Across a Summer Sea (13 page)
Weavers Street was not much better. It had clearly once been a fine street bounded by tall Georgian houses with a tiny park at its centre. Now the park and its railings were gone; just a patch of scrubby grass remained and seemed to be a rubbish dump of sorts where mangy dogs and cats foraged amongst the ashes and debris.
‘Is this it, Mam?’ Katie asked, looking around with trepidation.
‘Yes. Well, at least there’s no more walking. Now, which one is number fourteen?’ She tried to sound far more cheerful than she felt. There were no numbers on any of the old houses so she asked an old woman who was sitting on the steps of the nearest house.
‘Is it Molly Brennan you’re after looking for?’ she enquired.
‘Yes. She’s my aunt.’
‘Ah, then you must be Mary McGann and all the way from Liverpool.’
‘I am.’
‘I’m Biddy Malone and it’s here she lives. The two pair front she has. That door there.’
Mary thanked her and knocked, wondering just what a ‘two pair front’ was.
The door was opened by a short, stout, grey-haired woman in her sixties.
‘Aunty Molly? It’s Mary.’
‘Ah, God, aren’t ye the spit of your poor mam, God rest her! Come on in with ye, Mary, and the childer too.’
Mary was smothered in a suffocating hug and for the first time since she had left Liverpool she relaxed. At least she was welcome.
‘Was it a desperate journey altogether?’ Molly asked, shooing the tired, bewildered children into the room ahead of her.
‘I suppose it was but never mind, we’re here now.’
‘Thanks be to God! Now, I’ve the kettle on. There’s only meself here at the minute. Rita and Davy are at work and the kids are at school. The others don’t live with me now, thanks be to God, it was a terrible crush,’ she announced as she bustled about wetting the tea.
Mary was thankful that they didn’t seem too overcrowded. ‘Do you just have this room?’ she asked, glancing around. It was a very big room with a high ceiling, a big window and a large and very ornate fireplace that had seen better days and was totally unsuited to the purpose of cooking. There seemed to be no range or oven.
‘No, there’s the other room. Rita and Davy and the kids have that. I sleep in here.’
Mary wondered where she and the children would sleep but she decided not to press the matter yet.
‘Now, sit yourselves down and have this tea, then we’ll sort everything out.’
Mary was very thankful of both the seat and the tea. She had had nothing to eat or drink since the night before.
‘Mam, I’m starving!’ Tommy protested.
‘Ah, God luv him. Wait now while I cut ye some soda bread. It’s all I have in the house at the minute. When ye’re ready, Mary, I’ll take ye to the shops,’ Molly said cheerfully, sawing at a large, flat, round cake of bread.
‘That will be great. I do have some money, I’m not asking you to keep us, but I will need to find work. What does Rita do?’
‘Isn’t she the fortunate one. She’s working for Bolands Flour Mills. Sure, she comes home covered in it from head to toe but that’s no hardship, and Davy’s in work too at the minute. On the docks, thanks be to God. Aren’t I the fortunate woman to have them both with work?’
Mary smiled her agreement. Things didn’t look too bad at all.
After they’d all had a rest Molly showed them where they could keep their few things and the straw-stuffed mattresses on which they would sleep, which were kept under the large iron-framed bed in the other room. Mary was a little anxious that they would be sleeping in the same room as Molly but said nothing. It was good of Molly to take them all in.
On the way to O’Keefe’s, the little huckster’s shop on the corner, Mary was introduced to the neighbours, who all welcomed her warmly if a little curiously. They were clearly wondering just why a young woman with three children would leave a husband behind her in a fine place like Liverpool. Molly had not enlightened them.
Mrs O’Keefe was a thin, dark-haired, gossipy woman whose dark eyes missed nothing.
‘And is this the niece from Liverpool, Molly?’
‘It is so, Annie.’
‘And isn’t she a fine-looking girl too.’
Mary smiled. ‘It’s very good of Aunty Molly to put us up.’
‘It is so, a living saint she is.’
‘Ah, Annie, give over with that!’
‘Well, there’s not many who would take you in after you being thrown out and all.’
Mary bit back the words that sprang to her lips, the colour rising in her cheeks.
‘Now ye know the circumstances, Annie. Aren’t ye the only one about here who does and didn’t I tell you in confidence,’ Molly said with a note of censure in her voice.
‘You did too, Molly, and I’m not a woman to betray confidences. There’s no understanding some men, Mary. I mean no offence.’
‘Then there’s none taken,’ Mary replied sharply, turning her attention to the shopping for which she paid as swiftly as she could.
That afternoon she had taken Katie and Tommy to the schools they would attend and then they’d explored the neighbouring streets to get to know their way around. When they returned, they found Molly starting to prepare the tea and the room full of children.
‘This lot belong to Rita and Davy and there’s a couple of their friends as well. That’s Maura, she’s the eldest, then Bernie, then Niall, then Brendan, and then little Kathleen, and the one trick-acting under the table is Noreen. She’d have the heart across ye with her antics! Say hello to Katie and Tommy and give little Lizzie a bit of a wave, sure the poor little thing can’t speak or hear, God have mercy on her. They’re your cousins and so is Mary.’
Mary smiled and kissed the girls and it wasn’t long before she noticed that Tommy and Brendan seemed to have struck up a friendship. She was pleased to see that little Kathleen was sitting beside Lizzie and holding her hand. It made her feel so relieved that the children seemed to be getting on with their cousins.
Molly chased some of them out to play while she and Mary set the table and prepared the meal. At six o’clock Rita arrived home and, as her mother had predicted, she was covered in a layer of flour. She was a tall, good-looking girl with dark hair and eyes and Mary took an instant liking to her.
‘You’re very welcome here, Mary. Mam told me about himself and the way of going on he has. It’s a living disgrace is what I say.’
‘Thanks, Rita. It . . . it hasn’t been easy.’
‘Sit down and I’ll wet the tea,’ Molly instructed.
‘Wait a while, Mam, until I take off this auld overall. Sure to God that flour gets everywhere. Davy should be home soon now and starving too,’ she laughed. ‘Youse lot sit round the table now and don’t be snatching and grabbing. Don’t I have the divil’s own job putting manners on them. Is it the same with you, Mary?’
‘It’s not easy, especially with meladdo there,’ Mary agreed, fixing Tommy with a glare.
‘Well, they’ll all settle in soon,’ Molly predicted cheerfully.
Davy arrived ten minutes later. He was a burly young man with thick auburn hair and a mass of freckles. He greeted Molly, Rita and his children in a tired and rather sullen manner, or so Mary thought.
‘And this is Mary. I told you about her, remember?’ Rita said encouragingly.
‘You’re welcome, Mary,’ he said but rather ungraciously. However, he shook her hand before sitting down and pulling off his work boots.
Molly and Rita exchanged glances, glances that Mary caught, and for the first time that day she felt as though she were not really welcome. At least, not by Davy Rafferty.
Chapter Eight
‘
A
RE YOU HAPPY HERE, Mary?’ Rita asked as they walked to work on a cold February morning. Although it was still early and dark, the streets were busy and the cobbles rang with the sound of workmen’s boots, carts’ wheels and horses’ hooves. In the dim light of the gas streetlamps the mist from the river hung in thin damp ribbon-like strands.
A
RE YOU HAPPY HERE, Mary?’ Rita asked as they walked to work on a cold February morning. Although it was still early and dark, the streets were busy and the cobbles rang with the sound of workmen’s boots, carts’ wheels and horses’ hooves. In the dim light of the gas streetlamps the mist from the river hung in thin damp ribbon-like strands.
‘I suppose I am. You’ve all been good to us and I have work, what more can I ask?’
They had settled in with Molly and her family very well. Mary had taken over some of the chores from her aunt and as she was by nature tidy the place didn’t seem too cluttered or crowded. Rita had ‘spoken for her’ to her foreman and after a couple of weeks Mary had been given a job in the flour mill with her cousin. They worked in the bagging room, where the refined flour came down huge metal chutes and into big wooden trays. Here, a small army of girls and women scooped it up with small, wooden-handled shovels and transferred it into large paper bags and small sacks for distribution to shops all over the city. Rita often said it was a mercy they didn’t have to fill the big sacks that went to the bakeries, that really
was
back-breaking work.
was
back-breaking work.
‘You never speak about himself back there. Do you miss him at all?’ Rita asked.
Mary thought hard. Did she miss Frank? If she were really truthful she had to admit that there were times when she hardly thought about him, and yet there were other times when she
did
. She wondered if he was all right, if he was coping, looking after himself, missing the children, but, strangely, never if he was missing her. Now she realised that she never missed his touch or their conversations, particularly as they had dwindled over the last months. At the end he’d hardly spoken to her from one day to the next.
did
. She wondered if he was all right, if he was coping, looking after himself, missing the children, but, strangely, never if he was missing her. Now she realised that she never missed his touch or their conversations, particularly as they had dwindled over the last months. At the end he’d hardly spoken to her from one day to the next.
‘No, I don’t think I do. I sometimes wonder if he’s managing or missing the children.’
‘Then you don’t still love him?’
Mary shrugged.
‘Sure, I think I’d die if Davy just cast me aside. No offence intended, Mary. You know I wouldn’t want to be upsetting you.’
Mary nodded. ‘I know and you’re lucky, Rita,’ she answered, then fell silent. Rita
was
lucky. She idolised her husband and they seemed to get on well together although from a few remarks Molly had made she gathered that her aunt didn’t share the high opinion that Rita had of Davy Rafferty. He was a strange man, she mused: sometimes jovial and amiable, at other times taciturn and even snappy. She never knew how to take him and even when he was laughing and joking - usually after he had drink taken - she got the feeling that he didn’t like her or trust her. Once or twice she had caught him watching her speculatively and it had disturbed her. Why, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on.
was
lucky. She idolised her husband and they seemed to get on well together although from a few remarks Molly had made she gathered that her aunt didn’t share the high opinion that Rita had of Davy Rafferty. He was a strange man, she mused: sometimes jovial and amiable, at other times taciturn and even snappy. She never knew how to take him and even when he was laughing and joking - usually after he had drink taken - she got the feeling that he didn’t like her or trust her. Once or twice she had caught him watching her speculatively and it had disturbed her. Why, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on.
They’d been with Molly for three weeks now and she had got to know the neighbours and grown used to their ways and sayings. In the main they were good, hard-working, God-fearing people. Oh, there were the usual drunks, gamblers and idlers she supposed you found in any neighbourhood, and they all fought poverty, dirt and disease on a daily basis, but she was used to that. The children had all settled well even though Lizzie didn’t go to school. Mary had insisted that the child was better off at home with herself and she had to admit that Lizzie seemed happy enough.
Tommy and Brendan had become firm friends and were usually partners in any devilment or mischief that was going on. Sometimes she thought that he was growing into a desperate hooligan without his father’s strict hand but there was nothing she could do about that. Whenever she bemoaned the fact all she heard from Molly was, ‘Ah, the world’s a hard place, Mary, and they’re only chisslers for a few years!’ to which Rita usually replied, ‘And one of these days we’ll be after having the polis on the doorstep over them, Mam, the pair of eejits that they are! You mark my words.’
Mary smiled to herself. Despite her dark warnings Rita was quite happy to leave her children’s welfare in the hands of their granny while she worked and frequently went out with Davy, especially at the weekends. Nor did Molly complain about the amount of money that was spent on the outings as usually on Sundays, if the weather was dry, the couple took their children and Mary’s three for a walk on St Stephen’s Green or in the Phoenix Park. Occasionally Mary accompanied them but usually she stayed at home with Molly and took advantage of the peace and quiet.
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