Like One of the Family (24 page)

Several mornings later, not long after the children had left for school, the postman rang the doorbell and delivered a small package. Jane took it from him and glanced at the postmark. Yes, it was the one she had been expecting.

She got a scissors and snipped the string then carefully withdrew the contents. The soft mass of Ruthie's golden hair lay on the table before her and Jane caught her breath at the forgotten beauty of it. She sank down feeling suddenly weak, remembering how often in the past she had washed and dried it, given it the recommended one hundred strokes.

Safe from interruption with everyone out of the house, Jane shampooed the hair, handling it with great care. When it was dry she removed the barbarous piece of wire and tied the golden mane in a piece of white ribbon, one Ruthie had worn on her First Communion Day. Jane was overwhelmed by a memory of her little daughter's face rosy with excitement beneath the snowy veil, and she painfully caught her breath as the words of the Communion hymn came back to her now with unbearable sweetness.
Céad mile fáilte romhat a Iosa,
One hundred thousand welcomes, Lord Jesus!

The poignant refrain echoed in Jane's mind and her eyes were full of tears as she laid Ruthie's hair in tissue paper and locked it away in a drawer. Some day she would show it to her, she thought. And some day perhaps Ruthie might even wear it as a hairpiece. Jane wondered if that day would ever come.

As the months passed Claire was saddened to find on her visits to the McArdle's house that Ruthie was making so little progress after the trauma of the summer. The sunniness which had been the mark of the little girl's temperament had vanished since her return from the limbo she had occupied in the days after the attack, and now she was broody, inclined to sudden fits of temper, followed by weeping. She had never been a whingey child but this now became her normal conversational tone.

For a time Ruthie was hostile towards Claire and refused to listen to her stories or accept help with her homework like she had once delighted in doing. Sometimes she met her at the door with cries of, ‘Go away, Claire. This isn't your house. We don't want you here,' and when Jane gently remonstrated with her, burst into noisy tears, crying, ‘You're all so mean to me. I wish I could die.'

Claire was disconcerted by the change she saw in her and found it difficult to respond to this demanding, nervy little girl. It was as if Ruthie was saying, you let it happen to me, now see how you like what I've become. It was almost too much to bear Claire thought. She had been looking after Ruthie and she had let her down.

But after the initial defiant outburst Ruthie clung to Claire more fiercely than she had ever done, as though afraid that Claire might reject her. Where before Ruthie naturally accepted affection as her due, now she grimly exacted it in the manner of a wife whose husband has once deceived her, and is constantly seeking reassurance that he loves her. Claire found this naked appeal as distressing as her short-lived animosity.

Sometimes Claire surprised a wary, placating expression in Jane's eyes as she watched them together, as if she were afraid that Claire's patience might snap and then there would only be herself to love and help the little girl.

One afternoon Jane broke down before Claire and confessed her earlier fear that if the case had gone to court the strain would have proved too much for Ruthie. From all Jane said it was clear that she had suffered intensely over the weeks of waiting for the DPP's decision. Claire realised that for Jane to confide in her like she was doing must mean that she was still very close to the edge. She realised too that, whatever about her own difficulties with Ruthie, it was much harder for Jane, forced to watch her youngest child change from an adorable innocent to this irritable, restless spirit. She resolved to visit oftener and try and help to lift some of the burden from her. When she did, more often than not Claire returned to her studies with an aching head and depressed spirits. It did not help that in her own house the atmosphere was equally fraught.

On the first day of the autumn term Claire had got a shock when she came into the classroom to find there was a new teacher on the rostrum. She had stared at her mother, unable to believe her eyes. Annette smiled coolly back, the situation well in hand. As she told Claire later it was all part of work for her Masters, which she intended sitting the following year. Austin had been the one initially to encourage her, Annette said, but it was only that summer she had made up her mind about the course.

Claire did not quite believe her mother's excuse. She suspected her of not telling her, in case she objected. Sheena was at first disbelieving and then amused. ‘I can't imagine Mum pulling a stunt like that,' she exclaimed. ‘She discusses everything with us first.'

Claire had seen the evidence of this for herself. Maybe it was because she had no husband to advise her. But then, strictly speaking neither had Annette.

‘Must be kind of nice having your mother teaching you,' Terry said, overhearing. ‘She can't punish you if you don't do your homework.'

‘I always do my homework,' Claire said seriously. Actually, Annette expected work to be handed up on time and marked it according to its merit. Out of school, she taught Claire to analyse her own work and encouraged her to question herself.

‘Always do my homework,' Terry echoed in horror. ‘Oh my, what a pain!'

Claire blushed. ‘I must go,' she said, picking up her schoolbag, aware that since the holidays he had adopted a rather mocking attitude towards her. She suspected it might be to cover his embarrassment but it made her feel uncomfortable and a little sad.

‘Bye, Sheena, see you tomorrow.'

‘That's right,' Terry called after her in the teasing voice Claire hated. ‘Hurry on home like a good little girl and start your homework or Mama will smack you.' She ignored him and went to have a word with Jane.

‘Stay and have coffee,' Jane said. She had bought an electric percolator and was loud in its praise. ‘How is school working out?'

‘Fine. Mummy is really popular with the class,' Claire said truthfully. Annette treated them all on a matey, woman to woman basis, and spoke quite openly to them about sex. Not like the other teachers who would have preferred the girls to believe the human race was spawned under a cabbage leaf. Her mother had already given the class her own reading list. Annette had advised them not to neglect D. H. Lawrence, insisting that he was essential reading for a deeper, truer understanding of erotic literature. She was erudite and articulate, even quite witty. Listening to her, Claire had been both proud and embarrassed, and got the feeling she didn't know her mother at all.

‘I didn't know she was changing schools,' Jane said.

‘Neither did I,' Claire admitted. ‘Not until she walked into the classroom.'

‘That must have been a bit of a bombshell.'

‘It certainly was!'

‘She'll be able to give you individual coaching. That should be a big help with your exams coming up.'

‘She was always a great reader,' Jane said thoughtfully. ‘When we were away together in Spain years ago she was never without a book. She sometimes read as she walked along the street. I was terrified she would be knocked down.'

Claire was reminded of her thirteen-year-old self, walking up the long road from the library, with a pile of books gripped under her arm, another held open before her eyes. Funny, she hadn't thought she took after Annette in anything.

‘I don't know how I would have coped if my mother had landed in on top of me in my final year at school,' Jane admitted frankly. ‘Though now that I think about it, she did come into the school once to give a talk. She was a psychiatrist in child-care and a very good one too. I realise that now.'

Claire had not known this.

‘I wish she were still alive,' Jane said, her face suddenly shadowing. ‘She would have been so good with Ruthie.'

Claire was silent.

‘If only it hadn't happened,' Jane said suddenly. ‘Before the holidays Ruthie was just beginning to gain confidence for the first time since...'

She was unable to finish, but Claire understood she was referring to the terrible manner in which the little girl had witnessed her father's death three years earlier, right before her eyes. She nodded, feeling a little choked herself.

Despite her resolution to call more often and play with Ruthie, Claire did not find it easy to make time. She was studying hard now that her Mocks were so close at hand and twenty minute breaks were all she could afford. Barely time to share coffee with Jane and a game of Ludo with Ruthie.

One evening Jane greeted her with a wan, distracted smile. Ruthie was in the garden with Sheena, pegging clothes on the line, and her querulous demands could be heard in the quiet kitchen. Claire sat down and waited. When Jane had made coffee and placed the mugs before them, Claire felt able to ask, ‘Is anything the matter?'

Jane sipped her coffee before replying.

‘I got a call today at the clinic to go to Ruthie's school.' Claire set down her cup and studied her face gravely as Jane began to speak. ‘Sister Dunphy says that Ruthie has become a disruptive element in the classroom. Recently she played one or two unpleasant tricks on her classmates...' Jane paused and sighed.

‘What kind of thing?' Claire prompted.

‘Oh, tacks in another little girl's sandals, a ripped painting. She said that Ruthie's written homework is skimpy and untidily presented, and her form teacher suspects her of cheating at a vocabulary test. You know what emphasis the nuns always put on cheating.' Jane shrugged tiredly. “Simply not done!” is how Sister Dunphy put it.'

‘But doesn't she know what happened in the summer?'

‘Yes, she does... and so do all the teachers. Oh, they're prepared to make great allowances for Ruthie. She has always been popular with them and they are all very sympathetic. In fact, I think they would gladly have turned a blind eye to her naughtiness if they didn't believe it signalled great inner distress.' Jane met Claire's eyes soberly. ‘The nuns believe she'll ultimately require referral to a child counsellor.'

They were silent, both viewing this prospect.

‘Of course I agree with them,' Jane broke the silence. ‘Only I don't want to take the step just yet. I feel if I can hang on until after the twins do the Leaving Cert, I'll be able to think more clearly.' Claire nodded, well able to understand this. She was reminded of the time and got to her feet.

‘Won't you wait until Ruthie comes in?' Jane asked.

‘Well...' Claire looked helplessly at her. ‘I still have trigonometry to do.'

‘Off you go then,' Jane said, giving her a pat. ‘Don't worry. I understand.'

As Claire returned home, her relief was mixed with sadness. In the past she had loved being with the little girl. Now it was taking on the aspect of a chore. Claire told herself that any child's personality would be adversely affected by all Ruthie had been through. With love and understanding she would soon be restored to herself.

Sometimes Claire wished there was someone she could talk to about Ruthie. Her mother sometimes enquired after the little girl, but she could not bring herself to speak to her about what had happened. Anyway she knew that Annette had enough on her own mind. Ever since Jim had told her that Marissa was expecting a baby and he had begun annulment proceedings, she was acting in a slightly deranged manner.

Annette seemed to think it was diabolically calculating of Marissa to become pregnant, as though she had deliberately planned it to sink her hooks deeper into Jim. Claire got the impression that Annette felt somehow threatened by the impending birth, as though it effectively relegated her to the role of dowager princess, while Claire and Christopher, one time heirs-apparent to some mythical throne, would now be declared bastards.

This was taking it a little bit far but in essence seemed to sum up Annette's attitude. She accused Marissa of bewitching Claire's father, whom she described as not entirely to blame, just weak and easily led.

‘She has a lot to answer for,' Annette said bitterly. From what Claire had observed, however, her father was equally enamoured with Marissa.

Claire thought the news that she would soon have a half-sister or half-brother very exciting and wished they lived nearer, so that she might baby-sit for them. Only she supposed her mother would regard it as a betrayal.

Austin told Annette that he had moved in with his friend of the walking tour and said he would call over some night for his things.

Annette was out when he came, and beyond telling Austin he could go upstairs, Claire had no conversation with him. Later he rang complaining that half his books were missing. Annette stormed into Claire's bedroom where she was revising history.

‘Why didn't you tell me Austin was here?' She took an angry turn about the room. ‘Not that I give a hang about him or his books,' she muttered. ‘I should have thrown him and them out long ago. '

Claire knew Christopher had been lending them to his classmates but she kept silent, knowing she would be next in the firing line if she said the wrong thing.

‘I suppose you think I'm an idiot too?' Annette said unfairly, and went downstairs to pour herself a drink. God knows how many she had got through during the summer.

Before long Annette got herself another lodger. Plump and separated from his wife, Thomas was a journalist in his forties. He moved into the spare room in February on St Valentine's Day, around the same time that Marissa gave birth to a baby boy.

Claire wished she could go and live with her father and Marissa and the new baby. Even if the baby cried it would be less distracting than the sound of Thomas's stereo playing long and late in the next room. Night after night, hour after hour.

And now it was starting up again.

Claire lifted her head from her history book and sighed in frustration. She turned back the pages to read the chapter again but her concentration was broken. Her head felt light and insubstantial as bog cotton. She decided to take a break and call over for a chat with Sheena.