Careful not to show up the nuns, I blessed myself and thanked God for the wonderful food. Then, very politely, I began to eat my sandwiches and drink my tea.
‘Your manners are wonderful. The good sisters are doing such a good job with all these wee orphans they take in, don’t ye think so, Tom?’
‘They’re doing a grand job, Siobhan. I hope the girls appreciate it. Where would they be if it weren’t for the Church?’
I said nothing, not wanting to be sent back to the convent.
For me, the food was a feast. Everything tasted so wonderful compared to the convent food, and I ate until I couldn’t fit any more in. I blessed myself again and thanked God for providing the food. Then I took my cup and plate to the large square sink under the kitchen window.
‘Just put them on the draining board,’ Siobhan said.
The back door opened, and a man walked in, banging the door behind him. He panted and puffed as he struggled to remove his wellies.
‘This is Barry, my husband,’ Siobhan told me. ‘He’s been working on the farm. Tom will show you around later. Do you like animals?’
‘Yes, I think so. I’m not sure.’ I felt embarrassed and went red. It seemed such a simple question. Surely I should know if I liked animals or not, but the fact was, I’d never come into contact with any.
‘Never mind,’ said Barry. ‘You’ll like them well enough before you go back to the good sisters.’ He sat down, still breathing heavily.
Siobhan poured him a mug of tea and put it on the table in front of him. Barry was different to his brother. Both men were big, but much of Barry’s bulk was clearly the result of overeating, and he obviously loved his wife’s cooking. His belly pushed his braces so far apart that they sat on either side of it, instead of going over his shoulders and straight down the front.
I listened while the two men talked, mostly about horse-racing. Tom said he’d put the bets on and that the bookies had been packed. Barry looked excited as Tom reached into his inside pocket and brought out some slips of paper. He said had a really good feeling about them.
I could hear children shouting in another part of the bungalow. It sounded as if they were playing. Suddenly, Tom got up, disappeared out through a door and shouted at the kids to stop the racket and come and say hello to their visitor. He came back closely followed by three young boys. I put their ages at about six, seven and ten. All three were dressed in a similar fashion, with tank tops over their shirts and patches on the knees of their brown corduroy trousers.
‘Hello,’ said the oldest boy, smiling.
‘Hello,’ said the two younger ones.
‘Hello,’ I said. For a few seconds we stood around, staring at each other and feeling awkward.
‘This is Jimmy, Sean and Jerome, my youngest three boys,’ said Barry, pointing them out. I could see he was very proud of them. ‘You’ll meet Edward and Declan and Maggie later. And this is Frances,’ he added. ‘She’ll be staying with us for a wee while. Now put on your wellies and we’ll show her around the farm.’
The boys raced across the room and, after much pushing and shoving, recovered their boots from a pile next to the back door. Meanwhile, Barry pulled himself to his feet using the kitchen table for support. Jerome brought over his dad’s wellies and put them down in front of him. Still gripping on to the table, Barry stepped into them. It seemed to take a huge effort, and he was out of breath by the time he’d walked out of the back door with the boys in tow. Tom tagged along, holding my hand.
The first thing I noticed was a loud squealing, the second was an awful smell. Tom explained that this was a pig farm and that there were a lot of newly born piglets. The squealing got louder as we approached a sty – and the smell became almost unbearable. I put my hand up to cover my nose, which helped a bit but not much. The baby pigs were lovely, but I didn’t like the look of the big ones. Some of them looked really mean. None of the Murphys seemed to notice the smell or the noise.
Next to the pigsties were two large old barns full of bales of hay. The bales were stacked up high, with a gap at the top. Resting up against one of the haystacks was a long wooden ladder.
‘Do ye want to go up and see where the cat has its kittens?’ Jerome asked me.
‘Yes!’ I followed him up the ladder and across the hay.
‘They’re just here,’ he said, pointing.
A black cat was curled up on a tartan blanket with five tiny kittens nestled around her.
‘They’re only a week old,’ said a voice behind me. Not wanting to miss out, Jimmy and Sean had climbed up to join us.
I loved being up so high on the hay, and the smell was much cleaner. ‘They’re lovely,’ I said softly, so as not to disturb them.
Jerome picked two of them up and handed them to me. They were so tiny and warm. I stroked them for a minute and handed them back. Then Tom called for us to come back down the ladder again. I was down first, and as I watched the boys come after me, I was surprised to realise that I already felt comfortable with them. It was years since I’d even seen a boy, let alone talked to one.
Outside the barn, some hens and a few roosters ran freely, but the majority were secured in the chicken coop across from the barn.
‘You can collect the eggs with me in the morning if you want,’ said Tom, like it was a really exciting thing to do.
I smiled but said nothing; I didn’t know if I wanted to get that close to the hens.
‘Let’s get inside. The racing will be on soon,’ Barry wheezed.
The boys led me through the kitchen into the living room, where they got up onto a long brown-and-beige sofa that ran along the wall facing the fireplace. The fire was lit and framed by a tiled mantelpiece. To the left of the fireplace was a comfy armchair with cushions. To the right, in the corner of the room, there was a relatively new black-and-white television set. I’d never seen a television before, although some of the daygirls at the convent had them and talked about the programmes. I couldn’t wait to watch something.
Barry came in, pulled out a chair and sat himself down facing the television, with his betting slips beside him. Siobhan whispered to me that the chair by the fire was Tom’s and he didn’t like anyone else sitting in it. Then Tom came in, switched on the television and started messing about with the aerial. A crackly voice announced that the racing was coming up next.
‘That’s the best I can do,’ he mumbled a minute or so later, returning to his chair by the fire. After rearranging his cushions and relighting his pipe, he looked over at me. ‘Come and sit on my lap,’ he said, holding out his arms.
I did as he asked and walked across to him. He lifted me up onto his knee. It was nice and warm over by the fire, and I sat contentedly, watching the telly. When the racing started, the boys rushed off to their room to play, but Tom and Barry couldn’t take their eyes off the fuzzy screen, and soon both men grew tense and excited. The horses were being led into their boxes, ready for the start; they’d spotted the ones they had bets on and their eyes were glued to them.
The race began, and they shouted encouragement, urging their horses to win. Barry looked as though he wouldn’t be able to contain himself until the end of the race. His face was flushed bright red and sweating. ‘Come on boy, come on!’ he kept shouting at the telly.
I couldn’t tell who was winning but hoped that one of their horses won or else they might get into a bad mood. Suddenly, I became aware of Tom rubbing his hand up and down my leg. It made me feel very uncomfortable, especially when his hand went up under my dress. Turning to look at him, I was surprised to see his eyes still fixed on the television screen, as if nothing unusual were happening.
‘I need to go to the toilet, please,’ I said, jumping down off his knee.
‘I’ll show you where the bathroom is,’ shouted Siobhan, coming in from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron and led me out of the room.
When I got back, a smartly dressed young man in his early twenties was sitting on the couch – Edward,
one of the older Murphy sons.
‘And you must be Frances.’ He shook me by the hand and began to tell me about himself and his job in town.
I had no idea of what to say back but found myself liking him straight away. He told me that the beautiful flowerbeds along the path to the bungalow were all his work. He spent the weekends tending them – plants were his passion, and he came to life when he spoke about them. I enjoyed listening to him talk and sensed that he was going to become a good friend.
Our conversation came to an abrupt end when Barry shouted, ‘I’ve won, I’ve won!’ and waved a betting slip around in front of Tom. One of his horses had come in first.
‘Well done, Dad,’ yelled Edward from the couch.
The younger boys all came running in, shouting, ‘How much did you win, Dad?’
I wasn’t used to this level of excitement around me. With everything else that had happened that day, it was becoming hard to take it all in. Barry wasn’t saying how much he’d won, just that it was ‘a good bit of money’. Siobhan came in to calm everyone down and tell us that dinner was ready.
Edward and his brothers ran to the kitchen, but Tom and Barry stayed to wait for the next race. I didn’t know what to do, so I stayed on the couch. A few moments later, Siobhan arrived back with Barry’s dinner and put it on the living-room table. She went out and reappeared with Tom’s dinner, which she put on his knee.
‘Would you like yours on a tray, Frances?’ she said.
‘Yes, please,’ I said, although I was really quite reluctant to be left in the room with Tom.
A few moments later Siobhan came back to the living room with a rather solemn-looking, overweight teenage girl.
‘This is my daughter, Maggie. She’s just back from town.’
I smiled at the plump teenager. ‘Hello, I’m pleased to meet you,’ I said politely.
Maggie tried to crack a smile, but it was clearly an effort. She didn’t seem happy with the idea of me being in her home.
Siobhan told Maggie to go and have her dinner before it got cold. Mother and daughter disappeared into the kitchen. After such a long day the smell of good food was making me feel really hungry, so I was delighted when Siobhan returned with a tray for me. The large plate of real Irish stew looked and smelt great, and after a quick blessing I was soon tucking into it. It was scrumptious, a world away from convent food. I enjoyed every mouthful, and before long my plate was scraped clean. I sat for a while with the tray on my knee, feeling bloated and very happy to be out of the convent.
Barry and Tom finished their dinners and began shouting again at the telly. ‘Come on boy! Come on, come on!’ The race was nearly over, but I couldn’t see the screen because they were both on their feet right in front of it. ‘Come on, boy!’ they shouted.
The race ended and their horse came in second, but they seemed happy enough. Edward came back and congratulated his father and uncle. Siobhan followed him in but didn’t seem the least interested in the result. She took away my tray and praised me for eating all my dinner. ‘That should fatten ye up,’ she added.
Edward sat down next to me. ‘There’s a film on now,’ he said. ‘Would ye like sit on my knee to watch it?’
The boys came in from the kitchen and sat down wherever there was an empty space. I had no idea what a film was, but everyone seemed excited about it, so I felt sure it must be something good. In fact, I couldn’t wait to see it. I liked Edward and would much rather sit with him than be anywhere near Tom, so I climbed onto his lap, and we made ourselves comfortable. I couldn’t remember ever having felt so content.
Tom started messing around with the aerial again. The picture was perfect when he held it above his head, but as soon as he set it on top of the television, it went fuzzy again. This pantomime went on for several minutes, until eventually he was satisfied that the picture wasn’t going to get any better. By this time Singing in the Rain had already started.
The film amazed me. The singing, dancing and music; all of it was new to me. In fact, almost everything that day had been a new experience. Everyone, except for Maggie, appeared engrossed. She, on the other hand, was sulking at the other end of the couch, wearing the same discontented expression she’d worn when she met me. Every now and then she’d let out a sigh and look at her parents for some sort of reaction, but they were either too caught up in the film to notice or deliberately ignoring her. At one point, our eyes met and she gave me a really bad look, as if to say, ‘What are you doing here, with my family?’ I quickly turned my attention back to the film.
It had been an exciting but exhausting day, and I found myself falling asleep on Edward’s lap before the film had ended. I tried really hard to keep my eyes open but eventually gave in and let myself go, missing the final scenes. It was my first day out of the convent and my first day on a farm, and the sense of space and freedom had at times felt overwhelming, much as I had loved it. What’s more, new faces were rare at the convent – the new girls generally arrived in ones or twos at irregular intervals – and today I’d met more people than I might normally meet in several months or even a year.
I loved the countryside, and of course the food was delicious. I’d never imagined that food could taste so wonderful. Apart from that brief incident with Tom, it had been an almost perfect day. But it had also been physically and emotionally exhausting, and I was so tired that I didn’t stir when Edward lifted me up and carried me to bed.
CHAPTER 10
The Swing
Sometime during that first night my sleep was disturbed by a rocking motion, and I had a weird sense of something moving between the tops of my legs. Terrified, I opened my eyes. It was very dark, and for a minute or two I couldn’t think where I was. Then I remembered that I was at the Murphys’ farm. But obviously I wasn’t asleep on Edward’s knee any more. Instead, I was in bed with someone, and I didn’t know who it was, although something told me it was either Tom or Barry. Whoever it was, they were naked and so was I.
I was petrified. Pretending to be asleep, I rolled over to the edge of the bed, away from whoever it was, but that just made things a whole lot worse. Suddenly, I found myself being lifted up and twisted around until I lay face down on the man’s belly, my head resting on a musky, hairy chest. I wanted to scream out but was too frightened to make a sound. Instead, I rolled back onto the bed and lay as far away from him as I could get, hoping that he would just leave me to sleep.
‘Frances, it’s Uncle Tom, darling. Come on now, come for a nice cuddle.’
I said nothing. I felt his breath on my neck and shoulders. It smelt of stale tobacco and whisky, and I wanted to be sick. Once more I felt myself being lifted up and placed on his belly. His calloused hands stroked my back and buttocks, and he began to rock me, quite roughly, backwards and forwards against something long and hard between his legs.
‘There now, that’s my good girl.’ He kept saying it, but everything about what was happening felt bad and wrong and nothing like a cuddle.
‘No, I’m going to be sick in a minute,’ I pleaded several times, but he took no notice. Instead, the rocking got faster. The springs in the bed made loud squeaking noises. I started to panic, and it felt like I was going to suffocate with fear and disgust.
‘Just a wee while longer,’ he said, still rocking me back and forth on top of his revolting sweaty body.
A few minutes later he rolled me onto the bed, where I lay quietly crying to myself. The bed went on rocking, and the springs continued to squeak – he was obviously still doing something. I didn’t want to think about it. I shut my eyes really tight and tried to think about something else, but it was impossible to blank out what had just happened, even though I was used to being treated like I didn’t matter. Oh, why was I born a Reilly? I wondered if life might have been different if I’d been called something else. Perhaps this was the reason bad stuff kept happening. The nuns always said, ‘Reilly!’ as if referring to a piece of shit, and that was exactly how I felt right now.
> The bed stopped moving. I lay very still, praying that he wouldn’t touch me again. He got up and left the room. The light shining from the hall made it easier to see around the room, and I took a good look at my surroundings. The furniture was old and didn’t look right in the new bungalow. I made out a patchwork pattern on the bed cover. On a rickety bedside locker next to the bed was a collection of some of Tom’s pipes, along with an ashtray and a mug. In the corner of the room, his clothes had been spread over an worn green armchair. Seeing them, I felt sick again. I heard the toilet flush and the sound of his footsteps coming back, so I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.
He shut the door, and the room returned to darkness. He fumbled about before he got back into the bed and then moved around, making himself comfortable. Finally, he began to snore, and I relaxed a little bit, although I knew that with everything that was going on in my head, sleep would come much harder to me than it had to Tom. Also, I was afraid to sleep, in case he woke up. But he didn’t stir. He just lay there, snoring.
When daylight started to peek through the curtains, I sat up and scanned the room for my clothes. I really needed to get dressed. Unable to locate them, I started to panic. I had to find them before the house started to wake, before I could go to the toilet and, most importantly, before Tom woke up. I decided to sneak out of bed and have a better look around. My feet touched the floor, and I felt some bunched-up material beneath my soles. My clothes! I hadn’t thought to look down there. Relieved, I dressed quickly and crept out of the bedroom down the hall to the bathroom, where I slid the lock across the door. There was no way I was leaving until the rest of the house got up.
With nothing to do but sit and think, the time passed really slowly. I was shattered and kept dozing off, so I grabbed one of the boy’s dressing gowns from a hook on the back of the door, wrapped myself up in it and lay down on the floor to sleep. It didn’t feel like I’d been there long when I heard the handle of the door being turned.
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