She knew that Joseph was now inside the school hall, happy and warm, sitting on Nellie’s or Kathleen’s knee, and here she was, back where she had begun, on the outside looking in.
She had tried to explain her feelings to Sean.
‘My marriage to Jerry was a symptom of my illness and of the person I had once been. I want to leave that person behind. I am whole now. I have fallen in love all by myself, without manipulation or deceit and it feels the most amazing thing. I cannot stay and live a lie and nor can you, but what is worse is that if we do, we have to carry on with our old lives and see each other every day. I could not bear that.’
Alice looked down at her shoes. They were buried in snow. The school door and the windows of the classroom opposite had taken the full force of the wind and both were plastered in the white powder.
On each pane of the sash windows, a hand-made paper Christmas decoration peeped through the snow. Soon, one of them would have ‘Joseph Deane, Class 1’ written on the back.
But Alice would never see it.
She felt her insides crunch. The school gate was still shrouded in darkness and yet the feeling that she wasn’t alone was stronger than before.
Applause suddenly reverberated through the school doors and then, after a short time, she heard voices. Children were singing the beautiful haunting first notes of a carol she recognized from her own unhappy school days. ‘Silent Night’. And it was. A very silent night.
She doubted now if she could do it. Maybe Sean was right. Maybe meeting him at the school had been the wrong thing to do.
Already the pain of missing Joseph was intense. She would never hear or see him sing ‘Silent Night’ with his school friends.
The strains of ‘Little Donkey’ followed, pouring out into the snow-filled air. Was Joseph trying to sing? He would be looking up at his Nellie and trying his best to join in. A child in a hurry to grow up. His world was perfect, his routine stable. He was surrounded by people who loved and adored him, but she wasn’t there. She knew he would be looking for her. He would turn his little head to the door when he saw a fleeting shadow pass. He would look seriously at Nellie when she said to him, ‘Mammy may be here soon, if she’s feeling better.’
Pain and doubt ripped through her heart.
She turned and saw his figure emerge over the brow of the hill, walking slowly towards her, his head bent against the driving snow. His hands were thrust deeply into his pockets and his long overcoat kicked out before him.
When he reached her, she saw his face in the lamplight. One eye was closed and filled with blood. She had never seen him look so bad.
‘Sean,’ she whispered, ‘oh my God, are you all right?’
Sean looked at her frozen face. Her hat was covered in snow and if he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have laughed. ‘I’m fine,’ he replied. ‘You won’t even know I’ve been in a fight a week from now.’
‘Did you win?’
Alice almost didn’t want to know. If he hadn’t won, nothing would have altered. Half of her felt a sense of relief at that prospect, the half that wanted to stay with her son and to watch him grow into manhood. The other half, that loved Sean to the point of pain, willed him to have won his fight. If he had, they would take the morning passage to New York.
‘I won,’ he said, placing his hand on her elbow and looking around. ‘I have put an envelope with money on the mantel for Brigid and I have already left both our bags at the hotel. We can do it, Alice. We can sail to America in the morning.’
Conflicting emotions tore through Alice. She wanted to shriek with excitement at the prospect of realizing her dream and also to cry with grief at all she was leaving behind.
Tears poured down her cheeks.
‘Have ye changed your mind?’ asked Sean.
Their future hung on her answer.
They had agreed that if they didn’t take passage to America together, then their illicit affair must stop and they would both spend the rest of their lives in agony, each knowing the other was only yards away, under a different roof, married to someone else.
Neither of them could bear that thought. It would be impossible. Alice thought she would rather die than have to live through that kind of misery.
Sean put his arm round her shoulder and turned her towards the brow of the hill. ‘Come on, Alice,’ he said, kissing her on the temple. ‘We have to, before anyone leaves and sees us.’
They both turned and walked into the wind and drifting snow. Alice was now sobbing quietly. Sean understood. The pain he felt at leaving his daughters was intense, but he thought that Alice’s heartache as a mother must surely be worse.
‘As soon as we are settled, we will send for them to visit us, or we will sail back and see them. We aren’t leaving them for ever, Alice.’
She turned her head to look back at the school.
‘Little Donkey’ was reaching an end. She could hear applause yet again and laughter, and then she saw a movement at the gate. Someone else had been there all along. Who could it be?
The snow was driving into her eyes and forcing herself to blink, but she saw her. It was definitely her.
Against the frosty whiteness, Alice could not doubt the wild red hair swirling in the midst of what had become a blizzard. Bernadette. The dead wife and mother whose place Alice had stolen, with deceit and lies. Bernadette looked at Alice and her gaze was one of deep sadness, deeper than anything Alice had ever known.
She stood rigid in shock.
‘Alice, come on, we have to hurry,’ said Sean urgently. ‘Come on, queen, what’s up? Ye look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
The moment the the singing stopped and the clapping began, Peggy took herself to the front of the school and tried to push back the bolts on the wooden door.
Little Paddy had done his job of turning up the lights and everyone was gathered round the school hatch for their mince pie and cup of tea.
One of the classrooms had been opened up and orange squash and mince pies were being served to the children. For some of them, those whose parents often skipped mass and spent their wages in the pub, it was the only treat they would enjoy all Christmas.
Once Little Paddy had finished his chore, he ran to help Peggy open the door. Sliding back the bolt, they both gave a gasp of shock as they saw the snow, already over an inch deep.
Little Paddy grabbed the sleeve of his mother’s coat. ‘Do ye see that?’ he yelled in surprise. ‘It’s snowing!’
‘Merciful God, we could do without that, all right,’ said Peggy, grudgingly putting her foot onto the first step. ‘Here, Paddy, give me yer hand.’
Little Paddy put out his arm to help his mother down the steps.
Peggy was wearing her usual old slippers with no stockings. She had neither the time nor the money to be fussing with stockings and suspender belts.
‘Just another thing to wash,’ she would say to anyone who troubled to ask.
Within seconds, the cold had made the varicose veins around her ankles protrude like bunches of black grapes.
‘Holy Mary, it’s fecking cold out here, Paddy,’ she muttered, as they negotiated the steps. ‘I’ll stand here, lad,’ she said, once they got to the second step. ‘It’s far enough away from precious Mrs Sykes.’
Little Paddy left his mother as quickly as he could and ran into the classroom, yelling, ‘It’s snowing outside!’ Within seconds, Peggy was engulfed as children flew down the steps on either side of her.
‘Oh, would ye look at that,’ said Nellie, running to Peggy’s side. Peggy smiled. The front yard was full of children shouting and throwing snow into the air.
Nellie crouched down beside Peggy to make a snowball, but the snow just crumbled into powder in her hands. Peggy looked up and down the road to see if there were any buses running.
It took her a minute to make out what she had seen, but once she was sure, she knew.
As Nellie stood up, Peggy spoke to her. ‘Nellie, would ye run back inside, queen, and a
sk Nana Kathleen to come outside to me.’
‘Now?’ said Nellie.
‘Yes please, queen,’ said Peggy, ‘now.’
Peggy knew they would be over the brow by the time Kathleen reached the front door, but she wanted to protect Nellie. Fetching Kathleen had been a ruse.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Peggy, out loud. ‘My lad’s not a liar, after all.’
Peggy pondered as she watched Alice and Sean disappear into the town; what should she say and to whom.
They were walking briskly down the candlelit corridor to Compline. Kitty felt uncomfortable. She had been lost in her own thoughts, recalling Rosie’s words. Some time in January. She could be home in just a few weeks. The tightening round her waist now began each time she walked, but the girls had warned her, it was just her body rehearsing, preparing her muscles for the delivery.
As she looked closely at Aideen walking along beside her, it occurred to Kitty that she would soon miss her friend. How could she help her to leave this horrible place? she wondered. Surely there must be a way? Her thoughts were distracted as, once more, her abdomen clenched.
Later the following morning, Aideen and Kitty were both in the laundry, ironing shirts. Sister Celia, who watched over them to ensure there was no talking, had taken herself away for a moment, reprimanding Aideen as she went for not pressing the collars crisply enough.
‘Probably gone to stuff her face with another slice of cake,’ Aideen grumbled as the laundry-room door closed. ‘God, that woman is a scold. She never stops bellyaching at me. We will see that cake sat on her fat arse when she comes back in.’
Kitty laughed, but she didn’t know how she had done it. The baby she carried was so heavy and she had been on her feet for hours. She felt as though the baby would just drop out, so great was the pressure.
‘Will ye be able to get out of this place soon, Aideen?’ she asked, looking up from her ironing. Beside her stood a large wicker basket on wheels, only half empty. Kitty’s job was to iron the whole lot before the day was over.
‘Well, I would, if I had the money to buy my way out.’
Once again, Kitty felt lucky that she had people who cared for her. Aideen was looking at spending at least three years of her life in the laundry. It was worse than a prison sentence.
Aideen was not going to waste the advantage presented by Sister Celia’s absence. When the opportunity arose, the girls spoke twice as fast as normal, making up for lost time and hours of imposed silence.
‘Sure, some who’ve been sent by the government are here for ever, so they are, and some lucky ones leave when they have paid with three years’ work in the laundry and have somewhere to go to. The bitches still charge the Americans for the adoptions, though. The poor kids get taken from their mammies when they are three. The tears and the wailing on those days would rip yer heart out, it’s shocking, so it is.’
Kitty knew, she had heard it. At first, as she was one of the girls who was never allowed to visit the nursery and, as there was no conversation permitted, she had no idea what was happening until it was one of the girls in her own dormitory who had her little girl taken.
Kitty folded her shirt neatly, placed it on the pile and then took another out of the large wicker basket.
She was wondering why the girls didn’t escape like the one called Besmina.
The Gardai had been to the home twice. The girls had gathered from the whispering nuns that Besmina had not been found.
‘It’s the reason we aren’t allowed to speak. The girls who are here for ever, who have been sent by the government, have done nothing wrong. Some are just orphans and, God knows, one was sent here because she was so gorgeous, the lads in the village kept whistling at her. She’s in the asylum now. I saw them take her myself in a van, strapped up. Some of them even get pregnant whilst they are in here. Now tell me, how the fuck does that happen?’
Kitty whispered back, ‘They can’t have done nothing, they must have done something wrong. It’s illegal to lock someone up for nothing.’
‘Oh, sure it is, Kitty, yer right about that,’ said Aideen. ‘This place is feckin’ illegal. That’s why we aren’t allowed to talk. The nuns are getting bloody rich on the back of girls who are sent here by the authorities and ending their days here as slaves, for nothing more than being raped by their own brother or the feckin’ priest, which was beyond their own doing.’
Kitty almost dropped the iron. She stood for a second and put her hands inside the pocket of the apron she was wearing. There were other girls here who had been raped by a priest? She wasn’t the only one?
Aideen, who hadn’t noticed Kitty’s shock, continued, ‘Some of them are got pregnant by the priests whilst they are in here and no one says a fucking thing. It’s as though they are invisible. One of the older women in here has had three babies in twenty years. Either the immaculate conception is common in places like this or Father Samuel is having his end away and no one gives a fucking flying shite.’
Kitty put her hand on to the side of the ironing table to hold herself up.
‘Are ye all right?’ asked Aideen.
‘I’m OK, I just felt a bit weird, like,’ said Kitty.
‘Sit down then, for feck’s sake, ye look as white as that shirt.’
Kitty could hardly believe what she was hearing. She had been sent here because of a priest. She had thought he was the only one in the world to behave in that way and yet here she was, being told by Aideen that, even in the Abbey, no one was safe from a predatory priest.
At that moment, Sister Celia walked back into the room. The telltale signs of cake crumbs clung to the front of her black habit.
‘Are you two talking?’ she shouted. ‘What are ye staring at, girl?’
Kitty was wearing an odd expression. Her mouth was open and her eyes looked wild, but she made not a sound.
Kitty thought the room suddenly seemed much brighter and hotter than it had before. And then it came. A pain that felt as though someone had placed a band of metal round what was once her waist and was slowly, slowly, tightening it, relentlessly, in a painful contraction.
Kitty heard a piercing scream coming from somewhere in the room. And then she realized the scream was her own. Without warning, a gush of warm water cascaded down her legs and formed a large puddle on the floor. At the same time, the metal band began to slowly, slowly loosen its grip.
Kitty began to sob. She had no idea what she was saying, but she knew she was crying for help.
Aideen rushed forward and took both of her hands.
‘Get the disgusting thing out of here,’ Sister Celia screamed at Aideen.
They both knew, without asking her to explain, that the disgusting thing was Kitty.
Sister Celia then shouted to one of the girls from across the room, who were now looking over the top of a sink, ‘And stop yer gawping, you filthy lot, and get this mess mopped up.’
Sister Celia hated it more than anything else on earth when the girls went into labour in the laundry. She would avoid it at all costs. Sometimes she even pleaded with the nuns who worked on the other sections of the laundry, not to send her the girls who were far gone. She had had no choice with Kitty.
God alone knew why they had accepted that girl. The Reverend Mother had been on pins since the day she had arrived and Besmina had escaped. Reverend Mother hated anyone knowing the Abbey’s business. Sister Celia had been stuck with the girl. And now her worst fear had been realized and, God knew, she hated it.
The screams, the pain, the mess: they were the audible and visible manifestation of sin. Sister Celia became agitated. She was surrounded by sin, breaking free and setting itself loose in her laundry. It leaked, it oozed, it ran and it smelt. Sin escaped.
And, God forbid, now sin was laughing at her, sat in a puddle on her laundry-room floor.
29
THE WOMEN STOOD just inside the school entrance, whilst the children ran and screamed in the playground, full of excitement at the arrival of snow. And o
n the night before Christmas Eve.
Sister Evangelista would normally be irritated by the delay. Tonight was different. She even huddled up with the rest of the women, an unlikely member of the gang. The icy wind whistled in, bringing with it light dustings of snow lifted from the playground. Once in through the door, they dropped and immediately melted. Even in the short time that the women had waited and despite the appearance of muddy puddles on the highly polished, parquet floor, Sister Evangelista remained in a good mood.
She was happy with how the evening had gone.
Brigid and Mrs McGuire moved tentatively down the steps to the playground, and began rounding up the McGuire children and shook the snow off the pram apron. Brigid carried the baby in her arms.
‘Holy Mother, would ye look at this,’ she exclaimed, brushing the inch of snow from the pram canopy and lifting out the pillow to give that a shake, too.
‘It’ll not last long, it never does in Liverpool. Sean says it’s because of the Gulf Stream. I’ve only ever seen the river meself.’
‘It was still here in March last year, Brigid. I hope this isn’t it for another three months,’ said Mrs Mcguire.
‘Will I go to the chippy, Brigid?’ Mrs McGuire asked hopefully. She saw the frown on Brigid’s face. She knew Brigid had mashed potatoes and gravy waiting for supper.
‘Oh, go on, it’ll be a little snow treat for the children now. It’s not every day it snows and you know I like to treat them, when I’m here.’
‘I’d rather that the children looked to your heart, Mrs McGuire, not your hand,’ chided Brigid, but they both knew Mrs McGuire would win. ‘Oh, go on then,’ she said. ‘Take Patricia with ye. I will start getting the others changed and ready for bed. Don’t forget Sean, he might have something to celebrate tonight.’
Mrs McGuire was feeling confident. If Sean won tonight, he would surely persuade Brigid to move to America and join their Mary and Eddie, wouldn’t that be just fantastic. With his own money and not dependent on others, he would be free to travel over first and then send for his family very shortly afterwards.
The Four Streets Saga Page 60