Authors: Nadine Dorries
They were walking briskly down the candlelit corridor to Compline. Kitty felt uncomfortable. She had been lost in her own thoughts, recalling Rosie’s words. Some time in January. She could be home in just a few weeks. The tightening round her waist now began each time she walked, but the girls had warned her, it was just her body rehearsing, preparing her muscles for the delivery.
As she looked closely at Aideen walking along beside her, it occurred to Kitty that she would soon miss her friend. How could she help her to leave this horrible place? she wondered. Surely there must be a way? Her thoughts were distracted as, once more, her abdomen clenched.
Later the following morning, Aideen and Kitty were both in the laundry, ironing shirts. Sister Celia, who watched over them to ensure there was no talking, had taken herself away for a moment, reprimanding Aideen as she went for not pressing the collars crisply enough.
‘Probably gone to stuff her face with another slice of cake,’ Aideen grumbled as the laundry-room door closed. ‘God, that woman is a scold. She never stops bellyaching at me. We will see that cake sat on her fat arse when she comes back in.’
Kitty laughed, but she didn’t know how she had done it. The baby she carried was so heavy and she had been on her feet for hours. She felt as though the baby would just drop out, so great was the pressure.
‘Will ye be able to get out of this place soon, Aideen?’ she asked, looking up from her ironing. Beside her stood a large wicker basket on wheels, only half empty. Kitty’s job was to iron the whole lot before the day was over.
‘Well, I would, if I had the money to buy my way out.’
Once again, Kitty felt lucky that she had people who cared for her. Aideen was looking at spending at least three years of her life in the laundry. It was worse than a prison sentence.
Aideen was not going to waste the advantage presented by Sister Celia’s absence. When the opportunity arose, the girls spoke twice as fast as normal, making up for lost time and hours of imposed silence.
‘Sure, some who’ve been sent by the government are here for ever, so they are, and some lucky ones leave when they have paid with three years’ work in the laundry and have somewhere to go to. The bitches still charge the Americans for the adoptions, though. The poor kids get taken from their mammies when they are three. The tears and the wailing on those days would rip yer heart out, it’s shocking, so it is.’
Kitty knew, she had heard it. At first, as she was one of the girls who was never allowed to visit the nursery and, as there was no conversation permitted, she had no idea what was happening until it was one of the girls in her own dormitory who had her little girl taken.
Kitty folded her shirt neatly, placed it on the pile and then took another out of the large wicker basket.
She was wondering why the girls didn’t escape like the one called Besmina.
The Gardai had been to the home twice. The girls had gathered from the whispering nuns that Besmina had not been found.
‘It’s the reason we aren’t allowed to speak. The girls who are here for ever, who have been sent by the government, have done nothing wrong. Some are just orphans and, God knows, one was sent here because she was so gorgeous, the lads in the village kept whistling at her. She’s in the asylum now. I saw them take her myself in a van, strapped up. Some of them even get pregnant whilst they are in here. Now tell me, how the fuck does that happen?’
Kitty whispered back, ‘They can’t have done nothing, they must have done something wrong. It’s illegal to lock someone up for nothing.’
‘Oh, sure it is, Kitty, yer right about that,’ said Aideen. ‘This place is feckin’ illegal. That’s why we aren’t allowed to talk. The nuns are getting bloody rich on the back of girls who are sent here by the authorities and ending their days here as slaves, for nothing more than being raped by their own brother or the feckin’ priest, which was beyond their own doing.’
Kitty almost dropped the iron. She stood for a second and put her hands inside the pocket of the apron she was wearing. There were other girls here who had been raped by a priest? She wasn’t the only one?
Aideen, who hadn’t noticed Kitty’s shock, continued, ‘Some of them are got pregnant by the priests whilst they are in here and no one says a fucking thing. It’s as though they are invisible. One of the older women in here has had three babies in twenty years. Either the immaculate conception is common in places like this or Father Samuel is having his end away and no one gives a fucking flying shite.’
Kitty put her hand on to the side of the ironing table to hold herself up.
‘Are ye all right?’ asked Aideen.
‘I’m OK, I just felt a bit weird, like,’ said Kitty.
‘Sit down then, for feck’s sake, ye look as white as that shirt.’
Kitty could hardly believe what she was hearing. She had been sent here because of a priest. She had thought he was the only one in the world to behave in that way and yet here she was, being told by Aideen that, even in the Abbey, no one was safe from a predatory priest.
At that moment, Sister Celia walked back into the room. The telltale signs of cake crumbs clung to the front of her black habit.
‘Are you two talking?’ she shouted. ‘What are ye staring at, girl?’
Kitty was wearing an odd expression. Her mouth was open and her eyes looked wild, but she made not a sound.
Kitty thought the room suddenly seemed much brighter and hotter than it had before. And then it came. A pain that felt as though someone had placed a band of metal round what was once her waist and was slowly, slowly, tightening it, relentlessly, in a painful contraction.
Kitty heard a piercing scream coming from somewhere in the room. And then she realized the scream was her own. Without warning, a gush of warm water cascaded down her legs and formed a large puddle on the floor. At the same time, the metal band began to slowly, slowly loosen its grip.
Kitty began to sob. She had no idea what she was saying, but she knew she was crying for help.
Aideen rushed forward and took both of her hands.
‘Get the disgusting thing out of here,’ Sister Celia screamed at Aideen.
They both knew, without asking her to explain, that the disgusting thing was Kitty.
Sister Celia then shouted to one of the girls from across the room, who were now looking over the top of a sink, ‘And stop yer gawping, you filthy lot, and get this mess mopped up.’
Sister Celia hated it more than anything else on earth when the girls went into labour in the laundry. She would avoid it at all costs. Sometimes she even pleaded with the nuns who worked on the other sections of the laundry, not to send her the girls who were far gone. She had had no choice with Kitty.
God alone knew why they had accepted that girl. The Reverend Mother had been on pins since the day she had arrived and Besmina had escaped. Reverend Mother hated anyone knowing the Abbey’s business. Sister Celia had been stuck with the girl. And now her worst fear had been realized and, God knew, she hated it.
The screams, the pain, the mess: they were the audible and visible manifestation of sin. Sister Celia became agitated. She was surrounded by sin, breaking free and setting itself loose in her laundry. It leaked, it oozed, it ran and it smelt. Sin escaped.
And, God forbid, now sin was laughing at her, sat in a puddle on her laundry-room floor.
T
HE WOMEN STOOD
just inside the school entrance, whilst the children ran and screamed in the playground, full of excitement at the arrival of snow. And on the night before Christmas Eve.
Sister Evangelista would normally be irritated by the delay. Tonight was different. She even huddled up with the rest of the women, an unlikely member of the gang. The icy wind whistled in, bringing with it light dustings of snow lifted from the playground. Once in through the door, they dropped and immediately melted. Even in the short time that the women had waited and despite the appearance of muddy puddles on the highly polished, parquet floor, Sister Evangelista remained in a good mood.
She was happy with how the evening had gone.
Brigid and Mrs McGuire moved tentatively down the steps to the playground, and began rounding up the McGuire children and shook the snow off the pram apron. Brigid carried the baby in her arms.
‘Holy Mother, would ye look at this,’ she exclaimed, brushing the inch of snow from the pram canopy and lifting out the pillow to give that a shake, too.
‘It’ll not last long, it never does in Liverpool. Sean says it’s because of the Gulf Stream. I’ve only ever seen the river meself.’
‘It was still here in March last year, Brigid. I hope this isn’t it for another three months,’ said Mrs Mcguire.
‘Will I go to the chippy, Brigid?’ Mrs McGuire asked hopefully. She saw the frown on Brigid’s face. She knew Brigid had mashed potatoes and gravy waiting for supper.
‘Oh, go on, it’ll be a little snow treat for the children now. It’s not every day it snows and you know I like to treat them, when I’m here.’
‘I’d rather that the children looked to your heart, Mrs McGuire, not your hand,’ chided Brigid, but they both knew Mrs McGuire would win. ‘Oh, go on then,’ she said. ‘Take Patricia with ye. I will start getting the others changed and ready for bed. Don’t forget Sean, he might have something to celebrate tonight.’
Mrs McGuire was feeling confident. If Sean won tonight, he would surely persuade Brigid to move to America and join their Mary and Eddie, wouldn’t that be just fantastic. With his own money and not dependent on others, he would be free to travel over first and then send for his family very shortly afterwards.
Mrs McGuire had it all planned out. She would travel over with Brigid and the children, and they would all settle in Chicago together.
Sean had always agreed with her but, over the past few weeks, she had found it impossible to engage him in conversations about America in the way she used to.
She had put it down to the big fight he was having tonight.
The big Liverpool Christmas fight, on the same night as the nativity play.
Mrs McGuire knew her son. He was a secretive one, all right, always had been. Only she knew how desperate he was to reach Chicago. Liverpool was too restrictive. The tales of big wages he had heard about in Ireland before he arrived were out of all proportion to the reality.
In Liverpool, if you arrived poor, you stayed poor. This was not the case in America, as their Mary and her husband had demonstrated. America was full of opportunity.
Mrs McGuire linked arms with Patricia, so that she didn’t slip in the snow, and they strode off together towards Jonny Chan’s, smiling and happy.
Jerry took hold of Nellie’s arm and Kathleen shuffled in beside Nellie, wheeling the pram. Nellie thought she would attempt to ice-skate, like she had seen on the black-and-white television last week, and within seconds was flat on her back on the pavement. Jerry and Kathleen roared with laugher and Joseph, with his face peeping out from his hand-knitted balaclava, clapped his hands in excitement.
Kathleen smiled. ‘I’ve never, in my entire life, seen a baby laugh and smile as much as he does, Jer,’ she said.
‘It warms my heart every day, so it does, to see how great Alice is with the little fellow.’
Jerry put his arm round his mammy’s shoulder and placed a kiss on the top of her head.
‘Get away with ye, Jerry, are ye going soft altogether?’
Nellie laughed. They were all three full of Christmas cheer.
Kathleen held onto the pram; Nellie held onto her nana; Jerry, on the outside, held Nellie’s hand.
A warm glow wrapped around them.
The deep companionship of the three. Virgin snow that sparkled like glitter on the pavement. The sound of the children’s breathless laughter. The crisp freshness of the air. The promise of a white Christmas Eve to wake up to. The beautiful, loving baby boy grinning at them from the warmth and comfort of his pram.
They walked in companionable silence aware that they would remember this night for ever.
When they reached Nelson Street, Maura and Tommy turned and waved goodnight to them.
‘Nana, it won’t be long until Kitty is home, will it?’ said Nellie.
Kathleen squeezed Nellie’s hand and smiled at her. Trust Nellie to be always thinking of others, she thought.
‘Aye, I know, queen, and a blessing that will be, for sure.’
As they reached their door, Malachi ran past, screeching at the top of his voice, as he chased Harry and Little Paddy, with a ball of snow in his hands, ready to shove down the back of both their necks.
Older neighbours, who hadn’t been to the school, were peeping round their net curtains to see what all the noise was about. The news of snow was heralded by excited cries.
‘Da, Da, save me,’ Harry squealed as he ran past.
Maura had stepped indoors. Tommy stood in the middle of the road, not daring to run, yelling at the top of his voice, ‘Malachi, get here now, or I’ll give ye a good hiding!’ Everyone who heard him knew that was a lie.
Jerry reached out and caught Malachi by the collar, lifting him clean off the ground.
Malachi’s legs pedalled furiously as his temper flapped at his heels.
‘Put me down,’ he screamed, ‘put me down.’
‘Come on, Malachi,’ said Jerry, laughing. ‘Come on, Harry. Yer safe, lad.’
‘Mam, put the kettle on, and tell Alice I’ll be two minutes, if she’s up. I’ll just help Tommy, the big soft lad, with these little scamps.’
Kathleen and Nellie, both laughing out loud, turned into the entry.
When Brigid stepped in through the back door, she was surprised to see that the main light had been switched on. She knew she had switched it off when they left and she wondered, was Sean home?
Relief flooded through her as she realized that he must be.
She had regretted letting Patricia accompany Mrs McGuire to the chippy and wished she had sent one of the younger ones instead. It was difficult, though. Mrs McGuire and Patricia had a special bond.
Brigid was the youngest of fourteen and so the notion surprised her that Patricia, as the eldest, had a different place in the family from all the rest.