Polly's Angel (10 page)

Deirdre, who had been hoping for something like this, was startled at the sudden seriousness in her small daughter's face and said: ‘Well now, alanna, you needn't go that far! But you can tell him you'll just be pals. How about that, eh? You wouldn't want to hurt his feelings, would you?'

‘Yes I would,' Polly said emphatically. ‘I'd like to give him a clout round the lug, so I would. Still, a letter will have to do. And won't I tell him all about me new pal when I've chose one,' she added dreamily. ‘I'll teach the wicked chiseller! Oh yes, I'll show Tad Donoghue that he isn't the only one wit' a special pal!'

On Sunday, Polly, Ivan and Bevin all went to the hospital to see their father, though they were only allowed to stay on the ward for ten minutes apiece and then had to wait in the corridor for their mother.

Deirdre thought that Peader was looking a great deal better. There was colour in his face now, and when Polly began to chatter about the new house, and about Tad's letter and the wonderful golden-haired Angela girl, he actually smiled.

‘Tad's a good lad,' he said dreamily. ‘You won't go far wrong wit' Tad.'

‘The nurse says you can come home for Christmas Day,' Deirdre told him, hoping to get him off the subject, for she did not want Peader encouraging Polly to forgive Tad for his behaviour over Angela Machin. ‘They'll want you back by evening, they say, but sure an' you'll have had enough excitement by then. And you'll enjoy a day wit' us, won't you, me darlin'?'

Peader nodded, then said slowly: ‘Yes, I'll enjoy that.' His voice was slurred, but stronger than it had been since the stroke and Deirdre beamed at him, grateful for every small improvement.

‘We're havin' a real waggon to move our t'ings from the storage place to the new house, aren't we, Mammy?' Polly said excitedly. She did not seem to notice her father's halting speech, nor the effort it cost him to turn his cheek towards her for a kiss. ‘Oh, Daddy, I'm longin' to see Lionel and Delly again, so I am. Mammy's afraid they may not like the city, but they will, I'm sure they will – they were happy in the Liberties, weren't they, Daddy?'

She would probably have enlarged on the topic, Deirdre thought, but at that moment Bev came in, accompanied by a nurse, who shooed Polly out whilst Bev told Peader how his exams had gone and assured his father that he was looking forward to moving back in with his family, even though it meant leaving the village behind.

‘Sure an' no woman ever had better children, me darlin',' Deirdre told her husband as soon as they were alone. ‘And when you're back home wit' us . . . Oh, I can't tell you how I'm lookin' forward to havin' you home!'

But later, when she left the ward and went into Sister's office, that lady told her that Peader would be needing treatment for several months. ‘He will need to be kept quiet once he goes home,' she told Deirdre. ‘Will you be able to manage that, with the youngsters around him all day?'

‘We've a front parlour; I'm t'inking he can spend most of the day in there, whilst the kids will be in the kitchen,' Deirdre said. ‘But they're good kids, and if I tell them their daddy needs peace and quiet I'm after thinkin' they'd be the last to make a noise or worry him.'

‘Oh, I'm sure. But . . . children can't help tiring an invalid, Mrs O'Brady. However, if you can see that he spends most of the day quietly, in your parlour, then I'm sure things will work out all right,' the sister said. ‘He's beginning to fret over hospital routine, and that's a sure sign he's on the mend. I don't think it will be too long before the doctors discharge him.'

Walking home with her hand in her mammy's, with Ivan clinging on to her other hand, Polly was happier than she had been since Tad's letter had arrived. Daddy liked Tad, so perhaps she was wrong, perhaps Tad was not trying to give her the brush-off, but was merely being Tad. Probably by the next time he wrote the girl Angela would have gone from his mind and he would be boasting about his job of delivering for Merrick's.

And in the meantime there was a great deal to look forward to: the move, the reunion with Delilah and Lionel, neighbours to meet, friends to make, a new school to tackle, and best of all, Daddy back with them for good. Polly saw the future as bright once more, and danced along beside her mother, chattering like a starling and pushing Tad's defection to the back of her mind. It would all work out all right; things always did. So she might as well enjoy living here, and remember her time in the crossing cottage like a lovely holiday which had come to an end, as lovely holidays always do.

The move went like clockwork and almost before they knew it the family found themselves settled into the Titchfield Street house, with Bevin and his bicycle installed amongst them and Delilah accompanying Polly wherever she went – except to school, of course.

‘But Lionel's better off wit' the Templetons, alanna,' Deirdre said sincerely. She hated to disappoint Polly, but she had thought the matter over and believed that the child would understand, given time. ‘Cats like people all right, but 'tis places they become attached to, and Lionel knows every inch of the country around the crossin' cottage. I know he was a city cat once, and I know you t'ink he could be a city cat again, but, Polly me darlin', it wouldn't be kind to take him from the place he knows.'

Polly was a fair-minded child. She knew, really, that Lionel had infinitely preferred the country to the city, and feared that, should she insist that he come back, he would be run over by a tram or a horse and cart, having grown unused to such conveyances. Besides, at home in Dublin she had done her best to keep him in the flat. Now that he was older and knew the joys of the outdoors, she guessed he would slip out of the house the first chance he got. So she agreed, if rather sadly, that the Templetons should keep Lionel and threw herself, with considerable enthusiasm, into the life of the neighbourhood. She had always made friends easily, and knew that she would soon have plenty of pals and the sort of social life which she had enjoyed both in the village and in Dublin.

‘There's a girl up the road the same age as me, in the same class,' she told her mother excitedly on her first morning at the new school. ‘She's got a brother Ivan's age an' all. We're goin' to school together, the four of us, so you needn't fret we'll get lost or anythin' bad, Mammy. And we'll come home together too . . . Mebbe we'll be best friends by the time we come home,' she added hopefully. ‘Her name's Alice and she has dear little red mittens to keep her hands warm, an' she takes a white bread roll for her carry-out at break-time each mornin' too.'

‘Well, you can have two biscuits, because what wit' the move an' all I've not had time to bake this week,' Deirdre said. ‘As for red mittens, won't your green ones do?'

Polly said they would do just fine and Deirdre decided to buy some red wool when she went marketing that morning. They're good kids, she told herself as she looked round her spruce new kitchen, with the furniture which they had brought all the way from Dublin in place round the walls, and a roll of cheap but colourful linoleum on the floor. Many a child would have insisted on her mother taking her to a new school for the first time, but not Polly. She's bright, brave and independent – aren't I a lucky woman to have her!

She left the house, abandoning Delilah to roam the new premises, trusting that he would know better than to splash his mark all over the interior of her home, and walked through to the Scotland Road. It was a good road, she decided contentedly, walking along in the pale, wintry sunshine with her good brown coat buttoned right up to the neck, for it was getting near Christmas and despite the sun it was bitterly cold. It wasn't as smart as Nelson Street, of course. Monica had definitely sneered at the idea of Titchfield Street but money was going to be tight now. Deirdre knew she would have to get a job as soon as she could but this was a good area if you had little money to spare. There were a grosh of shops, most of them selling goods reasonably priced, and if she went further to her right, to where the road divided, there was Byrom Street, with market stalls selling their goods even more cheaply than the shops could.

She found a bakery which looked respectable and went in and bought four large loaves and took a good look round whilst the shop assistant was wrapping them for her. Their new house did not have a baking oven so she would be taking her bread, cakes and pies to a local bakery once or twice a week to be properly cooked and she wanted to make sure the place she chose was clean. This one certainly seemed so, and the assistants were quick and smiled when they spoke, and what was more the shop was crowded, always a good sign. Yes, next week I'll bring me baking here to be done, Deirdre decided, though she could not help thinking wistfully of the bake-oven in the crossing cottage with its two bright metal shelves and the fire blazing up beside it so that it was the work of a moment to rake red-hot coals into position beneath it. The new house had a good closed-in fire on which pans, kettles of water and other such things could be cooked, but there was nothing quite so good as being able to do your own baking. Deirdre had heard about the new free-standing gas and electric stoves, of course, but with Peader still in hospital and only his pension coming in at present, she did not see them acquiring such a wonderful contrivance yet awhile.

Leaving the bakery, she continued down the road, looking in the shop windows as she passed. Christmas this year, she reflected, was going to be a lean one, but she had good kids, they would make the best of whatever she could provide. So she continued to look wistfully into each window as she passed, which was how she came to see the notice. It was not a large notice, and it was tucked into the frame of a window displaying some beautiful clothes, so when it caught her eye she stopped and looked at it more closely.
Wanted, sales assistant,
it read.
Extra help needed up to Christmas and until January Sales finish. Apply within.

Deirdre had done a number of jobs in her time, but she had never sold dresses, and yet . . . You only got cleaning jobs when you were in the know, she reminded herself. And with the kids still at home she could scarcely tie herself up full-time, but for a month over the Christmas period, surely they could manage? It would make a world of difference to their Christmas if she was earning, and she knew that Peader would begin to worry once he was well enough to realise that his full wage was no longer coming in. She had worked hard in Dublin, until Peader and the boys had been earning enough to make it unnecessary for her to take a job, and she rather enjoyed work. What was more, the dresses in this window were beautiful, it would be nice even to be in the same shop with them – surely they would be easy to sell? Anyway, applying did not mean she would get the job. The proprietor might not want her, might need someone younger, or more experienced, might not like her Irish brogue – but she could at least try!

Deirdre pushed open the door of the shop and went in.

The shop was not a very big one, but it was absolutely full of racks of clothing, so that Deirdre did not at first see the small, skinny, black-clad woman behind the counter. The woman was putting blouses on to hangers – pink ones, yellow ones, white ones – whilst at the same time pinning small price tickets on each. She did not look up as the bell tinged for Deirdre's entrance, then as Deirdre neared the counter she did so, and smiled. Since she had been holding the price tickets in her teeth, this presented an odd appearance and Deirdre's returning smile was full of amusement.

‘Don't stop work, sure an' I'm not a customer,' she said quickly, seeing the woman about to put down the blouse she was holding. ‘There's a notice in the window . . .'

The woman's gaze sharpened. ‘Oh aye, the notice,' she said. ‘Done shop work before? In a dress shop, I mean.'

‘No,' Deirdre said. ‘But I'm a quick learner so I am. Me mental arithmetic's good, and I'm not afraid of hard work.' She paused, desperate for the job but aware that Peader had to come first. ‘Only me husband's in hospital and I visit each evenin', so I'm real sorry but I couldn't work much after six o'clock.'

‘Oh. Well, you've a nice appearance,' the woman said slowly, taking the tickets and arranging them in a fan shape on the counter, facing Deirdre. ‘Can ye add them up and tell us what them prices come to?'

Deirdre did the sum in her head and announced her conclusion. The woman looked pleased and a little surprised too.

‘Quite right. Not that you'll be needin' to go to the till, queen, because that's me own job. I don't believe in purrin' temptation in young people's way.'

Deirdre would have liked to ruffle up – she knew she coloured – but the older woman was smiling at her as though she knew very well how she felt, and sympathised, but would nevertheless stick to her guns. So Deirdre just said, rather stiffly: ‘That's all right, then. Is it a six day a week job?'

‘No, I shan't be needin' you weekends, nor after six, because I've gorra schoolgirl comin' in each day after six, and all day Saturday. You'll work from nine in the morning till six, and you can eat your carry-out when we're quiet. You should be takin' home between eighteen and twenty-two shillin' a week for six or eight weeks, I suppose. It's more than I'd pay a permanent girl, but I expect to pay more for seasonal work. Would that suit?'

‘Oh, yes indeed,' Deirdre said, relieved and delighted. The money would make the difference between a poor thin Christmas and a decent one. Perhaps they could even run to a bird. ‘When do I start?'

‘Monday, and you'd best come in at eight, your first day,' the woman said. She came round the counter and held her hand out. ‘I'm Mrs Bechstein, I own the shop. And you are . . .?'