by Sandy Taylor
‘Well?’ said Grandad Doyle, winking at me.
I inhaled the printed pages of the book and closed my eyes.
‘It smells of…’ I began, ‘it smells of…’ I looked across at Stevie, who was smiling at me. ‘It smells of hope,’ I said. And everyone clapped.
Grandad Collins left the room and came back, carrying a box. He walked across to Stevie. ‘For you,’ he said, placing the box on Stevie’s lap. Stevie lifted the lid and two little brown eyes peeped out.
Stevie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘For me?’ he said.
Grandad Collins nodded his head.
‘To keep?’
‘To keep,’ said Grandad.
Stevie lifted the little puppy onto his lap and buried his face in the soft brown fur. ‘I c-can’t,’ he stuttered, ‘I can’t...’
‘You can’t what, my love?’ said Mammy, kneeling down beside his chair.
‘I can’t speak,’ said Stevie, softly, wiping away the tears that were running down his cheeks.
‘Take a deep breath, Stevie,’ said Daddy.
Stevie took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Grandad, oh thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Grandad, who looked as if he was going to burst into tears himself.
Malachi had toddled across and started pulling at the puppy’s tail.
‘Gently,’ said Mammy.
‘Doggy?’ said Malachi.
‘Yes, doggy,’ said Mammy. ‘Stevie’s doggy.’
‘What are you going to call him, Stevie?’ I said.
Everyone was looking at him, he put his head on one side and smiled. ‘Can I call him Buddy-two?’
‘You can call him any old thing you like,’ said Mammy.
‘Hello, Buddy-two,’ said Stevie very solemnly. ‘You’re mine now and when I’m strong again, I’m going to take you for walks over the fields.’
None of us knew what to say, because none of us knew if Stevie would ever be strong again.
‘That’s my boy,’ said Daddy. ‘Let’s work on those legs of yours, shall we?’
Stevie looked around the room. He wasn’t smiling; he was looking very serious. ‘I will get strong,’ he said. ‘And I will take Buddy-two over the fields.’
And in that moment, I think we all believed him.
As evening fell, Father Kelly and some of our neighbours came to join us. Billy Hogan brought his squeezebox and Paddy Sullivan brought his bodhran. Mrs Tully sang ‘Down by the Salley Gardens’ and Mrs Toomey did some step dancing. Then Father Kelly put his pint of Guinness on the floor and started reciting ‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’, his favourite poem. His clear, rich voice filled the room and the sheer beauty of the poem filled our hearts.
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And I will live alone in the bee-loud glade.
* * *
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
* * *
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore.;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
There was silence in the room as he finished the poem, and then we all started clapping.
I’d let the words wash over me; they made me think of the garden and the peace that I had found there, and the boy that I had grown to care for. I looked around the room at my family and friends and felt blessed and I hoped that Eddie had felt as loved today as I had.
Grandad Doyle said that he believed that all great writers were also great readers, who had learned their craft from the best. Maybe I could write a poem – maybe I could write a poem about the secret garden.
* * *
The following Sunday was Kitty’s day off and so I called for her on my way to Mass. I knocked on the door and walked into the little room. I dipped my finger in the holy water. ‘God bless all here,’ I said.
‘Amen,’ said Mrs Quinn.
‘Amen,’ said Breda from under the table.
I’d worn my new red coat to show Kitty and I had on my hat and scarf that Granny Collins had made me.
‘Well, look at you, Nora Doyle,’ said Mrs Quinn, smiling. ‘Don’t you look the business in your lovely outfit?’
‘I got them for Christmas, Mrs Quinn,’ I said.
Kitty came running down the stairs. ‘Jesus, Kitty,’ she said, ‘you look like a film star. Doesn’t she, Mammy? Doesn’t she look like a film star?’
‘She does indeed,’ said her mammy.
‘Stevie says I look like Father Christmas.’
‘How is the poor boy?’ asked Mrs Quinn.
‘He’s about the same,’ I said. ‘Grandad Collins got him a puppy and he says he’s going to get strong, so that he can take him over the fields.’
‘I shall pray to Saint Jude to intercede on his behalf and grant Stevie a return to full health.’
‘I’d be grateful, Mrs Quinn,’ I said.
‘I wouldn’t bother with that feller,’ said Breda, poking her head out from under the table. ‘I was down on my knees for weeks asking for a little kitten but I didn’t bloody get one.’
‘He was probably busy,’ said Mrs Quinn.
‘Or he didn’t hear you,’ said Kitty. ‘On account of the fact that you were probably under the table when you asked him.’
‘What difference does that make?’ snapped Breda. ‘He has God’s ears, doesn’t he? You’re talking out the back of your fat head, Kitty Quinn.’
‘Will you take Breda to church with you, Kitty?’ said Mrs Quinn.
‘No, I won’t, Mammy, she has a mouth on her like a sewer.’
‘And you have a nose on you like Henry’s snout,’ said Breda, going back under the table.
‘Go fry yer head, Breda Quinn,’ said Kitty. ‘Let’s go, Nora, or we’ll be late for Mass and Father Kelly might read our names out from the pulpit.’
We hurried up the lane to the church, passing the time of day with our neighbours as we ran past. We took a seat by the side altar in front of the nativity scene and I lit a candle for Stevie.
‘Do you think he will get well again?’ whispered Kitty.
‘We live in hope, Kitty,’ I said.
After Mass we sat on the graveyard wall. ‘Do you think that Eddie had a good Christmas?’ I said.
‘I think he did, Nora, for he was given a grand horse and all the staff were allowed to stand on the steps and watch him riding round the drive.’
‘Oh, I’m glad,’ I said. ‘For I feared he might be lonely.’
‘I think he was happy, he looked happy. But then again, who wouldn’t be happy after being given a horse? Do you fancy a walk out the Strand?’
‘I’m sorry, Kitty, but I have a mind to go to the garden,’ I said.
‘Alright,’ said Kitty, sadly.
‘I’ll tell you what, I won’t stay long and I’ll call for you on the way back.’
‘That would be grand,’ she said, smiling.
We said goodbye and I headed for the garden. There was a cold wind blowing in off the sea and I was glad that I had on my new hat and scarf. I squeezed through the gap in the fence and hurried down the path. The gate was open and I walked into the garden, expecting to see Eddie, but it wasn’t Eddie that was standing there, it was a lady. The one I had seen at Mrs Hickey’s funeral a few years back and in the back of the posh car being driven by Pat Lamey. We stared at each other. I couldn’t move, my feet seemed frozen to the grass that I was standing on. I felt sick in my stomach. She was wearing a green woollen cloak that came down below her knees and a hood that hid most of he
r hair except for a few curls that framed her pale face; they were the colour of gold and they shone in the thin winter sun that filtered down through the tall trees. She was indeed beautiful, but the sneer on her lips as she glared at me made her ugly.
‘What is your business here?’ she snapped.
I tried to speak but my mouth was as dry as sawdust.
‘I asked you a question and I expect an answer.’
My heart was racing out of my chest and my legs were shaking so much that I feared I would fall to the ground. The lady’s mouth curled downwards, she looked at me as if I’d crawled out from under a stone. This woman hated me for some reason and I was scared. I stared at the little pond and the swing that Eddie had made for me and they no longer felt safe. Every bone in my body screamed at me to run.
‘Well?’ she demanded.
I swallowed. ‘I came to see Eddie,’ I stuttered.
She glared at me. ‘Eddie, is it? He’s Master Edward to you, missy.’
Something in the way she said it made me feel angry, and I stopped feeling scared. Eddie was my friend and it was Eddie who had invited me into the garden. I lifted my chin and straightened my back.
‘He’s Eddie to me,’ I said, glaring back at her.
We stood facing each other, neither of us speaking, and then she smiled, a cruel smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
‘You’re the Ryan girl, aren’t you?’
‘No, I’m not,’ I said.
‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘I’m not lying.’
For a moment she looked confused and then she laughed, a mean horrible laugh that echoed round the garden. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Your mother married the milkman, didn’t she?’
‘What’s it to you if she did?’ I shouted.
‘You’d be surprised,’ she said, taking a step towards me.
I stepped back; I didn’t want to breathe the same air that she was breathing. There was something repulsive about her. Her sickly perfume invaded the little garden, overpowering the sweet smell of the earth and poisoning its innocence. It filled my nostrils and clung to my new red coat.
She took a step closer, her eyes narrowing and her lips seeming to disappear into her mouth.
‘Now listen to me, girl, and listen well,’ she snarled. ‘You will leave this place and you will never return. You will neither see, nor speak, to my nephew again. Do we understand each other? You will never see Edward again. Now go, or I will have you up in front of the judge for trespass.’
I turned from her and ran. I didn’t know where to go, I didn’t know what to do. I longed for comfort, but I didn’t know where to find it. I ran blindly through the town and up to the graveyard; I had to tell someone. I knelt down in front of my namesake’s grave and cried as if my heart was breaking in two. I would never see the garden again; I would never see it change as the seasons changed. I wouldn’t be there when the daffodils and crocuses and tulips that we’d tenderly planted together burst from the soil. I would never see Eddie again.
‘Oh, Nora,’ I cried, ‘you must have seen what happened. Tell me what to do, for I am lost. Send me a sign so that I can go on, for I need comfort at this time.’
But as my words drifted out into the silence of this cold grey place, I knew that no sign would come, I knew there were no miracles here.
I looked across the field at the rows and rows of wooden crosses that tumbled down the hill to the workhouse and thought this to be the saddest place in the world. I ran my finger over the lettering scratched into the little wooden cross. Nora Foley. The young girl that I had been named for. Mammy’s little friend, who had been taken up to Heaven when she was still but a child.
I shivered as an icy wind blew through the trees and across the field but I didn’t move, for I had nowhere to go that would bring me any comfort. Maybe I even welcomed being in this loneliest of places, maybe love and laughter had no place in my heart this day. I lay my head on Nora’s grave and sobbed. I don’t know how long I remained there but the sky had grown dark and suddenly the place scared me.
I could hear footsteps behind me on the frozen ground but I didn’t turn around and then I felt a familiar comforting arm around my shoulder. I leaned into Mammy and cried.
She didn’t ask me what was wrong, she just held me against her as we sat there on the cold ground and as the light faded from the sky, I told my story.
Twenty-Three
I waved to Daddy until he was out of sight. Mammy had gone into the warmth of the bar but I’d stayed at the railings, watching the last of the green hills of Ireland disappearing into the mist.
Me and Mammy were going to England and I didn’t know why; I didn’t want to leave home but Mammy said she wanted to visit some old friends and she thought the change would do me good. I stared at the grey choppy waters that were taking me further and further away from Paradise Alley. Maybe Mammy was right, maybe it would do me good to get away from the garden and the memory of Caroline Bretton’s ugly face, for now I knew who she was.
It had been four weeks ago that Father Kelly had spotted me lying beside Nora’s grave and it was him that had run to fetch my mammy. It had felt good to tell her about the garden and about my friend Eddie. The more I talked, the calmer I felt and the burden I had been carrying round for so long seemed to fall from my shoulders. Mammy had listened to my story. She hadn’t scolded me, she had just held me in her arms and it was shortly after that she had talked about going to England.
As the boat sailed into the harbour, we joined a queue of people waiting for it to dock.
‘Is this London, Mammy?’ I said as we hauled our cases down the gangplank.
‘No, this is Wales. We have to get on a train now, it will be late when we get to London.’
‘Are we being met?’
‘We are, some friends of mine will come to fetch us.’
‘Why have you never mentioned your English friends before?’
‘Oh, it was a long time ago, Nora, and I was too busy with you and Stevie and Malachi to be reminiscing about all that.’
‘I suppose you were,’ I said.
The train journey seemed endless, but it was exciting too. I had never left Ireland and it began to feel like an adventure. It was dark outside so I couldn’t see much of this new country that I had found myself in, just my own ghostly reflection staring back at me through the window.
Mammy was asleep as we pulled into Paddington Station. She looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to wake her, but people were pulling cases down from the racks above our heads and putting on their coats. I knew that we had arrived in London. I shook her gently and she stirred.
‘How long have I been sleeping?’ she said, rubbing her eyes.
‘Most of the journey,’ I said, grinning.
‘You should have woken me up.’
‘I hope your friend has a comfy bed, Mammy,’ I said, yawning. ‘For that’s all I’m good for.’
We stepped down from the train, lugging the cases behind us. The sharp smell of burning coal and the white smoke billowing in front of us reminded me of The Railway Children – the bit where Bobbie’s daddy emerges from the mist and she runs into his arms. I missed my own daddy already and I hoped our stay in England wouldn’t be too long. I looked up at the glass ceiling above my head and it felt like I had stepped into another world; everyone seemed to be in such a hurry. No one hurried in Ballybun unless they were late for Sunday Mass. Porters were rushing along, pushing trollies loaded with cases, and overtired children were screaming. The excitement I had been feeling as we’d crossed the sea was rapidly disappearing. It was all so different to the life I knew in Ireland. I had a fierce desire to be tucked up in my own little bed in Paradise Alley and not here amongst all these strangers and all this noise.
Someone was shouting Mammy’s name and then I saw a nun hurrying across the platform. She was laughing and crying as she held her arms out towards Mammy.
‘Sister Luke,’ Mammy said, hugging her.
>
‘And don’t tell me that this beautiful young girl is Nora?’ said the nun, smiling at me.
‘It is, Sister,’ said Mammy.
The last person I was expecting to see in this heathen country was a nun, but she looked kind and I allowed myself to be enveloped in her ample bosom.
‘Come on, then,’ said Sister Luke. ‘I have a taxi cab waiting outside.’
Mammy put her head on one side and smiled. Sister Luke laughed.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Cissy Ryan, but I can assure you it is completely above board this time. I haven’t deprived the poor of it. The Bishop in his wisdom has allocated us an emergency fund to use as we see fit, and I think it is perfectly fitting that we should ride home in a cab.’
‘I thought that perhaps Sister Mary would be here too,’ said Mammy.
‘We lost her, Cissy, about a year ago; it took a lot of prayers and a lot of tears to get over that one.’
Mammy looked sad. ‘She was lovely,’ she said.
‘She was a harridan most of the time but I loved her, Cissy. It’s been very hard. Remember her in your prayers.’
‘I will, Sister, oh, I will.’
I hadn’t wanted to come on this journey, I hadn’t wanted to do anything but stay in my room. But I’d hardly eaten a thing since my confrontation with Caroline Bretton and I knew that everyone was worried sick about me; maybe that’s why Mammy decided to take me here for a bit of a holiday. I leaned forward in my seat and looked at the lights of London, reflected in the inky black river, as we drove over a bridge.
‘This is Vauxhall Bridge, Nora,’ said Mammy. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’
It was grand alright, but not as lovely as our own bridge over the Blackwater.
