It Was Only Ever You (22 page)

‘That’s fine,’ she said.

In the city the traffic got bad and the cab driver looked in the mirror to get the measure of his passenger. He was curious: it was a long drive to Westchester and the radio was bust. She was one pretty thing, but she wasn’t a typical airport fare. For a start she was too young. Who travelled on an airplane at that age? She had no luggage, so maybe she had just been out there seeing someone off? In any case, there was something in her eyes, in the way she was gazing out that window, at the suburban clapperboard houses, the roadside diners and shabby motels, as if she’d never seen nothing like them in her life. He caught her sneaking sideways glances at him in the mirror. And not those kind of glances either. It was like she had never seen a black man before.

‘Where you from, lady?’ he asked.

‘Ireland,’ she said.

‘You just fly in this morning?’

‘Yes,’ she said – and then it all came tumbling out. The dreamy boyfriend. The cruel parents. Stealing the money, running away. Donnie wished he hadn’t asked.

‘The flight was a lot more expensive than I thought it would be.’ Then she got worried that Donnie might think she didn’t have enough to pay the taxi. ‘But don’t worry, I’ve fifty dollars left, plenty to cover the taxi fare!’

Jesus! This kid was going around asking to get mugged!

‘And are you sure your boyfriend still works in this golf club? He knows you are coming, right?’

The girl snapped, ‘Of course’ in a way that suggested she was not at all sure, then resolutely looked out the window, indicating that the conversation was over.

Donnie had a bad feeling about this kid but his wife was expecting their third child any day now and he needed all the fares he could get. The last thing he needed was a runaway ingénue in the back of his cab causing trouble.

*

Westchester was way out of the city. It seemed to Rose that they were heading for the middle of nowhere. They had driven for half an hour along broad roads that were wider and longer than any road had a right to be. Everything here seemed bigger. The cars, the vast hills with mountains beyond them. Even the trees seemed somehow taller and more leafy, more voluminous, than the trees at home in Ireland. There were sprawling buildings on the side of the roads with huge signs like ‘
MOTEL
’ and ‘
DINER
’ above them. Rose was beginning to feel overwhelmed when they turned into a long driveway, past an empty security hut, and into an open space covered in manicured hillocks dotted with little flags, stretching out on either side of the neat road as far as the eye could see. As they pulled up to the large, square building, with its white pillars and stucco carvings, she began to feel a little overwhelmed.

‘Would you like me to wait for you?’ Donnie asked.

‘No thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Rose had not liked the driver’s earlier inference that perhaps Patrick had run away. In truth, she had been more frightened than annoyed by it. The black man asking all those questions had made her feel uncomfortable. Ill at ease. She wasn’t sure if it was him or the questions themselves that unnerved her. What would she do if Patrick wasn’t here? Rose decided that was out of the question. She would have faith. In Patrick, and in herself for coming here to find him. If her parents had had faith in Patrick, and her, none of this would be happening. Although strangely, she was kind of glad it was. This was some adventure she was on. When she saw her love again, this lonely leg of it would be over, and they could begin the great adventure of their life together.

She took a ten-dollar bill out of her purse and handed it to Donnie. She barely stopped to thank him or to wonder about whether she should give him a tip. She just ran, almost skipping in through the grand front door of the clubhouse.

There was a large reception desk with an older gentleman in a smart blazer behind it. He eyed her suspiciously as she came across and said, in her best accent, ‘Good morning. I am here to see Mr Patrick Murphy.’

‘Certainly, miss. I’m afraid I don’t recognize the name. Is he a new member here?’

Rose blushed. She was not ashamed. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

‘No,’ she said. ‘He works here.’

‘I see,’ said the man. He had an English accent, and looked at her imperiously. Rose found her voice shaking as she said, ‘In the kitchen.’ Then, remembering why she was here, firmly added, ‘If you just show me the way to the kitchen area I can find him myself.’

The man smiled. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, miss. The clubhouse and the kitchens are all gentlemen only. If you would wait here for a few moments I will go and enquire after... Mr Murphy.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. Rose sat down on a leather chair and waited. She was shaking with nerves. The reason for her whole journey was this moment. The moment when he would walk out and see her. What would they do? Where would they go? Would he be able to kiss her, right here, in this strange, posh male-only place? Or would she wait here until he had finished his shift? Would the two of them go dancing out into the evening, then maybe call a taxi? Rose closed her eyes and tried to imagine how their reunion would unfold. With a rising sense of panic she realized that she could not envisage it.

The man seemed to come back just a few seconds later and she stood up.

‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘that Mr Patrick Murphy no longer works here.’

Rose tried to sound steady.

‘I see,’ she said. ‘Do you have any idea where he went?’

‘None at all, I’m afraid.’ The old man looked genuinely concerned. ‘I asked around and, while one or two of the staff knew him, they said he left in rather a hurry and didn’t give any forwarding details.’

That was no surprise, the old man thought, the way these Irish gangsters treated the kitchen staff. And now this pretty young thing was looking for one of them, probably all the way from Ireland. The poor Irish really were such savages. Still, nothing he could do. This was a very expensive private club. No women or blacks allowed in the building, and that was that. He wouldn’t have let her in the door at all if she hadn’t moved so damn fast.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, ‘but I really am going to have to ask you to leave. We have a party due in from the course any moment now...’

He vaguely hoped she had a taxi waiting but, hell, that wasn’t his problem. The clubhouse was his domain. If she was caught wandering about outside, that was gate security’s problem. They should never have let a woman in in the first place.

Rose stepped out into the blistering sunlight. Patrick was not here. Where was he? He was gone? How would she find him? She was in a daze, absent-mindedly holding her bag, and took two steps before the magnitude of it began to hit her. She was in New York. Alone. Patrick wasn’t here. She had to find him – but how? She had lost him. She would never find him. The tears came before a mixture of shock, exhaustion and hunger made her legs collapse and she fell. Before she hit the ground she felt herself being scooped up again by two strong arms around her waist.

Donnie pulled her up on to her feet and half walked her into his cab.

As he arranged her on the back seat she said, ‘You’re still here?’

‘Yes,’ Donnie said. ‘I’m still here.’

He knew the girl was trouble but he couldn’t abandon her without knowing she was safe. Donnie was a good Christian and never left a fare unless he knew they were safe. God was always watching.

‘S
HE
IS
not staying here!’

Donnie’s wife Marisa was standing in the small kitchen next to the living room in their two-bedroom apartment on the top floor of the Harlem brownstone.

‘Quiet down, honey – she can hear you.’

Marisa had her hands on her hips. She took one of them off to point accusingly at him, then wagged it in the general direction of the pretty white girl Donnie had brought home in his taxi not an hour before. He’d expected her to feed the kid. Marisa found enough food and just enough courtesy to give the stranger lunch but she was not having her stay under their roof. They had two small kids and another one on the way. No matter how good a Christian her husband was, no matter what their pastor said or Jesus himself said, Marisa had only just managed to move one useless cousin-in-law off their couch after a six-month homeless stint. She was not bringing another waif in under her roof. Not even a clean, pretty one. Hell, especially not a clean, pretty one!

‘I don’t care if she can hear me,’ she said, bringing her voice down to an angry whisper. ‘I told you before, Donnie, you can’t go bringing home every bum that gets into your cab...’

‘Aw, come on, baby. That girl ain’t no bum.’

That was the wrong thing to say. Marisa looked fit to explode.

‘I’m taking the kids to the store. I want her gone by five.’

‘Where will she go?’

‘Not my problem...’ And before he could object, added, ‘And not yours either!’

Marisa went into the room to collect the two children, and found them watching, transfixed, as the girl, Rose, sketched on a pad.

Marisa felt even more agitated. She had so little to give her children these days, this third pregnancy had hit her hard. It did her heart good to see them happy.

Flossie, aged three said, ‘Mom, come and look.’

Marisa felt a stab of irritation but went to look at the drawing. It was a beautiful sketch of the small bunch of weeds and wildflowers, which Flossie had picked in the park that morning and Marisa had put into a jam jar. Tears came to her eyes. Everything made her cry these days. Half the time she didn’t even know she was doing it. After this child, no more. No matter what the pastor dictated, or how much Donnie objected, she was getting contraception fitted and that was that!

‘That’s very good,’ she said, brushing away her tears quickly and reaching for Flossie.

‘Leave the children here with me if you like,’ Rose said. ‘I do so appreciate you bringing me into your home when...’

When what? She had been abandoned? Lost the lover she had come here to find? Was fearful she might never find him again? Rose needed to gather herself, to think about what her next step might be, but found there was such a fierce panic pounding through her that it was all she could do to keep herself from throwing herself out of Donnie’s taxi at a stop sign then running aimlessly around the unknown streets screaming ‘Patrick!’

In the end, she had steadied herself by concentrating solely on what was in front of her. Rose had always used drawing to calm herself down, and the first step in drawing was looking. Looking out of the window at the vast city, with its tall, looming buildings and teeming streets seemed too overwhelming. So as Donnie talked, Rose scrutinized the back of his cab, the polished screen between the cab and driver, the advertisement for hair colourant on the back of his seat, the worn, leather seats. When they got to his apartment, she was in such a daze she barely took in her surroundings. After a sandwich and some strong coffee, she began to feel a little more settled, but it was the two small children that grounded her. She took out her sketch pad to entertain them, and as she drew, she began to feel more like herself.

As her mind settled she began to think logically, for the first time since she had found Patrick’s letters. Everything had happened in such a whirlwind and she had been so intent on getting here, that she could now see she had been caught up in a kind of madness. She supposed that’s what they meant when they said ‘madly in love’.

Patrick would not have told her he was leaving his job because he had had no reply to his letters. He might well think that she had jilted him. Her father had organized Patrick’s job on the golf course. However, if Patrick had left there under a cloud, leaving no forwarding details, there was nothing to be gained going down that route. And besides, she was still so angry with her parents she did not want to contact them.

New York was a huge city but Rose knew that there was an Irish community here. It couldn’t be that hard to find him. Patrick, as a true Irishman, would be with other Irishmen. With other men from County Mayo, if at all possible – people from Foxford. What she needed to do now was find out where the people from County Mayo gathered in New York City. She also needed to stay calm and spend the few pounds she had left carefully. This taxi driver and his wife were the only people that were standing between her and those tough-looking streets. Donnie was a kind man but Marisa looked cross.

‘Well,’ Rose said now, ‘I do so appreciate your inviting me into your home. You are surely very kind Christian people, and your children are,’ she looked down at the two babies and smiled genuinely, ‘so beautiful.’

Donnie was due out on another shift and Marisa had been planning to kick the girl out with him as soon as he got back. She looked at Rose and her two children and thought how nice it would be to have an afternoon to herself.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind?’

Marisa touched the heads of both her children and beckoned Donnie out into the hallway.

‘On the way to your shift call into Pastor Wiggins. He’ll know what to do. Tell him to call around after supper and if she stays here she sleeps on the couch and pays like a hotel, understand?’

Donnie nodded.

As soon as Marisa left, Donnie told Rose she could stay the night and that he was going to talk to his pastor.

‘Are you Catholic?’ she asked.

‘Methodist,’ he said, ‘but we’re all Christians.’ He seemed like he was taking it as an insult.

‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘I just meant that if he was a Catholic priest, he might be able to help me find Patrick.’

She sure was stuck on finding her man. Donnie knew that, of course, every woman needed a man, but he had a bad feeling about this guy. Such a sweet little thing she was, to be let down by him just disappearing on her like that.

‘You might ask your pastor if he knows any Irish Catholic priests?’

*

Pastor Wiggins, an ancient black man with white hair, was curious to find himself being called upon to help a middle-class white Irish girl. Not pregnant, or beat-up – just that she was chasing some boyfriend over from Ireland on an aeroplane, if you don’t mind, then had run out of money just in time to take charity from a poor black family.