She walked across the room and stood with her back against the table, her hands in front of her as if addressing a group of children. ‘There is something else that you need to know, Mr Maguire. Your son survived!’
‘Are you saying my son is alive?’
Miss Finch poured water from a jug, sipped a small amount, then she sat down again. Her eyes closed, she folded her hands in her lap. ‘After your wife left the home, Sister Amelia told me to stop fussing and to get on with my work. Later, I went into the small room where your son was lying in a cot. I bent to feel his pulse; it was weak, but he was still alive. I was astounded and quickly made up a small amount of milk, cradled him in my arms and fed him. I went back again an hour later and did the same.
‘Sister Amelia was outraged, and berated me something awful when she found out. She dared me to question her authority, threatened me with the sack and eviction from the home; she had the power to ruin my career in nursing if I said anything. I felt torn between that and my conscience. The following day, the baby had gone. Sister Amelia refused to disclose his whereabouts. I assumed she had him taken to an orphanage.’ She sighed. ‘I hated the fact that I was so compliant, but Sister Amelia, in spite of being a nun, was a manipulative woman.’
‘So you did nothing?’ Aileen snapped. Anger bubbled inside her. ‘This is where you hide away with your so-called conscience, is it? This miserable room is all you deserve.’ She stood up. She hated this woman’s false assumption that she had made some heroic act of mercy. ‘We should go, Da.’
He pressed his hand on her arm. She swallowed her anger and let her da takeover. Without this woman’s co-operation, they would learn nothing more about her brother.
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Jonny shuffled his feet on the cold linoleum floor.
Miss Finch’s cheeks burned. ‘I did what I could. The result of my actions is this two-roomed bedsit.’ She stood up. ‘I live on social handouts.’ She knitted her fingers. ‘God forgive me, but I felt elated when Sister Amelia died in May of this year. Her death released me fromf the fear she had bound me to for years.’ She sat down again. ‘I wrote to your wife immediately and arranged to meet her.’ She joined her hands, sliding them against each other.
Aileen’s throat went dry, and she thought she was going to be sick. Her da looked puzzled. Aileen could only guess what was going through his mind.
‘What did you say to my wife?’
‘I told her that her boy was alive and, when I saw him last, he was living in a Blackrock orphanage. But he still suffered with bronchial trouble. She was shocked, stunned. She lashed out, asking why I’d left it until now to tell her. I explained as best I could.’
‘What did Jessie say?’
‘Your wife kept repeating that it was too late and that her health had deteriorated. She said she hadn’t told her family, and it wouldn’t be fair to resurrect the past after all this time. I never heard from her again.’
‘Poor Ma!’ Aileen swallowed. ‘So where is my brother now?’
‘I don’t know. I stopped going to visit Tom at the orphanage in 1946.’
‘Tom! Who called him Tom?’ Aileen's da stood by the door and shuddered inside his damp coat.
The woman shrugged. ‘He was named at the orphanage. I stopped seeing him when Sister Amelia found out. She left me no choice.’
‘What was he like?’ Aileen asked.
Miss Finch’s tight expression gave way to a smile. ‘He was a lovely little boy; bright as a button. Small for his age but holding his own.’
‘Do… do you know what happened to him?’ Jonny asked.
Miss Finch shook her head. ‘I can only assume he was adopted. You can visit the orphanage and ask to see the records.’ Silence hung in the air. Miss Finch glanced at her watch. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to leave now. I’m expected at the nurses’ home.’
‘Thanks for being so frank, Miss. I’m sorry I was impatient. I’m sure you appreciate how difficult this is for us.’
‘If you find him, will you come back some time and let me know how he is?’
‘That depends, Miss Finch, on where he is, and how he is.’
* * *
Outside the streets were wet. A small stream of rainwater ran along the curb and down gullies. Too choked to speak, Aileen breathed in the fresh air, glad to be outside the confines of Miss Finch’s room. Her da appeared subdued as they walked towards the car then drove to the hotel; it wasn’t far.
‘We don’t have to if you’d rather we went home,’ Aileen said.
He shook his head. ‘No, I’d like to, love.’
Aileen thought it was lovely that he had remembered his promise to take her for a meal in a hotel. But she felt numb. Her eyes stung from unshed tears, and the lines on her father’s face told her he felt the same.
She had no appetite and was just about to say so when a porter walked towards them.
‘Are you looking for somewhere to stay, sir?’
‘No. We were hoping for a bite to eat.’
‘Oh dear.’ He shook his head. ‘On a bank holiday. I’m afraid tea and scones are the best we can do.’
Her father glanced round at her. ‘Is that okay?’
‘Grand, Da.’
They followed him to the small dining room. It was empty, which suited them fine. There was no-one to stare at them and wonder why they were so glum. Aileen’s head ached, and questions about the baby clinic tumbled around inside her head. What kind of a place was it that had so convinced her mother to leave without her baby boy?
When they were seated, she asked, ‘Are you all right, Da?’
‘To tell the truth, love, I don’t know.’ He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘When your ma left that place, she must have thought the boy had died. She would never have left him if she had known there was a chance he might live.’ He swallowed. ‘That nun convinced her otherwise. Jessie, my poor darling.’ He placed one elbow on the table and massaged his temple.
‘We’ll find him, Da.’ Aileen forced a smile. ‘The most important thing now is that he is alive, and we have to find out where he is. We owe it to Ma.’
The waiter arrived with a pot of tea and hot scones with jam and cream.
‘Go on, tuck in, love. You’ve eaten nothing all day.’
Aileen reached for a scone and smothered it with jam and cream.
‘Do you think we were a bit harsh on her?’ She poured their tea.
He shook his head. ‘It’s no more than she deserved. She should never have kept that secret for all those years.’ He sighed. ‘Our life could have been so different.’ Then he looked her in the eye. ‘Aileen, never keep secrets. It only causes heartache.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Inside the house, Roy went straight to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large whisky. He swallowed it quickly and poured another. Only a short time before, the room had been cheered with Aileen’s presence; now it appeared dull. He heard a loud bang on the ceiling and, gritting his teeth, he put down his glass and rushed upstairs. His mother was propped up in her four-poster bed.
‘What is it, Mother?’
‘Did you retrieve your car?’
‘Yes, Mother.
‘Has it been damaged?’
‘No, I’ll take it into the garage and have it checked as soon as this damn holiday is over.’
‘Yes, and you don’t know what harm that girl’s done to the gears. I heard her screech out of the drive like a demon.’ She patted the bed. ‘Come here and sit down, Royston.’
He hated it when she called him that. It usually meant he had displeased her, or she had something important to discuss with him. Either way, he wasn’t in the mood. Nodding, he sat down.
‘Have you taken your medication?’
‘Not this again.’ He was sick of hearing her nagging him.
‘Promise me you won’t have anything more to do with that girl or any girl for that matter, and you know full well what I’m talking about.’
He folded hi
s arms and tried to cover up his agitation. His plans with Aileen were ruined, thanks to his mother.
She had had him on the change, and these past few years she spent most of her time upstairs, only coming down when she felt like it. It suited him fine, but he was beginning to find her tiresome. He blocked out her voice as she continued to harass him about an illness he didn’t believe he had. He thought about Aileen.
He was sorry she had missed her flight to Dublin and wondered if she had managed to get another one. The next time she went he hoped to go with her as her boyfriend. He couldn’t wait to hear from her. Of course, she would get in touch once she had time to reconsider his proposal.
‘Royston, are you listening to me?’
‘Yes, Mother. Excuse me.’ He got to his feet. ‘I have to go out.’
* * *
The following day, he checked the phone in case he’d missed a call. There was nothing. He had expected her to be grateful; she owed him that much. After all, she wouldn’t want her name splashed across the evening newspapers, and he had helped to divert that from happening. Why hadn’t she had the courtesy to ring and thank him?
In spite of taking his medication, he knew he was getting worse. Nothing was going right for him. Lately, he had been hearing voices telling him he was useless, but he had swept them aside, putting it down to tiredness. He placed both his hands over his ears. Those pesky voices in his head were getting louder.
On Christmas Day, he watched his mother prepare their lunch. Since the last cook left, she had decided they didn’t need one. His mother found it difficult to get on with anyone, and Roy was surprised she had put up with him for so long. When he offered to help, she shooed him away. It was a simple meal of cooked ham, peas, and mashed potatoes –similar to what she had cooked for him when he was a small boy—with jelly, set in a rabbit mould, and custard for desert.
He felt sick, but he didn’t complain. He had offered to bring a turkey and all the trimmings from the market, but she wouldn’t hear of it. So he had pretended to enjoy the food while the tension grew between them. He wanted to tell her about Aileen and his feelings for her, but Mother wouldn’t be interested. Thank goodness he had his car; he wouldn’t be stuck indoors with only her for company.
After their lunch, she said, ‘Have you remembered to take your medication today, Royston?’
He felt his body tense. ‘I’m doing fine, Mother, so stop talking about it.’
‘You’re not well. You know I’m right, and I dread to think what will happen to you after I’ve gone. No-one will care or love you the way I do. I’ve had words with your consultant, Mr Wainwright, on the phone. He suggested that you go somewhere relaxing for a while.’
‘What?’ He felt distracted. ‘No, I’ll not agree to that, Mother. I’m fine. Sometimes I have a wobble. It means nothing.’
‘You’ve lapsed several times, and I can’t keep reminding you about your medication. We’ve kept this to ourselves for years, and then you go and bring that girl back here. That was a bad move, Royston. If this gets out, you will not get a job anywhere. Mr Wainwright knows what’s best for you. You’ll be monitored closely, and once you’ve rested, you’ll soon be back on top again.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I keep telling you.’ He rocked back and forth in his chair. Agitated, he tapped the table with his fingers.
‘I’m sorry, son. As much as it pains me to tell you this, I’ve no choice now. Your father suffered the same mental illness and died in an institution.’
Roy jumped to his feet. ‘You told me he died in the war. Why did you lie?’
‘I was trying to protect you. Your father didn’t develop the illness until after you were born. The medication you have wasn’t available then. I had no choice but to have him committed. You showed no signs of the illness until you reached adolescence. Since then, your aggression has got worse, and when you refuse to take your medication…’ She paused, sat back, and buried her tired face in her bony hands.
Roy couldn’t speak. He just stared into space.
She glanced up, her face lined. ‘You angered me by bringing that girl here, Royston. She heard too much, and she’s bound to say something.’
Restless, he paced the room. ‘This is all your fault, Mother.’ He glared at her. ‘You promised to keep me safe always, now you want to have me committed like my father, is that what you’re saying?’
‘No. It is not what I want, but if you continue to miss appointments…’
The rage in him grew; a rage fuelled by the news that his father had died in a mental institution. ‘I have to get out of here.’
‘Where are you going? There’s nowhere open. Royston, come back!’ The door slammed behind him.
Chapter Forty-Three
Her father’s words made Aileen think of Roy Pickering, and he was the last person she wanted reminding of. Should she have told Dermot about him? It wasn’t as if she had had a clandestine relationship with the man. She loved Dermot, and felt sure that he loved her, too. But all the same, she couldn’t be sure how he would react once he knew she had gone dancing with another man. If that wasn’t enough, she had been foolish in letting him trick her into going with him to his house. The memory of it still made her shudder. What an idiot she had been.
No sooner had her da unlocked the shop door than the phone rang. It was Dermot.
‘I miss you, Aileen. When am I going to see you?’ Preoccupied with finding her brother, she hadn’t given Dermot a thought until her da had mentioned secrets.
‘Sorry. We’ve been finding out about my brother.’
‘Any luck?’
‘We’ve discovered where he might be.’
‘That’s wonderful. Can I come over and see you?’
‘No. Don’t do that, Dermot. We’ve had an exhausting, emotional day, and I don’t want to leave Da on his own this evening.’
‘But you’re leaving tomorrow night, Aileen. We’ve hardly spent any time together.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She longed to be with him and feel his arms around her, but finding her brother had to take priority.
‘Aileen, are you still there?’
‘Yes.’ She heard him drop more coins into the phone box and realised that he wasn’t phoning from home. ‘I’ll have time tomorrow when we get back from the orphanage.’
‘So, what time will that be?’
‘I don’t know, Dermot. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.’ She hung up.
* * *
Early the following morning, her da called the orphanage and made an appointment to visit. They had just finished breakfast when they heard a loud knock on the shop door. Aileen stiffened.
‘Da, it might be her. Lizzy.’
He paused for a moment. ‘Well, if it is, she won’t be welcome, Christmas or no Christmas.’
With Aileen following, he went through to the shop and unbolted the door. Her shoulders relaxed when a small boy of about eight looked up.
‘Are yea opening the shop today, Mr Maguire? I want to buy sweets with this.’ He unfurled his fingers, showing a shiny two-shilling piece.
‘Good morning, Walter.’ Her da smiled. ‘Come in.’ He reversed the closed sign on the door. ‘That’s a lot of money. Are you sure you want to spend it all?’
‘It’s Christmas money, and me brothers are coming down an’ all.’ His eyes scanned the jars of sweets, then he pointed to the toffees on the top shelf. ‘How many of them can I get for this?’ Aileen smiled when he held up the polished coin.
‘Quite a lot, Walter.’ Her da went behind the counter and reached up for the jar. ‘Why don’t you mix them with your other favourites, the toffee bonbons?’
As Walter pondered, his two brothers bounded into the shop. Half an hour later Aileen was helping her da to serve customers and wondered if they were going to get to the orphanage at the appointed time.
At last, the shop emptied, and her da said, ‘You run up and get ready, Aileen. I’ll finish up here and put a sign in th
e window.’
‘You know, Da. This place is a little goldmine.’
‘Umm. I know, love. One thing your aunt was right about, although I was dubious at first. I didn’t believe you could make a living from sweets.’ He laughed. ‘And it’s not just the kids who spend their money in here.’
* * *
They arrived at the orphanage with minutes to spare. The nun who greeted them was nice, and Aileen began to relax. She knew from her school days that not all nuns were unpleasant. Yet, after what Miss Finch had told her about Sister Amelia, she felt she would never trust a nun again.
‘We’ve had many babies come through this orphanage over the past twenty years or so. And to make it a little easier, I’ve put out the records for two years either side of 1946.’
‘Thanks, Sister,’ her father said.
‘Right, if you’d like to come in here.’ She opened the door. ‘You won’t be disturbed by the children passing through to their lessons.’
Two hefty brown ledgers lay on the table. ‘If you need paper to write anything down, you’ll find it on the window ledge.’ She placed her hands into the large folds of her habit. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour to see how you’re getting on.’
Aileen sat down next to her da in front of the open ledgers. She turned each page in trepidation and examined each entry closely. Her da was quiet as he turned page after page. After ten minutes, he glanced up and sighed. ‘This is proving harder than I thought.’
‘We’ll swop ledgers in a minute in case either of us has missed something.’ She eased her shoulders and flicked her long hair down her back. ‘Don’t just look at the date we were born, Da. It might have been days later when Tom was sent here.’
The clock on the cream painted wall ticked loudly in the silent room. Aileen glanced up. ‘Lookat this, Da.’ He leant across. ‘It states here that baby Maguire, date of birth March 1946, was left behind by his mother. The date has been removed. And there’s no guessing as to who made that entry.’ Aileen felt a surge of annoyance and excitement at the same time. ‘Oh, Da, we’ve found him!’ She scribbled the page and the entry number down. Her father was visibly moved, and she saw him swallow. ‘Jessie would never have left him, Aileen. It wasn’t in her nature.’
Dublin's Fair City Page 21
