Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Da.’
Nick’s fingers gently touched his face. Without asking permission she removed the picture from the wall and looked at him closely. He looked so young and so happy.
‘Come on, now. Sit down and let me tell you about Mikey Tiger. He’s passed on then?’
‘How did you know?’
‘If he was still with you today you wouldn’t be so hungry for a simple image of him. Come on now.’
Nick allowed herself to be guided to the sofa and was aware that Gabe hadn’t taken his eyes off her.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked as the old man went to brew another pot of tea.
‘Yes. It’s a bit of a shock. I didn’t expect to be so successful. To find someone that actually remembers him. As children he told us he had been stolen by pirates and lived on an island full of penguins. He had so many tales that I did wonder if they had in part been based on this place, but I couldn’t let myself hope. And of course when he talked about penguins we thought he meant the birds.’
Willie came back in and Gabe stood up, took the tea tray from him and began to pour three dark-looking cups of tea. Willie’s tea was as strong as his coffee was weak and Gabe wondered if his teeth were turning brown with every sip.
‘Your father came to us as a boy of maybe four or five, rather than a babe. I don’t know why, the Sisters probably kept records, but it was tough for children at that age. People want to adopt babies. Who wanted a child that cried for his mammy all day and all night?’
‘Occasionally Mikey would leave and try to settle into a new family, but it never worked out. Wasn’t he was too loyal to his mam and wouldn’t settle in the new house, however much they tried to make him feel at home. After a while it wasn’t his mam that he called for, but the nuns and the island which was becoming more a home to him than the one of his birth.’
‘The last placement I remember, he was about twelve, and what we thought were a nice couple came and took him away. A week later he came walking back along the causeway. Hadn’t he hitched and walked all the way from Mallow. When asked, he simply said that the man tried to touch him and that no other children should go there.’
Willie shook his head sorrowfully. Nick went very still and was grateful when she felt Gabe hold her hand. She squeezed his fingers and asked Willie to continue.
‘Now, a day later the man and his wife arrived with the Garda, claiming that your father had attacked him with a cast-iron skillet. Sure enough the man had a black eye and a cut on his forehead. Sister Bernard called me in as a witness – I was one of the few men on the island. And she told the Garda what Mikey had alleged. Oh, there was war. The man was fearful angry, accusing Mikey of being a liar, but it was his Christian duty to give the boy another chance. His wife just sat there, the colour of lard. Sister Bernard then told the Garda that if he didn’t escort the couple home immediately, she would take her own skillet and finish off Mikey’s handiwork! ’
‘What did the policeman, the Garda, do then?’ asked Nick. She hadn’t let go of Gabe’s hand and felt his strength holding her up.
‘Well, now. For all the problems that Ireland has had and the reputation we’ve gained for shaming mothers and abusing children, the fact is that most of us cared for those children as if they were our own. The Garda warned the couple that if he ever heard of them trying to adopt or foster a child anywhere, then he would charge them himself. Having first taken more than a skillet to them.’
‘Good,’ said Nick fervently. ‘So what happened to Da after that?’
‘Well, after that he refused point blank to go anywhere. He was a lovely boy and whilst he could be wild and would sometimes lead raids on the vegetable plots, he was kind at heart and great with the little ones. Eventually the nuns agreed that he should just stay on with them until he was old enough to leave. There were a couple of children like him that never got fostered, and they helped around the convent. Some left as soon as they were able to, others stayed on and eventually became the caretaker.’
He gave a small laugh. ‘There have been children on this island for many decades. I reckon I’ll be the last of them but it’s lovely to meet them when they return, or their children do.’
He passed Nick a biscuit, which she dunked into her tea and ate thoughtfully.
‘So he had a happyish childhood? ’
‘It wouldn’t have been perfect, and he missed his mother when he was little but yes, this was a kind enough place.’
‘Can I take a photo of this?’ said Nick, holding out the image. She wanted to take it with her, but these were Willie’s memories and the relatives of the other children in the photo may one day come calling. She took a copy using her phone and leaving the old man in peace, she and Gabe headed back to the archives. She had only gone a few steps when she turned and ran back to the cottage and knocked on the door. Willie opened it again and tilted his head and then seemed a little startled as Nick leant down and hugged him tightly.
‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice breaking.
‘Now then child, I’ve done nothing.’
‘Oh but you have. You loved my father and he felt that love.’ Tears were sliding down Nick’s face now as she wiped them angrily off her cheeks. ‘Do you know, when he came to England he changed his surname. He chose Byrne.’
Willie looked up at her. Tears welled up in his own eyes as he coughed and tried not to blink. Holding Nick’s hand he patted it with his old, calloused fingers and nodded his head a few times. For a few moments they stood in silence, and then he took a deep breath.
‘Well now.’ He smiled and nodded again and Nick smiled back, both incapable of speaking all the words that didn’t need saying. Finally, he released her hand and kissing him on the forehead she returned to Gabe.
‘How are you doing?’ asked Gabe. He held her hand and she found that she didn’t mind. She couldn’t trust her voice and shook her head as they walked back to the house. Eventually, happy that she was back under control she cleared her voice and gave him a quick smile.
‘It’s quite a lot to take in. I was looking for my grandmother, but I didn’t expect to discover so much about Da instead.’
‘It must be a shock but at least you are much closer to finding out who his mother was. If he came here, then the records should still be here as well.’
As they walked back into the archives a young man was seated behind the desk. Gabe explained that the Michael O’Callaghan they were looking for was actually once a resident on the island. After a quick phone conversation the man put down the receiver.
‘Mrs Devaney apologises she can’t come over as they are in the middle of sorting out solutions for the causeway. However, she did say I could break out the convent records. Given that you are a relative, your father has passed and as he wasn’t adopted we have no legal issues with privacy and confidentiality.’
It sounded like a speech that he had had to make many times. Adoption records were strictly embargoed – in fact, family research was in some ways a lot easier once everyone was dead. Searching the recent past was a minefield of privacy issues.
‘Come with me.’ Grabbing a set of keys he beckoned them to follow him, and they headed to the back of the building. When they got to the microfiche store they turned left instead of right, and the research assistant unlocked the door .
‘When you are finished let me know and I’ll lock up. You can take copies of anything you find but I’ll need to ensure you’ve only taken stuff directly relating to your da.’
Nodding in agreement, Nick and Gabe headed over to the shelves and pulled out the boxes up to five years after his birth. It didn’t take long looking through the ledgers before Nick found an entry that read: March 18th, Michael O’Callaghan, aged five. Mother Mary Margaret O’Callaghan.
And that was it. On the next shelf, Gabe found boxes with children’s names on them. Looking inside he could see that each box contained the details of a child’s time on the island. Closing it quickly he began to scour the shelf until he found Michael O’Callaghan and he brought it back to the table where Nick was still going through the convent records.
‘Letta, look. I think the nuns kept the details for each child.’
Lifting the lid, Nick pulled out annual education report cards: easily distracted , unwilling to apply himself . She laughed; she could be reading Clem’s report cards. Then there were details of many unsuccessful placements, each shorter than the last.
Finally at the bottom, the nuns had kept some of his work, poems and drawings. If nothing else told her this was her father as a teenager, the artwork did. Even as a young student his style and talent were undeniable. At the bottom were a few photos of him. As a child he’d glared at the camera but as he’d grown older, the glare had been replaced with a laugh and Nick was glad that her father had learnt some happiness.
‘I wonder why he left so abruptly? ’
‘A seventeen-year-old boy on an island full of nuns?’ asked Gabe. ‘I bet he couldn’t wait to go and explore.’
In spite of the solemnity of Nick’s findings her stomach gurgled. Gabe pointed out that she hadn’t stopped for lunch and it was now closer to dinner.
‘Why don’t you put this away for the day? It will still be here in the morning and now you have a new name to search for: Mary Margaret O’Callaghan.’
Overcome with tiredness, Nick nodded. Locking up the room they headed back over to the hotel.
Up in her room she had a quick shower to revive herself and then set up a group chat on her phone and shared the photos she had taken so far with her sisters. The next hour was a flurry of texts as the girls asked questions and offered advice. Eventually, with her stomach still rumbling, she popped Ohana in her crate and headed down to dinner.