Jim hugged her tight. ‘I’ll miss you too, but we’ll write and you can always come out and visit,’ he promised. She never forgot the day he left for Dublin Airport. The pain in her heart seemed almost physical as she kissed him for the last time. His parents were driving him to the capital and they waited in the car as he bade farewell to her. ‘I’ll write, Claire, I promise,’ he told her, hugging her hard. Mrs Molloy sniffed sceptically. Claire stood waving at the doorway as he drove down the street, knowing she’d never love anyone the way she loved Jim Reid.
That night she disgraced herself in front of Sean Moran. He was explaining the points of geometry to her when to his consternation she burst into tears. Silently handing her a handkerchief, he waited for her to compose herself. ‘Maybe we won’t do any more tonight if you don’t feel up to it,’ he said calmly. ‘Would you like to come for a drink and tell me what’s troubling you?’
They went to Ryan’s down the road and she told him about Jim leaving. ‘Aah,’ Sean said knowingly. ‘I see.’ Claire stared at the sandy-haired man sitting opposite her. He was a bit dry, to be sure, but he was kind in his own way and lonely. He didn’t drink either, she noted, watching as he took a long draught of his 7-Up. At least she’d have her studying to keep her occupied in the long lonely nights ahead.
Jim wrote, as promised, a glowing epic about how much he was enjoying his life in Australia. ‘I miss you,’ he wrote. ‘Hurry up and save enough to come over.’ She wrote back by the next post, giving him all the news. His reply took a bit longer to come and he had only written a couple of pages but she sent a ten-page missive anyway. Each day from then on she would watch for the postman, heart beating a little faster as he came to their gate, only to feel an intense disappointment as he passed by. At last the awaited reply arrived, a page of rushed writing. Deep down, Claire knew that Jim was making a new life and that the new life didn’t contain her. When Sean Moran asked her to go to the pictures with him one evening, she consented. When he kissed her, she kissed him back. She knew what it was to be lonely and so did he. They had that much in common at least. Her life took on a routine: studying with him two nights a week, the pictures every Friday and home to visit her mother on a Sunday. Rosie was always there for her. Rosie didn’t care much for Sean but she kept her own counsel. She told herself that Claire had been hurt by Jim and Sean Moran was just a stop-gap until she got over him.
That was why Claire was going to the pictures with Sean the day before Christmas Eve. They were going to see the smash hit Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and she was looking forward to it. It might take her mind off the thought of spending Christmas at home. It was the last time she’d see Sean over Christmas as he was going home to spend the holiday with his parents in Drogheda. He arrived all of a fluster, realizing that he had left his wallet back in Knockross. He wouldn’t dream of letting Claire pay and nothing would do him but to drive back to the village for his money. ‘You can call on your mother while we’re here,’ he told her.
Walking up the pathway with Sean behind her, Claire wondered if Billy were at home. She opened the door with her key and called out a greeting. Molly did not respond. Maybe she was out feeding the dog in the back, Claire thought, walking in to the kitchen. She got the fright of her life. Molly lay, head on the kitchen table, not moving.
‘God! Mum’s sick!’ she said frantically.
‘She’s not sick, Claire!’ Sean spoke slowly and bemusedly, seeing the whiskey bottle on the table. ‘She’s drunk!’
Wednesday 30 June 1971
The sea breeze whipped Claire’s hair around her face as she stood on the deck of The Lady of Man passenger-ship watching Howth slip by as they headed towards the Dublin docks. It was hard to believe that she was coming home. The week in the Isle of Man had gone by so fast. But she had had a lovely time and Sean had treated her like a queen during their week’s honeymoon. She looked down at the gold wedding band and the diamond solitaire on the third finger of her left hand and smiled. So here she was, Mrs Sean Moran, a married woman, an innocent virgin no longer.
Sean had surprised her with his passion. Usually he was so reserved, so much in control. But on their wedding night, in the small Dublin hotel off the quays where they had stayed before going to the Isle of Man, he had been a different man to her. To be honest she had been a bit anxious about their first night together as man and wife. When they were courting, Sean had always been very circumspect. After all he was one of the schoolmasters and he had to be careful not to give any hint of scandal, so they had never been very intimate. She had felt very shy as they undressed for bed together that first night. It was the first time a man had ever seen her in her nightdress. Rosie had given it to her as a present. It was white satin, with the thinnest little straps, and it was so revealing. But she had promised Rosie she would wear it, and when Sean came out of the bathroom in his maroon pyjamas and saw her, he had given a sort of a gulp and stood as if rooted to the spot. Claire blushed furiously and dived under the covers of the double bed. They stared at each other and she felt that he was as terrified as she was. Finally Sean broke the silence.
‘Claire, you look so beautiful. I’m a very lucky man.’ He eased himself into the bed beside her and they sat smiling shyly at each other. Then he took off his glasses, switched off the bedside lamp and put his arms around her. In the dark, hesitantly and then passionately as desire overcame him, he made love to Claire. He told her over and over that he loved her, that he wanted her, that he had dreamed of her ever since he had first encountered her that day she had been knocked off her bicycle and, as his breathing quickened and his endearments became more passionate, Claire had found herself responding to him with a pleasure that amazed her. It was just like Rosie had said she’d feel, all tingly and wet and melty. She was thrilled with herself. She felt so powerful that she could arouse her husband to such heights of passion. As her confidence grew, her inhibitions eased. It was such a pleasure to have a warm male body so close to you, to have arms around you and to be able to put your arms around someone back. It was just a little bit of a pity it was all over so fast and that her body felt somehow unfulfilled. But as she lay in the dark listening to Sean’s satisfied snoring she gave a happy little sigh.
That morning she had been Miss Claire Doyle, a girl. Tonight she was Mrs Sean Moran, a woman. It had been a lovely day and a lovely night, much nicer than she had anticipated. Even her wedding, which she had been dreading because of her father, had turned out well. Of course eleven o’clock was too early to be pissed out of his skull – that was one of the reasons she had decided on a morning wedding rather than an afternoon one. In fact ever since that day Sean and she had discovered her mother drunk, Billy Doyle seemed to have eased off a little on his own drinking.
Even though the night was warm, Claire shivered at the memory of that night. Her mother had passed out at the table with a half-bottle of whiskey at her elbow. It was the most horrific shock Claire had ever had. Sean had helped to lift her mother to bed and then she told him to go, in case her father came home drunk.
‘I can’t leave you here alone with the two of them!’ Sean declared.
Claire pleaded with him. ‘Sean, honestly, it would be better if you go home before he comes in. Please!’ It was with great reluctance that he did go and for that, she would always be grateful to him. Her mother lay, mouth agape, breathing harshly, and when her father came home, and saw the state of her, and the half-empty whiskey bottle, the shock had almost made him sober. Later, Molly woke up and was violently ill. Claire tended to her, while Billy paced up and down in an agitated state, muttering to himself.
‘Why, Mum? Why?’ Claire asked numbly the next morning, as her mother, pale as a ghost and nursing a ferocious hangover, sat at the breakfast table with her head in her hands and a piece of dry toast on the plate before her. Billy for once remained mute, utterly shocked by the events that were taking place.
‘Why?’ repeated Molly, still half drunk. ‘I wanted to see,’ she
said slowly, her words slightly slurred. ‘I wanted to see what he gets out of it. I wanted to see what drink can give him that I can’t! I wanted to forget all my troubles for once. Do you know, Claire, that man has given me nothing but worry and misery?’ She pointed a shaking finger at her horrified husband. ‘Promise me that you’ll never marry a man who drinks! Promise me, Claire.’
‘Ah Mum!’ Claire was crying now. Crying with pity for the thin worn woman at the table in front of her. Molly began to weep herself.
‘Stop that now, stop that carry-on the both of yez,’ Billy Doyle muttered. ‘I’ll go down and get you a cure for your head, Molly. Stop that crying now.’ In all the years of their marriage, Billy had never seen his wife like this, broken, dishevelled. It was frightening. ‘Make her stop,’ he ordered his daughter.
‘I hope you’re satisfied now,’ Claire said furiously. Billy, who was about to retort, was silenced by the hatred and fury in his daughter’s eyes. That Christmas, for the first time ever, he was home on time and relatively sober for the Christmas dinner that Claire had cooked. She insisted that Molly sit at the fire and relax and as she worked in the kitchen she swore that no man would inflict on her the misery that Billy Doyle had inflicted on his wife.
That evening Sean phoned from Drogheda to wish her a happy Christmas. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Is your mother all right? I’ve been terribly worried about you.’ She felt great warmth towards him for the first time. It was nice to have someone worry about her, nice to have someone share her great burden. She didn’t feel quite so alone. He came back to Knockross a few days later with a gold chain for her and as she kissed him in thanks, to his surprised delight, she realized that in his own way, Sean Moran loved her. When he asked her to marry him she agreed, remembering her mother’s words. He was a good man and at least she’d never have to worry about him coming home to her drunk. He was twice her age but at least she felt safe with Sean. He treated her with respect and kindness, something she had never experienced with her father.
Her mother was so pleased when she told her. ‘He’s a good man, Claire. He’ll look after you well.’ Billy just grunted something unintelligible. But Rosie had been terribly shocked to hear of her friend’s engagement to the schoolmaster.
‘He’s much older than you, Claire. You’ve your whole life ahead of you. Why don’t you leave here and come to Dublin with me? We could get a flat together and have such fun. You’ve plenty of time to settle down and get married. What’s the rush? Marriage isn’t the be-all and end-all of life, girl! I’m not going to get married until I’m at least twenty-five. Please, Claire, think about it! Don’t rush into anything.’
But Rosie was so different from Claire, so confident and self-assured. Claire was different. Having lacked security all her life she was greatly attracted by the prospect of marriage to a man who could give her a serene and secure life. Sean would never abuse her and he would protect her from the harsh world. The more she thought about it, the more marriage appealed to her. How lovely it would be to have her own home, to cook meals for someone who would arrive on time and appreciate them. To have someone to share her joys and pleasures with, someone who would appreciate her as Sean clearly did. Her whole life had been a struggle against hatred and terror of her father. Sean would rescue her from all that.
They were married six months later. Rosie was her bridesmaid. As she walked down the aisle on Sean’s arm and saw her mother smiling at her, Claire knew that by marrying Sean she had given her mother great peace of mind. The thought gave her added pleasure and as they emerged into the sunlight from the sombre shadow of St Ibar’s, Claire felt a moment of true happiness before she was enveloped in a flurry of hugs and kisses from Rosie and the girls. Lying beside her husband in the double bed, Claire smiled at the memory. Maybe happiness was in her grasp after all.
Now, sailing into Dublin after her week’s honeymoon, Claire looked more happy and relaxed than she had ever done before. They had had a wonderful week. The weather had been good, the hotel they stayed in delightful. They had eaten out a few times and explored the small island. At night, sitting in the hotel lounge in Douglas, they would watch the lights come on and Claire had never seen anything so magical. Strings of fairy lights all along the promenade made the place look like something out of Disneyland. Claire never tired of looking at them. And the shops. She would have spent the whole day in the shops if she had got the chance. Claire grinned as she remembered the hundreds of naughty postcards of big bosomy ladies and skinny men. Rosie and the girls would have howled laughing at them. Sean had not been impressed when he caught her giggling. They didn’t appeal to his sense of humour one whit. He thought them vulgar and had forbidden her to send any of them. But she had kept the ones she bought. They were safely in her handbag and she would give them to Rosie and the girls personally and enjoy a laugh with them.
Sean did not like anything suggestive or vulgar – that much she had learned about her husband on their honeymoon. He had almost had a fit when she had dressed one morning in a pair of hot-pants. They were a gorgeous shade of yellow and she had bought them in Waterford especially for her honeymoon but Sean had made her go and change into a skirt. ‘I don’t want men looking at my wife’s legs,’ he said firmly. She knew he didn’t like her wearing a bikini either. In fact he had gone and bought her a swimsuit instead. But apart from that it had been a lovely week with little to trouble her and she was looking forward to going home to tell the girls all about it.
As the ship moved gracefully towards her berth, Sean, pasty-faced and wan, joined her on deck. He was not a good sailor! ‘We’re almost there,’ she said comfortingly.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ he replied, brushing his sandy hair away from his glasses. ‘We’re a bit late. I hope we’ll make the train in time.’
‘Of course we will,’ Claire smiled reassuringly. Honestly, Sean was such a fusser! ‘Anyway, we can always stay in Dublin for the night and go down tomorrow.’
Sean looked horrified. ‘We can’t go over our budget, Claire. We’ll have a lot of expense when we get home.’
She gave a little sigh. Her husband was right of course. They were moving into a small cottage that had to be furnished and the rent paid for, but still, one night extra in Dublin wouldn’t break them. It was a pity she had to give up her job but it wouldn’t be practical to cycle all that distance to Waterford day in, day out. And besides, Sean told her he didn’t want her to work after they were married. But the money would have come in handy all the same. Still she might be able to make a few bob doing hairdressing at home. Brightening at the thought she smiled at her husband and he smiled back at her.
Sunday 16 April 1972
Claire held her tiny week-old baby as she wriggled and squirmed on her knee. She was trying to dress her in her christening robes. She was absolutely terrified as she tried to insert one tiny arm into the satin-beribboned christening robe that had been her own.
This tiny being with a mind of her own had caused Claire intense anxiety since she brought her home from the hospital two days before. Every time she cried, she nearly had a heart attack. What was wrong with her? Was she getting enough food? Had she colic? Why did her face go so red when she roared? It was all most distressing and Sean was no help. ‘Sure you should know these things. You’re a woman! These things come natural to a woman!’ he said helplessly as he watched the bawling mite in dismay.
‘Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I don’t think she’s getting enough food.’ Claire was up to ninety as she unfastened her blouse and put the child to her breast.
Sean averted his eyes. ‘Why don’t you do that in the bedroom?’ he muttered awkwardly.
‘Because I’m doing it here,’ Claire snapped, in uncharacteristic bad temper. Lack of sleep and fear that she would never be a good mother were taking their toll.
‘Very well,’ her husband retorted tightly, two pink spots on his cheeks. Claire knew she had annoyed him. He was so easily annoyed. She wa
tched him retreat in a huff. Should she know what to do automatically because she was a woman? Should maternal knowledge come instinctively? Claire had never felt so helpless in her life.
From the moment when she discovered she was pregnant, Claire had felt a sense of growing unease. As her body was taken over by the child inside her, she had a feeling of resentment that caused her great anxiety. She must be unnatural, she thought, as she waved away the early-morning cup of tea that Sean brought her. She had always loved her first cup of tea of the morning but, ever since she had become pregnant, she couldn’t face it. She didn’t think that was very fair really. Pregnancy was something you had no control over. It controlled you, changed your moods, changed your taste, gave you backache and heartburn and made you fat. Her boobs were huge! At night you couldn’t sleep because of the kicking and if Sean said once more that it was a miracle of God she would swing for him. What distress did he have? None! Not one ounce of physical distress. He was going around as proud as a peacock telling all and sundry that he was going to be a father.
She must be odd. Her pregnancy had given her no joy. Not one bit. She was petrified at the thought of labour and what did she know about babies? Sean couldn’t understand her! She couldn’t understand herself! The only good thing about it was that she was spared the agony of her period for nine months.
Of course it was inevitable that she would get pregnant. She should have thought about it before. After all that was what marriage was all about. Sean wanted children and so did she but she would have preferred to wait a while. When she had suggested using contraceptives Sean was absolutely horrified. You would have thought he’d been asked to commit murder. ‘Claire, it’s against the teachings of the Church! I’m surprised at you!’ he declared in dismay when she voiced the thought one day after a false alarm. ‘Don’t you want children?’
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