The Woman Outside My Door

by Rachel Ryan

  “He has good days and bad days,” the carer said quietly.

  Georgina wanted to cry. She’d known Billy was deteriorating, but she hadn’t realized he was this far gone.

  The carer gave Billy another big smile, then said to Bren and Georgina, “I’ll be down the hall if you need me,” and left.

  Georgina, exchanging a nervous glance with Bren, took the photo of Jimmy and the black-haired girl from her pocket.

  “Do you know who I am, Billy?” she asked, keeping the photo flat on her lap. “I’m Georgina. Jimmy’s daughter.”

  No response. His eyes looked past her, his face a waxy mask. Feeling an unpleasant twisting in her stomach, Georgina held the photograph up.

  “Do you recognize this girl, Billy?”

  Something flickered across Billy’s face. A reaction.

  “Billy?” Georgina glanced at Bren. He was leaning forward; he’d seen it too. “Do you remember her?”

  Billy’s head jerked, very slightly, from side to side, but his eyes were focused on the photograph. He recognized the girl; Georgina was sure of it. His hands, which had been resting on his knees, began clenching and unclenching.

  “Was she Jimmy’s girlfriend?” Georgina held the photograph closer to him. “Did something happen to her?”

  Whatever memories were being stirred up were not pleasant ones. Billy jerked his head faster, mumbling something unintelligible. His face was growing blotchy, his distress palpable.

  “Jesus,” Bren muttered.

  The cruelty of what she was doing struck Georgina. She lowered the photograph, experiencing a wave of sickening guilt.

  “This is pointless,” she mouthed at Bren, and to Billy she said, “I’m sorry, Billy. Shush now. Everything’s okay.”

  His mumblings trailed off. There was a moment of complete silence in which Georgina wondered what to do next and Bren stared miserably down at his shoes.

  Then Billy opened his mouth and said, “They sent her to the laundries.”

  Bren’s head snapped up. Georgina froze.

  The laundries. Those words had a particular meaning in Ireland. A meaning heavy with the country’s ugliest history.

  Billy went on, as if someone were disagreeing with him, “They lied and said they didn’t, but they did, they did.”

  “Who?” Georgina said urgently. “Who lied?”

  Billy’s eyes screwed shut, then snapped open again. He shook his head.

  “What was her name?”

  But Billy would answer nothing else. He mumbled, “They sent her to the laundries,” once more, then fell silent, still shaking his head from side to side.

  “Okay,” said Bren quietly. “Georgina, I think we should…”

  There were voices in the corridor. Footsteps growing closer. Georgina stowed the photograph in her pocket.

  “Yeah,” she replied. It was only when her vision blurred that she realized she was crying. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “All right.”

  Billy had retreated into himself. Georgina reached out and touched his arm. “I’m so sorry, Billy,” she said, tears spilling down her face now.

  Billy just stared dully back.

  * * *

  They sent her to the laundries.

  The Magdalene Laundries and the Mother and Baby homes. Everyone in Ireland was familiar with the dark legacy of those institutions. Their ghosts howled up and down the country.

  To get pregnant outside marriage was, in those days, an unspeakable disgrace. Shameful. Hushed up. Girls whose bellies began to swell mysteriously disappeared “to go stay with family down the country.” Everyone knew where they really went. The Mother and Baby homes were run by nuns. The babies were taken away, often by pressure or coercion, to be given to proper married couples for adoption. The mothers, some of them just children themselves, labored for their keep, hard manual work. Some returned to their communities afterwards, red-lettered. Others—often those whose families wouldn’t have them back—went on to the Magdalene Laundries, those asylums where the nuns kept “fallen women” away from the rest of society. Some never left.

  They lied and said they didn’t, but they did, they did.

  Bren and Georgina sat in the car outside the nursing home, stupefied. Georgina couldn’t comprehend this. She had been imagining wild stories in which the girl had drowned. Been murdered.

  Anything but this.

  “So my dad…” she said slowly, then trailed off.

  Bren said nothing, letting her get there on her own.

  “My dad got his girlfriend pregnant? And sent to one of those places?”

  Bren kept his words measured. “Until we speak to Jimmy, there’s no way to know for sure. Billy could have been confused. We don’t have all the information.”

  “Yes, but what do you think?” Georgina was watching him closely.

  Bren said nothing, but his face was full of compassion. Georgina felt a lump rise in her throat. She turned away, facing out the car window, looking across the spacious grounds of the nursing home.

  Then she made a small, compulsive movement as the next penny dropped.

  “If that is what happened, then”—she swallowed hard—“that means I have a half brother or sister out there, somewhere.”

  Bren had obviously got there already and been waiting for her to catch up.

  “It’s possible you do,” he said, his tone careful. “It’s possible you don’t. Even if she was Jimmy’s girlfriend, she might not have been pregnant. Sometimes women were sent to the laundries just because they’d been sexually active. Sometimes just because it was suspected they’d been sexually active.”

  This did not make Georgina feel better. It made her want to cry.

  “And if she was pregnant,” Bren added, “she might have miscarried.”

  Bits of information Georgina had learned about the Magdalene Laundries over the years flitted through her mind. Had she heard somewhere that the last one had only closed in the nineties? Was that possible? She’d read an article once about an adoptee who had come back to Ireland from America, looking for her birth mother, and was horrified to find her still laboring in the Magdalene Laundry where she had spent her entire adult life. Working six days a week, every week, for no pay. Trapped, exhausted, institutionalized. Aged beyond her years by the hard labor, hard life.

  Was that what had happened to the mischievous-looking girl in the photograph, with her freckled face and dimpled smile?

  “I can’t breathe,” said Georgina. “I can’t breathe.”

  She clambered out of the car, gulping cold air into her lungs, feeling claustrophobic even beneath the broad gray sky.

  Chapter 37

  The next morning Georgina woke with a sick feeling in her stomach. It was a damp, drizzly day, the city was shrouded in a veil of misty rain, and her father was still missing.

  Bren took another day off work to be with her. “They can manage without me,” he said. It was clear to Georgina that he wanted to help, but wasn’t sure how. He hovered on the sidelines as she walked around her parents’ house, from room to room, looking at the paintings and furniture her mother had chosen.

  Had Rose known that Jimmy had got another woman pregnant, long ago? Well, a girl. A teenager.

  They sent her to the laundries.

  It was now two full days that Jimmy had been missing. Georgina sent pleading messages to his phone: Dad, please write back! Just let me know you’re okay. So far, no response.

  Whatever he might’ve done, he was her father. She loved him. And he was out there somewhere, unwell and alone…

  She was so worried she couldn’t think straight.

  Bren was in proactive mode. He called Kelly-Anne and asked her if she could take Cody for a couple of hours after school, then called all the local hospitals looking for Jimmy and the police to report him missing. When none of that worked, he tried calling hotels.

  “D’you have a man staying with you at the moment called James McGrath? No, I understand you ca
n’t give out guests’ details, but if you could just… Shit.”

  “What are you going to do? Call every hotel in Ireland?” Georgina sat in an armchair by the window, staring out at the gray rain.

  Did she have a brother or sister, somewhere in the world? Many Irish babies during that time had been adopted by wealthy American families. If her half-sibling existed at all, that was likely where they had ended up. Were they in Ireland or America? Were they alive or dead?

  She had not slept properly in forty-eight hours, and her eyelids felt heavy. Her head drooped onto her shoulder… Before she knew it, Bren was shaking her awake.

  “Sorry for waking you when you’re so exhausted, but I’m going to collect Cody and I didn’t want you to wake up alone.” He handed her a travel mug of coffee. “Here. I thought you might want a coffee for once.”

  “I’ll come with you. Has my dad been in touch?”

  But she knew the answer already from the look on his face.

  Bren drove. Georgina, in the passenger seat, sipped her coffee. Bren was right. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally.

  They sent her to the laundries.

  Dipped headlights flashed by and the tarmac glistened as they drove across the city through the hazy rain.

  * * *

  On the way, Georgina and Bren stopped off briefly at their own house to collect some things. As they left, Georgina bumped into Anthony, who was wearing a warm coat and hat and had the air of a man headed somewhere important.

  “Georgina, how’re you?” Anthony greeted her. “Have yous been away somewhere?”

  “Well, sort of. We’ve been staying with my father. He hasn’t been well.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  Anthony waited until Bren, passing with a suitcase, was out of earshot before adding, “And how’re you, Georgina, really? Haven’t climbed into anyone’s garden lately, have you?”

  Despite everything, she found herself smiling. “No,” she said. “I haven’t. How’re you, Anthony?”

  “Well, actually”—Anthony visibly swelled with pride—“I’m just on my way to collect Lily. My son lets me take her out on my own now. Give himself and the missus a bit of a break, y’know,” he added importantly.

  “Anthony, that’s great!” Georgina was sincere. The happiness Anthony radiated was powerful enough to lift her out of her own messy life for a moment.

  “Yeah,” he said, eyes bright, “yeah, it is. Next week, I’m taking her to the pet shop to choose a new rabbit. It’ll be Lily’s rabbit, but it’ll live with me. Just to make life easier for everyone.”

  Georgina hid her smile. “So where are the two of you going today?”

  “I’m taking her to Howth. She loves looking at the boats. The weather’s meant to clear up, and there’s a market on there at the moment—stalls and that—good for the kiddies. Jaysis,” Anthony glanced at his watch, “I’d better run. See you later, Georgina.”

  He was holding himself differently, she thought as she watched him walk off. He looked taller.

  “Georgina!” Bren called from the car. “Come on.”

  Realizing she had been standing there in the rain, Georgina shook herself and hurried to the car.

  * * *

  On the drive to Kelly-Anne’s, Georgina felt slightly off. She had underestimated just how unused to coffee she was. The caffeine was jittering unpleasantly through her body, and she knew that once it faded, she would feel utterly exhausted again.

  Bren turned into the estate. “Which house is theirs?” All these houses looked the same to Georgina, but Kelly-Anne’s was identifiable by the tall spiral bushes in the front garden.

  Bren pulled in alongside those gaudy sculpted bushes, and Georgina jumped out of the car. The air was thick with a drizzle that felt somehow claustrophobic. Pulling her coat over her head like a hood, she hurried up to the semi-shelter of the doorway and rang the bell.

  Mark answered. He was a stocky, muscular man with tattooed arms, handsome enough to cause a stir at the school gates on the rare occasions he turned up to collect Patrick instead of Kelly-Anne.

  “Georgina,” he said in surprise.

  “Hiya, Mark.”

  He stood blinking at her, rather stupidly, apparently lost for words. Georgina didn’t understand why he looked so baffled.

  “We’re here to collect Cody?” She ended the sentence as a question in response to the mystified expression on Mark’s face.

  “Well, there’s been some sort of mix-up, then,” he said apologetically. “Cody’s already been collected.”

  Georgina would never forget this moment. The soft rain falling around her, the sharp cold smell of winter. The stab of tension in her gut that brought it all into high definition.

  “What do you mean, Cody’s been collected?”

  Mark looked awkward. “Sorry, Georgina,” he said. “I assumed you knew she was picking him up.”

  Bren arrived at her shoulder. “How’s things, Mark?” he asked, and a feeling of unreality swept over Georgina.

  “What do you mean, he’s been collected?” she said again—only this time she shouted it, in a voice like glass shattering, and both Mark and Bren turned to stare. “What she? Who collected my son?”

  Mark’s eyes were round pools of startled blue.

  “His grandmother,” he said.

  Chapter 38

  Georgina stared at Mark in frozen horror.

  “What did you say?”

  “His grandmother collected him,” Mark repeated. “About half an hour ago.”

  Georgina didn’t say anything more. She couldn’t. It had suddenly stopped raining. The silence, in the wake of the soft patter of raindrops, in the wake of the words Mark had just uttered, seemed deafening.

  “Is this some sort of joke?” Bren said.

  Clearly, Mark thought he’d stumbled into some complicated family drama. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I assumed it was okay… Cody was so happy to see her. She’s your mother, right, Bren?”

  “Cody doesn’t have a grandmother,” said Georgina. Then, because Mark was gawking uncomprehendingly at her, she said it louder. “He doesn’t have a grandmother!”

  “Who took him?” Bren’s voice was getting louder and louder. “Who did you allow to take my son?”

  Mark took a half step back. “Bren, Georgina, I…” He trailed off, looking around for assistance.

  As if summoned, Kelly-Anne swooped into the hall. “Georgina, Bren, hi!” Her smile disappeared as she saw their faces. “Oh, God, what’s happened? Is your dad okay, Georgina?”

  Bren said desperately, “We’re here to collect Cody,” as if hopeful that Kelly-Anne would reveal this had all been a practical joke.

  “But his grandmother’s already picked him up!” said Kelly-Anne. “Was she not supposed to?”

  Bren opened his mouth and closed it again. His face had gone blank. Mark looked absolutely terrified.

  “Kelly-Anne.” Georgina’s voice shook. “That wasn’t his grandmother. Cody’s grandmothers are both dead.”

  Kelly-Anne’s mouth fell open. She appeared, for once, to be lost for words.

  “We have to call the police.” Georgina fumbled in her bag. She touched tissues, a glasses case—where was her phone? She upended the bag, contents scattering on the carpet, but oh, God, her phone wasn’t there.

  She swayed, and might have fallen if Kelly-Anne hadn’t come to life. She moved forward and caught Georgina’s arm. With her free hand Kelly-Anne dialed three digits and pressed her own iPhone to her ear.

  “Police,” she said clearly, in response to the tinny voice on the other end, and then, to Georgina, “You’re saying Cody’s been abducted, is that right?”

  Wordless, Georgina could only nod. Kelly-Anne was speaking to the Guards, firm and capable: “A little boy, seven years old… From 26 Grange Road. ’Bout half an hour ago. I didn’t see the kidnapper, I was at the shops, but… my husband did. Hang on.”

  Kelly-Anne shoved the phone at a shell-s
hocked Mark. “Tell them everything you remember about this woman,” she instructed. Then, to Georgina and Bren, “Do you know who she is? Why she took Cody?”

  “She’s his new—” Bren began and broke off. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said instead. “This can’t be happening.”

  Mark was speaking into the phone, panicked: “Gray hair, sort of short—I didn’t notice, did I? The kid said she was his grandmother! He wanted to go with her!” Behind him, seven-year-old Patrick peered around the kitchen door, listening in. When Georgina noticed him, he ducked out of sight.

  Kelly-Anne was looking at her keenly. Georgina tried to speak, but her breaths were coming faster and faster. “Someone’s been stalking him,” she managed to say, but her chest was tightening, she couldn’t breathe—

  She was only half aware of being steered into a monochrome kitchen and pushed into a white leather chair.

  “Drink this.” Kelly-Anne handed her a glass of water. “Now. Did you say somebody’s been stalking Cody?”

  Georgina nodded. “An old woman.” She sipped some water, though she was trembling so violently her teeth chinked off the glass. “She said she wanted to be his new grandmother.”

  “His new grandmother?” Kelly-Anne’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up. She took the glass from Georgina.

  “I thought it was a game at first,” Georgina explained. “But then I started finding sweets, notes…”

  Mark and Bren followed them into the room. Bren was the palest Georgina had ever seen a person.

  “The cops want to talk to you, Georgina.” Mark held the phone out to her. “Can you remember what Cody was wearing?”

  She tried to take it, but it fell from her shaking hand. Bren picked it up and held it to her ear.

  “Orange hoodie, green T-shirt with dinosaurs on it, blue jeans, red shoes, black coat,” she recited. Cody had complained that the T-shirt was babyish. She could see him at the breakfast table that morning, eating Rice Krispies and doodling on the newspaper.