The Girl From Paradise Alley (ARC)

by Sandy Taylor

  ‘Isn’t it, Nora? Isn’t it mighty grand?’ Kitty went on.

  I wished in that moment that I was invisible. If I was invisible, I’d take off my shoes and feel the cool grass between my toes, then I’d run through the yellow daffodils that tumbled down the hill like gold dust and I’d open the big door and walk through the rooms and up the staircase.

  ‘Jesus, Nora, have you gone entirely deaf?’ said Kitty.

  ‘I was just looking at it,’ I said.

  ‘And why would looking at it render you speechless?’

  ‘Gotcha!’ said a voice behind us.

  ‘Holy Mother of God,’ screeched Kitty, falling against me.

  I turned around to find myself staring into the eyes of a boy of about my own age.

  ‘Run,’ said Kitty, catching hold of my arm. ‘Run for your life, Nora!’

  We pushed back through the thick brambles, towards the opening in the fence.

  ‘Wait,’ called the boy.

  ‘Keep going, Nora,’ said Kitty, catching hold of my hand. ‘He’s trying to trick us.’

  ‘Don’t go, please,’ he called again.

  I stopped and looked back at him.

  ‘For God’s sake, Nora,’ said Kitty, pulling at my coat.

  ‘I’m not going to tell on you,’ said the boy, coming closer.

  ‘Why should we believe you?’ shouted Kitty.

  ‘Because I said so,’ said the boy.

  For some reason, I felt that I could trust him. Kitty grabbed hold of my hand again. ‘I think it’s okay,’ I said to her. She loosened her grip and we both stared at the boy. He had brown curly hair that fell over his eyes like a dark curtain.

  ‘We’re doing no harm,’ said Kitty.

  ‘I never said you were.’

  ‘We were just taking a peek,’ I said.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with taking a peek,’ said the boy, grinning at me.

  ‘Do you live here?’ asked Kitty.

  The boy nodded.

  ‘Are you an Honourable?’ she said.

  ‘No, I’m a Dishonourable,’ said the boy.

  ‘And very rude,’ said Kitty. ‘I asked you a simple question that called for a simple answer, not the words of an eejit.’

  ‘My father is the groom. Happy now?’ he said, grinning at Kitty.

  ‘You’re still being rude,’ said Kitty, glaring at him.

  ‘Please forgive me,’ he said sheepishly. There was something about the look on his face that made me think that he wasn’t sorry at all, but it seemed to satisfy Kitty.

  ‘I accept your apology,’ she said solemnly.

  ‘Will you come again?’ he said.

  ‘We might, if the humour is on us,’ she said.

  As I followed Kitty towards the gap in the fence I looked back. The boy was still standing there. He brushed his curly hair back from his face and winked at me. I smiled at him, then pushed through the brambles after Kitty’s retreating back.

  Three

  Me and Kitty ran through the town and out towards the Strand. We ran everywhere, even when we were supposed to be walking. It was grand to feel the wind in our hair, and anyway, we got to our destination quicker. We raced past a few people but still found time to smile and say hello. Mammy said it took no time at all to wish people the time of day and it showed everyone that I had been brought up well. We ran as far as the lighthouse, then rested on the wall.

  ‘Shall we go and say hello to Annie?’ I said. ‘As we are in the vicinity.’

  ‘Is that another one of your grandad’s fancy words?’

  ‘It is. It means “in the area”.’

  ‘Your grandad must be a mighty clever man, Nora.’

  ‘Oh, he is, Kitty, he knows everything. My daddy says he could have been a teacher.’

  ‘Well, you should be very proud to be related to such a clever man.’

  ‘I am, Kitty, I give thanks to God for him every day.’

  ‘Do you think Annie will be there?’ said Kitty.

  ‘I’d say we’re about to find out,’ I said, taking Kitty’s hand and running across the road to Minnie’s café.

  My mammy and Annie used to work up at Bretton Hall looking after the Honourables. Poor Annie was an orphan, with neither kith nor kin. Mammy told me that all Annie had ever dreamed of was a little cottage to call her own and a grand turf fire to sit beside. When we moved into the Grey House, she had given Annie the little white cottage in Paradise Alley, along with Mrs Foley, who’d taken care of her in the workhouse.

  We opened the café door and the bell tinkled above our heads, bringing Minnie in from the kitchen. It was lovely and warm in the café and it smelled of cakes and biscuits and sausage rolls and meat pies, making my tummy rumble.

  ‘Hello girls,’ said Minnie, smiling at us. ‘Have you come for some tea?’

  ‘We’ve no pennies for tea,’ said Kitty, looking longingly at the pink iced buns on the counter.

  ‘We’ve come to say hello to Annie,’ I said.

  ‘Mrs Foley is sick to her stomach today, Nora, so Annie is staying indoors to look after her.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Minnie,’ I said. ‘I’ll call in on my way home.’

  ‘Take this bread with you,’ she said, reaching under the counter and wrapping a loaf in a sheet of newspaper. ‘And here are a couple of buns for the pair of you. They are yesterday’s, but I’d say you won’t be minding that.’

  ‘Not a bit of,’ said Kitty. ‘We’ll be glad to take them off your hands.’

  ‘Say hello to Mrs Foley for me, Nora, and tell her I’m sorry for her trouble. And be sure to tell Annie to stay at home as long as she’s needed.’

  ‘I will, Minnie, and thank you.’

  We ran back across the road and down onto the beach, where we settled ourselves on some rocks.

  ‘Aren’t these the best buns you ever tasted?’ said Kitty.

  ‘They are indeed,’ I said. ‘And all the better for being yesterday’s.’

  ‘How old do you think Minnie is?’ asked Kitty, licking the sticky icing from her fingers.

  ‘I’d say she’s a good age. My mammy used to come here when she was a young girl, so I’d say she must be fifty, if she’s a day.’

  ‘She doesn’t look it though, does she?’

  ‘Mammy says she hasn’t seemed to age one bit.’

  We sat in silence for a while, filling our mouths with the sweet pink icing and watching the sea running over the sand. I looked along the beach to the town. Rising above it was the tall spire of the church and, beyond that, the grey walls of the workhouse, where my mammy had been born.

  We ran back through the town and parted company at the bottom of Kitty’s lane. I carried on running through the town, past Biddy Quirk’s sweetie shop and past the bottom of the hill that led up to the workhouse. Sometimes when I thought about my mammy living in that gloomy place I felt like crying. But Mammy says she had a great time in there, with her best friend Nora, and she wasn’t to be pitied at all.

  Suddenly I doubled over with a stitch in my side, which often happened when I ran too fast. I sat down on the wall outside Toomey’s, the cobbler. I put the loaf of bread down beside me, then rubbed my side and took a few deep breaths.

  Just then the Honourables’ posh car went by, driven by Dooney the Unfortunate’s uncle, Paddy Lamey. He winked at me and I winked back. I liked Dooney’s uncle, who was a good man with no airs about him, even though he was the Brettons’ chauffeur. Dooney lived in the workhouse and Mr Lamey often took him out for a spin. I thought that was decent of him, as poor Dooney hadn’t a clue who he was and the ride in the posh car was wasted on him.

  There was a lady in the back of the car – she caught my eye and seemed to stare at me. I stared back at her until she was out of sight. The stitch had passed, so I jumped off the wall and carried on running, past the undertakers and under the stone arch that led into Paradise Alley. I tapped on Annie’s door and walked into the little room. I dipped my finger in the
holy water font just inside the door. ‘God bless all here,’ I said, making the sign of the cross.

  ‘Amen,’ said Annie, smiling at me.

  ‘Minnie said to give you this.’ I passed her the loaf of bread. ‘I think it’s yesterday’s, but there’s still good eating to be had.’

  ‘That was nice of her,’ said Annie. ‘And I’m sure we’re glad of it. Mrs Foley likes to dip it in her tea and suck on it, as she has only one good tooth left in her head.’

  ‘Where is she, Annie?’

  ‘She’s asleep in her bed; she’s a martyr to her bowels.’

  ‘Minnie said to tell Mrs Foley that she’s sorry for her trouble and that you can take all the time off you need.’

  ‘Minnie’s a good woman,’ said Annie, unwrapping the bread and folding the newspaper carefully into squares.

  ‘Would you like to take the paper for your grandad, Nora? I know he likes to read about what’s going on in the world.’

  ‘I will, Annie. I’m sure he’ll be glad of it.’

  I looked around the little room that Mammy had told me so many stories about. She told her stories in such a way that I felt as though I lived them myself. I imagined her grandaddy sitting hunched over beside the fire and how my mammy had thought he was the devil himself when she’d first laid eyes on him.

  ‘He was fearsome, Nora,’ she’d said. ‘And I was frightened to death of him. You see, he didn’t want me there because I had been born in the workhouse, but we grew to love each other. It was him that gave me my little dog Buddy for Christmas. My happiest memories were walking the fields together, with Buddy running ahead of us. I missed him terrible when he was taken up to Heaven and I still miss Buddy, he was a lovely old dog. I like to think of the pair of them running around Heaven together.’

  ‘I wish I’d known the grandaddy, Mammy,’ I’d said.

  ‘He would have loved you, Nora. Oh, how he would have loved you.’

  I sat beside Annie’s fire, and breathed in the smell of the turf that filled every corner of the room. This little cottage had always felt like another home and I loved it here.

  ‘Were you and Mammy happy working at Bretton Hall, Annie?’ I said.

  ‘It was hard work, but I was lucky to have the job, for I had nowhere else to go.’

  ‘And was my mammy happy working there?’

  Annie got a knife out of the drawer and started to slice into the bread. ‘Mrs Foley is going to love this,’ she said.

  ‘Was my mammy happy working there?’ I said again.

  ‘I’d say she was happy enough.’

  ‘Was I born here, Annie?’

  ‘Jesus, Nora, you’re full of questions today,’ she said, smothering the bread with thick yellow butter.

  ‘Grandad says I have an inquisitive mind.’

  Annie handed me the bread and then she rattled the turf with the poker. It settled with a hiss and a blast of heat.

  ‘How would I know where you were born?’ she said.

  ‘Didn’t Mammy tell you?’

  ‘She might have done but sure, I’ve forgotten; it was a long time ago and anyway, what does it matter where you were born? You’re here, aren’t you?’

  I bit into the bread, then wiped away the butter that dribbled down my chin. ‘I am,’ I said. ‘but I’ve a mind to know how I got here.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be worrying yourself about it, Nora, you’ll have your head mashed.’

  I popped the last piece of bread into my mouth and stood up. ‘I’d best be getting home,’ I said. ‘Please give my best to Mrs Foley and tell her I will pray to the Virgin Mary to fix her poor bowels.’

  ‘I’ll tell her, Nora, and I’m sure it will give her comfort.’

  I walked slowly up Paradise Alley, towards the Grey House. I loved the alley; its very name made me smile. It was set apart from the rest of the town, and you had to walk through a stone arch to enter it. All the little cottages were joined together, six in total, three on one side and three on the other. There was a gutter running down the length of the lane where the dirty water from the washing was thrown. Apart from Mrs Buckle, who was a slovenly article of a woman, everyone tried to keep their cottages clean and cared for. There would always be someone whitewashing the stonework or planting little boxes of flowers on the windowsills. There was no water in the cottages and no toilets, just a bucket hidden behind a curtain. I knew how lucky I was to live in the Grey House, for we had a spring that produced clean water and a little wooden hut where you had some privacy. Yes, I was indeed lucky.

  I didn’t know why it mattered so much to me where I was born, but it did. I knew every single detail about the night my little brother Stevie was born. How it was wild and stormy and how Mrs Heher, who delivered all the babies in the town, slipped on some wet leaves and had to be carried into the Grey House and could only shout instructions to my poor daddy from the chair and how Daddy delivered Stevie himself. The whole town said that my daddy was the hero of the day and Father Kelly read his name out at Mass on the following Sunday.

  ‘My mammy says it wasn’t your father who was the hero of the day,’ Kitty had said. ‘My mammy says it was your mother who carried that lump of a child around in her belly for nearly a year – all your daddy did was pull it out.’

  ‘My daddy was a hero long before that,’ I’d said, glaring at her.

  ‘Oh, I meant no harm, Nora,’ said Kitty. ‘I think your daddy is as fine a man as ever was born; I’m just telling you what my mammy said.’

  ‘Well, in future, Kitty Quinn, you can tell your mammy to mind her own counsel and keep her opinions to herself.’

  ‘Are you cross with me, Nora?’ Kitty had said, looking sad.

  I’d put my arm around her shoulder. ‘’Twasn’t you who maligned my father’s good name, it was your mother and I don’t hold you accountable for your mother’s views.’

  Kitty had looked at me in wonder. ‘I wish my grandad was as educated a man as Mr Doyle, for you know some very fine words, Nora.’

  ‘I’ll teach you some if you like,’ I’d said, smiling at her.

  ‘That would be grand,’ said Kitty.

  My mammy and daddy often talked about the night Stevie was born but there were no tales about how I was born. I wanted a story too. I’d even begun to think that maybe I was adopted. After all, I didn’t look anything like either my mother or my father. Stevie had very fair hair like my mammy but my hair was brown and a mass of curls that were the bane of my mother’s life. I mentioned it to Kitty, who said that I had my mother’s eyes and I should be grateful that I had a mammy who was as beautiful as a film star, because her own mammy had recently run to fat.

  I shut up about it after that. After all, no one wants to be reminded that they have a mammy who has run to fat.

  Four

  Mrs Hickey was the cook at Bretton Hall. She’d died in her sleep and I couldn’t help wondering if the Honourables had to get their own breakfast that morning.

  I was just about to meet Kitty at the graveyard. ‘Will you be going to the funeral, Mammy?’ I’d asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Mammy.

  I stared at her and I wondered why she didn’t want to pay her last respects to her old friend Mrs Hickey, who Father Kelly said was a fine God-fearing woman and a great cook, who’d filled the Bretton’s bellies for many years. Maybe it was Mrs Hickey she’d fallen out with and that was why she didn’t want me going near Bretton Hall. If that was the case it was good news, because now that she’d been taken up to Heaven to cook for the Lord, I could go back and see the boy without Mammy minding.

  ‘Did you have a falling-out with her, Mammy?’ I said.

  Mammy was bending over, hanging the wet clothes over the wooden horse in front of the fire. She stood up and rubbed her poor back. Mammy was heavy with child and I prayed every night to the Blessed Virgin Mary to intercede on my behalf and ask her son Jesus to send me a baby sister.

  Daddy said I should be praying for an easy birth for Mammy an
d a healthy child. Of course, I wanted those things too, but what I wanted was a healthy sister – if it wasn’t too much trouble.

  ‘What makes you say that, Nora?’ asked Mammy.

  ‘I was just wondering if that’s why you don’t want to go to her funeral,’ I said, ‘because the pair of you have fallen out.’

  Mammy smiled at me. ‘We’re not all addicted to funerals,’ she said, laughing.

  I loved to hear my mammy laugh. My mammy was the prettiest mammy in Ballybun and I loved the bones of her.

  ‘No, I didn’t have a falling-out with Mrs Hickey, Nora.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ I said.

  ‘Why is it a shame, child?’

  ‘Oh, no reason,’ I said quickly.

  She shook her head. ‘You’re a funny little thing,’ she said, walking across and putting her arms around me. She smelled of wet washing and lemons and home.

  ‘I love you, Mammy,’ I said.

  ‘And I love you, Nora,’ she said, kissing the top of my head. I smiled at her and ran down the road to meet Kitty.

  ‘Have you got your jotter ready, Kitty?’ I said, pulling myself up onto the graveyard wall.

  ‘Of course, I have,’ she replied, taking it out of her pocket.

  Just then the Brettons’ shiny car pulled up, and Mr Lamey got out and opened the doors.