City Girl

by Patricia Scanlan

  The nights were the loneliest. Sometimes Mollie would drag her to bingo while Rog or Rayo babysat and to her surprise she would enjoy herself listening to the chitchat and gossip and humour of the other women. There were many unmarried mothers like herself living on the vast estate and Devlin became friendly with a few of them. One girl from Galway, Helen, had a seven year old son. A quiet-spoken gentle person, she was firm in her resolve to get out of Ballymun eventually. She told Devlin that she was doing her Leaving Certificate as a mature student and had every intention of going on to university. It was Helen who had told Devlin where to get in touch with the Relieving Officer when she had difficulty paying an ESB bill and it was Helen who encouraged her to start thinking about what she was going to do with her life.

  She too would get out of Ballymun, she swore one night, as she listened to Les and Bridie fighting in the flat above her hurling abuse, their loud raucous screeching mingling with the noise of barking dogs, slamming doors, singing drunks, and crying babies that made up the night time sound of Ballymun. Often, unable to sleep, she would stand at her window and look out at the thousand twinkling lights and wonder if she would ever get out of there. At night the velvety darkness hid the ugliness and it could look quite beautiful. It reminded her of the skyscrapers of London or even New York, lit up against the star-studded sky, but the dawn gliding inexorably from the east would bring back reality . . . and despair. Listening to Lynn wheezing from the dampness that seeped through the walls of the flat, Devlin knew she would have to get somewhere else to live.

  On Helen’s advice, she had enrolled in night classes in the local comprehensive, taking an accounts class to supplement the business studies course she had taken in London. Mollie, or Margaret, Bernie’s daughter, babysat for her while she studied hard, dreaming of getting enough money to set up her own business. It was a daydream that kept her going and often in the warmth of the local library with Lynn dozing in the buggy beside her, she would pore over books that gave advice on setting up in business. Devlin had taken to visiting the library daily, enjoying its warm bright atmosphere as she sat reading in one of the comfortable armchairs that were dotted around. She would watch the girls who served behind the big issue desk as they joked and laughed, thinking that she too had once been a working girl with her own flat and car and a lifestyle that others had envied.

  Nobody would envy her now, she thought wryly, engrossing herself in her business books, determined to get out of her rut. Apart from the few times Maggie and Terry had invited her over to their dinner parties, and insisted on her staying overnight with Lynn, occasions she had really enjoyed, she never went anywhere. Caroline had never asked her to visit again and Devlin sensed that all was not well in her marriage, but she did not pry. She knew Caroline of old, knew how loyal she would be to Richard and knew that eventually Caro would confide in her about whatever was troubling her.

  With dismay, she realized that Caroline was beginning to drink quite heavily and guessed, knowing her friend, that she was using it as a crutch. If only Caroline could accept herself as she was. The marriage she had so longed for certainly hadn’t improved her self-image. Still, if Caroline ever needed help or a shoulder to cry on, she’d have herself and Maggie. Staunch friends counted for a lot, Devlin could testify to that.

  And so the months went by and Devlin found herself adapting to her new lifestyle, though not always cheerfully. One Sunday evening in early autumn, Mollie and she took Lynn out for a walk in her buggy. Because she was teething she was whingy and cranky all day and Devlin had begun to feel extremely irritated and short-tempered. Mollie must have sensed her desperation because in her kindly Dublin tones she had suggested, ‘C’mon luv, let’s go for a bit of a ramble, dere’s nuttin like a bit of fresh air to lift the ould spirits. We’ll leggit up to the back of the airport to watch a few planes.’

  Within five minutes of walking they had left behind the stark grey tower blocks of the vast estate and were walking past the little church of St Pappin, up then to the Meatpackers’ hill and out into the countryside with the vast complex of the airport to the right of them, rich rolling farmland to their left. It was one of the things about Dublin that Devlin loved the most, how swiftly one could get to the country or seaside and away from the noise and the grime of the city streets. Although she was a city girl at heart, Devlin had a keen appreciation of the country.

  Because it was Sunday evening the airport was very busy with holiday charters and as Devlin sat on the grass with her baby in her arms and watched the widebellied jets taking off and landing she remembered how she too had once been a carefree jetsetter. Tears came rolling down her cheeks and for the first time since she became pregnant so long ago she gave way to self pity and howled.

  ‘That’s right luv. Get it out of your system. There’s no use in bottlin’ all that lot up inside ya. Many’s the little weep I do have meself an ye feel only great after it.’

  ‘Th . . . thanks Mollie,’ Devlin sniffed. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘Ya know somethin, Devlin,’ Mollie said thoughtfully. ‘I think you should think about goin’ an livin’ with your aunt in Wexford. This is no life for a young wan like ya or the chisler.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know, Mollie,’ Devlin had answered doubtfully. ‘It seems unfair to burden Kate with my troubles.’

  ‘Kate might like the company,’ Mollie remarked quietly. It was something Devlin had never thought of. She had been too busy thinking of her own reasons for not going to give any thought to the reason behind Kate’s constant invitations. God knows Kate was always at her to come and live in the Harbour. They had always got on exceptionally well and Devlin knew that she was terribly lonely since her husband had died. During the cold damp winter that followed Devlin was to consider the option many times.

  Once again she found it necessary to go to the Welfare Officer to help make ends meet, although Caroline and Maggie would have willingly loaned her the money had they known she was in need. But Devlin still had her pride, a fierce determined pride that had given her strength all along. She was responsible for her own actions, she told herself often enough when the money was gone at the end of the week and she knew all she had to do was to ask the girls for the loan of a tenner. They were so unobtrusively kind. Whenever Maggie came to visit she brought a mouthwatering casserole or an apple tart and Caroline was always bringing clothes for Lynn. When Devlin remonstrated with her, she said so sadly that Devlin almost cried for her, ‘Please let me Dev. She’s such a beautiful baby. I wish I could be so lucky and blessed.’

  It was Maggie, though, who convinced Devlin to move to Wexford with the baby. One winter’s evening she invited Devlin and Lynn to stay the night and as she held the little girl in her arms and heard her wheezing after a coughing-bout Maggie said very firmly and with a faint trace of anger, ‘You know Dev I really think you should go to Kate’s. I know you have your pride but Lynn deserves to grow up healthy. And as long as you bury yourself out in Ballymun acting the martyr there’s no way her chest is ever going to be right.’

  ‘I am not acting the martyr!’ Devlin retorted, stung by her friend’s accusation.

  ‘Oh come off it, Dev. There’s no need for you to be living out there existing on a pittance. There are plenty of single parents holding down jobs and rearing children. You’ve got a good brain in your head. You’d get a job no problem in Rosslare. I mean it’s the third busiest port in the country!’

  ‘You don’t realize that my daughter needs me to look after her when she’s sick. That’s why I came home from London,’ Devlin snapped angrily, not liking what Maggie had to say one little bit.

  ‘Well, maybe she wouldn’t be sick if she was living in a healthier environment,’ Maggie said more gently, knowing that she had upset her friend by her blunt talking, but determined to stick to her guns.

  There was a long silence as Devlin digested this. Was what Maggie was saying true? Was she acting the martyr and letting her pride stand in the w
ay of having a decent future? Maggie’s points were very true. Lynn would never get better in smog-filled Dublin, but the fresh sea air would be a godsend to her. The village itself had a quiet easy-going charm and it was a lovely place to rear a child. Equally true was the fact that the ferryport was expanding at a great rate and a job would not be hard to come by. How nice it would be to earn her own living again.

  She looked Maggie squarely in the eye.

  ‘Thanks Maggs. I needed that. I haven’t been acting very positively, have I?’ she said ruefully.

  ‘I think you just couldn’t see the wood for the trees, Dev. I was hoping you’d come to your senses a bit sooner. I’ve been holding this back for a long time but really, enough is enough.’

  They grinned at each other and Devlin felt incredibly light-hearted. It was like the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. It had always been there only she had been too stubborn to see it. Her pride, which at times was one of her greatest strengths, was also one of her greatest flaws.

  ‘You know what I like about us, Dev,’ Maggie remarked as they sat later, having put the children to bed.

  ‘What?’ asked Devlin stretching luxuriously in front of a roaring fire and sipping creamy hot chocolate laced with brandy.

  ‘We can say what we like to each other and not get huffy.’

  Devlin laughed. ‘You can say that again! Maggie you’re the straightest person I know. Acting the martyr indeed!’

  ‘You know me, Dev. If I’ve something to say I say it and that’s it, all forgotten about then. That’s what real friends are all about. Believe me, I know.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way, Maggs,’ Devlin replied, giving her friend a warm hug that was just as warmly returned.

  Twenty

  A few months later Devlin had made the move. Once she had made her decision, she seemed like a new person. Her old positive way of thinking took over and she sloughed off the careworn anxiety that had engulfed her since Lynn’s birth.

  Things would turn out all right. Single parenthood was not easy – there was no arguing about that – but thousands of others had coped: widows, widowers, married people and unmarrieds. It was only her negative thinking and stubborn pride that had enmeshed her in a prison of her own making. Thank God Maggie and Mollie had made her see reason.

  Paradoxically, she felt a sense of regret as she closed the door of her Ballymun flat behind her. Mollie and Bernie had been terribly good neighbours. She would miss Mollie’s reassuring presence next door and Bernie’s constant good humour. She had got to know many of the people in her block and when word got out that she was going to live in Wexford, Bernie, Mollie and some of the other women had organized a little going away ‘do’ for her. The laughs and crack had been mighty and Devlin had left Ballymun with the good wishes of her neighbours ringing in her ears as they waved her goodbye.

  Her father was delighted when she told him she was going to live with Kate. His eyes lit up and his hug was tight when she told him the news at their Wednesday lunch. ‘Ah Devlin, that’s great news!’ he exclaimed. ‘It will be great for Lynn growing up, and Kate must be beside herself with pleasure.’

  Devlin laughed. ‘She certainly is, Dad, she can’t wait. She’s going to spoil my daughter dreadfully, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Let her!’ Gerry ordered, smiling. ‘A bit of spoiling never did anyone any harm.’

  She would miss her weekly date with her father but he promised he would visit often. When he once again wrote Devlin a cheque for three thousand pounds ‘to get her going,’ as he said himself, she had been tempted to refuse it. But Maggie’s words came back to her and she took the money graciously, knowing that it made him happy. She might open a little craft shop or bookshop to cater for the hundreds of tourists who came to the village in Wexford each summer. The possibilities were endless and she felt excited at the thought of the life that lay ahead. It was great to feel she was in control again, and how wonderful it would be to earn her own money and be independent once more.

  She kept her goodbyes to Caroline and Maggie short and sweet. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t see them again, she told herself, as she tried unsuccessfully to swallow the lump in her throat when they had gone out for a farewell drink a few days before she finally said goodbye to city life. It would be strange not seeing them each week, but they had all kept in contact by letter before and Rosslare was only a two-and-a-half-hour trip from Dublin. The girls could come down for long weekends and she could come up and visit them.

  Kate was thrilled to bits that Devlin had at last decided to come and live with her. They sat gabbing for hours the first few days, after the arrival of Devlin and Lynn, making plans for Devlin’s future. They decided that leasing a premises to open a craft- and bookshop would be the ideal thing for Devlin. Her father’s three thousand pounds plus the same amount from Kate would be more than enough to start a small business in which Kate and Devlin would be partners. But first her aunt insisted that Devlin take a holiday for a few weeks, doing nothing but relaxing in the glorious sunshine. Each morning Kate would pack her a picnic lunch and send her and Lynn off down to the beach below the house.

  Lying on the golden sand watching fluffy little clouds drifting by and listening to the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore Devlin felt months of accumulated tension slowly melt into the sand beneath her. Each day she became more relaxed as the tight coil of apprehension that seemed to have become part of her, slowly loosened and life, which had become such a burden, became a new and invigorating challenge. The change in her daughter was even more gratifying. Each night, having played on the beach beside her mother all day, Lynn would sleep like a log, the rich ionized sea air stronger than the most powerful sleeping pill. Even Devlin would find herself yawning hugely by ten thirty. Most nights she couldn’t remember her head hitting the pillow. But then, Rosslare air had always had that effect on her. Both of them were eating like horses and it gave Kate the greatest of satisfaction to watch her niece and grandniece gain much needed pounds. Tanned shapely curves replaced Devlin’s gaunt appearance and Lynn soon had chubby pink cheeks that made her mother so glad she had made the decision to move. It was one of the happiest times of Devlin’s life and her letters to Gerry, Caroline and Maggie bubbled with an enthusiasm they hadn’t seen in her since before Lynn was born.

  Kate and Devlin drove in to Wexford with Lynn one day to speak to a solicitor about leasing a premises that had been offered to Devlin in Rosslare. It was all fairly straightforward and the solicitor assured Devlin that she could go ahead and start ordering the stock for the new shop.

  In celebration they went to White’s Hotel and treated themselves to a magnificent meal as they decided what exactly they would buy. They were still engrossed in their discussion as Kate drove the twelve miles home from Wexford. So engrossed were they that Devlin wasn’t aware of the huge juggernaut thundering along behind them as it sped towards the French ferry. As it overtook them at speed it skidded on black oil and caught the car a glancing blow, sending it careering into the ditch. All Devlin remembered was the sickening thud and her own screams before she was knocked into oblivion.

  Twenty-one

  A month later, her baby daughter and Kate dead and buried, Devlin sat in a wheelchair in the warm early autumn sun in the grounds of a Dublin private hospital. A nurse walked across the grass and checked her drip before handing her her medication. Obediently Devlin swallowed the pills.

  ‘Is everything all right, Devlin? Would you like a cup of tea sent out; it’s afternoon tea time?’ the nurse asked cheerfully.

  ‘No thank you, I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you warm enough? Do you want another rug?’ The nurse patted the plaid rug around Devlin’s knees.

  For God’s sake would you just leave me alone, Devlin wanted to scream at the white-uniformed woman standing in front of her. There was no peace for her, they were always at her. Doctors poking, nurses waking her up to take her temperature, physiotherapists making her exer
cise, radiographers taking X-rays, priests murmuring words of compassion and comfort at her bedside. Why couldn’t they all leave her alone?

  She knew the nurse was only doing her job, and so was everybody else. The staff of the hospital were very kind to her but Devlin, completely traumatized by the horrific accident and the deaths of Lynn and Kate, found their attentions irksome.

  She once again heavily assured the nurse that she was fine and mercifully the woman moved on to another patient. Thoughts flooded back. Devlin had been in a coma for a week, during which time her daughter and aunt had been buried side by side in the quiet little harbour graveyard at Rosslare. Devlin was brought to Dublin by ambulance and admitted to a neurological unit in a city hospital and she regained consciousness to find Lydia and Gerry at her bedside.

  When they told her, she turned her head away but did not cry. She couldn’t. Even now, weeks later, she could not let her sorrow express itself. Night and day she asked herself why? After all the hardship and heartbreak, the decision not to have the abortion, the struggle that had followed, and now just as life had taken a turn for the better for both of them, God had let this happen to them. Lynn and Kate, the most precious people in the world for her, were gone and she was left. Worst of all was the numbness. Devlin felt that she should show grief, but all she felt was this strange unreal numbness.