The Hollow Heart (The Heartfelt Series) (42 page)

“But we could do right by so many more,” Marianne protested.
Miss MacReady pushed her face into the other woman’s.
“Have you always been such a pain-in-the-arse do-gooder?”

Marianne burst out laughing.

“Yes. Have you always been such a bloody know-it-all?”

“Of course,” grinned Miss MacReady, chinking her glass with
Marianne’s.

Marianne drew the envelope out of her bag, explaining she
had to send the original papers to England, but she needed to take copies just
in case anything went awry.

They stood at the photocopier together. Marianne handed Miss
MacReady her adoption certificate.

“Ah, if you are adopted, we need your birth certificate as
well,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“I know,” smiled Marianne, “I’ve brought it.” She handed it
over.

Miss MacReady unfolded the documents. She glanced at the
Birth Certificate and then went back to the Certificate of Adoption. She looked
at the fading photograph which had been attached to the piece of paper for over
thirty years. She put her glasses on and looked at it again. She held it at
arm’s length, brought it up to her nose, and then put it very slowly down on
the copier. Pointing to the photograph, her voice a whisper, she asked,

“Who’s this?”

“Well, me of course,” Marianne replied, laughing, “I’ve
changed a bit, I grant you.” The room went quiet. She could hear the clock
ticking out in the shop front of the Post Office. She turned and watched as the
colour drained from Miss MacReady’s face. Marianne heard her take a deep breath
as the older woman grabbed the birth certificate, rushed to her desk and
flicked on the lamp. She held the birth certificate beneath the light, hands
shaking.

“What?” Marianne followed her.

Miss MacReady held her hand up for silence. She took a key
from a chain around her neck and unlocked the desk drawer. Drawing it open, she
took out a slender lacquered casket, placed it on the desktop and lifted the
lid slowly. With trembling fingers, she withdrew a small envelope, brown with
age. She opened it and placed the Certificate of Adoption with the photograph
attached, beside it. She took a piece of paper from the envelope. It was a
photograph, an identical photograph to the one attached to the paperwork. She
placed them side by side.

Marianne could hear a loud rushing in her ears. She tried to
ignore it.

“They look so similar, they could be twins,” she offered.
Miss MacReady was holding onto the edge of the desk, she had turned very grey.
She took another piece of paper out of the casket, unfolded it and laid it on
the desk beside the Birth Certificate. It was a copy of the same Birth
Certificate, except this copy had not been tampered with. The ink had not been
smudged with water. It read: Mother’s name; Kathleen Marianne MacReady.
Father’s name: Brian Joseph Maguire.

Marianne felt a jolt, the whooshing sound was even louder. She
thought she heard Miss MacReady say something. She thought she heard her say,

“They told me you died. They told me a lie. I always knew it
was a lie.”

Marianne tried to speak, but her mouth was so dry her lips
were stuck together. She was trying to stand upright but her knees had turned
to jelly.

The women just stared at each other. Miss MacReady could see
Marianne’s eyes were those of her beloved Brian; Marianne looked Miss MacReady
up and down slowly, they had the same legs, feet, mouth. This was insane.

“Thank you, thank you,” Miss MacReady exclaimed, lifting her
arms to the sky. “Thank you, whoever you are?” she called at the top of her
voice as she rushed to embrace Marianne. Marianne just stood there, heart
pounding, as the older woman, face wet with tears, hugged her.

“No, no you’re wrong. I was born in Galway... I was born
in...”

“The same hospital Oonagh was treated in, that’s the nearest
hospital to here, that’s where half the island was born. Afterwards, I always
thought it was funny there are no illegitimate children on the island. The most
natural thing in the world never happened here.”

“But…”

Miss MacReady passed Marianne her glass. She gulped it down,
taking deep breaths, slowing her heartbeat. Miss MacReady poured them fresh
drinks. She had started to weep quietly. She lifted Monty onto Marianne’s lap
and Marianne cuddled him for warmth, his bright brown eyes searching hers.

“If it’s true, why?” she asked, finally finding her voice,
“Why were you in that position in the first place?”

“We weren’t married. He wanted to marry me, but they were
Protestants, his father wouldn’t hear of it, said I ruined his life. I had the
baby, you, in the hospital in Galway and was sent to the convent in Wicklow to
recuperate before I came home, but it was while I was there I fell seriously
ill. They took my baby away until I recovered and, though I begged and pleaded
to have my baby back, they finally told me she had died.” She wiped her eyes at
the memory. “They were all very sympathetic and looked after me until I was
well again and the Abbess found me a position with the Post Office in Dublin,
but I hated it. I couldn’t shake the idea that my baby was not dead. She didn’t
feel dead. I thought I was going mad.”

Marianne touched Miss MacReady’s hand. It sounded like so
many of the terrifying tales she had heard when she was uncovering the ‘Babies
for sale scam’ story for the newspaper. It was too real not to be true. She
nodded Miss MacReady to go on.

“I used to go to the bar in that Dublin hotel every Monday night,
hoping he would come and fetch me, take me home, but he never did. Some knight
in shining armour!

“Anyway, I was determined to come back to Innishmahon with a
career, and I did, and as postmistress, I had a position in society, such as it
was. Brian was still here, practising as a GP. He never married and though I
tried to get him to talk about it, he never spoke to me again. I think he knew.
I think he knew his own child had been ‘sold’ into the adoption system. I think
the Doctors’ Maguire had always been part of the baby trade that still happens
the world over. It’s desperate. It’s worse than murder.” The older woman was
trembling, her makeup streaked with tears as she clasped Marianne’s hand in
hers.

Marianne put her arms around Miss MacReady, holding her
close as she wept. Nothing that had ever happened to her, could compare with
her own mother being told her baby had died soon after birth. Gathering
herself, Miss MacReady went to her desk and fetched the Death Certificate for
her baby girl. Marianne gasped and then nodded as she read it, checking for the
signs of forgery she had become aware of whilst investigating the ‘Baby Scam’.

“You’re right, it looks just like all the others.”

“Then you are my baby. You’ve come home,” She looked into
Marianne’s eyes.

“Do you really think so? It’s all a bit of a coincidence
isn’t it?”

“Not really. The Coltranes came here often enough, they
would have known the Maguires. They might even have known about you; who you
were. They were childless. The Maguires probably wanted a decent home for one
of their own, even though she could not be acknowledged as such, an
illegitimate baby girl and from a Catholic mother at that.”

Marianne nodded and then shook her head.

“But we’re talking about the 1970s for God’s sake. This
sounds almost Dickensian.”

“We may have all the trappings of the twenty-first century,
but old bigotries run deep.” Miss MacReady took Marianne’s hand.

“Did you never wonder, never want to find out about your own
mother?”

Marianne shrugged. “I figured she had her reasons for giving
me away. What was the point of seeking her out, the reasons wouldn’t have
changed.”

“But times change, and circumstances, too.”

“What chance would I have had with that birth certificate
anyway, deliberately tampered with so I could never find out.” Marianne was
surprised at the anger in her voice.

“So you’ve carried that with you all your life, given away
by your birth mother, no reason, no explanation, no way of finding out who she
was?”

“It was fine, it suited me. I had enough to deal with, being
adopted, and being an only child. I didn’t have a proper family. I didn’t need
one.” Marianne went to pour another drink.

“I think not having any family around you is worse when you
can’t have your own,” Miss MacReady said. “No-one to turn to, no-one to talk it
through with, no-one who understood what it felt like not to have your own
child.”

“It was okay,” Marianne said. “I kept busy, I managed.”

“Yes you did, and if you are my daughter, and I’m damn sure
you are, well I couldn’t be more proud.” Miss MacReady started to cry again.
Marianne knelt beside her and hugged her tightly.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Marianne kept repeating, her
head full of questions yet her heart beginning to flutter with joy.

“It is now.” Miss MacReady smiled into her face, the
brightest, most beautiful smile Marianne had ever seen her wear. “You have been
sent back to me and I to you. Whoever is taking care of us up there, she’s
doing a great job.”

“It’s a he,” said Marianne. “His name’s George. Oh, and he probably
has a bit of help from a terrifying new sidekick called Oonagh.” And they
laughed together, a very similar sounding laugh when you listened closely.

The following week was one
of the most fantastic Marianne had ever experienced. Not only was she delighting
in getting used to the revelation that her birth mother was, in fact, the
wonderfully eccentric Kathleen MacReady, and Innishmahon was in so many ways,
her true spiritual home. She also had notice that the purchase of the Ophiuchus
had been agreed and the official papers were being delivered by special
courier. There was a distinct possibility the house would be up and running as
a respite resort for young carers in time for the new season; coinciding nicely
with the opening of the new bridge.

It was a glorious late October morning, almost a year to the
day since the ‘Bridge Too Far’ Festival. There was going to be a small reunion
of stalwart supporters over the weekend and the Finnigan Twins were booked for
the session that evening in Maguire’s.

Deciding to take their constitutional before she became
bogged down in arrangements at the pub, Marianne took Monty and Bridget, now
too heavy for her carry sling, up to Ophiuchus to inspect the Planning Notice
attached to the gatepost, and then down to meet the ferry and take delivery of
the official documents being delivered that very day.

The wind was the softest kiss as they climbed the slope to
the grandiose gates of the fine Georgian house. Bridget was in her pushchair
with Monty helping to haul the contraption along, like a husky. The sun was
already warm; it was one of those rare October days masquerading as July.

The ferry sounded its arrival, sliding into the harbour on a
slipstream of sparkling water. Marianne nodded to herself as she read the Planning
Application for the alterations to the house and, turning towards the sea,
shielded her eyes from the sun as she watched the ferry passengers make their
way along the gangplank. Monty followed her gaze, then spotting something he
recognised, pricked his ears, tugged free of his lead and started back down the
track.

 Marianne called him but he paid no heed. She quickly lifted
Bridget out of the buggy onto her hip, frightened it would topple over if she
attempted to follow her four-legged chum.

“What has he seen?” she asked the child, shielding her eyes
again. And then she spotted the subject of Monty’s distraction. A man, tall and
slim, with dark hair, wearing a battered leather jacket, was standing on the
quayside. He had seen her and was waving something at her, an envelope or
document of some sort. He was starting to move towards her.

The little white dog had almost reached him but he stopped
and turning back to the boat, signalled a purser to lift a bulky piece of cargo
carefully off the gangplank. It was a child’s pushchair and there was a child
strapped into it. A child in blue. A little boy.

She hoisted Bridget higher, clamping the little girl tightly
to her hip so she could lift her other arm high above her head, giving the
watching figure a huge wave of welcome.

He waved back, manically, with both arms, jumping up and
down as if he were keep fit training. The purser who had lifted the pushchair
was busy piling suitcases and luggage beside the cluster of man, child and dog
on the quayside. It looked as if his whole life had arrived with him.

Bridget stretched out her arms towards them. Marianne made a
sound as if she had been stabbed. Ears rushing with noise, she could feel her
heart beating; the excitement building as she started to stride from the house
down the track, holding the little girl close in her embrace, moving faster and
faster.

The man kept jumping up and down like a lunatic, pointing at
the child in the pushchair and back towards her and Bridget. As she drew
nearer, she could hear him shouting,

“Look, look, we’re here. We’re all here.”

Monty was running in circles, wagging his tail and yapping
wildly. She started to laugh, as she pulled up the collar of her jacket.

Because despite the sun, the breeze had whipped up, coming
from behind her; pushing her down the hill towards the sea, towards where Monty
now stood with the little boy in the pushchair and Ryan and all his baggage.
Strange, she thought, smiling, the wind has changed.

THE END

Can’t bear to leave the island? If
you would like to stay on Innishmahon and find out what happens to Marianne,
Ryan and all the other wonderful characters, A Change of Heart, the sequel to
The Hollow Heart, will be available in 2013. Here’s a taster...

They were in the largest
cellar room, at the very end of the long corridor which ran from the bottom of
the stairs the length of the house. There were windows high in the walls, small
ones but plenty of them. Painted cream or white instead of gloomy mustard
brown, it would transform the place she thought, placing her clipboard on a
chest.