Little Girl Lost (10 page)

When they had finished, they went to the ladies’ cloakroom, and Sylvie took the opportunity to have a quick peep at herself in the full-length mirror. She thought apprehensively that her waist was definitely thickening now. The baby had started moving recently and Caitlin had accompanied Sylvie to the Daisy Market, where they had bought a skirt with an elasticated waistband, and a large and comfortable smock, though naturally she could not wear either garment at work. The sales girls were expected to turn up in black skirts and white blouses and now, looking at her profile in the mirror, Sylvie realised that it would not be long before someone beside herself noticed her expanding figure. She had hoped that Miss O’Leary might allow her to continue to work whilst her condition was not obvious to customers, for her sales record was excellent and the counter high, but now she realised that this was most unlikely. With the weather worsening, Gloves and Haberdashery could well manage without her, but she was still determined to do her very best to please Miss O’Leary in every way possible.

Returning to Handkerchief Alley that night, fighting her way through what amounted to a blizzard, she wondered, not for the first time, how her small daughter was taking her absence. She had asked both her mother and her mother-in-law this question and had not received very satisfactory answers. Mrs Dugdale had replied, rather smugly, that she had no need to worry her head on Becky’s account. The child adored her grandparents and seemed not to miss Sylvie at all. She and Mr Dugdale had moved Becky’s cot into their room when they discovered that she did not like sleeping alone and now she seldom mentioned her mother, save to ask whether Sylvie would bring her a doll’s pram when she got back.
If you’ll send me the money I’ll buy a doll’s pram for you and you can give it to her when you come home
, Mrs Dugdale had written.
There’s a nice one, second-hand o’ course, in Paddy’s Market for half a crown. I’ll put it in the cellar until you gets back, so’s she won’t see it ahead of time, or you can pay me back later if you’d rather.

Mrs Davies’s letter on the same subject had seemed rather more cagey. Like her employer, she had said that Becky was perfectly happy and did not seem to miss her mother too much, though doubtless she would greet her return with joy.
But I’ll be glad when youse back
, her mother had written laboriously.
Becky’s getting pert and saucy; I can’t give her a smack, but you could. It’s hard on her, though. She don’t remember her da and she’s beginnin’ to forget you. We’ll all be a deal better when youse home.

By the time Sylvie reached Handkerchief Alley she must, she thought, look like a snowman. She was extremely cold; her fingers and toes were completely numb and as she shook the snow off herself and began to climb the rickety stairs she thought how nice it would be to sit down in front of the fire and be fussed over by Maeve. Caitlin was working late, otherwise the two girls would have walked home together. Maeve, however, was a good little soul and would probably already have the kettle on and a slice of bread impaled on a stick, so that Sylvie could enjoy tea and toast as well as the warmth of the fire.

As she entered the kitchen and began to struggle out of her wet coat, the baby kicked sharply, and despite herself Sylvie felt almost affectionate towards it. This was a rare emotion since the baby had been nothing but trouble and though she was grateful for the money Robbie sent, she resented her need of it. He had seduced her, and then simply walked out of her life leaving her with all the responsibility for the child they had made together. But when she felt the little chap kick out like that – she was sure it would be a boy from its vigorous movements – she could not help remembering how Len had wanted a son. Oh, he adored Becky, thought the sun shone out of her, but he had made it pretty plain that when they had another child he hoped it would be a boy. Well, this one was certainly a little feller, Sylvie told herself, but Len would have no claim on it, would never so much as see it.

‘Sit down, sit down, and get yourself as near the fire as you can without scorchin’,’ Maeve was saying as she took Sylvie’s soaking coat and hung it across the clothes horse. She clasped Sylvie’s hand in her own small paw and tutted. ‘You’re cold as death so you are! But as soon as the tea’s brewed you shall have a cup and a nice piece of toast wit’ butter on.’ She turned to Clodagh, sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug. ‘Clodagh, darlin’ child, will you toast a slice for poor Sylvie when you’ve done your own? She’s frozen cold and I dare say famished as well.’

Clodagh said placidly that Sylvie could have the piece now almost ready for spreading and Sylvie watched contentedly as Maeve limped round the room, pouring milk into a mug and adding tea from the big brown pot. She was beginning to warm up, and started to tell Maeve that Caitlin had popped into her department just before closing time to ask her to let them know at home that she would be late. ‘’Tis stocktaking,’ she said. ‘We had a grand month in Switzers. We nearly sold out of some lines so they want to re-order, but before they can do so they have to stocktake.’ Sylvie was just thinking how nice it was to feel warm when her chilblains decided to take a hand. As they thawed out the pain was dreadful, and Sylvie moaned.

‘What’s happenin’?’ Maeve asked, hurrying to her side. ‘Is you hurt, Sylvie?’

‘It’s me bleedin’ chilblains,’ Sylvie said, groaning. ‘Oh, why didn’t I remember how they hurt when they get warm? I shouldn’t have got so near the fire.’

‘You can’t stay cold all your life just to prevent your chilblains from hurtin’ you,’ Fergal said piously. ‘You should have sat at the back of the room until you thawed out.’ He was the easier of the twins to deal with, but now Sylvie glared at him.

‘Thank you so much, Mr Clever,’ she said, her tone heavy with sarcasm. ‘And wasn’t that the advice I was handin’ to meself, without any help from you? Besides, it’s too late. Oh, I’ll have to scratch, and scratchin’ makes chilblains much worse, everyone knows that.’

‘Hold my hand, Sylvie, then you won’t be able to scratch,’ little Grainne said at once, while Clodagh gave it as her opinion that no one could stop chilblains hurting, whether you scratched ’em or not. ‘Mammy says to dip your hands into the water bucket so’s they thaw out gradual.’

‘Into a jerry full of pee, you mean,’ Seamus said coarsely, though Sylvie knew that it was a cure much valued in the area. He leaned across and took the pointed stick from his sister. ‘Can I have the next slice of toast, Maeve me darlin’?’

By the time March came in and the market women were selling little bunches of snowdrops, Sylvie’s secret was out, at least as far as the O’Keefe children were concerned. On her way to get the messages with Maeve, with all the children accompanying them, Sylvie had slipped on a wet step and fallen. It had not been a bad fall and she was scrambling to her feet when Maeve, rushing to help her up, had said anxiously: ‘Are you hurt, alanna? Is the baby all right?’

‘What baby?’ Clodagh had said suspiciously, and of course Sylvie had had to come clean, though she had not told anyone that the baby was not Len’s. The children appeared to accept the fact that Sylvie had come to stay with them so that she might be looked after while her husband was in prison.

Shortly after this, Miss O’Leary had suddenly noticed that her newest employee was in the family way. She had been in the staff room, finishing off her lunch with an apple, when the head sales lady had asked her to pass her down a register of employees kept on a high shelf. Sylvie had reached up . . . and Miss O’Leary had suddenly given a sort of strangled gasp.

‘Miss Dugdale, I believe you have something to tell me,’ she had said, in her most icy and repressive accents, and Sylvie had known that the game was up.

‘Yes, Miss O’Leary, I’m expecting a child,’ she had admitted, trying not to sound ashamed, for although she was known as Miss Dugdale in the store everyone knew that she was married, and there was nothing disgraceful in a married woman’s giving birth to a child, she told herself defiantly. Miss O’Leary was a silly old maid, but surely even she could not pretend to be shocked over such a natural occurrence?

Miss O’Leary, however, had thought otherwise. ‘You must have known that you were in the family way when you took the job,’ she had said crossly, when she ordered Sylvie to accompany her to the office and was sorting out her cards. ‘I’ve wasted valuable time and effort on training you to be a useful member of the department, and this is how you repay me! Well, I don’t imagine you will expect a reference, not after the way you’ve behaved.’

‘But Miss O’Leary, I simply have to work,’ Sylvie had said pleadingly. ‘If you won’t give me a reference and I can’t get a job, how can I manage?’

‘That’s not my problem, Miss Dugdale,’ Miss O’Leary had said primly. ‘And now I begin to wonder whether you really are married, or whether you came to Ireland when you found you were in a – a difficult situation. Because of the shame, you know.’

Sylvie had sighed and shrugged, letting her shoulders droop. ‘I can show you my marriage lines, Miss O’Leary,’ she had said quietly. ‘But if you are determined not to give me a reference, then there’s no point.’

Miss O’Leary, looking a trifle harassed, had handed Sylvie her cards. ‘You’ll have to collect your money at the end of the week, and to tell you the truth, Miss Dugdale, the only places who will employ a woman in your condition won’t be looking for references,’ she had said, and her voice had been a good deal kinder. ‘I know it’s hard, but after the baby’s born – I take it the cousin with whom you are living will give an eye to it? – then you can come back to me again. If I’ve not managed to find someone suitable – and I might not, because the next couple of months are by no means our busiest, and I shan’t be in a hurry to take someone on – then I might consider taking you back.’

Sylvie had thanked her humbly, if a trifle guiltily, left by the end of the week, and found work in a large laundry on Marrowbone Lane. She came home after her first day completely exhausted, hardly knowing how to drag herself up the three creaking flights of stairs. Reaching the kitchen, where Caitlin was bustling about laying the table and putting the finishing touches to the meal they would presently eat, she flopped into a chair and gave an enormous heartfelt groan. Caitlin looked round and then, without comment, poured Sylvie a large mug of tea. ‘You poor little t’ing,’ she said kindly. ‘I worked in that laundry when I were carryin’ Clodagh and I swore I’d never do it again. But I reckon after a few days you’ll get into the swing of things. I did, at any rate.’

Poor Sylvie gazed at her friend with lacklustre eyes. ‘The weight of wet sheets when you’re carting them from the rinsing water to the mangle,’ she said hollowly. ‘And then hanging them out on the lines and heaving the prop across. And there’s water everywhere, and steam pourin’ out of the coppers so’s every inch of skin is all slippery. I were wringin’ wet in ten minutes and I stayed wet all day. Oh, Caitlin, if only Miss O’Leary had took me on as a cleaner!’

‘Yes, but they’ve always got folk eager to take a cleaner’s place, and so far as I know there’s no vacancies in that line,’ Caitlin assured her. ‘You could look for cleanin’ work in a private house, but the money’s just terrible and at least the laundry pay’s fair, so you’d best stick to it, alanna.’ She smiled encouragingly at the other girl. ‘Tell you what, you’ll be a good deal keener to go back to Liverpool when you’re leaving the laundry than you would have been over leaving Switzers.’

Sylvie had never told Caitlin how she missed Liverpool and her old home and comfortable life, because it would have been both rude and ungrateful, but she felt a real pang of longing for a whole roof over her head and a hot meal on the table which she had not helped to prepare. However, she could scarcely say so. Instead, she laughed and said that no doubt Caitlin was right. Laundry work must become easier as one grew accustomed, and anyway, once the baby was born, she would be returning to Liverpool and would, no doubt, get her old job at Lewis’s back. ‘And now that I’ve got experience as a sales lady I can apply for a better job when I get home,’ she added. ‘I’m grateful to Miss O’Leary for that, at least.’

Caitlin agreed that this was true and presently Pat came breezing in and they assembled round the table to begin the meal. Rather to Sylvie’s surprise, her aches and pains grew less as she moved round the room after supper, clearing the table and washing the crocks. In bed that night, however, her mind returned to the problem of what she should do after the baby was born. She had told her in-laws that the job in Ireland would last about six months, so the baby should be a few weeks old before she crossed the sea once more. She meant to wean the child before she left, then to offer it for adoption, but Caitlin had once said, with surprising firmness, that she should wait at least six weeks after the birth before returning home.

‘They won’t take a baby away from its mammy until it’s six weeks old, I’ve heard, so you may have to stay a wee while longer, alanna.’

So now Sylvie helped to lay the table for next morning’s breakfast, played a guessing game with the children and told Grainne and Colm a story, then made her way to bed. Snuggling down beneath her thin blankets and thanking her stars that it was not raining, she decided that there was no point in worrying over the hard work in the laundry or, for that matter, her return home after the baby’s birth. She had never been a worrier, had inherited her mother’s calm and placid temperament, and, telling herself that fretting would only make matters worse, she settled down to sleep. So far something, or someone, had always turned up in the nick of time to solve her problems for her. Think of how providentially Brendan had come into her life! And then the job at Switzers, which had been so perfect for her, had come vacant within two days of her arriving at Handkerchief Alley. She could think of a dozen occasions upon which she had been rescued from some scrape or other by the intervention of fate, and it would happen again.