Dublin's Girl

by Eimear Lawlor

  Veronica made the excuse she was tired to go to bed early, leaving Betty sitting in her armchair knitting.

  She fought with sleep thinking about the note and her task, but it won and she woke to a dark room, the wick of the candle glowing orange. She hadn’t been asleep too long. Something had woken her, and she stared into the darkness, listening. A light knock on the door, and Tom softly said her name. She opened the door, and he wordlessly entered.

  ‘Veronica, you meet with the soldier, and see if you can get some information.’ He rubbed his fingers through his thinning hair. ‘We haven’t spoken to your father about this, but this is an opportunity we have to take. I’ll get one of the lads to follow you from a safe distance, and we’ll send word to our lads in Kingstown. Don’t worry about being seen with him, we’ll keep you safe.’

  24

  On Saturday morning Veronica got out of bed as daylight dappled the floorboards of her bedroom. The pit-pat of rain on the roof had intermittently woken her during the night, its rhythmic sound reminding her of the rhythm of a train. The train she was to take to Kingstown in the morning. In her dreams, her uncle didn’t have a spy follow her. She was captured by a young group of Irish rebels, tied to a stake in her home village of Virginia, and stoned by local women and children. She woke in a pool of sweat and stayed awake, listening to the birds sing as the rain retreated to the morning sun.

  After breakfast, she told Betty she was going to meet Bridget.

  ‘I haven’t seen her in ages, so we are going to Kingstown.’

  ‘That will be lovely. I’ve never been to the seaside, but I heard it’s beautiful. I’ll give you a slice of tart to take with you.’ She stood back and looked Veronica up and down. ‘You look nice but try to get some sun, you are so pale. Take a cardigan, though, it may not be as warm beside the sea.’

  Veronica had chosen a jade green skirt and her cream blouse. The cream usually complimented her olive skin, but today there was no contrast; her face was as pale as her blouse.

  Betty smiled at Veronica as she cleared the breakfast table. ‘Cheer up, Veronica, you might catch the eye of some young man.’

  Veronica felt her face heat. She had spent a little more time on her appearance than she usually would.

  Veronica hurried towards O’Connell Bridge, as she didn’t like to be late for anything. As she approached the bridge, there was a man with a matching hat watching the seagulls. It was Harry. Relief rushed through her veins when she saw he was wearing a striped plaid tweed jacket with matching trousers, his collared shirt crisp white. Yet, though he was out of uniform, the finery of his suit set him apart from other gentlemen. She would still be uneasy.

  A distant steam whistle echoed through the air.

  ‘Quick, Veronica, that’s our train. I bought the tickets earlier, at the station in Westland Row.’

  They ran to the station to wait on the platform with passengers. The D&KR was like the train she had taken from Oldcastle, but the passengers were different. Most were families, mothers or nannies taking children to the sea for a trip to enjoy the first days of summer. There were one or two couples, laughing and giggling as they discussed the day ahead. When the train stopped, Harry stood aside to let her onto the train, and only then was she aware that he had his hand on her elbow, and he had been linking her arm while they had run.

  Veronica tried to control her breathing as they sat side by side. It was a day that held so many promises for many of the couples, but for her, it was all a lie.

  ‘Are you all right, Veronica? You’re very quiet,’ Harry asked, his voice soft and full of concern.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, and she tried to relax. ‘I’ve never been to the sea before, so I keep trying to imagine what it’s like.’

  The houses soon turned to green fields. To Veronica’s delight, the sea horizon came to view stretching out to the unknown, and soon they were at Kingstown. When they disembarked the train, she could taste the sea, as Tom had said, the sting of salt on her lips.

  They followed the line of people to the pier. Coloured yachts in the harbour surrounded by seagulls were picturesque compared to the squealing seagulls on the Liffey. The gulls at Kingstown gracefully glided over the sea with a sense of freedom, riding the waves of wind with ease.

  ‘Do you like it, Veronica? It’s really quite lovely, isn’t it?’ Veronica followed Harry’s gaze. He appeared to be drinking in the surroundings, before he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. As she looked at the vast sea, the lake at home paled into insignificance.

  ‘Veronica look,’ Harry said, pointing ahead. ‘It’s a seat. Let’s sit for a minute and close your eyes. Listen to the seagulls.’

  She didn’t want to sit too close to him but equally didn’t want to run away. It was calm. It was magnificent.

  After a few minutes, he said, ‘God, I’d love to stay here all day.’

  He sat back, stretching out his legs and turned to look at her. His eyes held hers for a moment, his gaze warm, but she pulled away to look at the sea. She stiffened and swallowed; she had a job to do.

  ‘Shall we walk?’ she said.

  He linked her arm. His touch sent a shiver pulsating through her veins as she felt the heat of his body.

  ‘Let’s enjoy the day, Veronica, and not think about the turmoil in the city. I know that we are something that can never be, but let’s not think about that today.

  ‘It’s a pity there is no beach. I do love to walk barefoot in the sand. When I was a boy, I would sometimes do that on the grass on the lawns at home, feeling the morning dew between my toes. Mother thought it was very uncivilised, but somehow, it made me feel free.’

  Veronica laughed. ‘My mother would get so cross with me when I used to run barefoot in the fields at home, or climbed trees in the forest with Eddie.’

  She didn’t tell him about her swimming in her undergarments, that was real freedom.

  ‘My mother would shout, “Veronica, it’s not very ladylike”.’

  He stopped to gaze at her, ‘Oh, I think you are very ladylike.’

  Veronica’s cheeks burned, and she ignored his remark. ‘What made you join the army?’

  ‘My father was a major in the army, and so naturally, I joined too. I wanted to serve my country.’ Harry paused. ‘But France – it wasn’t right. Men sent to no-man’s land. I made friends with a Dublin Fusilier called Paddy Hennessy; he was from Dublin.’ Harry stopped talking, his eyes far away.

  Veronica didn’t rush him, just let him talk.

  ‘I inquired about him to my superiors after I got injured and left the hospital, but nobody had heard of him. He was a nobody, in no-man’s land. I suspect it was because he was Irish. He told me about the conditions he lived in, in Dublin. How the British – how we ruled him and his class. At night he read poetry to the boys and me. I tried to contact his family when I was sent to Dublin, but I didn’t know where to start.’

  She looked at him; his face had changed. The contours and lines of his face were more profound and looked darker in the light, like the grooves in the mud in the newspapers’ pictures she had seen of no-man’s land.

  ‘My cousin Padraig was injured in Suvla Bay, he died.’

  Harry stopped. ‘That’s awful.’ His face blanched. ‘Some injured men suffered more when they came back.’

  Bridget had told her that some of the men who came home were changed, their minds broken beyond repair. And the conditions the Irish Fusiliers had endured: rats, bombs, now gas that damaged their minds.

  Not only had Harry opened up about his family, but also, she felt his raw emotion. His experience in France was something she guessed men would find it difficult to share. She looked at Harry. He wasn’t supposed to feel sorry for Irishmen or give sweets to children.

  ‘I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you,’ she said honestly. She pulled her cardigan tight as the wind grew cooler.

  ‘Are you cold?’ said Harry, immediately taking his jacket off and putting it around V
eronica’s shoulder. His touch lingered on her shoulders, and her cheeks burned, another new emotion that confused her.

  Veronica couldn’t find the words to thank him, and his good manners unnerved her, confused her. She was rooted and the only movement in her body was the pulsing vein in her neck.

  Three children ran past, pulling a kite behind them.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely the way it circles and moves with the children?’ Harry said. ‘Have you any nephews or nieces?’

  She felt uncomfortable talking about family, but she didn’t know what else to talk about. ‘No, nobody in the family is married. My younger sister Susan spends her days dreaming of some man sweeping her off her feet.’

  ‘Like a Mr Darcy.’

  Veronica surprised herself as she laughed. ‘Exactly like that, she has read Pride and Prejudice so many times. I think if you asked her what happens on, say, page 106, she’d know. When we were little, she used to dress Eddie in his best suit and make him marry her, over and over. That was only short-lived, as Eddie doesn’t tolerate games.’

  ‘Eddie, is he your brother?’ Harry didn’t wait for a reply. ‘You’re so lucky to have siblings. As I told you the boys at my boarding school were like brothers, but at Christmas and summer, it was only me at home.’

  She was only partly listening to him; she hadn’t wanted to mention Eddie. She needed him to talk about his work. Seizing her opportunity as he opened up about his life, she pressed him about being in the military.

  ‘I do miss my family, and am often lonely. I’m sure you miss your family, but I imagine being in the army is like having lots of brothers?’

  ‘Yes, and no. We are under a lot of pressure.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Orders from London, but I’m sure that’s nothing that would interest you.’ He turned to look at the horizon, silent for a few minutes. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

  He spoke softly, nothing like the loud swearing soldiers who frequented Harcourt St. He was polite, and – she couldn’t think of the word and thought for a moment – he seemed vulnerable, as if about to break.

  He abruptly turned to her and took her hand, the intimacy of the gesture shocking her. Veronica couldn’t move. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he said, ‘it’s getting cold.’

  As they stood, something fell from his coat. Harry quickly bent to retrieve the small brown leather notebook, picking it up and putting it in his inner coat pocket.

  Time had passed quickly, and the sun moved west. A few day-trippers were gathering up their towels and umbrellas.

  ‘Tea. How about some tea before we go? Gilligan’s tearooms aren’t far from here. The friend I met in France told me about it.’ He looked around. ‘I think it’s near the end of the promenade.’

  When they arrived at Gilligan’s, a girl in a black-and-white uniform turned the closed sign, and shouted through the glass door, ‘Sorry all the milk and scones are gone.’ She gave Harry a thunderous look as if blaming him.

  ‘Terrible, this war in Europe. When is it going to end?’ Harry mused a rhetorical question nobody could answer.

  She bit her tongue, wanting again to shout at him. Ireland was at war with England.

  Harry looked at his wristwatch. ‘I hadn’t realised the time, we’d better leave. I’ve to get back for a meeting.’ He took her hand lightly, looking directly into her eyes.

  He was so close she saw her reflection in his brown eyes. He had a fleck of hazel in his right eye. Veronica wanted to back away, but she needed him on her side.

  ‘Let’s go. I wish things were different, but I would really like to continue seeing you.’ Harry emphasised the ‘would’, politely asking Veronica for her thoughts.

  It was perfect, and Veronica held her nerve steady to answer. She was shaking as if on fire on the inside but calmly said, ‘That would be lovely. I’ve enjoyed myself today.’

  The train return journey home was quiet, with few words passing between them.

  Harry lay back in the seat opposite her, closing his eyes, his long legs stretched so that every so often they nudged Veronica’s. She studied him. Not talking, he looked perfect. It was when he spoke that his accent and polished manner divided them. The train slowed as it entered Westland Row station and stopped with a jolt that woke Harry. Exhausted families and couples alighted, going back to lives from which they had escaped for the day.

  ‘Veronica, when will I see you again?’

  She held her breath. It was a lot easier than she’d thought it would be.

  ‘It’s difficult for me, I’m still military, and I don’t know what my duties are most of the time, they’re constantly changing.’

  Frowning she said, ‘I thought you were a major? In charge, like a boss.’ She didn’t want to sound like she knew what a major’s duties were, and held his gaze as if she was learning something new. She had to admit he was handsome with his thick black hair, and strong jaw.

  His gaze was intense. ‘Yes, but I’m still under orders from General Maxwell, and,’ he paused, ‘I don’t know if this is a good idea.’

  When Veronica heard the general’s name, she adopted a look of indifference, her heart racing. ‘Who?’ she asked, trying to keep him talking. ‘Is he in charge of you?’ she tried again.

  Abruptly, he gathered his coat. ‘This is a bad idea.’

  ‘No,’ she said, her voice a little higher than normal. ‘I’d love to see you again.’ He looked up, surprised, even hopeful. ‘I don’t work at my aunt’s shop every day, so just leave a note for me.’ At least now if he called, she thought, he wouldn’t be surprised when she wasn’t there.

  Before he could ask when she was working, the distant church bells rang six times. ‘I’ve to return to the barracks.’ He smiled, looking at her for a moment. Something flickered across his face but was gone in an instant. ‘I’ll try to call at the shop,’ he said and hurried along the quays toward the Royal Barracks.

  When she arrived home to Thomas St, her uncle motioned her into her room and shut the bedroom door behind them.

  He sat beside her on the bed. ‘Well, were you all right? I spoke to Michael today, and he will talk to you at work next week. He has a plan.’ The smell of fried bread filtered into the bedroom.

  ‘Tom, your tea is ready, and did I hear the front door? Is Veronica home?’ shouted Betty.

  ‘Yes, love, we’ll be there in a minute.’

  Tom nodded at Veronica and turned to leave. With his back to her, he said, ‘I’m not comfortable with this if anything were to happen to you. Me and Betty would die.’

  She whispered, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I think it will be easy to gain his trust.’ And she told Tom about the day before they went to join Betty for tea.

  25

  Veronica couldn’t believe seven weeks had passed since she had met the major. It was near the end of April, and each day was becoming warmer and longer.

  When Michael came back from England, Veronica told him about her meeting with the major, and that she was waiting for him to contact her. Most evenings on her way home from work she called to Mrs Sullivan’s, but there were no more notes.

  On Thursday after work, Veronica strolled towards Mrs Sullivan’s shop once more. She enjoyed the constant chatter from Mrs Sullivan with her soft Belfast lilt. It was calming and warming in the increasing turbulence of Dublin. The previous day on her way to work, Veronica had seen a group of soldiers on the opposite side of O’Connell Bridge stop a young man for questioning. The soldiers were little older than the boy they stopped, who was no more than twenty. They questioned him for a minute before they pushed him forward with their guns to the bridge towards the other side of the river. Veronica knew they were taking him to Dublin Castle for questioning.

  When she reached Mrs Sullivan’s shop, the lights were on. She pushed the door, and the ringing bell signalled her arrival. A grey balding head appeared from behind a stack of brown cardboard boxes. It was Mr Sullivan. He was a man of few words, and Mrs Sullivan mad
e up for that. The few occasions Veronica had met him he just gave Veronica a slight nod as he puffed on his pipe.

  ‘You must be Veronica. I’m Mr Sullivan. I met you once or twice with Bridget. I’m afraid Mrs Sullivan is in bed. She told me to give this to you if you called.’ He bent to retrieve a note with Harry’s writing. His bushy eyebrows met in the middle like one grey mottled caterpillar. ‘I’m not one to cast judgment but be cautious. Unfortunately, the way things are going, the city is getting more unsafe.’

  She took the note. ‘Thank you.’ Her hands shook as she opened it, first looking at the carefully scripted V.

  Veronica,

  I am truly sorry I have not been in contact. I long to meet again. Can we meet on Friday at 1 p.m. at Bewley’s Tearooms?

  Harry.

  Tomorrow! I long to meet you. She slowly reread the note. She should have been uncomfortable with him ‘longing to meet her’ and yet…

  The Pro-Cathedral bells rang 6.30.

  ‘I’d better go, it’s getting late. Thank you.’

  He nodded and dropped a pile of newspapers on the floor beside the shop door, and the string broke. A few papers spilt out on the floor. Soldier wounded in an ambush screamed one headline.

  Veronica’s heart dropped. It was dangerous, but she was doing something important. On her way home, she watched the world and wondered what Dublin would look like without the presence of British soldiers. A Dublin where people weren’t on guard ready for an arrest or an ambush of the soldiers, or for a bloody battle to ensue.

  The following day at work, Veronica anxiously looked at the office door every time it opened. She needed to speak to Michael.

  ‘Girl, sometimes I don’t know what gets into you. You are miles away,’ said Mrs O’Reilly as she sat at her desk, her glasses low on her nose. She looked up as the door squeaked open.

  ‘Michael, good to see you. How can we help?’

  ‘It’s Veronica I’m after. And Mrs O’Reilly would you mind getting someone to fix that door?’ Michael nodded to Veronica. ‘Would you come to my office? I’ve got a few letters to dictate to you.’