Dublin's Fair City

by Cathy Mansell

  Aileen crossed her arms. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’

  ‘Oh,’ she laughed. ‘Jessie spoiled this one, Jonny.’

  ‘There’s no need to be smart, Aileen. Lizzy’s only making conversation. Put some biscuits on a plate and make yourself useful.’ He placed a cup of tea down in front of Lizzy, and sat down next to her. Aileen did as her da asked through gritted teeth.

  Lizzy pulled her chair closer to the table. ‘Well, you’re not hanging around here all day. I’ll be looking after things, and once your father sells up, you’re going to have to look for work.’

  ‘No need for you to worry about me, Aunt.’

  Her da stood up as if to rebuke her. He looked pathetic in a beige, woollen cardigan that sagged at the front. He said nothing, nothing at all to defend her, and she knew he never would. In defiant mood, Aileen turned and walked away.

  Upstairs, she glanced around her bedroom. What would happen to her possessions? She couldn’t take them with her. Once her father sold up, most of her things would mean nothing to Lizzy, and she imagined the woman throwing everything belonging to her and Ma into the bin.

  Aileen’s teddy and the first doll her parents had given her when she was quite young were treasured possessions, and she agonised about what to take. She couldn’t fit both into her case. Her doll would have to stay where it was, on the shelf above her bed. Her jewellery box with a ballerina on top which danced and played a tune—a present from her Aunt Bead—she wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper and placed it at the bottom of her case.

  Her books would have to stay. She never felt lonely when she could choose from the row of classics her mother had bought for her. She picked one: The Wit and Humour of Oscar Wilde. Somehow it always uplifted her, and she pressed it down one side of her case, then filled it with the rest of her clothes. She couldn’t possibly fit anything else in. It wouldn’t be so bad if she could come home now and then and find her belongings still where she had left them, but that wasn't possible now.

  Uncle Paddy would collect them for her; she only had to phone him. That settled, she went back out to the kitchen. Her da and Lizzy were sitting together on her ma’s sofa, their faces hidden behind a double spread of the Evening Herald. Most nights when she had arrived home after a night out, it was her ma she saw sitting with her da, reading or listening to the wireless. Seeing her aunt in her mother’s place really grated.

  Fighting to keep her feelings in check, she made her way towards the back of the kitchen and unlocked the door to the fire escape. It led down to their back yard and the shed where her da kept old boxes and tools. Her father got up and asked her what she wanted out the back.

  ‘Nothing.’

  He placed his hand on her arm, and for a second she thought he was going to hug her and wish her good luck. But instead he asked, ‘What time does the boat leave?’

  She swallowed. ‘Eleven tonight.’

  ‘You’ll be needing a lift?’ He pushed his hands into the drooping pockets of his cardigan.

  Aileen raised her eyes to look at him. ‘Don’t trouble yourself, Da. Dermot’s taking me.’ When he sighed and made no comment, she continued down the iron steps to the shed below. Whatever had happened to her da?

  She took a while to select the right size of box, and when she came back up, her da and Lizzy were not in the room. She glanced towards the coat rail. Their coats were missing. Her da never went down the pub on a weeknight, and only occasionally accompanied Dermot’s da there on a Saturday night.

  Back in her room, she choked back tears, anger coursing through her. She closed her case and put it on the floor, then placed the box on the bed. He hadn’t even wished her a safe journey. With a heavy heart, she took her books from the shelf along with her other knick-knacks, wrapped them in newspaper, and packed them into the box. She wrapped her doll last and placed it on top. When she was ready, she took the box down the street to Dermot’s.

  When he opened the door, he stood back surprised. ‘What’s all this?’ he said, relieving her of the heavy box.

  ‘I’m sorry to put this on you, but can you take care of these until Uncle Paddy comes for them?’ She bit her lip. ‘I hope your ma won’t mind?’

  ‘Indeed, she won’t. Are you coming in, or are you ready to go now?’

  ‘Can you give me ten minutes?’ She kissed his cheek and hurried back up the street.

  When she entered the shop, the reality of her life hit her. She thought about her ma’s dying wish. Her da had been no help, although she felt sure he had information that would help her to start her search for her brother. As things stood now, her main priority was to get away from her da and Lizzy.

  She stood behind the counter for the last time; the silence stretched, adding to her pent-up feelings. Powerless to change how her da felt, the knot of pain in her stomach increased. It started to rain, and heavy drops ran down the windowpane, mimicking her tears. She selected two pairs of Bear Brand nylons from the shelf and left four shillings on top of the till. Then she went back upstairs to collect her case with no idea what the future had in store.

  Chapter Twelve

  Little conversation passed between Aileen and Dermot on the way to the Dublin ferry.

  She closed her eyes, thinking of her future and wishing her da had come to see her off. The window wipers struggled to keep pace with the heavy rain, and she could smell lavender wafting from the dangling air freshener which fought to eliminate the meat and fish smells from the inside of the van.

  Sadness she hadn’t felt since her mother’s funeral enveloped her. She didn’t want to leave, nor did she want to say goodbye to Dermot just when she discovered she had feelings for him. The rain had eased when they arrived at the dock, and Dermot pulled into the parking area.

  ‘The ferry’s in,’ he said. ‘You won’t have to wait long before boarding.’ He lifted her case from the van.

  Aileen hated long goodbyes. As they walked towards the entrance, Dermot said, ‘I know I said I wouldn’t make things more difficult for you, but it won’t be the same without you.’

  Aileen touched his arm. ‘I’ll miss you, too, Dermot.’

  The waiting room was full, and they were lucky to find two seats where they could sit together. Dermot placed the case between his knees. ‘Promise me that if things don’t work out, though—and I’m not saying they won’t,’—he gesticulated with his hands ‘—you’ll come home. Ma would put you up in the spare room.’ He knitted his fingers and glanced down.

  Aileen placed her hand over his. ‘Thanks, Dermot, I’ll remember.’

  The gate opened, and the crowd surged forward. Aileen felt a fluttering in her tummy and glanced over her shoulder.

  ‘You’ve not forgotten anything, have you?’

  She shook her head. Apart from Dermot, none of her family had come to see her off. ‘Please, Dermot, don’t come any farther. I’ll be fine.’

  He looked crestfallen, and leaned over and kissed her lips. She knew he was shy about showing his affections in public. When he handed her the case, he held onto her hand until she broke away. Keeping her feelings in check, she followed the crowd, not daring to look back; her emotions were raw.

  Once she had placed her luggage in the hold, she went on deck. She wore a black and white check skirt and a red sweater her mother had knitted, with a row of cable stitching down the front. A wet, easterly wind swept across the deck. She shuddered and pulled the collar of her gabardine mac up around her neck and went over to the rail. She glanced across at the twinkling lights around the harbour where a few people had gathered.

  Then she saw them. Her Uncle Paddy and Aunt Bead were standing alongside Dermot, her uncle waving his large, red handkerchief towards the ship. She stood close to the rail waving back at them with tears in her eyes.

  * * *

  Dermot had hoped to stay with Aileen longer, at least until she had boarded. He would have followed her through the barrier, but it was clear she wanted to go alone. He could only
imagine what she must be feeling. He felt annoyed that he hadn’t given her a proper kiss before she disappeared from his life. If only she had taken him up on his offer of marriage. He would have looked after her, treasured her. At twenty-six, he was ready to settle down, but he understood why she didn’t feel the same.

  He recalled how she had told him she loved him. And if it hadn’t been for her father’s strange behaviour and her aunt sticking her nose in, she would still be here in the Fair City. It was just too much for her to cope with, and now she had left home to live miles away. It just wasn’t right. The whole business was just as puzzling to Dermot and his ma and da as it was to Aileen.

  As soon as he returned home, his mother questioned him. ‘How did it go? Did she get off all right?’

  Dermot nodded and slumped down into a chair as his mother poured him a mug of tea. Dermot’s da appeared in the doorway and shrugged out of his damp rain jacket.

  ‘She’s gone then?’ He shook his head. ‘Jonny Maguire needs his head seen to, letting a lovely young girl like Aileen go off to England on her own.’ He sat down at the table and poured himself tea from the pot. ‘When I see ‘im, I won’t be long about telling him a few home truths.’

  ‘You keep out of it, Len Brogan.’ His mother gave his da a playful swipe with the tea towel. ‘You can’t go wading in on people’s lives.’ She looked over at Dermot, who sighed and shook his head. ‘Ah sure, happen the girl will come back once she’s had a taste of being away from home.’

  ‘What home?’ Dermot drained his mug and got to his feet. ‘You don’t understand, do you, Ma? Aileen didn’t go away because she wanted to. It’s the fault of that no-good aunt of hers.’

  * * *

  The sea was fairly calm for August, but it could be unpredictable, and Aileen was glad she had taken her sea legs. If anything, the tablets relaxed her and kept her from dwelling on circumstances that had led her aboard this ship. Below deck, every seat was taken. Some passengers were lying on the floor, wrapped in blankets. Aileen found a space under a stairwell, curled up, and slept.

  She was awakened a few times by the creaking of the ship, and men’s coarse voices singing Irish songs in the bar. Finally, the long hours passed, and they docked in Holyhead.

  She was ill prepared for the stampede as passengers lined up for disembarkation. At last, she managed to get off the ship and walked along a covered area where customs officers randomly called people over. When Aileen was called, she hauled her heavy case up onto the wooden table where it was opened. She felt her face redden as the office fingered her underwear.

  ‘What’s wrapped in the newspaper?’

  ‘It’s just my teddy bear.’

  The officer beckoned to another officer, and they chatted offside. Aileen glanced over her shoulder, fearing she might miss the train. The teddy was removed from its wrapping, prodded and examined.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked. Maybe they thought she was a smuggler or worse?

  The officer placed the teddy back in her case and placed the newspaper on top. ‘No, miss.’ He smiled. ‘You can go now.’

  Aileen hurried to catch up with the rest of the passengers, wondering what on earth they were looking for. Did she look suspicious because she was nervous? Thankfully, the train was stationary, but the small station’s platform was deserted. There was nowhere she could get a warm drink; even the waiting room was closed.

  She climbed on board the train, leaving her luggage in the corridor, and found a seat in one of the compartments. It felt cold and the seats smelled of damp as if they had been caught in a shower. She sat by the window, removed her coat, and wrapped it around her legs. Happen it would warm up once the train got moving.

  More people crowded on board, searching for somewhere to sit, so she straightened her legs to make room. Some shared flasks of tea with one another, and she wished she had bought a fizzy drink on the boat.

  It was half an hour later when the train’s engine finally steamed into action and crawled its way slowly out of Holyhead. It was still dark, and she could see nothing of the beautiful scenery she had heard so much about as the train travelled through Wales. She dozed for a while and when she woke it was morning, and lights were coming on in the houses they passed. People were getting up, preparing for the day ahead; all she wanted was to put her head down and sleep.

  * * *

  Later, she had to fight her way onto a Birmingham train. Packed in like sardines, with only standing room, Aileen sat on her case, stifled a yawn, and told herself her journey would soon be over. It was some time before a seat became vacant, and she flopped into it, turning her face towards the window. Factories and tall grey buildings flashed by as the train approached the city and hissed into New Street Station.

  She stepped from the train and stood with her case at her feet, jostled from all sides as people rushed past her to catch trains. She glanced around. At least, the station had amenities, and she headed for the waiting room and toilets. Shortly afterwards, she sat on a station seat with a mug of hot tea and a ham sandwich, contemplating her next move.

  She smiled at the woman who sat down next to her, but the woman turned away. It made her all the more aware she was no longer in Ireland, where everyone spoke to everyone—even when you didn’t want them to.

  She gripped the handle of her case and walked towards the exit with no idea what direction to take. Outside on the busy street, she felt tired and confused. It started to rain; a fine drizzle that made her hair damp. A taxi drew to a halt next to her, and the driver wound the window down.

  ‘Where to, love?’

  ‘How much to take me to Hagley Road?’

  ‘I’ll get you there for five bob.’

  ‘Five shillings!’ Aileen shook her head. Someone else hopped into the taxi and it drove off.

  ‘Hey!’ A voice called out from behind her. ‘You can catch a bus around the corner. It’ll cost you a few coppers and get you there in fifteen minutes.’

  She thanked the newspaper boy and, masking her anxiety, hauled her suitcase through the crowds along New Street towards the bus stop. Cars, lorries, and buses created a traffic jam that went the length of the street and became gridlocked at the roundabout.

  When she was finally on the bus heading for Bead’s cousin’s house, rain was beating down. It was close to noon, and she had been travelling for hours. The conductor dropped her off at the King’s Head and pointed her in the direction she should go.

  Soon she found herself staring wide-eyed down a long, broad avenue, hoping desperately that the number she wanted was nearer the top. By now the rain had soaked her hair and was running down her legs.

  She passed no-one on the quiet street, and she guessed that most people were at work. Tired and weary, she trudged on, looking at the house numbers on either side of the road. Her arm ached and her case seemed to have grown heavier.

  At last, she paused outside a house with a black gate and a green privet hedge and wondered what sort of reception she would get from Bead’s cousin. Would she still have a room for her? And how was she going to get used to the Birmingham accent? Aileen took a deep breath, opened the gate, and walked up the path. The house was a Victorian villa with a wooden canopy over the door and a small, tidy front garden.

  She dropped her case down at her feet and flexed her arm then rang the bell on the brown door. In no time at all the door opened, and a woman with a smiling face and dark curly hair stood before her.

  ‘Now don’t tell me,’ the woman said. ‘You must be Aileen.’ She proffered her hand. ‘I’m Mary. Sure, look at yea. Yea look lost. Come in, will yea.’

  Relieved, Aileen stepped over the threshold and put her case down, then followed Mary down the long hallway to the kitchen.

  ‘This won’t take a minute,’ she said, switching on the kettle. ‘I’m sure you could murder a cuppa.’ She threw a towel towards Aileen. ‘Get out of that wet coat and dry your hair; it’s like rat’s tails.’

  Aileen could well
imagine how she must look, but she was too tired to care. She removed her wet things and sank into a chair.

  ‘Well,’ Mary said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘How was your journey?’

  ‘Exhausting.’

  Mary removed her baking bowl and rolling pin from the table, and wiped the area clean. The plastic tablecloth showed a repeated pattern of blue sailing boats. She placed cups and saucers on the table and popped bread into the toaster. ‘Would you like a cooked breakfast? This one is on the house.’

  Aileen couldn’t think about food. Embarrassed, she struggled to keep her eyes open. ‘Thanks, but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just have a slice of toast.’ She felt like she was on another planet.

  ‘Ah, sure you’re tired. You’ve come a long way.’ Bread popped up from the toaster, and she placed it on a plate. ‘Well, drink your tea and eat something. You’ll feel more like eating tomorrow.’

  Aileen nodded. Her eyes drooped and she shifted in the chair.

  ‘I’ve got three bedrooms occupied, and one small room.’ Mary turned her back and filled the sink with crockery. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for that until such time as a bigger room becomes vacant. It’s been a busy few months. Will that do yea?’

  Aileen nodded. There was a room for her, and that was all she needed to know for now. ‘I’m very grateful to you, Mary, for taking me in.’

  Mary turned towards her, drying her hands. ‘I was sorry to hear about your ma. God rest her soul.’ She placed her hand on Aileen’s arm. ‘Losing a mother ain’t easy, sure, I know all about it.’ She passed the tea with milk and sugar and left Aileen to butter her own toast. ‘I’ll take up your luggage; we can sort things out later.’

  Aileen was pleased she had remembered to exchange her Irish punts on the ship. Her throat felt dry and she gulped her tea and ate a small piece of toast, then she followed Mary upstairs and found her coming out of one of the bedrooms situated towards the back of the house.