by Martina Cole
Maura watched the whole thing wide-eyed. Janine was now sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette. Maura took in the dirty sugar floor and the loaf of bread now scattered everywhere, the filthy table and the stacks of dirty dishes. She dragged her eyes from it all, disgusted. She didn’t like Janine. Taking the weeping Carla out of the kitchen Sarah motioned with her head for Maura to follow her, which she did gratefully. Going into Carla’s room, Sarah laid the child on the bed. Maura watched as her mother checked the little girl from head to toe, shaking her head and tutting as she did it. Finally, Sarah turned to her own daughter.
‘You stay here with Carla. Find some half-decent clothes and get her dressed. I’ll call you if I need you . . . all right?’ Her voice was thick with emotion. Maura nodded wordlessly. In the kitchen Janine sat at the table smoking yet another cigarette. Pulling herself up to her full height, Sarah glared at her.
‘Now then, Janine. I think you’d better tell me exactly what’s been going on here.’ Her voice was determined.
Janine glanced at her and, all the hatred and animosity falling from her, began to cry. Groaning as if in physical pain, she rocked herself back and forth in her chair - her teeth bared as if she was grinning at some diabolical joke. Sarah stared at her. Where on earth was the beautiful, vital girl her son had married? How did this scruffy, dirty-looking individual come into being? The girl was only twenty-two years old. She looked at the filthy kitchen. The windows were so grimy it was difficult for the sun to penetrate them. The whole place stank. She had always understood that Janine’s mother was never off the doorstep, that’s why she never came herself. Say what you like about Eliza Grierson, she was a very particular housewife, so how come the flat was in this state? She shook her head in puzzlement. And just how long had Janine been beating the child? By the looks of Carla she had not had a decent meal for weeks.
Sarah blamed herself. She should have come over sooner, she should have spoken to Roy, but how did you ask a grown man about his home life? Once they left home it was up to them surely? That had been her own mother’s philosophy. She was distressed, unsure how to go about sorting this situation out. Suddenly Janine spoke.
‘No one ever said it would be like this!’ Her voice was high. ‘I hate it all . . . I hate the cooking and the cleaning and the dirt and the washing and the mending. I hate this flat - it’s like a prison to me. Sometimes I don’t see anyone for weeks on end. I’m so lonely.’
Sarah was nonplussed. Janine took a deep breath and all the fears and worries inside her came tumbling out like a great canker that had finally burst. ‘Roy’s never here. He leaves me for days on end. And Carla . . . that bloody Carla is like a permanent reminder of my bloody mistake! If it hadn’t been for her I wouldn’t be here . . . I wouldn’t be here!’
She began crying again in earnest. Sarah went to her. She hesitated a few seconds before putting her arm around the girl’s thin shoulders.
‘What about your mother, Janine? I thought she came to see you.’
She gave a harsh bitter laugh.
‘Well, you thought wrong, Mrs Ryan. My mother . . . my darling mother . . . has nothing to do with me anymore.’
‘But why, Janine? Why?’
‘Oh, it’s a long story. She told me that if I left Roy and went home she would forgive me having Carla and everything . . . forgive me bringing shame on them by marrying a hoodlum. That’s her choice of word not mine. And as much as I hate Roy at times . . .’ she began to cry again ‘. . . I know that if I left him, I would never be happy again. I can’t live without him, Mrs Ryan! I love him so desperately yet I can’t seem to make him happy. When he’s here I start fights and drive him out of the house. I want him to want me and he doesn’t. I know he doesn’t . . .’
‘Dear God, Janine. What on earth’s the matter with you, girl? Look around you, for Christ’s sake. Who’d want to come home to this? It’s like a bloody pig sty.’ Janine’s declaration of love for her son had softened Sarah up. She reasoned that if she could help the girl, she could save their marriage as well as the child. ‘Look at yourself. You look like the wreck of the Hesperus! No woman likes housework, but it’s got to be done. At your age I already had five children living and not the hope of a decent wage coming. You’ve got it made if only you’d realise it.’ She began rolling up the sleeves of her best dress. ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do. First we’ll have a cup of tea. Get ourselves nice and calm. Then we’ll go through this place like a dose of salts. Scrub it out from top to bottom. With the two of us working like blacks we’ll have it done in no time. What do you say?’ Janine nodded but Sarah could see her heart wasn’t in it. She tried a different tack.
‘Then you can go and get your lovely hair done while I get some food cooked. Can you imagine Roy’s face when he comes home to everything nice and clean and homely? I’ll take the little one home with me for a few days to give you a break. Now what do you say to that?’
Janine brightened up and Sarah smiled but deep inside she was worried. The only reason Janine had cheered up was because she was taking her child from her. She sighed. Even when your children grew up they still made demands. You were never free of them. Wearily she put on the kettle for the tea. Already she was tired, and by the looks of the flat by the time she was finished she would be exhausted. Well, soonest done soonest mended, as her mother used to say. She made the tea.
In the bedroom Maura had dressed Carla in a fairly clean pinafore dress. All the child’s socks were dirty so she had turned a pair inside out and put them on her. They looked pretty clean. She was sitting on the bed cuddling Carla when her mother came in and told her to go to the shops and get some bits and pieces. She was instructed to take Carla with her and get her a big ice cream, and one for herself also.
She was amazed at how quickly Carla seemed to get over what had happened to her. At the mention of ice cream the little girl became excited and animated, bouncing up and down on the bed. Maura felt so sorry for her. Her arms were like sticks and the purple-black bruise looked swollen and painful. Yet jumping on the bed she could almost be a normal, happy little girl. She had seen the pity in her mother’s eyes and a great rage against Janine had rushed through Maura. If she was older she would go into that kitchen and tear her apart.
Instead she took the money from her mother and walked sedately down to the shops with Carla, playing with her and making her laugh. She knew that Carla was coming home with her and decided that she would take the little girl into her bed with her. After all, she was her aunt. She had a responsibility towards her.
Three hours later the little flat was sparkling clean. Janine seemed to get up some enthusiasm as her mother-in-law chatted to her, telling her about her own difficult marriage, and how it was hard when one was young and unsure of oneself. For the first time Janine felt that she had an ally, and it made all the difference to her. Sarah was consciously getting her confidence, telling her what she knew she wanted to hear.
When Janine finally opened up to her she felt the loneliness and unhappiness emanating from her. Sarah reproached herself. She should have visited her more often, should have taken more of an interest in her - and just wait until she went around to Eliza Grierson’s! She’d floor that bitch with what she had to say to her! The supercilious old cow! Sarah was looking forward to it. She’d ‘hoodlum’ her before she was much older! Next on her agenda was that galloping big son of hers. Letting the girl get into this state, and neglect that little child. She’d annihilate him as well! When she got her hands on the bugger, that was. From what she’d gleaned from Janine he came and went like a bloody ghost, flitting in and out as it suited him. Sarah’s mouth set in a grim line. He wasn’t too big for a clout round the ear hole, whatever he thought.
Janine came into the kitchen dressed up for her trip to the hairdresser’s. Sarah smiled at her.
‘You look a picture, love. Like one of them girls on the adverts! Now get yourself off and I’ll fix you something for your dinner.’
Janine smiled shyly at Sarah. She felt better than she had for months. ‘Thank you, Mrs Ryan. You’ve been so good to me.’ Her voice was trembling with emotion.
Sarah waved her hand impatiently. ‘Don’t you think it’s about time you called me Sarah? As for thanking me . . . for what? I should have been here for you a long time ago. I’m ashamed of meself.’
Janine went to her and kissed her on the cheek.
‘Thanks . . . Sarah.’ She said her name timidly, as if it felt strange to address her so. Sarah just grinned at her.
‘Get yourself off and I’ll have a lovely meal waiting for you, OK?’
Janine nodded and left the flat, feeling lighter hearted than she had for many days. Sarah watched her go and wiped her arm across her brow. She was sweating. It had been a hot and sultry summer. In a way she was grateful to Janine. Today had been the first time since he died she had not been tortured with thoughts of her Anthony. She looked out of the now sparkling window and heaved a deep sigh. She began to cook the meal, briefly wondering how her own household was coping without her. She pictured Benjamin waiting for the food to run out of the cupboard and into the frying pan, and smiled. It would never occur to him to cook himself anything. Well, he would just have to wait. She had more pressing things on her mind.
As she prepared the vegetables, she heard the front door open. Thinking it was Maura and Carla she called out: ‘I’m in here, lovelies.’
‘What you doing here, Mum?’ Roy was standing in the doorway, staring at the kitchen as if he was in the wrong house.
Sarah smirked at him nastily. ‘Well, well. The Wandering Jew’s returned to his home at last!’
She looked at his crumpled clothing, and the dark shadow on his jaw. ‘Obviously your new lady love isn’t looking after you very well.’
She slammed the saucepan of potatoes on to the draining board. Roy stared at her warily. There was something funny going on here.
‘So, now that you’re home, are you thinking of staying at all? Or are you just going to get a change of gear and go off again on your merry way?’ She gripped the handle of the saucepan.
Roy looked at her, bewildered. ‘Are you being funny? Where’s Janine and the kid?’ Too late he realised his mother’s intention. The saucepan and potatoes hit him full in the chest, the water drenching him.
Sarah ran to him, slipping on the wet floor. Righting herself she slapped him across his face, a white hand print appearing as if by magic. ‘I’ll give you where’s the kid . . . she’s your daughter, Roy Ryan, and you fought hammer and tongs to marry her mother. When I think of the trouble you caused because you couldn’t keep your private parts to yourself! You’ve driven that poor girl to distraction.’
‘I’ve what! Now you hold up a minute, Muvver.’
Sarah screamed at him: ‘No, I bloody well won’t, you gormless eejit! Before that girl took up with you the most she ever did in her life was get dressed up for church. She wasn’t brought up to do all this.’ She gestured around the flat. ‘She’s been slowly going out of her mind stuck here day in day out, and do you care? Not on your bloody nellie! I’m ashamed to admit that you’re my son! That poor innocent little child has taken the brunt of everything. She’s got a bruise on her arm like she’s been ten rounds with Dempsey . . . and it’s all your fault.’
Roy’s mouth was hanging open with disbelief.
‘Shut your bloody gob up! You look like a mental deficient standing there gawking.’
Roy’s mouth snapped shut. ‘Janine won’t do anything around the place.’
‘Shut your trap, I said, or you’ll be getting another smack off me otherwise. You’re not too big for a good hiding, you know.’
Roy wanted to laugh. He towered over his mother. He had to admire her though. She stuck by her guns. Inside him there was a little nagging doubt. What his mother had said was true. He didn’t try to understand Janine. Slowly bending down Sarah picked up the saucepan. It was dented on one side. She stifled an urge to brain her son with it, and instead placed it in the sink. In unspoken agreement mother and son began clearing up the debris. Potatoes had flown to all four corners of the kitchen. Water was everywhere. When it was all put right, Sarah pushed Roy into a chair. Outwardly, she looked her old formidable self. Inside, she was gloating. She was actually enjoying herself! She had not had so much fun for a long time, since before she buried Anthony.
She made a pot of tea. Putting a cup in front of Roy, she said, ‘I came here this morning because I knew that something wasn’t right. I sensed it at the funeral. The child looked like the orphan of the storm, and Janine looked terrible. I admit that I’m as much to blame, I should have come to visit her, but I understood her mother was never off the doorstep, so I left her to it. When I came here this morning she was pulling the child’s hair out of her head.’
She watched Roy’s mouth harden. ‘And don’t you come the old biddy with me! If you had done your job properly, been a decent husband, then all this could have been avoided.’ She poked him in the chest. ‘You are going to get yourself sorted out, my man, and you’re going to start coming home at nights. I sat in many a night myself when you were all younger, waiting for that piss artist of a father of yours to come home, knowing in my heart that he was down the Bayswater Road, spending desperately needed money on old brasses. How I never got a dose of clap I’ll never know! Well, I won’t have any of my sons going the same way.’
Roy sat staring at her. He knew, as all the boys had always known, that she had not had the best of lives with his father, but she had never before spoken to him like this. He knew that she was trying to help him save his marriage, and in a tiny part of himself he knew that she was right. He had left Janine to fend for herself. He had chosen to ignore the fact that she took out her frustrations on Carla. But he just didn’t know what to do. He was ashamed that his mother had so accurately put her finger on where he spent his nights. Since Michael had opened a hostess club in the West End, he had literally had his pick of women to spend the night with. It had been easier than coming home to fighting and arguing. To a dirty home and an unhappy wife.
But he still loved Janine. He had thought that taking her away from her mother’s influence would have encouraged her to stand on her own two feet. Instead she had leant even more on him and he just couldn’t take it, so had chosen the easy way out. Now he had to face not only Janine and little Carla, but his mother. He heard the front door open and braced himself, looking at his mother for support. As Janine walked into the room, Sarah stood up and smiled at her.
‘You look an absolute angel, doesn’t she, Roy?’ She poked him in the shoulder, her bright smile belying the force she had used. Janine smiled uncertainly at him. The tension in the kitchen was like an electric current. Janine did look like angel. Her hair was swept up off her finely boned face, emphasising her long neck. Her deep green eyes were made up expertly and there was a wistfulness in them that pierced Roy’s heart. She was a cracker, he thought. She really looked the business. His mum was right, Janine was like a high-spirited thoroughbred. She needed gentle guidance. He got up from his chair and held out his arms to her. Janine hesitated for a few seconds before she slipped into them.
Sarah watched, a satisfied expression on her face. Now all she had to do was go and see Father McCormack and get him to sort out her Michael and she would be happy. Half an hour later she left the two love birds, Maura and Carla in tow. Her next stop was the Church and Father McCormack. She looked at her watch. If she hurried she would catch him as he finished six o’clock mass.
Sitting in the refectory with a glass of wine in front of her, Sarah poured out her heart to the priest.
‘I feel ashamed to tell you this, Father, but Michael has bought himself another club, this time a bordello.’ She sipped her wine to steady her voice. ‘Men go there to . . . Well, I don’t have to paint a picture, now do I?’
Father McCormack looked at her through shrewd eyes. He was sixty years old and had been the parish priest f
or over thirty years. His hair was grey and cut in an American crew-cut. He had heavy grey-flecked eyebrows that gave him a wise demeanour and looked on religion the way some men looked on marriage: as a necessary part of life. You made the best of it. He put his large, soft hands together.
‘I see, I see.’ His Irish accent was still thick even though he had left Ireland over forty years previously. ‘Sure that Michael was always a difficult one. I can see why you’re worrying.’
‘I think that if you had a word with him, Father . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Well, Sarah, I’ll do my best. But your Michael was always a strong-minded fellow. He might not like the interference.’
Sarah was determined that before she left this room she would have an appointment to save her son’s eternal soul! She tried a different approach.
‘Oh, Father, I know what people say about my Mickey, but as you know yourself, stories get stretched in the telling. All he needs is a little gentle guidance. If you were to talk to him, I’m sure he would listen to a fine man like yourself. Even when he was an altar boy, he always had a high regard for you.’
The priest raised his eyebrows. When Michael had been an altar boy he had also stolen the lead from the church roof! But he had the glimmer of a plan forming in his mind, and it would please this poor soul sitting before him. He decided to do as she asked.
‘Hostess club, you say? Well, I think that a few words from me are called for, as you say.’ Sarah jumped in before he could change his mind.
‘If you come to my house at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll make sure that he’s there.’
He smiled at her, showing tobacco-stained teeth. ‘Eleven o’clock it is then. Now tell me, how are the other children? I hear that all the older boys are driving big expensive cars and living the life of Riley. They all work for Michael, I take it?’