by Rachel Quinn
Mrs McDonald gave a single nod, her eyes squeezed shut in pain. She took a minute to compose herself. ‘When I think of Doreen, that little girl lost, I can feel my heart screaming inside of me.’
‘I’m so sorry. Poor Doreen.’
Mrs McDonald shook her head. ‘You weren’t to know. We felt incredibly lucky, Jack and myself living here. And that was all it was – luck. We’re not too far from certain factories, you see. But for the grace of God we could easily have been bombed too.’ She took a weary breath. ‘Like I say, we were spared here, but we could feel the shock of the explosions, we felt the heat of burning buildings – well, no, entire streets were burning. It seemed as though the whole city was alight. I hope I never go to hell, but I’ve tasted it. I’ve tasted it, so I have. In the end, they say we lost almost a thousand people. A huge number of houses were left as wrecks – just uninhabitable – and half the city was like a desert of bricks. A lot of it still is.’
Mrs McDonald fell silent, and Aileen didn’t dare break that silence.
After a few moments Mrs McDonald turned and eyed the clock. ‘And I suppose you’ll be wondering what this has to do with yourself.’
‘I suppose I am, yes.’
‘You see, when the Luftwaffe did their worst, we were at their mercy. We weren’t prepared for that scale of attack – nobody could have been. It was so brutal, so relentless. They showed us no mercy. And as the fires burned, Jack and I changed. At first, once the planes left the smoke-heavy air above Belfast, we were so relieved they’d spared us. But then we realized there was so much more to come. The fires raged and we feared they’d engulf the whole of our street and everyone in it. Twas then that the fire engines turned up.’ She edged closer to Aileen, looked her in the eye. ‘You see, we’re Protestants, for the Union, loyal to the king and proud to be British, so we are. But the . . . the Catholics in the South – your country – they sent up fire engines and firemen, from Dublin and places in between. They all pitched in to put the fires out. We’ll never know if they made the difference, but our house survived and we survived. And then, when it was all over, some of the houses over the border took in homeless and looked after them. A lot of these people were in little more than underwear with no belongings in the world, and some with no family either. Poor Doreen was due to be one of them. Well, Jack and myself never managed to have children, and Doreen was always the closest thing we ever had to a daughter, so we said no, that she was our family now, that we’d take care of her. But the offer from across the border was there, and it was appreciated.’
She took a long, calming sigh and a sip of water before continuing. ‘Moving on to more recent times, when the authorities were looking for volunteers to take in workers – the people like yourself coming up from the South to help with the war effort – we were so grateful for what your people did during the Blitz that we jumped at the chance, and put our names down, so we did.’
A key rattled in the door. Both women heard it. Neither moved.
‘And that’s why, my dear Aileen, while I breathe I shan’t be taking a penny of rent from you.’
The sound of footsteps came from the hallway. Then a cheery whistle echoed around the house.
‘We’ll not talk about this again, Aileen, but I’ll tell you this. You keep your money. Take it back home when this horrible war is over. Spend it wisely, and spend it on what you want to spend it on. Spend it on something that’ll make you happy. Will you promise me that?’
‘I will,’ Aileen said, her voice quavering with emotion. ‘I promise.’
Mrs McDonald wiped her face clean of tears just as the door opened. Mr McDonald stood there, briefcase in hand.
‘What’s she got you doing now?’ he said to Aileen.
Aileen’s attention swapped between them.
‘I was just telling her to be careful out there of an evening,’ Mrs McDonald said.
‘Ah, good.’ Mr McDonald leaned down and kissed her. ‘Are you all right, Susan? You look like you’ve been . . .’
‘I’m fine, I’m fine. I had a splash of soapy water in my eyes a few minutes back, so I did.’
‘Ah, right. So, what’s for tea?’
Chapter 15
Aileen came to accept without question what Mrs McDonald had told her about the rent and Doreen, and put the matters behind her. Working at the factory wasn’t exactly hard work – not compared with mucking out a cowshed or baling hay – but it had started to become a habit. A boring habit. She’d also started to realize that sitting at home with the McDonalds every evening, reading and listening to the wireless, wasn’t going to alleviate the boredom. Twice Mary had asked her to go out for a drink again, and twice Aileen had declined. She’d done that because the last thing she wanted was another Marvin. Yes, Marvin had been pleasant company, but she didn’t like the boldness and brashness of the man, and Niall certainly wouldn’t have approved. She’d told him in her last letter that she’d gone out for a drink just to get to know the other women in the factory, to make friends in the new city, but hadn’t mentioned GIs or Marvin or even Mary.
She got home the next Friday, still having those second thoughts about turning down Mary’s offer, to find another letter from Niall placed on her pillow by Mrs McDonald. Perhaps it was a sign – a sign of support for her decision not to go out with Mary. She ripped open the envelope before she’d even kicked her shoes off.
7 February 1944
My dearest Aileen,
Thank you so much for your last letter. It’s good that you’re going out of an evening. You shouldn’t feel guilty about that because you’re doing a grand job for the war effort all week, so you’ve earned it. And Belfast must be an exciting city. Oh, Aileen, I wish I was closer and could take you out to the cinema or the theatre or just for a drink. Even to see your face would make my heart sing with happiness.
I’m still making good progress. I’m now out of the hospital and back in normal barracks, although on lighter duties. I’m not long back from walking almost half a mile. Can you believe that? In a few weeks I’m going to try some gentle running to get myself fitter. Hopefully at some stage in the future when I’m better I can apply for leave. My mother also writes to me and she’s awful lonely. Of course, when I do come over I’ll see you one way or another, even if I have to travel up to Belfast.
It was funny. I felt so tired halfway through my walk, as though I needed to stop and rest. Then a strange thing happened. My mind wandered, and for a while I imagined that I wasn’t on my own, that you were right by my side, holding my hand, and that we were walking across that bridge and over the sand at Leetown. That sounds a little daft, but it made a big difference to the way I felt. I had more energy. Yes, thinking you were with me somehow made my walk easier. And when I came back I realized that thinking of you makes this whole job of war a little easier to bear. So don’t ever think that you and the other women don’t play their part in this fight.
Anyway, I’m so tired after the walk that I need another rest, so I’ll sign off for now.
Your loving fiancé,
Niall.
The letter made Aileen think. Perhaps Niall wouldn’t mind her going out. At least, he wouldn’t like her sitting in the house getting bored – he’d said as much in his letter. And she would only be going out for a talk with a woman from the factory. More importantly, she did work hard during the week and deserved a little relaxation occasionally. Why, Niall had been out drinking with other soldiers – once to London, so he’d said.
Yes, perhaps she should go out with Mary again, but avoid getting involved with those Americans. She might even show Mary that there was more to life than cigarettes, chewing gum and American ‘beef’.
By the time she started work the next day she’d convinced herself it was okay. During the morning break she sidled along to Mary, started up a conversation, and it was arranged.
That evening they went out again, but to a different pub, although Mary had chosen it. It wasn’t what Aileen had in mind.
It was much more boisterous than the Red Lion – certainly too noisy to talk to each other.
But Aileen told herself not to be a stick in the mud, to sit and try at least to hold a conversation with Mary. Yes, the laughter of the drunken men at the bar seemed devilish, but they would probably leave. So, on Aileen’s insistence, they bought their own drinks – a lemonade for Aileen, a lemonade with gin for Mary – and sat down. Even then, Aileen wanted to sit at a table far away from the men at the bar, but Mary insisted otherwise.
After a few questions from Aileen on where Mary lived and what else she liked doing of a weekend, and a few non-committal answers from Mary, who kept glancing toward the bar, a group of four men wandered over. Whereas Mary had barely uttered a word to Aileen, she couldn’t stop talking now – ‘A tall, handsome sort like yourself ’, or ‘Texas? You’re from Texas where the big cowboys are?’, or ‘That would be for you to find out’, or even ‘What sort of a girl do you think I am?’ – delivered with one raised eyebrow.
It was as if Aileen wasn’t there.
When Mary got up to leave with one of them, this time she didn’t turn to Aileen and ask whether she was all right for getting home on her own; she was obviously more interested in nylon stockings and chewing gum.
Now the three remaining men sat down at the table next to Aileen – sitting on chairs the wrong way and leaning their forearms on the backrest like they did in the films. They started talking to her, asking where she was from and telling her what a pretty face she had and, very soon after that, what shapely legs she had. Later on she would think to herself that these were probably decent men, but as Aileen’s mother had once told her, alcohol can smother decency.
Aileen made her excuses and left. But she didn’t know the way home, and meandered through the streets for half an hour getting increasingly anxious. She was relieved to see the Red Lion, from where she knew she could find her way back. Before she reached Kingdom Avenue the heavens opened. She was soaked through by the time she got to number 22, but sat on the second step of the stairs for a few minutes, her mind racing with the possibilities of what could have happened to her.
She decided to be polite to Mary at work, but not to go out with her again. And this time she wouldn’t change her mind.
For the next few weeks Aileen spent six days out of seven working at the factory, and every evening saving the money she’d earned, usually listening to the wireless or reading, occasionally playing cards with Mr and Mrs McDonald and Doreen. There was always the cinema, but she couldn’t go on her own. Mr and Mrs McDonald had made it plain that they didn’t understand the interest, Mr McDonald especially questioning why anyone would pay money to watch people pretending to be other people. She’d asked Doreen to go with her on more than one occasion, telling her which stars were in the latest film, even offering to pay for her. But Doreen didn’t want to go.
Saturday evenings were particularly difficult. Aileen would try not to think of the few occasions she’d gone to pubs in the city centre. She had to admit that the hubbub, the slightly seedy characters and the conversation in such an atmosphere – all of these held an attraction, made her feel alive in some way. What was even harder to accept was that in some strange way she missed Marvin – or perhaps merely his conversation.
Sundays were for Mass, rest, and Mrs McDonald’s roast dinners. It was also a day when Aileen took time to think about Niall, to read all his letters again, and to write back to him as well as to write to Briana and her parents.
On one such day, a dark-skied one in early April, Aileen had got soaked on the walk back from early Mass, so she spent the rest of the morning drying out – and letting her coat dry by the fire – while she composed a letter to Niall.
After the Sunday roast they all sat down to digest, to listen to the wireless and to read. But an hour later, the stifling nature of life at 22 Kingdom Avenue – the smoke from Mr McDonald’s pipe and the click of Mrs McDonald’s knitting needles – was starting to bear down on her. Not wanting to appear ungrateful, Aileen sat down next to the window with another library book, but was secretly wishing away the torrents of rain falling outside. Halfway through the first chapter her wish came true, and the rain was replaced by a golden sheet of light, the dark wetness on every surface reflecting the sun in every direction.
Aileen spent a few moments taking in the glorious, glowing, almost living entity, then stood. ‘I’m just going out,’ she said.
‘For a walk?’ Mr McDonald asked.
Aileen grabbed her coat, now dry. ‘I have a letter to post.’
‘Grand,’ Mrs McDonald said, not looking up from her knitting.
Then something occurred to Aileen. She pointed upstairs and said, ‘Do you think Doreen would like to come out for a walk with me?’
Mr and Mrs McDonald looked at each other – their looks had started to take on the feel of a secret code to Aileen – and it was left for Mrs McDonald to reply. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘It’s a very delicate time of year for the poor wee girl. Tis three years ago almost to the day.’
‘The Blitz. Of course.’ Aileen took a breath and forced a smile on to her face. ‘Well, I’ll see you later. I fancy a walk into town and my letter will go more quickly that way.’ She looked outside again just to make sure, and yes, the sky was clear blue with a golden sheen.
A few minutes later Aileen was two streets away and well on her way into the city centre. She posted the letter at the central post office and turned back, now a little relieved that the sun, low in the sky and direct, was behind her rather than in her face.
It was Sunday evening, much quieter than Saturday evening thankfully, and there were few people around. That probably made him easier to spot. He was walking straight toward her but it took a few seconds for her to recognize him. He didn’t look quite as tall, probably because his head was bowed low. So low that he walked straight past her.
She turned and said, ‘Marvin?’
He turned back and squinted to see. ‘Aileen? Is that you?’ A smile appeared. ‘I’m . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, ignoring you or anything.’
‘That’s all right.’
The stoop disappeared. He seemed to jump up, like a firecracker igniting. ‘It was in my eye.’
‘What?’
‘The, uh . . . the sun.’ He pointed to it.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I know where the sun is.’
The grin got even broader, showing off those perfect teeth again. ‘Hey, your sense of humour hasn’t changed at all, has it?’
‘I’m sorry. And yes, the sun’s lovely this evening.’
‘How are you? Are you . . . grand?’
Aileen couldn’t help but smile. ‘I am,’ she said.
‘Say, what are you doing on your own in town?’
‘Ah, I’m just after posting a letter and now I’m walking home.’
He looked up and down the street then at the sky, which was streaked in a golden orange hue. ‘Would you like me to walk you home?’
‘Ah . . . well, all right. Yes, thank you.’
They started walking, Marvin keeping what Aileen’s mother would call ‘a respectable distance’ away from her.
‘So what are you doing on your own?’ Aileen asked.
‘Ah, nothing. Returning to base.’
‘You’re not out with your sailor friends?’
He shrugged his square shoulders. ‘They’re all getting drunk. I don’t want to.’
‘But you do drink alcohol. I saw you.’
‘Oh, I like a beer. Don’t even mind two beers. Not so sure about getting all liquored up.’
‘So, what are you going to do?’
‘Oh, probably go back to base and read my book.’ He stilled himself, as if expecting a reaction. ‘Yeah, I know, I sound like a sixty-year-old. Sorry.’
Aileen frowned at him. ‘There’s no need to apologize. And I know plenty of sixty-year-olds who get half-cut – as we say over here – most nights of the week.
And they don’t look so great for the habit, sure they don’t.’
Marvin broke into laughter, then stopped when he got a curious stare from Aileen.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Take it as flattery. I just love the way you talk. It’s like poetry.’
‘Funny kind of poetry.’
‘What if I said your voice was music to my ears,’ Marvin said theatrically. ‘That any better?’
‘Sounds like a bit more of that flattery of yours.’
‘Hey, I’m sorry.’ He blushed slightly. ‘And I guess I have something else to apologize for too.’
‘Such as what?’
‘Oh, my behaviour a few weeks back. But you are a beautiful Irish girl and I guess I thought it part of my official duty to try my luck.’
‘Well, I forgive you, if that helps.’
‘And how is your Niall guy? You heard from him lately?’
‘He’s just out of hospital, back at his barracks. And yes, we still write to each other every week.’
Marvin nodded, trying to grin but faltering. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good. He’s a brave man. You should be proud of him.’
‘I am.’
There was an awkward silence for a minute or two. Aileen sensed Marvin was either upset or afraid of upsetting her. Most likely the latter.
‘Did you say you read books?’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Yeah. I prefer movies though, and music. You?’
‘I read books, but I love movies – the films, as we say. And I like music – listening, that is, not playing.’
‘Oh, same here. I can’t play anything – although I hope to learn one day. I like concerts though. Not too keen on classical: I prefer big band music.’
‘You mean, like Glenn Miller?’
Marvin stopped on a street corner, almost shocked. ‘Glenn Miller? Are you kidding me? He produces some great music, real foot-tapping tunes. You like swing music too?’
‘Only everything I’ve heard. The family I lodge with listen to him a lot on the wireless. I suppose it sort of rubbed off on me.’