A Girl Called Blue

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  ‘Bernadette, try not to fret alone in this room. The other girls and myself and the rest of the sisters are all still close by.’

  She nodded, as Sister Monica bent down and kissed the top of her head. ‘Sleep well, child.’

  Blue lay totally still on the narrow bed. The room was so quiet. Her eyes were drawn to the patch of moonlight reflected through the high window. It was like being in a box, a caged animal. She felt as if her heart was broken, cracked right through by a jagged line. She stared at the wall, as the reflected shadows of clouds and stars and moonlight mingled and danced. She wished she still had the yellow book, especially tonight when she needed it so badly. She closed her eyes … the hut was small, the sound of wind and insects rustled in the grass roof above her, outside the animals moved in the dirt and dust making their way in the darkness to the water hole as the babies and children slept, but Teza sang with them, her body still warm from the sun as she clapped her hands and danced …

  CHAPTER 27

  The Picnic

  Back at school the map on the board they used for geography reminded Blue of the great escape and the places she and Mary had travelled through: Kinnegad, Kilbeggan, Athlone … Next year she would learn more geography when she went to the secondary school up the road.

  Months passed. July was roasting hot and when August came Lil and Sarah and the rest of Blue’s friends went away for the usual week’s holiday to the summer home in Wexford while she had to stay behind to help in the nursery. Blue tried to pretend that it didn’t matter when they told her about the fun they had had on the beach and Lil finally trying to learn to swim, tried to pretend she didn’t give a toss about things like that because she was used to being alone. At night when she climbed into bed in her tiny, cramped room, she dreamed of faraway places – Africa, Asia, India, Alaska – and the lonesome world around her dissolved away.

  It was a warm September Sunday when Sister Monica called her and told her to go to the front parlour.

  ‘You have a visitor, Bernadette. Tidy your hair and put on a clean blouse, that’s a good girl.’

  She wondered who it could be and almost jumped with joy when she saw Jimmy Mooney, looking more uncomfortable than ever, sitting on a spindly armchair that looked set to break under his weight.

  ‘How are you, girl? I hope the nuns are treating you right.’

  She couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say.

  ‘I was wondering would you fancy coming out with me and Ma for the afternoon? That is, if you want to.’

  Want to! She couldn’t imagine anything better, but maybe the nuns wouldn’t let her.

  ‘I’ve already asked permission from Sister Monica,’ he said, as if reading her mind.

  ‘I’d better get my coat and change my shoes.’ She was almost frightened to go lest he disappear and be gone when she got back.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, reading her mind again. ‘I’ll wait here for you, lass.’

  Nance Mooney was sitting in the front seat of the black taxi and greeted her with a big hug.

  ‘We were thinking of going to Dollymount strand for a bit of a walk and a picnic and we thought you might like to come with us.’

  ‘Yes, please!’

  ‘Jimmy doesn’t get much time off at the weekends but I told him he needed to get out and get a bit of fresh air. Do us all good.’

  Blue sat into the back of the car as Mrs Mooney talked nineteen to the dozen about her big win at Bingo the previous Tuesday.

  ‘All my numbers came up, all of them. I had a full house in about six minutes.’

  Blue didn’t exactly know what the importance of the numbers or a full house was, but she congratulated the woman warmly.

  As they drove out towards Dublin Bay, Jimmy pointed out various places to Blue. ‘There’s the Poolbeg lighthouse, Ringsend gas works. That island over there is called Ireland’s Eye.’

  She guessed he must know every street and road and building in Dublin.

  Blue loved the way the sea shimmered in the sunlight and the waves rolled in and out, in and out, unchanging. She almost cheered when Jimmy turned off the roadway and drove across a road of sand and clay, the car finally pulling up on the grass above the beach.

  They tumbled out of the car, and Mrs Mooney tied a red scarf around her head to protect her perm. Jimmy carried a rug and a wicker basket, while Blue took out the three cushions that were in the boot.

  ‘Take off your shoes and socks,’ warned Mrs Mooney before they set off to find their spot on the beach, ‘or they’ll be covered in sand.’

  Blue followed her advice and rolled her white ankle-socks into the toe of her shoes, which she carried under her arm. The sand felt warm and she scrunched her toes in it.

  ‘’Tis good for your feet, gets rid of the rough skin and corns,’ said Mrs Mooney.

  ‘I’m sure Blue doesn’t have corns, Ma,’ Jimmy remarked.

  They walked for a few minutes along the almost-empty beach, until Mrs Mooney finally decided on the perfect place to stop.

  ‘Here will do nicely, Jimmy,’ she said.

  He spread out the tartan rug and flopped down beside her. Blue felt suddenly shy and awkward.

  ‘Sit yourself down, pet,’ urged Mrs Mooney, patting the cushion on the rug beside her.

  Blue thought the beach was beautiful and was content to just sit and stare and soak it all in. In the distance the huge ferry-boat sailed across the Irish Sea towards England. She watched the seagulls toss and swirl in the sky above them, and the rippling white yacht sails flutter in the wind as they bobbed in Dublin Bay.

  ‘Take big breaths of that sea air,’ suggested Jimmy. ‘Good for the mind and body.’

  Blue stretched out in the warm sunshine.

  ‘How about a paddle?’ asked Mrs Mooney, after a while. ‘I’m too old for swimming but I do enjoy a paddle. What about you?’

  Blue didn’t have to be asked twice and jumped up immediately. Nance Mooney rolled up the skirt of her dress and tucked it in the elastic of her white cotton knickers. She looked a sight but didn’t seem to care. Blue rolled up the waistband of her own skirt, and together they put their toes into the freezing water. Blue almost jumped with shock as the icy water covered her feet and ankles.

  ‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ they shouted in unison, laughing and screaming like two children as they ran in and out of the waves.

  Jimmy appeared a few minutes later in a pair of large black swimming trunks and without hesitation ran straight into the water and dived under, ignoring their warnings about the cold. His big shoulders and dark head bobbed about in the water.

  ‘He always loved swimming,’ Mrs Mooney said approvingly. ‘Used to swim in the Iveagh baths when he was your age.’

  They waded out as far as they could towards where Jimmy was swimming. Envious, Blue watched Jimmy dive and splash like an otter. She kept a close eye on his dark head in the waves. Eventually he got out, his teeth chattering as he wrapped himself in a big green towel.

  ‘Let’s go for a run up along the beach to dry off,’ he suggested.

  Mrs Mooney backed out, but Blue and Jimmy raced along the seashore, the warm sun drying the salt water to a fine layer of white on their skin.

  ‘I wish I could swim properly,’ Blue said.

  ‘I’ll teach you,’ he offered.

  ‘Teach me?’

  ‘Yes, next summer.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘I mean it. I’ll bring you down here and we’ll get you a costume, and, you’ll see, in no time you’ll be like those kids out there.’ He pointed to some boys having swimming races a few yards out from the shore.

  Blue blinked. He was talking about next summer, nearly a whole year away, as if she was going to be a part of his plans, his life. She said nothing as they stopped running and walked slowly back the way they had come, their footprints still imprinted on the sand.

  Mrs Mooney had brushed all the sand off the rug and spread out the cushions again and opened the wicker picnic ba
sket.

  ‘I’m famished,’ she declared. ‘Sea air always gives me an appetite.’

  Blue flung herself down on the rug and bit into a thick ham sandwich made with soft crusty bread and golden butter and a bit of lettuce.

  ‘Want any mustard?’

  She shook her head. It was perfect as it was. There were hardboiled eggs still in their shells, which they peeled and ate dipped in salt, and juicy red tomatoes and Mrs Mooney’s home-made buns. Then Jimmy took out the big flask and some plastic cups and poured them all some tea.

  ‘Have you had enough to eat?’ he asked eventually.

  Blue had never had such a feast. ‘I love picnics,’ she shouted, her voice catching in the air.

  When they had finished eating she helped Mrs Mooney to repack the battered wicker basket and wrap up the rubbish and brush the sand away. Jimmy stretched out on the rug, his hands under his head as he settled down to snooze in the sun.

  Blue walked down near the water to feed some left-over crusts to a curious seagull who’d been hovering around. She bent down, picking up bits and pieces of old shells, a black stone and a round speckled grey one, all smooth and shiny from the sea; she found a lovely piece of driftwood too. She gathered them and put them in her pocket, souvenirs of the day out.

  Before going home they all went for a final paddle, the tide almost out, and Blue wishing the day would never end.

  ‘It was magic,’ she sighed as she sat on the rug drying her feet with the stripey towel.

  ‘You’ll be back again,’ reassured Mrs Mooney, shaking out her cardigan.

  Blue blinked, not quite believing it.

  ‘I meant it about teaching you to swim next summer,’ declared Jimmy, standing barefoot on the sand, his skin burned pink with the sun, ‘and about coming back to Dollymount and doing lots of other things besides.’

  ‘Go on, tell the child,’ urged Mrs Mooney.

  ‘I talked to the nuns.’ Jimmy Mooney was standing in front of Blue, his big face unusually serious. ‘That Sister Regina and the other nun with the pointy face. We asked and we tried, we did everything we could, but they still said Ma and I can’t foster you.’

  Blue looked at the waves.

  ‘We can’t foster you because of my marital status and …’ he looked at his mother.

  ‘Me being an old one,’ said Mrs Mooney.

  Blue could hardly breathe. What were they saying? What were they trying to tell her?

  ‘But we can take you out. Take you home to Iveagh Street, have you visit at weekends and in the holidays …’ he trailed off ‘… that’s if you like, of course. If you want to.’

  If you like …

  ‘I suppose we could be a sort of a family, if you want to call it that,’ he added huskily.

  Blue jumped up from the sand and flung herself into his arms. Jimmy caught her and swung her high in a circle, going round and round, the sea and sand spinning madly.

  Mrs Mooney was half-crying with happiness. ‘Jimmy, I told you the child needed to be part of a family. Knew it the minute I laid eyes on her. She’ll come and visit as often as she can, stay with us whenever she wants.’

  ‘We know we’re not the perfect family,’ Jimmy said slowly. ‘Not what you expected or deserve. We’re just simple, ordinary people, but we do care about you and when the time comes and you are old enough to leave Larch Hill, you will have a place in Iveagh Street.’

  Blue was overwhelmed with emotion. It was true: this wasn’t what she had expected or imagined at all. A big man with red cheeks, and hairs that grew on his chest and arms, and had sunburned skin and smoked tobacco and had a mind like a map, and a fat old woman with permed grey hair who like to paddle with her skirt stuffed into her knickers and play cards. It wasn’t what she had imagined at all, but somewhere deep in her hungry heart she knew that Jimmy and Nance Mooney were the exact people she wanted to have as family.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said hugging them both. ‘Thank you…thank you …’

  They sang all the way home and Jimmy bought three whipped ice cream cones to celebrate. Bursting with happiness, Blue savoured the sweet, creamy taste.

  ‘I’ll collect you next Sunday and maybe we might go for a walk in Stephen’s Green. There’s ducks there and swings and a slide.’

  ‘And I’ll cook something special, and make some more of my buns,’ smiled Nance Mooney, trying to wipe her smeared hands clean with a hanky.

  Blue leaned back against the leather car seat. She couldn’t wait to get back and tell Lil and Sarah and Sister Monica the good news. At long last she had found … well sort of found … a family of her own.

  About the Author

  MARITA CONLON-McKENNA is one of Ireland’s most popular children’s authors. She has written eight best-selling books to date, and they have been translated into many languages.

  Under the Hawthorn Tree, her first novel, became an immediate bestseller and has been described as ‘the biggest success story in children’s historical fiction’. Its sequels, Wildflower Girl and Fields of Home, which complete the Children of the Famine trilogy, have also been hugely successful. Marita lives in Dublin with her husband and four children.

  Other books by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  Under the Hawthorn Tree

  Wildflower Girl

  Fields of Home

  No Goodbye

  Safe Harbour

  In Deep Dark Wood

  The Blue Horse

  Granny MacGinty

  Under the Hawthorn Tree is also available on video

  Visit www.obrien.ie for full details of all Marita’s books

  Copyright

  This eBook edition first published 2012 by The O’Brien Press Ltd,

  12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar, Dublin 6, Ireland

  Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777

  E-mail: books@obrien.ie

  Website: www.obrien.ie

  First published 2003

  eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–458–1

  Text © copyright Marita Conlon-McKenna 2003

  Copyright for typesetting, editing, layout, design

  © The O’Brien Press Ltd

  UNAUTHORISED COPYING IS ILLEGAL

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilised in any form or my any means, including electronic, digital, mechanical, visual or audio, or mounted on any network servers, without permission in writing from the publisher. Carrying out any unauthorised act in relation to a copyright work may result in both a civil claim for damages and criminal prosecution. For permission to copy any part of this publication contact The O’Brien Press Ltd at books@obrien.ie.

  British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  Conlon-McKenna, Marita

  A girl called Blue

  1.Orphans - Juvenile fiction 2.Orphanages - Juvenile fiction 3.Children’s stories

  I.Title

  823.9’14[J]

  The O’Brien Press receives assistance from

  Editing, typesetting, layout, design: The O’Brien Press Ltd

  Image of girl on front cover courtesy of Matt Harris

  All characters and events in this book are entirely fictional and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, which may occur inadvertently is completely accidental and unintentional.

  MORE BEST-SELLING BOOKS FROM

  MARITA CONLON-McKENNA

  UNDER THE HAWTHORN TREE

  Winner of the International Reading Association Award; Reading Association of Ireland Award

  Eily, Michael and Peggy are left without parents when the Great Famine strikes. Starving and in danger of being sent to the dreaded workhouse, they plan their escape. Their one hope is to find the great-aunts their mother has told them about. With tremendous courage they set out on a journey that will test every reserve of strength, love and loyalty they possess.

  WILDFLOWER GIRL

  Winner of the Bisto Merit Award – Historical Fiction

  Peggy, from Under the Hawthorn Tree, is n
ow thirteen and must leave Ireland for America. After a terrible journey on board ship, she arrives in Boston. What kind of life will she find there? And how will she cope in this new, strange place without Eily and Michael?

  FIELDS OF HOME

  For Eily, Michael and Peggy the memory of the Famine is still strong, but Mary-Brigid, Eily’s first child, has the future to look forward to. What kind of future will it be? Ireland is in turmoil, with evictions, burnings, secret meetings and fights over land. Meanwhile Eily, Michael and Peggy each have their own troubles. Will they ever have land and a home of their own?

  THE BLUE HORSE

  Winner Bisto Book of the Year Award

  Katie’s whole world is turned upside down when her family’s caravan is destroyed by fire. Everything they had is gone, and instead of pulling together it seems as though her family is falling apart. They move to a new house, to a school where nobody wants to know her, and Katie wonders just how many changes she can take. In her fight for acceptance, she learns a lot about herself.

  NO GOODBYE

  When their mother leaves, the four children and their father must learn to cope without her. It is a trial separation between their parents. Each of them misses Mum in their own way, but the big question for all of them is: will she ever come back?

  SAFE HARBOUR

  During the Second World War, two English children are evacuated from the horrors of the London Blitz to live in Greystones, County Wicklow, with a stern grandfather they have never met before. How will they adapt to this new life in an unfamiliar place?

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