part0030

T here’s no question the colour of my hair is more natural looking. I picked a darker dye which makes me more brunette than blonde. Tommy and that Blonde Bitch made me want to be less bleached. There’s no goodness in me at all now. I got the hairdresser to change the look of me so I feel new.

The thickness of my hair is good for the styling she did. She showed me how to do the curls, and the ribbon sits well into the swish and the sway of the curves of my hair. I’m like a new woman.

‘Peggy Sheeran,’ I told the girl taking down my name for the next appointment. It didn’t sound right, so I said it again. ‘Peggy Sheeran.’

‘All the women on our books come in regularly, and now, Mrs Sheeran, you’ll be a regular.’

‘You’re a good saleswoman.’ I smile at her, wondering does she know who or what I am. Ireland is a small place, and it won’t take long.

‘See you next Thursday.’

My coat is helped on. I hand over too much money, but I love the look on the yolks’ faces when I go back to the car. They say little. However, I catch them winking at each other as I fix my skirt and sit into the car.

The fancy evening dress and the gloves I put on are nice together after I wash and powder myself. The red chiffon dress is not too red, and the white gloves make my arms look slimmer than I remember them. Red in Dublin, or anywhere in Ireland, makes a statement .

‘Only a harlot wears red.’ Father Lavelle’s voice rings in my pierced ears – also a sign of true damnation. My shoes are high tonight, and the almost sheer stockings just visible under the tight hem around my calves.

Walking with my hips and legs constrained in fabric is unusual, and I practice, watching the creature before me in the mirror. She’s a stranger, her mousey hair styled, her lips red and those high cheeks pink. The curve of an elegant neck and the arse on her big but pert enough. The swell of her bosom is bigger, and her belly curved when she rubs it, but she sure looks well. She knows she looks good. Damn good.

‘Peggy?’ the dark-haired yolk asks.

I’ve come into the kitchen to say I’m ready to go. I’m to meet Larry at the function, and I don’t want to be late and make him angry. ‘Is that who I am?’ I smile at him and ignore the cook who snorts at me but doesn’t compliment anyone.

‘You look lovely. I’ll get the car around.’

The cook does another snort, and just to piss her off, I twirl around the table a few times.

‘Be careful of snorting at me,’ I warn her, coming right up to her nose so she can see me good and proper. ‘You’re cooking isn’t all that grand.’

Her cheeks flush, and she looks at the tiled floor. ‘You’re nothing but a whore,’ she mutters under her breath.

I’m not sure what force of nature takes me back to her. Some sort of rage consumes me and launches me into her. My gloved fingers tangle in her greasy hair, and I haul her face downwards, slapping it into the table with a loud thud. One fluid movement is all it takes to smash her cheek into the edge of the wood. She barely has time to groan or scream. She slumps to her knees when I let go of the mop of hair.

‘I’m sorry…’ I start as her hands go to her head. ‘I’ve never…’

The moan out of her tells me she’s conscious, and there’s no sign of blood. My hands are shaking and the ruffling of my dress moves me out of the kitchen and into the hall. My heart is beating fit to burst, and the guilt I feel from hurting her hurts me. I turn to go back in and see her sitting on her backside staring into space, her head intact but a red bump on her forehead and cheekbone. She doesn’t speak, and neither do I. Her hand goes to heave herself off the floor and steady herself against the table that marked her.

When I see she is on her feet, I turn on my heel, and yet, fear makes me wait. What if she dies? Thumping someone’s head off a table isn’t exactly good for them. I hear the pots and pans move, and the noises are of life in the kitchen. I breathe deeply and hear my conscience telling me, ‘She deserved that. She had it coming. All you want is to get along in life. Quietly get along and better yourself.’

Ben and Bill have the car running, and the noise of the engine drowns out the awfulness in my head. Never before, not even in the gaol, have I hurt another person like that. No matter how my beast of a husband tortured me, I never raised a hand to even protect myself. I didn’t hurt any of the girls who could’ve done with a skelping, even though the want of it was close to the surface.

It never spilled out before. The shaking in my hands won’t stop, but I don’t cry as I don’t want red eyes for the party. The wide swing in the road up to the big house is so grand. The lights take me a while to adjust to. The grandeur takes me even longer to take in. Yes, I’m entitled to see and be in this place. Course I am.

Larry is standing beside the elegant staircase. I can see he is stooped but not overtly frail. There’s no sign of a minder, and his suit is dark and his dicky bow perfectly formed in a starched collar. Bill and Ben are on my heels, and all eyes are on me. I smile and greet people I don’t know. There are whispers as I go towards Larry. He’s like an oasis in the desert, and I’m the camel ambling through the perfumed air to get to him.

‘Peggy.’ He looks at his watch which he takes from his pocket. It is on a chain like the rest of his possessions .

‘Grandfather.’ It’s my poshest voice.

‘Some spot, isn’t it? They’ve been refurbishing.’

I nod, noticing all eyes are still on us, and lots of people are openly muttering to each other while pointing in our direction.

‘You look lovely.’ His hand touches off mine, but he makes me twirl for him by pushing my elbow. ‘Let everyone see the new Peggy Sheeran in red. Hard to miss you, clever girl.’

I’m more than uncomfortable. There’s a little trickle of sweat making its way down my back, and my armpits are moist. Horribly so, my body telling me I don’t belong, even if my brain thinks it should be here. The humidity doesn’t bother others. The redness in my face is pounding now.

‘Does my face match my dress?’ I ask Larry, praying in some small way he’s kind in his reply.

‘You look grand. All is well.’

‘Why are we here?’

‘The ambassador has invited Americans, and most of New York knows Larry Sheeran.’

‘I see.’ I wipe my glove off my forehead and notice it is damp. I’m sweating like a racehorse.

‘What am I to do?’

‘Look pretty and new. I doubt any of your clients are here.’

‘Less of that language, Lady Sheeran.’

‘Did you get us a title and all? Do ladies and lords commit crimes now?’

‘Larry,’ someone shouts like they’ve seen a relation in a throng of strangers.

‘This is my granddaughter, Peggy Sheeran,’ Larry says as he shakes hands with a tall American. His hair is cut tightly and his eyes blue. Both are a long distance from my own and Larry’s. His height is epic compared to the Irish surrounding him.

‘Rod here plays basketball and is a great guy.’ Larry smirks, and I know he’s lying.

‘Hello.’ I hope I look virginal .

‘I just love Irish women, you’re just so demure and quiet.’

I see the cook’s face hitting the table, and I know my eyes are no longer innocent.

‘Larry, I need to talk to you…’ Rod says.

‘Do you live in the States then, Rod?’ I ask, but it’s obvious where he is from.

‘Yes, I’m over here on business.’

‘I import and export.’

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘A brandy.’ I touch my bump, asking inwardly for forgiveness. The heat doesn’t seem as claustrophobic when I’m distracted. ‘Yes, a brandy or a whiskey, please. Or anything at all.’

‘One brandy coming up.’

‘Don’t get drunk,’ Larry spits and then smiles at passing people. ‘I need you with a clear head.’

The crowd move around like sheep. All bleating about their brilliance in business, the theatre, life in general, and although many have talked to me, I sense they can smell my past. It’s the way their noses wrinkle when I say, ‘No, not married. I work for myself. This and that, you know.’

One obnoxious woman in a fur stole decides she will be nosey. She won’t take the patter that I’ve given others. ‘Don’t I know you?’ she drawls.

‘I know your face.’

‘Unless you were a visitor to my whorehouse, you don’t know me.’

She laughs and looks me up and down. ‘There’s no reason to be rude.’

‘I’m not being rude. ’

‘I do know you?’ Her permed hair is tightly curled to her head, and she’s wearing real pearls. ‘I definitely know you for somewhere?’

‘Or maybe it was from the time I was in prison?’ It all just hops out of my mouth. ‘I was all over the papers for selling babies.’

Her eyes with their terrible green eyeshadow go huge, and she walks away tutting loudly. Larry’s deep in conversation with a man in an army uniform with a large moustache. Rod appears back beaming with two brandy glasses.

‘Large queue.’ He offers me the tulip glass.

‘Thank you. I need this.’

‘So, you’re Larry’s granddaughter?’

I let the brandy settle me.

‘Would you like some canapés?’ Rod asks. ‘Food? There’s some small bits on trays somewhere.’

‘No, thank you. This dress is already stuck to me.’

‘You look nice.’ He winks, and I notice his eyes again.

‘It’s eyes like yours that got me into…’

‘My eyes did what?’ he says, but his wedding ring is hard to ignore. It sparkles at me as he drinks from his glass.

‘Can I introduce you to…’ Larry says, butting in between us.

I don’t hear the boring old fart’s name, or the names of the others as Larry points me in the direction of a great many people. I know I’m supposed to be making mental notes of who’s who and what they do, but the heat again seems too much, and the smells from the brandy and the cheap perfume are stifling all together.

‘Peggy?’ The voice sounds familiar, and when I turn around, there is my soldier in his fancy uniform and his wonderful eyes all agog.

Larry has moved to sit in a chair, and he’s not looking at me or holding my elbow, so I take in all of the man who gave me the child inside me and ask, ‘What’s your name?’

My darling soldier is blushing and him the one who showed no shame in kissing the hair between my legs in the kitchen in number thirty-four. ‘Don’t you remember me?’ he asks .

‘I remember you.’ I doubt my smile is virginal now. I don’t want him to forget the way he took me and made me want him every day since. ‘I just don’t know your name.’

He takes my hand, and I feel faint with the heat and the touch of him. His lips softly touch on the back of my glove. Through the fabric, my willingness to feel him is huge. The pressure of his fingers on my hand is light, but then, he holds my fingers harder. ‘I haven’t forgotten you, that’s a certainty. I didn’t know you’d be here.’

‘Neither did I.’ I watch his lips curl, and the dimples in his cheek dint inwards. Little holes that love could fall into, that’s what they are. ‘What do they call you?’

‘I went to thirty-four again. But you’ve obviously moved up in the world.’ He stands back and looks me up and down, smiling all the while. He’s the best-looking man in the room, in Dublin, and he knows it. Somehow, I need to be nearer him.

‘Don’t move too far away.’ I shift myself close to him. ‘Yes, thirty-four is closed, but I am doing other things now.’

‘Can you meet me?’ he whispers right into my ear.

His breath sends a shiver thrill down to the arse clasped in my pants. A trickle of sweat follows the shiver. ‘Yes,’ I whisper back, but cannot look, for fear I’d make a holy show of myself.

Larry calls to me and beckons me with his hand to come closer to his perch, and when I look back, my soldier has gone. I glance all around, but he’s disappeared like a thief in the night with my lust and love with him. I’m a horny old woman as I keep an eye out for my young lad like a dog on heat.

‘Did you just tell Lady Chisellsworth that you’re a whore who’s been inside?’ Larry has lines I haven’t noticed before. Large furrowed wrinkles on his forehead that tell of his anger.

‘I may have done.’

‘For the love of God.’ There’s spittle in the corners of his mouth. ‘Don’t you know how to behave?’ The spits are coming out thick and fast as he pulls on my arm. ‘Have you no shame?’

My eyes fill with liquid. It’s the shock. ‘Who am I supposed to be? You tell me then. Am I a criminal queen or a fucking lady?’ I can tell he isn’t sure of who he wants me to be. ‘You told me to be Peggy Sheeran and to let the women of Dublin know who they’re dealing with. That’s what I’ve done. I’m not a mind reader, Larry. What is it you want?’

Bill and Ben are at my side. ‘Take her home.’ Larry points at me. I’m a dog that’s come off its leash.

‘I’ve someone to speak to –’

Larry grabs my arm hard. ‘Get your fat ass home and stay there. I’ll speak with you in the morning.’

I get bundled between the two yolks and poked repeatedly to move towards the door we came in. Herded like I might have done with Dora my cow, all those years ago. I am in the car before I let the tears fall.

‘Did you do something?’ my dark-haired minder asks.

I can’t hold back the tears that are streaming now. It is frustration more than being upset. Anger at being made to leave. A fever in me at being told what to say and not being able to find my soldier.

‘Larry likes to do all the talking. He isn’t used to someone stealing his limelight. Not used to dealing with women.’ Ben sounds almost sorry for me. ‘Tiny will have to stay with you tonight. We’ve got to go back for the boss.’

‘I want to be alone.’

The Dublin I want to be in speeds past me.

‘Cook left,’ he says and grins, showing me his missing teeth. ‘She said she’s not coming back.’

‘I’d forgotten I bashed her head off the table.’ The mugs are dirty, so I swirl the water from the kettle around them in the basin.

‘She did mention it. Good job she’s afraid of Larry.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about him when you came to thirty-four?’

‘Professor would’ve killed me if he found out I worked for Larry. ’

‘You could have told me.’

‘Then it would have been Larry who would’ve got rid of me.’

‘Have you worked for him long?’

‘Before he went to America, he knew me. Then, the Professor took me on.’

‘Do you know Sergeant Bushnell?’

Tiny nods now, sitting down and removing his cap. He wrings it like a cloth as he says, ‘I like you, Peggy. I aim to keep you safe.’

‘Thank you.’ The back of my dress is sticking to me, and I’m sure he can see it in the bright light of the kitchen.

‘They say you’re having a baby?’

‘I’ll look after it too.’

‘I’m used to being the Big Lad no one thinks much of.’ He stops wringing his cap as I turn to look at him. ‘I’ve a lot going on in my head, you know. I’m not as thick as I look. The Professor didn’t even think I knew English.’

‘I remember.’ I hear the kettle boil, but let it whistle for a moment. ‘I’ll need a good man, like you, to help me through all this. What does Larry want from me?’

Those large shoulders shrug. His eyes flit to the kettle, and he rises to lift it off the cooker.

‘Does he want me to be a lady or a bad bitch?’

At the curse word, Tiny looks at me. ‘You’re no bitch.’

‘I am. I hit a woman’s face into a table.’ The chair I slump into is hard and cool on my back.

‘She deserved it. Thinks she’s better than us all because she cooked for the queen or something.’

‘Someone fancy. I didn’t listen.’

I chuckle. ‘Did I leave her with a big bruise?’

Tiny doesn’t answer me.

‘I’ve come only a few streets, but it seems a world away.’

‘If anyone can make this work, you can. ’

His cap gets set onto the table.

‘Does Larry really control lots of Dublin?’

Tiny nods that big head.

‘The Sheerans are in charge, then?’

‘Yeah, and he wants to keep you here to…’

It’s the way he stops. It makes me shiver. ‘To what?’

‘I dunno. I dunno what he’s thinking. No one does.’

‘You must know some things about him?’ I ask and notice Tiny seems uncertain of what to say.

‘No one knows Larry.’

‘Didn’t you learn much about him at all?’

‘No one knows much. Makes him untouchable. No one to hurt him or be hurt. That’s why he’s not sure what to do with you. But he only has you.’

‘He came home to take over and to find his family. That’s what I thought.’

‘But no one knows what Larry thinks.’

‘No one speaks to me. I cannot really go out, and the papers don’t tell me anything much.’

‘There’s not much to tell. The Professor and the likes of him are gone. Larry has his ambassadors in place, and that’s it. Larry’s back on top, and all of Dublin knows it.’

‘Where are you from? How did he find you?’

‘I’ve worked for…people like Larry all my life. Not great at schooling, but my size came in handy.’

‘Where are you from? Family?’

‘All dead, and I’m from God knows where.’

‘From where? Everyone comes from somewhere.’

Tiny smiles. I know he doesn’t want to say, and that’s the only time I wonder at his trustworthiness. I’ve always trusted him, even when he was a Russian, heavy sleeping in my kitchen, I trusted he wasn’t bad at all .

‘I’m used to being whoever people need me to be.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question.’ I pull off my gloves and throw them on the table. ‘No one is honest with me. I’m like a pawn in some chess game, and I hate this. I want out, and I’m getting out.’

Tiny reaches out to me across the table, but isn’t near enough to touch me. ‘You won’t escape Larry Sheeran. And where are you going that would be better than this?’

‘Better than what?’ I throw my arms open and look around me. ‘No one is as they seem. At least in number thirty-four people were honest and straightforward about what they wanted and who they were. Here, I don’t know who I am anymore. Who the fuck am I?’

‘You’re Peggy. Damn fine Peggy.’ He isn’t lustful, he’s more proud, like a brother might be. I can tell he does mean it.

‘It’s the baby too. My ma always said I wrecked her belly and brain.’ His large hands take his cap back to wring it. ‘She mentioned other parts, too, but we’ll leave that alone.’

‘I cannot place your accent. Is your mother alive?’

He shakes his head. ‘Please don’t ask. I promise though, Peggy, you can trust me. I’m a good man in here.’ His thick finger points to his heart.

Is he trying to say he’d be a husband or father?

His hands go to his head, so his eyes are hidden from me. ‘I meant, I’ll protect you.’

‘I see. I’ve a fella, you see…’

‘Sergeant Bushnell?’ He doesn’t look cross or hurt.

‘Sort of him. Sort of.’

‘Stop worrying. You don’t need to worry about me.’

I rub my belly as I think there was a flutter in there that wasn’t from worry, nerves or annoying conversations.

‘Who’s the father?’

‘I honestly don’t know his name.’

The expression on his large face isn’t disgusted. He smiles. ‘You see. You’ve plenty of things to worry you. I’m not one of them.’ He lifts his big frame off the chair and checks the lock on the back door. ‘I’m checking the house now.’

‘I’ll go to bed.’

‘Goodnight.’ He’s away to check the windows and doors, and it seems like that’s an end to our conversation.

‘I won’t sleep,’ he calls from the back scullery. ‘No one will harm a hair on your head.’

The stairs are looming upwards towards the most comfortable bed I’ve ever known. There’s nothing really to fear in this house, and I’m protected by the largest man, yet nothing seems real, certain or stable.

Why did Larry find me and take me in? What does he want from me? Nothing makes sense at all, and I feel I’m living in a lie.

I’m used to untruths. I’m good at being untruthful, but I’m not used to being uncertain of others and their truthfulness. Usually, Irish people are open, and if they’re not, you know somehow their true nature will surface. Nothing can stay hidden in small towns, villages or counties. There’s always someone who knows something. Someone who sees, hears or finds out the truth. The Irish definitely make the best detectives and couldn’t be killers or hide from the law. No one can go anywhere in Ireland without seeing someone they know.

Sure, there was the one time I thought I’d run away from that beast of a husband. I’d taken the train to Dublin. I was trembling and worrying all the way. But in Maynooth who got on and sat in my carriage but Father Lavelle.

‘Up seeing my nephew who’s in training in the college. On to see the Cardinal and then home to Sligo.’ His crooked smile bored into my soul. ‘You’re not thinking of leaving Sligo yourself, Peggy? Sure, where would a lass like you end up?’ He looked at my tiny case and my bad-looking shoes. ‘I’ll have a word with himself, and he’ll get you some nice new shoes and take you dancing. How’s about that? ’

He held my elbow and marched me up to the residence of the Cardinal where I had tea with the housekeeper in the kitchen until he could march me back to the train station and sit with me until we got to Collooney where we both got off, Father Lavelle saying now and again, ‘Women like new shoes. You’re a young woman now, and I know we should have seen that himself was buying you a few bits and bobs. That mother of yours spoilt you.’

I could’ve flung that fucking priest out of the window of the moving train, such was my hatred of him. The frustration I had at fate for putting him into my carriage and me finally running away. Himself did buy me the new shoes, but also battered me with them before he gave them to me all wrapped up again in their white tissue paper speckled with spots of red.

‘I know life ain’t easy on a woman. But you got to make the best of the things that God provides,’ Father Lavelle said, when I muttered my misgivings. He ignored the marks I showed him at confession. ‘I cannot see through the grille, Peggy. They can’t be that bad and sure a man like Johnny just doesn’t know how to tell you that he’d miss you. He’s not used to dealing with a pretty girl and nice things. Are you being a good wife to him now? Children will bless you both soon enough. Give the Lord time. Have patience.’

‘I pray I never give him any, Father.’

I’m sure he cursed at me then. Ranting uncontrollably through the box at me, he was. Saying my nature would be fulfilled by children and how my mother would be so disgusted if she knew I wasted my time with the Lord in asking for such vile things.

‘I know your mother sacrificed a lot to give you a good home and bring you up in a community with Catholic values. She deserves to know you’ll have a child and will raise it right, like she did. God love the creature, sure, this kind of talk would send her madder still. What an ungrateful lass you are.’

I can hear him still. If anyone would know about my past and who I am, Father Lavelle would. Whether he would tell me would be another thing and whether the bastard is alive to tell it, is crucial to my hatching plan.

The pillow is cool, and my breasts ache as I take them from my underwear. My tummy is swollen more, and the mirror tells me I have the glow other mothers have. I can see it, despite my tiredness and uncertainties. I like it. I love feeling the flutter inside me as I settle into the mattress and talk to my little one.

‘All will be right, as long as I have you.’ The baby must be sleeping, and I fall into the lull of the night to join her. It’s a her inside me as only a female could survive all I’ve put her through.