Mary Kate

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘What do you expect me to do, Rosie? She has left me a note telling me she is running away to Bee and then Bee turns up here, having seen neither hide nor hair of her. Her mother will be weeping in her grave, and if you really thought of her as your daughter, you would be weeping too, not trying to stop me.’

  Rosie pursed her lips to stop the words from escaping. God forgive him, was the only thought that passed through her mind. She took a breath, looked towards Finnbar, whom she had tried to remove once already, and decided to try again. ‘Finn, would you please go across the road to Aunty Keeva’s and play with the boys. It will be light for hours yet. Go on, I’ll let you go to bed late tonight.’

  To Rosie’s surprise, he didn’t need to be asked twice. Finn slipped off the chair and ran out of the room, straight past her and Michael. As his departing steps faded, Rosie sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Michael, what will you do if she says no, she won’t come back? Are you going to drag her home?’

  ‘If I have to, I will.’ Michael was now at the press, yanking open drawers and removing clean shirts. He stormed into Mary Kate’s bedroom once again, and Rosie heard drawers banging in there. He came back into the room, carrying the box containing the emerald heart given to Sarah by Daedio. ‘She didn’t even take this – that’s how little her mother means to her,’ he said, opening the drawer of the pine table in their room and throwing it inside. ‘I’m her father, for God’s sake – she will do as I say. I am going. The girl has lost her senses.’ He picked up the shirts and threw them into the open case on the bed.

  ‘But, Michael, she’s a strong-willed young woman with a good education – she won’t just do as she is told.’

  Michael shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and went over to the window that looked out across the road to the Devlins’ butcher’s shop and bar. Not for the first time, he wondered why, when he and Sarah had built the cottage, they hadn’t put the main bedroom to the back and looked out at the view of the river and mountains. They’d been in such a hurry to build, to start their life, and he’d thought he’d made such a good job, but it was a big error, depriving him and Sarah of the most special view in the world, especially given the hours they used to spend in bed, talking, talking, talking and making love.

  He was standing in the room where his Sarah had died in childbirth: he had failed her then and he was failing her now. The children bound them forever, but now he had lost their daughter and she was possibly in danger. He felt the same anguish he imagined Sarah would feel if she were still alive and he wanted to bend double with the pain of having let her down. How could he explain to Rosie that it was as if Sarah were packing the case for him, there, in the room where she’d died; he could feel her, and as he turned, he would not have registered a flicker of surprise to find her standing right next to him, folding his shirts. She would be with him, supporting him; she was Mary Kate’s mother. Rosie was trying to prevent him from going, but Sarah would have been pushing him out the door.

  He took a deep breath and turned, calmer. How could he say the words, ‘You are not a mother yourself, Rosie, you just don’t understand.’ His temper was almost spent, but not quite.

  ‘Mary Kate can talk the back legs off Jacko and that’s a fact. She can persuade anyone to do anything and that is just what she’ll do in Liverpool. She’s an innocent, Rosie, from this village, and she’s spent her whole life wrapping me around her little finger. But by God, not this time. Now she will do as I say and come back home. She didn’t leave here alone, Rosie, someone helped her, and when I find out who it was, I’ll be kicking him down the road, all the way to Ballina.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. No one helped her. She’s strong-willed enough to do it herself. She probably booked a cab from Galway with the money Daedio gave her.’

  Rosie had no idea why she was protecting Declan. She had seen the way he looked at Mary Kate since she’d grown from a girl into a beautiful woman. It had happened over the course of the last year and what a transformation it had been. One that had stabbed at Rosie’s heart. Mary Kate had shed her gangly limbs and too-thin face and evolved into the likeness of her mother. Sarah’s face and eyes stared back at her every day Mary Kate was in the house.

  Michael returned to the bed and slammed the case shut. ‘If Bee is here, Mary Kate is alone in Liverpool. I have a father’s responsibility to go and fetch her and I have Father Jerry’s blessing. It defeats me why I don’t have yours.’

  ‘Oh, you do have mine, Michael. It’s Mary Kate you have to convince, not me—’

  ‘Hello!’

  They both heard Bee’s voice shouting up the stairs from the kitchen. Rosie jumped up from the side of the bed.

  ‘It’s Bee, she could have news,’ said Michael, racing down the stairs to find out.

  Rosie was hot on his heels.

  ‘Bee, do you have news?’ Michael was short of a greeting, Mary Kate being the only thing on his mind.

  ‘Lovely to see you, would you like some tea?’ asked Rosie as she lifted the kettle and carried it to the tap.

  Bee half nodded to Rosie and looked straight to Michael. ‘I do. I have a telegram from my next-door neighbour, Cat. I’ve just collected it from Mrs Doyle’s. God in heaven, Michael, she was attacked in Liverpool, and, thank God, Cat took her in.’

  Bee held out the telegram for Michael, who sank onto the settle to read it. A heart-rending noise had come from somewhere deep within him at the word ‘attacked’; it tore at Rosie and she moved to the settle to sit next to him, placing her arm around his shoulders and at the same time shaking her head and thinking, Mary Kate, what have you done?

  The decision was made. The news Bee had brought changed everything. Rosie sighed. She now had to play her part and help her husband, not fight him. She’d been wrong and he was right: travelling to Liverpool and bringing her back was the right thing to do. Her place as his wife was to pull with him, to make it easier for him, not place obstacles in his way.

  ‘I’ll make you some tea and cut up some bread and cheese and then you head off in the car. You can make the early morning crossing and be in Liverpool for the afternoon. Does Captain Bob know the sailing times, Bee? Here, sit down.’ Rosie sprang to her feet and pulled out a chair for Bee, who sank down with a weary sigh.

  Rosie did a double-take and glanced back at Bee as she removed the bread crock and cheese from the press. Bee looked pale, troubled. They were all worried about Mary Kate, but she thought there must be something else. Vibrant, happy, strong Bee seemed dark about the eyes.

  ‘Well, he would know them, that’s for sure, but as I haven’t heard from him let alone seen him, I can’t ask him.’

  Rosie saw the tears in Bee’s eyes and her heart contracted in a spontaneous burst of sympathy. If anyone knew the pain of love, it was Rosie, who met it and felt it every day. Turning to her husband, she said, ‘Right, Michael, go upstairs and finish packing. Bee, stay here with me tonight. Let us open a bottle of Michael’s best porter whilst he’s gone and you can tell me all that’s going on because I think there’s lots to tell.’

  She was swamped with guilt. They’d been so preoccupied with Mary Kate’s disappearance, driving over to Galway to see Roshine and her parents, a task that had taken a whole day and night, they’d forgotten to speak to Bee in any depth. Mary Kate had left Tarabeg and had been attacked in Liverpool. Rosie blessed herself and slipped the rosaries though her fingers; she was now determined to put things right.

  As Michael rose to collect his case from the bedroom, he caught Rosie’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, squeezing her fingers and laying the softest and longest kiss on her cheek.

  It was a gesture full of a tenderness the like of which she hadn’t known since the day they were married. She had long felt that every kiss, every touch, was something he had done and known before and was repeating for the memory of someone else. For Sarah. Every time they made love, it was as if he was going through the motions with his body while at the same time, behind his
always closed eyes, he was making love to Sarah. Rosie knew it and hoped that every time was the last time and that one day he would make love to her.

  She blinked back an unexpected tear and, filled with gratitude and love, placed a hand on the side of his cheek. ‘Go. Go and bring your daughter home.’

  ‘Our daughter,’ he whispered.

  Her heart lifted and her spirit soared. That one kiss, that one gesture, those few words had restored her happiness, her reason to be a part of the Malones.

  15

  Michael parked his car in the Dublin port car park and removed his bag from the back. The weather had broken without warning and the wind had turned wild. The hinges on his car door creaked in protest as he opened it. ‘Jesus, feck,’ he hissed as he tried to grab the handle and stop the door from being ripped off. The wind fought him and almost won as it whipped across the empty car park, pulling leaves and branches from the trees, tipping over old wooden Guinness barrels planted with purple fuchsias and scattering the flowers and soil like open graves. Holding onto his cap, he raced across to the ticket office. A wooden board that shouted ‘Ice Cream and Cigarettes Sold Here’ swung precariously as he ducked past, and he turned, alarmed, as he heard it crash onto the pavement.

  It had been raining for the past hour of his journey, slowing him down and making it difficult for him to see as his windscreen wipers did battle with the torrential downpour. The roads had become treacherous in the first rain following the prolonged spell of hot weather. It didn’t help that it was still dark, the dawn slow to break on account of the storm, and he was tired from having driven all through the night.

  He tried to light a cigarette, but the match would not catch and the tissue-thin paper became soaked. He threw the wet tobacco to the ground and shoved the packet back into his pocket. His frustration at the slowness of the journey had made him bad-tempered enough; this was now exacerbated by the sign that greeted him as he reached the ticket office: ‘All Sailings Cancelled Until Further Notice Due to Bad Weather.’

  *

  ‘Nicholas, what time is it?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘Nicholas?’ She tried again.

  Lavinia Marcus woke to the sound of her husband brushing his teeth in the bathroom. Joan was shouting at David downstairs. Footsteps that could only belong to nimble little Jack pattered past her bedroom door. They stopped suddenly as a tiny voice whispered, ‘Mummy, are you awake?’

  She almost answered, but then, thinking better of it, remained silent. The boys were not allowed into her room without checking first. She heard his faint little sigh of disappointment, then the bare footed patter continued down the stairs and he called through to the back kitchen, ‘Joan, has Daddy gone to work yet?’

  There was no response other than a grumble from Joan and the growl of a fractious David.

  Lavinia sighed, mildly irritated. Her oyster silk nightdress had become twisted around her waist during the night and, wriggling, she pulled it down tight over her thighs as she shrugged the thin straps up onto her shoulders and rolled onto her back. The memory of attempting to entice Nicholas into making love to her the previous evening returned as she stared at his naked back, half bent over the sink while he rinsed his mouth.

  ‘I’m off to lunch today with the Doctors’ Wives Benevolence Group, so I won’t be around if you call,’ she shouted from the bed.

  Nicholas appeared at the door, wiping his face clean with a towel. ‘I doubt I will have time to call,’ he said. ‘Robin has something to do in town today and has asked me to cover from twelve until two thirty, alone. I’ll be flat out. No lunch for me, I’m afraid.’ He threw the towel into the laundry basket and walked to the wardrobe as she turned her face to the wall.

  Two and a half hours, she thought to herself. Does Robin think that’s all I’m worth – two and a half hours?

  ‘Maybe you and I should go out tomorrow, now that you have extra help, with Mary Kate. What do you think?’ he said.

  ‘We are going out,’ said Lavinia as she slithered out of bed. ‘We’re going to a party, Joan is babysitting. Can’t you remember anything, Nicholas?’

  She slammed the bathroom door behind her and Nicholas stood and stared for a long moment, his brow furrowed, before he slipped the shirt he was holding over his arms.

  *

  Mary Kate came downstairs early, but Eileen O’Keefe was already in the sitting room, in her dressing gown; she appeared to be waiting for Mary Kate. ‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘You did a great thing, making her pay you more money, but now you’re going to get there early and work for free.’

  Mary Kate smiled. ‘I feel sorry for the girl, Joan. I think she’s from Mayo, and, Holy Mother, she has her hands full with that David.’

  ‘I think I’ve seen her, walking past with the pair of them,’ said Eileen. ‘Does she have darkish red hair she wears swept up on top?’

  Mary Kate nodded. ‘She does, and lovely big dark eyes. She has the features of a family from the coast. Looking at her made me feel homesick – it was like meeting one of my own tribe.’

  ‘One of those boys does appear to be a handful,’ said Eileen. ‘Now, come on, Deidra is getting breakfast ready for all of us down in the kitchen. She usually brings it up to me in the dining room, but do you know, last night I asked myself, why? It’s warmer in the kitchen anyway.’

  Eileen failed to mention that she knew she would have to find a way to keep a balance in the house. She had seen Deidra in a new light and she didn’t want her to leave them; she wanted a happy house, and for the first time in a long while, she thought she might have one again. ‘We will keep your supper here for you tonight for when you get home, so don’t worry if they don’t feed you. You won’t starve. I think we’ll be having a nice bit of ham on the bone, and salad with some Jersey Royals, I heard they landed in Liverpool yesterday.’

  They were on their way down the stairs and had almost reached the kitchen.

  ‘Jersey Royals, what are they?’ asked Mary Kate.

  ‘Call yourself Irish and you don’t know what a potato is?’ said Eileen as she opened the kitchen door.

  Deidra was filling the teapot as they both walked in and she looked up and smiled. Happy that, for the first time since she’d arrived in England, she would not be eating breakfast alone.

  The sun was bright and the day was already very warm as Mary Kate made her way down the avenue.

  ‘Oh Jesus and Mary, ’twill be a hot one today,’ Deidra had said before she left and it looked like she was right. Mary Kate hummed a song from home as she walked. Her heart felt light and her head clear. Things were far from perfect – she had lost her money and didn’t have a penny to her name – but now, thanks to the kindness of Mrs O’Keefe, she would soon be able to save. She was on a path to putting things right and it felt good.

  As she approached the front steps to the house, she saw Nicholas Marcus heading to his car, which was parked in the driveway at the side. His jacket was slung over one arm, he was carrying his Gladstone bag, and in his free hand he held a half-bitten slice of buttered toast.

  ‘Morning,’ he shouted, lifting his hat with the toast hand and placing his bag in the back of the car. He walked towards her. ‘Mary Kate, I just want to tell you that my wife doesn’t know that I gave you a lift to your aunt’s, or even that I’ve met you before. Would you mind keeping that between us?’

  Mary Kate was immediately apologetic. ‘N… no, of course not. I wasn’t going to mention it at all.’

  His sigh was heavy with relief. He knew Lavinia would be furious with him if she found out. She was prone to bouts of jealousy and as Mary Kate was such an attractive young woman, she would accuse him of having an ulterior motive, of that he was sure. At the very least, she would berate him for having spent time attending to someone who wasn’t officially his responsibility. She spent a lot of time doing that.

  Mary Kate blushed, embarrassed at the possibility that his kindness to her had caused him problems, and made
to walk past him and up the steps to the front door.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘David is being David this morning, and Jack, well, he’s just being the sensitive soul he always is. If you have a bit of attention or affection to spare, he could do with some. Everyone spends so much time keeping David happy.’

  ‘Of course I will.’ She smiled, and for some reason her heart was beating madly.

  ‘Thank you. I really appreciate it. I don’t know how this happened or how you got here, Mary Kate, but you couldn’t be more welcome.’

  There was something in his tone that alerted her, made her look back. He was sliding into his seat and starting his car. She knew what he’d said, but that was not what he’d meant – there was something deeper behind his words. As he reached the gateposts, he put his arm out of the window and raised his hand in farewell. She stood and watched, replaying yet again the expression she’d seen in his eyes that first evening she’d gone to the house, the way he had looked at her, the smile that lifted the corner of his mouth when he’d spoken to her. This morning, the fresh encounter and that memory made her feel weak at the knees.

  She was about to raise her own hand and return his farewell wave when the door flew open to reveal Lavinia Marcus, standing there in a long oyster silk dressing gown, her face free of make-up, her blonde curls in disarray, and a cigarette in her hand.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. Thank goodness. Joan has just about lost control in the kitchen again. Go on down, would you. Oh and, Mary Kate, in future, go round to the tradesmen’s entrance, not the front door.’ Without another word, she picked up the tea tray she’d laid on the hall table before opening the door and marched up the stairs, leaving it to Mary Kate to lean forward and, grabbing hold of the central brass knob, close the door.