Till the Sun Shines Through (45 page)

Father Flynn told him to be patient, but he couldn't afford patience; he only had ten days' compassionate leave. Father Shearer called to see Bridie because Tom was so worried and in the end he called in Doctor Casey as well. Both told him time was a great healer. ‘You can't expect anyone to bounce back after a tragedy of this magnitude, Tom,' the doctor said, grave-faced. ‘If she doesn't buck up after the funeral, I'll give her something.'

With that Tom had to be content. The one person Tom didn't mention his worries about Bridie to was Eddie, for he had his own anxieties. As well as mourning the loss of his wife, he had his sons grief to contend with too. Jay's sorrow had turned to anger which he directed at his father. Mickey, on the other hand, felt guilt. If his mother hadn't tried to protect him and Katie and Liam she might well be alive.

Mickey had been transferred to the General Hospital to be with his brother, the staff and Eddie hoping it would help. It had done little good, though, because for each boy the pain was too intense and raw and personal and they each tried to deal with it their own way. So, while Eddie worried what would happen to his sons when he went back to fighting and they were out of hospital, Tom fretted about Bridie.

The funeral was well attended by friends and neighbours and flowers almost filled the hearses. There was no representative from Ireland though. Sarah and Jimmy had wanted to come: they'd lost a beloved sister and brother-in-law, a daughter and two grandchildren, and wanted to be there to pay their respects. Bridie had urged them not to, though: Birmingham was too dangerous a place then and the family had suffered enough loss already. And with the housing shortage worse than it ever had been, there was nowhere for them to stay.

Instead, they sent Mass cards as well as more wreaths of flowers. Mass cards came too from Catholic friends and neighbours, both from Donegal and Birmingham, so many they virtually covered the coffins of Ellen, Sam and Mary lined up in the church. There were no coffins for Katie and Liam for their bodies had never been recovered.

Father Shearer could hardly say the Requiem Mass, so saddened was he and nearly blinded by tears. He'd conducted many funerals in that war-torn city and each innocent loss of life affected him, but this … this was such a tragedy for the families to endure. But at least there would be a grave for these three who would be buried together. Maybe to stand and pray at the graveside would be a comfort in years to come, especially for Mary's two sons.

What of Bridie and Tom though? Their children could be in a million pieces spread all over bombed ruins. How could any parent stand that thought? He was desperately worried about Bridie. Tom had openly wept and was still weeping, one of many attending that service overcome with grief. Bridie, however, hadn't shed a tear – not in front of him anyway.

Her ravaged face showed the level of her sorrow though, especially her lifeless eyes and the lines pulling down her mouth. Tom sneaked a look at Bridie through his own streaming eyes as the funeral began, marvelling, but almost frightened, at her self-control.

He too wished he had a grave to visit where he could go to remember and mourn the death of his darling and petite little girl and his wonderful, boisterous son.

Maybe in time, he and Bridie could talk about their children, take comfort in remembering them, regretting that the few short years they'd shared hadn't been longer. But, now their deaths were too new, the pain too raw, to take comfort in anything. He wished he could hold Bridie's hand, but he knew if he did, it would give him no comfort, for she'd not respond in any way, just allow her hand to be held as if it mattered not a jot to her.

He couldn't risk rejection like that. He knelt down, covered his face with his hands, and tried to pray for the repose of the souls of his children.

The funeral did not help Bridie at all. A funeral was a saying goodbye, a coming to terms with the fact that a loved one was dead, and death was a gravestone, a place to mourn, to cry and pray, to cover with flowers so that the person is never forgotten. She could do that for Sam and Ellen and Mary but she had nothing for her own children. How could she say goodbye when there wasn't even a coffin to slide into the brown earth? Peggy McKenna had got her wish at last, but why had God punished her children? She was the one that had sinned. Why had she been spared and the children taken?

Dr Casey called to see her the day after the funeral, for he'd been there himself and saw the behaviour that so worried Tom. ‘How are you, my dear?' he said, recognising himself what a fatuous thing it was to say.

Bridie turned deadened eyes upon him. ‘How would you expect me to be, Doctor?'

‘Quite,' the doctor said. ‘Can I say I'm very, very sorry for this tragedy, Bridie?'

Bridie didn't answer that and the doctor went on, ‘I could give you something to help.'

‘Help? Will it return my children to me, hale and hearty?'

‘Bridie …'

‘If it won't do that, Doctor, I have no need of your pills and potions,' Bridie said.

‘Tom is worried. Everyone is worried about you.'

‘I can't help that.'

There was no more to say and so the doctor got up to leave. He did write a prescription for a mild sedative, which he said might help Bridie sleep at least, but when Tom gave her the bottle, she tipped the medicine down the sink.

Two days later, Mickey was given the all clear to leave hospital. ‘Can he come here?' Eddie asked Bridie. ‘Can you see to him?'

‘No,' Bridie said sharply. She hated being near children now, even her nephews.

‘Please, Bridie,' Eddie pleaded. ‘I've heard that once your children go into care, you never see them again.'

‘There's no need for talk of care,' Bridie said. ‘Mammy will have both of them. It's what Mary wanted. Take Mickey to her.'

‘Your mother will not mind?'

‘Of course not. It would be a comfort for her,' Bridie said. ‘She's lost a lot too, don't forget.'

Sarah had been beside herself with sadness and regret that for years she'd refused to communicate with Bridie, refused to meet her husband, denied herself the pleasure of her grandchildren. And now they were gone, blasted to kingdom come. But there were still Mary's two sons and she was well aware that any day a bomb like the one that had killed Mary, Sam, Ellen and Bridie's children could wipe out Mary's boys just as easy and so she welcomed Eddie's suggestion to bring Mickey to her. She'd keep him safe and he was, after all, part of Mary. The reply she sent back by telegram told Eddie to bring Mickey straightaway and Jay too, as soon as he was recovered.

On Tom's last night at home, he tried again to talk to Bridie. It was hard work – they were like strangers these days – but he persevered. The priest and doctor had both advised him to talk about the children with her. They said though they'd lived such a short time, they could, while lamenting their tragic deaths, remember the good times they'd enjoyed and it was a therapeutic thing to do.

But Bridie wasn't ready for that. She'd locked herself behind a wall of pain and sorrow where nothing could touch her and when Tom tried, she cut him off. ‘I don't want to talk about the children I failed to rear,' she snapped out. ‘Not now, not ever. Peggy McKenna got her wish at last.'

‘Peggy McKenna?' Tom repeated, bemused. ‘What has she to do with this?'

‘Everything,' Bridie said flatly. ‘She's cursed the children since the day they were born.'

‘But why?'

‘Why? Because I had an abortion that's why,' Bridie said. ‘She knew of it and said God would punish me by allowing something to happen to them and he did.'

The desolation was evident and deep in Bridie's eyes and Tom wished he could pull Bridie towards him and wrap his arms around her, but knew it would do no good. Bridie was empty of any emotion but sorrow, and could accept comfort from no one and most definitely not him. ‘Our God is a God of love, Bridie,' he said gently.

‘Love!' she spat out. ‘You talk of a God of love that allows this carnage: the innocent, the old, women and children, murdered in their homes, crushed, or blown into pieces and you talk of love.' She turned from him in disgust. ‘Peggy McKenna said God would demand retribution. I sinned, Tom, and never atoned for it, not really. I went on to marry you and have another two children. I couldn't go unpunished. She knew that and, deep down, I knew too that it was only a matter of time.'

‘Mary said that woman was never away from the house,' Tom said. ‘No wonder you hardly let the children out of your sight and couldn't sleep at night and barely ate enough to stay alive. For God's sake, Bridie, why didn't you share this worry with me?'

‘What would you have done if I had?' Bridie asked.

‘Why, had a word. Tell her to leave you alone.'

‘That's why I told no one,' Bridie said. ‘Because then she would have done what she said she would do and write to Mammy and Daddy and tell them of my pregnancy and abortion. The one thing she didn't know was the father of the child, but she knew enough to destroy them.'

‘It was a threat, that's all,' Tom assured her. ‘She wouldn't have done it.'

‘I couldn't take that risk,' Bridie said. ‘I gave her money most weeks to be sure.'

‘Money?'

‘Aye,' Bridie said wearily, and added, ‘Some I took from the Post office book when I was short. And when I began work, part of my wages went to still Peggy's tongue.'

‘Oh Dear God, Bridie,' Tom cried, and he drew Bridie into his arms. She allowed him to do that, but kept her own arms hanging by her side. After a moment, Tom released her, tears running down his face, as he thought how Bridie had suffered for years for a disgusting episode in her life that was not her fault.

‘My life's over now, Tom,' Bridie said suddenly.

‘No, no,' Tom cried. ‘That can't be true. You're a young woman still. We can …'

‘Don't say have more children,' Bridie cried. ‘Not that. I've had three pregnancies and nothing to show for it. That's enough for me, I have nothing to remember of the first child I aborted, but memories of the others will never leave me. I'd not risk another child – what if God was to wreak his vengeance again? I feel I could die from the pain inside me. I couldn't cope at all if it happened again.'

‘God isn't …'

‘Don't say what your God's like,' Bridie said. ‘No one knows and I'm not risking him getting his claws into me again. He can do what he likes to me – I can't hurt anymore, but I will have no more children.'

Her voice was implacable, and Tom was saddened and desperately worried about leaving Bridie with her mind in the state it was in. ‘Won't you think of going home to your mother?' he asked her.

‘No, Tom,' Bridie said. ‘Not while my children's remains are here.'

‘But, Bridie, you'll be all alone.'

‘It's how I like it.'

‘Go on, for a wee holiday at least.'

‘No,' Bridie said. ‘Leave me alone, Tom.'

‘Oh God, Bridie,' Tom implored. ‘Help me, I'm crumbling away inside, desperately worried about you and brokenhearted about the children. Tomorrow I go back. Hold me, for God's sake. Kiss me.'

Bridie seemed unmoved by Tom's distress and eventually she said, ‘I have nothing left for you, Tom. Inside I am empty, but you can hold me and kiss me if it will help.'

But it didn't. Hugging Bridie was like hugging a piece of wood and the kiss was sterile and chaste, reminiscent of their courtship days. At least then Bridie loved me, Tom thought. Now, he wasn't at all sure.

He returned to his unit a broken man, not at all certain that if he were wounded or killed and a telegram sent to Bridie, that she had enough inside her to even care. He couldn't load any of this onto Eddie when he'd lost his own wife, so both men coped as best they could, alone and saddened.

Bridie watched Tom go with relief. She knew she'd hurt him by her indifference, but she hadn't been able to help herself. She'd promised Eddie she'd visit Jay, but she had to steel herself to do so. But at least the ward he'd been moved to after the raid of 22
^nd
November housed mainly adults; she could cope with that.

Bridie was visiting Jay the day after the men went back when the sirens went off. She read the panic and alarm in Jay's face and fully understood it, especially as he couldn't be moved into the basement with his foot suspended as it was. Instead, they pulled out a heavy-duty wire bed protector to put over the whole bed. They wanted Bridie to go down to the basement, but at the look in Jay's eyes she refused.

She got under the bed protector with him and held his hand while bombs whistled down, crashing all around the city centre, and she saw him flinch and felt the pressure of his hand tighten, his fingernails digging into her, when any exploded close at hand. She searched around for a topic of conversation that wouldn't be too distressing for him, but strangely enough Jay asked about his mother. ‘What about her?' Bridie asked.

‘Everything. Tell me what she was like.'

‘She was the greatest big sister in the world,' Bridie said simply and sincerely and, as she spoke, the depth of her loss hit her afresh. Mary had been so important to her and she told Jay that. ‘She was always there for me, she was like another mother,' she said. ‘She was good and kind and patient and loving. I don't know how I'm going to go on without her – I will miss her so much.'

She couldn't prevent the tears squeezing from her eyes and trickling down her cheeks and Jay put his one good arm around her neck and cried too. But it was somehow comforting to mourn Mary's death together.

When they were both calmer, Jay said, ‘I wish I had a picture of Mom. When I close my eyes now I can see her, but I know one day I won't be able to. It will be like she doesn't exist.'