by Anne Griffin
‘Right, so. We’d better go,’ her mother said, standing at the sitting-room door, with Michael behind her. ‘Noreen normally expects us at three. She likes us to be on time. Where’s Sadie?’
‘She just popped out to the yard there. Said she’ll be back in a second.’
‘Well, while she’s out,’ her mother said, coming to stand beside me, ‘me and Michael were just talking and we were thinking that it may not be the best thing for Noreen to meet you today. She can get a wee bit distressed with new people. We’ll tell her you’re about and see how we go, alright? You can wait in the corridor. The Nuns won’t mind that at all, or you can walk in the grounds if you like. They have nice grounds there, don’t they Michael?’
‘Aye, nice grounds.’
‘I just didn’t want to say it in front of Sadie. She can get very upset about Noreen.’
‘Of course. I don’t want to be upsetting anyone. Whatever you think is the best, Mrs McDonagh.’
‘It’s Mary, Maurice. Would you go get herself, like a good man so we can get going,’ she suggested, nodding towards the back door.
I found her behind the shed.
‘They’re ready to go now,’ I said, reaching out my hand to her arm, bending down searching out her face. ‘Are you up to it?’
‘Aye,’ she said, looking as resolute as she could. Wiping away the residue of her tears, raising her two hands to her face, attempting to rub away her upset. I put my arm gently around her waist to guide her to the waiting car.
When we reappeared, her father was already in the car and her mother standing with Sadie’s coat. On seeing her, she didn’t comment on her upset and merely handed over her belongings before insisting I ride up front with your grandfather.
‘Dinky, out!’ she demanded of my former companion. He didn’t protest and dutifully climbed out, his tail between his legs and head bent watching as we all climbed in and my front door finally closed. Sadie’s mother chatted the whole journey; her voice like a radio in the background for that five-mile drive to Noreen, comforting and welcome but to which the rest of us paid little attention.
When we got there, I left them in the car park and took the path around the green in front of the hospital, walking as far as I could before turning to look back at the building. It was huge, monstrous really. About ten times the size of the Dollards’ house. Long and wide with seventy, maybe eighty windows, looking back at me. Chimneys, I couldn’t even count, there were so many, one stretching back behind the other. Turrets and peaks, and a set of big double doors in the front porch. Great thick heavy wooden ones. At another time, with another clientele, the place might have been considered beautiful. But back then it was pure ugly. Grey and dark, its loneliness spilled out of every crevice. Things must’ve gotten pretty bad for Sadie’s mother and father to condemn their daughter to that place, with its ‘nice’ grounds, I thought to myself. One big circle of grass with one tree right in the middle – that was the height of it. Still, I reckoned, if it had been my own child, I might possibly have found solace in the simple things too.
Lost in my thoughts, I could hear shouting in the distance but it was a while before I realised it wasn’t an inmate at all but Sadie, now halfway across the grass, trying to get my attention.
‘You’ll never guess,’ she said, all smiles when she reached me, ‘Noreen wants you to come up. She saw you arrive with us and was upset when you didn’t appear. She kept saying “Him, him, bring him,” and pointing outside. See up there, that’s her room. Isn’t that just great? Mammy’s thrilled, will you come in?’
‘Of course,’ I replied, the two of us already making our way back across the lawn.
I’ll admit I felt anxious. Inside, the building was as dark and dreary as it had promised. Long narrow corridors with closed doors on each side, and an eerie steady hum of machines and voices, pitted every now and again with a loud scream or laugh. At the end of each, residents gathered in communal rooms, overcrowded with chairs and little else. Some sat while others paced. Some rocked as others mumbled. And then some stood perfectly still. Pyjamaed people totally separate in their togetherness. By the door of one of those rooms, a woman sat with her suitcase. Smartly dressed in an outdoor coat.
‘Did you see Frank?’ she asked, holding out her arm to stop me as I passed. ‘Did you see him? He said he was coming. He’d be here today, he said. Is he down there? He’s taking me home, you know. My brother Frank, did you see him?’
Her lipstick had been carelessly applied. And the rouge on her cheeks seemed more liberal than was the norm at the time.
‘Frank? No, I’m afraid I don’t know him,’ I said. ‘He’s coming for you, is that right? I’m sure he’ll be here soon, so.’
‘He’s taking me home today. Frank. Did you see him?’
‘No, Teresa, we haven’t seen him,’ Sadie interjected, taking my elbow and hurrying me on. Turning awkwardly, under the force of her grip, I raised my hand in goodbye to Teresa. But she didn’t see me, having already turned to find someone else to ask.
‘That’s Teresa,’ Sadie said, ‘she’s been waiting for her dead brother for fifteen years now. Waits there every day so Mammy says. Asks the same questions of everyone that walks by. She doesn’t even hear the answer.’
At every door after, I saw Teresa’s painted face. The hopelessness of her fate dogged my steps as I followed aimlessly behind Sadie. Twisting and turning with the yellow speckled corridors, nearly colliding with her when she finally stopped to knock on Noreen’s door.
‘Only us,’ she called, as we entered.
I followed anxiously, expecting to find a younger, sadder Sadie. But the woman before me, sitting by the window, bore no resemblance to your mother at all. Smiling broadly, her face didn’t seem to fit with the family. Her dark hair was worn straight to her shoulders, with a fringe. She was plump with sallow skin and brown eyes that suggested a youth and beauty that could’ve been foreign.
‘Maurice!’ she said, rising from her chair, coming to embrace me as if we were old pals. I looked to the others for guidance, but each looked back at me completely baffled. I patted her shoulders cagily.
‘Lovely to meet you, Noreen. You seem well.’
She said nothing. But still held on to me, her head on my shoulder.
It was Sadie who came to peel her away when she stayed in that position longer than was comfortable. She didn’t protest, but neither did her eyes leave me. They clung on. She insisted I sit on her bed beside her as she sat at the window. And while she said very little else, every now and then her hand would stretch over to my arm, where she would leave it, feeling the fabric of my shirt. It didn’t upset me and I was in fact comforted by her touch and so when I saw Sadie rise to intervene, I motioned for her to sit. I glanced at her parents and they, like Sadie, seemed ill at ease with Noreen’s goings on. They sat on the edge of their chairs, tense and ready to pounce.
But after a while, they settled, their conversation growing more natural. I sat listening to the news of the village, becoming lost in it, enjoying learning about Annamoe and all who lived there. Every now and again, I began to feel a slight tapping or it was more like a tickle against my leg. I paid no heed at first, as it was so brief. But then it began to annoy me and I looked down to swat away what I was sure would be a fly.
‘Noreen, no! Mammy! She’s at it again. Noreen, take your hand out of there,’ Sadie protested.
The level of disgust was such that I didn’t associate it with me, at first, but on following Sadie’s eyes, I saw Noreen’s hand lift out of the pocket of my jacket that had lain over my leg. Drawing her hand close to her face, she peered at what she had taken and laughed. Of course, you can guess what she was at, how well did you know her games.
‘Sparkle, sparkle,’ she said, like a little girl whispering a secret.
‘Noreen! Oh, Maurice I’m so sorry. She does this. She loves money. Coins. She was forever going through our pockets at home like that. It’s the silver ones really. Now Noreen
, give those back to Maurice, they’re not yours,’ Sadie said. She was up at this stage, in front of Noreen scolding her.
‘Sparkle, sparkle,’ Noreen said defiantly, turning to the window, ignoring her sister. She stared at the shilling she held in her hand, letting the coppers fall.
Sadie and her mother leapt to rescue my farthings and ha’pennies as they hit the hard floor.
‘Maurice, I am so sorry. We’ve tried to teach her,’ Sadie’s mother assured me.
‘There’s not a bother, Mrs McDonagh. Don’t be worrying,’ I said, joining the bent heads scrambling around for my few pennies.
‘Now Noreen, it’s not yours. Give it back.’ Her mother’s muffled instruction rose up to her daughter, who, I noticed, was having none of it. I turned an amused grin to the dark-haired divil beside me.
‘You like the shiny ones? Well, aren’t you clever, going for the ones that are worth more? It should be you working in the bank and not your sister,’ I said, laughing a little.
Noreen’s laugh erupted. Nearly blowing me back with the force of it. Such a fine appreciation of my wit, I thought, before realising she hadn’t even heard what I’d said. Her happiness was about the coin, nothing else. As the others returned to their chairs, her manic laugh continued. They sat as tense as before like runners waiting for the race to start. Mrs McDonagh glanced at the father and tilted her head towards the door and to the help that might be on the other side. It all seemed a little extreme to me. But what they knew, which at that stage I didn’t, was that the return of the shilling would be a hard-won battle, should I ask for it back. Suddenly with no warning Noreen stopped laughing, its abrupt halt as startling as its eruption. Then her free hand reached for my arm, to feel the shirt fabric once again. Despite all the worried stares, I put my hand on hers.
‘You keep that, Noreen. I might not always have one to give but you can have that now as my gift. Sparkle, sparkle, what?’ I patted her hand.
‘Sparkle, sparkle,’ she replied, and laid her head on my shoulder.
To this day, despite the many conversations had on the subject, no one could quite figure out why Noreen took to me as she did. No stranger was ever given the welcome of our first meeting.
‘It’s my irresistible charm. It worked on her sister didn’t it?’ I offered in explanation as we drove back to Annamoe after the visit, taking a sneaky peek to my right at your grandfather, breathing an internal sigh of relief on seeing him grin.
Noreen had worked a miracle that day: having walked into that hospital a condemned man in my future father-in-law’s eyes, I walked out a hero. She had changed everything. From then on he paid attention to me. Listened to what I had to say. Even agreed with it occasionally. Either way, I felt I had his respect from that day on. And so it was when I came to ask for your mother’s hand, he said:
‘Her mother would kill me if I said no, not to mention her sister. You have my blessing, Maurice.’
We married on the 3rd of October 1959. Noreen was to be bridesmaid, making the wedding a very tense affair. With everyone saying any amount of novenas that we might not have the bad luck for the ceremony to fall on one of her off mornings, the threatened rain didn’t even get a mention. It was Sadie who had the idea that I should drive the car to collect her on the morning. She’d always loved the jaunts, she said, and so I was dispatched at seven in the morning to get her to the church for the ceremony an hour later. Weddings were in the mornings back then, you see.
The prayers seemed to have paid off. Noreen was delightful. She laughed her way there. At what, I wasn’t sure but nevertheless she infected me with her cheerfulness. By the time we reached the church I bounded out of the car, much to the general relief of her family, who had, apparently, spent the entire hour worrying about whether we might both make it there alive.
In the absence of Tony it was the McDonaghs’ neighbour, Diarmuid Row, who stood for me. I knew very little about him. He was a few years older than me and had a car. Don’t ask me what had them all so rich in Annamoe, but everyone around seemed to have one, so he seemed the perfect choice being able to drive the family to the church, while I fetched Noreen. If I wasn’t mistaken though, I saw a hint of something in his eye when he looked at Sadie that morning. She was admittedly breathtaking. I had my suspicions.
‘Would you go away,’ she said, when I mentioned it later. ‘Sure he’s engaged to Annie Mulligan.’
‘I’m just telling you what I saw, is all.’
The day went perfectly until it was time to bring Noreen home. After the ceremony we had gone back to the house in Annamoe for a breakfast and, as it turned out, a lunch. The morning grew into afternoon and things began to wind up as the various guests headed home, including my parents; my father had borrowed a car for the day, from who I haven’t a clue. But Noreen had other ideas about going back to St Catherine’s. And when her mother rose to get her ready, she clung on to me, then the door frame and finally the kitchen table. In the end her father had to pull her away. She must’ve had some grip on it because they were propelled against the wall when he finally managed to release her. He was pinned there, under her weight. We leapt to his aid but weren’t quick enough to stop her turning and digging her nails into his face. It took the three of us, her mother, Sadie and me to detach her. By then blood was streaming down on to his suit, which only seconds before had still boasted the freshness of being newly cleaned and ironed. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his handkerchief to stem the flow.
‘The chair. Get her to the chair.’ We struggled to get her seated as her mother instructed. She had some strength in her.
‘No!’ Noreen screamed, thrashing at us with her arms and feet.
Meanwhile, the father sat defeated with his head in his hands, holding the handkerchief in place. His wife glanced back at him trying to assess the damage.
‘Michael!’ she shouted, over Noreen’s protests, ‘you’ll have to go for Doctor Kenny. Michael!’
He looked back at her dazed, nodded and then rose.
‘Should I go instead?’ I suggested, taking in the state of the man as he left the kitchen.
‘No. You stay,’ Mary said in a low voice, watching him leave, ‘he needs to get away from this. He can’t cope with it. He’ll be fine once he’s on the road.’
And then a miracle occurred. Mary bent low to Noreen’s ear and began to whisper. She kept at it, five minutes or so, until slowly Noreen’s screams lessened under her murmuring.
‘There, there, little one. There, there.’ The quiet words seemed to calm her daughter’s distress, coaxing it to a whimper. ‘There, there.’
She continued at that over and over, lulling even me into a stupor, never mind Noreen. I stood mesmerised as her hand moved back and forth on her daughter’s head, caressing it to the rhythm of her refrain. Noreen leaned into it like a cat, moving with the waves of her words. Time ticked on as we all stood watching and waiting. Michael may only have been gone ten minutes but it felt like a lot longer before we heard the sound of the car returning and doors opening and closing.
‘Maurice!’ Sadie said, calling me back, when she realised I had relaxed my grip.
‘You’ll need to be ready!’ she warned, nodding towards Noreen.
As soon as the door opened and the doctor and his medicine case appeared, we were thrown into Noreen’s raging storm again. As if there had been no lull, no calming of the seas, she rose again, greater and more vicious than before. She shouted out all kinds of profanities as she kicked and threw whatever limb she could at us. She glared at the doctor as he readied the syringe. He moved to my side.
‘Tightly now,’ he instructed.
I held her hand against the armrest with all of my strength. In it went, pressing down through her screams. Her eyes turned on him, red with anger, like you might imagine the Devil himself, boring into him. She spat and cursed and writhed. Slowly then she began to quieten, but not as before. No, this time she was frightened. Terrified that she was losing the battle, that so
mething more powerful, more dangerous was taking charge. My tight grip eased to a caress and in that moment her eye caught mine and pleaded for help. It’s a rotten thing to feel powerless but even worse to feel like a collaborator. Rotten, Kevin, rotten. At last, her screams stopped. One by one we let go as her eyes closed. None of us felt relieved. Each stood looking at her, ridden with guilt.
* * *
When I met your mam it had been her intention to make her way home to Noreen, to be there to help out with her. She hoped to get a transfer to Donegal at some stage. But I scuppered her plans. Failing us moving there, it was Sadie’s wish that in later years Noreen would come to live with us, once your grandparents had passed. She told me once that she hoped this would coincide with medicine making such advances that Noreen might mellow, becoming at last the doted-on little sister of her longing. Only one wish was fulfilled when Noreen moved to Meath in seventy-four. Your Granny Mary died first with the father remaining to make the daily drive to Saint Catherine’s. It was a flu that was his downfall in the end. You don’t hear of that much these days, someone dying from flu, but it took that bull of a man. Noreen, to everyone’s surprise, didn’t seem at all upset by the prospect of a move hundreds of miles away to the brand spanking new nursing home in Duncashel. In fact, the day we arrived to pick her up, she beamed at us, not bothered by the recent loss of her father it seemed and delighted by the prospect of a new bedroom.
‘New room, new room,’ she repeated, intermittently as we drove south along the Donegal coastline, then east towards home.
Sadie was silent. I imagined a whole host of emotions churning around inside her. Sadness to have lost her father, fear that Noreen mightn’t settle, and concern that she, the big sister, might, once again, not be up to the job. You know what a worrier your mother was; she had herself in a state in the weeks building up to the move: