‘Oh, do you mean St Anne’s?’
Aileen shook her head. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t know what it was called.’
The woman sighed and sat down on the seat at the back of the shop.
‘I believe I was born there, and I’d love to speak to someone who worked there around that time.’
‘Ah, sure that was closed down years ago. The place has been done up and is now a home for the elderly.’ The woman linked her fingers and twirled her thumbs. ‘It’s not far if you want to see it. Just carry on through the village, you can’t miss it.’
‘Thanks.’ Aileen nodded. ‘So you didn’t work there then?’
‘God, no! I’d hate to work with nuns.’ She stood up and stretched her back. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’
‘I was hoping to get a look at the baby records.’
‘Can’t help yea there, love. One of them nursing sisters, retired now, lives around the corner from the home, at number twenty-nine. But if you take my advice you’ll stay well clear. From what I’ve heard, she’s a bit of a recluse.’ She chuckled, and Aileen held the door as they both left.
Aileen followed the directions the woman gave her. Soon she was glancing up at the red-brick building in the quiet residential area, and it felt strange to think that her ma may have given birth to her here. She pulled the collar of her coat closer and walked to the end of the street then turned the corner. Some of the houses once owned by the well-off had been turned into student accommodation.
Number twenty-nine had St. Mary’s inscribed on a gold plate attached to the black railing. This had to be where the nuns resided when the baby home was in use. Straightening her shoulders, Aileen pushed open the squeaky gate, closed it behind her, and then walked up the gravelled path and rang the bell. She heard it peal through the house. The door was opened promptly by a young girl, who appeared to be in a hurry.
‘Oh, can I help you?’
‘I’d like to speak to a nun who resides here.’
The girl sighed. ‘Everyone has left for work now.’ She frowned. ‘But there is an older woman staying here; not sure if she’s a nun, though. Lives on the second floor, first door on your right.’ She shrugged. ‘She’s not very sociable, but if you want to go up.’ She rushed past Aileen, leaving the door ajar.
Feeling a little nervous, Aileen went inside and upstairs. She knocked once and got no reply. There was no sound, and she wondered if the nun was asleep. To satisfy her curiosity, she rapped the door for the second time. Then she heard someone pulling back the bolt, and flinched when the door flew open.
A woman in her sixties stood glaring at her. She didn’t look anything like a nun, dressed in a thick navy skirt and a cable knit jumper, her thinning hair scraped severely back from her face.
‘Well, what do you want?’
Aileen, who still feared the nuns, began to stutter. ‘I’m, I’m… sorry to disturb you…’
‘Pray, why do it then?’
‘I’m desperate for information.’ She swallowed nervously. ‘I believe you used to work at the home for the elderly when it was a baby clinic.’
‘How dare you come here, a complete stranger, and ask me impertinent questions!’
Aileen shifted uneasily. ‘I’m sorry. I never meant to sound disrespectful. It’s just that I was born there, and…’
The woman’s face clouded, then she opened the door wider. ‘And what, pray, can I do about that?’
Aileen offered a tight smile. ‘Nothing, I guess, but if I could just talk to you. I promise not to keep you long.’
‘You’re not from the newspapers, are you?’
‘No, I’m not. My name is Aileen Maguire.’
‘Oh, you’d better come in. I can’t stand here all day.’ She walked back into the room and Aileen followed. ‘You can leave the door open. Now, what is it you want from me?’
‘My mother gave birth to me at St Anne’s in 1948.’ She fidgeted with her hands. ‘She also had another child; a son.’ She saw the nun’s face darken, and Aileen frowned. ‘I don’t know when or where he was born. But if, on the off-chance, it was at the same home, I might be able to trace him through the records.’
The woman turned and walked a few paces, then raised her eyes. Aileen followed her gaze from the high ceiling and the white, plastic lampshade, to the holy picture of Christ hanging on the wall, a crown of thorns piercing his head, blood dripping down his forehead. A black crucifix hung above the blackened hearth. Aileen was unnerved by the image in the picture, and in the silence that followed, a clock ticked.
The question had obviously sparked some kind of reaction in the woman. The room was cold and sparsely furnished. In spite of there being chairs, Aileen hadn’t been invited to sit. A yellow, wicker sewing basket was open on the table, alongside a garment that looked like a skirt with a measuring tape on top. She wondered why the nun lived frugally even in retirement.
‘I’m sorry, Sister. Can you tell me anything about the time you worked at the home? My mother’s name was Jessie Maguire.’ Aileen held her breath, fearing she had asked another impertinent question.
The woman turned abruptly, her face expressionless. ‘You expect me to remember your mother?’
‘No. Of course not. It was eighteen years ago. But I would appreciate anything you can tell me. Do you know where I can look at the records?’
‘Why you would want to look at records is most unusual.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t have access to records of any births that took place at that home. Besides, you don’t know exactly when this boy was born.’
Aileen shook her head. The woman made a clicking sound with her tongue. ‘Why come to me? The most natural thing would be to go straight to the registry office where records are kept.’
‘Oh, I will, Sister. I wanted to see where I was born first.’
‘I’m not a nun anymore. I would have thought that was obvious. My name is Miss Finch.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘How did you know where to find me?’
Aileen bit her lip. This woman was hiding something, but Aileen had no idea what. ‘Well?’ She glared at Aileen.
‘I, er, I made enquiries. Sure, I’ll leave you in peace.’
‘Yes, and please don’t bother me again.’ Aileen edged towards the door, desperate to get outside again. No sooner had she stepped onto the landing than the door closed quickly behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aileen avoided her aunt as much as possible; in spite of the clutter, she was pleased to have a room upstairs. It gave her time to organise the rest of her stay in Dublin undisturbed. The boxes were still unopened, and she guessed her da had been busy helping her aunt in the shop. Whatever was in them didn’t concern her now. There was no way she could take anything back to England.
She hoped the registry office would be able to help her trace her brother. But, apart from her mother’s name, what did she have to go on? Fearful of upsetting her da, she stopped probing him for more information, but the alternative was to return to England having discovered nothing at all about her brother. Rome wasn't built in a day, she told herself as she climbed over boxes into bed. She woke a couple of times during the night feeling claustrophobic.
The following morning, she left before her da and Lizzy put in an appearance. The weather continued to be cold, and she pulled the hood of her jacket over her head, tied it underneath her chin, and dug her hands into the pockets. The first phone box she came across, she rang Dermot.
‘Aileen, I’m pleased you rang. How’s it going?’
‘Okay.’ She apologised to him for her aunt’s behaviour when he’d dropped her off, and asked if he could meet her after work.
‘Sure. Just say where.’
She told him her plans, and they arranged to meet outside Trinity College. Then she caught the bus to Westmorland Street, where she couldn’t resist the alluring whiffs of Bewleys coffee. Soon her cold hands were wrapped around a mug of hot frothy coffee. It was hard to beat it for taste, and the smell alone
could revive the poorest of appetites. Feeling warmer, she made her way via Pearce Street through to Lombard Street. She was handed a ticket and a form and sat down to wait her turn. Other than her mother’s full name and their address in Dorset Street, there wasn’t much else she could add.
‘Do you have a rough idea when this baby boy was born?’ the clerk asked.
‘No. I know the information is vague, but could you check and see if he was born at St Anne’s private nursing home in Rathgar.’
‘What dates are we looking at?’
‘Could you look at three years either side of my own date of birth, 1948.’
‘If you want me to do a search, it’ll cost you three shillings, and you’ll have to call back tomorrow.’
‘Umm!’ She hadn’t expected to pay that much.
He sighed. ‘Do you want me to go ahead? There’s no guarantee I’ll come up with anything significant.’
She had to go through with it now, even if it came to nothing. She nodded, handed over the money and received a receipt, and went away hopeful.
She had plenty of time to spare before meeting Dermot, so she took the opportunity to visit her Aunt Bead. It started to rain, and she pulled a rain bonnet from her bag and queued for the bus to Finglas. She was looking forward to seeing her aunt.
Bead, as usual, was delighted to see her, and sat for an hour listening to Aileen talking about her life in Birmingham, about Mary and Bella; she left out the bit about Roy Pickering. Her aunt was pleased to hear that things were working out for her.
‘Of course, there have been a few changes here, too. Well, sure, your da appears better these days. More like himself.’
Aileen nodded. ‘He was happy when ma was alive.’
‘Yes, I know he was, love.’ Bead lifted the empty cups and placed them in the sink. ‘I bumped into him at the bank in O’Connell Street about a week ago.’ She sat back down. ‘We didn’t talk long. He did say he’d moved to a sweet shop on Camden Street. I asked him if he’d heard from you. He nodded and, as he turned to leave, I asked him to stay in touch.’
‘I’ve noticed his good mood, too, Aunt Bead, but he has no idea how devious Lizzy can be.’ Aileen sighed. ‘If only she wasn’t living there, too.’
‘I guess he’s lonely, Aileen. Still, I’m surprised, so soon after Jessie.’ She shrugged. ‘Paddy went across to see them in Dorset Street a few weeks ago, and neither of them mentioned anything about marriage. He was under the impression, from what Lizzy said, that she was determined to get a ring on her finger.’
‘I don’t like it, Aunt Bead. I know she’s not my ma’s real sister, but it isn’t right.’
Bead shook her head. ‘Well, if I know your aunt, she’ll want to stop tongues wagging by whatever means.’
‘I hate leaving him again. What if it all goes wrong?’
Bead put her arm around Aileen. ‘Your da will be grand. You should think about yourself and what you want. We’ll let you know if anything major happens.’
‘Yes, I know you will.' Aileen placed her elbows on the table. ‘Why is he still reluctant to talk about my brother?’
‘Maybe he doesn’t know anything, love.’
‘I've been to Rathgar, Aunt Bead.’ And she told her aunt about the strange conversation she’d had with the woman who called herself Miss Finch and denied being a nun.
‘Do you think she knows anything?’
Aileen shrugged. ‘It’s difficult to say, but she acted a bit shifty when I mentioned Ma’s name and my brother. She told me to try the registry office. I’m going back tomorrow to see if they’ve managed to unearth anything.’
‘I wish you luck with that, love. Sure, we don’t know when the lad was born.’
‘I won’t give up looking for him, Aunt Bead.’
‘Of course, you must keep trying.’
Aileen glanced at her watch; the time had flown. ‘Aunt Bead, I’ll have to dash. I’m meeting Dermot.’ She pulled on her coat. ‘Thanks for the tea and chat. It was good to see you. Tell Uncle Paddy I’ll come and see him before I leave.’
Bead walked her to the door and wrapped her in a hug. It was still raining, and she insisted on Aileen borrowing her brolly.
‘I’ll pop it back next time I call,’ Aileen said and hurried towards the bus stop.
She sat on the bus looking at the rain dripping down the window and thought about her mother. Oh, Ma! Why couldn’t you have written a bit more on that note?
* * *
When Aileen arrived, Dermot was casually leaning against the railings surrounding Trinity College, one foot crossed over the other, his coat collar turned up, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. He was soaked through, and people hurried past him out of the rain.
She hurried towards him, feeling guilty to have kept him waiting on such a miserable day. ‘I’m sorry, Dermot. Have you been waiting long?’ She placed the umbrella over his head and they huddled together.
‘No. Not at all.’ He smiled. ‘It wasn’t raining when I left the house, and then came down in buckets as I walked across O’Connell Bridge. Let’s go somewhere out of the wet.’
‘So, what did you find out?’ he asked as soon as they were seated in a small cafe off Grafton Street and had ordered a pot of tea and scones.
‘Nothing, as it turned out, but I met a very strange nun yesterday.’
‘Oh.’ Dermot cut into the fresh scone and plastered it with strawberry jam. And as they enjoyed their tea, she filled him in on her search for her brother. She rubbed her eyes with her fingertips.
‘You’re tired. Didn’t you sleep well?’
‘Not really. I kept waking up. I have a room upstairs, but there’s stuff everywhere. They haven’t had time to unpack yet. And the way Lizzy feels about me, I can’t wait to get back to Birmingham.’
‘What’s she been saying now?’
Aileen shifted her chair closer to the table and sighed. ‘Oh, you know. She can’t wait for me to leave. She said as much to my face.’
‘I’m sorry, Aileen. This might sound awful, but that woman has no soul.’ He shook his head and leaned his elbow on the table. ‘She’s chasing you away again.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I take it you’re going back then?’
‘Yes. And time is flying past.’
‘Well, I’m taking you out somewhere nice tomorrow night. Is that okay?’
‘Just what I need, thanks, Dermot.’
‘But you will come home for Christmas?’
‘Christmas!’
‘Well, it’ll soon be upon us.’ He chuckled. ‘Dad’s put in his order for geese and fowl.’
It couldn’t have been further from her mind. ‘I don’t know, Dermot.’
He lowered his head and then drained his cup. Aileen licked the jam from the corner of her mouth. ‘I’m not sure I can afford to come over again so soon.’
He moved closer and reached for her hand. ‘I was thinking of coming over to you. When I mentioned it to Mam, she squashed the idea because she wants me at home when Liam comes back.’
‘Liam! Is that your brother?’ Frowning, she sat upright. ‘Back, back from where? You never said where he’d moved to.’
‘Well,’ he said with a grin, ‘you never asked. And besides, I wasn’t keen to tell you.’
‘Why?’
‘I didn’t want you to think that I might follow the same path.’
Her frown deepened. ‘What has he done?’ All manner of criminality raced across her mind.
‘He’s a priest. Newly ordained.’
Her shoulders relaxed.’Well, that’s wonderful. Your parents must be so proud to have a priest in the family.’
‘Yes, they talk of little else now that he has finally taken his vows.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘I thought it would be nice for you to meet him.’
‘Of course. I’ll do my best, Dermot, but…’
He leaned in and hugged her. ‘That’s great.’
She loved being with Dermot. She felt at ease with him, and if it were not for her
aunt, she would never have left Dublin.
‘Dermot, you know, with me being away for weeks and months on end. I’ll…’ The words stuck in her throat. ‘I’ll understand if you don’t want to wait. I mean…you might find someone else, and–’
He placed a finger across her lips and shook his head.
‘I’ve told you before. There’s only one girl for me.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aileen was first in the queue when the doors opened at the registry office and sat down to wait her turn. When her number was called she went to the window, her fingers crossed. As she waited, her heart raced.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Maguire.’ The clerk glanced over the top of his spectacles. ‘There’s no record of a male baby born to the lady in question.’
Aileen’s shoulders slumped. ‘What can I do now?’
‘Have you tried getting in touch with the Civil Registry in Roscommon?’
‘Do you think they might know?’
‘Well, it’s possible that your mother didn’t register the baby herself, therefore it could have been registered by someone else.’ He turned his back and picked up a leaflet. ‘Here’s the address and telephone number.’
Thanking him, she left. Her initial optimism was waning; after all, she didn’t have much to go on. On her way back, she purchased some writing paper and envelopes. She would try every avenue to find her brother.
Back at the sweet shop, Aileen made no attempt to interrupt her aunt as she served two young girls with jelly babies and liquorice sticks. Her da was in the kitchen, eating his lunch of beans on toast, and his eyes lit up when he saw her.
‘Ah, Aileen. Come, sit down and tell me what you’ve been up to. Have you been to the new Dunnes store?’ He glanced down at the carrier bag.
‘No, Da. It’s just some writing material.’
‘Have something to eat. We’re still eating out of cans.’ He got up and went into the scullery. As he opened the cupboard, she could see a row of canned soup.
‘I’m grand, Da. I’ll have a cup of tea, though. Dermot’s taking me out for something to eat later, so I don’t want to spoil my appetite.’
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