Little Drifters: Part 4 of 4. Kathleen O’Shea

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СКАЧАТЬ for me at the school gates and I hadn’t had the opportunity to get away on a Saturday to see him in the park. But word must have got to him about the beating, I reasoned. The children from the orphanage all talked to each other and I was sure he would have found out and understood why I wasn’t coming to see him. Never mind, I told myself. I’ll come back from the holidays and fix everything. After all, once I was back in St Beatrice’s it was only a matter of weeks before I turned 16 and then we could put our plan of running away together into action. Being sent to England now was even better for us – I would meet my family, have a chance to see them first and find out where me and Shane could live once we came over together. I was sad not to see him before Christmas of course, but for now I had enough to deal with. I was about to meet the family I hadn’t seen in years. I was about to meet my mother again, the woman I’d dreamed about and cried over for so long.

      Fergal came to get me late in the afternoon and by then the only people left to say goodbye to were Sister Helen and Colleen. It was an unremarkable farewell with them both. Each of them simply said: ‘Goodbye, Kathleen.’ And that was that. Fergal picked up my case and led me out of St Beatrice’s. From the moment we stepped outside the front door, I felt a surge of freedom welling up inside me. I didn’t even give the place a backward glance. No, I was leaving for England where nobody would tell me what to do. I was free again!

      But the long trip took its toll on my nerves. With every hour that passed I became more and more scared of what was going to meet me at the other end. What would they all look like? How would they treat me? On the boat I didn’t talk much. Fergal kept trying to start conversations but they all petered out into silence. I couldn’t speak at all. There was such a storm of emotion raging in me I couldn’t express a single thought. Some part of me felt inexplicably sad, though I couldn’t for the life of me work out why. I didn’t even ask him many questions – I would soon see the truth for myself.

      It was early morning when our train pulled into Paddington, and the shock of my new surroundings was truly overwhelming. We were in London, a city I’d only seen in postcards or on TV. The place was swarming with people, busy people, smart people, all dressed up and click-clacking about with places to go in a big hurry. The buildings were vast, tall enough to obscure the sky. I saw the cinema, a beautiful ornate building in the middle of the street. And the lights! Oh, the lights were magical. The noise of the people, the cars, the buses and the general din came at me from every angle. It was truly an assault on all my senses.

      By now Fergal was more excited than me, eager to be reunited with his family. He flagged down a big black taxi – a massive car that I’d only ever seen before in pictures.

      ‘Not long now,’ he grinned as we climbed in and gave the driver our address. ‘Our house is just ten minutes from here.’

      I tugged at my long brown coat, suddenly self-conscious at my plain clothes. My nerves had now reached a critical point. I shook as we pulled alongside a small house with a black front door on a quiet street.

      Stay calm, I told myself over and over. Just stay calm.

      But it was near impossible. I knew that today I would meet my mother. What will I say to her? What do I call her? Will she like me? All these thoughts raced through my mind and I felt my head buzzing with confusion and fear. I was trying my hardest, but how could I possibly stay calm?

      Bridget opened the door before we’d even walked up the small path to the house. She looked different from how I remembered her; older, like a fully grown woman.

      ‘Kathleen!’ she sang, opening her arms wide. She must have heard the cab pulling up. I hugged her shyly, awkwardly. She was my sister, my family, yes, but also a complete stranger. She welcomed me into her home and took my coat before leading me through the hallway to a small, perfectly neat and clean living room. Bridget always was a clean freak, I thought, noting the spotless carpet, the plumped-up cushions on the sofas and freshly polished cabinets.

      Fergal gave her a big hug too and then, in a moment, a small girl appeared at my elbow, her shy, anxious smile matching my own.

      ‘This is Annie,’ Bridget said proudly. ‘My daughter.’

      ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said formally. But Annie, who was five and cute as anything, didn’t stand on ceremony. She threw her arms around my waist and buried her head into my hip. Then she looked up, curious.

      ‘Are you my aunt?’ she asked inquisitively, her nose wrinkling at the tip. ‘You don’t look old enough to be my aunt. Are you from Ireland too?’

      It was funny, she had an English accent and I couldn’t quite believe that she was Bridget’s own daughter. A child cried from somewhere upstairs. Bridget bustled out, reappearing a few minutes later with a bewildered little boy with dark hair sticking straight up on his head who had clearly been asleep just moments before. He was clutching a well-chewed blue toy elephant and leaning into his mother’s shoulder.

      ‘My son, Alfie,’ said Bridget. ‘He’s only just two.’

      It was still very early, just gone eight in the morning, and Bridget offered us both tea and toast. Fergal tucked in, famished. We’d only had one meal since leaving St Beatrice’s – a soggy ham sandwich on the boat. But I refused the toast, I couldn’t eat a thing. Bridget showed me round her home – it had two bedrooms upstairs and I would be sharing with Annie. There was a living room divided by a pair of sliding doors and a kitchen leading to a small garden in the back.

      Just as it was coming up to nine o’clock, the phone rang.

      Bridget went to answer it.

      ‘Yes, they’re back,’ she spoke. I knew in that second it was my mother on the other end of the line.

      ‘You’re at the school now? Then you’re coming over? Okay, no problem.’

      Bridget put the phone down and turned to me. ‘Your mother’s on her way over.’

      I felt sick. I didn’t say anything. My heart was beating at a million miles a minute.

      ‘She has another family now,’ Bridget went on, putting me in the picture. ‘She met another fella and they’ve had two kids.’

      I could barely take it in for the roaring in my ears. The time just seemed to fly by so quickly that the next thing I knew there was a knock on the door.

      Oh my God! I felt light-headed. Maybe I was going to faint? My stomach dropped to my toes and I started to tremble.

      In a second Bridget had opened it and I heard greetings at the door, my mother’s voice! I expected then to see the same woman I remembered from five years before walk in. But she didn’t. Another woman did.

      This woman had my mother’s slim body and the same long blonde hair but there was something different about the face. She looked harder than my mother. She was pushing a child in a buggy who looked to be about a year old. I sat, rooted to the spot, unable to move.

      ‘Oh hello, Kathleen,’ my mother said, very casually, as if I’d only popped out for half an hour. ‘Did you have a nice journey over?’

      ‘It was fine,’ I managed to mumble. There were no big hugs, no kisses, no warm words or greeting, love or remorse. Nothing. It was as if I was a pleasant but completely irrelevant stranger.

      Mammy plonked herself down on an armchair in the other corner of the room, next to Bridget, and began chatting away to her.

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