Foreign Affairs

by Patricia Scanlan

  ‘I hate you, I fucking hate you,’ Rachel screamed at her father. Tears streamed down her face. She wanted to fling her plate of dinner at him. She wanted to pick up her knife and stab him with it. All the years of pent-up anger, bitterness and resentment welled up and overflowed. ‘You’ve ruined my life, you’ve ruined my life. It’s all your fault,’ she sobbed.

  William was horrified. ‘Stop that! Stop that nonsense this minute, go to your room until you’ve composed yourself.’

  ‘Leave me alone and stop telling me what to do! Just leave me alone!’ Rachel screeched hysterically. Theresa gave a little gasp and went pale. She sank into her chair.

  ‘What’s wrong? What’s the matter, Theresa?’ William said sharply. ‘Rachel! Rachel! Help your mother.’ Rachel drew a shuddering sobbing breath and ran to Theresa’s side. Her mother was gasping.

  ‘Mam, Mam! What’s wrong?’ she asked frantically. Her mother didn’t answer. Theresa’s eyes rolled in her head and she fell unconscious.

  ‘I hope you’re satisfied,’ William said harshly. ‘Now look what you’ve caused with your selfishness.’ He ran out to phone the doctor.

  Oh God, please don’t let Mammy die, Rachel pleaded. I’ll stay at home and look after her. Please don’t let her die.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Theresa sat in the rocking-chair in her bedroom putting the finishing touches to Rachel’s ball gown. She felt tired. Ever since her heart attack a few weeks ago, she was finding it hard to get back to normal. She took off her glasses to rest her eyes and stared out the window. It was late afternoon. The September sun was slanting westwards towards the hills. The leaves on the oak trees in Daly’s garden had turned a deep red-gold. A faint breeze shook them to the ground, where they lay in crisp piles. Autumn had come early. The light filtered through her yellow and white bedroom casting warm shadows on the faded wallpaper. A sunbeam danced on the colourful patchwork quilt. She usually found peace and tranquillity sitting in her chair looking out over the goings-on in the village from her little eyrie. But not today.

  Theresa felt terribly depressed. Rachel absolutely refused to leave her and go to Dublin to live. If she had not collapsed, Theresa was sure Rachel would have defied William. It was the first time Rachel had ever stood up for herself. It should have been a turning point in her daughter’s life. Now she was even worse off than before. She’d never leave home as long as Theresa needed her. Theresa had become even more of her daughter’s jailer than William.

  Sadness overwhelmed her. She had so wanted Rachel to go to Dublin to spread her wings and enjoy her life. She wanted Rachel to do all the things she’d never done. Take the chances she’d never been offered. To go dancing and partying. To have holidays abroad. To learn to drive. Especially to learn to drive. Being able to drive gave a woman such independence. She’d asked William to teach her to drive once when the children were young. He wouldn’t hear of it and asked her why she wanted to learn to drive when he could drive her wherever she wanted to go. Theresa hadn’t asked again.

  It was different for women now. They were buying their own houses. Driving their own cars and going to the far corners of the earth on holidays and to work. They were edging up the career ladders, and having babies and still continuing to work. The worm had turned and if Theresa couldn’t reap some of the benefits, she badly wanted Rachel to. She wanted her daughter to do as much as she could and be as independent as she could. Rachel had had that chance. For one brief glorious moment it had been within her grasp. And then, her useless old mother had let her down. It was a guilt Theresa knew she’d carry with her to the grave. Theresa had begged her to reconsider but Rachel wouldn’t budge. ‘I’m not leaving you, Mam, I’d always be worrying. I’d much prefer to be with you. It’s nothing to do with him,’ she’d said earnestly.

  ‘Why didn’t You give her the chance You denied me?’ Theresa turned angrily to the statue of the Sacred Heart on the mantelpiece. ‘It wasn’t such a huge thing to ask.’ She was very angry with God these days. Angry and bitter. Her prayers gave her no succour any more. She was even beginning to doubt His existence. There were so many vile deeds happening in the world. So much violence. And not only in faraway places either. Every day on the news she heard of the troubles in the North, not much more than two hundred miles from where she lived. Why did He allow drugs to scourge the minds and bodies of so many young people? Why did He let young children and babies starve to death in famine-ridden countries? And even in her own little world, He caused grief. What had she done that was so dreadful that she’d been afflicted with a husband like William? True, he didn’t beat her or starve her and he was a good provider. But he was a cruel man just the same, imposing his will on the family as if it was his right. And just when Rachel had needed her most, God had given her a heart attack.

  Tears slid down her cheeks. ‘Jesus, do what you like with me but look after Rachel, she’s a good girl, she deserves a chance.’ Theresa dropped the dress and folded her hands in heartfelt prayer.

  ‘How’s your mam?’ Harry was home for the weekend and Rachel had just bumped into him as he came out of the shop. She was on her way home from work.

  ‘A bit better,’ Rachel said.

  ‘How are you?’ Harry gave her a concerned look.

  ‘I’m OK,’ she said glumly.

  ‘You look awful,’ he said kindly. That was all she needed to know. She knew that her hair needed a wash and her face was pale, and that she had big black circles around her eyes from lack of sleep. But to be told it, and by Harry, was the last straw. To her great horror her lower lip started to quiver. Mortified, she turned away.

  ‘Rach, Rachel! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Harry exclaimed in dismay. He took her by the arm and turned her to face him.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right.’ She tried to keep her voice steady, but the tears brimmed in her eyes.

  ‘Come on, let’s get out of here. Come on down behind the Ball Alley and we’ll have a fag,’ Harry said briskly. He took her hand and they walked across the street and turned down towards the Ball Alley. Luckily it was deserted.

  ‘I only meant that you looked very tired, I didn’t mean that you looked . . . awful . . . if you know what I mean,’ Harry tried to explain.

  ‘I know.’ Rachel sniffled, feeling like a real fool. ‘Don’t take any notice of me.’

  ‘Is it dreadful at home?’ Harry asked gently. The sympathy in his voice was too much for her and she started to cry again. Harry put his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

  ‘My father blames me for Mam’s heart attack,’ Rachel sobbed. ‘We were having a row about me going to live in college and she was standing up for me and I lost my temper and started cursing at my father and then she had the heart attack. It was all my fault.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, Rachel,’ Harry said firmly. ‘Get that idea out of your head. If it was anyone’s fault it was your father’s for being so unreasonable. And anyway your mother’s always had a weak heart, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Yeah. Ever since I was born. So it is my fault.’

  ‘Rachel. Stop that.’ Harry gave her a little shake. ‘Stop blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault. Your mother is very lucky to have a daughter like you.’

  Rachel rested her cheek against his chest. She could feel his heart beating steadily beneath the soft material of his sweater. It was very comforting being held by him. She had a lovely warm protected feeling. And she didn’t mind any more that her eyes were red from crying. She no longer felt embarrassed. Harry was a friend.

  ‘Do you want a cigarette?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Why not?’ She suddenly felt reckless. They walked over to the old weather-worn wooden seat that had been there since before they were born. Harry offered her his packet of Carrolls and she took one of the tipped cigarettes. Her hand shook as she placed it between her lips. Harry cupped the match with his hand and she bent her head to light her cigarette. This was how other girls behaved with
fellas. Maybe they didn’t burst into tears and sob all over them, but they let them light their cigarettes and sat chatting beside ball alleys with them. She began to feel much better as she cautiously inhaled the cigarette. She and Ronan had puffed a few on the sly, but she wasn’t what you’d call an experienced smoker and she didn’t want to make a show of herself.

  ‘How do you feel about getting the place in college?’ he asked, after lighting his own.

  Rachel shrugged. ‘When I went to do the interview I was excited. I met a very nice girl called Pauline and I was looking forward to living in the halls of residence. It was a great chance to get away. Now I couldn’t care less. It’s just going to be three years of swotting and all that travelling. I’m not really looking forward to it.’ Her tone was glum.

  ‘Would you still not think of living at college, now that your mother’s on the mend?’ he asked gently.

  ‘I couldn’t do that, Harry. I couldn’t leave her now. It might happen again. And besides,’ she added bitterly, ‘as long as my father’s paying for my education I have to do as he says.’

  ‘Don’t go to college. Get a job now,’ he suggested.

  Rachel shook her head. ‘I can’t. There’d be another huge row and I don’t want my mother upset. I’m stuck with teaching whether I like it or not.’

  ‘Are you looking forward to Friday?’ Harry smiled.

  ‘Yeah,’ Rachel said shyly. Next Friday was the Debs Ball.

  ‘Now listen,’ he said to her. ‘Next Friday, we’re going to have a great night. Ronan’s going to come to the hotel with Kate Ryan and when the meal is over we can go and have a drink with them. I’m sure they’ll be allowed in to dance if we say they’re with us. We had it all planned to give you a surprise, but I think you need a bit of cheering up. But don’t let on to Ronan that I’ve told you. OK?’ he warned.

  ‘OK,’ Rachel agreed. She was delighted that Ronan was coming to the dance with Kate Ryan. Kate was a very jolly sort of girl. Ronan and she weren’t dating, but they were great pals. They should all have a bit of a laugh. Glenda and Mary and Eileen could go and get lost. Harry was taking her to the ball, it couldn’t but be a great night.

  Harry walked through Rachel’s front gate, scowling. He had just walked her home and had called in to see her mother. Mrs Stapleton had been delighted to see him and insisted he have a cup of tea and some cake. He’d been shocked at how thin and worn she looked. Ronan had told him all about the row and the heart attack, that was why he had been so kind to Rachel earlier.

  They had their chat, and a laugh. Mrs Stapleton was a quiet sort of woman but she had a good sense of humour. Harry liked her. The headmaster hadn’t been around, much to his relief, and he’d stayed a half an hour. But as Harry was walking down the path, Mr Stapleton opened the garden gate. He didn’t look too pleased to see Harry.

  ‘Hello,’ he said curtly.

  ‘Hello, Mr Stapleton,’ Harry’d said politely and then the ignorant old bastard said brusquely, ‘I hope you’re not putting notions in my daughter’s head about going to Dublin. Her mother needs her here. You’ve certainly tried to get Ronan to defy me by leaving his digs. Well son, I won’t have it. So be warned.’

  What a bastard, Harry thought as he strode down the street. Imagine having him for a father. Why Ronan hadn’t clocked him one before now he couldn’t fathom. He’d felt like giving him a puck in the jaw for his impudence. Who did he think he was talking to? A ten-year-old?

  It was a terrible shame Mrs Stapleton had that heart attack. Harry was sure that he and Ronan could have persuaded Rachel to live in St Pat’s. Her father would have given in in the end. He wanted her to be a teacher so much. To follow in his tradition. If Rachel had told him she was leaving home to get a job in the city he’d have crumbled. Just the way he had with Ronan. Harry knew it. He had the measure of William Stapleton. A bully until someone stood up to him. Except that it would have upset Rachel and her mother, Harry would have told him where to get off. But he didn’t want to jeopardize Rachel’s big night out. The poor girl hadn’t much to look forward to.

  Nevertheless, it would have been nice to excoriate William in an argument. Harry was particularly good at debate. Training to be a solicitor helped. He knew how to make his points and undermine the other person’s argument. He could have wiped the floor with that old rip. Harry marched on, oblivious to everyone as he imagined how he would have floored William Stapleton.

  ‘Harry’s a very nice lad, Rachel, I must say,’ Theresa said as she washed up after their cup of tea. Rachel smiled as she dried up the cups and put them on the dresser.

  ‘I’m really looking forward to my Debs,’ she confided. ‘Harry told me that he and Ronan had it planned that Ronan and Kate will come to the hotel after the meal. I’m not to let on to Ronan that I know. Wasn’t that nice of them?’

  ‘You’ll have a wonderful night, pet. I know you will. I have the dress just finished. You picked lovely material.’ Theresa dried her hands. ‘Come on, let’s go and have a try-on. I only have to put on a bit of binding and I’ll be finished.’

  ‘I wished you’d been with me. I was looking forward to that day out.’ Rachel gave her mother a hug.

  ‘We’ll have other days, don’t worry,’ her mother assured her. ‘I’m feeling much better.’

  ‘Are you?’ Rachel asked eagerly. ‘Is your energy coming back?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ fibbed her mother.

  ‘That’s great news, Mam. I was feeling real down in the dumps today, and then I met Harry on the way home. And now you’re feeling better, so it’s turning into a good day.’

  ‘Wait until you see the dress.’ Theresa laughed. ‘It’s gorgeous. It’ll really put the icing on the cake for you. Come on, I can’t wait to show it to you.’

  ‘Here’s Da,’ Rachel sighed. ‘I’d better make his tea for him.’

  ‘Let him make it himself,’ Theresa declared. ‘It won’t do him a bit of harm.’ Since her heart attack, her mother didn’t run around after William the way she once did, Rachel noted. As for her own relationship with her father . . . they hardly spoke. Rachel would never forgive him for the row that led to her mother’s collapse. She was polite to him for her mother’s sake, but when they were alone she ignored him and he did the same.

  ‘What did that Armstrong fella want?’ William enquired as he walked into the kitchen.

  ‘I invited him in for a cup of tea,’ Theresa said coldly. ‘There’s a tin of salmon in the dresser and tomatoes and cheese in the fridge if you want them for your tea.’

  William looked at her, affronted. ‘Where are you two off to? Surely Rachel could make my tea for me if you’re too tired.’

  ‘Rachel’s been working all day. She made our tea and now she’s going to help me to finish off her Debs dress. There’s some fruit cake in the cake tin,’ Theresa snapped. Rachel said nothing, but she didn’t miss the glare her father gave her.

  Let him glare, she thought. He wouldn’t start a row now, he was as scared as she was about Theresa having another heart attack. For all his bossiness and self-importance, he was hopeless around the house and sorely missed his wife’s pampering when she was laid up. Rachel hadn’t put herself out for him. She’d concentrated on looking after her mother.

  They left William and went upstairs to Theresa’s bedroom. The dress lay on the bed, a froth of white taffeta. It was the most beautiful dress Rachel had ever seen. And the most sophisticated. She’d picked the pattern especially for its glamorous sweetheart neckline, nipped-in waist and full skirt. She’d bought a pair of long white gloves to set it off. Her mother was lending her an amethyst pendant and matching earrings.

  ‘Slip it on,’ Theresa urged. Rachel undressed rapidly. Standing in her bra and panties, she stood patiently while her mother dropped the rustling material over her head. It slid sensuously down over her shoulders and breasts and hips. She pulled on the long white satin gloves. Her mother arranged the full skin and stood back to admire her handiwork. Her eyes lit up
at the vision in front of her. ‘Oh Rachel!’ she said proudly. ‘Pet, you look beautiful. Wait until Harry sees you.’ She led Rachel to the cheval mirror in the corner of the room and stood behind her. Rachel stared at her reflection in the mirror. Even with her glasses on she looked completely different. The bodice fitted like a glove, emphasizing the slender curves of her body. She’d never really considered her figure attractive, but looking at her reflection in the mirror, she saw with a little sense of shock that she looked very womanly. A little bit sexy even, she thought with delight, admiring her discreet décolletage.

  She felt like a million dollars. Rachel did a twirl of delight, spreading her flowing skirts, as her mother looked on with pleasure. Today, Harry’d put his arms around her. Next Friday, when he saw her in this, he might even kiss her. That night, she lay in bed practising her kissing. She covered her forearm with hot wet kisses, pretending it was Harry she was kissing. In a week’s time, if all went well, it wouldn’t be pretend kisses she’d be doing. If her greatest dream came true, she’d be kissing Harry.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A dab of Apple Blossom on her wrists, neck and cleavage and, like Cinderella, she was ready for the ball. Rachel took a critical look at her reflection . . . and was happy. She’d never looked as well in her life. It was a far cry from her usual dull, uninteresting appearance. Mind, it had taken a lot of practice. When she’d first started experimenting with make-up, she’d ended up looking like a clown. Put on less, her mother advised when Rachel asked her what she thought. At first she resisted, much preferring to slather lots of the stuff on her face, but gradually she took her mother’s advice and soon she was looking more presentable.

  Tonight, she wasn’t wearing her glasses and she was wearing a smoky grey-blue eyeshadow to emphasize the blueness of her eyes. Rachel was pleased with the effect she’d achieved. Although she rarely used eyeshadow, she’d taken note of an article in Woman’s Way that showed how to smudge and blend and put the darker shade on the outer part of the eyelid, to make the eyes seem bigger. She was also wearing make-up, and she marvelled at the smooth silky sheen it gave her skin. She’d used a very small amount of blusher too. Her lips glistened with Dusky Rose lipstick. Excitement mounted as she fastened the amethyst pendant around her neck. She had terrible butterflies in her stomach. She had blotches on her neck. Hastily she applied some make-up to cover them. They were a dead give-away that she was nervous. Tonight she wanted to appear calm and sophisticated. She wished the butterflies would do a flit elsewhere. Just say Harry didn’t arrive. What would she do then?