Dublin's Girl

by Eimear Lawlor

  ‘Oh, it’s an unusual time to visit the sea.’ She looked at the door windowpane as it rattled in the wind. ‘I don’t think you will be going back tonight. Do ye have family ye have to get back to?’

  ‘Oh no, Mr Fairfax and I are just friends,’ Veronica said, sticking out her hand, ‘I’m Veronica.’

  ‘I’m Mrs Coppinger,’ she said and shook Veronica’s hand warmly. ‘No need to worry, dear. To be honest, I turn the other way. I’m not ignorant to the way of the world and young love.’ She sighed, looking dreamily in the distance. ‘I remember it well, but that was many moons ago. I’ll get two rooms ready.’

  How would she get word to her aunt and uncle? What if Tom went to Bridget’s house to search for her? She tried to remember if she had ever mentioned where exactly Bridget lived. Her mouth was dry, and her heart raced.

  ‘Dry yourselves, and I’ll get some supper ready for you. You’re the only guests. We usually only get travelling salesmen at this time of year, but with the weather lately being so bad, we don’t get many. It’ll be ready at six o’clock. It’ll only be soup and bread as I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I’ll bring it out here to you, the dining room is too cold.’ She turned, muttering, ‘I won’t be long, warm yourselves.’

  Veronica laughed. ‘She reminds me of Mrs Slaney, our cook, she talked incessantly.’ Veronica stood by the fire, rubbing her hands together. With a crack of thunder, the room instantly lit up, and she jumped, knocking the poker and shovel stand.

  ‘What’s all that noise, are you all right?’ Mrs Coppinger rushed back into the room.

  ‘It’s nothing, Mrs Coppinger, the lightning and thunder gave me a fright.’

  ‘Come away from that window. I’m always afraid lightning will come through it. The soup is nearly ready.’

  When Mrs Coppinger turned to leave, Veronica realised Harry had his arm around her shoulders and was guiding her back to the couch.

  ‘You’re shivering, sit down and wrap this blanket around you.’

  He wrapped a tartan blanket around Veronica, and they sat in comfortable silence, watching the flames dance wildly when a gust of wind blew down the chimney.

  Soon Mrs Coppinger put a tray onto the table in front of them with two bowls of steaming soup and thick slices of bread smothered in butter. ‘Eat while it is hot, and I’ll bring you up to your rooms after a while,’ said Mrs Coppinger.

  After the soup and bread, she joined them for tea. The clock chimed nine.

  ‘God, I can’t believe it is so late. I’ve put bedpans in your beds so I’ll show you to your rooms.’

  They followed Mrs Coppinger up the stairs along the corridor to the rooms. The hallway lights flickered at another roll of thunder.

  ‘It’ll sure be a long night, and I hope you sleep, dear. This is your room,’ she said, opening a door. ‘I’ll show you where everything is, I’ve left you a few things. Mr Fairfax, there is your room,’ she pointed to the door next to Veronica’s. ‘I put a candle beside your bed in case the lights go out.’

  Harry bid the two women good night with a nod.

  Veronica had never stayed in a hotel before. The bed was huge, with three white cushions on top of the pillows, and the curtains matched the pink flowery bedspread and pillows.

  ‘I gave you a good room. This is usually where honeymooners stay,’ Mrs Coppinger said with pride as she took off the cushions and fluffed the pillows. On the bed lay a white cotton nightdress.

  ‘Thank you,’ Veronica said, and Mrs Coppinger chatted as she pulled the curtains tighter to block out the night. The light flickered again and the windows rattled as if the angry wind was shaking its fist. Traitor.

  ‘I’ve left you a candle as well beside the water bowl and jug over there.’ She pointed to a small dresser with the holy cross hanging above it on the wall. ‘But you should get to bed before the electricity goes completely,’ she added before she left the room.

  The windows shook as thunder cracked again and the room lit up with lightning. Immediately immersed in the dark, Veronica tried to remember where Mrs Coppinger had left the candle. She hadn’t really listened to her. She had told her where it was but, she hadn’t looked; now the room was dark. She inched forward, her foot catching on the rug and steadied herself. If she fell, she could easily hit her head. She imagined lying in a pool of blood – dead, and not found until the morning. She tentatively moved the tip of her foot, hoping to remember where the bed was. It had been to her left, and with caution, she inched toward where she thought it would be, but soon she walked into a wooden door. Her hands glided over the wood. It was the wardrobe. Thinking and visualising the room, she turned around to move again. At this rate, it would be morning before she found the bed. There was a light knock at the door.

  ‘Veronica, are you all right?’

  It was Harry.

  ‘No, I can’t find the candle.’

  The door creaked open, and Veronica saw the flicker of a candle, the light from it highlighting his beautiful face. He waved the candle around the room and moved toward Veronica when it fell on her. He took her hand, guiding her to the bed. The door swung shut. Veronica and Harry sat looking at each other, their faces illuminated by the candle. His eyes travelled over her body. He pulled her towards him and her body trembled as he touched her lips and cheek. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist, his hands lingering on her hips. He kissed her neck, his lips sending shivers through every cell in her body, before he trailed a column of kisses down her neck as soft as a million butterfly wings. She moaned and arched her back.

  She melted into him, inviting him to take her. He carefully undid the buttons, and then, as she responded to him, he pushed her onto the bed. As the storm crashed against the windows, their bodies moved with ferocity, a hunger for each other heightened by knowing it would be the last time together. That night she was transported to new heights of desire she’d never imagined possible, refusing any guilt to weave its presence into her morning.

  At breakfast, the joy of the previous night was replaced by sadness. The reality of the situation dawned on her. Tom and Betty would be worried, and she was anxious to return to Dublin. She hoped Tom hadn’t gone to Bridget’s to look for her.

  ‘I’ll see if the line is cleared for ye. Did the storm keep ye awake?’ asked Mrs Coppinger as she eyed the untouched poached eggs.

  ‘We didn’t notice it at all,’ said Harry. ‘I’ll go and see if it looks like the weather will stay calm.’

  ‘Are ye not hungry?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, Mrs Coppinger,’ said Veronica. ‘Your name is unusual.’

  ‘My grandfather was English and met my grandmother when she was in service in England. They returned here to get married and never went back. He fell in love with the place, loved the sea, as I do.’

  Veronica smiled. ‘I know the feeling, water has a sense of magic, and an energy, especially in the wind. What about Mr Coppinger, is he about?’

  The smile faded from Mrs Coppinger’s face, and her eyes watered. ‘No, my dear, widowed ten years.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, that was rude of me.’ Veronica’s face flushed.

  ‘No, no, dear, don’t be embarrassed.’

  The door to the breakfast room opened.

  Harry came in. ‘It looks like the rain will stay away. The station master said all the trees on the line are cleared.’

  ‘Great, finish your tea. I’ve your coats all dry now.’

  When they left the hotel, a few stray branches lay on the road, but the cloudless blue sky gave nothing away of the previous night’s anger.

  The train arrived, and soon they were on their way back to Harcourt St station. They leaned into each other, with nothing but silence, knowing this was the last time they would see each other, their bodies moving in unison with the train as it rattled through the remains of the storm. The countryside was soon replaced by houses, and she braced herself for the departure.

  When the train pulled into Harcourt St, they gathered their coats
and stood on the platform.

  ‘Veronica, I have to go. They’ll be wondering where I am at the barracks, and I need to change back into my uniform. Your aunt and uncle will be…’ but before he could finish the sentence, the reality of their situation was thrust upon Veronica. Three soldiers entered the platform, watching the passengers waiting to board with suspicion. The soldiers, young men, looked tired and fearful. One of the soldiers boarded the first carriage of the train, his gun cocked ready to defend himself. The other two soldiers called over the Ticketmaster, and after a few words, the soldiers walked along the platform slowly, looking at the passengers who waited to board the train. Harry kept his head low, and when they passed, he turned to Veronica. ‘I have to go,’ he said and pulled her to him. ‘This is harder than I thought, but it’s too dangerous to be seen together.’ He whispered into her neck, his breath hot. ‘Veronica, I will miss you.’ She watched him leave, with no guilt, glad she had never told Michael, or Tom. This was her secret, and she vowed never to tell anyone.

  41

  Eight weeks later Veronica sat on the bed in Bridget’s room with her hands on her stomach.

  ‘Veronica, what’s wrong? You’re white as a ghost. Here, have my hanky, and please stop crying. Veronica, please tell me what’s wrong. I haven’t seen you for months. Have you been sacked from your job? When you last wrote, you said everything was great?’

  Veronica hugged her legs, rocking lightly, as tears flowed down her cheeks. Bridget moved closer and held her hand gently stroking it. Veronica’s body heaved and shuddered against Bridget.

  ‘Veronica, I’m worried now. The only time I saw anyone cry like this was my sister, and that only meant one thing… Jaysus, you’re not?’

  In between sobs, Veronica said, ‘I’m pregnant.’

  There was a tap on the door. ‘Bridget, are ye all right? I’ve to go out in a few minutes, and the baby needs feeding.’

  ‘Mam, I’ll be down in a minute. Veronica is nearly finished fitting on the dress.’ She whispered to Veronica, ‘Ma is great to help me out with the baby with Sam having to go to England for work, but Veronica, she would take one look at you, and you’d be straight down to the convent. She knows these things – I don’t know how, but she always knows when someone is pregnant. Veronica, I would hate for you to end up in a mother and baby home. The nuns can be so cruel.’

  ‘But, you said they helped Maura.’

  Bridget shook her head. ‘No, it wasn’t help,’ she said, bitterness spitting out the words.

  ‘My mam’s brothers, uncle Tommy and Sheamie in England sent £100 to the nuns to get her out, and then she took the boat to them in Merseyside. She had to pretend to people her husband had been killed in the war.’

  ‘I don’t understand, £100?’ Veronica’s eyes widened.

  ‘The laundries the nuns run, washing the sheets for the hospital. Girls who have gotten into trouble are sent to the laundries. They work there until they have the baby with two choices.’

  Veronica knew what she was going to say.

  ‘If the girls don’t pay, they keep the baby and the mother gets it back after working for four years in the laundry. But, most don’t. They give them away to families who can’t have a family.’

  ‘That’s bordering on criminal,’ Veronica said.

  ‘Veronica you can’t say that about the nuns. You either pay £100 to get your baby back or work doing the laundry for four years – and sometimes, well most of the time the girls don’t get them back.’ Veronica’s eyes widened with shock, and Bridget continued, ‘You’re so innocent, Veronica, God help you. It’s a cruel world for an unmarried woman. Maura was lucky, but her friend Mary, got herself into bother as well, but she had no money. She had a son around the same time as Maura. There had also been no goodbyes to her son. “It’s God’s wish,” the nuns told her. And Mary asked about her rights as a mother. The nuns told her she’d lost her rights when she had taken her knickers off!’

  Veronica whimpered, ‘Oh God,’ drawing her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. ‘Bridget, what in God’s name am I going to do?’

  ‘Are ye sure? Ye could be wrong. If it was because your monthly bleed didn’t arrive, it happens to me all the time.’

  Putting her head in her hands, Veronica said, ‘I’m sure. I went to the doctor!’

  Bridget gasped, sitting back on the bed. ‘How did you explain that? You’re not married, how did he see you?’

  ‘I took my Aunt Betty’s ring. Since Padraig died, she has become so thin, and she must take it off, or it will fall off when she scrubs the floors. When I started to get sick in the mornings, I never paid much heed to it, but my blouse became tight, and I missed two months.’

  ‘V, I couldn’t bear for the same to happen to you like Maura. Will he stand by you?’

  ‘No. He can’t.’

  ‘Why? Jaysus, Veronica, he has to.’

  She told Bridget everything.

  ‘You have to tell him, V. It will be tough on your own, and the only other solution is to go to a mother and baby home.’

  Veronica squeezed up in a ball on the bed, sinking into the feathers. Bridget was still in shock from the revelation. No words came, but she curled up beside Veronica and rocked her to sleep.

  When Veronica woke, Bridget had gone. Veronica thought about what her friend said, she would try to get word to Harry. Gathering herself together she found Bridget in the kitchen feeding her baby and said her goodbyes.

  Bridget held her tight. ‘Veronica, tell him, you never know what he will say.’

  ‘I’ll think about it. I don’t know if he is still here. It looks like the British army is already leaving. Dáil Eireann and the British government are negotiating their leaving. I should be thrilled that we are finally on the road to our independence, but now…’ Veronica began to cry again. Bridget got a handkerchief for her friend. ‘Now look at the mess I have got myself into.’

  ‘Bridget, are you home?’

  ‘It’s my mother, Veronica. Put your coat on, or she’ll know.’

  ‘I’m going,’ she said and left by the back door before Bridget’s mother entered the kitchen.

  On the bus on her way home, she felt numb and stared out the window to avoid contact with anyone. A family sat a few seats in front of her. She stared at the mother as a child slept in her arms. The child woke as the bus suddenly jolted to a stop.

  ‘Hooligan,’ shouted the driver out of his window at a young boy on his bicycle that was far too big for him.

  The mother rocked the crying child, trying and failing to get her to sleep with a soothing song. The baby girl stretched her arms out for her father, who sat next to them. He had the same mass of curly brown hair as the baby. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and fell asleep. Veronica put her hand on her stomach while she watched them, rubbing her tummy gently. Her blouse was now tight over her swelling breasts. She was lost in thought for most of the journey as the bus passed by a familiar street. The glow of the lights of the Shelbourne Hotel was ahead. Her heart quickened, and her pulse raced. Without giving it a second thought, she pulled the rope. The bell rang, and the bus slowed to a stop. Veronica gathered her coat and bag and rushed past the conductor not replying to him as he said goodnight.

  Standing in front of the Shelbourne, she put on her coat and fixed her hair and looked in the dining room window; a group of men laughed and joked over dinner. She took a deep breath and pushed the doors open. The doorman leaned on the desk, talking to the desk clerk. Few guests would be expected this late. Neither saw her enter, and she turned left to the dining room and scanned the room full of diners. The smell of cigar smoke reminded her of her last meeting with Harry. Murphy, the waiter who had always served them, leaned over the table, pouring wine for a young couple whose eyes and hands were locked in love.

  He walked towards the kitchen door but dropped his towel. As he bent to pick it up, he saw Veronica standing in the shadows of the entrance to the room.

  He lo
oked around the room and walked to her.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, can I help?’

  ‘Please, Harry. Major Fairfax? Do you know if he has gone back to England? Or do you know his address?’

  ‘I have an address to forward on his things.’

  She took paper and pen out of her bag, and scribbled a note, folding it in three. ‘Could you give this to him?’

  He stood still and silent, for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, he slowly put out his hand for the note. Mouthing thanks, she left to go home. At Thomas St, Veronica ignored Betty’s questions about Bridget, saying she had a headache, and went straight to her room. She lay thinking about the letter to England. She wasn’t sure how long it would take to reach Harry, but if she heard nothing in a few weeks, then she would go home to Cavan.

  The following Friday morning before she left for work, Veronica tried to eat breakfast but then pushed the bowl away. Her stomach heaved at the smell of food.

  ‘Who’s that at the door, at this time of night?’ said Betty.

  Veronica hadn’t heard a knock, but she heard Tom thanking someone.

  Tom entered with something in his hand. ‘Veronica, some man left a letter for you,’ he said, holding a white envelope. ‘A posh fella, with a black moustache and grey hair.’

  Murphy, she thought. ‘Eh, that’s Mrs O’Reilly’s husband.’

  ‘Grand. I’ve got to go to work,’ he said, and he left.

  She took the letter and pushed back the chair, and Betty had to catch it before it hit the ground.

  In her bedroom, she ripped the letter open.

  Can we meet on Saturday? The Shelbourne at 5 p.m. I am back in Dublin finishing off business, and I got your note that you wanted to see me. I have to leave on Sunday.

  H.

  42

  On Saturday, the doorman at the Shelbourne opened the door for Veronica. In the foyer, she fixed her hat as one of the blue orchids had come loose. The yellow primroses on it reminded her of the hedgerows at home, always the first signs of spring, the beginning of new life.