Little Girl Lost (30 page)

Nick chuckled. ‘They know better’n to ax questions,’ he said. ‘They knows me awright an’ I reckon they knows I don’t go home that much.’

Kitty nodded. She had never visited Nick’s home because both Maeve and Caitlin had absolutely forbidden it, and Kitty knew that such strictures were placed upon her for a very good reason. Nick’s dad hit his mam and his mam hit the kids, and neither Caitlin nor Maeve wanted Kitty to be hurt. So now she trotted along beside Nick and joined the queue whilst wondering at the strangeness of life. A week ago she would simply have accepted that Maeve and Caitlin did not want her to be hurt because they loved her, but what she had overheard today had called that love in question. If Caitlin had truly loved her, she would not have dreamed of sending her across the water to the woman who had given birth to her, or imprisoning her in an orphanage. Orphanages were awful places; everyone in the Liberties knew that. Huge families, all living in one room, and mostly half starved, would still take in a couple of kids, perhaps only distantly connected to them, when the children’s own relatives died. The people of the tenements, particularly the women, would make room, somehow, for an extra mouth to feed. Yet Caitlin had talked of putting Kitty in an orphanage as though it were the only sensible solution.

‘Here.’ Nick pushed a cracked and rather dirty bowl into Kitty’s hands. ‘Did you notice? The woman handin’ out the bowls never so much as glanced at either of us. When we shuffle past the ladle you hold your bowl out as near the pot as you can. Likely, they’ll lay a chunk of bread across the bowl. Then we sits on them steps until the grub’s all gone.’

Kitty was about to ask who would give her a spoon when she noticed that the line of children already sitting on the steps were drinking the soup straight from the bowls. Presently, she followed Nick over to the steps, sat down in the place vacated by a child who had just finished his portion, and looked dubiously at the contents of her bowl. It was thin and watery, with bubbles of grease floating on the surface, and bits of what she hoped was cabbage clearly visible. The bread was hard and stale and was probably a day or two old, but when she cautiously tasted the soup it wasn’t too bad, and she was so hungry that the bread disappeared in a trice. Even so, Nick’s bowl was empty long before her own.

‘Finished?’ Nick stood up, then took her bowl. ‘I’ll take ’em back, Kit. You wait here.’

When he rejoined her the two of them set off into the dark streets once more. They walked slowly, for by now Kitty was very tired and Nick, obviously sensing this, regulated his pace to hers. However, halfway down a dark and particularly noisome alley, he pulled her to a halt and swung her to face him. ‘Look, Kit,’ he said seriously. ‘Up to now, this has been a sort of game to you, wouldn’t you be after admitting? You were upset and even angry about what you heard your Auntie Caitlin say, but surely in your heart you know she couldn’t mean it? You isn’t her daughter and Maeve isn’t your mammy either, but they’ve been mortal good to you ever since you were born. Caitlin’s got a good job, and though she’ll miss Mr O’Keefe’s money the family are still a heap better off than most. You’ve never gone hungry in your life, never had to visit a soup kitchen, never slept rough. Why, even friends you tek home get give a good meal – many a fine meal I’ve had meself in your kitchen – so why should they turn you out? Clodagh’s earnin’, even if it ain’t much, and Fergal and Seamus get a bob or two selling the papers.’

Kitty shook her head hopelessly. ‘I don’t know why, I just know Auntie Cait said it weren’t fair to expect her to look after me as well as all the others. And if I go back, I know she’ll send me away, either across the water or into an orphanage. If you don’t want to help me, Nick, just you say so and I’ll go off by meself. But go off I shall, wit’ or wit’out you.’

She expected Nick to make a sharp rejoinder, even to walk away from her, but instead he linked his arm with hers, and even in the darkness she could see his grin. ‘That’s all right then; we’ll be off as soon as we’re prepared,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I were testin’ you because it’s no use settin’ off to live rough wit’ someone whose heart isn’t in it. I didn’t hear what your Auntie Cait said but I dare say there’s some other reason for her wantin’ rid of you. Well, not wantin’ rid exactly,’ he added, clearly sensing his companion’s distress, ‘more likely needing your space in some way. I wonder if she’s thinking of taking a lodger, perhaps?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kitty said tiredly. She was beginning to feel that this day, the worst in her whole life, was going on for ever. ‘Please, Nick, where’s we goin’? I’m so wore out I could sleep on a clothes line, if you’d just peg me to it. I don’t think I can walk no further.’

‘That’s good, ’cos we’ve arrived,’ Nick said. He pulled her into a narrow passageway, too small to be lit by street lamps, but in the faint starlight Kitty saw a great heap of rubble and realised that this had once been a tenement block. She pulled back, for the place smelt most unpleasant and she was pretty sure that it must be haunted by the rats which immediately took over and thoroughly scavenged in any deserted building, but Nick firmly propelled her on. ‘It’s awright, it isn’t as bad as it looks,’ he said encouragingly. ‘If we slide past that big block, there’s like a little cave among the bricks. I keep some sacks there and a big pile of newspapers. We can be snug as bugs in rugs, I’m tellin’ you.’

‘What about rats?’ Kitty quavered. Never had she wished so passionately for Tommy, and she said so. But Nick told her that Tommy was not like a dog, who would follow at heel and come to their command.

‘Besides, Tommy belongs to Maeve really, you know he does,’ he reminded her.

‘Yes, I know,’ Kitty muttered unwillingly. ‘Only – only Tommy’s me best pal, next to you, of course, Nick, and – and he’s cleared all the rats out of Handkerchief Alley. Oh, I wish he could have come wit’ us.’

But Nick only gave a deep, pretend snore, so Kitty hunched the sacks up over her shoulders and closed her eyes, fondly imagining Maeve, in the little bed they shared, with Tommy curled up at her feet, and Clodagh and Grainne snoring in the next bed. I wonder if Maeve’s t’inking of me? was Kitty’s last thought as she sank gratefully into sleep.

Chapter Eleven

Maeve awoke to find daylight stealing into the room so that she saw the humped figures of Grainne and Clodagh as dark shapes against the dawn light. For a moment, she just lay there, conscious that the warm little body which usually cuddled close to her own was missing and thinking, hazily, that Kitty must have got up to use the chamber pot. Then suddenly everything came flooding back: the dreadful news that Pat O’Keefe was dead, the sudden realisation that Kitty had not come home from school, the breathless hurry through the streets to St Joseph’s where Sister Jeremiah had placidly assured her that her worries were unfounded. ‘Sure and you’re believin’ the child has been mitching off school, but you’d be wrong, alanna, for it was meself sent her off on a message,’ she had said comfortably. ‘’Twould take her to Francis Street, which is so near Handkerchief Alley that there was little point in her returning to school.’ She had given Maeve her kind and gentle smile. ‘And if she’s not home b’ now, sure an’ she’ll be skipping rope or playing relievio in some back yard wit’ a crowd of other youngsters.’

Comforted, Maeve had walked home in a leisurely fashion, scrutinising every group of children she met in the hope of seeing Kitty. She had not done so, but when she got back to the flat there was so much to do that she had almost forgotten the child’s absence until the meal was on the table. Caitlin had put off telling the children of their father’s death until they were all present, but Maeve had noticed that when they settled down at the table and she asked Grainne whether she had seen Kitty, a look crossed Caitlin’s face which Maeve had been unable to interpret. Was it fear? Maeve knew awful things could happen to children; why, she herself as a child of five had been scutting a horse and cart with her elder sister, clinging on for dear life and thinking it great fun, when the carter had noticed them; his long whip had curled round and she had fallen into the road. A passing delivery boy had snatched her up but not before the wheel of the cart behind had caught her leg; she could still remember the agony of it. If something like that had happened to Kitty . . . but she was sure Kitty had more sense than to play at scutting, with the example of Maeve’s lameness for ever before her.

There were other dangers, of course. It was not unknown for children to be injured when there was a falling out amongst dockers or the players in a toss school. Attracted by the shouts and yells, children would rush towards the ruggyup, as they called it, and sometimes as the fights swayed back and forth a child would get knocked to the ground unnoticed.

But this happened to smaller children, usually boys, and Maeve reminded herself once more that Kitty was sensible. She might watch the police breaking up a toss school because gambling was illegal, but she would never get involved.

By now, everyone was seated round the table. Caitlin crossed to the pot of stew simmering on the stove and dipped the ladle into it, then hesitated, glancing across at Maeve. ‘I’m sorry, alanna, I wasn’t really attending when you were telling me that Sister Jeremiah had sent Kitty on a message. Did you say she told Kitty to come straight home?’

‘That’s right,’ Maeve said, rather mystified. ‘I can’t imagine why she didn’t – come straight home, I mean. Sister suggested she’d have stopped to play relievio or something wit’ her pals, but when I t’ink about it, I can’t agree. Kitty’s a good girl; she’d have come straight home to change out of her good skirt and blouse, and anyway most of her friends would still have been in school.’

‘Oh.’ Caitlin said. She looked stricken. ‘Maeve, me love, I’m after t’inkin’ . . . oh, janey mack, whatever have I done?’

Maeve stared at her. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said slowly. ‘You said you hadn’t seen Kitty.’

‘No, but . . .’ Caitlin turned to Clodagh. ‘Dish up the food, there’s a good girl; I need to have a word wit’ Maeve, in private like.’

Clodagh got up, came across to the stove, and began to ladle stew and potatoes on to a pile of tin plates her mother had placed in readiness. Maeve saw that the children were all beginning to look uneasy and guessed that they sensed something unpleasant had happened. She hoped that they would eat their food before Caitlin told them of Pat’s death, because she was pretty sure that appetites would disappear when they heard the dreadful news. She followed Caitlin out of the kitchen and into Caitlin’s own room, where the two of them perched on the bed whilst Caitlin, falteringly at first, repeated word for word, or as nearly as she could remember, the exact conversation between herself and Brendan concerning Kitty.

As her friend spoke, Maeve felt the hot blood rush to her cheeks. How dared Caitlin talk about Kitty as though the child were unwanted, a burden. But then she remembered that Caitlin had received crushing news herself, and after all it had been Brendan who had persuaded his cousin to take the child in. Yet she was not sure what this had to do with Kitty’s disappearance and said as much, whereupon Caitlin’s beautiful dark eyes filled with tears. ‘I – I thought I heard someone on the stairs when I was saying those wicked things,’ she stammered. ‘I – I went to the door and looked down the flight and I thought I saw someone disappearing round the corner, but I was too upset to wonder who it could be. Honest to God, Maeve, if I’d known it were Kitty . . .’

Maeve got up and took the older girl’s hands in her own. ‘It isn’t your fault and I know you didn’t mean a word of it, and so will Kitty once I’ve had a chance to talk to her,’ she said comfortingly. ‘Of course she’ll be hurt and upset, but when you tell her you spoke out of your pain . . .’

‘I’ll tell her the moment she gets back,’ Caitlin said earnestly, getting to her feet and giving Maeve a hug. ‘We’ll sort it out as soon as she gets home. But right now, I’ve got to tell the children that their daddy’s gone.’

It was a dreadful evening; quite the worst Maeve thought she had ever spent. The children had been stunned and horrified, even the twins who thought themselves so tough had wept bitterly, for they all knew how lucky they had been to have a father like Pat. He had worked hard for his family, seldom drank, and was truly interested in every aspect of his children’s lives. They had all looked forward eagerly to his return from the war, anticipating the stories he would tell, longing to hear of the countries he had visited, the pals he had made. Now all that was over, and though their mammy had promised their daddy would come back to Ireland they knew the coffin would be fastened down; indeed, they had no wish for it to be otherwise, for, as Clodagh said, the picture of their daddy would be in their hearts for ever and they would need no reminders.

As soon as the meal was finished, Maeve took herself off to ask around the neighbourhood for any sign of Kitty. She walked up and down Francis Street questioning the stallholders, but though several said they thought they had seen a neatly dressed child with a couple of thick plaits it was little help, since they had no idea in which direction she had gone, or even whether she was alone or with a friend.

Maeve had returned to the flat very late, by that time desperately worried, certain that Kitty must have fallen into some scrape or other. She had visited the home of every school friend that Kitty played with, but no one had seen the child since she had gone off to do Sister Jeremiah’s message. Maeve had dragged herself wearily up the stairs and pushed open the kitchen door. Late though it had been, everyone was still up, and as she entered Caitlin had swung round, flourishing a dirty sheet of crumpled paper. ‘It’s a letter from Kitty,’ she had said excitedly. ‘It had your name on the outside but I opened it – unfolded it, rather – because I knew you’d want me to do so. I were just beginning to read it to the children when I heard your foot on the stair.’ She had gazed hopefully at Maeve. ‘Have you any news, alanna?’