In Fear of Her Life

by Sandra Smyth

  I left school shortly after I met Johnny to look after my mother who suffered from ill health. She used to take to her bed every now and then, for a few days at a time. I now realise she wasn’t actually sick but there were times when she just couldn’t cope with a family of six young children.

  Not long after I left, I got a job in a factory but I didn’t last long there. I rarely went in. I would leave the house in the morning, having arranged to meet Johnny around the corner. He’d be there with the bike and the two of us would spend the day driving around while he delivered packages.

  We’d stop for lunch in Stephen’s Green and feed bread to the ducks. Sometimes we’d take a spin up the Dublin Mountains. We’d take a picnic and come back in the evening. Those were the days. Neither of us had any serious responsibilities and life seemed perfect. We were the best of friends back then. We’d talk about anything and everything and spend the day laughing. Within a few weeks I was head over heels in love with Johnny.

  Of course, my family had no idea I was with him. My mother would have hit the roof if she knew. On one occasion he called to the flat to take me out. I nearly died. She was standing on the balcony and she stuck her head over when he beeped his horn.

  “Who’s that young fella and what does he want?” she said.

  I acted like I didn’t know who he was. That was the first time she found out I was seeing Johnny Smith. We’d been with each other for months at that stage. She went mad.

  “You’re to stay away from him,” she warned me. “He’s nothing but trouble. If I catch you near him, I’ll kill you.”

  Even fear of my mother didn’t stop me seeing Johnny. We were already inseparable and the whole neighbourhood knew about us. Everyone knew too that he was violent towards his own mother. Everyone that is, except me. I turned a deaf ear to anything bad I heard about him. I refused to believe that he was anything but perfect.

  He came from a large family. Johnny lived with his mother and his younger brother. His father had left years ago and he never talked about him or why his parents had separated.

  His mother was a cold woman and he clearly had no respect for her. She lived in one room upstairs in the family home and he and his younger brother shared the other bedroom. They rarely mixed although they lived in the same two-up, two-down house. But Johnny didn’t talk about his family and I was wary to ask. I didn’t want anything to spoil the easy-going relationship we had.

  Back then he was a different person. He didn’t drink or smoke but he was a real man’s man when the other lads were around. He was a natural leader; he made the decisions in the gang and all the other lads followed.

  With me however, he was as gentle as a lamb. He used to joke and slag me off in a light-hearted way and I’d giggle and blush. I’d pretend to be offended but deep down I loved it. And he’d do anything for me too.

  Another bonus of being Johnny Smith’s girlfriend was the presents he’d buy me. I remember driving around with him on the motorbike and passing by shops. He always had more than enough money. Where it came from I don’t know and I didn’t question. If I pointed out anything I liked in a shop window Johnny would note it and arrive with it under his arm the next day.

  I’ll never forget the time he presented me with a full-length dress and matching coat. It cost the earth and I couldn’t believe it. I was speechless when I saw the outfit, which had come from an expensive dress shop on Camden Street. The dress was made of wool. It was cream with cocoa brown flowers embroidered across it and there was a matching, three-quarter- length cardigan to go with it. I thought they were the most beautiful clothes I’d ever seen in my life.

  I was a petite, little thing back then and they fitted me like a glove. You’d think the outfit had been made for me. I looked gorgeous; at least I thought I did. But I couldn’t wear it. I knew my mother would be furious if she found out Johnny had been buying me expensive presents.

  So I hid them along with all the other items of clothing he’d bought me—under the bed in a battered old suitcase. I couldn’t let my sisters or brother see them either. They’d tell my mother and there would be murder.

  It wasn’t long however until Johnny noticed I wasn’t wearing the dress. A week later he asked why and I had to think quickly. I couldn’t tell him that my mother knew nothing about it and that she’d kill me if she did.

  “Well, I have no shoes to go with it,” I lied. “I can’t wear it without the right shoes”.

  I thought I’d got away with it but the following day he came to collect me.

  “Look what I have for you,” he grinned from ear to ear as he produced a box wrapped in brown paper. I unwrapped it slowly and found a pair of brown, knee- high boots in my size. They were perfect and I loved them as much as I loved the dress. I thought I was the business.

  I tried on the shoes with the whole ensemble that evening and admired my reflection in the mirror. I was 14-years-old at the time but I remember thinking to myself, “Now I’m all grown up.”

  I thought I looked like a model. I was dying to show the whole outfit to my sisters but of course I couldn’t. I swirled around in front of the mirror admiring my reflection. Then suddenly I heard a noise; it was my older sister Helen.

  “Jesus Frances, where did you get those from?” she nearly died of a heart attack when she walked into the room.

  “Shh,” I warned her. “Johnny bought them for me,” I said. “Don’t tell Ma, she’ll go mad.”

  “I’m telling her,” Helen announced defiantly. “She’ll murder you!” and before I could bat an eyelid she was thundering down the stairs.

  My mother was up those stairs in two shakes of a lambs tail. The bedroom door swung open and she stood in front of me with her hands on her hips. There was blue murder in my house that night. Chaos! You could hear my screams half way down the road as she beat me with a belt. Funnily enough she stopped forbidding me to see Johnny after that. I suppose she just had to accept the relationship. Perhaps she realised she couldn’t put an end to it and I think even she was secretly impressed by the presents he bought me.

  chapter five

  THE FIRST TIME I slept with Johnny I became pregnant. For years my mother had warned me not to give in to young men. She didn’t tell me why. I was left to find out the facts of life from the older girls on the street.

  Up until then I had allowed Johnny to kiss me but as he got older he wanted more. He could be very persuasive and eventually I gave in. I was still naïve back then and I certainly didn’t associate babies with sexual intercourse. The first time we slept together was in his house one afternoon when his mother was out.

  “Come on Frances, please, you know I love you and I’ll look after you,” he said.

  I didn’t want to do it. I was 15-years-old and so nervous I felt like crying. But I’d have done anything to keep Johnny happy.

  It only happened once but it was enough to make me pregnant. Two weeks later I had missed a period but I wasn’t in the least bit worried. Pregnancy didn’t even cross my mind.

  I was six weeks pregnant when I miscarried and it still hadn’t dawned on me that I was going to have a baby. I remember standing outside a shop. I’d arranged to meet Johnny there at seven in the evening. I thought my period had finally come because I was bleeding heavily and I had excruciating pains in my stomach. I was standing on the pavement holding onto my stomach when I met Johnny.

  “What’s wrong with you Frances?” he questioned.

  “I can’t walk. I’ve awful pains in my stomach Johnny”. I was doubled over in agony.

  He took me on the back of his bike and brought me to his older sister’s house. She brought me in, sat me down and made me a cup of tea. After an hour the pain hadn’t subsided.

  “You should really tell your Ma,” she said to me. “I think you might be pregnant.”

  “I’m not pregnant,” I retorted. “And there’s no way I’ll tell my Ma about the pains,” I shook my head defiantly. “She’s the last person I’d go to for he
lp.”

  I could never go to my mother with a problem of any kind.

  “Right so,” said Johnny’s sister. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital and fast.”

  I couldn’t sit on the bike because the pains were so bad so I had to get the bus to the Coombe hospital. I remember sitting in the back of the bus, clutching my stomach with Johnny by my side. I nearly passed out with the pain. The blood started to trickle down my legs and in no time at all my clothes were soaked. By the time I reached the hospital I could hardly walk but somehow I managed to hobble into the accident and emergency room.

  It didn’t take long for the doctor to realise I had miscarried. They kept me in overnight because I had lost so much blood. I was very weak and in a state of shock at the time. I hadn’t realised I was pregnant and I didn’t understand what was happening to my body.

  They did a D and C on me and my mother and older brother Anto came to visit. Johnny had phoned them.

  “I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” said Anto. He was livid with anger.

  “No Anto, don’t,” I pleaded. “It’s my fault too.”

  I was released from hospital the next day and for a while after that I was very run down. Anto gave Johnny a good talking to, but it didn’t do much good. Within a few months I was pregnant again. This time my mother was the first to realise. Even the second time round I didn’t know myself. She marched me off to the local doctor for tests and he confirmed her suspicions.

  Even when the doctor told me I was going to have a baby it didn’t sink in. Part of me was terrified and my way of dealing with the fear was to block it out of my head. I tried not to think about the pregnancy but I knew I had to tell Johnny. He called for me one evening soon after I was diagnosed and we went for a ride on his motorbike. We sped along through the city. It was a cold winter’s night and I had a short skirt on. My legs were frozen.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, as he pulled up outside Macari’s, the local chipper. I waited outside while he went in and brought out two singles of chips. We stood in the cold eating them or rather he ate, I was too nervous. Eventually he noticed I hadn’t touched the chips.

  “What’s wrong with you? Do you not want those chips?” he asked me.

  “Johnny,” I said. “Johnny, I’ve something to tell you.”

  He looked at me as he picked the hot, greasy chips one-by-one out of the bag. They stank of vinegar. He licked his fingers.

  “What’s wrong chicken?”

  He stared into my eyes and my heart melted. I loved it when he called me ‘chicken’. He was so loving back then and I always fell for that particular puppy-dog look.

  “What is it?” he said gently.

  “Johnny,” I was crying now. Big, hot, tears came rolling down my face and fell into the chips.

  “Johnny I’m up the pole. I’m pregnant.”

  He dropped the chips suddenly and they lay in a heap on the ground.

  “Jesus, Frances, not again,” his jaw dropped open. “What are we going to do Johnny?”

  He paused for a moment and looked into the distance. Then he turned and looked directly at me. “Don’t worry Frances, I’ll look after you,” he promised as he took me in his arms. “I won’t leave you. I’ll stand by you,” he hesitated, “and the baby.”

  chapter six

  NOT LONG AFTER that we were walking along Henry Street, looking in the shop windows and chatting. I stopped outside a boutique and admired a blouse. I wanted to go in and have a look at it and Johnny came with me. I looked around the shop for a few minutes and then suddenly I noticed that he’d disappeared.

  I thought nothing of it presuming he was bored with the women’s clothes and must be waiting for me outside, but when I came out a few minutes later I discovered he had gone.

  “Maybe he met a friend,” I thought. “I’m sure he’ll back sooner or later.”

  I walked down to Mary Street and stopped to talk to a girl I used to know at school who now worked on a jewellery stall. She used to give me discounts on the earrings and I liked talking to her, she knew all the gossip in the neighbourhood.

  I was passing the time of day with her when suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Johnny’s younger brother Brian looking startled.

  “There you are Frances. Johnny’s over the bridge and he’s looking for you.”

  He was out of breath from running. “He told me to come get you; you’d better hurry.”

  “Sure what’s the rush?” I said. “Is he alright?”

  “He wants you now,” said Brian with a sense of urgency in his voice. “Come on Frances, he gave me £20 to come and get you.”

  Brian produced a crisp £20 note from his pocket as he spoke. I stared at the money and knew something was wrong—very wrong. £20 was a lot back then.

  “Right so, I’m coming,” I said.

  I ran down the street after Brian and reached the Ha’penny Bridge. Johnny was standing at the other side looking agitated.

  “Johnny what’s wrong?”

  I was out of breath by the time I reached the pavement on the other side. It had started to spit rain and the wind was blowing my hair into my face. He said nothing at first. That was Johnny’s style; he was always cool as a cucumber. Then he reached into his coat pocket and produced a wad of cash. There were tenners and twenties and even a few fifty-pound notes in his hand. I nearly had a heart attack on the spot.

  It was more money than I’d ever seen in my life and I was shocked.

  “Jesus Christ Johnny, where in God’s name did you get that money from?”

  I looked around to see if anyone else had seen him produce the money but nobody had noticed. There were only busy shoppers on the bridge that day, rushing by with their shopping bags in hand. Johnny looked at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief and pride.

  “Will you marry me Frances?” he said.

  I later learnt he had performed his first robbery. Whilst I’d been looking at clothes in the boutique on Henry Street, he’d ducked into a small office in the shop and when no one was looking, he’d raided the safe.

  As I stood on the bridge with the rain pelting down on me I didn’t care where the money had come from. I was 15-years-old and Johnny Smith wanted me to be his bride. That was all that mattered. The tears welled up in my eyes. I reached up and put my arms around his neck. He lifted me off the ground and swung me around in the rain. I was dizzy by the time he put me down—dizzy with happiness.

  “Right so,” he said, proud as punch. “Let’s go and buy a ring.”

  We walked down the street arm in arm until we came to a jewellers shop on Golden Lane. I pressed my nose against the window and marvelled at the size of the rings. There were rings with every stone you could imagine—topaz, rubies, emeralds and of course diamonds. Some were elaborate and no doubt expensive. I wondered what kind of women would wear them. Perhaps wealthy ladies who drank afternoon tea in the Shelbourne?

  I giggled as I imagined myself picking up a teacup with one of those rings on my finger.

  “So what do you think?” Johnny interrupted my daydream.

  “How about that one at the back?” He pointed to a platinum band with three small diamonds. It was gorgeous. But it had a price tag of £175. I nearly fainted on the spot.

  “But Johnny you can’t possibly afford it,” I was wide-eyed with shock. He smiled and took me by the arm.

  “Come on, let’s go and try it on.”

  I couldn’t show the ring to my mother. I knew she would make me take it back. What’s more she would have been furious. I couldn’t even tell her I was engaged. Actually I told no one but my sister, Helen.

  “Let’s see the ring,” she demanded, as we stood in the bedroom at home later on. I pulled out an old suitcase from under the bed where I kept everything Johnny gave me.

  “You’re to promise not to tell Ma,” I said as I produced a small, navy-blue box. I opened the lid slowly and watched Helen’s look of shock and admiration.

  “Jesus Fran
ces, that’s a ring and a half. You can’t keep that. I’m telling Ma.”

  “Oh please don’t Helen,” I cried out. “She’ll beat the living daylights out of me, you know she will.”

  I knew my mother would make me give it back. But it was too late. Helen was already halfway down the stairs and screaming for my mother who promptly arrived into the bedroom demanding to know what she was talking about.

  “I don’t know what she’s on about,” I blatantly lied. “I’m not engaged.”

  My mother knew well I was lying. She whacked me over the head with her hand and the slap made my head spin.

  “You show me that ring Frances,” she shouted. I started to cry. I had to produce the ring. She took one look at it and said, “Right, I’ll take care of that for you. You’re far too young to be engaged.”

  Then she slapped me across the face and walked out of the room.

  The next evening Johnny called to the house after work and took me for a ride on his bike.

  “Where’s the ring I got you?”

  He noticed its absence immediately.

  “My Ma took it,” I said.

  He was furious. “That bitch,” he muttered under his breath. “You’ll have to get it off her.”

  My older sister Helen had recently become engaged too. She had been doing a line with a local lad for a couple of years. He was an apprentice and his wages weren’t great. They couldn’t afford a ring. I think that was why she told my mother. She was envious of me because she had no ring herself.

  Ma kept the ring for a few weeks and in the meantime I came up with a plan. I managed to persuade her to give it back to me on condition that I give it to Helen. Of course I had no intention of letting my sister wear it.

  My mother eventually gave in and as soon as I had it in my possession again I kept it. Johnny was pleased and my mother didn’t seem to care. Perhaps at that stage she had resigned herself to the fact that I was going to marry Johnny Smith come hell or high water. I think she secretly thought of it as a good thing; I’d be off her hands for once and for all.