City Girl (26 page)

Two bright spots appeared on Lydia’s cheeks.

‘What on earth are you talking about? Look at the standard of living you’ve grown up with. Gerry bought you a car for your eighteenth birthday. You’ve had foreign holidays, the
best of education. What more could you want?’

Devlin looked at the elegant woman standing before her, her perfectly made up face puzzled and angry. There was no harshness in the younger girl’s voice, only a sad wistfulness, as she
said quietly, ‘I wanted someone to love me. I wanted a mother to kiss and cuddle me and make me feel special. And I’m going to do that for my child.’

Lydia’s gaze faltered. Then she turned and walked towards the lounge door. ‘I’m not that kind of woman, Devlin, I did the best I could,’ she said stiffly. ‘And if
you keep this child will it live on kisses and cuddles alone. There’s much more to life than that. It’s got to be fed and clothed. What do you tell it when it asks about its father? How
do you think you’re going to afford to give it the kind of raising you had? You always were headstrong, you always will be. I just wash my hands of the whole affair.’ She gave Devlin a
strange look. ‘You’re exactly like your mother, if that’s any comfort to you,’ she said before leaving the room.

Devlin sat down in the tasteful apricot and cream lounge of her home. So that was that, then! Lydia washed her hands of the whole affair. There was no point in staying there, she decided glumly.
With a determined thrust to her jaw Devlin closed the front door behind her and drove out to Sandymount. She rang her father and arranged to have lunch with him, over which she quietly told him of
her plans.

‘Please stay in Dublin, I’ll support you, pet,’ he pleaded.

‘I can’t do that, Dad. I have to stand on my own two feet. Don’t worry – you know I’ll make the best of things, and besides I think I’m really going to like
London.’ Poor Gerry! Caught between Lydia and herself, wanting to do the best for both. He made her promise to keep in touch and then swiftly wrote out a cheque and handed it to her.

‘I can’t, Dad!’ Devlin protested, stunned at the amount. It was for three thousand pounds.

‘You can and you will.’ Gerry’s tone was quite firm. ‘A father can give his daughter whatever he likes and don’t ever be short of money, darling. I’m glad
you’ve decided to keep the baby. I hope it gives you as much joy as you’ve given me.’

‘Oh Dad!’ Devlin couldn’t speak. The lump in her throat was as big as a tennis ball. He hugged her hard and then he was gone back to the bank and Devlin didn’t feel quite
so alone.

Caroline too was utterly relieved that she was keeping the baby. ‘You’re doing the right thing, Dev, I know you are. It will all work out for the best – you’ll
see.’

‘I don’t know. I hope so, Caro. I feel kind of scared,’ Devlin confessed. With Caroline she didn’t have to put on a brave face as she had done with her father. Now that
she had finally burned her bridges she was beginning to feel very vulnerable.

‘You’re never scared of anything, Devlin!’ Caroline declared stoutly but her hug was extra warm and her cheeks were wet.

By the time Devlin had sold her car and stereo, packed her clothes, books and dearest possessions and got her flight back to London organized, she hadn’t had a minute to think about the
future – which was just as well. She arrived in Heathrow on the Sunday night, went back to the bedsit, made herself a cup of tea and went straight to bed. She started work at nine the next
morning.

Devlin had not told her employers that she was pregnant and she worried that if they found out they might ask her to leave. She consoled herself with the thought that winter would soon be upon
them and she could wear big chunky sweaters to hide her condition. Pregnancy suited her: she was glowing and radiant, her skin and eyes clear and bright, her hair shining with health. Mrs Arnott
told her one day that she was an excellent advertisement for the centre and that they were very pleased with her. Devlin was delighted. Her work always took her mind off her problems, and it helped
to ease the awful loneliness she experienced. London was so big and impersonal, any city was, so she decided to act positively and do something about it. She might need friends when the time came
for her to give birth.

She had enrolled in a business studies course at night and gradually after her initial shyness had worn off she had become friendly with a girl called Doreen, a bright, extrovert, articulate
West Indian girl. Doreen hadn’t been able to afford to go to college after leaving school but she was determined to further her education. She worked in a travel agency and had taken the
course with a view to starting up her own business. Her determination and ambition had surprised Devlin. She had not taken the course with any eye to the future; she had taken it because it sounded
interesting, the times of the classes suited her, and she wished to meet people, but as she studied more and listened to Doreen she began to have ideas about setting up a business of her own in the
future. After all, she would have a child to support, so it was something to think about.

About three months later, Doreen mentioned to Devlin that her flatmate was leaving to get married and asked her if she would like to share with her. Devlin was thrilled. Living on her own in the
strange noisy exciting city was lonely and because she was saving hard she didn’t go out much, except perhaps for an occasional meal with some of the girls from work she had got friendly
with.

Doreen was the only one who knew about her pregnancy and the fact that she had still asked her to share meant a lot to Devlin. Her self-esteem, which had taken such a battering, began to recover
and as the baby kicked lustily against her gently-swelling stomach she even began to look forward to the birth. Sometimes she talked to the child inside her, her hands gently caressing the bulge.
So far she had been lucky. By clever dressing she had been able to conceal her thickening figure, but this would not be possible for much longer.

Devlin decided to tell Mrs Arnott. After all they had been very good to her and she felt it wasn’t fair to betray their trust. Though she knew that she was legally entitled to keep her job
despite her pregnancy, she would not want to stay on if by doing so she caused problems at the club. The manageress was taken aback and gave Devlin’s figure a close scrutiny. ‘Well,
dear, I’m glad you told me. Let me think about it,’ she said kindly and Devlin had spent the day and night taut with tension, awaiting her decision. The following morning, she got a
call from Mrs Arnott asking her to drop into her office. Her hands were damp with perspiration as she sat down in front of the manageress’s desk, trying to look composed. Mrs Arnott had
smiled comfortingly at her.

‘Relax, Devlin! You don’t have to worry. We’ve decided to keep you on. After all, your work is excellent and our clients like you. As long as you do your work, dress smartly
and look your best there is no reason to let you go.’ She met Devlin’s eyes. ‘There is one thing, dear. I’m sorry I have to ask this of you but could you wear a ring on your
finger? It might be easier on yourself.’ Devlin blushed, pink with embarrassment. Nodding her head mutely she left the office, cursing Colin but most of all cursing herself for allowing
herself to be in the position she was in. How stupid and silly she had been.

Well, she had made one big mistake in her life and she’d be exceptionally careful not to make another. At least they aren’t sacking me, she thought. The prospect of her salary helped
her to swallow the bitter pill of humiliation.

Christmas was the worst. Doreen had invited her home with her but Devlin had been reluctant to impose herself and had decided to stay in the flat. Her father rang and asked her to come and stay
in a hotel in Dublin at his expense. Obviously Lydia was determined not to allow her home. It didn’t really surprise Devlin that her mother’s fear of what the neighbours would say
overrode all other considerations. She pitied her father, torn between his love for her and his love for his wife. She gently refused his offer and hung up in the pits of depression.

Tears stung her face in the biting wind as she walked home to the flat. All around her was evidence of the festive season but she kept her eyes averted from the gaily decorated shops, the
magical brightly lit Christmas trees. It was hard to ignore the evocative Christmas music that tugged at her heartstrings bringing memories of happier Christmases in the past when all she had to
worry about was who was bringing her to the New Year’s Ball, and which dress would cause the biggest sensation.

The day before Christmas Eve, Caroline rang and asked her to come and stay with the family. Devlin was touched. Caroline was always there for her in her own quiet understated way. Again she
refused but they talked for a while and when the call was finished she didn’t feel quite so alone. Caroline told her about her forthcoming engagement and Devlin tried to infuse some
enthusiasm into her voice as she congratulated her friend. Why she could not take to Richard she did not know, but if he made Caroline happy that was all she cared about and God knows all Caroline
had ever wanted was to be married.

When she got home to the flat a big parcel awaited her and also an airmail letter with a Saudi stamp. Eagerly she ripped open the paper and found a huge furry dressing gown with matching
slippers in a beautiful shade of pink. A bottle of her favourite perfume fell out of the sleeve and tears welled up in her eyes at Caroline’s kindness. The letter from Maggie was warm and
full of encouragement and again Devlin couldn’t prevent a lump rising in her throat.

God, I’m turning into a right weeping willow, she chided herself as she tried on the dressing gown. A snow shower had just started and she watched the snowflakes whirling hither and
thither, blocking out everything in sight, imposing their own authority on the landscape. If only she could blot out her past so easily and start afresh, how simple life would be. Shivering, she
lit the gas fire and made herself some tea and toast. Having done enough shopping to last her for three days, she intended not setting foot outside the door for the remainder of the week. The
sooner Christmas was over the better. She comforted herself with the thought that she was no longer in her lonely basement bedsit. The flat she shared with Doreen was small and compact but very
cosy and bright. Deciding resolutely to treat her few days off like an ordinary weekend she tried to forget the depression that had settled leechlike on her shoulders. She wondered why Kate had not
written. It was most unusual, for her aunt wrote faithfully each week. The disappointment of not getting a letter or even a Christmas card nagged at her. It seemed to Devlin that the smallest thing
could upset her these days and blaming it on her rioting hormones she settled down with a deep sigh to escape reality in front of the TV.

For the next two days she slept late, didn’t bother dressing but just sat wrapped up in her new warm furry dressing gown in front of the gas fire, flicking TV channels when programmes got
too sentimental. Not once did she allow her thoughts to dwell on past Christmases or thoughts of home and although the days dragged somewhat it wasn’t as bad as she had feared. Her body
caught up on some much needed rest and it was a treat not to have to get up for work. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, hair unbrushed, face naked of make-up, enveloped in her big pink robe,
Devlin decided she looked like a big pink bear in hibernation. Boxing Day found her depressed and listless. Dragging herself out of bed around noon she found herself unable to face another day of
nonstop TV viewing. Outside it was bitterly cold and she gazed out at the deserted street, her thumb nail idly making patterns in the frosty tracery on the window pane.

Sixteen

She had to get out of the flat! It was driving her mad. She was feeling decidedly claustrophobic. Passing through her tiny kitchen she eyed the sink, full to the brim with
dirty dishes. A look of distaste crossed her face. Normally a tidy person, for the last few days she had just taken clean crockery from the press, dumping it into the sink as she finished with it.
Pieces of soggy burnt toast and a sticky marmalade-smeared knife lay on a crumb covered table. She gave a grimace of horror and muttered aloud, ‘God I’m turning into a slut.’
Squaring her shoulders she rolled up her sleeves and wished heartily that Nanette Newman and her mild green Fairy liquid would materialize in her dirty little kitchen.

She had just finished drying the last glass and was surveying with some dismay her reddened and wrinkled hands when her doorbell rang. Puzzled, because she was not expecting Doreen back for
another few days, she went to the intercom and said warily, ‘Yes?’

‘Guess who?’ said a voice that was instantly recognizable in spite of the tinny distorted sound. On winged feet Devlin flew down the stairs and flung open the door, to be met by the
beaming loving face of her aunt.

Kate stayed a week, having paid a man to take care of the farm while she was away. Devlin’s blues disappeared and they went shopping for baby clothes and maternity dresses with great
gusto. They caught a few shows, had meals out and generally had a good time. Devlin, in spite of her now obvious bulk, was blessed with the constitution of an ox, and apart from the occasional bout
of heartburn, and some lower back pain, was sailing through her pregnancy like a stately galleon. Together she and Kate chose some beautiful maternity dresses that were superbly cut, flowing
gracefully over Devlin’s greatly expanded figure. It was an enormous relief to escape from the figure-flattening panty girdle she had been wearing to try to camouflage the bulge. Kate
promised she would try to get over for the birth and Devlin experienced a surge of love and gratitude for the small slim elfin woman who had given her more love and support than Lydia ever had.

She missed Kate badly when she had returned home to Wexford but Doreen was there and she did her best to keep Devlin’s heart up. She sometimes felt as though the nine months were nine
years and found herself becoming restless and edgy as she went into her eighth month of pregnancy. Her one big fear was that her waters would break while she was at work and that she would saturate
the elegant deep-pile carpet in the foyer. She had nightmares that she was in labour and that everybody just kept ignoring her, continuing with their aerobics and body-building while she begged in
vain for help.