‘Dear God,’ whispered Martha. ‘But Irene only went there for her tea. Why would she not come home?’
‘It pains me to say this, but Irene also had …’ more clearing of the throat, ‘… an affiliation with the brother.’
‘A what?’ Martha stood up. ‘An affiliation!’ She spat out the word. ‘What are you saying? My daughter’s run off in the middle of the night with some Catholic boy accused of murdering a policeman!’
Ted realised he’d made a tactical error. ‘No, no Martha, I’m not saying that. It’s just that she knew him too, because he worked at the mill.’
‘Affiliation, indeed!’ Martha refused to be placated. ‘She wouldn’t just take herself off. I’ve not brought up my girls like that!’
‘I know that, Martha. I’m only saying—’
‘Something’s happened. She’s had an accident, that’s it. Knocked down maybe and ended up in hospital.’
‘In that case the police would have been informed and asked to contact the relatives.’
‘She’s unconscious; can’t tell them where she lives.’ Martha’s mind was rushing to solve the problem. ‘Now what you need to do, Ted, is to check the hospitals. You’ll have the contacts, I know. The Mater and the Royal would be the best bet.’
This wasn’t what he had envisaged when Martha showed up on his doorstep not ten minutes before. He meant to take control, have her in his debt.
‘Now you sort that out and I’ll go back home. Come and let me know when you’ve found her.’ She raced on. ‘And get the address of the O’Haras while you’re at it, in case she’s not in hospital. That’s where I’ll go next.’ She grabbed her coat.
‘Right, Ted, get cracking; quick as you can, now.’
*
‘Irene, Irene, wake up.’
Irene’s eyes flickered and opened briefly.
‘It’s Theresa. Wake up … please.’
‘Theresa?’ Irene tried to focus on the face above her. The smell told her she was still in the public house and now her hand was throbbing to the same beat as her head. ‘Theresa …you’re here.’
‘Yes, I’m here. You were looking for me?’
‘Am I still in the bar?’
‘Yes, downstairs. You fainted … they took you down here where it’s cool.’
‘I needed to find you. There’s a message from Sean.’ Irene was suddenly very thirsty. ‘Can I have a drink of water?’
Theresa nodded to the barman. ‘Yes, there’s one coming.’
‘There were two men shouting.’ Irene remembered. ‘Then I felt ill …’
‘Don’t worry about that now, Irene, tell me about Sean.’ The water arrived and Irene gulped it down. ‘What did Sean say?’
Irene was wide awake suddenly and her mind seemed to clear. ‘He sent me a letter … said to tell you he’s fine.’
‘Did he say where he was?’
‘Yes he did. He sent me a parcel too.’
‘A parcel? Where is he, Irene? Tell me.’
‘Orange … silk … for me to wear …’ Michael Todd moved closer. ‘You drape it over your shoulder.’
‘A sash?’ the barman whispered and Michael shrugged his shoulders.
‘But where’s Sean, Irene. Do you know?’
‘Oh yes.’ Irene’s eyes stared into the distance. ‘The sky is the brightest blue; the sun a huge yellow orb, burning his back through his uniform. The market is busy with all the merchants pressing their wares into his hands: silver jewellery; glistening oranges; sweet tea, even rugs from far away Persia …’
‘My God, where is he?’ asked the barman.
‘Don’t be stupid! Can’t you see she’s rambling,’ said Michael scornfully. ‘Trouble is we’ve no way of knowing where the grains of truth are amongst all this storybook nonsense.’
‘Well, you’d better make up your mind what to do. We can’t keep her here any longer.’ Theresa was holding Irene’s hand and the bandage was coming away seeped in yellow, foul-smelling pus.
‘We can’t let her go and risk her telling someone where Sean is,’ argued Michael.
‘You can’t keep her here and let her die!’ shouted Theresa.
No answer.
‘For God’s sake, Michael, she didn’t tell anyone the first time Sean sent us a message to say he was in Donegal. I’ve told you, she’s a good friend. She even got the sack sticking up for me. Why would she betray us now?’
‘Maybe she wouldn’t deliberately, but you’ve heard her rambling. She could say enough for someone to put two and two together.’
‘Who, for instance? Do you think a nurse or a doctor will be standing around trying to piece together a load of nonsense in the hope it might lead them to the dangerous Sean O’Hara? Or might they be more interested in saving a girl’s life?’
‘I can’t be sure what’ll happen. I won’t be there!’
‘No, but I could be. Think, Michael, she came to visit me, she felt ill, I took her down to the Royal. Like a good friend, I’d want to stay with her, wouldn’t I now?’
Michael stared at Irene’s pale and sweating face.
‘Come on, Michael. Sean trusted her, he liked her.’
‘It’s up to you, Theresa, he’s your brother. But none of this must come back to me, the bar, or the brigade. Do you understand?’
*
Martha went straight to the foot of the stairs and shouted, ‘Pat, come down here this minute!’
Sheila appeared first in the kitchen as Martha was attempting to poke the fire back to life. ‘Away you upstairs and tell Pat she’s to be down here in two minutes. Then get yourself back to bed.’
‘But what about Irene, have you found her yet?’
‘Nearly … now do as you’re bid and tell Pat she’s wanted.’
Martha put half a shovel of slack on the embers; it might be a long night. Pat appeared at the door in her brown felt dressing gown. It was clear she’d been crying.
‘Now, my girl, you sit yourself down and we’ll have the truth this time, none of your Blarney.’
‘Mammy, honest to goodness, I haven’t told any lies about Irene.’
‘Aye, well that’s as maybe, but you haven’t told the truth either. So this wee girl Irene went to see is Theresa O’Hara. Now, you tell me about her brother and what he has to do with our Irene.’
‘Sean? I know who he is. He used to work at the mill, but he’s nothing to do with Irene.’ Martha raised an eyebrow and Pat went on, ‘Look, all I know is he disappeared the night his father was interned, same night the policeman was shot.’
‘Ted Grimes seems to think Irene had some sort of an affiliation with him.’
‘Affiliation? What does that mean?’
Martha looked embarrassed. ‘He implied she was … carrying on with him.’
‘Away on, she was not. Sure I’d have known!’
‘Are you telling me the truth now, Pat?’
‘I am, Mammy.’ Pat looked away. ‘Well, I am about Sean …’
There was a rapping at the window and the back door opened. It was Ted Grimes, now in full uniform. Martha paled and stood up.
‘We’ve found her, I think.’
Martha stifled a sob and closed her eyes as if in prayer.
‘Is she all right?’ asked Pat quickly.
‘Well, she is, but …’
‘But …’
‘She has blood poisoning. She’s unconscious.’
*
For all Ted Grimes’ fussing about his contacts and the RUC interest in what had happened to Irene, no one at the Royal seemed to be expecting them. A nurse was dispatched to find out where the unidentified patient was and Martha and Pat with their RUC escort were left in the waiting room. The early morning sun was just beginning to cast long shadows through the high windows as they sat on the hard wooden chairs.
Eventually, the nurse returned with the news that the patient had been transferred to a surgical ward, but they could see her immediately to confirm her identity. They followed the nurse
along a deserted corridor, where the smell of carbolic clung to every surface, and up a concrete staircase to the sound of their footsteps echoing around the surgical green stairwell.
The stillness of illness had settled through the night and lingered on in the ward. The matron was at her desk and stood as they entered, but her eyes moved beyond Martha and Pat to the uniform behind. ‘I’m sorry, close family only permitted.’
‘I’m here in an official capacity,’ said Ted.
‘Official or not, I cannot permit you to see the patient. You must wait outside.’
She nodded to Martha and Pat and they followed her, treading softly, scarcely breathing, past curtained beds to the far right hand side of the ward.
Irene lay completely still and from her arm a drip snaked upwards to a bottle of clear fluid. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, her hand heavily bandaged.
The matron turned to Martha, who nodded her head. ‘Yes, it’s my daughter, Irene.’
Martha and Pat sat either side of the bed. ‘It’s that cut hand she got unpacking the cases that’s the cause of this,’ Martha said angrily. ‘I’ve a good mind to go down to the Ulster Linen Works and tell them what it’s done to Irene.’
‘You can’t do that, Mammy.’
‘We’ll see about that!’
‘No, you can’t—’
‘But they’re responsible.’
‘No they’re not,’ said Pat. ‘Short and Harland are to blame.’
‘What are you talking about, Short and Harland?’
‘I’ve tried to tell you, Mammy, Irene left the mill. She’s been working at Shorts since Monday. That’s where she cut her hand.’
‘What?’ Martha was dumbfounded. ‘What are you talking about? Irene at Shorts! Why wasn’t I told this?’ Martha’s voice was rising. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do, my girl, and you can start with why she left a perfectly good job.’
‘She didn’t leave, Mammy, she was sacked.’
‘Dear God! This goes from bad to worse.’
At that moment the curtain around the bed parted and the matron came in followed by a young woman.
‘This is the person who found your daughter, Mrs Goulding.’
‘Hello, Pat,’ said Theresa.
Martha opened her mouth to speak, but the Matron turned to her and went on, ‘The consultant has just come back on duty and would like to speak to you immediately. Follow me, please.’ Martha looked again at Irene lying motionless, then at Pat who didn’t meet her eye and followed the matron out of the ward.
The doctor, a Scotsman, was brusque; he spoke quickly seemingly unable to look her in the eye. ‘Your daughter has acute septicaemia. The cause is a serious hand wound. I intend to operate this morning to amputate her hand. It’s the only chance of saving her life.’ He pushed a piece of paper across the desk. ‘As the patient’s next of kin you are required to sign the consent form.’ A pen followed.
‘Is there nothing …’
‘There is nothing else we can do. Life or limb is the choice.’
Martha stared at the pen.
‘Mrs Goulding …’
Somewhere close by, a church bell began to ring.
Martha stood up. ‘Excuse me. I’ll be back shortly.’
‘Mrs Goulding, there’s no time—’
But she was out the door and halfway down the corridor, before the doctor had come round his desk and shouted after her ‘— to waste!’
*
Two elegant towers, silhouetted against the pink dawn sky, drew Martha to the doors of St Peter’s. The interior was cool and she sat at the back and clasped her hands in prayer, but no words came. A movement to the right caught her eye. A young priest walked purposefully up the aisle and into a confessional box. Martha followed.
‘Father, can you help me?’
‘Do you wish to confess your sins?’
‘I’m not sure … I just need to talk …’
‘Sure that’s grand,’ a soft brogue.
‘My daughter is in the Royal.’
‘Aah, I see.’
‘I’m not a Catholic.’
‘God listens to all who need his help.’
Martha recounted the story as she now understood it.
‘I was going to sign the paper, Father, but then I heard your bell and I thought if I prayed, it would give me strength, but no words would come.’
‘God knows what is in your heart. He doesn’t need words. Would you like me to pray for Irene?’
‘I would, Father, thank you.’
On her way out, Martha stopped to light a candle. Then noticed the young priest was at her side.
‘I was wondering what made you come here to our church?’ he asked.
‘I heard the bell ringing.’
‘I thought that’s what you said.’ He smiled and added, ‘We have twelve bells at St Peter’s, but none has been rung this morning.’
*
As Martha approached Irene’s bedside, she saw the matron lifting the sheet to cover Irene’s face and she stifled a cry.
‘No, no …’ said the matron. ‘Look.’ She turned the sheet back to tuck it under the mattress, revealing colour in Irene’s cheeks and her eyes flickering open.
‘Mammy, I don’t need an operation do I?’
‘We’ve been giving her penicillin since she was admitted, and about twenty minutes ago it began to take effect,’ explained matron.’ Of course we can’t be sure if it has halted the spread of poison.’
Martha put her hand on Irene’s forehead. ‘No, Irene, there won’t be any operation. You’ll be fine, my love.’
Chapter 11
‘How many’s in now, Sammy?’
‘Not enough for a football team, but more than you’d need for three-han’ whist,’ came the reply. ‘An’ seein’ as how they’re me Mammy, Daddy and three sisters, it looks like none of the rest of ye mentioned it to anyone.’
‘But it was in the Telegraph, so why has nobody turned up?’
‘Word got round you were in it, that’s why.’
‘Ach, save your wit for the payin’ customers, why don’t you?’
‘Because, right now, I’ve a bigger audience in the dressin’ room than I have in the theatre!’
Horowitz, stage manager for the concert, put his head round the door. ‘Fifteen minutes to curtain-up, everyone.’
‘Mr Horowitz, is it true there’s no one coming to watch?’
‘Of course not, they’re just a bit slow selling the tickets that’s all.’
Sheila, who had been sitting in the corner of the dressing room, caught up with Horowitz. ‘Do you think I could help?’ she asked, ‘with the tickets or something?’
‘You’re not a performer?’
‘No. I’m just here …’ she shrugged her shoulders. It was too complicated to explain about her mother chaperoning and being unwilling to leave her at home.
‘Well, the hall has its own people to sell the tickets, but between you and me I don’t think they’ve done this kind of show before.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘So why don’t you just go out front and see what you can do?’
The entrance hall was quite small and the audience were squeezing through half the double doors a few at a time to buy tickets from two elderly ladies seated in their coats and hats behind a small table. ‘Now where would you like to sit love, near the front? Let’s see what we can do.’
Sheila approached the nearest ticket seller. ‘Can I help?’
‘That’d be grand, love. The tickets are two shillings. Do you want to pull up a chair and sell some?’
‘Maybe in a minute,’ said Sheila and she went straight to the double doors and opened the closed side. In the seconds before the crowd realised there was another way in, Sheila took in the rain falling heavily from a moonlit sky and a crowd of people queuing a hundred yards down the street.
‘Just take the money and let them sit where they want,’ she called to the ticket sellers. Then seeing their puzzled faces she added, ‘There
’s not enough time. We need to get them inside quickly.’
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