by Anne Bennett
He’d tried to get to grips with his feelings. Maeve was still a beautiful woman, he’d acknowledged that, and she had enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he had. Perhaps, in a way, he had awakened desire that had lain dormant inside her for years. But then he’d left her and never tried to see her again. So, what the hell had he expected her to do – go into bloody decline? Grace had said the man Matthew Bradshaw was good and kind and if he’d been a better person Richard would have felt happy for Maeve, but instead resentment, like a canker, had spread through him.
When Grace had told him a little later that Maeve was getting married in the spring, he’d been devastated. He went out and got roaring drunk and almost frightened his mother to death when he came home, cursing all women in the universe in a voice loud enough to rouse the neighbourhood. He’d never done it again, though there had been times when he’d badly wanted to. Even in his befuddled state, he remembered the look of terror on his mother’s face and had been disgusted with himself for putting it there.
But Maeve hadn’t married Matthew Bradshaw, and people said her suitor had run off with her younger sister instead. Grace had never spoken about it and Richard felt he hadn’t the right to ask.
And then Maeve and her family had come to live only yards from his own shop. He couldn’t risk seeing her. He knew the only way to deal with the madness inside him was to keep right away, and he asked Grace or his mother to fetch the things he needed, claiming he didn’t have time himself.
Maeve knew nothing of Richard’s inner turmoil. She was just glad he never came into the shop. It was obvious from Amy’s manner that she was completely unaware that Richard used to visit Maeve and she was happy to leave it that way.
She also wanted to have nothing to do with her sister or Matthew Bradshaw, and she asked her mother not to give them the family’s new address. Since that first letter Nuala had written once more, and then came an impassioned plea from Matthew, who claimed Nuala was eating her heart out with shame for what she’d done to Maeve.
Maeve didn’t reply to any of them, nor did she answer any of her mother’s puzzled queries about what had happened. Presumably, she’d eventually found out through Nuala, but the expressions of sympathy she extended towards Maeve, she never acknowledged.
Really, she would have preferred not to think of them at all. The children never talked about them either, because unknown to Maeve, Grace had insisted they say nothing and upset their mother further and possibly make her ill again.
None of the children wanted that and especially not Angela. Her daddy had been nice to her, but Angela knew if she had to choose between him and Maeve, Maeve would win every time. She would do nothing to upset her, or even annoy her, when she then might feel inclined to give her back to her father.
So a pall of silence hung over the whole family with regard to Matthew and Nuala, and Annie worried about the unhappy situation between them. Though she deplored what Nuala had done, the child was her own flesh and blood and she wrote long letters to her, suggesting ways of healing the rift between her and her sister.
Meanwhile, Maeve and the children were invited over to Ireland for the summer. Maeve, though she had originally intended to go to introduce Matthew to the family that year, did not want to go on her own – it would emphasise her singleness to her, she imagined – so the idea was shelved.
Then out of the blue came a letter from Annie with news of the marriage of Matthew and Nuala, which was to take place in mid-July, just as the summer holidays would begin, and they were offering to take the children over to Ireland to stay with their grandparents as they were touring Ireland as part of their honeymoon. Her mother wrote to Maeve, ‘Don’t be thinking we haven’t the space now, for Kevin and Tom together have built on an extra room at the back of the cottage and opened up the roof area.’
Annie didn’t go on to tell Maeve the whole family was relieved that Matthew and Nuala would be touring the country and not staying about the farmhouse, or even the town, for very long. Nuala had been the baby of their family and the apple of her father’s eye, which was why he hadn’t wanted her shut behind the walls of a convent. But this latest exploit . . . He couldn’t help it, he felt Nuala had let him down. He said Maeve had been dealt a bad enough fist in life as it was, without Nuala going up and taking her man from her.
Tom was inclined to agree and Rosemarie, who’d always been jealous of Nuala’s relationship with her father, said she wasn’t surprised, as Nuala had no idea of fair shares. She said it was only to be expected for hadn’t she been given everything she’d wanted all the days of her life?
Kevin took no part in the argument. His concern was for his mother alone, but he did tell his grandma privately that he really didn’t want to meet his aunt and her husband at all. ‘They’d not have much of a welcome from anyone here, it seems to me,’ he said. ‘Then with Grace telling me how sick Mammy has been over it and how upset she was, I’d be hard pressed to even be civil to them.’
But Annie told Maeve none of this in her letter. She just urged her to let the children travel over to Ireland with Nuala and Matthew.
‘Please let them come, Maeve. I’d love to set eyes on my own grandchildren and see young Grace again.’
Maeve’s first reaction was to refuse. How dare Nuala marry the man promised to her and then take him on the holiday to Ireland that she herself should be having? No, it was more than flesh and blood could stand. How could her mother put her in that position? Maybe it was a ploy cooked up by them all to get back into her good books. Well if so, it wouldn’t bloody well work!
And then she caught sight of the children’s eyes staring at her. They knew the letter was from their grandma in Ireland – she wrote often enough for them to recognise her writing – but none of them could understand the expression on Maeve’s face.
‘What’s the matter, Mammy?’ Jamie asked.
‘Nothing,’ Maeve answered tersely, but Grace noticed she screwed the paper in her hand so hard her knuckles showed white. She tried to remember if she’d ever discussed going on holiday to Ireland with her sister; she knew she had with Matthew. It was as if they were sticking a knife back into the wound that still lay open and raw. It hurt like hell and Maeve bit on her bottom lip in agitation.
‘Is summat up with our Kevin?’ Jamie asked, seeing his mother’s distress.
Maeve made an effort to pull herself together for the children’s sake. Jamie’s thoughts were all for his brother, while the girls, she noticed, sat mute, as if afraid to speak, but all their eyes were upon her.
She forced a tremulous smile to her lips when she turned to Jamie and said, ‘No, Jamie, Kevin is fine.’
Maeve wanted to burn the letter. The children had plenty to occupy themselves with during the summer holidays, she told herself. But her conscience smote her. Had she the right to stop her children from meeting their grandparents for the first time and being reunited with Kevin because she’d had a fallout with Matthew and her sister?
She faced the fact that it was jealousy, pure and simple, grinding away inside her that made her want to reject the whole thing. What sort of mother would she be to refuse them a couple of weeks on a farm where they could run and play at will? She knew they’d be fed good wholesome food and the fresh air would bring the colour back to their pale faces.
She sighed and said, ‘Your grandmother has written and invited you all over to Ireland for a wee holiday. I can’t be spared here, so . . .’ Maeve stopped and swallowed the bitter gall in her mouth before she went on, ‘Your Aunt Nuala and Uncle Matthew will be taking you over.’
Her eyes met the sympathetic ones of Grace and Bridget, and she knew they both realised how much it had cost her to say what she had.
Jamie, however, was concerned only with practicalities. ‘How long for?’ he demanded.
Maeve was uncertain. She scanned the letter again. ‘I don’t know. A fortnight, I imagine.’
Jamie let out a howl of protest. ‘Kevin told me the whole summer,’
he complained. ‘He promised.’
‘Jamie, don’t be so silly!’ Maeve admonished, her voice sharper than she intended. ‘Be grateful for what you have. You’ll have to come back when your aunt and uncle do, you know that.’
But even as she spoke, she was working possibilities out in her head. Maybe Gwen and Syd would agree to her taking a few days off in early September. She could fetch the children home in time for school and be able to see her parents again.
But even as she turned the possibilities over in her head, Grace said, ‘Maybe I could bring them back home. Richard was only talking about me taking a holiday a few days ago. If they agree to let me go in mid-August, when Chris begins his National Service, I could have a fortnight and bring the children back with me. I’d quite like a break then. I’m bound to be a bit upset when Chris goes and I’d love to see everyone again.’
‘Who will take your place?’ Maeve asked.
‘Well, Miss Overley comes into the shop more now than she did,’ Grace said, ‘but trade is picking up so well that Richard said we might soon have to get in another assistant. Anyway, he seems to think they’d cope.’
‘You’re still as busy, then?’ Maeve said, knowing that since rationing came to an end the shop had become as popular as Grace had prophesied. Moss’s had been busy enough with all the new foodstuffs flooding in. Sometimes things not seen for nearly ten years were suddenly available again.
‘We’re rushed off our feet,’ Grace said. ‘And we have some nice things too. You should come and have a look round.’
That was the last thing in the world Maeve intended to do, but she said nothing to her daughter. Instead she said, ‘Well, there’s a lot to do if all of you are going and the first thing is to write to Mammy.’
The children were beside themselves with excitement at the thought of going to Ireland for the whole seven weeks of the summer holidays and meeting their grandparents and seeing Kevin again. But if Matthew and Nuala had expected their offer to soften Maeve’s attitude towards them, they soon found out how mistaken they’d been. Maeve sent them both a stiff and formal letter, telling them the children would meet them on New Street station on the day of departure.
Gwen took all the squealing happy children, packed up with bags and cases and high on excitement and expectation, in a taxi. Maeve waited till they disappeared from view before returning to the shop, feeling slightly desolate without them. Elsie had offered to take the children to the station, but Maeve had refused. She knew Elsie too well. Loyal to a fault and a staunch friend, she’d think nothing of giving out to Matthew and Nuala in the station in front of everyone, if she felt so inclined, and that was the last thing Maeve wanted the children to witness. But it was Elsie Maeve went to a few days after the children’s departure, unable to shake herself out of the doldrums.
‘What’s up?’ Elsie asked. ‘Missing the kids?’
‘Like mad,’ Maeve admitted. Her life had been full of children and now to lose them all except Grace was hard to take. She was immensely glad of her job, but once the evenings came, she was often lonely, especially as Grace was usually out making the most of Chris’s last few weeks as a civilian.
Grace was terribly worried about him going anyway because of the war in Korea. It sounded serious. Taxes were raised to pay for it and the Government talked about restrictions and people making sacrifices, and most thought they’d done enough of all that already. But Grace was especially worried about Chris because although most of the UN forces deployed so far were American, she thought it was only a matter of time till Britain and therefore Chris would be in the thick of it.
So Maeve didn’t blame her for her concern and certainly didn’t begrudge the evenings Grace and Chris spent together.
‘You want to get out more,’ Elsie told Maeve. ‘You don’t need to bury yourself at home night after night.’
‘What d’you expect me to do?’ Maeve snapped. ‘Drape myself over some bar stool like a prostitute? I’m all right, Elsie. I’m content.’
Elsie chuckled. ‘I think contentment sits easier on old bones,’ she said. ‘And I’m not suggesting frequenting pubs, but surely you could go to the pictures a time or two. I bet Gwen Moss would jump at the chance of going with you.’
She was right of course. Gwen was delighted at the whole idea and they went first to see Kind Hearts and Coronets, and from then on it was a weekly or twice-weekly treat the two of them enjoyed.
Chris left to begin his National Service on 17 August, and Grace went to see him off. Maeve took one look at the white, tear-stained face of her daughter when she returned and was heartily glad she had the holiday to look forward to.
Maeve thanked God Kevin was well out of it in Ireland, but didn’t say so, for it would hardly be helpful to Grace. A few days later she saw her off at New Street station on her way to her grandparents and she knew she was going to miss her as much as the younger ones.
As expected, British troops were sent to help the Americans on 29 August. Maeve said nothing to Grace in her letters to the children in Ireland and hoped such news wasn’t seen as important enough to be broadcast on Irish wireless.
She told herself experienced troops would be sent first. Chris had been in the army less than a fortnight – hardly time enough to learn how to hold a rifle, let alone fire it. She hoped and prayed that he would return safely, for she knew that Grace felt deeply about him; they’d even been talking of engagement when Chris finished his National Service. She prayed for a world where youngsters could grow up in safety and peace, and when she confided it all to Elsie, she said, ‘You’re asking for Paradise, Maeve, and I think we’ll see that soon enough.’
The children returned home bronzed from the sun and full of beans. They’d obviously had a wonderful time and Maeve was glad she’d allowed them to go. They were full of what they’d done and who they’d met, and spoke of their grandparents and Kevin and their Uncle Tom and Auntie Rosemarie and numerous friends and neighbours. They never mentioned Matthew or Nuala, not that first evening home, nor in the days and weeks afterwards. They didn’t even mention the trip over, though Maeve knew it must have been an adventure for them, but as Maeve couldn’t bring herself to do so either, she never got to know.
Jamie had just passed his ninth birthday in November when Maeve noticed a change in him. She knew he was missing his brother and felt for the lad with no father figure in his life. Angela too, after the initial excitement of the holiday, seemed quieter and a little introverted. Maeve would often find her sitting alone and staring into space, and wondered if she missed her father. Perhaps seeing him again had made her realise that. She wouldn’t speak of it, Maeve knew, because none of them would risk upsetting her, but nevertheless something was making the child unhappy.
Maeve examined her feelings towards her sister and Matthew and found that what they had done now hurt her less. Time had clouded the resentment she’d felt. Though she had no house and garden in some leafy suburb, she had now a decent place to live and a job she enjoyed.
Really, if she’d married Matthew she could not have been happier. He would not have wanted her to work and yet she would have perhaps been miles away from people she knew, and lonely at home all day. And although Matthew would have been a good father and a good provider, Maeve wasn’t at all sure he would have been a totally fair one. Would he have made any difference in the way he treated Angela from the rest of the children, and would she be continually looking for discrepancies?
Eventually Maeve faced the fact that Matthew had not done her much of a disservice at all and it had been her pride that had received the biggest jolt – that and the expectation of a better life for the children that she’d seen crumble away that had made her angry and resentful. Maybe Christmas was the time to heal the breach. She felt she’d been wrong to break off all contact between Matthew and his child, and it would help Jamie as well to have a man he could perhaps visit and talk to. She decided she would send them both a letter and see how they felt.
But Jamie wasn’t yearning after Matthew. He had a real-life hero on his own doorstep and that was Richard Prendagast. Ever since he’d come back from Ireland and left Kevin behind, he’d mooned after him. Grace had told him all about the medals Richard had won because of his bravery in the war. Not that he’d told her himself. In fact she’d said he’d seemed really embarrassed about them, but his mother had shown them to her one day when he was out of the shop.
Jamie wished he could do something to get himself noticed by such a brave man – wash his car perhaps, or run errands, anything. But Mr Prendagast never seemed to notice him, however long he hung about in the street outside the shop, and when he’d plucked up the courage one day to ask if he could wash his car, Mr Prendagast had looked surprised and a little annoyed. ‘Not now. Why don’t you run along and play somewhere else?’ he’d said, just as if he was a little kid like Mary Ann or Angela.
Grace had no sympathy for him. ‘Why should he be bothered about grubby little boys like you?’ she’d said. ‘He’s a busy man. Leave him alone.’ So now, Jamie just watched him in secret, dying to speak to him but too scared of making him angry to try.
Richard hardly gave the child a thought. All children he considered nuisances or worse. Grace, who’d shed her childhood and was now a young woman, he got along with well. She was bright and had some good opinions on how the shop should be managed – what would sell and what wouldn’t – and didn’t mind expressing them.
‘This Christmas,’ she’d told him in summer, ‘with the new styles coming into the shops, women will want frivolous lacy underwear, nylons at any price and figure-hugging dresses and knitwear in various colours. They want to remind themselves they are feminine and they never want to hear the word utility again.’