‘You wanted to escape with this boy?’ the host asks.
‘I hate talking about my secrets like this. I hate having to share these private moments.’
‘You wanted to run away together, is that it?’ he asks.
‘We talked about it. Emigration was high then too. We had no savings, of course. I wasn’t allowed to have my own money and he made very little. I begged off my family when I thought they’d not tell my husband. Our pot of gold wasn’t worth counting. I should’ve found a man with means to take me away and a couple of times I tried to end the lunacy. It wasn’t long, though, until I missed him and went back for more love. He was…’
Ella cries into tight fists. The screen is smudged from me touching it. The host finds her some tissues.
What must the country think of her now? Do they empathise or still see her as a monstrous woman? We are all seeing her in pain and vulnerable. It’s terrible.
‘Can we go on?’ she is asked. ‘Can we ask about the third baby?’
‘If we must. I hoped the baby was made in our love. The bump felt stronger this time and all was going fine. I was being left alone more. Everyone wanted to give this pregnancy a chance and I was happy.’
‘What about this young man, what did he think?’
‘When we did get time together I wanted him to myself. I didn’t want to spoil the minutes with serious talks of responsibilities and lies. I suppose in my naivety I thought I could have him, the baby and my marriage. If I worked things well, I expected we could have it all. I could be a good wife and mother and still be connected to him. Don’t we all want to have everything our own way?’
‘Did this fellow want the baby?’
There’s a hesitation and I shout at the screen. ‘Answer him, Ella!’
‘No. He didn’t want the baby,’ she breathes heavily then she tears up. More tissues. She dabs her cheeks. ‘No. He didn’t want the child. He wasn’t stupid. He knew it might not be his and that the pregnancy would hamper our leaving Ireland. He never asked me to get rid of it. He knew how much I needed the child and he loved me enough. Or I thought he loved me enough.’
‘You argued?’
‘No. I was scared to argue with men. You might find it hard to believe but I’d learned being confident made men angry. It was easier to silently work on things behind the scenes. I thought I had it all worked out. Of course, I hadn’t. It was while I was meeting quickly with my young love that the baby started to come. It was weeks early again and coming hard without much warning. Just like before. I was afraid. I left his lodgings without saying much. He knew I was in pain and that things might be imminent and most men didn’t understand much about childbirth. I don’t think women did either. I staggered home and got the neighbour’s boy to run for my husband. It was all very traumatic. He gave me medicines. I don’t know what they were. They were strong. He took the opportunity to make me suffer, berating me about what an awful woman I was and of how he knew about me and “the butcher’s boy”.’
Ella looks to the person sitting opposite her and then to the crowd. ‘He was a doctor. A man people revered. Who was I? I remember my baby coming and then I woke to see love in one man’s face and anger in another’s. I told them both that I wanted to call her Maeve, after the great Irish queen. I don’t know if I even got to hold her. Then all I remember is Maeve being gone and me being accused of awful things.’
‘What men were there, Ella?’
‘My husband and the love of my life, Charlie Quinn.’
45
Charlie Quinn
Ella is still talking. ‘I did nothing to harm any of my babies. I have said this over and over. They were to be my job, my vocation. I wanted this child more than anything. My ambition was to be a better woman when Maeve was born. She was to be the catalyst for change. I couldn’t have harmed her. I tried to make people listen. It was all I said. I didn’t have the strength to articulate all of this other story then. Silence seemed better when I did surface from the trauma and unbearable sadness. The sisters came and took me into their fold. I was free in a way I didn’t imagine. There were no bars or locked doors. Yet, I was unable to leave, not permitted to think for myself or to find Charlie. Minds were made up. People judged without the facts. My fate was sealed and there was no way back from what I was.’
‘You pleaded guilty?’
‘When you know that you’re not an innocent woman, when you are told how vile you are every day, when you are rock bottom and there’s nowhere to go, and all is lost, you don’t care. I heard what was being said about me, and I thought I was something even worse. The butcher, Jock Daly, got word to me that Charlie had run off and then I was a totally broken woman. Parts of me still reek of the guilt that I deserved all of this. I had an affair, fell in love with someone other than my husband and could not be a good mother. I am conditioned to believe the worst about myself. I ran away in self-pity and fear.’
‘Why now, Ella? Why tell us all of this now?’
‘I saw that years haven’t changed how things are. I hoped that time might change the world. People still aren’t listening. There are always sides to stories that aren’t seen or known. I am old now and unwell. With the help of good people, I felt it was time to speak up. It has taken me almost sixty years to find myself and my voice again.’
‘And you wish people to believe you?’
‘People believe what they want to. I’ve seen over these long years that sometimes talking makes things worse. Despite this, before I died I wanted, no, I needed to say that I did nothing to harm any of my children.’
‘Who do you think was responsible?’
‘This is frustrating. That is exactly what I’m trying to say to you all!’ Ella points at the audience and the camera. ‘I don’t know what happened. I simply don’t know. I wish that I knew for sure. I can guess. I can surmise and that is all it would be. Conjecture. We have no proof. I wish I’d had the strength years ago to ask, to force the truth out. I wish I’d had the belief in myself to fight.’
‘After all this time you must have some idea about what happened?’
Ella sighs and holds her forehead.
‘You surely must have someone you blame? Someone who took your good name and freedom from you?’
‘I don’t want anyone to blame.’
‘Are you not angry? For sixty years you’ve been labelled as one of the worst criminals in Ireland. Let us be totally clear here, Ella. Are you saying that you are totally innocent of the three counts of infanticide?’
‘I am.’
There’s my defiant Ella. How gorgeous is she?
‘What happens now?’ the host asks Ella as much as the production team in his ear.
‘I want it to be known that I’m not an evil woman. I had such a terrible time with a cruel husband that I had an affair with a boy, five years younger than me. My babies were all stillborn. I was branded a criminal for my entire life, ruined, locked in a convent, questioned and spat upon. My own family walked away. I cried alone for years. My husband was never doubted – the whole place adored him. Thought he was the victim. No one will ever understand how it felt to be vilified. Hated. I lost everything – even my own name. Nobody cared. Over the years, one sister in the convent, who wants to remain nameless, helped me. With her guidance the younger members of the O’Brien family came to visit me and they have helped to bring all of this about. They’ve tried to make amends for a man who died last year with no remorse. I want to thank them.’
Ella pauses and then says, ‘Nothing much has changed because tonight I still will go back into that convent. I’ll do my few hours of office work tomorrow and I still crochet a little… I want to be heard and therefore I’m grateful that this has happened. And before I go, I want to ask people not to judge. There are always things we don’t know. Live your life by being kind and good to others. Do not judge people. Thank you for listening to me this evening. May God bless you all.’
Ella goes to rise off the chair and a han
d comes to hold her elbow and she is led off the set. The show rolls into a commercial break.
I wait for the couple next door to barge in and confront me after knocking angrily on my door. No. They don’t contact me. I presume they’ve made up their minds about Charlie Quinn and who could blame them?
I lie back on the bed fully clothed and think about how Ella might be tonight. At least she is safe and heard now. That is all that matters.
The show returns with the host summarising Ella’s words. ‘What do you make of it, folks?’ he asks. ‘Should we be judging her now, when she asked us not to? An interesting conundrum. I think that we’d all like to know what happened to this fellow, Charlie Quinn. He is possibly the only one who can give us the answers we all crave. If we believe Ella O’Brien’s tale then there are more questions than answers this evening.’
46
Rhonda Irwin
As the nation reels from Ella’s revelations, Joe and I are spiralling out of control too. He is slipping further and further away. He is silent and brooding. There’s nowhere to escape in the hotel room and although the chairs are at a distance with beds between us, I feel his anxiousness before, during and after the television show. I rise to make us tea, or to at least do something. He’s watching me, like Charlie does.
‘What do you make of that?’ Joe asks.
‘Margie sent over papers and in the middle of some letters was one from Ella O’Brien to Charlie’s sister, Anna. I have all of them in the car. I will get it and show it to you.’
‘She’s making out that it was either our Charlie or her husband,’ Joe says. ‘You’ve always felt Charlie’s been hiding something but I think she was trying to say her husband was to blame.’
‘Charlie’s been very honest and open about his worst thoughts. I think he would have told me if he is to blame for Ella’s imprisonment. I dunno, though, why he’s reluctant to say any more until he talks to Ella.’
‘Do you think he knows more?’
‘Yes. That’s the way it seems.’
‘Feck.’ Joe sighs out long and low. ‘It must have been hard on you to listen to those awful things every day. I’m exhausted after that there.’ Joe stands and throws the TV remote control onto the bed. ‘Like, what crimes did he admit to?’
‘It didn’t bother him to watch a man die because he wanted to take his wife and ranch.’
‘Jesus!’
‘I’m also wondering if he killed more people, Joe. Like Randal Hamilton, whose name he stole? There’s also a little girl on a Canadian farm. I cannot stop thinking about her. I kept a close eye on Faye but I also took her to stay at Mum’s a few times – just in case.’
‘What?’ Joe asks, his face concerned, his eyes wide.
‘My mind is in such a mess.’
‘Do you hear what you’re saying, Ronnie?’
‘We were good to him. He cannot be a monster. Joe – I’m sorry.’
Joe kneels down on his hunkers beside my chair. The kettle boils and clicks off as he takes my hand.
‘He cannot be a monster,’ I murmur.
‘It’s going to be all right. We’re safe and Charlie cannot hurt anyone else now. He wants to make things right. I think that’s why he’s here. I doubt he hurt anyone.’ He touches my cheek and smiles. ‘We’ll be okay, won’t we?’
‘I hope so.’
‘I don’t want to listen to much more. Maybe, while we drink this tea, tell me some of what is on the tapes. I’ll go down and get the packages from Margie. Let’s get some sort of handle on what is going on with this Charlie Quinn.’
When Joe returns with my briefcase full of papers I know exactly where the letter from Ella O’Brien is. I root it out of the pile and unfold it carefully. My hand trembles as Anna Quinn’s must have when she opened it.
Dearest Ms Anna Quinn,
Thank you for your kind letter. I was glad to get any communication. It was extra special to get such a lengthy letter from someone who knows where I grew up and spent a great deal of my freedom.
You were a young girl when I saw you all those years ago and I am sure you’ve grown into a fine woman. Your mother was a stunning-looking woman and if you are anything like your brother, Charlie, people will stand in the rain to look at you.
It was nice of you to worry for my health and well-being. Not many have taken the time to be kind over the years. I was also heartened to read that you would keep our communication private. As you can imagine, some unscrupulous people would love to read a letter from an infamous criminal. I trust you to keep your word.
Please understand that I cannot write regularly, like you asked.
I know that you will not be aware that I knew your brother Charlie well. He worked in Daly’s butchers and I had a great fondness for him. I enjoyed listening to his tall tales. From your letter, I sensed that you were alone in the world now, as I am. You mentioned losing both your brothers and it saddens me to think of Charlie being gone. Perhaps you might reply and let me know what became of him? I would dearly love to know. I heard that Cedric was a fine man too.
It is hard to be left, as you yourself say, alone and childless in the world. I felt we were kindred spirits in many ways and perhaps even if I don’t reply, you might send me an occasional letter? I get very lonely. Many believe that I deserve such punishment. From your words, I sense a humanity that sees past maliciousness.
It was a nice surprise, too, that your letter arrived on what would have been the birthday of my last child, Maeve. I also took this as a sign that I should write back to Charlie’s sister.
Anna, you have many questions. I know that you didn’t ask outright if I am guilty of the crimes assigned to me and I felt you wished for me to confess or confirm my innocence. I cannot comment on the case for obvious reasons. I am not believed and this is hard to take. Writing to you comes from a deep loyalty to your brother. I sense that Charlie would like me to return your kindness.
If I told you all that I knew, I fear that it would only sully the nice memories you’ve already shared with me. As you are now a nurse, you will understand more than most. Nature doesn’t always allow life.
I am not blameless but I did not and would not smother my babies. People don’t listen. As you are Charlie’s sister and your letter came on such an auspicious date, I need you to believe me.
As you are unmarried, you might not appreciate the complexities of such a union. You may not fear the wrath of a jealous husband, and I hope that you know the joy of true passion and love. Sometimes, Anna, when these crash into our lives, it is the innocent that are harmed the most. That is all I can say.
Someday the truth will come out and I just hope that it’s within my lifetime. I would dearly love more letters, if you felt able to write to me. Please understand that I cannot reply again. Your family would be very proud of the kind woman you’ve become. I just wish that your brothers were here to see it.
You asked about my time with the Sisters of Good Hope. There is much to say about my life and don’t we all have trials and tribulations to overcome? I am sure you have many too.
Due to some good sisters here, I’ve had a bed, good food and shelter and through some of them I’ve learned to have faith. A better world awaits us where we will be surrounded by all those we love again.
Yours in quiet truth,
Ella O’Brien
‘Were there more letters?’ Joe asks.
‘I’m sure they sent all they had.’
‘What Ella doesn’t say seems most important. It was very good of Anna’s family to keep this letter secret.’
‘I don’t think they knew they were in Anna’s things. It was just another letter until they really looked into Anna’s diaries. I don’t think anyone read them before or knew that she wrote to the Ella O’Brien.’
I take time re-telling the tapes in summarised form to Joe. He leans in to peck my cheek.
‘It’s awful,’ I tell him. ‘So much isn’t talked about at the right time. Things are left unsaid un
til it’s too late. All that mattered to Ella was taken away and…’ I’m crying again.
Joe’s voice shakes as he says, ‘We’re going to be okay.’
As I close the curtains in this hotel room, I wonder about all that isn’t said between us. It feels like nothing will be right, ever again.
47
Charlie Quinn
Breakfast is a self-service. When I shuffle in, the waitress offers to bring whatever I’d like. The badness in me wants to tell her my name rather than my room number. A reaction would make it all real, rather than the nightmare that it is. I’m always an early riser, having used the sun as a guide rather than a clock. The white, clothed tables are mostly empty.
When I return to my room there’s a note under my door from those relations of mine. We will take you to Ella at eleven o’clock. See you in the foyer at 10.55.
They don’t want to talk to me. I can imagine why they don’t. Criminal Charlie Quinn is not deserving of conversation anymore. They believe that I’m a child killer.
There’s not much on the television about last night’s interview. The children’s programmes and news are full and I’m curious as to how things have fallen. I’m walking to and fro, checking my jaws often to make sure I’ve shaved off all of the whiskers.
At 10.30 I brush my teeth again and fix my tie tighter, and pull lint off my knee. The radio by the bed is playing old classics. I don’t want to think of anything and the music helps sooth the nervousness.
The Quiet Truth: a haunting domestic drama full of suspense Page 16