by Jana Petken
Lying in a bunk that night, Patrick’s thoughts turned to his family. He couldn’t be certain when they’d get the news about the Britannic’s sinking, or if they would be informed that he had survived, but he was sure that they would hear at least some of the account before he arrived back in Southampton. Just thinking about his mam’s crumpled face and hysterical tears, he moaned aloud. Minnie’s unruffled optimism and stoic attitude might not be enough to calm his mother on this occasion. Nor would she be able to stem Danny’s resentment against the British for sending his big brother to sea. Jesus, he could just imagine the tongue on Danny when he heard.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Oh, thank you, thank you, Lord! Mother, Patrick is alive!” Susan rushed into the room and handed the telegram to Minnie, who’d been unfortunate enough to have already read about the Britannic’s sinking in that morning’s Times.
“The War Office took their bloody time,” Minnie said, looking annoyed. “When Mr Gallows, next door, gave me the newspaper, he consoled me on our loss. We shed all those tears for nothing. You would have thought the navy could have let us know before those reporters were allowed to go to print. It’s disgusting!”
“What matters is that he’s all right. He’ll come home now,” Susan said, still elated. “What exactly does the newspaper say?”
“Over one thousand people survived the sinking. They believe that thirty men have lost their lives in the disaster, but only five have been buried. The others have been left in the water. There were also thirty-eight men injured, and of them, eighteen were navy crew and twenty Royal Army Medical Corps. The survivors were taken to some Greek Island. Oh, those poor gallant men who died! Imagine their families getting those horrible telegrams this morning. It’s a mother’s worst nightmare.”
Susan went to the parlour room door. “Danny! Danny, come down!” she shouted up the stairs.
As soon as Danny walked into the room, Susan thrust the telegram at him. It read,“SUB LIEUTENANT PATRICK CARMODY SAFE STOP REPATRIATION TO HOME BASE STOP.”
“Thank God we decided not to say anything to Jenny,” Danny said. “Can you read out what it says in the Times?”
Taking centre stage, Minnie once again read every word. “Well, there you have it,” she said when she’d finished. “I do believe our boy will be home for at least a week.”
“Maybe two,” Susan suggested. “Isn’t this wonderful? We’ve had such an awful year, Mother, but look how it’s ending. He might be home for Christmas. Oh, how marvellous.”
Thoughts streamed through Danny’s mind: Patrick was alive and coming home. He could take over the household chores, look after the women for a while, and give Jenny his company. That would give him the opportunity to go back to Frongoch to see Anna. If he could get the money together, he’d take a train and wait outside the prison camp gates until she came out. He didn’t care how long it took to get from the station to the village, or where he’d sleep when he got there, or if he slept at all. Seeing Anna and sorting things out was all that mattered.
For a brief second, an unwelcome though entered his head. What if she didn’t want to see him? Was it possible that she didn’t love him anymore? No, he decided, that wouldn’t be the case. There might be a number of reasons why she had not written. It was likely that she had lost the bit of paper with Minnie’s address on. Or she could be afraid of her father finding out. Leaving Wales was a big decision for her to make. Whatever the reason for her silence, he had to know.
“When do you think our Patrick will be home?” he asked.
Minnie answered, “I should imagine they’ll bring the survivors back as soon as possible. He’s probably on his way right now. Apparently, there were numerous navy ships involved in the rescue.”
He had to speak to Jenny. She was the only person who knew about Anna and about his desire to return to Ireland with her. “I’ll go break this news to Jenny. This ought to cheer her up. I’ll take her the newspaper to read.”
“I’ll boil the kettle. We deserve a nice cup of tea,” Susan said.
Sitting on a chair next to the bed, Danny read aloud the newspaper’s full account of the Britannic’s sinking and subsequent rescue operations. Once they had discussed that news, Danny then spoke to Jenny about his plan, reiterating that he had to do something or he wouldn’t be able to get on with his life. “Tell me I’m right to want to go, Jenny.” Danny waited for her to speak. She was infuriating at times, but she was the most honest person he knew, and he valued her opinion.
Chewing her bottom lip, Jenny gazed out the window. She seemed in no hurry to answer. The morphine sometimes sent her into a trance, and at times she forgot that someone else was in the room with her.
“Well, Jenny, what do you think?” Danny asked again, gently nudging her arm.
“You’re obviously miserable, and we can’t have two of us in the doldrums, can we?” she said, turning her gaze on him. “I suppose you should sort this out, one way or the other. You obviously think that you’re in love with her, and perhaps when you see her again, you’ll realise that what you felt was an illusion. Either way, you need to go.”
“Oh, Jenny, don’t be so cynical. Wait till you meet her. You’ll love her, just as I do.”
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up and then have them dashed. She might not return your feelings. After all, you didn’t really court her, at least not in the usual way. And who knows – she might be cavorting with another prisoner by now.”
“Never! She’s not like that.” Danny had heard no bitterness or resentment in her voice, only honesty. He felt guilt seeping into him. He was immersed in love and talking about a future full of adventures and travel, while Jenny would probably be stuck in her bedroom for months to come.
Kevin’s letter sat on the nightstand. Danny picked it up and played with it in his hands. He couldn’t say he liked Kevin Jackson, but he might bring love into Jenny’s life, he thought. And as for Mam and Minnie, they’d only have themselves to blame if they were caught out for what they were doing. Jenny’s happiness was what mattered.
“Will you not think again about reading this?” he said. “Hearing from him might make you feel better.”
“You told me that you hated him. Jesus, Danny, make up your mind, will you?”
“I still don’t approve of his going against the republicans in Dublin, but when I saw what he was willing to do for you on the night of the air raid, I realised that he’s not such a bad man. Look at this letter sitting here. Would it be far too difficult for you to reply to it? The poor bugger is probably sitting in a trench, keeping his head down and hearing the bullets whistling over the top of him, yet he’s finding the time to think about you. He’s obviously in love, and you’re not—”
“Not in the position to turn any man down?”
“No, I was going to say that you’re not heartbroken over John.”
Jenny sighed and stared into space. “You didn’t see the horror on John’s face when he saw me. I don’t want Kevin or any other man to look at me the way my own fiancé did. If Kevin lives through this war, he should have a real woman to spend his life with, not a deformed monster, looking like that elephant creature … What’s his name?”
“Joseph Merrick, and they called him the ‘Elephant Man’, not creature,” Danny corrected her.
“Yes, that’s it. I can’t even hear properly …”
Danny interrupted her this time. “That’s true. You are deaf in one ear, but the other one still works. And the area around your eye is healing nicely. The swelling on your eyelid has gone down, and your hair is growing back. Soon there will be nothing but a tiny bald patch that can be easily covered with a hat or a wig and eventually your own hair falling on top of it. If you would just let me bring a mirror, you’d see that your mind is exaggerating about how bad you look.”
Removing the shawl that she insisted on wearing on her head when she had visitors, she pointed to her head. “Is that an exaggeration? Is the bloody hole w
here my ear used to be attractive?” She snatched the letter from Danny’s hand, looked at it for a moment, and then threw it onto the floor. Letting out an angry groan, she hissed, “I bet you sixpence that Mam and Granny have read it. I can tell it’s been steamed open and stuck down again with glue. I might be misshapen, but there’s nothing wrong with my brain. Tell them from me that the next time they ask me to read this, I’ll rip it up in front of them!”
Deeply saddened by Jenny’s distress, Danny picked up the letter and returned it to the nightstand. In the back of his mind, he wondered why she had not asked for the damn thing to be removed. She must be, at the very least, thinking about reading it.
“Your imagination is running away with you. Mam wouldn’t read it without your permission,” he lied. “And you’re being stubborn as usual.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not me. You have a life!”
What life? Danny thought, walking towards the door. “I’ll make us a cup of tea, and afterwards you can think about coming downstairs for half an hour. It’s time you got out of that bed. Walking down the stairs and sitting in another part of the house won’t do you any harm.”
“I’m not leaving this room!” she shouted back as he left.
Chapter Thirty-Five
December 1916
Patrick stood at the bottom of the bed, studying Dr Thackery’s treatment regime. Jenny sat at the edge of the mattress in her nightgown, staring resolutely ahead without making a sound, asking a question, or grimacing as her head, ear, and eye were bathed with oils.
Watching Thackery take an eyepatch out of his bag, Jenny stared questioningly at Patrick and Susan, who had been sitting in the corner of the bedroom, her lips set in a grim line since Thackery’s arrival.
“I have good news for you. I’m going to let you take short strolls,” Thackery said, holding the eyepatch in front of her. “You have to wear this and keep your head covered, of course, but I do believe you’re ready to face the world. What do you think about that?”
“I think you must think I’m a bloody pirate,” she grumbled. “Or you believe I’m too ugly to go out without having my eye covered.”
“I’ll go to the park with you … if you like,” Patrick said hurriedly.
“I’m not leaving this house with my head looking like pork crackling!” she insisted. “And it hurts.”
Whilst Jenny continued to give all the reasons as to why she couldn’t go out, Patrick saw Dr Thackery lift a mirror out of his medical valise. Inadvertently, he sucked in his breath. Thackery’s back was to Jenny, but at any given moment, he was going to turn around with that mirror in his hand …
“Patrick, hold your sister’s head, please.”
Hesitating, Patrick stared at Jenny. She looked terrified. Susan let out a gasp.
“Patrick, hold Jenny’s head,” Thackery ordered, more forcibly this time.
Patrick’s mind cleared. Without wavering this time, he got onto the bed, knelt behind Jenny and placed his hands gently behind each ear.
Jenny didn’t move a muscle. She appeared to be too scared to even ask what was going on.
Thackery raised the foot-long mirror, turned, and placed it in front of Jenny’s face. For a brief moment, she stared, transfixed. Then her eyes widened, her lips parted, and her entire body began to tremble.
Thackery said softly, “Look, Jenny. Tell me, what do you see?”
She continued to gaze at her reflection.
Patrick, unwilling to play any further part in his sister’s misery, removed his hands, yet surprisingly, she didn’t turn away.
Still looking mesmerised, she jutted out her chin, cocked her head to one side and then to the other, and then slowly turned it to the right and back again to face straight ahead. Not for one second did she shift her eyes from the mirror.
Nobody spoke or distracted her. Her eyes spoke louder and clearer than any words could. She was shocked yet also curious.
Patrick felt the first tears fall from his eyes. Behind him, he could hear his mother sobbing quietly. Jenny continued to stare, seemingly in a world of her own now. Patrick was desperate to hear her say something. Her reaction was incomprehensible.
“What do you see, darlin’?” he finally asked.
“I see something dreadful in my eyes. They look like death, as though that bomb sucked the life out of them.”
“Oh, my sweet girl, that’s not true,” Susan said. “I saw you crying for your friend Sandra. She is dead, but you are very much alive.”
“Be grateful for that,” Patrick said.
“Take it away, please. I’ve seen enough,” Jenny said.
Patrick and Dr Thackery expelled their held breaths almost simultaneously.
Patrick had expected Jenny to scream or weep loudly, or shout in anger, but instead she had surprised them all with very few words.
Susan rushed to the bed. Sobbing, she said, “Don’t blame Dr Thackery. That was all my idea. Forgive me, sweetheart. I couldn’t bear to watch you lying there and imagining the worst. You’re still beautiful. You saw that, didn’t you?”
“Would everyone please leave me alone?” Jenny said, refusing to look at her mother or speak to her. Lying down, she closed her eyes. Thackery packed his bag and left without a word. Susan sheepishly followed behind him.
Patrick stood for a moment longer, watching Jenny desperately trying to steady her breathing, and then he left her alone.
Sitting on the bed in Danny’s bedroom, Patrick turned his thoughts towards his upcoming appointment at the War Office. Since leaving the ship two days previously, he had tried to put the navy out of his mind, but that had been impossible. Well-wishers, uncles, cousins, and neighbours he’d never met before had come to the house en masse, wanting to know every last detail about the Britannic’s sinking. Had she been any other ship in the fleet, there would not have been the frenzied interest, but she’d been the Titanic’s sister, and her demise had been a harsh blow to the country’s collective pride.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he saw a changed man to the one that had stared back at him before the war. He recalled Jenny saying once that soldiers looked older than their years. That was true. He had the haunted look of a man who’d seen and experienced too much, as though he had been swept into that sea and a decade into the future, all at the same time. He’d aged, was bitter about Whitelock’s death, and was demoralised. But worst of all, he was petrified of being posted to another ship.
He could hear Jenny crying in the next room, and his heart went out to her. He was annoyed with his mother and Thackery. There surely could have been a gentler way. The shock of seeing herself for the first time since the air attack must have been traumatic. Something like that would shake the bones of a grown man, never mind a young, sensitive, and highly strung woman such as Jenny. But as his mother had pointed out, imagination was far worse than reality sometimes. Perhaps this was a turning point in her recovery.
In the parlour, dampness clung to the air. Droplets of condensation ran down the windowpanes, and the newly painted walls were turning black with mould. No coal had been delivered for five days due to shortages and the threat of rationing in the New Year. Patrick assumed that the coal merchants were hording or diverting much of their stocks to the military. He looked at Minnie, an old woman in her seventies, wearing her coat, woollen hat on her head, and mittens on her hands. She was a miserable sight, yet she looked far more sensible than his mother, still elegantly dressed in her Dublin finery and staring hauntingly at the empty fireplace, shivering.
He was desperate to tell them about the legal proceedings which might pull them out of poverty. His lawyer’s strategy had been precise from the very beginning, and his deftly written letter to the college board had been abundantly clear. A few particular sentences came to mind:
Robert Carmody is renowned as the author of the research. He was part owner of the work, and enclosed are copies of signed agreements to that fact. He gave up his life to protect th
e groundbreaking study, which will propel your college on to great things, both financially and through international acclaim.
Terrence, the lawyer, also posed a question which seemed more like a veiled thread in Patrick’s mind:
What would the medical field, newspapers, and even government think should they find out that his widow was not receiving her husband’s dues?
The tactic seemed to be working, for there had been no definitive answer yet, and according to Terrance, that was a good sign. The opposing side was procrastinating, with their lengthy letters full of legal jargon and a counterclaim stating that they were the rightful heirs. Unfortunately, there was nothing to contradict that statement, for in a terrible oversight, his father had not included the research in his will. Patrick was unwilling to come to any conclusions as to the outcome, and he wasn’t going to get his family’s hopes up only to have them dashed by devious legal plays and hidden clauses that he didn’t understand. His mother would have to be kept in the dark a while longer.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Danny rose from the mattress on the parlour room floor and dressed quickly and quietly. It was still dark outside. The clock had just struck 5.30 a.m. He listened to the rain battering against the window. This was not the best time to leave, he thought, shuddering with cold. But sneaking off while everyone else still slept was the most sensible thing to do. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with his mam. He picked up the letter he had written to her and placed it on the ledge above the fireplace. In it, he’d explained his reasons for going back to Frongoch, and he had also detailed his plans for the grand future he hoped to have with Anna. Like it or not, they would just have to accept his decision and hopefully forgive him by the time he got back home.