‘So be it. Then we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we? Where’s our terrible husband and son? Rampaging, is he?’
At last a tiny smile played over Molly’s lips. ‘He’s out doing Swainbank.’
‘He’s what?’
‘Him and the chap from Chase farm, him as runs it. They’re out performing push-ups or summat with the boss’s money.’
‘Push-ups? What in heaven’s name are they?’
Molly eased herself into the carpet chair, a difficult task as she was now hugely pregnant and her shortness of stature was a sore impediment. ‘I don’t rightly understand it, but they’re making money. They get to the market early on and look for likely beasts. Then they make a low offer. If the offer’s accepted, then some clever beggar forges a slip with the auctioneer’s name on it, as if they’ve paid more and his fee on top. Paddy and the farmer split the difference.’
‘Well!’ Ma threw her coat onto the dresser. ‘Isn’t that stealing?’
‘Paddy calls it surviving. Mind, they lose out at times. If the feller doesn’t sell cheap, then they all agree on a price. Paddy and his own farmer do what they call a stand-in, keep bidding and pushing the price up. If it goes no further than what they agreed, then Paddy has to buy. But if somebody else bids more, then Paddy, the farmer from Swainbank’s and the selling farmer all split the extra money.’
‘Well! I knew he’d brains, sure enough, but I never thought he’d be following so closely in his father’s footsteps. What if they get found out?’
‘They won’t. Paddy’s too clever for that.’
The subject of discussion suddenly burst in at the front door, his usually pale cheeks ablaze with excitement. ‘Ma! Molly! Guess what?’
‘We know,’ said Ma grimly. ‘You’re making a small fortune out of certain gentleman farmers who shall remain nameless . . .’
‘No! I mean yes . . . only that’s not it!’
‘Paddy!’ There was a stern warning in Ma’s tone. ‘Wasn’t the two hundred pounds compensation enough for you? Not that it’ll last, the way you drink . . .’
‘Will you listen! I’ve got a surprise for you.’
‘Have you now? Well sit down and eat this meal before it spoils, Paddy Maguire.’
He twisted his cap between nervous fingers. ‘Is there enough for a visitor?’
‘Of course,’ said Ma. ‘You know I would never turn away a friend of yours. Set another place, Molly, while Paddy brings in his visitor. I’m away to wash a day’s dirt from my hands.’
When Ma returned from the scullery, she found herself face to face with a man she had never expected to find in her house again. Shocked to the core, she leaned heavily against the dresser, her eyes wide and staring. He hadn’t changed that much, she thought to herself while her heart pounded loudly. Still long, lanky and pale, still mean around the eyes and lips. ‘Get out,’ she muttered between clenched teeth.
‘Now, Philly. Don’t you be starting off again with the lashing tongue. Sure, I always knew your bark was worse than your bite . . .’
‘Did you now? Well it’s plain you know little enough!’ She turned on her son. ‘How could you? Have you no sense, no feelings at all in that thick head of yours? Whatever are you thinking of?’
‘I . . . I recognized him, Ma, ’cos he looks like me. Soon as I saw him, I knew who he was.’
‘Have a heart now, Philly,’ said the man, his tone wheedling. ‘’Tis a clever man recognizes his own father . . .’ His voice tailed away as he noticed the fierce expression on her face.
‘A father?’ she screamed now. ‘A father, you say? What kind of a father would leave his child before it was ever born? And what’s a father at the end of the day? Just an instrument, something that starts a life then ceases to worry. This is my son, my daughter-in-law and my house! So get out this instant before I get my neighbours to throw you out.’
Paddy took a hesitant step towards his mother. ‘He’s over selling cows, comes over nearly every year—’
‘Does he now? Well, where’s the child support due to me these last years, Seamus Maguire? I’ve seen a solicitor and you can be made to pay even now. Didn’t you think to come and visit your son ever? Didn’t you worry and wonder was he all right, was I all right?’
‘I knew you’d be fine—’
‘Ah well, isn’t that just great, now? Will I go out and kill the fatted calf, invite the street in for the celebrations? Or would you prefer me to get the police, for there’s an order out, a desertion order. An English court would be interested in you and your arrears.’
He blanched and backed away towards the door. ‘No poliss,’ he muttered.
She nodded slowly. Strange how she hadn’t noticed till now how much of her accent had disappeared, how Boltonese her speech was becoming. Compared to this estranged husband of hers, she was practically English. ‘In trouble again, I take it? Lighting fires and smuggling bullets, having a go at the innocent who cannot fend for themselves?’
He straightened. ‘I am at war,’ he declared clearly.
‘Indeed?’ She walked to the table and removed the extra place-setting, flinging surplus items on to the dresser. ‘Where’s your uniform? I thought war involved a few soldiers lined up and a bit of ground between them?’
‘It’s not that kind of war—’
‘No,’ she hissed. ‘And it never will be, because you know the English would wipe you out in ten seconds flat. Not that I’m taking sides, mind, only I know I’m not on yours.’ She turned to Paddy now. ‘This hero is preparing to wipe out the British Empire single-handed.’
‘I’m not on me own—’
‘Ah no. I was forgetting the half dozen others hidden in the bushes. Paddy, they kill defenceless people—’
‘We kill those who stole our lands! There’s English parading up and down as if they own my country.’
‘I’m not saying it’s fair, Seamus Maguire! Life was never fair, but several wrongs do not make one single right!’ She sighed, her head wagging quickly in exasperation. ‘A hundred times we argued over this. After eighteen years, I’d have thought you might have learned a bit of sense at least! But no. You’ll carry on planning and killing, a few years’ breathing space then off again with your shenanigans. You cannot stay here. I will give no space to a rebel, just as I would give none to those you fight against.’
‘Your own country.’ He spat these words. ‘Not a damn do you give, even for family. Did you know your mammy and daddy are dead?’ He smiled as she slumped against the wall. ‘And your brother Kevin sits in a Belfast jail waiting on what they call British justice? We’ve done nothing, nothing at all, but we will some day and then let the eejits watch out for us.’
Ma pulled herself together with difficulty. ‘If you were a man, you’d have been to my house before this to tell me about my own people.’
He hung his head slightly. ‘It hasn’t been possible.’
‘No.’ Her voice was heavy with sarcasm now. ‘Because you’ve been in prison yourself, no doubt. And I’ll have you back there before morning unless you leave now.’
Seamus hesitated, then took a step towards his new-found son. ‘Believe me, I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of—’
‘Oh aye?’ Paddy stared hard and long at this stranger until the room crackled with tension.
‘I see I’m to be a granddaddy soon.’
Molly, who had not attempted to speak during all this, heaved herself out of the chair and moved towards the staircase. ‘I’ll see you later, Ma,’ she said before opening the door.
‘But . . .’ Seamus looked from Paddy to Ma. ‘What’s the matter with everybody? I’m his daddy, for God’s sake—’
Paddy crossed the room and stood beside his mother. ‘You are no relation to me and I’m sorry I brought you here. You’d best get out before I throw you out.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. I often wondered what you’d be like, specially when I was a kid. A kid you walked out on. Any idea what she�
�s been through?’ He jerked a thumb towards his mother. ‘Worked herself daft, she has.’
‘And turned you against me!’
Paddy shook his head vehemently. ‘Never mentioned you. It was obvious you weren’t worth talking about – I can see that for myself now. And I don’t want my little lad or lass having a jailbird for a grandad, so you’d best be on your way.’
Seamus Maguire seemed to deflate suddenly, like a balloon with all the air released from its elastic casing. ‘I need a place for now, just for the while—’
‘Why?’ Ma’s tone was steely.
‘Jaysus, woman – have ye no imagination at all? And did you never hear of the Risings? English poliss we have over to home, English bastards who blame the innocent for what’s their own fault! Sure, if they’d leave us alone—’
‘You’ll not hide here, that you won’t! You’re gone all these years and never a penny in support for your wife and son, then back you come with your tail between your legs expecting me to protect you from the law!’
‘For God’s sake, Philly!’
She held up her hand. ‘For Paddy’s sake, for Molly’s, for the child and aye – for myself too – I am ordering you out of my house. Your name is no longer on the rent book, so you have no right to be here—’
The door flew open. ‘It’s all right, Missus,’ called a deep male voice. ‘We’re here to take the burden off you.’ Three huge policemen jumped into the room. Seamus flattened himself against the dresser.
‘You are Seamus Maguire?’ No reply came from the cowering man’s whitening lips, so the sergeant stepped forward, a truncheon dangling from his right hand. ‘I arrest you for crimes against the State. Namely, that you did knowingly and wilfully smuggle illegal arms into Dublin, that you committed arson in a public building, that you caused the deaths of two policemen and nine civilians—’
Ma leapt across the room, hand raised to strike.
‘No!’ yelled the sergeant. ‘Don’t do it, lass, or he’ll say it was us. I want him unmarked and pretty for when he comes up in front of the judge.’
Because she could find no other safe way of expressing her contempt, Ma spat into her husband’s face, leaning back to watch as the spittle ran down his cheek. ‘Hang him,’ she said quietly. ‘And keep our names out of it. No doubt the neighbours have noticed already that you are here to arrest him, but I want it made plain that I have not seen this man since before my son was born. In fact, this is the first time Paddy has met his father – if we can call him a father, that is.’
Paddy nodded slowly, his eyes wide with terror after hearing such a terrible list of crimes. ‘That’s right.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I have no father, never did have. Just take him away – I don’t want me Ma and me wife upsetting any more.’
Molly had reached the upper storey and was lying on the bed, her breath coming in short gasps as labour pains began to rack her body in earnest. But she did not call for help; Ma had explained that this stage might go on for hours and there was enough trouble in the house already without her adding to it before absolutely necessary. In spite of the pain, she grinned. She felt so proud of Ma. Yes, what was a father after all? Nothing. Ma had managed to rear a son alone. With Paddy’s help and Ma’s support, her child’s real father could remain completely unimportant.
Downstairs in the street, neighbours lined the short route from house to police van as Seamus Maguire was carted off to prison. When the black vehicle had turned the corner, Ma addressed the onlookers. ‘Yes, that was Himself, the husband whose life I made a misery all those years ago. Well, now you all know why, for he’s a desperate sort who’s going off now to where he rightly belongs.’ She nodded wisely. ‘Ah yes, those of you who are old enough will remember how I was treated, looked upon with fear because I hunted him away and made medicines – a witch I was called.’ The small crowd sighed and nodded in unison. ‘Well, he’s gone now, so you can get back to your chores with the show over.’
Pierce Murphy stepped forward, cap in hand, coal-rimmed eyes shining over-brightly beneath heavy black brows. ‘We’ve always known you were all right, Ma. Sure, you’ve stuck by us through thick and thin, given cures for free, picked coal off the heaps with the rest of them when the pits closed. There’s not a man or woman here would condemn you for having a criminal for a husband.’
‘Thank you, Pierce Murphy. I am grateful for such good neighbours. And now, if you will excuse me, I have a meal to eat and a bed to get to.’
She was hardly through the door before Paddy grabbed both of her hands tightly. ‘Ma! She’s started . . . Molly . . . hurry up . . . she’s early, isn’t she?’
‘Don’t be bringing the house down with it, Paddy! Haven’t we had enough excitement for the one day? By all that’s holy, I swear you’ve had the heart scalded out of me every minute since you were born—’
‘But Ma—!’
‘Away with your bother, man. She’s healthy enough, a fine strong girl—’ She pushed him aside, her heart fluttering wildly as she once again made swift calculation in her head. Although she could not cope with abstract numeration, she could count all right. ‘ – And it’s not that early, for heaven’s sake. Didn’t Bridget O’Leary go but six and a half months and the baby survived?’
‘What can I do? Will I boil water or what?’
Ma opened the door wide. ‘You will go, this time with my blessing and ten shillings from my own purse, into the vault of the Bull. Where, no doubt, you will drink yourself into unconsciousness by nine o’clock.’
‘No!’
Ma leaned wearily against the wall. ‘Look, Paddy. This day I have had two bad cuts off my loom, a husband returned who I never wanted to see again, I’ve learned that my parents are dead, that my brother is in jail and that my daughter-in-law is in labour. And now, to top it all, you’re being a desperate trouble when I could do without it. So go.’
Paddy stepped out into the street and sat at the edge of the pavement. He wasn’t going anywhere. Oh, he had to accept that he couldn’t be with Molly, couldn’t hold her hand and mop her brow when she most needed him. But he wasn’t leaving the street. Should the doctor be required, he’d be on hand to fetch him.
A few interested passers-by asked why he was sitting there and when the answer was given, a dinner appeared as if by magic, then a jug of ale with a blue-rimmed tin cup to drink from, a packet of cigarettes, a cheap and rather flattened cigar. Doors were closed in deference to the activity currently taking place in number thirty-four and Paddy sat in splendid isolation well into the night.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew was Ma shaking him by the shoulder. ‘Come on now, Paddy. You’ve stiffened up like a corpse – get into the house.’
He got up slowly and stretched his limbs, then, as he became fully awake, he grabbed Ma’s arm. ‘Is it all over?’
‘Most of it. But you can’t go up yet, I’ve the afterbirth to deliver. I wouldn’t have left her, but I saw you through the window stretched out like a side of beef.’
‘The baby?’
‘A boy.’ As she spoke, the unmistakable sound of a new-born baby’s cry came floating from the upper storey of the house. ‘He’s small,’ she said. ‘But fine all the same,’ she added reassuringly.
They stared at one another in disbelief as another and quite separate sound reached their ears. ‘Holy Mother,’ whispered Ma. ‘Is that my hearing gone already with the weaving, or—’
‘No, Ma! I hear it and all! Go on! Go to her—’ But Ma was already in the house and halfway across the kitchen.
She raced up the stairs and found Molly crouched by the bed, just as she’d found the girl’s mother all those years ago. Ma’s hand flew to her throat. ‘Edie!’ she said before she could stop herself. And she was momentarily back in next door’s kitchen with Edie and the new-born Molly all over again.
This second child was stronger and larger than the first, screaming fit to burst although it was not yet fully born.
‘What
is it?’ asked the young mother, tears and sweat mingling on her cheeks.
‘I can’t tell yet. Ah . . . it’s a girl. We were both right. Come on now, get back into the bed this instant.’
When the babies were safe in their shared cot, Ma stumbled to the top of the stairs, her voice cracking as she called, ‘It’s twins, Paddy. One of each. Don’t come up yet, lad. I’ll tell you when it’s time.’
After seeing to Molly’s needs, she crept to the side of the crib and stared down at these two Swainbanks, Richard’s grandchildren, tiny, blameless and beautiful creatures, they were. While their mother slept, she took holy water from the side table and blessed them as Joseph Arthur and Janet Edith Maguire, laying particular emphasis on the surname. After that, they were hers, hers and Molly’s and Paddy’s. No matter what happened, nobody could ever take them away.
As she watched Paddy fussing over ‘his’ babies, she backed away into a corner, a lump rising rapidly in her parched throat. Yes, they’d both cheated him, both she and Molly. But as long as he believed the twins were his, as long as he loved them and loved their mother, surely nothing but good could come of this arrangement?
Paddy looked across at his mother, tears making tracks down his haggard cheeks. ‘They’re a bit on the small side, Ma. Will they be all right?’
She nodded quickly, not trusting her voice.
‘Ma?’
‘Yes. They’ll be fine.’ She swallowed hard. ‘The lad’s the weakest, about four pounds, I’d say. But the little girl’s strong, a good five at least. As long as we keep them warm, get them feeding—’
‘What’s up, Ma? Did Molly have a hard time?’
She wiped her eyes on a corner of the capacious apron. ‘No worse than most, Paddy. It’s just . . . oh, I don’t know. Mammy and Daddy dead, two gone and two born—’
‘But that’s the way, isn’t it? Some has to go to make room for others?’
‘Yes. Yes, I dare say that’s the way of it, sure enough. When I came in, after delivering the first, I found Molly on the floor giving birth in exactly the same way as her mother did. I suppose that upset me as well, realizing how much I still miss Edie.’
With Love From Ma Maguire Page 19