Mary held her tongue, afraid one wrong word from her would end their talk, but she’d no chance to say anything when the back screen door slammed open on the porch.
‘Mary, mind your sisters on the way to the privy. Give ’em the candle and matches. Are you out there, girl? Or gone to your bed without a goodnight?’
‘I’m here, Maw. I’m coming,’ she yelled back, but stayed her feet, desperate to keep Liam talking.
‘Some things don’t change.’ Liam laughed wryly. ‘You’d better run along, lass, before your maw catches you with a man drinking in his yard. What would she think of you then? Only thing your maw thinks worse than a drinker is a Prod.’ A match blazed in the darkness while he cupped his hand over the flame to light another fag, coughing on the very first drag.
Tears pricked Mary’s eyes at the dismissal in his tone, but then he reached out and tipped up her chin. His face held steady in front of her, soft breath blowing on her face while he growled, ‘I do remember Neddy. And a lot of other things besides. You need to get out of here, lass. Leave Wonthaggi before some smooth-talking collier or fat shop boy sweeps you off your feet. Don’t be mistaken. Wonthaggi might call itself a town, but it’s a pit village. Still owned by the bosses.’ He dropped her chin and raised the dark shadow of his bottle in a salute. ‘Only difference, it ain’t dry like the Pailis. For that much I’m grateful.’
‘Can’t you just wait awhile and see what happens?’ she begged. ‘The war might be over quick like they’re saying?’
‘You always did believe in fairy stories, didn’t you, lass? I ain’t gonna argue it with you. Bad enough Da ranting about bloody duty. Another excuse to keep me here. I got me plans.’
‘Are you coming, or ain’t you, Mary?’ Hannah yelled, jumping up and down on the stoop. ‘I’m fair bursting.’
‘Jings, you brat, in a minute,’ Mary shouted, turning back around, eager to hear, what plans? But the tree stump now sat empty, as if the night had swallowed up Liam. The glow of his fag snuffed out.
SOMEONE TO LOVE ME
DECEMBER 1914
The next morning, she met Liam up early, shaved and polishing his shoes, despite him supposed to be on shift. He grabbed the basket out of her hand and swung it along. ‘Told you, I ain’t giving up on me dreams. But first, I’ll walk you to work.’
All the way to Trafford’s he gabbed his newfound determination to knock on every door in town, ask for the chance to prove himself, in any job away from the mine – a shop lad, a messenger for the accountant, a mail boy in the postal office. A start.
But …
‘No.’
The same question wherever he went. ‘If he wasn’t going to work in the mine, why wasn’t he enlisting?’
He disappeared from the tea table again by Christmas, though all knew where to find him from the tension riding Joe’s face, if not the stink off Liam’s breath and his clothes.
Joe dragged him into the New Year, spare with the frustration. ‘At least the wastrel had a mother until he was reared, not like his poor wee brother.’ The misery beast Joe grumbled about over cards or dominoes was not the Liam any of them would’ve recognised a year ago.
Mary thought Joe harsh, even knowing he’d gone into the mine himself aged eleven, his own parents dead of measles within days of each other. To Joe, Liam’s duty in serving the war effort lay firmly in the mine – keeping the railways going. The subject of doing anything other was closed to him.
Weeks passed, arguments between father and son increasing, until, with the early fall of autumn leaves in March, Mary was scarcely able to believe it over a year since they’d arrived in Wonthaggi.
Money had been borrowed and builders hammered at the new house in Ivor Street. Basic the O’Donnell house would be, with no fancy electricity or piped water like the Government dwellings in the borough, but, ‘It’ll be ours in thirty years,’ Da insisted, proud as if he swung the hammer on every nail himself. He took the North Wonthaggi track every day to watch the building progress, and help out, as he called it.
‘Get in the damn way, more like it,’ said Maw. ‘If I get to heaven first, I’ll be locking the damn door. God save me from spending all eternity with your fool ideas too, Seamus O’Donnell.’
The bickering continued late one unseasonably warm half-Saturday while Mary hurried away from the cottage. Hearing her name shouted as far on as the main street, she walked all the faster fearing it her mother.
‘Mary, wait. Please. I’m burshting to talk to you.’
It weren’t Maw asking so pretty with a please, or a lisp. And when Mary turned around, who should it be but Winifred Sloy, sitting up on a wagon on the roadside, a bonnet perched askew on the top of her head, every imitation of a lady, albeit a shabby one.
Winnie clambered down the side of the cart and ran, falling into Mary’s arms. ‘I’m so glad to see you. Thank you for your letters. They’re the only thing keeping me mind right out there on the farm all on my own. I think about you all the time, wondering what you’re doing. You’re so lucky to live in town near all the fun and excitement.’
Mary stifled a snort, thinking the girl must be teasing. Except Winnie gazed around the busy street wide-eyed at the buggies and odd motor car passing, and the pedestrians standing in the middle of the road to talk, like she’d not seen any of the changes taking place in the town, the gaps between the shops and buildings filled with new stores and a fancy brick post office.
How often did Winnie come into town?
Mary worried, studying her friend’s earnest face. Winnie’s left cheek puffed out like she’d secreted an entire orange inside. The girl lisped on certain words but didn’t stop talking long enough to allow Mary to ask questions.
Then Winnie linked arms. ‘Where are you going, Mary? Ishn’t it a beautiful day? Are you meeting anyone? Can I come too?’
Mary didn’t miss her cast a furtive glance along the road like she expected a jailer to pounce and drag her back. It might have been only the late summer heat but Mary could’ve sworn Winnie was trembling.
‘I’m going to the bazaar in the Friendly Societies Hall. They’ve got a few stalls to raise funds for the new hospital. You can come if you want, but I don’t think it’s going to be a grand affair.’
‘Hah, not like a wedding,’ sighed Winnie, glancing in the direction of St Joseph’s. ‘But then you’re married.’ Her voice croaked as if she was ready to cry.
‘What’s wrong, Winnie?’
‘Oh, Mary, if I tell you a shecret, you’ve got to promish you won’t tell another living soul. On pain of death. Now promish.’
Suddenly, Mary wished herself home suffering Maw’s wrath rather than hear what Winnie was about to say. She’d no chance to nod or run though before Winnie began to cry.
‘It’s me hushband. He’sh the meanest man in the world.’ Winnie paused to glance behind her again before glaring back at Mary, as if daring her to agree or deny it, and crying harder. ‘And I’m stuck with the meanie till the day I die, or hopefully he doesh first.’
What was the girl raving about? She’d known what Sloy was like before she got married. Hadn’t she called him rude as his pigs?
‘Come on, let’s go to the bazaar,’ Mary coaxed. ‘There’ll be lemonade and we can sit and talk a bit.’
Winnie hesitated, casting glances back along the street. ‘Frank’s only gone to schell his horse. Or try to. He’sh told the fellow the animal is five years old. That old nag Duncan must be twenty if he’sh a day, but the chappy buying him is greener than grass about farming and Frank reckons if he’sh stupid enough to buy a broken-down old hack, he deserves to be dudded. He’ll be back shoon and livid if he finds me gone. Then again, he did shay he could be a couple of hours if they have a drink to sheal the deal.’
Mary stared at Winnie in disbelief. ‘Does the man expect you to sit in the heat and wait for him all afternoon?’
‘Oh no. Frank said to hop under the cart in the shade if it got too warm. He wouldn’t want me to
get sunstroke. Not in my condishion.’
‘Your condition, Winnie. Are you expecting a wean? I mean, a baby.’
‘Yesh,’ said Winnie, fanning her face with her gloves and coming over coy. ‘Thank goodnesh too. I’m so lonely out on the farm, but soon I’ll have someone to talk to all the time. Someone to love me.’
‘What about your husband?’
‘Oh, he’sh happy about the baby. He needs someone besides Carr to help him on the farm. Between you, me and the gate post, he wants rid of that one. Too up himself by half, Frank shez. Just caush Carr went to the technical school, he reckons he knowsh it all. My Frank has dug out more tree shtumps than that one’s eaten hot dinners.’
Mary didn’t like to say it might be a few years before the child on its way would push a plough. She only hoped the babe might bring real joy to Winnie, the way weans did when they stayed.
She could be envious, if it weren’t for Winnie’s choice of husband. She’d rather die a prunish old spinster than marry the likes of Sloy.
Her distaste must have shown on her face because Winnie immediately came to her husband’s defence. ‘You’ve got to understand, Mary, Frank had no parents. He don’t know any nishe ways to treat people. His folks drowned when he wash a baby and his aunt took him in, but she wash quite mad in the head and booted him out when he wash twelve.’
Mary thought she’d have bolted the door on Sloy too if he made her sit under a cart in the heat. She wasn’t sure whether to ask Winnie about her cheek, but couldn’t stay silent. She reached out and gently touched it. ‘He doesn’t beat you, does he, Winnie?’
‘Lord no, why would you shay that?’ Winnie drew her arm out of Mary’s. Then she laughed. ‘Oh, me face. I’ve been to the dentist and got me tooth yanked. I’ve been fit to murder with the pain the last three weeks. Frank tied a string to the devil and to the kitchen door. Five shlams later, the bloody tooth was shtill in me mouth and me laying flat out on the floor, in a pool of blood, before the damn fool agreed to spend a shilling and get it taken out proper.’
Mary swallowed the words she wanted to spit about Sloy, unsure as ever whether Winnie adored the man or loathed him. She wasn’t about to set that ferret down the rabbit burrow lest it double back and bite her.
Noisy laughter broke her thoughts as two young fellows stumbled out of a nearby coffee house. The pair were three parts sozzled from the way one lurched past and tripped on the uneven porch boards outside the apothecary, jolting into her. Blond curls and a Scotch brogue told her before he turned around that Liam was busy at his favourite pastime. Strong hands reached out to steady her as much as himself. For the briefest moment, he caught her eye. A smile touched his lips and he winked.
Afraid to blink, Mary looked down instead at his hands holding her own – warm and steady. The spidery blue scars crisscrossing his skin stood out against the redness of her own, raw from scrubbing the tables and benches at the boarding house that morning.
As if he’d read her thoughts, Liam scowled and pulled his hands away, thrusting them into his pockets. Was it pain she read in his grimace, or … regret? Whether for her, or for the white of hands never gone underground, she couldn’t guess. He turned on his heel and staggered away.
‘Wisha. Who was he? Mary, you dark horse. Ishn’t he the fellow from the picnic?’
‘Get away. He’s an old friend, is all. Or used to be. Just some people forget who their true friends are.’ Mary linked arms with Winnie again and tugged her after the drunken ducks stumbling ahead of them. ‘That one is trouble, if ever you had a pound to buy it.’
‘Ooh! But with those eyes, I bet he’s worth a fiver at least.’
‘Winnie Sloy. You’re a married woman. Don’t tell me your dish of married love’s gone cold so soon?’
The other girl’s face began to crumple again and Mary, recalling the tears of earlier, bit her tongue. A shout interrupted from across the road.
‘Hey, you. I told you to wait in the cart.’
‘Oh, it’s me hushband,’ giggled Winnie. ‘I’ve got to go, Mary. It’s been precshious to see you. I wish you could come and live on the farm with me. You could be me maid. Don’t forget to write me.’
‘Hurry up, woman,’ roared Sloy, settling the bag of bones he’d tried to flog as a draught horse between the stocks, before he hitched the animal into harness.
Mary hugged Winnie and pushed her away. ‘Go now. But come back soon. And Winnie,’ she caught the girl’s hand, ‘look after yourself and your wean coming.’
Winnie nodded, clamping her hat to her head, before she dashed across the road, straight into the path of a rider on horseback trotting down the middle of the street. The rider cursed and veered his horse sideways while Winnie kept going without a backwards look.
Mary couldn’t help the unholy thought – she’d rather go under the horse’s hooves than be married to a beast like Sloy.
SWEET NOTHINGS
MARCH 1915
With Winnie gone, Mary had nothing to do but go along to the bazaar on her own, free to remember her brief connection with Liam earlier. It stung her recalling the emerald in his eyes somehow faded. The stupid galoot might make her miserable in missing him, but it seemed he was more wretched himself. She wouldn’t have recognised the Liam from the Pailis in the thinness of his hands.
Nor could she recognise the Liam dancing, some time later, in time to the piano player pounding a tune up on the small stage and fast becoming the talk of the Wonthaggi Ladies’ Bazaar. The sight of him jigging cheerful as a pit pony free in the fields, wrenched her back to the boy she’d last seen running delirious in Neddy’s field the week before he was leaving. Was that Liam still inside him, somewhere?
She worked her way around the outside knot of stalls, past the tables of fancywork and hand paintings, the trestles of baked goods, and across to Liam, finishing his jig by stumbling into the crowd.
Hands reached out to steady him, but he shrugged them away. ‘Well, if it ain’t Miss Mary O’Donnell. Come to fetch me home.’ He staggered sideways, clutching her hard against him.
She fought a sudden thrill jagging from her breastbone direct to that place she could not name, even in her most private thoughts.
When Liam righted himself, his lips brushed her ear, turning it scarlet with the intimacy, and she ducked her eyes from the frowns and grins on the passers-by at his boldness. Meanwhile he caressed her name with his voice. ‘Mary, me lovely lassie.’
‘What did you say?’ She tried to pull away. Only the eejit was clinging onto her like he couldn’t stand up on his own two feet.
‘I’m sorry, lass. Truly, I am.’ He held himself still and steady then. His eyes fixed on hers so earnest, she almost forgave him. His firm fingers played across her back and rested in the waistband of her skirt. His lips murmured over her cheekbone, down her neck to a sensitive spot just under her jawbone. ‘Jesus, Mary, you’ve grown up gorgeous.’
Sweet Mother of God, what was he doing to her?
‘Tsk! Dreadful!’ a woman passing snorted.
Mary blanched at the tone of disgust in the woman’s voice, relieved to find the face not Maw’s. She had to get Liam out of sight before his family and, more importantly, her own turned up.
‘Come on, Liam. We’ve got to go.’ She tugged him towards the door, while his hand played up and down her back.
Her face flushed and the hall became suffocatingly hot – the smell of candy floss, orangeade and sweetmeats making her head swim and pushing out all sensible thought. She couldn’t find the exit quick enough.
Outside daylight had all but gone. Under the dim porch light, huddles of men slurped from poorly hidden flasks while Liam stumbled beside her down the steps. Once in the shadows of the gorse bushes lining the fence, he gathered her into his arms and pulled her tight against him, smothering her lips in beery kisses. The music inside the hall melted into a distant other world, along with her common-sense. Before she realised what he was doing his hands closed around her breasts an
d squeezed, sending wild pulses rippling through her body. She couldn’t open her mouth to stop him because his lips searched hers hungrily, making words impossible. She swayed, giddy with longing and a dizziness – as if she’d matched him pint for pint.
Sudden laughter and boots stamping down the steps sent a hot chill through her and she blushed to her navel, dragging Liam out onto the street. She had to half hold him up or he would have collapsed, probably to crawl under a buggy and go to sleep.
‘I missed you, lass. And here you are, bonnier than ever.’ He murmured in her ear, chasing away her prickles of doubt.
‘Mary. Is that the pair of you?’ Joe barked, emerging out of the dusk with the twins. Wee Hugh safe in Maw’s arms following up behind with the rest of the O’Donnells.
At his father’s voice, Liam pulled up in his tracks, using all his efforts to straighten up and appear a semblance of sober.
‘Sorry, lass,’ Joe said, nodding to her and tossing his head at his son. ‘The lad’s turned into a damned wastrel. I dunno what to do with him. His maw’d turn in her grave to see him.’
Joe’s words hung bitter in the air.
An uncomfortable shuffle of footsteps confirmed Mary’s thinking, Julia Merrilees unlikely to ever rest easy, tossed on the whims of the sea.
‘Hic.’
Joe groaned as though using all his patience not to clout the wretch belching on the heels of his mother’s name.
‘Don’t worry, Joe. I’m taking him home now,’ she assured. ‘He’ll be all right with me.’
Joe hesitated, casting a warning glance at Liam before he turned back to her. ‘That’s good of you, lass. You’ll miss the entertainment at the bazaar though.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve been inside already and there’s not much to spend my money on.’
At Jane’s crestfallen face, and Hannah set to cry, Mary bent to ruffle her youngest sister’s hair, adding quickly, ‘Oh, but they’re going to have jugglers and clowns and a snake man later. You’ll all have a bonny time.’
No Small Shame Page 10