The Forgotten Secret

by Kathleen McGurl

  There was a logic to what she was saying, so Ellen lay back, let her remaining dignity dissolve around her, and tried to mentally prepare herself for the next contraction. There were two other girls in the room. Not mothers, but sick inmates. They at least had the decency to turn onto their sides, facing away from Ellen, while the nun examined her. She winced as the nun’s fingers swooped around inside her.

  ‘Hmph. Barely dilated at all. You’ve hours to go, so you have. You should still be at work, not lying here idle. I suppose I could put you to work in here …’ The sister broke off speaking as another contraction hit. Ellen clamped her lips together to stop herself from groaning, and curled on her side on the bed. When it subsided, the sister carried on speaking as though nothing had happened. ‘You could fold some linens between the pains. And when the pains hit, breathe through them, girl. Don’t be holding your breath – it makes them worse. All right so, I’ll bring you a basket of clean laundry to fold. There’s darning needs doing, too.’

  The hours passed slowly, with contractions coming every few minutes, and baskets of clean laundry for folding or woollen stockings for mending appearing regularly. The sanatorium smelled of carbolic soap – a scent Ellen had never liked and which seemed more offensive than ever now. The other girls spent the day asleep, or lying quietly watching her. Ellen tried to smile and make friends but neither of them responded. Either they were too sick or too scared of the nun in charge to open their mouths. Mairead managed to look in on her once, arriving with a made-up message for the sister in charge of the sanatorium.

  ‘I can’t believe they’re making you work,’ she whispered.

  ‘Ah, it’s all right. Takes my mind off things. I may as well be useful while I’m here,’ Ellen replied.

  ‘You’re an angel, so you are. Your reward’s in heaven.’

  Mairead couldn’t stay long, but Ellen appreciated the visit.

  It was a long, sleepless night. The sister would not allow Ellen to eat anything, other than sips of weak tea. ‘You’ll only throw it up, and then we’ll be having more work to do,’ she said. Ellen didn’t feel much like eating anyway. The pains were still coming, gradually stronger, wearing her down. The sister had examined her again and said she was still in the early stages.

  ‘Will it hurt more as the time goes on?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘I’m after telling you, it doesn’t hurt, aren’t I? You girls make such a fuss.’

  It’s all right for you, Ellen thought, you’ve never had a baby. She completed a darning job the sister had given her and collapsed onto the bed assigned to her, grateful for the opportunity to sleep at last.

  But there was no sleep for her that night. She’d be on the point of dozing off when the next contraction hit, and then she’d lie, twisting the sheets in her fists, clamping her teeth together to try to stop herself crying out. She discovered if she disappeared into her imagination with each contraction, dreaming of a country cottage, with roses around the door and Jimmy tending to their fields, the pain was more bearable.

  When her baby came Ellen knew she’d have to return to work, visiting the baby in the nursery wing a few times a day just to feed him or her. Once babies were weaned they were cared for by a group of Sisters, and their mothers would be allowed to see them for a few minutes once a day. Ellen had not let herself think about life with the Merciful Sisters after the birth of her child, or the prospect of being kept apart from her baby. She’d been so sure Jimmy would come for her before that happened. Or perhaps she could leave, with the baby, and return to her father – if he would only have her back, with the shame of her infant in her arms.

  As another contraction hit she decided not to think on it now. There was no point. She needed all her strength, both physical and mental, for the next few hours or however long it took for the baby to come.

  At last, as the weak December dawn brought light into the room, and another nun – Sister Mary Magdalene – came to check on her progress, a contraction that felt different to the previous ones began. This one felt as though it had purpose. Rather than just a tightening band, making her gasp with pain, this one brought with it a different quality – an urge to push. The sister grasped her hand as Ellen yelled out.

  As the contraction subsided Ellen stared at the nun. ‘I’m sorry sister, for calling out, I couldn’t help myself.’

  ‘Ah, tis to be expected. You’re into the last stage now, I’d say. The baby will be here in an hour, or less. We’ll get you ready. Can you kneel up, turn round, hold on to the top end of the bed? And you two’ – she turned to the other girls in the room – ‘can stop staring. Mary-Ellen’s going to be making some noise now, and it’s only natural.’

  Ellen gave her a weak, grateful smile. This sister was much kinder and more sympathetic than the one who’d been here the previous day. ‘Mother, will you stay with me, please?’

  ‘Aye, I will. You’ve not so long to go. Now come on, move position before your next pain comes.’

  Ellen did as she was told, moving onto her knees facing the wall at the head of her bed. She gripped the bedstead tightly as each contraction came, and found that being upright helped – as though gravity was helping push the baby out.

  ‘That’s good, now, push with the pain, Mary-Ellen, good girl,’ encouraged Sister Mary Magdalene.

  The pain was excruciating. Ellen felt as though she was being torn in half. During one contraction the nun gripped her arm. ‘I can see the head; we’re nearly there. Need to slow it down – pant a little, like a dog, try not to push for a moment.’

  Ellen did what she was told, and the contraction ended, but still that burning, searing pain in her most intimate area went on. She was both longing for and dreading the next contraction – the sooner it came the sooner it would be over, but would she be able to bear the pain? A thought of Jimmy came into her head – Jimmy’s face when he met their child, his expression of pure love and wonder – yes, it would all be worth it for that moment, and surely that moment would not be far away. She’d have the baby and find a way out of here, back to Da, back to Blackstown where she’d find a way to discover where Jimmy was …

  When the contraction came it was the strongest yet, and the burning, tearing feeling was unbearable. Someone was screaming, an animal noise like a fox in a trap, and it was a moment before she realised the sound was coming from her … and then there was a rush, an unbelievable gushing slithering rush of relief as the baby slid out of her, into the sister’s hands … and her legs began to shake uncontrollably. No longer able to kneel she tried to sit back but the nun pushed her upright. ‘Don’t want to be sitting on your little boy now, do you?’

  A boy! It was a boy! Jimmy’s son! Ellen was gasping and panting and desperate to turn to see the child, but the nun was busy doing something there behind her, wiping, folding, putting something on the bed. There was a whimpering noise, a sound like a newborn puppy nuzzling its mother for milk, and she realised that was him. That was her baby. Her son. Her Christmas present to Jimmy.

  ‘All right, so, you can sit back now. Turn yourself around. I’ll put a pillow behind you. Still got the afterbirth to come, so there’ll be more contractions, you know, but you can hold him now.’

  Once she was in position Sister Mary Magdalene placed a bundle wrapped tightly in cloths in her arms. Only a small, red face, eyes tightly closed, mouth puckering into a tiny cry, forehead wrinkled as though with worry about the world he’d been born into, was exposed.

  ‘Oh, my boy, my darling boy!’ Ellen whispered, kissing the child and holding him close. He immediately tried to turn his head towards her, mouth open wide.

  ‘He’s looking to feed. He can wait a little, mind. You’ve the afterbirth to get out of you first. Lie back on that pillow.’

  As she said this, a contraction came, much weaker than before but still with that urge to push. Ellen heaved, and there was another slithering rush, and then the nun was taking something away in a covered bowl.

  She was back a moment l
ater, and helped Ellen get the baby latched on and suckling. ‘There. He’s a hungry little lad, after all that. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be back when he’s finished and sleeping, and then we can see about cleaning you up and making the bed, and you can have a sleep.’

  But Ellen felt so alive, all her senses alert, as though she’d never need to sleep again. As the baby fed, she gazed down at his perfect, soft little head and felt the most profound sense of love and completeness she’d ever experienced. He opened his eyes and stared at her with deep blue eyes, looking like an old soul in the youngest of bodies.

  She smiled at him. ‘Ah, son. I’m very pleased to meet you, so I am. And so will your father be. He’ll be delighted to make your acquaintance. Oh yes, young man, we’re going to be a very happy family, when we’re all together at last.’

  Chapter 23

  Clare

  The morning after Paul arrived, Thursday – the day before my birthday – we all set off into Blackstown. Despite the size of the farmhouse, ever since Paul’s arrival it had begun to feel claustrophobic. A trip into town would be a relief. I’d raved about the cakes in Janice’s café, and was looking forward to choosing the biggest, most calorie-laden cake and enjoying eating every crumb of it in front of Paul. It was hard to believe that the first time I’d visited that café I’d allowed him to bully me out of having cake. No more. The old Clare, giving in to everything Paul said, allowing herself to be walked over, sat upon and bullied, was gone. Whatever happened between us in the future, I was not going to let that happen again.

  We did a spot of shopping first; the boys and Paul good-naturedly joshing and joking as we trawled the aisles for supplies for the next couple of days. Paul, thankfully, had said he was booked on the car ferry for Saturday, the day after my birthday. Today, while we were out, he was behaving, and the old, fun, charming Paul I’d originally fallen in love with, was on show.

  ‘Let’s all eat out tomorrow,’ I said, as we walked along Blackstown High Street towards the café. I’d given up on the idea of inviting Ryan and Janice round and had planned on cooking for myself and the boys, but since Paul seemed easier to get along with out of the house, it made sense to go out for dinner instead.

  ‘Great idea,’ Matt said. ‘You shouldn’t have to cook on your birthday.’

  ‘Yes, very good idea. I’ll treat us all.’ Paul smiled beneficently at me.

  ‘No need, I can …’ I began, and then stopped. Why not let him pay? It’s what he liked best – being the Great Benefactor, the man with the wallet, the generous husband. And to be fair, he had always been generous when it came to treating me and the boys. Just a shame I’d never been allowed any money of my own, beyond what he’d given me for housekeeping.

  On the side of a bus stop there was a poster advertising The Carlton, the restaurant I’d been to with Ryan. Paul stopped in front of it.

  ‘This looks nice,’ he said.

  ‘It is,’ I agreed automatically, then cursed myself. I’d wanted to keep this place as somewhere special for Ryan and me. But then, tomorrow was my fiftieth birthday, I had my sons with me, and it deserved to be a special occasion. As long as Paul continued to act reasonably and respectfully towards me, as he had done this morning, we’d be all right.

  Paul pulled out his mobile and punched in the number displayed at the foot of the billboard.

  ‘Yeah, table for four tomorrow evening please. Eight o’clock. Name’s Farrell. Perfect, cheers.’ He turned to face us all looking pleased with himself. ‘Right, that’s all sorted. I’m surprised you didn’t have something planned and booked already, Clare.’

  I gritted my teeth. Seemed he couldn’t keep the snarky comments to himself for long, then. ‘OK, great. Come on, chaps, let’s get to the café before they run out of my favourite chocolate fudge cake.’ I linked arms with both Matt and Jon and marched off before Paul could say anything more.

  As we approached the café I glanced over at Ryan’s bookshop opposite, but couldn’t see him inside, as the sun was reflecting off the windows. Paul darted in front of me and held the café door open for the rest of us, as Jon made some wisecrack about how if it had been a pub rather than a café Paul would have been the first through the door not the last, that had us all guffawing as we entered.

  ‘Hey there!’ Janice greeted me with a grin as we chose a table near the window. ‘These your boys, are they? Fine lads. And this is …?’

  ‘Um, this is Paul. And my sons, Matt, Jon,’ I said, pointing to the boys. ‘Guys, this is my friend Janice.’

  There were a number of hellos and handshakes, between which she glanced quizzically at me, and I shrugged in reply. I’d never told her all the detail about what had gone wrong in our marriage, but she certainly knew my husband’s name was Paul, and she’d be wondering why he was here now. She’d have to wait to hear the full story.

  We ordered coffees and cakes, and thankfully Paul did not make any comments about my choices or my weight. He even ordered carrot cake for himself, and made a point of praising Janice on its moistness and flavour.

  ‘So, your birthday tomorrow, is it?’ Janice asked. I nodded and she darted into the café’s kitchen and emerged with a large cake box. ‘Made you a little something as a present, to help celebrate it. Oh, and here’s your card.’ She pulled an envelope out of her apron pocket and put it on top of the box, on the table.

  ‘Aw, thanks, you shouldn’t have!’ I felt tears pricking my eyes. I’d only known this woman five minutes yet here she was baking me birthday cakes.

  ‘Yes I should. And when you’ve got more time, you and I are having a girls’ night out to celebrate it. Deal?’

  ‘Deal!’ I laughed, and she clapped me on the back as she returned to her work.

  ‘She’s nice,’ Matt said.

  ‘Go on, open the cake box!’ Jon started picking at the sticky tape that held it closed.

  ‘No, not till tomorrow,’ I said, feeling suddenly protective of my cake. When had anyone last made me a birthday cake? I’d baked my own, or had shop-bought ones, other than that time when Jon was 10 and had made me a chocolate cake from a packet mix as a surprise. (The main surprise had been the state of the kitchen afterwards.) This felt truly special.

  When we left the café I suggested Matt, Jon and Paul should go ahead with the shopping and the cake, as I needed to pick up a few more things in Dunnes Stores – a couple of towels and a set of wine glasses as I’d realised there were only three in the house. ‘I’ll be five minutes,’ I told them.

  ‘Be as long as you like,’ Paul said. ‘We’ll drop the stuff off in the car and then go for a pint. Been ages since I had a drink with my sons. All right, boys?’

  ‘Sure!’ they both said, and off the three of them went. I was pleased. Whatever happened between Paul and me I wanted to make sure the boys still had a good relationship with their father.

  As I passed by the bookshop again, I glanced through the window. Ryan was there, looking out, and when he saw me he beckoned me inside. Paul and the boys had already turned a corner towards the car park, so I went in.

  ‘Hey, Clare. I thought I saw you earlier, going into Janice’s café.’ He seemed tense, and did not move to kiss or even hug me.

  ‘Yes, we had coffee and a cake,’ I replied. So he had seen us. All of us.

  ‘You, your two sons, and Paul.’ Ryan looked at me, a question in his eyes. ‘That’s nice. All of you together for your birthday, then.’

  ‘Yes, but … he won’t stay long and then …’

  Ryan held up a hand. ‘It’s all right. I understand. I’ll keep out of the way. You enjoy yourselves. Thanks for the other night. It was … lovely.’

  ‘Yes, I enjoyed it too,’ I said, but Ryan had turned away to serve a customer. I gave him a little wave and left the shop.

  Seeing Ryan again, being with Paul today when he was being charming and fun – it all felt so confusing. My past on the one hand, and was it my future on the other? Or was Ryan destined to be only ever a friend,
with whom I’d shared a single, ill-advised kiss while going through a bad patch with my husband? Who knew. I couldn’t see what the future held.

  I did the rest of the shopping, found the fellas in the pub having an in-depth conversation about the likelihood of Leicester beating Munster in a forthcoming rugby match, and dragged them back home to help unpack the shopping. No one needed lunch after our huge portions of cake in Janice’s café. I suggested a walk through the fields behind the house – there was a bridleway that led towards a small copse and beyond that, to the banks of the Boyne and I’d long since been meaning to explore it.

  ‘Think I’ll have a snooze in the sitting room,’ Paul said. ‘I didn’t sleep all that well in that tiny bedroom. You three go for the walk, leave me here with a cup of tea and the TV remote.’

  It seemed odd to leave him alone in my house – I fleetingly wondered what he’d get up to on his own. Would he rummage through my possessions, looking for evidence of … what? Another man? Was there anything to make him suspicious, make him guess at the existence of Ryan? No, nothing I could think of. For goodness’ sake, I’d only had one evening out with Ryan, and shared one kiss. There was nothing incriminating in the house; nothing I would care about Paul finding.

  Except perhaps the birth certificate, communion medallion, and my research notes. I could imagine Paul’s scathing tones if I tried to explain why I was researching who lived here a hundred years ago. He’d dismiss it as an utter waste of time – at least the old Paul would have. Maybe now he’d be more interested, or at least pretend he was. Either way, I didn’t want to have that conversation. Before we left, I tucked my laptop and the items from the old chair away in a drawer in my bedroom.