The Wasted Years Read online

  Alas, our sins have a way of catching up with us, Rosaleen, and mine did. Just when I thought that I could breathe easy, thought that I’d got away with my misdemeanour, there she was one night, waiting for me coming out of work. Pale and tense-looking, she told me that she was pregnant and that I was the father, and I remember grabbing hold of the gate of the mill to steady myself, I was so shocked. I stood in a daze and wished that the ground would open up and swallow me. The one thought in my mind was … how on earth was I going to tell Thelma of my betrayal?

  Rosaleen paused once more and gazed blankly at the page for some seconds. She couldn’t take it all in. She glanced at the stranger; he sat leaning forward, elbows on knees, gazing into the heart of the fire. What had he to do with it? As if aware of his scrutiny, he slowly turned his head and met her gaze; his eyes sharp, probing orbs. Flustered, she looked away and gave her attention once more to the letter.

  The girl was in an awful state. She wasn’t young, about thirty, and plain. She was actually grateful to me for giving her a child, said it would make her life worthwhile. I didn’t know where to turn, Rosaleen. So when she explained that she was an only child, born late in life to elderly parents and she would not have approached me at all but for the need of help during the pregnancy, I could have wept with relief. She did not intend to cause a scandal and, living on the Shankill Road as she did, with a bit of luck, if I was careful, your mother need never know. The relief, Rosaleen … never in this world could I explain the relief I felt.

  To get more money, I gladly gave up smoking. My lungs were starting to bother me even then, so your mother was delighted when I stopped. Funny … she never inquired what I did with the extra money, but then it wasn’t much, I wasn’t a heavy smoker, and Annie was only a couple of weeks old and she was preoccupied with the two of you. So every now and again, I met Ruby and gave her as much as I could afford towards the birth.

  Then tragedy struck. Ruby died giving birth to my son. You can imagine how I felt … I felt as if I had killed her. Her parents were wonderful, said that they would rear the boy, said it would give them something to live for now that Ruby was dead, but I decided that the time had come to confess to your mother and to ask her to adopt the baby boy.

  It was awful! I had diarrhoea for two days with the worry of it, and there was your mother worrying and fussing over me, while I was trying to find the courage to admit my guilt. I’ll never forget the look on her face when I told her. The look of horror, dismay, and … rejection. It was like a physical blow. Of course she didn’t believe that it had only happened once. She thought that I had been playing around with Ruby when she was carrying Annie and I could not convince her otherwise. I know it’s hard to believe, Rosaleen, but it was only the once.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed deeply. She believed him all right. Oh, yes, she believed him!

  It was as if an invisible wall was between us and I never really got close to her again. Physically, yes, but spiritually, no. It was the end of happiness for me.

  She refused to adopt the boy. Would not even see him. I was hurt, but in my heart I didn’t blame her. I was the one at fault. Your mother had done no wrong. No wrong at all.

  Once more Rosaleen looked towards the man and this time he was waiting.

  ‘You’re … you’re my half brother?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Her eyes scanned his face. Yes, now she knew the truth, she could see the resemblance. The planes of his face, the dark chestnut hair. He was her father’s son all right.

  Not knowing how to react, she gave him a weak smile and returned to the letter.

  However, one thing I couldn’t do, not even to please your mother, and that was to sever all connections with my son. Every Thursday night I visited George. I watched him grow up and I contributed all I could to his upkeep …

  Rosaleen recalled how she couldn’t understand her mother’s attitude when her father went to visit his old friend every Thursday night. Her bitterness and anger. How could she have been so blind? How did she not realise that something was wrong? Very wrong.

  Rosaleen, be kind to him, please. He’s a good lad and his grandparents are now dead. He has no one to call his own. Befriend him. For my sake, love, please befriend him. I know that during your mother’s lifetime you will not be able to call him brother, but let him visit you and get to know you … and Joe and Laura. I leave it up to you whether or not to confide in Annie. She’s different from you and might not take kindly to keeping a secret from her mother, so use your own judgement. I hope you never have to read this, but if you do, pray for me.

  Goodbye, love.

  Your loving dad

  Rosaleen folded the letter and sat fiddling with the pages. How on earth had her father managed to keep this secret all these years? He must have been very, very careful, or the neighbours would have found out.

  Covertly, she examined the man. His face in repose was sad and weary. Compassion filled her; here he was home from the war and no one to greet him. But he was from the Shankill Road. They would have nothing at all in common. Nothing! Still, for her father’s sake she would have to try to befriend him.

  Unknowingly, she sighed, a long deep sigh, and the man’s heart sank as he watched her. He grew more apprehensive, afraid that she did not want to know him.

  At last she spoke. ‘I’m afraid you’re too late to meet my husband. He was buried a week ago.’

  On his feet instantly, he was full of apologies.

  ‘I’m sorry. Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t know or I would never have come. I’ll leave now. Not intrude any longer on your grief.’

  He hesitated before asking haltingly, ‘Perhaps you will allow me to come back at a later date?’

  As he reached for his coat, her voice stayed him.

  ‘No! Don’t go. I’m glad of your company. Sit down.’ She smiled kindly at him. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea and we’ll have a chat.’

  In the sanctuary of the kitchen as she waited for the kettle to boil, she smiled wryly to herself. At least now she knew who she took after. Like father, like daughter. However, unlike her father, she could not blame drink. Each time she had been with Sean her senses had been her own. Very much her own.

  Her poor mother … no wonder she nearly went out of her mind when Da was killed. Now it was clear to her why Thelma had been in such a state. To have withheld her forgiveness until it was too late. It must have been awful for her. All those wasted years when they could have been so happy. What had held her back? Pride? Probably … pride, and fear of what people would think was an awful thing. That was what her mother would have dreaded most, the neighbours finding out.

  To her surprise, once the first awkward moments were over, she and George got on like a house on fire. They discovered that they had a lot in common, and she learnt of a side to her father that she had never known. She enjoyed watching the different expressions flit across George’s face, bringing her father close, and she noted that he had the same dry humour, being funny without realising it.

  They had been talking for about an hour when a glance at the clock brought her to her feet. It was almost time to go and fetch Laura from school. When she voiced her thoughts, he looked so disappointed that she found herself asking him to accompany her and he eagerly agreed.

  ‘But first I must change.’ Embarrassed colour tinged her cheeks when she glanced down at the old soiled skirt and jumper she wore. She had been so careless of her appearance of late. ‘What must you think of me? I look awful.’

  Gallantly, he assured her that she looked lovely, and fetching clean clothes, she retired to the bathroom.

  For the first time since before Joe’s death she took trouble with her appearance, and she was pleased at the admiration in his eyes when she returned to the kitchen. Somehow, he made her feel at ease and she was grateful to him.

  As they passed down the street, she greeted neighbours and was puzzled when her greetings were returned with abrupt nods.

 
; Dismayed, she realised what they must be thinking. They would be saying, ‘Now we know why she keeps the big door closed!’ And they would also be thinking that she must have been carrying on before Joe died. How cruel people were, to condemn without knowing the whys and wherefores.

  In the following weeks, George visited her regularly and they became close friends. Rosaleen grew to rely on him. She had decided not to tell Annie about George. Her sister was kind, very kind, but a bit of a blabbermouth, and it would be her mother who would suffer if Annie failed to hold her tongue. Not knowing the truth, she joined the neighbours in their condemnation, and a hurt Rosaleen refused to offer any excuse for her friendship with George. While her mother lived, they would have to think what they liked; she would not risk having Thelma hurt again.

  How she would have survived without George, when morning sickness sent her retching to the bathroom every day, she did not know.

  TWICE! Twice in her life she had been with a man and each time had resulted in a child. How could life be so cruel? Annie longed for a child and was unable to conceive, while Rosaleen certainly did not want this one! How would she manage to rear two children on her own? Especially with the business to run.

  George comforted her; told her he would do all he could to help. He assumed that the child was Joe’s and she realised that in ordinary circumstances it could be his. But try telling the neighbours that!

  And Sean … what would he think when he heard?

  George had just left the house late one night when a knock on the door brought her back to it, a smile on her face. He must have forgotten something.

  When the door was knocked out of her hand she reared back in alarm, and then Sean closed the big door and bundled her into the living room.

  ‘How dare you! What do you think you’re doing?’ she cried as she twisted out of his grasp. She could smell the drink on him and was afraid.

  ‘Who is he? WHO IS HE?’ he ground out through his teeth, and his words were slurred. It tore at his guts to think that she could have someone so soon after Joe’s death. What kind of a woman was she?

  ‘Shush! It’s none of your business. I’m not accountable to you for my actions, Sean Devlin, so get out of here. Go on!’ She flapped her hand at him. ‘Go on … get out!’

  What if he made a scene and the neighbours heard him? Oh, no, she couldn’t bear that. They had enough to talk about already.

  He swayed on his feet, shook his head and then sank down on to the settee.

  ‘I’ll not go ’til you tell me who he is.’

  ‘It’s none of your business!’ she hissed. Then, softening her tone, she coaxed, ‘Go home, Sean. It’s very late.’

  ‘Hah!’ He scowled at her. ‘That’s a gag. I’ve been waiting out there.’ He jerked his head towards the street. ‘For him to leave. And you tell me it’s late. Why didn’t you tell him that, eh? Why didn’t you tell him that?’

  He looked so unhappy her heart was torn with pity, and as she gazed at him, temptation reared its ugly head. The urge to go to him in his misery and comfort him, as he had so often comforted her, was strong. To put her arms around him, hold him close and ease away the pain. To get lost in that wonderful well of passion that he inspired. As her emotions rose, the longing for him grew and swelled, blocking out all rational thought. As every nerve edge came alive, she argued with herself. Would it be so wrong? Annie need never know, and wouldn’t he be easier to live with if he was contented? They could be careful … she would just see him now and again. That way the neighbours need never suspect. Her hand reached out tentatively to him and then commonsense prevailed.

  Who did she think she was kidding? WOULD IT BE SO WRONG? It would be a mortal sin! And she was not the type to keep running back to confession with the same sin. She would be cut off from God’s grace! How could she live like that? And no matter what he might say now, he would never be content with an affair. He wanted to own her, body and soul, and if he was free, he could own her body and soul. But that was the snag … he was not free! He watched the different emotions flicker across her face and when her hand dropped limply to her side, felt that he had been judged and found wanting.

  Glaring up at her, he taunted, ‘Were you enjoying his company too much to notice the time? Come on, talk to me, Rosaleen! Talk to me!’

  ‘You’re drunk, Sean. Come on.’ She leant down to assist him to his feet, and when her face was close to his he caught and held her gaze appealingly.

  ‘Why, Rosaleen? Just tell me why?’ His hands stretched wide in despair. ‘If you must be serviced, why him? Why not me? Eh? Why not me?’

  Anger straightened her back and the full weight of her body was behind her hand when she slapped his face.

  Taken unawares, without thought he was on his feet, retaliating. His slap sent her spinning and to her amazement, she found herself on the floor, gaping up at him.

  At once he was on his knees beside her, cradling her in his arms, begging her forgiveness. ‘I’m sorry, love. Oh, please forgive me … I’m so sorry.’

  Great tears welled up and slid silently down her cheeks, and frantically he kept mopping at them.

  ‘Ah, Rosaleen … don’t cry, love. Please … please … I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Ah, Rosaleen, sure … I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’

  At last the well dried up. Relieved, he mopped her face for the last time, and rising clumsily from his cramped position, assisted her to the settee.

  She sat curled up, for a long time her face in her hands, and he watched her anxiously. Rosaleen drew a deep breath and straightened as she came to a decision. She had examined her predicament from all angles and could see no way out. There was no alternative. If she didn’t want him to think badly of her, she would have to tell him the truth about George. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought of her, she could not bear for him to think that she was a whore.

  With another long sigh, she rose resolutely to her feet. ‘I have something to tell you. But, first, I’ll make us a cup of coffee.’

  He pushed her gently down on to the settee again and put a cushion at her head, a stool at her feet.

  ‘I’ll make the coffee.’ He held out his hands for her inspection. ‘Look, steady as a rock. I won’t break anything. I’ve sobered up.’

  And he had. The shock of lifting his hand to Rosaleen had sobered him. When he handed her the cup of coffee, his fingers touched hers and they were icy. Placing the cup on the table, he took her hands in his and chaffed them until they felt warm, and then handed her the coffee.

  They drank in silence. She trying to form words to tell him about George and that she was pregnant, without rousing his suspicions, and he putting off the moment when he heard from her own lips that she loved this other man.

  At last, unable to bear the silence, he took the empty cup from her, placed it on the table, and said gently, ‘You were going to tell me something?’

  She nodded and rose once more from the settee. Going to the desk in the corner, she removed her father’s letter from the drawer and thrust it at him.

  ‘Read that.’

  Mystified, he withdrew the sheets of notepaper and started to read, glancing up at her now and again in growing concern.

  When he had finished reading, he folded the letter and returned it to the envelope before speaking.

  ‘Then this man’s your half-brother?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell us?’ he cried in surprise. ‘Why, Annie thinks you’ve a …’ His voice trailed off in embarrassment and she smiled grimly.

  ‘I know what my sister and my mother and the neighbours think. They think I’ve a fancyman, and I bet they think I’ve been carrying on before Joe died.’ Her voice rose accusingly. ‘Even you thought … thought …’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, but you should have told us. Ah, Rosaleen …’ his voice broke on the words ‘… you don’t know what I’ve been through.’

  ‘You read the letter! Me da left it up to me whe
ther or not to tell Annie, and I decided not to. She’s a blabbermouth. You know she is and I won’t have Mother hurt any more. She must have been too proud to forgive me da all those years ago. We can’t let her know that we know her dark secret. It would send her over the edge. Annie said that she’s been in a state since the grave was opened again.’

  ‘I know, I know. But why didn’t you tell me?’ His look was full of reproach. ‘You nearly sent me over the edge.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you since George came on the scene, remember?’

  He nodded sadly. This was true. He had been avoiding her, until listening to her mother and Annie discussing the ‘other man’, his jealousy could be contained no longer. His leave had been extended by the celebrations of D-Day but now he had but one week’s holiday left and, fortified by a couple of drinks, here he was.

  For some time he sat deep in thought and she watched him in silence. Drinking in the look of him. Longing for his touch. Loving the way his hair tumbled boyishly over his forehead. Admiring the strong jaw, the straight nose, the sensitive lips. Those wonderful lips … wonderful! His voice brought her back to reality and she gulped to regain control of her emotions.

  He spoke haltingly. ‘Rosaleen, do you not think … that … perhaps you should tell your mother about this man?’

  She reared back and her brows climbed her forehead in amazement. ‘And send her round the bend? Remember how bad she was when me da died?’

  She was shocked; could not understand his reasoning.

  ‘Ah.’ His finger wagged. ‘Listen, now. Listen to me, Rosaleen. Where did we always find your mother when she wandered off? Eh?’ He nodded his head. ‘Just you think about it.’