The Ballroom Café

by Ann O'Loughlin

  Sheets of grey rain advanced on them.

  ‘We’d better hurry back or we will get soaked.’

  They got up and walked at a smart pace across the grass. When they got to the fountain, Ella faltered.

  ‘I am going to my room for a while, just to get myself together. Why don’t you do the same? Most of the women are gone anyway.’

  ‘I think I should go back and apologise for my outburst.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Ella said, as she made for the back stairs. She waited until she got inside her bedroom to buckle like an old soft toy discarded on the floor.

  16

  Mother Assumpta stirred an extra sugar into her tea. After the visit of the Order administrator and solicitor, she needed something an awful lot stronger, but extra sugar would have to do. She had been told very sharply to sort this mess out, and she had no idea how she was going to do it. Every day brought new and ludicrous rumours. She knew she had to take measures to quell the rising hysteria that had attracted so much comment. Consuelo, the last time she interviewed her, was both aggressive and belligerent.

  Assumpta cursed the competitive drive in her, which had seen her push for this position against more senior members of the community. She was paying the price for her past naked display of raw ambition, for sure. To think she turned down a transfer to the Italian house three years ago because it did not fit in with her long-term goal. Curse her stupidity, Assumpta thought, because it had landed her in this very hot water.

  The civil servant leading the inquiry was unhelpful and even turned down an offer for tea in the drawing room. The administrator’s final words as she made her way through the hallway were ringing in her ears still.

  ‘Assumpta, you have let this get way out of hand. You need to come up with something fast, to limit the damage being done to our sisters all over the world as a result of this nonsense. There are rumblings in the Bishop’s Palace: be warned.’

  A slight tap on the door and she rose to ready herself, even though she had not even touched her tea.

  ‘The car is here, Mother.’

  ‘Thank you, Marguerite. Tell the others to keep a low profile while I am away.’

  Mother Assumpta buttoned up her raincoat and, carrying a small handbag, she slowly made her way down the curve of stone steps to Gerry O’Hare’s car.

  ‘It is a nice day for an outing, Mother,’ he said, and she nodded, smiling that Gerry O’Hare should think this trip was one of leisure. In her handbag was the letter she had got in yesterday’s afternoon post. She tried not to dwell on the contents, but she knew it was very troubling.

  Sea Road,

  Malahide,

  Co. Dublin

  Dear Mother Assumpta,

  My name is Frances Rees, née Murtagh, from Bridge Street, Rathsorney. My sister was Mary Murtagh of the same address who gave birth to a baby on April 15, 1959 at Wicklow General Hospital.

  I write to you on a matter of serious concern. My sister was told her baby had died and she never recovered from that loss. However, she insisted the baby did not die but was stolen from her. She died in a mental institution, almost twelve months to the day after the birth. She always insisted her baby had been taken from her, and now that I hear Deborah Kading on the radio, I am wondering was she in fact correct. We were never told where the baby was buried; Sister Consuelo said she would take care of everything.

  I wonder even at this late stage, would it be possible to unravel this mystery. I intend also to try and make contact with Deborah Kading. I hope you can help.

  Yours sincerely

  Frances Rees.

  Gerry O’Hare knew better than to put talk on her and she nodded off for most of the journey to Moyasta. When he pulled in to the old convent, O’Hare coughed loudly, so she woke up with a start.

  ‘I am going to get a sandwich in the village and have a doze in the car,’ he said, and she nodded, saying she would get the sisters to send out a pot of tea.

  Consuelo had spent the morning in the cellars, rummaging through boxes of files in what was once the old pantry and grain store. Sweat pooled on her temples as she heaved box after box onto a table and emptied out files contained by thick brown elastic bands. The Kading file was in the fourth box. She remembered Agnes Kading well; pushy and insistent. That baby was one of the luckiest; the Kadings’ income alone guaranteed a cushy life and more than likely a university education. Who could say she had done the wrong thing? The young mother was loud, screaming for her baby, but they all thought that would pass. Was it her fault that the parents could not make her see sense and grab a second chance at some sort of life where nobody knew her?

  A flutter of nervous excitement ran through her when she heard Assumpta’s cold voice. Straightening her skirt and checking her blouse was tucked in, with no gaps showing between the buttons on the front, she grabbed the Kading file and made her way upstairs.

  Consuelo rushed into the hall to help Mother off with her coat. ‘You need not have come all this way, Mother. I would have gladly come to you.’

  ‘We both know that could not be, Consuelo.’

  For a moment, Consuelo stopped what she was doing and looked at Assumpta. ‘My conscience is clear, Mother. I won’t be told I did not do right for those children.’

  ‘Let’s leave it at that, until we are in private,’ Mother Assumpta snapped.

  Consuelo did as she was bid, leading the way to the drawing room overlooking the rose gardens, which was normally reserved for receiving important visitors.

  As they sat and waited for the tea to arrive, Consuelo attempted some conversation. ‘Has it caused a lot of disruption at the convent in Ballygally?’

  Assumpta shifted uncomfortably in her seat, conscious Consuelo was attempting to lead the conversation so she could have the upper hand. ‘Quite a bit, as you can imagine, with the world press practically at the gates.’

  Her tone was deliberately stiff and sour, so that Consuelo sat back on her chair and folded her hands on her lap.

  Sister Angela, when she brought the tea tray into the drawing room, felt the disagreement between the two women and as a result flapped unnecessarily, offering Mother sugar and milk and a plate of rich tea and chocolate biscuits. Her polite enquiry as to whether Mother had enjoyed the car journey was met with a one-word answer. When Sister Angela self-consciously bustled out of the room, Assumpta placed her cup of tea on its saucer.

  ‘First things first: have you the Kading file?’

  Consuelo waved the folder in the air. ‘I got a fine home for that child; the papers prove it.’

  Assumpta moved to the edge of her seat and stretched to take the brown folder. ‘I have decided in the extraordinary circumstances we find ourselves in, we will help those who come forward to us: mothers who have given up their children for adoption and those children who wish to trace their birth parents.’

  Consuelo elaborately folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘Deborah Kading will have a long wait; the birth mother is dead.’

  ‘Mary Murtagh?’

  ‘Killed herself a year or so afterwards. Tell me I did not do the right thing for that child. I gave her a loving family environment; she was never going to get that from young Mary Murtagh.’

  ‘Mary Murtagh’s sister has started asking questions, says the girl insisted all along the baby was stolen from her, that she was only told it was dead.’

  The statement had the devastating effect she hoped for: Consuelo looked stricken. ‘Holy divine Jesus, you don’t believe her. Tell me you don’t believe her.’ Consuelo crossed herself several times, muttering a Hail Mary.

  ‘I don’t know what to believe,’ Assumpta said.

  Consuelo jumped up. ‘Mary Murtagh’s father was very clear: the baby was to go for adoption and she was to be told it died. The poor man only wanted to save her the longing. As God is my witness, I did the right thing, helping a desperate father with a wayward daughter.’

  ‘It may be viewed differently today.’<
br />
  Consuelo snorted. ‘Hindsight is a great thing. Her own father handed the child to me; tell me what I should have done.’

  ‘It is a bit late for that.’ Assumpta clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘We have to deal quickly with this sorry mess. The file and all the others will have to be handed over. This thing about two sets of books, it is not going to go away. Bishop Lucey is furious.’

  Assumpta walked to the window. Outside, two sisters were weeding and pruning, chatting as they worked. No doubt discussing the purpose of my visit, thought Assumpta, as she turned to face Consuelo.

  ‘I will take all the files you have. Tell the sisters to put them in the boot.’

  ‘You should have brought a lorry; I helped a lot of children.’

  ‘Consuelo, do you give me your word it was all above board?’

  ‘You don’t expect me to dignify that with an answer, do you?’

  ‘They are saying there were two sets of books. We have one set of records at the convent. Will it be different from what I find in those files?’

  Consuelo sighed loudly. ‘Mother, look at the end result. Isn’t it the bottom line that always matters? These children got wonderful homes and lives the rest of us could only dream of. I did everything to protect both sides, and if that meant telling people who came nosing for information there was none, then I am guilty.‘

  ‘What of birth mothers who had requested contact?’

  Consuelo snorted loudly. ‘I ran an efficient system, the same as every other convent. Best that the files were closed and no contact encouraged.’

  ‘You know I have to hand over these files to the inquiry.’

  ‘I know they are looking for a scapegoat; it might as well be me. I hope that the inquiry asks how these children were given passports and visas, if the adoptions were not above board.’

  ‘That is not our concern.’

  Consuelo fiddled with a lace doily, her fingers pushing into the small holes of the crochet. ‘It was not so long ago, Mother, when you did not want to know the details.’

  ‘Unfortunately, Sister Consuelo, the situation has shifted considerably, and if we don’t revise our strategy, we may find ourselves unable to extricate ourselves from the soup.’ Assumpta flicked through the Kading file. ‘We will have to deal with each case as it comes up; it is not going to be easy.’

  ‘I can stand over everything I did; I don’t mind telling anybody that.’

  Assumpta snapped the file shut. ‘You will do no such thing.’

  ‘You are treating me, Mother, as if I did something wrong.’

  ‘Let’s face it: we never treated those young women right and we seemed to find homes based on the income of the adoptive parents and nothing else. It smacks of selling children for gain. If I can see that, as sure as God is in heaven others will come to that conclusion as well.’

  Consuelo jumped up, her face blotching red with anger. ‘All the work I put into finding good homes for those ungrateful children; tell me what should I have done: let them stay in institutions to be the playthings for all sorts?’

  ‘Consuelo, quieten that tongue of yours.’ Assumpta stood up, tucking the Kading file under her arm. ‘I will send Gerry back for the rest of the files in the morning. Please do not discuss this situation with anybody, not even the other sisters.’

  Consuelo nodded, her face pale.

  ‘I will be in touch,’ Assumpta said as she made her way to the hall, where Sister Angela was loitering, hoping to take away the tea tray. ‘Sister, get the car around please.’ Assumpta’s voice was sharp and urgent. As she walked to the front door, she turned to Consuelo. ‘I will meet Miss Kading; she must know of her mother.’

  ‘And the rest?’

  ‘We will see.’

  17

  Ella was grumpy. When the phone rang she at first ignored it, but when after five rings she did not hear Roberta’s shuffle in the hall, she rushed down the stairs. Spinning quickly across the tiles, she picked up the heavy old receiver.

  ‘Ella, is that you? That bastard husband of mine has made me homeless.’

  Iris was shouting so loud, Ella had to hold the phone a distance from her ear. ‘What? Just get away from there and come here.’

  ‘My three-piece suite is in the front garden and my walnut bureau has been chipped on the side.’

  ‘Get somebody to keep an eye on things and come here. Gerry lives down the road. I will get him to mind the place for you. You come here until we can work it out.’

  Iris, she knew, was crying, because her voice was extra high-pitched and slobbery, like she was trying to pretend everything was all right.

  ‘Come now. You can stay at Roscarbury until you get sorted.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, the sooner you get here the better, and we will have tea and a chat.’

  ‘Ella?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘Not a bother, just come as soon as you can and we will get a room fixed up for you.’

  When Ella got off the phone, Roberta was standing beside the hall table, staring hard. She screwed up her nose and sucked in her cheeks, but she did not say anything. Instead, she whipped a page from her red notebook and wrote furiously. Ella pretended not to notice and walked past, up the stairs to her room, so she could watch out for Iris. After all, she did not need to read the note; she knew what was in it.

  An hour later, Ella watched as Iris struggled past the rhododendron; a holdall in one hand and a large suitcase in the other. Maybe she should have sent a car to pick her up. Kicking another big suitcase in front of her, Iris slowly made her way up the gravel drive. The dog, on a long lead, snapped and growled at the case every time it rumbled past. Iris, muttering, was grumbling, stopping every few paces to massage the palms of her hands and kick out at the dog. Ella hurried to open the front door. Hearing the bolt go across, Iris dropped her load.

  ‘Goddamn taxi would not come up the avenue. Ella, grab something,’ Iris snapped, her face red.

  ‘Come in, you look upset.’

  Iris clapped her hands in exasperation. ‘Of course I am upset, Ella. The house was supposed to be mine. When that good-for-nothing husband of mine walked out three months ago, it was decided I could have the house. He said there was no need for solicitors; like a fool I trusted him.’

  ‘I am sure it can be sorted.’

  Iris walked over to the eucalyptus tree and kicked it; a slice of bark fell off. ‘Ella, I have nowhere to go. A woman my age: homeless. Turns out the house we settled he would give me was not even his, it was his brother’s, and no mortgage was paid for two years, so the bank has thrown me out. Upstanding Iris O’Callaghan, who has paid her bills all her life, has been evicted. They threw my furniture out in the garden, flattened all my good shrubs.’

  She stopped to gather herself, fiercely shaking away the tears, which were making her shoulders shake and her knees wobble.

  ‘Ella, I am homeless. If I ever set eyes on him again, I will kill him. Get rid of a bad egg, and get a roof over my head and three square meals a day in one go.’

  Ella laughed and Iris sniggered.

  ‘We will send you food parcels and books, plenty of books.’

  ‘Ciggies. That is all I need.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get you inside and put a whiskey down the hatch. I will ring O’Hare and tell him to arrange to collect your furniture.’

  She waited for Iris to raise an objection, but if Iris heard Gerry O’Hare’s name, she did not react.

  The Jack Russell ran into the field and squatted down for a crap.

  ‘Sorry about the dog. I had to bring him. Stupid dog.’

  ‘Of course you did. Let’s get you inside and sit down,’ Ella said.

  ‘Roberta is going to have a conniption. I don’t blame her. I would not like somebody walking in on top of me either. And there is the dog.’

  ‘Leave Roberta to me.’

  They left the cases where they had dropped t
hem, in a pile inside the front door, and went to the kitchen.

  ‘You will have to bunk down on the drawing-room sofa for tonight, but tomorrow we will see about getting you a bed.’

  ‘You should have set up a guesthouse instead of a café. I have an appointment with a solicitor in a while, so hopefully this arrangement won’t be for too long.’

  Ella did not answer.

  Afterwards, when Iris banged the front door on the way to meet the solicitor, Ella went upstairs to open the café, stopping to read the notes Roberta had slapped down in quick succession.

  Iris struts about like she owns the place. We don’t want her or her stinking problems. You have some nerve, bringing her here and letting her stay. R.

  The husband has left her. I bet she did not tell you that. This is my house too and I won’t have her here. R.

  It will be a field day for the gossips, this. You have turned Roscarbury in to a dosshouse. R.

  Ella tore the notes into little pieces, letting them flutter onto the table, before thumping down a hastily scribbled reply with her fist.

  Iris O’Callaghan is family, or had you forgotten? She can stay here as long as she likes. Leave her alone or she will be told exactly the sort of person you are. One harsh word to her and your secret will be out, to be picked over by the gossips. E.

  Roberta picked up the note and brought it to the drawing room. She sat at the brass coffee table and took out a box of matches. She struck a match and, holding it over the cut-glass bowl, set the note alight. She watched the flames dissolving the words as the paper deepened black. It sank into the bowl, blackening the sides, the ash lodging in a heap at the bottom.

  18

  Debbie managed to doze for two hours towards the start of morning. Her skin was dry and a bit flaky, and around her eyeballs was showing brushes of yellow. Nancy would probably notice the most change, she thought. The disease was beginning to devastate her. Soon she would have to go back to Bowling Green to wait out the end.