The Leaving Of Liverpool (10 page)

Not
the
perfect memento. That would be to find Annemarie, but so far his search had proved fruitless. The truth was, Finn had already been there five days and didn’t know where else to go. He hadn’t realized that the island of Manhattan was quite so
big
, or so densely populated, literally teeming with people, a good proportion of them Irish. The police force seemed to be made up entirely of Irishmen who were also searching valiantly for his sister, but to no avail.

After informing the police, the next thing Maggie had done was telephone the hospitals, but they’d seen no one fitting Annemarie’s description. Finn had visited the Catholic churches, though he knew the chances of finding his sister there were very slim. Between them, he and Maggie had written out dozens of cards with her name and address on to leave at the churches and all the Irish clubs he could locate. Lately, he’d taken to just wandering around, hands stuffed in his pockets, just hoping and praying for the sight of a pretty, thirteen-year-old girl with violet eyes and a smile that would light up the day.

Maggie was taking a lot of time off school. The principal fully understood her situation and the pupils said a prayer each morning at assembly that Annemarie would soon be found. Finn and his aunt usually arranged to meet up during the day: in Central Park, Times Square, or by the do’nut stall in Grand Central terminus, which was more like a cathedral than a station.

‘No luck, I’m afraid,’ Maggie would say when they met.

‘Me, neither,’ Finn would sigh. He was beginning to think they were flogging a dead horse. Trying to find his sister was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

 

He pressed the bell for Maggie’s apartment at the end of his fifth day, feeling thoroughly disheartened. Maggie let him in. She reminded him so much of his beloved mother that the first sight of her always made his heart stop: the same black hair, blue eyes, fine nose and wide, generous mouth - Finn and Annemarie had inherited the same features - but, whereas his mother had dressed plainly and worn her hair in a severe bun, Maggie’s clothes were of the latest fashion and her hair was short and elegantly waved. Mam had been forty-six when she died and Maggie two years older, yet she could have been in her thirties.

‘There’s some news,’ she said soberly. ‘I’m not sure whether you’d call it good or bad, or whether it’s made me feel relieved or more worried than ever. Come upstairs and I’ll show you.’ Finn followed, his heart in his mouth, not knowing what to expect.

Maggie closed the door and handed him a sheet of paper. ‘I found this on the mat in the hall when I came in. What do you make of it?’

It was a pencil drawing, extremely life-like, of a tiny boy wearing a nightshirt and carrying a candle in a holder. His hair was tousled and he was grinning widely, the tip of his tongue stuck mischievously out of his mouth.

‘It’s our Aidan!’ he gasped.

‘I’ve never seen Aidan, but I thought it might be,’ Maggie said, tight-lipped. ‘See what’s written on the back.’

Finn turned the paper over. ‘
Anne is perfectly safe. She is being well looked after. You have no need to worry
,’ he read. The words were written in perfect copperplate. ‘He calls her Anne.’

‘Why do you say “he”?’ Maggie queried. ‘It could have been written by a woman.’

‘This is how a solicitor would write, or a clerk in a certain sort of office where a woman is unlikely to be employed. Our wedding certificate was written in copperplate. Jaysus!’ He slapped his hand against his brow as the message in the note, the sheer strangeness of it, began to sink in. ‘But what does this mean, Maggie? Why does he call her Anne? And how did he know to deliver it here?’

‘I’ve no idea, unless Annemarie told him this address or he saw one of our cards. Perhaps someone else knows it - what about the woman you say was in the cabin with the girls, Gertrude Strauss?’ Maggie scowled. ‘Or Olive Raines, who stole Mollie’s passport and the suitcase with the money. Oh, Finn! I really don’t know what to think.’

‘She’s happy,’ Finn said thoughtfully. ‘If she weren’t, she’d have drawn our Aidan crying. She loved drawing: happy pictures and sad ones, depending on her mood.’

Maggie sat down with a bump. ‘I suppose that’s something.’

‘She loved singing, too, and dancing. She was in love with life, Annemarie, but the slightest little thing - a cross word, a sick animal - could make her sink into the doldrums - the Slough of Despond, Mam used to call it - though she quickly snapped out of it. Strangely enough, she wasn’t as upset as the rest of us when Mam died, because she said she could see her in heaven.’ ‘Your mother used to worry about her all the time. She said she was too sensitive for this world.’ Maggie’s face darkened. ‘I can’t imagine how she must have felt the night your father
raped
her,’ she said savagely. ‘It must have sent her out of her mind, the poor wee child.’ ‘Hazel said it more or less had, that she was in a sort of trance the night they left Duneathly. Yet our Mollie stood it for two whole years and didn’t say a word.’ Finn’s voice shook. ‘I actually told her off, Mollie, when we met in Liverpool, as if she’d done something wrong.’

‘Mollie’s a brick and Frank Kenny is a bastard. I hope and pray I never set eyes on the man again, else I’ll murder him for sure.’ Maggie eased herself out of the chair and went towards the kitchen. ‘Me throat’s crying out for a cup of tea, Finn. Once we’ve had it, I’ll take that piece of paper round to Sergeant McCluskey at the station, see what
he
makes of it. And, instead of us sitting here all night long trying to make sense of things until we feel dizzy, we’ll go for a meal and do it there instead. As you say, at least it seems Annemarie’s happy, wherever she is.’

‘Me, I’m aching for a pint of ale. D’you know, Maggie, I haven’t seen a pub all week, though I’ve been keeping me eye out for one.’

‘You’re not likely to.’ Maggie smiled for the first time since he’d met her in New York. ‘Haven’t you heard of Prohibition? Alcohol’s banned in the United States, though there’s more drunk now than when it was legal. There’s a speakeasy round the corner where you can get really vile whisky at an outrageous price and there’s always a chance the police will raid the joint.’

‘I think I’d sooner wait until I get back to Ireland,’ Finn said hastily.

 

He didn’t have to wait quite so long. As soon as he arrived back in Liverpool, he went to the George Hotel and ordered a pint of best bitter while he waited for Mollie. He wanted to have a long talk with his sister and try to persuade her to return to Duneathly. It was too much to expect her to live in the Doctor’s house, but she could live with him, Hazel and the new baby when it came. Finn hoped she still wasn’t planning on going to New York. Maggie’s apartment wasn’t nearly big enough for two people, and weren’t his legs still hurting like blazes after sleeping with his top half on one chair and the rest of him on another for seven uncomfortable days?

The boat had docked early and he had to wait a good hour and a half before his sister came, during which time he thought about Annemarie. At least she was happy - he must have said that to Maggie half a dozen times while she said the same to him. It was something, the only thing that had provided a crumb of comfort during the long futile search. He took the drawing out of his pocket and studied it yet again, visualizing Annemarie drawing it, concentrating hard, her white brow furrowed. But drawing it
where
? Somewhere in New York was the only answer. Somewhere within that busy, noisy, brightly lit, tumultuous city, Annemarie had sat and drawn a picture of their little brother.

‘That’s our Aidan,’ said a voice, and he looked up and saw Mollie staring at the picture. ‘I can’t remember Annemarie doing that.’

He leapt to his feet, took her in his arms, and held her tightly for a good minute, wanting to cry for some reason. ‘It’s good to see you, Moll,’ he said, kissing both her cheeks before letting her go.

‘You didn’t find her, did you?’ she said sadly. ‘Else you’d’ve sent a telegram like you promised.’

‘No, Moll,’ he said gently. ‘But Annemarie’s all right.’ He signalled to a waiter to fetch the tea he knew she’d want, then told her about his useless search for their sister - the visits to the churches, the Irish clubs, the cards he and Maggie had written out together - and, finally, the delivery of Aidan’s picture through the front door of Maggie’s apartment house. ‘Read what’s on the back, sis.’

‘ “
Anne is perfectly safe. She is being well looked after. You have no need to worry
,” ’ Mollie read aloud. ‘Why do they call her Anne and not Annemarie?’ Finn shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

Mollie continued to ask the same questions that he and Maggie had asked each other without coming up with a single answer that made sense. ‘Well, at least she’s happy,’ she said at last.

‘Maggie’s determined to keep on searching and the police haven’t given up. She’ll be found one day, Moll, you’ll see.’

Mollie smiled sweetly and Finn was struck by how lovely she was. She didn’t have Annemarie’s flamboyant beauty, the sort that made your head turn, but a quiet, serene loveliness that grew on you. He noticed a well-dressed young man seated a few tables away who seemed unable to keep his eyes off her.

‘What are you going to do with yourself now, Moll?’ he asked. If she wanted, he told her, she could come back with him to Duneathly today.

‘I’m going to stay in Liverpool, Finn,’ she said quietly.

‘But it’s not your home, sis. You hardly know a soul here except the Brophys. You’d have to get a job and a proper place to live.’

‘I’ve already done both. I arranged it as soon as I realized you hadn’t found Annemarie. If you had, then I’d’ve gone to New York and come back to Liverpool as soon as she was herself again.’

‘But
why
?’

She looked at him shyly. ‘Because I’m getting married in July on my birthday, that’s why.’

‘Jaysus!’ Finn nearly dropped his beer. ‘Who to?’

‘To Tom Ryan, he’s a policeman.’

‘He sounds much too old for you.’ It was all he could think of to say.

‘He’s twenty-one, same as you. Would you like to meet him? That’s him over there. Today’s his day off, that’s why he’s not in uniform.’ She signalled to the young man who’d been watching her so avidly. He jumped to his feet and came over. ‘Tom, this is my brother, Finn. I’ve just told him we’re getting married.’

Finn arrived in Kildare feeling limp and dejected. He’d had nearly four weeks off work - his boss was just as understanding as Maggie’s. He hadn’t liked Tom Ryan; he was too full of himself for words. What’s more, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel content again in Ireland after the hustle and bustle of New York. He caught the bus to Duneathly and stared gloomily at the scenery, the rolling fields, the trees just bursting into bud, the little cottages, like his own, nestling at the foot of the hills. It was all too damned quiet and dull.

The bus stopped outside his cottage, he opened the creaking gate that he kept meaning to fix, and went in the front door, to be met by a strange cry from upstairs. He dropped his suitcase, mounted the stairs two at a time, and burst into the bedroom.

Hazel was lying on the bed, looking as if she’d just climbed Mount Everest with lead in her boots, and Carmel O’Flaherty, the midwife, was holding a tiny baby covered in blood, who was yelling loud enough to bring down the roof.

‘You’re just in time to say hello to our son, Finn,’ Hazel said with an exhausted smile.

‘Is there something wrong with him?’ Had his son cut himself already?

‘It’s your wife’s blood, Mr Kenny. I’ll wash it off him in a minute. As for the crying, that’s quite normal.
You’d
cry if you’d just come out of a lovely warm place into the cold of the big wide world.’ Carmel gave him a severe look. ‘You shouldn’t really be here. Most husbands take themselves off to the pub, leaving their wives to have their babies in peace. But,’ she relented, ‘seeing as you are here, would you like to hold the baby while I tidy your wife up?’

‘Yes, please,’ Finn croaked. The baby was wrapped in a towel, still screaming, and placed in his arms.

‘Would you mind looking the other way for a wee while, Mr Kenny?’

He did as he was told, but not before glancing at Hazel, seeing the love in her eyes that he knew was reflected in his own. He stood in front of the window holding his baby. In the space of only a few minutes, he had forgotten all about New York and his sisters. Now he was just thankful that he was back in Ireland with his wife and his new son.

‘Hello, Patrick,’ he whispered.

Chapter 4

He opened the door and she came dancing towards him, her black hair flaring out.

‘We bought pizza from Lombardi’s, Lev, your favourite, ’ she sang, ‘with cheese and tomatoes and Italian sausage and olives.’ She threw her arms around his neck. ‘I’m starving,’ she announced. He watched, fascinated, as her hair settled in a tumble of little curls and waves around her shoulder.