The Carmel Sheehan Story

by Jean Grainger

  ‘She did. When she went back, they said you had been adopted and that they couldn’t give her any details. She was devastated but they just threw her out onto the street and refused to engage with her about it at all. So, after trying and trying, and getting nowhere, she returned to England. I remember her in our living room over the years, my mother comforting her when I was just a boy, she cried she railed against the system. Over and back she went to Ireland, several times, she got legal help, saying she never gave permission, but the mother and baby home claimed that she did and that it was all done legally and above board. Eventually it went to court and the judge ruled against your mother. She always said that was the second worst day of her life, the first was the day she gave you up. My mother was with her, and for months Dolly could neither work nor communicate properly, she stopped eating, she refused to go out. My parents, together, helped her to find a way to live again. Not the life she wanted, nothing like it, but a life nonetheless.’

  Carmel tried to absorb what he was saying. None of this made any sense but she knew instinctively he was telling the truth.

  Sharif went on, ‘She never married, though she had many admirers, but she never paid them any attention. She only had one goal, and that was to find you. She wrote to you frequently and told me that she would never give up. The authorities told her that your name had been changed and refused to tell her what it was, so it was as if you vanished into thin air. They told her that her only hope was if you tried to make contact with her when you were an adult. She waited, hoping every day for some contact. She wrote to the adoption board, to charities, to support groups, giving her details, in case you ever tried.

  She heard about using the internet to trace people from a patient and so she went off to the local community college and learned how to use a laptop and I helped her to buy one. She searched and searched again, asking everyone, anyone who had been in care, adopted, fostered, if they ever came into contact with you, but to no avail. Social media, of recent years, has been wonderful, she was in so many Facebook groups set up for people trying to reunite.’

  They had walked across the city to Stephen’s Green park where the after work crowd was beginning to appear. People pushed babies in strollers, toddlers and children ran to the ducks with bags of stale bread and Carmel marveled again at how ordinary everything was when she felt like her world was being turned on its head. Sharif suggested they sit on a bench.

  ‘Did you ever look for her?’ he asked gently.

  ‘No,’ Carmel answered truthfully. ‘I didn’t see the point. I just thought I was abandoned. Not adopted, not fostered, just dumped on the state. I thought she didn’t want me then, so why would she want me now? I used to fantasise when I was very young, six maybe, that she would come for me, that it had all been some big mix-up and we would go off and live happily ever after, but I grew out of that.’ Carmel’s voice cracked.

  ‘Why were you not adopted?’ Sharif asked gently. ‘Do you know?’

  ‘No.’ Carmel shook her head. ‘Not cute enough I suppose. If you don’t get taken by two or three there isn’t much hope. People want babies.’ She shrugged.

  ‘That could not be why. I’ve seen your baby picture. You were a beautiful baby and you are a beautiful woman. There must have been another reason.’

  Carmel blushed to the roots of her hair. Nobody had ever called her beautiful. A nun once said she had good bones but that was as close to a compliment as she had ever received.

  ‘Well,’ she said, praying her voice wouldn’t betray her discomfort, ‘if there was, we will never know. I have no paperwork it seems. When Bill married me, I needed a birth certificate and there was no file in existence. I was, still am I suppose, a nobody.’

  Carmel didn’t mean for her tone to sound self pitying, it was just how she saw it.

  ‘You are not a nobody, you shouldn’t think of yourself that way. You were loved by your mother, so much. If she was here now she’s ask you, what do you plan to do with your life?’ Sharif asked.

  Carmel chuckled. ‘I don’t have any plan. Bill will probably put up with me, he’d hate the idea of divorce.’

  Sharif did not return her smile.

  ‘Do you work outside of the home?’ Sharif asked, and Carmel struggled to answer. It was embarrassing.

  ‘no, no I don’t, I would like to have a job, but Bill wouldn’t like me to work. He’d feel like people might say he couldn’t provide for me.’

  ‘But what if it wasn’t up to Bill? What would you like to do? Where would you like to go? What’s your dream?’ Sharif probed.

  Carmel looked at him, deep into his eyes. She sighed,

  ‘I know I must seem pathetic to you, and I probably am, but people like me, we don’t get to have a dream you know? We’re lucky if thigs work out ok, that the best case scenario. Take for example, my friend Kit, she was in Trinity House as well, grew up there, just like me. She left care and went to Australia and she begged me to go with her. I was too afraid, but she ended up being killed in a car accident. I don’t mean that it was good to be scared, but because she was a kid like me, nobody cried, except me, and one or two of the nuns. I went from being a ward of the state to being Bill’s wife. I never even had a proper job, I’ve never been anywhere, I don’t have any skills. Not everyone can be like you.’

  Despite her efforts to stop, her eyes brimmed with tears. She tried to pull herself together, but it was as if a dam had opened and nothing she could do would stop the deluge now.

  Sharif handed her a chocolate-coloured silk handkerchief. She was afraid to use it, but he took it from her hands and wiped her face. Then he put his arms around her and held her to his chest. She could hear the beat of his heart, and though every fibre of her being told her that sobbing in the arms of this handsome but total stranger was absurd, a little part of her felt safe. It was a new feeling, that someone was on her side, that she wasn’t alone.

  She fought the urge to break free, to apologise for her outburst, to run frantically to the bus. Instead she stayed there, breathing in the smell of him, a citrusy, spicy smell, and soaked up the comfort of his embrace, as he rubbed her head, and let her weep for her mother, for herself, for the lost little girl, the bitter teenager, and for the bride that felt she deserved no better than a broken-hearted man’s hospitality.

  Chapter 6

  The evening chill was settling in, the heat of the sun gone as it set over the Dublin skyline. Everyone was back in coats and scarves again. Carmel shivered in her thin jacket, despite the heat of Sharif.

  ‘You’re cold. No wonder, you’ve hardly eaten all day. Let’s go for dinner, and perhaps a little champagne?’ His eyes twinkled as he took off his scarf and wrapped it around her neck. It was cashmere and smelled of him.

  She smiled. ‘I’ve never had it.’

  ‘Not even on your wedding day?’

  ‘It wasn’t that kind of wedding,’ Carmel said with a sad smile.

  Sharif stood up and tucked Carmel’s arm in his as they left the park.

  ‘There are so many stories to tell you,’ he began, ‘It’s hard to know where to begin.’

  ‘Why did she never marry?’ Carmel asked.

  Sharif paused, then spoke. ‘She had lots of offers, One time, I remember this man wanted to take your mother out. She told me often about him. He was a good man, kind, steady, with a good job and a nice house and car. He tried every way he could think of to get her to marry him, but nothing worked. She told me she wished she could have fallen in love with him, he was on paper, perfect, but she couldn’t. She had only had one great love in her life and it didn’t work out, and that was your father. And she could never then consign herself to a loveless marriage, no matter how convenient or suitable. She told me one day, as we were sitting in the garden having tea, my mother, Dolly and I, that she hoped you were in love with someone who was yours to love and that he loved you in return.’

  Carmel said nothing, no words were needed.

  They ate at the She
lbourne, in a secluded corner, lit by candlelight. Carmel had never been anywhere as luxurious. She drank champagne and ate crab and steak that Sharif ordered, and they talked as if they had known each other for years. Once or twice Julia and Bill crossed her mind, but she dismissed them. They wouldn’t be worried, they would just resent the fact that she had the audacity to go off without clearing it with them first.

  She told Sharif funny stories about Trinity House. She had never considered herself as funny before, but Sharif was wiping his eyes with mirth at her tales of the nuns and their idiosyncrasies. Like how Sister Josephine was addicted to building programmes on the TV and was always telling people where they should put two-by-fours and lintels and RSJs, though the chance of her actually doing any construction were zero. Or Sister Finbarr who couldn’t abide Sister Clare so she deliberately made her porridge with sour milk at least four times a month. As Sister Clare would retch, Finbarr would apologise profusely but would drop Carmel a sly little wink. Or how Sister Margaret had a bit of a crush on Father Lennon and was like a giddy schoolgirl when he came in for his scone and tea after ten o clock mass in the church next door.

  ‘Oh Carmel,’ Sharif laughed, ‘you are as your mother was fond of saying ‘an out-and-out scream’. You have just her sense of humour, she made all the residents and staff at Aashna House laugh every day. They would have the same experiences as she did, but she had a unique ability to see the funny side of everything, and especially of herself. She was one of a kind, or at least I believed so, until today.’

  ‘I wish she’d found me,’ Carmel said quietly. ‘Maybe I’d have a great life in England now, making clothes just like my mother, maybe even have a little shop. Happy as Larry, with my own money and a little flat, and a car.’ She sighed wistfully.

  Then something occurred to her.

  ‘How did you find me in the end?’ she asked.

  ‘Did I not tell you? I am in a Facebook group, relating to Dr. Wayne Dyer, and so I regularly ‘like’ people on that page, or their posts and so on. There are lots of alternative therapists, spiritual people, things I am interested in. Well, you must have posted something or liked something I liked, because on your birthday a reminder popped up. ‘Its CarmelIreland’s birthday today, help her celebrate!’ You know the way they do? And so I did a little digging, my friend’s daughter calls it Facebook stalking, and as soon as I saw your picture, I knew you were the Carmel we were looking for all these years. The rest was easy, finding out where you lived, you liked SuperValu in Birr, County Offaly, and the hairdressers, and a few other businesses, then using the electoral register online I found you. Simple!’ he grinned.

  ‘Amazing.’ Carmel shook her head. ‘Dr Dyer helped you find me. That probably sounds crazy to you, but I really like him and I think there’s something in what he says. I don’t have many friends around Birr, so Facebook keeps me sane. Imagine, it led you to me. It’s just such a pity that it was too late for Dolly.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re crazy at all, quite the opposite. I want to show you something,’ Sharif said suddenly. He pulled his sleek-looking smart phone out of his pocket and tapped a few buttons, then he handed her the phone. The image on the screen was of a paused video, dated two years earlier.

  ‘What is it?’ Carmel asked.

  ‘I made this video on Dolly’s birthday. My mother threw her a party, she invited all the staff and of course the residents of Aashna, some of her’s and Dolly’s loyal customers, a few old neighbours. Everyone, including Dolly, knew it was going to be her last, the cancer was ravaging her entire system. We were just keeping her comfortable.’

  He nodded encouragingly and she pressed play. There she was, her mother, in a wheelchair just like in the photo, the bright scarf round her head as she blew out the candle on her cake.

  ‘Speech, speech!’ called several voices in the crowd.

  Her mother laughed and looked around,

  ‘Alrigh’ alrigh’,’ she said. ‘I’m dying. D’yez not know tha’? I’n supposed ta be lyin’ surrounded be candles and mickey dodgers rustlin’ their habits and rattlin’ the rosaries!’

  The crowd laughed. Carmel was surprised at Dolly’s strong Dublin accent. After all the years in England you’d think it would be gone or at least diluted, but she sounded like the women who sell the fruit and flowers on Moore Street.

  ‘Seriously though, thanks to yez all for comin’, tis great ta see ye. I won’t see most of yez again, in this life anyway, but thanks for everythin’, for makin’ me welcome, for bein’ me friends. I havta say a special word though, to me adopted family, the Khans. I honestly don’t know how I’d a survived without them. Nadia, my best friend, Khalid, her late husband, and such a rock of support to me, and their darlin’ boy, Sharif. I wanted to dance at your weddin’, I said I would, but time is runnin’ out so I’ll havta be there in spirit. Hold on though, for the right one, d’ya hear me?’ she grabbed Sharif’s hand and he bent down beside her. Dolly addressed the crowd once more, ‘Though he’s no spring chicken, he’s still a catch!’ She grinned as the audience chuckled. She took a sip from a glass, the effort of talking taking it out of her.

  ‘I don’t believe in regrets, not really, you make your decisions and that’s all there is to it, but if there was one thing I’d change, it would be that I’d never have left me beautiful baby girl all those years ago. As yez all know I’ve spent years tryin’ to find her, but she’s out there somewhere, and I hope she’s happy and tha’ somewhere deep inside her, she knows tha’ her mother loved her then, and still loves her now. So if yez don’t mind I’d like to raise a toast, To Carmel, wherever you are my love.’

  ‘To Carmel,’ the crowd echoed.

  ‘A song!’ shouted someone.

  Dolly laughed, a wheezing laboured sound.

  ‘Well, yez did ask for it, me swan song I suppose you’d call it…though I’m more like an auld duck croakin’ and wheezin’ but I’ll give it a go…’ Her thin reedy voice struggled to be heard but she persevered.

  ‘When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother what will I be. Will I be handsome? Will I be rich? Here’s what she said to me…’ the whole crowd sang along; ‘Que sera, sera. Whatever will be will be, the future’s not ours to see, Que será será.’

  Chapter 7

  The video ended and Carmel closed her eyes. Sharif leaned over and held her hand in his, saying nothing, until the waiter came to clear the table.

  ‘she loved me.’ She whispered.

  ‘More than anyone or anything.’ Sharif confirmed, his hands never leaving hers.

  After lingering over coffee, they eventually walked in the direction of the bus station. The last bus was at eleven so she would make that. They walked in silence, darkness enveloping the city, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually Sharif spoke.

  ‘I was married once, to a beautiful girl called Jamilla, she got cancer, it was diagnosed too late and she died. It was then I decided to be an oncologist.’ He kept looking right ahead as they walked. ‘I never thought I could feel about anyone like I did about her but I realise I was only a child then, we were so young, twenty-four and twenty-two, a lifetime ago. I buried myself in work, in my friends, my family, and it was enough, it was fine. Aasana House is such a special place, we are a hospice, but we are so much more. We hold retreats, meditations, mindfulness courses; we even had Dr. Wayne Dyer there two years ago, he had heard about us and came to visit. He spent a long time talking to Dolly; she made him laugh so hard.’ He chuckled at the memory.

  Carmel stopped walking. ‘Wait a minute, are you telling me my mother actually met Wayne Dyer? In person?’ She was totally stunned.

  ‘Yes, they got along famously.’ Sharif smiled at her incredulous expression.

  ‘I love him. I have all his books, his CDs, I listen to his guided meditations all the time, I just can’t believe my own mother actually met him. This day is getting crazier and crazier. I could never have imagined when I woke up this morning that today would turn out
like this, it’s all been just wonderful. As if my life in Birr just faded away and this new me has emerged or something.’ she smiled. ‘Knowing what I know now, I’m going to find it so hard to go back to the old me.’

  He stopped and seemed to be thinking, as if weighing up what to say next. Taking a deep breath, he started, ‘I am not a rash person; I am cautious and need to be in possession of all of the facts before I make decisions. I don’t know what is happening here, but I know this. I think you are the funniest, sweetest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t want you to get on a bus to go back to a man who doesn’t love you. He loves a ghost; there is no room for you. Jamilla is gone, and she will always have a little place in my heart, but I am here, and so are you. We are alive, and we can feel and who knows what happens after this, but I just know I don’t want to say goodbye.’ The calm composure seemed to be gone and he sounded so vulnerable.

  Carmel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was this real?

  ‘Come back to England with me tomorrow, we’ll take it from there. You could work at Aashna House, I just know our residents would be overjoyed to meet long-lost baby Carmel and you’d cheer them, just as your mother did before you. You could do that, or maybe start up our mothers’ dressmaking business again. There are some little apartments in the grounds where some staff, and residents who are still able to care for themselves live. You could stay, until you decide what to do next. What do you say?’

  His eyes burned with hope and trepidation. Carmel wanted to hug him. It was like a film or a novel, but she never for even one second thought it happened to real people, people like her. But yet, this gorgeous, funny, kind man, who knew her real mother, was standing in front of her in a Dublin street asking her to leave everything, leave Bill and Julia and all rest of it and start again. A new life, one of her very own, there because she wanted to be, and more importantly because someone else wanted her to be there too. It was exhilarating. She’d never made an emotional decision before, in fact she’d made very few decisions, she was the kind of person where things were decided for her, but maybe she could grasp this chance. The chance to be happy, to have her time here mean something.