Liam and Patrick suddenly felt so lucky. Mrs Lynch worked in the big houses in Sundays Well most evenings and she took his little sisters with her, so Patrick often had dinner with Liam and his mother. He was sure she wouldn’t mind if he brought Hugo home, though he’d have to explain about the Protestant thing ahead of time. Come to that, he’d have to explain about Hugo, though that was another story altogether. He was different, he didn’t care about hurling or girls or any of the normal things lads talked about. His primary topic was his aching hunger, followed by his pony. He regularly had Patrick and Liam perplexed and bewildered by his tales of life at Greyrock. He had no idea what his mother would make of Hugo FitzHenry.
Liam wasn’t that interested in girls either, but they were all mad about Patrick. He was definitely the best looking, tall with shiny black hair and a fine physique. He was on the under-sixteen school team even though he was much younger than his teammates and was making a name for himself around the school. Liam liked hurling too but although he made the school team, he wasn’t tall or bulky enough to be a star. Still, he was quick and that was a help. Hugo even hated to watch the games let alone participate. The other boys didn’t know what to make of him and called him ‘The Squire’ behind his back. Patrick and Liam knew that their presence during the day insulated Hugo from the worst of it, but they both dreaded to think what happened in the evenings. Some days, Hugo was so quiet he’d hardly say a word, and he sometimes had bruises that were never explained. Patrick had asked him who was bothering him and promised that he would deal with them, but Hugo changed the subject.
He constantly bemoaned his blond curls and one evening, he took a scissors to them himself. He looked a fright with bits sticking out everywhere so Liam did his best to even it up. Even with his shorter haircut, there was something fragile about him. Some of the other boys teased him mercilessly but never when Patrick and Liam were around. Liam suspected that life was hard for him in the evenings when they were safe at home.
‘Would they let you out?’ Patrick asked.
‘Well, I believe Liam’s mother needs to write to Father Rafael and invite me. He’s the keeper of the keys and if he deems her to be of sound mind and character and unlikely to draw poor innocent me into ways of sin, he will give his permission.’ He had it all worked out.
‘I’ll ask her so,’ Liam agreed, trying hard and failing to visualise Hugo in their small kitchen.
As he suspected, she was thrilled to be asked. ‘Mammy, the only thing is he’s a bit weird. Like he talks all posh like someone from England, and Patrick and me don’t know what he’s on about half the time. His mother used to be Protestant and then she married his father who was a Catholic and she converted and promised to bring him up as a Catholic. They live in a huge mansion, with horses and servants and everything but don’t let it put you off him. He has no interest in most of the stuff lads like, and he’s always going on about food. He’s really funny and he’s very kind, too. He gets loads of pocket money, and he’s always buying sweets for me and Patrick in school when the tuck shop is open. He reckons the priests are starving them so he makes me tell him what I had for my dinner every single day, and he nearly drives himself mad then thinking about it.’
‘He sounds like a right character. Do his mother and father come to visit him at all?’ she asked as she kneaded the dough for the soda bread.
‘No, his mother never comes, and his father died a few months back. He was in the British Army and he got wounded fighting Rommel in Egypt, so then he was never strong after that. He died of pneumonia.’ Liam got sad even thinking about it.
‘Ye’re well met, so.’ Her eyes glistened for an instant. ‘Does he like it above, apart from the food?’
Liam and Patrick caught each other’s eye. ‘I don’t know, he doesn’t say much, but he’s so different from the others up there, and from us too, but for some reason he gets on with us. Some days, though, you can tell he’s been crying, but anytime we ask him, he says he’s grand.’
‘I told him I’d sort out anyone that was giving him a hard time, but he doesn’t want that either,’ Patrick added.
‘Well, whatever ye do don’t go getting yourself into any trouble, do ye hear me? Now, Patrick, you’d never go out for a bucket of coal for me, would you? And Liam, run up to Murray’s for butter. I suppose you’re coming for a feed too, Mr Lynch?’
‘You know me, Mrs T, never say no to a plate of grub.’
‘Right, I’ll give you a note tomorrow for Father Raphael, Liam, and sure can’t this Hugo FitzHenry come down with ye after school on Thursday. That’ll give me time to get the place straight. I’ll make corned beef maybe, and a jam sponge for dessert. Would that be all right, do you think? ‘
Liam jumped up and kissed his mother on the cheek. ‘Mammy, that would be stupendous as Hugo FitzHenry might say.’
She smiled, one of the rare ones since Daddy died.
The dinner was a triumph according to Hugo. Liam told his mother about a hundred times to stop fussing about the house—he wasn’t coming to do an inspection. She made homemade vegetable soup from bones she got in the market that had been boiled for hours, and it was absolutely delicious, served with thick slices of fresh baked soda bread slathered with butter from the creamery up the hill.
That was followed by corned beef with boiled potatoes, carrots and parsnips mashed with cream and salt. Liam thought Hugo was going to faint with delight. He chatted endlessly and admired and praised everything he saw, heard, and ate. Mrs Lynch popped in to meet the famous Hugo and was equally charmed by him. He told Mammy how cold it was at night in the dorms, and she told him she would knit him some bed socks. Liam and Patrick watched in amusement as Hugo FitzHenry worked his magic on their mothers. After dinner, they sat by the stove tucking into jam sponge and cups of tea, and he regaled them with tales of life at Greyrock, about his father and his war record, his mother and her fervent Catholicism, and his entire life story so far. Liam had warned him in advance not to say anything derogatory about either his mother or the Catholic Church and he’d get on fine. He left to trudge back up the hill laden down with scones and brack and all sorts of goodies to keep him going.
That began a pattern of Hugo coming to Tobin’s house every Thursday. Mammy looked forward to it, and the feedback for her efforts was the exact opposite of Con’s on a Friday night. No matter how much trouble she went to for him, making his favourite dishes and packing up extra for him to take back to Willy’s, he never showed even the slightest gratitude. He made it clear that his visits were out of a sense of duty and to see Liam.
One evening as he was drying the ware while his mother washed, Liam raised the subject.
‘Is he ever going to be like he was, do you think?’
‘Who pet?’ Mammy asked.
‘Con, you know, the way he used to be, joking and messing and always up to mischief.’ He didn’t say anything about Daddy.
‘I don’t know, love. He’s very cross with me. He thinks that I shouldn’t have let your Dad go to England that time. Maybe he’s right. I don’t think they’ll ever forgive me.’ She stood looking out to the yard washing the same plate over and over. Tears started rolling down her cheeks.
‘But he was going to come home, to the tyre factory. I just don’t understand why they are so bitter against you,’ Liam said quietly. He hated upsetting her, but he wanted to know the truth.
‘He was. It was all set up. His last letter was all about how he got the word that there would be a job for him. I was delighted—having home was all I cared about. He knew how much I loved him, and how sorry I was for the way I reacted. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this, but sure, you know it all anyway. That business with your one next door, well, it hurt me. I asked him time and again not to be going in there so much, people were talking, but he just wanted to help her. That’s the kind of man he was, he didn’t care what people said. He thought she was vulnerable, I suppose, and well, I was jealous. She was
so pretty and always done up to the nines, and I felt like an auld dishrag beside her. When she came in that night, screaming and all of that, I was so ashamed. I knew that the neighbours would be nodding their heads and wagging their fingers, ‘Didn’t I tell you there was something? Seán Tobin isn’t as innocent as he looks!’ And all of that.’ She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron.
‘Tell me,’ Liam encouraged her.
She sighed, and it seemed to come from her toes, ‘Then the job was gone in the dockyard only a few weeks after. Sure, it was touch and go there for years before, ‘tis a miracle it lasted as long as it did, to be honest. There was nothing then, everyone was idle, no work anywhere. I don’t think he would have gone on the dole even if things had been good between us, he’d have hated it. But since things were bad, we weren’t talking, not the way we used to, and he decided to go to England. I should have stopped him, I know I should have, but he wanted to go. He wanted to get away from me, I’m sure, but he wanted to provide for ye all, as well. He hated leaving ye, though. You must remember that, Liam. I thought it was just going to be for a few weeks, he’d come back, and we’d patch things up. We were both angry, I was upset because I thought he’d drawn all this on us, and he was angry because he felt I should have trusted him. I did trust him, Liam, of course I did. I was just cross with him for getting us into that position in the first place. I honestly thought it would blow over, a bit of time apart and we’d be fine.’
‘Did you ever think he...you know, went after, with Mrs Kinsella?’ Liam asked tentatively, squirming with embarrassment but knowing this was the last time they would ever have this conversation.
She laughed ruefully, ‘No, love, I never thought that. I knew she was in a hospital up the country. People round here put two and two together and make seven, short of things to talk about, your Daddy used to say.’
‘So did ye work it out, you and Daddy?’
‘We did. I wrote to him in England and said I was sorry for the way I reacted, that he was right, that I was destroying my marriage based on the idle gossip of people with nothing better to do. I told him that we all missed him, and I asked him to come home.’
Liam could see that talking about him was breaking her heart. ‘And what did he say to that?’
‘He said he was sorry, too. That he should have respected my wishes. He said he had a lot of time to think and if the situation was reversed, he wouldn’t have liked it. If there was some single man living next door and I was in and out to him, even if it was totally innocent, he wouldn’t have been happy about it. He wrote every week, just about how much he was working and how much he missed us all. Then the last letter, he said that the job had come through in the tyre factory and he missed us all so much and wanted to come home but that the man that got him the start in England had gone out on a limb for him so he wanted to give him two weeks’ notice. If it wasn’t for that, he told me, he’d be on the boat home that night.’ Her voice cracked, and the tears came in earnest now.
Liam let her cry. He just sat there, holding her hand, feeling a lot older than his fourteen years.
Eventually her sobs subsided.
‘I...he wrote that letter on the third of April, he died on the fifth.’
The unfairness of it all swept over Liam like a wave—the tragedy of his father’s death, the fact that his generosity and kindness had led to that whole thing with Mrs Kinsella, and the fact that Kate, Con, Molly, and Annie still blamed their mother—it all seemed so wrong.
‘But if you told Kate and the others this...’ he began.
‘They know,’ she said flatly, wiping her eyes.
‘But how can they blame you so?’ he began.
She put her hand on his again, ‘Because they need someone to blame. They can’t blame that...’ She tried to find a word for her, ‘Person next door, they can’t blame God, they can’t blame each other, they can’t blame Seán, so they blame me. It’s the cross in life I have to carry, as well as losing my husband. That’s how they see it; I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did to that woman coming to my door.’ She was resigned.
‘But if they knew he was coming home, he planned to, but he didn’t want to let the man down,’ Liam was insisting.
‘Kate knows. She went for dinner with him the night before he died. He told her he was coming home.’ His mother was trying to control her emotions.
‘And still she blames you...’ Liam shook his head in disbelief.
‘Not really, not deep down, but she’s grieving, and that’s her way of doing it. The others are just following her lead. She’ll come round, I hope. I pray every day that she will and if she does, the others might follow. They’re grieving and they’re angry, it’s to be expected. Being angry with me is the safest option; they know I’ll always love them no matter what. In the meantime, I don’t know what I’d do without you, Liam. Ever since you were a baby you’ve been my pet, you know that. And I’m so proud of you, up in the Seminary, and I know your Daddy would be too. You’ve never been an ounce of trouble to us, Liam, not once.’ Her voice sounded far away, wistful.
They sat together in front of the fire, and Liam vowed that he would never do anything to hurt his mother. She’d had such a terrible experience. He tried to stop vicious thoughts about Mrs Kinsella crowding his mind, telling himself over and over she was sick, that she couldn’t help it. He remembered the night he went in to set the mouse trap and the bottle of stout on the table, obviously for his father. She set her cap at him, despite the fact that he had a wife and children and he was only trying to help her. He wondered about a God that allowed such a terrible thing to happen to a good family that only ever tried to serve him.
Chapter 11
Hugo felt his teeth with his tongue. They were still there for now. The huge hands that were forcing his face deeper and deeper into the mud of the school field felt like vices. He struggled to breathe, his mouth and nose full of mud. A knee into the small of his back sent spasms of pain through his body.
‘Don’t think we don’t know how close you are to that pair of tinkers Tobin and Lynch,’ a voice hissed in his ear. ‘If you say one single word, just one, twill be the last thing you ever say, d’ya hear me, ya little faggot?’
Hugo tried to respond but no words came out. A ferocious kick hit his groin, and a sound emerged from him that he didn’t recognise. The Clancy twins had roughed him up several times before but this time they seemed determined to kill him. They were Father Xavier’s nephews so they were untouchable. All Hugo could feel was pain and death was appealing. ‘Please God, just let me die now, let them kill me and all of this will be over,’ he pleaded and prayed.
‘Our uncle said he saw you deep in chat with Aquinas earlier and he has a message for you. You are a filthy stain on this school, you are disgusting, and everyone wishes you were dead. No wonder your father died and your mother packed you off here, instead of having to live with the shame of having a faggot for a son. You get what you deserve, sure you probably love it, you filthy queer, but if you ever mention a word about anything, you are dead. Do you understand?’
Hugo managed to nod and thankfully they left.
He lay in the dark for a moment, the cold wind soothing his aching body. His pyjamas were wet and covered in mud, but he couldn’t move. This was the worst beating he’d had since arriving at St Bart’s but not a week went by that something didn’t happen to him. He’d have to get up, get inside and get cleaned up before the bell rang for mass. He longed to tell someone, anyone who could make this stop, but there was no way. He hated Xavier but knew that he wasn’t the only boy who was subjected to his night-time visits. It was awful, painful, and Hugo burned with shame to even think of what happened. The priest never said a word, he just came in, did that awful thing and left. Hugo cried tears of humiliation and agony into the pillow. He once wrote to his mother, telling her what was happening, but he tore it up before he sent it. All mail in and out of the school was censored, he’
d be sure to be caught. He could tell Patrick or Liam, or even Father Aquinas, but he didn’t want them to know, the disgrace would be too much. Patrick and Liam had no power, anyway, being scholarship boys. If they had rich fathers, maybe someone would be able to do something, but as it were, they were seen as vermin by Xavier and his cronies. Father Aquinas would be horrified, but Hugo knew that he must have done something to make Xavier pick him. He would never try anything with Patrick or Liam so it must be him. The Clancy twins were right. If anyone found out, they would think that he liked it. Xavier was clever too, he covered his tracks well, no bruises that anyone could see, he never treated him differently in school, he was cold and dismissive.
Each night afterwards, Hugo spoke to his father, begging him to do something. To strike Xavier down from heaven, to have him hit by a car, or have a heart attack or something, but still it went on. Hugo knew that his beloved father would help if he could hear his only son, so one night he stopped praying. The abuse went on for four months in Hugo’s first year at St Bart’s. Then abruptly it stopped. He never knew why, and Xavier never looked in his direction again. Father Jerome took over the night duty and he only ever saw Xavier in the corridors.
Chapter 12
June 1971
The three boys were sitting on the grass, preparing for the last of the summer tests. Liam and Patrick were determined to do well and justify their scholarships but, as usual, Hugo couldn’t give a hoot and wanted to chat.
‘Why not? I’ve been to your house often enough,’ Hugo was determined.
Patrick sighed in exasperation and snapped his Latin book shut.
‘Arrgh! You’re driving me mental, Hugo! I have to learn this Latin in the Modern World for tomorrow so if I answer you now, will you just go off and think about croquet or cucumber sandwiches or something and leave me alone? Why won’t we come to your house? I’ll tell you a hundred reasons why not, for starters, because Liam and I would be like a pair of muck savages in Greyrock Mansion or whatever you call it. Because your mam would have a stroke if she saw the pair of us coming up the avenue, because we haven’t even proper clothes to wear—the best thing I have is my uniform, and I’m hardly going to wear that now, am I? Because we don’t know the front end from the arse end of a horse, need I go on?’
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