A Kiss and a Promise (27 page)

Maeve snorted. ‘Once I could have managed alone,’ she said defensively, ‘because it’s a quiet time of year, so it is, and it’s mainly a matter of feedin’ the stock, seein’ that the lambs get born wit’out trouble, and so on. But we’ve been payin’ Padraig’s son, Ryan, to give me a hand wit’ the work. He’s a good lad but he’s only twelve.’ She smiled at her son and reached over to pat his shoulder. ‘Michael, even the sight of you has done us both a world o’ good! When d’you have to sign on again? Only, they reckon at the hospital it’ll be months, rather than weeks, before your daddy’s got his full strength back.’

‘I don’t have to sign on at all, at all,’ Michael said quickly. ‘You were right when you thought me letter meant I wanted to come home, ’cos I do. Life aboard ship is fine; I’ve made good friends and had good times but now I’m thinkin’ of settlin’ down, comin’ back to me roots.’ He looked speculatively across at his mother; was this the right moment to tell her that he had a daughter who was being taken care of by her maternal grandmother across the water; a daughter he had not set eyes on since she was a few weeks old? He had been putting it off for years, knowing in his heart that his parents were bound to think badly of him. They would have loved grandchildren, and when he had been at home his mother had constantly brought girls to the house, clearly hoping that Michael might like one of them enough to begin to put Stella out of his mind.

‘Well, I’d best be getting on.’ His mother stood up and turned towards the back door, beginning to struggle into her heavy coat and boots. ‘Going to give me a hand, Michael?’

‘I will, Mammy,’ Michael said. He began to put on his overcoat, relief washing over him. He would have no chance to tell his parents about Ginny now; it would have to wait until later. He opened his mouth to tell his daddy it would be like old times to milk the cows again and, to his horror, heard his voice remarking, conversationally: ‘As I were sayin’, I’m coming back for good this time, only I’ll be wantin’ two or three days off to go over to Liverpool. I’ve a daughter there, what I’ve not seen since she were a couple o’ months old, an’ it’s time she got to know me, I’m thinkin’.’

There was a frozen silence. Sean sat in his chair, mouth open, eyes rounding, his pipe halfway to his mouth. Maeve was half in and half out of her coat and the expression of stunned surprise on her face was so comical that Michael laughed aloud. ‘I’m sorry, Mammy,’ he said, his voice humble. ‘I telled you about Stella an’ how she died but I couldn’t bring myself to admit there were a baby. She’s ten years old now an’ I’ve not seen her since I came home here, after Stella died. I send money, of course, and letters – she’s a fine, strong girl an’ doin’ well at school, her granny tells me – but for a long time, I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the city, not even to see my little girl.’ He looked apologetically at his mother and was astonished to see her wearing a broad smile.

‘A granddaughter!’ she breathed. She turned to her husband. ‘Oh, Sean, we’re grandparents; did you hear what the boy said? We’ve got a granddaughter!’ She swung round to face Michael once more. ‘You say you left her with her gran, but why didn’t you bring her to us, Michael dear? Farm life is a good deal healthier than city life, I’m sure o’ that. And wouldn’t we have give her a grand time? Why, we’ve missed ten years of her growin’ up, but you’ll bring her back now, won’t you, if only for a few weeks? Her other gran won’t grudge us a few weeks, surely?’

Michael gulped. He had always known that his mother loved children, that she was desperate for a grandchild, yet it had never before occurred to him how unfair he had been, both to his parents and to his daughter. The farm was a wonderful place to grow up – he should know, he had grown up here himself – and his mother a very much nicer person than Granny Bennett could ever be. But there was no point in grieving over what had happened. Now it was his duty to bring the child home.

Sean began to press the tobacco down in the bowl of his pipe. ‘What’s her name?’ he asked. Michael could hear that he was striving to keep his voice steady. ‘Your mam an’ me wanted a big family, you know, but it weren’t to be.’

‘Stella called her Virginia but I believe she’s always been known as Ginny,’ Michael said, rather awkwardly. He had expected an explosion of wrath for his behaviour and realised that this would probably come later, when his parents were over the first shock. ‘Look, Daddy, if I work like the devil for a week so’s everything here is shipshape and Bristol fashion, can I employ young Ryan for however long is necessary, whiles I go across to Liverpool? It – it may take me a day or so to persuade Granny Bennett to let me bring Ginny back here for a while. Indeed, it might take longer than that if she’s doin’ so well at school, because it’s term time and the kid might rather come in the school holidays.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Sean said immediately. ‘If you can show the lad what he’s to do, he’ll do it. He’s slow, but very willing, and if it’s only for a few days …’

He left the sentence unfinished, and presently Michael and his mother headed across the yard to the cowshed. ‘Ryan brings ’em in every afternoon and stays to help with the milking,’ Maeve explained. She stopped for a moment and turned her steady, dark-eyed gaze upon her son. ‘We won’t say anything more just now, Michael, but I dare say you realise that you’ve a great deal of explaining to do.’

‘I know, Mammy; I’ve behaved just about as badly as any feller could, both to you and to the kid,’ Michael said humbly. ‘I think I’ve been a bit mad, and I only came to my senses …’ A young boy appeared in the cowshed doorway and Maeve squeezed his arm warningly. ‘…but we’ll talk about it later,’ he ended lamely. Raising his voice, he turned back towards the cowshed. ‘Afternoon! You’ll be Ryan, I dare say. I hear you’ve been a great help since me daddy broke his leg and I’d like to thank you.’

Michael stepped ashore at the Pier Head and felt an unpleasant sinking sensation in his stomach. The last time he had been in Liverpool the crushing loss of Stella had occupied all his thoughts. His one desire had been to escape, to get away from both dreadful old Granny Bennett and his strange little redheaded daughter. Time, however, had taught him the foolishness of his doubts over the child’s paternity. Heredity was a strange thing and he had always known in his heart that though Stella had been innocent, she would never have played him false.

Michael had been standing on the quayside, trying not to remember how he had stood here ten years before, so full of hope, so eager to reach Victoria Court. In his wildest nightmares, he had never dreamed that Stella would not be there to meet him. He had left her with a kiss and a promise – a promise to look after her and her unborn child – and what had he done? He had abandoned her baby and escaped. All right, he had been nursing his grief, half mad with it, but there had been no justification for taking it out on an innocent babe.

However, he had returned to Liverpool to right wrongs, and he meant to do just that. He had saved up quite a nice little amount despite the monthly payments towards his daughter’s keep and intended to offer Granny Bennett money so that she would not object to his taking Ginny back to Ireland with him. He remembered quite enough about the old woman to realise she would still have an eye for the main chance. If he had asked her to keep Ginny for another ten years – if she loved the child and intended to do just that – she would still have expected some sort of extra payment for the ‘favour’ he was requesting. Michael picked up his grip and began to walk up towards the Overhead Railway, his footsteps ringing on the frosty pavement. He grinned to himself as he did so. He remembered Stella calling it ‘the dockers’ umbrella’, which had always made him smile. Liver-pudlians, like Dubliners, had a way of nicknaming everything and everyone with their own sly humour.

He had thought about booking into the Sailors’ Home as soon as he arrived but doubted whether he would be accepted since he had signed off the
Mary Louise
in Dublin. However, if Granny Bennett was not willing to let him have a bed in her house, then there were plenty of cheap lodgings to be had in the area. It was a weekday so he guessed that Ginny would be in school, but it occurred to him that if she were to walk slap bang up to him, he would not recognise her. This, for some reason, brought a sharp pang of guilt, and also a startlingly clear picture of Stella. For several years now, it had not been easy to remember her.

But now in his mind, just for an instant, he saw her again; the rich fall of her night-black hair, the big, dark eyes, the way her mouth tilted when she smiled. It actually made him catch his breath, but as quickly as it had come the picture was gone, leaving behind it a warmth. It was as though she was delighted that he was back in Liverpool, as though she thoroughly approved of what he had come to do and wanted him to know it.

With a light heart, Michael began to whistle as he turned into Great George Street. Presently he swung under the arch into Victoria Court. It had not changed by so much as one iota. Young children played on the dirty paving stones and one or two older kids, who had been looking after the little ones, glanced up apprehensively as he strode towards them. They were sagging off school, he guessed, and probably thought he might be an attendance officer, for when he banged on the door of No. 17, they returned to their games, satisfied that he must be here on private business. There was a short wait during which Michael noted, with approval, that Granny Bennett had hung new, brightly patterned curtains in the parlour as well as nets of startling whiteness. The kitchen window sported red and white checks and the windows themselves were clean enough to see through. Either Ginny worked as hard in the house as he had been told she did at school, or the old woman really had changed.

Michael was still trying to peer into the kitchen to see if there were any other changes, when the front door opened. A thickset young woman with a pink and shiny face, a snub nose and pale, rather watery eyes stood in the doorway. She looked enquiringly at him, then produced a large square of cotton and blew her nose vigorously. ‘Sorry, chuck, I’ve gorra fearful ’ead cold,’ she said thickly. ‘Two of me kids is off school with it, though I did send a note by one of me older boys, so I don’t see why …’ She broke off and her rather hostile expression softened. ‘Oh, you ain’t the ’tendance officer. I’m that sorry, mister. Now, what can I do for you? Selling insurance, are you? No, that ain’t it … you’re a sailor, ain’t you? If you’re lookin’ for lodgings …’

Despite her head cold, Michael guessed that she was the sort of woman who almost never stopped talking, so he broke in as she took a deep breath to prepare for the next question. ‘I’m awful sorry to disturb you, missus,’ he said apologetically. ‘I were lookin’ for Mrs Bennett and her granddaughter, Ginny. I take it they don’t live here no more?’

The woman shook her large, untidy head, then clapped her handkerchief to her nose once more as an enormous sneeze shook her frame. ‘Nah, they moved out a couple o’ months back,’ she said. ‘I dunno where they went, an’ I’ve not been here long enough to know which neighbours were pally with ’em, like. You might try next door, though,’ she added. ‘Them’s the Borrages; they’ve lived next door to old, I mean Mrs, Bennett for a couple o’ years, at least. I don’t say they were friends,’ she added, mopping vigorously at her watering eyes this time, ‘but I guess they’re the likeliest to know where the old girl’s gone.’

Michael was thanking her and turning away when she called him back. ‘Is they in some sort o’ trouble?’ she asked curiously. ‘The old gal had a couple o’ sons in the Navy, so I’ve heard. But if you was one of them, you’d know where she’s gone, I suppose. An’ if you ain’t one of them, then why’s you lookin’ for her? I reckon it might be money … I know she owed money hereabouts. Yes, the Borrages might know where they’ve gone.’

Michael grinned at the woman. ‘Curiosity killed the cat, as my mammy says,’ he informed her cheerfully. ‘Thanks for your help, missus. I’ll try the Borrages next.’

An hour later, Michael left the courts, gnawing indecisively at his lip. The Borrages had told him a good deal, had said that the old lady had nearly driven them mad with her noisy carryings-on the previous Christmas. The kid looked after the old girl well, or as well as she could, but in the end there had been no standing it. They believed a relative from away had taken the girl; they imagined the old woman must have gone to some sort of home for alcoholics. At any rate, so far as they knew, neither Mrs Bennett nor her granddaughter had returned to the court.

‘I dunno as I can tell you where they’ve gone,’ Mrs Borrage had said doubtfully, after some thought, ‘but the kid were a bright scholar, that I
do
know, and I imagine that she’ll be comin’ out o’ school wi’ all the others in an hour or so. Why not try and catch her there?’

Michael had only the vaguest idea where the school was but he went into the corner shop to buy some Woodbines and the woman behind the counter gave him directions. Then, seeing that it was an hour before school came out, Michael booked himself into a room in a small guest house, just for the one night, and went and had a meal at the nearest dining rooms. All the time he was eating, he was conscious of a glow within him which he knew was because, at long last, he was keeping his promise to Stella. He would find Ginny and arrange to take her home to Ireland. If she did not want to go, then he was not sure what he would do, but he could not imagine any child not being attracted by the thought of living on a farm.

The children came out of Rathbone Street School in a rush, as children do the world over, and Michael scanned the faces anxiously as they streamed past him. He stepped forward at one point, meaning to stop a girl with bright red hair tied into a knot on top of her head, then stepped back, realising she was far too young. And anyway, he was going the wrong way about it; he should have gone into school and asked to be conducted to her classroom. He could have explained who he was to the teacher in charge so that the introduction could be made properly.

Nevertheless, he remained by the gate until the last child had passed him. Then he straightened his shoulders and crossed the schoolyard, entering the building through the doorway the children had used. Inside, the familiar smell of chalk and rubber plimsolls greeted him, reminding him, nostalgically, of his own school days. He glanced about him, uncertain what his next step should be, and was still standing near the entrance when two young women approached him, chattering animatedly as they came. One was short and square with dark hair pinned into a tight little bun on the nape of her neck. The other was taller and slim, with a thin pale face, large tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles and hair so fair that at first he had thought it white. The pale hair was shoulder length and Michael noticed, detachedly, that the young woman’s eyebrows and lashes were also white.