by Nesta Tuomey
She was reading a writer new to her - F. Scott Fitzgerald. The Great Gatsby was like nothing she had ever read. So elegantly written. Claire loved a good story but liked good style even better.
She turned another page and lingered on a passage. This wasn’t a book to be read in a hurry.
Downstairs a door clicked open. Subconsciously, she noted it, her eyes still fixed on the page. It was early for Sheena and Killian. Sheena usually had to be dragged away from the disco while still calling for encores.
Claire read on absently, not really taking the story in, her ear idly tuned to the next sound of the creaking stair. Seconds later her bedroom door opened abruptly.
She looked up, not yet alarmed, and saw Denis leering at her from the doorway. Claire sat bolt up in the bed.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, hearing the tremor in her voice.
‘Looking for you. What else?’
She decided to ignore what he’d said. This had nothing to do with her. If she admitted that it had she would start screaming. She got out of bed and stood facing him.
‘If you’re looking for Terry, he’s not here,’ she strove to speak calmly, but was sorry as soon as the words were out. Now he’d know she was on her own.
‘But I’m not looking for Terry, am I?’ Denis lowered himself on to the bed and bounced up and down, testing the springs. ‘Saw him going off in the car on Monday.’
Claire put a hand covertly to her nose. Close-up, the stench of stale beer and cigarettes was overpowering. She heard the stair creaking again and grew dizzy with hope. Barney appeared in the doorway.
‘‘What’s keeping you, Denis?’
‘Go downstairs,’ Denis ordered. ‘Go on. Look sharp.’
‘I want a beer.’
‘In the fridge. Take what you want.’
With a pleased grunt Barney disappeared. Claire heard him lumbering down the stairs. She gasped as Denis pulled her back across his knees and forced his tongue between her teeth. She gagged. When he slackened pressure she pulled back, choking and coughing.
‘I’ll show you how good it can be,’ he promised thickly. ‘Not like that crud McArdle. You’ll see.’
‘Oh God,’ Claire prayed. ‘Please help me.’
She twisted away from him and tried to run to the door. He caught hold of her plait and yanked her back. The pain was excruciating. She staggered against him and almost fell.
‘Let’s see your tits.’
He grabbed her pyjamas top. Only he was so drunk he’d have had it off her back. She gasped as dirty sausage fingers squeezed her nipples. She shoved him away with all her strength but he easily overpowered her and knocked her back on the bed, then fell on top of her, holding her hands rigidly by her sides
Ruthie was calling her. Claire painfully turned her head, saw the little girl struggling in Barney’s grip. He had his belt around her chest and he was laughing and letting her run a little distance from him, then jerking her smartly back to him. Like a cat toying with a small, frisky mouse.
‘Clairey,’ Ruthie sobbed. ‘Please help me, Clairey.’
Claire made a determined effort to shake off Denis. She almost succeeded but he held on to her plait. Her mind was beginning to blank, but when she heard Ruthie screaming, her courage asserted. She kicked out and felt savagely glad when she heard his grunt of pain. Suddenly the pressure lifted and she gasped in relief.
Killian was in the room. Claire saw him striking Denis with a sweeping brush, great cracking blows across his head and face. Denis fell whimpering to his knees, blood streaming from his forehead. Sheena had her arms around Ruthie, unbuckling the belt, comforting her. Barney had run off. Claire sat up and drew in a sobbing breath. ‘Oh thank God,’ she whispered brokenly.
That night they all slept together in the one room. Claire made Sheena promise not to say anything to Jane. Sheena protested, then seeing how upset her friend was, reluctantly agreed. Claire was afraid that Jane would think she had encouraged the boys to come into the house, afraid that Jane would think she wasn’t a fit person to look after Ruthie.
It was almost dawn before they settled down to sleep. Ruthie did not hesitate between beds, just climbed in beside her sister. That she wasn’t risking herself with Claire was obvious.
Claire felt a sense of isolation. She in her own bed and the sisters together. She did not sleep, just lay there, thinking that since she had come into their lives she had spelled nothing but trouble for the McArdles. Hugh, Jane and now Ruthie. She didn’t at all see it the other way round. That would come later, but not for a very long time.
Jane arrived back on Friday evening and noticed at once how despondent the girls were. She tried to discover the cause but when one or two attempts to get them talking failed, she let it go and went tiredly to unpack her things.
Later, they sat about the kitchen table, saying little to each other as they listlessly ate the Friday night take-away. Terry hung about for a bit after the meal, hoping for a thaw in Claire’s attitude, then took off moodily for his usual haunts.
Ruthie disappeared into the bathroom the minute he left. She was there so long that Jane sent Claire to see if she was all right. When Claire came back she said the door was locked and Ruthie wanted Jane.
Jane went out and spoke through the locked door. She asked if there was anything wrong.
‘Come on out,’ Jane begged her, ‘We’ll make cocoa and take it into bed with us. We’ll be lovely and cosy and watch television together.’
Ruthie didn’t answer.
Jane’s neck ached from the effort of bending and speaking through the keyhole. ‘You love it. You know you do.’
There was no sound. Perhaps she wanted Claire. Jane felt a little jealous. She supposed it was only natural that Ruthie would want to be with the older girl, who spoiled her rotten all week. While she was away in Dublin working herself to the bone. Jane couldn’t help a trace of self-pity
‘Very well,’ she said, trying to hide her hurt. ‘Sleep with Claire, if that’s what you want. Only come out now.’
The door remained closed.
In desperation Jane went up to Claire’s room and was surprised to find the girl already in bed. Sheena had gone off earlier to the disco with Killian, admittedly with none of her usual bounce.
Claire laid down the book she was holding. Jane wondered why Claire hadn’t offered to try and get Ruthie out of the bathroom.
‘I can’t understand what’s the matter with Ruthie,’ Jane said, noticing that Claire looked unusually pale. She felt a sudden stab of conscience at leaving her so much with the little girl. Not that Ruthie was a difficult child but she was inclined to be demanding since her father died. Jane suddenly regretted not insisting that Claire go with the others to the disco.
‘I think she’s a bit upset,’ Claire said.
Jane stared at her, unable to understand her detachment. Something was definitely wrong.
Jane sat down on the bed. ‘What is it, Claire?’ she asked gently. ‘Has something happened?’
Claire flushed and looked down at her book. Jane noticed the slim fingers gripping the cover, so tight the knuckles had changed colour.
‘I’d like to go home,’ Claire said abruptly.
Jane was taken aback. The very last thing she had expected to hear. ‘But I thought you were happy here,’ she said, bewildered. ‘Besides, there’s only another week before we all go home. Don’t you want to stay until then?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Claire faltered. ‘I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful but I’d really like to go at once.’ She looked desperately at Jane.
Here she was thinking something had happened and it was only that Claire had tired of minding Ruthie and wanted to go home. Jane felt an enormous sense of let-down but strove to be fair. After all, it couldn’t be much fun for a teenager left all day minding an eight-year-old. She shrugged and stood up.
‘Very well, Claire,’ she said, a little coldly. ‘If that’s what you want, I’ll drive you to Waterf
ord tomorrow. As far as I know there’s a train around midday.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Claire said abjectly.
‘I’m sorry too.’ Jane was unable to conceal a note of disillusionment. ‘I had hoped you liked sharing these holidays with us. I know it’s not very exciting left with Ruthie so much but you should have told me before if you weren’t happy.’
Claire winced. She looked as though she were going to cry.
‘Well, it can’t be helped.’ Jane tried to smile. She felt deathly tired. ‘We’ll just have to get along without you somehow.’ A slight unintentional irony tinged her voice. ‘Goodnight, my dear.’ She went out without looking back or waiting for Claire’s reply.
As soon as the door closed Claire burst into tears. She knew that she had mortally offended Jane. She pulled the pillow over her face to deaden the sound and sobbed as though her heart would break.
Ruthie finally came out of the bathroom of her own accord. She appeared suddenly in the kitchen as Jane was reading the paper and threw herself weeping into her mother’s arms.
‘There, there, everything’s all right,’ Jane soothed her
‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Ruthie bawled. She was still dressed in her shirt and denims. Her tears soaked Jane’s blouse. After a while Jane said, ‘Let’s get you changed, love,’ and took her into the bedroom and undressed her. As she put her in a nightie she noticed the angry bruises on Ruthie’s chest. She said nothing, but she felt a stirring of fear. Who or what could have caused such marks? She lifted the little girl into bed and pulled the duvet over her.
Ruthie sat up. ‘Don’t go, Mummy,’ she cried. ‘You won’t, will you?’
Jane shook her head. The child lay down again and watched her undress, her eyes enormous in her pale face. Now Jane was convinced there was really something terribly wrong. She put on her dressing gown and drew the cord firmly about her waist. When Ruthie was asleep she went to sit by the fire until Sheena got home.
Just before eleven o’clock she heard the key in the door and Sheena and her boyfriend came in. It needed only a gentle prompt to get Sheena going and she blurted out the whole scary story. Jane was horrified. No wonder Claire wanted to go home, she thought, and Ruthie spent half the night hiding in the bathroom, the only room in the house with a lock. The animals, Jane thought in a rush of anger.
‘For God’s sake, Sheena, why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?’ In her weariness, Jane’s anxiety turned to exasperation. ‘I can’t understand why you didn’t.’ She looked severely at her daughter. ‘Most irresponsible.’
Sheena burst into tears. Jane stared at her aghast. Sheena never cried.
‘Oh darling, I’m sorry. Forgive me. I didn’t mean it,’ Jane babbled remorsefully, shocked by all these disturbing revelations. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying. You were marvellous, all of you. I was just so upset and worried. Please don’t cry.’
Sheena gulped and choked. She took the handkerchief Killian handed her and mopped her tears. When she could speak, she said, ‘But I wanted to ring you, Mummy. I really did, only Claire begged and begged me not to. She was afraid you’d blame her.’
‘Blame her... why should I do that?’ Jane asked, genuinely puzzled.
Sheena shrugged. ‘Dunno. She gets funny notions, Claire. She even wanted to go home before you came but felt it wouldn’t be right to leave Ruthie.’
Jane sighed and stood up. Poor Claire. She might have been Ruthie’s older sister the way everyone took it for granted she must accept responsibility for her. Jane felt ashamed at how casually they all used her. What an ordeal. She turned to Killian.
‘I can’t thank you enough for all you did,’ she told him. ‘I dread to think what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.’
‘It was nothing at all, Dr McArdle,’ Killian said, looking pleased. He was really rather a dote. Jane hugged him and Sheena shyly squeezed his hand. Jane looked at her watch and smiled at them both.
‘Off home with you now, Killian,’ she said gently. ‘It’s time we were all in bed.’ She saw him out and shut the door behind him. Sheena went tiredly up the stairs.
Jane suddenly yawned. It seemed like an eternity since she had got into the car that afternoon to drive to the country. She would get the whole thing straightened out, she promised herself. First thing in the morning she would have a word with Garda Deveney next door. But just now she couldn’t wait to get into bed. Before falling asleep she reminded herself that this was a sensitive situation and she must warn Terry to be careful what he said to Claire.
There wasn’t any need. Sheena already had.
For the next few days everything seemed back to normal. Ruthie appeared to be putting the ordeal behind her though she showed a tendency to wake up at night and cry for her mother. Claire too felt her spirits gradually lifting.
Jane had taken her aside the next morning and gently drawn the whole story from her. Claire cried as she told it, partly from distress and partly from relief that the air was cleared between them. Jane took her in her arms and comforted her. She told Claire she had decided to remain with them until it was time for them all to pack up and go.
‘So I hope you’ll think twice about going home. We really want you to stay.’
Claire nodded, then blushed when Jane went on to say how proud she was of the way she had fought off her attackers and done her best to protect Ruthie.
‘It’s a debt I can never repay,’ Jane said and hugged Claire again, relieved to see the look of shamed desperation ease from her face. ‘I want you to know I trust you completely and there’s no one I would rather have to mind Ruthie than you. Indeed, you have always been more of a sister to her than Sheena.’
Claire looked embarrassed. ‘But Sheena is really good with Ruthie,’ she protested loyally. ‘She’s always getting up at night to bring her to the toilet. Honestly!’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Jane said, unconvinced. She knew how little Sheena ever exerted herself. ‘So it’s a bargain?’ Jane squeezed Claire’s hand affectionately. ‘You’ll wait and come home with us at the end of the week?’
Claire nodded and shyly returned the squeeze. With Jane staying on in the cottage, she no longer felt such a desperate need to get away. One thing bothered her. Had Terry been told?
Jane nodded. ‘When he heard I’m afraid he got a bit carried away and took things into his own hands. You know Terry.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I suspect he rather enjoyed himself.’
Claire smiled, her heart lifting at the thought of him going to her defence.
By the middle of the week she felt so much better that she suggested to Ruthie that they get out the billy-cans and go into the field behind the bungalows to pick blackberries. They collected enough fruit to make a couple of pies and came giggling into the house, their lips and fingers stained purple. When Jane exclaimed over how much they had picked the two girls began talking at once.
‘We would have had loads more,’ Claire said, with an impish glance at Ruthie, ‘Only a certain young lady ate far more berries than she put in the can.’
‘Oh I like that!’ Ruthie moaned. ‘Don’t listen to her, Mummy. Claire ate twice as many as me.’
‘I don’t think so!’ Claire grinned at Jane. ‘I seem to remember someone saying, “One for the billy-can, two for me.” Now I wonder who in the world that was?’
Jane laughed and hustled Ruthie before her into the kitchen. She pretended to be cross, as she removed the evidence with a face-cloth and soap, but secretly Jane was delighted to see them so jolly. How could she ever have imagined that Claire resented minding Ruthie, when her affection was so apparent in every smile and caress she gave the little girl?
They were all very light-hearted that evening as they tucked into delicious slices of blackberry pie, topped with cream, that Sheena had generously offered to make. Besides, she was rather good at pastry and wanted to impress Killian, who had been invited to tea. Jane was just as glad to let her.
There were jokes made about Sheena’s pa
stry but there wasn’t a scrap left over. Terry sighed over his third helping and pretended to vomit. Sheena threatened to take it away from him and, while Killian held his arms, Ruthie ran giggling to get her brother’s dish. They all insisted he take back his words or forfeit the pie and Terry, pretending to be scared, dutifully begged for mercy.
Claire loved it when the McArdles cod-acted like this.
Great to see them perking up again, Jane thought as she watched their antics with a smile.
SIX
It was the last night of the disco and the last night of the holidays. They were all a little sad that the summer holiday was ending but pleased to finish it off with a dance. Sheena and Killian were going. So were Terry and Claire. And Susan Deveney from next door.
Claire told herself she didn’t mind. Terry hadn’t even looked at Susan this holiday. All the same she intended painting her nails and even begging a spray of perfume from Sheena.
Jane thought it might be nice to wind up the holiday by eating out, so she brought them to the hotel for a meal and ordered wine, pouring a little for each of them, even a drop for Ruthie. As the level of the bottle sank Jane became relaxed and giggly. The children watched her with tolerant smiles, liking this aspect of their mother they didn’t often see these days. Not since their father was alive. On nights out their parents had always taken wine with their meal and, afterwards, gone into the bar for brandies.
‘Why don’t you have brandy tonight, Mum?’ Terry suggested, reminded of happier times.
‘Okay, I will,’ Jane agreed. ‘Why not? It’s back to the grind on Monday.’ When it came, she cupped her hands about the balloon glass and smiled around at them.
‘Please let me hold it, Mummy,’ Ruthie begged, and when her mother passed it to her, sniffed with an ecstatic expression. ‘Mmmm. Nice.’
‘Our little connoisseur,’ Terry flicked her head affectionately with his fingernails. ‘Soon Coke won’t be good enough for her. She’ll insist on brandy.’