a daddy somewhere and daddies don’t have to live with their wives and children.’
‘Ours won’t, will he?’ Grace asked fearfully.
‘No,’ Maeve said firmly. ‘But that isn’t the point. He still is and always will be your father, whether he lives with us or not. And, as for you, Kevin,’ she added, turning back to her son, ‘there’s to be no more fighting about it and no bad language, or you’ll feel my hand across your bottom.’
‘Ach, he’ll hear worse before he’s much older,’ Thomas told his daughter.
‘Not from me, he won’t,’ Maeve said. But she knew the swearwords her small son unwittingly used were not the biggest issue here.
‘Come away in, anyway,’ Annie said. ‘Let’s not quarrel among ourselves.’
Maeve sighed. ‘Aye.’ Her mother was right. They had enough trouble with people outside of the family; they shouldn’t fight each other.
‘Don’t worry so much, pet,’ Thomas told his daughter. ‘It’ll just be a nine-days’ wonder, you’ll see.’
Maeve knew he was trying to cheer her up and didn’t believe that any more than he did, but she gave him a watery smile anyway. ‘I really hope so, Daddy. Oh, I really hope so.’
But the situation didn’t ease. Other family members, although supportive, didn’t understand what it was like. Tom, for example, was living far enough away from the family to belong to another parish entirely. He came to see Maeve and though he told her forcibly no woman should be forced to stay with a man who beat his wife and child and drank his wages, he couldn’t help her at all.
Liam and Kate, away in Dublin, had almost forgotten what life was like in the small towns and villages in the north of Ireland, but in their letters to Maeve they urged her to stick to her guns after Annie wrote telling them all about it. And Maeve was glad of their support, for the only positive letters she got apart from theirs were from Elsie, who told her of the goings-on of the street. She also assured Maeve that while the tale of her taking off with the children was on everyone’s lips for a while, in a street where one person’s business is known to all, there were always new bits of gossip to chew over.
Her Uncle Michael, on the other hand, seemed totally confused by Maeve’s flight. He expressed surprise that she’d returned to the very place that just a few years before she was mad to get away from. And he claimed Brendan was a broken man. He wrote to Annie:
Besides, I don’t see that the problem between them could be so big, or surely I would have had some indication of it? Brendan, at any rate, is willing to forgive and forget and I think Maeve would be best to come home now. She has taught him a wee lesson and I’m sure he’ll be a changed man after it.
‘Why does no one see the man is evil through and through?’ Maeve cried.
‘You didn’t,’ Annie reminded her. ‘It took you some time to get the measure of him. And when all’s said and done, despite what you said about the house you live in, and how everyone knows your business, the man seen walking down the street might not be the same as the one within your own four walls.’
Maeve knew her mother was right. No one but his family had known Brendan as she had, yet she’d not seen through the veneer of his charm and had paid the price for nine years. Surely to God that was long enough?
Father O’Brien didn’t think so. He was at the farmhouse the Saturday evening after Annie had received Michael’s letter with yet another letter from Father Trelawney.
‘This letter from your parish priest, Maeve, has your husband’s assurance that things will be different. He promises that this will be so. He says also that you are unreasonable in some of your demands on him. Going for a drink after he finishes work is not unusual in a job such as his.’
‘I know that, Father,’ Maeve cried. ‘I’m being made out to be a monster. I don’t object to Brendan having a drink and never have had. But surely to God it’s not right to take food from the weans’ mouths for his beer money, or to give to the bookie’s runner?’
Father O’Brien smiled and Maeve had the urge to smack him hard enough to swipe the smile from his face, especially when he said, ‘Don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a little?’
‘No, I bloody well don’t,’ Maeve said. ‘I wish you’d all leave me alone and mind your own business.’
‘Your spiritual welfare is my business.’ Father O’Brien shook his head. Father Trelawney said Maeve was subject to exaggeration and, anyway, whatever Brendan Hogan had done in the past, he’d assured him he had changed, he’d been so upset by his wife’s actions. ‘You must give the man a chance, Maeve,’ he said. ‘You must forget the past. Things will be different now, I’m sure of it.’
Maeve didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it, but Father O’Brien did and so did Father Trelawney. She was the wicked perpetrator who wanted to end their mockery of a marriage and Brendan the deserted husband, seemingly out of his mind with worry, and promising the moon if only his wife would come back to him.
She turned to face the priest. ‘And can you guarantee that no harm will befall the child I’m carrying? And that no incident, however accidental, will result in a miscarriage? Whether you believe it or not, the child I miscarried was due to the impact of a hobnail boot in my stomach and I carry the imprint still. Whatever I told the authorities, they didn’t believe me. I should imagine that they have me on some list or other, labelled “Suspicious Circumstances”, don’t you?’
Maeve had no idea whether this was true or not but, she guessed, neither would the priest. She was right, he didn’t, and he made no attempt to answer her. Instead, he turned to Rosemarie, who was waiting for Greg to pick her up. Father O’Brien had chosen the time to visit the family with care, wanting them all to be there.
‘Are you looking forward to your wedding, Rosemarie?’ he asked.
Rosemarie was disarmed. Whatever argument the priest had with Maeve, she decided, did not concern her and she certainly couldn’t be blamed in any way. ‘Why, yes, Father.’
Father O’Brien smiled, and Maeve, seeing it, recognised the curl of the lip that had been the same as Brendan’s just before he was to deliver the punch between the eyes. ‘It would be a pity then,’ the priest said, ‘to postpone the ceremony.’
‘But, Father, there’s no need,’ Rosemarie said, and Maeve could have wept for the naïvety and genuine bewilderment in her voice. ‘Everything is arranged for August now.’
‘Ah yes, but I wonder if you understand the sanctity of marriage, Rosemarie?’
‘Yes, Father. Of course I do.’
‘Your sister doesn’t seem to.’
‘Father, surely that’s nothing to do with me?’
‘Not directly, no,’ the priest said. ‘I just want you to fully understand the commitment you’re making.’
‘Stop this!’ Maeve cried. ‘Hound and harass me if you must, but for God’s sake, leave my family alone.’
Father O’Brien’s eyes sparkled with hatred. ‘Leave your family alone,’ he repeated. ‘Like your family should have left you alone. Your mother should have shown you the door when you arrived, lest you corrupt your young brother and two sisters. But she didn’t, so they share in your guilt and shame and will continue to do so, until you see sense.’
‘Father, for pity’s sake,’ Annie cried. ‘How could I turn my back on my own child?’
‘When a woman is given in marriage, she and her husband should be as one,’ Father O’Brien thundered. ‘It was your Christian duty to point this out to Maeve.’
‘Oh, you’d know all about it,’ Thomas said sarcastically. ‘Marriage, and all it means. Don’t you come to my door again threatening my bloody family.’