Riches of the Heart (18 page)

Her worries about her wedding night resurfaced briefly, and the thought of sharing a bed with a man loomed large in her mind as they entered her parents’ house.

‘God, I could kill a pint,’ one of Tom’s cronies said as he walked into the parlour. Looking around he exclaimed, ‘My! This looks good.’ Mary’s mother Jessy had done her proud. The table was laden with sandwiches and sausage rolls, the sideboard covered with bottles of beer and milk stout.

Jessy had already discarded her hat and was putting on her wraparound apron. ‘Dig in, lads,’ she called, on her way to the scullery.

The younger women gathered around the bride. ‘You are lucky, Mary,’ one of them twittered. ‘That Tom McCann is such a fine catch … and so good-looking. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, I can tell you.’

Mary eventually made her way to the kitchen in search of her mother. To her relief, she found her alone.

‘The food is lovely, Ma. Everyone’s tucking in as if there’s going to be a siege tomorrow.’

‘Well, you know what men are, love. I expect the beer’s moving too. Me, all I want is a nice cup of tea.’ She bustled around filling the kettle and setting out the cups and saucers.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Mary was hesitant.

Jessy, catching the note in her daughter’s voice, wiped her hands on her apron and with a concerned look on her face asked, ‘What is it, child?’

Mary couldn’t meet her mother’s gaze. She felt a flush of embarrassment creep over her. ‘About tonight. I don’t know what to do.’

Jessy became flustered and began to fuss with a plate of sandwiches. ‘There’s more to marriage than bed. It’s only a small part of it, more important to men than us women. You just have to put up with it.’ She looked sternly at her daughter. ‘You be a proper wife, mind. Your man has a good job, you’re a lot better off than many round here. And remember this, Mary. A man who gets all his comfort in his own home won’t go searching elsewhere for it.’ With a shamed look she confided, ‘I usually think about the shopping I’ve got to get when your father’s performing. It makes the time pass quicker.’ Picking up a plate of sandwiches, she walked briskly from the room.

‘So here’s my bride.’

Mary, startled, looked up.

Tom, his tie awry, walked towards her and, putting his arms around her, kissed her expertly on the mouth, at the same time placing his hand on her left breast, caressing it gently.

Mary pushed him away. ‘Tom! Behave yourself!’

He pulled her roughly towards him. ‘You’ve never objected before.’

‘Yes, but that was in the dark when we were alone.’

He glared at her. ‘You’re my wife now, so don’t come it. As from this morning, I have the right. And don’t forget it.’

She watched his retreating figure with a sinking heart. She had tried to keep him at arm’s length most of the time, and it hadn’t always been easy. Tom was a passionate man, and tonight he would claim his right as a husband.

Her mouth suddenly went dry; she felt sick with nerves. Seeing a bottle of sherry on the side, with trembling fingers she filled a glass then drank the liquid down in one gulp before going into the other room.

It was dark when the last of the wedding guests took their leave. Mary lingered over her goodbyes to her parents, anxious to stay within the security of familiar surroundings as long as possible.

‘Come along, Mrs McCann. Time we went home.’ Tom took a firm grip on her arm and led her towards the door.

She looked apprehensively over her shoulder towards her mother. ‘Good night, Ma, Pa. Thank you for a lovely do. See you tomorrow, perhaps.’

Putting the key into the lock of number 27, Chandos Street, Tom opened the door and lit the gas-lamp in the kitchen. It was warm inside, the embers still glowing from the fire he’d lit earlier in the day.

‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ asked Mary.

‘No, darlin’,’ he answered, slurring his words. ‘I’ll just go to the privy then I reckon it’s time for bed.’ His gaze lingered on the soft curves of her breasts and he felt a stirring in his loins. ‘Hurry up and get undressed,’ he said huskily.

As she washed her face under the cold water of the scullery tap, Mary heard Tom curse as he stumbled over something in the dark. Taking a deep breath, she went upstairs to the bedroom.

Closing the curtains, she slipped out of her dress, hanging it carefully in the wardrobe. She pulled her nightdress over her head and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her neck. She closed her eyes tightly, as if to shut out the inevitable. Kissing and cuddling was one thing, but what was expected of her now?

She heard her husband’s footsteps on the stairs, the handle turn as he entered the room. As he moved about, she closed her eyes even tighter to shut out the vision of him getting undressed. She felt him turn back the bedcovers, and tensed. The bed sagged as he climbed in beside her. She could scarcely breathe, she was so frightened.

‘Come here, Mary,’ Tom whispered softly as he drew her towards him. She could smell the beer on his breath, feel the stubble on his chin as he kissed her. His mouth covered hers, forcing her lips apart. She recoiled as his tongue slipped gently into her mouth. But he held her head firmly. For her there was no escape.

Tom could feel the rigidity of Mary’s body. She was paralysed with fear. ‘Relax, darlin’, I’m only going to love you, not murder you. Relax.’ He just held her, but as soon as he moved she was stiff in his arms. He stroked her gently, kissed her softly, encouraged her to let go, talking to her continuously, coaxing her, trying to reassure her. He softly caressed her bare breast, but as he suckled gently on the pink pinnacle, he heard a gasp of distaste from her lips.

Still fondling her, he tried to allay her fears. ‘This is quite a natural thing between two people in love. This is how babies are made, after all.’ He stroked her stomach, her legs, the inside of her thighs; he tried every way he knew to help her, to stir within her the fire of passion, to reach that inner core of her emotion, but to no avail. He knew he hurt her, when at last he entered her. But he’d tried to give her satisfaction. She just wasn’t responsive. His passion spent, he lay beside her, his arms about her, murmuring words of love.

He lay wondering if Mary was suffering with wedding nerves. Perhaps it was just her innocence? Or could his new wife be frigid?

Mary lay stiff in his arms, listening to his steady breathing. How could he sleep after the dirty, filthy things he’d done to her?

She felt violated.

She lay still, tears trickling down her cheeks. She could hear Tom’s deep breathing as he slept beside her. She turned away from him and curled herself into a tight ball.
I want my mother
, she wept silently, then angrily brushed the tears away. If this was married life, she hated it.

‘You have to put up with it,’ Jessy had said. Well, if there was one thing she was sure of … she wouldn’t.

The following morning, Mary woke early, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings, wishing she was at home in her own bed, alone. She gazed at the motionless figure of Tom and wondered how he could sleep. She felt sore and her muscles ached. Was this what they called love?

Mary slipped out of bed quietly so as not to disturb Tom and quickly dressed. As she folded her nightdress, she was horrified to see it marked with bloodstains. It wasn’t her time yet. She ran downstairs to the privy. There was just a smidgen of blood on the paper. She wondered if perhaps the excitement of the wedding had brought her period on early, but somehow she didn’t think so. Last night in bed, Tom had hurt her. Maybe that was the cause.

Returning to the scullery, she washed her hands and face, put on her pinafore over her black skirt and set about clearing the ashes from the range, before re-lighting it, and then looked in the mirror over the mantelpiece, tilting her head from one side to the other. Quite what she expected, she didn’t know. But she was surprised that she looked just the same.

Hearing footsteps above, she put the large brown kettle on the hob and went into the scullery to fetch a frying pan out of the cupboard. As she stood up, she felt Tom’s arms around her waist. She froze at his touch.

‘For heaven’s sake, Mary, will you stop this? Every time I touch you, you are like a board. You didn’t do this when we were courting. You let me caress you then. For goodness sake, I’m not going to hurt you, woman.’

She spun round. ‘You hurt me last night.’

‘I’m sorry, darlin’. It was because you were a virgin. Last night was your first time, you’ll soon get used to it. Tonight will be better, you’ll see.’

Putting her hand to her throat, she retorted, ‘You’re not doing it again to me.’

Tom looked at her in dismay. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I don’t want you to touch me like that, it’s not decent.’

The sudden anger that was reflected in his eyes frightened her.

‘Now you listen to me. Marriage is more than a kiss and a cuddle. I tried my best to help you last night but you wouldn’t relax. I won’t have this nonsense, Mary. You are my wife. And by God, you’ll be a real wife to me, with or without my help. It’s up to you. Now get my breakfast.’

Tom was seething as he sat at the table. How ironic, he thought. Tom McCann, the successful lover of countless women, marries a wife who is frigid. Was this some kind of retribution? He remembered the passion shared with Lily, and his heart was heavy.

As she let the doctor out of the front door, Lily was trembling. He had been thorough in his examination of Fred. Putting his stethoscope away, he looked across the bed at Lily and nodded towards the door. ‘Let’s go downstairs, my dear.’ Once they were alone, he took hold of her hand. ‘I’m sorry, but your man has TB. It’s only a matter of time.’

She let the doctor out of the house and lowered herself into a chair. Fred was dying. Tears filled her eyes. Dear Fred, who had been so good to her. She couldn’t bear the thought of his leaving her for ever. Not this way.

‘Lily!’

Looking up at the sound of his voice, she swiftly wiped away her tears. ‘Coming.’

As she walked into the room, Fred looked at her intently. Poor Lily. He knew he was on his last legs and now so did she. This last spell in prison had done for him. The prison doctor had gruffly told him the bad news, but he’d hoped that once at home, he might improve. What could he do for Lily now? At least with her singing she was making enough money to keep her when he wasn’t around, but who would watch out for her safety? He would have a word with Knocker. ‘Could I have a cup of weak tea, love?’ was all he said.

She kissed his cheek. ‘Of course. Do you want me to stay in tonight? I can easily tell Sandy you’re not well.’

He shook his head. ‘No, you go, dear, I’ll be fine. But if you see Knocker Jones, ask him to come round and see me, will you?’

She nodded her assent.

As she left, Fred had a sudden spell of coughing which wracked his whole body. When it was over, his handkerchief had the telltale bloodstains all over it. He felt saddened that he would not be around for much longer. The time here with Lily had been the happiest in his life and he thanked God for it. At least his last days would be spent with her and in comfort. It would have been far worse in prison. She looked after him so well. She was a good girl and he loved her dearly.

There was a subdued air in The Sailor’s Return that night as Lily passed on the message and told Sandy, Declan and Knocker the doctor’s verdict.

‘Poor bugger,’ said Knocker. ‘I had no idea. Tom said he looked unwell when he saw him, but I put it down to his spell inside.’

‘Is there anything we can do?’ asked Declan.

Lily tearfully shook her head. ‘He says he wants me to make him a bed in the kitchen; he hates being alone upstairs. If you want to come and see him, he’d be pleased.’

‘I’ll bring a couple of bottles of the black stuff,’ said Declan. ‘That will help him a bit. And I’ll give you a hand to move the bed.’

Left alone with Sandy, Lily looked at him in despair. ‘What will I do without him?’

‘You will have to get on with your life, my darling. Everyone faces the loss of a loved one at some time or another. The pain is great for a while, but in time you learn to live with it. You’ve got to.’

‘I can’t sing tonight, Sandy.’

‘Of course you can’t. You go home to Fred.’ He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘If things get too unbearable, you know where I live.’

‘Thanks. You’re a good friend.’

The following day, with a forced air of gaiety, Lily moved Fred’s bed downstairs with Declan’s help. They rearranged the room to make Fred as comfortable as possible. Declan produced a bottle of Guinness and proceeded in his own way to cheer the invalid though, truth to tell, Declan was very shocked when he saw how Fred had deteriorated. It was only a matter of weeks since the man had been let out of prison.

Knocker Jones called, bringing some grapes and a paper for Fred to catch up on the news. He settled himself beside his friend. ‘You wanted to see me, me old mucker.’

‘I did.’ Lily was upstairs, so Fred lowered his voice. ‘I don’t have much longer for this world, Knocker. Lily is earning, thank God, but I need to know someone is keeping an eye out for her. Will you do this for me? I’ll go to my Maker a happier man if I know you’re looking out for her.’

‘Course I will. You don’t have to worry about her, Fred.’ He smiled broadly. ‘That girl has more friends than you and me put together. We’ll all keep an eye out for her, never you fear.’

When Tom was told of Fred’s impending demise, he was saddened. He’d quite liked the man and had he not been the lover of Lily, they might have got to know one another better. But he was frustrated beyond measure. Soon Lily would be free, and now he was a married man.

And he wasn’t happy. Not only was Mary a very reluctant partner in bed, but she was obsessed with moving up in the world, forever pushing him to better himself. It had led to many rows during their short marriage. They’d had a particularly bitter one that morning.

‘I don’t understand you, Tom,’ she’d expostulated. ‘You’re a fine worker, and you hate your foreman. Haven’t you ever thought of going after the man’s job?’