Mother’s Only Child

by Anne Bennett

  ‘Barney wants to know if you’ve had the guards around asking questions?’

  ‘No. Why should I have?’

  ‘Barney was the only one not wearing a stocking,’ the man said. ‘He wasn’t sure he hadn’t been recognised. That’s why he didn’t come home, and then, of course, the bullet in his arm would have taken some explaining.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it take some explaining anywhere?’

  ‘No, not where he was taken,’ the man assured her. ‘The bullet is out now and Barney near back to normal and intends following his brother to Dublin in the next few days.’

  ‘Oh, does he?’ Maria said. ‘And what of his wife and child?’

  ‘He’ll write when he has an address,’ the man said again, and added, ‘He made no mention of a child.’

  ‘No,’ Maria said. ‘That’s because he didn’t know that she was born. That happened the night he disappeared. But tell him not to fret. We can live on fresh air. I wouldn’t touch a penny piece he’d give me, in any case, for it would be tainted money.’

  Suddenly she was tired of it all—tired of Barney and his lies and deceit, his lack of any sort of moral fibre—and mortified that through her marriage she was part of it all. She glared at the man. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘you’ve had your say, so get out. I just don’t want you here another minute.’

  The man was glad to go, and Maria managed to hold back the tears until the door shut behind him. But then she totally gave way. Dora took the sleeping baby and laid her down in the pram before taking Maria into her arms. Maria felt as if she was drowning in the tears pouring from her eyes and filling her nose and her mouth. Her sobs shook her whole frame.

  Dora didn’t urge her to stop. Instead, she patted her back and said, ‘That’s it, Maria, cry it out. You let go, mavourneen. You’ll feel better afterwards.’

  Maria wondered if she’d ever feel better about anything ever again, but she was eventually quiet. She didn’t wish to relinquish the comfort of Dora’s arms around her so the two sat there entwined.

  Sam had understood enough of what the man had said to be shocked and disappointed in Barney. He quite understood Maria’s collapse and had watched Dora comfort her, feeling frustrated and helpless. He dealt with those feelings the way he dealt with anything he found uncomfortable. He lifted the bottle of whiskey, never far from him, and took a long, long swig of it. After the revelations about Barney, Maria was in a state of shock. She wondered what manner of man she’d married at all. Smuggling and card games were bad enough, but holding up a security van and stealing from it was an entirely different kettle of fish.

  What was she to do about it? What could she do? She was married to Barney for life. Was what she’d found out about him a justifiable reason for leaving him? How the hell could she know that? She felt totally alone.

  Only Dora and her father knew the truth, and though Dora had probably told Bella, she never spoke of it.

  Maria couldn’t even bring herself to tell Con the whole of it, so she told him Barney had got word that the guards would be wanting to question him about his smuggling activities in the war and he’d fled to Dublin for a wee bit. Con accepted it. Whether he believed it or not was another matter, but she knew he would keep his own counsel. He came as often as he could to see them all and spend time with Sam. Maria was glad of that, for she knew her father missed Barney, despite everything the man had done.

  The lying in period was officially over and Maria had taken up the reins again, doing everything like an automaton and desperately worried about money because all she had was her savings and she knew those wouldn’t last for ever. Her father’s whiskey put a huge drain on her finances, and now that many men were unemployed there were fewer presents given to him, though Raffety’s sent round the odd bottle and so did Bella. It helped only a little, and Maria viewed the future with fear.

  Then, at last, she got the awaited letter from Barney.

  Dear Maria,

  I am sorry I was unable to get news to you sooner about what had happened to me. I know you must have been worried, especially with the baby coming as well. Pity it was a girl. Better luck next time. I was sure you’d know better than to tip the wink to the coppers and I told Seamus the same. Anyway, there is plenty of work here and I thought to stay around for a while. I will send you some money shortly. I know we are stuck in Moville for the time being, but when Sam dies, I think we should move here lock, stock and barrel. It would make a better future for us all.

  Barney.

  There was no remorse for what he had done. No shame. Maria read the letter to her father and then took it round to show Dora.

  ‘I’d like to know the nature of the “work” that Barney mentioned,’ she said, as Dora finished reading the brief missive and handed it back. ‘Then again, maybe I wouldn’t like to know. The fact is, Barney has never had a proper job, unless you count the time he had in the boatyard, when he left most of the work, first to Willie and then to young Colm.’

  ‘How do you feel about Barney, Maria?’ Dora asked.

  ‘I don’t love him, I know that now,’ Maria admitted. ‘It’s not a nice thing to say, but I clung to Barney in much the same way as a drowning man will clutch at any piece of debris to help keep him afloat. I felt totally unable to cope with all the responsibility, even with the help you and Bella were, and then, of course, Daddy was all for Barney.

  ‘But just maybe I wouldn’t have married the man at all if I hadn’t given in to him the day Mammy was taken to the asylum, Then, when I ended up pregnant, there was no other alternative. I’ll tell you one thing, though,’ she went on, ‘I had no idea of the smuggling and all, before I was married, though I found out soon after it and I was devastated. I begged him to stop and when he point-blank refused, I suppose I began to lose respect for him. It’s impossible to have deep feelings for someone when you feel that way. This latest business has just blown me away completely and there is no possible chance I am going to join him and take my daughter to be brought up among thieves.’

  She looked at the sleeping baby in her arms and said, ‘Sally is the only good thing to come out of this union with Barney. She will be my consolation.’

  Barney was having the time of his life in Dublin. As P.J. said, there were rich pickings for a bright fellow and the raids he was involved in were on a much bigger scale.

  Barney never asked what happened to the stuff he helped steal. He knew from his time in Moville that asking questions was a bad move, and probably wouldn’t be answered anyway. He was more than happy with the payout he received. He’d never had so much money in his life.

  In Dublin, too, he found that girls would flock around a man with money in his pocket to give them a good time, and were very appreciative later in bed. He had worried about being unfaithful to Maria at first, but Seamus said she deserved no loyalty

  ‘Didn’t she pull the wool over your eyes right and proper, so that you were hoodwinked into marriage?’ he said. ‘A woman like that needs no consideration at all.’

  Barney knew Seamus was right. Any doubts he might have that she really might have been pregnant that time fled when he was with his brother, who was adamant that Maria had duped Barney right and proper. He’d been mad to have Maria, but now he had achieved his goal, she didn’t seem that great. Anyway the girls they went around with were crazy for sex—expected it, almost. It would take a better man than him to refuse them and he put off his return home day after day.

  Each week, he wrote to Maria, but as she’d told him she wanted no money he hadn’t earned legally, he sent her none.

  ‘What’s she living on then?’ Seamus asked when Barney told him this.

  Barney shrugged. ‘She has savings from the time she was working before the child was born, so I suppose she is using those.’

  Seamus laughed. ‘And what will she do when that’s all gone? High principles are all very well when you have a full belly. The sooner the old man dies, and you move down here for good and bring Maria with you, the b
etter.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m having a good enough time without her.’

  ‘That needn’t change,’ Seamus said. ‘At least not if you’re master in your own house, like I’m always telling you. Maria is your wife, not your bloody gaoler. She is there to cook your meals, keep the house clean, have your clothes washed and ironed, and be ready to accommodate you in bed when you fancy it. She is not there to tell you what to do, or monitor your every move. You have given her too much of her own way and she has those two witches from the shop to support her. Here she would have no one, and she’d soon see what side her bread was buttered if it was a case of knuckling down to do as she was told, or eating.’

  Barney shook his head. ‘Maria isn’t…you don’t know her, Seamus.’

  ‘I don’t need to know her personally,’ Seamus said. ‘She is a woman like any other.’

  Then one night Seamus said, as they left the house, ‘There’s a man I want you to meet tonight. He’s our landlord, actually—name of Ned Richards. He owns this house—and not just this one. The man is rolling in money. I met up with him at the casino last week and was telling him about you. He was mighty interested in the boatyard.’

  Barney looked at him open-mouthed. ‘Don’t be daft! No one would want that place, man. The fishing is finished.’

  ‘He isn’t interested in the fishing.’

  ‘Then what…?’

  ‘At least listen to what the man has to say. That can’t hurt, can it?’

  And it didn’t hurt. Barney found he got along fine with the man who had plans for developing the boatyard for the tourist industry now that the war was over.

  Two days later Barney received a telegram from Maria.

  Daddy much worse. He’s asking for you. Please come home immediately. Maria.

  There was a warehouse job planned for that night, but Barney knew if Sam died before he reached home he’d never forgive himself and made plans to return immediately.

  Maria didn’t really know how to greet Barney. He’d been gone almost three months and it was now the beginning of November. She knew he’d likely been up to all sorts in Dublin, but it couldn’t really be gone into that night, at least not until they went to bed and had a little privacy. And so she had the house cleaned and tidy, the baby fed and asleep in the pram, her father washed and a casserole in the oven when Barney opened the door.

  The day had turned blustery and cold, and the warmth of the room hit Barney like a wave. He sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘Something smells good,’ he said. ‘Bloody marvellous, in fact.’

  Maria had turned at his arrival, and Sam cried, ‘Barney! Lad, it’s good to see you.’

  Maria knew whatever Barney did, Sam would forgive him, and she wondered if he even remembered what he had heard from the man who had brought them the news of Barney, or even had any idea of the time that had elapsed since he had last seen Barney. The drink had addled his brain to the extent that he was losing his grip on reality and seemed to live in a world of his own most of the time.

  She didn’t know how to behave herself. For better or worse he was her husband, the father of their child. So when Barney put down his bag and took Maria into his arms, she went without protest. At first, she merely submitted to the kiss. Then she felt her body betraying her as the kiss grew in intensity, and Barney’s hands moved over her body, pressing her against him in a way that was barely decent.

  When he released her he was smiling. ‘Later,’ he said. ‘That is, if you can wait that long.’

  Maria’s whole body was tingling and his words caused a tremor to run through her. She busied herself laying the table, while Barney rooted in his bag for a minute before crossing the room to Sam. The mark of death was on the old man’s face, but Barney’s manner to him was the same as it had always been.

  ‘Come on, you old codger,’ he said. ‘I’ve got you a present,’ and he produced a bottle of single malt whiskey.

  There were tears in Sam’s rheumy eyes. ‘Ah, lad…‘ he said. Barney noted how he was wheezing and how each word was punctuated by a gasp. He felt immense sympathy for the man. ‘God Almighty, that looks good,’ Sam went on. ‘Now if you could just get me a glass…?’

  ‘Daddy, I said you could have another drink when you’d eaten something,’ Maria chided.

  ‘Don’t fuss me, Maria,’ Sam said. ‘I have everything I need in this bottle.’

  Barney hauled Sam up in the bed gently and then he fetched two glasses. He poured a generous measure into both and as he placed them on the table beside the bed, he said, ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’ He saw the look of gratitude on Sam’s face.

  ‘You don’t help,’ Maria grumbled, when Barney came back to the table and sat down

  ‘God, Maria, nothing will help now,’ Barney said quietly. ‘He’s on the way out and there is nothing either of us can do about it.’

  ‘I know,’ Maria said with a sigh. ‘God knows, I will miss him when he goes, and yet I know he’s ready—been ready for years.’

  ‘I am fond of the man myself,’ Barney said. ‘I always have been, but we have to face the inevitable and decide what we will do when Sam eventually dies.’

  ‘What do you mean?

  ‘Well, I mentioned it in the letters. I want us all to move to Dublin.’

  ‘To where?’ Maria said scornfully. ‘Some rat-infested slum. You want me to bring Sally up in a place like that and be surrounded by vagabonds and scoundrels? Sorry, Barney, but I have no desire to go to Dublin.’

  Suddenly Seamus’s word came back to Barney about being master in his own house and not allowing Maria to have her own way too much. He was irritated by her attitude and he hissed quietly, so Sam shouldn’t hear, ‘I don’t give a tinker’s cuss for your wishes. When Sam dies, I will inherit both this house and the boatyard, and I will do with both as I see fit. You will have to put up with it and as my wife you will go where I say.’

  Maria regarded Barney with alarm. She had few rights now and she knew on her father’s death she’d have even fewer, but, by God, she’d make her position clear. ‘Don’t you dare try to bully me, Barney McPhearson. Whatever you say I am not going to Dublin—not now, not ever.’

  ‘It’s about time we got this clear,’ Barney said icily. ‘I am head of this household and as my wife—’

  ‘Oh, I’m your wife, am I? Pity you didn’t remember that I was your wife when you went swanning off and I didn’t even know where you were.’

  ‘You knew why that was.’

  ‘Oh, aye, I knew all right, eventually,’ Maria commented drily.

  ‘I got word to you as soon as I could,’ Barney said, his voice rising in anger. Maria looked across at her father, but he was slumped against the pillow. Barney seemed unaware of Sam as he thundered on, ‘And didn’t I come like the very devil when you said your father was worse?’ He banged his fist on the table as he cried, ‘And it wasn’t my bloody fault you had the baby the same day I disappeared.’

  Sam had stirred at the pounding of the fist, but the child jumped and began to grizzle.

  ‘Leave her be!’ Barney commanded, as Maria got to her feet with a little sigh. ‘She has to learn you cannot be at her beck and call.’

  ‘She is but a baby!’ Maria hissed. ‘Don’t you dare take your bad humour out on her, and don’t try telling me when I can tend to her. I will do as I see fit. Anyway, she probably needs a feed, but might have slept a little longer and given me chance to finish my dinner if you hadn’t tried throwing your weight about.’ She lifted the child as she spoke.

  Barney growled, ‘You gave me cause.’

  ‘I did no such thing.’ Maria sat down with the wailing child and pulled up her jumper to begin feeding her. Barney felt a strange jealousy assail him as he watched his child sucking, and her little hands kneading the breasts he considered his property.

  He regarded the baby with distaste. He had no time for daughters. Other men’s daughters, grown to luscious maturity, he could handle with no bot
her at all, but daughters of his own? No, definitely not. But he contented himself with saying, ‘She’d better not be any trouble tonight, Maria, I’m warning you. I have been away a long time and I will want you tonight, and as far as I am concerned, she can cry her bloody head off. My needs come before a child’s any day.’

  Barney attacked his meal with relish and yet his face stayed morose. Maria wondered where the old Barney had gone, for this harsh, brusque man who’d returned from Dublin was like a stranger. Maybe it was the people he was mixing with that had changed him. He had always been swayed by his brother’s influence.

  Barney finished his dinner, scraped back his chair, went across to the Sam’s bed and poured himself another generous glass of whiskey.

  ‘Hurry up,’ he said to Maria. ‘And don’t say you have a hundred and one things to do. Leave everything to the morning, for I want you in bed now.’

  ‘I’ll be up as soon as Sally has had her fill and has been changed,’ Maria said firmly. ‘She won’t settle if she isn’t full and neither would you if you went to bed hungry, so don’t look at me like that. Why don’t you put the kettle on? I could do with a drink and don’t fancy whiskey, even if you had a mind to offer it.’

  ‘You’re a sarcastic bitch, Maria. You know that?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Barney, stop this griping and complaining.’ Maria said wearily. ‘Either put the kettle on, or hold the child for a minute while I do.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Barney said, putting the kettle on the range. ‘I’m not great with babies.’

  Not even with your own, Maria might have said, but she didn’t. Barney at that moment was like an unexploded bomb and anything she said might set him off. She was too tired tonight for any more argument and hoped he’d be in a better and easier frame of mind in the morning.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The following day, when Barney seemed in a better temper, Maria said to him, ‘I think we should get the child christened as soon as possible, while Daddy is still with us.’