A Prayer for Blue Delaney (2 page)
It took a week for Colm’s headaches to stop, and it rained the whole week. It was still raining on the day the three men came to St Bart’s.
‘What do you know about Australia, lads?’ asked a big red-faced man in a dark suit.
No one put up their hand.
‘Well, I’ll tell you about it. It’s a marvellous place. There’s kangaroos and horses to ride, and fruit simply falling from the trees. There are families that want boys like you, families with farms where they have their own milk and cream with breakfast every day. No one’s ever hungry in Australia. It’s a land of plenty and the sun shines every single day of the year. So now, who’d like to go to Australia?’
Dibs McGinty’s arm shot up. Dozens more followed.
Colm kept his hands folded in his lap. Dibs elbowed him sharply. ‘Don’t you want to get out of this place? Don’t you want to ride on a kangaroo?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ whispered Colm. ‘You can’t ride kangaroos.’
‘But we could get away from Sister Clothilde,’ said Dibs. ‘And we could have families. A real family. A mum, a dad. Maybe even brothers and sisters.’
But still Colm sat with his hands folded in his lap. One day his mother would come back for him and he was going to be waiting for her.
The next day, Sister Clothilde told Colm that he had been chosen.
‘Chosen?’ he repeated, looking at her blankly.
‘For Australia,’ she said, her lips pulled back over her teeth in the semblance of a smile. ‘Aren’t you lucky?’
‘I don’t want to go,’ said Colm.
‘Nonsense. Every boy wants to go. It will be like a grand holiday,’ she said, hurrying him outside and shutting the doors of the school behind him.
Colm found Dibs out in the yard. ‘I’m going to Australia too,’ he said, feeling dazed.
Dibs punched him in the arm. ‘Good-o. Maybe we’ll get adopted by the same family and then we’ll be like brothers.’
‘I’m not getting adopted. I’ve got a mother already.’
‘Well, I am. Then I’ll never have to go and live with my bloody uncle again. I’ll live in a proper house with a proper mum and dad.’
Colm smiled. Of course, Dibs couldn’t remember anything about his mum, so he had to dream of something better. The sun edged its way out from behind a bank of clouds, and Colm ran across the yard and bathed his face in the light.
The photographer’s bulb flashed, and Colm blinked. Everything looked bright and strange - the long line of children tramping up the gangway, the swelling crowd on the docks, the steep, grey sides of the ocean liner. Beside him, boys and girls waved at the people on the dockside, though Colm was sure they knew no one down there. They were orphans from homes all over Britain.
Colm found himself standing amidst a group of boys with Irish accents. It made him think of music, the way the words seemed to roll off their tongues. They were bigger than Colm and they jostled each other, shouting and laughing as they pushed their way forward to the ship’s railing. Colm watched as the tallest of the Irish boys clambered onto the railing, clutching a post to steady himself. He was lean and wiry, with a shock of white-blonde hair that stuck up in tufts. His friends roared with approval as the boy leant forward and spat as far as he could into the milling crowd on the docks. He glanced back at his friends and laughed, before turning to send another gobbet of spittle into the crowd below. A steward yelled from further along the deck and pushed his way towards them. The tall boy turned to jump back on deck, but lost his balance. A collective gasp rose as he teetered on the railing, his arms flailing wildly. A woman screamed. Instinctively, Colm leapt forward, elbowing bodies aside to grab the boy by his shirt and pull him down. They hit the deck together, the big boy landing heavily on Colm, winding him.
The boy swore and quickly jumped to his feet. Colm tried to sit up but all he could do was cough and roll half onto his side as feet trampled in around him. Two hands reached down and pulled him up.
‘Youse saved me friggin’ life, you did,’ said the boy in a warm, lilting voice. ‘I’m Tommy. Tommy Cassidy from Belfast.’ He held his hand out for Colm to shake. The sun shone through his white-gold hair, making a halo of light around his head. Mutely, Colm put out his hand and felt the older boy’s sure, firm grasp. Before Colm could think of anything to say, the steward arrived and angrily wrenched Tommy away through the crowd. Tommy looked back, cockily raised one hand to salute and then winked.
The children ran along the decks, laughing and shouting, until three nuns came to herd them down to the dining room. Still feeling breathless, Colm slipped between two lifeboats and waited until everyone had gone below decks. When the coast was clear, he walked to the rail, watching England disappear from view. His ribs were aching and inside, he felt a new pain, as if something was being torn away from him as the distance from the shore grew further. He rested his forehead against the railing, humming softly to himself to fight down tears.
Someone put a hand on his shoulder. He looked around to find a small nun standing behind him. A tiny wisp of dark hair had slipped out from under her wimple and it brushed against her smooth round face.
‘You shouldn’t be here, child,’ she said.
She turned up the cardboard tag that was pinned to his jacket and nodded.
‘Number 49 from St Bartholomew’s. You’re to be one of my charges during the voyage. You’re very lucky, to be chosen for such an adventure.’
Colm knew better than to argue with nuns. He let her take his hand and lead him down into the lower part of the ship.
‘I’m Sister Mercia. What’s your name?’
‘Colm. Colm McCabe.’
‘Well, Colm McCabe, this is the first time I have been to sea and I suspect it is the first time that you have been to sea. I think we should watch out for each other, don’t you?’
Colm gazed at her, puzzled. She obviously hadn’t been a nun for very long.
The third-class dining room was packed with children seated at tables according to the homes they’d come from. Tommy Cassidy was easy to pick in the crowd with his shock of white-blond hair. Shyly, Colm edged his way to Tommy’s table.
‘What are youse looking at?’ snapped one of the boys.
‘Ach, leave off, Paddy, before I have to wipe the table with ye face,’ growled Tommy. Then he shoved one of the other boys off the bench and gestured for Colm to sit down. ‘This is my little mate here, what saved my skin while you idiots stood around with your gobs wide open. There’ll be no messin’ with him, got that?’
The other boys nodded at Colm or muttered assent.
‘Right then,’ he said to Colm. ‘Tell us your name.’
‘Colm McCabe.’
Tommy slapped the table hard and laughed. ’So you’re Irish. Of course, you had to be Irish - none of the lousy English can think as fast as lads like us.’
Colm had never thought to question whether he was English. Did that mean his mother was Irish too? If Tommy Cassidy was Irish, perhaps it was a good thing to be. Maybe his luck was turning. Maybe this voyage was going to be a grand holiday after all.
Blood oozed out of Tommy’s thumb and trickled down into his palm. He smiled as he handed the knife to Colm. ’See, nothing to it,’ he said.
Colm shut one eye as he slashed the blade across his own thumb.
‘Mary, Jesus and Joseph, you didn’t need to chop the whole bleeding thing off!’ said Tommy, laughing as Colm cupped one hand beneath the other to catch the flow of blood. Colm grinned sheepishly, though his hand throbbed with pain. Quickly, the two boys pressed their bloodied thumbs together.
‘So that’s fixed it. We’re blood brothers for life,’ said Tommy.
‘For life,’ repeated Colm.
Dibs frowned when Colm explained why he had a handkerchief wrapped around his thumb.
‘What you mucking around with that bad lot for?’ he asked as they sat waiting for their turns at badminton.
‘I saved Tommy’s life, so he says that means that we’re joined together forever and we had to do something to prove it. Like in the Westerns, with the Red Indians being blood brothers.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t have saved him. My gran reckoned if you save someone from drowning, then you cheat the sea of her prize and one day you’ll drown yourself.’
‘He wouldn’t have drowned. He’d have gone splat on the docks.’
‘He might have fallen into the water. If we get caught in a hurricane and all drown, it will be your fault.’
Colm started humming under his breath, blocking out Dibs’s words. But Dibs wouldn’t let it go. ‘He wants you to be his real brother. If you get adopted together, then you can’t be my brother.’
Colm flushed darkly. ‘No one’s going to adopt me. I’m going back to England.’
‘You can’t. We’re going to live in Australia for ever and ever.’
‘Sister Clothilde said it would be a holiday.’
‘Nuns always tell fibs when they want to make you do things. And that Tommy Cassidy, he probably tells fibs too. He’s trying to trick you into being his friend.’
Colm rolled his eyes. ‘He doesn’t need to trick me. I like him.’
‘He’s bad luck, I tell you. A hurricane will swallow us up, and it will be your fault because you saved him. And then I’ll never find a family.’ Tears started to streak Dibs’s face.
Colm punched him on the shoulder in a friendly way. ’Stop blubbing. You’ll find a family one day and I can still be your friend, even if I’m not your brother.’
‘But what about the hurricane?’
‘There won’t be a hurricane,’ said Colm, with finality. ‘Look, it’s our turn now.’ He got to his feet and ran to scoop up the birdie, ready to start the game.
That night, as Colm lay in his narrow bunk in the cabin, he felt a cloud gather over his thoughts. He gazed out through the porthole at the dark sea. It seemed to be taking a long time to get to Australia. What if his mother came looking for him while they were away? What if nuns did tell fibs? What if Dibs was right and Colm was going to be punished for saving Tommy? What if a hurricane came and swallowed up the ship with everyone on board? The questions pounded inside his head until it ached. Colm wished he was back in England.
The next morning, after they’d finished lessons with Sister Mercia, Colm waited until the other children had left the dining hall.
‘Sister,’ he said, looking at his feet as he spoke, ’do you think we’ll be hit by any hurricanes on our holiday?’
Sister Mercia laughed. ‘I certainly hope not. But if we do, I’m sure if we pray to our Blessed Virgin Mother, she’ll make sure all the orphan children arrive safely in Australia.’ She sat down at the piano and put a sheet of music on the rack.
Colm felt his heart lighten. She hadn’t said this wasn’t a holiday. She hadn’t said anything about not going back to England. He moved closer to the piano, feeling the music vibrating through the soles of his shoes. When she finished the piece, he reached out and touched one of the yellowing keys.
‘Can you play?’ asked Sister Mercia.
Colm wanted to laugh, the idea seemed so crazy.
‘I always think that, if you’re worried about something, playing music can drive all your cares away.’
‘I think that too,’ said Colm. ‘Except all I can do is hum.’
‘Well then, hum me a tune and I’ll show you how it sounds on the piano.’
Colm hummed ‘O for the Wings of a Dove’ and Sister Mercia picked out the notes on the keyboard with her right hand. Then she added some chords with her left hand and played the song right through. Colm watched closely. When she’d finished, he asked if he could try. He fumbled his way through the first part of the song and then slumped. It was much harder than it looked
‘Don’t be discouraged, Colm. You’re very quick,’ said Sister Mercia. ‘Perhaps I should teach you. Would you like to have piano lessons?’
Colm looked up into her shining face and smiled.
Every afternoon, while the other children were playing games on C deck, Colm sat at the piano with Sister Mercia. He wanted to make songs leap out from beneath his hands the way she did. It was as if the notes soaked up through his fingers, through his skin and reverberated against his bones, inside his chest, inside his own heart.
One afternoon as he came out from his piano lesson, he found Tommy leaning against the doorframe, grinning.
‘Wotcha hanging around with the nun fer? We’re coming into Colombo,’ said Tommy. ‘This could be our big chance.’
‘Our big chance?’
‘They’re going to take us lot ashore. You and me, we could jump ship here and have us a real adventure.’
‘But then we’d never get back to England,’ said Colm, frowning.
‘Bugger England, and Ireland too. I never want to go back.’ Tommy grabbed Colm by the wrist and dragged him over to the railing. ‘Look at all that, will you,’ he said. ‘Bloody marvellous, innit?’
They hung over the rail together, gazing at the people swarming below. They were dressed in bright colours, and the foliage was a rich, dark green, like nothing Colm had ever seen before. The air smelt both spicy and sweet in the same instant. It seemed exactly like the sort of place to have adventures.
‘You’re not really going to run away, are you?’ asked Colm as he squinted in the brilliant light.
Tommy punched him in the arm. ‘Nah, only messing with you. I’ll stick with this tub a while longer. I want to be a cowboy. I’ve heard there’s wild horses in Australia. Friggin’ country’s full of them. That’ll be the life, eh? We’ll ride wild horses and lasso the Injuns, like Hopalong Cassidy. You know, we could be partners - I’d be the Lone Ranger and you could be Tonto.’
Colm laughed. ‘I can’t go and ride wild horses with you. I’m going back to England when the ship sails home.’
‘You’re jokin’. Why go back to that scummy place? Besides, Tonto, no one’s going back to England. This is a migrant ship, see. We’re all going to live in Australia. This ship won’t take you back.’
Suddenly, Colm felt as if he was going to throw up. He ran below deck, pressing his hands hard to his ears, not heeding Tommy’s calls. Locking himself in one of the toilets, he sat alone and miserable, listening to the tramp of feet as the other children disembarked for a day of exploring Colombo.
