Dublin's Fair City

by Cathy Mansell

  Seconds later, he replaced the receiver, lifted the hinged counter, and stepped out into the shop. Aileen got up and followed. ‘What did they say, Da?’

  He walked back into the sitting room and sat down. ‘He’s comfortable. They’ll tell me nothing.’

  ‘Comfortable is better than not knowing, Da,’ she said reassuringly. ‘He must be improving.’

  Her da closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the armchair. He looked tired. ‘We still don’t know what ails him.’

  ‘I’ll get you something to eat, Da.’

  ‘No.’ He waved his arm. ‘I’m not hungry. You get off.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I know you’re anxious to see Dermot.’

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Despite not knowing what was wrong with her brother, Aileen was satisfied to know that he was comfortable; she hoped that meant he was out of danger. She felt bad about letting Dermot down and decided to go across and see him.

  ‘Da, can I phone Dermot? I’d like to speak to him before I go over there.’

  He nodded and closed his eyes again. Aileen kissed his forehead and went through to the shop. It rang out ten times before she put the phone down then checked the number again to make sure. His mother rarely went out of an evening, so why was no-one answering the phone? She looked at her watch. It was six-thirty and the shops were closed, so where was Dermot?

  She made tea and placed a cup down next to her sleeping da, then took hers upstairs. The rain beat against the sash window, and she glanced up at the darkened sky before drawing the curtains. She could still smell the newness of the material. The green and white vertical stripes gave the window an elongated look. She appreciated the efforts her da had gone to on her behalf, and she was happy to be home. She decided to try phoning Dermot again later.

  She slipped off her shoes and lay down on the bed thinking of her brother and praying that his illness wasn’t serious. She wondered what he was like, tried to imagine his hair. Was it fair like her own? What kind of hobbies did he have? So many questions yet to be answered, and she was longing to meet him. She had heard that twins are often identical. She was five feet two inches in her stocking feet. Was Tom taller, like her da?

  As much as she would have loved to see him today, she conceded that her da was probably right. Although, it wasn’t easy, she would have to be patient.

  She could hear the rain running down the pipe into the gully. There was no point in her going all the way to Dorset Street if Dermot wasn’t in.

  Downstairs, she found her da in the small scullery frying bacon, and the smell revived her appetite. ‘I thought you’d gone to see Dermot?’

  ‘He wasn’t in when I phoned, Da. I can’t figure out where he could be.’

  ‘Happen he’s gone to the pub with his dad.’ Dermot rarely, if ever, went to the pub except on special occasions. ‘Here you have this. I’ll put more on.’ He passed her his plate of bacon and egg. ‘Do you still like brown sauce?’

  She nodded. She was hungry now and enjoyed the meal with bread and butter and a mug of hot tea. When they had finished eating, Aileen said, ‘How long do you intend to wait, Da… you know, before…’

  ‘Just give it a few more weeks. I’m as anxious as you are to see him. We’ve waited all this time so, what’s another two weeks? He may, if we’re patient enough, get in touch with us before then.’ He smiled. ‘Look it’s nearly eight o’clock. There’s a play I want to listen to on the wireless.’ He lifted his plate and stood up. ‘Why not give Dermot another call? He might be home now.’

  ‘Thanks, Da.’ She kissed his cheek.

  There was still no reply, and Aileen didn’t know what to think. Had he gone back to Wales with his parents? Surely he would have left her a note. Sighing, she switched on the immersion and took a long soak in the bath. She so wanted to talk to him about Roy Pickering, but at the same time, she felt reluctant with each day that passed. Morally, she felt obliged to tell him, especially since she knew she loved him and wanted to marry him one day. Otherwise, it would hang over her for the foreseeable future.

  She sighed. It was at times like this that she hated having a conscience. She needed to tell someone and thought of spilling it all out to her da, then changed her mind. Finding her brother was enough for him to cope with at the moment.

  After her bath, she felt more relaxed and took out the clothes she would wear the following day. She unwrapped a new pair of American tan tights, and slipped her white lacy blouse and silky underskirt from the hanger and laid them across the chair before getting into bed. She felt tired, but her mind gave her no peace and she slept badly.

  * * *

  In spite of the early hour, the morning was reasonably bright for February. She couldn’t eat and scribbled a quick note to her da saying where she had gone. The Sunday buses were slow and she was anxious to get to Dermot’s, to find out why he hadn’t answered the phone.

  On impulse, she hailed down an out-of-service bus heading towards the city, forcing him to stop. She made up an urgent excuse and the driver looked sympathetic. ‘Oh, go on then, but don’t go telling anyone or making a habit of this, young lady.’

  ‘I won’t.’ She smiled and stepped on board.

  The city had not yet come to life when the driver dropped her off in O’Connell Street. How strangely quiet everywhere was. Seagulls squawked overhead, their cry mingling with the chiming church bells that rang out over the city. It made her all the more aware that she had not been to church for some time.

  It began to drizzle, which was no surprise. Ireland was capable of all four seasons in one day. She hated getting wet and hurried along towards Parnell Street, passing no-one apart from a woman in a heavy tweed coat and a headscarf, her chin buried into her chest. When she turned into Dorset Street, a cloud of sadness enveloped her. She hadn’t walked down here since she had left for England, and it conjured up all kinds of emotions. But she had to see what had become of the haberdashery, her old home.

  She paused to shelter in the doorway. The window that had once sported a treadle sewing machine, curtain material, silk ribbons, reels of cotton and boxes of buttons, had disappeared. In their place, hoovers, electric kettles, irons, and other electrical items stood supreme. A lump formed in her throat. She glanced up at the warm yellow light coming from the upstairs windows and felt a stab of pain.

  Choking back her feelings, she pulled up her collar and hurried towards the butcher’s shop, hoping Dermot would be there. The rain increased, and she arrived feeling like a bedraggled cat.

  She hurried down the side entrance and rang the bell, but there was no sign of life. Shivering in her wet clothes, she rang the bell again, this time with more determination. The door opened, and Dermot stood before her in stripey blue and white pyjamas, his navy dressing gown hanging open. She had to suppress the urge to giggle.

  ‘Aileen!’ After a moment of shock, he ushered her inside.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re still in bed?’

  ‘It’s only eight o’clock on a Sunday morning!’ She saw colour flood his face. ‘What… what are you doing here? Is there anything wrong?’

  ‘I was worried when I couldn’t get you on the phone.’

  He stood looking at her, her hair dripping onto her coat. ‘Sorry. Come on through.’ He rushed to get her a towel.

  She lowered her head and wrapped it turban-style around her wet hair then glanced up. ‘Where’s your mam and dad?’

  ‘They’re in Wales.’ He bent and put a match to the kindling in the grate and placed a few pieces of coal on top. ‘Look, you get out of those wet things.’ He removed his dressing gown. ‘Put this on, I’ll make you a hot drink.’

  She removed her coat and hung it over a chair. The rain had penetrated through to her thin blouse and skirt, so she removed them self-consciously along with her tights, underneath the dressing gown. It hung like a tent around her slim body. She drew it round her, and she could smell the scent of him, feel the warmth of him radiate through her. D
ermot was still in the scullery, and she knew he would be giving her time before coming back in with the drinks.

  When he returned, he placed the tray on the table and passed her the hot drink. As she reached for it, the dressing gown gaped open, revealing her lacy underskirt outlining the curves of her full breasts and slim waist. He diverted his eyes, and she felt a hot flush to her face. She couldn’t do anything right these days.

  ‘I’ll just go and get dressed.’ She watched him hurry upstairs, then sat down on the sofa to drink her tea. She should get dressed, but her clothes were still damp.

  Dermot came back wearing casual jeans and a white polo shirt. ‘Are you feeling warmer now?’ He sat next to her.

  She nodded. ‘Dermot, I’m sorry things didn’t work out yesterday for us, I mean…but…’

  ‘Sure, it’s okay, Aileen. When you didn’t turn up, I went to the cinema. Just for something to do.’

  ‘What? On your own?’ She laughed out loud and her hair fell loose. She pulled the towel free, placing it across her lap.

  ‘I know. Pathetic, isn’t it? I couldn’t face coming back to an empty house.’

  ‘What was on? Was it any good?’

  ‘You wouldn’t have liked it. It was a war film. 633 Squadron. I slept through most of it and ended up watching it twice, so got back late.’ He looked contrite. ‘I’d made plans for us and they all backfired.’ He had a lost look on his face, and she reached over and kissed him.

  He drew her to him and kissed her lips, but she felt nervous being this close to him when she was only half dressed. ‘Dermot, I should go.’ She picked up her tights.

  ‘Don’t go.’ He reached out to her. ‘That was so nice, and you are so lovely. I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment you turned up at my door.’

  She trembled beneath his touch. Dear Lord, she wanted him so much, and she found it difficult to resist him. Suddenly they were in each other’s arms, kissing hungrily. His kisses aroused her. The dressing gown fell from her shoulders. His strong arms went around her and his warm hands slid up and down her bare arms, over her back, caressing the contours of her body. New and exciting feelings she had never experienced before coursed through her.

  Breathless, she pulled back, frightened of where it would lead. They weren’t even engaged! As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t let this go any further.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m finding it very testing being this close to you.’

  She wanted her first time to be special without guilt or secrets between them, and she knew she would have to tell him about Roy Pickering, sooner rather than later. She pulled the dressing gown around her.

  ‘I don’t feel that this is the right time for me to be reckless. So much is going on in my head.’ She touched his hand. ‘I do love you.’

  ‘I love you, too, and I’d never do anything you’re not completely happy with.’

  She stood up, holding out her hands to the hot flames. Steam rose from her wet coat hanging nearby. There was a long pause, and she could feel his eyes on her.

  ‘You’re the only woman that’s ever set my heart racing.'

  When she turned round, she felt a hot flush across her cheekbones. He stood up and held both her hands. ‘Tell me what's going on. I might be able to help. Is it your brother? You haven’t told me how you got on?’ The fire crackled and flames shot up the chimney. ‘Did you get to see, or speak to him?’ He drew her down beside him.

  Tears welled in her eyes. ‘No. We haven’t seen him yet. He’s in hospital, Dermot.’ When she had finished bringing him up-to-date, her long lashes were wet with tears.

  ‘Oh, Aileen.’ He drew her close and caressed her damp hair. ‘I’m sorry things didn’t work out yesterday.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Your da is right. You’ll have to be patient a little longer.’

  She sniffled and nodded. ‘I know.’ She stood up and gathered up her clothes. ‘Can I?’ She glanced towards the stairs.

  ‘At the end of the landing,’ he said. ‘When you’re dressed, we can talk some more.’

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The smell of cooked rashers met her on the stairs as she came back down.

  ‘Come and sit down.’ Dermot pulled out a chair. ‘You must be hungry; I know I am.’ He placed the food on the table and sat opposite her.

  She smiled. ‘I could get used to this.’ The egg, rashers, sausage, and black and white pudding were cooked just right, with none of the black bits that accompanied her father's fry-up. ‘I never knew you could cook, Dermot.’

  ‘Ah, well, there’s more to me than meets the eye.’ He winked. ‘Eat up before it goes cold.’

  She didn’t need telling twice. He’d also buttered a plate of wholemeal bread, and for a short time, they ate in silence. ‘I doubt I could do better myself,’ she said, leaning back in the chair. ‘That was delicious.’

  ‘The pleasure was mine.’ He placed his hands under his chin and looked at her.

  She gave him a quizzical look. ‘What?’

  ‘I was just thinking how nice it is having you here all to myself.’

  She nodded and smiled. ‘Like a married couple.’

  ‘Now there’s a thing!'

  This was her opportunity to tell him what happened in Birmingham. He reached for her hand and her courage left her. ‘I'll help you wash up.’ She stood up, and together they cleared the table, piling the plates into the soapy water.

  ‘Come and sit over here by the fire.’ He patted the sofa. ‘As we have the place to ourselves, I wondered how you felt about, I mean, about us getting engaged on your nineteenth birthday next month?’ He placed his arm around her. ‘Do you love me enough to become my wife in a year or so from now?’

  She placed her finger across his lips. She wanted nothing more than to hear him say he wanted to marry her. ‘I love you more than enough, and I’d be happy to marry you.’ He was all she needed right now, and ever would need.

  He kissed her, then pulled her to her feet. ‘Let’s go out and celebrate. You’ve made me a very happy man.’

  * * *

  Back at the sweet shop, Aileen noticed how neglected their home had become from lack of a woman’s touch, so she took over the household chores as well as the cooking. She also helped out in the shop. It felt a bit like child’s play serving up sweets, and she missed the stimulus that the haberdashery had provided. But her da was content, and so was she. There was still no contact from her brother, and she was tempted to call at the hospital.

  Although she and Dermot never had another opportunity to be alone, they spent their weekends visiting various jeweller’s shops hunting for an engagement ring, finally settling on a sparkling solitaire that was a perfect fit. Aileen didn’t want to remove the diamond from her finger, but Dermot reassured her he would keep it safe until her birthday.

  There was never a right moment for her to offload her guilty secret to him. Her Aunt Bead hadn’t mentioned Roy Pickering, and she was pleased that Mary had been discreet and said nothing. Yet each time she looked into Dermot’s honest eyes, she knew she couldn’t live with the secret.

  Her birthday party was due to take place at Bead’s house, where they planned to announce their engagement. It fell on the 18th March but, as always, it was brought forward a day to include St Patrick’s Day, a national holiday.

  * * *

  On the 17th of March, the morning was crisp and bright when Aileen waited for Dermot at the Parnell Monument; it was already surrounded with people, many of them tourists. O’Connell Street resembled a forest of green, but she spotted him pushing his way towards her.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Aileen. This holiday gets busier each year.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she smiled. ‘I was early.’

  He had a sprig of shamrock pinned to the lapel of his coat, and his green and white football scarf around his neck. Everyone wore something green, and old habits were hard to drop. Aileen wrapped her own green scarf tighter around her neck. Dermot moved close and placed his a
rm around her, and they watched bemused as hundreds of excited spectators lined the pavement on both sides of the street, waving flags and banners. She had long since lost the allure for the St. Patrick’s Day parade, but the majority of Irish loved it, as did visitors from around the world. From her experience, it always ended in drunken brawls around the city.

  Dermot glanced down at her. ‘There’s another hour before the parade starts. What do you say? Shall we make our way towards Stephen’s Green, and find a pub?’

  A smile lit her face. She had been thinking the same thing but didn’t like to say, as she was unsure how Dermot felt about the parade. They pushed through the throng and almost had to bribe a line of guards—arms linked to keep the crowd from spilling out onto the parade route—to allow them to cross the street. It was organised chaos.

  Excessive noise rose into the air, and young men and women sat on top of what remained of Nelson’s Pillar while other observers looked down from Clery’s rooftop. They passed a platform decorated in green, white and orange, erected outside the General Post Office in readiness for the Taoiseach and other dignitaries; the area was heavily guarded. Smiling happy faces sang Irish songs, and a large white Stetson rose above the crowd.

  ‘The Americans are here,’ Aileen said with a laugh.

  ‘St. Patrick’s Day wouldn’t be the same without some Yanks to join in the celebrations.’ Dermot smiled and squeezed her hand as the sound of cheering crowds echoed around them.

  ‘Perhaps we should have stayed put.’ She clung to Dermot’s arm. ‘We’ll never get across O’Connell Bridge. Look at it!’

  ‘You wanna bet?’ he said, and forged ahead.

  * * *

  Later they joined some young people for a drink to celebrate their patron saint credited with bringing Christianity to Ireland. The men were drinking green beer, and Dermot couldn’t resist ordering a glass. ‘You’ll have to taste it, Aileen.’