Foreign Affairs

by Patricia Scanlan

  She woke the morning of the funeral to hear the rain pelting out of the heavens. She started to cry. There was nothing worse than watching a coffin being lowered into wet sodden ground.

  ‘You could at least have given her a fine day,’ she said bitterly to the small statue of the Sacred Heart that stood on her chest of drawers. Rachel felt sick to her stomach. The sickness of dread. The thought of the ordeal ahead made her heart pound. What if she fainted in the church and had to be carried out? What if she got hysterical at the grave and made a scene?

  ‘You can’t do it. You can’t make a show of yourself. Mam would be mortified and disgusted. You can’t let her down,’ she told her reflection in the mirror. She looked like death herself. Her eyes, red-rimmed, were sunk into her head. Big dark circles around them. She was as white as a ghost and her cheeks were sunken because she couldn’t eat. Maybe if she stopped eating she too would die. It was all she wanted. To die and be placed in the grave beside her mother. Her pain and grief would be over. She’d have no more worries. She’d never have to see her father again. It seemed like a very inviting solution. If she stopped taking the tranquillisers the doctor had prescribed for her and let them pile up for a couple of days she could take an overdose of them. Going to sleep and never waking up seemed like a very gentle way of committing suicide.

  There was no-one she wanted to live for. Not even Harry. Rachel felt terribly guilty about herself and Harry. If she hadn’t delayed to have coffee with him in Bewley’s she could have got an earlier bus home and been with her mother when she had the heart attack. Maybe if the doctor had come earlier, Theresa could have been saved. It was God’s way of punishing Rachel for all those lies she’d told about going away for the weekends when she’d been curled up in Harry’s big bed, doing things that were against the sixth commandment. If it wasn’t for her and her wicked ways Theresa might still be alive. No wonder God hadn’t listened to her prayers. Why should He when she’d been sinning away, Rachel thought miserably, racked with guilt.

  ‘Rachel, get up, you’ll be late.’ William knocked on the bedroom door, jerking her back to reality.

  ‘I’m coming,’ she said flatly.

  She didn’t faint in the church. She didn’t have hysterics in the graveyard. She just stood clutching Ronan’s hand tightly as she watched the undertakers lower Theresa’s shiny coffin into the dark dirty recesses of the earth. At that moment she felt more scared and alone than she’d ever felt before. Rachel knew those feelings would be with her always.

  Afterwards, some girls came over to Ronan to offer condolences. A lot of his friends had come from Dublin. His girlfriend, a gentle brown-eyed girl, squeezed Rachel’s hand and said she was very sorry. William curtly told Ronan that the graveside was neither the time nor the place to be chatting to girls, he was to go home with Rachel and make the tea for the mourners. Ronan was furious.

  As they moved around the kitchen, buttering brack and filling cups with tea, he looked at her and said quietly, ‘I’ve had it with him, Rach. Whether he likes it or not, I’m going to America for the summer. If you’ve any sense you’ll go and get a job in Dublin and stay with Harry and get out of here before he ruins your life like he ruined Mam’s. If you come back here in the summer to work in the Tea Rooms, you’ll never be free of him. There’s nothing here for us now. Nothing to keep us. Mam’s gone. She’d want you to go and be independent. She wanted you to live in college even after her heart attack last year. She was always saying it to me. She told me if anything happened to her, to make sure you left home and had a life of your own,’ Ronan said grimly.

  ‘That’s what I’m going to do. And you should do it too. As far as I’m concerned he . . .’ he jerked a thumb in the direction of the dining-room, where William was accepting condolences, ‘can get lost. If he thinks I’m working in that damned fruit farm one more summer, he’s got another think coming.’

  ‘No, son! I won’t allow it.’ William lowered his reading glasses and raised cold eyes to Ronan. Rachel looked on with apprehension.

  ‘I’m going, Dad, and that’s the end of it,’ Ronan said firmly.

  ‘I’ve just told you, Ronan. I will not permit it and I don’t want to hear another word on the matter. I can’t believe that you’re even thinking of such a thing and your mother only days in her grave.’ William’s tone was frosty. He picked up his paper and continued to read, signalling that that was the end of the conversation. It was a week after their mother’s funeral. Rachel was getting ready to go back to Dublin to take her exams. Ronan had just told his father that he was going to America to work for the summer holidays. The response was very much what he’d expected. He looked at Rachel and went upstairs. Rachel could hear him moving around his bedroom.

  Twenty minutes later he was downstairs. He had two rucksacks full of clothes and belongings. He ignored his father.

  ‘Goodbye, Rachel, I’ll see you in Dublin before I go,’ he said. He kissed her cheek. ‘Think about what I said.’ He stood at the back door and turned to address his father. ‘I’m going to America as soon as my exams are over, Dad, if you don’t like it there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll write to you. Whether you write back or not is entirely up to you.’ Rachel watched him leave and envied him his courage.

  ‘You can’t go back to Rathbarry for the summer. Don’t be daft, Rachel,’ Harry said crossly. Rachel had just taken her last exam and Harry was waiting for her when it was all over. She couldn’t even remember the questions, she thought in a daze, as she sat in a quiet corner of the Cat & Cage sipping a soda water and lime. Anyway she didn’t care whether she passed or failed. She didn’t care about anything any more.

  ‘Are you listening to me, Rachel?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Look, you’ve got to follow Ronan’s example. Rachel, you’re nineteen, you can’t live at home for ever.’

  ‘If I’d been at home when I should have been at home, maybe my mother might still be alive,’ Rachel said.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Rachel! Will you cut that out!’ Harry exploded. ‘You’re not responsible for your mother’s death. If I hear that once more I’ll blow a fuse. Stop thinking you’re being punished. You’ve done nothing to be punished for.’

  ‘I told her lies. She thought I was on field trips. And I wasn’t, I was in bed with you.’

  ‘Rachel, you’re still a virgin, for God’s sake. All you did was tell a few white lies because your da’s too unreasonable to allow you to live some sort of a life of your own. That’s no reason to be punished by God. He’s not much of a God if that’s the way you think he behaves. Grow up, Rachel.’

  ‘Will you leave me alone?’ Rachel snapped. ‘You’re telling me what to do. Ronan’s telling me what to do. My father’s telling me what to do. I wish you’d all bloody well leave me alone.’ She got up and stalked out of the pub.

  Harry raced after her. ‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.

  ‘I just want to be on my own for a while,’ she said heatedly. ‘I’m going to go and visit my mother’s grave. I need to be near her.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Harry offered.

  ‘No, Harry, I want to go on my own. I’ll see you.’

  ‘But are you going to come back to Dublin or what are you going to do?’ Harry asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Right now I don’t care,’ Rachel muttered.

  ‘What about me?’ Harry demanded.

  ‘God, you’re as bad as my father.’ She turned on him. ‘Doesn’t anyone care about me? Why are men so bloody selfish?’

  Harry threw his eyes up to heaven. He didn’t know how to cope with Rachel in this humour.

  ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow,’ he said evenly.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ She scowled and walked off towards the bus stop leaving Harry looking after her in dismay.

  Harry downed another pint. He felt like getting pissed. Rachel was a changed person and he didn’t know how to deal with her. It was obvious she was still very shocked by
her mother’s death. But why did she have to torture herself? He’d heard that when people were grieving they weren’t thinking straight at all. Rachel was the proof of that. She wouldn’t kiss him any more these days. She wouldn’t even let him put his arms around her to comfort her. She was in a very deep depression and he couldn’t seem to help her at all. It was extremely frustrating. Now that Ronan was gone, he was all she had left. Why wouldn’t she lean on him and let him help her? And why was she letting her father dictate to her still? Couldn’t she see that William was the major problem in her life? Harry scowled. The very thought of that man made him angry. Until Rachel stood up to him, she would never be free.

  William wrote out his list in his neat precise writing. It was time to get some routine back into his life. Theresa had gone to her just reward. He and Rachel would have to get on with it. There were only the two of them now. Ronan had made his choice and deserted his family. Theresa had been far too soft with their son, allowing him to go and live in Dublin had been a big mistake. Now William was suffering the consequences.

  He sighed deeply. Theresa had grown so stubborn in her later years. It must have been the medication. When he’d married her, she had been a docile gentle girl, content to bow to his greater knowledge. Well he might have failed with his son, but he still had a chance to mould his daughter. She too had taken advantage of her mother’s soft nature and William had not been able to prevent it, for fear of causing Theresa to collapse. Theresa was gone now. It was his responsibility to pull in the reins. He would not shirk his duty, no matter how Rachel resented it. She was seeing far too much of that Armstrong layabout. He was a bad influence. Ronan was the proof of that. Well Harry Armstrong wasn’t going to ruin his daughter’s life by putting notions in her head, William would make sure of that. She would thank him in the end. Someday, when she had children of her own, she would understand how hard it was to be a parent and she’d thank him. He looked forward to that day. With a self-righteous sniff, William replaced the top on his fountain pen and went to make himself a cup of tea.

  Rachel knelt at her mother’s grave, picking out the dead flowers and rearranging the wreaths more tidily. She felt deeply unhappy. Why had she treated Harry so badly? It almost seemed as if she was blaming him for her mother’s death. It wasn’t his fault. But why couldn’t he just give her a little peace? He wanted her to decide what she was doing for the summer. When she couldn’t even think straight. What was it about men? Ronan had taken off. He hadn’t thought that she could have done with his company for a while to help her cope with the loss of their mother. Her father . . . well he was a selfish bastard anyway, she thought bitterly. Maybe Harry and Ronan were right. Maybe she should leave home.

  ‘What should I do, Mam, what should I do?’ People said going to the grave gave comfort. It only made her feel worse, she thought as she sobbed quietly. A light drizzle started. Rachel stood up, wishing that she didn’t have to go home to the house that was so empty and cold without her mother. ‘I’d better go,’ she said. She stood very still, willing Theresa to send some miraculous message to her. They said those who were dead took care of the living, and that you could always sense the presence of someone you’d been very close to. Rachel couldn’t sense anything, she thought despairingly. She didn’t feel comforted or protected or reassured. She just felt completely and utterly alone.

  Her father was sitting at the kitchen table when she went in. ‘Ah, Rachel,’ he greeted her. ‘How did your exam go?’

  ‘I think it went all right,’ she said flatly.

  ‘I’m sure the examiners will take into consideration that you’ve been bereaved,’ he responded. ‘Now,’ he said, handing her a list. ‘We’ve got to get back into a routine. Your mother wouldn’t want us to fall to pieces without her. Now that you’re finished for the summer, I’ve made out a list of the dinners we could have on a weekly basis. Roast on Sunday, cold cuts on Monday. Pork chops on Thursday and so on. I’d prefer you to grill rather than fry. We’ll naturally have fish on Fridays.’ Rachel studied the list silently. He took her silence for assent.

  ‘By the way,’ he said stiffly, ‘that Armstrong bloke rang looking for you. I told him I’d prefer it if he didn’t get in touch again. I consider him to be an extremely bad influence and not the type of person you should consort with. I don’t want you to see him again.’

  ‘You had no business—’

  ‘That’s enough, Rachel, I don’t want any back cheek,’ William said sternly, pointing his finger at her, his eyes like two chips of ice. ‘I won’t allow you to treat me with disrespect as long as you are living under my roof. If that doesn’t suit you, go, like your brother.’

  Rachel stared at him. Her father was giving her an ultimatum. Stay under his thumb, or leave home and stand on her own two feet. Both choices filled her with dread. Wordlessly, she left the kitchen and walked upstairs to her mother’s room. She sat in the rocking-chair where Theresa had spent many hours. The room was as it had always been, with all her mother’s belongings dotted around. The silver-backed brush, comb and hand-mirror lay neatly on the dressing-table. The two little candlestick holders with the painted cherubs stood on the mantelpiece guarding the statue of the Sacred Heart. The scent of Theresa’s rosewater lingered. Rachel put her head in her hands and rocked backwards and forwards. She had a choice to make. Whatever choice she made was going to have a big effect on her whole future, she thought in apprehension. It looked as if she was going to have to decide between Harry and her father.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rachel hadn’t long to wait for the showdown. Two hours later she heard the doorbell ring, she knew it was Harry. William’s edict that Harry was not to contact Rachel would have been like a red rag to a bull to her boyfriend. Harry loathed her father because of the way he treated her and Ronan.

  She heard her father answer the door. Heard a sharp exchange of voices.

  ‘Rachel,’ she heard Harry call, ‘Rachel?’ She was too weary to feel anger, or dismay, or any other strong emotion. She walked slowly downstairs to where Harry stood on the doorstep.

  ‘Get your bags, Rachel,’ Harry ordered. ‘You’re coming with me.’

  ‘She’s doing no such thing, you good-for-nothing pup.’ William was puce with rage. ‘The . . . the unmitigated cheek of you to come and stand on my doorstep and back-answer me, after I expressly told you on the phone to stay away from Rachel. I’ve a good mind to have the law on you.’

  ‘Are you going to stand there and let him talk to me like that, Rachel?’ Harry said furiously. ‘Are you going to stand there and let this selfish ignorant bastard threaten me?’

  ‘By God, son, you go too far.’ William’s voice rose an octave to a high-pitched squeak. ‘Get off my doorstep and never darken my door again.’

  ‘Are you coming, Rachel? This is your last chance to make a decent life for yourself. Come to France with me for the summer, or go over to Ronan in America. Or do you want to stay here in Rathbarry and be nothing, and do nothing except dance to your father’s tune?’ Harry glared at her.

  She looked at them, her father purple with fury, Harry pale with anger. Rachel saw two men engaged in a mighty power struggle. And she was the pawn in their game. Much as she loved Harry, Rachel saw, with a sudden shock of recognition, that he was as much a control freak as her father. He enjoyed telling her what to do. He expected her to do what he said. They rarely argued because Harry went into a huff if he didn’t get his own way and she hated to see him annoyed. Harry was a kind, caring, protective young man. From the moment he’d rescued her from Patrick McKeown all those years ago he’d been her Prince Charming. But looking at him now, head to head in battle with her father, demanding that she leave with him, Rachel knew that if she left with Harry she would end up hating him. Harry would always see her as someone to be rescued, someone to be looked after, someone to be told what to do. She’d had enough of that to last her a lifetime. If she left Rathbarry, she was going to have to do it on her own.
r />   ‘Leave me alone, the two of you. Stop ordering me around. I’m sick of it,’ Rachel said tiredly.

  ‘If you don’t come with me, now, it’s over between us,’ Harry warned.

  ‘You’re as bad as he is for issuing ultimatums,’ Rachel declared angrily. ‘You’re as much a bully as he is.’ She pointed a finger at William, whose Adam’s apple was doing a marathon. ‘I’m not going to be bullied any more, by anyone,’ she said quietly, more to herself than to the two men standing in front of her.

  She walked back upstairs to her own bedroom and closed the door behind her. She was too drained to think. Her mother’s death had used up every ounce of emotion she had. She was too numb to feel anything. She undressed and got into bed, though it was still bright outside. She heard the front door close and Harry’s footsteps echo down the garden path but she felt nothing. Harry had behaved as badly as her father. When she heard her father knocking on her door and asking her if she wanted supper, she ignored him. She would finish her teacher training and get a job, and never, ever, feel dependent on any man again. She would use her father for her own purposes. Let him pay for her education and then someday, when he least expected it, she would turn around and tell him to sod off. She’d buy her own house in Dublin, she’d come and go as she pleased. And she would never set foot in her father’s house again. Her independence would be her greatest victory over all of them. Independence made you invincible, she thought as her eyelids drooped. Rachel lay in a half-stupor, banishing the world and all its worries from her mind, as she planned her great future, just as she’d done as a child.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘Well how did your first day at the new school go?’ Helen ran downstairs to give her niece a hug.