Dublin's Fair City

by Cathy Mansell

  ‘You’ll let me know if there’s anything Paddy and I can do while you’re away, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, I will, Aunt Bead.’ Aileen leant across and kissed her aunt on the cheek.

  * * *

  That evening, Dermot called over to Finglas. Aileen and her aunt made turkey sandwiches and brought in cake and slices of homemade Christmas pudding for tea. After a game of cards and Cluedo, Uncle Paddy called for a singsong; everyone in turn had to do a party piece. Aileen danced the Irish reel, while Dermot clapped his hands and tapped his foot. Her da played the spoons, and Uncle Paddy played the fiddle. Bead sang In Dublin’s Fair City, and they all joined in.

  Paddy insisted they dance the four-hand reel, which Aileen could never get her head around. She partnered Dermot, her da partnered Bead, and Paddy gave instructions as well as playing the fiddle. No-one could remember how it was done. Hands and arms became intertwined, and finally, they all ended up in a heap on the sofa. Tears of laughter ran down Aileen’s face. She couldn’t remember when she had laughed so much, and it made her all the more aware of the family she was missing so much by living in England.

  Soon it was time to leave, and everyone wished each other a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year before Dermot drove them back home.

  When he stopped the van, her da went inside leaving Aileen and Dermot to say goodnight.

  He reached for her hand and pulled her close. ‘God, I’ve wanted to kiss you all day.’ He pressed his lips to hers and embraced her passionately. Everything that had happened in the last few months evaporated, and she felt a new contentment she hadn’t known in ages.

  Later, she sat in the scullery with her da, drinking hot chocolate.

  ‘Jessie would have enjoyed today, so she would.’

  ‘Yeah, she would have, Da.’ It was the first time she had heard him mention her ma’s name happily in ages.

  Chapter Forty

  It was past midnight and Aileen couldn’t sleep. A mixture of emotions unsettled her. Her da had admitted he’d had no idea Jessie was expecting twins and, in her ma’s defence, he didn’t think she had either until she was presented with the situation on the delivery table. So they were still in limbo as to why she had abandoned her son. It made no sense. Her mother had always been kind and caring, and for her to abandon her own flesh and blood seemed out of character. Someone knew the answer, and Aileen was determined—with her father’s help—to find out.

  It was after nine o’clock when Aileen woke. She glanced at the clock and swung her legs out of bed. Annoyed to have slept in, she pulled on her dressing gown and hurried downstairs to find her father sitting at the table hugging a mug of tea, a half-eaten piece of toast on his plate. ‘Sorry, Da, I couldn’t get off to sleep last night. Why didn’t you call me?’

  ‘I’m not long down myself.’ He gestured. ‘There’s tea in the pot.’

  ‘Have you any eggs, Da? I’ll make you some scrambled eggs.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’d rather get going, love. It’ll be after ten by the time we get there.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll go and get ready. And afterwards, regardless of what we find out, I’m taking you somewhere nice for lunch.’

  Aileen smiled. ‘That sounds grand, Da. But there won’t be anywhere open, will there?’

  ‘We’ll find somewhere.’

  ‘Would you like me to ask Dermot if he’d give us a lift? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘No, I’ll drive. I was hoping we could spend today, just us, you know? You’ll be gone back soon enough.’

  Delighted to hear him say that, she finished her tea and went back up to get ready. When she came down, she was surprised to find her da waiting for her in the room. He had on a grey suit and an open-necked cream shirt, his overcoat slung over his arm. ‘You look smart, Da.’

  He smiled. ‘You look nice, too, love. I like your hair up like that.’

  ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She linked her arm through his, and he popped his hat on and threw a scarf around his neck as they left the shop.

  After a couple of attempts to start the engine, the car spluttered into action with the help of the choke. A light coating of ice covered the windscreen.

  ‘Get in, love. It’ll clear in a few minutes.’

  She blew into her hands and rubbed them together as she settled in the passenger seat. ‘I hope Miss Finch is in, Da. What do you think?’

  ‘First I’d like to call in at the place where you were born. There’s always a chance that someone might remember something. Then we'll pay a visit to Miss Finch.’ He changed gear and headed across town. ‘I’m really puzzled as to why Jessie didn’t bring the boy home.’ He sighed, and Aileen placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I know, Da.’

  ‘If only she’d felt she could have talked to me, you know?’ He broke off. The streets were empty, not a bus in sight as they headed towards O’Connell Bridge, stopping for lights at Trinity College.

  Aileen had often wondered the same since discovering her mother’s note. ‘I hope we learn a bit more after today.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure, Aileen. If there was any funny business, people can be tight-lipped.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know, love. I really don’t know.’ He drove up Dame Street.

  Aileen frowned. ‘Which way are you going?’

  ‘I’ve not lived in Dublin this long and not know a few short cuts.’

  She needn’t have worried; her da knew Dublin like the back of his hand. Aileen relaxed, her mind full of questions that needed answers, and now she couldn’t wait to speak to Miss Finch again. If she had any information at all, Aileen wanted to know—even if she had to plead with the woman. Where was her brother, and was he still alive? Thoughts of anything else would be too much after months of speculation.

  * * *

  When they arrived on the street, Aileen glanced up at the building as her da parked the car close by. They walked towards the home; the large bay window was lit up in true Christmas spirit with a brightly decorated tree.

  ‘From the outside, it hasn’t changed much since the day I took your ma here.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘Let’s see what we can find out, shall we?’

  He rang the bell and they were admitted very quickly. The foyer was warm and pleasant, with sprigs of holly protruding from scenic pictures around the walls. The woman behind the desk glanced up.

  ‘Who have you come to visit?’

  Her father tipped his hat. ‘We’re not visiting.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I wondered if there’s anyone here who might have information about this place when it was a baby clinic?’

  The young receptionist frowned, obviously too young to recall the building’s previous use. ‘What is it you’d like to know, sir?’

  ‘We’re trying to locate what happened to a baby boy born here when it was run as a private baby clinic.’

  ‘Sure, some of our staff are on Christmas leave, as are most of the residents.’ She smiled. ‘But please take a seat. I’ll see if Cook knows anything. She’s been here a while.’

  ‘Much obliged.’ Aileen’s father tipped his hat again, loosened his checked scarf—a present from Aileen—and sat down. Aileen looked at the pictures on the wall; in particular, an old black and white photo in a gold frame. A nun stood on one side of an open door, and a nursing sister in a stiff-looking uniform stood on the other. They couldn’t have looked more miserable if they had heard that they were to be shot at dawn. The date pencilled in at the bottom of the picture was 1935.

  ‘Take a look at this, Da.’

  Jonny Maguire moved closer to get a better look. ‘Umm. That’s interesting.’

  ‘Excuse me. You wanted a word?’ A small woman, her face flushed, stood in the reception. ‘How can I help?’

  Aileen explained their predicament.

  ‘I wish I could help, but the baby clinic was before I came to work here, I’m afraid.’

  Aileen’s da exhaled. ‘You wouldn�
��t, by chance, happen to know who these two women are in this photo?’

  The woman walked across to look. ‘Well, they say that’s the nun who ran the place when it was a baby clinic.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know who the nurse is. The picture was left behind in one of the offices, and the new owner decided to hang it up here. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.’

  ‘Thank you, you’ve been very kind.’ Aileen looked again at the photograph on the wall. ‘You know, Da, the nurse in this picture has a striking resemblance to Miss Finch.’ Her da pursed his lips. However, Aileen now felt more positive about calling on her again.

  It started to rain and they sat in the car discussing the photograph. ‘It’s her, Da! She has the same sharp features as the woman I spoke to, the same stance.’

  ‘How can you be sure? That picture was taken years ago.’

  ‘I am, Da, and I think she’s hiding something.’

  ‘In that case, what are we waiting for? Grab that black brolly from the back seat. If she’s in, and she hears the car pull up outside, it might put her off answering the door, so we’ll walk round.’

  Her father held the umbrella over them as they walked the short distance.

  ‘If she’s not at home, will you come with me again tomorrow before I fly back?’

  ‘Course I will, love. I can open the shop a bit later. Finding out what happened to my son is more important.’

  Aileen recalled the squeaky gate and the blue Georgian door from her first visit. As she glanced up at the window, she saw the curtain twitch.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Aileen felt like an intruder, calling on the woman on St. Stephen’s Day, but what choice did they have? She rang the bell and shifted from one leg to the other as the rain dripped down the backs of her legs into her shoes. No-one answered, and her da rang again.

  ‘It’s possible that any students living here will have gone home for Christmas,’ he said. ‘She’ll hardly answer the door if she’s alone in the house.’ He sighed. ‘Drat! Well, we can’t stand here getting soaked.’

  They were just about to turn away, when the door opened. A thin man with white hair and a goatee looked up at them. ‘Whoever you’re looking for, there’s no-one in. Apart from myself and the recluse on the first floor.’

  ‘We’re sorry to disturb you,’ Aileen began. ‘We’ve come to see Miss Finch.’

  He gave a little chuckle. ‘I wish yea luck. That woman hasn’t a word to throw a dog, even at Christmas.’

  Aileen shivered. ‘Can we come in?’ Her da folded the brolly, shook off the surplus rainwater, and left it outside.

  The man stood back to allow them in, then closed the door. ‘She never married, you see. Them’s always the crabbiest.’ He pulled on his beige waterproof and popped his felt cap on his head. ‘It’s weather for ducks out there,’ he said, and let himself out of the house.

  Aileen and her da breathed a sigh in unison, and paused a few moments before tentatively going upstairs. Aileen rapped on the door as her da removed his hat.

  After several minutes, the woman shouted, ‘Go away. I don’t speak to reporters.’

  ‘We’re not reporters. We spoke before, Miss Finch.’

  Aileen’s father sighed impatiently and walked along the landing, examining the cracks in the plastered walls. ‘Please, I just want to find my brother.’ The door opened a crack, and Aileen beckoned her da.

  ‘We’re so sorry to have disturbed you, Miss,’ her da said. ‘I’m Jessie Maguire’s husband, and this is my daughter, Aileen. My wife confessed to having another child, Aileen’s twin, at the home where I believe you might have worked. We–’

  The door was pushed to.

  ‘We mean you no harm,’ her da continued. ‘We’d be grateful for anything you can remember. My wife lived with this secret until she felt forced to tell me on her deathbed that I had a son. She didn’t live long enough to give me details. Can you imagine what that does to a man?’ He swallowed. ‘My daughter was deprived of a brother, and me a son.’ Aileen heard the catch in his voice.

  After a few seconds, the door opened slightly.

  ‘What do you expect me to do? I told your daughter to go through the proper channels.’

  ‘Nothing turned up from those enquiries.’ Aileen was determined to keep her talking. ‘I know you worked at the baby home when I was born. You’re our only link to finding out what happened to my twin brother.’

  Miss Finch stood in the opening, both hands holding the door as if she was about to close it again. She wore a dark brown suit with a green Paisley blouse, and a sparkly brooch lifting her bored expression. She shifted uneasily. ‘I’m not sure I know what you’re implying.’

  Seeing her again, Aileen felt sure she was the woman in the photograph, that same expression on her face. ‘We saw a photo of you hanging in the reception of the new residential home. It was taken in 1935. There was a nun in the picture with you. Do you know where she is now?’

  The woman stayed silent.

  Jonny Maguire sighed. ‘Look, can we talk inside? It’s bloody draughty standing here.’

  ‘If you must.’ She moved away and the door swung open. Aileen and her da hurried inside before she changed her mind. ‘Don’t expect me to offer you tea. I take all my meals at the nurses’ home.’

  ‘We don’t expect anything except some honest answers.’ Her father stood just inside the door, holding his hat in front of him.

  The last time Aileen had been in this room she couldn’t wait to get outside. Today it was slightly cheered by the nativity scene decorated with the smell of fresh holly. A copy of Pilgrim’s Progress lay on the table. Aileen had only read the first few pages, more interested in the author, John Bunyan, who had spent years in prison. This place was Miss Finch’s prison, and Aileen wondered if her choice of author was a coincidence.

  The woman walked to the centre of the room, turned and faced them. ‘Please sit down.’

  Aileen sat in the old armchair and felt like she was sitting on the floor. Her da perched on the arm.

  ‘You obviously worked at the private clinic when my wife, Jessie Maguire, went into labour. Tell us what you remember.’

  She linked and unlinked her fingers. ‘Can you promise me anonymity?’

  ‘I’m only interested in what happened to my son. If you know and don’t divulge what you know, make no mistake, I’ll take it further.’

  The woman eased herself down onto a hard-backed chair, plucked her embroidered handkerchief from the pocket of her jacket, and sniffed.

  Aileen struggled to get up out of the low armchair. She stood next to Miss Finch and placed her hand on her shoulder. ‘Do you know where my brother is?’

  The woman shook her head.

  Her da got to his feet. ‘Look, Miss. My patience is wearing thin. Were you present at the birth?’’

  ‘Yes, yes, I was there.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Talking to you will cost me a great deal. I’ll be opening gates I’ve kept closed for a long time.’

  ‘We have the right to know.’

  ‘Please, Miss Finch.’ Aileen swallowed, and her throat tightened.

  Miss Finch took a deep breath and shifted in her chair. ‘When the second baby was delivered, half an hour after the first one, he… he, well, he was barely alive. He weighed less than a bag of sugar, had breathing problems, a weak pulse, and suffered from a lack of oxygen. Sister Amelia handed him to me and told me to take him away. Later, she told Mrs Maguire that she had a healthy girl and a boy who wouldn’t survive the night.’

  Aileen gasped. Her da paled, drew his fingers through his hair and moved across to the window. Aileen followed. Outside, a car swished past and heavy rain pelted against the window.

  He turned back into the room, his expression intent. ‘You’ve got it wrong. What proof do we have that you’re talking about the same baby?’

  ‘It was a long time ago but I’ve never forgotten that wee boy. You have to understand, Sister Amelia’s word was law and no-one a
t that time dared question her authority.’

  Aileen’s father was silent as Miss Finch continued. ‘I overheard her telling your wife to save her milk for her healthy baby.’ She turned towards Aileen. ‘Your mother begged to be allowed to hold her son, but she was refused.’

  Aileen felt the room closing in on her. The cold, miserable place wasn’t doing her father any favours either. He looked grey, and she saw that look of despair in his eyes she hoped never to see again.

  ‘I tried to intervene, but Sister Amelia said it was kinder and would make it easier for Mrs Maguire to let go.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Johnny Maguire glared at the woman. ‘You could have done something. And why did my wife discharge herself so soon?’

  ‘I tried. When I went to check on your wife, she wasn’t in her room. After I had checked the bathroom, I informed Sister Amelia immediately.’

  Aileen’s grief was such that she knew if she cried she would never stop. She glanced up at her da, his face creased in pain.

  ‘You bunch of bloody hypocrites. It was a hospital, and you allowed my wife to walk out hours after giving birth.’

  ‘It wasn’t a prison; she was free to go whenever she wanted to.’

  ‘She wasn’t herself for weeks; sad and unhappy all the time. Didn’t it occur to you to tell me?’ His voice faltered. He straightened his shoulders, his breath coming in gasps, and Aileen feared what he might do. ‘Someone will be held responsible for this!’ he shouted.

  Aileen stifled a sob at the enormity of her ma’s suffering.

  ‘I had no choice, you see…’ the woman said, as if talking to herself.

  The sound of a door shutting below alerted her. She stiffened. Footsteps hurried upstairs, paused on the landing, and went back down.

  Aileen’s father continued. ‘You stupid woman! No choice? You could have told someone.’

  Miss Finch stood up. ‘If you’d be so kind as to let me finish, Mr Maguire.’ She folded her arms. ‘I invited you into my room because I felt you had the right to know what happened to your son.’