On her deathbed, Aileen’s mother reveals a secret she has kept for eighteen years, and pleads with her daughter to fulfill a last wish. Torn by grief, Aileen leaves Dublin, the Fair City, and Dermot, the man she has grown to love.
Lonely and vulnerable, she unwittingly befriends a salesman at the seed mill where she has found work. Suddenly, her life becomes entrenched with danger.
On a visit back to Dublin, Aileen discovers a devastating truth, but her mother’s last request is still shrouded in a mystery she is determined to unravel. When she finally decides to return to Dermot, and the family she loves, will the secret she too is now hiding tear her and Dermot apart?
DUBLIN'S FAIR CITY
Cathy Mansell
Published by Tirgearr Publishing
Author Copyright 2016 Cathy Mansell
Cover Art: Cora Graphics (www.coragraphics.it)
Editor: Christine McPherson
Proofreader: Sharon Pickrel
A Smashwords Edition
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Thank you for respecting our author’s hard work.
This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
DEDICATION
To my son, Jason and his family, for their support.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Just Write Tuesday Morning Group for help and support while writing Dublin's Fair City.
Jean chapman's Peatling group.
Romantic Novelists' Association
My husband Dennis for your love and support.
Stephen Pomfret: Your continued support and friendship is much appreciated.
Special thanks to my publisher, Tirgearr Publishing; my editor, Christine Mcpherson; cover artist, Cora Graphics, and all the team at Tirgearr.
Diane Allen and the team at Magna Large Print, a huge thanks.
DUBLIN’S FAIR CITY
Cathy Mansell
Chapter One
Aileen Maguire stood up to stretch her back and looked out the bedroom window overlooking the busy Dublin street. Business went on as usual. England had won the World Cup, and men walked out of the newsagents with rolled-up copies of the morning’s newspaper stuffed into their jacket pockets. But, in the bedroom above the haberdashery on the corner of upper Dorset Street, eighteen-year-old Aileen’s mother lay dying.
With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the bedroom where her father was slumped in a chair by the side of the bed, his head in his hands. She picked up a cup of beef tea and held it out to him. ‘Come on now, Da. You’ve got to stay strong.’
He glanced up, exhaustion on his pale face. ‘Your mother’s been rambling again,’ he said. ‘For the life of me, I don’t know what she’s on about.’
‘Look, Da, you go and get your head down. I’ll sit with Ma.’
Jonny Maguire stretched his tall, lean frame and stood up. His hair, the colour of gunmetal, hung limply below his ears and across his forehead. Aileen had given up nagging him to have it cut. Since Ma had taken ill three weeks ago, he had dug in his heels. He cupped his hands around the mug as if he was cold. ‘You’ll call me if…’
‘I will, Da. Now, go on! I’ll nip down and check the shop later.’
Her ma’s eyes were closed but she appeared agitated, as if she was having a bad dream. Aileen pulled a chair closer to the bed and held her hand.
‘Jonny. Is that you, Jonny?’ Jessie Maguire’s voice was but a whisper.
‘It’s me, Ma. Da’s having a kip.’
Jessie turned her head towards her daughter. ‘Aileen! My perfect little girl!’
‘Not little any more, Ma, and not perfect either.’
As her mother gripped Aileen’s hand, the doorbell jingled in the shop below. Her mother tightened her grip and struggled to sit up ‘Is…someone looking after the shop?’
‘Everything is fine, Ma. No need for you to fret.’ Her mother appeared to have forgotten she had recently employed a woman part-time.
‘You’ll look after things. Your da won’t…cope well without me. And watch out for Lizzy. I don’t have long, so…listen to me.’ Her mother’s voice rasped as she struggled to breathe. Aileen stood up, dipped a cloth in a bowl of cool water, wrung it out, and gently bathed her ma’s brow.
‘Don’t try and talk,’ Aileen said, concealing her distress. ‘Da will be fine, Ma, and so will you. So, please, no more of that talk.’
Her mother’s face looked grey against the white cotton pillowcase. Aileen gently lifted her ma’s head and helped her to suck through a straw the nourishing drink recommended by the doctor.
‘I need to confess. Ask…the priest…to call in.’
Aileen placed the glass back on the side table. ‘But it’s only a week since he was here, Ma. What do you need forgiveness for?’ Aileen kissed the side of her mother’s face.
‘Aileen, be a good girl…do this…for me?’ Her mother struggled with the words.
‘Of course I will, Ma, if it’ll make you happy.’ She straightened up and blew her nose. ‘It’s half-day closing, so I’ll nip down to the church at lunchtime.’
She fluffed up her mother’s pillows and tucked her in as Jessie’s eyelids closed. Knowing the shop was in safe hands, Aileen lay down next to her ma, staring at the dated wallpaper and the torn piece in the corner. She had always loved this room. It was bright and airy and held many happy memories. As a child, she would climb into bed next to her parents for comfort.
Their living quarters, apart from the kitchen, hadn’t been decorated since her parents moved in after their marriage in 1944, when they were both in their early twenties. Her father had been thinking of doing the place up before her ma took sick. Now it was the least of their worries.
Sighing, Aileen eased herself off the bed and made her way to the kitchen. There was a basket of washing to be tackled. She hated washday, but someone had to do it. She found it hard to believe just three of them could produce such a pile of washing each week.
She missed Ma around the place, and Da had been no help these last few weeks. With the washing, cooking, and the shop to worry about, Aileen had no idea what to concentrate on first.
For the rest of the morning, she tidied the room and prepared her mother to receive the priest. It was one of those lovely warm days when everyone wanted to be outside enjoying the sun, and by lunchtime, Aileen was glad of the walk to the church.
Later, while the priest was upstairs with Ma and Da, Aileen went down to the shop and found the part-time woman had left a list on the polished counter. As she checked through it, Aileen felt embarrassed to find they had run out of so many things. She had already reminded Da; ordering was his domain as he was the only one who could drive to the wholesaler’s. The list consisted of fasteners, buttons, and reels of cotton, white lace, ladies’ gloves, and nylons; there wasn’t a pair in the shop. And when Aileen found the corset drawer empty, apart from the one on the dummy, she almost cried. Had Da deliberately let the stock run down? She didn’t know what to think.
A knock on the shop door made her turn round. Frowning, she went to open it. ‘God, Dermot, you gave me a start.’
‘Sorry, just came to ask how your ma was, like.’ He was holding a small brown paper parcel by his side, next to his stained blue and white striped apron.
> ‘Come in, before anyone sees you and thinks we’re open.’ He smelled of meat, and she hoped he wouldn’t stay long. ‘She’s not the best, Dermot. She’s asking for the priest.’ Tears gathered in her eyes, and she turned her face away.
‘I’m sorry to hear that, now. Try not to upset yourself.’ He handed her the parcel.
‘You must stop doing this. We’re eating into your profits.’
‘Get away with you. It’s only a few pork chops. I’ll come up and cook them for you, if you like.’
‘Aye, I’m sure you would.’ She slipped behind the shiny mahogany counter and placed the meat in the store at the back of the shop to take upstairs later.
‘I’d better get off,’ he said. ‘If you need anything, you know.’
Nodding, she closed the door behind him. She glanced towards the stairs and wondered how much longer the priest would be up there with her ma.
She was on the stepladder dusting the shelves when eventually he passed through. It was the older priest, his face flushed. He placed his case on the counter, took out a handkerchief, and wiped his brow.
‘Did my da not make you a cup of tea, Father?’ She stepped down and folded the ladder.
‘No, the man barely spoke to me. But, anyhow, I must be off. I’ve got a few more calls to make.’
‘How did you find my mother?’ She placed the ladder up against the almost empty shelves.
‘It’s hard to say.’ Shaking his head, he continued towards the door.
‘Why is she so troubled, Father? My ma’s a good woman.’
‘You know I can’t discuss your mother’s confession, any more than I would yours or anyone else’s, child. But if I were you, I’d prepare yourself, just in case.’
Chapter Two
It was over a week since the funeral, and the shop was still closed. Aileen had never thought her ma would die; she was only forty-one. The pain she felt inside was like nothing she had ever experienced before, but she tried to keep her feelings hidden for her da’s sake, knowing he would be feeling as much pain as she was.
Any attempt to talk to him alone was interrupted by her Aunt Lizzy, and Aileen had just about had enough of being bossed about. Everyone else had gone home, but Aunt Lizzy appeared to have taken up residence.
Aileen knew little of her ma’s younger sister, and there was certainly no resemblance to her mother whatsoever. Lizzy’s thin frame, her mouth tight with scorn, and her sharp features matched her tongue. Aileen could smell the chemical solution in the other woman’s permed brown hair. She remembered when her ma used the Toni home perms, how she always washed her hair several times to get rid of the smell.
Aunt Lizzy’s navy dress fell below her shins and was twenty years out of fashion, and her brown, block-heeled shoes did not follow any trend Aileen could remember. She had disliked her aunt on sight.
All Aileen wanted was to be alone with her da, so she could comfort him, feel his arm around her, help each other to get over their terrible loss. She thought reopening the shop would be a step forward. It was their bread and butter, and the sooner her father realised that, the better. Now her aunt was another mouth to feed.
‘You’ll need a bit of help around here, Aileen, with poor Jessie in the grave,’ Lizzy said, twisting the silver ring on the little finger of her left hand. Aileen could not deny that with her father refusing to get involved with anything to do with the shop, everything was on her shoulders.
‘You’ve done enough. We’ll manage fine, won’t we, Da?’ He didn’t reply.
‘Course you won’t,’ Lizzy laughed. ‘You’re both grieving.’ She glanced into the mirror and patted her curls into place. Then she unhooked a string shopping bag from the back of the door. ‘I’m away to the butcher’s to get the messages. Make Jonny another cup of tea. I won’t be long.’
Aileen glared after her, gritting her teeth. ‘Give me strength.’ Then she looked across the table to her da. He appeared oblivious, his head in his hands.
‘What does she think she’s doing, Da? Why is she still here?’ He glanced up but said nothing. Aileen swept back her long, blonde hair. ‘We don’t need her, Da.’ She looked directly at him. ‘If you’d help in the shop and order the supplies, we could manage. Have you still got the list I gave you the other day? If you don’t order soon, we won’t have a business.’
He sighed. ‘The shop is a full-time job and you know how much your mother did around the place. It’s kind of Lizzy to offer to help.’
Now she’d got him talking, Aileen said, ‘But, look around you. She’s taking over.’ She scraped back her chair and stood up. ‘And who told her she could move Ma’s ornaments?’
‘She means well.’
‘You know how Ma felt about her. She wouldn’t give her house room, so why are you? Do you want me to ask her to leave?’
‘That’s enough, Aileen. This is my house, and you’re becoming tiresome.’
Aileen threw up her hands then placed them back down on the table and looked at her father. ‘Don’t you think I can manage, is that it? I can, Da. It’s what Ma wanted.’ She paused, but he didn’t reply. ‘If you could just help me, we’d be grand.’
Her da had gone into one of his silent moods, so she knew there was no point is pursuing the argument. He was not in his right mind, otherwise he would have thanked the woman and asked her to leave days ago. ‘Men are blind when it comes to the wiles of women,’ she’d overheard her mother say when a neighbour’s husband had run off with a barmaid. Not that Aunt Lizzy or her da were like that, but her aunt had nothing to lose by outstaying her welcome. She had no family of her own, and no husband to hurry back to. Lizzy had lived alone in a maisonette on the edge of town for as long as Aileen could remember.
Realising her da had fallen asleep, Aileen went down the passage towards her mother’s bedroom. It was the first time she had been able to go inside since her aunt had changed the bedding after her ma’s passing. Her father had slept in the small bedroom while her mother was ill, but now he wanted to move back. Aileen had been hesitant. It would leave a spare room, upgrading her aunt from the sofa, and Aileen didn’t want to give the woman any excuse to stay longer.
Once inside, she looked down at the empty bed, stripped bare. She swallowed a sob in the back of her throat. Even her mother’s pillow had been taken away, leaving her nothing to cling to. Anger, hurt, and frustration welled up inside her, and she struggled to hold it all together. Her world had turned upside down, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
She opened the wardrobe. Ma’s brown skirt and white blouse she wore in the shop, along with three light summer dresses, dangled from hangers. Scooping them into her arms, Aileen smothered her face into them, inhaling the very last essence of her ma.
She walked over to the dressing table. Her ma’s comb and hairbrush was still there, along with a bottle of Tweed perfume. At least her aunt had the discretion to leave her ma’s personal things alone.
Aileen ran her hand along the flat, wooden jewellery box her da had made years ago. She lifted the lid and fingered a silver cross and chain, some pearls and matching earrings, which her mother wore on special occasions. Inside, the box had another compartment where Ma kept what she termed her special things. Aileen felt like an intruder, but her need to be amongst her mother’s belongings was strong. Then she saw it—a small, buff envelope lying on top of folded documents. The envelope had her name scrawled across the front.
She opened it and looked inside. A single sheet of white notepaper simply said,
Aileen love,
Find your brother, and beg him to forgive me.
Please don’t hate me.
I remain,
Your loving Ma.
Chapter Three
Aileen told no-one about her mother’s letter. She needed to think it through carefully before making it an issue.
Dermot called most evenings wanting to take her out, and each time she declined.
‘You should do as the lad says, Aile
en,’ Lizzy snapped. ‘Change of scenery will do you good.’
Aileen’s resentment towards the woman grew with each passing day, and she was close to telling her to mind her own business. But fearful of upsetting her da, she held her tongue.
Da had made no effort to go to the wholesaler’s, and she was tired of trying to get through to him. She could go for the stock herself. How hard could it be? She had gone with him many times. But the keys to the van weren’t hanging in their usual place.
What with the stock dwindling, and her mother’s letter foremost on her mind, Aileen’s head ached. She hated unanswered questions. If it was true, and she had a brother somewhere, what did it mean? Did her mother have him before her marriage to her father, or afterwards? Was it an affair? Or, even worse, had someone taken advantage of her? Was that why her ma had not mentioned it in all these years? Why would she want to bring it up now?
Her father was the only one who might be able to throw some light on it. But what if he didn’t know? What would it do to him? No, she couldn’t do it. For now, it would have to remain her secret.
* * *
When Aileen walked into the kitchen, Lizzy was dishing up stew on one of the hottest days of the year. Aileen stood in the doorway rooted to the spot, looking to where her mother’s blue sofa and easy chairs had been moved to the far end of the large kitchen.
‘Sit down,’ Lizzy said, ‘before it goes cold.’
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