Love Me Tender. Anne Bennett
Читать онлайн книгу.
rope for Lizzie, I know she’d like one.’
‘You know she’d like one!’ Kathy repeated, and her eyes flashed with temper. ‘What’s this “like”, all of a sudden? The things I’d like, I have to go without. The child needs new boots on her feet and you talk about a skipping rope.’
‘They’re only weans, Kathy.’
‘I know that,’ Kathy snapped. Suddenly it was too much for her and tears of frustration ran down her cheeks. She needed her husband’s arms around her to comfort and reassure. He was quick enough to put them round the children, but now he held them by his side, terrified that the dam keeping his own feelings in check would burst if he attempted to hold his wife close, as he longed to.
‘I do my bloody best,’ he said grimly.
‘Well, it’s not good enough,’ Kathy burst out in hurt anger. ‘You make me sick. Get out of my way, I must see to the weans.’
Barry stared at his wife in silence for a minute, and then snapped, ‘Oh, I’ll get out of your way all right. I’m away to me ma’s, where the welcome is always warm and the company’s better.’
‘Go to hell for all I care,’ Kathy snapped back, though her heart sank.
Below, in the damp, chilly cellar, Lizzie and Danny waited and listened. Lizzie knew it was all her mammy’s fault. Her daddy couldn’t help being out of work, lots of daddies were, and she shouldn’t have shouted at him like she did. When she heard the slam of the door and watched her father’s feet walk over the cellar grating, she began to shiver, and it wasn’t just from the cold of the place.
Kathy, descending the steps, was ashamed of herself. She shouldn’t have gone for him like that. God forgive her for what she’d yelled at him that evening. What had he been doing that was so wrong when she’d come in? Just amusing the weans with a story while he minded them. Was she jealous of her own children? No, she told herself, that was silly, but she knew that if she wasn’t careful, by the time Barry did get a job, they’d only have the shreds of marriage to hold on to, and when she went into the cellar, the children’s accusing faces filled her with guilt.
From then on, Barry and Kathy’s relationship deteriorated steadily, though they never spoke of the argument again. Barry had been bitterly hurt by Kathy’s accusation that he hadn’t tried hard enough to find work, and he couldn’t forgive her for it.
He did get a fortnight’s work in the market, and in a gesture of defiance bought a skipping rope for Lizzie and a toy car and marbles for Danny. He put them in the stockings they hung up on Christmas Eve, together with a shiny penny, a small orange and a bar of candy each. It was a grand Christmas morning for them, though Barry hardly spoke to Kathy and his only smiles were for his children.
Kathy longed to say she was sorry, but the words choked in her throat. Later, when they went to her mother’s and Mary produced the children’s presents – a pair of new shoes for Lizzie and a jumper she’d knitted for Danny – Kathy was consumed with shame that she and Barry weren’t able to buy those things for the children themselves, even though she was very grateful. Mary waved away her protests. ‘Let us do it while we can, child. God alone knows how long young Michael will be in work, with him turning sixteen in the new year.’
Kathy knew fine what her mother meant. Her youngest brother Michael had been an errand boy at Wrenson’s, the grocer’s shop, since he’d left school two years earlier. Once the lads reached sixteen, they were normally replaced by a school leaver, who at fourteen would work for less money. It was no good moaning about it; that was the system. Everyone was keeping an eye out for Michael, but the family knew that he would probably be drawing the dole with Barry before long.
So Kathy said nothing more and put Lizzie’s old boots away for Danny – maybe she could afford to have them soled sometime. Anyway, for a wee while longer the children were all right, and she blessed the fact that she had her close family all around her to help out all they could.
Mary knew things weren’t right between Kathy and Barry, but she said nothing, not even to her husband Eamonn. Though both seemed fine with the children, there was a definite frostiness between them. Few would have seen it – there was much jollification when the family all got together, and bad feelings could often be successfully covered up – and she hoped it was just a temporary thing.
New Year’s Eve was celebrated as always at the Sullivans’, where all the clan and many neighbours crammed into the little house and the children took refuge under the table with eatables they’d pilfered. Pat, the eldest of the Sullivans’ sons, was the ‘First Foot’ after midnight and arrived at the door to a chorus of ‘Happy New Year!’ carrying some silver coins, a lump of coal and a bottle of whisky that Eamonn had hidden away. They all drank a toast and hoped that 1938 would be a better year. Mary was glad to see Barry with a wide smile on his face for once. Of course that could be put down to the amount he’d drunk, not that it had been excessive but Mary had the idea that he and Kathy lived on bread and scrape and not much of that. On that sort of diet it didn’t take more than a drop or two to knock a man off his feet. She worried they’d both become ill if they didn’t eat more, and Barry needed to keep his strength up so that if he got a job, he’d be able for it.
She did what she could by feeding the children as often as Kathy let them come, and often sent round a pie or bit of stew and the odd loaf, but she had the feeling that it fed the children only. They were certainly sturdy enough and had the well-nourished look missing from many of the ragged, bare-footed children one saw around. God, it was desperate, so it was, how some of them lived.
Lizzie was a carbon copy of her mother, with jet-black hair and dark-brown eyes with long black lashes, but she still had the bloom Kathy had lost. Her face was the open one of a child, not the old face of many of the urchins, and her cheeks had the pink tinge Kathy’s had once boasted. She also had her mother’s wide mouth, but no worry lines were there to pull it down.
Danny had his father’s sandy hair, and a bit of the chubbiness of babyhood still clung to him. He was very like his father, with his round face, and he had the same-shaped nose and mouth as Barry, but his deep-brown eyes were like those of his mother and sister, for his father’s eyes were grey. Indeed, Mary thought they were fine children, and enough to look after when a man had no job. Thank God Kathy had had no more after Danny.
Kathy pleaded tiredness just after twelve, and Eamonn helped her carry the sleepy children home and put them to bed, but Barry stayed on longer, pouring out his troubles to his good friend, Pat. He and Pat had been through school together since the age of five, and it was through him that Barry had begun courting Kathy. Pat’s own wife Bridie was known as a nag, but he was so easy-going, it seldom bothered him. ‘Water off a duck’s back,’ he was fond of saying, but he sensed that whatever was wrong between Barry and Kathy went deeper and couldn’t be laughed off.
‘I don’t know what she wants me to do,’ Barry complained. ‘God knows I’ve looked for work hard enough. If I stay in she nags, if I go out she complains. If I play with the weans I’m spoiling them and I could be doing something useful.’ Barry shook his head from side to side in puzzlement at it all.
‘God, Barry, don’t be trying to understand women,’ Pat said. ‘What goes on in their minds is beyond me altogether, we just have to put up with it.’
Barry wondered if he could. There had been times before Christmas when he’d wanted to walk out and leave them all to it.
‘Come on,’ Pat said. ‘It’s a new year, a new start, nineteen thirty-eight will be your year, you’ll see.’
Barry chinked his glass against his brother-in-law’s. ‘New year, new job,’ Pat said, and Barry was infected by his optimism.
‘Aye,’ he agreed.
It was much later when he made his unsteady way home. Once inside his own house he began to see the stupidity of thinking that way. New Year’s Eve was just a day like any other, and he was just as unlikely to get a job in 1938 as he had been in ’37, ’36, ’35 or ’34. God, the dole was a living death