The Bright One (20 page)

I would happily have shared with the twins, or slept on a mattress on the floor in Peter's room, Breda thought, but she sensed that that might not be the thing in Dublin. She hoped that Barry would not think to come down in the middle of the night, though he could hardly search for a drink of water in the front room!

‘Sure, I won't mind that!' she said to Moira.

‘Then will we go downstairs again and I'll make the tea.'

‘Let me help you,' Breda offered. ‘Should you not be resting? When is the baby due?'

Her sister looked huge and ungainly. As she negotiated the narrow stairs Breda's heart was in her mouth that she would take a tumble.

‘'Tis due in ten days' time,' Moira said. ‘And shan't I be glad when 'tis all over! Oh, they are all right when they are here, but the having of them is hell fire!'

Breda followed her sister into the kitchen. It was small, and with Moira's bulk there was hardly room for the two of them.

‘Sit down,' Breda ordered. ‘I will do it.' She sliced the soda bread Mammy had sent, and buttered it liberally.

‘I would like to be having several children,' she said.

‘You are welcome to it,' Moira said. ‘I have told Barry that this is definitely the last!'

‘What does he say to that, then?'

‘He is not pleased. Being a man he would not be. But you don't know about men. You have all that to learn.'

The next day the three of them – Moira refused to go because, she said, she looked so ugly, and anyway she was tired – went to see Kathleen. The plan was that they would go on to see Kieran afterwards, but to their surprise and delight he was there at the convent to greet them.

‘'Twas so that we could all be together at one and the same time,' Kathleen explained. ‘Though 'tis a pity Moira could not come.'

They spent almost two hours together in a room which had been set aside for them. Afterwards, when Mammy eagerly quizzed her about it, Breda could not remember what they had talked about. It had been everyday things: childhood memories, reminiscences about people in Kilbally, school, teachers, church, friends.

When the time came for them to leave Kathleen hugged her brothers tightly. ‘God go with you!' she said. Then she put her arms around Breda and kissed her tenderly.

‘'Tis you will have to look after Mammy and Dada now,' she said. ‘Do it well, Breda.'

‘Oh I will, I will!' Breda promised.

On the third and last night of their stay in Dublin Breda was awakened in the early hours by Barry. As he stood by the side of the sofa she knew the moment of fear she had experienced in Kilbally, after the baptism, and now there was no father to call upon in the next room. Then almost immediately she realized she was in no danger, it was not to do with her.

‘It's Moira!' he gasped. ‘She's started! She's bad. I'll have to fetch the midwife and you'll have to stay with Moira until I get back!'

‘Me? But what shall
I
do?' Breda said. ‘I know nothing about having babies!'

‘You know as much as I do,' Barry said. ‘Anyway, you're a female. Won't it come naturally to you? And Moira will tell you what to do. But she can't be left and she
is
your sister.'

‘Of course she is!' Breda was thoroughly awake now. ‘Don't worry. I'll do whatever I can.'

She snatched up her jacket and put it on over her nightgown. She doubted if there was time to dress.

‘I'll be back as quickly as I can,' Barry said.

As he hurried out of the door, Breda ran up the stairs to meet the screams coming from the bedroom. They were sounds such as she had never heard in her life before, like an animal in torment. How could she deal with this?

‘Oh Mammy!' she cried out loud. ‘Help me, Mammy!'

The noise had already wakened Peter, who was crying – a loud frightened cry. Patrick appeared on the landing, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

‘What is it? What in the world . . . ?'

‘It's Moira! She's having her baby. One of you get Peter, take him in with you, try to quieten him. The other go downstairs and put water on to boil. The kettle, pans, anything!'

She had no idea what the boiling water was for, only that whenever a baby came in a film, the white-coated doctor said ‘Quick nurse! Boiling water! And tear up some sheets!'

But the films did not show the pain and the noise. The only sound they gave was the baby's first cry, when the immaculate nurse held up an immaculate baby.

She would have given a year of her life for the sight of a white-coated doctor, or even some woman who knew what she was doing.

In a state of trepidation, fearful of what she might see, Breda went into her sister's bedroom. Moira was quiet now, lying with closed eyes, sweat pouring down her white face, clutching her stomach, her knees drawn up.

Breda closed the bedroom door. She knew now that the pain and the cries must come again, and there was no point in spreading her own fear around the house. Above all, she thought, I must not panic. That will be no good to anyone.

While she mopped the sweat from Moira's face, and stroked back her hair, she told herself that birth was natural. Didn't animals give birth on their own, without help? And if dogs and cats and horses and cows could do it, then she could surely help her sister. Except, were human beings different?

She had no time to answer her own questions. The pain and the screaming started again, and except for holding Moira's hand and wiping her face, there was nothing she could do to stop it. She felt completely helpless.

‘Where's Mammy?' Moira shrieked. ‘I want Mammy!'

So do I, Breda thought. More than anyone else in the whole world at this moment she wanted Mammy. She wanted her to walk in at the door and rescue her from this nightmare.

Then pains came again, and subsided again, and came again, and subsided again, but all the time the intervals between them were getting shorter and the pains longer and more fierce.

‘Where is Barry?' Moira asked. Her voice was weak.

‘He has gone for the midwife. She will be here very soon,' Breda said. Why weren't they here? What was keeping them?

Then the worst and fiercest pain of all gripped Moira.

‘I can't wait!' she shouted. ‘I can't wait!'

There was a cry like all the hounds of hell, and next moment there was the baby's head coming out, and then the whole baby, on the bed.

Breda stared in astonishment. It had happened so quickly that she had almost missed it. But now she knew what she must do. Instinct told her. She needed no instructions.

The baby was dark red, its body and face covered in mucus. There was a long, shining tube attached to its stomach. She must wipe its tiny face, clear its nose and mouth, otherwise, she thought, it would not be able to breathe. She would not touch the long tube because she didn't know what to do about that.

Gently wiping the baby's face, she didn't hear footsteps on the stairs. The midwife was in the room.

‘Well, Mrs Devlin,' she said cheerfully. ‘Were you not impatient, then? But 'tis a fine, healthy little girl you have now!'

Breda thankfully moved out of the way while the midwife took over. Her legs were shaking.

‘You have done very well,' the midwife said to Breda.

‘I didn't know what to do next,' Breda admitted. ‘I told my brother to boil the water. What would you be wanting it for?'

‘Well now, one of the things it is wanted for is to make the midwife a good, strong cup of tea. And yourself. You look as though you could do with one. So why don't you make it, and take a cup back to bed with you? I'll do the rest.'

‘I will,' Breda said. ‘Where is Barry?'

‘Himself has gone to fetch his mother,' the midwife said.

She turned to Moira.

‘I will have you comfortable in no time at all,' she said. ‘And do you have a name for the child?'

‘Teresa!' Moira mumbled. She was so tired, she could hardly keep awake.

Molly enjoyed working for Luke O'Reilly. She had been nervous at first about whether she would do it well, but after the first hour or two there was nothing to it, nothing she felt she couldn't cope with. She particularly enjoyed working in the shop, serving the customers, most of whom she knew anyway. While they stood there, waiting to be served, they gossiped amongst themselves. She could not join in, of course. Wasn't she here in a professional capacity? But she could listen and enjoy. It made for an interesting life.

At the four dinner times she was there she made good meals for herself and Luke, each day something different, for there was no shortage of ingredients: meat from the butcher, fresh fish from the harbour, tinned peaches, rice pudding. Luke enjoyed every mouthful, and for that matter so did she.

‘Nothing against your Breda,' Luke said. ‘She does her best. But she's not the cook her mother is!'

‘And wouldn't that be because I've never taught her?' Molly said. ‘I reckon the youngest child gets let off everything. 'Tis because you don't want them to grow up.'

She did not tell James how much she enjoyed the job. It would only upset him, and what was the point in that? In any case, didn't he benefit, didn't she bring home all sorts of tidbits, leftovers far too good for the pig bin? When they turned up on his plate he never queried them, never wondered where they had come from.

She was careful to pay him a lot of attention, and that she did not find difficult, perhaps because she was happy in her new-found (though temporary) freedom. Or at least as happy as she could be with the thought of Patrick and Colum at the back of her mind.

When Luke, at the end of the four days, paid her what he would have paid Breda, she decided that she would divide it between the two of them. It was not much, but Breda had so little to spend on herself.

‘It belongs to you by right,' Breda said when Molly handed over the money. ‘You earned it.'

‘I would like to share it,' Molly insisted. ‘'Tis not a fortune, anyway!'

It was the twins who took Molly aside and told her what Breda had done when the baby was being born.

‘I am proud of you, Breda,' Molly said.

‘I didn't do much,' Breda said. ‘Sure, there was not much I could do. But I had never known that to have a baby was so painful. It was terrible! I wonder, why does anyone ever have a baby, or have a second baby?'

‘Because 'tis nature,' Molly said. ‘And you forget the pain after the baby is born. It is all worth while.'

I shall never forget Moira's pain, Breda thought.

A month later, Patrick and Colum sailed from Liverpool to New York.

‘I would prefer it,' Molly said, ‘and if you would not take it amiss, not to go even as far as Kilbally train station with you. I would prefer to wave you off from the house where I brought you up.'

So that I can pretend, she thought, that though I see you turn the corner, you will be back in no time at all.

‘We do understand,' Patrick said.

‘Sure we do,' Colum added.

Why do people say they understand when they cannot possibly do so, Molly asked herself?

It was almost a month before she had their first letter. They were well, they wrote. It was early days, but they hoped to get jobs together, working as motor mechanics in a big garage. Their wartime experience would help them there. The car was everything in America, great big cars, like charabancs. The weather was cold for November, much colder than in Kilbally, and they would have to buy some warmer clothes. There were a lot of Irish in New York, so they felt at home. They would write again soon and they sent all their love.

Molly read the letter until she knew it by heart. ‘It is good to hear from them,' she said to James. ‘But shall we ever see them again?'

‘Of course we shall!' James said.

‘Do you mean that, or would you just be trying to cheer me up?'

‘I mean it. Have they not promised that once they are set up they will send us the money to visit them?' He seemed so sure that she took fresh hope.

Christmas came and went; short days, long nights, rough seas, but no snow. They seldom had snow, which Breda thought was a pity but Molly was glad about. She hated the winter.

At Christmas they had had a letter and small gifts from the twins, and a sum of money to buy each of them a bigger gift, whatever they wanted. Cassie wrote also. She said how well the twins had settled in, and coming from her Molly believed it.

Best of all, the boys sent photographs of themselves, taken in Central Park. They looked fit and well, smiling happily, and in their new winter clothes – there was snow on the ground in Central Park – already very American.

Molly went to Ennis and spent every penny of her share of the gift on a silver-plated photograph frame, large enough to take two snapshots side by side. Breda went with her and bought another pattern and a length of material for a dress which would see her through the rest of the winter and into the spring. James treated his friends in the Harp.

Kieran and Kathleen wrote most regularly of all. Moira's letter, though short, said that Teresa was now doing well and that they were hoping to have a telephone installed any day now. ‘You will be able to telephone us from Kilbally post office!' she said.

‘What luxury to have a telephone in the house,' Molly said. ‘Just imagine being able to telephone New York, or Dublin, or Josephine in Akersfield!'

‘At a cost!' James said.

‘Mr O'Reilly talks about having the telephone,' Breda said.