A Long Way from Heaven

by A Long Way from Heaven (retail) (epub)

  ‘Ah well, if me services aren’t required I’ll be off home,’ declared Molly. ‘But I’ll be back later with a big jug o’ beef tea.’ She patted Patrick’s shoulder. ‘’Tis dreadful sorry I am about the baby. I know just how ye feel havin’ lost so many meself.’

  ‘Faith, ’tis not the baby I’m grievin’ over, Molly,’ replied Patrick quietly. ‘’Tis me wife. At least if she comes through this I’ll know it won’t happen again.’

  ‘Do I take ye to mean she cannot have any more children?’ To Molly, the mother of eleven live children and the Lord knew how many stillborn, this was the worst fate of all. ‘Oh, the poor darlin’, I didn’t realise it was so bad.’

  John broke in. ‘Any road, I’ll be off back to me work, Pat. If yer get sick of stayin’ at ’ome yer know where to find me.’

  ‘Oh, wait an’ I’ll walk with ye, son,’ announced Molly and followed him outside, leaving Patrick with his head in his hands, watched by three frightened children.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The next day brought little change to Thomasin’s condition. Her face was still deathly white and when she woke it was for but a minute at a time. Patrick, when allowed to by the nurse, sat by her bedside, gently wiping her face with a damp cloth, an action which immediately plunged him back into the past, to when he had sat by another bedside, urging another wife not to die. When banished from the bedroom he would pace the floor below like a wound-up tiger, snapping irritably at his children then feeling thoroughly ashamed for his abominable behaviour. How could he blame them? The two younger ones were not to know that he had gone through all this before. Only in Erin’s face did he perhaps see a flicker of understanding, of apprehension.

  Another day passed. He could neither eat nor sleep for fear of what might happen, and dark crescents materialised beneath his worried, weary eyes. As the week neared its end Patrick began to despair that his belated prayers had once again been flung back in his face; but when he tried to see Tommy the nurse softened at his haggard features. ‘If you promise me that you’ll go downstairs this minute and sample some of whatever your daughter has been cooking and also take a wash and smarten yourself up, then I think by that time I can safely promise you a just reward for your waiting.’

  Patrick was suddenly alert; did she mean that Thomasin was going to be all right?

  The nurse hesitated. ‘Let us say that she is over the worst, but,’ she held up her hand to ward off his attempts at re-entry, ‘she is still very weak and is not going to be helped if she judges from your condition that you are unable to cope without her. What d’you think her first reaction will be if she sees you looking like that?’

  Patrick guessed correctly. ‘She’ll insist on getting out o’ bed to look after us.’

  ‘Exactly – which is why you must make an effort to look presentable before you go in to see her. Now, will you do as I ask?’

  Patrick spun round and bounded down the stairs, startling Erin who was carrying a pot to the table. He caught the look of fear in her eye. ‘Oh, no, angel, ’tis all right, the nurse says Mammy’s over the worst.’ He seated himself at the table and ran his fingers through untidy hair. ‘I’m going in to see her once I’ve been cleaned up. God, do I stink.’ He pulled at his shirt in disgust.

  Erin smiled for the first time in days. ‘Ye’ll be wanting something to eat then if she’s better?’ She placed the pot before him.

  ‘Oh, Lord, Erin, I’m sorry…’ began Patrick.

  ‘Daddy, ye’ve not eaten a thing I’ve made for ye.’ Her blue eyes filled with water. ‘D’ye not like my cooking?’

  Patrick stood and hugged her. ‘Aw, ’tis nothing to do with your cooking, Erin, ’tis only that before I was too worried to eat an’ now I’m too excited over Tommy getting better.’ He sat down again. ‘I promise after I’ve seen her I’ll eat everything ye put in front o’ me.’

  Dickie scraped his plate clean. ‘When is Mammy coming down? I don’t like Erin’s cookin’.’

  ‘You ungrateful little wretch,’ rebuked Patrick. ‘Is that all ye can say with your mammy lyin’ poorly up there?’

  Dickie lowered his face and was silent for a while, then asked meekly, ‘If Daddy doesn’t want his, can I have it, Erin?’

  She pursed her lips and scraped the remainder of the meal onto his plate. ‘There, you greedy article an’ I hope it chokes ye.’

  Patrick pushed back the chair and set about making himself presentable, sharpening his razor on the doorstep and applying it to his whiskers over a layer of soap bubbles. Discovering there was no clean shirt he turned to Erin. ‘Has your Uncle John had his dinner?’

  ‘Aye, he went back to work as soon as he’d finished it. Said he wanted to see a man about a dog. Are we getting a dog, Daddy?’

  Patrick smiled. ‘No, darlin’, ’tis just an expression John uses when he’s up to no…’ His smile drooped slightly. ‘Oh, God, I hope he’s not getting mixed up in anything. I can well do without it at the moment. Ah.’ He found what he had been seeking and pulled it over his head.

  ‘That’s Uncle John’s shirt,’ observed his daughter.

  ‘Why d’ye think I asked where he was?’ grinned her father. He combed his hair and stood up straight for his daughter’s inspection. ‘D’ye think I’ll pass?’

  Erin was about to answer when the nurse’s voice rang out. ‘Oh, there’s your summons, Daddy.’

  Patrick moved to the bottom of the staircase and looked up at the nurse who told him he could come up now. ‘Come in, come in,’ she beckoned as he paused at the bedroom door, and bustled about with towels and bowls of water.

  He approached the bed cautiously and peered down at his wife, his heart sinking. She didn’t look any better. Her eyes were closed, her face impassive – but no, he took a closer look. Her skin seemed to have lost that moribund hue and was now tinged with the faintest shade of pink. He bent closer, thinking that perhaps the pink sheen was merely the result of the sun shining through the red curtains, but as the nurse briskly drew them apart and allowed the light to stream in he almost collapsed with relief. The pink was definitely in her cheeks.

  The nurse’s bustle brought Thomasin’s eyes slowly open and she blinked at the happy face which hovered over hers. ‘Pat?’

  He took hold of her hand and rubbed if affectionately. ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy, what a fright ye gave me.’ He seemed not to know whether to laugh or cry and kept touching her face to reassure himself of her deliverance. ‘I thought I’d lost ye.’ The nurse made a diplomatic exit.

  Thomasin gave a weak smile and said sleepily, ‘Yer don’t – get rid o’ me that easily.’ She lifted a trembling finger to wipe away a tear that had trickled down his cheek, then after a short silence said, ‘I’ve lost the baby.’

  Patrick closed his eyes in affirmation.

  Her hand fell to her side. ‘I’m sorry, Pat.’

  ‘Sorry? What have you got to be sorry about? Sure, I’m the one who should be saying sorry, bringing all this pain upon ye. If anything’d happened to ye because I couldn’t take no for an answer …’

  She placed a hand over his. ‘No, no, love. It wasn’t your fault, these things happen. Mind, I wouldn’t like to go through it again.’

  He hesitated. ‘Did the doctor say anything?’

  ‘Such as?’ she asked, then when he did not answer immediately said, ‘You mean I won’t be able to ’ave any more, don’t yer?’ He nodded and she sighed. ‘Oh well, wasn’t that what I wanted in first place?’ Then her act collapsed and her face crumpled in tears.

  ‘Oh, Tommy, Tommy, don’t.’ He lifted her shoulders gently and held her close. ‘Don’t upset yourself.’

  ‘Oh, I know it’s stupid,’ she sobbed. ‘I know I said I didn’t want any more – but that was when we couldn’t afford it. When you decided to branch out in business I got used to the idea, was quite lookin’ forward to another bairn. I know I shouldn’t quibble, I’ve got three – but they’re not babies any more, Pat. Erin’s nearly a woman, Dickie only
thinks I’m ’ere to cook his meals an’ wash his clothes, I know our Sonny’s fond of a cuddle but it’s not the same, is it?’ He shook his head, though not quite understanding her woman’s reasoning. She sniffed and wiped her eyes on the sheet. ‘I can’t explain to you what it’s like. You’re a man, yer don’t know what it feels like to have something growin’ inside yer – even when it’s not been there long, when it’s really nowt more’n a tadpole, it’s still a child. You picture what it’ll look like when it’s born, what sort o’ person it’ll grow into, then you lose it an’ all those pictures vanish. You don’t see anythin’ any more, ’cept a bloodstained sheet an’ a minute blob o’ creation.’

  ‘Ye saw it?’ he whispered.

  ‘Mmm – tiny little mite about this long.’ She held her finger and thumb barely apart, then sighed. ‘I think it was anyway, everything’s so hazy, but it must’ve been ’cause the nurse covered it up ever so fast so’s I wouldn’t see it.’ She wept again. ‘I’ve let yer down, haven’t I? I know you were so lookin’ forward to another lad.’

  ‘I was, yes,’ he admitted truthfully. ‘But, Tommy, if it meant having to sacrifice you to get him, then my own life wouldn’t be worth living.’

  The nurse returned. ‘Mr Feeney, I think that’s long enough now, don’t you?’

  ‘Nurse, I’ve not had a chance to talk to me wife an’ now you’re raring to throw me out. Where’s your heart?’ He stifled a yawn.

  ‘Tut, look at him, nurse,’ said Thomasin. ‘Bored to tears already. I bet you haven’t slept all week, have yer? Look at the state o’ yer.’

  ‘An’ here’s me thinking I’d got meself all smartened up,’ answered her husband, sounding hurt.

  ‘Come along, Mr Feeney, there’s a good boy.’ The nurse took hold of his arm and piloted him to the door.

  ‘Boy, is it?’ laughed Patrick. ‘Did ye hear her, Tommy? Will I show her what’s what?’

  ‘I don’t advise that, Mr Feeney.’ The nurse pushed him through the doorway as Thomasin issued a weak wave. ‘Now go along and get some sleep, then I may allow you to see your wife later.’ She closed the door in his face.

  Far from showing anger at the nurse’s officiousness, Patrick laughed aloud, so happy was he that Thomasin was on the mend. But once downstairs the happiness gave way to an acute weariness and he collapsed into a chair as Erin waited for his report.

  ‘She’s going to be all right, darlin’,’ he replied to her query. ‘Another day or two an’ she’ll be helpin’ me mix cement.’

  ‘Thank the Lord,’ breathed Erin, reminding him of his promise. ‘An’ now can I persuade ye to eat something, Daddy?’

  Patrick wriggled his back into the chair and crossed his arms over his stomach. ‘Ye can that. I could eat a Protestant between two stale cowpats.’

  But when Erin returned ten minutes later bearing a plate laden with appetizing victuals, it was to find her father fast asleep.

  * * *

  Long after Mass had finished Liam emerged from the vestry buttoning his top coat. This was the time he loved most, the time when all the worshippers had departed and the tiny chapel was silent. He liked the echo of his footsteps around its emptiness, the smell of polish, of incense and candlewax. He paused to genuflect to the altar, locking his eyes with those of the man who hung in agonised splendour upon the brass rood.

  Then his gaze was drawn involuntarily to the door at the opposite end of the short aisle which creaked and groaned as someone turned the handle.

  The man pulled his cap from his dark head and stuffed it into his pocket, then walked slowly towards the figure by the altar, flanked on either side by a child – one dark and attractive, the other with flaming hair and solemn grey eyes. Liam watched silently as the trio approached, his green eyes warm and encouraging, smiling a little as the man stooped to right his youngest who had stumbled over his own feet. The three proceeded until they came to stand directly in front of Liam, the boys gazing in awe at their surroundings, the man returning the steady gaze of the green eyes.

  He finally spoke. ‘D’ye think ye could find room for three more, Father?’

  Liam held out his hand and clasped the other’s warmly. ‘Of course I can,’ he responded sincerely. ‘Welcome home, Pat.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Thomasin endured the enforced bedrest ungraciously, feeling depressed about losing the baby and the thought of being unable to bear another. Her mother, who had been sent for after the nurse’s departure and ignorant of the full extent of her daughter’s suffering, made various comments designed to cheer but only succeeding in making Thomasin a thousand times worse.

  ‘For God’s sake, Mother, leave me alone,’ snapped Thomasin from the rumpled bed, and turned her face abruptly to the wall. Patrick had not informed her mother until Thomasin was on the mend and the nurse no longer needed.

  Mortally wounded by her daughter’s ingratitude, Hannah slunk from the room and went to join the others downstairs.

  ‘How’s lass?’ asked William at his wife’s appearance. She sniffed into a handkerchief, trying to procure a tear of self-pity. ‘Oh, bloody hell!’ exclaimed her husband. ‘What’s wrong now? I ’ope th’asn’t been upsettin’ ’er.’

  Hannah was offended. ‘It is I who have been upset. I cannot seem to do anything right for her. One puts oneself out and is she grateful? No, She has just told me I’m not wanted.’ She eventually succeeded in squeezing out a tear.

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean it.’ Patrick pointed at the pot of tea to show there was a cup going. ‘Ye have to make allowances for what she’s been through. I expect a few more of us’ll be feeling the edge of her tongue before she’s on her feet again.’

  A sudden diversion was created by Dickie who tripped and gashed his head on the corner of the table. Hannah, completely forgetting the contretemps with her daughter, flew about searching for a cloth with which to bathe the injured spot, clucking over him like a mother hen. Five year old Dickie made the most of this attention, sobbing theatrically.

  ‘Now, now, big boys shouldn’t cry,’ his father told him, stemming the flow somewhat.

  ‘Big boy?’ cried William, picking up his grandson and sitting him on his lap. ‘Nay, he’s nobbut a goblin yet.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ protested Dickie, measuring himself against his grandfather. ‘I’m nearly as big as you.’

  William laughed and patted the boy’s glossy head. By, he were reet proud o’ these lads.

  ‘Of course,’ Patrick was saying, ‘all this means we can’t possibly go to Dunworthe Hall on Tuesday.’

  William could hardly believe his ears. ‘Dunworthe Hall? Who’s off to Dunworthe Hall?’

  ‘Oh, me an’ Erin,’ replied Patrick casually and picked up the note that had arrived as confirmation of the summons. ‘Lord Herleigh wants her to play at his musical evening. Sure, I thought I’d told ye, Billy?’

  With these words Patrick claimed the honour of being the first person ever to make William speechless – or almost. His face turned a funny purplish colour. ‘Bugger me,’ he kept repeating. ‘Bugger me.’

  Patrick then dropped his faked indifference to tell them about the incident outside the Festival Concert Rooms. Their eyes grew wide in disbelief, and when he had finished Hannah’s face wore a dreamy, abstracted look.

  ‘Now, don’t be gerrin’ any ideas, lass,’ warned William. ‘It dun’t mean we’ll all be hobnobbin’ wi’ gentry. I can see by t’look on thy face tha’s already married Erin off to Lord Herleigh’s son.’

  Hannah glared at him, then addressed herself to her son-in-law. ‘You must go, of course. William and I will take care of the children and Thomasin.’ Hopefully the venture would set Patrick an example for the future. She asked what he and Erin would be wearing, dreading that he was going to reply that it would be his present ensemble.

  He wrinkled his brow. ‘I suppose I’ll have to buy meself a new outfit,’ — then noticed her look of relief. ‘Well, ye didn’t think I was going in these old
rags, did ye? Erin’ll have to have something too – though I don’t know how I’ll cope without Tommy’s help; I’m not very well-informed on ladies’ fashions.’

  ‘Leave everything to me,’ said Hannah firmly, eyes guessing the child’s measurements. ‘I shall find something suitable.’ She was not about to risk leaving such a vital undertaking to him. Adjusting her lace cap she sat, as a lady should, with rigid spine and hands clasped loosely on her lap. ‘Such a pity that Thomasin is perforce a-bed,’ she sighed. ‘How she would have loved to go to the Hall. But, if she is ill I expect you must be the one to escort Erin – though I doubt that you will feel as comfortable there as Thomasin; she has had some experience of mixing with upper-class folk.’

  Patrick ignored the jibe. ‘Actually, Hannah, Tommy couldn’t go even if she was well. Ye see,’ he took great delight in informing her, ‘she didn’t get an invite.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Hannah.

  * * *

  Came Tuesday and the house was filled with Erin’s excitement. She had told virtually everyone in the community where she was going, and each time she told the story she embroidered it just a little more to make them envious. Hannah and William arrived in the afternoon, bringing with them a brown package.

  ‘Go try that on, my dear,’ said Hannah, handing it to Erin who dashed up to her room.

  A few moments later screams of delight were to be heard. Never had she owned anything like this. Hardly daring to touch the dress for fear of spoiling its immaculate prettiness she carefully took hold of the shoulders and held it against her. The dress escaped its folds, casting down its white flounces like a shower of snow, a sash of delicate blue at the waist.

  Hurriedly slipping off her clothes she ran to the bowl and washed herself. Then, after patting herself dry, she gently lifted the dress over her head.

  ‘Oh, a perfect fit,’ cried Hannah, catching sight of the girl at the top of the stairs. ‘Come, let me fasten those buttons and sash.’