and eventually could hold off no longer. He will believe me. He would know how a man has no defence against a wanton woman so determined. He will wonder what sort of girl he has reared and then send for the priest.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about how my father would react,’ Aggie said stoutly. ‘He has great feeling for me, and after fifteen years surely he knows the kind of daughter he has? I should be careful, if I were you, for he might come for you some fine night.’
‘I don’t think so,’ McAllister said almost mockingly. ‘And whatever feeling he has for you, would it extend to rearing your bastard child? You would drag your family through the mud with you. They would never be able to hold up their heads again.’
Aggie knew McAllister was right. She imagined her father’s face filled with shock and reproach and then disgust, and she knew she could not do that to him. The disgrace of it all would surely kill him.
‘And then of course there’s your mother,’ McAllister said, and, despite the darkness, saw the shudder that ran all through Aggie’s body as he added, ‘There are places you can be sent to, run by the nuns.’
‘Aye, and I would rather die than enter such a place,’ Aggie said fiercely and desperately. ‘Listen to me, for every word I speak is the truth: the river is where I will end my life if you refuse to help me.’
‘A little melodramatic, don’t you think?’ McAllister replied superciliously.
Aggie wondered why she had ever thought the man in any way attractive. When he reached out and tried to pull her closer, she shook him off. ‘Don’t even try to touch me! I am not being melodramatic. Far from it. I mean every word I say.’
‘So, what do you want me to do?’ McAllister cried. ‘I can’t work miracles even if I wanted to.’
‘Do you know someone who would get rid of it for me?’
‘Do you know what you are asking? You could be locked up if the police got wind of this. And as for such places themselves… you could die, Aggie.’
‘I’m prepared to take that risk,’ Aggie said. ‘Any risk at all, in fact.’
‘That’s as may be, but I don’t know anyone in the whole of Ireland that would even contemplate doing this.’
‘Then where?’
‘What makes you sure I know anyone at all?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Bernie. You either do or you don’t. Put me out of my misery, for God’s sake.’
McAllister heard the despair in her voice and sighed. ‘There was someone I knew would help you in Birmingham, England. It’ll cost you, though.’
‘How much?’ Aggie asked. ‘But then what does the price matter? If it was tuppence I couldn’t afford it. I never have a penny piece to call my own and the only money I see is the two farthings I get before Mass each Sunday morning to put in the collection.’
‘That then is no good at all,’ McAllister said. ‘You best put that idea out of your head altogether. Anyway, it would mean travelling to Birmingham. You’d hardly want to do that, even if the money could be raised.’
‘Are you mad?’ Aggie demanded. ‘I tell you, Bernie, though I have never left Buncrana in the whole of my life, I would go to Timbuktu if I had to.’
‘So, what will you do for money?’
‘That’s your department.’
‘And just why would I give you money, even I had any to give?’
‘Because this child is half yours,’ Aggie said. ‘And if you refuse to help me, then tomorrow morning early I shall tell your wife the same. I know you are right in what you say about the menhere, my father apart; perhaps they will all blame me, but what of your wife? If you refuse to help me before I end my life, I will tell her that, in the guise of taking me home, you raped me one bleak night in December. You will have my death on your conscience for the rest of your life,’ Aggie went on. ‘And when you do die you will roast in the flames of Hell.’
The flames of Hell didn’t unnerve McAllister as much as the thought
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about how my father would react,’ Aggie said stoutly. ‘He has great feeling for me, and after fifteen years surely he knows the kind of daughter he has? I should be careful, if I were you, for he might come for you some fine night.’
‘I don’t think so,’ McAllister said almost mockingly. ‘And whatever feeling he has for you, would it extend to rearing your bastard child? You would drag your family through the mud with you. They would never be able to hold up their heads again.’
Aggie knew McAllister was right. She imagined her father’s face filled with shock and reproach and then disgust, and she knew she could not do that to him. The disgrace of it all would surely kill him.
‘And then of course there’s your mother,’ McAllister said, and, despite the darkness, saw the shudder that ran all through Aggie’s body as he added, ‘There are places you can be sent to, run by the nuns.’
‘Aye, and I would rather die than enter such a place,’ Aggie said fiercely and desperately. ‘Listen to me, for every word I speak is the truth: the river is where I will end my life if you refuse to help me.’
‘A little melodramatic, don’t you think?’ McAllister replied superciliously.
Aggie wondered why she had ever thought the man in any way attractive. When he reached out and tried to pull her closer, she shook him off. ‘Don’t even try to touch me! I am not being melodramatic. Far from it. I mean every word I say.’
‘So, what do you want me to do?’ McAllister cried. ‘I can’t work miracles even if I wanted to.’
‘Do you know someone who would get rid of it for me?’
‘Do you know what you are asking? You could be locked up if the police got wind of this. And as for such places themselves… you could die, Aggie.’
‘I’m prepared to take that risk,’ Aggie said. ‘Any risk at all, in fact.’
‘That’s as may be, but I don’t know anyone in the whole of Ireland that would even contemplate doing this.’
‘Then where?’
‘What makes you sure I know anyone at all?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Bernie. You either do or you don’t. Put me out of my misery, for God’s sake.’
McAllister heard the despair in her voice and sighed. ‘There was someone I knew would help you in Birmingham, England. It’ll cost you, though.’
‘How much?’ Aggie asked. ‘But then what does the price matter? If it was tuppence I couldn’t afford it. I never have a penny piece to call my own and the only money I see is the two farthings I get before Mass each Sunday morning to put in the collection.’
‘That then is no good at all,’ McAllister said. ‘You best put that idea out of your head altogether. Anyway, it would mean travelling to Birmingham. You’d hardly want to do that, even if the money could be raised.’
‘Are you mad?’ Aggie demanded. ‘I tell you, Bernie, though I have never left Buncrana in the whole of my life, I would go to Timbuktu if I had to.’
‘So, what will you do for money?’
‘That’s your department.’
‘And just why would I give you money, even I had any to give?’
‘Because this child is half yours,’ Aggie said. ‘And if you refuse to help me, then tomorrow morning early I shall tell your wife the same. I know you are right in what you say about the menhere, my father apart; perhaps they will all blame me, but what of your wife? If you refuse to help me before I end my life, I will tell her that, in the guise of taking me home, you raped me one bleak night in December. You will have my death on your conscience for the rest of your life,’ Aggie went on. ‘And when you do die you will roast in the flames of Hell.’
The flames of Hell didn’t unnerve McAllister as much as the thought
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