“And for you, Kit?”
“I won’t have time for anyone else to turn up. I’m so busy.”
“No you’re not. You’re on holiday.”
“I’m going to London. Who could turn up in London?”
“You’re only going to London for ten days.”
“Then I’ll be back. Philip, please.”
And because he didn’t want to be tiresome, he stopped. And they went to the pictures just on their own, and sometimes with Emmet, sometimes with Anna. Because, as Clio said, Anna was so awful and such a troublemaker the only thing to do was to let her come to places where she couldn’t do much harm, like at the cinema, a place where nobody had to talk to her.
Dear Kit,
I am so eager to hear the result of your exams. It will be so exciting to plan your course in hotel management. Do tell me more about it. And what are you going to do for the holidays? I’ll be away a lot traveling, but your letters may be forwarded to me, so I can reply from wherever I am. It’s a pity I won’t be in London during the summer because, unlike everyone else, I actually enjoy the city when all the visitors come. If you have Sister Madeleine praying for you, and your father’s nice friend, Maura Hayes, rooting for you, and if you’ve done all the work you say you did, I’m sure you don’t need me on the case as well. But I do keep my fingers crossed for you.
Love as always,
Lena
“London could be very crowded during the summer,” Maura Hayes said to Kit the day after she got this letter from Lena.
“I’d say it’s nice when it’s full of tourists, holiday-like,” Kit said.
“Not the best time to see it, in a way.”
“Oh, don’t join all the others who say not to go, please, Maura.”
“I’m not saying not to go…”
“What are you saying?” Kit asked.
“I don’t know,” Maura answered truthfully, and for some reason it made both of them laugh helplessly. Martin McMahon came into the kitchen and asked what the joke was. “If I were to go through the whole conversation there wouldn’t be a laugh in it,” said Maura, wiping her eyes.
“They’d lock us up,” Kit agreed.
Rita was finishing the ironing. She had heard the whole exchange and all she could understand was that it was really time Mr. McMahon made a move. Miss Hayes was a very nice person. He would never find anyone who got on so well with his children.
Mother Bernard got a phone call in the school. It was from a lady in London. She wanted to know when the results of the Leaving Certificate were expected.
“They arrived today.” Mother Bernard sounded pleased. It had been a very good result as far as she was concerned. The lady wanted to inquire about the successes and failures.
“And to whom am I speaking?” Mother Bernard wouldn’t reveal that the Wall girl and young Hickey had done so badly, not to any stranger on the phone.
“I am a distant relation of Cliona Kelly.”
If Mother Bernard thought it odd that this woman had not called the Kelly family she said nothing, instead she listed with pride the number of honors Cliona Kelly had got in her examination.
“And her friend, Kit McMahon?”
“Mary Katherine McMahon did very well also. The whole standard was very high.”
“And I believe the girls are coming on a visit to London, to your sister house?”
“That is so, but…”
“I was going to write a letter there to whoever you would suggest…perhaps arranging to meet Cliona. Can you tell me what date they are arriving?”
“Mother Lucy is in charge of the London house and our girls for the duration of their stay. They will be arriving on August ninth for nine full days…and you are…?”
“Thank you so much, Mother Bernard.” The connection was broken. Mother Bernard looked at the receiver. How did this woman know she was Mother Bernard?
At Mass on Sunday, Mother Bernard was talking to the Kellys. “Your relation rang up from England to inquire about Cliona’s Leaving results,” she said.
“England?” said Peter Kelly.
“Relation?” said Lilian.
“That’s what she said.” Mother Bernard sounded defensive.
What could she mean? they asked each other on the way home. “Getting a bit dozy maybe,” Lilian suggested.
“She seems sharp enough.” Peter was thoughtful.
“Let’s hope she lasts out for Anna’s time anyway.” Lilian was always practical.
…and so I am off on a tour leaving August 8th. I told you I’d be out of London for about two weeks. Still, it’s a great opportunity for me. Hope your summer plans are going well, and that you have everything ready for your new life in Dublin.
Again, I want to say how great it was to hear from you so quickly. Thank you so much for writing on the day you got your results. I kept crossing my fingers and got on with my work. I drank your health last night with my friend Ivy Brown.
It’s so exciting to be on your way at last.
“What will I do if Louis comes in?” Ivy asked.
“He won’t.” Lena was grim. “As you very well know. He hasn’t been in much.”
“He never stays out all night.” Ivy was aghast.
“No, but if Kit comes to look for me, it won’t be at night. They won’t clash.”
“And what about you, suppose she sees you on the street?”
“There’s eight million people in this city.”
“Not in this road, there aren’t.”
“She doesn’t think I’m hiding on her, she doesn’t know I’m me. Relax, Ivy.”
“You’re not relaxed.”
“Well, that’s because my daughter’s going to be in the same city and I want to see her.”
“I have an awful feeling about it, I really do.”
“Nonsense, Ivy. Just let me spend the evenings in your back kitchen, that’s all.”
“How do you know she’ll come looking for you?”
“I know.”
THE boat journey was marvelous fun. They met a great crowd of Irish builders who had been back home for their summer holidays. It was some relief that they were making the return journey to England and freedom.
“Why are they all singing about how wonderful Ireland is if they’re leaving it?” Kit asked.
“That’s the point of Irish songs. They’re only good if you sing them while you’re abroad.” Clio was very knowledgeable.
“Imagine! We’re abroad,” Kit said.
“Nearly.” Clio was being lofty.
“We’re in the middle of the Irish Sea, that’s abroad. We’re beyond the three-mile limit.”
The men asked them to come and listen while they sang The Rose of Tralee. It was always good to have beautiful girls listening when you sang that song.
“We really are going to London,” whispered Clio. “We’ll see real teddy boys, real coffee bars, everything.”
“I know,” said Kit. “I know.” She was thinking about how she would find her mother’s friend, Lena; the woman who knew much more about her mother than anyone. She would go to her house and ask Mrs. Brown where she was. Then she would go and surprise her.
If ever they had thought Mother Bernard was bad they soon realized that compared to Mother Lucy she was a wild and free soul. Mother Lucy assumed that they would all want to see cultural sights only, and that evenings would be spent playing table tennis and making cocoa once the Rosary had been said in the convent chapel.
Although they enjoyed the visits to Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London, the Planetarium and Madame Tussaud’s, the girls were bleakly disappointed with their escorted tour. It was tantalizing being so near and yet so far.
“We could always escape,” Jane Wall said.
“Is it worth the bloody trouble?” Clio asked. “It will be painted as black as sin, they’ll think at home we did the divil and all, and all just for a cup of coffee in Soho.”
“Your aunt rang again, Cliona,” Mo
ther Lucy said on the third night.
“My aunt?” Clio was alarmed. “There isn’t anything wrong, is there?”
“No, she just wanted to know your movements, if you had any free time on your own.”
Clio shrugged at Kit. “Why on earth did she want to know that?” she said.
“I don’t know. I think she may have wanted to take you out somewhere, she was very anxious to be filled in on your timetable.”
It was a mystery. Aunt Maura, in London.
“Is she going to ring again?” Clio wanted to know.
“I’m not sure. But if she does want to take you out then I assume it will be in order.”
Clio’s eyes met Kit’s and began to dance. “If she does ring again, then it would be nice to see her,” Clio said in her fawning voice.
“Yes, well, of course.”
“Maura’s not in London, she’s back in Lough Glass playing golf,” Kit whispered later.
“I know, but it must be some glorious mistake sent by God and Saint Patrick and Saint Jude, the patron saint of hopeless cases. Go out and ring and leave a message for me.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere, phone box in the street. They’ll think you’re in the bathroom.”
Kit found a red phone box and put the money in. “May I speak to Cliona Kelly, it’s her aunt,” she asked the little sister who minded the door.
In a moment Kit was put through to Cliona in the recreation room. “Hallo,” she whispered, terrified that it was all going to be unmasked.
“Oh, Aunt Maura, how nice of you to call. Mother and Father were so much hoping you would get in touch.”
Kit listened wordlessly to the easy flow of Clio’s lies. They would so much love to meet Aunt Maura at five o’clock tomorrow. No, no, Mother Lucy would be happy to let Kit and herself out for just a few hours.
“Aren’t you lucky,” said Jane Wall. “Imagine your aunt being in London.”
“I know,” said Clio. “Makes you believe in fate.”
“What will we do?” Clio asked. “Where will we go?”
“You go where you like. I’m going off on my own.”
“Oh, Kit, you can’t. We can go on our own, but together.”
“You’re the one who said it was ludicrous, grown-up women like us being tied up in a convent.”
“Well, it is, of course, but it doesn’t mean you’re going to get into some kind of mood and go off and leave me. I got you this free time after all, it was my aunt who was in London.”
“You know as well as I there was no aunt in London. It was some kind of mistake that poor sister at the door made.”
“It’s still me that got it.”
“No it isn’t. I was the one who went out to a phone box.”
“Where are you going?” Clio demanded.
“I’m not telling you. I’m going nowhere, I’m just trying to be free.”
“We can be free together, and have a bit of fun.”
“No we can’t. Stop whining, Clio. Do what you like, we’ll meet at ten and then you can tell me everything.”
“I hate you at times.”
“I know, I hate you at times too, but a lot of the time we get on quite well,” Kit said.
“I can’t imagine why,” Clio grumbled.
Kit had the map and she knew where to catch the Underground to Earl’s Court. But first she had to shake Clio. “You’ve been talking about Soho since we were fifteen. You just get on a bus and get out at Piccadilly Circus.”
“You’re meeting someone, I know that’s what you’re doing,” Clio said.
“Clio, already you’re eating into the bit of free time we have. Will you get the bus or will you not?”
When she was sure that the bus had gone out of view carrying Clio aboard, Kit ran down the steps of the station and took the Circle Line. At least she would see the house where Lena and Louis Gray lived. She would leave a note and maybe talk to this Mrs. Brown. Once or twice she had asked in letters who Mrs. Brown was, but there had never been a real explanation. Kit felt a surge of excitement well up in her throat. In twenty minutes she would be there.
Kit had thought it would be a more fashionable street. Somehow she had always seen it as a place with big houses that had drives leading up to them. She thought that Mrs. Brown might be an aunt, or a relative anyway. A rich woman whom they partly looked after. But this was definitely the road. And number 27 was definitely the place she had been writing letters for almost four years.
Lena had never said the place was elegant, but neither had she said it was so ordinary. The paint was peeling on several of the doors and nearby the railings were rusty. There were dustbins in the street and in basements. It wasn’t the kind of place that this friend of Mother’s should be living in.
Kit looked at her own reflection in a window. She had dressed carefully, in her best tartan skirt, and a yellow blouse. She wore a tartan scarf around her neck, a present from Maura. She had put on lipstick, of course, as soon as she left the convent gate. Over her shoulder she wore a black shoulder bag. Her long dark curly hair was tied up with a smart black ribbon. She thought Lena would think she had made an effort, that is, if Lena was there. Anyway this Mrs. Brown would tell her that Kit was a smart girl.
With a feeling of anxiety that was near dread, something she couldn’t understand, Kit McMahon knocked on the door of number 27.
Louis had come into Millar’s at lunchtime. “Quick half pint?” he asked Lena
Jessie Park always liked to see Louis Gray, he had such distinction and good looks. She wagged her finger at him. “You don’t come to see us nearly often enough,” she said with mock severity. Jessie had certainly improved over the years. Her hair was no longer the wild bird’s nest of hair. She wore a smart gray dress with a blue and gold scarf, her nails were painted. She looked a perfectly acceptable London businesswoman.
“You look very lovely today, Jessie,” he said.
Her blush and smile were predictable, Lena had seen the same response on the faces of so many women since she had been with Louis. A response to flattery. An innocent pleasure at being appreciated and admired.
Lena excused herself from the clients. This was important. Louis never came to see her at work. A sudden fear came to her. Had Kit arrived? Had she met Louis? Then she told herself this was impossible. She had checked in the convent where the girls were staying. There would be no chance of Kit being released during the daytime, the educational program was too intense.
They walked side by side to the pub nearby, and she sat at the table while he bought them a drink.
“Remember you tried to make me get this week off,” he said.
“Yes.” She had begged him, beseeched, offered to take them to any hotel…offered to go where he’d choose. But he had said it was impossible, he was needed at the hotel. He had become annoyed about it also, claiming that Lena never accepted that he too had responsibilities at work. She had dropped it.
“You go alone if you need a holiday so badly,” he had said.
But Lena couldn’t leave number 27 knowing that Kit McMahon was on her way there to give her a surprise. She couldn’t risk that Kit might meet Louis and learn everything.
His smile was as warm as ever. “My love…wasn’t it well that you didn’t let me weaken and take a little holiday?”
“Why was that?” She forced her voice to be up and bright.
“They’re sending me to Paris,” he said triumphantly.
“To Paris?” Her heart was like a stone.
“Not forever…just for ten days. To see how this French hotel is run. It’s an exchange. A Frenchman is coming here. Won’t that set their pulses racing at the Dryden?”
“Not as much as you do.” It was an automatic response, but oddly it came out wrong. It sounded bitter, it sounded like an accusation.
“So, I’m off.”
“You’re off?”
“Well, you can hardly come with me, can you?” he asked.
“I s
uppose I could get some time…”
“You don’t have a passport,” Louis said. His glance was very level. Of course Lena didn’t have a passport. How could a dead woman apply to get a passport? He could go abroad forever without her.
“When do you go?” she asked.
“I thought today,” he said.
Lena’s head felt very heavy, as if it was a great weight to lift up and look him in the eye. “Do you love me at all, Louis?” she asked.
“I love you very much,” he said. There was a silence. “You believe me?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Her voice was bleak. She saw the impatience in his face. This was what he hated, but she was too tired, too weary to care. And he was going anyway, whether she was light and cheerful, or heavy and gloom-laden.
“Well, you should know,” he said. “Why would I stay if I didn’t love you. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“That’s right.” She was resigned.
“Lena, don’t make me go with this big draggy feeling of guilt about it. It’s an opportunity, it’s a chance, it’s what we want. You are making squeaks just like a wife now. It’s not like you.”
“No, you’re right. It’s much more like me to be jolly and full of smiles and turn a blind eye to what’s happening.”
“And what is happening?” His voice was very cold.
“What’s happening is that you are treating me like dirt. You are coming in all hours of the night…”
“Oh God, no. Not a scene in a public place.” He put his head in his hands.
“What’s happening is that you know you can do anything you bloody well like. You don’t have to marry me because I’m dead. You don’t have to take me abroad because I’m dead. When I die you won’t even have to bury me because I’m dead and buried already. Did you think of that, did you?” Her laugh had a hysterical tinge.
“Jesus, Lena, get ahold of yourself.” He looked around him, alarmed.
“I’ve got ahold of myself all right, but I have no hold on you, none at all.”