The Letter (25 page)

‘Is everything alright, Will?’ Jenna had asked.

‘
Pandy
,’ replied Willian. ‘This is
pandy
.’

Jenna looked affronted. ‘That doesn’t sound like a compliment.’

William shook himself from his reverie. ‘No, it’s not an insult, sorry. I mean we used to call this ‘
pandy
’. I remember my mother feeding it to me.’ He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples as he tried to conjure up a more detailed image. It was no good. However hard he tried, his mother’s face was always featureless, but the memory of her was one of tenderness and devotion.

He stood with his parents on the porch of the farmhouse and prepared to say goodbye.

Martha Lane clutched a pretty floral handkerchief in her hand and dabbed at her eyes. Donald Lane embraced his son in a bear hug which William returned with deep affection.

He pulled away and looked his father in the eye. ‘Thanks for letting me do this, Dad. I know how hard it must be for you and Mom.’ His parents stood side by side, both trying to compose themselves. ‘I just want you to know that I love you both so much. You will always be my Mom and Dad and I’m grateful for everything you have ever given me. I’m not looking for a new mom, I just need to know where I came from and what led to me being born in those circumstances.’

He took hold of his mother’s hand and kissed her on the cheek.

‘You come back real soon, son. We’ll miss you.’ Martha turned quietly on her heel and went back into the house.

‘Dad?’

‘Don’t worry, son. She’ll be fine. You just make sure you come back safely, that’s all. And if you do find your other mom, you tell her thanks.’

William raised his eyebrows. ‘For what?’

Donald sniffed loudly. ‘For giving us the most precious gift of all. A boy to be proud of. A boy who made our lives complete.’

‘I will, Dad, thanks. And look after Mom.’

He turned and picked up his suitcase at the sound of Dirk’s station wagon crunching on the gravel. Dirk leaned out of the open window and grinned, his teeth dazzling against his permanently tanned skin. ‘Taxi for Lane,’ he called, banging his arm on the car door.

Some hours later, as William bedded himself into his seat for the long transatlantic flight, he took out the piece of paper his mother had given him. He already knew all the details by heart but he read them again anyway and ran his fingers over the words. His birth mother’s name was Bronagh Skinner and he had been born in St. Bridget’s Sacred Heart Convent, near Tipperary Town on 10
^th
April, 1940. She had been twenty years old when she had given birth to him, which would make her fifty-four now. He folded the paper in half and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He stared out of the window at the disappearing New York skyline and felt a flutter of excitement, mixed with apprehension. For better or worse, he was about to uncover his roots.

Chapter 27

When William woke the next day it took him a few moments to register where he was. His body clock was all over the place and he had slept in for longer than he meant to. He threw off the thick eiderdown and padded into the bathroom. His appearance shocked him momentarily; heavily lidded eyes, dark circles beneath, and his hair looking as though it had never been acquainted with a comb. He splashed his face with cold water and wandered over to the window. Below him lay Tipperary Town with its brightly coloured facades and where, according to his guide book, a warm welcome was assured. He had certainly been given a warm welcome the evening before by his landlady. His mother would have been impressed.

He looked around the bedroom and nodded his approval. It was newly–decorated and the smell of paint still lingered in spite of the huge jar of fresh flowers Mrs Flanagan had positioned on the dressing table. William was startled by a hesitant knock on the bedroom door. He grabbed a towel to cover his modesty and inched the door open.

‘Aaahh, sorry to disturb you Mr Lane, but I was wondering if you’ll be wanting any breakfast. I usually stop serving at ten, but I understand you must be tired after your long flight.’ Her soft Irish accent brimmed with kindness.

‘Oh, Mrs Flanagan. Yes, please. I’m so sorry. What time is it?’

‘Well, let’s see now.’ She pushed up the sleeve of her blouse and squinted at her watch. ‘Well, it’s quarter to now.’

‘Ten?’

‘Erm, no, a quarter to eleven.’

‘Oh God, it’s later than I thought. I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble, but I am suddenly ravenous.’

Mrs Flanagan’s ruddy face broke into a wide smile. ‘That’s settled then. It’ll be on the table in fifteen minutes.’

‘You’re so kind, thank you.’

‘Not at all.’

The dining room was small but homely. The carpet sported a deep busy pattern and all the furniture was dark mahogany which seemed to crowd the room. William thought it was a shame to have net curtains on the windows which blocked out the view of the pretty town. He sat at the table and sipped at the cup of coffee Mrs Flanagan had set before him. He pulled out a map and laid it out on the table. Mrs Flanagan bustled in with his breakfast.

‘This will set you up for the rest of day.’

She laid the plate on the table and William immediately started to salivate. There were thick, juicy sausages, grilled tomatoes, black puddings, two fried eggs and a couple of home-made potato cakes.

‘This is a feast, Mrs Flanagan, thank you.’

‘Aahh you’re welcome, so you are.’ She beamed as she backed out of the room, leaving William to hungrily devour his breakfast. Ten minutes later she was back, enquiring whether he would like any more. William sat back and rubbed his belly. ‘Mrs Flanagan, that was truly wonderful, ma’am. I could not eat another thing.’

‘Well if you’re sure. I don’t want any of my guests going hungry, especially when they have travelled so far to see us.’

‘I don’t think I will eat another thing for the rest of the day.’

Mrs Flanagan laughed as she cleared the plate away. ‘Tell me, is this your first time in Ireland.’

William hesitated before answering. He didn’t feel ready to start talking about his past, especially with a complete stranger. Mrs Flanagan was hovering, waiting for an answer to a question she had not thought was particularly difficult.

‘Erm, well no, since you ask. I was born here.’

‘Well now, would you believe it? Born here, in Tipperary Town?’

‘Not far away I believe. In a convent.’

Mrs Flanagan’s face clouded and she hurriedly stacked the rest of the dishes without meeting his eye. ‘Well, you would never know it from your accent.’

William decided to press on. ‘St. Bridget’s Sacred Heart. Do you know it?’

Mrs Flanagan met his gaze and narrowed her eyes. ‘Why, to be sure I do. My friend who runs the Cross Keys Hotel in town sends all her laundry there, bedding, tablecloths that sort of thing.’

William was confused. ‘Your friend sends laundry to a convent?’

Mrs Flanagan set down the dishes and lowered herself into the chair opposite William.

‘How much do you know about your mother?’

He shrugged. ‘Not a lot. Just her name.’

‘And you plan to visit the convent?’

‘Yes, of course. That’s the whole purpose of my trip.’

Mrs Flanagan shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Don’t expect too much, will you? I mean there will be a very good reason why your mother was sent to the convent in the first place.’

‘What makes you think she was
sent
there?’

Mrs Flanagan scoffed. ‘Believe me, Mr Lane, no girl in their right mind would enter that establishment voluntarily.’

William’s brow furrowed as she continued.

‘Look, how can I put this? That place is full of girls who have brought shame on their families, moral degenerates if you like. To get yourself pregnant out of wedlock is a sin indeed, but the nuns make sure that the girls’ souls are cleansed and that the stain is washed away through hard work. The nuns give these girls a home when their own families want nothing more to do with them and in return the girls earn their keep by doing the laundry, growing vegetables and making rosary beads.’

‘But they are free to go when they choose, are they not?’

Mrs Flanagan looked at the floor, ‘Well, I suppose so. Look, that’s all I know. I’m just saying thank the good Lord that the Sisters are there for these girls when even their own families disown them.’

William rubbed his chin. ‘So, let me get this right. Are you saying my mother must have been rejected by her own family?’

Mrs Flanagan stood up. ‘I’m not saying anything. I’ve just given you a view of things. Each girl’s case is different. Try not to get your hopes up. The Sisters will not be forthcoming with information. It’s very much a closed shop, that place.’

William stood up and gathered his map. ‘Well, would you be so kind as to give me directions so that I can at least see for myself.’

‘Of course, no trouble at all.’ She pulled a pen out of the pocket of her apron. ‘Will I write on the back of this map?’

The bus journey had taken over thirty minutes and by the time William alighted, he was the only passenger left. The driver pointed up the road. ‘This is as far as I go. You need to walk up that way for about a mile and a half and it’ll be there on your left. You can’t miss it.’

William nodded his thanks and jumped off onto the grass verge. With a loud hiss, the bus driver closed the doors and William was suddenly all alone in the quiet countryside. The day had warmed up and the sun shafted through the trees. The fields were full of sheep and it was so quiet William could hear them munching on the grass, the sound only broken by the lambs bleating as they gambolled around with each other.

William heaved his rucksack over his shoulder. Mrs Flanagan had insisted on giving him a flask of coffee and a huge slab of her famous Porter Cake, crammed with dried fruit and moistened with Guinness. After a short while, he stopped to take off his jumper and roll up the sleeves of his thick checked shirt. He took off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair. He was sure his guide book had promised cool temperatures accompanied by varying amounts of rain. He shivered involuntarily as his rucksack pressed against the clammy wetness of his shirt, but his pace quickened at the thought of his destination, now only a few hundred yards away.

As William rounded the next bend he caught his first glimpse of the convent that had been his home for the first three years of his life. He stopped in his tracks and breathed deeply, placing his hands on a nearby tree for support. He had expected to remember the building, but he had no recollection of it whatsoever. He inched forward until eventually he was standing right outside the front gates. There was a long driveway leading up to the main door, but the gates were locked and William could not see a way in. He walked round the perimeter of the driveway and eventually found himself at the rear of the property. The back yard was completely surrounded by thick walls, at least twenty feet high and topped with shards of broken glass.
They take security very seriously here,
thought William.
Anybody would have a job breaking in here.

Or indeed, breaking out,
he mused grimly
.

He walked back round to the main gates and peered through the railings. From what he could make out, the convent was imposing indeed. A huge, grey, double fronted property with stone steps climbing up to the black-painted front door. Dark green ivy snaked its way up the masonry and there was a beautifully-kept white marble statue just to the left of the door. William sat down on the grass verge in frustration. He had travelled three thousand miles and now he was here there seemed to be no way in. He pulled out Mrs Flanagan’s fruit cake and unwrapped it from its greaseproof paper. His mouth watered as he took his first bite. The fruit was plump and juicy and his taste buds revelled in the richness of the Guinness. He poured himself a cup of coffee and pulled out his map. There was a tiny village, more of a hamlet really, just around the bend and as William contemplated walking there he became aware of the faint rumbling of a car engine. He stood up just as a van approached the main gates from the road. He waved his arms about in order to attract the driver’s attention and he duly slowed down.

The van driver leaned out of his window.

‘What can I do for yer?’

William hurriedly folded his map and approached the man.

‘Are you going to the convent?’

‘To be sure, I am.’

‘Oh, that’s grand. I’m trying to get in, but can’t seem to open the gates.’

The van driver laughed. ‘This place does not accept casual visitors, son. Do you have business here?’

‘Yes, you could say that.’

‘The nuns are expecting you, then?’

‘Not exactly, no.’ William scuffed the ground with his boots. ‘Look, I’ve come a long way and I just need to get inside and have a chat with the one that’s in charge.’

‘The Mother Superior? You’ll be lucky.’ The driver then nodded his head towards the main drive. ‘Here comes one of them now. She’s going to let me in. They need to be expecting you, see.’

William stared at the elderly nun as she made her way down the driveway. Her black habit brushed along the gravel and she glided along as though on casters.

The van driver groaned. ‘It’s Sister Mary. You’ll get nowhere with her. Look, jump in the back with the laundry and I’ll take you to the front door. Keep me out of it though.’

William smiled gratefully and wrenched open the back doors of the van. He climbed in amongst the piles of dirty bed linen and waited for the van to move forward. He heard the muffled tones of the driver as he offered Sister Mary a lift back to the main door. She declined, as she always did. It just wouldn’t be right to be in such close proximity to a man in a confined space. William lay back on the sheets and laughed to himself. He felt like a fugitive, but at least he was one step closer to finding his mother.

Chapter 28

William waited until the van had come to a complete stop. He was buried deep within the mounds of stale bed linen and the musty smell was making him gag. He prised open a small air pocket and gulped in the relatively fresh air. He could feel the van rocking as the driver climbed down from his cab, could hear muffled voices as he spoke with someone at the convent, then suddenly the back doors were flung open and the bright sunshine flooded the van. William came out squinting from under the sheets.