The Carmel Sheehan Story

by Jean Grainger

  ‘Nadia, please, and I’m sure that he has, like when the old battle axe is coming back!’ She laughed and it seemed to come from her toes. Her whole body shook and Carmel knew instinctively she was a person she would like, but Nadia had yet to learn the nature of the relationship between her and Sharif, would she be so pleased then, she wondered?

  ‘Now, let’s sit down and have a drink together before my son comes back, get to know each other a little?’ She proffered a gift bag containing two bottles of Champagne and an elaborately wrapped box of chocolates.

  ‘Thanks,’ Carmel said, accepting the gift. ‘I mean, thank you very much, you shouldn’t have.’ She had never entertained anyone before and prayed she wasn’t making a total mess of it. Her education on all matters social came from the television.

  ‘Not at all, just a small thing.’ Nadia dismissed the gift with a wave of her small jewelled hand. ‘I got it in duty-free, such a gruelling flight from Karachi, we had a three-hour layover in Charles De Gaulle, a wretched place, so I had nothing to do but shop for a few hours. It dragged, as I was so excited to get home and to see you. Sharif told me you looked like her, but honestly, I can’t stop staring, I must dig out some of the old photos of her at your age, you’ll be astounded.’

  Unlike Sharif who sounded completely English, Nadia had a strong Pakistani accent, despite many years living in the UK.

  ‘My late Husband, Khalid, oh, how he loved your mother! They would laugh for hours, she delighted him, as she did all of us. Even in his last days, and I was only able to keep him at home because of your mother, she helped with everything, she could make him chuckle and forget the pain for a moment at least.’ She looked wistful then, as the pain of his loss shadowed her face for a second. ‘But listen to me blathering on, I’m nervous you see, of meeting you, and when I’m nervous, I babble. Tell me all about you.’

  She patted the seat beside her and Carmel reluctantly sat down. She hated being in the spotlight of anyone’s attention, she was more of a background person but Nadia was insistent.

  Her eyes were so dark it was almost impossible to distinguish between the iris and the pupil and she had Sharif’s long curling lashes. It was clear who he took after, though his father must have been a tall man because he was over six feet and Nadia barely five.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing much to tell really,’ she began.

  ‘Oh, that accent! So lyrical and musical I always think. Dolly sounded the exact same way from the time I first met her in 1977 to the day she left us.’

  ‘I saw a video of her, on Sharif’s phone, of her birthday. She had a strong Dublin accent alright,’ Carmel agreed.

  ‘And how did you feel, watching it?’ Nadia asked her. She was so direct and open, it could have been disconcerting, but Sharif’s mother’s warmth softened it.

  ‘Er…well, he didn’t show it to me at first, he gave me her letters to read and these…’ she touched the necklace she hadn’t taken off since Sharif had given them to her.

  ‘Ah, yes, and how lovely they are on you. She bought them at a place in Karachi, you know? She visited there with Khalid and me and Sharif, of course, he was just a boy then, for a family occasion. Oh, she was all agog at the sights and sounds of Pakistan. She never really went anywhere, you see, apart from here and back to Ireland to try to find you. Have you travelled much?’

  ‘Never. The first time I was out of Ireland was when I came here a few weeks back,’ she admitted. There was no point in pretending she was anything other than what she was. If she was to be a permanent fixture in Sharif’s life, then Nadia might as well know the truth.

  Compassion gleamed from her eyes. ‘Did you have a happy life? Were you loved?’

  Carmel inhaled. ‘It was okay. I was never adopted, even though they told my mother I had been. I don’t know why they would have done that. So, I lived in a children’s home run by nuns, and it was fine. They weren’t mean to us or I wasn’t ever well…you know…it was okay. To answer your question, no I wasn’t loved. I was just there. I had a friend, Kit, and we loved each other, but she went to Australia and now she’s dead.’

  Tears shone in Nadia’s eyes and Carmel wondered if she should have made it sound a bit better.

  ‘Oh, Carmel, I’m so sorry. We tried so hard, honestly; I swear to you on my best friend’s memory, we tried everything. At one stage, Khalid employed a private investigator, but the church authorities there were like clams. They would reveal nothing. Dolly used to say, ‘At least some well-to-do family has her, only the wealthy can afford to adopt, the church knows how to turn a few bob.’ And after each failed attempt, she would retreat to her little flat and we wouldn’t see her for days. I learned that she just needed to be alone, and I didn’t bother her, and then she would re-emerge, ready to try again. I remember, on one occasion, when we took her on holiday with us, Spain or the Canary Islands or someplace, it doesn’t matter anyway, Sharif was about seven I think, anyway he wanted to go to an aquarium, so we went. There was one of those places where you walk underneath a glass tunnel and the fish all swim above you, you know the thing I mean?’

  Carmel nodded, she’d seen them on TV.

  ‘Well, there was an old shark there, all cuts and scrapes and scars, I don’t know how it got there, but it was wild at some point, and Dolly looked at him, with his bright black eye just on the other side of the glass and she said to me, ‘That’s me, Nad, battered and bruised, but I’ll keep on swimming.’

  ‘As we walked back to the car park that day, Khalid was up ahead with Sharif, she asked me, “Do you think I’ll ever find her? Really?” We were always honest with each other, and Khalid was convinced there was nowhere else to look. I didn’t want to be negative, but I felt I owed her the truth. I told her that I thought the chances were slim, but that miracles do happen. And now, here you are.’

  ‘Too late,’ Carmel said ruefully

  ‘For her, yes, but not for you. What happened after you left the home?’

  ‘I got married.’ She had no idea how to proceed with this. Sharif said she wasn’t particularly religious, but even so, she might be horrified.

  ‘And was it a good marriage?’

  ‘No. No, it wasn’t. He wanted a cook and a cleaner and a maid to take care of his daughters. We weren’t in love, I don’t think he even liked me much and his sister made sure I never bonded with the little girls; I left him.’ Carmel exhaled, at least that part was over with.

  ‘Good for you! You deserve so much more than that. How long ago did you split up?’

  ‘Almost four weeks ago, I left when Sharif found me.’

  Both women turned then to the sound of Sharif’s key in the lock.

  Nadia leapt up and ran to greet him, throwing her arms around him, ‘Ah mere laal! My darling boy, how wonderful to see you again!’

  ‘Hello, Ammi, so you survived Karachi? You look well.’ He grinned, returning her embrace. ‘I see you two have met; I’m so sorry I’m late back, Carmel, I was talking to a patient.’

  ‘That’s no problem,’ she replied, glad to get to the kitchen to make sure her meticulously prepared dinner wasn’t burned, and to be out from under the spotlight of Nadia’s attention. Sharif led his mother to the lounge area and, taking the bottle from the ice bucket where Carmel had put it, poured three glasses of champagne.

  ‘Carmel, come here when you’re ready, I want to propose a toast,’ he called as she just covered the meat in tin foil and laid it on the worktop to allow it to rest before carving. Everything else was being kept warm.

  She wondered as she crossed the room if she should stand beside him or not, and decided against it, too presumptuous. He took the decision out of her hands when he casually slung his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, am I imagining things? Are you two an item, as they say?’ Nadia’s eyes were wide with surprise.

  ‘Yes, Ammi, I love her and she seems to love me too, though why I can’t imagine,’ he chuckled, giving her a squ
eeze.

  ‘But you never said, we talked and you told me you’d found her, but you never mentioned a romance…’

  Carmel was worried, perhaps this changed everything. If Nadia wasn’t happy about it, then it couldn’t work, she knew how close they were. Suddenly, she found herself enveloped in a fragrant hug.

  ‘Oh, Carmel, this is wonderful news; I am so happy for you both. I knew there was something different about him, he seemed to be glowing, but I could never have guessed… oh, this is just splendid, you’ve been alone for too long… and you, Carmel, if anyone deserves a bit of happiness, it is you, my dear. Oh, if only Khalid and Dolly could see this, it would be…’ she couldn’t go on.

  ‘It’s okay, Ammi.’ Sharif rubbed her hair gently, his arms around both women. ‘It’s okay, this is how it was meant to be.’

  Chapter 6

  With relief, Carmel pushed the new SIM card into the slot on her phone. A new life, a new number, now nobody from Ireland could contact her. She punched in numbers to her contacts list. A list longer, she could never have imagined possible before. Various teachers and group activity leaders, some patients’ family numbers, Sharif’s, of course, and Nadia’s, and all the staff members, many of whom she now called friends. Her old phone had had four contacts, Bill, Niamh, Sinead, and Julia. She’d had no life in Birr; the longer she was away, the more obvious it became. Here, she was someone people sought out, texted to see if she wanted to have coffee, someone who got texts from their partner just to say hi. Nobody seemed to see her as poor Carmel. She was a colleague, a girlfriend, a friend, and she absolutely loved it.

  She was invited to the cinema to see Bridget Jones’ Baby with all the female staff, Ivanka, Ivy, Marlena, Nadia, and a few others as well on Friday night and for a pizza afterwards. For them, it was just a regular Girl’s Night, as they called it, but for her, it was the first time she’d ever socialized with a group of friends. She was so excited but tried to be as nonchalant as they were.

  The first Sunday she was in London, she got up and prepared for Mass as she had done every Sunday for forty years. Sharif barely stirred because he’d been up most of the night with a patient who was in distress. As she was about to go out the door, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and a sudden realization hit her. She didn’t have to go. If she chose not to go to Mass, then she could just not go. She tried to remember if Mass gave her any spiritual support, if it helped her in any way, and came to the conclusion that it didn’t. She was a spiritual person, of that she was never in doubt, but the Catholic weekly service meant nothing to her. So, she decided, there and then, that she wouldn’t go anymore. She instantly started to panic, thinking something awful could happen, but she resisted the urge to run down to the church. Instead, she went for a walk around the grounds, down past the manicured beds and lawns, around the polytunnels where the residents grew vegetables for the restaurant, and by the little lake, stocked with huge gold koi. On the other side of the little lake was the chapel of rest. It was away from the main area of the clinic and was landscaped with trees and shrubs. It wasn’t dedicated to any faith group and so, all the patients, when they died, were laid out there and their families could spend some time with their remains.

  She pushed the large oak door and stepped inside. The interior felt cool and calm with gold carpeting and midnight blue upholstered seats. It felt like a spiritual place but without the crucifixes or statues. There were fresh flowers and some soothing looking pieces of art on the walls.

  She knelt, even though there were no kneelers, and the pews were individual seats. She blessed herself as she’d done every day of her life. She began to rattle out the prayers drilled into her as a child, when she stopped. Like Mass, they were meaningless. She sat down and breathed deeply.

  ‘Hi, Mam,’ she spoke so quietly, though she was alone. ‘I’ve never called you that. I suppose nobody else ever did either. I wish I could have met you. I wish we could have been together. But you wanted me, I know that now, and Sharif and Nadia have been so kind. They talk about you all the time, and I feel like you can see us, I hope you can anyway. I’m so sorry they never let you come for me; I would have loved it if you could have. I had a lonely life, I only know how lonely it was since I’ve come here. I hope you’re happy now, and I hope…well, I hope you’re proud of how I turned out.’

  She sat in silence for a long time, just thinking. She took the photo album out of her bag and opened it once more. Nadia had given her lots more, taken at various points in Dolly’s life, and presented them to her in a beautiful album covered in cream lace and Dolly’s name embroidered on the front. Sharif revealed that Nadia had made the album herself. Carmel treasured it.

  The only ones of her life before coming to England were the one of Carmel as a baby and the one taken on Dollymount Strand, that just said ‘Me and Joe, Dollymount 1973.’ It had been taken by a professional photographer and bore the name of a photographic studio long gone from the Clontarf Road, opposite the beach. She’d googled it to see if any trace of it might exist still, but those days when photographers took pictures of couples and they paid a few shillings and collected the snap later, were long gone. Everyone had smartphones now.

  Why would she have included that one, she wondered? Was Joe her father? And if so, Joe who? She tried to see any resemblance between herself and the man in the picture but failed. Everyone who knew Dolly was astounded at the resemblance between her and Carmel, so she wondered if she had any of her father in her at all.

  Joe could have been a brother, or a friend, or an old boyfriend. She was born in 1976 and this photo was taken in ’73. If he was her father, then he and Dolly would have been together at least three years, and surely then that relationship would have survived an unplanned pregnancy? Dolly wasn’t a wimp. She and this Joe, if he was the father, could surely have taken the boat to England together and had her here and lived happily ever after. They both looked very young in the photo, but surely, three years later they’d have been able to fend for themselves even in holy Catholic Ireland?

  Neither Nadia nor Sharif could shed any light on either who Joe was, or who her father might have been. Apparently, Dolly never mentioned it.

  ‘I asked her once, years ago,’ Nadia revealed when they discussed it last, ‘but she wouldn’t say. He was married was all she said.’

  ‘Did he know she was pregnant, do you think?’ Carmel didn’t know what answer she was hoping for. No, probably, because then he wouldn’t have knowingly abandoned her.

  ‘I don’t know, I’m so sorry Carmel, I wish I knew more, but for someone so open, she was very, very, private about certain things. We were as close as sisters, but we all have some secrets that never leave our own hearts. Dolly’s relationship with your father, whatever that was, fell into that category, I’m afraid.’

  She let herself back into the apartment to discover Sharif was gone to the clinic. They were going out to lunch with a doctor friend and his wife and she was dreading it. It was something arranged before he even came over to Ireland and he said he didn’t particularly want to go, but the guy was chairing a conference or something that Sharif was involved with, so he kind of had to go.

  He thought she might enjoy meeting the doctor’s wife. Sometimes, she thought Sharif was totally oblivious to the clear differences between them, but the rest of the world was not. One or two of the less pleasant patients had made catty remarks about her having herself well and truly ensconced in a very lucrative setup, and when she accidentally overheard them, her face burned with shame. They were right, of course, but what they didn’t know is that she would love Sharif Khan if he was unemployed and penniless. She cared nothing for money and, funnily enough, despite the fact that he was very wealthy, neither did Sharif.

  He believed completely in the idea that prosperity comes easily to those who try to do good with the money they accrue. His primary focus was providing a home for those at the last phase of their lives and making that as positive and as peaceful an e
xperience as it could be. He’d explained, yes, it was an expensive option, and not everyone could afford it. Though several patients seemed to be from very humble backgrounds and still came to Aashna, the vast majority of people had money by the time their lives were ending. They owned houses and so on to sell so they could enjoy some comfort after their years of hard work. Most families would rather see their loved one well taken care of and happy in their final days, weeks or months, than have an extra few thousand in their inheritance. Carmel suspected several of the residents of Aashna were either there on a heavily subsidized basis or free of charge altogether, but Sharif never admitted that.

  She had spent what she considered an astronomical amount of money on a dress in Marks and Spencer at the insistence of Ivanka and Zane, who spotted it as they walked through the store on their way to a pub they sometimes went to for lunch. She had tried to take a much bigger size into the changing room until Zane and Ivanka hooted with laughter. She couldn’t believe it when the size ten dress fitted her perfectly, all the lumps and bumps caused by years of comfort eating seemed to have melted away. She knew Sharif liked her when they met in Dublin, but she must have seemed so frumpy to him then, at least now she looked much better, even if her insecurities were still there.

  The dress was royal blue and very figure hugging, not her usual sort of thing at all, with sheer sleeves and a skirt that stopped just above the knee. Its round neck was encrusted with tiny silver sequins and it looked very glamorous in the shop, but on Carmel, it felt ridiculous. She bought a pair of impossibly high silver strappy sandals that she was sure would result in a trip to A&E but Zane assured her looked fabulous. Ivanka knocked on the door and arrived with a large vanity case. She had promised to come round to do her hair and makeup before the lunch and when she finally looked in the full-length mirror in their bedroom, she had to admit the transformation was remarkable. Her hair was twisted into an elegant upstyle, and pinned with little sparkly clips that caught the light when she turned her head. She’d gone for a trim to the hairdressers the week before and the very camp man who ran the place screamed in horror at the brown dye in her hair, insisting he strip it all out and restore her to her natural colour. He was so determined, she let him, and anyway she hated the brown, it reminded her of that old crow Julia, and so four hours and one hundred and sixty pounds later, she emerged, a blonde once more. Sharif got a fright when he saw her, but he assured her that he loved it and that now her face made more sense. They’d giggled at his description, but she knew what he meant. Her creamy skin and blue eyes worked so much better than with the mousey brown colour. She’d spent more money on herself in the last month that she’d ever done in her entire life before, nudged along by Ivanka and Zane, who had really taken her under their wing. She looked nothing like her former self, and she’d even upgraded her work uniform from a selection of pastel blouses and black trousers to skirts, tops, and even jackets. She still loved her jeans and T-shirts when lounging around, but Sharif always looked so elegant, she felt less dowdy now.