammy!
– People love saying horrible things and this won’t be the last you hear of it. Your daddy is the man who takes the job on, okay? And you don’t know any other daddy, do you?
– No, Mammy!
– Well. That’s settled then! When you’re a big girl we’ll talk about this again, alright?
– Alright.
– Shall we have a walk? I thought we’d go and see if there were any daisies down at the river?
– Alright.
We strolled on hand in hand, the guilt chewing its way through my guts. It was hateful that she suffered because of me. Children repeat what they hear and Nora Reilly had most likely overheard her parents sniggering about it. While I got her to tell me about the good bits – eating Jaffa Cakes in bed – I replayed what I had said and found that I’d managed the truth. Her daddy was the man who took the job on and I could not fault John Johns’s love and devotion to her.
He was a good man, a better man than I had had my sights set on as a sixteen-year-old. To think, I’d always hated him for having no wings, no desire to be up and away from this patch of ground, when he’d been standing over her like a guardian angel since she was born. What would I have done without him? I resolved to be kinder.
The daisies were there, stuck to the side of the mossy riverbank. Serena leaned down and picked a few for Bridie while I held on to her spindly legs. She checked that Bridie was still her granny and I told her, of course, Bridie came as part of the package with Dada. Serena was accepting, a child so full of confidence and so empty of fear, that she had already rooted herself in a new version of the truth. I just had to tell John and hope he didn’t blow a gasket that anyone had upset his girl.
As we got to the bottom of the street, the little bit of growing up I just did was replaced with a sudden desire to be pressed against Auntie Eileen’s middle with only a choice between which boiled sweets to eat. John Johns had my bed from the Lower Room on a trailer and a newly-bought pink wooden bed frame standing on the street. Serena spotted it straight away and made for it at speed. I could hear John Johns telling her that, of course, it was for her. A big girl who was old enough to stay away from home should have her own nice bed. It was going into her new bedroom right this minute.
– But where will Mammy sleep now?
I’d reached them by then. Bridie couldn’t look at me. John Johns picked up the little bed with its wooden love heart carved into the headboard with one arm and manoeuvred it into the house. He never even looked in my direction when he came out, just started up the tractor and set off. I watched my old bed disappearing up the hill, quelling the desire to run after it, shouting and swearing, but then the trailer rounded the bend at the top and it was gone forever, leaving one tiny echo.
– But where will Mammy sleep now?
It seemed I was finally to take my rightful place beside my husband. I’d been so right for so long in the eyes of the Church and now I would be right in the eyes of the law. John Johns had staked his claim: for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, ’til death did us part. Life didn’t come into it, or so I thought. I had to hand it to him: he had found a foolproof way to overhaul communications between us without uttering a single word. I breathed in and put the kettle on; no point in trying to swallow anything without tea.
To my mind, Serena went far too happily to her new life in the new bedroom. Bridie and the blue roses were just next door any time she wanted a natter or a hug and she unpacked Bosco, Blue Ted, the Cabbage Patch Kid from hell, her pink gingham pyjamas and few auld dollies and let me know that she’d be just grand. She knew where me and Dada were if she needed us. I blanched at my transformation to an ‘us’. It had only taken John a matter of minutes to put the question of his fatherhood to bed. I’m the only daddy you’ll ever need, he said, with her little face cupped in his hands, and she had nodded very solemnly and got on with piling her bread high with rhubarb jam.
While she stayed on the ground floor with Bridie I was to join my husband underneath the sessile-oak eaves. He had spent the rest of the day moving his boxes of books and they stood along the wall in the kitchen. It seemed like years since I had taped them up instead of months. He gave me an hour to get what I wanted from the caravan as it was going to be towed away that very night. I might just stay in it now that my daughter didn’t want me and even Bridie had decided it was time for me to become an adult. I wanted to have a bit of a huff but no one was watching me. It was alright, no one could feel sorrier for me than I could for myself.
I dragged my brown suitcase out from under the bed and stuck my toothbrush in my pocket. I was putting my tired clothes in it when I felt John attach the caravan to the towbar on the tractor. It started to move as soon as I closed the door. He was a man taking no chances that I would have anywhere to lay my head except beside his. Having a little cry down by the river in the gathering dark did no good; the blackbirds got on with their lives, I saw a fox slink along the stone walls on his way to terrorise the chickens. I ran at him flapping my arms and shouting as if it would make any difference to his dinner plans. I was a dog with no bark; Foxy Woxy kept pace with me half a field away. Even the owls laughed in the shadowy trees.
The house was quiet, the kettle sang on the range and everything else was fresh-painted plaster. John had come back and was nowhere in sight. I got out my nightie and, despite the heat of the night, put on every stitch I had to hand ’til I was like the Michelin Man. John was reading by the brass bed when I slipped under the blankets and clung to the outside edge in case he touched me in the night. By the by, he slipped in beside me and switched the light off and I swear I could feel him smiling in the dark.
The embarrassment of having him laugh at me rose up from my toes and I was boiling over with it, never mind the two pairs of socks, three pairs of knickers, four jumpers, my jeans and a hat in the mildness of September.
– Are you cold, Mary?
– Yes!
– We can fix that …
Oh, the lousy bastard! He went off and got another heavy blanket, doubled it and put it on top of me. I was going to be smoked out! Then he got back in so I could enjoy him cracking up fit to burst. I broke after about thirty minutes and clawed the soggy clothes off my back and ran for the bathroom to sponge down the heat rash. Oh, but the joy of just turning a tap! I looked more like a fresh-boiled ham than a girl so I hiccuped my way back to his room and got in beside him. He’d had his fun so he kept his back to me and we must have fallen asleep, a space between us you could have driven a baler down.
He didn’t touch me in the first week but I was as alarmed by his new nakedness as I was by his total lack of self-consciousness. I was constantly struck by how beautiful he was even as my stomach twisted when he just came in, stripped off and slid into bed without a word. The whiteness of his skin only served to make his dark hair darker and he always slept naked, brazen. The deathly chill on the linen sheets didn’t even slow him down. I was always there before him, eyes jammed shut and limbs clamped into a ball.
He got to me slowly, a deer stalker stepping light, breathing into my hair, inching his way closer, putting his arm around me. One night pulling me round to rest my head on his chest, another night fitting his whole length behind me and many more nights holding my hands, my sweaty little-girl hands still in fists, in his palm. He kept a pillow between me and him as if I mightn’t know what was brewing.
All of these things took root in the silence we had been cultivating for years and so we came to know each other without the handicap of words. When he lifted my nightie and licked me slowly from the back of my neck to the base of my spine, I had to hold on to my nipples in case they pinged clean off me and rolled under the bed! I prayed he would never open his mouth for any other reason.
I caved in in the end: seems he did know about kissing girls way south of the border properly in bandit country and, damn my pedigree tramp’s DNA, I rose up to meet him. He was so big, so smooth, so patient, he covered me easily. When he kissed me like that, when he kissed me at all, I was glad that my daughter and Bridie were far away out of earshot. I hated myself for not being able to deny my need. I was entirely undone.
The sounds of us together under the eaves made the silence of us together during the daylight hours seem less strained. We’d never be yammerers, that was for sure, but now when he stood close to me, just to reach past me for the milk or to kiss Serena when she was already in my arms, I had to concentrate on not tipping headlong into him instead of pitching back. I don’t know if he felt the same pull towards me. If he did, it didn’t show; nothing showed on his face and I did my best to match the lack of change in the atmosphere between us. I couldn’t risk forgetting that he wasn’t in the market for a wife even though now I had become one. If he wanted to be a husband, it was no business of mine.
A few weeks after the new sleeping arrangements were in place and my charming child hadn’t had the grace to miss me for even one night, we were all in the kitchen having breakfast. Bowls of porridge all round with extra stewed prunes for Bridie. I was minding my own business and stirring the pan so I was caught like a rabbit in the headlights by Serena whose already gold-standard confidence was growing with every day at school.
– Mammy?
– Yes, lovely?
– I heard loads of noises from your room last night?
– What?
– Noises, like you were shouting about something?
– Must be that imagination of yours or a dream!
– NO! I heard you shouting! I did!
– I know what it was! We were saying our prayers. Your mammy dropped her rosary beads, says John smiling, somewhere around the tenth decade …
– Did you, Mammy? Did you drop your rosary beads?
– Yes, pet, I dropped my … rosary beads.
John and Bridie had to hunch their backs over the sink to hide their hilarity and she let off a fart that set the pair of them off in total hysterics. I was hoping it was the prunes but I knew it was me, Mrs Mary Johns, figure of fun and T.R.A.M.P. extraordinaire.