‘But what?’ Pat could see the sadness in his eyes.
‘But I couldn’t. I know there’s another guy, isn’t there? And if he’s away fighting somewhere … well, I just wouldn’t do that.’
How could he think that? She’d never said anything to suggest that she had a sweetheart. ‘Why do you think there’s someone else?’ she asked.
‘I’ve seen the ring around your neck. It’s something special. Seen you touch it sometimes too.’
She bowed her head. ‘There was somebody, but he’s gone.’
Tony raised her chin and saw the tears ready to fall. ‘But you still think of him. You miss him, don’t you?’
Pat closed her eyes in agreement.
‘Do you still love him?’
She nodded and her tears fell on Tony’s hand. He pulled her close. A hug to comfort – that was all.
The rain had set in early and the wind whistling around the house blew soot down the chimney and threatened to smother the wee bit of fire in the grate. The girls had already gone to bed leaving Martha to finish her bit of sewing. The news on the wireless earlier that evening had been all about the goings on in North Africa and had unsettled her. She wondered as she stitched how this war, that people said would soon be over, could have extended into the desert. Eventually the stiches began to blur, her heavy eyelids closed and, just as her head began to nod, there was the sudden metallic clacking of the front-door knocker.
‘Who is it?’ she shouted from the hallway.
‘Does Irene Goulding live here?’ A woman’s voice, close to tears.
Martha opened the door and a figure slipped past her into the hall. Martha closed the door and switched on the light. A young woman who looked vaguely familiar stood blinking in the light, drenched to the skin and shivering.
‘Who are you?’ asked Martha.
‘A friend of Irene’s. Is she here?’
There was movement at the top of the stairs. ‘I’m here,’ Irene called.
‘Thank God!’ Theresa cried and slumped to her knees.
Between them Martha and Irene half-carried her into the sitting room and lowered her on to the settee. Awkwardly, she leaned back and her unfastened coat fell open.
‘Mercy me,’ said Martha and Irene gasped when she saw that her friend was expecting a baby.
Martha asked no questions, but sent Irene to fetch towels, dry clothes and a blanket while she put some coal on the fire then heated water for tea and a hot jar.
When Theresa was warm and dozing under the blanket, Martha whispered, ‘Now tell me who she is and what she’s doing here at this hour?’
‘It’s Theresa.’
‘I thought I recognised her.’ Martha’s face hardened. ‘She’s the girl whose wedding you went to? What’s she doing here?’
‘How should I know? I haven’t seen her for months.’
Martha gave her eldest daughter a long hard stare. She knew Irene was a great one for keeping things to herself. She wouldn’t lie, but …
There was a sob from Theresa and she sat up. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Goulding, but I had nowhere else to go,’ and she covered her face and wept. ‘My own people are too frightened to help me.’ She took a deep breath and looked at Martha. ‘Irene’s a good friend and she said if I ever needed her …’ and she dissolved into tears again.
Martha pursed her lips. ‘Hmm … I think you’d best tell us the whole story.’
And Theresa told them about the shooting of the policeman, and the police taking Michael, her husband, in for questioning. She knew that he would never have been involved in something like that but others thought different. The police let him go because they had no evidence against him so then people said he must be an informer. Martha’s face looked grim, but she said nothing.
He’d had no choice but to go into hiding, Theresa told them, but he wouldn’t tell her where he was going and she hadn’t heard from him since.
She cried a little then and said, ‘It was after that I found out I was pregnant.’
With her husband gone she’d had no money for the rent and had moved back in with her family. Then when the man was hanged for the murder, a lot of people were very angry and that night someone threw a petrol bomb into the house. They were lucky not to be burned alive. A cousin on the Springfield Road had taken her in.
‘Then today …’ her voice quivered and her eyes widened as she recalled the terror. ‘Today, I was coming back from the shop and I was just cutting through an alleyway when a man grabbed me. I don’t know who he was, but he threatened to kill me if I didn’t tell him where Michael was.’ Instinctively, she spread her hands over her stomach. ‘I don’t know what would have happened if two women hadn’t come past. I pretended to know them, shouted for them to wait and hurried after them. I didn’t go back to my cousin’s house. I walked into Belfast and sat on a bench outside the city hall.I didn’t know what to do – nowhere seemed safe – and then I thought of Irene.’
When Theresa had finished, Martha said nothing but looked at her long and hard. The girl looked like a good feed would kill her; she probably hadn’t eaten much in weeks. Her clothes were shabby and her face was drawn and grey. One way or another, men were to blame for this, but as usual it was the woman who bore the brunt. Who knew whether the husband was guilty or innocent, right now it made no difference. He was gone and might never be seen again. Martha chewed her lip and decided to deal with what was in front of her – a pregnant girl, frightened out of her wits.
‘Theresa, you’re welcome to stay here for a while. I doubt anyone would look for you in this area, but you’ll need to be thinking about somebody else you can go to, a relative maybe, who’s away from Belfast.’
‘I’ve nobody but a brother in America,’ she said, ‘and I haven’t heard from him in a long while. Michael and I thought about emigrating there once the war was over – we even got passports and enquired about the fare. A one-way passage costs thirty pounds and I don’t have more than a few shillings.’
‘Maybe he could send you the fare.’
‘I don’t think he’d have the money either and sure he’s a wife to support.’
‘Would your husband have gone over the border, to some of his people there? Or what about England?’
‘I don’t know of any. He told me nothing, you see, just in case …’
‘Well, maybe you could write to your brother, sure you never know. You could do that and Irene’ll post it for you. Won’t you Irene? Irene, are you listening?’
In the weeks since she had met Sean, Irene had told herself that she couldn’t and she mustn’t meet him. But in her mind she would see him as he was that night – waiting for her in the dusk, so striking in his uniform – and her heart would quicken. She remembered too the crush of his lips on hers and shivered anew at the excitement of it. And now here she was, on the last Sunday in September, wearing her best dress and Peggy’s elegant court shoes, and on a train to Larne. It was because of the letter, she told herself. Theresa had written to Sean but, Irene reasoned, what was the point of posting the letter. He wasn’t in America. Really she had no choice but to deliver it in person.
She emerged from the railway station and for a brief moment she almost hoped that he would not be there – that he, unlike her, had realised the foolishness of their meeting.
He was in uniform, leaning against a US Army staff car and his face lit up when he saw her. ‘Gee Irene, you’re a sight for sore eyes, so you are!’ and he went to put his arms around her, but she stepped back.
‘Sean, I’ve come to tell you about Theresa. I’ve brought you a letter from her.’
He looked uncertain, took the letter but didn’t open it. ‘Has something happened? Is she all right? Tell me.’
‘She wrote the letter to ask you if she could come to stay with you in Boston, if you could send her the fare.’
‘Her and her husband want to emigrate?’
‘No, her husband’s gone.’
‘What do you mean – gone?�
�
‘It’s a long story. Let’s find somewhere quiet and I’ll tell you all that’s happened.’
They drove a few miles along the coast and stopped at a small town on a bay. They sat watching the waves as Irene told Theresa’s story.
‘And you’re sure my father and the rest of the family have come to no harm?’
Irene nodded.
‘And Theresa has no idea where her husband is?’
Irene shook her head.
‘God, Irene, I don’t have the money for the fare. I have to send my money back home.’ He looked away then towards a man pushing a rowing boat down the sand into the sea and wading out after it until it was afloat.
‘Sean, I know you’re married. Theresa told me. But if she could find the money for the fare could she stay with your wife in America?’
He didn’t look at her, didn’t answer right away.
‘Sean?’
‘Yes … yes she can, but where’s she going to get the money from?’
‘I don’t know, we’ll think of something, but will you write to her at my house and tell her she’d be welcome in Boston? You’ll need to tell her you’ve joined the army too, but best not to tell her you’ve been over here.’
‘Is there anything else I should know?’
‘Yes. Theresa is expecting a baby.’
He smiled. ‘Is that it now, Irene, or have you got some more shocks for me?
‘No that’s it,’ said Irene. ‘Can you take me back to the station now? I’ll need to get home.’
He reached out and took her hand. ‘Why don’t we stay a bit longer? I’ve a few hours before I have to drive the officers back to base,’ and there was such pleading in his eyes.
What’s the harm? she told herself.
He touched her wedding ring. ‘You have a husband.’
‘Yes, and you have a wife.’
He smiled ruefully. ‘But I’ve always thought of you,’ he said. ‘Thought about what might have been, the road I couldn’t choose. It’s strange that we’ve met again just as I have to leave. Our training’s pretty much finished here and we’ll be shipped out soon. Don’t think I’ll ever be back this way again.’
They went down onto the beach and he took her hand to help her over the rocks. He didn’t let go when they reached the sand and they walked along the shore. ‘Anyone seeing us now would think: there’s a GI and his girl spending the day together. Maybe they’re in love and planning their future when the war is over,’ and he looked sideways at her and smiled.
‘What about it?’ he asked. Irene looked puzzled. ‘Just for today, will you be my girl?’
They chased each other in and out of the sea, found shelter from the wind, ate his chocolate and chewed gum. They talked of how they first met in the Ulster Linen Works, of dancing at John Dossor’s and of the night they spent in the cold attic. And it was enough – it had to be. Sandy would have the rest of her life, but today she was Sean’s girl.
He waited with her on the platform, his arms wrapped around her. They heard the guard shout ‘All aboard!’ but they didn’t take their eyes off each other. She was leaving him and she wanted him to … he wanted to … but maybe that would be too much. His mouth was close to hers … should she let him? He stepped back. The whistle sounded. Irene reached out, pulled him close.
One kiss to last a lifetime.
Until yesterday Pat had viewed her two-week recall to Stormont – to organise the return of the remaining evacuees to Belfast – simply as an unwelcome interruption. Then the staffing officer had informed her that, since the full programme of entertainment she and Captain Farrelly had planned would be completed with the opening of the club, she would be returning permanently to her post at Stormont.
She had spent every working day of the past four months with Tony. Together they had organised so many events – concerts, film shows, sporting competitions and now, their biggest project, this beautiful club in the heart of the city. And in that time they had shared so much – the difficult decisions, laughter, anger, frustration, the sheer excitement of seeing their vision come to life. She couldn’t believe that in a week it would be over.
She passed under the red, white and blue American Red Cross Services Club sign that had been erected over the entrance and inside she was amazed at the progress made. Everything was on schedule to be ready for the opening night, just a week away.
‘Patti, you’re back!’ Tony came into the entrance hall with a huge grin and hugged her. ‘Wait’ll you see all the finishing touches. I tell you it’s going to be amazing. I’ve hired us a manager too. You just got to meet him, he knows so much about running a joint like this.’
They crossed the ballroom, where he pointed out all the finishing touches put in place during her absence, and made their way to the office. A man stood with his back to the door going through a sheaf of invoices.
‘Patti, I’d like you to meet–’
The man turned when Tony spoke and Pat froze as she came face to face with Devlin.
‘What’s he doing here?’ Pat spat out the words.
‘I told you, I just hired him.’ Tony looked from Pat’s horrified face to the sneer on Devlin’s. ‘Do you two know each other?’
‘I will not be in the same building as this man. Not after the way he treated me!’
‘Now look here!’ shouted Devlin, ‘you’re the one that lost me my job – you and your sister Peggy. I’ve been hired by the Yanks to run this place so you can sling your bloody hook. I’ll not have you in any building I’m managing.’
In an instant Tony had stepped in front of Devlin. ‘Hey, buddy, don’t you speak to the lady like that. You’ve no idea who she is.’
‘Oh, I know who she is all right. A useless excuse for a singer and a pathetic–’
The punch caught Devlin square on the jaw and he fell backwards, catching his head on the corner of the desk. Blood poured from his lip and he struggled to rise. Tony grabbed him by the arm, twisted it up his back and marched him to the front door.
‘Hey, what’s going on? You just hired me to run this place!’ Devlin shouted.
‘Yeah, and now I just fired you!’ and Tony threw him into the street.
When he returned, Pat was sobbing. Tony held her close and soothed her with soft words, but she was crying and shaking, her tears soaking into his shirt. Eventually, she seemed to calm down and when she pushed her hand against Tony’s chest, he released her.
‘Patti, will you tell me what that was all about?’
She pulled the strands of damp hair from her face and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Where could she begin? How much could she trust herself to tell? She sighed and raised her head.
‘He was the manager of the old Plaza, before it closed down. Peggy worked with him for a while. We were to sing here at a big event, but when it came to it …’ Pat’s lip trembled.
Tony caught her hand. ‘What happened?’
‘I couldn’t do it. I was on the stage, all the people were there watching and my voice – my voice was gone.’
‘Gone? What … was it some kind of stage fright?’
Pat looked away. ‘Yes.’
‘And this guy, Devlin, what did he do?’
‘There was a huge row. He said such terrible things to me.’
‘Is that why you didn’t want anything to do with this building – bad memories?’
Pat nodded.
She sensed a tension in his body and his expression hardened as he addressed his words to the wall behind her. ‘There’s more to it than that, isn’t there? Why would you have stage fright? I’ve seen you perform; you’re so confident. I know you’re not telling me the truth, Patti!’ His eyes widened. ‘Wait a minute! Is he the one whose ring you wear around your neck? The one you’re still in love with?’
It was too much. She couldn’t bear it. William – a good man, an honourable man – mistaken for Devlin! How could Tony think she could have loved that self-serving, sleazy, low character he h
ad just thrown out of the building!
‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ she shouted.
‘Well if it’s not him why don’t you tell me who it is? This person you love so much who’s never here!’
She pushed past him, but he caught her by the arm.
‘Goddamnit, you must know how I feel about you. I can’t bear it, being so close to you every day, knowing that there’s someone else.’
‘Well, you won’t have to put up with me much longer,’ she snapped. ‘I’m being sent back to Stormont after the club opens.’
Tony recoiled as though he had been slapped and Pat could have wept again at the hurt in his eyes. The hurt she had caused.
It was Pat and Irene’s turn to wash the dishes, while the others, including Theresa, relaxed in the sitting room listening to the wireless. Pat closed the kitchen door and Irene looked up from the sink – she knew that Pat must have something she wanted to talk about. Keeping her eyes on the dishes she was drying, Pat recounted what had happened at the club, the row with Devlin and Tony’s mistake in thinking he was someone she’d been in love with.
‘Let me get this straight. You’d already told Tony about William, but you didn’t tell him he had died?’ Irene shook her head in disbelief. ‘Then today, Tony more or less tells you he loves you and you still let him think that you’re unavailable. Are you in your right mind?’
Golden Sisters Page 34