Till the Sun Shines Through (19 page)

She knew she was worthless and of no account, a bad taste in Jesus's mouth. She wondered for the first time whether it was worth going on. She could throw herself under a tram and everything would be over. Her parents would think her a grand girl if she did and none would ever know what she'd done. Everyone would be better off without her.

She'd taken a step forward, an eye on the tram clattering its way towards them, when a firm hand grasped her arm and pulled her clear. ‘Careful!' a voice said. ‘You don't want to stand so close.'

Bridie turned and found herself looking into the gentle eyes of Tom Cassidy.

‘Bridie,' he said. Bridie was surprised he remembered her name. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘I was at confession.'

‘Here? St Chad's isn't your parish church, is it?'

‘No,' Bridie said, and gave a shrug. ‘I was in town.'

Tom let that pass. ‘It's lovely to see you again.'

‘Is it?'

‘Of course it is,' Tom cried.

Bridie thought of the things the priest had accused her of, the names he'd called her, and remembered that Tom had been in a seminary and, until recently, was destined for the priesthood. She knew he must never learn what she'd done. ‘I'm not a fit person for you to know,' she said.

‘Isn't that for me to decide?' Tom said with a laugh.

‘No, believe me.'

Tom wondered what had happened to the girl he'd helped, the one he'd comforted on the boat and talked to for hours on the train just a few short weeks ago. She'd swept out of his life at New Street Station and he didn't know if he'd ever see her again, but his thoughts had been full of her ever since.

Now here she was saying she wasn't fit for him to know. He'd never heard anything so ridiculous. And whatever she said, he had no intention of losing track of her again. ‘Now come on,' he said, ‘I know the type of person you are. We talked for hours, for God's sake,' he said. ‘Would you consider going out with me one evening? We could go to the music hall, or the cinema?'

Bridie shook her head. ‘You don't know me at all.'

‘Bridie, stop it!' Tom said. ‘If you think it's too forward going out with me one evening, bring your sister along too.'

‘It's not that.'

‘Then what is it?'

‘It doesn't matter what it is,' Bridie cried. ‘Leave me alone, Tom, for pity's sake!'

And at that, Bridie pulled her arm away that Tom still had hold of and ran. Tom almost took off after her, but people had begun to look at them and he had many glares thrown in his direction. Anyway, he was expected back at the Mission hall before nine, so he reluctantly averted his eyes from the running figure. He didn't know what was the matter with her; it was as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders and that somehow it was all her own fault. It was obvious, though, that she wanted no help from him. With a sigh, he turned away and made for the Mission hall, his heart as heavy as lead.

It was not only Tom that thought Bridie had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Ellen hadn't known of Bridie's decision to confess about the abortion – Bridie had just told her aunt she was off to see Mary – but she knew it right enough when a tearful, distraught Bridie burst through the door that evening. ‘What ails you, girl?' she asked, drawing her towards the fire, but Bridie was crying too much to answer.

She caught Sam's eye over the weeping girl she had clasped to her and he took the hint. ‘I'm off for a pint then,' he said, taking his coat and cap from the nail behind the door. Ellen waited till the door closed behind him before she pushed Bridie gently into a chair and busied herself making a cup of tea for the two of them.

She said nothing till it was made. Bridie's tears were spent by then, but gasps still shook her body and her hands trembled as Ellen pressed the cup of steaming liquid between them. ‘Don't try to speak till you've taken a few gulps of that to steady yourself,' she said. ‘But then tell me what's upset you so.'

When Bridie did tell her about the priest's outburst, she was incensed. ‘Bridie, love, you're not the sinner in this.'

‘I killed a baby, Aunt Ellen.'

‘No,' Ellen said. ‘It wasn't a baby, Bridie. You stopped a baby being born, that's all. It's different entirely. And don't forget it was a baby you didn't want, forced on you by a man you should have been able to look to for protection. He's the one who should be before the priest this minute. He's the sex-crazed pervert the priest should be wiping the floor with, not you.'

Mary said something similar when she was told, having been alerted to Bridie's despair by Sam. But Bridie couldn't get the priest's words out of her head. ‘He said I could have had had the baby and given it away,' she said, raising her swollen face and red-rimmed eyes to Mary's. ‘He knows of places I could have gone to. Then my baby would have lived – I could have given it away.'

‘Bridie,' Mary said gently, ‘something happens to a woman when she's pregnant, not just to her body, but to her mind too. When the baby's born and laid in your arms, it's, well, I can't explain, but the rush of love you feel … I couldn't have given either of my sons away, not for anything.'

‘Yes, but I didn't love the baby. It wasn't like with you. You love Eddie, that's why.'

‘No, I don't think it is just that,' Mary said. ‘I think it's just nature's way of preparing you. All I'm saying is at the moment, you're full of remorse and guilt the priest has loaded on you, but if you'd had to give up a child you'd given birth to, you'd be feeling even worse, I think.'

It helped Bridie to know that Mary and Ellen were supportive, but the guilt didn't ease and it was compounded by Peggy McKenna. She'd seen the girl tear past her house that evening and, noting how distressed she was, she'd smiled. Later, passing her in the street, she'd muttered, ‘Glad to see you did your duty,' before adding, ‘I'll be along to see you one of these days.'

The blood in Bridie's veins seemed to turn to ice. ‘Why?' she asked.

‘Well, I could say just neighbourliness,' Peggy said. ‘But you and I might have things to discuss.'

‘I've done what you wanted.'

‘You've done one thing, the thing you should have wanted to do yourself for the good of your immortal soul,' Peggy said.

‘Leave me alone, can't you?'

‘Oh, that's no way to talk to me,' Peggy said. ‘In fact, if I were you, I'd be very careful of what I said and how I said it. There's still some in Donegal ignorant of your story that would love to hear of it.'

‘Please, Mrs McKenna, don't destroy my parents lives. None of this is their fault.'

‘Maybe, I will, and maybe I won't,' Peggy said. ‘But you just be careful, that's all I'm saying.'

So Bridie, mindful of Peggy's threat, was very careful over what she said to Peggy and there was plenty of opportunity for she seemed to be for ever popping up. Both Ellen and Mary noticed and had expressed surprise that Bridie had any time for Peggy McKenna. ‘Keep away from her,' Mary advised. ‘She's a troublemaker, I've told you,' and Bridie thought if only she could.

Christmas passed in a blur and though for the children's sake Bridie tried to ease the load from her shoulders, it wasn't a total success. She was glad when it was over and things were back to normal. She'd written an impassioned letter to her parents before New Year, begging their understanding and forgiveness, and Ellen and Mary had written too, both keeping to the story that Bridie had felt stifled on the farm. She'd fancied a change and knew the winter was the right time to leave.

Bridie received no reply from her mother, but in the New Year, she got a letter from Rosalyn, whose mother had written to tell her what had happened.

I don't blame you for leaving, Bridie. It's just the way you did it. I told Mammy you must have been desperate, but she said you never complained about it, but you'd been a bit odd, like depressed, before you left. I'm not surprised and I said so
.

America is wonderful, the people friendly and the house Aiden has is the cutest thing. I get on well with Maria too
.

Maria feels for you too. She said if you want to travel further afield, she could find you a place to live here and a job, no problem. You just have to say the word. There is plenty going on here: dances and movies, so many people have cars, you'd never believe it …

Bridie was tempted to go to the States where no one would know a thing about her. And then what, said a little voice inside her – tell Rosalyn about her father?

Bridie knew she couldn't go. She didn't want to be near Rosalyn, or any of Francis's family anymore. Just as his behaviour had spoiled and tainted all the good times that had gone before, now it had spread to them all too – Frank and Rosalyn, Delia and even the younger ones. She wrote a brief note back to Rosalyn, thanking her for the offer, but saying she was settled in Birmingham and she'd got a job.

That wasn't a lie – she had got a job in the Woolworths store in the Bull Ring. She'd been determined to get employment as soon as possible, but Ellen wasn't terribly optimistic that she would. ‘There's no rush anyway,' Ellen told her. ‘Sure I like the company and we have more than enough money to do us.'

But Bridie wouldn't be dissuaded. ‘I must do something,' she said. ‘My savings won't last for ever.'

‘Well, good luck to you,' Ellen said. ‘There's many in this city that want and need a job. And yet it is often easier for a woman than a man. If you're determined enough, you'll find something.'

But as one weary day followed another and Bridie trudged fruitlessly from factory to factory, her optimism began to flag. Everywhere she went, groups of jobless men stood about and she always felt sorry for them.

Most had totally inadequate clothes for the winter chill and their boots were often dropping to bits. They'd stand around aimlessly, greasy caps pulled well down, hands shoved in pockets and a look of despair on their faces.

Bridie could well understand it. She wanted a job to pay her way. What if she had a child to provide for, rent to pay, food and clothes to buy? Not to be able to do these things for their families would make the men, any man, seem worthless. It struck her that Peggy McKenna was married to a man out of work and she almost understood why she was the way she was. But that was when she was away from her. When she was near – Peggy talking to her, threatening and goading her – it always made Bridie's skin crawl.

One evening as she eased her aching feet from her boots, Ellen asked, ‘Have you thought about shop work? There's more women taken on in shops.'

‘But I don't know anything about shop work.'

‘You don't know anything about factory work either.'

‘Well no, but I thought I could be shown.'

‘And so you could,' Ellen said. ‘But what's there to know in a shop? It's easy. Can you reckon up?'

‘Oh aye,' Bridie said. ‘I did all the book work for Daddy. I've always had a good head for figures.'

‘Well then, worth a try I'd say.'

Anything was worth a try so Bridie tried the shops on Bristol Street, to no avail, before making for the city centre. Nearly everywhere she went people expressed doubt about her lack of experience and Bridie had become downhearted by the time she reached the Bull Ring.

There the story seemed to be the same until eventually she asked in Woolworths. Bridie had loved Woolworths when she been there as a child and stayed with Mary. Any trip to the city centre included going to the Bull Ring and looking around Woolworths. She'd loved the rush and bustle of the place, the girls in their smart green uniforms standing behind the dark wood counters, punching the prices into the tall brass cash registers with a confidence which Bridie could only admire.

They sold such an array of goods too, the counters often piled high with them. There were pots and pans and all manner of things for the kitchen, crockery and glassware and garden implements for those lucky enough to have a garden. There were books, large Bakelite records and a haberdashery counter and off to the side of that was everything for the hair: brushes and combs, and slides and ribbons and such like. But, best of all, was the counter with the toys and games and, of course, the one that sold the sweets. The great thing was that nothing cost more than sixpence.

That day, Woolworths was even more rushed than usual. Almost every counter had queues of impatient shoppers waiting to be served and shop assistants were scurrying around, trying to serve everyone as quickly as possible. For the first time, Bridie thought there was a good possibility of her getting employment. She was right: the manager was a worried man because many of his staff had been laid low with influenza. So when Bride asked about the possibility of a job, he decided to try her, despite her inexperience, but on a trial basis only. She was to start at eight o'clock the following morning.

Her family were delighted for her. ‘It's on a trial basis only,' she reminded them.

‘Och, away out of that,' Mary said. ‘Once they see you in action they'll keep you on all right. One thing you've never been afraid of is hard work.'

The first morning she was put on the sweet counter, the very counter she used to hang around as a child, almost dazzled by the amount of sweets on offer and the variety. In fact so dazzled was she that when Mary had wanted to buy her some as a treat, she could scarcely make up her mind what to choose. She was working with another girl who introduced herself as Jean Tate. ‘God, am I glad to see you,' she said. ‘I've been on me tod since the New Year. It'll be nice to have another pair of hands.'

‘Are there many off sick?' Bridie asked.

Jean nodded her head vigorously. ‘You bet your life. Been going down like flies, they have.'