Daughter of Mine (42 page)

How Lizzie wanted to welcome her children and hold them in her arms, listen to their lively chatter. And yet…What if the raids were to continue? What if Johnnie was to bring them back to the thing she’d taken them to Ireland to escape from?

Celia agreed with her that to come home now wasn’t sensible, and so did Violet. ‘It could start up again any day,’ she said.

Lizzie knew well that it could. It was the hardest letter she’d ever had to write, telling Johnnie to stay where he was with the children for the time being.

If there are no raids between now and, say, Christmas, then it should be all right. So, much as it breaks my heart to say it, for safety’s sake, bide a wee while longer in Ireland.

The summer sped by. Most women took all overtime going, and there was plenty, and the days slid one into another. Scott came most weekends and he and Lizzie often took Georgia out, especially if the day was fine and warm. Lizzie had coped with her embarrassment of being seen with a black man and held her head high as they walked.

Scott, she found, was good company, fun to be with, and how she needed a bit of fun and laughter in her life, which often seemed steeped in work, work and more work. Then, one day in late September, Scott came over to see Lizzie on a Friday night. ‘We might
be moving out in the next few days and so I might not get over again,’ he said in explanation.

‘Oh.’ Lizzie was surprised how disappointed she was, for Scott had become such a regular visitor and for some weeks now. ‘Where are you bound for?’

‘They don’t tell us that, Lizzie,’ Scott said with a smile. ‘But most of us think it’s somewhere in the Pacific. We know the Japs are meeting little resistance in the Philippines, and then the US troops have captured an airfield on the island of Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands, so maybe we’re being sent to reinforce that.’ He shrugged. ‘No one knows for sure.’

What Lizzie did know for sure was that whatever Scott was off to do, it would be dangerous, and she felt her stomach tighten with fear for him. ‘Be careful, won’t you. Don’t try to be a hero?’

‘I’ll be as careful as anyone can be in a war situation,’ Scott said. ‘But I haven’t come to talk about me, but you and Georgia.’

Celia made the inevitable tea and Scott took a gulp of it, before saying, ‘The whole family feels somewhat responsible because of what happened to you.’

‘There’s no need,’ Lizzie answered shortly. ‘The incident happened and Georgia was the result. I wouldn’t be without her for the world, and it isn’t your fault or your family’s. There is nothing to be gained by going on and on about it.’

‘I agree,’ Scott said. ‘But the family worry about how you will manage financially. They want to make you a monthly allowance.’

‘No.’

‘It’s to help you.’

‘Thank you, but the answer is still no.’

‘But why?’

‘Look, Scott, I don’t want you to be offended, but I don’t want any of your family to have a stake in this child?’

‘They want to help, that’s all.’

‘Aye,’ Lizzie said. ‘And what if, later, maybe when this damned war is over, they decide that they could give Georgia a better life and try and take her away from me. Your mother is Georgia’s grandmother whether I like it or not. What clout would I have against her if she decided to fight for custody of Georgia through the American courts?’

Celia knew exactly where Lizzie was coming from, but Scott hastened to reassure her. ‘That’s far from my mother’s mind, Lizzie. This was only suggested to help out, a salve for her conscience I suppose, but she has no intention of trying to take your child away from you.’

‘That’s what she says now, but if I accept money from her I am allowing her some level of influence.’

Scott saw that Lizzie was really seriously worried about this and so he dropped it, because it wasn’t as if he could guarantee he’d be around to see fair play. He knew he was going to no Sunday School picnic, and in a way Lizzie was right about the money too. What if his mother had a yen to see the child—Matt’s child? God, if they saw the house she was being raised in, they could make a good case for providing a better home for their granddaughter, and he knew it.

But he had to admit that the house wasn’t half so important as the love Lizzie and Celia had for Georgia.
Lizzie hadn’t the slightest resentment for the child and she was a wonderful mother. It was criminal that she should be separated from her own children and so he changed the subject. ‘Have you thought of having your own children back home now?’

‘Aye,’ Lizzie said with a sigh. ‘It’s what I long for and dream about at night, and Johnnie was to bring them for a wee holiday in August, but in July we had those two raids and I wasn’t sure if the blitz was starting again.’ She looked at Scott and went on, ‘You’ve no idea of the severity of the raids here in October, November and December of 1940 and other raids into the spring of 1941. I took the children home to Mammy to keep them safe. I couldn’t risk them coming back and something happening to them.’

‘Well, nothing has happened for a few months, so what now?’

‘If we’re raid-free by December, Johnnie is bringing them home here for Christmas.’ She bit on her lip in agitation and went on, ‘I don’t know how to explain Georgia to them.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘They are no longer babies, Scott. Niamh is eight and Tom going on for six. They’ll know the child isn’t Steve’s. There is no way on earth I am going to tell them about that God-awful rape, but I’d not want them to think that I…well, you know.’

Scott knew full well and saw at once the dilemma Lizzie was in. The solution, when it came, was an obvious one. ‘Tell them the child is mine.’

‘Yours?’

‘Aye, say you were friendly with my wife, who was
killed in an air raid, and you agreed to look after the child for me.’

‘I couldn’t.’

‘Course you could. I wouldn’t mind,’ Scott said. ‘Anyway, what’s the alternative?’

Lizzie couldn’t think of one. The problem of what to tell the children had driven sleep from her mind on a number of occasions. But still she hesitated.

‘It can’t hurt for now,’ Celia put in.

‘But what about after the war, when you go back home, Scott?’

‘At the moment, that’s like saying when the sun stops shining. God knows how long this war will go on for, and circumstances could change by then anyway. Let’s not cross bridges till we come to them, and telling your children I am Georgia’s father and serving overseas will fit the bill nicely.’

Lizzie turned to Celia. ‘What d’you think?’

‘I think it’s just perfect,’ she said.

Lizzie nodded. She could see it working. They would accept such a story, and Scott was right, it would do for now. ‘Okay,’ she said to Scott, ‘and thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ Scott said. ‘It’s the very least I can do. And take my advice, Lizzie, go back to Ireland yourself and bring back the children. Make peace with your parents and your family soon, while they still remember the letter I sent them.’

‘I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t take Georgia, it would shame them too much and not help my case any.’

‘I would look after Georgia,’ Celia said. ‘You don’t have to ask, and Scott is right again. You are in a much better position than I am. Haven’t you a champion like
Johnnie in your camp, and your cousin that you told me about? You’ve not done a damn thing to blame yourself for. Go home yourself and bring the children home for Christmas.’

Lizzie looked from one to the other. ‘I will,’ she said. ‘Aye, by God I will. I’ll write to Johnnie this evening and suggest it.’

Lizzie worried about Scott more than she thought she would and wrote to him every week, something she’d promised him she would do, but his replies were erratic. In his first letter he included ten American-dollar notes, and when she remonstrated with him he said that if Georgia really was his daughter he would send money home. Wouldn’t the children, Niamh especially, wonder if she received no payment at all? Surely it would make the whole thing more believable?

‘I hate admitting he’s right all the time,’ Lizzie said.

‘Then don’t,’ Celia suggested. ‘Just accept the money with good grace.’

‘There’s nothing else for it, I suppose,’ Lizzie said. But the reference to her children had turned her mind back to the goal she had, to have them with her for Christmas. Johnnie had been put fully in the picture, but in her letters home she told him to say nothing to the children.

Although she desperately wanted to see Niamh and Tom she hated the thought of leaving Georgia behind. She was adorable, and having passed the crawling stage by her first birthday she was now not so much walking as taking life at a run. Hastily, gates were erected at the top of the cellar steps and the door to
the stairs was kept firmly closed, for Georgia could be whippet-quick when she chose to be. But it was hard to be cross with the child. Her smile would melt a heart of stone and her chuckles were infectious, and Lizzie knew she’d charm the children to bits. But the children knew nothing about Georgia either—she too was to be a surprise.

By the time November was drawing to a close, Lizzie knew she had to make a decision about her journey to Ireland. ‘I want to be there a few days before the Christmas holidays,’ she told Celia. ‘There’s things I have to say to the priest that’s not for children’s ears.’

Lizzie had never been as shocked as the day she stood at the farmhouse door and stared across the kitchen at the two children huddled before the fire. Because the day was raw and bleak, Johnnie had decided not to take the children with him to meet Lizzie, but to let the meeting take place indoors.

Lizzie had wanted to surprise them, but she was the one surprised—or, rather, shocked. They turned as Johnnie came in and Lizzie wondered where her robust, healthy children had gone, for these two were pastyfaced. Their eyes, which had been almost lifeless, held a spark of excitement as they viewed their mother across the room.

‘Mammy!’ The word was almost breathed, but neither ran across the room as they once would have done, but approached her slowly, almost as if they couldn’t believe it.

Catherine turned from laying the table and felt tears
prick her eyes as she saw the children fall against their mother with a sigh. Lizzie felt the bones of them as she held them close and their thin arms and legs reminded her of the poor children of the destitute and unemployed in Birmingham.

Over the children’s heads, her eyes sought first her mother’s and then Johnnie’s as he stood in the doorway, the cases in his hand, and her eyes were questioning. What had happened to her two children? Had they been ill and she hadn’t been told? By God, she thought, there would be some questions for her family to answer tonight when the children were in bed.

‘Ah, Mammy,’ Niamh said. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Well, that’s nice,’ Lizzie answered. ‘Didn’t you want me to come over to see you and take you back with me for Christmas?’

‘Back?’ Tom asked. ‘Back home, you mean?’

‘Aye,’ Lizzie said.

‘Oh, Mammy, that would be grand,’ Niamh cried. ‘Wouldn’t it, Tom?’

Tom nodded but didn’t speak, and Lizzie saw the tears seeping from his eyes. The one thing he’d hoped and prayed for since his grandmother had told him his Daddy was dead had happened at last. His mother was here, holding him close, and he knew he didn’t want her to go away again without him.

‘What in God’s name happened to them?’ Lizzie asked that night as she sat before the fire with her parents and Johnnie after putting the children to bed. ‘Have they been ill?’

‘Yes,’ Johnnie said, before Catherine could dismiss
Lizzie’s concern. ‘Not any sort of illness you could put your finger on, not like a dose of flu you would recover from. More a sort of pining away.’

‘Pining away?’

‘They missed you,’ Johnnie said shortly. ‘And it got worse when they were told of Steve’s death.’

‘They’re so thin.’

‘Aye,’ Johnnie agreed. ‘That dinner they tucked into with relish…well, I’ve not seen them eat like that for months. Have you, Mammy?’

‘No,’ Catherine replied with a sigh. ‘They’re usually good eaters, and you know there’s no shortage of food here, but for months now they’ve just picked at their food.’

‘You should have told me.’

‘What could you have done? You wouldn’t have them come home in the summer.’

‘How could I risk it?’ Lizzie asked. ‘We were all fearful of the blitz beginning again. I couldn’t bear it if anything had happened to them.’

‘I know,’ Catherine said soothingly, ‘I’m not blaming you—and I haven’t had a chance to say this before, but I’m sorry, Lizzie, that I disbelieved you, and sorry I sent you to that place. Johnnie described it to us both.’

‘Aye,’ Seamus said. ‘We were so burdened down with shame we didn’t listen to the whys or wherefores.’

‘Maybe if Father Brady hadn’t been so…’

‘You can’t blame him totally,’ Seamus said. ‘What he said might have had some bearing on the way we thought, and with the speed he moved you from the house we weren’t able to discuss options—if there were
any. Still, we must shoulder the blame, for we agreed to it.’

‘And then you went on to keep the child,’ Catherine said.

‘Aye, Mammy.’

‘Johnnie explained why you did that,’ Catherine continued.

‘Ah, Mammy, you wouldn’t blame me if you could see her, for she’s beautiful, Lizzie said. ‘Thirteen months old now, and cute as a button and full of fun and mischief.’

Catherine saw in Lizzie’s eyes and heard in her voice how she loved the child begot in such violence. ‘What will you tell Niamh and Tom?’

‘That she is Scott’s baby,’ Lizzie said. ‘Scott is agreeable to it. We’ll say his wife has been killed in one of the air raids and I’m minding her for him. I could hardly tell them about the rape, could I? And I wouldn’t like them to think of me as a bad person.’

‘What of the neighbours?’

‘Well, the women down the yard have always believed my version of events. They saw me after I was attacked. Some of the others who once abused and spat at me have stopped now the truth has come out.’

‘You know,’ Catherine said, ‘you’ll never know of the nights I tossed and turned after sending you to that place. And to think it all began with Steve. It’s hard to credit. When you were in hospital that time, the man was golden, all the nurses spoke of it. I would have said he worshipped the ground you walked on.’