“Did you come to see me?” she asked us.
“We did, pet,” Mam answered.
“Are we friends?”
Mam met my eyes again.
“Yes, we are indeed,” she said.
Maggie touched the brightly coloured appliqué on my mother’s shirt.
“Colours,” she said, and began to cry. “I don’t like colours. Go away.”
Nothing either of us said could console her. In fact, our efforts just upset her more; so much so that we decided it was time to go.
We walked in silence back down the drab corridor and out into a day that was still glowering and threatening rain, heading toward the bustle of Bewley’s for tea and food.
The smell of roasting coffee made my mouth water almost a street away from Bewley’s. Inside, we managed to nab a seat close to the fire blazing in the back room.
“That was a good visit,” Mam said as we waited for our meal to be served. “At least some of it was. I should be used to how unpredictable she can be, but it catches me out still. I’m not sure they keep her that clean though. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in days.”
“It’s just Maggie, Mam. She pays no heed to how she looks and you know it. I’m sure she doesn’t bother with her hair after they get her washed and up in the morning.”
We sat quietly, each sorting out our thoughts and emotions until Mam’s tea arrived. Neither one of us ever admitted how relieved we often were when the visit was over. Or how sad.
“God, the tea is only lukewarm. They don’t make such a good cup here as Peggy O’Shea makes.”
I smiled at her remark. She always had the same complaint but would never let me ask for hotter water, and I had long ago given up trying to get her tea as she liked it.
“Delia, I want to ask you something,” Mam said when she’d had a few mouthfuls of tea. “Now, don’t be getting mad at me. I just want to ask straight out and get a straight answer. And I want the truth, no matter what it is.”
I put my cup back in its saucer, afraid of spilling it over the table.
“You know that girl, Iris Butler, who’s looking for her family? She came by the house to talk to your father and myself. Now wait, wait.”
She held up her hand when I opened my mouth to speak. Truth to tell, I’m not sure what I could actually have said, because my heart jumped right into my mouth.
“Well,” Mam went on, “of course we had no more to tell her than you had, but it got me wondering all the same. About Maggie, you know.”
“What does Iris Butler have to do with Maggie?”
“Don’t upset yourself, Delia, there’s no need.”
She laid a hand on my arm. I was upset. I couldn’t believe that girl had gone out to bother my mother and father.
“I told her there was no blood connection between her mother and us. There can’t be.”
“I know you did. She said so. She just wanted to know if we knew any relatives you might not be aware of. That’s not my question to you now. I want to know if there is any possible connection between Maggie and her. You know, could she be Maggie’s girl?”
“Ah, Mam. No, I assure you. She’s not Maggie’s girl. How could she be? Wasn’t Maggie inside in the home months before Iris was born?”
She looked away into the fire for a moment. Her hand on the table trembled slightly. I reached out for it and held it.
“I’m not lying to you, Mam. I’m telling the truth. Maggie had no child.”
“So why does she talk about ‘the baby’ all the time then? Why does she do that?”
“Because she wanted one. She wanted one very badly. She’s just muddled in her head since her breakdown, you know that.”
Mam tightened her grip on my hand, then let it go. She turned back to her tea and looked at me over the rim of the cup as she sipped. A log slipped in the fire and sent a shower of sparks up the chimney, blazed and then died down to a red glow.
“You don’t think the nuns didn’t tell us? God forgive me, but you hear such rumours about them nowadays.”
“Mam, I was the one who called the hospital that time when she wouldn’t go out to work or eat. I would have noticed. It was only a few months before Iris’s birthday. Besides, the hospital would have told us. Stop worrying. Iris is not her child. Rest assured.”
“I wish I knew what happened to poor Maggie that drove her out of her mind. She seemed so sensible always. Happy, too. At least after she left the convent. The nuns said she was unstable, you know, but I never saw it then. I thought she was just under a bit of stress when she came out so thin and nervy. But once she got over that, sure, she was great.”
She gathered her jacket around her and tucked her hands into her armpits.
“Oh, Mam, we’ve been over and over this. The doctors say they don’t know why she had a breakdown.”
“Well, it must be something on your father’s side. None of that in my family,” she sniffed.
“Mam!”
She laughed and patted my cheek.
“You’re a good girl, Delia. Always have been.”
The waitress came by and put our meal on the table. Bewley’s food was always good but this day it slipped down my throat without taste and lodged like a lump of iron in my stomach. I’d have a word with that Iris Butler when I got back, that was for certain sure.
15
My chance to talk to Iris came the very evening after I got back. Jude was to go out on a date with Mike. An official date, she told me, glowing with the delight of it. They were on their way in to Limerick for a dinner dance. Jude looked beautiful in a ballerina-length dress of aqua that swirled around her as she walked. Daniel’s eyes lit up at the sight of her.
“Beautiful,” he said. Jude flushed and looked even prettier. Gone was the pale, tense woman who had arrived on the doorstep just months ago. She had a glow about her and looked younger. She twirled before us and gave a mock curtsey to show herself off.
“You look like a woman in love,” Daniel said.
“I think I am in love. I never thought I would be again.”
Daniel got up and hugged her, then patted her shoulder so many times she laughed and grabbed his hand.
“Isn’t love grand?” I said, but not unkindly. While I had reservations about the class difference between Mike and Jude, I was glad they took pleasure in each other, especially now. It was good to see hope and life blossom among sickness and death. It would be difficult to be unkind to her in her happiness. Before we could say much else the doorbell rang. I stopped Jude going to the door.
“Let me, in case it’s Mike,” I said. “I’m old-fashioned and think he should wait to see you in your glory.”
It wasn’t Mike, it was Iris. She joined Daniel and me as we oohed and ahhed over Jude like she was sixteen and on her first date. We heaped it on with trowels, yet the flattery was sincere, and was meant to calm her obvious nerves. About five minutes later Mike came and the two took off in flurry.
“A game of poker then?” Iris asked Daniel.
The two of them settled with a stiff drink and for once I had one myself before I retreated to the kitchen with a bit of mending for Mam. So distracted was I that I poked myself with the needle and drew blood. Somehow I’d have to get Iris out of earshot of Daniel to speak to her. I had got through replacing a couple of buttons on Da’s shirt when she came to fetch me. Daniel was exhausted and needed to retire. At my request Iris waited in the parlour while I settled him in for the night. All the while I helped him to bed, readied his medications, and made sure the little brass handbell was in reach, my mind worked out what to say to Iris. I wanted to take her head off, I really did. Yet she was, whether I liked it or not, a member of this household for the moment, a darling of my employer.
As it happened, Iris had something she wanted to say to me, too. No sooner had I sat down than she
asked me why I didn’t like her.
“I don’t dislike you,” I said. It was true, I didn’t. I disliked that her presence here threatened my peace of mind, that it could bring to light things I would prefer to keep to myself, things I didn’t want to think about and was forced to by constant talk of the past her arrival provoked. In some ways that last objection seemed a bit moot, as my whole association with the Wolfes caused me to think about the past far too much, although with them my secrets were still in my control. Iris was a different case altogether. She could delve into the past in a way that wouldn’t occur to Daniel or Jude, and there was nothing I could do about it.
“It’s that you don’t seem to want me to find my family,” she said.
“You won’t find them at my mother and father’s house.”
A flush crept up from her throat. She fiddled with one of her hoop earrings, took it out and put it back in.
“I thought they might know some relatives you forgot about, you know. Maybe a branch of the family that moved away from here or something.”
“I know my family history. What I told you is the truth, there is no one here related to me who is your family. I don’t want you bothering my parents again.”
“What difference does it make if what you say is true?” she shot back at me. My hand just about rose to strike her. Shocked, I buried it in the pocket of my skirt and took a few deep breaths.
“The difference it makes is that I don’t want my parents bothered. That’s the difference.”
Iris opened her mouth, then shut it again. We were both silent a moment.
“Look, Delia, I want to get along with you. I won’t bother your parents again, they told me exactly what you did. It’s not that I didn’t believe you, honestly. I just thought they may have, you know, that they might know something you didn’t. That’s all. As you say, you know your history. You value it. I just want to know mine. Is that so terrible?”
“It’s not terrible to want to find your family. No. But it is unsettling to you, and now Jude is reminded of her sister, and it is upsetting her. Your mother kept things from you for a good reason, I’m sure. It’s best to leave old things be and not be raking up the past.”
I could have said to her that this digging up old bones was unsettling to me too, but I didn’t think she’d care too much about that.
“I’m sorry if I upset people. I don’t mean to. Jude and I have talked about this and she says it’s okay with her. Mum’s friend Annie said she thought Mum had been in Wales. I called the hospitals there and a Margaret Burke did work in one of them. They might know where she graduated. Jude thinks we might track down where she came from that way. I’m going over there in a few days to dig around a bit. Someone at the hospital must remember her.”
I stood up so quickly the blood rushed from my head to my feet. My impulse was to run out of the room, get away from Iris Butler and the Wolfe family, get away from Mam’s questions, get away even from Kiltilly. Maggie was always my go-to person in a crisis and poor Maggie couldn’t help me now. Keeping my head and my promise to Daniel to secure the farm could help her, so I took a few deep breaths and offered to make tea for Iris.
The disbelief and anger I felt when Daniel left me alone and pregnant with nothing but a cheque and the name of an abortionist soon gave way to panic. That we needed to postpone marriage because of his wife’s death I understood. I could have dealt with that if he’d stuck by me. Being left alone in my situation was another thing altogether. True, the cheque Daniel sent was substantial. I had no idea how much an abortion would cost but was pretty sure it was not nearly as much as the cheque he’d written. My first impulse was to send it right back. Or tear it up. That didn’t happen, because even in my anger and panic I figured I might need that money at some time. Little did I know how necessary it would be, or for what I would use it.
Frightened and distraught, I fled to Dublin and Maggie as soon as we both had a day off.
On the way up to see her I wrestled with the thought of leaving Kiltilly, the farm and my work. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Besides, where would I go? Many women all over Ireland found themselves in my position and couldn’t bring themselves to admit it or to hide out in the homes for unmarried mothers run by the nuns. Their babies were buried in fields and barns, left at churches. Lucky ones were raised by parents or grandparents, sisters and aunts, who passed them off as their own. During the whole nearly three hours to Dublin my mind ran around and around these options like a cornered animal. Try as I might, I couldn’t see past such scenarios. As a result, I fell into Maggie’s arms at the station and burst into tears. She hugged me and petted me until I calmed down, then whisked me to a café for tea.
“What will I do?” I wailed as she poured cup after cup of tea that I drank without tasting between snivels and blowing my nose.
“We’ll work something out. Don’t upset yourself so much. It’ll do neither you nor the baby any good.”
“I can’t get an abortion. You know it. I’ll have to go away. Where will I go?”
“Hush, hush. Drink your tea. We’ll talk about it when we get home.”
I drank enough tea to float a battleship, and by the time we arrived back at her flat I was exhausted but ready to talk sensibly about the future.
“I feel like sending the cheque right back to him, I really do. What good is his money to me now?”
“Don’t be foolish. Put your pride in your pocket and take the money. You’ll be needing it.”
Having already reached that conclusion myself, I couldn’t but agree. We went over all the things that were on my mind and came up with no new options. Maggie asked if I’d consider a home for unmarried mothers. Everyone knew how terrible life was for pregnant unmarried women in the discreet homes run by the nuns. I was not about to go to one, nor let them adopt out my child to strangers I knew nothing about.
“Well, you can stay here, I told you that,” Maggie said.
“I can’t. Mam will visit sooner or later. Oh God, she will be so upset. And what would I do for work? No way would the hospital take me back as an unmarried mother.”
“Shhh, Mam’ll get over it. She’ll love a grandchild when she gets over the shock. Look, I’ve been thinking. I would love a child myself. My chances are slipping away by the day. I’m over thirty now. Really, I don’t even want to get married, but a child, now I’d love that. I could take this one and raise it as mine.”
Astonishment and relief made me lightheaded. My child safe, raised by family with no shame to me. I grabbed onto the notion with all my might, even though I knew it was completely impractical.
“You? How could you do that?”
“Well, I could say a friend died and left me guardian. You could see the baby whenever you liked, but I’d be the mother. I’d want it done all legally, mind. I’d be the mother. Legally. It would have to be legal.”
Maggie had not stood up very well to the stresses of the convent. I worried if she could juggle work and care of a child, my child.
“How would you manage with work and everything? You know, the convent stress got to you. That is nothing compared to lying to Mam and Da, never mind working and raising a child singlehandedly.”
“That was completely different,” she said. “I’m different. This is something I want. The nuns were so cold. There was no real caring there. I couldn’t stand it. This is completely different. If you could help out a bit financially, I could get someone in to take care of the child. Lots of women do it nowadays. I might even be able to find a crèche. I can show up in Kiltilly clearly not pregnant at just the right time before. Everyone will accept the story.”
It was true that since she recovered from her stay at the convent Maggie had been nothing but calm. She had a responsible job. A series of hazy pictures of my child at school, visiting the farm, growing into an adult flashed through my mind. Then I came crashin
g down to earth.
“What would I do before it’s born? I can’t just keep on living in Kiltilly, going to work and all that. I’ll show in a couple of months. Everyone will know.”
Maggie crossed and took a seat next to me. She petted me on the shoulder.
“That’s where Daniel’s cheque will come in handy,” she said. “We’ll figure out something. You could stay here; we’d just need a good story for Mam. We can do it.”
I knew we couldn’t, though. Mam was no fool. Besides, how would I explain just leaving work and going away?
For the rest of my stay Maggie and I talked about her plan for my child. By the time I went back to Kiltilly I was calmer, but still worried about what I would do between now and the birth.
“Don’t worry so much, just think of different things you might do. Something will come up, I’m sure of it. I’m so thrilled, Delia. I’ve always wanted a child, you know that, but not necessarily to get married. It will be wonderful, being involved from the start, then having the baby. For you too, you’ll know your child as she or he grows up. Think about that, and you’ll find a way.”
She was right. The day I went back to work I saw a notice for a five-month training course for nurses in Wales. I could pass myself off as married and work up to late in my pregnancy. I filled in the forms that very day. My application there was accepted. My natural optimism bubbled to the fore as I began to see some way to keep my life in Kiltilly and ensure the safety and care of my child. But within months, everything had changed and the possibility of Maggie raising my child was not a possibility at all.
16
The run of sunny weather had finally broken. Rain started around noon, a sprinkle at first that blew out across the inlet, died away and returned about four in the afternoon. This time it poured straight down, rattled the leaves and thumped off the earth, spilled out of the eaves, as if it were a waterfall pouring over the edge of rocks. Daniel and I were alone in the house. Jude was gone into Limerick to get her hair done. We sat under the awning at the back door and watched the rain come down.
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