The September Girls, page 15
On Friday night, he’d watched through the window as Eleanor sat weeping on the step, at first with a feeling of triumph in his heart but, as his anger diminished, he realized he’d gone too far. He had forgotten it was raining and hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t wearing proper clothes. He hadn’t been aware of anything except his own blind rage at what she’d done and was about to do. He had actually moved in the direction of the front door to let Eleanor in, when he heard voices and returned to the window just in time to see Brenna Caffrey drape her shawl around his wife’s shoulders.
He groaned. She still haunted him, Brenna, although he no longer followed her in the street. They’d come face to face a few times over the last year and he’d been in receipt of her glowing, dimpled smiles. She thought very highly of him, under the impression that he was responsible for finding the cutting in the Echo that led to Colm discovering he owned a house.
But what would she think of him now she knew he’d thrown his pregnant wife on to the street? She’d hate him. She’d call him every name under the sun. Marcus put his face in his hands and groaned again.
‘This is lovely oilcloth,’ Brenna remarked. ‘Nice and thick and shiny. It’s hard to believe it’s not real wood. Cara! Stop sliding on it, darlin’, or you’ll make marks. Play with your bricks instead. See, I’ve brought them with me.’ She emptied the bricks on to the parquet-patterned linoleum that did indeed look very real.
‘It’s not new,’ Eleanor said. ‘It was laid by the previous tenant.’ All the downstairs rooms were covered with the same pattern: upstairs had pale, mottled pink.
They were in the parlour of Eleanor’s new house in Tigh Street waiting for the van to arrive with the furniture she’d bought in Frederick & Hughes on Saturday, just enough for her basic needs: two armchairs, a sideboard, a small dining room suite, a bed and a wardrobe, bedding, towels and a few dishes. Once settled, she’d get the rest.
‘If that van doesn’t come soon, I’ll end up sitting on the floor.’ Brenna was uncomfortably perched on the sill in the broad bay window. ‘Ask the men to bring the chairs in first, won’t you, El?’
‘I will, don’t worry.’ Eleanor was similarly perched on the sill. Both were four months pregnant and longed to sit down. She quite liked being called ‘El’. It was how Brenna had addressed her throughout the weekend she’d just spent in the Caffreys’ house, a highly emotional weekend during which she’d had to come to terms with the fact that she’d burnt all her bridges behind her.
On Saturday afternoon, Nancy had turned up. She hadn’t known Eleanor had left until that morning when Nurse Hutton had breathlessly relayed the events of the night before. ‘She said she saw you and Brenna leave together, so I came round as soon as I could. Are you all right, pet? I won’t say what I think of that husband of yours. I expect you know that already.’
‘I feel marvellous,’ Eleanor cried. ‘I know I shouldn’t, but I do. It’s as if I’ve just escaped from jail, but I’m terribly worried about the children. How are they?’
‘They’re both fine. When I left, Anthony and Fergus were playing snakes and ladders and Marcus was reading Sybil a story.’ It would seem that no one had missed her, Eleanor thought. ‘Any road, pet,’ Nancy continued, ‘I’ve brought your handbag and some clothes and other bits and pieces. I’ll put all your other stuff in a trunk and you can send someone to collect it when you’re ready. Shall I bring the children round tomorrow to see you?’
‘That would be nice.’ She wondered if they’d want to come.
Colm offered to collect her trunk and deliver it on the handcart, Nancy said she would make curtains for the house in Tigh Street and Brenna said she’d come and help when everything was delivered. ‘I bet you’ve never made a bed before,’ she said slyly, and Eleanor was forced to concede that she hadn’t. She was beginning to feel glad that Marcus had thrown her out. That life hadn’t been nearly as good as this one, children or no children.
Brenna was greatly enamoured with the new house. ‘Me and Colm will have big house like this one day,’ she’d said earlier when Eleanor had shown her around. ‘Colm’s going to night school to further his education. One day soon, he’ll be giving up the builders’ yard for something better.’
‘That’s good,’ Eleanor said absently. She was staring at the ceiling. ‘Will you show me how to put the light on before you go? We’ve had electricity in Parliament Terrace for as long as I can remember. I don’t know what you do with gas.’
‘’Course I will,’ Brenna said generously. ‘And if there’s any little jobs you need doing, Colm’ll do them for you.’
‘Thank you.’ She was about to say how kind he and Brenna were being, when something bounced in her stomach. ‘I’m sure the baby kicked just then,’ she gasped. ‘Has yours kicked yet?’ she asked, wanting her baby to be the first.
‘No.’ A shadow fell over Brenna’s face and she turned away. ‘If it wasn’t that I was getting bigger, I’d swear my baby was dead.’
‘What on earth makes you think that?’ The hairs rose on Eleanor’s neck. It was such a creepy thing to say.
‘It feels dead,’ Brenna said tonelessly. ‘It just lies there like a heavy lump in me belly. I’ve never been able to picture it having a face and arms and legs like the others.’
‘Oh, Brenna! You’ve got too much imagination.’
Before Brenna could reply, the furniture van rumbled to a halt outside and Eleanor went to ask the men to bring in the chairs first.
It was hard to admit, even to herself, that she wanted the baby to be dead. She knew she was being desperately foolish, but two of Katie MacBride’s predictions had already come true and any minute now she would lose something very precious. The only things precious to Brenna were Colm and her children and she’d sooner lose the baby than any of them.
They had wondered if, once again, their babies would be born on the same day, within the same hour, possibly at the same minute, but Eleanor’s was the first to arrive on the final day of April, after the earth had been cleansed and renewed and was ready for summer.
‘It’s a boy,’ Nancy announced when she came round to Shaw Street with the news. Brenna was likely to drop her own baby any minute and had neither the strength nor the energy to go all the way to the nursing home in Woolton to see her new friend. ‘Seven pounds, ten ounces, very handsome and full of beans. She’s calling him Jonathan.’
‘That’s a nice name,’ Brenna said dully. ‘How is Eleanor?’ She remembered the state Eleanor had been in when she’d had Sybil.
‘Absolutely fine,’ Nancy enthused. ‘Since she left Marcus, she’s been like a new woman. She didn’t need a single stitch and said it hardly hurt at all. She was sitting up, as right as rain, when I went in to see her.’
Brenna sighed. ‘I can’t wait for me own wee one to come. I feel like a sack o’ sawdust, so I do.’
She clutched the bars at the top of the bed and tried not to scream. The effort must have shown on her face as Edie O’Rourke, who acted as unofficial midwife in the area, said gently, ‘It won’t hurt to make a bit of noise, Brenna. Don’t hold it in. It’s not doing you any good at all.’ Edie had seventeen children of her own and had lost count of her numerous grandchildren. She was a little roly-poly woman with cheeks like apples and a mop of lovely silver hair.
‘I don’t want to frighten the children.’ Cara had been put in with the lads, while a frantic Colm had been despatched at around midnight to fetch the doctor when Edie confessed there was no more she could do: the baby positively refused to budge, despite Brenna pushing and pushing until she could push no more, and the pains that swept regularly over her body: pains the like of which she’d never known before. She still hadn’t screamed.
‘Has Colm been gone long?’ It felt as if he’d been gone for days.
‘About half an hour. He’ll have roused Doctor Hammond by now and they should be here any minute.’ Edie wiped her perspiring face with a flannel, just as a car drew up outside and, seconds later, Colm came pounding up the stairs, followed, more sedately, by the doctor carrying a worn leather bag.
‘Is she all right?’ Colm gasped.
‘She’s fine, Colm, luv, if more than a bit weary. Your Brenna’s a very healthy girl, it’s just the baby . . .’ Edie stood aside for the doctor and briefly explained what had happened.
Dr Hammond quickly took in the situation. ‘She should be in hospital,’ he said brusquely, ‘but it’s too late for that now.’ He opened the bag. ‘I’m afraid, Mrs Caffrey, that this is going to hurt rather badly.’
At the first nick of the knife, Brenna fainted. When she came to, the doctor was bending over her, a needle in his hand. He was stitching her up and it hurt like blazes, but not as much as the knife had.
‘We’ve got another boy, Bren.’ Brenna managed to turn her head and saw Colm was holding their baby in his arms, his face wet with tears. The tiny boy was wrapped in same the shawl that had been used for their other children. ‘Our Rory,’ Colm breathed.
‘He’s awful still and quiet,’ she said. ‘He’s not dead, is he?’
Dr Hammond shook his head. ‘No, Mrs Caffrey. Like you, your baby is very tired. He had a hard job coming into the world. He’ll perk up in a few days.’
‘Are you sure about that, Doctor?’ Edie O’Rourke looked doubtful. ‘He seems a bit too still and quiet to me. I’ve never known a baby make no sound at all when it came out the womb. There’s usually at least a whimper.’
‘And what qualifications do you have for saying that, Mrs O’Rourke?’ The doctor barked, throwing Edie a scornful look. ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve been called to an emergency because you were unable to cope, sometimes too late, I might add. It’s about time women like you were banned.’
Edie went very red, but must have decided this was neither the time nor place for an argument. She reached for her coat, saying, ‘I’ll drop in tomorrer, Brenna, luv, see how you’re doing, like.’
The doctor finished his work, gave the baby a cursory glance and said his bill would arrive in the post in a few days. He left and Colm put Rory in his mother’s arms.
‘How are you feeling, luv?’ He couldn’t have looked more worn and haggard if he’d given birth to the baby himself.
‘As weak as water.’ Every ounce of energy had drained from her body. She looked down at the tiny, fragile body that felt as light as a feather. ‘He’s like a little angel,’ she whispered.
‘He is indeed.’ Colm stroked her hair. ‘I was worried I was going to lose you.’ He looked close to tears again.
She moved her face so her cheek rested in his hand. ‘You won’t get rid of me that easy. What are those red marks on the sides of his head?’
Colm grimaced. ‘The doctor had to pull him out with something that looked like fire tongues, ’cept they were silver.’
Brenna shuddered at the thought, glad she’d been unconscious at the time. ‘He is awful still and quiet.’ She touched Rory’s cheek: it felt unnaturally cold. ‘He looks as if he’s been carved out of wax,’ she said.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, luv?’
‘I’d love one, Colm, ta.’
Colm gone, she examined the baby all over and was pleased to find him perfect in every way, but wished he didn’t feel so cold. She tried to make him suck at her breast, but his little mouth refused to open and he still hadn’t opened his eyes. His fluff of hair was a light, powdery gold.
‘Look at me, Rory, darlin’,’ she pleaded, but the pale-blue lids, which looked as if they were made of the finest silk, remained closed.
‘Would you like me to put him down in his cot, Bren?’ Colm asked when he returned with the tea. ‘It’s all ready to take him.’
‘No, I want to hold him, try to make him warm.’ She remembered she’d wanted the baby to be dead, but he’d been born alive and now she desperately wanted him to stay alive, watch him grow until one day he was as big as Colm. It had taken just one look to make him as precious to her as her other children. ‘I’m worried about him, Colm,’ she said fretfully. ‘He’s breathing like a little bird, you can hardly feel it.’
‘Don’t forget the doctor said he’d perk up in a few days. He’s just tired, luv, like you.’ Colm gave a reassuring smile. ‘Hand him over while you drink your tea. By the way, I just looked in on Cara and the lads and they’re fast asleep.’
‘That’s good. In a minute, will you fetch me rosary beads from downstairs? They’re in the right-hand sideboard drawer. Oh, and bring the statue of the Blessed Virgin while you’re at it, and put it on the mantelpiece so I can see her.’ She needed talismans to bring her and Rory luck.
The night was as quiet as the grave, not even the faintest of sounds came from the sleeping city as Brenna nursed the new baby against her breast and willed him to move, get warm, open his eyes. There was something terribly patient, almost noble, about his dear little face, which brought tears to her eyes and made her heart ache so hard it hurt far more than the cuts and stitches she’d had earlier. Somewhere in the far distance, a clock struck four.
Colm lay on the bed beside her, fully dressed. Every half-hour or so, he went down and made more tea.
‘You’ve got two brothers and a sister, Rory, and a big, tall daddy who already loves you to bits. And I’m your mammy, darlin’, and I love you more than words can say. Oh, Rory!’ she wept. ‘I wish you weren’t so cold.’ She said yet another prayer to the Blessed Virgin to make her baby warm.
Another hour passed and the distant clock struck five. Rory felt no warmer and still hadn’t moved. Outside, a door slammed: the street was beginning to stir. Colm made more tea and suggested he fetch the doctor back.
Brenna laid her hand against the baby’s chest and could feel nothing. ‘I think it’s too late for that, Colm,’ she whispered.
Colm’s face turned ashen. ‘Christ Almighty, Bren, he’s not gone, has he?’
Brenna nodded. ‘It happened only a moment ago. I could almost sense the life flow out of him, whatever life there was.’ It was as if a tiny bit of herself had died. ‘His little soul’s flown straight to heaven.’
The tears flowed freely down Colm’s cheeks. He pressed his lips against the baby’s forehead. ‘Goodbye, Rory,’ he murmured, then raised his head and looked Brenna squarely in the eyes. ‘After tonight, we’re closer to each other than we’ve ever been before. I can’t say how sorry about what happened with Lizzie Phelan, luv, but I swear nothing like that will ever happen again. It’s you I love, I always will, and I want to come back to your bed and hold you in my arms and dry your tears when you cry for Rory.’
‘All right, Colm.’ She stroked his chin, but they didn’t kiss. This wasn’t the time for kissing with their cold, dead baby lying against her breast. She didn’t tell him that things would never be the same as they’d been before, not for her. Although she loved him with all her heart, he’d let her down and, if he’d done it once, he could do it a second time. He’d turned out to be weak, when she’d always thought him strong, and she would never completely trust him again.
Chapter 6
1927
Sybil was being her obnoxious little self. ‘It’s my cake,’ she said pettishly. ‘I should be the one who blows the candles out.’
‘It’s a shared cake,’ Nancy told her. ‘Half is yours, half is Cara’s, and it’s got seven candles on each side for you to blow out together.’
‘Why can’t I have had a cake of my own?’
‘Because,’ Nancy sighed patiently, ‘this is a shared birthday party. Half the guests are yours and the other half are Cara’s.’
Sybil sniffed disdainfully. ‘I’ve got more guests than Cara.’
‘No, you haven’t, pet. Cara has three and you have three. I’m a shared guest, like the cake.’
‘But I want you to be my guest, Nancy.’
Nancy rolled her eyes and didn’t answer. She noticed that Eleanor had been frowning as she listened to this exchange. As Marcus was raising their daughter, she didn’t like to interfere, but thought Sybil was being outrageously spoilt. She was showered with expensive toys and clothes, and got her own way in practically everything, able to wrap her father around her dainty little finger. Should Marcus object to one of her demands, she only had to pout her pretty lips and he would give way. Her smooth blonde hair was topped with a mammoth pink bow and her frock - pink organdie, the skirt and sleeves a froth of frills and lace - had come from Frederick & Hughes and must have cost a mint. Father and daughter had gone together to buy it and afterwards they’d had lunch in the restaurant, something that nowadays Eleanor regarded as a luxury.
Marcus was upstairs, not exactly sulking, but not exactly pleased either that Eleanor was at the party with Jonathan. Sybil was rather taken with Jonathan, had demanded his presence and Eleanor had refused to let him come alone. Anyway, she was Sybil’s mother. She had every right to be there.
It was all terribly complicated, Nancy thought sadly. Eleanor came often to see Sybil and Anthony, but only when Marcus was at work. He had made no objection, so Nancy assumed he didn’t mind, although he minded today because it was Sybil’s seventh birthday and he’d wanted to be present.
‘What are you two laughing at?’ she demanded when she noticed that Anthony and a frantically signing Fergus were in fits of giggles. Tyrone looked bored out of his mind. He’d always been old beyond his years and girls’ birthday parties weren’t exactly his cup of tea, at least not when the girls were only seven. Jonathan seemed to be the only one eating and was steadily demolishing the salmon sandwiches. Eleanor was still frowning and Nancy could tell Brenna was cross from her pursed lips. If only Louella Fisk, Anthony’s tutor, was here, smoking one of her black cigarettes and giving Nancy the occasional wink at the ridiculousness of it all, lifting her spirits no end.
