‘And would you wear makeup too?’
‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but only if it was OK with you, of course.’
‘Course it’s OK,’ Amber said. ‘Like I told Ben, if you’re the same inside, that’s all that matters.’
‘And there’s a bit more too,’ Gracie said, with an encouraging little nod towards Frank.
‘My voice and body would be different too,’ Frank explained. ‘More like . . .’
‘Like a lady’s, you mean,’ Amber finished the sentence for him. ‘Because if you’re going to dress like a lady, then you really are a proper lady, aren’t you?’
‘Well, one day, I hope,’ Frank said. ‘But only if that was OK with you. You know I’d never do anything you didn’t want me to.’
‘But the main thing I want to know is . . . will you and Mum still be married?’
A look passed between Gracie and Frank that seemed to telegraph so much in a heartbeat of time.
‘Your dad and I will always be each other’s best friend,’ Gracie said truthfully. ‘And of course, your dad can move home again. Because we miss him, don’t we, sweetheart?’
Frank mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ and seemed choked into silence.
Meanwhile, Amber stunned them both by putting her hand over her mouth and giggling.
‘Dad’s coming home again!’ she squealed happily. ‘This is the best news ever!’
‘And you’re OK with what Dad wants to do?’ Gracie asked.
‘Of course I am. It’s like, no big deal, really,’ she grinned, as Gracie and Frank turned to each other in confusion. Could she really be taking it this well?
‘In fact, I think it’s really cool!’ Amber said. ‘We can all go dress and clothes shopping together from now on, can’t we? That would be amazing!’
Gracie looked to Frank, who caught her eye and the two of them smiled. Maybe now, after all these long weeks of stress and worry, Gracie could begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe now she could relax again. Maybe now she could finally start to breathe.
‘You know I’m only changing on the outside, pet, that’s all,’ Frank said to Amber. ‘Inside, I’m the same as I always was and always will be.’
‘I know,’ said Amber. ‘So can we start clothes shopping now, Dad? Mum? Can we go to Zara and buy new outfits for all of us?’
*
‘It’s wonderful Amber took the news so well,’ Beth said, interrupting Gracie’s thoughts and pulling her focus back to that cramped little clinic in town. ‘But for today, let’s talk about you. So tell me Gracie, how are you feeling now?’
Gracie had to carefully formulate the words in her own head before she could answer.
‘Of two things, I’m certain,’ she said.
‘Tell me,’ said Beth.
‘I know that Frank still loves me. And I know that my life is so much happier with him a part of it, in whatever guise he takes.’
‘And the second thing?’
‘And . . .’ she forced herself to say, ‘I’m finally coming to terms with the fact that the sexual side of my marriage is over. Frank . . . or Francesca, I suppose I should say, is attracted to women. But I’m not – I’m straight. So that changes things for me, doesn’t it? Physically I mean.’
‘You know I’m here to help you in any way I can,’ Beth said supportively.
‘And while I appreciate that,’ Gracie said, ‘the funny thing is that I’m beginning to be OK with it. My relationship with Frank was always about so much more than the physical side of it. It’s about companionship and friendship and being there for the kids and all the things that make up family life. My family have always had such a happy life together.’
‘And you always will,’ said Beth. ‘It’s wonderful that you can see this now. That you know how committed Frank, or rather Francesca, is to you, and to the kids, and how nothing on earth will change that.’
‘Maybe years down the line, I’ll go on to meet someone else,’ Gracie said, thinking aloud more than anything. ‘Who knows? Certainly stranger things have happened.’
‘You’re an attractive woman, Gracie. That window is always open for you, if that’s what you choose.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ Gracie said, ‘but for the moment, at least, what I love more than anything is family life. And Frank is pivotal to that – either as Frank or Francesca. We’re a unit – and a bloody strong one at that. After all, if we can get through this, we can get through anything, can’t we?’
A pause, while Beth put down her pen and notepad. Then she astonished Gracie by giving her a little round of applause.
‘Good for you, Gracie,’ she said warmly. ‘I want you to remember this moment, because this is what we call a breakthrough.’
Gracie flushed and batted it aside.
‘Speaking to Amber together was a huge turning point for me – for us both, in fact,’ she said.
‘Do you feel better for having done it?’
Gracie had to think before she could answer.
‘It’s a funny thing,’ she said, pulling her thoughts into focus, ‘just how enlightened that younger generation are. People complain about Generation Z and dismiss them as snowflakes, but we have no idea how open-minded they are and how tolerant too.’
‘So, what about Ben?’ Beth asked.
‘Well, I’ve asked him to meet Frank as Francesca with Amber and me,’ Gracie said, ‘and he’s agreed to do it, but there may have been a lot of heavy emotional blackmail involved on my part. I guilt-tripped him into it, I’m afraid, and I’m not proud of it. But at least Ben did say he’d go through with it. So now my prayer is that he’ll be as accepting as his little sister.’
‘We can’t force these things,’ Beth nodded sagely. ‘All we can know for certain is that it’s time for your kids to see the real Frank. Or Francesca, I should say, by rights.’
‘Which is why I’m here at such short notice,’ Gracie said. ‘Any tips or bits of advice you might have would be very gratefully received.’
‘For what it’s worth, then,’ Beth smiled, ‘this is exactly how I’d advise you move forward. For one thing, I’d suggest meeting in a public place – we tend to be more social and well behaved when there are other people around. It normalises things for us. Give the kids time to get used to Francesca and to using new pronouns around her. Just remember, there’s never a right way to do this. But if the kids see you being supportive and not having an issue, then they won’t either.’
‘Duly noted,’ Gracie said.
‘Because you’re doing brilliantly, Gracie, and now it’s time. Don’t you think that it’s time?’
Violet
After a time, Violet learned. She learned to keep her eyes open and her mouth shut. She learned that when Sister Helga approached you, you kept your head down and avoided all eye contact. If addressed directly, you said, ‘Yes, Sister, sorry, Sister,’ and prayed that you’d be left alone. She learned that the beatings and bullying seldom had anything to do with a specific misdemeanour on her part; it was just that everyone seemed to hate her in this place. The nuns and the other girls despised her; they had done since day one and that was all there was to it.
There was just one forlorn hope that kept Violet going. Which was that as soon as she had this wretched baby, this unwanted child, this thing growing inside her that had cost her not just her old life, but her home and her sanity too – then and only then, maybe she’d be allowed to go home again. Back to Primrose Square, back to her beautiful house, back to her father and all her old friends, back to her moneyed life of leisure and shopping and fun. She might not have appreciated how good she had it back then, but by God, she did now.
I’ll be nicer to everyone, she thought. I’ll be more like Jayne Dawson, who’s always so considerate and kind. I’ll do absolutely anything, if I can just get out of here.
Assuming her father forgave her and allowed her back home, of course.
He certainly never came to visit, tha
t was for certain. The physical pain Violet dealt with on a daily basis, she’d grown used to, but nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the emotional pain of being abandoned like this. Of course she knew she had broken her father’s heart. Of course she knew how angry and disappointed he was with her. But her fervent hope had been that eventually he’d forgive her. Violet had always been his pride and joy; they’d adored each other. Surely, she thought, as the months slowly dragged on, surely he’d come to realise he missed her? Maybe in time, she hoped, he might even allow her to come home again?
As for Andy? Violet had all but given up on him. What, she sometimes wondered, would he do if he knew she was being detained here, no better than a prisoner? Violet could daydream all she wanted about him finding her, rescuing her and getting her out of this hellhole. She could fantasise about him being overjoyed about becoming a father. In all those useless daydreams, he always insisted on marrying her and ‘doing things properly’, she could almost hear him saying in that accent she’d once loved so much.
But deep down, she knew these were nothing more than flighty daydreams. The hard, cold reality was that Andy had ignored her long before she came to this place. Even if he knew what had happened to her, the chances were high that he’d continue to ignore her and get on with his own selfish, self-absorbed life.
Besides, even if she’d wanted to contact anyone from her old life, she couldn’t. None of the girls were even allowed to write letters here, and Violet had earned herself another merciless beating for protesting about it.
‘But even in prison you’re allowed to write letters!’ she’d said aloud one day. Sister Helga had overheard her, though, and hit Violet so hard across her face for insubordination, she feared that her nose had been broken.
So, Violet learned. I’ll do my time here like a prisoner, if that’s what they want, she thought, but the very minute this baby comes, I’ll find a way out of here. She’d tunnel a way out if she had to. Like prisoners did during the war.
Her stomach swelled and grew larger, but she paid as little heed to it as possible. Who would have listened to her anyway? She was one of about a dozen other girls who were in various stages of pregnancy and it made absolutely no difference; you still had to work in the laundry just as hard as everyone else. If you got dizzy or tired or showed any sign of weakness at all, you were either beaten or else denied food. Or in Violet’s case, both.
Occasionally, she’d wake in the middle of the night to the sound of screams, as one of the other girls went into labour. A day or two would pass before they’d return, hobbling, bleeding, sick and heart-sore.
‘What was it like?’ Violet would hiss, curiosity consuming her.
But the girls were strictly forbidden from talking about it, under threat of even further punishments. Which, of course, only added to the horrible, all-consuming worry about what childbirth would actually turn out to be like. Never mind what would actually happen to all these babies, when they did eventually arrive.
Then, early one sunny August morning, not far off her due date, Violet was woken by cramps so acute, she thought she was dying. She was physically strong, with a high pain threshold, but this was way beyond anything she’d ever experienced before.
‘It’s your baby,’ Concepta said urgently. ‘I think your baby is coming. Stay in bed and I’ll get one of the nuns to help. And whatever you do, don’t dirty up the sheets – they’ll murder you!’
‘I need a hospital. I need a proper midwife to take care of me!’ Violet yelled in agony, but to no avail. She was taken to a room no bigger than a cell, with bars on the windows; she was even made to walk there herself in spite of the fact that she was doubled over in howling agony. Then she was laid down in a tiny single bed with just a novice nun in charge of the birth, who didn’t seem to have a clue what she was doing. Sister Ruth was this particular nun’s name and she seemed, if not exactly kind, then at least slightly less savage than the rest of her order.
The birth was long and excruciating, and took almost the whole day. Violet blacked out more than once with the pain. Throughout it all, Sister Ruth seemed as terrified as Violet herself was, and her sole contribution was to peal off into gabbled Hail Marys every time Violet screamed out for help.
Eleven hours of undiluted agony later, with one final push, Violet’s baby was delivered into the world with a loud, raucous cry that would have woken the dead.
‘It’s a boy!’ Sister Ruth said. ‘And he’s perfect, thanks be to the good Lord!’
Violet had never expected this. After everything she went through, nothing prepared her for the huge wash of pure love that she felt when that warm, wriggling, squealing little bundle was placed gently into her arms. The baby was beautiful, with the longest eyelashes Violet had ever seen, and looking so like her father that she wanted to laugh.
She was allowed to hold him and bond with him and feed him for the next few days, as even Sister Helga decreed that she was too weak to work.
I have to tell my father, Violet thought. He has to know that he’s a grandfather now to the most beautiful, strong, robust little boy you ever saw.
Of course he was still bound to be angry, because she’d had the baby out of wedlock, but all that would change as soon as he saw the baby, she knew. Her father had always wanted a son; someone to play football with and take to matches and who might, in time, become a property developer too. Well, now he had a beautiful little grandson, and wasn’t that almost as good?
Violet just needed to get word to him, that was all, and maybe, maybe, he would fall in love with the baby just as she had and take all three of them home to Primrose Square. She even named him Frederick Junior, knowing how much her father would like that.
Then, on another bright sunny morning about three days later, a priest barged into Violet’s sickroom, with Sister Helga obsequiously bowing and scraping beside him. She was all, ‘Yes, Father’ and ‘No, Father’, and it almost made Violet sick to see this about-turn in her manner.
‘So, this is our Magdalene then,’ said the priest, sitting on the edge of Violet’s bed, uncomfortably close to her. ‘Well, it seems that you’re a very lucky girl. God has taken great pity on a sinner like you, and you should be down on your knees thanking him for this miracle.’
‘What miracle?’ Violet asked numbly. The only miracle she was interested in was getting her and her baby as far from this hellish place as possible.
‘You’ve a grand healthy little boy now,’ the priest went on, speaking to her as if she were an idiot. ‘And I’m sure you want the best for him, like all good mothers, don’t you?’
‘Say “Yes, Father”,’ Sister Helga prompted.
‘Yes, Father,’ Violet said automatically.
‘In that case, I have news for you,’ the priest went on. ‘Sister Helga here has managed to find a lovely married couple all the way from New York who’d like to give your baby a good home. Isn’t that wonderful, now? You might thank Sister Helga for all the trouble she went to on your behalf?’
Violet sat up in bed, terrified. ‘You mean you want to take the baby away from me? Frederick Junior? But you can’t do that, I won’t allow it!’
‘Didn’t I tell you, Father?’ Sister Helga said sorrowfully. ‘The sin of arrogance and pride is strong in this one. We have a long way to go with her before she learns manners and humility.’
‘This is a good Catholic couple we’re talking about,’ the priest explained. ‘And they’ll give your baby the best of everything with them in America. Once the adoption has gone through, we can even have him baptised properly. Isn’t that what you’d want for your little fella?’
‘Of course it is,’ Sister Helga finished the sentence for her. ‘Sure, what has this worthless sinner got to offer the baby anyway? Even her own father wanted nothing more to do with her.’
‘That’s not true,’ Violet said spiritedly. ‘If you’d just let me write to Father, or better yet telephone him, I know he’ll come here to take me and the baby back home
. . .’
‘But you don’t seem to understand, you wilful, ignorant girl,’ Sister Helga said smoothly. ‘Your father wrote to me himself and said this baby was to be given up for adoption the minute the poor, unfortunate creature was born. And you needn’t think that you’re going anywhere for the foreseeable future either. Mr Hardcastle’s clear instructions are to keep you here, with us, well out of his sight for good. At least here you can work hard and learn to purge your sins.’
‘Isn’t it great all the same, Sister?’ said the priest, looking so utterly delighted with himself that Violet wanted to throw up. ‘To think that an illegitimate little boy like this now has the chance of a decent life, with a good, Christian mother and father to look after him. Isn’t the will of God a wonderful thing?’
Emily
Somehow, Emily managed to haul a still-sobbing Violet up the stairs to her bed. Somehow, Emily undressed her, got her shoes off and managed to get her under the heavy counterpane that covered her bedsheets. Somehow.
‘It’s OK,’ she kept whispering to Violet over and over again. ‘You’re here now and you’re home and you’re safe and it’s over. I faithfully promise you, it’s over.’ She felt Violet’s thin, bony hand tightly grip onto hers.
‘It’s never over,’ Violet said. ‘Never. Not for me.’
‘I promise you, it is,’ Emily insisted, trying to sound confident, even though she didn’t feel it. Violet’s story had terrified her. Of course she knew that Magdalene laundries existed all over the country – for God’s sake, it had been the mid-1990s before the last one in Dublin finally shut its doors. They were no better than gulags and a shameful part of the country’s history – and of the Catholic Church’s appalling treatment of women. But the thought that Violet had been sent to one was what truly shocked Emily. Someone like her, from a good home with money behind her and a family too?
There were photos of Freddie Hardcastle all over the house, and the minute Emily got the place to herself, she vowed to fire one of them out the nearest window just as soon as she possibly could.
The Women of Primrose Square Page 30
