An Ocean Between Us

by Rachel Quinn

She still had her sister. Yes, Briana would keep her sane.

  Chapter 9

  A month went by, slowly at first, but more easily once Aileen had come to terms with her situation. She wouldn’t see Niall for some time and could mention his name only to Briana. There was no other option.

  She found work where she could – cleaning at the church or the railway station, mucking out livestock or helping with the harvest on one of the many local farms – and put her wishes and dreams to one side; they would keep.

  Toward the end of that month, however, there was one thing she was finding hard to accept: she hadn’t yet received a letter from Niall. Yes, she understood it was a war, but then another few weeks came and went with no letter, and her disappointment deepened so much that she could no longer keep her tears at bay. The address – Aileen Sweeney, Sweeney Cottage, Leetown, County Wicklow – was hard to get wrong. It crossed her mind that perhaps he was working on some top-secret mission where they wouldn’t allow him to write, or that there was a shortage of paper or stamps, or even that he was too busy with exercises and manoeuvres. In short, anything but the unthinkable.

  She occasionally confided her concerns to Briana, who told her to be patient, that she couldn’t do anything about it, that she didn’t know his situation, and that there would be a good explanation.

  By October 1943 almost three months had passed since Aileen had said goodbye to Niall. She kept telling herself to keep calm, but concern and disappointment were now turning into deep fear. While fetching water from the well with Briana one morning, she mentioned her fears. Briana told her again to be patient, that it was a war, that during a war things like sending letters to loved ones took second place, and that anything could have happened.

  ‘Like what?’ Aileen said.

  ‘Like . . .’

  ‘He’s been captured?’

  ‘Well, no.’

  ‘Or else he’s been . . .’

  ‘Aileen,’ Briana said as earnestly as Aileen had ever heard her speak. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to Niall, but I can assure you that no good ever came from worrying. You will find out one day. You will. And when that happens, you’ll feel foolish for doubting him.’

  Aileen agreed. At least she told Briana she agreed.

  Soon afterward, early one morning while the family were getting comfortable at the table, there was a knock at the door. A knock and a tuneful whistle, to be precise.

  Aileen’s mother got up and answered it. The others could just make out a postman, still straddling his bicycle, holding out a letter.

  ‘For Aileen?’ she was heard to ask as she took the letter.

  Aileen had hardly woken up yet, but on hearing her name it felt as though iced water had been poured down the back of her blouse.

  She stood, but Fergus was at the door first, leaning past his mother.

  ‘Where’s Michael?’ he asked the postman.

  ‘Ah, he’s sick today,’ the man replied, before saying a cheerful goodbye and cycling off, whistling to himself.

  Fergus shut the door and went to grab the letter from his mother’s hands.

  She was too quick and slapped his hand with her spare one for good measure. ‘What’re ye doing, Fergus? The letter’s for our Aileen, not you.’

  He went to speak, but merely gave Aileen a glance of disdain before stomping back to the breakfast table. To Aileen, none of that mattered. Nobody ever wrote to her. She grabbed the letter from her mother and ripped it open. She read the first few words of the letter, gasped and ran out of the door.

  She ran across the road, frantically scanning the lines, checking the length of the letter, and only occasionally looking where she was going. She collapsed on to the sand as soon as she reached it.

  Then she started reading it properly.

  15 October 1943

  My dearest Aileen,

  I’m so sorry it has been a couple of weeks since my last letter. And I have to tell you I still haven’t received one from you yet. I’m assuming that the Forces mail system is getting things mixed up. Perhaps there is another Niall O’Rourke somewhere in the British Army wondering why you’re writing to him. Ha ha. But just in case you’ve forgotten or have lost it, I’ve put my service number and address at the end of this letter again. I’m sorry – that sounds terrible. In all seriousness, I’m sure you have written letters and they’re stuck at Aldershot.

  Anyway. So. I am on my way back from the Dodecanese and my leg has been patched up as good as the Navy medics can manage. I told you before that the place here is hotter than I ever thought any place could be, but I have to say, now we’re retreating, I can see it’s a beautiful part of the world, all deep blue lagoon sorts of places and sand that looks pure white when the full sun hits it.

  I also have some bad news. I lost another of my friends yesterday. It was Billy, the man I told you about who was a carpenter in London before being conscripted into the army. I didn’t see it, but they say he took a bullet to the head. It’s terrible, and I’m as upset as anything, but the blessing is that he didn’t suffer.

  I have to finish now. I can’t write too much as I need to rest, and more importantly, I have to pass the pencil on to the next invalid, or he’s said he’ll hit my bad leg with his good arm. As you might imagine, there’s a grand spirit in here. And there needs to be. It’s hell on the front line, and everyone suffers, even the men who aren’t injured, if that makes sense.

  Aileen, they are a good bunch of lads here, but once or twice it’s been hard for me to find the will to live. The one thing that keeps me going is the thought of seeing you again. I hope everything is all right with your mother and father. As I’ve said before, I look forward to a time when they can accept me into your family.

  As always, I’m missing you and love you very much,

  Your loving fiancé,

  Niall.

  P.S. Please write.

  Aileen read the whole letter twice again and held it to her chest, grinning up at the clouds. He’d written. He had written. Wherever he was – and she had absolutely no idea where the heck that was – he’d taken the trouble to write words on paper and to get someone to post the letter. Yes, he had a leg injury of some sort, but he was alive and he was coming home.

  She bathed in the moment, sighing to herself, but then her smile flattened and an anger of sorts took over. Her first letter from Niall should have been a special moment, but something or someone had spoiled that moment. She looked ahead at the ocean. Today there was little wind and the tide looked as if it didn’t really want to exert itself. The sound of the waves lazily breaking was regular and soporific enough to calm anyone under normal circumstances. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

  What the heck was going on?

  Quite a few things didn’t make sense. One word in particular didn’t make sense. ‘Dodeca-what ?’ she said aloud. ‘Where the blazes is that?’

  Anyhow, that was the least of her problems. It was clear that not only had Niall written to her before, but that he’d expected her to write and she hadn’t. That was a terrible thing to do to Niall.

  She read the letter again, her vision blurring as tears formed. But no. She wasn’t going to have this. Something was going on and she had a good idea who was behind it. She sniffed, wiped away the tears, and started marching back home.

  They were still at the table when she got there, her mother’s mouth full of buttered soda bread, Fergus with a large slice in his hand. Aileen walked right up to him and slapped the hand, causing him to drop it.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘What’re ye doing?’

  ‘No, Fergus. What the heck are you doing?’

  ‘Trying to eat me some breakfast is what I’m doing and I’ll thank ye to leave me alone.’

  She stood there, arms on hips, bearing down on him with her nostrils twitching, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Why did you ask the postie where Michael was?’

  He shrugged.
‘Ah, I dunno. Get outta here. Let me eat.’ He picked up the slice of bread he’d dropped. It was almost touching his teeth when Aileen grabbed it and threw it across the room.

  ‘Aileen!’ her mother said. ‘Now stop that.’

  ‘He’s done something, Mammy. I know he has. I don’t know how, but he’s been stopping my letters from Niall.’

  Fergus held a buttered finger up to her. ‘Aha! So, you admit it. You’re still speaking to yer traitor man?’

  ‘Aha!’ Aileen shouted back. ‘So, you admit you’ve been reading my letters?’

  Fergus turned to his father.

  ‘It’s for the best,’ their father declared with a sour grimace.

  ‘Dan!’ Aileen’s mother said. ‘Ah, not you as well.’

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I have a duty to know what kind of man is writing to my own daughter, have I not?’

  Aileen was too shocked to speak, but turned to her mother for support.

  ‘But, Dan, you can’t be taking the poor girl’s letters.’

  ‘You don’t understand these things, Maureen. You’re best staying out of it.’

  ‘Is that against the law?’ she replied.

  ‘How can it be against the law? I’m the head of this house, Michael the postie’s a public servant and yer man’s a deserter.’

  ‘He has a name,’ Aileen said.

  ‘Well, I’d rather not use it in my house if you don’t mind.’

  Briana, silent up until now, spoke up. ‘Daddy, that isn’t right. Aileen’s eighteen, so she is. She can make her own decisions. And you can’t be going opening her mail.’ She and her father stared at each other like two stag deer locking antlers, neither yielding. ‘And it’s your own daughter,’ Briana added for good measure.

  Aileen looked around the table. Fergus was scowling, Gerard was keeping his head down. Poor little Frank was almost in tears.

  Eventually Aileen’s father spoke in an almost presidential manner. ‘Look. She’s been told she can’t see him as long as she lives here. So, it’s an utter waste of time them talking or writing to each other. And I’ll thank the rest of yez to keep out of it.’

  Aileen glanced at her mother, who returned the glance and let out a long, frustrated sigh before starting to collect the dirty plates and cups.

  ‘I can’t live like this,’ Aileen said, shaking her head and not bothering to hold back the tears. She turned and walked slowly to the bedroom, shutting the door gently behind her.

  She got into bed and pulled the covers over her head. Her body now curled up into a ball and she let her sobs come freely. There was no point in holding her emotions back.

  There was no point in anything. Not anymore.

  By the time Aileen heard the bedroom door open and close she’d stopped crying and drifted off to sleep, imagining a better world for herself, so the noise startled her even though it obviously wasn’t intended to.

  It would be Briana. Good old Briana, ever the peacemaker. Well, today that wouldn’t wash. Aileen had been thinking of possibilities, and now it was about time she thought of them more as serious options.

  She was shocked when she heard her father’s voice – edged with an uncharacteristic softness. He eased himself on to the bed next to her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Aileen. I know it sounds bad, taking your letters and all that.’

  ‘Sure, you’re right there.’

  ‘But . . .’ He went to put his arm around her and found a hand rising up to stop him. He relented and let his hands rest on his thighs. ‘You know we only have your best interests at heart, Aileen. The man’s no good for you.’

  Aileen glared at him. ‘You don’t really believe that, Daddy, do you?’

  He looked away from her face and let his head hang down.

  ‘It’s your politics, that’s all it is.’

  ‘Politics is important, Aileen. I . . . I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but a man’s politics is a measure of that man, it shows what sort of character he has. And that’s important in the long run.’ He paused, then returned his gaze to her. ‘You deserve better, Aileen. There are plenty of good men around – a few of them in this village. I mean, this deserter fellow, why do you have to stay in touch with him? I don’t understand. I mean that. I really don’t get it.’

  ‘You don’t have to understand something to accept it, Daddy.’

  ‘Aach, that’s all muddled talk. He’s no good for you. I can see that and your mother can see it too, she just doesn’t like to tell you to your face.’

  ‘Have you thought you might be being unfair about him?’

  ‘Aileen, you’ll get over him. You’ll find another man to marry, I know you will.’

  ‘But I don’t want that, Daddy. Can’t you understand? I want Niall.’

  He shook his head. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but you’ll not be doing that while you live under this roof.’

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Grand,’ he replied, then got up and left the room.

  ‘Grand,’ Aileen said to herself when he’d gone.

  At around the same time, Niall was arriving back at Aldershot barracks.

  The plan he’d agreed three months before with Kevan, Jimmy and Dermot hadn’t quite gone like clockwork. They’d joined up in Belfast assuming they would be assigned to the same company – or at least the same battalion. But there had been little or no choice. Once a man signed his name on the dotted line he belonged to the army and had to go where the powers that be thought best. They all accepted that.

  So Niall had gone to Aldershot alone and had no idea where the others had ended up. So much for their plan.

  After four weeks’ basic training and another four of battle exercises on Salisbury Plain, Niall had been sent to the Dodecanese islands, held by Italy for many years, and, after the surrender of Italy in September 1943, fought over by German and British forces.

  The German forces won, forcing the British to hastily flee the area, and Niall was one of the casualties. A desperate retreat under heavy gunfire; a stumble racing across rocky terrain; an awkward fall was all it took. Getting back to Aldershot barracks felt like a nightmare had ended. He was safe – relatively – and settled into hospital to recover from a serious leg fracture.

  The doctors explained and the nurses were diligent, but Niall’s mind was elsewhere. During his days on the ship only one thought had made the physical pain bearable: that Aileen would have written to him by now, that he would have at least one letter from her and probably more waiting for him at Aldershot. But there were none.

  He had to be content with letters from his mother. And that was no bad thing. A man could always rely on his mother.

  Those letters turned out to be scant consolation. He couldn’t get Aileen out of his mind – that pretty girl from Leetown he loved and was engaged to marry. There would be an explanation as to why she hadn’t written. There would be. Niall wasn’t prone to stubbornness, but he told himself he would keep trying as long as he lived. So one of the first things he did on his return to Aldershot was to write to her again.

  Chapter 10

  Long Island, New York City, 1995

  As the cab approaches the bridge leading to Manhattan Island, Aileen notices that the snow has settled like a light dusting of sugar over the streets and rooftops. She checks her watch. He notices, tells her it’ll be fine, and his hand gives hers the briefest of squeezes.

  ‘And another thing,’ he says, ‘this is the one time of the year you get to think about yourself. I always said you spend too long worrying about the kids.’

  ‘The kids?’ Aileen says. ‘Oh, I’ve moved on from them.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to hear.’

  ‘I have grandkids to worry about now.’

  ‘Right.’ He laughs. ‘Except, of course, I know you haven’t stopped worrying about our own kids.’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t. And why should I? That would be unnatural. Surely you worry about them too?’

/>   The short pause as he draws breath doesn’t go unnoticed and Aileen jumps in with, ‘Well, do you?’

  A thoughtful sigh is his initial answer. Then he says, ‘Well, let’s see. First we have Michael and his third failed business.’

  ‘You leave Michael alone. He’s a trier, and with four children he puts our other three kids to shame.’

  ‘Then there’s Victoria, who married that pudding brain of a dreamer.’

  ‘You mean the Victoria who is, I can assure you, very happy with Carl.’ She draws in a little breath and mutters, ‘Although you’re right about his pudding brain. I pray to God young Jake has inherited her brains and not his.’

  ‘Jenny had her problems as a teenager.’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’

  ‘I’ll never forget her first few boyfriends.’

  ‘You and me both. Scared half to death I was. But considering what I was like at eighteen, it’s a kind of poetic justice of a kind, I guess.’

  ‘She did good in the end,’ he says. ‘Getting married and having Jenny Junior really made her blossom.’

  ‘And you can’t say she married a pudding brain.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I can’t. I have to admit I’ve had the occasional argument with Robert over the years, but—’

  ‘Occasional?’

  ‘Well, all water under the bridge now. I know he’s a smart cookie and I know he takes care of Jenny – both Jennies.’ They exchange a smile, interrupted by a jerk from the car. ‘And as for young Kelvin, well, we both know he was blessed from an early age. Academic, popular with women, good at every sport he tried.’

  ‘All of that can be a curse though.’

  ‘What?’ he snaps.

  ‘I mean it. It’s easy to assume you’ll always have those virtues, that the doors they open will stay open. Doesn’t work that way. Decades go by in a flash and before you know it both you and the world have changed.’

  ‘Jeez – that I agree with.’

  Aileen nods. ‘Indeed. So, I’m glad he settled down with Patricia.’

  ‘Well, she sure put him in his place once or twice – and probably more we don’t know of.’