Strawberry Fields (13 page)
Brogan was careful what he said, of course, because the secret concerning the baby was no longer his to reveal. But he liked this serious young girl with the deep blue eyes and the gentle, sensitive countenance; her guilt was absurd, but he could understand it. He, too, had suffered from guilt over Jess’s death until his parents had convinced him that the poor little girls were both of them better off, now.
So he told Sara how he and the rest of his gang of navvies had met the young girl carrying the baby, how they had fed her, taken her in, warmed her . . . and left her sleeping when the landslip occurred.
‘And when we came back, they’d gone,’ he said heavily, at last. ‘We looked for ’em all over, without any luck. Until we met one of the other men, carrying Jess’s body wrapped in his coat. Now you thought yourself guilty, alanna, but as you can see, my guilt was the greater. If I’d woken her, instead of leavin’ her sleepin’ . . . well, who can say what might have happened?’
‘And Mollie? The baby?’
‘We looked all over the marshalling yards but we saw no child,’ Brogan said truthfully. ‘She couldn’t have been wit’ her sister, that’s for sure, and she was too little to get very far on her own. ’Tis my honest belief that some good person must have found her, and taken her away to be loved and cherished, as babies should be. And from what poor Jess told us, it was the best thing to do so it was, for her father was an awful feller by what she said, and her mammy little better.’
‘So there really was no blame on you,’ Sara said thoughtfully. She looked up at him and smiled, a very sweet smile. ‘’Twasn’t your fault, Brogan.’
‘No? When if I’d woke her, instead of leavin’ her there, sleepin’, her life might have been saved? What worries me most is that Mollie was crawling, you know, and she might easily have crawled out of the cabin. Then Jess would have woken up and gone in search of her sister, and got killed.’
‘It could have happened, of course,’ Sara said after a moment’s thought. ‘But you can’t ever know, Brogan. If things had been different, if you’d woken Jess, she might have picked up Mollie and gone out with her and they might both have been killed instead of only one. Don’t you think that’s even likelier?’
‘I think you’re right,’ Brogan said. ‘The hand of God is over us all, alanna, and we should neither of us take on guilt. Shall we have a bargain? We’ll stop blaming ourselves for what we couldn’t help. How about that, eh? Will you shake hands on it?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Sara said. She put her small paw into Brogan’s large one and they shook hands solemnly. ‘Oh . . . that little girl! I’d forgotten her. Do you think she might have been a Carbery, Brogan?’
‘Nothing likelier,’ Brogan said. ‘But she’ll turn up again, Sara, and when she does, either you or meself will try to give her a bit of somethin’ to eat and a few coppers.’ He smiled down into the small face lifted to his. ‘But this city’s full of kids in rags wit’ no food in their bellies. Times are hard . . . Dublin’s the same.’
‘Do you mean that we should help anyone we can help?’ Sara asked. ‘I will then . . . and when I do, I’ll think of Jess. And I’ll say my prayers for Mollie, and hope that wherever she is, she’s well and happy.’
‘That’s the ticket,’ Brogan said. He sighed and stood up, stretching. ‘Now no more blamin’ yourself for what you can’t help, eh, young wan? I’m on a night-shift this week; better get back to me lodgings or I’ll be good for nothin’ be eight in the mornin’.’ He paused, looking down at Sara. ‘I’ll let you into a secret, Sara. I’ve lived in England for a whole twelve months now, but sadly do I miss my mammy, my brothers and my little sister. There’s fine men work on the railways, but very few young ladies, such as yourself. I’d like to meet you again, have a bit of a crack. I’d like to tell you all about us O’Bradys, from mammy right down to Polly, who’s the youngest of the family so far.’
‘I’d like that ever so much,’ Sara said eagerly. She stood up too, and dusted down the front of the little red coat she wore. ‘I don’t have a lot of friends of my own, apart from school chums, when I’m in Aigburth Road. Where do you live though, Brogan?’
‘We lodge in Beckett Street, me daddy an’ meself. It’s not too far from here.’
‘Well, I’m staying in Snowdrop Street; that’s off Stanley Road,’ Sara told her new friend. ‘I’ve a friend called Cammy who lives a bit further along the road but I would like to see you again.’
‘Snowdrop runs between Commercial Road and Stanley, doesn’t it? We walk through there, sometimes, when we’re comin’ home after a day’s work. Will you an’ me be meetin’ somewhere round there, now and then, to have a bit of a talk?’ Brogan turned up his coat collar and stepped out of the shelter into the rain. ‘Best get goin’, young Sara!’
‘That would be very nice,’ Sara said. ‘Only . . . where could we meet? Once I’m at home I only get to go to school and back, but when I’m with Nanny it’s easier.’
‘Then you must visit Nanny more often,’ Brogan said. ‘I miss the young chisellers more than you’d imagine. There’s no kids workin’ on the railways.’
He laughed and Sara laughed too.
‘No, I suppose not, but I’m not a kid, you know. I’m twelve. What’s a chiseller, though? If you don’t go too fast I’ll walk along with you – you can tell me what it’s like, working on the railways.’
Companionably, they fell into step and began to cross the park. The rain was light but Sara was glad of her thick coat and pulled out the scarf she wore round her neck, tying it over her head.
‘A chiseller’s just a way of sayin’ a young boy, a young blood. As for working on the railways, ’tis hard work, but not unpleasant most of the time. We’re out of doors in all weathers, of course, and soaked to the skin or froze now an’ then. Me daddy’s up for the job of safety man and a grand job that is, so I’m hopin’ he’ll get it. But I’ve other ideas so I have. I go to the Gordon Institute ’cos in March I’m hopin’ to start work as a fireman, which is the first step to bein’ an engine driver meself so it is.’
‘I know the Institute; it’s opposite Crocus Street, isn’t it?’ Sara said. She giggled. ‘I’ve seen young men going in and out so I thought it was a public house.’
Brogan laughed with her. She’s a dote, he found himself thinking. A pretty, lively young wan who’s kept too close, from the sound of it. ‘No, ’tis for the learnin’ and betterin’ of the working man,’ he told her. ‘Sure an’ they treat you like a school kid, but ’tis worth it to get the learnin’.’
They were on Orwell Road now, Sara having to walk fast to keep up with his longer strides, though Brogan conscientiously kept slowing down. And on the corner of Rickman Street, alongside the fried fish shop, Brogan drew his companion to a halt. He pointed.
‘I’m after gettin’ some fish an’ chips for me dinner, before I go indoors. Want some?’
‘Oh, Brogan, I bought a pastie for my dinner and I never ate it . . . but whatever did I do with it? I halved it with the little girl who ran away . . .’
‘Sure, you left it on the seat, where you’d been sittin’ when the child approached you,’ he assured her. ‘It’ll be in some creature’s stomach be now . . . I’ll get you some fish and chips; wait here.’
‘I’m glad someone’s got it, then, but I’ve got some money . . .’ Sara began, but he shook his head at her.
‘No, no, I’m buyin’, don’t shame me by refusin’. And since you know the Gordon Institute, I’m after goin’ there three evenin’s a week, save when I’m on a shift which stops me, so you can find me there, five to seven or five past nine. You’ll come? You won’t forget?’
‘I’ll come whenever I’m staying with Nanny,’ Sara promised. ‘And I’m going to be staying with Nanny regularly, from now on. Otherwise there’ll be trouble!’
‘I can tell you’ve a sharp tongue and a determined nature,’ Brogan said solemnly, making her laugh again. ‘But I can’t tell whether you prefer cod or haddock – you’ll have to let me know which to buy!’
‘I like both, and besides, I don’t know which is which,’ Sara assured him. ‘Are you sure you’ve got time though, Brogan? You said you wanted to get some sleep before your night-shift.’
Brogan assured her he had plenty of time and went into the fried fish shop. She was a good kid. Talking to her had cheered him up, made his day. It would have been lovely to tell her that the baby was safe with his mother in Dublin, but sure and such knowledge would be far too heavy a burden for a child of twelve to bear. He’d keep in touch with her, however, talk about his family to her, and maybe one day, when Polly was a woman grown, he would be able to share the secret with young Sara Cordwainer.
Little Grace Carbery had hoped the girl would share the big pastie with her; she looked a friendly sort of girl, but just as Grace had taken the proffered piece she had seen the park keeper coming and had made herself scarce. She had been in bad odour with him ever since she and Jess had sat themselves down on the bowling green to eat a melon they’d prigged from a nearby greengrocer’s shop.
‘We don’t want your sort here,’ the park keeper had shouted, and he had hit at their bare legs with the long twig broom with which he’d been sweeping the gravel paths. ‘Gerrout, you iggerant slummies.’
So naturally, when she saw the man approaching, she had run as fast as she could to the other side of the park and then made her way back through the bushes, quick and skinny as a snake, until she was behind the seat which backed on to the bowling green. With Jess beside her she might have faced the man out, she thought wistfully, together they might even have cheeked him, but by herself all she could do was run and hide.
But after a few frightening moments she had peered through the prickly, evergreen hedge, and seen that the park keeper wasn’t a park keeper at all, but simply a feller in a navy donkey coat – and he and the pretty girl seemed to know one another, since she had run slap bang into his arms and there they were, chattering away, heading for the opposite side of the rec.
Grace looked carefully round her; no one was near. She squatted on the ground and took the first bite from her half of the pastie, closing her eyes the better to savour it. It was delicious, one of the nicest things she had ever tasted! I’ll save it, she thought, eat it slowly . . . just one more bite . . .
The half pastie disappeared into Grace’s tummy and she stood up and went hesitantly towards the seat. She had noticed something lying on the wet wood . . .
The rest of the meat pastie was there! There was one bite taken out of it but it wasn’t even a particularly big piece . . . oh, had the girl left it for her? If so . . .
Grace sat down timidly on the extreme end of the seat, looking nervously around her like an animal which fears a trap. Was it a trick? Would the girl come back presently and pick up the pastie and walk off with it? But nothing happened. When she looked across the couple had disappeared into the falling rain and the pastie was getting soaked. If she didn’t do something it would be ruined, worthless.
Hesitantly, Grace reached out both hands and picked the half-pastie up. Seconds later, she was savouring, for the second time that morning, the most delicious meat and potato pie she had ever tasted. Oh, the flavour of it, the richness of the gravy, the warm and lovely taste of the onions! I really oughter save a bit, she told herself, but somehow it all got eaten up there and then, on the seat, in the rain.
And presently, when she got up and made her way back to the road once more, she felt full and comfortable for the first time for ages. And very grateful to the pretty girl who had given her half the pastie and then left the rest of it too, sitting on that wet wooden bench.
But she did wonder why she had told the girl she was searching for her sister, when she knew very well, really, that wherever Mollie was, she was better off, because she wasn’t with the Carberys. Without Jess, Mollie’s life wouldn’t have been much, Grace thought now, heading for home. She was soaked and needed to get out of the weather before her father came back from wherever it was he went during the afternoons. Pubs, clubs, she had no idea, she just knew he was usually out of the house until very much later in the evening.
She had been heartbroken by Jess’s death, because Jess had been the only member of the family who cared about her. When she, Grace, had been the baby of the family Jess had carted her around on her hip until she got too heavy, as Jess had been carting Mollie right up to her death. And though the new baby was, naturally, her first responsibility, she still cherished Grace as much as she could.
But you can’t be a baby once you’re four years old; you’re a proper, big girl, once you’re four, Jess said so. And poor Grace, trying to be a proper, big girl, had still envied Mollie because she had Jess, and had envied Jess because she had Mollie. Indeed, her first thought, after the appalling shock of Jess’s horrible death, had been that now Mollie could sleep beside
her,
keep
her
warm of a night. But even if Mollie hadn’t disappeared it wouldn’t have worked because Grace knew she didn’t have Jess’s strength. She was only four, going on five. It took her all her time and energy to keep herself alive, she could never have taken on the responsibility for another soul, not even that of a baby like Mollie.
Chapter Fiveher,
keep
her
warm of a night. But even if Mollie hadn’t disappeared it wouldn’t have worked because Grace knew she didn’t have Jess’s strength. She was only four, going on five. It took her all her time and energy to keep herself alive, she could never have taken on the responsibility for another soul, not even that of a baby like Mollie.
Summer 1931
‘Polly O’Brady, will you put that kitten down this minute and do as I tell ye! Your big brother and your daddy are comin’ home tomorrow and no end to arrange. I’m after wantin’ a heap o’ things and you’ve done nothin’ today but play.’
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