In Sheila’s view a woman’s place was in the home and all this talk about working women and feminism and women’s lib was hugely threatening. Many times, watching The Late Late, she was scandalised listening to young women arguing the cause of women’s rights in a very forthright and frank way. The old ways were changing but Sheila was hanging on grimly, afraid of what was on the other side of change. Apart from which, she had always been a pessimist, seeing the negative side of everything and everyone. It was very wearing and Ellen had learned, with great difficulty at times, to ignore it. It was easier now that she was living away from home but there were still times when her mother could leave her fit to be tied. She could understand how Miriam, who was such a softie, would find it hard to say no to Sheila.
‘I wonder if I’ll be like that with my girls when I’m your mother’s age?’ Miriam remarked. ‘Will they be doing things that I object to and rearing their families differently to the way you and I are rearing ours? Will we be saying, what are young women coming to?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ellen wiped her sudsy hand against her apron. ‘You and I wouldn’t leave our kids on their own in the house but look at Angie Nolan. She leaves her three on their own when she’s working in the bookie’s and she doesn’t see anything wrong with it. I’d be afraid of my life something would go wrong if I left Stephanie on her own for even twenty minutes.’
‘Yeah, well I saw young Kenny Nolan kissing the face off that young McGrath one and he’s only twelve. It’s kissing now. What will it be in a few years time when he has the run of the house and he’s inviting those young ones in? You have to draw a line somewhere and take responsibility when you’re a parent.’ Miriam frowned.
‘It’s hard, really, knowing what’s the right thing to do for your child. I mean, should I let Stephanie get to know Chris if she wants to? Have I the right to stop her just because I want to keep my distance from him? She’s asked me about him after the palaver at the christening,’ said Ellen, broaching the subject she’d been reluctant to bring up with Miriam.
‘Oh dear.’ Miriam shook her head. ‘That’s tough. But it was bound to happen sooner or later. What are you going to do? What do you feel for him now, Ellen? After all that’s happened?’ she asked curiously.
Ellen smiled at her and put the kettle on. She was dying for a cup of tea. In the distance an ambulance siren wailed. It was an uncommon sound in Glenree. She hoped it was for no one that they knew.
What did she feel for Chris? He’d been the great passion of her life. There was no denying that. Once, she would have done anything for him. Once, to hear him say I love you would have made her the happiest woman in the universe.
‘I suppose when trust and respect go, there isn’t much left. Part of me will always love him. There’s a bond there that’s survived all the lies and pain and hurt and rejection. If he’d given it a chance, we could have been happy maybe. But then, knowing Chris and knowing me, I would have been the one doing all the giving and he would have been the one doing all the taking. It would have been a very unbalanced relationship. Perhaps I was protected from that in some strange way. It’s funny the way things work out. Five years ago I wouldn’t have said that in a blue moon. Up to a year ago he was still all I wanted in life. Maybe I’ve got sense.’
‘He was the big loser there, Ellen, not you.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. I don’t think he’d ever see it that way.’
‘Well, he was always an idiot,’ Miriam declared tartly. Time had not improved her opinion of Philanderer Wallace. Privately she thought Ellen was well rid of him and she couldn’t understand her sister-in-law’s hesitancy about nabbing a gorgeous, kind, decent man like Doug.
‘Chris is what he is and he’s not going to change and if Stephanie gets to know him she’s going to find out that he’s not a very dependable person. I want to protect her from that. I want her to think well of her father. I really respected my father. He’s been the rock of support in my life. Knowing I had that kept me going through the really tough times. Stephanie would never have that with Chris.’
‘Maybe not. But she’ll certainly have it with you, Ellen. In that respect she’s a lucky little girl. If I were you I’d take it one step at a time and see how it goes.’
‘What will be will be, I suppose, Miriam. I can’t protect her from life’s hard knocks, much as I’d love to. I suppose poor Mam thinks she’s doing her best too. I know in my heart and soul I was a grave disappointment to her as a daughter and it hasn’t been easy knowing that. Sometimes I feel she let me down by judging me so harshly. I just hope Stephanie won’t feel I’ve let her down as a mother.’
‘She won’t, Ellen. Don’t be daft.’ Miriam turned to the biscuit tin, the source of all consolation in times of stress. ‘Here, stick this in your gob and stop your nonsense. Tomorrow we’re going on a diet. Right?’
‘Right.’ Ellen laughed. The famous diet was always starting tomorrow. It was good to have Miriam to confide in. Her friendship gave Ellen great comfort.
They were cleaning the inside of the windows a little while later when they caught sight of Emma as she got into her car after doing some shopping.
‘Would you look at Barbarella Munroe? Who does she think she is in that get-up? Jane Fonda?’ Ellen snorted. ‘Bonnie Daly can’t believe her eyes.’ Emma was wearing a black catsuit that emphasised her slender figure quite daringly. A short fox fur jacket hung casually over her shoulders. It was obvious from Bonnie’s expression that she was utterly scandalised as she walked past the totally oblivious Emma.
Miriam giggled. ‘Look at Bonnie. Her face would stop a clock! I heard her once describing Emma’s mini-and-white-leather-boots outfit as an “occasion of sin”. She told Nora Bennet that Emma was responsible for leading the young men of Glenree into bad thoughts and whoever designed the mini is destined for the fires of hell! Poor Bonnie, it’s just as well she’s never seen Emma in her Ursula Andress bikini. You have to admire our Ems, though, she doesn’t give a hoot about what people say. I’d love to be like that. I’d love to have Emma’s confidence.’
‘How does she keep her figure, that’s what I want to know?’ Ellen demanded enviously. Her voluptuous curves would be too much for a clingy catsuit. She’d never have the nerve to wear something like that anyway. Nor would she have the money to buy such treats. Emma spent a fortune on clothes and was always dressed in the height of fashion. Her geometric sharp-cut bob of recent years had grown into a longer softer style of flicked-out curls which was ultra-glamorous. She looked like a film star. Her make-up was flawless and immaculate . . . as usual.
Ellen looked at her spattered jeans and bobbly red woollen jumper and felt a real dowdy frump compared to her sister-in-law. She should make more of an effort, she thought glumly. Still, she might be curvy but she’d kept her weight down. That was a real triumph. She’d get her hair done and dress up smartly in her black trouser suit and wear the rose chiffon blouse and treat Doug to a meal at the weekend. She’d done Harry Dowling’s accounts as a favour and he’d given her two pounds to spend on herself.
A sudden flurry of rain against the windows turned what had been a light drizzle into a full-scale downpour. Emma took off in her car and Bonnie hastened towards the shelter of the post office.
‘I suppose wintertime isn’t really the ideal time to open a café,’ Miriam remarked.
‘On a day like today it might give us a few more customers anxious to escape the rain,’ Ellen said sanguinely. ‘It’s going to be a real adventure, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, it’s great.’ Miriam’s eyes sparkled.
‘Oh look, here’s the sergeant. I wonder what he wants?’ Ellen said curiously as Sergeant Doyle knocked on the door.
‘Come in,’ she invited, opening the door to him.
‘Ellen, I’ve some bad news for you and I want to tell you first before we go in to tell Mick,’ Sergeant Doyle said gruffly, his weather-beaten face troubled.
Ellen felt sick. Fear gripped her. Stephani
e! That’s who the ambulance had been for.
‘What? What? Tell me. Is it Stephanie?’
‘It isn’t Stephanie. It’s your mother. She came off her bike over by Blackbird’s Field. She’s been taken in to the Mater. Fintan Collins found her and phoned for the ambulance. He doesn’t know how long she was lying there.’
‘Oh Jesus!’ exclaimed Miriam, pale as a ghost. ‘That’s all my fault. She was so mad when she left. Maybe she had a heart attack or something. I should have baked the bloody mince pies for her.’ She burst into tears.
‘It’s not your fault, Miriam. Look, will you take care of Stephanie for me? I better get Dad and go in to the hospital. Will you ring Vincent and Ben?’
‘Yes, yes. I’m sorry, Ellen, I’m really sorry.’
‘I better go. I’ll phone from the hospital,’ Ellen said distractedly. She was dreading telling Mick. To think she’d been saying those awful critical things about her mother and all the time Sheila was lying unconscious in a heap on the road. Guilt and anger swamped her. If her mother died, she’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of her life. Trust her mother to add yet another burden to those she already carried.
Mick was carving up chicken portions when she went into the butcher’s, his cleaver making firm sharp cuts. He smiled when he saw her.
‘Here’s the business tycoon.’ He saw the expression on her face and saw Sergeant Doyle following behind. ‘What’s up?’
Ellen recognised the fear in his eyes and wanted to shelter and protect him from the pain of what was to come.
‘Dad, Mam’s had an accident. She fell off her bike and she’s unconscious. The ambulance has taken her to the Mater. I’ll bring you in now.’
Mick sagged. He loved Sheila in a way no one else did. He loved something that only he saw in her, Ellen thought with a pang. Just as she loved Chris, and loved something in him that touched no one else but her.
‘As far as we know, she fell off the bike, Mick. There were no other vehicles involved,’ Sergeant Doyle said ponderously, hiding his distress for his old friend behind his policeman’s formality.
‘We’d better go quick.’ Mick hastily removed his apron and hat and went to get his coat.
‘Should I go home and get some nightdresses and things?’ Ellen suggested.
‘We can get them later. I don’t want Sheila to be alone among strangers. I want to be there in case she needs us. In case anything happens . . .’ Mick said urgently.
‘Oh Dad.’ The tears that came to her eyes were for him. If anything happened to Sheila, Mick would have to go through a bereavement and the thought of her father’s pain and loneliness was hard to bear. He didn’t deserve it. He was the kindest, most compassionate soul. He shouldn’t have to suffer, Ellen thought angrily as she followed him to the car and they began their journey to the hospital.
‘I was always telling her to watch out for the potholes. You don’t think she’s had a heart attack or anything, do you, Ellen? Your mother’s a very healthy woman for her age.’ Mick twisted his cap in his hands, his normally ruddy face ashen.
‘Yes, she is, she’s very healthy. And very fit too,’ Ellen agreed reassuringly.
‘I can always get someone in to run the shop if I have to.’ Mick was talking to himself almost. Ellen’s heart sank. Everything had been such a shock she hadn’t given a thought to the implications of her mother’s accident.
If Sheila had had a heart attack or a stroke or some such disabling illness she would need caring for. Ellen was the only daughter. She didn’t have a house like Ben and Vincent. She didn’t have a husband. It would be expected of her to leave her little haven over the shop and move back home. And how would that affect The Deli? How could she run a business if she had to take care of her mother? Ellen felt a fear deep in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t want to go back to living at home. She’d never be able to cope with the smothering restrictions that had nearly driven her over the edge, before she’d made that life-enhancing leap and moved out to her own place. It would be a disaster for her and Stephanie.
Dread seeped into every pore. Please God! Please, please, please don’t do this to me. Please give me a break. I’ve paid my dues, Ellen prayed silently, fervently. She saw her father’s lips moving in soundless prayer and felt a sense of disgust and shame that she should be so concerned for herself when, right this moment, her mother might be fighting for her life, or even dead. What sort of a human being was she at all? she thought in dismay. Was her real nature selfish and callous? Miriam had far more compassion for Sheila than she had. Imagine if one day she was in Sheila’s shoes and Stephanie thought the way Ellen was thinking.
Sick at heart, petrified of what the future held, Ellen drove towards Dublin in a daze trying to shut out the horrible thoughts which crowded her mind.
‘Please, God, let her be all right. I’ll bake her mince pies for her. Just don’t let her die because of me,’ Miriam prayed aloud as she washed out the tea towels. She’d phoned Ben and Vincent and told them the terrible news. All she could do now was get the children’s dinner and wait.
To think that Mrs Munroe had fallen off her bike and had been lying for God knows how long in that damp drizzle. And it was probably all her fault. Mrs Munroe had been furious when she left. Maybe her anger had brought on a heart attack or a stroke. If Miriam had agreed to bake the mince pies this might never have happened.
She started to cry. This was a horrible thing to happen. If Mrs Munroe died, it would be her fault. How would she live with that? And would Ben ever forgive her?
What a nuisance, Emma thought irritably. She and Vincent had planned to have a meal in the Savoy Grill before going to the pictures. She’d really looked forward to it. She needed a night out. The last film she’d seen was Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Paul Newman had been so sexy in it. He was almost as sexy as Vincent. She hadn’t been to the cinema for ages! Once upon a time she’d gone to the pictures every week.
She was exhausted looking after Andrew at night. All the feeding and nappy changes and broken sleep were getting to her. She just wanted to be normal again for one measly night and have fun and forget her cares. And Ma Munroe had to go and throw a wobblie and fall off her boneshaker of a bike. Poor Vincent was terribly upset. He was going straight to the hospital. He felt bad that Sheila had left the house in a huff the day of the christening. He’d asked Emma several times to apologise for her outburst, for the sake of peace. She’d refused. Why should she apologise? It was Sheila who should apologise for her rudeness.
Emma sighed. She couldn’t very well carry on the tiff if Sheila was in hospital. She’d have to go and visit her mother-in-law. Vincent would be most put out if she didn’t. It was such a pain in the ass. With any luck Sheila only had a few bumps and bruises. Emma sincerely hoped so. She hated visiting people in hospital. That horrible antiseptic smell and the sound of old people coughing and wheezing. It gave her the goose-bumps even to think about it.
‘Your wife is still unconscious, Mr Munroe. There’s swelling on the brain which is a cause for concern. We may have to operate. She has several broken ribs, severe contusions, a fractured wrist and lacerations. We need to perform tests as soon as she’s conscious.’
‘But will she be all right?’ Mick asked desperately. ‘How long will she be unconscious for?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t know the answer to that. We must wait and see,’ the doctor said kindly. ‘Why don’t you go and have a cup of tea with your daughter?’
Mick nodded, unable to speak. His eyes filled with tears. His Sheila, always so strong and full of life, with a thousand and one things on the go, was lying motionless and white in the bed looking as if the life was draining out of her second by second. And there was nothing he could do to help her.
Chapter Thirteen
Her mother’s bed was beside one of the long windows that faced out onto Eccles Street. Ellen was glad Sheila had a window bed. It gave her a little more privacy in the rectangular bed-lined ward.
The curtains around the bed were semi-drawn, for which Ellen was grateful. Mick sat holding Sheila’s hand.
It was visiting time. People trooped in bearing brown-bagged grapes and bottles of crinkly orange cellophane-covered Lucozade. Chairs were pulled up beside beds. Trays were pushed back. Bunches of limp carnations were stuck into great thick glass vases which reminded her of her schooldays. Mass cards hung over the iron bars of the bedsteads.
The hum of chatter rose as more people arrived. Ellen wanted to tell them all to shut up. Didn’t they realise that her mother was very ill? How could there be any rest or peace in this noisy, foot-clattering, trolley-banging, chair-clanging bedlam?
An elderly woman, yellowed from cancer, face drawn in pain, cried quietly in the bed opposite Sheila. She was dying and alone. But there was no peace to her dying, just noise and strangers casting quick glances of curious, detached pity. What a way to end your life, Ellen thought angrily. It was distressing.
Sheila lay pale and still under the starched white sheets, a purple-red bruise on her temple, vivid against the pallor of her waxy skin. Her dentures had been removed and her cheeks were sunken. For the first time, Ellen realised that her mother was on the threshold of old age. It came as a shock. Somehow she’d always thought of Sheila as invincible. Other people got sick. Other people grew old. Not Sheila. Sheila went on for ever.
A nurse padded quietly to the end of the bed and cast an experienced eye over her. ‘I’m going to take her blood pressure. Just step outside for a moment,’ she instructed calmly.
‘She hasn’t got any worse, has she?’ Mick asked anxiously.
‘No, no, Mr Munroe. This is just routine,’ the nurse soothed.
‘Come on, Dad,’ Ellen said gently. Her heart went out to him, standing there, lost, bewildered, unable to conceal his fears for Sheila.
Mirror, Mirror Page 17