Chapter 41
CHAPTER 41
Bernie
Less than a week later, on Wednesday, Elizabeth starts primary school for the first time. She’s a picture in the brown pinafore, a cream blouse, and a brown cardigan that have been passed down from Marie. I had to buy a new uniform for Marie this year. We’ll be making do without vegetables for a while to offset the cost.
There is great excitement among the girls as we set out for school. Alice is quickly outgrowing her pram, and pushing her weight over bockety cobbles is no mean feat, so I’m glad St. Anne’s, the all-girls primary school, is just around the corner. As the gray building comes into view, I feel Elizabeth’s hand slip into mine and she squeezes.
There’s a crucifix above the door and a sign proudly declaring that their pupils are YOUNG LADIES LEARNING IN GOD ’ S LIGHT . I pull Elizabeth close to me, kiss her forehead, and warn her to behave if she doesn’t want a wallop of the teacher’s stick. Mrs. Plum, Elizabeth’s teacher, is kind and gentle, and when Elizabeth cries at my leaving, Mrs. Plum offers her a hug and promises there are lollipops in her classroom for good girls. Marie is green with envy. Her teacher, Sister Sloan, is the principal and not a particularly patient woman. She scares me, not to mention the children.
She yanks Marie by the arm and says, “No crying, Miss McCarthy. You are seven years old. Far too old for such nonsense. Stop it this instant if you don’t want to see the back of my hand.”
Marie holds in tears as I wave goodbye. I curse Sister Sloan under my breath and decide then to skip confession. Father Walsh might not be ready to hear the things I have to say about Marie’s teacher.
The cobblestones on the walk home rock Alice to sleep. I wheel her behind the counter in the butcher’s and tell Dan I won’t be long.
“And what if she wakes?” he says.
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
I meet Maura under Clerys clock once more. She’s wearing a beautiful lime-and-mustard headscarf and a matching green summer dress, without sleeves. Her pearl earrings match her necklace, and I can’t help but think that even on the darkest days, she somehow manages to remain bright.
“I’m nervous,” she tells me, but she didn’t need to; she wears her unease like a second skin.
I lead the way and we chat for a while but soon allow silence to fall. We’re both lost in our own thoughts. My foot hurts, and I think the sole of my shoe might be nearing its end. I begin to limp.
“What is it, what’s wrong? Do you need to turn back?” Maura asks.
“I’m fine.”
“Maybe we should turn back. We should, shouldn’t we?”
I stop walking and place my hands on her shoulders to steady her. “It’s normal to be nervous. I nearly passed out when you brought me into that pub last month. But look how well it’s all turned out.”
Maura smiles and I feel her stiff shoulders relax. “Thank you,” she says, and slowly we begin walking again.
It’s not long before the red door on the side of an innocent-looking gray building comes into view.
“We’re here,” I say, and I’m not without my own edginess.
“We’re here. Oh God.”
I raise my hand and knock three times.
“Just a minute,” a woman’s voice calls from inside.
Maura and I stand back and wait. The door creaks open and Mrs. Stitch and a young girl appear. This girl looks even younger than the one previously. Her hair is matted and sits in clumps like a bird’s nest on her head. I can barely bring myself to look at the glass bottle in her hand. It’s full.
“Can’t I use your bathroom?” the girl says. “My friend said I could.”
“Not today. I’ve too many patients. Drink it at home. It’ll do the trick by the next morning.”
“Patients?” Maura whispers.
“Shh,” I say.
“And if it doesn’t, can I get a refund?”
Mrs. Stitch laughs. “I think money is the least of your problems then, m’dear.”
The girl thanks the seamstress, clutches the bottle to her chest, and avoids making eye contact with me or Maura as she passes by and walks away.
“Well, don’t stand out there all day,” Mrs. Stitch says, opening the door wider. “Mrs. McCarthy, if this is about stitching, I’ve told you not to call before noon.”
“No. No. Not this time.”
Mrs. Stitch’s lips curl into a wicked smile and she closes the door behind us. She knows without another word why we’re here.
“Which of you is it, then?”
Maura taps her chest with her fingertip. “Me.”
“Right. And how far along are you, do you know?”
“Oh.” Maura stiffens. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Then why are you here?”
Maura fidgets with her headscarf as if it’s suddenly too tight or itchy. I wait for her to clam up and I prepare myself to speak for her. But she doesn’t. She takes a deep breath and says, “I want to make sure I never get pregnant.”
Mrs. Stitch laughs. A loud, bellowing belly laugh. “What do you think I am? A wizard? If I could stop women from getting pregnant, I’d be a millionaire.”
“We thought you might be able to get the pill for us,” Maura says.
“And how would I do that? I’m hardly a doctor, now, am I?”
“No, but—”
“Look, best I can do is advise you to keep your legs crossed. If that doesn’t work, come back to me when there’s a bun in the oven. I’ll be able to sort you out then, all right?”
Maura’s hope deflates. I feel equally as flat. I never should have gotten her hopes up.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Silent tears trickle down Maura’s cheeks but she holds her head high.
“Thank you anyway,” she tells Mrs. Stitch, and then stretches out her hand.
Mrs. Stitch shakes it and says, “You’re a strange one, aren’t you? But, I suppose, it’s always the posh ones who are. Let me tell you something for nothing: babies are babies. Don’t matter if you’re rich or poor, married or a whore, babies will grow inside you once a man goes near you. It’s why I keep away from the feckers. You might best do the same.”
“But I’m married,” Maura says.
Mrs. Stitch’s expression changes. Her eyebrows pinch. “Get out. Get out, the both of you. And don’t come back here unless you’ve got real problems.”