Anne Bennett - Walking Back to Happiness

Yes, yes she could, her whole being cried. She’d walk over red-hot coals if it would fill the empty void in her life and help heal the ache in her heart. ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘Sound Mr Bradley out if you must, but you may have a shock. He may not want to marry me at all. He doesn’t strike me as the marrying kind.’

And that had been that. She had committed herself. But Josie was right, she must stop thinking of him as Mr Bradley. ‘His name is Arthur,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘Come on, dry your eyes and let’s go in.’

‘Will I get into trouble?’ Josie asked tremulously. ‘Will they all give out at me?’

‘Maybe,’ Hannah said. ‘But I’ll stick up for you, don’t worry. It’s you and me in this together from now on. You and me against the world.’

Josie liked the sound of that. She got to her feet, scrubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan and dusting the pieces of straw from her clothes. ‘I’m ready,’ she said and she followed her aunt down the ladder.

Frances’s funeral was well attended and everyone spoke of the fine woman she’d been and what a great loss it was to the whole family. The eldest of the Mullens, Peter, officiated at the Requiem Mass. Hannah knew that would have pleased his mother and also too that Margaret had got dispensation from her convent to attend the service.

What would have upset her, though, would have been to see Miriam. Hannah had been so shocked at the young woman only a little older than she was herself who she hadn’t seen for years. Miriam’s face was gaunt, though ruddy in complexion, and deeply lined and her hair, which had once been burnished auburn like Hannah’s own, had streaks of grey in it and hung in limp strands around her face. Her black clothes were respectable enough and Hannah guessed they were borrowed because her shoes were scuffed and down at heel. Beneath her coat was the swell of yet another pregnancy. Miriam resembled a woman nearly twice her age and Hannah felt sorry for the life she led.

But one of the worst aspects of that day for Hannah had been meeting her father. She’d made no move to visit him since she’d come over, knowing she wouldn’t be welcome, and he greeted her with a curt nod as if she were a person he’d seen before, but never really knew. Her brother Eamonn took her in a hug that Hannah knew he’d done just because it was the thing everyone expected but in fact, she felt closer to Mary, his wife, who greeted her warmly and said she must come up to the house.

She knew she wouldn’t go. Her father’s continual rejection still hurt her, cutting deeply. Now, together with the pain of losing Frances, she felt misery almost engulf her.

She’d been in no mood for the riotous wake after the funeral and was glad that she and Josie were leaving soon. She told the others that work was pressing and that Gloria had written asking about her return and Hannah felt she shouldn’t be away too long, especially as Gloria had been so good both about giving her so much time off and allowing her to bring Josie back with her.

Most of the family had been relieved that Hannah had agreed to take on the care of Josie as their mother had wanted, though little was said about it. Hannah thought it was probably embarrassment and guilt stopping their tongues. Only Peter and Margaret had said that Hannah’s reward for her generosity would be in Heaven.

Hannah was tempted to say that was a long time to wait and ask Margaret what was so appealing about black heathens that she could turn her face towards them so stoutly and ignore the needs of her young orphaned sister.

But of course she said none of this. She just thanked them. Martin eventually spoke about it as he drove them to the station. ‘It’s really good of you to do this,’ he said. ‘Taking on Josie and such. I suppose you think me and Siobhan really selfish taking off for America, but it’s what we’ve both wanted to do for years and it’s been like a carrot dangled in front of me what with me being unable to take it, especially after Daddy died.

‘If we don’t go now,’ he went on, ‘we’ll never go, neither of us. Siobhan is as anxious as me. She knows as well as I do that there’s nothing here for me. She sees the life Miriam has and shudders, like I do myself. God! The man she married must be an inconsiderate brute.’

‘There are inconsiderate brutes in America too,’ Hannah reminded him. ‘They are not the prerogative of the Irish, you know.’

‘I know, I know,’ Martin replied. ‘But … anyway, we both think there’s nothing to keep us here now and you agreeing to look after Josie has made it possible. You won’t lose by it – financially, I mean. As soon as I’m settled I’ll send you something for her.’

‘Well, though I’m not saying the money won’t be useful, the point is it’s rationing that’s the problem,’ Hannah said. ‘I’ll have to see about getting Josie a ration book as quickly as possible.’

‘There won’t be rationing for ever,’ Martin pointed out. ‘And there might be a bit of money too once the farm is sold. The beasts are all but gone, your father’s had some of them, and the farm goes up for sale tomorrow. ’Course it will have to be split between us all, but there’ll still be a little.’

‘However big or small, I’ll put that away for Josie. She will want money in the future,’ Hannah said.

‘Aye. That’s a good idea,’ Martin said. ‘Pity I’ll not get to meet this man you’re marrying. Fair sprung that fact on everyone. If you could put the wedding forward a month, it would be before we sail and me and Siobhan could come over.’

‘It’s all settled for mid-September,’ Hannah said, and she was glad it was. She didn’t want eagle-eyed and outspoken Martin over there increasing her apprehension about marriage, for she knew Martin would not find much to admire in Arthur Bradley.

But Martin did not know the whole story and never would. Martin could never know how Hannah longed not only for marriage, respectability and a baby, but also for a man of her own, who would love and cherish her above all others, like her father had never done. Mike had, and oh how she’d missed him and had shed bitter tears when she found out he was dead.

Josie, Hannah was to find out, was not a good sailor. Her face had taken on a greenish tinge even before the shores of Ireland had totally disappeared from view.

Josie had never felt so miserable in all of her life, nor had she ever felt so sick, had never been so sick either.

By the time she’d been half an hour on the boat, her whole stomach ached with vomiting. She leant against Hannah, who was sitting beside her on the bench on the open deck, braving the sharp winds that whipped the seas to rolling white-fringed breakers and carried the drizzling rain with it. Cold and damp though it was, it was better than inside which smelt of Guinness, cigarettes and vomit. Hannah felt a stab of sympathy for the child who must be feeling so lost and afraid and so sick, for her face was still wan and pale, her long brown hair straggly and glistening from the unrelenting mizzle which had thoroughly dampened both of them. But Josie took comfort in Hannah’s arms around her, like she had when Hannah had held her head as she was sick over the side of the boat, pulling her hair back and wiping her face later with a damp cloth she had with her.

Ever since that day in the barn, Josie had felt differently about Hannah, but for all that, those last traumatic days of her mother’s life were fraught ones and Josie was frightened of the future. But she now trusted Hannah and often sought her out. Hannah was frightened of the future, too, for Arthur’s attitude to her bringing Josie home hadn’t softened. He totally ignored all the reasons she’d listed for having to return with Josie in the second letter she’d written to him. Posthaste, his reply came back. Hannah was to leave the child in the care of the social services who would now be responsible for her welfare.