‘Get on with you, then,’ Joe told his son. ‘And have a damn bath. You reek.’
Mary nodded and dragged Liam away down the street, him grumbling and pumping up.
‘Da treats me like a lad. I’m working me full muster and doing the job of a man. Still he talks to me like that.’
The bitterness in his voice frightened her and she squeezed his arm to remind him she was there and all was well with the world again. Or it would be. His lovely lassie again, how could it not?
THE TALK OF TREES
MARCH 1915
The small clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the silence of the Merrilees’ living room, reminding Mary of another small room in the Pailis what seemed like a lifetime ago. At first she didn’t notice the perambulator chair, shabby and familiar, shadowed in the corner; the embroidered cushion that once lay atop its worn seat no longer there. The message ‘A mother’s heart makes a home,’ its tiny rose buds and daffodils nowhere to be seen, probably lost on board ship.
A splash and a curse from the washhouse on the far side of the kitchen wall reminded her that Liam was in there, naked and near drunk. She shook away the image leaping into her mind of him in his bath pouring water over his head and down the smooth of his back … What are you thinking, ninny?
She wasn’t thinking anything at all, only waiting to be sure that the dafty didn’t drown himself, then she was going straight back to the bazaar.
God, how many inches did it take to drown a person? She stepped towards the door.
‘Are you all right?’ she called, then nearly leapt clear up to heaven when Liam stepped through the kitchen doorway into the living room wearing his trousers and no vest, shrugging into his shirt. He gave up on the buttons with a chuckle. ‘Damn holes must’ve shrunk.’ Out of his pocket he pulled a flask and poured a dark liquid down his throat in a series of gulps.
Mary bit her lip and stepped towards the hallway door. ‘I’m going back to the bazaar awhile.’
‘No, don’t go, lass.’ He grabbed for her hand and spun her around up close to him, ran his fingers gently down her cheeks. ‘I’ve missed you, Mary. You always were the one to know me best and understand what I want. All Da cares about is making enough shillings to get to each Pay Friday. I’m not like him. I’m not one to settle. I want a house, me own real house, but I want more too. Oh, lass, I wanted to tell you sorry so many times. Will you forgive a useless misery who too soon forgets his friends?’
She hesitated. The admission a reminder of all her longing and hurt of months. Before she could protest, he tugged gently on her hair, pulling her mouth up to meet his, mashing her lips with soft kisses. He pulled back, steadying his gaze on her.
‘Do you know I think of you sometimes when I’m down the pit, in the dark – how lucky you are out in the daylight. Sometimes when the trees are talking underground, I know I’m not going to heed their warning; I want the roof to come tumbling down and bury me so’s I never have to pick up me token another day in me life.’
Mary gasped, seeing in her mind the timber props begin to crack and shift, telling Liam to go, get out, save himself. And him staying put, aggravating the pillars, cleaving them with a pick. The rats running at his feet and first flitters of dust coating his hair. The groan as the timbering shifted, as the rocks and undug coal, the tons of earth above, came crushing down on his fair curls.
Her legs began to tremble.
In Liam’s drunken state, he could barely hold up the two of them. ‘Don’t worry, lass. You’re never going to marry some useless miner and have him touch you with his blue, scarred hands. You’ll be sitting up reading books in your pretty parlour with a library filling one whole wall and a maid to do your bidding while you read away the day. See if you don’t.’
The longing in his eyes captured her as much as his words. All the while he dropped small kisses across her forehead.
A glimpse of the doorway behind him served as her last call to leave, but the moment passed when she glanced back into the eyes of a little boy lost. I’ll go in a minute, it’s only a bit of fun. But then he kissed away all reason and sense of time. His lips brushed hers, soft again at first, then firmer, hungrier. She gasped when his tongue pushed apart her teeth and slid inside her mouth, the darting featherlike movements making her knees cave beneath her.
‘No, Liam. We’ve got to stop. We shouldn’t be doing this,’ she gasped.
But he did not stop. He lowered her to the floor onto the rag rug and it might have been the softest quilt, she could not leave it. Even while flickers of fear and desperate questions fought for her attention, his lips tugged at hers and she gave herself over for just another moment.
‘God, how I’ve missed you, Mary. You were the only one to love and believe in me after me mother.’ His words, mumbled into her hair, finished on a sob. One rose in her own throat for all the misery of months past. Aware of his hands moving over her and the buttons of her blouse opening, she panted as his fingers stroked her bare belly beneath her chemise. She pushed them away lest they travel up and find the scars on her chest. For a moment she hesitated, thinking maybe it would be best if he did see them and was turned off her. Instantly she changed her mind, desperate for him not to see or stop.
Within seconds he rolled onto her and, as if she was caught in a dream, everything became distant. Though his hands were roaming, she could not say where, as they teased everywhere at once, slipping under her skirts. When he pressed hard against her, she knew she should stop him. ‘Liam,’ she reached for his face, but with one sudden, sharp stab of pain knew it too late. Decision time had passed.
In mere seconds, the fierce panting above her grew less and Liam’s body heavy. She pushed against his chest and he rolled off her. Sobs caught in her throat when she looked into his face and saw his eyes closed. His mouth slack, a trickle of drool running down his chin. He didn’t see her tears start and, within seconds, he couldn’t have heard them either over his drunken snores.
She rolled away from him, pushing her skirts down decent. Catching sight of Mrs Merrilees’ wean chair, she tugged her knees up tight to her body and rocked like a baby. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Merrilees. Oh, Lord, please don’t let me mother find out.’ Pictures of Maw and Da’s disappointment crowded into her mind. But a little voice spoke up for her. ‘Ain’t you his lovely lass again, so it’s okay then, isn’t it?’
Under the soft glow of the incandescent light in the washhouse, Mary tucked her skirts into her waistband and stripped off her knickers. Shivering in the cold steel tub, she scrubbed herself down there until she was raw. Raw as inside where it hurt as much to think about what they’d done. While Liam’s kisses rained, all pain and reason had disappeared out of her head. She’d not confess to the priest she’d not stopped him. Oh, God! The thought of telling Father O’Sullivan set her legs shaking.
Perhaps if she could have lain in Liam’s arms awhile, he could’ve reassured her that God would forgive her. Because wouldn’t he be giving her his name now? Didn’t he love her, doing those things to her? Wasn’t everything all right between them again?
A sudden fear strangled in her throat. God, had she led him on? Because she couldn’t deny the flutters in her belly or her knees gone weak at his touch. Yes, she’d wanted him to kiss her, make love to her even. Just not go all the way, as if they were married. Damn you, Liam Merrilees. What were you thinking?
The low bubbling of the copper masked her answering groan. She dried herself roughly and smoothed down her skirts, unable to think straight to know the meaning of any of it. The act so quick, it was hard to believe anything ever happened. She caught sight of the shaving mirror hanging on a nail by the window frame and stepped closer. She’d have thought she might look older, or different somehow. It was a relief to find she did not. The lack of change showing in her face might stop Maw finding out, unless the worst happened, of course, and …
Oh God, don’t think such a thing.
AFTER SHOCK
APRIL 1915
For the n
ext two weeks, Mary made excuses for why she might not cross paths with Liam, and why he could be spied ducking one way down the street whenever she was coming home the other. Else he went out straight from the pit showers.
But by the following Friday – her niggling worry turned to fear. She couldn’t get back to Hagelthorn Street earlier than seven in the evening and where was Liam – already eaten his meal and nicked out.
‘Can you not hold the tea over late tonight?’ she begged Maw.
‘Do you expect the men to wait on you coming in when they’ve been home from their shift two hours?’ Maw scoffed. ‘Until you’re wearing miner’s boots and having a say, tea in this house is served at six.’
The next day was only a half-day at the mine and happened to be Mary’s monthly half-day too. She ran all the way home, but Liam never showed his face in the cottage all afternoon or that evening either.
She stayed awake until after midnight, straining her ears on any hint of movement in the yard or down the hallway, but still he managed to avoid her. He couldn’t forever. No. Tomorrow, she’d make damn sure he didn’t.
The sun wasn’t fully up when she knocked on the door of the shared second bedroom. When no answer came, she snuck in, quiet and careful so as not to wake the twins – Samuel curled up asleep in the bed beside Liam, and Jane on the pallet bed below.
‘Liam, wake up, will you? I need to speak to you.’
She crouched by the bedside and shook Liam’s shoulder hard until he stirred.
‘Goaway. What’s wrong with you, Mary? It’s me sleep-in day.’
‘I’m warning you, Liam Merrilees. If you don’t wake up and talk to me this instant, I’ll go straight in and tell your father what you done.’ Still the beggar lay there unmoving and her stomach began to somersault in fear he’d call her bluff.
But then he opened one eye, pushed his fringe out the way. ‘What are you talking about, Mary? Done what?’
‘Don’t you dare tell me you don’t remember.’
‘Remember what?’
She leaned in close to his face then, wanting to gouge out the eyes that refused to see her and rip off the ears refusing to hear. Instead she hissed, ‘After the bazaar and your bath. Remember that.’
She couldn’t believe it when he rubbed his hand back and forwards over his forehead, grimacing like she was some pain in his head he could not shift.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came home from the bazaar, took me bath and went to bed. I don’t know nothing beyond that. I was asleep. Like I’d be now, if you’d just go away.’ He struggled to hold her eyes, like the longer he glared, the more she might believe his balderdash.
‘And then your arse fell off, Liam Merrilees. You remember damn well what happened.’
‘What, Mary? What happened?’ said Jane kneeling up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
Mary could have run from the room lest the younger girl suspect anything half as bad as the truth, only the glint of victory in Liam’s eye at his sister stalling the conversation hardened her resolve. ‘I’ll give you five minutes to get your lying lips outside to talk to me, Liam Merrilees. Else, don’t think your da will be sleeping in this morning. I know mine won’t.’
With that, she walked straight and slowly out of the room so he wouldn’t see her knees juddering. She shut the door behind her and leaned back against the panelled wall, breathing deep, trying to still the terror that he was going to feign amnesia or drunken stupor, to deny what he’d done, what they’d done together. He wouldn’t get away with it. Not if … Her breaths came so fast the passage walls began to swirl around her and she had to put her hands over her nose to calm her breathing. Go out in the fresh air, she told herself. If he’s not out in two minutes, come back and wake his father.
Please don’t make me do that. How could she tell Joe Merrilees what his son had done? She’d never tell Da. He’d knock Liam into the middle of next week.
Why was he being so hateful? He had to remember. She didn’t give herself to him so as he could forget her the next second. Besides, he said he loved her. He might not remember their coupling, but he had to remember that. Sure some girls lay with the boys before getting a wedding ring on their finger, but they didn’t have Nellie O’Donnell for a mother. She’d do more than hurl a poker and woe to anyone who committed any type of mortal sin.
At the bang of the screen door at the top of the back steps, she looked up to find Liam scowling at her and tugging his shirt unbuttoned across his vest. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘Sit down, Liam. Please.’ She cringed when, instead, he sighed, running his hands through his hair, pushing it back over his ears, glaring at her. Mad as she was, she longed to tuck back a stray curl and see once again the same loving looks as the night of the bazaar.
‘You’d better say what you gotta say, quick. Mass starts in an hour.’
Her mouth fell open, incredulous. ‘Yeah, write me another fairytale, Liam Merrilees. Like you’re one to rush to church every Sunday. Don’t treat me like a fool.’
‘Well, ain’t you, Mary? A fool, I mean. Why are you pestering me when I’ve already told you I ain’t got nothing to say to you?’
‘Li …am.’ Why was he acting like nothing had happened? He had to remember. Of course he did.
He stood there cracking on his knuckles, shaking his head like that might make her go away. ‘I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t have anything to give you. I’m only waiting here until I can go. You belong here with your maw and da.’
She glared back at him. ‘Don’t treat me like a child. After the bazaar, you told me you loved me, you–’
‘I never did, Mary.’
‘You told me I was the only one to love and understand you. You said you missed me. And then you big buffoon, you lay with me on your father’s rug. And now I’m late! So don’t tell me you don’t know what I want from you. Not unless you’re gonna hand back me innocence and wipe away me mortal sin. And anything else not supposed to be there.’
‘I dunno what you’re talking about, Mary. Or what trick you’re trying to pull? You can’t go blaming me for your sins. Or any wee bastard you might be carrying.’
‘As if it’d not be your wean.’ Mary squealed back, the fire in her anger drying any sobs in her throat. ‘Don’t you dare deny what you did. Your da’s gonna know – today.’
‘Yeah?’ he scowled. ‘Go ahead and tell him. I’ll deny it till me dying breath. You’re not trapping me here, Mary. No way. I told you what I wanted all along.’
‘You wormy, little liar.’ She swung at him, fist flailing, ‘I’ve known you every day of me life, Liam Merrilees, and it might surprise you to know, I can tell when you’re lying. I don’t know why you’re acting like nothing ever happened, but you’d better hope I’m only late and your seed hasn’t planted. Cause I ain’t going through this alone.’
‘There you go, Mary, always thinking the worst. Nothing happened, so nothing’s gonna happen. As if a sweet girl like you would be lying with a boy before your wedding night and acting like Mary bleeding Magdalene.’ With that, he stomped back up the stairs and inside, slamming the screen door behind him.
Mary struggled to her feet and staggered down the rest of the stairs. She began to run and kept on running all the way down the road to the pony paddocks. The one place she could cry and find comfort without having to explain herself or listen to recriminations. She should be heading to Mass and confession, but what did she have to confess, if nothing ever happened?
FERTILE GROUND
MAY 1915
Over the next several weeks, finishing the new house in Ivor Street took up every spare minute for both the O’Donnell family and the Merrilees. All except Liam.
After the final painting and cleaning came the lugging of bags and cases a mile and a half along the North Wonthaggi track. The beds and larger furniture to come later on a hired dray.
It was a distraction Mary didn’t know if she should welcome or not. W
ith her skirts shrinking and monthly rags staying clean, she could deny the swim in her belly or the swell of her breasts no longer. Trying to tell Liam had been one thing. But Maw …
She was sick from worrying about it, her only relief found in going to work where she won a smidgen of praise from Miss Beatrice for rubbing her fingers raw till the silver shone. She could cut bread on the creases she ironed into the linens. By day’s end she was so tired, she slept the sleep of the dead. If only she could stop dreams of Maw wielding the poker to make a mark in her back.
She even washed and pegged a row of rags in the new Ivor Street washhouse in the hope of stemming Maw’s suspicions awhile longer; all the while praying her monthly bleed would start.
Please, Lord, I promise I’ll never do it again before I’m married. Just please, please let me get away with it this once.
Already she knew her prayer was not the only thing too late. Tallying up the two months since the bazaar – the twice she’d missed …
She could hear her mother’s voice: A bad wound may heal, but a bad name may kill. The shame Maw would bring …
But whatever was going to happen, she could avoid the telling no longer.
Later she would not recall a single word out of her mouth. Only Maw yelling to her sisters to get to their room and shut the door. And her mother’s self-righteous disgust and satisfaction, her suspicions confirmed. The woman’s forehead creased in fury, the overspill flinting out her mouth.
‘You had a choice, girl. Not to open your legs out of marriage. Have I been wasting my breath all these years, offering up me prayers for you and warning you what would happen?’ Have I?’
Mary could only shake her head, helplessly, while the mutton stew from tea turned solid in her stomach. But what choice did she have? Maw would’ve known soon, told or not.
Maw stabbed her knitting needles into the skein of wool and heaved herself out of her chair, shooting Mary another venomous look, before grabbing up the kettle and lumbering out to the yard to fill it.
No Small Shame Page 11