Dublin's Fair City

by Cathy Mansell

  She made her way towards the kitchen, and Aileen picked up a magazine from the rack, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her stupid friendship with Roy and his subsequent death had left her shaken. Now she could see things in perspective, she recognised how gullible she had been to have let herself be taken in by an older man and fallen for his lies. When she rationalised her own behaviour, it occurred to her that the loss of her ma, her da’s unhappy state, and Lizzy’s attitude, had all contributed to her lack of judgement.

  The shrill of the telephone brought her out of her thoughts. Thinking it might be Dermot, she stood in the doorway as Mary lifted the receiver.

  ‘What can I do for yea?’ Mary was saying. ‘What, at this time of the night? Aye, I don’t know. Yes, she’s here. Hold on.’ Mary turned her head and beckoned Aileen to the phone. ‘It’s the police. They want to speak to yea.’

  When Aileen replaced the phone, her face was white. ‘What is it? What do they want from yea now?’

  ‘They want me to call in at the station first thing in the morning, but they wouldn’t say what it was about.’ She placed her hands over her face. ‘Mary, this is not going away.’

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  ‘Please take a seat, Miss.’ The older of the two policemen pulled out a chair and Aileen sat down, her hands folded on her lap. The younger man glared at her, and it made her feel uncomfortable. The older of the two cleared his throat.

  ‘I’m PC Williams and this is PC Taylor, whom I believe you’ve met before.’

  Aileen nodded.

  ‘We’re sorry we had to bring you down here again, Miss, but we have more news about Mr Pickering’s death.’

  Aileen’s heartbeat quickened, and her hands felt clammy as she rubbed them together.

  ‘Did you notice anything unusual when you visited Roy Pickering’s house on Christmas Eve, Miss?’

  Aileen frowned. She had noticed the strange atmosphere, but was that what they wanted to know? ‘In what way?’

  ‘Anything at all, Miss, about Pickering’s mother, or Pickering himself, anything that you thought odd?’

  ‘The house didn’t look lived in, and it made me feel very uncomfortable.’

  ‘My feelings, too,’ the older PC said. ‘What about the mother? How did you find her? Was she friendly?’

  Aileen sat forward. ‘Well, I never met his mother. I don’t know anything about her.’ She sighed. ‘Why are you asking me these questions? Has something else happened?’

  ‘No, Miss. When Mrs Pickering was first questioned, she was quick to blame you for her son’s death. But we’ve since learned more about the family and discovered that Pickering left a suicide note.’

  Aileen swallowed; her mind swirled with notions of what he might have put in the note. Would he have taken revenge on her for turning him down? He could be so unpredictable.

  ‘Did you know that his father committed suicide, Miss?’

  ‘No. As I’ve said, I knew nothing about his family. He never spoke of it. And, well, he always came over as a private person.’ She sighed. ‘He was friendly most of the time. When I told him I was going home to see my boyfriend and my family, his mood changed.’

  ‘It’s all right, Miss. We won’t detain you much longer. We wondered if you knew anything about his home life; how he felt about his mother, for instance?’

  ‘No, I know nothing at all. I only knew him for a short time. Why did his mother blame me?’

  ‘Well, she had to blame someone. According to the suicide note, he couldn’t go on after what he’d heard. It had nothing to do with you, Miss. Apparently, his mother revealed the truth that his father died in a mental institution, having previously told him he died in the war.’

  Aileen was shocked to hear this. ‘So, are you saying that is why he took his life?’

  ‘It’s very significant, Miss.’ He sighed. ‘I guess he was very disturbed and believed he would end up the same way.’ The constable sat forward. ‘Which goes to show that lying, no matter how well intentioned, doesn’t pay.’

  Aileen nodded and was reminded of her own dishonesty. ‘Thanks for letting me know. I’d hate to have his death on my conscience. Can I go now?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Thanks for coming in. We are satisfied that this had nothing to do with you. Thanks for your co-operation, Miss.’ He stood up and escorted her out.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  By the beginning of February, Aileen was finally back in Dublin. Miss Grimshaw had asked her to reconsider her resignation and offered her a wage increase, but Aileen’s mind was made up. Val said she understood her need to see her twin brother and, after a tearful hug, Aileen had left the mill with their good wishes.

  Reunited again with Dermot at the ferry terminal made her all the more aware that she didn’t want to lose him. And when he dropped her outside the sweet shop, her da greeted her with a smile and a hug. It felt good to be home. A pleasant woman of about forty was working behind the sweet counter, and she stopped what she was doing to greet Aileen.

  ‘It’s nice to meet you, love. Your father never stops talking about you.’ The woman seemed pleasant enough, and her da would need time off once they contacted her brother.

  They walked through to the living room. There was the sound of a kettle boiling in the scullery. ‘Is that it now? Are you home for good?’

  ‘Most definitely, Da.’ She removed her coat. ‘By the way, has there been any news from Tom?’

  ‘I’m anxiously waiting to hear from him.'

  ‘Really? That’s wonderful.’

  ‘I wrote him a letter. Mind you, I found it difficult. I told him who I was and about you, and that we had just discovered his whereabouts.’ He sighed as he placed a tea-tray on the table. ‘I hope I did the right thing. I don’t want to put pressure on him.’

  He put a plate of ham and tomato sandwiches and a few fig rolls on the table, sat down, and linked his fingers. ‘I included our phone number should he wish to get in touch, and concluded that it would make us both very happy if he did.’ He ran his hand over his face.

  ‘You did well, Da. When was that?’

  ‘Just after you went back. So far he hasn’t phoned, or made contact.’

  ‘Well, never mind. He’ll need time to think about it. He might be nervous about meeting us.’

  ‘I can understand that. I’ll wait a few more days and then I’ll phone the bank.’

  Aileen frowned. ‘I can’t contemplate that he might not want to be part of our lives.’

  Her da shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, love. I’m not losing him again, no matter how long it takes. He knows nothing about us yet, and he’s probably cautious. We must take things slowly.’ He placed a hand on her arm. ‘I’d better go and take over from Fiona.’ He glanced at his watch.

  ‘Fiona, is it?’

  He raised his eyes. ‘She’s just an employee, that’s all.’

  Aileen smiled. ‘Are you going to keep her on?’

  ‘Well, now, sure that depends on what your plans are. Look, when you’ve finished eating, have a lie down. Your room is ready. And later, why don’t you go and see a film with Dermot? That young man’s been missing you nearly as much as I have.’ He laughed. ‘Here, take this.’ He handed her a ten-shilling note. ‘Get some ice-cream on me.’

  She kissed his cheek. How lovely it was to have her old da back.

  * * *

  For her date with Dermot, Aileen wore a green, long-sleeved, woollen dress. It was short enough to show off her shapely legs. She wore the perfume he had bought for her at Christmas, and she left her hair loose, teasing it around her face the way she knew he liked it. A short leather jacket and heeled boots completed her outfit.

  She was putting the finishing touches to her lips when Dermot’s van rattled to a halt outside, and she hurried downstairs. Tonight, if the opportunity arose, she planned to clear her conscience by telling Dermot everything that had happened during her stay in Birmingham. She had no idea what it might do to their relationsh
ip, but it was something she had to do.

  ‘You sounded mysterious on the phone,’ she said. ‘What are you up to, Dermot?’ He looked handsome in a grey jacket and open-necked blue shirt, his thick dark hair tousled as if he hadn’t dried it properly.

  ‘You remember I said I was planning something special for when you came home?’

  ‘How special? Da’s given me money for ice-cream.’

  He laughed. ‘Well, I don’t think you’ll need that.’

  She frowned. ‘Why, where are we going?’

  He winked and drove the van down Camden Street.

  ‘Oh, stop messing, Dermot, and tell me.’

  ‘Be patient, Aileen Maguire. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.’

  She tried to guess, but each place she mentioned, Dermot just laughed and shook his head.

  ‘Oh, go on,’ she wheedled. ‘You know I hate not knowing.’

  He turned onto Dame Street and reversed into a parking space she was sure many drivers wouldn’t attempt. Aileen shook her head and stepped out into the cold night air, a puzzled look on her face. The theatre came to mind. Yet Dermot gave her no clue. He took her hand, and they walked back along Dame Street.

  They had only gone a few steps when he paused outside an Italian restaurant. The door opened and a couple stepped out. A chink of light shone on the pavement, and Aileen glanced up at the name above the door. ‘You can’t be serious, Dermot?’ She placed her fingers to her lips. ‘It’s much too expensive.’ Nico’s was one of the first Italian restaurants to open in Dublin a couple of years before and had received great reviews.

  ‘Let me be the judge of that. Your face is a picture.’ Dermot laughed. He opened the door and ushered her inside.

  ‘Are you sure, Dermot? It’ll cost an arm and a leg…I…’

  ‘We’re celebrating your return to the Fair City, Aileen.’

  Nico, the owner, greeted them as soon as they walked in. Tall and good-looking, his warm Italian personality instantly made them feel welcome. ‘Buonasera!’ He took their coats and escorted them to a table for two in the corner.

  ‘This is lovely, Dermot.’ The place was small, intimate, and romantic. Colourful drapes looped along one side of the wall, and someone tinkled gentle melodies on a piano. Aileen glanced up at the overhead gas heaters and felt warm and cosy.

  Nico handed them a menu. ‘Take your time,’ he said, in that lovely Italian accent. ‘Call me when you’re ready to order.’

  Aileen glanced down the menu; everything looked delicious, but the prices made her eyes water. She could hardly expect Dermot to pay these prices, and wondered if she should offer to go Dutch, yet she would hate to embarrass him. He must have read her expression.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m not without a penny or two. After all, what have I had to spend it on these past six months? Choose anything you like.’ He glanced down the wine list. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  ‘Well, umm.’ She wasn’t sure she should, remembering the effect alcohol had on her. It was an episode she wanted to forget, but she felt happy here with Dermot and knew she was safe.

  ‘Shall we wait until we order?’

  He nodded. Couples were still arriving and being shown to their tables. The place was almost full, and she quickly counted a dozen couples dining. It made a very cosy atmosphere.

  Happy and relaxed, she leant back in her chair, letting the muttering of intimate conversations, the chinking of glasses, and the gentle background music wash over her. Dermot bent his shoulders and took her hand. ‘Have you eaten Italian before? No doubt you’ve been to a few fancy restaurants and nightclubs in Birmingham?’

  ‘Well, no, not really.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t expect you to take me to swanky places like this, you know?’

  He released her hand. ‘But you do like it here?’

  ‘Of course, I do. It’s a lovely surprise. I’m just saying.’

  In spite of the subdued light, Aileen saw the lines on his forehead relax. ‘I wanted to do something special. You deserve it.’ He studied the menu again. ‘Now, I’m famished. What would you like to eat?’

  ‘Nico’s salad starter looks delicious, but I’ll have the minestrone soup, I think. What about you?’

  Dermot rubbed the palms of his hands together. ‘Me, too.’

  When they were ready, Nico came across and took their order. ‘Can I try the spaghetti carbonara, please?’ Aileen was surprised that Nico took the orders himself, and she assumed the woman who cleared the tables was his wife.

  ‘Certainly, Signorina, and for you, Signor?’

  ‘Spaghetti bolognese, please.’

  Dermot glanced at the drinks menu. ‘Would you like to try some Italian wine? I’ve had some before. It’s quite nice.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, please.’ She felt relaxed and happier than she had in a long while.

  ‘Splendid.’ Relieving them of the menus, Nico retreated. Aileen remarked on his smart attire of black and white jacket. His black trousers accentuated his long legs as he made his way through to the kitchen.

  Nico brought the wine—a squat bottle encased in a straw basket—and poured them each a glass. Aileen raised it to her lips and took a sip.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Dermot asked.

  Aileen wasn’t sure she liked it. The flavour was subdued, but she guessed it might taste better along with food. Smiling, she said, ‘It’s different.’

  ‘It’s not sweet. Would you prefer something else?’

  ‘It’s grand, Dermot, thanks.’ She leant her elbow on the table, her fingers resting under her chin. ‘I’m looking forward to trying my first Italian dish.’

  ‘They do Irish as well as Italian.’

  ‘I noticed.’ Aileen raised an eyebrow.

  Dermot sat back. ‘I see you’re not observing “no meat on Friday”, then?’

  Aileen laughed. ‘No, I don’t stick to it, and certainly not tonight.’

  His shoulders relaxed. ‘I’m sorry. I never thought to check with you first. Working as a butcher, I rarely eat fish. Ma keeps it up, you know, and with Luke being a priest and all, well, me and Da don’t always get a choice.’

  As they waited for their meal, he made her laugh at the silliest of things. ‘You just wouldn’t believe the stories the fish guy comes out with for being late with deliveries.’ He leant forward. ‘One week his horse went lame, another week the horse had a runny eye and he had to call in the vet.’

  ‘Sounds like he needs a new horse.’ They laughed.

  Dermot was charming and funny. She glanced across at his rugged good looks and her heart swelled with love. He had made such efforts to please her. She glanced down at his strong hands, his nails looked like they’d had a manicure. She could see no traces that he had been working in a butcher’s shop all day.

  The atmosphere was so relaxing she was barely aware of other people around them.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Wonderful.’ She smiled.

  Their food arrived, and they tucked in. Dermot tried to wrap the spaghetti around his fork, but after several attempts ,he gave up and scooped it into his mouth, the strips of pasta dangling from his chin. ‘I’m sorry, Aileen. There must be a knack to eating spaghetti, just like with chopsticks.’

  Aileen smiled and reached for his hand. It felt nice.

  ‘It’s so lovely to have you back home. Are you staying this time?’

  She nodded.

  ‘What are your plans? I mean… I can’t see the sweet shop being enough for you. Will you go back to college?’

  Right now, she would settle for anything so long as she was here in Dublin, close to Dermot, her da, and her brother. She swallowed. ‘I don’t see myself ever going back to England, Dermot, but I’m not sure what I want to do right now. Except, that is, find my brother.’

  ‘Any word yet?’ He asked sipping his drink.

  She shook her head, frowning slightly. ‘It’s been weeks and we’ve heard nothing.’

 
‘It’s still not long, Aileen.’ He placed his glass down and beckoned the waiter. ‘Would you like dessert? I know I would.’

  They both opted for Nico’s special gateau with fresh cream.

  Aileen picked up their conversation again. ‘I know it won’t be easy for him, Dermot, and he must be so confused.’

  ‘Well, I can only go by how I might feel if I were in his shoes. I guess he’ll be nervous and possibly take time to come to terms with the fact that he has a twin sister and a father, and at the same time wonder where they had been all his life.’

  Aileen sighed. ‘What if he never gets in touch? I can’t leave it there, Dermot.’

  ‘Just give him time, and then you can write again. Try and stay positive.’ He moved his dish to the side and took her hand. ‘I know it’s not easy.’ He lifted the chianti bottle. ‘Would you like some more?’

  ‘Okay,’ she raised her glass. ‘Just a small drop.’ She sipped her wine and felt the smooth liquid ease its way down, then took another sip. ‘I like the flavour; it doesn’t taste like alcohol.’

  ‘Oh, it is.’

  She smiled. ‘I’ve not been adventurous with alcohol.’ She omitted to mention gin and tonic.

  ‘I know. That’s what I love about you. You’re perfect. The most beautiful girl in the room and you’re here with me.’

  ‘Stop that, Dermot. You’re making me blush.’ She looked away. She didn’t deserve any of Dermot’s praise.

  ‘I’m serious, Aileen. There’s nothing I’d like to change about you.’

  She reached across and touched his hand.

  ‘You won’t miss the friends you’ve made in England then?’

  Their eyes met. His green and brooding, his dark hair and that lovely smile melting her heart.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve made the right decision.’ She loved him now more than ever, and she dreaded having to tell him the kind of person she had made friends with back in Birmingham. But that would have to wait for another day.

  Dermot ordered another bottle of chianti, and they sat sipping wine and chatting freely about the Aberfan disaster, her da, and mostly about Aileen’s brother, Tom. When she glanced around her, the restaurant was almost empty. The time had flown, but she didn’t want the evening to end.