Read Online Goodnight Lady by Martina Cole - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Martina Cole
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the Mass. You promised me you’d be home early.’
She looked up into his face and her heart froze in her chest. He was drunk, roaring drunk. He wouldn’t miss Midnight Mass, though. He’d stumble up to Communion like he did every Sunday, oblivious to the staring faces around him. Most of the Irishmen left it to their wives to attend church for them. It was no sin for them to sit in the pub all day Sunday, but let an Irishman’s wife miss Mass with the children and she would be ostracised by all and sundry. Not for the first time the divide between men and women irritated Molly Cavanagh. Maybe it was this that prompted her to fight with him instead of ushering the children from the house to Mother Jones next door and then letting Paddy do his worst ’til he fell asleep in front of the fire. She resigned herself to a black eye for Christmas and decided that this time she’d get it for a good reason.
‘I’ll not walk in the church with a drunk, Paddy. You can either go alone, or sleep the drink off and go in the morning.’
He pushed Kerry and Bernadette out of the way. ‘What did you say to me, woman?’
Molly pulled Rosalee into her skirts and glared at her husband.
‘You heard me!’
Paddy stared first at his wife then at each of the four girls in turn. Eileen gathered her three younger sisters together and, slipping past her father, took them to Mother Jones. Knocking gently on the window, she held the three white-faced girls to her. Mother Jones was in the process of tying a large bonnet of dark green taffeta on to her wiry grey hair. She opened the front door with a wide grin on her face, thinking they were all ready to go to Mass. One look at Eileen’s face told her otherwise.
‘It’s me dad, he’s drunk as a lord and about to go at me mum. Can I leave these three here?’
‘Of course you can, lovie.’ She pulled Eileen inside her door, closing it against the bitter wind. As they settled the children round the fire they heard Molly’s scream, and a sound like splintering wood. Rosalee whimpered and the old woman pulled her on to her lap.
‘There now, me pet. Everything’s fine.’
Eileen stood up. ‘I’ve got to go in there. He’ll knock her from here to next week if someone doesn’t stop him.’
‘Stay here, child. Abel will be here soon with the cart to take us all to Mass. He’ll go in.’
Eileen wiped her hand across her face.
‘I’ve got to get their coats anyway. I’ll go in.’
She left the cottage and went back inside her own home.
Molly was crying, harsh racking sobs. Eileen saw her mother’s eye already swelling and the blood from a cut on her lip. Paddy had punched her to the ground and one of the wooden chairs was lying broken on the floor. It was what her father was doing now that made Eileen pick up the iron from the fire.
He was pulling up her mother’s skirts and dragging at her underclothes. Eileen knew what he was going to do because it brought back painful memories of Mr Dumas. She knew how much it hurt, and how sick and ill it made you afterwards.
Molly was staring at her daughter, beseeching her with her eyes and crying over Paddy’s shoulder softly.
‘No, Paddy, not like this, man! Not like this!’
Bringing back her arm, Eileen swung the iron down on the side of her father’s head with all her strength. The spray of blood that shot up into the air covered both mother and daughter. Paddy slumped down over his wife, his legs twitching for a few seconds before death took him completely.
Eileen put her hand over her mouth to stem the tide of vomit rushing up inside her. Molly, with a strength born of desperation, pushed the lifeless form from her. Dragging herself upright, she put her hand to her mouth in shock. The two stood there like statues until Abel, who had arrived with the cart, was sent in by his mother.
He took one look at Paddy lying spreadeagled on the floor, his head a mush of blood and brains, and swore under his breath.
‘Jesus
She looked up into his face and her heart froze in her chest. He was drunk, roaring drunk. He wouldn’t miss Midnight Mass, though. He’d stumble up to Communion like he did every Sunday, oblivious to the staring faces around him. Most of the Irishmen left it to their wives to attend church for them. It was no sin for them to sit in the pub all day Sunday, but let an Irishman’s wife miss Mass with the children and she would be ostracised by all and sundry. Not for the first time the divide between men and women irritated Molly Cavanagh. Maybe it was this that prompted her to fight with him instead of ushering the children from the house to Mother Jones next door and then letting Paddy do his worst ’til he fell asleep in front of the fire. She resigned herself to a black eye for Christmas and decided that this time she’d get it for a good reason.
‘I’ll not walk in the church with a drunk, Paddy. You can either go alone, or sleep the drink off and go in the morning.’
He pushed Kerry and Bernadette out of the way. ‘What did you say to me, woman?’
Molly pulled Rosalee into her skirts and glared at her husband.
‘You heard me!’
Paddy stared first at his wife then at each of the four girls in turn. Eileen gathered her three younger sisters together and, slipping past her father, took them to Mother Jones. Knocking gently on the window, she held the three white-faced girls to her. Mother Jones was in the process of tying a large bonnet of dark green taffeta on to her wiry grey hair. She opened the front door with a wide grin on her face, thinking they were all ready to go to Mass. One look at Eileen’s face told her otherwise.
‘It’s me dad, he’s drunk as a lord and about to go at me mum. Can I leave these three here?’
‘Of course you can, lovie.’ She pulled Eileen inside her door, closing it against the bitter wind. As they settled the children round the fire they heard Molly’s scream, and a sound like splintering wood. Rosalee whimpered and the old woman pulled her on to her lap.
‘There now, me pet. Everything’s fine.’
Eileen stood up. ‘I’ve got to go in there. He’ll knock her from here to next week if someone doesn’t stop him.’
‘Stay here, child. Abel will be here soon with the cart to take us all to Mass. He’ll go in.’
Eileen wiped her hand across her face.
‘I’ve got to get their coats anyway. I’ll go in.’
She left the cottage and went back inside her own home.
Molly was crying, harsh racking sobs. Eileen saw her mother’s eye already swelling and the blood from a cut on her lip. Paddy had punched her to the ground and one of the wooden chairs was lying broken on the floor. It was what her father was doing now that made Eileen pick up the iron from the fire.
He was pulling up her mother’s skirts and dragging at her underclothes. Eileen knew what he was going to do because it brought back painful memories of Mr Dumas. She knew how much it hurt, and how sick and ill it made you afterwards.
Molly was staring at her daughter, beseeching her with her eyes and crying over Paddy’s shoulder softly.
‘No, Paddy, not like this, man! Not like this!’
Bringing back her arm, Eileen swung the iron down on the side of her father’s head with all her strength. The spray of blood that shot up into the air covered both mother and daughter. Paddy slumped down over his wife, his legs twitching for a few seconds before death took him completely.
Eileen put her hand over her mouth to stem the tide of vomit rushing up inside her. Molly, with a strength born of desperation, pushed the lifeless form from her. Dragging herself upright, she put her hand to her mouth in shock. The two stood there like statues until Abel, who had arrived with the cart, was sent in by his mother.
He took one look at Paddy lying spreadeagled on the floor, his head a mush of blood and brains, and swore under his breath.
‘Jesus
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