Saturday nights, he went for a couple of beers, came upstairs and fumbled about apologetically for a few minutes. By keeping her mind on other things, Bridie
managed to survive the man’s clumsy attempts at love-making. He spent his spare hours fishing, always came back with a terrible cough, would not consider seeing the doctor. According to Diddy
Costigan, Sam Bell had not visited a doctor in twenty-odd years.
She stabbed at the coals, stirred them to life with the brass-headed poker. Eugene. She missed him as much as ever. This would be her first Christmas without him. At the age of twenty-seven, she
had been relegated to the ranks of middle-age, was fastened to a man whose life was more than half over. Eugene had been a thoughtful man who had loved her, body and her soul. Now, there was no
love at all. Sam drank a little, breathed over her for a few moments, then rolled away and slept till morning. Bridie endured his behaviour just as she coped with housework, shopkeeping and caring
for his mother . . .
She glanced up at the ceiling, wondered what old Theresa would do next. Well, it was time to enter the fray again. She crept from the room and made her way upstairs. Before going into the shop,
she must check Sam’s mother. There had been tantrums, arguments and tears, but Bridie was doing her best to stick to her guns and change Theresa’s way of life.
Bridie opened Theresa’s door. ‘Nice to see you out of bed, Muth.’
The old lady turned rather rapidly for one in a supposed state of senile decay. ‘Don’t you “Muth” me, Bridie Bell. I’m no mother to you.’
The younger woman nodded and smiled. She had taken to leaving Theresa Bell’s food on a tray by the door. Nothing had been said on the subject, but the food was disappearing each time. So,
for a bed-ridden invalid, this old girl had a markedly good appetite and the ability to walk, pick up a tray and carry it to her bed. ‘Will we get you dressed and bring you down?’ asked
Bridie.
‘What the hell for?’ Theresa sank onto the bed, this dramatic movement accompanied by a heavy sigh.
‘For a change.’
Theresa fixed her beady eyes on Bridie’s face. In spite of better judgement, she found herself liking Sam’s new wife. She was clean, easy on the eye and a damned good cook into the
bargain. Also, she had brought children into the house, had brought movement back to this place of decay. ‘When I want to come down, I’ll come. I don’t need you carrying me round
like a sack of spuds.’ As ever, she spoke in flat Lancashire tones.
Bridie agreed. ‘Sam wants you up and about again,’ she said. In truth, Sam, still looking for the easy life, preferred to listen to his wife in this instance. ‘Bridie says you
need to move about,’ he had begun to tell his mother. ‘It’ll do you good.’
‘You’ll bloody kill me between you,’ the old lady screamed energetically.
But Bridie was not fooled, not worried. Theresa was eating well, was embroidering pretty squares of cloth, was arguing, had fire in her eyes. She approached the bed. ‘If you can manage, I
want you downstairs. You can sit with Shauna while I help in the shop. Sam’s out, so Charlie’s on his own. This is a very busy time, as you are well aware. Now, shall I dress
you?’
‘Bugger off.’
Smiling to herself, Bridie took this advice and carried the tray back to the kitchen.
‘Mammy?’
Bridie lifted her head and looked at Cathy. The child must have followed her down the stairs. Cathy seemed so pathetic and downtrodden with her shoulders stooped and her hands hanging limply by
her sides. ‘I thought you were supposed to stay upstairs for a while?’
‘Please, Mammy. It’s Christmas. Let me go just outside on the pavement. I’ll be good, I promise.’
Cathy had been deprived of so much. The child had been dragged from her home, had been insulted repeatedly by her grandfather, had lost her daddy, her farm, her animals. ‘All right. Just
for a
managed to survive the man’s clumsy attempts at love-making. He spent his spare hours fishing, always came back with a terrible cough, would not consider seeing the doctor. According to Diddy
Costigan, Sam Bell had not visited a doctor in twenty-odd years.
She stabbed at the coals, stirred them to life with the brass-headed poker. Eugene. She missed him as much as ever. This would be her first Christmas without him. At the age of twenty-seven, she
had been relegated to the ranks of middle-age, was fastened to a man whose life was more than half over. Eugene had been a thoughtful man who had loved her, body and her soul. Now, there was no
love at all. Sam drank a little, breathed over her for a few moments, then rolled away and slept till morning. Bridie endured his behaviour just as she coped with housework, shopkeeping and caring
for his mother . . .
She glanced up at the ceiling, wondered what old Theresa would do next. Well, it was time to enter the fray again. She crept from the room and made her way upstairs. Before going into the shop,
she must check Sam’s mother. There had been tantrums, arguments and tears, but Bridie was doing her best to stick to her guns and change Theresa’s way of life.
Bridie opened Theresa’s door. ‘Nice to see you out of bed, Muth.’
The old lady turned rather rapidly for one in a supposed state of senile decay. ‘Don’t you “Muth” me, Bridie Bell. I’m no mother to you.’
The younger woman nodded and smiled. She had taken to leaving Theresa Bell’s food on a tray by the door. Nothing had been said on the subject, but the food was disappearing each time. So,
for a bed-ridden invalid, this old girl had a markedly good appetite and the ability to walk, pick up a tray and carry it to her bed. ‘Will we get you dressed and bring you down?’ asked
Bridie.
‘What the hell for?’ Theresa sank onto the bed, this dramatic movement accompanied by a heavy sigh.
‘For a change.’
Theresa fixed her beady eyes on Bridie’s face. In spite of better judgement, she found herself liking Sam’s new wife. She was clean, easy on the eye and a damned good cook into the
bargain. Also, she had brought children into the house, had brought movement back to this place of decay. ‘When I want to come down, I’ll come. I don’t need you carrying me round
like a sack of spuds.’ As ever, she spoke in flat Lancashire tones.
Bridie agreed. ‘Sam wants you up and about again,’ she said. In truth, Sam, still looking for the easy life, preferred to listen to his wife in this instance. ‘Bridie says you
need to move about,’ he had begun to tell his mother. ‘It’ll do you good.’
‘You’ll bloody kill me between you,’ the old lady screamed energetically.
But Bridie was not fooled, not worried. Theresa was eating well, was embroidering pretty squares of cloth, was arguing, had fire in her eyes. She approached the bed. ‘If you can manage, I
want you downstairs. You can sit with Shauna while I help in the shop. Sam’s out, so Charlie’s on his own. This is a very busy time, as you are well aware. Now, shall I dress
you?’
‘Bugger off.’
Smiling to herself, Bridie took this advice and carried the tray back to the kitchen.
‘Mammy?’
Bridie lifted her head and looked at Cathy. The child must have followed her down the stairs. Cathy seemed so pathetic and downtrodden with her shoulders stooped and her hands hanging limply by
her sides. ‘I thought you were supposed to stay upstairs for a while?’
‘Please, Mammy. It’s Christmas. Let me go just outside on the pavement. I’ll be good, I promise.’
Cathy had been deprived of so much. The child had been dragged from her home, had been insulted repeatedly by her grandfather, had lost her daddy, her farm, her animals. ‘All right. Just
for a
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