Foreign Affairs Page 4

  She felt a surge of hatred for her husband. He was a bully. He enjoyed the power he held over her and Rachel and Ronan. It wasn’t physical bullying but an insidious intimidation that he constantly practised on them. He made his children feel inferior and he did much the same to her. Well tonight her anger and her desire to protect her daughter had freed her from his authority. For once in her life she was going to put her foot down. And from now on, she was going to keep it down. If Rachel and Ronan were to have any bit of fun and happiness it was going to be up to her to see that they got it. Imagine wanting to give them lessons during their holidays! She grimaced in the dark, wiping the tears from her cheeks. It wasn’t as if they were backward or anything. They were bright intelligent children, they didn’t need extra tuition.

  Tomorrow she was going to get that little bastard Patrick McKeown and put the fear of God into him and then she was going to take the children into Bray for the afternoon and bring them to the amusement arcade and let them do whatever they wanted. Slipping out of bed she padded softly across the landing and into Rachel’s room.

  Her daughter lay with one arm under her cheek, fast asleep, untroubled by her previous upsets and worries. In the moonlight, Theresa could see the bruises on her neck and ear from the assault with the marbles. Gently she leaned down and lightly brushed her lips against the vile marks. A ferocious need to protect her precious daughter rushed through her. Rachel was so timid. Life was going to be hard for her. Ronan had much more spirit and was less daunted by his father. He bounced back after every chastisement. She would never have to worry as much about her son as she would about her daughter. Ronan’s lively personality would ease his way through life. He had the son of personality that not even William could dim. But Rachel was so like her mother, she would always be easily cowed and overshadowed by more forceful egos. Well she was going to do her utmost to make sure Rachel didn’t end up like she had. A doormat to an autocratic husband. A woman who had never achieved anything by herself. She was going to instil confidence in her daughter and praise every little achievement to the heavens and if William dared to suggest that Theresa was spoiling Rachel or making her big-headed, she’d go for him just as she had tonight.

  It had actually felt good to let her husband know exactly what she thought of him. He’d been shocked when she spoke to him in such a fashion. Theresa smiled in the moonlight. It had given her a feeling of power to be able to render her husband almost speechless. He had stuttered and blustered and not been his usual lordly self. It suddenly dawned on her that by standing her ground with her husband earlier she had, for the first time in their marriage, refused to let him make a decision for her, refused to accept his authority. For once she had acted as a person in her own right. By confronting his bullying she had rendered him powerless over her. Theresa stood at her daughter’s bedside and realized it had been the single most liberating moment of her life. The chance to be her own woman was, as it always had been, within her. But until now she had been too fearful and intimidated, content to have first her parents and then her husband make all her decisions for her. It was up to her and her alone to make something of her life and, by taking back her right to assert herself, she was going to help not only herself but also her children. Theresa felt an exhilarating sense of freedom surge through her.

  ‘Sleep well, darling, Mammy’s going to take care of everything,’ she whispered. It was a long time before sleep came to her that night, so full of plans was she for the future.

  Patrick McKeown scoffed his breakfast as quickly as he could, cramming brown bread and marmalade into his mouth and whipping the last slice of toast off the plate just as his younger brother reached out to get it. He was in a hurry. The gang had arranged to meet up at the cemetery to have a few smokes and make their plans for the summer. As soon as his mother’s back was turned he was going to leg it out the door. He didn’t intend getting caught for the breakfast washing-up. He bided his time until his mother went out to the front door to bring in the post and then he nipped out the back door and down the lane at the back of their small terraced cottage. The dog from next door ran growling out from the back yard and Patrick turned and kicked hard. ‘Gotcha,’ he exulted as the dog yelped in pain. He hated that dog and was always planning ways of making him die a horrible death. Knowing that he had managed to land a kick that hurt put Patrick in extra good humour and he swaggered down the fuchsia-flowered lane full of anticipation for the meeting ahead.

  It was a beautiful summer’s morning. The sky was blue as could be, with not a cloud in sight. It was going to be a scorcher. Maybe they would go swimming in the river. He turned out of the lane on to the main street where all the poshies lived. The doctor, the sergeant, the headmaster, the Powells and the O’Hanlons. All in their big houses with front gardens nicely tended not like his own shabby cottage with the postage-stamp lawn that grew like a jungle because his da wouldn’t cut it. He was too busy playing darts in Doyle’s pub. His ma was always screeching at him to get the grass cut but his da just told her to fuck off and not be annoying him.

  He passed Rachel Stapleton’s house and felt immense satisfaction as he remembered the show he had made of her at school yesterday. Imagine her being made to stand in the corner. It had been brilliant, all his mates had told him he was the greatest. He’d got a fair stab at her with his compass too. It was nearly as good as stabbing old big-nose Stapleton himself. He farted loudly as he passed by. Old Stapleton couldn’t do anything to him for two full months. He hoped he heard the fart. There was a fine pong off it too, pity it couldn’t poison the whole lot of them. Unfortunately there wasn’t a sinner around this morning to be poisoned or otherwise.

  Patrick whistled jauntily and felt the five Sweet Afton in the pocket of his jeans. He had nicked them out of his father’s cigarette packet that lay in the pocket of the tweed jacket that was flung on the armchair from last night. He was going to have a right smoking session today and that would deeply impress the rest of the gang, who looked up to him as their leader. He was nearing the end of the street where the church and the priest’s house were when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. Shocked by the unexpectedness of it, he turned around to find Mrs Stapleton staring down at him.

  ‘I want to talk to you, Patrick McKeown,’ she said and he felt a flutter of panic. He tried to wriggle free from her grasp but the next minute she had his earlobe between her thumb and forefinger and she was hustling him down the lane that led to Lynch’s farm out of sight of anyone who might be passing on the main street.

  ‘Ouch, that hurts!’ he protested.

  ‘Good. It’s meant to,’ she said unsympathetically as she increased the pressure.

  ‘I’ll tell the sergeant you’ve kidnapped me,’ Patrick blustered, kicking out, but she squeezed his ear so hard the tears came to his eyes.

  ‘Jasus, I’ll tell me da on ya!’ he yelled. For such a small woman she was very strong. She was taking something out of her pocket and with horror Patrick realized it was a compass. That little bitch! She must have ratted on him. Boy, was Rachel Stapleton for it when he got his hands on her.

  Mrs Stapleton said very calmly, ‘You listen to me, you little brat. If I ever hear of you touching Rachel again, by God but you’ll wish you were dead. Do you know what will happen to you if you ever lay a finger on or threaten my daughter again?’

  ‘I did nuttin’ to her,’ Patrick sneered.

  ‘Don’t tell lies, Patrick McKeown. Do you know the Reform School a couple of miles up the road?’ Patrick’s insides gave a lurch of fear. Everyone knew the Reform School where bad boys were sent and beaten and starved. Living only on bread and gruel and water. What had the Reform School to do with him? What was this mad mother of Rachel Stapleton’s rabbiting on about?

  ‘Let me go.’ He struggled and felt his ear being tugged again.

  ‘If I tell the headmaster what you did to Rachel he’ll have you put in the Reform School so fast you won’t know it,’ Mrs Stapleton said. ‘I won’t tell
him this time. I’ll give you one last chance but if I hear of you bullying Rachel or anyone else in the school you’re for it. Do you hear me?’ He said nothing. His ear was tweaked again.

  ‘Do you hear me, Patrick McKeown?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said sullenly.

  ‘Oh and before you go . . .’ Before he knew what was happening Mrs Stapleton had turned him around and stuck the compass hard into his arse.

  ‘Yeouch. Aarrgh ow . . . that hurt!’ he screeched.

  ‘Now you know what it’s like!’ the mad woman said. ‘I’ll be keeping a strict eye on you, Patrick McKeown. And remember . . . any more bullying and it’s the Reform School for you. Now get out of here.’

  ‘I’ll tell me da on you what you done,’ he yelled as he took to his heels.

  ‘And I’ll tell on you and it will be the Reform for you so watch it,’ she called back. Shaken beyond belief Patrick ran back down the lane and in around behind the church. He couldn’t believe that a lady would stick a compass in him. Adults didn’t do that. His arse was stinging him something awful. He was going to go home and show his da and get Mrs Stapleton arrested by Sergeant Roach. That’s what he’d do. He turned around to retrace his footsteps in the direction of home. Mad bitch, she wasn’t going to get away with sticking a compass in him. He started to walk down Main Street. Ahead of him he could see Mrs Stapleton pause outside the sergeant’s house to stop and say hello to Mrs Roach. Then the sergeant appeared and stopped to talk to her. Patrick halted in his tracks. No-one would believe him if he told them what had just happened. He could hardly believe it himself. If she was so friendly with the sergeant maybe she would be able to get him sent to the Reform.

  Slowly Patrick McKeown turned on his heel and slunk away.

  Theresa dug her hands firmly in the pockets of her full floral skirt to try and steady them. Her right hand curled around the compass with which she had just stabbed Patrick McKeown. She couldn’t believe that she had actually stabbed a child with a compass. She felt slightly sick, but triumphant at the same time. Sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander and he might think twice about stabbing someone with a compass again. The memory of her daughter’s bruises had been just what she needed and she’d wanted to more than stab the little savage with a compass. She’d wanted to tear him limb from limb. Maybe she was a savage too but she didn’t care. He’d never lay a finger on her child again. He’d nearly died when she’d said about the Reform School. She’d seen the fear in his beady little eyes. That had been a brainwave on her part. That had got to him. She could have gone to his parents, but she knew Jimmy McKeown, he’d only curse her out of the house, and his wife, Ella, couldn’t control Patrick anyway so she wouldn’t be much use. No, the best thing had been to confront Master McKeown himself. Hopefully that would be the end of the bullying but she’d be keeping a very watchful eye on her daughter from now on.

  She walked briskly down the lane and back on to Main Street. She had left Rachel and Ronan eating their breakfast. William had his earlier and had gone to the school to organize his office for September. It was the luck of God that she had glanced out the window and seen that little brat walking past the house. It was a God-given opportunity to settle his hash for him.

  William once again demanded that she give him the name of the culprit and she once again refused, stating that she would handle it herself. He was fit to be tied but she left him sulking over his breakfast. She ignored him, which didn’t go down well. When she had informed him that she was taking the children to Bray for the afternoon to go on the amusements, he was furious.

  ‘You’re spoiling them.’

  ‘And about time too,’ she’d retorted, much to his chagrin. Let him sulk and he could go and get fish and chips for his dinner, she wasn’t even going to make a meal at midday. No! she decided. To hell with it, she’d bring the children to a restaurant and have a treat for herself as well. She was fed up slaving over a hot stove and getting no thanks for it, she was entitled to a day off now and again. She’d go home this minute and organize the children to be ready for the eleven o’clock bus to Bray. They might as well make a day of it. Theresa was almost giddy with anticipation. It was a great feeling, making decisions on her own. It made her feel much more in control. And it must be psychological but even the breathlessness that affected her didn’t seem so bad. She certainly didn’t feel as weary and washed out as she sometimes did. She felt full of beans actually. Wait until she told the children of her plans. They’d be delighted. She might use the opportunity of being in Bray to buy them all some new summer clothes as well and let William put that in his pipe and smoke it.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Roach,’ Theresa greeted the sergeant’s wife light-heartedly. ‘Isn’t it a beautiful day?’

  It was the best summer Rachel could ever remember. They went on picnics. They went to Bray once a week. They even went in to Dublin on the train. That was the most exciting thing of all. Getting into Dublin early in the morning. Walking from Amiens Street Station up Talbot Street and North Earl Street. Inhaling the lovely smells from the Kylemore cake shop. Then into Boyers and Clerys and after that, crossing the enormous width of O’Connell Street and on to Henry Street, where Dunnes and Roches were. And best of all there was Woolworths, where she and Ronan had been given a ten-shilling note each by their mother and told to buy what they liked. That had been a magical day. And her daddy had been very pleased when Rachel had presented him with the plug of tobacco and the handkerchief she bought as a present for him. He told her she was a kind daughter and she hugged those words to herself that night as she lay in bed feeling very happy. Her mother even persuaded William to bring them to Brittas Bay a few times and he read his paper sitting in a deckchair with a white handkerchief over his head to protect his bald spot from the sun.

  There had been no mention during the holidays of the extra lessons her father had been talking about although she had heard her parents arguing about it one day. Her mother had been very cross with her father, which was most unusual for her, and Rachel heard her say, ‘William, they’re not even in secondary school yet. They’re only children. Let them enjoy their childhood.’ Her father muttered something about fun and games not helping anyone to get their Inter and Leaving Certs but Theresa had been uncharacteristically firm and Rachel heard her tell her father, ‘William. No lessons. I’m putting my foot down for once in my life.’ Her father had gone off in a huff but it had worn off eventually when he realized that no-one was taking any notice of him because they were having too much fun. And after that lessons hadn’t been mentioned again and William had even taken them out a few times in his shiny red Morris Minor, of which he was very proud.

  She only saw Patrick McKeown twice during the whole summer because he went to stay with his cousins in Tramore. She saw him once at Mass, and he stuck his tongue out at her after making sure her mother and father were deep in prayer. But she didn’t really care. Her parents were with her and she felt protected. The second time she was on her own, skipping down the path towards the Ball Alley, where she’d been sent to call Ronan for his tea. Patrick had been coming in the opposite direction and her heart started pounding as she saw her tormentor approaching her.

  ‘You’ve got a mad mother, ya stupid cow,’ he muttered as he came abreast of her and then, to her amazement, he walked past without pulling her hair, or kicking her on the shins, or even digging her in the ribs or spitting on her, as was his wont if he came upon her alone. Relieved beyond measure at her easy escape, Rachel ran towards the Ball Alley without a backward glance, in case he should change his mind and follow her. But he didn’t and she had her brother for company on the journey home.

  Rachel lay in bed that night, and wished the summer could go on for ever and that she could always be as happy as she was right at that moment. The dusky rays of the setting sun bathed her little bedroom in a golden light and up in Doyle’s wood, the wood-pigeons cooed and the unique song of the cuckoo could be heard for miles around.

 
Chapter Four

  Rachel shivered and pulled up the collar of her coat as she stood outside St Angela’s trying to decide whether to go down the town and buy some Valentine cards or not. Hordes of schoolgirls were erupting out of the majestic portals of St Angela’s, the secondary school she had been attending for the last five years.

  Spots of rain blurred her glasses and she sighed in irritation. Glasses were such a blooming nuisance. She hated wearing them, they made her look like a right swot. If only she could look like Michelle Butler, Rachel thought enviously as she watched her classmate emerge through the brown front doors of the school. Despite the fact that Michelle was wearing exactly the same uniform as Rachel, the other girl looked like a model. On Michelle, the bottle-green skirt and jumper looked decidedly chic. Of course she wore the skirt a few inches shorter than it was supposed to be worn, and it was immaculately pressed, unlike Rachel’s, which always got wrinkled and hung on her skinny hips like a sack. Michelle Butler was blessed with curves in all the right places. Her bosom was the envy of 6S. Indeed Michelle herself was the envy of the entire class. She had more boyfriends than she knew what to do with. She was the captain of the basketball team, the best actress in the drama society, and despite a hectic social life, managed to get good marks. Michelle was Rachel’s ideal. If she could have been born with Michelle Butler’s looks and personality she would have been deliriously happy. Of that, she was certain. No doubt the postman would stagger up Michelle’s path weighed down under the load of Valentine cards.

  ‘Hi Rachel.’ Michelle smiled as she went past and Rachel smiled back. Michelle was a very nice person, she always said hello and made an effort to be friendly with Rachel. Most of the others in the class didn’t bother. Of course it was her own fault for being so shy, but even after five years she could still feel awkward and tongue-tied during a class discussion or debate.