Little Girl Lost (23 page)

For injured it certainly was. The ruler had raised red welts across her small palm and in one area, where the blows had fallen on almost the same stretch of skin, there was a smear of blood. This actually gave Kitty considerable satisfaction. Maeve won’t let me come back here when I show her my hand, Kitty thought triumphantly. Sure and Enda, the witch, has gone too far this time. I dare say Maeve will come round here tomorrow morning and tell the head teacher that there’s a wicked woman on her staff. I hope she does. I hope old Enda the witch gets chucked out of the school for ever and ever, ’cos she made a good little girl’s hand bleed. I am a good little girl, Maeve and Caitlin often say so; it’s that witch Enda who’s wicked.

However, there were compensations, playtime for a start. The children at Our Lady’s had the run of a reasonably sized garden but St Joseph’s children had the yard, which was already marked out with various games. Some of the children had brought lengths of rope with them and Kitty watched, wistfully, as two of the bigger girls swung the rope and others jumped in and out, shouting the well-remembered phrases, rhymes and catches which children have shouted since time immemorial. After watching for a bit, Kitty saw that anyone could play provided they did not spoil the enjoyment of others by getting tangled up in the rope. She said as much to Jane and Bridget – the three of them had kept together – and Bridget agreed that anyone could play. Presently the three of them jumped in, and managed a good twenty jumps before the rope began to turn too fast for them and they jumped out, pink-cheeked and breathless, and were actually congratulated by one of the big girls on their nimbleness.

Playtime over, the children returned to their classrooms, Kitty, Jane and Bridget glowing from the exercise and feeling very much more cheerful. Bridget, being a second-year pupil, had been able to give them quite a lot of useful advice, including a warning that Sister Enda hated dull children, though she also hated bright ones. ‘It sounds as if she hates all children,’ Kitty observed, as they formed into a ragged line to file back into the building with the rest of their class. ‘And how can she find out whether you’re bright or dull if you’re never allowed to speak?’

Bridget laughed. ‘She’ll let you answer when she asks you a question,’ she explained. ‘Only you’ve got to answer the way she likes. It’s best to say “Please sister” before anything else you say. And if she tells you to sit down when you’ve finished answering, you’re supposed to say “Thank you, sister”. Oh, and I forgot to say you have to stand up as soon as she points to you or shouts your name.’

‘Why?’ Kitty asked baldly. ‘Why can’t we answer sitting down?’

Bridget shrugged. ‘How should I know? It’s one of their rules, and if you don’t do it they get mad.’

‘Then why don’t they tell us their rules?’ Kitty said plaintively, as the queue began to shuffle forward. ‘They haven’t told us any rules yet.’

‘No, because they like punishing us and if we knew what the rules were, we wouldn’t break ’em,’ Bridget said. ‘Sister Enda loves nothin’ more than seein’ a new kid crying. Why, look at your hand; it’ll be black and blue by morning, I don’t doubt.’ ‘Well,
she
won’t know if it is,’ Kitty said defiantly, as they squeezed into the building once more. ‘Because I’m not coming back, not me. Maeve won’t let me, not when she sees me hand.’

Bridget gave a hollow laugh. ‘We all says that,’ she observed. ‘But I reckon you’ll be here tomorrow, just like the rest of us. It’s strange, because the nuns and the brothers laid into our mams and dads when they were little. I know they did because I heard my daddy tellin’ my brother Billy that he weren’t whopped half as hard by his teacher as our daddy had been by Brother Claudius.’

Kitty would have liked to say she was different, that Maeve, not being as old as most mothers, would understand, but she held her tongue. Maeve envied her the chance of the proper schooling which she, herself, had largely missed out on. The Connollys had been terribly poor – still were – and Mrs Connolly had needed all her children to work just as soon as they could. Maeve had been taught to read, once she arrived at the O’Keefes’, by Caitlin, and had been pathetically grateful, Kitty knew that. Maeve often spoke of sitting beside Caitlin at the big kitchen table, learning first her letters and then how to string them together into words, and words into sentences. Both Maeve and Caitlin had often been so tired that they had fallen asleep over their books and Pat, returning after his own long day, would laugh to find the two of them with their heads on the table, sometimes gently snoring.

Thinking of that, as she re-entered the classroom, Kitty felt a horrid coldness slither down her back. How could she go home when school was over and tell Maeve that she did not mean to go back again? It would break her heart, for she had such high hopes! She had told Kitty over and over that reading, writing and arithmetic were like keys to a big door, behind which lurked wonderful things, things called opportunities. Kitty did not know precisely what an opportunity was, save that it was wonderful. She imagined it must mean nice food to eat, lots of books to read, plenty of turfs for your fire, and trips to the Saturday Rush at the local cinema.

Yet there was something even more precious behind that door, something which Maeve thought she could never have for herself but wanted for Kitty. ‘I’ve got a lame foot and an ugly face, as well as a miserable, scraggy little body,’ she had said to Kitty once. ‘But you are straight and strong and beautiful. Darling Kitty, you should have everything. But it’s really important to get an education.’

Naturally, Kitty had protested that Maeve was not ugly, and that her body was not scraggy, but Maeve had just laughed. ‘Never mind that,’ she had said. ‘I know what I know. Now run along wit’ you, I’ve got work to do.’

By the time she sat down, however, Kitty found she was far more cheerful. She had two friends, and the possibility of more, and she was determined to win the teacher’s approval, much though she hated her. For the rest of the morning she did her best to do as Sister Enda said, but she noticed that the woman’s eyes were always upon her and knew, with a little shiver of dread, that her teacher was actually hoping that she would overstep the mark in some undefined way. ‘You’re too perishin’ clean, so you are,’ Bridget informed her, when they were eating their carry-out. ‘You don’t blend in wit’ the other kids, you stand out. Partly it’s your plaits and partly it’s that clean white blouse. If I were you, I’d come a bit more raggedy like tomorrer. And now let’s go and get Fluffy.’ She giggled. ‘If Sister Enda knew Miss Brogan was lettin’ us walk her dog, she’d be that furious she’d probably make up half a dozen new rules so’s we could break ’em an’ she could belt us.’

The three small girls were allowed back into the school – it was a fine day, so they had eaten their carry-out in the yard – by the door monitor when they explained that they had been asked to walk Miss Brogan’s terrier. The monitor was a large girl of ten or eleven, with thick fair hair and a round, rosy-cheeked face. ‘Right, you can go in, all three of you, lucky little beggars,’ she said when they had explained. ‘Miss Brogan’s ever so nice, ever so kind as well, and Fluffy’s a good little feller.’

Kitty had been a little doubtful as to the wisdom of all three of them going along to the school secretary’s office, since Miss Brogan would only be expecting herself and Jane, but in the event her fears were unfounded. ‘Ah, Bridget, I see you’ve taken our two little new girls under your wing,’ Miss Brogan said, smiling down at them. ‘Now don’t forget, take Fluffy as far as the Liffey – you know the way, don’t you, Bridget? – and then come straight back. It should take you ten or fifteen minutes.’ As she spoke, she was fastening a red leather collar round Fluffy’s neck and attaching to the collar a red leather lead which she handed to Kitty. ‘There you are! You’ll find he’s very good and doesn’t try to tug, but you must never let him off the lead because he doesn’t understand about traffic and might run under a horse’s hooves. He’ll want to pause to go to the bathroom when you pass lamp posts, so you must let him do that, and I think you should take turns holding the lead. Slip the loop over your wrist and then hold the strap so he can’t escape even if you were to drop the strap for a moment. I’ll show you.’ She did so, then stepped back, smiling at them. ‘Now don’t forget, no further than the river. It wouldn’t do if you were late for Sister Enda’s afternoon class.’

The three children set off in the highest of spirits, with Fluffy frisking ahead of them. Every now and then he looked over his shoulder at Kitty, grinning at her as though the two of them shared a secret. Kitty noted the envious glances of other children as they made their way through the crowded streets and felt her cup of happiness was full. Obedient to Miss Brogan’s instructions, she slowed at every lamp post, though she had had to ask Bridget just what the woman had meant by ‘going to the bathroom’.

‘Oh! Then should I have said someone’s gone to the bathroom and made a puddle on the floor instead of what I did say?’ Kitty asked. The whole thing was such a puzzle; she felt as though she had been suddenly propelled into a foreign country where she would keep misunderstanding until she had learned the language. ‘Is that what Sister Enda meant when she told me off for using a rude word?’

Bridget shrugged. ‘I dunno, but I reckon you can’t do right as far as the old bat’s concerned,’ she said, pulling Kitty to a halt. ‘If we’re all to get our fair turn wit’ Fluffy, then I reckon you ought to hand over the lead to Jane now. It ain’t far to the river from here.’

Kitty complied, trying not to show reluctance, but even though she was not holding the lead Fluffy kept glancing up at her as they walked. He likes me, Kitty thought. I’ve made three friends today, not just two, and Miss Brogan is most awfully nice, so she is. I’ll tell Maeve how nice she is when I get home, though it won’t make any difference; I still don’t mean to come back to school again, where that horrible nun will hit me whenever she has a chance. I wonder if the teachers are the same in Our Lady’s? I don’t think they can be, or Clodagh and Grainne would have said.

The three children were walking along the riverbank whilst Fluffy pottered happily amongst all the entrancing smells, when a diversion occurred: a skinny, grubby lad approached them, greeting them cheerfully. ‘Hello, ’ello, ’ello, girls! Where’s you goin’ on this fine mornin’?’ His glance singled Kitty out and he addressed her directly. ‘Ain’t you supposed to be in school, Kitty? I’s certain sure Miz O’Keefe said you were startin’ today, though I see you ain’t got no school uniform.’

Kitty stared at him, then recognition dawned. ‘I
am
in school. This is me lunch hour, Nick Mooney,’ she said indignantly. Nick was a neighbour who often played in Handkerchief Alley; Kitty knew him well. ‘Come to that, why ain’t you in school? You’re only eight.’

The boy grinned. He had a thin, mobile face, very bright light brown eyes, and hair the colour of the taffy sticks which Maeve sometimes made for the children. Kitty had always liked him; they had played together when they were small, but of late they seemed to have grown apart. ‘Eight’s old enough to sell newspapers an’ I were doin’ that earlier in the day,’ he said. ‘Where’s your uniform, then?’

‘We don’t have none at St Joseph’s,’ Bridget said, butting in when she saw Kitty looking baffled. ‘Who’s you, anyway, apart from a perishin’ rude boy, I mean?’

Nick grinned, showing surprisingly white and rather pointed teeth. ‘Didn’t you hear me little pal? I’m Nick Mooney an’ I sell newspapers to the early workers an’ folk on trams up and down O’Connell Street.’ He turned to Kitty. ‘But why’s you at St Joseph’s when your sisters are at Our Lady’s? That Grainne could have passed her uniform down to you and got a new one for herself.’

‘Can’t afford it,’ Kitty said briefly. ‘They ain’t my sisters, not really; I’m adopted, like, an’ Caitlin can’t afford to send me to Our Lady’s . . . well, Maeve can’t, ’cos it’s her that took me on when I were a little baby. Now why don’t you buzz off an’ leave us alone, Nick? Askin’ stupid questions when you should have known the answers.’

‘Oh, keep your hair on, Pigtails,’ Nick said rudely. ‘Who did you steal the dog from then? If it is a dog. It looks more like a perishin’ wolf in sheep’s clothing.’ He laughed raucously, then bent down and rubbed Fluffy behind the ears.

‘Leave him alone,’ Kitty said sharply. ‘He don’t like horrible, dirty boys, ’specially ones what sell newspapers on O’Connell Street.’ She turned to her friends. ‘Thanks to him holdin’ us up, we shall have to run if we ain’t to be late,’ she said. ‘Come
on
, Fluffy, be a good little feller then.’

But it now appeared that Fluffy could be as perverse as any other dog. He had leapt up to lick Nick’s unsavoury chin, and now he was dancing round the boy, behaving as though he had known him for years.

‘I’d best walk back wit’ you seein’ as how the dog don’t want to be parted from this horrible dirty boy,’ Nick said, grinning at them. ‘Step out, young ladies . . . which you ain’t, of course, but I’m a gent, I am. I don’t call names.’

‘You did, you did. You called me Pigtails,’ Kitty said furiously, her voice rising. ‘Bugger off, Nick Mooney, or I’ll tell your dad you’ve been pesterin’ me an’ me pals.’

This was a blow beneath the belt and both children knew it, for Mr Mooney was a huge man, a docker, more often out of work than in, and known for the beatings he administered, on the smallest excuse, to his wife and family whenever the drink was strong in him. Nick tried another grin but it lacked conviction. ‘Okay, okay, I’m goin’,’ he said. ‘See you around, Goody-Two-Shoes.’

Much ruffled, Kitty apologised for Nick’s interference, but neither Jane nor Bridget had taken much notice. Both had brothers of their own and knew how irritating boys could be, and thought nothing of the revelation that Kitty was adopted, and that Mrs O’Keefe could not afford to send a third girl to the expensive fee-paying school. They brushed Kitty’s apologies aside and the three children were back in school well before the bell went for afternoon lessons, but when Bridget asked if they might walk Fluffy again next day, Miss Brogan shook her head. ‘Not tomorrow, dear; two children from Sister Elizabeth’s class will take him tomorrow. But you may take him again next Monday, if you wish.’