Martha's Girls (28 page)

‘That’d be great and maybe Esther could play the violin. You always say we need more culture.’

‘Indeed we do and now more than ever. I have received a letter from our tenor, William Kennedy, expressing regret that he can no longer continue as a member of Barnstormers as a result of work commitments.’

‘You mean he’s not going to perform again?’ Peggy was shocked, ‘How can work stop him? We practise at weekends and perform at night?’

‘It would seem his profession demands more from him.’

‘Why? What does he do?’ asked Peggy.

‘Don’t know …’ Goldstein reflected. ‘I got the impression he was a civil servant.’

‘What about his duets with Pat?’

‘I am not sure that would have lasted anyway. There was that little matter of him leaving before the end of the last concert, if you remember.’

‘I don’t think that was Pat’s fault.’

‘Maybe not …’ He paused. ‘I wonder does she know he has left the company.’

‘I’m sure she doesn’t,’ said Peggy.

‘Then you must tell her before she finds out from anyone else.’ He checked his watch. ‘Now, girls, get on with making me a rich man! I am sure you will shortly sell one of those new radiograms and, when you do, there may be a small bonus in your pay packets.’

*

Harry watched Goldstein leave for his lunch then waited for Peggy to finish serving a customer before he crossed the road to the music shop.

‘And how are my two favourite shop assistants today?’ He flashed his best smile.

‘I bet you say that every time you go in a shop.’

‘Of course, it goes down very well at Burtons!’

‘Were you interested in some sheet music?’

‘No,’ he said bluntly. ‘Are you interested in a trip over the border?’

‘What?’

‘Sunday, I’ve a bit of a job to do for Rodney. You know, from the restaurant?’

‘And you want me to go with you?’

‘Well, you did say you never go far. Now here’s a chance to widen your horizons.’

‘But it’ll take hours and how’ll we get there? Have you a car?’

‘Questions, questions! Of course I’ve a car, Rodney’s Ford Prefect. It’ll take about three hours to Dundalk, so I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock.’

‘Seven o’clock on a Sunday morning! Are you joking me?’

‘Chance of a life time, Peggy.’

‘What, a jaunt to the Free State?’

He leaned over the counter and kissed her. ‘No, to spend all day with me!’

Chapter 17

Peggy stood in the sitting room watching smudges of grey fade in the early morning sky. A wood pigeon called to its mate. Then from somewhere round the corner and down the road came the soft noise of an engine. She stood on tiptoe to watch the black car pull up on the other side of the privet hedge. She left by the front door and banged it shut behind her as if to shout. ‘See, I’m going!’ She hoped it had woken Pat, serve her right for trying to tell her she couldn’t go over the border with Harry. She threw the chrysanthemum scarf she’d sneaked out of Pat’s drawer around her shoulders and smiled.

‘Good morning!’ Harry leaned across and kissed her on the cheek, ‘You’re a sight for tired eyes this time of day.’

They were soon on the Dublin Road heading south.

‘Let’s have a bit of your blather then, Peggy. What do you know, that’s worth knowing?’

‘Had a bit of a row with Pat last night.’

‘Oh, aye?’

‘You know that William Kennedy, who sings with Pat at the concerts?’

‘Aye, looks a bit of a Mammy’s boy if you ask me.’

‘Well he told Goldstein that he was leaving the Barnstormers. Couldn’t fit it all in with his busy job, he said.’

‘Why, what’s he do?’

‘Don’t know. Goldstein thinks he might be a civil servant.’

‘Right enough he looks like one, doesn’t he?’

‘I don’t know, never met one. Anyway, Goldstein asked me to tell Pat about him leaving, so I did.’

‘She was a bit sweet on him from what I could see when they were singing.’

‘Of course she was. That’s why I said, “You’ll miss him won’t you, Pat.” Well, she rounded on me, started shouting. “William Kennedy means nothing to me. I don’t care if I never see him again!” Then she starts bossing us all about, complaining the house was a mess and she was going give us all jobs to do today to get it looking decent before Mammy comes home. So I said, for one I wasn’t having her telling me what to do, she wasn’t in charge, and for two, I wouldn’t be in to do the jobs because I was going out for the day with you. She was raging. Wanted to know where I was going. That’s when she started: I shouldn’t be going over the border, it was too far, it wasn’t safe, Mammy would never allow it. So, I told her Mammy wasn’t here to say I couldn’t go and she had no right to stop me. She’ll tell her when she comes back, I know, but it’ll be a bit late then. Anyway, Mammy’s quite taken with you, isn’t she?’

Harry grinned. ‘And why wouldn’t she be? Sure isn’t cake the way to a woman’s heart?’

By nine they were through Newry and in sight of the Mournes.

‘I’ve never seen real mountains before. What’s that on the top?’

‘Snow, of course. There’s a lay-by just along here. We’ll stop and have a good look.’

Laid out before them was a patchwork quilt of green fields and, rising above them in stark contrast, dramatic peaks; in the distance the sea glistened in the March sunlight.

Softly Harry sang, ‘
But for all that I found there I might as well be, where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea.’

‘And there they are, just like the song,’ laughed Peggy, turning to look at Harry. His face was serious.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

‘Peggy, in this place, in this moment, I love you more than anything.’

She opened her mouth to speak and hesitated; she had no idea what to say, how to analyse her feelings and give words to them. Harry put his finger to her lips.

‘Don’t say a thing. The words will come when you’re ready.’ And he brushed his finger over her lips and replaced it with his mouth.

The border post was insignificant. A few road signs warned it lay ahead and Harry slowed the car. A Northern Ireland customs official stood outside a wooden building and as the car approached he waved them through.

‘Is that it?’ asked Peggy.

‘Is anyone likely to be smuggling anything into the Free State?’ Harry replied. ‘Now we’re in no man’s land, neither one country nor the other.’ He reached across to the glove compartment, removed a brown paper package and passed it to Peggy, ‘Just keep that in your bag for me would you?’

‘What is it?’

He laughed. ‘Ask no questions, you’ll be told no lies!’

The Irish border crossing a few hundred yards down the road was much the same as the one they’d just come through, except the signs were on a green background and written in Irish as well as English. Once again the guard waved them through.

‘It’s Sunday,’ explained Harry. ‘A lot of people from the North take a wee trip over because the bars are open here all day.’

Dundalk was a short drive from the border. They parked the car on the main street and walked its length. There were plenty of people about in their Sunday clothes on their way to and from chapel.

‘They look just like us,’ said Peggy.

Harry looked at her in surprise. ‘And why wouldn’t they?’

‘I don’t know. I just thought …’

‘They’re Irish, we’re Irish. Drawing a line on a map in London doesn’t change that.’

‘The town looks a bit old fashioned though.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Like when I was a girl. The shops are a bit pokey and the houses look old.’

‘That’s a city girl talking, all right. Have you ever been to Ballymena, or any other country town in the north for that matter? They’re just the same as this.’

Harry stopped outside a bar. ‘Come on, we’ll go in here. The first thing you have to do when you cross the border is have a Guinness and a Sweet Afton.’

Later they ate lunch in the only decent hotel in town: damask linen, primroses in a china jug, silver service, Irish beef, tender and juicy with colcannon and carrots.

‘Peggy, I need to do a bit of business now, can I have the package from your bag?’

She handed it over and stood to go.

‘No, you stay here, Pet. I’ll ask the waitress to bring you some ice cream, it said on the menu it was homemade, then some coffee and before you know it I’ll be back.’

Peggy looked uncertainly around the room. She was the only person on her own. The waitress brought the ice cream, the best she’d ever tasted with fine shards of ice in it that crunched on her tongue, but she felt self-conscious eating it. Why couldn’t she have gone with him? The waitress brought a dainty coffee cup and filled it from a silver pot. The sugar was cubed and brown, the coffee bitter. What if he didn’t come back?

Time crept on.

People left … their tables were cleared … she refused more coffee … a petal fell on the tablecloth.

The air stirred … movement behind her.

‘Right, let’s go.’

‘Where have you been?’ Her voice rose.

‘Never mind that now. Come on.’

The car was parked outside the hotel, its engine running. Harry opened the door for her and walked quickly round to the driver’s side. Before she had closed her door, he slipped it into gear and they were off down the street.

‘Now then, how was the ice cream?’

‘You’re asking me about the ice cream! Where have you been, leaving me sitting all that time on my own?’

‘I told you I’d business to do. That’s why I took this trip.’

‘And here was me thinking you wanted us to spend the day together!’

‘I did … I do. That’s why I asked you along.’

‘The border’s that way. There’s a sign, you missed it.’

‘Aye, well there’s more than one way to cross the border. So don’t start giving me directions.’

‘Stop the car!’

‘What for?’

‘I want to get out!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Peggy, You’ve nowhere to go. You have to come home with me.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Where’s what?’

‘Don’t treat me like an eejit. The stuff you’re smuggling!’

‘Honestly, Peggy, there’s nothing—’

‘Don’t talk to me about honesty, mister!’

Harry turned off the road and into a lane. They drove a while in silence. The lane narrowed and after a few miles it became pot-holed and stony. They drove slowly past a ruined farm house, its roof of thatch long gone. Harry stopped the car and reversed up the side of the house, then switched off the engine.

‘You can get out now if you like.’

Peggy sat a while, then opened the door and stepped out into long grass. Round the back of the house fields ran away towards a small rounded hill in the distance, on top of which grew a fairy ring of trees. Inside the house, spindly purple weeds grew in clumps; yellow lichen clung to crevices; the chimney breast was blackened with the soot of dead fires.

‘It might have been the famine.’ Harry’s frame filled the tiny doorway. ‘Maybe they died here or in some ditch along the road.’

‘Perhaps one or two made it to England,’ said Peggy.

‘Or America.’ He came into the room, touched the gable wall.

‘Show me,’ she said.

‘What?’

She nodded towards the car.

He removed the back seat and underneath, packed tightly on a tarpaulin, were cuts of meat: steaks, joints, shanks …

‘Is that it?’

He opened the boot and uncovered the tyre well. Where the spare wheel should have been, there were packets of cigarettes. ‘The whiskey’s under the front seats,’ he said.

Peggy shook her head and sighed, all anger gone.

‘Peggy, listen Peggy …’ She turned away. ‘Everybody does it.’ He waved towards the car. ‘This is small beer. People are bringing lorry loads over every night.’

She faced him again. ‘It’s illegal, Harry.’

‘I only do it now and again.’

‘And what about Carrickfergus?’

‘Carrickfergus?’

‘More money in an envelope, handed over. Was that to do with smuggling too?’

‘No.’ He looked at his feet. ‘That was something different.’

‘But illegal?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Saturday nights, Harry, where are you when I’m sitting at home wishing I was out dancing?’

‘At a card school.’

‘Also illegal?’

‘Yes.’

‘I think you’d better take me home now.’

The light was fading as Harry drove slowly on the country lanes, zig-zagging ever closer to the border. Darkness closed in, but he didn’t turn on the headlights. Eventually, they reached a junction and turned right on to a made up road, within a mile there was a sign in English for Newry and Harry reached across and switched on the lights. They drove back to Belfast in silence. He stopped the car at the end of her street.

‘Peggy—’

‘Harry, you asked me earlier not to tell you how I felt about you, until I had the words. I think I have them now.’ She swallowed hard and fought back the tears. ‘I never want to see you again.’

*

‘God, Martha, how long have I been eating this onion soup?’ Anna was sitting propped up in bed in her pink crocheted bed jacket.

‘Nearly three weeks,’ said Martha, ‘and that’s the first time you’ve mentioned the soup. You must be on the mend! Do you want me to take it away?’

‘No, sit with me and we’ll talk again.’

‘Alice and Evelyn are going to a party at a friend’s house after school today. They were so excited this morning. They’ll want to tell you all about it later.’

‘They’re good girls aren’t they?’

‘They’re lovely, Anna, a credit to you and Thomas.’

Anna took up the spoon and stirred the soup. After a minute she spoke in a voice soft and measured.

‘When it happened, I thought I’d never see them again.’ Anna reached out and took the picture of her girls in their party dresses from the night table beside her.

‘I caught their faces in my mind and held them there, pushing everything else away. I tried to bring their voices to me as well. Nothing came at first, just the faces. Then I heard Evelyn the day I dropped a plate in the kitchen. “You’re a Silly Billy, Mummy,” she said and Alice laughed. I had their faces, now I heard them too. “You’re a Silly Billy, Mummy,” and laughter, over and over. The sea would lift me up and I’d see them, I’d hear them. Then the sea would drop me and I’d fall and fall and fall, my stomach heaving, the salt water in my mouth and I’d bring them to me again, in their party dresses, smiling. “You’re a Silly Billy, Mummy” and the laughter. Rise and fall … rise and fall … water over my head … in my mouth … I’d bring them to me.’

Anna sat perfectly still, tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. Martha reached into her apron pocket, took out her handkerchief and wiped them away.