Chapter 6
On Friday afternoon, the last day of term, the girls were going off to celebrate. As usual, their plans did not include Helen. She watched as Sorcha and her friends linked arms and marched off down the hill to the village. There was a big party at Katherine’s house.
Her frustration at the injustice of her life increased.
On Sunday morning, she came downstairs to find Aunt Betty had planned a special birthday breakfast for her.
‘There you are, Helen. Enjoy it.’ Betty smiled at her niece. ‘There’s a parcel for you.’
Helen opened the tightly wrapped package and found a leather-bound copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare.
A lump came to her throat. She found it hard enough to read a comic, let alone Shakespeare.
Still, her aunt had obviously taken a great deal of trouble to buy her something nice.
Helen stood up, walked around the table and kissed Betty on the cheek.
‘Thank you, Aunt,’ she nodded. ‘It’s a grand present and I’ll treasure it always.’ Helen sat back down and tucked into the eggs, bacon and sausages. Betty finished her own breakfast and studied her niece.
‘So, Helen, today you come of age. The house is yours and you’re an adult. You won’t be needing me any more.’ Helen looked up and realised her aunt was eyeing her nervously. ‘Do you intend to keep the house, or will you be selling it?’
‘I’ll be keeping it, of course. I hope things will continue just the same as they always have done.’
‘So, you won’t be minding if I stay on here, Helen?’
‘Of course not. It’s your home too. Why should I mind?’
‘Well, maybe I’ll stay until you find yourself a husband and then, of course, you must be mistress here and I can find a cottage in which to see out the rest of my days.’
‘Aunt, I would never turn you out. You’ve always been here to look after me. You’re the only family I have.’
‘Thank you. I appreciate it, Helen.’ Betty stood up and hurriedly began to clear away the breakfast plates.
This morning, Helen had become a very wealthy woman. And now she would make the first significant decision of her adult life.
She returned to her bedroom and sat on her window seat. It was wet with condensation. The rain lashed against the panes and the gale-force winds made them rattle.
There was no doubt about it, the weather was perfect.
Helen looked down at her well-bitten nails, and began to peel the cuticles away. She was even more apprehensive than anticipated.
As she took Davy out for a ride later that morning, small white balls of flotsam were blown up onto the path from an angry sea. Used as he was to the harsh weather, Davy was still unsettled by the wind. She cut short her ride and went inside.
Before lunch, Aunt Betty and she each had a glass of sherry to toast her coming of age. Helen kept an eye on the clock as her aunt served up roast beef. After lunch, Helen went upstairs and stationed herself on her window seat.
Would she come today? Helen wasn’t sure she could endure the stress of waiting much longer.
The time ticked on.
And then she saw her, in sou’wester and mac, pedalling towards the dunes. The bicycle went into the hollow as usual and she scrambled over the dunes towards the hut. The door opened and she disappeared inside.
Helen’s heart thudded against her chest. It was no less than she deserved.
She went downstairs to make a telephone call. As she picked up the receiver, she hesitated for a moment. Was she really capable of doing this? Helen closed her eyes, thought of the future, and dialled the number.
‘Where are you going, dear?’ asked Mary as Seamus shrugged on his coat.
‘That was Helen on the telephone. She saw Sorcha cycling to the beach, but hasn’t seen her return. Helen’s concerned because of the gale. The tide is very high out there today.’
‘Sorcha told me she was going to visit Maureen this afternoon.’ Mary looked puzzled.
‘Well, Helen’s insistent she saw Sorcha pedalling towards the beach. I ought to investigate.’
‘But sure, Sorcha has been on that beach since she was a baby. She knows the sea.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, but Helen sounded worried.’
‘Well, I suppose that wind is fierce bad. If she is on the beach, she’ll be drenched.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll find her.’ Seamus put on his hat. ‘See you later.’
After stopping at Maureen’s house and finding that Sorcha wasn’t there, Seamus drove his car down to the beach.
The wind was almost strong enough to knock him off his feet.
He stood on a dune and looked across the sand.
It was deserted. Picking his way across the dunes, the wind roaring in his face, Seamus saw Con Daly’s hut. If he was home, maybe he’d seen Sorcha.
Seamus walked to the front door and was about to knock when something moving inside caught his attention. He stared through the salt-smeary pane of glass. On the floor, a pair of naked bodies were writhing together. As the couple rolled, Seamus found himself staring at his daughter’s face.
He stumbled back from the window, crouched down and gagged several times.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’
Wiping the saliva from his chin, Seamus stood up and marched into the hut.
‘You bastard!’ He dragged Con up by his hair and threw him against the wall. ‘I’ll have the guards on you!’
Sorcha’s eyes shot open in surprise. Fear followed instantly.
Grabbing Con’s shirt, she dragged it on and watched helplessly as her father punched and kicked her lover until he slid down the wall and lay in a foetal ball at his feet.
‘You bastard, you bastard!’ Seamus shouted as Con tried to shield himself.
Sorcha eventually found her voice.
‘Stop it, Daddy! Stop it! You’ll kill him!’
She stood up and threw herself on top of Con. ‘Stop it, Daddy, please!’
Seamus could no longer kick his victim without landing serious blows on his daughter’s body. Breathing heavily, his face red, his eyes glazed with rage, he stared down at her.
‘Say he forced himself on you, and we will go to the guards and have him arrested.’
Sorcha shook her head. ‘No, Daddy, he didn’t. I love him.’
‘I’ll try again. Say he made you do this, and we can go home and this bastard can be locked up where he belongs.’
‘No! Daddy, can’t you understand? I love him! You can’t stop us being together. I’m almost seventeen.’
‘You refuse to admit he forced you?’
‘Yes. He didn’t. I wanted him to.’
He slapped her brutally across the cheek. ‘You disgust me! You’re no better than a common whore! And no daughter of mine!’
‘We’re going to be married.’
‘Married! Ha! Is that what he promised you? And do you really think any priest would marry you after what you’ve done?’
Sorcha’s defiance left her and she began to sob. Con stirred beneath her and put an arm out to comfort her.
‘Sorcha, I will ask you one more time. Admit he gave you no choice, and we can go home. If you refuse, then I will denounce you as my daughter. I will never allow you in my house again. In my eyes you will be dead.’
‘Oh, Daddy! Oh, Daddy, please, I can’t. I love him.’
Seamus stared at his daughter for a few seconds.
‘Goodbye, Sorcha. May you and this tinker you profess to love rot in hell!’
The door slammed and Seamus was gone.
On the way home, Seamus stopped at a bar in the town. He knocked back four whiskeys in ten minutes. Fellow drinkers stared at him in amazement. No one could ever remember seeing Seamus O’Donovan taking a sniff of alcohol in a bar before.
‘Where in God’s name have you been? I’ve been frantic with worry!’
A pale Mary greeted her husband at the front door. Immediately she smelt the whiskey on his breath.
‘Where’s Sorcha, Seamus?’
Seamus hiccupped. ‘Your darling daughter is at present sitting in a hut on the beach with the tinker Con Daly. Probably they are both naked.’
‘Seamus!’ Mary blessed herself. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it’s a sin to say such a thing!’
‘It’s also a sin to lie, Mary, isn’t it?’ Seamus hung his coat on the peg and swayed towards the stairs. ‘I’m going to bed. Sorcha is banned from this house. She will never come home again. And if I hear you have been anywhere near her, you too will be out on the streets. Do you understand?’
‘I . . . Seamus, the least you could do is explain. Please, I–—’
‘Shut up, woman!’ he roared. ‘I’ve had enough of pleading females today. I’ve told you as much as you need to know. Now, goodnight!’
Sorcha held a bloodstained rag to Con’s eyebrow. He flinched as she pressed it.
‘I’m sorry, but we must stop the bleeding.’
‘For a solicitor, your daddy knows how to punch. Oh, Sorcha-porcha, what a terrible thing.’
Sorcha did not reply. She was trying hard not to think, just to get on with the practical business of tending to Con’s wounds.
‘How did your daddy know where to find you?’ Con mused. ‘Is there anyone else you told of us? Friends at school?’
Sorcha blushed. ‘Helen McCarthy. She was the only one that knew. She can see the beach from her house. I’d bet she saw me coming and telephoned my daddy.’
‘Helen McCarthy? Why would she be doing such a thing?’
‘She’s an evil, malevolent witch. She’s always hated me. And she’s had a fierce crush on you for ages.’
Con looked nonchalant. ‘Has she?’
‘Oh yes. She probably couldn’t stand the thought of us together. Well, she’s gone and done it now. There, you look better. You’re going to have a shiner by tomorrow. Your eye is fierce swollen.’
‘Pass the whiskey from the cupboard over there. I think we could both do with a drink.’
Sorcha fetched the bottle of whiskey, sat down next to Con and handed it to him. He undid the top and swigged straight from it.
‘Want some?’
Sorcha took a slug.
‘So, Sorcha-porcha, where do we go from here?’
Sorcha put her head in her hands. ‘It seems now I really have no choice. I can’t go home, so I guess I’m coming with you. Con?’ She turned to him.
‘Yes?’
‘We’re going to London.’
Con struggled to suppress a smile. ‘Really?’
Sorcha shrugged. ‘I don’t see that there’s any other way. As you know, my life here is over.’
Con wrapped a tight arm around her. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
Sorcha looked up at his beaten face. ‘On one condition.’
‘Name it,’ he replied.
‘That we go tomorrow. I don’t want to stay in Ballymore for a moment longer than necessary. Maybe we could find a guesthouse in Dublin for a couple of nights and stay there until our boat sails for England.’ Sorcha’s face fell. ‘Oh no, I’ve thought of something terrible!’
‘What?’
‘My post office savings. I withdrew them in case you needed help getting to Dublin.’ Con suddenly looked deathly guilty. ‘They’re in an envelope in my room. I’d nearly a hundred pounds.’
‘Oh, dear me, now . . . that is a great shame,’ sighed Con, his eyes skirting about the hut.
‘Unless . . . unless I telephoned my mother and begged her to bring the money to me. Then I could say goodbye to her and . . .’ Sorcha bit her lip as tears welled in her eyes.
Con put a comforting hand on her knee.
‘I know, I know. I swear I’ll never forget what a sacrifice you made for me today. I’ll do anything I can to make it up to you,’ Con comforted her.
He kissed her gently and she tasted the coppery flavour of blood on his lips.
‘I love you, Sorcha.’
‘I love you too, Con.’