City Girl (30 page)

Several mugs of wine later and they were all laughing as they scrubbed out the flat. The furniture had been delivered in the meantime and the place had lost its cold bare unlived-in look and was
beginning to have a more homely aura. Maggie had brought a chicken casserole and after they had hung up a pair of old but clean curtains that she had found somewhere, they heated it up and settled
down to eat, ravenously hungry after their exertions. It was a happy meal, one of many they were to have in the ten months Devlin was to spend in Ballymun. Her friends’ support and
encouragement got Devlin through those hardship-filled months during which she discovered resources within herself that made her battle on, determined to make a life for herself and her child.

Her other source of comfort and support was Mollie O’Brien, mother of four, and her husband Eddie who were her next-door neighbours. A warm motherly Dublin woman, Mollie had come calling
with a freshly baked apple tart the first week Devlin was in the flat. ‘Howya luv, me name is Mollie, I hope yer settlin. I brought ya a tart just te introduce meself like,’ were her
first words to the astonished Devlin.

‘Oh! Oh that’s very kind of you. Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea?’ Devlin responded, delighted by the other woman’s warmth and neighbourliness.

‘Oh I’d only love a cuppa cha. Dere’s nuttin like eh,’ Mollie beamed, stepping into the flat. ‘Janey! Aren’t ye after doin a grand job on the place all the
same. That other crowd a gurriers left it like a feckin pigsty,’ she exclaimed, casting an experienced eye around the place. ‘Now luv if dere’s ever anything ya need don’t
be shy about knocking on me door. Right?’

‘Right,’ agreed Devlin happily. Maybe she wasn’t going to be too lonely after all.

With four grown sons, including teenagers Roger and Rayo, the pair who had helped Devlin with the buggy on her first visit to the flat, Mollie obviously missed not having a daughter and in no
time Devlin and Lynn were taken under her motherly wing. Mollie’s flat was immaculate and beautifully decorated and the balcony, a south facing suntrap painted white, was where Devlin spent
many a happy afternoon listening to Mollie tell stories of life in the Liberties, where she had been reared. In turn Devlin told her about her life, her pregnancy, and her nonexistent relationship
with her mother. It was so easy to talk to Mollie, the down-to-earth Dublin woman was always giving her helpful hints about Lynn, and knowing she was next door and so dependable was an enormous
help to the younger girl.

Mollie explained that she and her husband were on the waiting list for one of the new houses being built in the Liberties. ‘But I’ll miss Ballymun all de same,’ she sighed.
‘Dere’s some awful nice people here. Bernie now, ye met her, she lives just below ye. Well, ye couldn’t meet a nicer neighbour. She’d give ye the shirt off her
back.’

Devlin smiled. She had indeed met Bernie a few days after moving in. A good-natured cheerful woman, Bernie knew anything and everything about living in Ballymun. When Devlin wanted to find out
about getting a leaking pipe fixed, Bernie told her who to contact. She personally brought her to the Health Centre when Devlin enquired of its whereabouts and sat with her, introducing her to
other mothers until Lynn and Devlin were called into the doctor.

‘My Margaret will babysit for ya if ye need her,’ Bernie assured her as they walked back to their block, and she sent her young son up every day to see if Devlin needed any messages
from the shops. It was an eye-opener to Devlin the way the women of the flats supported each other. So different from the self-contained anonymity of the exclusive suburb she had grown up in. If it
hadn’t been for Mollie and Bernie, Devlin knew she would never have stuck it out. No matter how down she was, just hearing Bernie’s infectious guffaw would lift her spirits.

‘You’d make a bleedin fortune hauntin houses!’ Mollie told Bernie one day as the other woman laughed heartily in her distinctive fashion at the sight of a local garda chasing
after his cap that had been caught by a gust of wind. Devlin burst into giggles. Mollie’s caustic Dublin wit was a source of constant amusement to her. Eddie, Mollie’s husband, was a
carpenter by trade, a tall, quiet, unassuming man, who would knock on her door now and again with shelves, and presses he ‘just happened to have lying around’ and would she be
‘bothered’ with them. Within weeks of Devlin getting to know them, Lynn was presented with her very own hand crafted cot and Devlin marvelled at her neighbours’ kindness.

Despite their outwardly tough image Rog and Rayo were good lads and would often call and keep her up to date with all the gossip on their block, while playing with the delighted Lynn.
‘Bridie upstairs is preggers again, worse luck! Betcha we’ll hear a few barneys on the landing, it’s always the bleedin same when she has a bun in the oven,’ Rayo informed
her gloomily one day.

Devlin had encountered Bridie several times, a small fat hard-faced woman with brassy blond hair who seemed to be in her late thirties. On several occasions she had made audible remarks about
whores and sluts getting money from the state which by rights should be given to her legitimate children and not to fatherless bastards.

‘Thank God I’m a good Catholic mother, not like some young wans around here!’ she said another day to nobody in particular as Mollie and Devlin stood waiting for the lift.
Devlin blushed, and Mollie bristled, the light of battle flashing in her eyes.

‘Feck off outa that you, ya cheeky scrubber ya an don’t be annoyin the neighbours. It ’id match ya better if ya practised bein’ a Catholic steda preachin about
it.’

Bridie gave a shriek of outrage. ‘Jaysus! De nerve a you talkin’ ta me like dat! Youse think yer the bees knees don’tcha with yer mahogany shelves an all. Boastin an braggin
about that gurrier o’ yours out in the Levenland!’

Mollie’s oldest son Jimmy was a soldier and serving with the UN in Lebanon. He was his mother’s pride and joy. ‘It’s the Lebanon ye ignorant biddy an yer only jealous,
Bridie, yer always the same, causin trouble in the block. G’wan out o’ that and don’t be bothrin dacent people.’

‘I’ll get my Les down after youse, ye hussey ye!’ roared Bridie furiously.

‘Ah Janey! I’m all a tremble!’ Mollie retorted drily, marching into the lift and leaving the other woman arms akimbo, speechless.

Devlin, slightly horrified at the exchange, had paled.

‘Wouldja look at ya, you’ve dripped!’ Mollie exclaimed in dismay. ‘Don’t mind her luv, I think she’s a bit unhinged myself. An as for dat husband o’
hers . . . ’ she continued grimly. ‘He’s a right little bastard! Dere’s a pair of ’em in it. Tinkers the two of ’em! This is her seventh and she always takes it
out on the neighbours God preserve us an’ save us from all harm.’ She gave a wicked chuckle. ‘If I was married to dat little rat I’d tie his balls around his neck for him
that’s for sure an certain.’

Devlin grinned at Mollie’s earthy humour. She had often heard Bridie fighting with her husband, sometimes so loudly that poor Eddie would be forced to go out on the landing and bellow at
them to be quiet and give the neighbours a bit of peace.

Gradually Devlin began to settle down a little bit. Religiously once a week Caroline came over, and Maggie too if she could manage it. If the weather was fine they went out and forgot their
troubles, if not they stayed in and made pot after pot of tea, chatting endlessly. Devlin’s heart bled for Caro. That she was not happy was obvious and although sometimes she herself would be
feeling fed up and depressed she always made an effort to be cheerful for her friends. It was the happiest time of the week for her when they would visit, a time to lay down the burdens of life, a
time for fun, a time for friendship.

Meeting her father once a week was another treat that got her out of the flat. For this occasion she would always wear one of her old snazzy outfits. He had no idea that she was living in
Ballymun, existing on the unmarried mother’s allowance. Devlin hated to lie but knowing that he would only worry himself sick if he knew the truth, had led him to believe that she was living
in a flat in Drumcondra and was working as a doctor’s receptionist. Wednesday, the day she met him for lunch, was her day off. Poor Gerry, he wanted to buy her a car but she wouldn’t
let him, although it would have given her such pleasure and made life so much easier. But there was no way she could afford a car on her allowance, so regretfully she declined his offer, gently but
firmly. Of Lydia they never spoke, as if by mutual consent, but although time had eased the bitterness for Devlin, the hurt was still there. Gerry adored his granddaughter and spoilt her as much as
Devlin would allow, bringing presents each time they met on her ‘day off.’

The nights were the loneliest. Sometimes Mollie would drag her to bingo while Rog or Rayo babysat and to her surprise she would enjoy herself listening to the chitchat and gossip and humour of
the other women. There were many unmarried mothers like herself living on the vast estate and Devlin became friendly with a few of them. One girl from Galway, Helen, had a seven year old son. A
quiet-spoken gentle person, she was firm in her resolve to get out of Ballymun eventually. She told Devlin that she was doing her Leaving Certificate as a mature student and had every intention of
going on to university. It was Helen who had told Devlin where to get in touch with the Relieving Officer when she had difficulty paying an ESB bill and it was Helen who encouraged her to start
thinking about what she was going to do with her life.

She too would get out of Ballymun, she swore one night, as she listened to Les and Bridie fighting in the flat above her hurling abuse, their loud raucous screeching mingling with the noise of
barking dogs, slamming doors, singing drunks, and crying babies that made up the night time sound of Ballymun. Often, unable to sleep, she would stand at her window and look out at the thousand
twinkling lights and wonder if she would ever get out of there. At night the velvety darkness hid the ugliness and it could look quite beautiful. It reminded her of the skyscrapers of London or
even New York, lit up against the star-studded sky, but the dawn gliding inexorably from the east would bring back reality . . . and despair. Listening to Lynn wheezing from the dampness that
seeped through the walls of the flat, Devlin knew she would have to get somewhere else to live.

On Helen’s advice, she had enrolled in night classes in the local comprehensive, taking an accounts class to supplement the business studies course she had taken in London. Mollie, or
Margaret, Bernie’s daughter, babysat for her while she studied hard, dreaming of getting enough money to set up her own business. It was a daydream that kept her going and often in the warmth
of the local library with Lynn dozing in the buggy beside her, she would pore over books that gave advice on setting up in business. Devlin had taken to visiting the library daily, enjoying its
warm bright atmosphere as she sat reading in one of the comfortable armchairs that were dotted around. She would watch the girls who served behind the big issue desk as they joked and laughed,
thinking that she too had once been a working girl with her own flat and car and a lifestyle that others had envied.

Nobody would envy her now, she thought wryly, engrossing herself in her business books, determined to get out of her rut. Apart from the few times Maggie and Terry had invited her over to their
dinner parties, and insisted on her staying overnight with Lynn, occasions she had really enjoyed, she never went anywhere. Caroline had never asked her to visit again and Devlin sensed that all
was not well in her marriage, but she did not pry. She knew Caroline of old, knew how loyal she would be to Richard and knew that eventually Caro would confide in her about whatever was troubling
her.

With dismay, she realized that Caroline was beginning to drink quite heavily and guessed, knowing her friend, that she was using it as a crutch. If only Caroline could accept herself as she was.
The marriage she had so longed for certainly hadn’t improved her self-image. Still, if Caroline ever needed help or a shoulder to cry on, she’d have herself and Maggie. Staunch friends
counted for a lot, Devlin could testify to that.

And so the months went by and Devlin found herself adapting to her new lifestyle, though not always cheerfully. One Sunday evening in early autumn, Mollie and she took Lynn out for a walk in her
buggy. Because she was teething she was whingy and cranky all day and Devlin had begun to feel extremely irritated and short-tempered. Mollie must have sensed her desperation because in her kindly
Dublin tones she had suggested, ‘C’mon luv, let’s go for a bit of a ramble, dere’s nuttin like a bit of fresh air to lift the ould spirits. We’ll leggit up to the back
of the airport to watch a few planes.’

Within five minutes of walking they had left behind the stark grey tower blocks of the vast estate and were walking past the little church of St Pappin, up then to the Meatpackers’ hill
and out into the countryside with the vast complex of the airport to the right of them, rich rolling farmland to their left. It was one of the things about Dublin that Devlin loved the most, how
swiftly one could get to the country or seaside and away from the noise and the grime of the city streets. Although she was a city girl at heart, Devlin had a keen appreciation of the country.

Because it was Sunday evening the airport was very busy with holiday charters and as Devlin sat on the grass with her baby in her arms and watched the widebellied jets taking off and landing she
remembered how she too had once been a carefree jetsetter. Tears came rolling down her cheeks and for the first time since she became pregnant so long ago she gave way to self pity and howled.

‘That’s right luv. Get it out of your system. There’s no use in bottlin’ all that lot up inside ya. Many’s the little weep I do have meself an ye feel only great
after it.’

‘Th . . . thanks Mollie,’ Devlin sniffed. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘Ya know somethin, Devlin,’ Mollie said thoughtfully. ‘I think you should think about goin’ an livin’ with your aunt in Wexford. This is no life for a young wan
like ya or the chisler.’