The First Time I Said Goodbye (17 page)

“Well, I’ll hardly be dead. Sure I’ll be with David and his mammy will look after me. I will write and David said we can even come back on holiday. I don’t understand why she’s getting so upset.”

Stella sat still on the bed, wondering if Molly wanted some words of reassurance. She was sure David did love her, but she did feel a pang of emotion for Molly’s mother who she had noticed when she arrived, trying a little too hard to smile.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Dolores said. “Sure you were bound to leave home sometime. And David is a good man. Better than some of the men from around here anyway. Sure why wouldn’t she want you to have the very best of everything? I know what I would choose if I could! A life in America – the land of opportunity? Or another few years standing behind the smoothers before getting married to some eejit and raising a load of wains? God forbid!”

She said it with a laugh and Molly joined in before the two of them looked at Stella, seeking some sort of reassurance from her, she imagined.

“Sure you’ll be off yourself if you continue doing such a strong line with Ray,” Molly said. “I can loan you this dress – well, technically, it’s not mine. It’s Marie Moore’s but she said people might as well get the wear out of it now that her day is done. She’ll not wear it again. And Ray is from somewhere near Boston, isn’t he? We could meet up! It would be great.”

* * *

Despite her bluff or blunder Molly cried the day she left the factory. Stella and Dolores, and a few of the other girls, went to the chapel on the morning of her wedding to see her off. It was not long gone nine when Molly arrived, looking pale in
her beautiful lace gown. She smiled – grinning at the girls as she hooked arms with her father and carried the bouquet, which seemed almost as big as she was, into the church while her mother, face fixed in a stare, followed behind.

“Her mammy looks disgusted,” one of the factory girls whispered.

“I imagine she’ll miss her,” another said. “It’s not like she’s only moving up to the Creggan or somewhere. It’s across a bloody ocean!”

“But she’s in love. She’ll be happy. I tell you this, if someone gave me the chance to go to the States instead of staying here, I’d be off like a shot.”

Stella stood and listened. Even though it wasn’t she who was marching up the aisle, there seemed a sort of finality about it. “I’m sure it will all work out,” she said, finding her voice, before wrapping her coat around her and turning to walk back down Bishop Street with Dolores and on to Battisti’s for a cup of tea. She was to meet Ray later – and she was sure that the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach would disappear the minute she laid eyes on him. When she was with him everything seemed simple.

“Molly seems very happy,” Dolores said as they walked. “She seems on cloud nine.”

“She does,” Stella conceded, thinking how Ray made her feel on cloud nine when she was with him. They existed in a bubble together and, well, being with him, if they stayed together – and she so desperately wanted them to stay together – was never going to be easy. She had always known that.

Chapter 15

I thought I had lost you once before – now I know I have and I don’t know how I will pick myself up again.

* * *

Derry, December 1959

Christmas was coming. There was a hint of something special in the air as November nudged into December. He vowed to get some holly to hang on the door of the flat and she vowed to get some mistletoe.

The talk by and large, though, was of the Christmas ball in the City Hotel. All the marines at the Base would be going and, by the sound of it, most of them would be bringing a local girl on their arm. Stella was almost dizzy with excitement. She had never been inside the City Hotel – but she had heard of its grandness, the plush carpets, the polished silverware, the sparkling chandeliers. She would walk past it sometimes – peeking in the windows at how the other half lived, wondering if she would ever walk under the awning and in through the doors. She didn’t have to stay there. She’d settle for afternoon tea, or, if she was feeling daring, a glass of champagne in the bar. She imagined herself dressed in the best finery Austins had to offer with her good coat on (imagine having more than one coat!) and her best leather shoes, inhaling deeply through a cigarette-holder as she threw her head back and laughed.

When Ray had told her of the ball – and told her that just like Cinderella she would be going – she almost jumped to her feet with excitement.

“Really? Me? In the City Hotel? Will it be terribly posh? Will there be dancing? Will you dance with me? Oh, I should set my hair beforehand – I might go to the hairdresser’s and not just let Dolores loose with the curlers!” She had felt as if her heart would burst with excitement.

Looking at Ray she saw him smile softly back at her. She felt suddenly embarrassed – what kind of yokel was she showing herself to be? Getting all excited at the thought of a dinner dance in a hotel! She settled herself and straightened up on the chair. “Thank you for asking, Ray,” she said calmly. “I’m sure it will be very nice.”

He started to laugh, a deep throaty laugh.

It disconcerted her and she felt herself flush. “Why are you laughing?” she asked, crossing her arms across her chest – just as she had seen her own mother do a hundred times when cross.

“I’m just laughing because, Stella Hegarty, you make my heart sing! It’s okay to be excited about going to the hotel. It will make a great change of scenery from the Base, and from here even,” he said, gesturing around him. “I’m going to take you out in front of all the men and all the women and show you off. You think you’re the only one excited? Aren’t I going with the most beautiful girl in Derry?”

She felt her embarrassment fade, her anger dissipate as quickly as it had risen. She should have known by now she could be herself with Ray – over-excitement at the prospect of a big night out and all – and he wouldn’t mind one bit.

“You say the nicest things,” she said, kissing him softly on the forehead.

“I’ve one more nice thing to say,” he replied, reaching behind him and handing her an envelope.

Confused, she looked at him and back at the brown manila in her hand. “What’s this?”

“Open it and see,” he said, pulling back from her and sitting up straighter.

Gingerly she tore at the paper and opened it to see a fifty-dollar note fall out.

“That should be enough to get you something special to wear,” he said. “And to get you a fancy hair appointment – but, Stella, you could show up in a potato sack and you would still be my Stella. And I’d still be proud to show you off.”

She looked at the money – more than she could have imagined without selling all her worldly goods, or saving up for months and months in the clothes club at the factory. Her mind drifted to the gowns she had seen in the window of Moore’s and her heart thudded. She would feel like a princess and look like a princess.

“I can’t,” she stuttered, pushing the envelope back to him. “I can’t afford to match a present like this. Sure I’ll borrow a dress from one of my girlfriends . . . I’ll be fine.”

“Stella, it’s almost Christmas. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be stationed here. I don’t know how long they will see the need to have a base in Ireland. Let’s just make it a perfect Christmas.”

“You’ll come to Christmas dinner?” she stuttered. “You won’t be alone at the Base?”

“If they let me have leave,” he said, closing her hands around the envelope. “Stella, I just want to make it special – selfishly, for me as well as you, if that makes it any easier to take the money. I just want to give you something. Lord knows, this place isn’t up to much. I’ve long told you I want to give you the world. This is just me giving you a tiny piece of it to be getting on with.”

* * *

Lying in bed that night, huddled close to Dolores for warmth, Stella thought of how magical Christmas would be. She couldn’t sleep thinking of it, and thinking of the money in her bag. She could have her pick of the gowns from Moore’s and maybe even a pair of good dancing shoes as well. If she was lucky there would be something left to hand into the house, although her mother had told her she would do no such thing.

“It’s yours fair and square, pet,” Kathleen Hegarty had said when her daughter walked through the door that night and showed her the present Ray had pressed into her hand. “If that young man of yours wants to treat you right, then who am I to stop him?” She was stoking the fire as Stella made them both a cup of tea.

“I think I might love him, Mammy,” Stella said, even though she knew there was no ‘might’ about it. She did love him and she had told him so many times. Sometimes, she thought, when she was with him it was the only thought that seemed to clarify in her head. She would blurt it out when they were doing the silliest things – just walking, just talking about work, just sharing a cup of tea.

“Has he told you he loves you too?” her mother asked.

“Yes, Mammy, he has. He says he wants to give me the world.”

She had noticed a short pause in her mother’s raking of the fire before she resumed her task, trying to eek out the last hint of warmth from the fading embers.

“My darling Stella, you so deserve it – and more. Let him give you the world, but be careful that world isn’t too much to handle.”

Stella wasn’t quite sure what her mother meant but she saw a certain sadness in her eyes, the same sadness she had seen in Molly’s mother’s eyes on the morning of her wedding.

“Mammy, do you think I’m being terribly foolish?” she took the poker from her mammy and continued with the work on the fire.

“Love is never foolish,” her mother said. “He seems like a decent sort, and you don’t walk away from decent sorts. You cherish them. I’m always going to have mixed feelings, pet. You are my girl. I love you with every breath in my body and it’s not always easy for a mammy to see her children grow and move on in the world. But if he makes you happy then hang on to it with both hands.”

Her mother’s voice was gentle – soft and lilting. There was a melancholy to her tone that made Stella want to cry.

She placed the poker back by the hearth and sat down beside her mother, resting her head on her lap in the way she had done so many times as a child. She felt her mother instinctively start to stroke her hair.

“I love you, Mammy,” she said. “I don’t say that enough but I really do.”

“I love you too, pet,” her mammy replied and they sat there in companionable silence until the last ember had turned black and the room had cooled.

“Bedtime,” her mother said softly, and Stella nodded before taking herself upstairs, changing and climbing into bed, dreaming of shopping for dresses and of being the belle of the ball.

* * *

Derry, June 2010

The evening with my mother was mostly made up of awkward silences, idle snippets of chit-chat which ended almost as soon as they started. I was almost dizzy with relief when the waiter offered us our bill, and I paid up and swallowed my complimentary after-dinner mint in record time. We waited for a taxi – me with the little bundle of letters in my hand, my mother staring out across the Peace Bridge, which now joined both sides of the city together.

“I have so many memories,” she said as the taxi pulled up. “Not all of them are good, you know. I didn’t always get things right. I may well still be getting things wrong now, but I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

She didn’t look at me as she spoke. For a moment or two I wondered if she was talking to herself. I opened the door of the taxi for her and kissed her on the cheek before climbing into the front seat myself and listing off both Dolores’ and Sam’s addresses.

“Ah, Yanks,” the taxi driver chirped. “We’ve a lot of Yanks about at the moment. Most of them come in those tours though – you know, roll in on a big coach and leave a couple of days later after trailing round the Walls. You’re not that kind? Or are you here for the big Base Reunion? Lots of marines and their families about these days. I’m not knocking it – sure it’s keeping me busy.”

“No, we’re visiting family,” I offered, blushing, and I could feel my mother tense a little bit.

“I’m from here,” my mother said, her accent softer with those stronger strains of Derry coming through. “Haven’t been back in years . . . a lifetime really.”

“A marine take you away from here?” the taxi driver, who I reckoned to be in his late fifties, asked. “You one of those GI brides I’ve been reading about in the
Derry Journal
?”

I glanced at my mother who had her eyes fixed straight ahead. “Something like that,” she offered. “Something like that.”

Sam wasn’t home when I got back. So I walked into his kitchen and did exactly what he had told me to do when I first arrived – I set about making myself feel at home. I kicked off my shoes and opened his fridge to find a bottle of Pinot Grigio cooling. I had barely managed to force down a glass of wine at the restaurant and now I was feeling a little thirsty. I searched through his cupboards until I found the wineglasses and took one out, pouring a generous glass. I picked it up, and my bag, and walked through to my room where I sat on the bed and looked at the letters in
front of me.

I always admired my mother’s handwriting and here it was before me on the front of ten letters. Each with his name and address neatly written and her own return address, with her maiden name clearly printed, on the back. The paper was yellowed and thin. I was almost afraid to open them and read what they contained. I wished Sam was here – but then I couldn’t expect him, the man I hadn’t even known a few nights ago, to baby-sit me. That was ridiculous. I was a grown woman and the letters, while they might fill me in on the back story, were unlikely to tell me anything I didn’t already know. Not the big stuff – like how my mother loved a man before she loved my father and how she had never really gotten over him. I sipped from my glass. If Craig were to disappear off the face of the planet that very second would I spend the next fifty years longing for closure? Pushing that thought away, because I didn’t want to consider what the answer might be, I took another sip of wine and opened the first envelope, pulling out two sheets of crisp paper – my mother’s neat handwriting filling them both.