Promises, Promises

by Patricia Scanlan

  The bus turned left off Dorset Street and raced past Walton’s and Findlater’s down towards O’Connell Street. The queues for the Savoy snaked as far as the Gresham. It was a long time since she’d been to the pictures, Ellen thought ruefully as she saw a young man wrap a protective arm around his girlfriend in an attempt to shelter her from the biting wind.

  Three girls stood huddled together hopping from one leg to the other. They were laughing at the efforts of a busker who was murdering The Rose of Tralee. Ellen smiled at their giddiness. She’d been like that once, carefree and full of hope. Now she was desperately hoping that Chris would be the light at the end of her long dark tunnel.

  She got off the Glenree bus, joined the queue at the stop outside Clerys, and prepared to wait. She was very lucky that she didn’t have long to wait for a Number 3. Less than half a minute later a plethora of buses which had been stopped at the North Earl Street lights headed towards them in convoy. There were two Number 3s. Definitely an omen, Ellen encouraged herself as she boarded the bus and it moved off towards O’Connell Bridge and then turned left into Townsend Street. Her heartbeat quickened as they headed out onto Pearse Street. How many times had she made this journey in the past? Who would have thought she’d gather up the courage to do it again? Ellen peered out the grimy window, impatient with the traffic hold-up. Pearse Street was always the same, morning, noon or night. An old wino staggered across the street and stumbled up the steps into the library. The building looked old, gloomy and somewhat dilapidated. He’d have to be drunk to want to go inside, Ellen reflected crossly. She hated Pearse Street, she wanted to get moving. They still had to go through Ringsend. The bus speeded up, briefly, as it passed Boland’s Mills, and then as the road narrowed towards the bridge, slowed down again. Ellen was steaming with impatience. Move, move, move, she urged silently as a throng of people crossed over to St Patrick’s church for the Rosary. They chugged past Ringsend library and headed for Sandymount. By the time the bus reached the stop up the road from Chris’s, she was a jangle of nerves.

  It was a relief to stretch her legs. A chilly sea breeze pierced the thick material of her coat and her breath was white in the frosty air. Ellen shivered and began to walk briskly. The bus had been warm and cosy, now she felt as if she were in the Arctic.

  She walked along the familiar route and stopped a few doors from Chris’s house and took shelter against a large unkempt evergreen hedge. She took out her compact, powdered her nose, retouched her lipstick and sprayed some Evening in Paris on her wrists. She slid the dark blue bottle back in her bag, took a deep breath and set off resolutely.

  All the lights were on in the house. Typical of Chris, she thought fondly as she opened the gate. He liked having the lights on, he hated dark rooms. The sound of a man’s deep guffaw and a woman’s laugh brought her up short. The curtains of the sitting-room weren’t drawn and she could see through the lamp-lit windows a group of men and women, drinking and talking and laughing. Through the sliding doors in the back room, the table was set for dinner. Red candles flickered invitingly. Chris appeared. A champagne flute in one hand, a wooden spoon in the other. He had a tea towel around his waist. He was laughing and gesticulating, urging his guests into the dining-room. A woman, dressed in slinky black, slid a proprietorial arm around his waist. It was Suzy.

  Ellen slipped back into the shadows. A lump, hard and unyielding, lodged in her throat. Tears pricked her eyes. Hurt and bitterness scalded her heart. They all looked so cosy and jaunty and light-hearted. And she felt utterly excluded. She turned away and walked slowly back the way she’d come. She had lost so much. Not only Chris and the chance to be his wife, but the chance to be anyone’s wife. What man in his right mind would take her on? An unmarried woman with a child. She’d never be able to have a dinner party for friends in a home of her own. She’d never have a home of her own, to decorate as she wished and to invite who she liked to visit. She would never be independent and her own boss. She would always be subject to her mother’s domination as long as she lived at home. And that was her only option if she kept the baby. An immense weariness swept over her. Now she had to face a two-bus journey back to Glenree. There was a three-hour wait until the next scheduled bus was set to leave the city centre for home. She could always go and have a cup of tea in the Roma Grill but the thought did not appeal to her.

  It took about fifteen minutes for the next Number 3 to arrive and she was chilled to the bone. She had never felt so lonely or despairing. It was worse than breaking up with Chris. At least then she had some hope that they might get together again. After tonight, she had none. Suzy was still with Chris. They were entertaining together. Even when she and Chris had been a couple, she’d never entertained with him. There was no place for her in Chris’s life. It was as if she’d never existed in his world. He was happy, enjoying himself. He’d moved on and forgotten all about her. It was obvious he never gave her a thought. She’d just have to forget him and try and make the best out of life.

  She was so dispirited and unhappy when she got to the city centre, she couldn’t face sitting alone drinking tea in a cafe. In an act of sheer extravagance Ellen hailed a passing taxi and, sinking back into its dingy back seat, she gave the driver her address as she eased her aching feet out of her shoes. This was finally it, she promised herself. She was never going to think of Chris Wallace again. He was a closed chapter in her life. The old familiar heartache swamped her. A terrible sadness that quenched whatever spirit she had left. Did those feelings never go away, she wondered in despair. Just as well no one knew she’d gone into town to try and see him. It was the most pathetic thing to have done. And she was the most pathetic doormat with not an ounce of pride to make excuses for that bastard and to hope that he would take her back. She was well rid of him. Miriam was right, he wasn’t worthy of her. If she kept telling herself that, maybe she might start to believe it.

  When they got to Glenree she asked the taxi driver to let her out at Blackbird’s Field. She didn’t want Sheila to see her driving home in a taxi. Tonight, she couldn’t face an inquisition. Fortunately Sheila had gone to bed early with a headache so Ellen said goodnight to her father and slipped quietly upstairs to bed. She was dead tired and she longed for sleep to blot out her unhappiness. Sleep did not oblige her. She twisted and turned for hours before finally falling into a restless slumber punctuated by weird disturbing dreams.

  ‘It was a good evening, wasn’t it?’ Suzy snuggled up closer to Chris, revelling in the warmth of his body and the cosiness of the big double bed. The weather had turned dirty. Great gusts of wind shrieked along the eaves of the house and rain lashed against the window pane. She felt delightfully tipsy, and tired.

  ‘It was a smashing evening.’ Chris smiled down at her. ‘You’re a terrific hostess. The Kents were impressed. He’s put a lot of custom my way. It’s good to keep them sweet.’

  ‘Did you see Judith’s boots? The leather was so soft. She bought them on the King’s Road. And her lipstick was Mary Quant. I’d love to go on a shopping spree in London,’ Suzy said wistfully.

  ‘Hmmm. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a pair of those boots,’ Chris murmured. Judith’s boots had gone practically right up to her ass. They were stunningly sexy. ‘Maybe we might go for a weekend sometime in the New Year.’

  ‘Oh Chris, I’d love that! When will we go? What weekend?’

  ‘Well we’ll see how the finances are,’ he backtracked hastily. Typical of Suzy to want to know the date, the hour, the minute.

  In other words, forget it, Suzy thought crossly. Chris was always doing things like that. Making suggestions and plans and then welching on them. Despite all the hints she’d dropped she was no nearer to getting the ring on her finger. Now that she was back in his bed, Chris was once more taking her for granted. It was most unsettling. Her sense of well-being dissolved. Suzy felt utterly disheartened. She moved away from Chris and turned her back on him.

  Chris made no move to draw her back. He felt a surge of
irritation. If there was one thing that bugged him about Suzy it was the way she always got huffy if she didn’t get exactly what she wanted. Ellen had never got huffy. He switched off the bedside lamp and scowled. What the hell was he doing thinking about Ellen? She was history. He’d put her completely out of his head. That was the only way to do it. He certainly didn’t want to start thinking about her again. He lay in the dark, willing sleep to come. He was whacked. Suzy was already asleep. Drink always did that to her.

  The memory of Ellen’s stricken face when he’d declared to her parents that she wasn’t a virgin suddenly came to mind. That had been below the belt and he regretted it. It was just he’d been so angry at being . . . ambushed . . . on his doorstep by her and her parents . . . and in front of Suzy. To give Suzy her due she’d never brought up the subject again after he’d told her not to question him about it.

  He wondered if Ellen had had the baby yet. Maybe he was a father by now. Had she had a girl or a boy? Did it look like him?

  ‘Oh for fuck sake!’ he swore. He got out of bed and went downstairs and poured himself a large whiskey. He knocked it back and waited for it to take effect. Things were going well. What did he want to be tormenting himself with thoughts of Ellen Munroe for? She was out of his life and that was the end of it.

  He missed her though, in spite of everything. He’d always felt very loved, especially when she put her arms around him and held him close after they’d made love. It was never like that with Suzy. A lump came to his throat. His eyes moistened. In the dim light of his sitting-room Chris slumped drunkenly onto his sofa and angrily wiped the tears from his cheeks.

  The weeks that followed dragged. Miriam assured Ellen that this was normal. The ninth month of pregnancy seemed as long as all the previous eight put together. Ellen tired much more easily and Mick insisted that she leave work at midday. She always went to Miriam’s. She hated spending the long dark winter afternoons with Sheila. The atmosphere between them was tense and unfriendly. Ellen felt as if she was living on a knife-edge. Sheila was sure she was being slighted by some of the neighbours. She and Bonnie hadn’t spoken since the night of their confrontation. It was causing a strain at the guild meetings. Ellen knew that, though it was all her fault, there was nothing she could do to make amends and she resented her mother’s martyred air. Sheila wasn’t the only one who had to put up with slights and whispers. She’d certainly been snubbed by some of the women of the town. Eilis Quinn had actually crossed the street rather than say hello to her. Mrs Foley had called her a slut to her face and told her to get home to her mother’s and hide her shame and stop parading down the streets of Glenree. Ellen had been tempted to tell her to get lost and mind her own business, but she’d held her tongue. It was the easiest thing to do in the long run. Bawling in the street would only add to the gossips’ enjoyment.

  About a week before the baby was due, Miriam suggested that Ellen come and stay with them. It was Christmas week.

  ‘Are you sure, Miriam? Maybe I should stay at home and have the baby there.’ Ellen didn’t want to take advantage of her sister-in-law’s good nature.

  ‘Tell your mam that you’re coming over to us for a few days to help me out. If she says you should stay at home then you’ll stay. How about that?’

  ‘OK,’ Ellen agreed.

  Secretly she hoped that Sheila would tell her to stay at home. It would be some little sign that she had accepted the situation. But when she said, diffidently, that she was going to stay a few days at Miriam’s, Sheila said coldly, ‘Suit yourself.’

  Ellen packed her case and wished with all her heart that she’d never have to set foot in her mother’s house again.

  For Miriam’s and the children’s sake, she tried to make an effort to get involved in the hustle and bustle of Christmas. But, as her date drew near, she became more and more agitated and spent long hours in her room. She was conscious that she was putting Ben and Miriam out. They’d given her Daniel’s room and he was sleeping with Connie and Rebecca. It wasn’t an ideal situation. The children’s excitement at being together meant that they were awake at all hours, much to their parents’ annoyance. As soon as the baby was born, she’d go back home. It wasn’t fair on Ben and Miriam.

  Ellen had been dreading Christmas Day, but it turned out to be much more pleasant than she’d anticipated. She didn’t go to Mass or to visit her parents. She had a cold and it was as good an excuse as any to hibernate. She asked Miriam to deliver her gifts to her parents. After all the pandemonium of Santa’s arrival and the excitement that followed, Ellen was more than relieved to get back into bed and pull the cosy patchwork quilt tight around her shoulders while the rest of the family went to Mass.

  In the unaccustomed peace and quiet she fell fast asleep and had the best sleep of her pregnancy. The smell of cooking woke her. Bleary-eyed she glanced at the clock by her bedside and couldn’t believe that it was after one-thirty. Miriam must think she was a lazy lump, she thought guiltily. She’d really enjoyed that sleep, she felt full of beans, so different to the tiredness she’d felt the last few weeks.

  ‘Miriam, you should have woken me,’ she reproached, a few minutes later as she joined her sister-in-law in the kitchen.

  ‘You needed your sleep, and I’ve everything under control here. Ben’s taken the kids down to visit the O’Reillys, so I was making the most of the peace and quiet, and the good news is . . .’ She smiled at Ellen. ‘Vincent and Emma called to your mother’s while we were there so there won’t be any danger of them calling here. You’re safe.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ Ellen gave a heartfelt sigh. She’d been dreading seeing Vincent and Emma over the Christmas.

  ‘How were they? How did she look? Did they have the baby with them?’ She was consumed with curiosity. Even though they were at loggerheads, Ellen always pumped Miriam for news and gossip about her brother and his wife.

  ‘Emma looked stunning, as usual.’ Miriam removed the crunchy streaky rashers from the top of the turkey and basted the crispy golden breast. Ellen took a skelp of stuffing before it was put back in the oven.

  ‘What was she wearing?’ Ellen began to dry the dishes on the drainer.

  ‘A beautiful red velvet suit, and she’d a red velvet hairband to match. Her beehive was immaculate. When I backcomb I look as if I’ve been dragged through a bush backwards. How does she do it? Some people just have the knack of looking elegant all the time,’ Miriam said enviously. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the oven, perspiration beaded her forehead, a strand of fair hair hung down over one eye, one of her pink varnished nails had broken when she was lifting the turkey out of the oven. She looked anything but elegant.

  ‘Were they asking for me?’ Ellen asked tartly. ‘I bet they were really sorry they missed me.’

  Miriam laughed at her sarcasm. ‘They didn’t mention you once. Well not in front of me anyway,’ she amended.

  ‘I suppose they didn’t happen to mention anything about Chris?’ Ellen asked hopefully. She was always hoping for some little snippet of news about him.

  ‘No, they didn’t mention him either. It was all talk about the babies.’ Miriam gave her a sympathetic hug.

  ‘What’s Julie Ann like?’

  ‘They didn’t bring her. They thought it was too cold, especially as she’s not long out of the incubator. Your mother was terribly disappointed. I think they’re going to go over to the Connollys for dinner some evening next week.’

  ‘Oh, I was dying to hear how Emma was managing her. She could have given me some hints,’ she added wickedly.

  ‘Wagon!’ Miriam giggled. ‘You should have seen the figure of her. She’s like a twig! It’s disgusting. You’d think she’d have had the decency to have put on a few pounds. She’s even thinner than before.’

  Ellen looked down at her voluptuous bosom and the wide circumference of her bump. ‘It’s not pounds I’ve put on, it’s stones,’ she said mournfully.

  ‘I’ll tell you what.’ Miriam cut two slice
s off the mouthwatering pink ham with its festive coating of honey, breadcrumbs and cloves, and handed a slice to Ellen. ‘When you’ve had the baby and Christmas and New Year are over and all the goodies are gone, we’ll start on a get-fit-and-slim regime. We’ll diet, we’ll walk every day, we’ll do our exercises and by the summer we’ll be like two models, OK?’

  ‘You’re on. It will be our New Year resolution. And we’re definitely doing it this time,’ Ellen agreed enthusiastically, picturing herself like Audrey Hepburn. Maybe when she was nice and shapely, Chris might start to fancy her again. She’d make sure to see him. She’d bring the baby to see him, Ellen decided. She felt very optimistic today for some reason. Much more positive. It must be her hormones, she decided as she devoured the ham. It was delicious and for the first time in ages she was ravenous.

  ‘The dinner smells gorgeous,’ she enthused, tasting the gravy that Miriam had just added a generous measure of sherry to.

  ‘Here, have a streaky rasher, they’re crisp. I love them straight out of the oven.’ Miriam popped a tasty piece into her mouth.