Beatrice Page 9

  Sarah, will you marry me?

  I love you

  Anthony

  She gasped. The locket fell. She started to cry and felt she would never stop. Beth sat up and began to whine again.

  Several hours later the men came home. Sarah and Sinead had been in bed for ages, although Sarah had been up with Beatrice most of the time. When Joe came in she had just fallen asleep. He woke her.

  ‘Sarah, Sarah,’ came the urgent whisper, ‘how’s me wife?’ He laughed. He was totally slaughtered. The stink of drink off him was nauseating. He got into bed with her and started pulling her pyjama bottoms down and getting on top of her.

  ‘Joe, stop!’

  ‘It’s our wedding night,’ he said. ‘Don’t you want to?’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘Not for six weeks. The baby . . . you know.’

  ‘Ah, Jaysus, I’m sorry,’ he slurred. He hugged her. She felt she couldn’t breathe. ‘Just touch me, will you?’ he said breathily into her face. She moved her head, the beer fumes turning her stomach.

  He gripped her hand and placed it on his penis. It was rock hard. He worked her hand for her, pushing it up and down. His breathing got heavier.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he whispered.

  He pushed his nails into her hand and forced it up and down rigorously. Eventually he came, sighed and immediately fell into a loud nasal sleep. Sarah extricated herself and stumbled over Beth in the corridor as she crept into the bathroom. She washed her hands, and looked in the mirror. She was very pale. Next door she could hear Mikey and Sinead.

  ‘Get off me, you drunken pig.’

  ‘Who are you calling a pig? Look at you, the fat cow. Stuffing yourself all day while I go out to work. Least you could do is let me have me rights.’

  ‘Get off me, I said.’

  She heard a slap. Maybe she should wake Joe.

  ‘Ah, you bastard,’ Sinead said.

  ‘I’m going to have you,’ said Mikey. There was silence, then she heard the bed springs. She could hear Sinead. Her tone of voice had changed, ‘Go on, go on, yes, yes.’

  Sarah looked back into the mirror. This was not the kind of life she had wanted.

  EITHNE

  We go to the Foggy Dew; the last thing I want is to stay in the house and for Leo and Shauna to walk in and see her. It is still early, and the Sunday afternoon rush hasn’t yet begun.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Guinness will do. I’ve never tried it before.’

  I get one too. I need fortifying.

  The girl does not look like Beatrice. She is blonde, has blue eyes and a large mouth. We sit down, waiting for the pints. She takes out a packet of cigarettes and offers me one.

  ‘No . . . yeah, okay.’

  We sit in silence, puffing away. The pints arrive. What does this girl want with me? Beatrice is dead. She has to be . . .

  ‘I like this,’ she says, drinking the Guinness.

  ‘Look,’ I blurt out, ‘you must be mistaken. My sister disappeared nearly twenty years ago. There were suspicious circumstances, very. The Gardaí all thought that she had been abducted. She would never have run away. I am convinced of that. I’m sorry, but you must have the wrong person.’

  She pulls on her cigarette and looks me in the eye.

  ‘Christ,’ she says. ‘I’ve walked into some heavy shit here.’

  ‘She wasn’t pregnant. I would have known.’

  ‘How old were you when she left?’

  ‘Thirteen.’

  ‘There were loads of things going on in my house that I didn’t know about when I was thirteen. Maybe she didn’t want to tell you and that’s why she left.’

  ‘No. You don’t know Beatrice. She was different. She didn’t care what people thought of her.’

  ‘Fuck it. Forget it,’ she says. ‘I mean, you know less than me. All I’m doing is upsetting you. Thanks for the drink.’

  She gets up. Suddenly I change my mind. Something reawakens inside me, years of denial falling away. I want desperately to believe that she is right.

  ‘Wait a minute. Just let me think.’

  She sits down and looks at me.

  ‘I’ll get some more drinks,’ she says and goes to the bar.

  I drain my pint. Could it be true? Is Beatrice out there somewhere? I begin shaking again – I am hot and cold at the same time, I desperately want to throw up.

  Lisa comes back.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to pull myself together, and taking a big slug of Guinness. ‘Tell me, then, why you think my sister is your mother?’

  ‘I don’t think: I know,’ she replies. ‘Last month I was eighteen and I went to the adoption agency. I knew which agency to go to cos I found the papers at home.’ She opens her bag and takes out a sheaf of photocopies. ‘It has it all here,’ she says. ‘Name of mother: Beatrice Kelly. Name of father: Not known. Address of mother: Crossakiel, Kells, County Meath, Ireland. Look.’

  She points at a blur of type. I start to hyperventilate.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I begin to choke. ‘Oh my God . . .’ I stumble out of my seat, and dash to the toilet.

  SARAH

  The next morning when Sarah woke Joe had already gone. The men had to get up at five to get to work on the building site. Beatrice was still sleeping, so she went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Sinead was sitting at the table, feeding crusts to the dog.

  ‘Morning,’ she said chirpily. ‘How’s the bride?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Joe says you’re going on Saturday, and I’ve hardly got to know you.’

  ‘Going where on Saturday?’

  ‘Going back home, to Ireland.’

  Sarah froze.

  ‘Hasn’t he told you yet? Anyway, we’re bound to meet up at Christmas. You never know, Mikey and myself might come back soon as well.’

  She poured Sarah a cup of tea.

  ‘Oh, and you’re not to worry about Beth. Joe said she’d get mauled by his farm dogs, so we’ve agreed to take her on. She’s a darlin’ aren’t ya?’

  Sinead tickled Beth under the chin, and the dog licked her fingers.

  ‘She’ll be our surrogate baby.’ Sinead giggled.

  Sarah had to see Anthony.

  ‘Sinead, could you do me a favour?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Can you mind Beatrice for an hour? There’s someone I have to see.’

  ‘Ah no, I don’t know anything about babies. What if she cries?’

  ‘Please. I’ll feed her before I go. I’ll be fast – just one hour. Please, Sinead.’

  Maybe Sinead heard the desperation in Sarah’s voice, because she said, ‘Okay. But be quick.’

  Beatrice was awake in the bedroom.

  Sarah fed and changed her. Then she picked up the locket, putting it in her jacket pocket.

  Sinead was on the sofa reading a book; the dog was curled up next to her. Sarah handed her Beatrice.

  ‘She’s just gorgeous,’ Sinead said. ‘I’d love one soon.’ She looked up at Sarah. ‘You’re going to see the daddy, aren’t you?’

  ‘No . . . it’s a friend,’ and with that she fled.

  ‘You know you could do a lot worse than our Joey,’ Sinead called after her as Sarah disappeared out of the door.

  Sarah headed up the hill. She felt very light now that she wasn’t pregnant any more. She wasn’t far from the Voyle house; she recognized the road – she must be only a few minutes away. Flat-land gave way to grand houses, gardens and drives. What if he wasn’t there? Should she say something to Lady Voyle? Leave a note? What if she was too late? Anthony would have been waiting for her last night in Clapham. Why had she married Joe? What had she been thinking of? Her head spun.

  ‘Watch it, lady!’ a taxi driver yelled as she ran across the street.

  ‘Please be there, please be there and tell me what to do,’ she prayed.

  She turned a corner and there it was – her home for a year, where she ha
d first fallen in love, where she had lost her virginity. It seemed an age away now but it was only a few months ago. She went up the drive. Anthony’s MG was there. As she approached the house another car passed her and parked next to the MG; a young woman got out and ran up to the door.

  Sarah recognized her. It was Harriet.

  Charlotte’s friend . . . Anthony’s girlfriend. Sarah hid behind a tree. Her heart lurched as she saw Anthony open the door. Harriet embraced him. She kissed his cheek and took his hand. They went into the house.

  Sarah crept up the drive. She looked through the living-room window. Harriet sat on a footstool next to Anthony with her arm around him, and then she kissed him again. Sarah had seen enough.

  She pushed the locket through the letterbox and ran down the drive. She kept on running, down roads and avenues, past grand houses, tiny mews and high-walled alleyways, on and on she ran with no thought to where she was going. She found herself high up on the Heath, looking down on London. She flopped onto the ground and, pulling at the grass around her, she tried to clutch on to life. She had had expectations; although she had tried to suppress them, in her dreams she had hoped.

  ‘Stupid, stupid girl . . .’ she berated herself.

  Of course he had only taken pity on her. All those times they sat here, on the Heath, talking, he had only been kind . . . nothing more. How could she have let it happen again? This was worse than Jonathan.

  She felt as if someone had jabbed a knife into her heart. This hurt more than anything, more than childbirth. She gasped. She would never see him again. She would always be lost now.

  Sarah made a vow. She locked a part of herself away that day. All the love she had for Anthony she would devote to her baby. There would be none left for anyone else.

  EITHNE

  And then I get drunk.

  The afternoon turns to evening which becomes more and more blurred. Lisa likes to talk; she seems oblivious to my shellshock.

  ‘I love swimming,’ she is saying. ‘I swim every day – I’m training to be a lifeguard. It’s a great job, really good money, and all you have to do is sit around all day. And hopefully I’d be working with Steve; he’s my fiancé. We’ve only just got engaged; we haven’t got the ring yet, but he’s asked me. We met at the swimming pool – course my mum and dad don’t know yet.’

  ‘What do your parents think about this?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, they don’t know I’m here. They think I’m staying with a mate. They’d go fucking mad! They don’t even know that I know I’m adopted – it’s all so fucked up.’

  ‘Oh . . .’

  ‘They never told me I was adopted. I just always knew. Well, strictly speaking they never told me straight out, but I worked it out when I was really young. My dad let it slip. Bloody hell, and they never sat down then and talked to me about it – no wonder we don’t get on.’ She finishes her pint, and continues. ‘I was about five and I remember it was raining, and we, myself and my brother, Gary, he’s a couple of years younger than me – he’s not adopted – well, we were playing inside. I was really bored and I found some of my dad’s old tins of paint, so I decided to redecorate . . .’

  Lisa begins laughing; I am just staring at her. Everything about her seems totally alien.

  ‘When my mum saw what we had done she completely freaked out. I mean it was Gary just as much as me, but she always blamed me. She was yelling at my dad, and giving out like mad, and then she screamed right in my face, “You’re a bloody monster!” And then to my dad, “What are we going to do with her?” And do you know what he said? “It was your idea to adopt, not mine, you know I thought it was too soon.” Out it plopped, just like that. Suddenly everyone was quiet. And my mum just hissed, “Shut up, will yer.” And that’s how I found out.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, I’m glad I know. I would have found out anyway. I couldn’t wait till I was eighteen so I could get away from them. I never really fitted in – that’s why I wanted to find my real mum, I was hoping we might get along.’

  For the first time she looks a little shy. I don’t know what to say. Everything has taken on an unreal edge – the fact that this girl, sitting next to me, is my own flesh and blood, my sister’s child, my niece, seems ludicrous. As I glance around, the pub begins to look strange as well – garish – and I imagine everyone is looking at me. I begin to sweat.

  ‘Do you want another drink?’ Lisa is asking me.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say.

  My mobile rings. I know it is Leo, but I don’t answer. I am at a loss to know what to say to him, and I suspect he would tell me to come straight home, to ditch this girl, Lisa Hayes, but she is a link to the past, the only chance I have to exhume my sister.

  ‘How did you find me?’ I ask, when she returns with two large whiskies. ‘Why didn’t you just go straight to Crossakiel?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure how to get there, so I did a search on the Internet. I looked up Kelly and Crossakiel. You came up.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘There was a website on you. You’re an artist, right?’

  ‘Of course, my website,’ I exclaim. ‘I had forgotten all about it . . . God knows the last time it was updated.’

  ‘Well, the website said you were born in Crossakiel, Kells, and gave your address and number in Dublin. I reckoned Beatrice must be your sister. I was just taking a chance when I rang.’

  ‘So what are you going to do now?’ I ask, taking a slug of my drink.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shrugs. ‘It’s bloody typical. I think I’ve finally found my real mum – then I find out you don’t know where she is either.’

  ‘I thought she was dead.’

  ‘Maybe she is . . . now.’

  We sit in silence. The alcohol makes me brave.

  ‘Why don’t you stay with me,’ I say. ‘Tomorrow I’ll take you down home. Someone must know the truth . . . we won’t give up, we’ll find her.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she says. ‘Maybe this whole thing’s stupid. If she’d wanted me to find her she’d have left her address with the adoption agency, and they would’ve told me when I came looking. It’s clear she doesn’t want to know me.’

  ‘That’s not like Beatrice. She would, I know she would. There must be some terrible reason why she’s never come back. Of course – it must be something to do with whoever your father is. He could still be living down home . . . and we’re going to find out who he is and why she left. Tomorrow,’ I announce, standing up and wobbling. ‘Come on, let’s get a taxi.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I need to find her just as much as you.’

  We go out onto the street. It is raining. We walk some way, lights and cars swishing by us. Now I feel euphoric, at last it is all over – we are going to find Beatrice.

  ‘I can’t stay long,’ Lisa is saying. ‘It’s Steve. He’ll get pissed off.’

  ‘Just a couple of days. Surely he’ll understand?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, lighting another fag.

  We stop at a chipper on the way. By the time we get back to the house, we are soaking and stink of wet vinegary chips.

  We burst through the door, still clutching our brown bags. Leo is sitting on the couch, watching TV.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he says icily.

  ‘Foggy Dew . . .’ I shake the rain out of my hair. ‘This is Lisa,’ I say. ‘She’s staying.’

  Leo’s jaw drops. ‘Lisa?’ he repeats slowly.

  ‘Hi,’ Lisa says, plonking herself down on the couch.

  ‘Eithne, can I talk to you for a minute – in the kitchen?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes, now . . .’ he says through clenched teeth.

  I follow him out.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing, Eithne?’

  He is furious.

  ‘She turned up on the doorstep today. We went out . . .’ I clutch his hands. ‘Leo, she really is Beatrice’s daughter, she showed me her birth certificate.’


  ‘That could be fake.’

  ‘Come on now, who the hell would bother to do something like that? I mean look at her, she’s only eighteen – she just wants to find her mother. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with us.’

  ‘Of course it’s everything to do with us. She’s my niece!’

  ‘She’s a complete stranger, you don’t know her.’

  ‘You’re so bloody anal! What would you do if some long-lost relative turned up from Poland? Would you turn them away?’

  ‘No . . . but they wouldn’t be staying here.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry, it’s just for one night,’ I say sarcastically. ‘We’re going down home tomorrow. We’re going to find out what happened to Beatrice – we’re going to find out who Lisa’s real father is—’

  Leo’s anger dissipates. He looks horrified. ‘No!’ he says quickly. ‘No, Eithne, don’t do that.’

  ‘But I was thinking – if I can find out who Lisa’s father is, then he can tell us what happened to Beatrice.’ I begin shaking again and clutch the kitchen counter for support. ‘Leo,’ I stare right into him, ‘she’s alive – she’s alive!’

  He is shaking his head.

  ‘Eithne,’ he strokes my face, ‘come on; come to bed. Sleep on it. You might think differently in the morning.’

  ‘Okay, yes you’re right.’ I steady myself. ‘I’ll just sort Lisa out with a duvet.’

  When I go back into the sitting room, Lisa is asleep. Sprawled on the couch, she fills its length. Her long blonde hair is splayed on the cushions, and her mouth is slightly open. She looks young. The remote control has fallen from her hand, and a pop video is blasting out from the TV. I switch it off. She’s only a kid really. I pull the duvet up over her.

  I sit down in the armchair opposite and stare at her. I can hear Leo getting into bed, switching out the light; but I cannot get up. It is only when I see the dusk of dawn and hear the birds begin to chatter, that I pull myself up. Is Leo right? Am I insane to believe that Beatrice is still here, in our world? Beneath my joy lies anger in the pit of me. She left me, here on my own, and she never came back.