And the birds kept on singing

by Simon Bourke

  “Are you all right, Shin? You’re not usually this quiet.”

  “Mmm,” she replied, distracted.

  They walked in silence for a little longer. Sinéad was losing her nerve. It would be much easier not to tell him, to walk around and chat about how nice the woods were looking. She could tell him later, tomorrow, or maybe not at all. She could ignore the letter and Adele and carry on as if nothing had happened. Yes, that would be much easier and probably better for everyone in the long run, but that was the coward’s way out and she was sick of being a coward, sick of letting life pass her by. She could see out the rest of her days in relative peace if she so chose, safe and secure but alone and dissatisfied, or she could take a risk, put herself out there and see what happened.

  “I’ve something I want to tell you, Dad,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you remember when I went to England, over to Colleen?”

  “Course I do”.

  “Well I wasn’t just going to get away for a while.”

  That had been her excuse at the time, which sounded as flimsy now as it had then.

  “Oh, right.”

  He didn’t seem particularly interested in the topic of conversation or surprised by this revelation.

  “I went there because I was pregnant, Dad.”

  “Ah, sure we knew that,” he replied, neither changing his tone nor breaking his stride.

  “What? How did you know? Did Colleen tell you? She promised she wouldn’t!”

  “No one told us anything, Sinéad. We’re not eejits; we figured it out for ourselves.”

  “But how? I could have been going over there for any number of reasons.”

  “You could have, but you were completely different when you came back. Your mother and I knew straight away what had happened; you weren’t the same girl at all.”

  “And you didn’t think to ask me about it at all?”

  “No, sure why would we?”

  Sinéad was exasperated. So they had known all along! Not only that, they hadn’t even been interested enough to ask her about it.

  “Because I’m your daughter!”

  “Ah sure, look, it was your business and we had to respect that.”

  “But why didn’t you say something?” she shouted, finally losing her cool.

  “Hey, you were the one keeping secrets, not us,” he replied, his tone almost jovial.

  “Ah, for fuck’s sake!” she said bitterly.

  Noel laughed genially, apparently finding the whole thing hilarious.

  “All these years of hiding this big secret from you, and you knew all along,” she said ruefully.

  “It wasn’t that we didn’t care, love. We just reckoned you’d come to us in your own time.”

  “I bet you didn’t think it’d be nineteen years later.”

  Her father chuckled. “No, we didn’t.”

  “How the hell did Mammy keep herself from saying anything? It must have been killing her!”

  “Oh, I dealt with your mother. You think she has the run of me, but she doesn’t; not when it really matters.”

  Sinéad smiled. He was right, she did think her mother had the run of him; she had the run of everyone. But her father had an inner toughness that not many people saw, and when pushed he was a match for anyone, even Patricia McLoughlin.

  “I’m thrown now, Daddy,” she said with a sigh. “I thought it was going to be a lot harder than this.”

  “No, you have to get up early in the morning to pull the wool over your father’s eyes.”

  She laughed, both at his mixed metaphors and his smugness; little did he know that she wasn’t finished yet.

  “There’s more, Dad. And if you tell me you already know about this, I’ll feckin’ kill ya.”

  “Oh, I probably do, Sinéad, but sure tell me anyway.”

  “The child that I gave up for adoption. He – it, he’s a boy – wants to meet me. I’ve received three letters so far.”

  That stopped Noel in his tracks. He turned to face her, suddenly serious.

  “When did all this happen?”

  “Fairly recently. I got the first letter about six months ago.”

  “Six months?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  This had been the kind of reaction she’d been expecting and secretly hoping for.

  “How long does something like this take?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. I only decided the other day that I wanted to see him.”

  Noel scratched his head in bewilderment. “Why wouldn’t you want to see him?”

  “You know what I’ve been through recently, Dad; all the depression, low self-esteem, lack of confidence ... I just didn’t feel ready.”

  “Ah, Sinéad,” he said, all pretence gone out of him.

  Tears welled in his eyes, and for a moment she thought he was going to hug her. Instead he placed a hand on her shoulder and left it there a while, removed it and resumed walking. It was his way of saying she had his support.

  13

  “We’re back, Mammy!”

  “So ye are. Did ye get drenched?”

  “A bit. We were on the way home by the time it started.”

  Sinéad and her father stood in the hallway, relieving themselves of runners, coats and anything else that had got wet in the sudden shower.

  “Ah, ye’re drowned, lads; hold on till I get a towel.”

  Patricia hobbled off to the hot press to get towels, while the two walkers dried off by the fire.

  Sinéad waited till the tea had been poured and they were all sitting comfortably, then she broke the news.

  “So anyway, Mam, me and Dad were talking about things in the woods.”

  “I bet ye were,” she said, not taking her eyes off the telly.

  “No, Mam, important stuff. Stuff you need to hear.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  “Not really. Well, maybe a little.”

  “Well, go on then,” she said, turning off the TV and giving her daughter her full attention.

  “According to Daddy, you already know why I went to England that time years ago.”

  “What time?” Patricia asked, playing dumb. It was true, her father did have the run of her.

  “You know, Mammy, come on.”

  Patricia looked at her husband for assent. Noel nodded agreement.

  “When you sneaked off in the middle of the night and didn’t come back for six months, is that the time you mean?”

  “Yes, Mam.”

  “Well, what about it?”

  “Why do you think I went away?”

  Patricia was uncomfortable in this role. She much preferred to be the one asking the questions. She liked to hold all the aces, and at the moment she had none.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Sinéad,” she said irritably.

  “Well, I went over to have a baby, Mammy.”

  Her mother looked flustered, unsettled. Sinéad continued, eager to get it all out before she could respond.

  “I gave him up for adoption, and now he’s contacted me to say he wants to meet me.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Patricia said. “We’ll have to paint the front of the house. I told you to do that during the summer, Noel!”

  Sinéad brayed with laughter, relief pouring over her.

  “For feck’s sake, Mam! I’m sure he won’t be looking at the house.”

  “And why wouldn’t he? You know what them English are like! We’ll have to get the place done up especially for him. And you, young miss,” she said, pointing to her daughter. “You’d better start dressing a bit more glamorous, too. We can’t have this young fella thinking his mother is some kind of frump!”

  Sinéad shook her head in disbelief. All that worrying for nothing! Her mother’s primary co
ncern didn’t centre on how her daughter had become pregnant, left the country and returned empty-handed. No, all she was worried about was what that child might think of them if and when he came for a visit now, nineteen years later.

  14

  Of course, it wasn’t enough to decide to reply to the letter. Now she had to go through with it. After the initial excitement had worn off and everyone had been told, she was still left with the job of picking up a phone and ringing the agency. There was no escaping it, either; Adele badgered her every other day, her mother constantly enquired as to when the ‘little English boy’ was coming to visit, and the entire extended family bombarded her with various questions and queries. The pressure was coming from all sides, and it was relentless. It got so bad she had to stop visiting Adele, ignore the doorbell and screen her phone calls in case someone was ringing to see if her son had arrived yet. They wouldn’t leave her alone. The only solution was to get it over with, but it had to be done on her own terms.

  So one morning, after spending hours cleaning and tidying the flat, she went to the kitchen and got the letter. Tidying up always made her feel better, made her feel good about herself, almost confident. She unfolded the letter and carefully dialled the number. The phone was ringing before she had time to think about what she was doing.

  “Hello, Northwest Adoption Agency, Rachel speaking. How can I help you today?”

  “Oh, hello, Rachel,” Sinéad began, realising she had no idea what to say.

  “Hello, can I help you?”

  “Well, I hope you can. I got a letter, three of them in fact. They’re about a boy, my son.”

  “Oh, great! And what’s your own name?”

  “I’m Sinéad.”

  “Sinéad what?”

  “Sinéad McLoughlin.”

  There was a pause at the other end, and for a moment she wondered if it had all been a mistake. They were going to check their records and come back and tell her they had no Sinéad McLoughlin on their files. All that upset for nothing.

  “Yes, Sinéad McLoughlin of Dooncurra, County Kilkenny, in Ireland. Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh, I’m so pleased you’ve called, Sinéad.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes, we have a young man who is very eager to contact you.”

  Sinéad felt her knees go weak and stumbled her way to a chair. “You do?”

  “Yes. I’m so thrilled you’ve called, I really am!”

  “Oh, thank you.”

  “Now, Sinéad,” Rachel continued in a more official tone. “What we need to do now is to get the two of you in contact. Usually what we suggest is that you exchange phone numbers via the agency and take it from there. How would you feel about that?”

  “Oh God, would we have to do that today?”

  “No, no, whenever you feel comfortable, Sinéad. I know it’s not easy, but you’ve taken the first step today and that’s the important thing.”

  “Okay.”

  “What I could do is inform your son that you’ve made contact and ask him if he’d like to exchange numbers. That will give you some time to prepare.”

  “Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

  “He’s going to be so pleased, Sinéad.”

  “Is he?”

  “Yes, he was beginning to wonder if you wanted to see him, but I told him these things take time.”

  “They do. You were right.”

  “Anyway, I’ve said too much. I’ll contact him straight away and let him know you’ve been in touch, okay?”

  “Okay, Rachel. What will happen then?”

  “I’ll ring you, Sinéad, probably tomorrow and we can take things from there. Remember, there’s no pressure. Take things at your own speed.”

  “Okay, Rachel. Thank you.”

  “No problem, Sinéad. Bye now.”

  “Goodbye, Rachel.”

  She hung up the phone. Her palms were slick with sweat. Trembling, she raised a cigarette to her mouth and lit up.

  15

  It had been six months since Jonathan had received that phone call, the call he had thought would change his life. In some ways it had. Life at home was much better now, less fractious, less moody, and he and his father were rebuilding their relationship. His little sister had reacted negatively to his news at first, but had since come round. They had spoken at great length about adoption and about how much they loved their parents, about finding their birth-parents and what that would mean. In the end, they found they weren’t so different after all, and shared the same outlook on many things. Sophie didn’t want to find her birth-parents just yet, but she respected his decision to search for his. It was enlightening to have a discussion like that with her. He’d always just seen her as his ditzy little sister, thought her incapable of having a grown-up conversation on such a weighty issue, but she’d displayed an unexpected maturity during these chats. He was impressed, and he promised that if and when she began her own search he would support her in any way he could. He understood the process and the emotions involved; most importantly, he understood how painful it was when it didn’t pan out like you’d hoped.

  His own hurt was starting to subside. He’d given up on the idea of meeting his birth-mother. His father was right, it was her loss. He’d done all he could. If she didn’t want to see him, then there was nothing more to be said. Life went on, and he intended to live his to the fullest.

  Then Rachel called again.

  “Oh hello, Rachel. Listen, I’d like to apologise for my behaviour last time.”

  “Never mind that, Jonathan. I’ve got some news, good news.”

  “Yes?”

  “She’s contacted us, Jonathan, your mother; she wants to see you.”

  He thought he’d misheard her. It didn’t seem possible.

  “Could you say that again?”

  “She wants to see you, Jonathan, I’ve just got off the phone with her. You do still want to see her, don’t you?”

  “Um, yes, I suppose so.”

  “Are you sure, Jonathan?” Rachel asked jokingly.

  “Yes. It’s just a big surprise, that’s all. I’d almost forgotten about it, to be honest.”

  “Well, I did tell you that these things take time, didn’t I?”

  “I suppose you did.”

  “Not that you were too keen on hearing it,” she added.

  “No. I thought you were just fobbing me off.”

  “Would I do that?”

  He didn’t feel like sharing in her jubilation. If this had happened six months ago he would have, but not now. Did he still want to see her? He’d already dealt with her rejection and moved on as best he could. Now this. A response completely out of the blue and once more on her terms.

  “What happens now?”

  “Well, with your permission I provide both of you with contact details, phone numbers and email addresses. From there on, it’s all up to you.”

  How strange it felt to finally acquire something you’d dreamed of for years, just at the point when you’d given up on it.

  “Okay, then, Rachel, you can give her my number.”

  “I must say, Jonathan, I thought you’d be more excited than this.”

  “Well, you caught me off guard; in all honesty I’d given up on her. Have you spoken to her? Did she explain why it took her so long to reply?”

  “I have spoken to her, yes, but I think it should be up to her to explain things like that.”

  “Sure, that makes sense.”

  “Is there anything else you’d like to ask me, Jonathan? You’re going to be on your own from here on in.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes. We generally step aside at this point unless either party requests some form of mediation.”

  “So this will be my last contact w
ith you?”

  “Not quite. I’ll check in with you from time to time to see how things are going, but for the time being, this is it. Is there anything else you want to know?”

  “I think I’ve asked all the questions I’m going to ask at this stage.”

  “Okay then, Jonathan, I’ll forward her details to you. Oh, I almost forgot! Her name. It’s Sinéad. Sinéad McLoughlin.”

  It couldn’t have been more Irish. He’d definitely have to work on his pronunciation before any potential meeting.

  “She’s definitely Irish, then?”

  “Yes, she lives in the southeast of the country, in a small town in County Kilkenny.”

  “Okay,” he said, not sure what to do with this information.

  “Well, if you’ve no more questions...”

  “Yeah okay, Rachel. Thanks, thanks a lot for everything.”

  “You’re welcome, Jonathan. I’ll speak to you soon. Good luck!”

  “Bye, Rachel, and thanks again.”

  “Goodbye, Jonathan.”

  A couple of minutes later he received a text with her number, his mother’s number. He looked at it a while. By dialling that number he could speak to the women who gave birth to him. It was that simple. She was there, living her life, in her world, and he could reach out and touch it. He decided that he would much rather be the one calling than the one being called. Better still, he could just text her: Howya Mammy, what’s the craic? That was how they talked. He’d have to discuss the meaning of the craic with the little Irish lady who worked in the newsagents. He hadn’t seen her in a while, though; hopefully she hadn’t died. Then there was the meeting itself: how would they go about arranging it? Would she come here, or would he have to go to Ireland? He couldn’t go on his own. Obviously he was old enough to travel by himself, but going to a strange country to meet all those strange people? He would need someone with him, preferably his mother, but that could be awkward. There was so much to think of, so much to organise. It would have to keep until morning, though. He switched off his phone; if she called or texted him, she would have to wait. He had to clear his head, and he had to tell his parents.