“I’m away,” I called from the hallway.
As soon as I stepped out into the late, gray afternoon, I missed the brightness and warmth inside number 6 Walker’s Row. I was grateful to Gavin for finding us this place. I thought back to our last meeting when he had been so angry. I wondered had he done what the IRA had asked? If he had, I prayed he had not been caught. Silently I wished him well—I could never stay angry at Gavin for long.
I knocked on the door of the Queensbrook house, shivering as old memories rose up.
“Happy Christmas,” I said when Ma opened the door. “Are you going to let me in or do I have to stand here foundered with the cold?”
The words rushed out. I was an anxious child again home from school and wondering which Ma I would find. This evening I found the happy one. A smile spread across Ma’s face and she let out a wee cry of surprise.
“Sheila, och, Sheila love. Come in. Come in. You missed Kate. She’s gone out, and Kevin’s sleeping. Och, you look well.”
She bustled into the kitchen. “Sit down, sit down. I was just making a wee cup of tea. We’ve no milk or sugar, but sure aren’t we used to that by now? At least we have tea.”
Compared with the brightness of Mrs. Hollywood’s, the Queensbrook house was dreary. A few embers burned in the fireplace, and there was a lingering smell of onions and cabbage, but of course there was no tree. I realized how grateful I was for my new home.
“I brought you a present, Ma. Here, try it on. And Joel and I want you to come with us to O’Hare’s for a Christmas drink.”
Ma tore open the package like a child. She held the necklace in her hand and her eyes glowed.
“Och, Sheila, it’s beautiful. I’m sure there’s no other one like it in the world.”
I felt a pang of guilt as I thought of the identical one I had given Mrs. Hollywood. But the chances of their meeting up while wearing it were small.
“Go on and get ready,” I said. “Wear something nice, and wear the necklace.”
I sipped the tea as Ma went into the granny room.
“Kate finally made me move back in here yesterday,” Ma called out to me. “I liked it better upstairs.”
I sat bolt upright. It hadn’t occurred to me that Aunt Kate would make Ma move back to the granny room. But now that I thought about it I supposed she didn’t think Ma was good enough to go on sleeping in the sainted Donal’s room—particularly now there was no money coming in for Grainne.
I thought of my prize money still buried in one of the drawers and swore under my breath. I prayed Ma hadn’t had time to find it. I would have to get it back tonight. Old resentments began to build in me, but I beat them back down. I would not let them ruin my Christmas. Instead I fixed a smile on my face, prepared to compliment Ma on whatever she was wearing.
“You look gran—” The words stuck in my throat.
Ma wore a bright red dress that I recognized as one of mine. I knew that she had not given me all my clothes after I moved out, but I’d let it go. Now, when I saw her spinning around for me to admire her, a strange, sick feeling came over me.
“Och, I know it was yours, love, but I always thought it would look better on me. It does, doesn’t it? I mean, you never had the bust for it. It needs to be filled out. D’you think Joel will like it? Who do you think will be there tonight? Oh, I hope the craic is good. Is that what you’re wearing? Well, I suppose it will do.”
I blocked out the rest of her words. This woman would never be a mother to me. She was too self-centered. And I had learned my own self-centeredness from her. I wondered would I be this ridiculous when I was her age. The thought made me flinch.
“I have to use the loo,” Ma said.
Now was my chance. I waited until she was gone and dashed into the granny room. I rummaged frantically through the dresser drawer and pulled out the envelope containing the prize money and tore it open. Thank God, the money was still there. I shoved the envelope in my pocket and taking a deep breath strolled back out into the living room.
“Come on, get your coat,” I said. “Joel is going to collect us at the tram station in Newry.”
Ma sidled into the front seat of Joel’s car, leaving me to climb into the back. Joel smiled at me but said nothing. He looked handsome in dark brown slacks, a tan shirt, and brown tweed jacket. I looked down at my modest blouse and skirt and shrugged. Anybody would think I’d come out of the convent. I regretted not wearing my best Linen Queen frock. Ma talked nonstop until we arrived at O’Hare’s. The place was warm and festive. Holly wreaths and red ribbons lined the walls while colorful streamers crisscrossed the low ceiling. Sprigs of mistletoe hung down from the streamers. A huge fire blazed in one corner and candles burned in old glass ships’ lanterns.
Ma led the way in, sashaying across the room looking for the best seat she could find. She did not mean to miss anything. She had left her coat in the car, and even though she must have been freezing, she wiggled across the floor in my red dress, making sure everyone saw her. Joel smiled and took my arm. He seemed well amused by Ma, even though I was mortified. We followed her to a table near the fire, where she sat down with her back against the wall.
“This is grand,” she said, smiling at us. “I can see everything from here.”
Joel went to the bar to get us drinks. I was grateful to him for agreeing to come here. If he was uncomfortable in the place, he didn’t show it. I was the one on edge. I hoped Ma would behave herself, and that nobody would pick on Joel. But the pub was filled with good cheer this evening. The radio had been set to a station playing Christmas carols, and everyone sang along. I relaxed and sipped the shandy Joel had brought, while Ma downed her whiskey in two gulps.
Eventually a fiddler and an accordion player came in, to the delight of the crowd. The radio and the carols were nice, but it was not a great night in any country pub without a bit of traditional music. I had seen the fiddler before. He had come once in a while into the Ceili House, always wearing a long black coat and carrying his fiddle under his arm. Some nights he played; other nights he took a drink and left as quickly as he had come. Tonight he was in the mood to play. He tuned up and then launched into a couple of jigs with the wee old man on the accordion. People clapped and stamped their feet—Joel along with them.
I looked around the pub. There were no soldiers to be seen—probably all at the Prince of Mourne in Warrenpoint, I thought, remembering our night there last Christmas. I recognized some of the locals—married couples out for an evening drink, and old bachelors with stubbled chins and calloused hands. In a corner of the bar were some rough-looking customers, huddled together, with fierce looks on them. I shifted in my chair. I didn’t know them but by the cut of them I guessed they were IRA fellas.
The musicians began to play an old-time waltz and one of the men in the corner came over to our table.
“How about a dance,” he said, as he put his hand out towards me. He was the biggest one of the crowd, with the meanest look.
I shook my head. “No thanks,” was all I said.
He glared back at me, muttered something, and walked away.
Another boyo came up behind him and put his hand out to Ma. She smiled and got up. As she moved past me she leaned over.
“You shouldn’t refuse them, love. Joel won’t mind.”
She tottered unsteadily out onto the dance floor and was soon twirling around, as if she were dancing by herself, throwing up her skirt to show off her legs. A sick feeling came over me as I watched. Was that how I used to look when I was drunk and carrying on?
When the tune finished, Ma stood in the middle of the floor as if waiting for someone to claim her. A short man with a round belly came up and began to dance her around the floor with more enthusiasm than skill. The big boyo came up to me again, his hand out, and again I refused him.
“Me ma’s looking for a partner,” I said. “And she’s not particular.”
Joel eyed me sharply. I knew I shouldn’t have said what I did, but somet
hing about that big lout set me boiling. As the music flowed, so did the alcohol, and so did the conversation. In time people became louder, more insistent. Soon the arguments would start. The door opened, creating a sudden draft. I looked up and glimpsed Gavin and the girl, Rosaleen, making their way to the bar. I began to think it might be time to go. But Ma was dancing away and Joel seemed to be enjoying himself, so I tried to relax. I convinced myself that even if Gavin saw us he would probably keep to himself. I watched him as he stood with his back to me. He chatted easily with the other men, laughing at someone’s joke and patting another chap on the back. Gavin was the type of man everybody liked. He looked like a man easy with himself and his surroundings.
As the talk grew louder, the word “war” began to dominate and most of it was coming from the direction of the IRA boyos in the corner. One of them raised his glass.
“To Hitler,” he shouted. “Just the man to put England in her place.”
There was a mild gasp around the room, but the crowd at the bar cheered.
“To the führer,” yelled the one that I had refused. “Go ya boy ya!”
I looked directly at Joel. His face had turned tight and pale. We had no need to speak. I turned to reach for my coat. “I’ll get Ma,” I said.
But by the time I fought my way through the crowd, Ma was dancing with the big IRA fella. “No, not yet, love,” she slurred. “Can’t you see this handsome bloke I’m dancing with?”
Her partner glared at me. “Leave your ma be,” he snarled. “Just feck off!”
I didn’t realize Joel was standing behind me.
“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” he said, pulling me behind him and reaching for Ma’s arm. “Come on now, Mrs. McGee. Time to go home.”
Sensing the possibility of a fight, the dancers moved away, leaving us alone in the middle of the floor. The IRA man glared at Joel, and then his big face broke into a grin. He let Ma’s arms drop.
“Well, well. A Yank! I should have smelled you a mile away. Brit lover!”
Joel stiffened. “On the contrary, I’m a Hitler hater.”
Ma broke in. “He’s Jewish, love,” she said. “They don’t like Hitler much.”
My stomach sank and my knees buckled. A feeling of dread filled me. I grabbed Joel’s arm. “C’mon, we’ll wait for Ma outside.”
But as Joel turned the IRA boyo swung around with a speed that shocked me and grabbed Joel from behind.
“Not so fast, Jew!” he said. Then he turned to his comrades. “Hey, lads, we’ve got us a Jew. Let’s give Hitler one less to worry about!”
At that the others piled on to the dance floor and lit into Joel. Ma stumbled backwards and screamed. The crowd sat still and gaped. Suddenly Gavin leaped from his stool and grabbed the leader roughly, tearing him away from Joel.
“Leave him alone, Sean,” Gavin said.
“Jesus, Gavin,” Sean cried. “Don’t tell me you’re a Jew lover.”
Gavin moved in front of Joel. “It’s hardly a fair fight, Sean.”
The barmen moved in to interfere. The owner turned on the lights and the musicians stopped playing.
“Switched sides have you, boyo?” Sean was yelling. “Need to be taught a lesson in loyalty?”
Sean freed himself from Gavin’s grip and before the barmen could stop him, threw a punch that landed Gavin on the floor. As the barmen herded everybody out, Joel and I both sank to our knees over Gavin. Ma and Rosaleen stood behind us crying, while the other IRA boys closed in. Gavin was unconscious.
“Mother of God,” I cried. “Please, Joel. Help him.”
Joel looked up towards the bar and signaled a young man over, whom I recognized as the guard from the base at Narrow Water Castle. He was in his civvies with a couple of other lads. I hadn’t noticed them earlier.
“Here,” Joel said, taking his car keys out of his pocket and handing them to the soldier. “Take him to my quarters at the base and get the doctor. Then bring the car back here.” He turned to me. “Go on, take your mother and start walking. Get somebody to give you a lift home.”
“But what about you?” I said.
“I have a score to settle, Sheila. Don’t worry, you forget I’m a soldier.”
I hesitated. The IRA boyos stood watching us. The pub owner was on the phone to the Gardaí. Most of the patrons had cleared out.
Suddenly Ma seized my wrist. “Take me home, Sheila. I’m afraid.”
She was on the edge of hysterics. I took a last look at Joel and then I led Ma out of the pub and into the blackness of the night.
I didn’t sleep that night. I lay in bed waiting for the morning so I could go to the barracks at Narrow Water Castle and find out what happened. Were Joel and Gavin dead or alive? But in the middle of the night a storm swept in, bringing snow and ice that paralyzed the country. Well, it wasn’t going to stop me. I would get there by hook or by crook.
“You can’t go out in this weather, love,” Mrs. Hollywood said. “You wouldn’t get more than a few yards on your bicycle.”
“I’ll walk then,” I said.
“Oh, be sensible, Sheila. You’d freeze to death before you even reached the top of the street. Let it be, for now. There’s a good girl. There’s nothing you can do for either of them. Tell me again what happened.”
I repeated the whole story. This time Patsy and Grainne were there to hear it. Patsy was fascinated.
“Sounds like great craic altogether, Sheila,” she said. “I wish I’d been there to see it.”
Grainne, on the other hand, stared at me with an odd expression.
“Is Gavin dead?” she whispered.
I was shocked. “No, of course he’s not. He was knocked out that’s all. But if it wasn’t for Joel interfering he might well have been killed.”
Mrs. Hollywood gasped.
Grainne’s face turned crimson. “So the Joel fella is the hero? Is that it? It was his fault that Gavin had to get into it in the first place. His fault and yours. If something happens to Gavin, I’ll never forgive you.”
She jumped up, tears streaming down her thin face. We watched her run up the stairs.
“What in the name of God’s got into her?” I said.
Mrs. Hollywood and Patsy looked at each other but said nothing.
“I’m going to give it a try,” I said suddenly. “I have to find out what’s happened to Joel.”
I was worried for Gavin too, but I was more worried for Joel. Gavin at least had been taken out of the pub before any more harm could come to him. But Joel had deliberately stayed to face the IRA men, and nobody there was going to lift a finger to help him. Oh, God, what had they done to him? Had they killed him and thrown him in a ditch? Was he lying freezing on the side of the road?
Despite Mrs. Hollywood’s protests, I put on my coat and boots. I pulled on the hat and scarf Patsy had knitted, opened the front door, and stepped out. The wind cut my face like a knife and I put my head down. I lifted my bicycle from against the wall, but it was covered with ice. I’d have to walk. Maybe some good soul out there would come along and give me a lift. But Mrs. Hollywood had been right. By the time I slipped and slid up to the top of Walker’s Row, bent over in half against the wind, I was out of breath and frozen. I fought back tears of frustration and returned to number 6.
The following morning the mill opened again after the holiday. Normally it would have been closed until the New Year, but this was wartime and production needed to continue. The weather had not improved much, but the wind had died down. I made my way slowly, along with some of the neighbors, down to the tram station. We shivered as we rode, huddled together, up to Queensbrook. The spinning floor was freezing, and so we kept our coats and boots on for a while until the place warmed up. The girls began to sing, as much to keep themselves warm as anything else, but I hadn’t the heart for it.
None of the girls had been at O’Hare’s on Christmas night, so the subject of the fight never came up. I was glad of it. Kathleen came over to talk to me at the di
nner break. She inquired about how Patsy was keeping and whether Christmas had been good. But I told her nothing about Joel and Gavin. What was the point?
Later that evening I was on duty with the ARP. Part of me was glad of the distraction, and part of me wished I was free instead to go and find Joel. I would have to wait another day. I sat in the small back room of the converted house beside the police barracks where our headquarters had been set up. It hardly looked like a headquarters, more like somebody’s kitchen. A fire blazed in the grate and the kettle whistled on the stove. Mary McTaggart was on duty, as well as a couple of older men. The head warden was in his “office” in the parlor.
“Bloody cold to be parading up and down Hill Street,” grumbled one of the men, whose name was Hugh.
He was a lazy oul’ sod. Always complaining. I wondered why he had joined up in the first place. The other one, a wee chap called Eugene, agreed with him.
“You’re right there, Hugh. A night not fit for man nor beast.”
Hugh looked at Mary and me. “Youse girls are a lot younger than us. I think you should take the outside duty tonight. Eugene and I will stay here and practice our first aid. After all, there won’t be much doing on a night like this.”
Mary began to protest, but I was glad of the chance to go and do something. Still, I wasn’t letting them off so easy.
“Youse are lazy oul’ bastards, the pair of you,” I said, “sending us out while you sit here on your arses. Mary and I will go, but only providing you finish rolling that pile of bandages over there in the corner, and youse clean and sweep the place, including the lav. Otherwise I’ll report you to the regional inspector.”
They glared at me, while Mary grinned.
“You’d better watch yourself, you wee bitch,” Hugh said.
I shrugged my shoulders as I pulled on my overcoat and lifted my helmet from its peg. They knew they had no choice but to do what I said. They knew I wasn’t shy. And besides, they knew the regional inspector had a big notion for me.
The Linen Queen Page 24
