by Martha Long
‘When are you due?’ I asked.
She slapped her belly, looking at it, and said, ‘Five days! Then another six weeks, God willing. Then it’s back to the land of the living for me,’ she laughed. ‘Where are you from? Dublin, is it?’
‘Yes. Down here I’m surrounded by you culchies. I’m feeling a bit out of my depth!’
‘When are ye due?’ she asked.
‘Three months,’ I sighed.
‘Ah! Ye won’t feel that going.’
‘I don’t think I’ll last that long in this place. Going into that smoking room is driving me mad. Listening to the others going on about how many they’ve had and when they’re due is putting years on me.’
‘Ah, don’t be minding them. Some of them are right sluts, but they stick to their own.’
‘Where do you work?’ I asked.
‘I’m a civil servant, so I’m lucky. They give me the time off, and my job is still waiting for me.’
I took in a sharp breath at the thought of her luck. ‘That’s great for you,’ I said happily.
‘So long as I don’t keep the child, mind,’ she said quickly. ‘No. I mean, if I marry, I would have to give up the job, because they make us women leave then.’
‘Oh,’ I said, trying to figure that out. ‘Does your mother know you are here?’
‘Indeed she does not! I have a friend I post my letters to in Dublin, and she forwards them on. I keep sending home messages to the mammy, down every week from Dublin, of course – that’s where I’m stationed. Telling her all sorts of excuses. But I have to be careful I don’t let her think I’m on death’s door, or, God almighty, she would be up on the next train to take me home. A fine pickle I would be in then!’ Her eyes bulged at me, the two of us getting the picture of her getting found out.
‘No! You have to be very careful,’ I said, feeling for her.
A little girl with long, brown, curly hair down to her waist passed over the cobblestones, carrying a bucket. I stared at her, and she gave me a shy smile.
My friend watched me staring after the little girl. ‘She’s only fourteen. Barely. Can you believe it? The poor child!’
‘What’s your name? Mine is Martha.’
‘Geraldine! My friends call me Gerry.’
I put out my hand and we shook.
‘Yeah!’ Gerry continued. ‘An aul fella on a neighbouring farm is the culprit. So they say. But she’s had her baby!’
‘Oh my God! The poor little mite,’ I said, feeling shocked and heartbroken for the little thing. ‘But, Gerry, why is she not gone home to her mother?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gerry said, thinking about it. ‘She’s a bit retarded. And the baby won’t be put up for adoption because of that. If there is the slightest thing wrong with the baby, it won’t be put up for adoption, you know, and they won’t let you leave. No, babies who are not perfect are sent into a convent. They don’t get adopted.’
We wandered over to the outhouses, and Gerry put her head in the door, saying hello to a very tall old woman. ‘How are you today, Molly?’
The old woman was bending over a big old sink, scrubbing nappies. She lifted her head and smiled, ‘I’m right as rain, Gerry! How is yerself?’ Then she lifted herself to a standing position. I could see she was really stooped from the waist down. ‘Isn’t the weather great altogether, girls?’ she said, beaming out from her dark little room into the sunshine.
‘Ah, it is at that, Molly. Take it easy now. Don’t go killing yourself!’
‘No fear of that,’ laughed Molly as we moved on.
‘She has been here most of her life,’ whispered Gerry. ‘Would you believe she’s in her nineties?’
I was astonished. ‘She’s old, right enough,’ I said, thinking about it. ‘But in her nineties?’
‘Yeah! She has a son a priest! But he’s dead now. He came to see her once. The poor aul thing still talks about it as if it was only yesterday. But that was over fifty years ago. She spent most of her life here!’ Gerry said, shaking her head thinking about it.
I looked back, and she was still bent over the sink, washing away.
‘Yeah! They used to lock them up in them days,’ said Gerry.
‘I don’t know about that,’ I said. ‘I think they still lock them up.’
‘Ah, but not here,’ Gerry said. ‘But you are right. Little Mary may be kept here or sent on to another convent where she’ll spend the rest of her days.’
‘But it wasn’t her fault she got into trouble,’ I said, feeling very angry.
‘What’s that got to do with anything? Her mother won’t take her home, so now she’s left to them,’ and she pointed her finger at the convent. ‘She’s not wanted, Martha!
‘Do you want to come into the nursery with me and see the babies? I’m due back at work. I’m in charge of the nursery.’
‘What do you do?’ I asked.
‘Everything. There’s two of us. We feed the babies and clean up. It’s a full-time job. But we get to change around. I’ll probably get to do kitchen work next.’
I’m not doing any bleedin work, I thought to myself. This sounds exactly what went on in my old convent. In fact, I looked around the yard and then out to the fields, it even looks the bloody same!
We arrived at the nursery, and Gerry went over to a cot and cooed at a little baby. ‘This is baby Rose, Mary’s little one. She called her after her mother.’
I looked in the cot and the loveliest little baby girl lifted her little body, wanting to be picked up. She bucked and wriggled, and her little legs and arms were like pendulums. I gazed down slowly at her, a huge smile on my face. I couldn’t take in how lovely she was.
‘How old is she?’ I asked Gerry, not able to take my eyes off the baby.
‘She’s five months old.’
‘Ah! Why will they not put her up for adoption? She’s beautiful.’
I reached in, taking her up, and her whole body went rigid with excitement. ‘Ah, look! She’s smiling at me with her gummy little mouth.’
Gerry laughed and went off to pick up another baby to feed, taking the bottles already made up by the other girl working there. ‘She’s used to different faces. They come and go here,’ Gerry said, looking down at the baby she was starting to feed.
‘Where’s her bottle? I’ll feed her!’
‘No! You won’t be let. They don’t like the girls coming in. It makes it harder for them to let their babies go for adoption. That’s why they won’t let them feed their own babies.’
I stared down at the little scrap in my arms, and it hit me there was nothing wrong with this little baby. Nor, for that matter, was there much wrong with her mother – if anything. She’s only a frightened little girl who’s pulled in on herself with what happened.
No! I don’t buy that story about the old farmer. It’s more than likely the problem is closer to home. Must be the bastard of a father, and the mother is protecting him. That’s why she won’t take her home. And the bloody nuns know this. It’s a well-known fact that children born like that are expected to be handicapped. That’s the real reason the nuns won’t put the baby up for adoption. Bastards! Now two innocent children are suffering while the poxy mother stays quiet, and the nuns will use poor Mary like they did Molly! So, who says they won’t lock you up? Tell that to poor Mary! Bastards!
I put the baby down in the cot and tickled her chin, not wanting to leave her. She was desperate for attention. Just then the door opened, and the Reverend Mother – I found out that’s the one who ‘welcomed’ me that first day I came here – came in.
‘Oh, hello!’ she said, wandering over and staring down at the baby, a false smile on her face, looking at me as if I shouldn’t be here.
‘Would you like to do a little work, Martha?’ she asked me, all smiles.
I twitched my lips in a smile, not saying anything.
‘Come out here with me and I’ll show you what I would like you to do for me.’
I followed her out into th
e yard outside the nursery.
‘Do you see these weeds growing here?’ She bent down and started to pull them up from the cracks in the tiles. ‘Why don’t you do a little weeding for me?’ she smiled.
I stared at the weeds.
‘Go on,’ she said, poking me with her arm and laughing. ‘It will keep you occupied. It’s not good to have too much time on your hands. Good girl.’ Then she was off.
I stooped down to pull at a weed and then fucked it back on the ground. Get stuffed, you fucking chancer. I’m not falling for that a second time. You can only make a fool out of me once. My days of slaving for the fucking nuns are dead and gone. I stormed off to have a smoke for myself and sit down and think.
Right! I’m three weeks here today, Saturday. That’s it! I’m getting out of here today before my baby is born. Otherwise it may be too late. Anything could happen if I stay here. The nuns in my old convent could somehow get to hear and may step in and feel they can do what they like with me. Gerry is wrong. Is she forgetting about poor little Mary and her innocent little baby? Right! My mind is made up. I’m leaving right this minute.
I stamped on the cigarette butt and headed back into the nursery looking for that Reverend Mother.
‘She’s not here,’ Gerry said, looking at me with questions in her eyes. She knew I meant business about something, but I said nothing and just looked in the cot at little baby Rose. She was sleeping on her back and looked so tiny and innocent. I wish I could take her with me. She’s going to end up in some fucking convent until she’s sixteen, then go off looking for her mother. By then it will be too late. Her mother will be institutionalised! Bastards! Life is really the luck of the draw. Poor Mary. She can’t fight for herself, but I’m certainly very lucky. I can run rings around any of them when I don’t let my guard down. One thing is for sure! I will never let anything like this happen to me again.
44
* * *
The train rattled and shook its way into Kingsbridge Station. I looked out the window, seeing how dark out it was. Jesus! It must be around ten o’clock at night. I’d better get a move on.
I pulled out the suitcase from under the table and made my way off the train and headed out of the station. I was glad I made up my mind to leave today. That place was doing me no good, and no good could come by staying there.
I managed to get the train ticket for half price. A child’s fare! The poor aul fella in the station didn’t give me a second glance. Maybe it’s because he couldn’t see me belly. On the other hand, you wouldn’t notice, especially when I leave my scarf hanging down the front. I’ve really lost a lot of weight. I could easily pass for a child’s fare. That comes in handy. But, some child! Eighteen years old. Huh! I had more sense when I was eight!
Right! First things first. I headed over to the phone box on the other side of the street and took out my little notebook to look up the landlord’s phone number. He gave it to me once in case I ever had a problem. I dialled the number.
‘Hello! May I speak to Mr Roberts, please?’
‘No, he’s not here,’ a man’s voice said.
My heart did a dive into my stomach. ‘Who is this?’
‘I’m John, his son.’
‘Oh! My name is Martha. I was staying in his house until recently. I had the room at the front of the house. Upstairs. I was hoping he might let me rent it again. Look, I’m badly stuck. I have nowhere to go. I really need the room. Please?’
There was a silence from the other end. I waited with my heart in my mouth.
‘OK, this is what I can do, Martha. I will drive over there to the house now. It will take me about an hour to get there. So, you can sleep the night in your old bedsit – it’s still vacant – and come into the office in the morning and speak to my father, OK?’
‘Thank you! Oh, yes, thank you so much, John. I’m in town now. I’ll try to get there before you, but I might have to wait for a bus. So, you will wait for me, won’t you?’ I asked him, feeling desperate he might just go off if I wasn’t there.
‘Yes. Where are you now?’
‘I’m on Talbot Street.’
‘Wait there. It’s on my way. Give me about forty-five minutes. Say around eleven, and I’ll pick you up from the street. OK?’
‘OK, John! Thanks a lot.’
I put the phone down very, very happy to have somewhere to stay, even if it is only for one night. Pity the shops are closed. I could have got a few things in. Milk and bread and a bit of cheese would be nice. I know! To hell with it. I’ll scrounge milk and tea from somewhere. Maybe the country girl in the next room. Oh, thank you, God, for looking after me. That man is a wonderful human being.
I left the phone box and started to cross the road. Then I spotted a fella making straight towards me carrying a little brown suitcase. His eyes locked on mine, a mad glint in them, and he quickened his step, heading right for me. I could see the madness in his eyes, and I felt myself going cold all over.
‘Don’t start with me, you fucking bitch!’ he roared straight into my face. There was nowhere to run. The phone box behind me was no good.
Before I could get the next breath, he lifted his suitcase, hammering it down on my collarbone. I screamed as I fell to the ground, and he was just about to start kicking me, raising his foot, and I grabbed my case to break his kick.
‘Geraway from tha girl, ye bastard!’ A man coming out of the pub just behind me came tearing over and distracted the crazy bastard. I tried to get up before he did me any more damage. Lightning bolts of pain shot through me, and I groaned.
‘Go on, fuck off! Or I’ll break yer culchie red neck, ye cowardly bastard!’
The little swine slunk off like a dog, and the man bent down as I hauled myself to my feet.
‘Are ye all righ, chicken?’
‘Yeah, yeah. The pain will ease in a minute.’ I wondered if my shoulder was broken.
‘Come on!’ He took up my suitcase. ‘Where were ye goin?’
‘I’m waiting for someone. They shouldn’t be too long,’ I grunted, hoping the pain would ease.
‘Where do ye live?’
‘I’ll be OK. Thanks very much for all your help. I’m getting a lift just across the road.’
‘Come on. I’ll give ye a hand with the suitcase.’ He put his hand out to me, looking up and down the road to see when the traffic eased, then helped me across the road.
I sat down on the steps of an old house, feeling the cold go up me. My head was starting to pain me.
‘Ye don’t look too good to me,’ he said quietly, looking at me very intently.
‘No! I’ll be all right now, thanks. Don’t worry about me.’
‘Listen! Are ye sure ye’re OK? I’m talking about yer condition,’ and he looked down at my belly, seeing I didn’t have a ring on my finger.
I nodded to him. ‘I’m grateful for all your help. You go on. I’ll be OK.’
He hesitated, looking up and down the street, then said, ‘If ye’re sure?’
‘Yeah! Thanks.’
Then he went on about his business, looking back once to see if I was OK.
I felt very old suddenly and very tired, the pain in my head and shoulder not helping matters. Then the car drew up and a man in his twenties jumped out and said, ‘Hello, Martha?’
‘Yeah.’ I tried to stand up quickly and look normal. I didn’t want him to think I was going to be more trouble than it was worth.
‘Hop in! I’ll take the case,’ and he lunged for it, throwing it in the back.
We didn’t say much driving down the quays, and I could see he was going out somewhere. He smelled of Old Spice men’s aftershave. His hair looked like he had just been to the barber’s that day, and it was slicked back with Brylcreem.
The car pulled up outside the house and I got out.
‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing my case and putting the key in the hall door.
We went up the stairs and stopped on the landing, and I waited until he opened the door and let
me into my old room. I waited while he tested the light to see if there was money in the meter. The light came on, and he put the case inside the door.
‘Right, Martha. There you go. Don’t forget to call in and see my father in the morning. He should be in the office around ten.’
I woke up with my head feeling like cotton wool. My shoulder felt stiff and numb. I eased it around to try to get some heat in it, then put on my frock and shoes. I washed my face in cold water and brushed my teeth and combed my hair, then put on my coat and scarf. I haven’t got a key! But I’ll call in and see the landlord when I get back from signing on at the labour exchange. That’s what Gerry told me to do yesterday when I told her I was leaving. She knew all about these things, working in the civil service. I’m going to need something to live on.
I walked down the quays and finally found the place and the right queue to join. That’s what the man in the other hatch told me to do. This is the same labour exchange Jackser used to come to. Jesus! How could you get yourself into this mess? Never mind. Things will be OK. I have my plan.
I was waiting in the queue, and it was moving very slowly, when I started to feel weak. I have had a problem lately with that. It only happens when I stand. I have no problem walking for miles, just the standing. But it is worse now. It’s probably with all the worry lately and the travelling yesterday without anything to eat or drink. I still haven’t had anything. I was just about to collapse when the girl behind me asked me was I all right. I turned to her, explaining it was the waiting, when she said, ‘Jesus! Ye’re snow white. Here! Get this girl a glass of water and something to sit down on.’
I was delighted to walk over and slump against the counter. It really was bad this time. All the worry did it.
‘Here! Take this. Sit down here,’ another woman said, taking the chair the woman behind the counter handed her.
‘Did you want to sign on?’ she asked me.
‘Yes! I lost my job three weeks ago.’
‘Right! Have you got your cards there?’
I took them out of my pocket and handed them to her.