Danny Boy (38 page)

There was no-one about, for most were at the wedding, and even some shops were closed as he made his way to Cross Chapel without meeting a soul.

He thanked his lucky stars the conductor on the tram was not one he knew, and he asked for a single to Terenure with no hint of nervousness, for he’d taken the journey to Dublin more than once. But in the whole of his life he’d been no further than Dublin, and he couldn’t help little frissons of excitement building up inside him that were mixed a little with fear.

He had time in Dublin to look around for things to eat on the boat and train for he wasn’t sailing until the evening tide. He could have enjoyed himself more, knowing the city well, if he wasn’t so frightened of being discovered and so nervous of what lay ahead. He hoped Chrissie and Geraldine would keep protesting they didn’t know where he’d gone, because he’d hate for his mother to arrive on top of him now and haul him home like a naughty wean, and then, at the end of it all, who would be there to help Rosie?

Dermot had never been on a boat in his life and he had to admit it looked massive in the evening light that was just turning dusky. The boat was called the
Hibernian
and had he but known it, it was the same boat Rosie and Danny had taken nearly three and a half years before.

He pressed down any feelings of apprehension and boarded the gangplank as if he’d done it every day of his life. He was not a moment too soon, for just minutes after being aboard, the hooters suddenly screeched and black smoke billowed from the funnels as the engines throbbed into life. Dermot watched the lights of the harbour and the town twinkling through the gloom and he breathed a sigh that was relief mixed with trepidation, but he did know that once an expanse of water was between him and his home in Wicklow, he’d feel safer. He stayed on deck, watching the boat churn through the foaming water, till the darkness and the cold drove him into the saloon bar where he opened the food he’d bought in Dublin. But he left some for the train, for he knew that that too would be a long journey.

There was a train in the station to meet the boat and Dermot was glad of it, for he was starting to feel weary. He couldn’t sleep deeply, though, for he knew he had to change trains at a place called Crewe; the man who’d clipped his ticket told him, so he’d have to keep his wits about him, and as it was now black night it was all rather unnerving.

He dozed fitfully and found himself jerked awake at each station and would peer through the dense darkness to find out the name. One of the carriage occupants, seeing his preoccupation with this said, ‘Where you bound for?’

‘Birmingham,’ Dermot answered. ‘I have to change at a place called Crewe, I believe?’

‘Most people change there,’ the man said. ‘And it’s a big place, you can’t miss it.’ And then he added, ‘No need to ask where you’ve come from.’

‘No,’ Dermot said, and because there was surely no harm in telling this man, this stranger, he said, ‘I come from County Wicklow and I’m going to my sister’s place in Birmingham.’

‘Holiday?’

‘Sort of.’

‘You’ll find it a sight different from Ireland.’

‘I will, surely,’ Dermot said. ‘But that’s the beauty of it. There’s no point in going to a place just the same as your own.’

The man laughed. ‘You’re right there,’ he said. ‘How old are you?’

Dermot was prepared for this question and knew that for him to state his real age would be madness, and so he said, ‘I’m fourteen and I’ll be fifteen next month.’

‘Now I’d have put you older,’ the man said, and Dermot gave a secret smile of triumph, for the man hadn’t doubted him in the slightest, and they chatted together amicably until they parted company at Crewe.

Crewe was a big place, bigger than Dermot had ever seen, and it was also confusing and nerve-racking, especially for someone who’d never left his native land before. A railway official helped Dermot find the right train for Birmingham and he reached New Street Station at nearly half past four in the morning, for the station clock showed the time.

He climbed stiffly from the train aching with tiredness and marvelling at the size of the trains and the station and the crowds of people, and feeling a little lost. He was also very hungry, but he’d finished all he had brought and so he sat down on a bench and tried to ignore the pangs of hunger gnawing at his stomach. He watched the station grow quiet after the train had left and the passengers dispersed and wondered what to do next.

He could see that it was dark as pitch outside, and he had no desire to traipse around an alien city at such an hour looking for lodgings, nor could he try and find his way to Rosie’s, and anyway, he was too tired. He lay down on the bench and, despite the chilly wind funnelling through the station, decided to try and sleep for an hour or two. Using his haversack as a pillow, he closed his eyes.

When Minnie first missed Dermot outside the church, Geraldine had told her, as planned, that Dermot had been taken ill and had gone for a walk. The distracted Minnie would then do nothing but go home and see if he’d returned there.

There was, of course, no sign of him, and eventually Seamus prevailed on her to go to the reception at Conlan’s Hotel in Blessington and she’d gone, feeling sure if Dermot wasn’t there already he’d turn up in due course. But there was no sign of Dermot, and by the end of the meal, worry had begun to eat at Minnie. Her fear was that Dermot lay injured somewhere amongst the Wicklow Hills, and Seamus led a search party to look for him.

Chrissie and Geraldine watched these proceedings with trepidation, knowing that their mother’s worry would turn in the end to anger, and the more she fretted, the greater would be her fury. As darkness rendered the search useless, Minnie informed the Guard and even in front of him, Chrissie and Geraldine still stuck to their story. The Guard, however, knowing the nature of young boys, asked if anything was missing.

That had given Minnie a jolt and she’d checked his room and found his haversack, jacket and numerous other clothes to be gone. The Guard then took a different view of it. He told Minnie the boy had gone off on some adventure of his own and would probably come back of his own accord, and so not to fret. ‘Boys will be boys,’ he said, and he wouldn’t be at all surprised if he didn’t just turn up in the morning as if nothing had happened.

But Minnie knew he wouldn’t, for suddenly in a flash, she knew where he’d gone. At the wedding reception Connie had told her about Rosie and the premature baby and the letter Danny had sent. ‘I’m not broadcasting it to the town until after the wedding,’ she’d said. ‘But you have a right to know as Rosie’s mother and grandmother to the wee boy.’

Minnie somehow knew that Dermot had discovered the letter Danny had sent, and he’d gone running to Rosie as he used to do when he was small. She was even more certain of this when she found the piggy bank, that had been stuffed with money, to be empty. She knew too the girls must have been fully aware of where he’d gone. It didn’t matter how much they protested ignorance of Dermot’s intentions, Minnie’s anger had to have some outlet.

She’d used the strap on her daughters before, many times, but never with the intensity she wielded it that day. At first she fell upon the pair of them like a wild animal, kicking and punching them before lashing into them with the strap until their screams brought Seamus running from the fields where he was checking the stock before turning in.

‘For God’s sake, woman,’ he cried, pulling his wife away and holding her arms. ‘Enough is enough. What’s done is done and nothing will be gained by this carry-on.’

Minnie’s eyes were wild, her face was brick-red and her hair had sprung from the grips holding it in place. Strands of it hung about her face and she was out of breath and panting heavily. She appealed to Seamus. ‘He’s gone to Rosie, our Dermot. That’s where he always used to go whenever he was missing.’

‘He doesn’t know her address.’

‘How do we know that?’ Minnie said. ‘Connie may have given it to him. Anyway,’ she went on, as Seamus shook his head, ‘however and wherever he got it, that’s what he’s done. I know it, and I also know he wouldn’t have been able to do it alone. These,’ she said, indicating her cowering daughters, ‘knew all about it. They must have known.’

Seamus regarded his daughters, no longer screaming but holding one another while they sobbed. He took in their bruised faces and the marks across their arms and their backs, where the strap had ripped into their smart wedding clothes, shredding them into strips, and he said to Minnie, ‘If you’re
right and Dermot is away to Rosie we shall hear soon enough and nothing is to be gained by beating the girls. There is to be no more of it and let us hope you haven’t alerted half the county. Come away to the fire now.’ And to his daughters he said curtly, ‘If you had any knowledge of what Dermot was up to you have only yourselves to blame for your mother’s chastisement. Get to bed now, the pair of you.’

Trembling with shock and distress, the girls were quick to do as their father bid. The tears still flowed and they silently helped one another where the clothes were stuck to their backs. The weals from the strap still bled and they lay on their stomachs, their backs being too sore, and eventually Chrissie rubbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her nightgown and whispered fiercely, ‘I hate her!’

‘Ssh.’

‘I don’t want to ssh,’ Chrissie said. ‘I hate her I tell you.’

‘I know,’ Geraldine whispered. ‘And so do I.’

‘She’ll not lay a hand on me again,’ Chrissie said. ‘That I know, for I’ll give her the same back.’

‘Chrissie!’ Geraldine said, shocked that Chrissie should talk of raising her hand to their mother.

‘I will,’ Chrissie maintained. ‘I will. If we’d joined forces today she’d never have managed the two of us.’

Geraldine acknowledged this was true and that surely her mother hadn’t the right to do what she had done. Every bit of her ached or throbbed, but what was the point of talking about it all now. Weariness suddenly caused her to yawn and she said, ‘Let’s try to sleep now. Things may look better in the morning, they often do.’

Chrissie shook her head. She’d never feel differently about this business, but she heard the tiredness in Geraldine’s voice and gave her arm a little squeeze. ‘All right.’ And as Dermot landed on the shores of Holyhead, his sisters eventually slept fitfully.

Dermot was woken by an early morning train pulling into the station in a cloud of steam, with singing rails and the squeal of brakes. For a second or two he was disorientated, wondering where he was, and then he rolled off the bench thankfully enough for it was hard and knobbly and he was suddenly so cold his teeth chattered.

He was also wondering if he’d done the wrong thing, for although he looked older than his years he wasn’t quite thirteen and he suddenly felt unequal to the task before him. Why and how did he think he was the one to help Rosie? Wouldn’t one of the girls have been better?

Impetus had carried him so far, leaving little time to think, but no-one knew what was wrong with Rosie, so he didn’t even know what he would be facing. He also wondered at the financial state of the family. Danny had no job, for if he had Rosie would have told them in her letters home. Wouldn’t it add to their financial burden if he landed on their doorstep?

He had money with him for now. His parents had given him plenty each week, since almost the day of his birth, and he’d happily share that but it wouldn’t last forever.

However he decided, he couldn’t just give up and go home without even seeing Rosie after coming that far, and so he left the station and went out into the streets, quiet because it was Sunday so there wasn’t one person around to ask for directions. He didn’t quite know what to do, but he acknowledged that there was nothing to be gained by standing about and he decided to walk around a bit and see if he could find someone to ask how a person could get to this place called Aston.

Although used to Dublin, Dermot was amazed at the array of shops Birmingham had to offer, fine buildings too. He wandered through the city streets and didn’t see a soul and he thanked his lucky stars it was at least dry and fine.

Eventually, he came to a road called Colmore Row and in the distance he could see the spire of a church, and he made
for it, knowing that while Sunday was a quiet day for shoppers it was often a busy one for the churches.

It was a pleasant church called St Phillip’s and set in a garden of sorts, where lawns were interwoven with paths. It was nice, Dermot thought, to find that little oasis of green in the city centre.

As he approached the church, a handful of people came out of the door from the early Holy Communion Service, the first people Dermot had seen, and he approached them with the address held in his hand.

‘Well,’ said the first man he asked. ‘There are many trams to Aston, but as you are here now you’d best get to Steel House Lane and get on there.’

‘Steel House Lane? Dermot repeated.

‘It’s aptly named,’ the man said. ‘For the police station is there. I can tell from your accent you’re not from these parts.’

‘No, I’m over here to see my sister,’ Dermot said. ‘She’s been ill and I didn’t tell her I was coming. It’s meant to be a surprise.’

‘I trust a pleasant one?’ the man said with a smile and Dermot smiled too. ‘I hope so.’

The man’s directions were easy to follow and Dermot went on down Colmore Row, passing Snow Hill Station on the opposite side and a large Picture House. Like Rosie he had a longing to see the moving pictures inside one of those places. He could only imagine it, but he didn’t linger and strode on. Just as the man said, the police station was on one side of the road and the workhouse on the other. It had a plaque outside saying it was the General Hospital, but it was easy to see what it had originally been built for and, Dermot thought, was very like the workhouse in Dublin that his mother had pointed out one time.

Outside it, though, were the tram stops, and the man said he could catch any tram for they all ran through Aston. Dermot then had quite a wait because it was Sunday service, and when he alighted from the tram at Aston Cross, as the
conductor had advised, the big green clock showed him it was turned half past seven.