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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
This edition published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015
Copyright © Anne Bennett 1999
First published in 1999 by HEADLINE BOOK PUBLISHING
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover photographs © Gordon Crabb (woman); Colin Thomas (girl); Mirrorpix (mirrorpix)
Anne Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007547784
Ebook Edition © May 2015 ISBN: 9780007547791
Version: 2017-10-18
To my lovely husband, Denis, with all my love.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
Chapter FOUR
Chapter FIVE
Chapter SIX
Chapter SEVEN
Chapter EIGHT
Chapter NINE
Chapter TEN
Chapter ELEVEN
Chapter TWELVE
Chapter THIRTEEN
Chapter FOURTEEN
Chapter FIFTEEN
Chapter SIXTEEN
Chapter SEVENTEEN
Chapter EIGHTEEN
Chapter NINETEEN
Chapter TWENTY
Chapter TWENTY-ONE
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
Chapter TWENTY-THREE
Chapter TWENTY-FOUR
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
Chapter TWENTY-SIX
Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN
Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT
Acknowledgements
Keep Reading Back List
Keep Reading: Another Man’s Child
About the Author
Also by Anne Bennett
About the Publisher
ONE
Mary Sullivan heard the dragging feet in the entry and swung the door wide to see her eldest daughter Kathy just about to push it open. The dejected sag of Kathy’s shoulders told its own tale as Mary drew her inside. ‘Wait, pet,’ she said. ‘I’ll brew us both a drop of tea.’
‘No, Mammy, I can’t stay,’ Kathy said. ‘I’ve left Barry minding the weans.’ She shook her head angrily. ‘Oh God, it’s no job for a man.’ She looked at her mother, her deep brown eyes sombre, and said, ‘D’you know, he was over at Northfield today, after a job on the building he’d heard about. Course, it was gone by the time he got there and then he walked back to save the tram fare. But the thing is, his boots are falling off his feet and I don’t know whether it wouldn’t have been better to pay the fare and save his boot leather.’
‘Ah, girl, I’m heart-sore for you,’ Mary said.
‘I couldn’t stand the look on his face, Mammy,’ Kathy cried. ‘I took the few coppers he’d saved and went down the Bull Ring. I got some bones and vegetables cheap, you know how they sell them off at this time of night. At least I’ll make a nourishing meal with it tomorrow.’
Mary looked at her daughter sadly. ‘Wait,’ she said, and went out of the room, coming back a minute later with a loaf wrapped in a cloth.
‘Ah no, Mammy, you do enough,’ Kathy protested.
‘We have plenty,’ Mary said. ‘Sure everyone in the house is working now but Carmel, and she’s turned twelve, she’ll be left school in a couple of years. Take it.’
‘I will,’ Kathy said. ‘For the weans, at least. Barry said they must have the best food first. He’s terrified something will happen to them that they won’t be well nourished enough to fight. I can understand it; after all, his two young brothers were taken with TB and his da was out of work at the time. Barry said there was little money for food and none at all for doctors, or medicines, and the youngsters were too weak to fight it on their own.’
‘He’s a good man you have, Kathy, and a good father,’ Mary said. ‘Things could be worse. Maybe in the new year Barry’s luck will change. God’s good.’
Kathy sighed. She had no hopes for the new year, for Barry had been out of work for four long years and she dreaded Christmas, with nothing for the weans at all. She was beset by worries. Her daughter Lizzie needed new boots – the ones she had pinched her feet and Kathy’d had to line them with cardboard to keep her feet dry – and Danny only had one jumper that fitted him now, and that was ragged and all over holes. She couldn’t lay all this at her mother’s door and so she kissed her goodbye.
There was another worry pressing on Kathy’s head, but it was nothing she could share with her mother either, or anyone else for that matter. Barry never made love to her any more. They slept side by side in the same bed and could well have been strangers. Often Kathy would long for Barry’s arms around her, or his lips on hers – not of course that she could say that to him, but still she missed the closeness they used to share. She knew he wanted no more children till he got a job, but still…
She was not to know that Barry realised how quickly kisses and cuddles could lead to other things, and he couldn’t risk it. If it wasn’t for his in-laws helping, the two children he had would go to bed, time and enough, with empty bellies. It tore his heart out that he was not able to provide for his own weans. God forbid he would bring another into the world to the same fate.
Lizzie and Danny were the only ones Barry could be natural with. He’d never been an inactive man before unemployment, and had never given much of a thought to the children either. Their rearing would be down to Kathy, like his had been down to his mother. But he’d been laid off before Danny’s birth, and now the boy was three going on four, and Lizzie six and a half.
At first, like many others, Barry had gone to meetings, listened to rallying calls and taken part in marches and demonstrations, but all to no avail. He knew he had to get out from under Kathy’s feet during the day, but hanging around street corners was not for him and there was no money for the pub, so he began to go for long walks.
He tended to veer away from the town, a thankless place to visit when he had money for nothing in the city centre shops. At first, his feet took him towards Calthorpe Park, or often as far as Cannon Hill, where he’d walk hour upon hour and return home tired and more dispirited than ever. However, one day, tired of the same route and with his stomach yawning in emptiness, he turned down Bristol Passage into Bristol Street and from there on into Suffolk Street, coming out at the top end of town by the Town Hall, and there he saw the lending library.
Barry had never been inside the library; there had been no occasion to. Although he could read, since he’d left school there had been little leisure to do so. Except for now, he thought, and he went in, glad of the blast of warm air, for the day outside was raw and his clothes were pitifully threadbare and thin.
It was very quiet also, quiet like Barry had never met before. He’d grown up in a small back-to-back house, first among a clutch of brothers and then with a family of his own, where noise was part of life and everyone knew everyone else’s business. The silence of the library was like a balm to Barry’s bruised soul, and the only sound was that of his boots on the wooden floor.
And then he saw the papers, such an array of them laid out, presumably for anyone to read. He sat down, and as he read first one and then another, his hunger was forgotten and the time sped by, although the papers made frightening reading. After a few days of intense study of the political situation in Germany, he was more aware than most of the mad little Austrian ruling the country. He knew that if only half the tales coming out of that beleaguered place were true, the man was a dangerous and vicious maniac, and he wondered how long the rest of Europe was going to stand by and watch. He said none of this at home for, God alone knew, Kathy had enough on her plate and it would serve no purpose frightening any of the family, possibly needlessly.
He progressed from the papers to books to fill the long winter evenings, and was choosing some one day when his eyes alighted on the children’s section of the library. He could buy little for his children, on twenty-six shillings a week for himself and Kathy, and two shillings extra each for Lizzie and Danny, but the lending library was free, and so he began to bring books home for them and read to them regularly.
Lizzie loved her daddy. He had more patience than her mother and was gentler somehow. He’d taught her to love books and write her name before she went to school. She liked nothing better than to snuggle down in the chair with him, her on one side and Danny on the other, and listen while her daddy read to them.
And that was how Kathy found them when she went in that day, and for some reason it irritated her seeing them all cuddled up cosily together. ‘Get up out of that,’ she said angrily. ‘Sitting there and the pair of you like a couple of tinkers! Get down to the cellar this minute, you need a wash before bed.’
‘Oh, Mammy!’
‘Do as your mother bids you,’ Barry said, scattering the two from his knee.
Lizzie glared at her mother. Mammy always spoils things, she thought, she’s always shouting. But wanting to live to see her seventh birthday, the little girl said not a word, but walked across the room and took her brother’s hand at the top of the cellar steps.
Barry stopped Kathy as she was about to follow the children. ‘Solly came by,’ he said. ‘One of the men has been taken ill at the market, he says he’ll put a word in for me.’
‘Regular?’
‘Well, till the man’s better. Even a couple of days is better than nothing.’
‘Is it?’ Kathy snapped. ‘And what if the means test people get to hear of it? What then?’
Barry was silent. He knew Kathy had a point, but he’d been pleased, almost excited, and had expected her to feel the same. After all, any job was better than no bloody thing at all. ‘I thought,’ he said at last, ‘I thought I could buy the weans things for Christmas, a wee orange each or maybe even a skipping rope for Lizzie, I know she’d like one.’
‘You know she’d like one!’ Kathy repeated, and her eyes flashed with temper. ‘What’s this “like”, all of a sudden? The things I’d like, I have to go without. The child needs new boots on her feet and you talk about a skipping rope.’
‘They’re only weans, Kathy.’
‘I know that,’ Kathy snapped. Suddenly it was too much for her and tears of frustration ran down her cheeks. She needed her husband’s arms around her to comfort and reassure. He was quick enough to put them round the children, but now he held them by his side, terrified that the dam keeping his own feelings in check would burst if he attempted to hold his wife close, as he longed to.
‘I do my bloody best,’ he said grimly.
‘Well, it’s not good enough,’ Kathy burst out in hurt anger. ‘You make me sick. Get out of my way, I must see to the weans.’
Barry stared at his wife in silence for a minute, and then snapped, ‘Oh, I’ll get out of your way all right. I’m away to me ma’s, where the welcome is always warm and the company’s better.’
‘Go to hell for all I care,’ Kathy snapped back, though her heart sank.
Below, in the damp, chilly cellar, Lizzie and Danny waited and listened. Lizzie knew it was all her mammy’s fault. Her daddy couldn’t help being out of work, lots of daddies were, and she shouldn’t have shouted at him like she did. When she heard the slam of the door and watched her father’s feet walk over the cellar grating, she began to shiver, and it wasn’t just from the cold of the place.
Kathy, descending the steps, was ashamed of herself. She shouldn’t have gone for him like that. God forgive her for what she’d yelled at him that evening. What had he been doing that was so wrong when she’d come in? Just amusing the weans with a story while he minded them. Was she jealous of her own children? No, she told herself, that was silly, but she knew that if she wasn’t careful, by the time Barry did get a job, they’d only have the shreds of marriage to hold on to, and when she went into the cellar, the children’s accusing faces filled her with guilt.
From then on, Barry and Kathy’s relationship deteriorated steadily, though they never spoke of the argument again. Barry had been bitterly hurt by Kathy’s accusation that he hadn’t tried hard enough to find work, and he couldn’t forgive her for it.
He did get a fortnight’s work in the market, and in a gesture of defiance bought a skipping rope for Lizzie and a toy car and marbles for Danny. He put them in the stockings they hung up on Christmas Eve, together with a shiny penny, a small orange and a bar of candy each. It was a grand Christmas morning for them, though Barry hardly spoke to Kathy and his only smiles were for his children.
Kathy longed to say she was sorry, but the words choked in her throat. Later, when they went to her mother’s and Mary produced the children’s presents – a pair of new shoes for Lizzie and a jumper she’d knitted for Danny – Kathy was consumed with shame that she and Barry weren’t able to buy those things for the children themselves, even though she was very grateful. Mary waved away her protests. ‘Let us do it while we can, child. God alone knows how long young Michael will be in work, with him turning sixteen in the new year.’
Kathy knew fine what her mother meant. Her youngest brother Michael had been an errand boy at Wrenson’s, the grocer’s shop, since he’d left school two years earlier. Once the lads reached sixteen, they were normally replaced by a school leaver, who at fourteen would work for less money. It was no good moaning about it; that was the system. Everyone was keeping an eye out for Michael, but the family knew that he would probably be drawing the dole with Barry before long.
So Kathy said nothing more and put Lizzie’s old boots away for Danny – maybe she could afford to have them soled sometime. Anyway, for a wee while longer the children were all right, and she blessed the fact that she had her close family all around her to help out all they could.
Mary knew things weren’t right between Kathy and Barry, but she said nothing, not even to her husband Eamonn. Though both seemed fine with the children, there was a definite frostiness between them. Few would have seen it – there was much jollification when the family all got together, and bad feelings could often be successfully covered up – and she hoped it was just a temporary thing.
New Year’s Eve was celebrated as always at the Sullivans’, where all the clan and many neighbours crammed into the little house and the children took refuge under the table with eatables they’d pilfered. Pat, the eldest of the Sullivans’ sons, was the ‘First Foot’ after midnight and arrived at the door to a chorus of ‘Happy New Year!’ carrying some silver coins, a lump of coal and a bottle of whisky that Eamonn had hidden away. They all drank a toast and hoped that 1938 would be a better year. Mary was glad to see Barry with a wide smile on his face for once. Of course that could be put down to the amount he’d drunk, not that it had been excessive but Mary had the idea that he and Kathy lived on bread and scrape and not much of that. On that sort of diet it didn’t take more than a drop or two to knock a man off his feet. She worried they’d both become ill if they didn’t eat more, and Barry needed to keep his strength up so that if he got a job, he’d be able for it.
She did what she could by feeding the children as often as Kathy let them come, and often sent round a pie or bit of stew and the odd loaf, but she had the feeling that it fed the children only. They were certainly sturdy enough and had the well-nourished look missing from many of the ragged, bare-footed children one saw around. God, it was desperate, so it was, how some of them lived.
Lizzie was a carbon copy of her mother, with jet-black hair and dark-brown eyes with long black lashes, but she still had the bloom Kathy had lost. Her face was the open one of a child, not the old face of many of the urchins, and her cheeks had the pink tinge Kathy’s had once boasted. She also had her mother’s wide mouth, but no worry lines were there to pull it down.
Danny had his father’s sandy hair, and a bit of the chubbiness of babyhood still clung to him. He was very like his father, with his round face, and he had the same-shaped nose and mouth as Barry, but his deep-brown eyes were like those of his mother and sister, for his father’s eyes were grey. Indeed, Mary thought they were fine children, and enough to look after when a man had no job. Thank God Kathy had had no more after Danny.
Kathy pleaded tiredness just after twelve, and Eamonn helped her carry the sleepy children home and put them to bed, but Barry stayed on longer, pouring out his troubles to his good friend, Pat. He and Pat had been through school together since the age of five, and it was through him that Barry had begun courting Kathy. Pat’s own wife Bridie was known as a nag, but he was so easy-going, it seldom bothered him. ‘Water off a duck’s back,’ he was fond of saying, but he sensed that whatever was wrong between Barry and Kathy went deeper and couldn’t be laughed off.
‘I don’t know what she wants me to do,’ Barry complained. ‘God knows I’ve looked for work hard enough. If I stay in she nags, if I go out she complains. If I play with the weans I’m spoiling them and I could be doing something useful.’ Barry shook his head from side to side in puzzlement at it all.
‘God, Barry, don’t be trying to understand women,’ Pat said. ‘What goes on in their minds is beyond me altogether, we just have to put up with it.’
Barry wondered if he could. There had been times before Christmas when he’d wanted to walk out and leave them all to it.
‘Come on,’ Pat said. ‘It’s a new year, a new start, nineteen thirty-eight will be your year, you’ll see.’
Barry chinked his glass against his brother-in-law’s. ‘New year, new job,’ Pat said, and Barry was infected by his optimism.
‘Aye,’ he agreed.
It was much later when he made his unsteady way home. Once inside his own house he began to see the stupidity of thinking that way. New Year’s Eve was just a day like any other, and he was just as unlikely to get a job in 1938 as he had been in ’37, ’36, ’35 or ’34. God, the dole was a living death that ate away at you inside, and now he’d got Kathy pouring scorn on him for not trying hard enough.
Upstairs, Kathy was either asleep or pretending to be. Either way, it suited Barry, and he slid in quietly beside her. God, what a life, he thought. I have a wife who lies beside me like a stranger and who hardly talks to me, and he remembered with a twinge of nostalgia the heady days early in their marriage when they couldn’t get enough of each other. Now, Barry thought, Kathy had settled without complaint into a sexless relationship. Maybe sex hadn’t been important to her. Maybe she’d just pretended that it had. He’d known from his limited sexual experience that most women didn’t enjoy it, and he thought that in Kathy he’d found a gem. Just went to show it was all put on, a pretence, or surely she would have said something by now. Ah, but what the odds, what could he have done even if she’d said anything? Once he’d loved her so much, but it seemed a lifetime ago now. With a grunt that was almost a groan, he turned on his side away from Kathy and settled to sleep.
*
One raw February day, the O’Malley household was roused by a furious knocking on the door. The clock showed barely six o’clock, and Barry struggled into his trousers and ran down the stairs to find young Michael on the doorstep. Michael had been on the dole for just over a month, as everyone had expected. Now he was breathless, both because he’d run from his house and also because of excitement.
Barry pulled him inside, for the wind was fierce. He knew something must have happened for Michael to be there so early in the morning, and in such a state of agitation. ‘What is it?’
‘They’re…they’re setting on at BSA,’ Michael panted, hardly able to get the words out.
Barry hadn’t been aware he was holding his breath till he suddenly let it out in a loud sigh. He’d been expecting bad news of some sort, but this…He remembered how once he’d been like Michael, shooting off in all directions, chasing one job offer and the hundreds after it. He couldn’t feel excitement like that again, but he couldn’t dim the light in Michael’s eyes. ‘Where did you hear it?’ he asked.
‘Paddy Molloy came in this morning and was after telling Da. He was set on yesterday. His cousin told him about it.’
‘BSA the cycle place?’
‘Aye.’
‘And this was yesterday?’
‘Aye, last night.’
‘Any vacancies will be long gone by now, Michael.’
‘No, it’s new lines, I’m telling you,’ Michael burst out. ‘Molloy said there’ll be jobs for us all, and the new lines aren’t making bicycles.’
‘Well what, then?’
‘Guns.’
‘Guns?’ Kathy exclaimed. Neither Barry nor Michael had seen her come into the room. Now she stood before her brother, Danny in her arms, and repeated, ‘Guns! Did you say they’re making guns?’
‘Aye, Molloy told us. A lot of the old workers have been made up to inspectors, he said.’
‘But what do they want so many guns for?’ Kathy asked.
‘How should I know?’
Barry thought he knew only too well, but he didn’t share his thoughts. Instead he said, ‘Well, I’m away to get dressed. It’s worth going for if all Molloy says is true.’
Kathy looked after him. She couldn’t even feel pleased, and certainly not optimistic. God alone knew she’d been pleased enough in the beginning, when she’d thought Barry would be set on any day and he’d been flying all around the place on one unlikely jaunt after another, until hope had dimmed and dejection set in. ‘Have you time for a drop of tea?’ she asked her brother.
‘No, we’ll have to go as soon as Barry’s ready. We’ll need to be early to have a chance.’ He’d just finished speaking when Barry entered the room, pulling a jumper over his head and grabbing his coat off the hook on the door. Lizzie was trailing behind him.