Till the Sun Shines Through (54 page)

Bridie was too relieved and grateful to argue further and she took hold of Rosalyn's hand and squeezed it. ‘Oh Rosalyn.'

‘Now don't start blubbering,' Rosalyn said briskly. ‘Jay will know you've been crying when he wakes up and he'll go for me for upsetting you.'

Bridie smiled, knowing Rosalyn had a point – Jay was quite protective of her – and she said, ‘Rosalyn, I don't know what I'd ever have done without you. I'm very grateful to you coming over and taking me in hand.'

‘Think nothing of it,' Rosalyn said airily. ‘Isn't that what friends are for? Anyway, you know I've always been a bossy cow.' And she leaned across and kissed Bridie on the cheek.

As the boat ploughed its way through the choppy, churning water of the Irish Sea, Jay proved as poor a sailor as Bridie and Rosalyn. That day though, they had to ignore their own queasy stomachs to deal with the child, especially as he couldn't stay on deck for any length of time as the sea spray and damp mist in the air were no good for his plaster cast.

‘I don't remember being as sick as this the last time,' Jay complained, wiping his mouth.

‘You were just wee, you'd hardly remember.'

‘I'd remember being this sick, anyone would,' Jay said indignantly. He shivered suddenly and Bridie realised how thin his coat was. The first thing she must do before she left she thought was buy some suitable clothes for the boys. But that was for the future; Jay would freeze to death if he stayed up on deck much longer. ‘How are you feeling now?' she said. ‘We'd be better inside.'

‘I'm all right,' Jay assured her. And with Rosalyn's help they moved slowly across the deck to the saloon.

A cacophony of noise greeted them as the door was opened: voices rising and falling, someone singing, a group arguing and gales of loud laughter coming from the four large men at the bar. The room smelt of a press of people, damp clothes, a hint of vomit, all over ridden by the smell of Guinness and the smoke from the cigarettes that hung in the air in a cloud.

She remembered the time she'd come over with Tom and he'd bought her a brandy to settle her stomach. ‘Did it work?' Rosalyn asked when she told her.

‘Depends what you mean by work,' Bridie said. ‘I went to sleep when I took mine with my head on Tom's shoulder and when I woke up he had his arms around me. I was too embarrassed then to think of a queasy stomach.'

Rosalyn smiled. ‘Maybe we could all be doing with a bit of that,' she said, and going to the bar brought them back two large brandies and a ginger beer for Jay, which the barman had assured her would make him as right as rain in no time.

He did feel better after he'd drunk it, he said, and so did Bridie, though she liked the taste no better than the first time she'd had it. But even with the help of the brandy and ginger beer, they all breathed a sigh of relief when the boat docked in Belfast.

By the time Jay had been carried off the boat and made his way to the awaiting train, his leg had begun to throb worse than ever. He remembered the doctor saying that he wasn't sure he was up to such a journey and that his leg was far from well enough for such an arduous trek, but Jay had got so distressed that, in the end, he'd reluctantly given permission.

Jay didn't complain about the leg, though the pain was getting worse as they changed trains at Derry and then again to the rail bus at Strabane. Both Bridie and Rosalyn had noticed the child's face, which had been stripped of colour on the ferry, turn grey with pain and caught him catching his lip and wincing more than once.

He'd not spoken much either and his replies to anything they'd asked him had been short and to the point. Bridie would be glad to get him home and hoped he hadn't done himself any further harm, for it was not an easy trip, even for people with two good legs.

Jimmy was waiting for them as the rail bus pulled to a stop at the bottom of the farm. He had been devastated by the death of Mary and indeed Ellen and Sam, and more especially when Bridie's children were feared dead too.

He'd had to rouse himself when Mickey arrived – a poor, wee, motherless child, confused and deeply unhappy – and then just after Christmas came the startling news that Bridie's children were alive, sick, but alive, and in some hospital. And now Jamie – or Jay as he must remember to call him now – was coming to join his brother.

But when he saw the child in the murky half-light of a winter's evening he was shocked. He swung the lantern he carried and it took in Jay's face creased with pain, his bottom lip pinched and his eyes glazed over. ‘Dear Almighty God,' he cried. ‘Let's get you all indoors and quickly – this child needs his bed.'

He wished he could carry him, but the child was too tall and he was too old himself for that. He took much of Jay's weight, however, and placed an arm about him as they hobbled towards the cottage, Rosalyn and Bridie lagging behind with their baggage and Jay's abandoned crutches.

The warmth of the cottage hit their frozen bodies like a hot bath and caused fingers and toes to ache and tingle. The smell from the pot of something wonderful simmering above the peat fire made Bridie feel faint, despite the sandwiches they'd had on the train from Belfast to Derry.

Jimmy half-carried Jay to the fire, while Mickey, such a different child from the one who'd left Birmingham, was dancing behind him, crying, ‘What is it? What's the matter with him? What's he done?'

Sarah stepped away from the fire. ‘Leave your grandad,' she said. ‘Your brother is tired and sore by the look of him. Come away out of that.'

But her eyes took in Bridie as she spoke and she crossed the room and enfolded her with her one good arm, kissing her cheeks. ‘Rosalyn,' she said, turning from Bridie at last and hugging her niece. ‘Are you stopping for a bite? We have plenty.'

‘No thanks, Aunt Sarah,' Rosalyn said. ‘Mammy will be expecting me.'

‘You're sure now?'

‘Aye, but don't press me too much,' Rosalyn said with a laugh. ‘I might just sit and have a big feed for it smells delicious – oh dear God, Mammy would roast me alive, though, for she wrote that she'd have a meal ready too.'

‘Ah. Leave it so then,' Bridie said.

‘Aye. See you all tomorrow.'

‘Bye, Rosalyn.'

‘Glad to see you two are friends again,' Sarah remarked to Bridie as she laid cutlery on the table.

Bridie looked up from where she was hugging Mickey, who'd wrapped himself around her knees, and replied, ‘Aye, Rosalyn's been just wonderful. I'd forgotten how great she was.'

‘Delia was over earlier – she's glad to have her at home, for a wee while at least. Come on now, take off your coat and sit up to the table. Mickey will take your bags to your rooms, won't you, Mickey, and then we can all eat.'

Jimmy had laid Jay in an armchair by the fire and pushed another one close to it to rest his leg. He gently removed his one boot and his coat and said, ‘The only place that child is going to move to is his bed. I'll take his dinner over to him on a tray.' And then he was before Bridie, and he knew she was more precious than ever to him now – his only remaining daughter – and, his voice broken with emotion, said, ‘How are you, my bonnie girl?'

‘Oh, Daddy!' Bridie cried and they clung together. Bridie felt as if she was wee again and her daddy could protect her from everything and everybody, that she was safe and secure and need never be afraid. He smelt as he'd always done; of the outdoors and the animals, the peaty smell that had always clung to his clothes, and a hint of the pipe tobacco he smoked. It was blessedly familiar.

She had told her parents and Tom that the children had been injured in the raid and were in hospital and this is the story she stuck to over tea. Jay knew more, but she'd asked him to say nothing. She said she'd tell her parents what she thought they needed to know, and there was no reason at all to distress Mickey. He was still a young boy, she said, and could do nothing about it. Jay saw his aunt's point.

Jimmy, with Mickey's help, had done the milking before they arrived, so apart from washing the pots there was nothing for them all to do, but sit around the fire and talk together.

Bridie was glad to see Mickey so well and happy now, though her mother had told her in letters how he'd initially had horrific nightmares and even now sometimes cried for his mother. None of this was discussed in front of him though and Sarah only told of the positive things; what a good and helpful boy Mickey was about the farm and how well he'd settled in at the village school. ‘That's why he won't be allowed to stay up late tonight,' Sarah said. ‘In fact …'

‘Ah, Grandma not on Jay's first night,' Mickey protested.

‘Jay's not up to conversation tonight, Mickey,' Jimmy told him. ‘There will be plenty of other nights. Now do as your grandma bids you and go on down to the room like a good boy.'

Mickey went reluctantly, dragging his feet, and Bridie smiled. She'd hated been sent to bed herself as a child, but now she thought longingly of settling down to sleep.

She could see Jay was also worn-out and Jimmy, also noticing this, said to Sarah, ‘I've a mind for Jay to sleep in our bed tonight. I've a feeling his leg might well be painful after today's exertions. Mickey might kick out in the night and accidentally hurt him.'

‘What about you?' Sarah asked.

‘I'll do well enough in the bed chair beside the bed,' Jimmy said. ‘I'd feel easier if I was beside the boy, for tonight at least. You don't mind, sure you don't?'

‘I do not,' Sarah said emphatically. ‘I'll share the bed with Bridie so.'

Bridie, although she knew her father was right for Jay looked far from well, was apprehensive about sharing a bed with her mother. But there was no alternative so, pleading tiredness, she went to bed not long after Mickey, intending to be asleep before her mother came to bed.

Once in bed, however, though her eyes were smarting as if they had grit rubbed into them and her limbs ached with fatigue, sleep would not come.

She lay this way and that, tossing about in the bed to find a comfortable spot. She told herself to relax, but she couldn't. She shut her eyes and counted sheep, but eventually she gave up and opened her eyes again.

Empty your mind – she'd heard that expression somewhere and now thought it a crazy one. So much had happened to her and her loved ones over the last weeks, months and years – how could you sweep those memories and worries away like so much rubbish? And in the night, when you're in bed, alone, enjoying a bit of peace for maybe the first time that day, the anxieties gained a foothold and hammered at your brain.

And Bridie had many worries – sorrowful remembrances and problems that seemed unsolvable – that when Sarah came to bed, she was more wide awake than ever. She shut her eyes quickly, pretending she was asleep, but Sarah was not fooled. ‘I know you're awake, Bridie, I heard you tossing about till just a few minutes ago.'

With a sigh, Bridie opened her eyes. ‘I am tired,' she said. ‘That's no lie, I just can't seem to get off.'

‘Things troubling you, maybe?'

There was a pause and a sigh before Bridie said, ‘Aye.'

‘Need to talk about it?'

It wasn't how Bridie planned to tell her mother, but now with the two boys in the house, one at home all day and Beatie coming in on them in the morning, as well as her father's company in the evening, it might be her only chance.

She took a deep breath and began.

Sarah lay in the dark beside her daughter and listened to her telling her of her uncle's interference with her when she was but fourteen years of age. Dimly, Sarah remembered Bridie, telling her a tale of Francis touching and kissing her in a way she found upsetting. And how she had reacted? Had she given her sympathy, understanding, even asked her to explain further?

No, Sarah thought, she hadn't and yet she knew then of Francis's philandering. She'd known of it for years because once Delia, depressed beyond measure by her sham of a marriage, had told her of it.

Sarah knew also of Francis's preference for young girls, and he had the charm, wit and good looks to attract them. So why, knowing this, did she not question her daughter further? She thought she was safe, being family. But did she, really? Sarah admitted to herself that night that she hadn't wanted to face the fact that Francis had behaved inappropriately with her daughter.

Bridie had only had Mary to confide in, Sarah realised, but she waited, for she knew the abuse that Mary dealt with so adequately when she came over to visit was nowhere near the end of the story. And it wasn't, though Bridie burned with embarrassment at the things she had to describe and was so stiff with tension, she lay beside her mother like a block of wood.

Rosalyn said Bridie must spare her mother nothing, but Bridie had never spoken of intimate things with her mother and it was hard to do so now. Many times she would pause and try to gather the courage to continue. This was never more so than when she was describing Francis trailing her into the woods and the ensuing rape. She knew then, whatever Rosalyn had advised, had they not both been hidden by darkness, she couldn't have told her mother, especially when she heard her sharp intake of breath.

Sarah was feeling various emotions as she listened to her daughter: shame and regret that she'd done nothing about this when she had the chance; disgust and revulsion that Francis should do such a thing. It was obscene to violate any young, innocent girl, but when that girl was your own niece, who had looked upon you as a father figure, it was a vile abomination.

Bridie had stopped talking again and so Sarah said, ‘My darling child, there aren't words enough in the whole English language to say how sorry I am – I let you down and I'm bitterly ashamed. Was this what made you flee your home? Did you felt you couldn't trust Francis?'