The Quiet Truth: a haunting domestic drama full of suspense

by Sharon Thompson

  Fate or fortune started to smile on Hammy when it was turning its back on millions of others across the globe. As part of the British Commonwealth, Canada was, of course, a willing ally for the Second World War. Although there was no immediate pressure on me to show interest in enlisting in the Canadian military, I heard that other undocumented immigrants were accepted and were easily written up on official documents.

  This suited Randal Hamilton – who had no intention of ever going to war.

  34

  Charlie Quinn

  The recorder gets clicked off. I reluctantly return to the present, I don’t want to have to deal with the repercussions of what I have just revealed. There’s more to come and I’d rather put up with it all in one fell swoop.

  ‘Gus died?’ Rhonda spits under her breath. ‘You just casually drop that into the conversation and move on?’

  ‘You did say we were in a hurry.’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky now, Charlie! Gus was your boss and your lover’s husband, don’t you feel anything about his death?’

  ‘You didn’t even know the man.’

  ‘He was still a person. A human being.’

  ‘Thousands – no, millions died in the months and years that followed, and those poor bastards died too. What was I to do about them all?’

  She doesn’t know how to answer me for a while. ‘War is different.’

  ‘Is it? What’s the difference?’

  Rhonda goes pale.

  ‘Each one of us is capable of the most unspeakable things, my dear Rhonda. Don’t you know that? Just because you’re here in this nice home, with a perfect baby and good food, doesn’t mean you won’t lie, cheat, steal or even murder to survive and thrive. Haven’t you lied and cheated too?’ I ask, ignoring the raging headache and throb in my side.

  Hands go over her ears and I wait.

  ‘I found newspaper articles from your journey out to Canada,’ Rhonda says softly. ‘I’ve been doing some digging and not a great deal of sleeping. A relation called Margie is an amateur genealogist and she’s been helping me do some research,’ Rhonda goes on.

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘She has found the Hollyridge Hotel. It has been renamed and Margie found it.’

  ‘Polly’s place. How great.’

  ‘She’s trying to trace where she might be now.’

  ‘Can she do that? I’d love to know about Polly.’

  ‘Would you?’ Rhonda asks, peering at me. ‘Would you like to know about some of the others in your life history? I doubt it! I’ve been playing back the tapes and I’m sad about all you’ve been through, Charlie. But still I cannot pretend to be unaffected by it. I cannot condone some of your behaviour.’

  ‘You’re all annoyed about Gus? He fell from a height onto a plough. There wasn’t much to it.’

  ‘The genealogist is looking for the real Randal Hamilton as we speak.’

  ‘Do you know I can still see his face if I concentrate hard enough,’ I admit. ‘Little, meek Randal with the very large coat his mother gave him. It was to last him for the years he’d be apart from her. Would you believe I still have that coat and it’s in my case? Lucky for you, I had it professionally cleaned as it did pong from years of wear. Randal’s family must’ve been wealthy at some point, as his clothes were of good quality. Like many others once hard times hit, there was nothing for it. You had to abandon your children or send them away. Imagine if Joe regretted lying with you and you had no option and had to give Faye up? Harsh times, Rhonda. Yes, Randal Hamilton was presented to me at just the right time and him with his much-too-large coat.’

  ‘She’ll find Randal, no doubt. I’m almost afraid to ring her with more of this information. It’s getting more and more awful. I know you don’t want Joe to know much… but he’s asking me things.’

  ‘Does he know your secret?’ I ask her.

  The pale jaw sinks with her shoulders. ‘What?’ She breathes out quickly with the word.

  ‘Is Joe organising for me to see Ella?’ I ask, changing the subject.

  ‘Were you threatening me? I won’t help him with that anymore,’ she says. ‘I’m taking Faye to my mother’s until after the weekend.’

  ‘I understand. When does your friend call? Is it once I’m in bed? I’d say that conversation is interesting?’

  ‘I’m taking Faye and I’ll be a few hours.’

  ‘Off with you then, my dear. I’ll ask you to set the tapes. I want to continue in your absence.’

  She stalls in her departure. Does she want to enable more of my mutterings? I say no more and hobble to get a glass of water. From the sink I hear her change the tapes with angry clicks.

  35

  Rhonda Irwin

  Gripping the steering wheel, I try to lower my shoulders and relax a little. Tears spring up and Faye babbles in the back seat about, ‘Driving to Granny.’

  ‘Yes, Mummy is escaping to Granny’s. That’s a new thing for Mummy to do,’ I admit. ‘When I get there I should ring Daddy and tell him all about all of this.’

  ‘Daddy,’ Faye says and laughs. Despite her mother and grandmother, Faye is a relaxed, calm child.

  ‘Mummy doesn’t always tell the truth and it is a bad thing,’ I tell Faye, peeking at her in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Bad,’ Faye echoes. ‘Bad, bad Daddy.’

  ‘No. Mammy is bad,’ I tell her. The word Daddy is much more fun to play with. She starts a song of her own making about her precious Daddy.

  ‘Can I ask you to look after Faye again?’ I question before we were even in Mother’s kitchen. ‘It’s just this Charlie business. Faye is being neglected.’

  I have presented Mother with an opening to criticise my parenting and it is ignored. She stands back as I hand over Faye’s overnight bag. ‘I doubt that she’s abandoned,’ she says, squinting at us both. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asks, peering closer still.

  ‘Yes,’ I lie as usual. ‘I’ve just left Charlie talking into my tape recorder and Faye’s expected to play by herself and she’s getting no attention. Can you give her something nice for her dinner too, please?’

  ‘I always do,’ Mother replies, still studying me carefully while wiping at her shining worktop. ‘If anyone wanted to listen to my life, it would make a good book. Ach sure, there’s no interest in little old me. Is all this work you’re doing with Charlie going to be worthwhile?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘When does he leave?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘I’ve said to Joe that this may not be good for you. He reassured me that it was helping you write again.’

  ‘When did you talk with Joe?’

  ‘I dunno. Couple of days ago. I rang him.’

  ‘At work?’ I know how Joe hates being interrupted at work. If she’s annoying him there, he’ll be extra cross and I cannot blame him if he is.

  ‘It was just before he was going home,’ she says. I know she’s lying.

  ‘Don’t annoy him. One of us nagging at him is enough.’

  I’ve left another gap for attack. She ignores it and hands Faye an ice lolly from her freezer.

  ‘And are you writing?’ she asks, clicking on the latest electric kettle that cost as much as a cooker. ‘At least you’re getting dressed these days, that is an improvement.’

  ‘Pardon?’ I say, sitting on the nearest chair.

  ‘With Charlie in the house, you have to look someway decent. That will help your relationship. Not that I know what makes a man stay.’ She grimaces. ‘I’m sorry that your father left us, Rhonda. I’ve never said that to you before. I am sorry. I was young and foolish to think I might change him and you missed out on things. I’ve been thinking that maybe all that with your own father is making you worry about Joe? That maybe your father leaving has affected you more than I want to admit?’

  Her dyed hair is tilted, waiting on a reply.

  ‘Joe is fine. We’re fine.’

  Faye’s lolly lands on the floor and she scoops it up and s
ucks on it some more.

  ‘What is going on then?’

  ‘Ella O’Brien is going to be on the Late Late,’ I say. ‘You’ll get a shock if she mentions our Charlie Quinn.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘He fathered her last baby.’

  ‘He never!’

  ‘Apparently so. He was only eighteen and then he ran off to Canada.’

  ‘The poor man.’

  Her reaction to another man shirking his responsibilities is still the same.

  ‘He’s not totally innocent.’

  ‘He didn’t make her do what she did?’

  ‘There’s a lot more to the story that I cannot explain now.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘It’s on my mind and even when I’m not listening to Charlie, I’m looking through the things Margie sends me.’

  ‘She said she’d uncovered a lot for you.’

  ‘Did she tell you anything else?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’ve been snappy recently, especially with her. I’ve had a lot on my mind.’

  ‘She never said that.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And how is Joe?’

  I look at the clock on the wall with the big hands. Joe will be almost finished at work and I should call him.

  ‘Charlie doesn’t want to answer any of my questions. It is very frustrating.’

  ‘Is that your way of saying that yes you are taking all of this out on poor Joe?’

  ‘We’re having a hard time. Once Charlie goes, things might be better.’

  ‘I cannot see what Charlie has to do with you and Joe?’

  ‘There may be a scandal when Ella does this interview. What will you make of that?’

  A slender hand touches my sleeve. ‘You and Faye are my world. Nothing else matters. You need to stop waiting for things to be better and make the good times happen now – before it’s too late. Go home and sort things out with Joe, that’s the most important thing.’

  I nod, fearful that my mother is right.

  36

  Charlie Quinn

  Tom wasn’t best pleased at me talking about joining a foreign fight. When I mentioned that I’d get my name in black and white on government documents he saw the need for him to vouch for me with the authorities. Having a man like Tom say you worked closely with him for the guts of ten years was a hundred times better than any piece of paper.

  In June 1940, Randal Hamilton, a Tyrone-born, Irish Protestant was registered for home service in the war effort, at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.

  Tom also had a word with some high-ranking uniforms. They needed meat and Kelly’s was branching out with investments into meat-packing and production. With my knowledge of butchery, we were doing well, and a military contract was going to be very lucrative. Tom made great deals with the war raging across the ocean. This meant that Hammy was a needed, valued man right where he was in Manitoba.

  ‘I need to fight,’ I explained a few times to Olga and Tom over dinner. ‘I’m no coward.’ The drinking glasses glinted as I licked gravy off the china plates between speeches. I was a fervent fighter when safe in the big Kelly homestead. ‘As much as Gus was an Irish patriot, my own people were British. I need to go with the others to war when the time comes.’

  ‘You’re going nowhere,’ Tom said. ‘You’re staying here.’

  That was all I needed to hear.

  Olga had invited me back into her bed around this time. I like to think she saw grit and bravery in my performances. The sex was functional and it made me think even more of my Ella and the whisky bottle. Staying in the warm luxury of a nice house was something that kept me grounded and focused. Tom turned a blind eye to my sneaking out the back door before breakfast, and he didn’t put a stop to the progress I was making.

  It was rare that Canadian women who owned property were allowed to run it by themselves. Whatever way the wills and legacies worked, Tom and Olga were deemed joint owners of the ranch. Tom’s position was sacred and Olga couldn’t be without him – or me.

  After a few months I could almost smell my new position and the money. I knew I was close to hooking a marriage with Olga Kelly. The lack of grief for Gus was a gift I cherished too.

  Olga was proving to be more cautious than I’d thought she’d be. She loved the bad boy in me and, of course, she thought that she could mould me for her own purposes. I was also becoming more sober, cleaner and mannerly. This was not because of her – it was because of Tom’s belief in a lost cause.

  Olga is a clever woman – as plain women need to be. With a fast-fading youth, her curves were getting fatter and she lacked the beauty she saw on the screen. She had means and saw what I did to Polly. Olga was right to be wary of marriage.

  ‘You want to marry me to own this place?’ she suggested one day while we were outside on the front steps discussing the needed repairs to the butchering house. ‘Admit it.’

  ‘It’s a bonus I’d not throw away.’

  ‘Do you love me?’ she asked. In all the time I’d known her this was a new question I wasn’t prepared for. That slight hesitation ruined all my manipulations to that point. ‘You don’t care for me? You don’t love anyone but yourself!’ she said and walked off back inside. I wavered there on the steps. I knew that I should follow her. I never chased a woman (other than my Ella) and pride stuck me to the spot.

  The money I was making and not spending was mounting up. Tom was generous and gave me commission on all new meat-packing contracts as well as my labouring wages on the ranch. I was not stuck for a few dollars and as I looked around the barns and the fields in the distance, I thought of the responsibility that came with being in charge. There would be a big noose around my neck.

  The men made it easy for Tom. They listened and worked hard on his projects, they leaned on him for advice and rallied to support him. Would they do that for me? Unless I started mimicking Tom’s personality, the way I’d done with Jock or the popular boys on the ship, all those years ago – I would have a large group working against me. Those thoughts made Hammy follow Olga up the steps.

  She was in the kitchen at the long table made from a large oak we carted in from near the river. ‘I find it hard to love anyone,’ I told her. ‘I lost the only two women I cared about. Now, I find it difficult to be close with others. You see that when I’m with the men too. I cannot let anyone know me. I don’t make friends. It’s a failing in this idiot you love.’

  She listened and I thought of what Tom might do next.

  ‘I saw Gus fall, Olga. I was glad that he died.’

  That was the clincher. I had trusted Olga and revealed weaknesses. I had talked about my feelings and my past. Vulnerable, bad-boy Hammy was ready for a woman’s love to change him.

  ‘Let’s get hitched?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said. I was hopeful.

  37

  Charlie Quinn

  It was hard to ignore the beauty of the Canadian landscape. It was still changing under the rule of the white man. We culled and pillaged and didn’t listen to reason. Canada’s flora and fauna was as hardy as the indigenous people – the prairie crocus or pasque flower litters the meadows and grasslands and the flow of clear streams is good for the soul. The change of weather from one day to the next still amazes me. Unlike Irish days where all the mild seasons appear in twenty-four hours, it is Canada’s weeks that can swing from glorious hot sunshine to biting cold.

  I came to love the wide-open spaces and beautiful scenery and thought less and less of my Ireland and the Ella-love I’d left behind.

  ‘Men with ambition cannot think too much about the consequences,’ Tom said, and I nodded at that. ‘This war is taking too many good men. I hope that you’re not still interested in enlisting?’

  ‘I’d like to marry Olga.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it! You’ve both been fooling about for years. Make her see sense and settle down. I’ll have a quiet word with her as well.
’

  Tom’s blessing meant a great deal to us both. I was sporadically staying in Olga’s room again in the big house. We hadn’t left a decent period for her to be a widow and didn’t care. There was more and more mentions of Canadian military being sent to the British war. It wasn’t popular with everyone, as thousands of badly-prepared men and boys were being sent and the casualties were high. Some poor sods refused to engage in the process. This got them the name ‘Zombies’ and much as I didn’t want to go to war, I wasn’t going to slink away from my duty either.

  When nowhere near danger I am always brave.

  Tom had suggested that his influence would keep me at home and safe. I wasn’t to consider soldiering as it was mostly the young, unmarried and unskilled that were being conscripted. He was right.

  When it came to preparing for another Christmas meal, I decided to try my luck with Olga one last time.

  ‘Marry me.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and continued to peel the potatoes.

  ‘A wedding in the new year then?’

  She shrugged. There was a sense of purpose between us.

  In June 1941 Randal Hamilton got married to Olga Kelly in the smallest church in Winnipeg. I never set foot in it before or after our wedding. We honeymooned in the cabin and took picnics out to the nearest of my favourite spots in the prairie.

  As a naked Olga lay amongst the wild flowers and the glinting sunshine, I thought I was happy despite an invisible wound that couldn’t heal. The flies, biting mosquitoes and ants were ignored, and we tried to make the most of the privacy.

  I was now a man of means, property, land and prestige and the workhands didn’t care. They weren’t as easily won over as Olga. I couldn’t use my youth and good looks on them. They weren’t convinced that I deserved the position that I’d fucked and manipulated my way into. I wanted to be like Tom, and this was not coming quickly enough for an impatient Hammy.