‘Brace yourself, lads,’ muttered Colm to his brothers, and began to pull on his boots, ‘we’re in for an evening of “Oh Danny Boy”.’
They had run out of places to put wet washing. The indoor dryer was loaded to the point where it threatened to pull down the ceiling; damp linen hung from every indoor hook and cable, pegged to hangers hooked over the tops of doors or laid flat on towels on work surfaces. Margaret hauled another wet undershirt from the bucket and handed it to her aunt, who fed the hem into the mangle and began to turn the handle.
‘It’s because nothing dried yesterday,’ Margaret said. ‘I didn’t get the stuff off the line in time so it was soaked again, and I still had lots more to do.’
‘Why don’t you sit down, Maggie?’ Letty said, eyeing her legs. ‘Take the weight off your feet for a minute or two.’
Margaret sank gratefully into the chair in the laundry room, and reached down to stroke the terrier that sat by her side. ‘I could put some in the bathroom, but Dad hates that.’
‘You know you should rest. Most women have their feet up by now.’
‘Ah, there’s ages yet,’ Margaret said.
‘Less than twelve weeks, by my reckoning.’
‘African women just drop them behind a bush and carry on working.’
‘You’re not African. And I doubt anyone “drops” a baby like they’re . . .’ Letty was conscious of her inability to talk of childbirth with any authority. She continued wringing in silence, the rain drumming noisily on the tin roof of the outhouse, the sweet smell of newly drenched earth rising up through the open windows. The mangle squeaked, a geriatric creature forced unwillingly into effort.
‘Daniel’s taken it worse than I thought,’ Margaret said eventually.
Letty continued to work the handle, grunting as she hauled it towards her. ‘He’s still young. He’s had a lot to deal with this past couple of years.’
‘But he’s really angry. I didn’t expect him to be angry.’
Letty paused. ‘He feels let down, I suppose. What with losing his mum and you . . .’
‘It’s not like I did it on purpose.’ Margaret thought of her brother’s outburst, of the words ‘selfish’ and ‘hateful’ hurled at her in temper until the flat of her father’s hand brought the diatribe to an abrupt halt.
‘I know,’ said Letty, stopping and straightening. ‘They know it too. Even Daniel.’
‘But when Joe and I got married, you know, I didn’t think about leaving Dad and the boys. I didn’t think anyone would mind too much.’
‘Of course they mind. They love you.’
‘I didn’t mind when Niall went.’
‘That was war. You knew he had to go.’
‘But who’s going to look after them all? Dad can just about press a shirt or wash the dishes, if he has to, but there’s not one of them can put together a meal. And they’d leave the sheets on their beds until they walked themselves to the linen basket.’
As she spoke, Margaret began almost to believe in this picture of herself as a domestic lynchpin, which position she had held with quiet resentment for the past two years. She had never anticipated having to cook and clean for anyone. Even Joe had understood when she told him she was hopeless at it and, more importantly, had no intention of remedying the situation. Now, forced to spend hours of every day tending the brothers she had once treated as equals, grief, guilt and mute fury fought within her. ‘It’s a huge worry, Letty. I really think they won’t be able to cope without . . . well, a woman around the place.’
There was a lengthy silence. The dog whined in her sleep, her legs paddling in some unseen chase.
‘I suppose they could get someone in, like a housekeeper,’ said Letty eventually, her voice deceptively light.
‘Dad wouldn’t want to pay for that. You know how he goes on about saving money. And, besides, I don’t think any of them would like a stranger in the kitchen. You know what they’re like.’ She sneaked a glance at her aunt. ‘Niall hasn’t liked anyone new being around since he came back from the camps. Oh, I don’t know . . .’
Outside, the rain was easing off. The drumming on the roof had lightened, and small patches of blue could be seen amid the grey clouds towards the east. The two women were silent for a few minutes, each apparently absorbed in the view from the screened window.
When no answer was forthcoming, Margaret spoke again: ‘Actually, I’m wondering whether I should leave at all. I mean, there’s no point in going if I’m going to spend my whole time worrying about the family, is there?’
She waited for her aunt to speak. When nothing came, she continued, ‘Because I—’
‘I suppose,’ Letty ventured, ‘that I could help out.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t say “what”, dear. If you’re that worried about them all,’ Letty’s voice was measured, ‘I might be able to come most days. Just to help out a bit.’
‘Oh, Letty, would you?’ Margaret had ensured that her voice held just the right amount of surprise, just the right level of gratitude.
‘I wouldn’t want to be treading on anyone’s toes.’
‘No . . . no . . . of course not.’
‘I wouldn’t want you or the boys thinking . . . that I was trying to take your mother’s place.’
‘Oh, I don’t think anyone would think that.’
Both women digested what had finally been said aloud.
‘There might be people who will . . . interpret things the wrong way. People in town and suchlike.’ Letty smoothed her hair unconsciously.
‘Yes, there might,’ said Margaret, still looking deadly serious.
‘But, then, it’s not like I’ve got a job or anything. Not now they’ve shut the munitions factory. And family should come first.’
‘It certainly should.’
‘I mean, those boys need a feminine influence. Daniel especially. He’s at that age . . . And it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong. Anything . . . you know . . .’
If Margaret noticed the faint blush of pleasure creeping across her aunt’s face she said nothing. If there was something else in her aunt’s face, in the new lipstick, that made Margaret feel a little more complicated about the arrangement, she made a game attempt to push it away. If the price of her own guiltless freedom was for her mother’s place to be usurped, she would be careful only to see the benefits.
Letty’s angular face was lit now by a smile. ‘In that case, dear, if it will help you, I’ll take good care of them all,’ she said. ‘And Maudie there. I’ll take good care of her. You won’t need to worry.’
‘Oh, I’m not worried about her.’ Margaret raised herself with an effort. ‘I’m going to—’
‘Yes, I’ll make sure they’re all all right,’ Letty continued. Anticipation had apparently made her garrulous. ‘If it will really make you feel a little easier in yourself, Maggie dear, I’ll do what I can. Yes, you won’t need to worry about a thing.’ Suddenly galvanised, she wrung out the last shirt by hand and dumped it in the washing basket, ready for the next drying session.