The First Time I Said Goodbye (35 page)

“But you had to do it?”

“I did.” She sat her teacup down and took a deep breath. “I never in a million years could have imagined what happened that day. In hindsight I was foolish, but it had just never crossed my mind.”

Chapter 31

Boston, October 1962

Autumn in New England was stunning. The leaves fell in a cavalcade of rustic colours, covering everything they could before being whipped by gentle breezes into gutters and gullies. The rain fell hard, but it still had a hint of warmth about it so that a walk in the rain remained something pleasurable, even with two unruly children who still thought it was fun to play tricks on the nanny. How Stella longed for home and the familiarity of Seán’s smile! He could be a wee devil of course but when she told him to behave he would do as he was told – unlike Laura and George, who would stick their tongues out and go on with whatever devilment they had been up to. After a particularly trying week in which Laura had developed a dose of chicken pox and was, as a result, even more huffy than usual, Stella had been almost delirious to get off two days in a row. Her earlier fears about tracking down Ray had dissipated in a final flurry on the day Laura had thrown up on her three times and blamed Stella herself for standing in the way. Nothing in life could be as scary as life with a precocious eight-year-old.

Thankfully Mrs O’Donnell was all too well aware of how challenging her children could be – and had frequently thanked Stella for her efforts. “I know they’re lively,” she had said nervously over her cup of tea. “But with you it seems to be a little more contained.”

Stella had nodded and tried not to think about what it was like before she was on the scene.

However, feeling a debt of gratitude to the young nanny, Mrs O’Donnell had granted her request for two days off together and had dropped her at the bus station that morning without asking too much about where she was going. Stella had simply said she was going to visit an old friend – one she had known in Derry – and allowed her boss to believe it must be a GI bride or similar.

For the two-hour bus journey all she could think of was how he would look, what she would say and if it would work out. She played out every imaginable – or so she thought – scenario in her head. She tried to be positive, to think of home. To be strong. She tried, though her hands were shaking, to tell herself that she had not made up the time they had together – that she was not looking at it through rose-tinted spectacles. That it was okay – that it would be okay. That no matter what life had thrown at them they had been so madly in love. She touched the brooch he had given her gently on her lapel and closed her eyes as the bus juddered along the city streets. She had come this far and she could not go back now.

* * *

The street was just how she had imagined it when he had spoken of it. Tree-lined. Large lawns, now covered with a carpet of orange, gold and brown leaves. An elderly man was raking the leaves and stopped to tip his cap to her and smile and she smiled back, wondering about the futility of his actions. Sure ten minutes from now his lawn would be covered again.

The houses were perfect little boxes, with steps and porches, swing doors and screens. Almost every porch nursed a swing-seat or deck-chairs – even now in the cooler weather. She imagined you could fit two or three of the houses in her street back home into every house on this street. A few lawns had American flags flying by the mail boxes. It was the picture of perfect suburbia and she wondered how her life would have been had she moved here and married Ray the previous year. Would she know the name of the man now raking his lawn? Would she know which kid on the street had left their bike at the end of the driveway? Would she be at home in their basement flat making Ray’s lunch waiting for him to come home from work? Would she have been pregnant perhaps? She put her hand to her stomach. She could have had a baby just like Dolores, who had given birth in June to a downy-haired baby girl. Leaving her niece had been hard – but then the arrival of Baby Bernadette had seemed to give Kathleen a whole new lease of life. It had made her own parting a little easier to bear – although there had been one moment when she wondered if her mother would ever let her go.

There was little point, she thought, as she walked on looking for the number of the house where he lived. She hoped he would be in – or someone would be in. She hoped he was close by. Wouldn’t it just be wonderful if he could sense that she were here – if he could feel it?

Legs trembling, her breath unsteady, she reached his house – painted a pale blue with white sash windows, a small picket fence running along outside. The garden was perfectly tended, a pick-up truck sat in the drive. A window, perhaps the living room, was open and she could hear music drifting through it. She steadied herself, walked up the path and knocked at the door, stepping back and waiting – hoping – to see who would answer.

A woman appeared at the door – tall, dark hair pulled back loosely off her face. She looked, perhaps, to be around the same age as Kathleen but better presented. Like her life hadn’t been so tough. She wore make-up and neat court shoes although she was wearing her apron and her hands were dusted with flour.

“Mrs Cooper?” Stella hazarded a guess.

The woman eyed her suspiciously, looking up and down.

“My dear, thank you for your troubles but we are not buying today.”

“No, sorry. You misunderstand me. Mrs Cooper? I’m looking for your son Ray. May I speak with him, please?”

The suspicious gaze grew even more intense. Stella imagined it was because her accent was no doubt giving her away.

“And who would you be to want to speak to my son?”

“Mrs Cooper, I’m a friend of his from Ireland – Stella Hegarty. Perhaps he spoke of me?” she offered, knowing full well that when they were courting Ray had spoken to his mother often about her. She wondered would her polite introduction entice Mrs Cooper to welcome her with open arms.

“You’ve come a long way, my dear,” Mrs Cooper said, taking not one step back to invite Stella across her doorway.

“I’ve been working for a family in Beacon Hill, nannying. I just thought . . . well, I just wanted to see Ray. I’ve come out today . . .”

“Well, my dear, it seems you have it all planned out. But I’m afraid you’ve had quite the wasted journey. Ray isn’t here. He’s at work.” Her tone was sharp – unwelcoming.

“Would you know when he might be back? I don’t mind waiting.”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know when he might be back and I really don’t think it would be appropriate for you to wait for him.”

“But I just needed to talk to him – wanted to explain . . .”

“I think you explained enough,” Mrs Cooper said sharply, stepping back as if to close the door. “As I’ve said, it would not be appropriate for you to wait. I don’t know when he will be finished work but I do know that when he is finished he won’t be coming back here. He’ll be going to his own home. To his wife. I would ask you, if you care even one jot for him – and I doubt very much after how you treated him that you do – then you leave him, leave them, be. Ray is happy now – he does not need you walking back into his life, following him like some Little Girl Lost, using him for a permanent visa or whatever else you have in mind, destroying his life for a second time. Now, if
you will excuse me, I have a cake in the oven and I wouldn’t want it to get ruined.”

With that, Mrs Cooper – the woman Ray had spoken so warmly of, who he had assured her would welcome her with open arms – closed the door and left her standing on the porch.

Standing there, trying to process the news that Ray was married. He had moved on – and she knew Mrs Cooper was right. She could not walk in and destroy his life again. So she turned on her heel and walked, back past the abandoned bike. Back past the man, still raking his lawn, and back to the bus station where she sat, staring silently, wondering what on earth she would do with her life from that point on.

Chapter 32

Derry, June 2010

“And that was it,” she said. “I didn’t see him again. I didn’t hear from him again. When the internet came about I did one of those Google search efforts – but do you have any idea how many Ray Coopers there are in America? It seems quite a lot. And I suppose by then I was very much settled down, married, raising you – contented. It was curiosity, I suppose – I always wondered what if. I always wondered did he hate me or had he just moved on as his mother said? Did he just put what happened in Derry and those months afterwards down as a bad experience and think no more of it?”

“But you stayed in America? Why? Did you not just want to come home?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I did. But it wasn’t that easy. You didn’t just hop on a budget flight – it took time. So I started saving and, I suppose, for a while I didn’t want to go home with my tail between my legs. It was bad enough everyone thought he had rejected me once – how desperate would I have looked landing back home with two rejections from the same man under my belt? I had some dignity! Besides, the longer I stayed the more I felt at home. Believe it or not, Laura and George actually grew to like me – or at least respect me enough not to be horrible little terrors. Mrs O’Donnell and I grew to be friends of sorts, and I met other nanny friends. We would go out drinking, listening to music – there was freedom there you never had back here. I’m not saying I threw myself into the swinging 60s or anything, but I found another place to call home. I stayed in Beacon Hill for a few years, then moved on to a new family. Three years after that I met your father, we moved to Florida and the rest, as they say is history.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Do you understand a little, Annabel? Do you understand why there is a part of me that needs, still, to see him and explain that I had actually loved him? I know it’s terribly selfish of me when you think about it, expecting you to understand when you have just lost your father – most people struggle to find one big love in their lives and I had two.”

“No, Mom. I don’t think it’s selfish of you. I think Grandma was wise: if something matters then you try again and try harder. Okay, she probably didn’t think you would still be trying now,” I said with a small laugh which came out as a sort of strangulated sob, “but I think it would be perfectly wonderful if you tried again and he understood. And I think Daddy would understand. All he ever wanted was for the pair of us to be happy.”

My mother took my hand again and I revelled in the warmth of her skin on mine – the softness of her touch.

“I know your daddy isn’t here any more and I know, because it frustrated the life out of me for as long as I can care to remember, that you are a true out-and-out daddy’s girl, but I’m here for you too. I can listen and I might not always get it right – and I might not be able to advise you in the way your daddy would advise you – but I can try.”

I nodded, tears sliding down my face – in little ways washing away my grief.

“How about we both try, Mom?” I said. “We’ve only got each other now.”

“Well, that’s true in a way,” she said. “But you have more, pet. Look around you – you have a family who love you. I’ve been watching you since you came here – and I know I have given you a lot to think about and perhaps even brought you here under false pretences but I’ve seen you come out of yourself this last week in a way I hadn’t seen for a long time. God, I don’t remember the last time I saw you laugh so much as I’ve seen when you and Sam have been chatting. It’s done my heart good.”

“I do feel better,” I admitted. “I can’t believe it – since essentially I’m now homeless and have no boyfriend.” I pulled a face as the realisation of what I was facing when I went home dawned. “But even with that I feel better. That probably makes me weird? That losing that has made me feel freer?”

“Not at all, pet,” my mother said. “It doesn’t make you weird. It makes you human.”

We sat in silence for a minute or two, my head aching slightly – perhaps from all I had heard or perhaps from the alcohol the night before.

“So where do we go from here?” I asked.

My mother looked at me, her head a little bowed. “The reunion dinner is next week. I suppose I decide if we are going.”

“Of course we’re going! We haven’t come this far to stop now. God, woman, you are infuriating! What would young Stella do? Would she fall at this final hurdle or would she march right in there and see if he was there?”

“I’m sure she would have marched right in, but older Stella is a bit wiser and maybe a bit more scared. He might be there. His wife might be there. He might tell me to get the hell out – and a rejection three times is beyond the pale.”

“I think enough years have passed for him to offer you the time of day.”

“But what if he doesn’t remember me?”

“Not possible, Mother dear. You are unforgettable.”

“But what if the seventy-year-old me doesn’t live up the memories of the twenty-year-old me he had. I mean, of course they won’t. I’m an old woman – but what if he’s still angry with this old woman? Or worse – what if I’m a part of his dim and distant past he hasn’t thought about in decades?”

“On the first point, I’m sure he’s not in his mid-twenties any more either, Mom. As for the rest, I can’t answer those questions for you. Only he can – but I can’t imagine a man who came back to Ireland for the reunion hasn’t thought of you at all. You’re special, Mum. I’m sure he has thought of you, many times. How could he not?”