Martha's Girls

by Alrene Hughes

  ‘Don’t you be telling me to catch myself on! If these were decent people, why haven’t I ever met them? You’d think if they were friends of yours, they would be round the house once in a while.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not so easy for them to go visiting, especially where they’re clearly not welcome!’ Irene grabbed her letters and stormed out of the room.

  ‘Well I never!’ said Martha. ‘What kind of behaviour is that?’ She went to the foot of the stairs and shouted. ‘Come back down here this minute.’ Irene’s answer was to slam the bedroom door and throw herself on the bed. She was in no doubt which letter to open first. She recognised Sandy’s writing and had been waiting to hear from him for so long. After their meeting on the Cave Hill he’d written a short letter saying he had enjoyed seeing her and he hoped he’d be able to get to Belfast again soon. It had contained no clue as to how he felt about her and, as a result, her reply was equally non-committal and she hadn’t heard from him since. She unfolded the single sheet of writing paper:

  Dear Irene,

  I’m sorry I’ve not written sooner, all leave was cancelled and now I am being sent to England for more training. When I come back I promise you we’ll have a night out in Belfast.

  Sandy

  PS Miss you.

  What was she to make of it? Nothing, except the facts. If he was interested he would meet her some time in the future, if not, she doubted she would hear from him again. But he did say he missed her. He needn’t have added that.

  She opened Sean’s letter next. It was a while since she had heard from him. The postmark told her he was still in Donegal. It too was short.

  Irene

  I haven’t heard from Theresa for a while, can you find out what’s going on and get her to write to me?

  S

  She scrutinised the third letter, didn’t recognise the writing; inside was a page torn from a child’s jotter.

  Irene

  I need to see you. Can you meet me outside the Co-op in York Street at two o’clock this Saturday?

  Theresa

  Well that solved a problem. She could meet Theresa when she finished work and tell her to write to Sean. But why did Theresa need to see her in the first place?

  *

  The following morning Goldstein arrived late to open up the shop and Peggy was furious that she’d had to stand in the biting wind and sleet for half an hour. She was even more annoyed to find that she shared the pavement with a delivery of sheet music and would be spending the rest of the morning on her hands and knees sorting it. Goldstein nodded curtly and unlocked the door, offering no explanation for his lateness.

  ‘Is Esther not with you this morning?’

  ‘You can see she is not.’

  ‘Is she ill?’

  ‘She would not get out of bed.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Because you are the reason she was out so late last night.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I do not know where the two of you were at that time of night and in such bad weather.’

  Peggy guessed where Esther had been, but it took her a few seconds longer to decide how to deal with the information. ‘Mr Goldstein, I don’t want to worry you, but I suspect there’s much more to this than you realise. I’ll be completely honest with you, I wasn’t with Esther last night, but I know who she was with and I could make sure it won’t happen again.’

  ‘What!’ Goldstein turned on her. ‘She was not with you? You must tell me right now what is going on! Look here, if you are lying to me.’ He paused, searching for possibilities. ‘No … she was lying to me. Who was she with?’ His eyes widened. ‘Was it was some boy!’

  ‘Not quite.’ Peggy was shocked by the intensity in his voice, but she kept calm. ‘You see, sometimes young girls can be foolish when a man,’ she emphasised the word man, ‘when a man takes an interest in them.’ Peggy saw with delight the effect her words had on Goldstein. She went on. ‘And for a sensible adult like yourself to chastise the young person, well, that might lead to them being more determined to do what seems forbidden.’

  The processing of every word showed in Goldstein’s face. He seemed suddenly diminished. ‘What is to be done?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll speak to her if you like. I can advise her.’ She paused and added, ‘Woman to woman.’

  ‘You think that is best?’

  ‘I’m certain it is. She won’t meet this person again, I give you my word.’

  ‘Peggy, I am so grateful to you. I am an old bachelor and, I will confess, I find it difficult to understand Esther at times. Do you really think you can persuade her against this …’ He searched for the word. ‘… liaison?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Goldstein, you can rely on me. Now would you like me to make us some tea? Then I’ll get all that sheet music sorted.’

  Just before three o’clock Peggy finished serving a customer and popped her head around Goldstein’s office door. ‘Would you like me to take the post along to the GPO, Mr Goldstein? Save you doing it on the way home?’

  ‘Yes that would be kind of you, Peggy.’

  There was still some sleet in the air and she pulled her collar up against the bitter wind. She guessed that Harry had been working the early morning shift, leaving him with the afternoons and evenings free. At the milk bar she tried to see inside, but the windows were steamed up again.

  ‘Well well, if it isn’t Miss Goulding, doing a bit of sleuthing.’ He was standing behind her in a tweed overcoat belted at the waist, his hat pulled down over his brow. Peggy gave little hint of the discomfort she felt.

  ‘Oh, the very person, I want a word with you.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘How interesting. I’ll tell you what. I’ll take a walk down the street and back, while you send Dorothy in there back to Kansas. Then we can talk.’ He raised his hat and set off towards the City Hall.

  Esther had a face like someone caught with their hand in the sweetie jar. ‘What are you doing here, Peggy? You should be in the shop.’

  ‘I should be in the shop? Well, that’s rich! I could say the same to you.’

  ‘You’ve got to go. I’m … I’m meeting someone.’ She looked anxiously towards the door.

  ‘Your uncle thinks you’re at home too tired to work after the late night you and I had. He’ll be surprised when I tell him you had an appointment this afternoon with … who should I tell him you’re meeting?’

  ‘No one … no one you know … a friend.’

  ‘Esther, I’ve just spoken to Harry and I can tell you he’s not coming here to meet you.’

  ‘That’s not true. He said he’d be here.’

  ‘He sent me to tell you he won’t be seeing you again.’

  ‘You’re lying! Why would he say that?’

  Peggy needed a good reason, one that would sever the link between Esther and Harry completely. Hadn’t she promised Goldstein?

  ‘Because he’s just asked me to get back together with him and I said yes.’

  ‘You’re making this up! You hate him, you said so. All the times he’s tried to get you to go out with him again and you were so … so horrible to him!’

  ‘Esther, don’t you see he was using you? It was me he was after.’

  ‘No, he wants me to be his girlfriend.’

  Peggy gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Esther, you’re just not right for him, he told me so himself.’

  Somewhere in Esther’s mind a window opened on reality. ‘Does my uncle know all this?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Peggy gently. ‘I told him you and I went to the pictures together. It’ll be our secret.’

  Esther stood up. ‘I’m not going back to the shop today.’ She was close to tears. ‘I’m going home to bed.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Peggy. ‘You’ll feel better in the morning.’

  When Esther left, Peggy moved into one of the booths and waited. Ten minutes later he came
in, ordered two coffees and slid into the seat opposite her. ‘Hello there, Peggy, nice to see you. How have you been? Still playing the piano?’ She looked at him in disbelief, it was as though he had run into a passing acquaintance.

  ‘Harry, what’s going on?’

  ‘What do you mean? Nothing’s going on. We’re just having a coffee, aren’t we?’

  ‘I’ve just upset a good friend, because of you.’

  ‘Now why would you have done that?’

  ‘Because you asked me to!’ Peggy’s voice rose and one or two customers turned to look at her. She quickly changed her tone. ‘You wanted to talk about us.’

  ‘Ah, would that be the ‘us’ where I chase after you for months and you ignore me, or the ‘us’ where I go out with someone else and you get jealous?’

  ‘I am not jealous! I don’t care who you go out with.’

  ‘Is that why you told your good friend I didn’t want to go out with her any more because I was going out with you?’

  ‘I never—’

  ‘You did!’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Because you’re in love with me.’

  ‘In love with you … an underhand, deceitful, bookie’s runner, smuggler—’

  ‘No I’m not!’

  ‘Yes you are!’

  ‘No I’m not! Look if I could prove to you that I’m not any of those things anymore then would you admit you love me?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  He stood up and at that moment the waitress arrived with the coffees.

  ‘Harry, why don’t you sit down and we’ll drink the coffee while you tell me why I should change my opinion of you.’

  *

  The windows of the Co-operative Store had been decorated for the festive season with Christmas trees, streamers and huge paper bells and as Irene waited she watched the excited faces of the children peering through the window at a giant cardboard Santa Claus surrounded by toys. Theresa arrived in a rush just after two, holding a little girl by the hand.

  ‘This is our Marie,’ explained Theresa. ‘I promised her if she was a good girl and helped in the house I’d take her to see Santa. You don’t mind do you? We can talk on the way.’

  Irene laughed. ‘Of course not, a good girl’s never too old to see Santa!’

  They bought a ticket for Marie and entered a dark forest of cardboard trees with cotton wool snow on the ground and stuffed animals lit by green spotlights. Marie stood for a while picking out and naming creatures.

  ‘I need to talk to you about Sean.’ Theresa began.

  ‘And I need to talk to you,’ said Irene. ‘He wrote to me asking me to find out why you haven’t been in contact with him.’

  ‘It’s been really hard at home. Mammy’s in a bad way. I keep trying to write, but I can’t find a way to tell him. He and Mammy were very close.’

  Marie, bored with the forest, pulled on Theresa’s hand. ‘Come on! It’s the elves next.’

  ‘The thing is, he’ll want to see her, but they’ll arrest him if he crosses the border.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that, he knows the danger.’

  ‘I’m not so sure he’d care. He’d want to see Mammy before …’

  They moved on to a stable scene with reindeer and Santa’s sleigh standing ready.

  ‘The doctor says she may have a month at most, so I’ll have to write to him soon. He’d never forgive me if I didn’t. That’s why I needed to see you, Irene, to ask you a favour.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘The police read all our mail and probably the mail of most people we know. So can I ask him to send his reply to you?’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘If you get a letter, don’t risk coming to my house, just leave a message at my uncle’s bar. You remember where it is?’

  ‘Do you think I’d forget that place after what happened last time?’

  ‘Don’t worry you’ll be safe. They know you’re my friend.’

  They rounded a bend in the path and there was the man himself, resplendent in his red robes. A fairy took Marie’s ticket and led her by the hand to sit on Santa’s knee where she whispered what she hoped to receive for Christmas, then chose a present from his sack.

  All the way home, Irene couldn’t get the image of the smiling Marie, out of her mind.

  *

  ‘Just imagine,’ said Irene, ‘two whole weeks without rehearsals and concerts. What shall we do?’

  ‘I’ve got my carol concert at Stormont tomorrow night,’ said Pat.

  ‘And I’ve got a dinner dance to go to on Christmas Eve,’ said Peggy.

  ‘You never mentioned that,’ said Irene.

  ‘I’ve only just been invited, that’s why.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Who are you going with?’

  ‘It’s at the Carlton Hotel and I’m going with Harry Ferguson,’ said Peggy. At the mention of Harry’s name Martha appeared at the kitchen door.

  ‘I thought you were never going to speak to him again.’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘You did!’ They all shouted at once.

  ‘I said, if I remember correctly, that I wouldn’t be going out with him again until he had sorted himself out and had some decent prospects to offer.’

  ‘Is that what you told him?’ Pat was sceptical.

  ‘I certainly did.’

  ‘And do I now take it, he has some decent prospects?’ asked Martha.

  ‘Well, we’re going to the annual dinner dance for the Guild of Master Bakers. Harry’s a member now and he’s going to open his own baker’s shop.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s not the Guild of Chancers and he’s opening up his own card school?’ said Pat.

  ‘How dare you!’ Peggy screamed. ‘You’re just jealous, because you’ve nobody to go out with over Christmas!’

  ‘How do you know I haven’t got somebody?’

  ‘Oh, found another married tenor in the ministry choir, have you?’

  ‘You’ve no idea who might be in our choir,’ said Pat quietly.

  Martha shook her head. ‘You girls are beyond me. For two pins I’d stop all of you gallivanting, Christmas or no Christmas!’

  The following day Pat left for work taking with her the grey beaded evening dress that Aunt Kathleen had given her when she sang the duet with William in the first Barnstormers’ concert. She had some misgivings about wearing it again, but it was quite possible that William would not remember it and, besides, she had nothing else that was suitable.

  After work she changed into the dress, pinned up her hair and put on a little rouge and lipstick. A light tea was to be served in one of the meeting rooms for those taking part in the concert. The room was long and narrow with a grand fireplace at one end with a portrait of the late Lord Craigavon above it and at the opposite end hung a portrait of the king. Pat studied the ornate ceiling and let her eyes fall the length of the crystal chandelier. There was a light touch at her elbow and she turned to find William next to her.

  ‘Pat, you look stunning. Your dress is the one you wore the first time we sang together, isn’t it?’ He took her hand and put it to his lips. ‘I think we need to talk, but there’s no time now. Can we meet after the concert? Perhaps I could take you to dinner?’

  Pat was astonished at his compliment and the invitation and struggled to reply to either. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  He raised her hand to his lips again. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll talk later.’

  The concert took place in the Great Hall with the choir arranged up the elegant staircase and the orchestra seated on the landing above them. Huge vases of holly and red and white chrysanthemums added festive colour. William had sent Aunt Kathleen a VIP invitation and she sat on the front row next to an elderly gentleman who was leaning towards her, chatting animatedly. She wore a dress of navy silk with pearls at her throat and in her ears, around her shoulders was a stole of pale musquash. Pat acknowledged her with the merest in
clination of her head and Kathleen did the same.

  Although Pat had sung in the church choir since she was ten years old, she never failed to be moved by the precision of the joining and blending of voices. The more complex the parts, the better she liked it and tonight’s arrangements of well known carols were unusual and challenging. The string quartet began the concert with an arrangement of ‘In the Bleak Winter’. The choir’s first carol, ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, showed off the acoustics of the grand entrance hall, with the sound rising towards the dome above their heads where it echoed and fell like a waterfall of sound. The soloists, a contralto and a baritone, gave polished performances.