Pack Up Your Troubles

by Anne Bennett

  ‘A friendship my Aunt Fanny,’ Elsie exclaimed one day to Gwen as they made their way home from the hospital together, it being a Friday and the van needed for deliveries. ‘Called to see her the other Wednesday afternoon and she was dressed up like a dog’s dinner. Said Richard was eating with them. I’m positive sure she was wearing cosmetics and scent.’

  ‘Why don’t you have a word?’

  ‘What, and get my bloody head bitten off?’ Elsie cried. ‘Not flippin’ likely. Anyroad, I tipped her the wink with Matthew and look what happened there. This time I’ll let nature take its course.’

  ‘Sometimes nature needs a kick up the backside,’ Gwen remarked. ‘And that business between Maeve and Matthew didn’t turn out too bad, all told. D’you think she really cares for Richard?’

  ‘More than she’s letting on,’ Elsie declared. ‘And he’s dotty about her. Can’t keep his blinking eyes off her if she’s in the room, you know. She’d be a fool not to take him. He’s got money and she could take life easier. She’s had a bloody hard haul all her life, and it would do her good to have a bit of a rest.’

  Gwen pondered on Elsie’s words and as soon as she was alone with Syd she put her proposal to him. They’d already discussed the possibility of leaving the shop to Maeve in their will, but now Gwen wanted to make her a partner in the business. ‘But why?’ Syd asked. ‘She gets a good whack now and I’ll raise it more if you like.’

  ‘It’s because of something Elsie said,’ Gwen explained. ‘You know Maeve was marrying Matthew just to have some form of security and a decent place to live? I don’t want her to marry Richard for the same reason.’

  ‘Has he asked her?’

  ‘Not yet, but he will. I want to make sure if she agrees to marry him it’s because she loves him.’

  Syd shook his head. He’d never understand women, but still he had no real objection to making Maeve a partner. She’d become like one of the family, and the children had given a new lease of life to Syd and Gwen. Besides, with Stanley gone, there was no one else to leave the place to.

  Maeve, however, was stunned by their generosity.

  ‘The place will be totally yours when Gwen and I pop our clogs, like,’ Syd said. ‘The thing is, Maeve, where there’s a funeral, there’s often relatives come out the bloody woodwork, and some of them you’ve never clapped eyes on in your life, nor would want to neither. I couldn’t stand for some third cousin twice removed or some such to inherit what we worked damned hard for and tip you into the street. I’d not rest in my grave.’

  For Maeve the revelation that she owned half the shop made a difference to her, and she made plans in her head for Bridget and Mary Ann. She didn’t think she’d have Jamie with her for long after he’d grown up. He loved the land as much as Kevin. Kevin had written to Maeve and told her he had a mind to offer Jamie half of his inheritance if he wanted it once he was sixteen. Maeve knew Jamie would take it and she also knew she had no right to stop him.

  Now, though, Maeve owned half the shop and one day it would be all hers. They were set for life. Bridget, who loved serving in the shop, could have a proper job there if she wanted when she left school, and Mary Ann too. Maybe Syd would teach them both to drive the van. In fact, she thought suddenly, maybe he could teach her too. She wasn’t in her dotage yet.

  But first there was Christmas to face and Kevin was coming to share it with them and to see Jamie, which Maeve knew would be a boost to the young boy’s recovery.

  On Sundays Richard came to dinner, which they had in the evening, and every time she thought of it a little frisson of excitement now leapt inside Maeve but she refused to recognise it.

  That evening Richard thought Maeve had never looked lovelier. The satin blouse was the same shade as her eyes and set off her beautiful hair. As usual Richard had bought flowers and a bottle of wine as his contribution to the meal, and he smelt Maeve’s perfume as she bent forward to take them from him. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her tight and kiss her till she was dizzy. But instead, he gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  He recalled the conversation he’d had with his mother just the previous evening. He hadn’t been aware that Grace and his mother were only too conscious of his slide into despondency as the days passed and he got no further in his relationship with Maeve.

  Eventually Amy Overley thought it was time to take action. They’d been halfway through dinner when she’d said, ‘Richard, you’ve never asked and I’ve never spoken about your father, but I think it’s time to talk about him. I’d hate you to think he was just some fly-by-night.

  ‘The point was,’ she’d continued, ‘my family didn’t think he was good enough for me, and my father was wealthy and influential enough to put such pressure on him, he had to leave the area as soon as they were aware we were seeing one another. He’d begged and begged many times for me to go away from the place with him, but I’d always refused. I’d been too scared. As soon as the romance was discovered I was locked in my room until it was certain my lover had gone, and I’d “come to my senses”, as my father was fond of saying.

  ‘Just weeks after your father left, I discovered I was pregnant. I was frantic and scared, but pregnancy is one thing you can’t hide and as soon as my father found out, he was more worried about the shame of it all than how I’d survive and he threw me into the street.

  ‘I tried to find your father, but he’d disappeared without trace and, distraught and penniless, I had no option but the workhouse. I gave birth to you there. You were just a week old when the nuns came. They said they had a couple in their parish who’d been married years with no sign of a family, who wanted a healthy male child to bring up as their own. I wanted to keep you, but knew that would have been almost impossible on my own, and these people could probably give you every opportunity.

  ‘I didn’t have any choice anyway in the end. I was reminded that I and the child I’d had out of wedlock were dependent on the parish for our very survival. They said I should think myself lucky that decent people should want to adopt a workhouse bastard. For years and years I bitterly regretted the fact that I didn’t defy my family and go off with your father when I’d had the opportunity. He was a hard-working man, he loved me and would have loved you very much. Any trials we might have suffered we would have faced together and I’d have had the joy of bringing you up.’

  Richard had felt so sorry for his mother. He’d heard the catch in her voice and seen the gleam of tears in her eyes. He’d got up, put his arms round her shoulders, and given her a hug while he kissed her cheek. It was the first time he’d ever done such a thing and Amy had flushed with pleasure.

  But when he would have pulled away she held on to his hands and her eyes held his, as she said, ‘What I’m saying, Richard, is sometimes life doesn’t give you a second chance. If you care for someone then go for it.’

  Richard had known then his mother was well aware who he was pining for. Had he been asked, he would have said Amy would probably not be pleased with Maeve as a prospective bride, despite employing her daughter in the shop. But Amy had no claims on Richard. She’d given them away and she only desired his happiness. He recognised that.

  By Sunday evening he’d decided to confront Maeve and find out her true feelings for him once and for all. He waited till the younger girls had gone to bed and Grace had taken herself off to her friend Bernadette’s for the night, and he and Maeve were sitting with a cup of coffee before the fire. Normally he would drain his cup and leave shortly afterwards, but that night he didn’t intend to.

  He finished his coffee and put the cup down on the table. He’d been sitting in an armchair while Maeve was on the settee, but now he moved across and sat beside her. Maeve’s insides were churning at Richard’s nearness and her mouth was dry, so dry that when she tried to ask him what he was doing, she was unable to. Richard picked up one of Maeve’s slender hands and she began to tremble.

  ‘Maeve,’ he said, ‘I must tell you how I feel about you. I kno
w you say you feel nothing but friendship for me, but I love you with all my heart and soul. Maeve, I want to marry you.’

  ‘Richard, please . . .’

  Richard knew that Maeve felt something deeper than mere friendship for him. Her whole body was quivering and he waited for Maeve’s response, his heart hammering so hard against his ribs, he was sure that Maeve would be able to hear it.

  But Maeve remembered Brendan and his sweet promises before marriage, and Matthew’s kindness and consideration, which hadn’t prevented him carrying on with another. And then she remembered the night she’d smothered Brendan to death. She knew God would demand some payment for that. She didn’t deserve happiness, she didn’t deserve to be loved, or desired. A life alone was to be her penance, her sacrifice that she’d offer to God and hope he would be somewhat appeased by it.

  She hardened her heart against Richard, when really she wanted to melt against him and feel his arms round her once more and his lips on hers. Wanton that she was, if she allowed any weakness she’d let him do anything he liked to her.

  ‘Leave me alone, Richard,’ she said wearily, pulling her hands away with an extreme effort of will. ‘Please just leave me alone.’

  ‘Maeve, I thought you cared for me,’ Richard said, hurt beyond measure, but also puzzled.

  The pain in Richard’s voice cut Maeve to the quick, and she knew she had to get the man out of her flat before she threw her arms round him, covered him with kisses and thoroughly disgraced herself again. She forced a hard laugh to escape the lips that would have preferred to murmur endearments as she said, ‘I do care for you, Richard, but then I care for lots of people – my own family, my children, Gwen and Syd Moss, Elsie and Alf Phillips. You are just one in a long line.’

  ‘I see,’ Richard said stiffly. He wondered how he was still able to speak, to function at all, when he was dying inside. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg and plead, but she’d told him plainly what her feelings were and his pride was the only thing he had left. ‘I’m sorry that I’ve misread the situation totally,’ he said in a voice drained of emotion. ‘I think it would be better if I left now.’

  Maeve wanted to hold on to his arm, tell him she was sorry, she hadn’t meant a word of it, tell him he was the light of her life and that she couldn’t go on if he walked out of it. But she did none of those things. Instead she said in a hoarse whisper, ‘Perhaps that would be best.’

  When he left the room she stayed sitting where she was. She felt numb.

  She heard the crash of the door and Richard’s feet on the stairs, and a low animal howl escaped from her. She felt as though all feeling was leaking out of her, leaving just a shell. She had to pull herself together, she told herself, but when she stood up to make her way to the kitchen, she staggered like a drunk. She told herself she’d lived without Richard in her life before and would do so again. She’d make a cup of tea, that’s what she’d do; it would make her feel better.

  But once in the kitchen she hadn’t the energy. She sank on to a chair and, burying her head in the crook of her arm that she’d laid on the table, she wept.

  THIRTY

  When Grace came home, some time later, she found her mother at the kitchen table, her head resting on her arms, and when Grace saw the red, puffy eyes, she knew she’d been crying for some time, though her cheeks were dry. She put the kettle on and made them both a drink and sat opposite her mother, almost frightened by the deadened look in her eyes.

  ‘Mammy, what is it?’

  Maeve shrugged and Grace sighed. ‘Has Richard gone? Did you quarrel?’

  Maeve nodded her head mutely, and Grace guessed the quarrel had been a serious one. ‘What was it over?’ she asked.

  ‘I told him to go.’

  ‘But why? Did he offend you, upset you in some way?’

  ‘He wanted to get too involved,’ Maeve said at last. ‘He said he loves me and wants to marry me.’

  That knowledge did not surprise Grace in the least. ‘Well, what of it?’

  ‘I don’t want a husband. I was married once, that was enough.’

  ‘Mammy, your life isn’t finished because you had a bad marriage,’ Grace cried, exasperated. ‘God knows, you suffered enough then. Have you told him about Daddy?’

  ‘Not at all. Why would I?’

  ‘I told Chris. I told him everything.’

  ‘Grace! God, girl, you had no right.’

  ‘I had no right not to,’ Grace cried. ‘You know Chris wants to get engaged when he’s demobbed? I couldn’t marry him and not tell him. You say you killed Daddy, Mammy, but I’m not stupid. I know someone your size couldn’t have smothered Daddy unless I’d already half killed him with the poker.’

  ‘That may be so. But still, to tell Chris . . .’ Maeve said. ‘You were always the one who said we must keep it a secret.’

  ‘Mammy, Chris and I love one another,’ Grace replied. ‘And that involves trusting. You can’t keep something like this from the man you love.’ She faced her mother squarely and said, ‘Do you love Richard?’

  Maeve moved her head impatiently. She didn’t wish to discuss it.

  ‘Mammy,’ Grace said, ‘why do you deny yourself a life of your own? You’ve put us first in everything for years. Think, Mammy, in a few years I’ll be married. Not long after Jamie will, I imagine, be going to live in Ireland with Kevin.’

  I’ll still have Bridget and Mary Ann. Maeve didn’t say it, but the thought passed across her mind. But wasn’t that the one thing she’d always been determined not to do – to bind her children to her by a sense of duty? Doubt niggled in her mind. Was that the reason she’d offer both the girls jobs in the shop, to bind them to her?

  ‘What will you do when we’re all gone?’ Grace asked.

  ‘I’ll manage,’ Maeve said stiffly. ‘Like I always have.’

  ‘Mammy, I don’t want you to manage,’ Grace cried. ‘I want you to be happy. I think you’ve given up Richard because you don’t feel worthy to be loved by anyone for what you were forced to do to Daddy. And you were forced, Mammy. If you hadn’t, he would have killed us both and you know it.’

  Maeve knew her daughter was right. She did feel unworthy to be loved. God, she’d never been loved but that once. She’d been possessed, owned by Brendan, but not loved, and Matthew had never pretended deep sensual love would be an important ingredient in their marriage. True, Maeve would never have to look for a man to provide for her now, but she knew the shop wouldn’t keep her warm in bed.

  Oh, dear God, the thought of bed brought to her mind what she and Richard had shared one evening months and months before. And they had shared it and she remembered Richard had sought her pleasure before his own. She faced the sudden realisation that she did love the man, loved him more than life itself and she’d lost him. She blamed no one but herself and she put her face in her hands and groaned.

  ‘Go after him, Mammy,’ Grace urged. ‘Tell him truthfully how you feel and then tell him about Daddy. If you don’t he will have won, don’t you see? He persecuted you while he was alive and you’re still letting him destroy your life now he’s dead. Tell Richard everything, Mammy.’

  Maeve gazed at her daughter, and knew what she was asking her to do. She’d not said a word to Matthew and would never have done, but then she hadn’t loved him. But if there was true deep love between herself and Richard, she couldn’t keep such a thing to herself. It would always stand between them, and might, in time, blight their feelings for one another. Without another word to Grace, she went into the bedroom to fetch her coat.

  ‘I thought he was with you,’ Amy Overley said, puzzled. ‘Didn’t he come round?’

  ‘Yes, yes, but he left. I . . . I thought he might be here. I need to see him.’

  Amy Overley knew by Maeve’s manner that she was upset, distracted in some way. Maybe they’d quarrelled. She wondered if the words of advice she’d given her son about his father and her regret at not going with him when he’d asked her to had anything to do with
it, and hoped not.

  ‘Would you like to wait for him?’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Amy said, knowing that if a woman pursues a man after a disagreement, it’s usually to try to resolve it in some way.

  But it was hard for Maeve to sit there trying to make small talk with Amy Overley, hearing the clock ticking away, and wondering if Richard was ever going to come home that night, and how he was spending the intervening time.

  She felt she’d exhausted every topic of conversation and would drown in tea when he did eventually arrive. He wasn’t drunk, but not truly sober either, and Maeve’s heart sank. Amy, with one look at the glance that passed between the two of them, took herself off to bed.

  The door had barely closed behind his mother, when Richard said, ‘Come to pour more scorn on my head, Maeve Hogan?’

  ‘I’ve come to apologise.’

  ‘Apologise,’ Richard said, and gave a grim laugh. ‘For what? Letting me make a fool of myself and then kicking the balls off me? God, you’re priceless, d’you know that?’

  Maeve said nothing at first. Richard was bitterly hurt. She could feel it coming out of him as though it was seeping out the pores of his skin and it gave her the courage to say, ‘I’ve come to apologise for everything, Richard. I’m sorry for every hurtful word I’ve said to you. And I want to try to explain why.’

  Richard stared at her. What game was she playing now? She sounded sincere, but he was still cautious. God, he’d thought she was encouraging him before and then look what she’d done! ‘Explain away,’ he said, his tone still harsh.

  ‘Not here,’ Maeve said. It wasn’t just the fact of Amy overhearing anything she might say, or Richard’s reaction to it, it was just that Maeve needed the cover of darkness to tell him what she must.

  ‘Then where?’

  ‘Will you come for a walk with me?’