Foreign Affairs

by Patricia Scanlan

  She caught the bus by the skin of her teeth, and was lucky to get a seat upstairs. A few stops further on and the bus would be jam-packed. Rachel flicked through her magazine in a desultory manner but she couldn’t concentrate. She sat back and peered out the window. It was raining heavily. The rain hopped off the surface of the Liffey causing little ripples. The tide was high. One of the Guinness boats down on City Quay gave a mournful hoot. Rachel turned and watched as the ship steamed slowly down river on her journey to Liverpool. She’d like to go on a ship sometime. A cruise would be exotic. She wished she was brave like Ronan’s girlfriend, Jennifer. She lived in Spain on her own. Ronan was mad about her. It was just as well Rachel liked Jennifer. Imagine if Ronan got married to someone she didn’t like. That would be a disaster. Harry had a brother-in-law he couldn’t stand and he rarely saw his sister because of it. He’d told Rachel that it put an awful strain on the family. His mother was very upset by it all.

  Ronan was all she had. William didn’t count. Jennifer would be well able for William Stapleton. Jennifer was an independent young woman with a mind of her own. Rachel admired her enormously. William would not bully Jennifer.

  Rachel wondered if he was still sitting in the car waiting for her.

  She and Pauline were off early because one of their lecturers was sick. William didn’t know that, of course. He’d wait patiently until five-thirty when she should have been finished. Good enough for him, Rachel gave a little smile. She hadn’t asked him to come and collect her.

  She decided to treat herself to a taxi from Bray. She’d be home in no time then. She looked at her watch. It was just gone five. The traffic was still moving well. By the time William left, it would be bumper to bumper. That would teach him to pull a fast one on her again, Rachel thought grimly. She’d be on the look-out for him in future on Friday evenings.

  An hour and a half later, she put a match to the fire in the parlour. William had set it. While she waited for it to light up, she went out to the kitchen and made herself a pile of hot buttered toast, and opened a tin of pilchards. She made a mug of milky coffee, put everything on a tray and went in and sat in front of the fire and switched on the TV. She had a thoroughly enjoyable tea in front of the blazing fire. It was lashing rain and knowing that her father was sitting in a traffic jam somewhere, and knowing that she’d got the better of him, was very satisfying. She washed up, made herself another cup of coffee and sat contentedly munching a packet of chocolate biscuits as she watched the weather forecast and saw that it was going to be a wet weekend.

  ‘What are you doing home?’ Rachel started out of her doze to find her father glaring at her.

  ‘Pardon?’ She pretended innocence.

  ‘Do you realize I went all the way to Dublin to collect you, out of the goodness of my heart? I had to sit in a traffic jam three miles long at Shankill,’ William fumed. His hair was wet, where he’d got drenched coming from the car to the house. His glasses were dripping. He took them off and peered at her as he wiped them.

  ‘What way did you come out of college?’ he demanded.

  ‘The usual way,’ Rachel said offhandedly.

  ‘Well how come I didn’t see you?’ he snapped.

  Rachel shrugged. ‘We were off early and I got a lift to town. I didn’t know you were coming to collect me.’ There was no answer to that.

  ‘I’ve got some eggs for the tea. You can boil them or poach them,’ he said coldly.

  ‘Oh, I’ve had my tea, thanks. I’m just heading upstairs to work on an essay,’ she fibbed. She knew very well he expected her to cook his tea for him. Well he had another think coming. She was in a reckless mood having got the better of him. Rachel marched upstairs.

  She hadn’t the slightest notion of doing an essay. She rooted in her rucksack and pulled out the Georgette Heyer romance that she’d started reading the day before. Rachel closed the door of her little haven behind her. It was a horrible night out. The branches of the oak tree flicked against the windowpane. The rain was coming down in torrents and the wind whistled down the chimney. Rachel kicked off her shoes, slid under her quilt, switched on the bedside lamp and settled down to a quiet read. It had been a good week, she mused. She loved living in the Glen. She’d outwitted her father, who wouldn’t be so quick to take her for granted again, and she’d had a nice few hours of peace and quiet to enjoy her tea. Up yours, Dad. She mentally gave William the two fingers as she found her page and started to read.

  Rachel found life much easier as a residential student. She’d been extremely lucky to get a room. Second and third year students sometimes had to get flats off the campus depending on the number of first year students arriving. Fortunately for her, there’d been no such problems this year. She’d got a room with no trouble and she was spared the ordeal of having to put up with her father on top of the stress of taking her finals.

  Rachel liked the freedom of living to suit herself. It was nice not to have to traipse into town to get the bus home after lectures. It was wonderful not having to get up at six-thirty in the morning. It was a treat to turn over on cold dark wintry mornings, knowing that she could lie in until quarter to nine if she wanted. It only took five minutes to walk across to the college.

  In college, there was no such thing as ‘Thursday is pork chop day’ either. Rachel developed a taste for Kentucky fried chicken. She frequented the fast food restaurant across the street with great regularity. She took to pizzas and curries with gusto and soon had almost forgotten what pork chops tasted like. She enjoyed the chats and gossips in the kitchen over coffee. It was interesting to watch the various romantic entanglements on campus. Hearts were broken. Tiffs and rows occurred. Rachel was fascinated by it all. It was like being part of a big family. A unique experience for someone as lonely as she’d been for most of her life. How she would have loved to share it with her mother.

  She wasn’t as outgoing and gregarious as Pauline but Rachel went to discos and parties. Her life was positively hectic compared to the one she’d lived at home. Rachel kept herself occupied because it stopped her thinking about her mother. Time had dulled the shock and trauma Rachel had gone through over her mother’s death but grief and loneliness were very near the surface. It wasn’t as bad when she was in Dublin. But it hit her afresh every time she walked in the door at weekends, how empty and lonely the house was without her mother.

  William took care of himself perfectly well the weekdays she was in Dublin. But the minute she arrived home, he expected her to cook his meals for him. He also expected his weekly laundry to be washed, dried and ironed for him. Rachel resented it greatly. Sometimes she tried to make a stand, saying she had too much study to do, but the hassle she got was not worth it, so she gritted her teeth and got on with it.

  Her father had been very cool with her since she’d made her stand about living in college. He never asked about her life on campus and she never told him. There wasn’t much conversation between them. It didn’t bother Rachel. She had no feelings of affection for her father. She endured his sarcasm, his put-downs and his constant undermining of her self-confidence with silent passivity, but inwardly she raged. She still could not engage her father in a row. His aura of authority had not diminished. If anything it had increased. As soon as she stepped in the front door on Friday evenings, her father let her know that no matter how independent she thought she was during the week, he was in charge once she was home. It was easier to say nothing. It always had been. She comforted herself with the thought that the time would come when she could pack her bags, leave home and never come back.

  Her last year at St Pat’s flew by. As she packed her case Rachel didn’t feel one bit excited or exhilarated to know that her three years of study were finally at an end. She wrapped the photograph of her mother in tissue paper and gently laid it on the towels in her case. It was hard to believe that her year in the Glen was over. The exams had been tough, but Rachel was confident of passing. She sighed as she zipped her case shut. It had been very ea
sy to live at college. It was a protected sort of environment. She could make her forays into the big bad world. She could dip in and out of college social life as it suited her. She would have to make her own social life from now on. The thought intimidated her. She wouldn’t have Pauline to lean on any more. Pauline had decided she was going to work abroad and had got a teaching job in Singapore through a business contact of her father’s. She couldn’t wait to start. Rachel admired her. And envied her. Pauline wasn’t the slightest bit nervous. She was eagerly anticipating her great adventure. If Rachel was in her shoes she’d be a nervous wreck.

  Rachel knew that, for the time being, she was going to have to continue living at home. She had accepted a job as sub in St Catherine’s for a teacher who was going on maternity leave. In the meantime she’d applied for several advertised permanent positions. Getting the sub’s job in Bray made life easy for her. It was a safe job. She wouldn’t be testing herself like Pauline would. Apart from teaching a class of her own, she wouldn’t be experiencing anything new. She knew, even as she accepted the job, that she was being chicken.

  Rachel was disappointed with herself. She could have refused the job. She’d have got one somewhere else. But no, she’d grabbed it like a safety net. It gave her a great excuse not to go out and confront the world. After all her brave talk and plans she’d gone scuttling back home like a little crab seeking shelter. Where was her courage when she needed it most? Why was she so scared of depending on her own resources to see her through? Was she scared that she wouldn’t make it on her own? If she didn’t try she’d never know the truth of it, Rachel told herself sternly.

  The job in St Catherine’s was a stop-gap, she promised herself over and over to try and erase the sense of failure she was already feeling. She’d save the money she made there and buy herself a car. That would be her first step on the road to independence. Then, she’d take a job away from home. It was the only way she’d get out from under her father’s thumb. The sub’s job would give her a breathing space. But Rachel knew if she stayed at home she’d slip back into all her old introverted ways and all the little battles she’d won would be worth nothing.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Rachel stood in Room 4 of St Catherine’s and stared out the window. She could see children racing towards the entrance to the primary school. Some ran, others dawdled. Little ones held on to parents’ hands, some confident, some crying already. She was prepared for the day ahead. At least she wouldn’t have another teacher in the room with her. Or an examiner, assessing her performance. She’d have the examiner several times during the year as she had to get her diploma, but today she’d be on her own, trying to cope with twenty-five four-year-olds.

  She was glad to be at work. The summer had been long and boring. The weather hadn’t been great although she’d made the most of whatever sun was there, trying to top up her tan.

  She’d worked in the Tea Rooms as usual and it had been a good season for the Misses Healy, but Rachel had felt stultifyingly bored. If this was a foretaste of her life in Rathbarry, it wasn’t much to look forward to. But there was nothing in the world to stop her leaving home once she had a few bob saved. Her first priority was to buy herself a car.

  A woman and her little girl came into the classroom. Her first pupil, Rachel thought with pride.

  ‘Hello.’ Rachel knelt down and gave the little girl a smile. ‘What’s your name?’ The little girl stuck out her tongue.

  Oh God! Rachel thought crossly, although her smile never faltered. She hoped the rest of her charges weren’t going to be as surly. She gave the brat, whose name was Orla, a name badge and told her mortified mother not to worry.

  It was a sorely trying first hour. There were tears and arguments as well as two puddles of wee on the floor. Eventually Rachel got the infants seated around the round tables. Much better than the old two-seater desks, set in rows. The classroom was a much friendlier environment than she’d known as a child in her father’s school.

  Rachel had put bright posters and pictures on the walls and, once the last parent left and the tears subsided, she began to relax and take charge. To take their minds off their traumatic separations, she suggested a game of ‘I Spy.’ This proposal was received with delight and a riotous, noisy game ensued. Rachel observed her new charges. Already she could see who were the lively extrovert characters and those who were shy and timid. She would take a special interest in the shy ones. No-one knew better than she what it was like to be shy and timid at school.

  She’d seen one potential little bully hit another little boy who’d promptly started to howl.

  ‘That’s very naughty, Robert,’ Rachel said sternly. ‘Say sorry to Francis.’

  ‘Get lost,’ the little boy said truculently. Rachel marvelled at his insolence. Not even Patrick McKeown, the bully of her childhood years, would have told a teacher to get lost. It’s a good job you’re not in any class my father teaches, Rachel thought wryly.

  She turned to the rest of the class. ‘Robert will not be allowed to play any more games until he says sorry. No-one is to hit anybody else or teacher will get very cross.’ There was silence as twenty-five pairs of eyes stared solemnly at her. Her pupils were impressed by the note of authority in her tone, Rachel noted with satisfaction.

  ‘Is everyone going to be good?’

  ‘Yessss, teacher,’ came the chorus.

  ‘Right,’ Rachel said cheerfully. ‘Let’s have a game of musical alphabet. Mary, go up to my desk and bring me the big bag of letters, please,’ Rachel instructed a shy little girl who wasn’t joining in. The child hesitated. ‘They’re on my desk, pet, will you get them for me?’ Rachel said encouragingly. The small fair-haired child reminded her of her young self. The little girl went up to Rachel’s desk and brought her the letters.

  ‘Very good.’ Rachel smiled. ‘You’re such a good girl I’m going to make you the A girl.’ Rachel took the large cut-out A and pinned it to Mary’s uniform. The little girl was as proud as punch and smiled shyly. You won’t be shy when I’m finished with you, Rachel thought firmly. She was determined to imbue her shy pupils with as much confidence as she possibly could.

  Brazen as could be, Robert arrived up to her for his letter. ‘You haven’t said sorry to Francis yet, Robert. You can’t play any games until you’ve said sorry.’ They stared at each other.

  ‘’S not fair, I did nuttin’.’ He sulked.

  ‘No games until you say sorry to Francis,’ Rachel said resolutely.

  ‘Sorry,’ came the muttered grudging response. Rachel felt a surge of triumph. She knew it was vital to let her pupils know from the beginning that she was in charge.

  ‘I didn’t hear that, Robert. And it’s not me you have to say sorry to, it’s Francis,’ she insisted.

  ‘Sorry, Francis,’ Robert muttered. It was enough for her.

  ‘Here’s your letter, Robert,’ she said briskly. ‘No more hitting. Now everybody, let’s play musical alphabet.’ She took out her tin whistle and prepared for the learning game.

  A happy bunch of children greeted their parents at noon. Rachel was exhausted but very satisfied by her first day as a teacher. Most of her class would look forward to coming to school the next day. She had already promised them a game of musical numbers, since the musical alphabet had been such a success. They were all dying to hear another story from the huge book of Bible stories she had. Rachel was looking forward to it herself. The day had flown. She’d surmounted all its challenges. There’d been a good sense of cohesion in the class and already little bondings were taking place as her pupils began to make new friends. She would keep a sharp look-out for her shy children. Rachel was determined that her pupils would remember their schooldays as a happy positive time. Light years away from her own. She collected her coat from the staff room and had a chat with the other teachers, who were friendly and encouraging. She felt very pleased with herself as she cycled along the dual carriageway. It was a great boost to her confidence.

 
Her father was sitting at the kitchen table reading his paper. There was no sign of any lunch preparations. In future, Rachel decided, she was going to eat in Bray and just have a light tea when she got home. She wasn’t going to be a slave for her father. He was only five minutes from work. He didn’t have to face a long cycle after school. William’s curiosity got the better of him. ‘How did it go?’ he asked. Rachel was on such a high, she bubbled enthusiastically about her new pupils and the games of I Spy and musical alphabet. William eyed her coldly.

  ‘No wonder children are going into second-level education unable to read or write. This new-fangled method of teaching is totally unsuitable. Children need discipline and order. Running around classrooms playing musical chairs is arrant nonsense.’

  Rachel was furious. How typical of him to disparage her work. He couldn’t let her have her little moment of triumph. Not even once. How she loathed him. Vicious anger surged through her. He wasn’t going to get away with ruining her first day at work. She glared at her father. ‘Let me tell you one thing. My pupils are not going to be cowed by the bullying you call discipline. When I started school I felt sick every morning. I wet the bed. Well I can tell you, not one of those children is going to come into my class in the morning feeling as I felt. I can guarantee that. Today was fun for them, and they learned something. Those children aren’t afraid of me the way the poor unfortunates in your class are afraid of you. I’ll be a hell of a better teacher than you ever were.’