Chapter 21
‘Well, Patrick, that was a fine exhibition you made of yourself,’ began Mrs Brogan the moment her son made a wan appearance at breakfast.
‘Not now, Mother, my head’s killing me.’
‘And well it might, the Lord knows what you and your father put away yesterday. No more sense than a cartload of monkeys the pair of you.’
‘Oh God,’ muttered Pat, turning in nausea from the sight of Anna disembowelling a boiled egg.
‘And then spoiling that girl’s day! I never thought a son of mine would behave so, I was fit to fall through the floor.’
‘What a pity you didn’t.’
‘That’s enough from you, my lad. As if Mary was doing more than being civil, as anyone could see whose brains weren’t pickled in whisky.’
‘Mother, the only person Mary is not civil to is me. You might have noticed.’
‘And who have you to thank for that? I tell you—’
‘Mrs Brogan,’ interrupted Mary, handing Patrick t wo aspirins in a glass of water. ‘Perhaps you could continue this later, as it is I need some help with I he calves. Would you mind?’
As she expected, after one searing glance at her son, the older woman obediently followed her outside, but her rage still burned.
‘You’ve been too soft with him, in years to come you’ll regret it. I know I’ve not done too well with Charlie but the Lord knows where he’d be now if I hadn’t made the effort.’
Mary took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Brogan, I think you should know that Patrick and I are not likely to be together much longer. He wants to return to Ireland and I won’t be going with him.’
‘But what about the baby? Patrick thinks the world of him.’ She stared blankly, her face losing the vigour and determination of moments before.
‘I didn’t plan things this way, I’m afraid it’s just how it’s worked out.’
They had reached the calf pens. ‘If you could give a scoop of feed to each one, I’ll do the milk buckets.’
Later that day Mary left the bustle of the house and wandered into the walled garden. One night in early summer there had been a frost, and in the morning she had found leaves turning black and new growth withered. Now it was as if it had never been, the plants tumbled in a glorious abundance of colour, the urge to live and to grow stronger by far than that brief blight. Each plant had spread its leaves anew to the sun’s warmth and had begun again. So it had been with her. When Stephen died the sun had gone in, leaving her cold and miserable, curling inward for survival. She had been so afraid. But no night lasts for ever and the morning, dark and chill though it had been, had blossomed into a sunny afternoon.
But now it was almost autumn, the garden was turning to sleep and it was here that Mary came to escape the people that complicated her life.
Only here could she allow herself honesty and admit that she loved Brogan, and needed him. It had not always been so, in the beginning there had been nothing inside her but despair. She could not say when warmth began again, when she looked and saw someone she could not bear to be without. There was no hope for it, of course, they could not go on like this, fighting a perpetual war, other women lurking in the shadows. If she was ever to make a new life for herself and the children she must go now, while there was still something of herself left, before she was sucked dry. Blinking back the tears that pricked her eyes she opened the rusty gate and walked to the house. She would tell him tomorrow, when she came back from hunting and then she would drive to Leeds.
They were meeting at eight o’clock at Hanging Wood. When the alarm shrilled it was still dark and she had to force herself to venture into the cold. Only the thought of Susan’s patient work on the horse prevented her from going back to sleep instead of hunting that day. Brogan was sitting on the edge of the bed.
‘Go back to sleep, it’s only six o’clock.’
‘I’m coming with you. Pass my dressing gown, will you?’
‘But you hate cubbing.’ Brogan found it far too slow and although he would sometimes let the girls go he never went himself.
‘I’m coming this morning.’ There was an edge to his voice that precluded argument and she went quickly to turn on the shower. Surely today they need not squabble.
Susan was in the yard, muffled in jumpers, her hair unbrushed and her face puffy with sleep. She held Spindrift for Mary to mount and then went to High Time’s box.
‘You’re not bringing that brute, surely!’ cried Mary before she could stop herself. Patrick did not reply and swung himself into the saddle with a fine disregard for the horse’s fidgetings, leading the way out of the yard with set face and back ramrod straight.
The roads were deserted and after a while Patrick hung back to allow Mary to ride next to him.
‘Since when have I been going back to Ireland?’ he asked suddenly.
Mary swallowed hard, staring straight between her horse’s ears. ‘You know you are, you can’t wait to get rid of Fred. I don’t know why you didn’t tell your mother yourself.’
‘But you won’t come with me.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘No. You can take Sylvia instead.’ She had not meant to say that, in fact she thought she had pushed it right out of her mind until the words sprang to her lips.
‘I haven’t seen her in months,’ said Patrick in an amazed tone.
‘Liar! More like three weeks. And how surprising that Fred should hear about your plans from her. Nice of you to tell her, wasn’t it? Such a pity you couldn’t bring yourself to say a word to me.’ She urged Spindrift to a trot but Patrick kept pace with her.
‘What she said was only to get back at me. I ditched her for you and she’s had it in for me ever since, what she said to Fred was sheer invention.
But yes, I have been discussing Irish sponsorship, three weeks ago to be precise, and I’d have told you if you’d damned well asked. Not you though, you’d rather throw things.’
‘I don’t care what you say, I know you slept with her.’
‘So what? I knew her long before I met you and I dropped her because the sex was better at home. All gasp and writhe that woman.’
‘God, but you are a rat!’ snarled Mary, appalled by this further evidence of the callousness of men.
‘Why? I don’t deceive you, and that’s the truth. On the other hand you have half the men in Yorkshire trailing along.’ There was a moment’s silence and then he went on in a softer tone, ‘So why don’t you come? I can offer as much as any of them. Surely you don’t want to go to your mother, I must be an improvement on that.’
Mary lifted her head to stare at him. ‘Worried about losing your tame housekeeper, are you? All you care about is sex on tap, meals on time and, oh yes, Daniel Patrick, we mustn’t forget him, must we?’
‘I love all the children, Mary, you must know that.’
‘Love? You don’t know the meaning of the word. Damn it, I hate you Patrick Brogan, you make me so miserable!’ She jabbed her heels into Spindrift’s sides, sending her down a grassy track at a fast canter.
She arrived breathless at the wood and reined in with a slither next to the solid shape of Jonathan Mayhew’s grey. Brogan drew up beside her, calm and collected.
‘Hello, Mary, I am glad you’re out today,’
Mayhew was saying. Mary gave a slight smile and he looked warily at the couple, the tension between them hummed in the air.
As the season proper approaches hunts sometimes let hounds run a fox. Today the huntsman was bored, he had a fresh horse and the master wanted some exercise. Within minutes of hounds entering the wood a slim red shape slipped from the trees and they were away. The followers waited in varying degrees of impatience, Brogan, his face impassive, holding High Time with an iron hand while Mayhew heaved and spluttered, his grey plunging about bumping into people.
‘Stop it Jason,’ he said at intervals in very unhorsemanlike tones but fortunately they were soon on the move, for the hounds were flying along.
The first hedge was small and thin. High Time flew it, Spindrift negotiated it with care and Jason crashed through the thorn with more enthusiasm than skill, his passenger hanging on grimly. All would have been well had he not been determined to follow Mary, who was following Brogan. On a good horse and in a foul temper, Patrick was finding his own line and taking ditches, drop fences and banks in his stride. It was a ditch on the far side of a hedge that brought Mayhew to grief, his horse took off far too early and could not make the spread. Jason scrambled desperately, and made dry land but his rider was left in the water. Mary heard the crash and reined in, thinking that it was time she opted out anyway, for the ditch had given her a horrible fright. She caught the horse as he raced past, intent on catching the fox on his own, and went to fish Mayhew out. He was very wet and rather smelly.
‘I think I’d better go home,’ he said disconsolately.
‘Yes. You’re not hurt are you?’
‘Oh no. And what a fantastic run, I can’t wait for the season proper. And what a horse, have a go at anything, won’t you, old boy?’ He was pink with enthusiasm despite his ducking.
‘Next time don’t follow Rat,’ said Mary sagely. ‘I was following you,’ he said with a rueful smile.
‘Well, I shouldn’t have followed him either, we nearly ended up in the same ditch. But I must go.’ She swung into the saddle and rode off to find the hunt.
She caught up with them as they hacked across a ploughed field, the fox lost long ago. Patrick’s blue eyes blazed at her.
‘Where the hell were you?’
‘Jonathan fell off. I stopped to help him.’
‘I bet you did, why is it you can always spare time for anyone but me? And don’t you dare ride off, I want a straight answer.’
‘Because you don’t need me, I suppose.’
‘What about all that exercise between the sheets then? That’s not needing you?’ He was shouting and heads turned in fascination but neither he nor Mary cared.
‘You’ve got plenty of others for that,’ she shrieked. ‘They probably form queues!’
‘How often do I have to tell you there is only you? I love you, Mary, you stupid bitch, God knows why, you even named our baby after another man.’
‘No I didn’t, he’s Daniel Patrick Brogan if you’d ever cared to look.’
There was a moment’s stunned silence.
‘Why didn’t you say so?’ he asked, taking off his hat and rubbing his forehead.
‘I left the certificate lying around for weeks, I felt sure you’d have seen it.’
‘You always were bloody devious.’
Mary turned her horse and picked her way along a furrow, tears trickling unheeded down her cheeks. Patrick caught her rein and pulled her to a halt.
‘Have a handkerchief. Please don’t leave me, Mary, please. I couldn’t bear not to have you, I love you so much. I know you don’t feel the same but if there’s no one you’d rather have—’ he trailed into silence.
Mary took a shuddering breath. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, Brogan. There’s no one I’d rather have than you and that includes Stephen. I just thought - you didn’t care and I couldn’t go on, thinking I was just a convenience. When you asked me to marry you it was only for the children, you said so!’
His voice was very tender. ‘What about in the snow? And when Daniel was born, and over Tim, and a thousand times when we made love, I couldn’t have said it any louder. Couldn’t you see?’
Mary looked at him through a mist of tears, for once unable to barricade herself behind a wall of activity and other people. With a sigh she surrendered.
‘Oh Pat. I think I’ve been rather stupid. Darling, darling Pat.’
He wrapped a strong arm around her, kissing her hard. When they parted his face was wet, with her tears or his own, she did not know. Spindrift plunged suddenly, almost unseating her.
That horrible horse has bitten my mare!’ shrieked Mary in outrage.
‘Oh God! Why is nothing ever simple with you?’
‘I had nothing to do with it, you can’t blame me, it’s your horse. Come on, we’d better hurry up and plug the wound or something.’
They trotted off, locked in familiar argument.
‘Mummy!’ cried Anna as they rode into the yard. ‘Ben hit me hard on the head, very very hard, Mummy, you will smack him, won’t you?’
‘Paddy, Swallow’s leg’s up again, will you come and look?’ said Susan.
‘There’s a man on the phone, says his name’s Fred,’ broke in Mrs Brogan.
Patrick looked calmly at them all. ‘You can all wait,’ he said simply, lifting Mary from her horse and leading her to the house.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Anna.
‘To bed,’ said Patrick over his shoulder.
‘But it’s not night-time,’ complained the little girl.
‘Come along, Anna, let’s fetch Ben and go for a walk,’ said Mrs Brogan hastily.
The room was very quiet as they undressed, echoing to the small sounds of clothes falling to the floor. She stood naked before him, arms across her breasts. She moistened her lips with her tongue.
‘It feels like the first time,’ she whispered.
‘I’m glad it isn’t.’ He drew her on to the bed.
‘I know every inch of your body, that you like to be kissed here—’ her lips - ‘and here—’ her breast - ‘and especially—’ his lips travelled down her stomach and over the soft dark mat of hair, ‘-here!’ She gave a gasp and lay for a moment, her eyes closed, making small, wanting noises. He was above her, his body muscled and proud.
‘Say you love me,’ he pleaded and she opened her eyes and reached out for him.
‘I love you, I love you, I - oh! - I love you!’ Her voice broke as he entered her and for a few, precious moments their bodies and their spirits were one.
When it was over they lay together, warm, sticky and tranquil and laughed.
‘Why afterwards does it always seem so funny,’ chuckled Mary, ‘when you don’t need it any more?’
‘All I know is it makes me damned sleepy.’ His eyes were closing and his breath was warm on her cheek.
‘You can’t go to sleep, there’s masses to do!’ squawked Mary but his breathing was deep and measured. She began to untangle herself but he was lying on her arm. They would stay here in heaven for just a little time. With a small sigh, she subsided and relaxed into slumber.
Bare wood floors, huge empty rooms and packing cases in the hall. The home which had taken so long to make had been ripped apart in a matter of hours, leaving Mary as desolate and forlorn as the naked house. This time everything was organised with labels and lists proliferating, for the furniture was to go into store while they rented a cottage near Pat’s parents and searched for somewhere new, but she could not dispel the notion that her security was locked in these boxes with the saucepans and the pictures.
The children were bubbling with excitement, for they were to go on a ship and they were taking Murphy too. Mary secretly wished it could have been Violet, a far more tractable animal and very much more useful, but she had been sold. Tears pricked her eyes as the little cow stepped daintily into the trailer and she had been unable to speak to the farmer. She had rushed cravenly into the kitchen to spend the rest of the day sorting through drawers with a ruthless zeal. No one had said anything but a few days later a catalogue appeared in the post addressed to her. It was from a firm of Irish livestock agents.
‘I think we should have a really good cow this time,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘We might even show her, that would be fun, wouldn’t it, children?’
‘Christ All Bloody Mighty,’ muttered Patrick, but he didn’t say no.
But now that the day had arrived all her enthusiasm had evaporated, leaving only the worries and fears. As she glanced down at her shiny new wedding ring she felt guilt, too, that she was still so insecure. The ceremony had been brief and unpleasantly official but not even the workworn registry office with its brave
display of limp flowers could depress her. Afterwards they had gone straight home to a merry, boozy lunch with Anna and Ben singing a party piece they had learned especially for the occasion. No one minded that it was ‘Happy Birthday to You’ because, as Susan explained, it was the only thing they could learn in the time. She had thought she would be happy forever and only two weeks later she was sitting on a packing case feeling miserable.
The door opened and she arranged her face in more cheerful lines and tried to smile. Patrick sat down next to her.
‘Careful, this one’s got china in it,’ she warned, and her voice wobbled.
He took her hand. ‘Hell of a mess, isn’t it?’ She nodded. ‘Did you see Edna? She came to say goodbye.’
‘See her? I couldn’t miss her, new Volvo, fur jacket and all. Incredible. And he’s even bought her a horse, the man’s besotted.’
‘She’ll be winning shows soon, you know how good she is.’
He shrugged. ‘Good enough, but too soft. Anyway, the next thing we know she’ll be up to her ears in nappies.’
‘Yes. I suppose you’re right.’ That was always the way, girls held the secret of their own defeat. But in the end they got what they wanted.
‘You will like it, love,’ said Patrick suddenly. ‘I’ll make sure you do.’
‘I’m not Barbara,’ commented Mary with a wry grin. ‘Anyway, I’m a creature of habit and I don’t change my husbands very often.’
He turned the gold band on her finger. ‘You and me. It may not be peaceful but it’s what I want. All that I want.’
‘We don’t deserve this, you know. Sometimes I think we’re too lucky and it makes me afraid.’ She stood up and went to the window. The paintwork was dirty, the new people would think she was a slut. ‘I hate to leave,’ she said jerkily.
He came and stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders and she relaxed against him, letting the closeness comfort. ‘I think the new people will ruin it. They’ll install sunken baths and musical lavatory seats.’
A Summer Frost Page 24