The Adulteress Read online

  ‘But it is only temporary. We shall be back to normal soon, once your father has work.’

  Min looked up from the table at me. Our eyes locked and we knew instantly what the other was thinking.

  ‘But what can father do?’ asked Min. We had never known our father go out to work. He had always been at home, in his study. He was a classical scholar, something that did not pay well, if at all.

  ‘He is going to try and get work as a schoolmaster,’ Mother said briskly.

  ‘But doesn’t that mean he would have to leave home and live on the school grounds?’ I said, thinking of my female tutors, all of them spinsters, who lived a similar life to their young charges.

  ‘Well . . . yes . . .’ said Mother. ‘But things are so bad, girls, we might have to sell the house and buy something a little smaller.’

  ‘But you can’t sell. It’s our home!’ Min exclaimed angrily.

  Mother stayed calm. She wiped her hands on her apron and went into the larder. A sticky silence descended. I looked about the glowing kitchen. Suddenly home had never seemed so welcoming, and I could not imagine living anywhere else. Mother came back out of the larder with a large jar of Mrs Wyatt’s mincemeat. She took a tablespoon out of the drawer and began to ladle it into the pie dish.

  ‘You will be gone soon. Both of you girls married, and with families of your own. We have no son to leave this house to, and although you cannot believe it now, neither of you will want it. It makes perfect sense.’

  She took up the small ball of leftover pastry and began to roll it out again. Then, taking up the knife, she cut it into thin slices, which she arranged on top of the mincemeat in a lattice.

  I was still standing in my damp coat, my frozen hand gripping my brown leather suitcase. I dropped it on the floor and rubbed my hands together. Although the kitchen was warm, I felt freezing.

  ‘What is wrong with you, June? Where are your gloves?’ Mother looked at me crossly. ‘Will you take that wet coat off and stop shivering.’

  She opened the oven up and placed the pie inside it. I could see the flames at the back of it, orange, and blue. Instinctively I moved over towards the stove. My mother passed me by and sat down at the table opposite Min. She began to roll up tiny pieces of pastry.

  ‘Get me a wet cloth, please, June.’

  I went to the sink and turned on the tap. I leaned over the white porcelain basin and stared at the water swirling around the plughole. My head was pounding, for everything was changing. What would happen to Min and I? Would Min marry Charles Junior? I had been hoping to apply for university, but now it looked as if Father could never afford for me to go. I felt sick. I would do anything to get to college.

  ‘Nothing is going to change overnight,’ Mother said, wiping the table with the cloth I handed her.

  ‘I can’t see you as a schoolmaster’s wife,’ Min smirked, so that Mother stopped cleaning up and looked at her daughter harshly.

  ‘I may not spend much time with him during the term,’ she said slowly.

  I looked up from the sink, turned my head and watched my sister and mother facing each other over the kitchen table.

  ‘We may have some spare money from the sale of this house, and your father said I could travel a little, if I so wish. It is something I have always wanted to do, and never been able to, since I married so young.’

  ‘What do you mean, “travel”?’ asked Min.

  ‘I want to go on a tour of Italy.’ My mother closed her eyes, and smiled softly. ‘It has always been my dream.’

  ‘But who will go with you?’ I asked incredulously. Mother had never said such a thing before, never expressed a wish to see another country. She had never even told us she had a ‘dream’.

  ‘You are leaving Father, aren’t you?’ Min stood up, pointing her finger at Mother.

  ‘No, I am not,’ Mother said emphatically.

  ‘You are – we know, Mummy . . .’ Min stuttered with anger. ‘You are deserting Father, and you are going to run away with Captain Sanderson!’

  Our mother’s arm sprung out as if in reflex and she slapped Min across the cheek. Her fingers were still covered in mincemeat and flour, and Min’s red cheek was now speckled with tiny dots of brown and white. Min put her hand up to her jaw and her lips curled into an ugly grimace.

  ‘Yes, it was about time you hit me again. It hasn’t happened in a while,’ she said triumphantly.

  Our mother looked wounded. She gripped her hands tightly.

  ‘How could you suggest such an awful thing? The poor man is so recently bereaved.’

  ‘I saw you.’ The words left my lips almost against my will.

  Mother turned her head abruptly, as if she had forgotten I was in the room at all. She stared at me, her blue eyes piercing me, and I searched them to see a flicker of maternal love. Now I wished more than anything I had kept my mouth closed.

  ‘I don’t know what you could mean,’ Mother said hastily, clearing the table. ‘My plan was to go to Italy with the both of you, once you have finished school.’ She paused, scooping up tiny bits of pastry into her palm. ‘I thought it would be invaluable for your education.’

  ‘Mother, do you love Captain Sanderson?’

  Min’s voice was hideously loud, and jarred the atmosphere of the cosy kitchen. I expected to see Mother blaze again, and hit Min even harder this time. But Mother said nothing in reply. She washed her hands, took off her apron and hung it on a peg. Underneath she was wearing a white georgette evening dress with wine-coloured lace trimming. It fell in soft folds about her neat body, clinging to her hips. It seemed to me that she was even slimmer than when I last saw her. Mother took her compact out of her bag and used a damp cloth to clean the flour off her face. ‘Well, this pie should be ready to eat in about half an hour,’ she said calmly.

  ‘Mother, did you hear what I asked you?’ Min pushed again.

  Mother put her compact away in her bag and picked up a pair of soft pink suede evening gloves, which she slowly pulled up each arm. She walked to the door and said, ‘I chose to ignore it, for it was such an insolent question I was lost for words. What daughter talks to her mother in such a way?’

  But as she spoke, her cheeks coloured.

  ‘I am going out,’ she said, taking her coat from a hook by the back door. ‘I trust you can take that pie out and eat it yourselves. Your father is upstairs, if you want to bring him some.’

  ‘She is, you know,’ Min said as soon as Mother had left. ‘She has fallen in love with Prince Charming!’

  We could hear the car start up and crawl down the drive.

  ‘Where do you think she is going now?’ Min exclaimed. ‘Straight into her lover’s arms.’

  I shook my head and sat down at the table, landing on the chair with a bump. My backside was still numb with cold.

  ‘Oh, Min!’ I put my head in my hands. ‘Will I ever get to university now?’

  ‘Is that really all you care about?’ Min asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

  I glanced at my sister. How like Mother she looked. I nodded.

  ‘Of course you will, silly.’ Min leaned over and squeezed my hand. ‘Daddy would do anything for you to go to college. You are our big hope, June. You will be one of the first female classical scholars to be made a Fellow at Oxford, I’m sure.’ She giggled then.

  ‘Oh, how can you laugh, Min? Everything is just so terrible.’

  ‘Well, I am upset about Mrs Wyatt, that’s true,’ Min said. ‘But you know this is just a house, and were we ever really happy here?’

  ‘But what about the sea, Min?’

  ‘Oh, yes, it would be so sad to have to leave this place, but maybe they can buy a smaller house, still by the sea.’

  ‘It will be awfully embarrassing.’

  We contemplated this in silence.

  ‘Do you think Mother was serious about taking us to Italy? Or do you think she is going to run away with Captain Sanderson?’ Min asked suddenly.

  ‘I don’t kn
ow Min – it’s all too dreadful to think she would leave Daddy.’

  ‘She has been leaving him for years, June. Captain Sanderson is not the first; think of all the other friends our parents had, who suddenly disappeared. All the handsome husbands, and plain wives, who, once they got wind of what Mummy was up to, no longer wanted to come to tea. If Mrs Sanderson hadn’t died, it would have happened with them too.’

  Was our mother so bad? It seemed impossible, for I was so besotted with my father that I couldn’t understand why Mother wasn’t as well.

  ‘Our father is a broken man, and it is Mummy who destroyed him,’ announced Min in a solemn voice.

  We could smell the pie now, and it made our tummies rumble. I went into the larder, and found some ham and half a loaf of bread. We poured two large beakers of milk and helped ourselves to the bread and ham.

  ‘Shall I bring some up to Daddy?’ I asked.

  ‘Let’s wait a while.’

  We ate quickly, stuffing the bread into our rumbling bellies.

  ‘That pie will be ready soon. Gosh, I can’t wait to eat it, it smells good,’ said Min, looking cheerful again.

  It always amazed me how my sister could bounce back, forgetting that Mother had hit her, or that now we had no money or inheritance, no rosy futures to look forward to.

  ‘What will you do when you finish school, Min?’ I asked her.

  ‘Oh, I shall get married like I told you, June. And I shall make sure he has money and that he can pay for me to go to art school – that’s what I shall do. I shall be something, June.’

  Min picked up the oven gloves, took the pie out of the oven and placed it on the table.

  ‘I wish I were as confident as you. Sometimes I feel like nothing at all.’

  ‘But, June, no one is nothing if they are loved. And I love you.’

  I looked at her, and her eyes blazed with emotion. I knew it was true that my sister did love me more than anyone else in the world, and I her. I could never imagine either of us finding a husband who would love us as much.

  ‘Will you marry Charles Junior then?’ I asked hesitantly, although he would hardly have the funds for Min’s plans.

  ‘No, of course not.’ Min smiled, opening a drawer and taking out a knife.

  ‘Well, how could you possibly know you’re going to get married, if you haven’t even met your husband-to-be yet?’ I asked her teasingly.

  ‘But I have met him,’ Min replied with certainty. ‘Mark my words, by this time next year I shall be a married woman.’

  And she cut the mince pie with such aplomb that steam shot up into the air, like a fissure of a volcano, and I thought I could almost believe her.

  I lie in bed in my husband’s house in Cavan and I can almost taste Mrs Wyatt’s spicy English mincemeat on my lips, and the scent of my last Christmas at home. I close my eyes. So long ago. I am in another country. I have my own family now. I put my hand on my belly, but I can feel nothing and I wonder who is in there. A girl. A boy. Loving. Cruel.

  No one is nothing if they are loved. That is what Min had said. But now I am afraid I am not loved by anyone. My husband’s declarations ring hollow, because I believe his actions are an indication of his heart. How can he leave me, voluntarily?

  I do not understand this world, all of the violence of the war happening outside of Ireland. It seems unreal, like a hideous nightmare. I want to hide inside my nest, and I want him to hide with me too. He refuses. My husband cannot turn his back on the war because he has to live by his convictions, whatever the cost. What small sacrifice do I have to make, if he has to risk his life?

  And so my brave Robert rises early in the hope I might not wake. He kisses my forehead and creeps out the door. I shiver under the warm bedclothes, curling up like a baby myself, my cheeks dry. I cannot cry, not yet. I am too stunned. I can hear his footsteps cross the kitchen, the clatter of a cup as he pours himself a drink and then the latch of the door. I pray he will stop. Surely he will turn round, come back to me? But the house grows deathly silent, and I know he has gone, and yet still I hope for a last-minute change of heart.

  The hours pass. I lie in bed praying for time to go backwards. My eyes are wide open, bleak fear overwhelming me. Will my husband ever return? Will he live to see his child? Will I be left here, forever in Cavan, all on my own? Min always had such spirit. How I wish I could have just one little drop of it. I know my sister would not lie in bed feeling sorry for herself. No, Min would pack her bags and go back to London. She would follow her husband, even if it meant disobeying him. That’s what my sister would do.

  The room gradually fills with light. The hens are making a great noise, and I should get up, start working for the day. It would help to keep myself busy. But I can’t. It is as if I am struck down by the hand of God, paralysed and suspended in the last few moments that Robert lay next to me in our bed.

  Suddenly I hear the latch and I spring from the blankets.

  ‘Robert.’ I scramble across the room.

  I charge into the kitchen, but my joy scatters about me as I come face to face with an alarmed Oonagh.

  ‘Mrs Fanning, are you all right?’

  ‘Robert!’ I crumple onto the floor, hugging my sides, bent double.

  Oh, the baby, I think, surely I will lose it now.

  ‘Shush, shush.’ Oonagh comes over to me and helps me up, makes me walk back into the bedroom. ‘There now,’ she strokes my hair. ‘Why don’t you get back into bed for a while?’

  ‘Oonagh . . .’ I gulp, tears flooding my face.

  ‘I know, I know,’ she nods, as wise as an old sage, yet her face is as open and unlined as a child’s.

  ‘I didn’t say goodbye,’ I whisper hoarsely, my throat so parched I feel as if I might faint from the thirst.

  Oonagh passes me a glass of water from the locker. She pats my arm. ‘Oh, but you did, Mrs Fanning. He understands.’

  I sip the water and look at her. She has brown eyes the colour of bog water, and full cheeks, as rosy as apple skin.

  ‘Do you think I will ever see him again?’

  ‘Hush now,’ she admonishes me. ‘It’s not good to think like that. You must trust in the Almighty that he will bring him back safely to you.’

  ‘Yes.’ I feel chastised. I wipe my eyes with my handkerchief, suddenly aware I have made a bit of scene in front of her. ‘I am all right, now,’ I continue. ‘You can go.’

  However, Oonagh doesn’t leave the room. ‘Are you sure, Mrs Fanning? Do you need anything else?’

  ‘No, I want to be alone.’ I try to rally myself.

  She gives me a studied look. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. We have a little tea, don’t we? I think this morning calls for a cup of tea.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say weakly, and nod. ‘I’ll get dressed.’

  She goes into the kitchen, and I can hear her at the stove. I sit on the bed, looking at the side Robert slept on, pressing my hand down onto the creased sheets. It is already cold and his imprint is gone. I am shivering, but I cannot stir. I am unable to move because of the feelings raging inside me. It dawns on me that I have never lived alone before, not even when I was at university. The house creaks around me, already feeling larger, emptier, just in a few short hours. I have to pull myself together.

  I get up slowly and go to the oak dresser on the other side of the room, pull out the top drawer and find a candle. I put the candle in the brass holder and light it. It flickers and I place it on the windowsill, where it flickers some more. I get dressed, not noticing what I am wearing, not bothering to brush my hair, and leave our bedroom, with the bedclothes still strewn all over the bed.

  Oonagh has the tea brewed. She doesn’t speak, just pours me a cup. It is as weak as dishwater, but with a little sugar it brings some warmth back into my body.

  ‘Thank you, Oonagh.’

  She says nothing, but looks at me with such compassion it makes me want to cry. I start to talk quickly, determined not to lose control again.

  ‘Robert
has asked me not to tell anyone he has gone off to fight. I believe some people might think it anti-Irish to do so.’

  She nods. ‘Some would. But most don’t. We all think he’s very brave. Daddy and the lads will do all the work for you, Mrs Fanning, you’ve no need to worry.’

  ‘Please call me June. We are practically the same age.’

  She looks at me curiously, the idea dawning on her that in fact there are only a few years between us, yet my husband is nearly the same age as her father.

  ‘So we are . . . June!’ She smiles slowly. ‘Isn’t it great to have a real cup of tea?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ I gulp the hot brown liquid down. ‘I need to be busy today, Oonagh.’

  She looks at me thoughtfully for a moment.

  ‘Well, there is the orchard. It’s still not completely cleared out.’

  ‘You said the place was cursed,’ I reply, surprised.

  ‘Well, you must have broken the curse, so, because the pie we had the day before yesterday was delicious.’

  She sounds quite upper-class when she says the word ‘delicious’, and it makes me smile. It is strange how one can find humour in such desperate times.

  Oonagh stays with me the whole day, longer than she should. We break our backs in the orchard, but it is satisfying, and I am excited by our hoard of fruit. Apples are so very precious. We spend the afternoon writing down ideas of what we will make with the apples and some other things from the garden. Apple & Blackberry Jelly, Apple & Beetroot Chutney, Apple Sauce, Apple & Rhubarb Tart, Apple & Elderberry Cordial, Apple Pie, Apple Crumble, Sloe Gin?

  We giggle like two naughty schoolgirls at the idea of making sloe gin. I had spied a tree heavy with sloe berries just outside the orchard walls. Oonagh tells me she has never drunk it before, and I tell her how Father used to make it. She would like to try some. She says it sounds much nicer than the poitín. My arms and legs are sore from all the picking, so we put our feet up by the hearth and hug our hot watery tea to our hearts, sitting in companionable silence. For a moment it reminds me of being with Min, and what a comfort she would be if she were here with me. I do so want to tell my sister what it is like to be pregnant. So before I think any better of it, I confide in Oonagh.