The Girl from Ballymor

by Kathleen McGurl

  Still unwilling to turn her back on Michael, she stood for a moment alone, at the end of the quay, gazing after the ship. She was all alone now. There was no one left. The children were at rest in Ballymor churchyard, Michael had sailed, Patrick was buried deep underground where the mine had collapsed, Old Mother Heaney was long gone too. And all her neighbours from Kildoolin – either dead or emigrated. She was truly alone.

  But Jimmy Maguire had promised to wait for her and give her a lift home. So she turned away and began the lonely walk back across the city to where Jimmy had said he would wait with his pony and cart.

  She caught a glimpse of a man on a black horse standing on the quayside. He was gazing out along the river after the Columbus. As she watched him, he seemed to sigh and slump a little in his saddle, then turned his horse around to walk into the city, away from the docks.

  It was Thomas Waterman, she realised. Thank the Lord he had not come to speak to her. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, clinging tightly to the vision of Michael’s excited face as he boarded the ship – her last view of him, which she wanted to imprint on her memory for ever.

  *

  Jimmy Maguire dropped her off in Ballymor town centre as usual. ‘Thank you,’ she said, as she handed him the last of her coins in payment and climbed down from the cart. ‘I won’t be wanting to go back to Cork city, now.’

  ‘Ah, well, if you do need to, sure you’ll know where to find me,’ he said gruffly, flicking the reins to make the tired old horse walk on, back to his yard.

  She watched him go, then began the familiar walk home to Kildoolin. The track to the village was too rough and rutted for a cart nowadays. With no one but her living there, there was no point in Waterman paying to keep the track maintained. She set off up the path, her head down, her thoughts still with Michael, wondering what he was doing now on the ship – was it dinner time? What was his berth like? Were the other passengers and crew friendly? Was he missing her? No. She mustn’t think about that. He had gone to his new life, and she must make the best of hers. Although it didn’t feel as though there was much life left here for her now. What was the point of staying in Kildoolin, all alone? It was her home, but what was home when there was no one left to share it? Anyway where else could she go, with no money and no family?

  ‘Kitty McCarthy.’ The voice came from behind her, and she stopped and turned about on the path. Thomas Waterman, astride his huge black horse, was behind her on the track. He’d come looking for her, she realised. There was no other reason for him to come to the empty village.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ she said, a touch of defiance in her tone. She’d got what she wanted from him, a kind of payback for what he did to her all those years ago. She had no more need to be deferential to him.

  ‘Your boy, Michael, he’s gone on the Columbus, then?’

  He knew damn well Michael had gone, she thought. Hadn’t he been at the quayside watching? ‘Yes, sir, he has.’

  ‘And did you pass on my message? About contacting me if ever he needs any assistance, whether he’s in America or back here in Ireland?’

  ‘He’ll be all right, sir. He’s a clever lad, honest and hard-working, and I’m sure once he’s in New York he’ll make his own way.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Waterman nodded, his eyes still on her. She wished he would just go and leave her, so she could go home, scrape together a meal (although from what, she could not say), and go to bed. Each day that passed was a day closer to Michael arriving in America, a day closer to when she might receive a letter to say he was there, safe, and free from hunger.

  ‘Come to the Hall again, Kitty. Tomorrow.’ His words were a command, but his tone was gentle enough.

  ‘For what reason, sir?’ She stared up at him.

  ‘There’ll be a job for you. In the kitchens, or, if you prefer it, as a housemaid. As long as you’re not frightened of hard work, there’s a room in the attics and regular food for you. And wages. You’ve nothing left here. I’ll be spending no money repairing these cottages, and yours is almost tumbledown.’

  She regarded him carefully. Was there an ulterior motive to him offering her a job, food and board? It was a tempting offer, and coming from anyone else she would leap at the chance. It would be the saving of her. But coming from Waterman – why did he want her living under his roof? Would she find herself with a frequent night-time visitor perhaps? She shuddered at the thought. While he had not made any advances on her since that terrible time eighteen years ago, he had a way of looking at her that said he still desired her, given half a chance.

  ‘Well? Surely it’s a good offer – somewhere to live and decent food in return for a bit of housework? Your Michael can write to you at the Hall, and if or when he comes home, there’ll be a place for him as well.’

  She pulled herself up straight and looked him once more in the eye. So that was what he wanted – to keep her close as a way of hearing news about Michael, and to get to Michael if ever he came back to Ireland? Why on earth hadn’t he offered Michael a job then, when they were starving? He’d put Michael out of work – at least his agent had.

  ‘I won’t take your job, sir,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. ‘I’ll stay living in the cottage, and will earn money on the road building to pay my rent. You don’t need to be worrying that I’ll not be able to keep up my payments. I have some seed potatoes to plant for next season’s crop, sure I have.’ That last was a lie. But she would not take his charity.

  He sighed. ‘You don’t trust me, do you? I suppose that’s to be expected. Well, with the village as good as empty, Smith won’t be collecting any more rent from you. Stay as long as you like, and when the road building is too harsh or the next potato crop fails, call at my kitchen door and ask for a job. You’ll not be turned away. Think about it.’

  His eyes travelled down her body and back up again, then he nodded curtly, turned his horse around and spurred it into a canter.

  She let out a sigh of relief. He’d gone, at last, and she could be alone in her misery. Whatever happened she would not go to him for charity. It was one thing to beg for help for Michael, but not for herself. Not after what he’d done to her. She’d sooner die.

  CHAPTER 21

  Maria

  I sat with Sharon, Kaz and Nathan in the pub for hours, murmuring words of comfort, drinking endless cups of tea provided by Aoife, and jumping up in hope every time the pub phone rang. Sharon was also constantly texting Dave, until he replied that his battery was running low and he needed to save what was left in case there was real news.

  I’d fetched my laptop and loaned it to Nathan and Kaz, so they could distract themselves with online games while we grown-ups fretted, worried and voiced platitudes to each other.

  ‘Oh God, what if they don’t find him?’ Sharon said, for what must have been the hundredth time.

  ‘They will.’ I rubbed her arm, hoping the gesture might reassure her a little. If the truth were told, I was becoming more and more worried by the minute. I’d thought with so many people up there searching, it would be no time at all before a call came through to say Sammy had been found, safe but wet, and was in his father’s arms.

  ‘I’m just so scared for him.’ Sharon glanced across to the older children, then leaned in close and spoke confidentially. ‘Sammy’s my only child, you see. Those two are Dave’s but not mine. Their mother died when they were small.’

  ‘Oh, how awful. What happened?’

  ‘There was a house fire. Faulty wiring in a house they were doing up. Kaz was three and Nathan just a tiny baby. Dave was at work. Their mum – Caroline – had been in the garden hanging out washing when she realised there was smoke pouring out from upstairs. She got Nathan out, then went back inside for Kaz who was napping upstairs, though a neighbour tried to stop her. She dropped Kaz out of a window into the neighbour’s arms, but then she was overcome by smoke. The fire brigade brought her out, dead.’

  ‘Oh, Christ.’ I didn’t know what to say.


  ‘I know.’

  We both looked over to the kids, but they were engrossed in their games, earbuds firmly plugged in, and had not heard a word of our conversation.

  Sharon looked anguished. ‘Caroline gave her life to save her daughter. Since Sammy was born, I’ve often wondered whether I could do the same for him. Run into a burning building to fetch him. And now . . .’ she gave a sudden sob ‘. . . now this feels like some kind of test. Oh, Maria, I should be up there on the moors, risking my life for him! And I’m not – I’m warm and dry in here, and he’s up there, maybe lying hurt and wet and cold . . .’

  ‘You brought the other two down, Sharon, and raised the alarm. That was the right thing to do. You had to think of them as well, and you need to be able to comfort Sammy when he’s found. Don’t beat yourself up. You did the right thing.’ I took her hand and squeezed it. What an amazing thing Caroline had done – giving her life to save her child. I guessed you’d never know if you were capable of such self-sacrifice until you found yourself in that kind of situation, and God forbid you’d ever have to be put to the test. But being prepared in theory to do such a thing – that was all part of being a parent. I wondered if Jackie would have run into a burning building to save me. Who knew – perhaps dormant maternal instincts would have kicked in and she’d have done it. I liked to think I would, too. Surely that was what it was all about?

  ‘I’ll never forgive myself if . . . if . . .’ Sharon couldn’t finish the sentence, and just shook her head, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Kaz looked up then from her game, and tugged out her earbuds. ‘Mum? What’s the matter? It’ll be all right, you know. They’ll find Sammy, I know they will. And he’ll be all right.’ She took Sharon’s other hand, and Sharon shot her a grateful look then pulled her close for a hug. Kaz held her stepmother’s head on her shoulder, stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort in a perfect moment of role reversal. I’d never held Jackie like that. I envied them their closeness.

  A memory surfaced – Jackie sobbing uncontrollably when we got home and were alone after Dad’s funeral. I’d stared at her, crying quietly myself but without the noisy hiccupping sobs she was making, and then I had turned away and gone to my bedroom to grieve alone. That was the moment. That was when I should have taken her in my arms and held her, the way Kaz was holding Sharon now. That was the moment when we could have laid the foundations for a new relationship, but I had chosen to turn my back. Our lack of a good adult relationship, I was finally realising, was as much my fault as it was hers. But she’d made a move towards reconciliation by way of that email. Perhaps it was not too late for us.

  *

  By 9 p.m., the rain had eased off although the mist was still thick outside. Daylight was fading, and a call from the Gardaí confirmed that with regret they were suspending the search for the night. Aoife took the call with a grave face, then sat down beside Sharon to give her the news.

  I held Sharon tightly as she wailed and howled with despair. My heart broke for her. Nathan was crying, and Kaz watched with her mouth open, her face drawn.

  ‘They’ll find him in the morning, so they will,’ Aoife said, but her words sounded lame.

  ‘Can’t they, like, send out a helicopter or something?’ Nathan asked.

  ‘Yeah, with heat-seeking equipment?’ Kaz added.

  ‘I guess not while it’s so foggy,’ I replied quietly. ‘In the morning, at first light, I am sure that’s exactly what they’ll do.’

  ‘Where will he spend the night? My baby, alone out there in the dark and the cold!’ Sharon wailed again, and I pulled her head against my shoulder.

  ‘It’s not so very cold. If he curls up in the heather . . .’ It wasn’t a pretty image though. That poor little boy.

  Soon after, the search party returned, wet and dejected. Aoife brought out bowls of chips and plates of sandwiches, and offered everyone a drink on the house. The mood was horribly subdued. Dave, his expression grim, took my place at Sharon’s side, and she sobbed onto his shoulder.

  ‘You’ve done a good job, supporting Sharon.’ Declan had come to sit beside me.

  I grimaced. ‘It’s been difficult. In many ways, I’d have preferred to have gone up the mountain again.’

  ‘You’d done enough. Better for you to stay in the warm and dry, in your . . .’ He broke off as I glared at him. Just like Dan, talking about ‘my condition’ as though I was suddenly a fragile flower.

  ‘I’ll help with the search tomorrow, that’s for sure,’ I said.

  ‘There’ll be more Gardaí here at dawn; they are bringing in extra from Cork, including sniffer dogs. But I imagine they’ll still need local help. You’re a good woman, Maria. Well, I must go and get some rest. I hope you can sleep too.’

  His words made me realise how very tired I was. It had been one hell of a long day. Was it really only that morning that I’d had the momentous email from Jackie?

  I went to where Sharon was still sitting with her family. ‘Sharon, I’m sorry, I really need to go to bed now. I’ll do everything I can to help in the morning.’

  She caught my hand. ‘Thanks for everything, Maria.’

  ‘We’ve been offered a lift back to the campsite,’ Dave said. ‘Need to get these other two into bed.’

  I nodded. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  It was with a heavy heart that I climbed the stairs to my room. And yet I could not go straight to bed. I had to speak to Dan. I’d wanted to talk through Jackie’s revelations with him, but that would have to wait. Right now, I needed to talk to someone unconnected with this drama, to tell them the full story from the start, unburden myself a little. It’d be the only way I’d get any sleep.

  Dan answered after just one ring, and I had the impression he’d been waiting for me to call. But before I was able to say anything more than ‘Hello, how are things?’ he butted in with his own news.

  ‘Your mother sent us a cheque today,’ he said, his voice shaking a little with incredulity mixed with excitement. ‘It was addressed to both of us so I opened it, but the cheque’s payable to you. The note inside said we’re to use the money for things for the baby.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ was my response. Though after her email to me it was not as surprising as it might have been.

  ‘Don’t you want to know how much?’ he asked.

  ‘Go on then, tell me.’ I imagined fifty quid or so.

  ‘A thousand.’

  ‘What?!’ Jackie was not that well off that she could throw that kind of money around.

  ‘Yes, really! I had a quick look at baby stuff online and that will easily cover everything from the pram to the car seat, the cot, everything. Will you call her to thank her or wait till you come home to see her?’

  I’d have to see her, thank her in person. And talk through her revelations in the email, and my realisation that as an adult I could have been a better daughter to her. We needed to meet, talk and make that new start, which I think Jackie wanted for us as much as I did. She must do. Why else send that email, and then the cheque? She was making an effort, reaching out to me. And I would reach back.

  I took a deep breath and told Dan all about the email. I needed to hear his views on it, and listen to his advice on how to respond. More than that, I needed to feel his arms around me. God I missed him! There were still several days left of my holiday – my flight home was booked for Wednesday. In some ways I felt inclined to cut it short and go earlier, but then with a jolt I remembered little Sammy.

  ‘Something else has happened,’ I said, wishing more than ever that Dan was here beside me, his strong arms around me and his shoulder available for sobbing onto.

  ‘What, darling?’

  I related the events of the afternoon and evening.

  ‘And he’s still out there now. They’ve called off the search for the night. That poor little boy, cold and alone out there on the moors somewhere. Or fallen into a mineshaft. Oh, Dan, it’s too horrible for words. He’s only little. I met him, here i
n the pub, and he’s a real sweetie.’

  ‘Poor little chap,’ Dan replied. ‘Listen, Maria, look after yourself, won’t you? I mean, help them out, of course I know you’ll do that, but don’t put yourself in any danger. Let the police do their job. God, I hope the little boy is found safe and well.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I’m worried about you, Maria.’

  ‘I’m OK. And yes, I’ll look after myself.’

  ‘Look after that little bump of ours too, won’t you?’

  I nodded, stupidly as I was on the phone and he couldn’t see, but the lump in my throat made it impossible for me to answer. Eventually, I managed to squeak something I hoped he’d realise was a ‘yes’.

  We sat in silence for a minute, the width of Ireland, the Irish Sea, Wales and half of southern England between us, phones to ears, just being with each other, separated by distance but held together by love.

  *

  There was far too much on my mind to sleep well that night. I was too hot; my mind was churning as it flitted around from Jackie’s news to little Sammy’s plight to my own pregnancy; I was terrified I’d sleep too late and not be up to help with the search. I must have checked the time on my phone a dozen times. I tried drinking a camomile tea, opening the window, meditating – but nothing worked. Eventually, at some time after 3 a.m., I fell into a fitful sleep.

  I was in a cottage. There was a fire at one end; a blackened pot hung over it with steam rising up to the roof. The smell of boiling potatoes filled the room. A bundle of rags lay near the fire, but as I approached I realised it was a child, wrapped in blankets. Was it Sammy? I peered through the gloom but it was a girl, older than Sammy and sickly looking, her eyes far too big for her hollowed-out face, who looked back at me.