The Ballymara Road

by Nadine Dorries

  Mrs McGuire turned round and Alice looked directly at her. She challenged the older woman using only her eyes as weapons. They were as cold as steel and just as hard.

  Mrs McGuire was not so easily beaten. Retracing her steps, she marched back to Alice.

  ‘Well, be that as it may, Alice, it is just as well, for there will be no welcome anywhere for either of ye two in Liverpool. Big as ye are, Sean, Brigid’s brothers would kill ye, if they so much as had a sniff of where it is ye are at. There will be no welcome in Ireland for ye, Sean. Ye have both burnt yer boats and that’s for sure. Ye have no option but to settle here, Alice. Ye are here and here forever, I would say, so here’s praying to God ye like it because ye have nowhere else to go. And, thanks to the sneaky, lying behaviour of ye both, and the shame ye have put me through, neither have I. I can’t even hold me own head up in Liverpool now without the gossip following me wherever I go.’

  Her voice trembled on the last words. Mrs McGuire loved her granddaughters. She loved her family. Nothing meant more to her than her pride. What Sean had done had put her at the centre of one of the biggest scandals to ever hit the four streets and would be a subject for discussion every time the women piled into Maura Doherty’s kitchen.

  Mary decided it was time to break the tension.

  ‘You are welcome to live with us and become part of the business, Sean. Sure, the house is big enough. We have twelve bedrooms and will struggle to find you. We need you, so we do, sure, we always have. God knows what has taken you so long. But, Alice, in America you must be Mrs McGuire. I don’t want anyone thinking you are both living in sin. I’ll not have that shame laid at my door. And as Brigid will never in a million years grant you a divorce, Sean, you have no option, so you don’t. Living your life as a lie, ’tis all you have left.’

  Nothing else was said as the sombre party made its way towards Mary and Henry’s car where a driver was waiting.

  For almost six months Mrs McGuire did not speak another word to Alice. All conversation was channelled directly through her daughter or Sean himself. According to Mrs McGuire, it was entirely Alice’s fault that Sean had left his family. Her son had never, and could never, do any wrong, as she explained to her daughter.

  ‘Brigid was only waiting for the littlest one to grow up and that is a fact. She was most enthusiastic about bringing them all to America, Mary, that’s no word of a lie. That Alice must be a wicked one altogether. I swear to God, no one other than Peggy and Paddy’s lad had a notion of what was going on and he knew only because he caught them almost at it and now, sure, I imagine everyone in Liverpool knows every detail. Alice turned his head, she did. She must have bought a mighty potion from somewhere because it just isn’t like our Sean, he would never do such a thing as abandon his own family. She cast a spell, I would say. Ye have invited a witch to live under yer own roof, Mary.’

  ‘Aye, well, Mammy, what is done is done. Sean is not a mean man. Now that he is here and part of the business, Brigid and the children, they will want for nothing.’

  Mrs Mcguire took comfort from this knowledge. She knew that, back in Liverpool, new possessions would ensure that Brigid rose above the shame. She could do this easily with a new twin tub, an Electrolux hoover and a nice, vinyl, three-piece suite with cushions upholstered in autumnal colours. No one else on the four streets had anything as grand.

  Mrs McGuire had made it her business to ensure the money was sent to Brigid to compensate for the behaviour of her wayward son. There would be no secondhand communion shoes for any of the McGuire girls on Nelson Street. They might not have a daddy at home, but, God knew, they would wear the prettiest veils.

  The passage to America had been fun for Alice and Sean. The bars, the dancing, the food. Their first night in the cabin had been one of hedonistic indulgence as they made love half a dozen times. Not until they were standing on the deck to watch the famous Liverpool portside buildings, the Three Graces, disappear into the distance, had either spoken of the families they had left behind.

  Alice had loved every minute of the crossing, but if she were truthful she had to acknowledge that, as the days wore on, the fierce desire, which had drawn her and Sean together, alongside the intense longing to reach America, no longer existed. The first signs began to appear when they struggled to make normal conversation. Their lovemaking, which at first had been fuelled by greed and passion, quickly waned.

  Despite the long journey to Chicago, Sean set to work with Henry six days a week as soon as they arrived. With only Sundays free, Alice was traumatized to discover that the family attended mass, twice, together, every Sunday.

  Mrs Mcguire had left Alice in no doubt as to what was expected of her.

  ‘Tell Alice, Sean, she walks with us to mass. All part of the lie ye have to both live out whilst ye pretend to be man and wife. And may God forgive ye, because I never will.’

  ‘I don’t want to attend mass, Sean,’ Alice had remonstrated. ‘I’ve never even been inside my own church in England, never mind yours.’

  ‘Ye have to, Alice.’ Sean was incensed by what Brigid and her stubbornness had denied him all these years. He was now in love with Chicago and all that it had to offer. Anger flooded him when he thought of the years he had wasted in Liverpool, scraping by. There was no place in his life for another stubborn woman. He would have none of it.

  The guilt he carried around with him each day had hardened him. Alice could see that the Sean she had known in Liverpool was a very different man from the one he had become in Chicago. She was horrified too at the prospect of spending two hours of her precious Sundays in a church thick with incense.

  ‘Kathleen and Jerry never took me to mass once during the years I was in Liverpool and under their roof, so why would I want to start now?’

  ‘What happened in Liverpool doesn’t count any longer. If it did, I would be sitting in church with my daughters. We worship together, Alice, and that is all there is to it.’

  ‘Henry and I flew to England to rescue Mammy from the chaos you left behind, Sean,’ Mary had whispered to him when they had a moment alone one morning over breakfast. ‘We stopped until Brigid’s family stepped into the breach. It was a bad business all right and not something I would want to have to do again.’

  Sean felt ashamed for what he had put his children through, but nothing could stem the tide of anger he now felt towards Brigid. He would not allow this opportunity to be wasted. His share of the business would be bequeathed to his girls but, in the meantime, Alice must play her part. He would need a son to carry on the business so that it could continue.

  Mrs Mcguire’s dockside words had chilled Alice, but Henry’s, about her having another child, had chilled her more. Sean’s having a son had not been part of the deal.

  ‘I have a son that I have left in Liverpool. Why would I want another?’ she had said to Sean.

  ‘Because of this is our new life, Alice. Do you want it to be just the two of us, growing old together? Don’t you want us to be able to share our life out here with a family? Even I hadn’t realized how well the business is doing. Mary had understated that in her letters all right.’

  Alice didn’t reply. If Sean thought he was going to make her pregnant, he could think again. What she couldn’t tell Sean was that she missed Joseph. So much so that she had trouble sleeping. Deep in her heart, she missed Jerry too, as well as the four streets. She missed the life she had lived before and knowing that it had gone forever made the pain worse. While Sean worked hard all day long, Alice moped around the house or called for the driver, if the car was free, to take her to the mall.

  Mary often invited Alice to her coffee mornings and fund-raisers for the church, but they left Alice cold. She had never been one for small talk, and it hadn’t come more easily just because she was on a different continent.

  Alice had been made responsible for their banking and had been charged with sorting out the new house, with Mary’s help, tasks which occupied only the smallest part of her day. B
ut the complaints from Alice faded into the distance following a discovery that altered the course of all of their lives.

  ‘Henry, the baby hasn’t woken for his feed,’ said Mary, switching on the bedside light. ‘It’s been a struggle all week to make him take anything. I’m worried.’

  Henry sat up in bed and switched on his own light.

  Dillon had never taken a whole feed since the day he arrived, always just two ounces at a time, at regular intervals.

  ‘The doctor said not to worry. As long as he was taking something every few hours, he was fine.’

  ‘I know, Henry, but add it up: he had only eight ounces all day yesterday and that is the equivalent of one feed, for a baby his size.’

  Mary fastened her dressing gown and made her way to the adjoining bedroom.

  But as she opened the door, there was silence. No gurgling, or shuffling of bed sheets, no thumb sucking, no warm breath or blinking eyelids. Nothing.

  The light from the main bedroom cast a faint glow over the cot. As Mary approached, she knew something was dreadfully wrong.

  ‘Henry,’ she said in a tight voice.

  ‘What is it?’ he replied.

  ‘Henry,’ Mary said again.

  Alarmed, Henry sat up as Mary came towards him, holding the baby. Dillon was flaccid in her arms, his little head lolling in her hand and his legs swinging loose.

  ‘Dillon, darling,’ whispered Mary. The baby opened his eyes and looked at her, but there was no light of recognition.

  Henry noticed his pale leg, which had fallen free from his nightgown.

  ‘What’s that, Mary?’ he asked, pushing back the child’s white flannelette nightshirt.

  An enormous black bruise covered the back of Dillon’s calf.

  ‘I don’t know, but phone the doctor quick,’ Mary whispered, with tears pouring down her cheeks as their son, once again, closed his eyes.

  A week later, Sean was trying his best to pay back Mary and Henry’s kindness by travelling with them to meet with the doctor. Today they would know the results of the many tests Dillon been subjected to. Sean felt totally helpless.

  ‘Let’s stop and get us the biggest rack of smoked ribs when we are all done at the hospital, shall we, Sean?’ Henry had said earlier that morning.

  They were all three assembled in the hallway, ready to leave for the doctor’s.

  ‘And, Mary, you won’t have any problem with that now, will you? Not today, Mary. None of your lectures now, d’you hear me? Today we celebrate, because the doctor is going to tell us our little lad will be fine.’

  Mary avoided responding by fixing her hat in the mirror.

  ‘Ouch,’ she said as she sucked her thumb, after a prick from the hatpin. ‘Let’s not fly in God’s face, shall we? We don’t try God and you should know that.’

  She dipped her fingers into the stoup on the hall table, full of holy water that had been shipped over especially from the Vatican, blessed herself and pushed forward her husband and brother so that they could do exactly the same.

  ‘What’s up with ye both?’ she admonished them. ‘Are ye both so full of your own arrogance you have no time to bless yourselves today of all days, so help me, God?’

  Mrs McGuire was in the kitchen with Dillon, rocking him back and forth on her knee. She had been trying for over an hour to coax him to take his bottle. Worry lines were etched on her face. The situation with Sean had taken its toll, and now this.

  ‘Will you be all right, Mammy?’ said Mary, fussing around.

  Mrs McGuire waved her daughter away. ‘Will I be all right? I’m not Mrs Clampett. I can manage very well, thank ye. Just because ye live in a big house doesn’t mean anything to do with rearing a child has altered. Now go, and come back with good news that this little fella is going to be fine.’

  Sean noticed how anxious his sister looked. Mary hadn’t laughed for a week. Not since their last appointment at the doctor’s office, when the doctor had told them that they would need to travel straight from there to the hospital where a Dr Sanjay would remain behind, waiting for them.

  ‘For goodness’ sake. Right now? What for? You’re joking, right?’ Mary’s voice was tight. She had spent every moment since she found Dillon making herself believe that the doctor would put everything right. She had done a good job.

  The doctor wasn’t joking. Far from it. Dr Sanjay, a specialist, was indeed waiting at the hospital, examining a set of X-rays of their little boy.

  At that moment, Henry saw his wife’s spirit die. She had turned to him and tried to smile, to let him know that she would make this better, but her smile had died too.

  ‘Don’t worry, Henry love,’ she had said, Mary the fixer. Mary, the mother. Mary, who made everything right.

  She grabbed Henry’s hand and pulled him closer to her, protecting him from the news that she herself failed to comprehend. ‘It’s nothing serious,’ she said, with no conviction whatsoever.

  But Henry had seen hope decay, right there and then.

  The smile on her face. The dream in her eyes. Dead.

  Their little boy had a form of leukaemia, but one that could be cured relatively easily. The chances were high that the bone marrow of a family member would be a successful match.

  ‘In my years of practice I have never known a family match to fail,’ Dr Sanjay had said.

  It was all very simple. They had to place everyone on the federal donor bank today and then return to the clinic on Monday. They would have to log in their social security numbers and blood type, and once they had done that, the doctor could start work.

  ‘The sooner we find a donor, the less the disruption to your little man’s life,’ Dr Sanjay had said. ‘Dillon is still a baby and this will be nothing more than a correctional process. We just need to give him another blood transfusion in the next few days in order to turn his cheeks pink again. We have all the cards in our hands. I wish every child’s case was as straightforward as yours.’

  Sean liked Dr Sanjay. He was calm, matter-of-fact. He had said that the little lad had an excellent chance of a complete recovery. They were the best odds.

  Dr Sanjay had answered all Mary’s questions honestly. Now they had to return home to Mrs McGuire and Dillon. Sean knew that Alice would be back from the hairdresser’s and would be helping Mrs McGuire. The frost between the two women had almost completely thawed in their concern over the baby.

  Sean knew Alice missed Joseph. It was something none of them ever mentioned.

  ‘That is the strange thing about America,’ Sean had said to Henry. ‘It is as though your life before you reached these shores had never happened. When you are an Irish immigrant in a country as proud as the USA, the only thing that matters is today and tomorrow; the past is forgotten.’

  Sean was right. It was all about now. You were reborn as an American citizen and you began anew.

  This filled Sean with hope. Their life would begin in earnest with a son of his own, a little Sean McGuire, and Alice would have to agree.

  ‘Are you OK, Mary?’ Sean now enquired again, this time with more confidence. ‘Are you not happy with what the doctor said?’

  Henry answered, ‘Mary is fine, Sean. She just needs a little time to get used to things, that’s all. Isn’t it, love?’

  Sean almost smiled. He loved the way Henry’s accent was an absolute mix of American and Irish when he was calm and collected, and yet it was full-on, one hundred per cent Irish, when he was mad or worried, which wasn’t very often. He was obviously worried right now.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sean, Henry, I’m sorry.’ Mary turned in the passenger seat and stretched out to take hold of Sean’s hand. Her mascara had carved tiny black tracks through her powdery cheeks and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot.

  ‘It won’t be a problem, Mary, so don’t cry. You just have to do as the doctor said.’

  Sean didn’t know what he had said wrong but, whatever it was, he had really upset Mary. She began to sob openly. Sean looked to Henry, seeking
reassurance, wanting him to say something to halt Mary’s distress, but tears were sliding down Henry’s cheeks. What the hell was going on?

  Henry put his foot on the brake and as they slowed down Sean looked out of the window. They were turning into the parking lot for the new mall that was still only half built. Parked outside, he spotted green construction vehicles with the family name, Moynihan.

  ‘I will be five minutes,’ Henry said. ‘Look after Mary, Sean. I will stay home with you today, love.’

  Mary grabbed her husband’s hand as he moved to slide out of the car seat. He hesitated a moment with his hand on the door handle and whispered, ‘Just hold it together, love, until we get into the house, OK?’

  Sean shifted forward and patted Mary’s hand. It didn’t matter how much he scrabbled around for something useful or comforting to say, he found nothing. So he decided the best thing to do was to say nothing and just let Mary know he was there for her.

  Henry, who had been gone for less than five minutes, ran back to the car.

  Sean had never seen a man cry before, but now, unashamedly, with no attempt to wipe away his tears or to halt their flow, Henry wept freely.

  ‘Tell me, Mary, what is it, what is wrong?’ Sean’s voice trembled slightly. He was not sure he really wanted to know the answer. They were almost home, only minutes away from being able to walk in through their own front door and break down in private. Sean thought, with a huge sense of relief, thank God, Mammy is there. She will know what to do.

  Amazingly, Mary appeared to be pulling herself together just as Henry was falling apart. She turned from the front seat to face Sean full on. Picking up his hand, she began to speak.

  ‘Sean, things are not as you think. We have only six months. Six months to find a match for Dillon.’

  Mary looked directly at Henry to reassure herself before she spoke. They were words that could not be taken back once said. He raised no objection.