The Godforsaken Daughter

by Christina McKenna

  It being Friday, the twins were indeed in attendance. Downstairs, at that present moment, they were having their evening meal. Ruby had made sure to serve it promptly after they’d returned from their hour behind closed doors with Martha, the visit that had become part of their weekend routine.

  Ruby had decided not to divulge her plans for the evening, fearful they might attempt to thwart her with some excuse about going out themselves. No, May and June would only find out when the McFadden car drew up in the yard.

  Her good blue dress, the one she wore to Mass, was a bit loose, she now noticed. Not so surprising. With all the upset of the past weeks she hadn’t felt like eating much.

  Perhaps a belt would help . . .

  She rummaged through the drawer full of castoffs the twins had given her, and found a lovely white one. It was leather with elasticated sides, and an attractive interlocking clasp in the shape of two swans’ heads for the buckle. The diamanté eye of each swan was missing—hence the reason Ruby had received it—but the defect wasn’t so noticeable.

  She drew it about her waist and saw, to her delight, that it just about fitted her. Suddenly, the serviceable dress suitable only for the Sunday pew was transformed into something a bit more daring.

  She wheeled in front of the mirror. It was just perfect, but the shoes were wrong. She dived into the closet. The bottom drawer served as another dumping ground for the twins’ castoffs. The white high heels with the scuffed toes were ideal, but there wasn’t any point in trying them. They were size 4 and Ruby’s feet were 8. The sensible black flats that took her to Mass would have to do. But she’d make up for the inelegant footwear with a handbag. She rummaged some more and, to her delight, found a white one with a brass buckle. Incredibly, it didn’t seem to show much wear and tear. She wondered why they’d thrown it away.

  The bedside clock read 7:30 p.m. Not long to go.

  She had unearthed a basket of cosmetics as well, full of rejects from June’s Rimmel counter. Makeup was another one of those luxuries long forgotten, like those ballroom days. As she looked now at the basket of shadows, lipsticks, and pencils she felt a little daunted. What colors would be the best?

  A dusting of face powder seemed the easiest to start with and, as she patted it over her red cheeks, She was delighted at the difference it made. The redness was gone. Some eye shadow next—blue seemed the safest. She chose a shade called Posh Peacock. Finally, a little bit of nail polish—Desert Rose, the one that had caused such ructions at the dinner table not so long ago—and the makeover was complete.

  Ten minutes to eight. It was almost time.

  She was nervous, having to run the gauntlet that was May and June before getting into the McFadden car. She made the sign of Power and Peace with her thumb and forefinger to calm herself, and went downstairs.

  The twins were having an intense conversation in lowered tones when Ruby entered the kitchen, and so didn’t see her at first.

  “I’m going out,” she announced.

  Both looked her way.

  “To O’Shea’s pub . . . for the night.”

  “What?” May said, her tone incredulous.

  “I’m going out now,” Ruby repeated, trying to keep her voice even. “But I should be back by eleven.”

  “Well, I’ve got news for you: you’re going nowhere. June and me are going out . . . to . . . to the Windsor later. Aren’t we, June?”

  June was caught off guard. “Oh . . . that’s right. So we are.”

  Ruby knew it was a lie.

  The welcome sound of the McFadden car reached into the kitchen. “Well, you’ll just have to cancel that. There’s my lift now.”

  She moved toward the door.

  May, knowing she was defeated, lobbed another taunt. “Is that my handbag? I wondered where it’d got to. Give it here this minute!” She jumped up and stretched out her hand.

  “You dumped it in the drawer in my room.”

  “Give it back to me now.” May advanced on Ruby. “And you look like a clown in that makeup.”

  “You better give it back, Ruby,” June warned. “We don’t want a scene, and Mummy so ill.”

  A car horn sounded.

  Ruby opened the door. She waved to Rose and Paddy.

  “You’ll get it back when I come home, May. Oh, and by the way, I found that reference you lost.”

  She saw her arrow hit its target.

  Saw May’s mouth fall open.

  Shut the door sharply on her shocked face.

  And smiled at the sight of her new friend, Rose, waving as she got out of the car.

  Chapter thirty-nine

  M-a-yyyyyy . . . M-a-yyyyyy . . .”

  Martha’s voice, quavering, barely audible, cried out from the darkened upstairs room. She lay in the bed, her mind a riot of images, horrific and all-consuming. They were showing her pictures she couldn’t bear to look at. Pictures that were demanding she take action. She needed to unburden herself. The dark secret she’d carried for so long was clamoring to be heard before it was too late.

  Down in the kitchen, the twins were smarting from Ruby’s parting shot.

  The reference.

  Their initial indignation at her having the temerity to go out for the night without alerting them earlier, quickly being replaced by the realization of what she knew.

  “But . . . but how do you know she read it?” June was saying.

  “Oh, she read it all right, the fat bitch; have no fear of that.” May put her head in her hands, tears of self-pity fighting the waves of anger flaring up at the sheer audacity of her sister. “Christ, how could I have been so stupid . . . carrying the damned thing home? But I didn’t want flaming Mrs. Hipple coming across it. She snoops around our room when we’re not there. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure . . .”

  “Oh, she does, the nosy so-and-so, you mark my words.”

  “Well, when we get our own house we’ll not be bothered by that anymore.” June, as ever, trying to appease. “Will we?”

  May pushed back her chair.

  “Tell you what I’m gonna do. Go through her bloody bedroom . . . turn every inch of it over.”

  “But she’ll have it locked. She always locks it.”

  “I’ll break the lock, then.”

  She raced upstairs, tried the door handle.

  “M-a-yyyy . . . M-a-yyyy . . .”

  “God, it’s Mummy! June, come quick.”

  They dashed into their mother’s room, to find Martha lying half in, half out of bed.

  “Jesus, Mummy, what is it? Are you all right?”

  They helped her back under the covers.

  Martha gripped May’s arm, her eyes fearful. “I . . . I . . . want . . .”

  “Yes, Mummy, what is it?”

  “F-Father Ke-elly . . . I need . . . Fa—”

  “Father Kelly? What . . . now?”

  Martha nodded before falling back on the pillows.

  “God, Ruby, you’re lookin’ terrible well,” Rose said. “Now that I can see you in the light, like. That wee belt with the ducks’ heads is lovely, and where did you buy that nice white handbag?”

  “Thank you. My sister got the handbag in Belfast.” Ruby looked down at her feet. “But the black shoes don’t match, Rose.”

  “Not a bit of it, Ruby. Sure nobody looks at a body’s feet. And them flat sensible shoes are good for you. You’ll not get no bunions or blisters like you’d get with them old high heels.”

  “That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing, too, Rose,” Ruby said, feeling the need to return the compliment.

  “God, do you think so, Ruby? I made it meself from a Butterrick pattern on me nineteen and fifty-seven Singer sewing machine passed down the maternal line, so I did.”

  “Youse go on there first,” Paddy said over the
roof of his car, before locking up the vehicle and preceding the ladies into O’Shea’s establishment.

  They entered a hot, seething mass of revelers, all eager fans of The Beardy Boys. Slope caught sight of the trio.

  “Jamie’s upstairs!” he called out. “He’s kept a table for yins.”

  Rose, leading, spotted Jamie immediately at the back of the lounge. They negotiated their way through the mass of crowded tables.

  “Who’s that?” Ruby overheard a woman say.

  “Martha Clare’s daughtur,” came the reply. “The one that tried tae kill herself . . . not too right in the head.”

  Ruby wheeled round and stared. What looked like a mother and daughter were gazing up at her. Abashed, they immediately dropped their gaze and turned away.

  “How you, Ruby!” Jamie shouted, getting up.

  “Hello, Jamie.”

  “Sit yourself down there.”

  “God, Jamie, it’s a terrible big crowd,” said Rose, hot and flustered, beige handbag clamped to her chest.

  “Did you think it was gonna be this big?” Paddy added.

  “Aye, The Beardy Boys pull them in, so they do.”

  After getting themselves settled and ordering drinks, Ruby felt a little more relaxed. She’d never been in a lounge bar before and was trying to absorb this new experience as she looked about her. Some faces she knew. She recognized Marian from the supermarket with a man who was plainly her husband. Marian caught her eye and waved. A young man was doing floor waiter, but she didn’t know him.

  Another familiar face caught her attention: a man in his thirties. He staggered slightly as he made his way across the room. Chuck Sproule. The last time she’d seen him he was shouting slurs at Jamie as he wrestled with Bertie Frogget on the Fair Hill. He sat down at the table occupied by the women who’d been gossiping about her. The beaky nose and stringy hair were unmistakable. It was obvious they were his mother and sister.

  The drinks arrived: two Babychams for Rose and Ruby, two pints of Guinness for the men.

  Up on the stage, The Beardy Boys—Des and Davey, twin brothers with matching beards and sweaters—launched into the first number of the evening, “Your Cheatin’ Heart.”

  Jamie raised his glass. “A toast to Rose and Ruby!” he said.

  “Aye, to Rose and Ruby!” Paddy repeated.

  They clinked glasses, and Ruby took her very first sip of alcohol.

  June met Father Kelly on the doorstop. He’d been about to retire when the call came through. Now, as she led him into the kitchen, he wondered aloud if the sisters had rung the doctor.

  “No, Father. She said she didn’t want the doctor . . . just you. She wants to make her confession. Will you have a cuppa tea first?”

  He shook his head.

  May came down the stairs, her face drawn and sad.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  May burst into tears. “Does this mean she’s gonna die, Father? Wanting . . . wanting to make her confession?”

  “No . . . no . . . your mother’s a long way to go yet.” He came forward and rested a hand on May’s arm. “With God’s help and our prayers she’ll make a good recovery, so. Now you and June have a cup of tea and I’ll see to things.”

  Father Kelly climbed the stairs with his black bag of effects. On the landing, he halted outside the door to Ruby’s room. Called to mind their last conversation over Edna’s case before they took it to the woods for burning.

  “Was she putting a curse on me, Father?”

  “No, Ruby. No one has the power to do that.”

  He’d forgotten to ask where Ruby was. Wondered if she was already asleep behind that closed door. He said a little prayer, and continued down the corridor to Martha’s room.

  “Now it’s time Davey and me took a wee break and had some of that nice drink yins are all havin’!” a Beardy Boy announced.

  A cheer went up.

  “Thirsty work, this oul’ singin’. But we won’t see yins stuck for entertainment. For there’s a man we’re gonna introduce to ye now who, without a doubt, is the best accordjin player in these parts.”

  Another uproarious cheer went up.

  “I’d nearly go as far as sayin’ he’s maybe not even the best player in these parts, but the best player in the whole of Ireland!”

  An ear-splitting round of applause.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the one and only Jamie McCloone.”

  Jamie squeezed a high-spirited chord from his accordion, to the roaring approval of the crowd.

  “God, I didn’t know Jamie was so well thought of,” observed Rose. “Do you like that wee Babycham, Ruby?”

  “It’s very nice,” Ruby said, smiling. Her cheeks were pink with joy and the effects of the drink. She’d never felt so happy. She loved the company of the McFaddens and Jamie. They were good people who treated her as an equal and didn’t judge her. All the horrors of the past weeks were melting away. Perhaps this was the “new beginning” that the Tarot had predicted?

  But at the same time, she didn’t want to think about the case and its contents any more. That part of her life was over. With the help of Dr. Shevlin she’d be able to put it behind her for good. Her focus now was to make reparation for all the trouble she’d caused. Her duty was to care for her mother and bring her back to full health.

  “. . . this is a first for me, too,” Rose was saying.

  “Why? Do you not come out with Paddy at the weekends?”

  “Well, I don’t as a rule, Ruby . . . would prefer if there was another wommin with me. But sure now I’ve got you, we can come out and hear Jamie play more often.”

  “I’d love that, Rose! Can I buy you and Paddy another drink?”

  Paddy waved the waiter down and another round was ordered.

  Meanwhile, Jamie was playing the first of his three numbers: “The Boys from the County Armagh,” a boisterous one to get things started.

  Rose and Ruby clapped along as the audience beat time with their hands and feet, some singing out the lyrics, others letting out skirls of “Yip! Yip!” and “Hi-di-hi!”

  Martha grabbed Father Kelly’s hand before he had time to sit down. Entwined in her other hand, a rosary. There were tears in her eyes.

  He was taken aback by the deterioration in her appearance. She seemed to have aged rapidly in just a week: the pallor more sickly, the face more skeletal, the lips displaying a blue tinge. And that doomful harbinger that he’d seen all too often at the sickbed: the mottled hands, blood pooling under the skin.

  “Now . . . now, Martha. Everything is going to be all right.” He pulled up a chair to the bed.

  “Thank . . . you . . . Father . . . for com . . . coming. I need . . . I need . . . to tell you some . . . something before I go . . .”

  Father Kelly draped his purple stole—the color of penance and healing—about his neck, crossed himself and leaned close.

  “That’s all right, Martha . . . I’ll hear your confession now . . . if you want. Is that what you want?”

  “Y-e-sss . . . Father.”

  Jamie finished the first number and moved into “Whiskey You’re the Devil.” He was in his element. There might have been over seventy in the room but for Jamie the only two people who mattered were Ruby and Rose—and Ruby most especially. He could see her through the mass of heads, smiling and clapping her hands, and her happiness was his happiness, her joy was his joy.

  “Bless . . . me . . . Father . . . for . . . for I have sinned.”

  Father Kelly held Martha’s frail hand. He peered intently at her, leaning in to catch the barely audible words.

  “I’d . . . I m-i-s-s-e-d . . . the bus, you see. Had to walk . . . walk home . . . and took . . . took a shortcut through . . . through . . .”

  “Yes, Martha. It’s all right now. Take your time.”

&
nbsp; “The woods . . . then I . . . ”

  Father Kelly felt his hand being clasped more tightly.

  “Then what happened, Martha?”

  “A man. He . . . came . . . came from nowhere. Started walking behind me. To follow me . . . I started to walk more quickly, but I heard . . . heard him increase . . . increase his step as well. I ran . . . Oh dear God, how I ran!”

  She shut her eyes tight, trying vainly to shut out the terrifying memory of what she had to tell.

  “But I was wearing . . . wearing high heels . . . and the path, the path was rough and, and . . .”

  She attempted to raise her head off the pillow. Looked at the priest, petrified.

  “It’s all right, Martha dear. There, there, now.”

  “I-I . . . fell, Father. Oh my God, I fell!” she cried, letting out a deep howl of despair. “He . . . he grabbed me. I tried, tried to fight him off . . . and I did. I hit him and pushed him . . . pushed him over . . . I got up . . . was . . . was just on my feet again. I ran for my life . . . when . . . when . . .”

  She winced, eyes squeezed tight.

  “But, there was a pot . . . hole. A pothole on the path and I . . . I tripped. Oh. God help me, I tripped.” Her grip on the priest’s hand tightened even more. “He . . . he grabbed me by the hair and . . . and dragged me into the . . . into . . . into the bracken . . .”

  “It’s all right now, Martha. It’s all right.”

  She nodded and swallowed hard.

  “Will you take some water?”

  She shook her head, fixed her eyes on the ceiling, as if focusing there might give her the strength to utter the word—the terrible word—she could never bring herself to say, but which had to be said now.

  “Then . . . then, he . . . he . . .”

  Father Kelly saw her hand close tightly on the rosary. The pain on her face, explanation enough.

  “You don’t have to say any more, Martha. I know. I under—”