Promised Land (21 page)

‘I was only down south once a few years ago. We went to a place called Greystones on holidays for two weeks. I remember the fishing boats and that there were two beaches.

‘You’ll be coming home next month, Peter? You’ll not miss the annual march.’

‘I have to see Dad, it depends on work and a few things.’

Ella could almost feel every eye in the room on her. She hadn’t a clue what they were all talking about.

‘It’s the annual Twelfth of July march,’ explained Judith. ‘David and Peter and their father usually take part in the big march through the town or in Belfast. They put on their suits and bowler hats and their orange sashes and there’s marching bands and the drums and afterwards there’s usually a big picnic with everyone bringing food and deckchairs. It’s a big day out.’

‘What’s it for?’

‘It’s something to do with King Billy winning the Battle of the Boyne.’

‘And routing the Catholic king and his followers.’

‘Dad!’ warned Mac.

‘Oh all right then, routing his enemies! You’ll come home for it!’ insisted Gordon McNeill. ‘You
haven’t
missed a parade since you were a wee boy and you don’t go breaking traditions like that, no matter what …’

‘Gordon!’ warned Joyce.

‘I’ll try Dad, honest I will.’

Ella studied the slice of strawberry cake on her plate, not fully understanding the discussion. It was a warm evening and the boys had set up some deckchairs on the back lawn. Hilary disappeared as she had made arrangements to meet a few friends and Heather occupied herself playing with the baby on a rug on the ground.

The grass was freshly mown and Ella thought there was nothing to beat the smell of cut summer grass. They made small talk as the sun set over the well-tended garden with its boxed hedge and rose bushes and tidy flower beds. Gordon McNeill seemed to make a point of ignoring her, burying himself behind
The Times
newspaper, and she wondered what she could have possibly done to provoke such ire. The others seemed oblivious to it, but she knew Joyce was embarrassed and apologetic.

On Sunday morning they all rose early.

‘We’re going to Sunday service in our local church,’ explained his mother, ‘but there’s a Catholic church about a mile away if you should want to attend. I believe there is a Mass every hour.’

Ella would have loved nothing more than to stay in bed and sleep, pleading that God would understand and forgive her. But whether because of Mac’s bigoted Catholic-hating father or the concerned look in his mother’s eyes, she was determined to go to Mass. She got herself up and dressed early and was fasting for Communion, the fact that she took no breakfast drawing stares from the rest of the family.

Mac seemed surprised at her religious zeal but said nothing. He drove her to the church before going off to join his family at the Presbyterian chapel at the other end of the town.

‘Will you be all right, Ella?’

‘Mac, it’s a glorious day. I’ll walk back when Mass is over. The walk will do me good,’ she said, kissing him goodbye.

The church was crowded, the large congregation joining in the familiar hymns as the priest began to speak in Latin. Ella prayed to God to make everything right between herself and Mac. The routine and familiar rhythm of the Mass made her feel relaxed and no longer an outsider. Another few hours and Mac and she would be back in Dublin and things would return to normal. The visit hadn’t been that bad, maybe the next time things would be better and his family would get used to her. The people of the parish were good people, hard-working, decent people worshipping their God on a Sunday and she was glad that she had joined them. She wondered
if
any of them knew or were acquaintances of Gordon and Joyce’s, but somehow or other she doubted it.

As she walked back she felt the first drop of rain and although she ran for cover got caught in the heavy summer shower that drenched the ground. Her blouse stuck to her and her skirt was clinging damply to her hips and thighs; her light sandals got soaked through. Her hair looked like rats’ tails plastered to her head. She was undecided what to do and made up her mind to walk back to the house once the rain eased off, hoping that she could manage to get in and change before the rest of them returned. She had just turned into their driveway when she heard them arrive behind her.

Hilary and Heather burst out laughing and Ella was tempted to punch the two of them with their perfect fair hair and slim-fitting summer dresses. Why did Mac have to have such good-looking sisters! He just ruffled her wet hair and told her she looked even more beautiful than ever and that he had a thing for bedraggled-looking country girls.

An hour later her hair was still a mass of waves when she sat down with them for Sunday lunch of roast lamb and potatoes. They had barely finished their dessert of strawberries and cream when Mac began to make excuses about leaving.

‘I want to be on the road fairly soon, Mum, as it’s a long drive back to Dublin.’

Ella went upstairs and packed the rest of her things away and checked to make sure that she had left Heather’s room tidy. They said their goodbyes in the hall, his parents hugging him.

‘You’ll be up for the Twelfth?’ his father reminded him. ‘Sure that’s only a few weeks away.’

They shook her hand awkwardly, making no mention of seeing her again.

‘Drive safely Peter!’ urged his mother.

Mac and she had only just got into the car when Ella remembered that she had left her washbag in the bathroom.

‘I forgot something Mac, I’ll be back in a minute.’

She raced back up to the front door, which his parents had just closed. She was just about to knock when she heard Joyce McNeill’s voice. ‘Thank the Lord that bloody little Catholic bitch is out of my house, Gordon. She’ll not set foot across this door again!’

Reeling, she stood where she was, unbelieving. She could hardly breathe with the shock and the pain of it. She stood for a second not moving then she was aware of Mac sitting in the car, smiling, waiting for her. She turned back towards him. ‘Honest to God I’m going daft! Sure I remember packing it earlier. Come on Mac, let’s get on the road!’

Mac talked. She was too tired to talk, even to think.

‘Ella didn’t you hear me! I said the next time you
come
up with me things will be better, the old man will soften and at least you and Mum seem to get on OK.’

She just nodded in agreement, knowing that there never would be a next time. Joyce McNeill had seen to that.

Chapter Twenty-five

THE LETTER WAS
waiting for Ella when she came home from the North. Carmel must have gotten one of the nurses to post it for her as it was stamped with the name of the famous TB hospital in County Wicklow. Ella couldn’t believe it when she read that her sister-in-law had been admitted to the famous Oldcastle Sanatorium with tuberculosis and was in a room on her own in isolation. Poor Carmel, she always hated being on her own. What would Liam do with his wife in hospital and two small children and the farm to mind? Maybe Aunt Nance and her cousins and some of the neighbours might be able to help out, though even Ella knew how reluctant people were to get involved with a family where one member had TB. Liam had apparently had to scrub the house from top to bottom and had burnt most of the linen and some of Carmel’s clothes in an effort to get rid of the infection. She thought of the two little girls and how much they must be missing their mother
and
how awful it must be for Carmel to be away from them. She imagined that she had troubles, but they were nothing compared to what her English sister-in-law must be going through.

‘Don’t you be worrying, Ella,’ said Kitty, ‘they’re trying out all kinds of new antibiotic treatments for tuberculosis at the moment and the doctors and nurses down there know exactly what they’re doing. They’ll want to get Carmel well and strong and clear so she can get back home to the farm as soon as she’s able. Honest, she’s in the best place.’

Brendan, Gretta’s boyfriend, had said almost exactly the same thing when he called at the flat and Ella tried to accept their assurances of Carmel’s recovery. She knew Carmel loved getting letters and sat down and wrote a big long letter straight away, telling her all about her visit to the North but leaving out the bit about Mac’s parents as Carmel had enough to be worrying about without her mentioning how much they upset her. She promised herself to try and write to Carmel once a week while she was ill in the sanatorium and visit her just as soon as she was allowed.

She’d confided in Kitty about what had happened at the McNeills’, and of course Kitty had gone and told Gretta and Terri straight away too. Her flatmates were all appalled at the story as they sat eating a pan of burnt Denny sausages and lumpy mash that Terri had managed to ruin.

‘What a wagon!’ jeered Terri, chewing the blackened sausage.

‘Poor you going to have such a pair of in-laws!’ Gretta agreed. ‘Thank God Brendan’s mother died about five years ago and his father is so busy working in the practice down in Tipperary he’s not time to be worrying about anyone.‘

‘What’ll I do?’ Ella asked.

‘What does Mac say?’ enquired Kitty.

‘He doesn’t say anything, because I didn’t tell him.’

‘Didn’t tell him! They’re his bloody parents!’ Terri was incredulous.

‘And don’t you dare tell him either,’ Kitty advised. ‘Men all adore their mothers and think butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. No fellah wants to hear that the mammy who gave birth to him and raised him and loved him is an old cow, none of them do! For God’s sake Ella, don’t even mention it to Mac.’

‘I suppose he won’t believe you even if you tell him anyways,’ argued Gretta. ‘You’ll be the difficult girlfriend, and she’ll be the poor sweet innocent mother.’

‘Mac’s not like that!’

‘They’re all like that!’ laughed the three of them.

‘She’s an old rip!’ Terri was indignant. ‘I wouldn’t put up with it, but if you love him …’

‘I do.’

‘Then you have no option but to let herself and that old bigot of her husband get away with it.’

She was quieter than usual when Mac and she went to the pictures later that week to see Cary
Grant
in the latest Alfred Hitchcock film, and wondered if he had heard any more from his parents, but if he had he didn’t let on. She told him how much she had enjoyed seeing his home town but avoided any mention of them, and when he kissed her in the moonlight walking home through town all worries about the differences in their religions were pushed to one side. If it didn’t bother Mac she wasn’t going to let it affect her either. They were in love and that was all that mattered.

Mac went home for the Twelfth of July for four days.

‘You sure you don’t mind, Ella?’

There had been no mention of her joining him and even if he had asked she would have made some excuse or other not to.

‘So you’ll be marching and parading and the like,’ she slagged him, wrapping her arms around him and nibbling the corner of his ear.

‘It’s our tradition,’ he said seriously, pulling her into his arms and demanding a kiss in return. ‘And some traditions should never be broken.’

‘I’ll be busy here. Leo and Neil are going to London for a few days to see some friends and have got tickets to some shows in the West End. You know the two of them, they’ll be in their element while I’m looking after the shop.’

‘London, that’s a good idea, maybe in a few months’ time we could go over and have a proper weekend away ourselves.’

Ella loved the idea of seeing London, and London with Mac would be even better. There she was worrying herself silly about things with Mac and herself, and here he was, planning to take her away to England for a break. She was a right eejit to think that Mac would ever let anything come between them.

Chapter Twenty-six

THEY COULDN’T HELP
but hear it; every morning Terri was sick as a dog in the bathroom, vomiting while the rest of them stood outside on the landing pleading with her to let them into the lavatory. Often they had to go downstairs to use Dessie, Con and Louis’s bathroom in the flat below, enduring the indignity of male underwear strewn everywhere and a filthy toilet with a urine-stained floor.

‘For Christ’s sake, let me in,’ pleaded Kitty, ‘before I wet my pants.’

The young hairdresser looked awful, her face pale and blotchy, and although Gretta hadn’t said a word, and Ella and Kitty were trying to be discreet, they all had a fair idea of what was the other girl’s problem.

Terri spent a lot of her time crying and refused to talk about what was going on, while Gretta warned them not to upset her and that she’d tell them in her own good time. For the first time ever
Ella
noticed Terri’s dark roots, as she hadn’t touched up her hair colour and her nails were the same colour as Ella’s own, totally bare and unvarnished. Terri was tired all the time and lay on the couch for hours with her feet up when she came home from work, too exhausted to go dancing or to the pub.

In the end it was Gretta who persuaded her to let her have a urine sample to bring to work to be checked, and when the result came back Terri had howled so loud that old Mrs Mulvey in the basement had come up all the way upstairs to ask if everything was all right. Ella wondered what Bill Brady was going to do about the child he’d fathered and any mention of him seemed to set Terri to crying even louder. Poor Terri had to face going into work in the hair salon every day and pretend nothing was the matter with her or else she’d lose her job.

She got hysterical one Sunday morning when they were getting ready to go to Mass. ‘My mammy and daddy will kill me when they hear about the baby. I’m disgraced, so I am. Ruined!’

The three of them didn’t know what to say or what advice to give and could only reassure Terri that no matter what, they were her friends and would stick by her and support her while she had her child.

‘No, I’ll go away. Go to London. I’ll get the
mailboat
over and no-one need ever know this has happened,’ she codded herself.