The Wasted Years Read online

  ‘Don’t torture yourself. Please, Amy, don’t.’

  Her heart was breaking at the thought of how Joe had kept his mother at arm’s length all these years. How could he? How could he have been so cruel?

  ‘He made me promise that I’d tell no one … but Bobby said he was wrong to extract a promise like that from me. He said that you had the right to know.’

  ‘Is his father still alive?’

  ‘Oh, no. He died when Joe was about ten. He left some money in his will … that’s how Joe was able to start his own business.’ She turned and looked Rosaleen full in the face. ‘This may seem strange to you, but Thomas was a good man. It was just that he had so many commitments, and when I became pregnant … he couldn’t leave his wife.’ She smiled wryly at Rosaleen’s start of surprise. ‘That’s right! He was a married man. A prominent figure in the Church. The scandal would have ruined so many lives. I was very bitter at the time but I agreed to move away from the district, and as a reward Thomas granted me a small allowance so that I need never want. I wasn’t quite seventeen and I loved Thomas dearly …’ Her voice trailed off and Rosaleen moved closer and took her in her arms.

  ‘I’m sorry, Amy. I’m so sorry for you.’

  ‘That’s life, Rosaleen. I’ve never wanted to marry. Joe was my life and I was so happy when he met you. I’m glad you’re my daughter-in-law. However, I’m very fond of Bobby and I’ll not let Joe spoil it for me.’

  ‘I should think not! We’ll do as Bobby says and wear him down. Eh, Amy?’

  She smiled and they nodded at each other, but neither was very hopeful of success.

  The long anticipated victory in Europe caused a festive air as the people of Belfast waited for the government to specify which day the celebrations would be held. In due course May 8th was named as a day of festivities to celebrate the Allied victory in Europe, V. E. day! The crowds went wild in the streets, and for the first time in six years the sky was aglow with lights from the bonfires. Buntings were strung across the streets, drums were beaten, and effigies of Hitler were burnt or strung up on lampposts.

  On the 8th no work was done, and Joe and Rosaleen took Laura with them and joined the throngs that were heading for the City Hall to hear Churchill’s speech relayed over the air by loudspeakers.

  At three o’clock, everyone stood silent as he gave details of the German capitulation. When he had finished, the city rang with cheers. Then the church bells rang out loud and clear, and the factory horns blared in accompaniment, while bin lids were rattled to add to the din. Hoarse but excited they returned home for dinner, but that night they were there again to witness the floodlighting of the City Hall for the first time in six years, and to join in the singing and dancing in the town centre.

  It was late when they made their way to where Joe had parked the works van. Laura was asleep in his arms and he placed her on the floor of the van, rolled up his coat as a pillow for her head, and with Rosaleen in the cab beside him, drove slowly and carefully home so as not to jar the sleeping child.

  The feeling of well-being persisted as Joe rekindled the fire and Rosaleen put Laura to bed. Afterwards, as she prepared a light supper, her thoughts turned to the future. The war was over and Joe was making good progress. Surely now she could broach the subject of more children without making him huffy or angry?

  She could but try; she owed it to Laura to attempt to give her a sister or brother before she got much older.

  With this thought in mind, she eyed Joe covertly as he ate the sandwiches she had made. He still looked frail, but contented and happy. When they had finished eating she retired to the kitchen to wash the cups and plates, all the while going over in her mind the things she would say; how she would broach the subject.

  Returning to the living room, she sat on the floor beside Joe’s chair and rested her head against his knee. He had an appointment at the hospital on Friday. Surely he was well enough to ask for advice about his problem? She was ashamed of the way she had settled him in the back room when he arrived home from hospital, using the same excuse he had offered her when she was pregnant with Laura: that he needed a bed to himself for a while. At the time she had felt justified in what she was doing, and when he needed her she was always out of bed and in with him, the minute he had one of his nightmares, to hold him close until it passed and he slept again. But she could not bear to lie beside him night after night, frustrated and unhappy. Now, with the war virtually over, she felt uneasiness about the future. She wanted a full married life, but Joe seemed content with things as they were. After the few unsuccessful attempts at love-making he had tried no more, and seemed content for them to live like brother and sister. However, she must make it plain to him that she wanted more out of life than a house up the Falls; that she didn’t want the chains of jealousy to tie her to the home. She must make it plain to him that she wanted more children.

  She pressed closer. Surprised, Joe placed his arm across her shoulders and drew her between his knees, his hand ruffling her hair.

  It was a long time since she had shown any open affection towards him, and he was not fooled, he could guess what was on her mind.

  ‘Joe …’ Her voice trailed off. How should she phrase it?

  ‘It’s all right, Rosaleen. I know what you’re going to say.’

  Her head twisted round and she looked at him with brows raised inquiringly. He answered her look. ‘You want me to go and see about myself, don’t you?’

  She laughed softly. ‘How did you know what I was thinking? Are you psychic?’

  He sank his face down against the silky softness of her hair, breathing in the sweet perfume of it.

  ‘I think it’s the relief that the war’s over at last. Tonight, I bet everybody’s making plans for the future … so why not you?’

  ‘Yes, and …’

  He interrupted her. ‘Let me finish. Yes, I do intend seeing about myself. I promised you I would, and I’ll keep my promise.’

  When she raised a happy, bright face for his kiss, he cupped it with his hands and whispered against her lips. ‘Can I sleep with you tonight, Rosaleen?’ And as if afraid of rejection, he rushed on, ‘I just want to hold you … be close to you.’

  At the longing in his voice, shame engulfed her. This man was her husband; she should have been holding him every night, but it had been so frustrating. From now on things would be different, she vowed silently.

  ‘Yes, love. I’ll go on up and move Laura into the back room.’ She rose to her feet and kissed his brow. ‘Don’t be long.’

  A half hour passed and at last Rosaleen rose from the bed, pulled on her dressing gown and descended the stairs again.

  He had fallen asleep … probably the heat of the fire had made him drowsy. In sleep, he looked young and contented, his head back against the top of the armchair, his eyes closed. His hair had tumbled down over his forehead and she gently pushed it back. He needed to have it cut, she’d make him go to the barber’s tomorrow. Then awareness came over her and her hand shook as she touched his shoulder.

  ‘Joe? Joe … wake up, love. Please Joe, don’t tease. Joe, wake up!’

  She realised that she was shaking him roughly and forced herself to stop, aware that he would never open his eyes again.

  For some minutes she knelt beside him, explaining that she hadn’t meant to be hard, that she had thought it best he slept alone. That in her own way she loved him dearly.

  Well then, why hadn’t she told him so? Why hadn’t she held him each night?

  It was as if Joe had said the words, and tears of regret blinded her as she rose to her feet. Realising that it was too late for excuses, she tightened the sash of her dressing gown around her waist and went to awaken her neighbour. They would need the doctor and the priest. The shrapnel had moved the wrong way.

  Chapter 8

  The journey back from the graveyard seemed endless and when the car turned down Cavendish Street, Rosaleen moved restlessly to the edge of her seat, preparing to get
out when it arrived in Iris Drive. Everyone had tried to persuade her not to go to the graveside but she had felt compelled to; had imagined that Joe would want her to be there.

  She found it hard to convince herself that it was Joe in the coffin she had seen lowered into the wet clay. She could not believe he was dead, that she would see him no more; even though she had helped wash him and dress him in the shroud, and had kissed him for the last time before they put the lid on the coffin. Somehow, it was as if she was a bystander and someone else was going through the motions. Had she been a good wife to him? Plagued by guilt, she had started to shake uncontrollably as she peered down at the coffin. Did her father know what was going on? Was he aware that Joe was joining him in that dark hole? Oh, how she hoped they would be company for each other. Afraid that she would break down, Annie had ushered her away from the grave and into the car, and it had left the graveyard immediately.

  At last it slid to a halt, and glad to escape her tortured thoughts, leaving Annie to deal with the driver of the limousine, Rosaleen left it and hurried to the door, hoping the neighbours would give her a few minutes to herself before calling to pay their respects for the last time. Although her hand was shaking, the key slid into the keyhole at first try and she quickly entered the house, darkened and cold, just as it should be after death had claimed the master.

  Tea … she must make tea for the mourners coming back from the graveyard. The neighbours had been marvellous. Early that morning they had arrived at her door with freshly cut sandwiches and savoury dishes, and it was all laid out on a table in the kitchen. How they had managed it, in the face of all the food shortages, she did not know, but manage they had and she would be forever grateful to them. Now all she had to do was make tea. Soon, in a few short hours, she would be alone to face the doubts and regrets that kept tormenting her, but now … now she must brew the tea.

  Glad that they were the first to arrive, Annie raised the roller blinds, which had been down for the past three days as was the custom, letting the daylight into the cold room. Then, after removing the black bow from the door knocker, she pulled out the damper at the back of the grate to set the fire glowing and followed Rosaleen into the kitchen.

  Taking her by the arm, she led her gently out again and pushed her down on to the settee.

  ‘You sit down and rest … talk to people when they come. People will want to talk to you and Amy. Mam will be here soon and she and I will attend to the tea.’ She turned with a weary sigh at a knock on the door. ‘And here’s the first of them now.’

  She was relieved to see that first to arrive were her mother and Amy, accompanied by Bobby Mackay. Bobby was kind, he would answer the door and let people in, and he would look after Rosaleen and Amy while she and her mam made the tea. Poor Amy. She was bearing up well under the strain, but then, Bobby had a lot to do with that. He was taking care of her.

  When someone came to Rosaleen and clasped her hand, murmuring words of comfort and praising Joe’s goodness, she must have made the right replies because they moved on to Amy and someone else took their place until, in due course, her duty was fulfilled and tea was served. There were so many mourners; men she had never seen before, assuring her that if she needed anything, just to let them know. Some Joe had lent money to, to start up in business. Others he had done work for; honest work. Everybody sang his praises, many shed tears.

  To her surprise she noticed that some of the men were drinking beer, and her eyes sought Bobby’s. He winked and nodded at her. How good he was. She had not even thought about beer. Funny how attached Bobby was to her family now. Even Joe had welcomed him towards the end. Hopefully, this would make Amy put him out of his misery and marry him. It was obvious that she loved him, but Joe had been the stumbling block. Poor Joe, so ashamed of his illegitimacy.

  At last the mourners started to drift away and soon it was just family and close friends that were left. When Rosaleen slumped back in the corner of the settee like a wilted flower, Annie eyed her in dismay and then turned to her mother, a worried frown on her brow.

  ‘Mam, will you be all right if I stay here with Rosaleen tonight?’

  At once Thelma nodded her approval but Amy quickly interrupted with the suggestion that Thelma accompany her home. They had supported each other at the graveside when Joe had been laid to rest on top of Billy, and Amy had felt the tremors that had coursed through Thelma’s body. In a way, looking after her had helped Amy. Helped her to keep at bay the pain that it was her only son who was being buried. Now, if Thelma accompanied her home, they would be a comfort to each other. However, Thelma demurred, shaking her head emphatically at this idea. Amy, catching Annie’s eye, shook her head also.

  Annie knew what she meant. Her mother had insisted on going to the graveyard, but it had upset her to see the grave opened, to be aware that her husband’s body was down there. She had yet to come to terms with her loss and this could start her wandering again. No, she couldn’t be left alone. Annie stood undecided and it was Rosaleen who solved the problem. Rising shakily to her feet, she said, ‘I just want to be alone. Just Laura and me … please? Will you fetch Laura for me?’

  ‘Ah, Rosaleen, I don’t like leaving you.’

  If only Sean were here, Annie thought, he would take charge. Poor Sean, he would get an awful shock. Perhaps his ship was in the middle of the ocean and he would not get home. They could only hope. He had been sent for but had yet to arrive. Joe had gone so quickly, everyone was still in a state of shock. Why, Rosaleen had yet to shed a tear. She looked so tense, so drained, that Annie was afraid to leave her alone, to brood.

  ‘Please, Annie? I’ll be all right. All I want is to be alone. Just me and Laura …’ Rosaleen’s voice trailed off forlornly, and this decided Annie.

  ‘All right! If that’s what you want,’ she said resignedly. ‘I’ll fetch Laura.’ And with these words she went next door to bring the little girl home. Before they left, Bobby built the fire up.

  ‘That should last you ’til bedtime, Rosaleen. An’ later on, see and make yourself something to eat, won’t ye?’

  ‘Yes, Rosaleen, promise me you’ll make yourself a bite to eat,’ Annie backed him up. She could not remember when she had last seen Rosaleen eat.

  ‘I promise, Annie. I promise.’

  She would promise them anything to be rid of them. If only they would get out and leave her alone. Her soul was crying out for solitude. She had not been alone since Joe died. Someone was always there keeping her company, preventing her from thinking. Did they not realise that she needed to grieve?

  At last Amy and Bobby prepared to leave, and as she hugged Amy she envied her the tears that flowed. When at last she closed the door on her mother and Annie, she stood with her brow pressed to the smooth, cool wood. Now she could think; now she could grieve.

  A small hand being pushed into hers brought her back to reality, and lifting Laura up in her arms, she hugged her close. Poor child, so bewildered and confused. Sitting on the armchair close to the fire, she took Laura on her knee.

  Normally, Laura would have slid off, considering herself too big for cuddles, but now, as if as much in need of comfort as her mother, she pressed close.

  ‘Would you like something to eat, love?’

  ‘No. Mrs Gray gave me dinner. Mammy, is Daddy in heaven, or will he have to stay in purgatory for a while?’ Laura asked, her eyes keen and searching, causing Rosaleen to pause and think before answering her.

  ‘I don’t know, love,’ she answered truthfully. Had anyone ever came back to verify that there was a purgatory? ‘I honestly don’t know. I imagine he’s in heaven. He was a good daddy, wasn’t he?’

  Laura nodded and big tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks. Glad to see them, Rosaleen encouraged her to cry, wishing she could join her, but she felt that there must be no moisture left in her body, otherwise surely she would have cried before now. When Laura sagged exhausted in her arms, Rosaleen gathered her up and climbed the stairs with her. And when she w
as snug in bed and asleep, she wearily descended the stairs again and sat huddled over the fire. If only she could get relief in tears it might help her, but she felt nothing. She was so cold. Perhaps if she took a hot bath she would be able to unwind. This thought brought her to her feet, and entering the bathroom she ran the bath full of hot water, but all to no avail. Even after a long soak, she still felt numb and tense. Wrapping herself in Joe’s old dressing gown, she hugged her arms around her body and pressed her cheek against the shoulder of the dressing gown, desperately seeking warmth and comfort.

  ‘Joe, I’m sorry – I’m so sorry. I failed you, didn’t I?’

  She had tried to love him. In a way she had loved him, dearly, just as she would have loved a brother. And he hadn’t wanted anything else. Had he? Had she been fooling herself that he was happy the way things were? She must have been; he had sounded so sad the night he died, when he had asked to sleep with her. If she had tried, could she have made his last months happier?

  Had she been a comfort to him? She had done her duty, comforting him when he had a nightmare, nursing him and caring for him after his operation, but had she successfully hidden her frustration and despair? Doctor Hughes had thought that she was the perfect wife, but what about Joe? How had he regarded her? Had he found her wanting in warmth and understanding? Had he guessed the way she secretly yearned for a normal life, for love and companionship free from jealousy?

  When the knocker was lifted and dropped gently, breaking in on her misery, she ignored it. Let them go away. She could not bear to listen to any more platitudes. When it sounded again, she covered her ears and buried her head in the cushions to block it out, but when the knocking persisted and became urgent, with a sigh of regret she slowly rose and entered the hall.

  Remembering Joe’s warning never to open the door at night without first making sure it was someone known to her, she whispered. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s me, Rosaleen. Sean!’