by Kate Eastham
Ada was still scrunching her brows, not convinced, but Padraic didn’t want any more questions about her father, and so again he tried to distract her.
‘Well now, Ada, about that man who saw a mermaid sitting on the harbour wall …’ Ada’s eyes widened, and Padraic saw with relief that she was ready for a story.
‘What colour was her hair, Grandfather?’
As Padraic launched into the story he began to feel tired, very tired. There was no doubt looking after the two youngsters was no easy task for a man of his age. Of course he wanted to care for them – while there was breath left in his body he would look after Maggie’s children – but sometimes it was exhausting. And at times like these he missed his wife, Edna, more than ever. Yes, he was lucky to have Mrs Regan to mind the children while he was at work and she did a good job, but how much easier it would have been to still have Edna, to share in this life with the grandchildren. They had wanted to have more themselves but she had been sickly when they married, with a weak heart, and so they only had Maggie and then one winter she caught some fever that was doing the rounds and she was gone. As easy as that. How she would have loved to have been here now with these children.
Padraic felt a familiar tightness in his chest when he thought about Edna and, as he continued to tell the story, repeating the words that he had memorized when Maggie was a girl, his voice began to tremble and he felt a lump in his throat and then tears started to well up in his eyes. Ada missed nothing and she was soon scrunching her brows again. ‘This isn’t a sad story, Grandfather,’ she said. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘Oh, I’m not crying, Ada,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘I think that mermaid must be giving me some salt water from the ocean, that’s all.’
Ada reached up to wipe his tears with her small hand. He could tell she didn’t believe him for one minute and in that moment he could feel her sympathy reaching out to him – as young as she was she seemed to understand and it helped him, it really helped. What would he do without Ada? Who would have thought that a child born on such a tragic day would turn out to be so sweet-natured. Yes, you’d expect her to be resilient and she was that too, and of course she could be stubborn, just like her mother, but she was as smart as a whip and you could always talk to Ada and she would listen. And she loved a story. He would never have told anyone, not even Mrs Regan, but Ada was the reason he was able to keep going. Yes he loved Frank as well but, for Padraic, there was something very special about Ada.
Liverpool, 1855
More years went by and Padraic’s steel-grey hair turned to silver, but apart from a slight stoop of his shoulders he was still very much the man he used to be. Ada was proud of her grandfather’s hair and loved to brush it for him, sweeping it back from his forehead with a flourish. She had just had her eighteenth birthday and he had given her a small silver and mother-of-pearl brooch with a clasp and a tiny chain to pin it to her blouse so that she would never lose it.
Ada loved to feel the smooth mother-of-pearl and see the shimmering colours dance in the light. She no longer believed in mermaids but if she had then this beautiful and exotic substance, which her grandfather had told her was found inside the shell of an oyster, would adorn the combs that they pulled through their hair.
She wore the brooch as she worked in the tiny kitchen of the house from where she could hear the noise of the port. She had wanted to find some work herself when she grew old enough but her grandfather had strongly opposed this, telling her that he needed her to work in the house, taking over the jobs that he had till then to pay for – the washing, the cooking, the cleaning. In truth he hated the thought of his beautiful Ada going out to work, scrubbing floors or cleaning up inside the ships after they had unloaded. He didn’t want that for her; she was his precious girl.
Frank had grown tall and very strong and was proving to be a good porter, off-loading all kinds of cargo from the ships. Ada loved to hear about the merchandise and the places they came from, but Frank didn’t talk much so her grandfather usually had to fill in the details of the silk and the brandy, the tea and the coffee and the bales of cotton.
Padraic was proud that Frank had found work on the docks, although he had been hoping the lad might follow him into the Dock Traffic Office as a clerk. But as Frank grew more muscle and began to look like a man who would need physical work, Padraic realized he had a good deal of his father in him and would need something that taxed him physically. He had mentioned to Frank that there was a position going but he knew what the answer would be. He knew that you could never force a lad like Frank to go in a certain direction; you had to let him find his own way and Frank’s way turned out to be the harbour side. This was dangerous work. Padraic had been on the docks all his working life; he knew how many accidents there’d been. He made sure that Frank was aware of the risks, then he had to let him go, to do what some young men feel that they have to do. Padraic also saw that Frank had a quick temper and could have angry outbursts, and he knew, for sure, that he had already been in a number of scraps. He hoped that the lad would learn to control his temper.
That particular day, Ada was making a beef and carrot stew for their supper. It was cooking over the fire and she kept taking the lid off the iron pot to give it a stir. She was pleased by the quiet bubble of the meaty liquid.
There was a knock at the door and Ada shouted, ‘Come in.’ She knew that it would be Mary Regan. Although a couple of years older than Ada they had remained firm friends since childhood, despite their numerous spats and wrangles. Mary was already with child and each time that Ada saw her she was surprised by how much her belly had grown.
‘Sit down, Mary,’ she said, not able to take her eyes off her friend’s swollen midriff. ‘Take the weight off.’
Mary sat but she couldn’t get all that close to the table. Ada couldn’t stop laughing.
‘We’re going to have to cut a piece of the table out for you.’
‘Hopefully it will be any day now,’ said Mary, relief at this thought mingled with genuine fear.
‘You’ll be right enough with it,’ said Ada, looping her arms around her friend’s neck and giving her a bit of a snuggle. In truth she was terrified for Mary. She had helped out with other women in the street and having seen a birth she had no idea how any woman could manage such a terrifying feat. She kept thinking about the neighbour who had come to her door with terrible labour pains saying the baby was about to be born. She had had to drag the woman home and wait with her for Mrs O’Dowd to come. By the time the midwife got there the woman was screaming and pushing and there was a lot of blood. The baby was born dead. Ada pushed the thoughts away and told herself that Mary would be fine, she would be just fine. ‘Now, Mary, I’m brewing some tea, and we have cake.’
They hadn’t been sitting long in that warm and cosy kitchen when they heard an almighty crash from the direction of the docks. They knew what it meant, and it wasn’t good – a load had been dropped from one of the new hydraulic cranes, and it sounded like a heavy one. The next minute they could hear frantic shouting and the sound of their neighbours opening their doors to look out.
These incidents happened every now and then but this sounded like a big one. Ada and Mary both knew instantly that the crash would mean that men had been harmed.
‘Do you think …?’ said Mary, her face white.
‘No, we’ll stay here,’ said Ada firmly. ‘I don’t want you going down there in your condition. With that big belly you’ll be knocking something else over.’ Ada made herself smile to keep Mary relaxed but her face felt tight and there was a gnawing anxiety in the pit of her stomach.
‘Do you want some more tea?’ she asked, not waiting for her friend to respond before pouring it from the pot.
‘Thanks,’ said Mary, too distracted to continue with any other conversation. Ada flinched as they heard another smaller crash and both girls strained their ears to try and hear what might be going on. This time, ominously, there was no shouting. Then, as
expected, they heard the sound of feet pounding up the street. Someone was running for the doctor. That was how it went.
Ada felt sick to her stomach. She knew that her grandfather worked inside at his desk so she wasn’t too worried about him, but Frank was always out on the harbour side and today he was unloading a big ship full of timber. He’d gone out with a whistle that morning, thinking that he would be able to earn some extra.
The two girls sat tight at the kitchen table, the remains of the cake left on the plate. They continued to attempt some kind of conversation while listening out for what was going on.
They soon heard the pounding of feet going back the other way, towards the dock, and then the brisk, measured steps of the doctor.
Ada got up again to stir the stew and this time she took a small spoon and tasted it. It needed a bit more salt. She scooped some up from the small dish where it sat close to the fire and plopped it in without thinking. The next taste confirmed that the stew was very salty indeed. Irritated with herself now – Ada was proud of her cooking and liked it to be perfect – she bustled across the kitchen to a wooden box in the corner. She pulled out some sewing that she and Mary had been doing for the baby and, after a while, when there was no more noise from the docks, they both began to relax. ‘No news is good news,’ said Mary.
Time passed; Mary went home. It was the hour at which Grandfather was due to return. He didn’t come. He was usually on time but sometimes could be held up with a miscalculation of cargo. Ada had known that happen before but there was no sign of Frank either and, strangely, none of the neighbours had been in to talk about the cargo that had been spilled or who had been injured at the dock.
The gnawing feeling in the pit of Ada’s stomach was growing now in leaps and bounds. She knew there was something wrong.
She left the house. There was no one out on the street but she felt like she was being watched as she marched towards the dock. The place was full of ships packed together and there was a pile of broken timber on the side and a big piece of stone cracked in half where the crash must have taken place. There were plenty of men about on the harbour, people that she knew, but they didn’t greet her and they looked away when she glanced in their direction.
She walked straight to the Dock Traffic building where her grandfather had worked since it opened. She loved this building, with its grand columns in front and the tall chimneys reaching up to the sky, but today she didn’t see any of it. She walked straight in past all the men to the door of the office where the lower-ranking clerks had their desks and looked in through the round glass at the top of the door. He was there. The only one left in the room. Sitting with his back to her.
All of Ada’s fears were made real in that moment as she stood outside the door, seeing her grandfather slumped in his chair with his head in his hands. She knew then that something terrible had happened and that once she opened the door and walked into the room she would become a part of it. She summoned up all her strength, took a few deep breaths and then grasped the door handle and quietly entered the room. ‘Grandfather, do you need to tell me something?’ she said gently.
He turned slowly in his chair and she gasped when she saw his face. He looked like he had aged by twenty years, his face hung with lines, his eyes drained of life.
‘Grandfather,’ she said again.
He could not speak; he kept opening and closing his mouth but no words would come. She went to him and crouched down in front of him, taking his hand.
‘Tell me the story of what happened,’ she said, feeling suddenly strong because he, for the first time in her life, seemed so weak.
‘It’s Frank,’ he said at last.
Ada squeezed his hand; she had known it must be.
‘He was on the deck of the big ship that came in and there was a sudden collapse of the cargo. They had a huge piece of timber, an oak tree, on the hydraulic crane and the chains slipped. It swung round, knocking some men into the harbour. Then it slipped and crashed on to the deck and down on the quay, crushing poor Tommy Simpson, crushing him to death.’
Padraic paused, gasping for air. Ada realized that she was squeezing his hand so tightly now that it hurt and she was staring at the floor. She released the pressure a little, glancing up to his face, a face that she no longer recognized.
‘Go on,’ she said, looking down at the floor again.
‘No one really saw what happened to the men knocked into the harbour. The ships were packed in so tight that it was almost impossible to see where they fell. One was pulled out alive, but one man is still missing. Frank is missing.’
Ada squeezed her grandfather’s hand even harder and felt a huge sob rise in her chest. She bowed her head for a moment to make sure that she locked that sob deep down. If she let it out now she would be of no use to him.
Padraic slumped forward as if all the breath had been knocked out of him. Ada got up and walked round behind his chair. She put her hand on his shoulder, standing behind him now with her head bowed and her heart pounding so fast and hard in her chest that she thought she might explode. She knew she had to try and calm herself; she had to take charge. She took a deep breath. It was hard to breathe in: her heart seemed to have taken over all the space inside her young body. She took another breath, insisting that her heart would calm. She battled with her frozen mind, until at last she was able to speak, but her voice sounded thin and strange to her ears. Not her voice.
‘Have they been looking for him?’
At first he did not – could not – reply, but then he made a gasping sound and sat up a little straighter. ‘All afternoon,’ he said. ‘No sign.’
Then he grabbed his hair with both hands, spitting out anguish with his next words: ‘I told him not to get too close to those cranes, especially when they were using chains. I told him, I warned him how easy it was for the load to swing round. I kept telling him.’
Ada felt that she was only half listening and couldn’t react to what he was saying. Still trying to make some kind of plan, she snatched at thoughts and tried to patch them together.
‘Somebody must know what’s happened,’ she said. ‘Let me speak to them.’
‘He must be dead,’ said her grandfather, slumping forward again on to his desk.
‘No,’ she insisted. ‘He could have ended up on another ship. Have ships gone out today?’
‘Yes, plenty,’ said her grandfather, his voice quiet.
Ada took another deep breath. ‘Well, we need to search again, we need to ask around, he might be lying injured somewhere, he …’
‘Ada, listen to me. There is no sign of him. He must be dead.’
‘I don’t believe it!’ she said, feeling suddenly angry. ‘And neither should you.’
She made towards the door but he shot up from his chair, coming back to life at last.
‘Ada,’ he said, his voice getting stronger, ‘I need you to take me home.’
Hearing the pain in his voice, she stopped in her tracks and felt the sob in her chest rising up. Still fighting to control it she had to let some tears start to flow, spilling down her cheeks. Turning to him, she went to his side and took him by the arm, supporting him as he walked unsteadily out of the office while the other clerks stood by, their heads bowed, as if watching a funeral pass.
It seemed to take an age for Ada to get her grandfather back to their small home. She felt that she was moving as if in a play, acting out a part as though this was happening to someone else. She was there but not there. Ada could feel the weight that he was putting on her and knew how much he was struggling. It felt like the street was empty but there must have been some passers-by.
As they got closer to their own front door she saw one or two standing, looking at them, their faces sombre. Ada hated it already, being the centre of attention, and she felt furious that these people were standing and staring and not down on the harbour looking for Frank.
Ada felt the weight ease a little as one of the Regan lads took Padraic’s other
arm. She looked over and recognized one of Mary’s brothers, the one who had tried to kiss her last Christmas. He glanced across at her but said nothing. Together they manhandled her grandfather into the kitchen and sat him at the table, where he slumped forward again, his arms cradling his head.
Once the Regan lad was released he removed his cap and folded it, then stood by the table with it in both hands, turning it over as if not knowing what to do with it. ‘Sorry for your loss,’ he said, instantly regretting his words when Ada threw a sharp glance at him.
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘He is missing, that’s all.’ All the while feeling the sickening lurch of her stomach and the tight pounding of her heart.
Seeing the stricken look on the lad’s face, Ada thanked him and said that they would be fine. The lad nodded and mumbled something before shoving his cap back on his head and leaving as swiftly as he could without showing disrespect.
Ada went to the fire and lifted the lid off the stew. It was dried out and starting to burn. She removed it from the plate and put the kettle on to boil, brewing them a cup of tea that neither of them could drink.
Eventually Padraic stood and spoke softly to Ada. ‘I’m going to bed. Will you be all right, lass?’
‘I will,’ she said, glad that he seemed calmer.
‘We’ll see what tomorrow brings,’ he said, setting a foot on the stairs then climbing heavily as if the weight of all the world rested on his back. Ada watched him go and held her breath.