The First Time I Said Goodbye (20 page)

Thankfully I fell, quickly, into a deep sleep and when the morning came I went about my business as if nothing had ever happened. I visited my father and we sat together in his yard and I pushed aside all thoughts of him ever walking me down the aisle. I held his hand and vowed that for that afternoon we wouldn’t talk about cancer. We wouldn’t talk about the reality of what lay ahead. And, although he was my nearest, dearest and most beloved confidant, I wouldn’t burden him with what was going on. I would paint on the happiest of faces, as much as possible, and we would just be.

So we talked about
Star Wars
, and
The Muppets
and memories of my childhood. I told him how the memory of him dressing as Santa for my First Grade class still made me laugh – how I had defiantly told my classmates my papa was the “very real Santa Claus”. And I told him that, even though I was a woman with a life of my own, I would always remember the times when he thought I was sleeping, when he would come into my room to kiss me goodnight and call me princess as he switched off the nightlight.

“You always were the love of my life, Annabel,” he said. “And you always will be.”

My daddy, I realised, would never hurt me. Apart from dying on me, which was killing me slowly and piece by piece, but if he could have fought that I know he would have – I know he would fight as hard as was humanly possible and never stop. But some things you can’t change. I held his hand and tried not to think of how it was becoming weak and frail, his skin taking on a papery-thin quality, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

“Look at the clouds, Annabel,” he said and I glanced up, taking in the scene above us – soft wisps of cotton stretching across a blue sky. “The funny thing about living here is that, probably mid-afternoon, we’ll have a god-awful thunder storm. The rain will pelt down, the lightning will strike across that sky and, for all intents and purposes, if you let your imagination take it all in, for those few minutes it will look like the world is about to come an end. But you know what?” he laughed. “An hour later the skies will clear again and that sun will be shining just as brightly and the clouds will be just like that – streaking across the skies.” He squeezed my hand as he spoke and I knew he was talking about more than the clouds and the weather and the humidity of a Florida afternoon.

* * *

“You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards,” Sam greeted me as I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of orange juice.

“Good morning to you too,” I answered, pulling myself up onto one of the kitchen stools and draining my glass in record time.

“Tough night?” he asked, sitting down opposite me and placing a plate of croissants between us. “Tell me, your mum is still alive, isn’t she? You didn’t stab her over the starters or anything over-dramatic like that?”

His teasing was gentle. I knew he genuinely cared about whether or not I was upset.

“Mom is still very much alive and, yes, it was a bit awkward, but it wasn’t hell on earth. I just . . . I’m just struggling to get my head around it all, that’s all.”

“More pieces of the puzzle?”

“Big fat pieces – but it’s a very big puzzle or else I’m very stupid because I can’t make them fit.” I lifted a croissant and bit into it, realising just how
very hungry I was. “But then I haven’t read all the letters yet.”

I explained to him about the letters, handing him those I had already read and going over the minutiae of what was contained on the pages until he dragged me back into the bedroom and sat down to read them himself. If a part of me felt guilty that I was perhaps breaking some sort of confidence, I pushed it back down. I needed someone who could help me see this rationally and, as I was thousands of miles away from anyone I considered a friend back home and only had family to rely on here, he was the obvious choice.

“Jesus,” Sam said, looking up from the letters, “I wouldn’t normally consider myself to be a raging romantic but my heart is breaking for her – well, the ‘her’ she was in 1960. Seems like a whole other world.”

“I suppose it was,” I said, sitting back on the bed and picking up one of the letters to read it over again.

“How have you not read them all?” he said incredulously. “I want to read them all!”

“Because, I suppose, even though it is all very romantic and dramatic it’s still my mother – and this secret or guilt or other life she has carried around with her all these years. I just wanted a break from the intensity of it all before I read the rest.”

“What I don’t understand, unless these unread letters reveal something groundbreaking, is how she ended up in the States anyway? What took her there if the situation was as bleak as it was?”

I shook my head. I suppose it had all been hazy in my head – a story of my mother nannying in the States, marrying my father, having me in her thirties when she had all but given up hope of ever having a baby and where she was asked if she was my grandma on more than one occasion – but the finer points, we hadn’t ever really discussed the finer points.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I honestly don’t know.”

Chapter 18

Dolores says hello. She says we should both stop being silly. I’ve told her I’m not being silly any more. I never was. I was stupid but I was never silly.

* * *

Derry, Christmas Eve 1959

Ray was a marine. He had been a marine for six years. He had been trained to be fierce in the face of any foe and yet he was sitting in The Diamond and his hands were trembling and his head spinning. His head had in fact been in a spin since word had come that his posting at the naval base in Derry – a place he had come to regard as home – was to end and he would be going home. The message had been delivered with suitable aplomb. “Great news for you, boys! You can tell your moms you’re coming home. What a Christmas present, eh?”

His mom would be delighted but yet he hadn’t found himself in the queue of men eager to phone home or send telegrams to break the happy news. He had found there was only one thought in his mind – one name, over and over again – Stella. His Stella. How could he tell her? How could he tell her they would be parted and so soon? Sure they had only been courting for a few months but it felt like a lifetime and he had become used to – and entranced with – their small bubble: their afternoons walking the Bollies, the evenings in their flat, the necking at the cinema. The thought that it was going to end – that they would
be ripped apart – almost tore him to shreds.

He went back to his bunk, sat there and wondered how he could tell her. Tomorrow was Christmas – he had been invited to dine with the Hegartys and he had presents wrapped. He had bought Stella a brooch and he had been so looking forward to seeing her face when she opened it. Now it seemed pathetic, all of it seemed pathetic.

Having been told to stand down for the rest of the day and through to Boxing Day, he picked up his jacket, his wallet and his hat, and left the Base without so much as glancing back. He had been due to meet Stella anyway at the flat, if she could get away, but he had to hedge his bets. He had to assume that, as she had said, she would be unlikely to get away. It was already afternoon and the shops would no doubt be closing early – and the pubs too – and he had so much to do.

He was going to do this all wrong, he thought. It was just all wrong. Not how he imagined it at all. He glanced at his watch. Perhaps Ernest Hegarty would be in the pub now, sinking one last pint of stout before heading home to his happy family scene. If he was lucky he would catch him and if he caught him he could still perhaps salvage some of this day – of this whole year. If he could win Ernest Hegarty over, when the following day came he would ask Stella to marry him and set about making plans for her to journey with him to the States.

It was a lot to ask of her, he knew. He knew deep down that, no matter how she loved him, she adored her family and he would be taking her away from all that. But outside of the Marines, what was there for him here in Derry? Even the local men struggled to get jobs. He knew there was work waiting for him back in Boston and that they could have a good quality of life, away from the abject poverty he saw around him, all accepted as part of the Derry routine. He wanted more for Stella. He wanted to give her everything but he knew that when he spoke to Ernest Hegarty he would be asking this hardworking family man to give him his own everything: his daughter. He’d heard tales, of course – of marines chased from family homes, told they couldn’t take the girls with them. He’d heard of women wailing and screaming as the reality hit that they were actually boarding that ship and leaving their families behind, probably forever. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door of the bar, letting the warmth of the chatter, smoke and banter wash over him. The punters were clearly in great form, the thought of a short break from work at Christmas filling them with cheer almost as much as the stout was.

Ray scanned the room, trying to spot Ernest, half hoping he wasn’t there and half hoping to see him quickly and get this over and done with even faster – like pulling off a Band-Aid. He walked around the room until the sound of a loud peal of laughter caught his attention and he turned to see Ernest, pint in hand, listening to one of his docker friends relate a story which would make even a marine blush.

Ray was standing awkwardly, moving from one foot to the other and trying to build up the courage to try and get Ernest’s attention,
when the older man looked at him, furrowed his brow as if trying to fit this jigsaw piece into a puzzle and broke into a smile.

“Well, Ray, son, what brings you here? Come and join us for a pint! I’ll have a second if you promise not to tell Stella and Kathleen.”

“Thanks, Mr Hegarty. I’ll get them – another pint of stout?”

“Ha, the boy’s trying to keep you sweet! He’s after something, I bet,” Ernest’s raucous friend shouted. “Hi, Yankee Doodle Dandy, what is it you’re after?”

Ernest looked at Ray and Ray was almost sure he felt the blood leave his face and pool somewhere around his feet. He realised it was now or never. It was strange that one moment – that announcement at the Base – could change everything. Now he had to make decisions and he had to make them fast . . . before he broke the news to Stella that he was being shipped home.

“Can I have a word, sir?” he asked to raucous laughter from Ernest’s friend.

“I bet no one has ever called you ‘sir’ before!” one of the dockers roared while Ernest held Ray’s gaze.

“Nothing wrong with a bit of manners – you could be doing with some yourself,” Ernest said, pushing past his friends and leading Ray to what may have been the only quiet corner of any pub in Derry that Christmas Eve.

He took a seat and invited Ray to do the same.

“What is it, son?” he asked. “Is it about Stella?”

Ray nodded, trying to find the words to ask the question he so needed to. He blurted his question awkwardly and without grace.

“I want to marry her,” he said. “With your blessing.”

Ernest stared, his expression unreadable.

“Well, son,” he said at last, sitting back and taking in Ray from head to foot, “do you love her?”

Ray considered the question for a split second – considered how to convince Ernest that not only did he love her, he loved her with all his heart in a way that he’d never thought possible.

“Yes, sir,” he said softly. “I love her very much. And I know what I’m asking is a lot – but if you would give me your blessing, sir, to make her my wife, you would make me the happiest man on earth. I’ve my orders, you see, to ship out. And I know she is your daughter, and you love her very much – and she speaks so highly of the love she has for you – but if there was any way you could see fit to let her be with me, then I would be forever in your debt.”

He watched the older man inhale slowly before lifting the pipe from his pocket and lighting it, sucking on it as the tobacco ignited and filled his lungs with its sweet-smelling aroma.

“My daughter,” he said softly, the affection obvious in his voice, “my daughter deserves to be happy and you make her happy. God knows I’ve not been able to give mine much in terms of material things. There have been days when they’ve been lucky to have food on the table – but I’ve been able to show them love and raise them in a happy home. If you can promise me to offer her a happy home, every day of her life, and to put food on the table even when times are tough, and a shoulder to cry on when she needs it, then you have my blessing and that of her mother.”

Ray nodded, annoyed with himself that he could feel the prick of tears behind his eyes at the older man’s words.

“I promise you,” he said, “that I will make her happy, and keep her safe and I will never hurt her.”

“She’ll need you, you know. She’ll be far away from home and her mammy – and that girl loves her mammy. She’ll need you to look out for her, to take care of her. Not to go drinking your wages like some of the boys here. Not to run about town. Once you have a family, son, nothing else matters. You will be her family.”

The older man’s eyes grew misty and Ray felt his composure wobble further. But he knew he would do as Ernest asked – and more. He knew that his life’s mission from that point onwards was to make Stella happy.

“I won’t let her down, sir. I won’t let you down.”

Ernest wiped the cuff of his jacket sleeve roughly across his eyes before leading Ray back to the marauding crowds.