The Wasted Years Page 14

  As before Vince, who had been gone before they entered the kitchen for breakfast each morning, and had been absent each night, gave them a lift into church. On the way home, he casually asked, ‘Will ye be wantin’ a lift into the dance t’night?’

  May remained silent; it was up to Rosaleen, it was she Vince fancied. Rosaleen was in a dilemma. All week she had silently vowed that she would not dance with Vince again. It was too dangerous! However, she knew that May longed to go to the dance, and to be truthful, so did she. It would ease the boredom. So she found herself nodding her head.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  And May’s happy smile was her reward.

  As she prepared for the dance that evening, Rosaleen found herself taking care with her make-up and brushing her freshly washed hair until it seemed to have a life of its own and sprang from her head, full of electricity. Becoming aware of her actions, knowing in her heart that she was making herself attractive so that Vince would admire her, she was aghast.

  With a damp flannel she wiped the make-up from her face, leaving it clean and shining, but there was nothing she could do about her hair, it framed her face in a soft silver cloud, and none of her efforts to make it lie down were successful.

  She chose her most dowdy sweater and skirt, a dark grey that did nothing for her, and entered the kitchen feeling virtuous; she had done her best. May gaped at her, her eyes roaming over Rosaleen’s old skirt and jumper in amazement. Then she twigged on. Rosaleen was playing down her good looks. She would be afraid of feeling that she was encouraging Vince, afraid of being an occasion of sin to him. May had yet to meet anyone as scrupulous as Rosaleen; she simply let her conscience torture her.

  May sighed and smiled wryly at her. Little did she know that she could never look plain. The drab grey of her sweater only emphasised the silver of her hair, and her skin did not really need make-up to enhance it, while the dark grey deepened the green of her eyes, making them dark and mysterious-looking. She simply glowed, and May could see by the look in Vince’s eyes that he agreed with her.

  The minute they entered the hall they were rushed for dances and as the night wore on and Vince ignored her, Rosaleen heaved a sigh of relief. He had learned his lesson; he was going to leave her alone.

  She was wrong. Toward the end of the evening, Vince approached her and asked for a dance. She assured him that she had promised the next dance, but when the music started, his arm circled her waist and without a word she allowed herself to be led on to the dance floor.

  Hadn’t she been waiting all evening for this? And didn’t Vince know it? They danced in silence, their bodies twisting and turning to the steps of the tango. She had heard the tango called the dance of seduction and she could well believe it true, as their bodies moved as one to its suggestive steps. When the dance was over, he drew her to one side.

  ‘I want to talk to you.’

  Her eyes sought May. She did not want her to be left standing alone, but May was talking to a partner, and resignedly Rosaleen sat down on the chair away from the crowds that Vince ushered her to. He sat beside her, one arm along the back of the chair, and she squirmed uneasily.

  ‘Ye made a right fool of me last Sunday night, didn’t ye?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have tried to enter my room,’ she retorted angrily.

  ‘You led me on. I thought ye wanted me t’come,’ he growled.

  ‘I did not!’ she cried in dismay. ‘You’re a good dancer and I enjoy dancing with you, but that’s all.’

  ‘Come off it!’ His voice and eyes mocked her. ‘Hey! Where do ye think you’re goin’?’

  She had risen swiftly from the chair and was making her way down the hall. He caught up with her in three strides, just as the band started to play. Expertly, he swung her into the quickstep.

  ‘All right, you win. We just dance.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise … Unless you decide otherwise.’

  Her head reared back and she gave him a startled look. ‘Don’t bank on it.’

  Vince eyed her from under lowered lids. He couldn’t understand her. She wanted him. He had not lived all his life on a farm without learning the signs of arousal, and he was sure that she wanted him. It was in her eyes, in her awareness of him. The way she coloured when he eyed her. And what harm would it do? She was a married woman and you never missed a slice of a cut loaf. No one need ever know. Well, time would tell; he would try to wear her down. In fact … he was confident that he could wear her down. He danced the last two dances with her and then informed her that he had arranged a lift back to the farm for her and May, as he was seeing Mavis home.

  That night, as she lay unable to sleep, Rosaleen kept seeing the look in Vince’s eyes when he had promised – unless she decided otherwise – and she was more confused than ever. He had sounded as if it was just a matter of time, and this frightened her. Why was her body reacting to Vince even though she didn’t like him? Was she a bad woman? One part of her mind assured her that it was because she did not have a proper marriage, and she latched on to this belief. That must be the reason … it must … otherwise, she would make a first-class whore.

  Once more Monday dawned dull and wet. March had been a miserable month – at least this past week in Dungannon had been awful. Hail, rain, winds, everything but snow. Was it only dry on Sundays in Dungannon? Rosaleen wondered as she made her way down the mucky yard to the toilet, a whinging Laura by the hand. The child hated it here, whinged all the time to go home, and Rosaleen did not blame her. How long were they doomed to stay? Would the war last much longer? Joe’s letters always came in bunches and she had received three that morning, forwarded by her father.

  He tried to sound happy and assured her he was well, but she sensed his loneliness and her heart ached for him. He admitted that there was no sign of the war ending in the foreseeable future and no hope of leave.

  The week dragged past, with Rosaleen and May putting on a happy face when in the presence of each other, but secretly longing for home.

  Vince had not put in an appearance since Sunday night, so on Thursday night, when the need to use the toilet drove Rosaleen out into the dark yard, he was far from her thoughts.

  There was a moon, but it was obscured by clouds. By the faint light, Rosaleen retraced her steps back up the yard. A hand on her arm brought a squeal of terror from her lips but this was quickly stifled as another hand covered her mouth. She was lifted bodily into the barn and the door closed. For one horrible moment, in the darkness, she thought it was Mr Magill and panic set her heart thumping within her breast. Then, as her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she saw that it was Vince and breathed a sigh of relief.

  She could handle him. He had promised.

  To her dismay, she saw that he stood with his back against the door, blocking her escape.

  ‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ she asked, trying to appear calm.

  ‘I think we should have a wee talk, Rosaleen. Rosaleen … now that’s a lovely name. It rolls off the tongue. Ros … a… leen.’

  His voice was caressing and slurred. Dismayed, she realised that he had been drinking. He moved slowly towards her. She backed away until she could go no further, and when her back was to the wall, he placed a hand on either side of her head and gazed down at her. She could smell the sweat of him and instead of filling her with distaste, to her dismay it just emphasised the maleness of him.

  ‘Now, my teasin’ Rosaleen, how’s about a kiss. Mmmmmm … come on now, ye know ye want me. Ye know ye do.’ One hand left the wall and as she stood unable to move, it trailed down her face. Surprised that he was receiving no opposition, he cradled the nape of her neck, and tilted her face up to his. Even in the dim light, she could see the hot passion in his eyes, and as his breath quickened, panic gripped her.

  Thick with passion, his voice muttered her name over and over. As his face slowly bent toward hers, she came to life and jerked her head aside. His lips landed on her ear. To her amazemen
t, this appeared to excite him.

  ‘Ah! What have we here? Do ye like it rough? Eh? Do ye like it rough, me lovely Rosaleen?’

  His pleasure at the idea was unmistakable. Terrified, she tried to break from his hold, but his arms bound her fast against him.

  As he thrust his body at hers, probing, seeking, to her horror and dismay she felt excitement shiver through her and fill her loins, and she relaxed against him, her body craving fulfilment.

  At his soft laugh of triumph, sanity returned. Only once before had she known and given into desire, and look what it had cost her. At this thought, anger and bitterness swept through her, lending strength, and her sudden surge to life caught him unawares. Remembering stories from long ago of how to defend oneself, her knee rose in the air and viciously landed where it hurt most, desperation making her aim accurate. Gasping for air, he doubled in two, and she broke free and leapt for the door. But she was not going to get away so easily. In pain though he was, he managed to grip her ankle and she crashed to the floor, rattling every bone in her body.

  Aware that he was moving towards her, she ignored the pain that throbbed through her and on all fours scrabbled towards the door. Obviously still in pain, he managed to throw himself on top of her and his fingers were vicious on the soft flesh of her arms. Realising that if he regained his full strength, nothing would save her, she sank her teeth into his hand and bit as hard as she could; pleased to taste that she had drawn blood. With a howl, he relaxed his hold on her and before he could regain control, with a mighty thrust, she got to her knees again, throwing him off her back and to one side. Rolling away from him, she managed to get to her knees again. Then she was up and at the door, sobbing as she pulled it open and staggered outside.

  His voice, full of venom, followed her. ‘I’ll get ye for this, ye damned wee temptress. You mark my words, I’ll get ye.’

  And not for one minute did she doubt him. She would have to get away from this farm. Belfast with all its dangers beckoned like heaven and she resolved to return there as soon as possible. In her mad scramble back up the yard in the dark, she fell, scraping her knee and the palms of her hands as she tried to save herself. Thankful to escape to her room unnoticed, the tears ran down her face as she removed her soiled, mucky skirt and jumper. She looked as though she had been through the wars. Her hands and knee were bleeding and bruises were already appearing on her upper arms. Why did she have to get into these predicaments?

  She should have entered a convent, so she should. At least there she would have been free from this kind of temptation, because in her heart she knew that Vince was right. Her body had wanted him, and only the fact that her heart hadn’t agreed had saved her.

  Next morning, as she and May worked side by side making butter, she tried to form words to explain why she must leave the farm. May, suddenly gripping her hand and exclaiming at the raw scratches on her palm, gave her an opening.

  ‘How on earth did you do that?’

  Haltingly, Rosaleen recounted the events of the night before, bringing cries of pity and concern from May’s lips.

  When she had finished, her friend gasped. ‘You actually kneed him?’ At Rosaleen’s nod, May cried in approval, ‘Good for you! Good for you! I hope he can’t use it for a week.’

  These words brought a reluctant smile to Rosaleen’s lips and her reply was heartfelt. ‘So do I! But, May … I can’t stay here. To tell you the truth, I’m scared of him.’

  ‘Of course you can’t stay. Look, tomorrow morning we’ll catch that bus into town and order a taxi …’

  ‘Wait, May!’ Frantically, Rosaleen interrupted her. ‘There’s no need for you to come. Billy’ll go daft if you arrive home.’

  May smiled smugly. ‘No, he won’t. I can tell by his letters that he’s missing me something awful, and only Ian is preventing him from asking me to come home.’ She smiled shyly, making Rosaleen aware of just how much Billy had changed her life. ‘I want to go home, Rosaleen. I just didn’t like to say … after all the bother your da went to, to get us fixed up.’

  ‘Ah, May. We’ve both been suffering in silence.’

  May grinned, a great beam of happiness. ‘Looks like it. Listen, we’ll pack our things tonight, go to town in the morning, find out the time of the train, and order a taxi to collect us in time to catch it. How does that sound?’

  ‘Heaven.’ Rosaleen’s smile reflected the joy in May’s. ‘You’ve forgotten just one thing.’

  May frowned, and thought deeply, ‘What’s that?’ she asked, at last.

  ‘We’ll have to send wires to Billy and me da, so that they can meet us at the station.’

  ‘Imagine me forgetting that. But once we get to Belfast, there’ll be no holding us. We can walk home if necessary. And another thing … you come for me if you need to go to the loo tonight. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Rosaleen agreed gratefully.

  The price of the taxi to the station took their breath away. Luckily, they had enquired first, and by promising a tight-lipped, angry Maggie to forward the money owed for butter and eggs, they managed the fare between them. Rosaleen felt sorry for Maggie, whom she had grown to like. She was bewildered, poor soul, saying that she had thought they were settling in nicely. But how can you tell a woman that you are afraid of her son?

  The train arrived in Great Victoria Street Station at eleven o’clock, and tired and weary they stood on the platform, surrounded by their belongings as the crowds thinned out, until they were alone in the station.

  ‘What do you think happened, May?’

  May bit her lip and shook her head, a puzzled frown on her brow.

  ‘They can’t have received our telegrams.’

  They had deliberately caught the last train because they had been warned that the telegrams would not be delivered until about six o’clock. Now here they were, stranded. They could have managed the tram fares, but the last tram was away.

  ‘Well, it looks like we’ll have to walk, Rosaleen.’ May sighed. Somehow it didn’t sound so inspiring as it had done when they had planned their return. ‘Here … gimme the cases, they can go on top of my pram – it’s bigger. You tie the gas masks to the handle of yours, and let’s get a move on. I only hope the sirens don’t go off.’

  The long climb up the Grosvenor Road seemed endless, but at last they were at the Falls Road junction. They had long ago stopped trying to cheer each other up, and started across the Falls Road in silence, knowing that the road still ahead of them was as long as the one they had just climbed. Then, miraculously it seemed, Tommy Magee was in front of them. Peering at them in the darkness, crying, ‘What on earth are you two doing out at this time of night?’ Then, eyes getting accustomed to the gloom, ‘Good God! It’s our Rosaleen.’

  Next thing they knew, they were inside the pub at the corner of the Springfield Road, sipping cups of tea, after assuring the pyjama-clad landlord that they did not want anything stronger.

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you order a taxi, Rosaleen?’

  ‘We had no money, Da. We’re broke,’ Rosaleen reproached him. She had already explained their predicament to him.

  ‘Good God, do ye think we’d have turned you away from the door?’

  May and Rosaleen looked at each other and started to laugh. It had never occurred to them to get a taxi and someone would pay at the other end. Wiping tears of mirth and relief from their faces, they shared a happy smile. They were home, and that was all that mattered.

  Chapter 5

  The relief and joy of being at home was short-lived. On Monday, the start of Holy Week, Rosaleen was preparing for bed when, shortly before midnight, the siren sounded. Rosaleen actually smiled to herself as she got Laura ready. It was great to be home, even with broken nights. Unruffled, she took her time: dressing the child in warm clothes, cushioning the pram with pillows, and filling a bottle with juice, before setting off to enter one of the new air-raid shelters. There was no great urgency. The planes never reached this far. It would be a false alarm as
usual. After breathing a prayer for the poor people in England who were being blitzed, she debated whether or not to bring the gas masks with her. They were a nuisance to carry about, and the rattlers that would signify they might be needed had yet to sound. As she stood undecided she remembered the meeting she had attended in the Broadway Picture House when they had been shown how to use the masks. They had also been shown a newsreel portraying the effects of the mustard gas on humans, and recalling the horrific sights, she decided not to take any chances and tied them to the handle of the pram, just in case! It would be silly to take chances.

  To her amazement, when she reached the corner, chatting away to her next-door neighbour, her father descended on her. Gripping her pram with one hand and her neighbour’s with the other hand, he urged them down Oakman Street, away from the air-raid shelters, begging them to hurry. Quickening their step, Rosaleen and her bewildered neighbour obeyed him, wondering why he was so agitated.

  They’re comin’, love,’ he gasped, in answer to their unspoken question. ‘They’re comin’. Now! There was no bloody early warnin’. Listen! They’re right above us.’

  Another tortured breath escaped from his poor, weak lungs before he could continue, ‘Can’t ye hear them? They’ll be after Mackie’s.’

  Only then did Rosaleen become aware of the drone of the planes which was getting louder every second. Her legs turned to jelly, causing her to stumble. Dear God, the Germans were coming … it was their turn to be bombed. Her father hauled her roughly upright and pulled her along, past dalliers, shouting for them to get a move on.

  ‘Lift your feet! Lift your feet! Can’t ye hear the planes?’ he scolded. And to Rosaleen, ‘Come on, love … come on – if they hit Mackie’s the district will go up an’ we’ll all be goners.’