by Judi Curtin
Did she end up on the Titanic too? Or did she go to a totally different time and place? Was this time-travelling stuff finished now, or could it happen again any minute? Should I go around all the time with my pockets stuffed with emergency time-travelling supplies?
And I wanted to tell Betsy that she hadn’t been crazy at all. That she hadn’t imagined things. That Saturn really was a very strange cat.
But Betsy never showed up again.
I couldn’t forget my time with Mikey and Mary. Often, something funny would happen and I’d think, I must tell Mary that. But then I realized that I was never going to see Mary, or tell her anything, ever again.
It was like I’d been watching a film that had stopped just before the end. Or like I’d been reading a book and discovered that the last few pages were missing.
I had to know how the story finished.
Except that this was even worse. Mikey and Mary weren’t just dull names from a history book, or characters invented for a film. They were real people. I knew what their voices were like. I knew what made them laugh and what made them sad. I knew what they were afraid of, and what they dreamed of. I knew everything about them – except what happened next.
I spent a lot of time on the Internet. I got very excited when I found the 1901 and 1911 censuses. I quickly found the pages for Ballyboher, and seconds later I found the Spillane family. I felt a sudden pang in my chest when I saw the names written on the screen.
In 1901 there were four names:
Bridget Spillane – Female Aged 64 years
James Spillane – Male Aged 27 years
Nora Spillane – Female Aged 25 years
Michael Spillane – Male infant
By 1911 there were only two names left:
Bridget Spillane – Female Aged 74 years
Michael Spillane – Male Aged 10 years
Mikey’s mother must have been dead by then, and his father must already have been in Scotland. The small, lonely family was reduced to two lines of print in scrawly handwriting.
And what happened after that?
Did Mikey get home safely from the Titanic? Did he sow the carrots and the potatoes and live happily ever after?
Or …?
The Internet had loads of sites with information on the Titanic. Funnily enough, none of them mentioned a strange girl from the future, or her even stranger, odd-eyed cat.
I soon learned that the reason I’d never heard of Queenstown before was that some time after the Titanic it was renamed Cobh.
It didn’t surprise me to learn that Ernestine and her mother survived and went on to become hugely rich in America. And it didn’t take me long to discover that there were lots of people called Mary on the Titanic. Some of them survived and some of them didn’t, but I didn’t know enough about my friend Mary to figure out if she was one of the lucky ones. I never knew her surname, or her mother’s name, and for all I knew her little baby brother didn’t even live long enough to have a name of his own.
Mary and her family wouldn’t have had much of a chance – unless she’d remembered what I had told her.
I became obsessed with finding out what had happened to Mary. I had to know if I’d been able to help her. I had to know if she’d made it to New York and if she’d fulfilled her vision of becoming a hat designer … or if all her dreams had come to a watery end not long after we last met.
Sometimes, I wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to me. After all, Mary had to be dead by now, so why should I care if she died ninety years ago, or just last week?
But somehow, it did matter. It mattered more than anything else in my life.
*
Then one morning Mum came into my bedroom. She sat on the edge of my bed and stroked my hair.
‘I’m worried about you, Lauren,’ she said. ‘You haven’t been yourself for the past few days. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?’
I shook my head. I’d made up my mind that the whole time-travel thing was far too weird and complicated to share with anyone else.
‘I’m fine,’ I lied.
I knew Mum didn’t believe me.
‘Maybe we should get away for a while,’ she said.
I didn’t answer. I’d been away for quite long enough already, thank you very much.
‘Maybe a change would be good for you,’ she said. ‘Maybe a few days by the sea would bring the colour back to your cheeks. Tilly can come with us, if you like. Stephen’s scout camp starts tomorrow and Amy’s going to stay at Tara’s, so it would just be the three of us.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere.’
She ignored me. ‘Susan has rented a cottage by the sea. She’s invited us to visit for a few days.’
I groaned. Mum’s sister Susan is OK, but her geeky son Adrian is a total pain.
‘No,’ I said more forcefully.
Once again Mum ignored me.
‘It’s in Cork. And Susan –’
‘What did you say?’
‘It’s in Cork. Susan has rented a house just outside Cork city.’
‘Is that near Quee– I mean Cobh?’
‘Well, sort of. It’s not a million miles away.’
‘Well, maybe yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll go if we can visit Cobh while we’re there.’
Mum wrinkled her eyebrows. ‘Why do you suddenly want to visit Cobh?’
‘I … I … I just do.’
Mum sighed. ‘Sounds a bit strange to me, but since this is the first thing you’ve shown any interest in for a whole week, I’m not going to argue with you.’
I hugged her. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said.
‘You’re welcome,’ she replied. ‘Now get up and give Tilly a call to see if she can come with us.’
‘I wish we could have brought Saturn,’ I sighed.
‘He’d have hated the car journey,’ said Mum. ‘Don’t you remember the fuss he made when we took him to the vet’s for his check-up?’
‘I know, but –’
‘But what?’ asked Tilly.
But Saturn and I have been through so much together, and now it feels strange not being near him.
‘But nothing,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry, Lauren,’ said Mum. ‘Dad’s dying to have Saturn to himself for a few days. That cat will be totally spoiled by the time we get home.’
Tilly laughed. ‘He’s totally spoiled already. Anyway, Deirdre, are we nearly there?’
‘Only a few more miles to go,’ said Mum. ‘We can have lunch when we get there. You girls must be starving.’
‘I’m absolutely ravenous,’ said Tilly.
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘I could eat a … OMIGOD! Stop the car!’
The car screeched to a halt and I jumped out, quickly followed by Mum and Tilly. I stood by the side of the road, trembling. Tilly rubbed my back and Mum pulled a bundle of tissues from the glove compartment.
‘It’s OK, darling,’ said Mum. ‘Do you feel sick?’
I shook my head. ‘No, I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine,’ said Tilly. ‘You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’
That sooo wasn’t funny.
I pointed to the signpost that had caused this crisis.
‘Can we go there?’ I said to Mum.
Mum sighed. ‘I thought you wanted to go to Cobh.’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘I totally do. But first can we go to Ballyboher?’
I tried to interpret the look that passed between Mum and Tilly. I think it was a We’ve-tried-to-be-understanding-about-your-weird-behaviour-lately-but-there-is-a-limit-and-it-looks-like-maybe-we’ve-reached-that-limit look.
Mum smiled a worried smile. ‘Why on earth do you want to go there?’ she asked. She already thought I was crazy, so there was no way I was telling anything close to the truth. I thought quickly.
‘Er … in history last y
ear … there was a whole chapter about this guy … I forget his name, though … and he was from Ballyboher … and because I did a special project on him, our teacher said if I was ever anywhere nearby I should go and visit his birthplace.’
‘What guy?’ asked Tilly.
‘You know … the … the famous guy,’ I said pathetically.
Tilly rolled her eyes. She’s much better at history than I am and we both knew that if we had studied a famous guy from Ballyboher, she would have remembered it perfectly well. But she’s a good friend, so she smiled as if she had the faintest idea of what I was talking about.
‘Oh, that guy,’ she said. ‘I remember him now.’
‘What was he famous for?’ asked Mum with narrow, suspicious eyes.
Tilly smiled sweetly. ‘He was a hero in the Bolivian revolution of 1872.’
I put my head down to hide my smile. I was fairly sure that Tilly had just invented the Bolivian revolution of 1872.
Mum sighed as we all climbed back into the car.
‘I suppose it’s not too far. But ten minutes only, Lauren, and then we’re going on to Cobh, OK?’
I nodded. Mum started the car, reversed a little and took the turn for Ballyboher.
Seconds later, I screeched again. ‘Stop the car!’
Mum stopped the car, but this time I was the only one who got out. I knew I was pushing things with Mum and Tilly, but I couldn’t help it.
I walked across the small road, hardly daring to breathe.
The roof and the windows and the doors were gone, but there was no mistaking it – this was Mikey’s house. I looked back at the car. Mum and Tilly were sitting with folded arms and not-very-patient looks on their faces.
I smiled an apologetic smile and stepped inside the building. I put my hands over my face and tried not to cry.
I could almost smell the turf fire that had warmed me up on that strange day – my first day in 1912.
Above the birdsong, I imagined that I could almost hear Mikey’s laughter in my ears. I half expected to see Granny Bridget sitting on her old rocking chair, knitting, and Mikey sitting by the window. I half expected to see Saturn eating his bowl of bread and milk.
But all I could see were cobwebs, and weeds and decay.
What had happened to the big kitchen table and the trunk, containing Mikey’s mother’s precious clothes? What had happened to Mikey?
I walked back outside, wishing there was a door that I could close behind me.
When I got back to the car, Mum and Tilly had forced, We’re-being-very-patient looks on their faces. I knew that they had been talking about me.
I wished I could tell them everything.
I wished there was a way of making them understand.
But I knew there was no point.
I could still almost taste Granny Bridget’s greasy bacon in my mouth.
I could still almost hear Mikey’s happy laughter ringing in my ears.
But, even so, I could hardly believe my own story. So how could I possibly hope to convince them?
Mum started the car.
‘There’s just one more small thing before we go to Cobh,’ I said.
‘What?’ asked Mum, trying to sound patient even though I knew she didn’t feel that way.
‘Can we drive into the village, please?’
Mum didn’t answer, but she put the car into gear and we drove slowly towards the village of Ballyboher. We stopped on the only street and I climbed out of the car.
‘Won’t be long,’ I said.
No one answered.
*
Last time round I’d never made it this far, and now I couldn’t bring myself to feel disappointed about that. It was like the village that time forgot. There was one shop with a few faded packets of cereal in the window, about six houses and a church.
The shop was closed and the houses looked empty, so I walked towards the church. I pushed open a small gate, wincing as it squeaked loudly. The church door was closed, so I walked round to the back of the building. I realized that I was approaching a small graveyard. If there were answers to my questions, I knew they had to be here.
I walked slowly along the grassy paths. Some of the gravestones were toppling sideways, like the effort of standing up straight was too much for them. Some were so old that I couldn’t read what was written on them. It should have felt creepy, walking around a graveyard on my own, but it didn’t. In a funny way, it felt kind of peaceful.
I wandered among the graves, not knowing where to look. Then I stopped suddenly. There was a small stone cross, mostly covered with moss. At one edge, though, the moss was peeling off and I could read the beginning of a word – Spi–
I bent down and pulled away more of the moss. After a minute, the full inscription was revealed:
Bridget Spillane
March 1837–June 1912
I put my hands over my face.
Granny Bridget.
I thought of the gentle old lady who had been so kind to me, even though she had no idea who I was, or how I had suddenly appeared in her life.
I checked the date again. Granny Bridget had died just a few short months after I had been there.
Had Mikey made it safely back home? Did he stand on this very spot crying for his granny?
And whatever had happened to Mikey after his granny was gone? Did his father come back or was he left alone to care for himself?
Maybe none of this mattered now, so many years later, but still, I had to know.
I walked a bit further, half afraid to read the inscriptions on the headstones, but more afraid not to.
Then, in a shady corner, I found the stone I had been looking for.
Mikey Spillane
January 1901–May 2003
I breathed a huge long sigh of relief. He had made it back home safely.
My friend Mikey. It was weird to think that when I was a little girl, he was an ancient old man. Did he remember me? Did he ever think about the day we spent together in April 1912? And even though he lived such a long life, he never got to use the information I had given him about Spain winning the 2010 World Cup Final.
I leaned closer and noticed that there was more writing on the headstone, almost obscured by a thick layer of black stuff. I knelt down and set to work. I broke most of my fingernails as I scraped away the worst of the dirt. Then I took a tissue from my pocket and scrubbed until the tissue was shredded in my hand.
Then I stood back and read the inscription in full –
Mikey Spillane
January 1901–May 2003
Much loved and missed by his 6 sons, 4 daughters,
29 grandchildren and 17 great-grandchildren.
I could feel a slow smile spreading across my face.
So what if Mikey never got to make his fortune on the World Cup in 2010? He got to fill his house with children – the thing he wanted most of all in the world.
I wondered if Mikey told his grandchildren about his brief adventure on the Titanic. I wondered if he told them about me and if they checked up and discovered that no girl called Lauren had been on board the Titanic. Did they dismiss him as a crazy rambling old man – the way I had dismissed Betsy?
I picked a handful of daisies from the path and laid them on the grave.
‘So it all turned out well in the end, Mikey,’ I said. ‘I’m very glad for you.’
I checked to see that no one was around and I patted his headstone with my hand. ‘Goodbye, Mikey,’ I said, and then I turned to leave.
As I walked out of the graveyard, I saw a sign on the railing.
DON’T FORGET TO CHECK OUT OUR EXHIBITION IN THE CHURCH PORCH – PHOTOGRAPHS FROM A FORGOTTEN AGE.
I walked quickly to the porch of the church. It was a tiny space, but every inch of the walls had been covered with faded old photographs. I scanne
d them eagerly, but even though I searched every face, there was no sign of Mikey or Granny Bridget.
I was just leaving, with a sick feeling of disappointment, when something made me turn back and look at one particular photograph. It was a group of eight boys and girls and bore the caption – BALLYBOHER NATIONAL SCHOOL, CONFIRMATION DAY 1937.
All the children were smiling happily, but something about one girl seemed to be drawing me in.
I took a step closer.
It wasn’t her blonde pigtails that caught my eye, or her laughing eyes. It wasn’t her clumpy boots or her shapeless skirt. It was the neatly zipped fleece, with the logo I would know anywhere.
It had to be Mikey’s daughter, wearing the first zipped fleece that had ever shown up in Ballyboher – the fleece that had travelled back in time and had even spent a few minutes on board the Titanic.
I was still laughing loudly as I walked back to the car. Mum wound down the window as I approached. Then she and Tilly exchanged looks again. They were Oh-dear-now-she’s-finally-gone-and-lost-it-completely looks.
Tilly made a face at me. ‘I take it you found that Bolivian revolution guy?’
I thought for a minute. I was getting tired of telling lies.
‘Let’s just say that I found exactly what I was looking for.’
‘So can we go on to Cobh now?’ said Mum.
‘Yes, please,’ I said as I opened the car door and threw myself into the front seat. ‘Cobh sounds great.’
‘You know Susan thinks it’s very odd that we didn’t call on her first,’ said Mum as the three of us climbed out of the car. ‘She can’t understand why we’re spending the day in Cobh.’
‘You can blame me,’ I said. ‘The family weirdo.’
Mum gave me a funny look.
Maybe I shouldn’t have joked about it – maybe I really was turning into the freak of the family.
‘I’m still starving,’ said Tilly, tactfully changing the subject. ‘Can we go for lunch?’
‘Great idea,’ agreed Mum, a bit too enthusiastically. ‘Let’s go this way.’