The Carmel Sheehan Story

by Jean Grainger

  ‘Well, I told her I loved Brian. The word gay wasn’t used in those days. Temperamental, theatrical were the kinder words, but there were others, and to my horrified amazement, she knew them all. I never saw such venom and hatred. The vitriol just poured out of her; it was truly shocking to me, this mild-mannered girl, in a twinset and pearls, screaming all sorts of profanities at me. And so, I found myself banished from my home, once again, for being who I am. She said that I could never see her or the children again, that it was more bearable to be seen as a deserted wife than the wife of an unnatural beast. She even said she feared I would interfere sexually with the children.’ The raw anguish of the reminiscence was etched on his face.

  He went on, ‘She made me promise to leave and never contact her again, nor was I to flaunt my disgusting habits around London in case any of her family or friends found out what I really was. There was a threat in there, I suppose, that she’d report me, to the bank, to my colleagues. She wanted me to remain a closet homosexual all my life to spare her, and so I agreed. I felt so guilty, I suppose...’

  ‘But wasn’t it legalised in the late sixties?’

  ‘Yes, but legally allowed and socially acceptable are two very different things. I’d have lost my job, so would Brian. We’d have been pariahs. And I wanted to try to make it up to her. It was stupid, I know.’

  ‘I don’t think it was stupid at all. I think it was too much to ask, but the fact that you kept your promise all these years, well, it means something. Brian understood, and he loved you for it.’ Carmel leaned over and covered his hand with hers.

  Tim allowed the tears to fall, and for a long time they just sat in the bright kitchen. Eventually, Tim asked, ‘So, we’re doing this, are we? The pair of Irish misfits going back home, not knowing what awaits us?’ He managed a weak smile.

  ‘It’s going to be OK,’ Carmel found herself reassuring him, though she was also filled with trepidation. ‘We’ll all be together, and there’s strength in numbers. I’m nervous too, but we’ll stick together, and we’ll be grand. To be honest, I think we’ll have our hands too full with the famous Zeinab to be dwelling on our own issues.’

  ‘OK, I’ll come. For you, and for Brian.’

  Chapter 6

  Carmel waited in line in the local Boots pharmacy for her contraceptive pill prescription. Beside her on the shelf were a whole lot of different pregnancy testing kits. What she wouldn’t give to be buying one of those instead.

  She’d never had occasion to buy one when she was married to Bill, since they never had sex, but she could just imagine the horror of walking into Quigley’s Pharmacy in the square in Birr and asking for a pregnancy test. She doubted they even stocked such a thing, and if they did, all it would take is for one of the locals to walk in behind you and your business would be all over the town within the hour. She was still getting used to the indifference, in a good way, of the British. Nobody really cared what anyone else did, or who they did it with. Sharif thought it was funny when she asked, ‘What will people say?’ about particular things, and he always responded with ‘What people?’

  Life here, though only an hour away by plane from Ireland, was light years away in virtually every way. Well, the way Jen and Luke described Dublin it was probably more like London, with everyone going about their business without the crippling fear of what the neighbours would have to say about anything, but her experience was of a town in the midlands, where people had very definite opinions about other people’s business.

  For example, she was fascinated by Zane’s openness about his sexuality. He was gay and proud, and she’d admit to having been a little shocked at his antics at first. Or how Oscar, the yoga teacher at Aashna, dressed in baggy trousers and tie-dyed t-shirts and wore beads around his neck and wrists and probably never thought he looked a little odd. And over here, he didn’t, but any man wearing clothes like that or bangles and beads in Birr would definitely have been on the gossip radar. Ivanka, the occupational therapist, had explained nonchalantly one day how she did a pole dancing class for exercise and loved it, not even considering for one second how her choice of exercise looked to anyone else.

  When Carmel brought it up with Sharif, he was circumspect.

  ‘I, and I suspect most people here, only care what the people they love think. If you or my mother thought I was being ridiculous, or doing something stupid, then I would take notice. But as for anyone else, people I don’t know, or barely know, why would their opinion of me have any impact on my choices? I don’t care what they do, it’s nothing to do with me, and they presumably feel the same way about me.’

  She knew he was right, but it was still hard to shake off the feelings of a lifetime. She paid for the pills and smiled her thanks at the Sikh man with the saffron-coloured turban who served her.

  She buried the little purple oblong box of pills, in its paper bag, in the bottom of her handbag. Her period was due tomorrow.

  She went into the bakery section of Waitrose and bought herself a Danish pastry and a takeaway coffee. Sitting in the lovely public park, munching her snack and drinking her latte, she smiled. There was no way on earth she’d have been seen eating a pastry in the castle grounds in Birr. Public eating was another taboo. She could picture the mothers, taking their kids on the swings, whispering to each other, ‘No wonder she’s got a muffin top, eating cakes all day long.’ Both the muffin top and the gossipers of Birr were long gone from Carmel’s life, but sometimes she had to remind herself of that fact.

  Many’s the long discussion she and Joe had about her perceptions of Ireland. He was of the opinion that she was ridiculously negative and that people were not as she imagined them to be at all. Maybe he was right, maybe the women in the park in Birr would care nothing about whether she ate a bun or not, or maybe they’d think to themselves, ‘That looks delicious, maybe I’ll pop in and get some for myself on the way home.’ It was hard to know. Her life there had been one of isolation.

  Despite living in the town as a respectable married woman, her husband a reasonably wealthy farmer, and the sister-in-law of the formidable Miss Sheehan, local school principal, Carmel had not been part of the community in any meaningful way. Partly it was the fault of the people around her, but she’d been forced to admit that some of it was because she didn’t try to connect with people, either. She’d been insecure and worried people wouldn’t like her because of her background, but she may have come across as standoffish.

  She sat on the bench, watching life go on around her. A man was teaching a little boy how to ride a bike on the path beside the bench where she sat. Two old ladies were walking their chihuahuas around the lily pond, chatting animatedly as their little dogs pranced along on their tartan leads. A young couple lay on the grass to her left, studying and testing each other.

  Carmel marvelled at how she now felt part of this world, not like an outsider looking in, unsure of how to enter this world of living people. She knew it was crazy—she’d evolved so much as a person since leaving Bill and Ireland and the person she was—but she was still afraid to go back.

  She checked her watch; it was time for her appointment. The first meeting she’d had with the counsellor, Nora, she’d felt so intimidated, but now that she’d been a few times, it was actually something she looked forward to. Seeing someone had been Oscar’s suggestion, and initially, she’d been hurt when he suggested it. She was of the belief that only people who were mentally ill went to counsellors. She remembered Donie Kinsella in Birr, who was convinced that Sheila Moriarty who worked in the post office was, in fact, Saint Seraphina, to whom he had great devotion. Nothing would convince him otherwise, even a punch from Mr Moriarty one day when his wife was driven to distraction from Donie saying prayers to her and trying to touch her cardigan every time she came out of the post office for a cigarette. Eventually, Donie was admitted to the county home, where a psychiatrist, and presumably some heavy medication, cured him. He was reintroduced to Birr society after about a year, and he scurried
sheepishly past the post office. The poor man was mortified, and nobody ever forgot his obsession. Carmel had resisted Oscar’s suggestion of talking to someone more than once, until one day, Oscar cornered her.

  He said he understood her concerns, but he went on to explain, ‘Carmel, I’m only thinking how hard it has been for you. There’s been so much to process, and we all need to take a time out sometimes, to talk to someone who has no emotional investment in us, someplace safe. When I flipped out, lost a ton of my clients’ money and was a demon to my ex-wife and kids, spun out of control, I went for counselling, and it really helped.

  ‘Now, you’re not like I was, but everyone you confide in—Sharif, Nadia, me, or Zane, or Ivanka, your family in Ireland—we all want what’s best for you, but we all have ideas about how you should cope that’s all loaded with our own agendas. And how you react, well, that’s loaded, too. You don’t want Sharif to get sad, so you temper the stories of your childhood; you don’t want to seem ungrateful, so you don’t tell Nadia the things that bother you; you want your friends to like you, and they do, but you hide bits of yourself that you think are less attractive. We all do it. That’s why speaking to someone outside of your life, where you can be totally honest, it so cathartic. Just go once, and if you hate it, well, fair enough, but I’m confident you won’t.’

  He had given her the number, and one day, she made the call.

  She’d told Sharif that night, and to her surprise, he thought it was a great idea. He’d echoed Oscar’s thoughts, and she’d felt better about it.

  ‘Hi, Carmel, how are you doing?’ Nora took her jacket, and she took her usual seat, opposite the counsellor. The room was lovely, in the attic space of an old house, full of light coming through the two enormous skylights. The walls were covered with bookshelves, and multicoloured rag rugs covered the polished rosewood floor. Nora had told her she often burned sage, an ancient Native American and also Celtic custom for clearing a space of negative energy, and the aroma lingered in the air.

  ‘Fine, thanks.’ The first few minutes were always a bit awkward. Carmel never knew whether to launch into chitchat about the weather, stay silent, or get straight to the issues.

  Nora was so still, the most serene person Carmel had ever met, yet she also had a wicked sense of humour, and Carmel liked her enormously. ‘How was your week? Last week you were telling me you were all waiting on the arrival of your husband’s aunt?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Zeinab. Well, it turns out Nadia wasn’t exaggerating—she is a handful. She doesn’t think much of me, nor anyone from my country, it seems, so our upcoming trip to Ireland will be interesting, I’m sure.’ Carmel smiled.

  ‘And does it bother you that she doesn’t think much of you?’ Something about Nora’s gentle voice made Carmel feel safe.

  ‘Well, it shouldn’t, I know that, but I suppose it does, and I’m nervous that she’ll be rude to Joe or the others. Sharif says he’ll have a word with her before we go, and he’ll warn my family not to take any notice if she says something racist or offensive, but I’m dreading it.’

  ‘Is Zeinab the only reason you’re dreading it?’

  Carmel went on to explain just why she hated the thought of returning to Ireland, of slipping back into who she was.

  ‘That won’t happen, Carmel. Who you are now is who you are. You’ve grown so much, you’re your own person, and while the emotions you experience are going to be challenging sometimes, you must remember that the person you have become, that’s the real Carmel. Do you understand that?’

  Carmel nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  ‘I want a baby,’ she blurted.

  She had not intended to just say it like that, no warning, no buildup.

  ‘Are you pregnant?’ Nora asked.

  ‘No... My period is due tomorrow, but I just can’t stop thinking about what if I did...’ Tears stung her eyes.

  ‘Have a child?’ Nora probed gently.

  ‘Yes... I’d love to have a baby, with Sharif, but I think I’m too old, or maybe I’m infertile or something. We haven’t really discussed it...’ She reddened. ‘Anyway, I’m on the pill.’’

  She began to cry, unsure why, but Nora just sat in her chair and allowed Carmel to let it out. Eventually, the sobs subsided.

  ‘Why have you not spoken to Sharif about your dreams to be a mother do you think?’ Nora asked.

  Carmel took a breath to steady herself.

  She’d wondered this herself. She could talk to Sharif about anything…but this, for some reason. He and his first wife, Jamilla, hadn’t had children, but Carmel assumed it was because Jamilla was ill. A shadow of grief crossed Sharif’s face when he spoke about her still, so Carmel didn’t bring it up for fear of upsetting him. But Sharif was so gentle, so approachable. Maybe there was another reason Carmel couldn’t bring it up.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said slowly. ‘I think he still misses his wife, and the way she died…and so young… They didn’t have a family, but I imagine they would have wanted to, and I don’t want to make him talk about it, I suppose.’ She paused. ‘Or maybe I’m just hiding behind that. Maybe I’m afraid of sounding ungrateful? Or perhaps I’m afraid he would think someone like me, with no experience of being a parent—or indeed, being parented—wouldn’t be up to the huge task of rearing a child. I try not to air such thoughts, because it hurts Sharif. He never says it, but he gets upset when he hears me think so little of myself.’

  She went on, and it felt good to be honest about her feelings without having to consider the effect her words had on the other person. ‘He gets it on one level, that no matter how confident and secure I seem now, during the important years, and so many of them, I was disregarded. A lifetime of that can’t be erased in a year, no matter how much a person is loved. Maybe it never can be.’ Tears stung her eyes, and she wiped them away, embarrassed. She was so unused to being open and honest about how she felt, it was difficult—but surprisingly cathartic.

  Now, at least, she could express all those feelings of inadequacy to Nora and be spared seeing the fleeting hurt in Sharif’s or a friend’s eyes.

  ‘Carmel, your emotions are not a reason to feel ashamed. You feel what you feel, and you don’t need to apologise for it. Own your emotions instead of trying to stifle them. Why do you think the prospect of not becoming a mother upsets you so much?’

  Carmel thought for a moment. ‘I want someone of my own to love and for them to love me,’ she whispered.

  ‘But you have lots of love in your life now. How would a child change that?’ Nora sat forward, shortening the space between them.

  ‘I never knew my mother. And my father—and I’m not even sure he is my father—has only been in my life for about a year. Sharif and I, we love each other, but he could leave, he could die, anything could happen. I suppose I want a baby because that boy or girl would be mine, and I’d be theirs, or something. I don’t know. It’s mad.’

  ‘Why are you not sure your father is your father?’

  Carmel sighed. If she was to go forward with this and really heal all the years of pain, she’d have to be upfront and honest with Nora. The story of her conception was one that hurt her deeply, and she’d never spoken about it with Nora, even though this was her third session. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

  ‘My mother used to go out with the man I call my father, Joe McDaid. They grew up together in Dublin. She and Joe were sleeping together and had intended to get married. Joe hated his father—he was a bully and violent and all of that, terrorised his wife and children. So, one night, to stop his father attacking his mother, Joe got into a fight with him. He beat him up and put him in hospital, but more than that, everyone now knew what the old man was like. He was holier-than-thou, you see, reading at mass and being the real Catholic on the outside but a demon at home. Anyway, he knew how Joe felt about my mother, and so to punish Joe for exposing him, he dragged my mother, Dolly, into a wooded area one night and raped her.’ Carmel shuddered at the words.r />
  She took a drink of water to steady herself and went on. ‘My mother discovered she was pregnant, and in a panic, she told Joe’s father. She didn’t know which of them was the father, and he arranged for her to be put into a place run by nuns for girls who got pregnant outside of marriage. What he did then, he never told Dolly. He paid the nuns handsomely, I’m sure, but he lied to the Reverend Mother. He said he’d been foolish and had a relationship with Dolly but he was a married man. He told the nun he was going to try to convince his wife to take the child—me—when she got over the shock of him having an affair. He never said rape, of course, called it a little mistake, flattered by the attentions of a lovely young woman, all of that. Dolly was never consulted.

  ‘Anyway, he insisted to that end, that I never be adopted, and so I was never even eligible for adoption. I was born in a mother and baby home and immediately transferred to Trinity House on the other side of the city. I used to hope and pray that someone would come for me. I saw other children adopted over the years, but nobody ever showed the slightest interest in me. I assumed I wasn’t pretty enough or something. I didn’t know why they didn’t want me, I just knew they didn’t. I spent my whole life there. In fact, I outstayed my welcome. We were supposed to leave at eighteen, but I had nowhere to go, so the nuns let me stay on for a bit. If they were found out, they would have been in trouble, so when one day the letter came from Bill, enquiring if there was anyone who wanted to get married to a widower with two little girls, it seemed perfect. Even the nuns thought I was insane, but I agreed to meet him. And he seemed OK, very quiet but not mad or anything, even though he was much older than me. The idea of having two little daughters to love, well, that sealed the deal for me.’

  ‘And how did you learn all of this if your mother died before you could meet her?’ Nora asked.

  ‘Sharif. My husband. He found me. Dolly spent her whole life looking for me, but she’d been told I was adopted and so contact was impossible. Dolly and Nadia, Sharif’s mother, were best friends. Dolly was a kind of other mother to Sharif, and he promised her, on her deathbed, that he wouldn’t give up. And he didn’t, so here I am.’