The Rainbow Years Read Online Free PDF

‘Father Fraser will have to be here when you tell him.’
     
    ‘No, Mam.’ It was short and sharp.
     
    The fire in the range made a little spit and crackle in the silence that had fallen. It was a minute or two before Muriel leaned towards her daughter, her voice firmer than it had been throughout when she said, ‘He won’t do anythin’ if the Father is here, you know how he likes to keep in his good books. The priests are your da’s gate to heaven, that’s the way he sees it.’
     
    ‘I don’t want Father Fraser knowing.’
     
    ‘Lass, everyone’s goin’ to know afore long,’ Muriel said very quietly.
     
    Bess dropped her head, her shame deeper than it had ever been when confronted with her mother’s lack of condemnation. If her mam had denounced her and heaped reproach on her head she could have stood it better than this gentle acceptance. But that was her mam all over, so loving, so kind. It had probably been those very qualities that had made her father single her out when they were young; he’d known he could bully and frighten her.
     
    ‘I’ll put me coat on later an’ nip an’ have a word,’ said Muriel resolutely. ‘He knows it’s your da’s half-day on a Saturday; mebbe he’ll come back with me an’ we can break the news afore your da goes to the football.’
     
    Bess looked at her mother’s wrinkled face and tired eyes. Her mam had had a rough deal in life and here she was adding to her troubles a hundredfold. Any further protest about the priest being brought in died on her lips.
     

     
    When Father Fraser entered the house by the front door, Muriel following respectfully on his heels, he walked straight down the hall and into the kitchen without pausing. Bess stood at his entrance, their eyes meeting for a moment before she dropped her head.
     
    The priest did not speak immediately. He took the chair Muriel fussily pulled out for him and nodded to her offer of a cup of tea. He did not ask Bess to be seated and she did not presume to do so without his permission.
     
    ‘So, Bess?’ The thick fleshy lips in the fat face paused. When Bess didn’t raise her head or attempt to reply, the priest allowed some ten seconds to tick by before he said,‘Sit down, girl. We have some talking to do.’
     
    Her colour high, Bess sat, and Muriel - beside herself with agitation - said, ‘Would you have a couple of girdle cakes with your tea, Father? Freshly made this mornin’.’
     
    ‘Thank you, Mrs Shawe.’ The priest did not take his gaze from Bess’s face which, now the flush of colour had subsided, was as white as lint. His small beady eyes examined the young girl in front of him with a coldness which was habitual.These young lasses! Father Fraser settled his ample buttocks more comfortably on the hard wooden seat, lacing his podgy fingers over the mound of his belly.This was what came from giving slips of girls a man’s wage. It never ought to be. He cleared his throat before saying sententiously, ‘When were you last at confession, Bess?’
     
    Her head rose and big brown eyes met his. ‘Over two months ago, Father.’
     
    ‘And before that?’
     
    ‘I . . . I don’t remember.’
     
    Muriel placed a steaming cup of tea and the sugar bowl in front of Father Fraser. Her voice held the obsequious note it always did when addressing the priest as she said, ‘Do help yourself, Father.’
     
    ‘Thank you, Mrs Shawe, but I have resolved to do without sugar in my tea until this terrible war is over. We all need to do our bit, don’t we?’ He reached for the plate of scones which had followed the tea, finishing one in two bites and sliding another onto the side of his saucer before he said, ‘This is a sad state of affairs, Bess. A grievous state of affairs. God’s holy order of things will not be mocked. You are aware of this, aren’t you? Aware of how greatly you have sinned?’ The second scone went the way of the first.
     
    ‘She is, Father.’ When Bess didn’t