The Girl From Paradise Alley (ARC)

by Sandy Taylor

  ‘I’d say this is going to be a mighty funeral,’ I said. ‘Father Kelly has on his good Sunday vestments. I suppose that’s because the Honourables are here.’

  ‘Well, it shouldn’t matter who you are,’ said Kitty. ‘We are all God’s children and we all deserve Sunday vestments at our funerals.’

  ‘I agree Kitty – didn’t Jesus himself fraternise with the poor?’

  ‘Your Grandad Doyle?’ said Kitty.

  ‘The very man,’ I said. ‘It means “mix with”. Are you going to give Father Kelly a point for his finery?’

  ‘I am not,’ said Kitty, writing ‘Father Kelly’ and putting a line through it.

  I spotted Annie walking towards the grave; she gave me a small wave of her hand, as befitted a mourner.

  ‘Give Annie a point, Kitty, that was a very dignified wave.’

  Kitty wrote ‘Annie’ and put a one beside her name.

  I looked back at the car and watched as the Honourables stepped elegantly out onto the lane. There were two women and two men, all dressed in black. The two women had veils over their faces and the men were wearing fine suits. They walked to the head of the line of mourners and some people bobbed as they walked past.

  ‘Do they get points for bobbing?’ asked Kitty, chewing the end of her pencil.

  I thought about it. ‘Give them a half,’ I said. ‘They should be concentrating on poor Mrs Hickey, not making a show of themselves bobbing.’

  Kitty wrote ‘bobbing’ and put a half mark against it.

  ‘Can you hear any wailing?’ asked Kitty.

  I listened. ‘There’s some muffled sobs,’ I said. ‘And I think they’re coming from Annie.’

  ‘Annie should be proud of herself this day, Nora, for she did a fine wave and now she seems to be the only one that’s crying.’ She made another note in the jotter. ‘Isn’t that the boy?’ she said suddenly.

  I stared at the line of mourners. A young lad with brown curly hair was walking behind the Brettons. ‘Is it?’ I said.

  ‘It looks like him,’ said Kitty.

  We could hear Father Kelly going on about ‘dust to dust’ and ‘ashes to ashes’, but I kept my eyes on the boy. What was he doing walking with the Brettons as if he was somebody, when he was only the son of a groom?

  ‘Write down “boy” and put a line through it, Kitty.’

  ‘Why? What did he do?’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet,’ I said.

  Kitty wrote down ‘boy’ and put a line through it.

  ‘That’ll show him,’ I said. ‘Getting airs above his station.’

  The mourners started drifting away from the graveside, the Brettons were the first to make a move. I watched the boy pass me. He looked up and caught my eye but kept walking.

  ‘How many points, Kitty?’ I said.

  ‘Five and a half,’ said Kitty, studying the page. ‘Annie got two for the dignified wave and the sobbing. I gave a half point for the bobbing. I gave two points for the Brettons turning up and another point for Mrs Connell the baker’s wife, who was wearing her good Sunday hat.’

  ‘Not a bad do,’ I said, jumping down off the wall.

  I watched as the boy climbed into the Brettons’ car. Maybe I was being a bit hasty in condemning him – after all, he was just a child, and when you’re a child you have to do as you are told. He probably had no liking to be there at all. ‘Maybe we will see him again, Kitty,’ I said.

  ‘Shall I rub the line out that I put through his name?’

  ‘Do you have a rubber?’

  ‘No,’ said Kitty.

  ‘Then there’ll be no rubbing out this day, will there?’

  ‘I don’t suppose there will,’ said Kitty, grinning and linking her arm through mine as we walked away from the graveyard.

  Five

  It was Saturday morning and after I’d helped Mammy around the cottage, I called for Kitty.

  ‘God Bless all here,’ I said, dipping my hand into the holy water, except that there was no water in the font. ‘You’ve run out of holy water, Mrs Quinn,’ I said.

  ‘We’ll call in at the vestry and get a refill,’ said Kitty, running down the stairs.

  ‘Good girls,’ said Mrs Quinn. ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘We’re off out the Strand,’ I said.

  ‘Will you roll Sean out with you?’

  ‘Ahh, Mammy,’ said Kitty.

  ‘Less of the “Ahh, Mammy”,’ said Mrs Quinn. ‘Sure, he’ll sleep all the way and he could do with the air.’

  ‘We’ll be glad to, Mrs Quinn,’ I said.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Nora, and you could learn a lot from her, Kitty.’

  ‘Well, as long as we don’t have to take Breda,’ said Kitty, glaring at me.

  ‘Breda’s next door, playing with the twins,’ said Mrs Quinn.

  ‘Makes a change from sitting under the table, I suppose,’ said Kitty.

  ‘She’s probably under next door’s table, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she had the twins under there with her,’ said Mrs Quinn, smiling now.

  Kitty went into the yard to get the baby’s pushchair.

  ‘How is your mother, Nora?’ asked Mrs Quinn, pushing Sean’s fat little arms into his coat.

  ‘As well as can be expected under the circumstances,’ I said.

  ‘It won’t be long now – are you excited?’

  ‘I am and I’m not, Mrs Quinn. I’m praying like mad for a baby sister but Daddy says I should be praying for a healthy child, whatever God in His holy wisdom decides to send.’

  ‘He’s right, Nora. We get what we are given. I was hoping for a boy when I got Breda but sure, I wouldn’t swap her for the world, and it will be the same for you.’

  ‘I know I’ll love a baby brother, Mrs Quinn, I just think I’ll love a baby sister a bit more.’

  ‘This bloody pushchair is falling apart, Mammy,’ said Kitty, dragging the old pram into the room. ‘It makes an awful squeaky noise when I push it – the whole town will hear us coming and I’ll be shamed.’

  ‘There are worse things to be shamed for, Kitty,’ said Mrs Quinn, laying Sean down in the pram and covering him with a blanket. Mrs Quinn went to the dresser. ‘For the Holy water,’ she said, handing me a small bottle.

  Sean stared up at us with a dreamy look on his face. He was a lovely fat feller with bright blue eyes and a shiny old head. We said goodbye and started walking through the town. We kept getting stopped by people wanting to coo at the baby. ‘Jesus,’ said Kitty. ‘We’ll never get there at this rate.’

  What with getting stopped by the townsfolk every five minutes and trying to manage the wonky wheel and the squeak, it took forever to get to the Strand.

  ‘Once your mammy has her baby, we’ll be pushing two bloody babies everywhere we go,’ said Kitty.

  ‘I won’t mind, if it’s a girl,’ I said.

  ‘What’s the baby going to be named?’ asked Kitty.

  ‘Well, if it’s a girl I would like to call her Marigold, but Mammy says it’s too fanciful for Ballybun.’

  ‘What does your mammy want to call her, then?’

  ‘She wants to call her Mary, after a friend of hers who went down with the Titanic.’

  ‘Mary’s a good Catholic name.’

  ‘It is, Kitty, but isn’t half the town called Mary? She won’t be standing out with a name like that.’

  ‘There are worse names, Nora – what about poor Dymphna Duffy? Imagine being lumbered with a name like that!’

  ‘You’re right, that’s a desperate name altogether.’

  ‘What if it’s a boy?’

  ‘I have no preference on a boy’s name.’

  ‘Grandad Doyle?’

  ‘The very man. It means I have no feelings on it one way or another.’

  When we got to the beach, we dragged the pushchair over the sand and settled ourselves on the flat rocks. I took the blanket out of the pram and spread it out on the sand. Kitty lifted Sean into her arms and laid him down on it. He smi
led up at us and kicked his little legs. If God was hell-bent on sending us a boy, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he was like Sean.

  It was a beautiful day and we sat in silence watching the little waves tumbling towards the shore and trickling over the wet sand.

  ‘Wouldn’t you love to go for a paddle, Nora?’ said Kitty.

  ‘I would, but we can’t leave Sean on his own. You go, and I’ll mind him.’

  ‘Thanks, Nora,’ said Kitty, tucking her dress into her knickers and running down the beach.

  There was a warm breeze coming in off the sea – it lifted the little bit of hair on Sean’s round head, making him giggle. ‘Aren’t you the nicest little baby in Ballybun?’ I said, smiling down at him.

  Sean grinned up at me. His cheeks were bright red, as if someone had spread rouge on them, and his chin was wet and shiny from the dribble running down it. ‘Ahh, you poor little thing,’ I said. ‘Are you plagued with the old teeth coming through? Never mind, you’ll soon be able to eat a good piece of meat once you have a fine set of gnashers.’

  I lifted him up into my arms. I loved the feel of his heavy little body on my lap. ‘Aren’t you a lovely old slob of a boy?’ I said, kissing his sweaty little head. ‘Aren’t you just a little dote?’ I rocked him gently until his eyes started to close.

  I watched Kitty paddling at the edge of the shore. She lifted the water up in her hands and it sprayed around her head, sparkling in the sunshine like a thousand stars.

  ‘Hello again,’ said a voice.

  I looked up to see the boy from the Hall grinning at me. ‘Hello,’ I said shyly.

  ‘Is he your brother?’

  I pointed towards the sea. ‘No, he belongs to Kitty, she’s paddling.’

  ‘He looks as if he’s out for the count,’ he said, smiling down at Sean.

  ‘Would you put the blanket in the pram please?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  I watched him shake the sand from the blanket and put it in the pushchair. I stood up and gently laid Sean down on it.

  ‘You haven’t been back,’ he said. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘Do you think we have nothing better to do than climb through broken fences?’ I snapped.

  His face went red and I felt sorry for being so rude. ‘I’m not supposed to go near Bretton Hall,’ I said, more gently.

  The boy sat down beside me on the rock. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue, but I think that perhaps my mammy had a falling-out with Mrs Hickey, may God rest her soul.’

  ‘I saw you and your friend at the funeral,’ he said.

  ‘And we saw you too, dressed to kill and walking behind the coffin like Little Lord Fauntleroy.’

  I knew I was being rude again and I didn’t know why. ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  ‘That’s okay,’ he said, grinning. ‘I felt a bit like him myself. That book is one of my favourites.’

  ‘Mine too,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘But The Secret Garden is my most favourite of all.’

  ‘You’ve read The Secret Garden?’ he said, looking surprised.

  I could feel myself getting cross again. ‘And what makes you think I haven’t read it? Do you think that it’s only folk who live in Bretton Hall that read books?’

  ‘Gosh, I didn’t mean that,’ said the boy. ‘I only meant that I love that book too. Please don’t think that of me.’

  I stood up and tucked the blanket around Sean.

  ‘I don’t think anything of you,’ I said, turning to face him. ‘Because I don’t know you, do I?’

  He came and stood beside me. ‘I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot,’ he said gently. ‘My name is Eddie. What’s your name?’

  ‘Nora Doyle, and that’s my friend Kitty Quinn,’ I said, pointing down the beach.

  ‘Do you live near here?’

  I nodded. ‘I live in Paradise Alley, with my mam and dad and little brother, Stevie.’

  ‘I wish I had a brother,’ he said.

  ‘He’s okay, but I’d rather have a sister. How come I’ve never seen you in the town?’ I said.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I help my father.’

  ‘But what about school?’

  ‘I have lessons at home.’

  ‘But don’t you get lonely sometimes?’

  ‘I get lonely all the time.’

  I thought that was sad. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to never go to school and never have any friends. I looked down the beach and watched Kitty standing in the water up to her knees. I couldn’t imagine not having Kitty.

  ‘How old are you, Nora?’

  ‘I’m thirteen.’

  ‘Oh, I’m twelve.’

  ‘You look older,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose it’s because I’m taller than most boys of my age. My father is tall.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  He didn’t answer my question, but said, ‘Will you come tomorrow? To the Hall?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But I have to go to Mass first.’

  ‘I’ll wait for you,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not saying I will – it all depends on Kitty. I’m not coming on my own.’

  ‘Then I hope that Kitty is agreeable,’ he said. ‘Goodbye, Nora Doyle.’

  ‘Goodbye, Eddie.’ I said, and I watched him walking away across the sand.

  Six

  ‘Are you sure you want to see him again?’ asked Kitty as we squeezed through the gap in the fence.

  ‘We don’t have to stay if we don’t want to,’ I said. ‘I’m just intrigued by him.’

  ‘Grandad Doyle?’

  I nodded. ‘It means, um…’ I didn’t know how to explain it.

  ‘What’s the point of knowing fancy words, Nora, if you don’t know what they mean?’

  I could feel my face getting red and I was glad we were in darkness. ‘I do know what it means, it’s just a bit difficult to explain.’

  ‘Well, try,’ snapped Kitty.

  ‘Well, it means that I have a hankering to know more about him.’

  ‘Well, next time, Nora Doyle, say you have a hankering, then we’ll all know what you’re on about.’

  Sometimes I thought that Kitty was jealous of my fancy words because she didn’t have a Grandad who was as clever as mine. But then I looked at my good friend Kitty in the darkness and I felt mean and unkind. It wasn’t her fault that her Grandad was a martyr to the bottle and wouldn’t know a book if he fell over one on his way home from the pub.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kitty,’ I whispered. ‘I fear I have committed the sin of pride. I am going to have to confess to Father Kelly next Saturday.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Nora. I have the head of a fishwife on me this morning. Breda took my good velvet ribbon and gave it to Sean, who dropped it in his porridge, and now it’s ruined. I ate the face off her and made her cry and now Mammy is cross with me. I think I have a bit of confessing to do meself.’

  ‘Well there you are then,’ I said. ‘We are both desperate sinners this day.’

  ‘Did he give you a time to meet?’ said Kitty.

  I shook my head. ‘No.’

  Kitty sighed. ‘So, he might not come at all? And we could be crouching here all afternoon?’

  ‘He might not,’ I said. But in my heart, I knew that he would.

  Just then we heard a rustling noise close by, and Eddie’s grinning face came poking through the bushes. ‘You came, then?’ he said.

  ‘We did.’

  The three of us stood awkwardly staring at each other.

  ‘This is my good friend Kitty,’ I said.

  Eddie shook Kitty’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you Kitty,’ he said smiling.

  I cleared my throat. ‘It’s a grand day, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is indeed,’ said Eddie.

  ‘For this time of year,’ added Kitty.

  Eddie looked down at his feet and kicked at the brambles, scuffing the toes of his boots.

  ‘Do you want to see some
thing?’ he said suddenly.

  ‘See what?’ asked Kitty.

  ‘If I tell you, it will spoil the surprise.’

  Kitty still looked doubtful. ‘How do we know you’re not going to trick us?’

  ‘Well,’ said Eddie, scratching behind his ear, ‘you don’t, you’re just going to have to trust me.’

  ‘The way Jesus trusted Judas?’ said Kitty.

  ‘I’m not about to get you crucified,’ he said.

  Kitty looked at me and I nodded.

  Eddie grinned. ‘Follow me then.’

  He lifted the branches of a tree back and we scrambled through the dense undergrowth. We followed behind him until the thick brambles gave way to a path, and we were able to stand. Eddie kept looking back at us and smiling. I felt a bubble of excitement in my belly and I had the feeling that a great adventure was about to happen. Eddie stopped in front of a high stone wall that was covered in ivy. He pushed the ivy away, revealing an old wooden door, then he bent down, lifted up a rock and retrieved a big rusty key.

  ‘Are you sure you should be doing that?’ said Kitty, looking around.

  Eddie grinned and turned the key in the lock. ‘You worry too much,’ he said.

  ‘How much I worry is no concern of yours,’ said Kitty, glaring at him.

  I couldn’t help thinking that it was Kitty’s idea to come here in the first place, and now she was awful snappy and a bit rude. Maybe she still had the fishwife’s head on her over the ruined ribbon. I reached out and held her hand and she smiled at me. Eddie pushed open the gate and we stepped inside. For a moment I just stood there, looking around me.

  I gazed in wonder at the pink and yellow roses that trailed over the old stone wall that surrounded the garden. Sunlight dappled through the branches of the tall trees and shadows threw patterns across the grass. The shadows and the sunlight danced together as the breeze moved the leaves. The dandelions nodded their heads. The bees moved amongst the gorgeous petals of the old roses. It felt as if the garden was alive. I looked up at the branches – a thousand different shades of green were in the leaves above my head, like a mosaic ceiling with light shining through the cracks. I turned around, staring up, and the branches swayed gently and the sunlight moved across my face. I saw a squirrel clinging to a tree, saw it dart along a branch, and as it ran the branch dipped. The squirrel leaped into a neighbouring tree and disappeared into the foliage, disturbing a leaf, which fell slowly through the light and shadow, spinning as it descended. I watched it fall into a little pond in the centre of the lawn. Its surface was covered in leaves that floated lazily about as if they were swimming in the sea. I’d forgotten about the other two as I walked over to the pond. I knelt down and dipped my finger into the cool water, causing ripples of sunlight to spread in circles across its surface.