by Anne Bennett
Sam told him there was also a slump in England, but it was nothing compared to what was happening in America at that time. ‘If you fail to secure orders and develop trade links for us,’ his uncle threatened, ‘then on your return, you and your mother will be on the street. Your greed caused this disaster to befall me, so any responsibility I may once have felt for you has now ceased. I can no longer support either of you, and have no wish to do so, either. This is your very last chance.’
Eddie felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach and there was a tremor in his limbs, for he didn’t doubt that his uncle meant every word. If he and his mother were out on the streets of New York, he didn’t know how in God’s name either of them would survive, because the whole country was in the grip of the biggest slump America had ever known. He had to make a success of this trip, or his very life and that of his mother were in grave danger. Maybe on this trip back to England he might be well advised to steer clear of the whole area where Angela lived. He had enough to do and would do well to keep away from any distractions, tales of which might easily reach the ears of his uncle and scupper his chances of redeeming himself in any shape or form.
In the cold light of day, however, Eddie dismissed the misgivings he’d had in the night. He remembered the feel of Angela’s body as he ran his hands all over it, and he decided it would be mad to go back without even trying to see her. The area, he was sure, would have changed over the years. People living there now would probably not know him at all.
Eddie was right about the area changing. Many had aged and died or retired and moved away, including Breda and Paddy Larkin, who had owned the pub. After a lifetime pulling pints, they had decided enough was enough. Breda’s arthritis had worsened with age and they had moved down South, where they had family living. Angela had been sorry to see them go, because over the years they had become good friends and Breda had been her confidante and always supported her. Angela had the address of where she had moved to, so she could and did write, but letters weren’t the same thing. The pub had been taken over by another married couple, Muriel and Noel Lampeter, who were very pleasant, but they knew nothing about any past history between Angela McClusky and Eddie McIntyre. And no need for them to be told either, Angela thought, especially as Eddie had disappeared out of all their lives, thank God.
Daniel was wakened by brick dust falling on his face, making him cough as he realised where he was and that someone was moving above him. Daniel’s coughing alerted Bobby as he was climbing down the structure. He peered into the hole but could see nothing. He opened his mouth but closed it again when he realised he was about to ask the man if he was all right. It was what people said, but in this case, it seemed meaningless, so instead he called out, ‘Don’t think we’ll be able to get you out for some time yet. Do you want anything I could lower down to you?’
‘Water,’ Daniel pleaded. ‘I’d love some water. There’s at least two of us down here.’
‘Righto,’ Bobby said. ‘I’ll have to climb up to get some, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘All right, do your best,’ Daniel said and he heard the scrabbling of feet as Bobby pulled himself off the rubble and began his ascent.
‘Connie … Connie, did you hear that?’ Daniel said into the darkness. ‘They’re coming to get us.’
But there was no reply.
Stan and Angela had been sitting for hours. She had almost fallen asleep, her head dropped sideways to rest on Sam’s shoulder. She felt embarrassed as she woke up properly, but when she mumbled an apology, Stan told her not to worry about it.
Her entire soul was consumed with thoughts of Connie. What must she be going through at the moment? Was she still alive, was she frightened, had she been calling for her mammy, who couldn’t get to her? These thoughts went round and round in Angela’s head on a never-ending loop. Her stomach was churning with anxiety, and all she could do was pray for the safe return of the daughter she loved beyond anything. Was this God’s punishment for what she’d done in her past? She’d given away one beautiful daughter, so she didn’t deserve to keep another. Angela was wracked with guilt that this was all her fault. She knew one day she’d really have to pay the price of the terrible deed she’d done, and perhaps now that day had come? These were all thoughts she couldn’t share with Stan, couldn’t share with anyone. Dear God, thought Angela, what have I done …?
And as if in answer, Angela looked up to see something she’d thought about almost every day with equal parts horror and joy. Her heart, which had been racing ever since Bobby Gillespie turned up on her doorstep, now almost stopped beating.
Just opposite to where Stan and Angela were waiting, a young girl walked onto the factory site. Beside her were a priest and a woman. Angela felt the blood running like ice in her veins. Her mouth seemed unaccountably dry and her head swam. Her innards were gripped by the panic flowing through her.
Stan didn’t know what had happened to Angela, though he was aware something was wrong, for the look on her bleached face expressed pure anguish. ‘What is it, Angela?’ he cried.
She couldn’t answer Stan, for her eyes were riveted on the child. Angela knew she was looking at her own daughter she had abandoned on the steps of the workhouse all those years ago. She had never imagined anything like this happening. She didn’t know what the child was doing there, and she had no right to ask her. It was far too risky to acknowledge her in any way, but the memories were reverberating in her head and she had the urge to run from the place. But she knew she couldn’t do that either, not while Connie needed her.
Chrissie had come to the factory because she was worried about the girl who had become her only friend. She had gone to the library to get a book to read during the Easter holidays, and she was surprised not to see the girl with the golden ringlets there. When she had made a second visit a few days later, the girl was still missing. Chrissie had asked where she was, but neither librarian knew. One had mentioned that they were a little concerned that she might be unwell, as she had always let them know in the past if she couldn’t come to work at the library. ‘I could go and ask, if you want me to?’ Chrissie said. ‘But I don’t know exactly where she lives.’
‘We can give you her address,’ said the older librarian. ‘You don’t mind going?’
‘Not at all,’ Chrissie said. ‘I’d like to see how she is, anyway.’
However, when Chrissie arrived at Bell Barn Road and hammered at the door there was no answer, and the woman next door came out and told her there was no one in. ‘They’re all right though, aren’t they?’ Chrissie asked. ‘Not ill or anything?’
There were few secrets that could be kept in those back-to-back streets, and the neighbour knew all about the young boy coming to the door and what he had said to Angela. She told Chrissie what she knew.
Chrissie ran home, via the library, to tell Eileen and Father John what she thought might have happened to her friend from the library. Eileen and Father John (Eileen’s brother), who were the people who had taken her in, knew all about Chrissie’s fascination with the girl with the golden ringlets whom she had met at the library. They were extremely concerned when Chrissie told them what the neighbour had said.
‘Apparently it’s a factory in Walsall,’ Chrissie said. ‘Can we go and find out what’s happened? I won’t be able to stop worrying until I know what’s happened to my lovely friend Connie.’
Eileen had a list as long as her arm of things to do that day, but she saw Chrissie was really concerned about what had happened to the girl she had befriended at the library, and she too was quite anxious about her, so she nodded her head.
‘Let’s ask John if he wants to come too. There might be some there looking for reassurance from a Father. I just hope the news is good, and this girl with the golden ringlets is all right.’
They found Connie was far from all right. Her mother was in a right state too – and no wonder, Eileen thought. She was very agitated, she had difficulty meeting Chrissie’s eyes
, and her face was flushed scarlet. It looked as if she was being consumed by shame.
Eileen recognised Angela as a woman she had seen occasionally at Mass at St Chad’s. Every time she had seen Angela at Mass she’d had her head covered, but now that Angela had removed her scarf, Eileen felt trepidation flood over her body, but didn’t know why.
The strained silence between them all was broken by a shout from underneath the rubble from Bobby. He had shouted up before and asked for water, which had been lowered down to him, but this time he tugged on the rope and began to climb up, and they all dashed over to hear the news he might have. Bobby said not everyone had been crushed, as most people had thought, because they had been protected by the angle of the roof. Angela let out a sigh of relief and she didn’t know whether he heard or not, but he shook his head. ‘We have to get them out real quick though,’ he went on, ‘because the roof won’t hold much longer, because it’s creaking and groaning above them. If it collapses …’ He didn’t need to go on.
‘Can we reach them?’ one of the miners asked.
‘Not easily,’ Bobby answered. ‘I couldn’t get any nearer than I did without dislodging stuff. I lowered that canteen of water down. And they need torches – it’s pitch black down there. Nobody will be able to do anything if they can’t see.’
‘How are the survivors doing down there?’ asked one of the miners.
Bobby shrugged. ‘Hard to say. Some could be alive but unconscious. One man’s definitely alive. He’s the one who asked for the water, but he said the lady beside him is in a bad way – but I’m not saying she’s dead, like. We need men to shore the structure up as secure as they can make it, so we can get all those people out as quickly and as carefully as possible, I’d say.’
Angela knew that there was nothing else to do, except anxiously wait while those trained in this type of work organised teams to rescue as many of those trapped as possible. Anyone still alive had been lucky so far, but they were still at risk, for any sudden movement, especially the removal of blockages, could bring the whole thing down. Bobby said the roof had protected them so far, but to Angela it seemed such a flimsy roof to hold so much weight. She could only hope and pray that it might hold out a little longer till everyone was freed. But just how likely was that? A feeling of dread and terrible sadness filled her being as she faced the fact that in all probability, she would never see her daughter again.
Many excruciatingly worrying hours later, Stan, who had gone to see if there was any further news, came to see Angela. ‘I have news of Connie.’
Angela’s mouth suddenly went bone dry. ‘Bad news?’ she croaked.
Stan didn’t answer directly but said, ‘She’s alive, Angela. Connie is alive.’
‘Oh, praise the Lord! But what’s the problem?’
Stan replied gravely, ‘She’s very weak and they need to get her out and into hospital right away. But before they can do that, they need to lift a beam off her. They’re putting chains on it now, but it will be a dangerous procedure and might take a long time. The beam is supporting a huge amount of debris, so they’ll have to have the miners down there, reinforcing it bit by bit as they start to lift it.’
‘Is there a chance the whole lot might fall on her, burying her again?’
Stan knew that was the very thing the whole crew were worried about. He also knew that the rescuers and miners were risking their own lives to release Connie safely. His own son Daniel was one of the lucky ones who had been rescued with relative ease. The relief Stan had felt when Daniel had been lifted out of that hole was immense, but Angela was far from experiencing that joy.
‘It will take some time, as I said. But she’s alive, and you must hold on to that just at the moment.’
The wait this time was different because, as they struggled to free Connie, Angela could hear the clanking of chains, and the miners calling out to one another, and the dull thud of the pit props being hammered in, prior to moving the beam, as well as the awful sound of sawing. At each noise emanating from the hole, Angela jerked slightly in her chair. She felt as if her nerve endings were raw, exposed. Her limbs trembled and her ears were attuned to any sounds that might spell disaster. Any crash, clatter or crunch made her flinch, as if she were experiencing physical blows. Angela remembered how the Moorcrofts felt at the loss of their son Billy. No wonder his mother had lost the will to live without him. She watched the clock on the factory wall. Surely it had stopped or was running slow, for never had she known time to pass so slowly.
Stan watched as Angela sat on the chair, shrouded in misery and foreboding, as worry for Connie filled her whole being.
By the time Connie had eventually been gently lifted out of the hole, strapped to a stretcher, the flicker of hope Angela had once had, that Connie just might have survived against all the odds, had been completely extinguished. News of the explosion had leaked out to the general public, and as Angela followed her daughter’s stretcher, she was subjected to the pop and flash of cameras securing pictures for the papers, and journalists were there with notebooks at the ready, collecting human-interest stories. The police and medical staff tried to protect Connie and Angela from this intrusion, but Angela, almost out of her mind with anguished worry, was almost unaware of it. Connie lay on the stretcher covered with thick grey dust, which still couldn’t disguise the dark bruises that covered her body or the gash on her head that had seeped rust-coloured blood onto her hair. An ambulance had been summoned, and as Connie was being lifted into it, Angela, who thought she must be dead, wondered why the blanket they had wrapped around her wasn’t covering her face.
It was the doctor who said, ‘Your daughter is not dead, Mrs McClusky, but unconscious and in a coma – a kind of deep sleep.’
Angela reeled backwards in relief and shock, and gave a half-cry at the news. ‘Will she wake up?’
‘We hope so, in time.’
‘How much time?’ Angela managed to choke out, her mind still processing the news that her Connie was still alive.
‘That very much depends on the severity of the injuries to the brain and the tenacity of the patient,’ the doctor said. ‘The quicker we can get her to the hospital, the better we can treat her. So, Mrs McClusky, jump into the back of the ambulance with your daughter, and let’s get her to the safest place for her right now.’
Just behind the ambulance, Angela could hear Chrissie talking to Eileen.
‘Can we follow the ambulance to the hospital, Eileen?’
Angela had almost forgotten the child was there, her attention had been so fully centred on Connie. She was about to boycott the girl’s request when one of the nurses who had come with the ambulance said, ‘A friend talking to Connie might help bring her out of her coma.’
‘But they’re not friends, not really,’ Angela protested.
‘Maybe not best friends,’ Eileen conceded, ‘but they knew each other quite well through the library. Chrissie really admires your daughter, and I think they have got quite close. She was dreadfully upset when news of the accident reached her.’
‘How did she know?’
‘She had gone to your house to see if Connie was all right. The librarians had been wondering if she was unwell when she didn’t start at the library as she usually does in the holidays. One of your neighbours told Chrissie what had happened, and she came home quite distressed. Nothing would calm her down except coming here to see if Connie was all right.’
SIX
At the hospital Connie was immediately whisked away to be examined by the doctors. Angela found herself alone in the waiting room, her head spinning with the events of the day. Was that little girl Chrissie really the baby she’d abandoned? Angela knew it was so; she supposed it was a mother’s instinct kicking in after all these years. She just knew. What on earth was she to do now? Angela couldn’t properly think about this, whilst so consumed with worry for Connie. What if she never woke up? Angela had heard stories of people that lived out their lives in these comas. Please, God –
don’t let that happen to Connie! She’d do anything it took to get Connie to wake up, anything at all.
As she was pacing around the waiting room, a kindly nurse came over to Angela. ‘Please try not to worry too much, Mrs McClusky,’ she said. ‘Let the doctors do their job, and you’ll soon be back by her side. And when you are, sometimes it helps to talk to people in a coma. You could try that, or singing a familiar song – anything at all that might break through the fog surrounding her brain at the moment.’
‘Will she be able to hear it?’ Angela asked.
‘Many of my colleagues think she might be able to, even if she’s unable to respond.’
‘And you, nurse? What do you think?’
‘I think, Mrs McClusky, it’s far better to talk or sing to your daughter than sit by her bed in silence, whether she hears it or not.’
Angela knew by the nurse’s evasive reply that she didn’t totally believe Connie would hear any words said to her, but it would do no harm to try.
And Angela did try. At Connie’s bedside, she told her over and over how much she was loved and needed, and stroked her hand.
Hours passed, and still she sat there. Then Eileen, the priest’s sister, popped her head round the door with a cup of tea. ‘I thought you might like this,’ she said.
Angela took the cup gratefully and drank the scalding tea. ‘Thank you, that really was most welcome.’
‘Could you do with company?’ Eileen asked. ‘Or would you prefer to be alone with your daughter?’
Angela was touched by Eileen’s thoughtfulness and understanding, and said, ‘I was glad to be on my own before. I was trying to make sense of everything, you know, but now I think I might value your company, if you’re sure you have the time?’
‘I’ll make time,’ Eileen said with a smile. ‘If I waited till I had the time, I’d never get anything done. And can I bring Chrissie in, too I left her with the nurse, but she is so anxious about your daughter. They often met in the library, and the nurses seem to think a friend talking to her might help.’
