Secrets and Shadows (5 page)

G
race tossed and turned in feverish sleep, reliving the events of last week in a vivid dream. Once more she heard the bomber flying over the North Strand and her heart pounded. She pressed her face anxiously up to the window pane and scanned the night sky. She couldn’t see anything, but the droning of the plane became louder, and she felt her pulses racing.

Grace wanted the comfort of her mother, but she was too proud to call out. Ma had gone into the kitchen, and Grace thought that she was too old now to be calling for her mammy. It would have been good to still share the bedroom with her older sisters, but there was just herself and Ma living in the cottage now, what with Da dead and her older brothers and sisters all left home.

Suddenly there was a deafening explosion. The next thing Grace knew she was coming to in the gutter outside her house, not knowing for a few seconds where she was. She tried moving her arms and legs. They felt sore, but apart from some grazes and scratches she seemed uninjured.

She looked around in horror and saw that many of her neighbours’ houses had been wrecked. There were clouds of dust in the air and she saw bloodied bodies lying further down the roadway. A dead dog lay in the middle of the street and the tattered remains of someone’s wedding dress had been blown into the far gutter.
She could hear young children screaming in terror and injured adults moaning and crying out in pain. The realisation of injured people suddenly clarified her muddled thoughts and her stomach tightened in fear.
Ma! Where was Ma?

Grace rose and ran towards the house. The doorway was completely collapsed, so she climbed over the rubble of the threshold and was able to pick her way across what used to be their livingroom. There was dust everywhere, making it hard to see, but part of the wall of the kitchen was still standing, and she made her way as quickly as she could towards it.

She went through what was left of the doorway, then stopped in her tracks. A body lay on the floor. Grace recognised the fawn cardigan that Ma had slipped on over her nightdress. She wanted to scream, but in the way that often happened in nightmares she couldn’t make a sound.
Oh, no, please, God,
she thought, running to where her mother lay and falling to her knees beside her. She remembered how awful it had been when Da had died suddenly, and the idea of losing Ma as well was too much to bear. She felt her tears beginning to well up, then suddenly her mother blinked.

‘Ma!’ she cried.

Her mother opened confused eyes. ‘Grace…’

‘Oh thank God!’ said Grace, throwing her arms around her.

They stayed there for a moment, hugging each other tightly, then they rose and Grace held her mother’s hand as they made their way out onto the street. The roadway was full of injured people, and there was screaming and sobbing from adults and children
alike. Ma looked aghast at the desolation. The street was covered from end to end with rubble from collapsed houses. Along the centre of the North Strand, the area’s main thoroughfare, Grace could see the tram tracks mangled out of shape and pointing grotesquely into the sky.

Suddenly she heard the sound of bells and guessed that it must be fire brigade or civil defence vehicles approaching at speed. She saw Ma staring at the remains of their house and shaking her head disbelievingly. Grace suspected that they were both thinking the same horrible thought – that they might never again live in their happy home.

Grace was about to turn away when something protruding from the collapsed brickwork of the cottage caught her eye. She looked again and saw that it was Fido, the toy wooden dog that her da had carved for her when she was small. It was the only link back to her father, and she wasn’t going to let the people who had destroyed her home take that from her too. Before Ma could object, she ran back to the remains of the house, clambering over the broken bricks to get to the toy dog.

‘Grace! What are you doing?’ cried Ma.

‘It’s Fido. I’m not losing him too!’ she called back, before extracting the toy, which was battered but still in one piece

‘The rest of the roof could fall down!’ cried Ma. ‘Come out this minute!’

Just then there was a rumble, and Grace looked up in horror as the roof collapsed, burying her in rubble. Grace felt suffocated and
screamed in terror, then awoke with a start. She realised that she had only been dreaming, and she looked over at Ma in the other bed, still asleep. At least she hadn’t screamed out loud and woken everyone. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding, and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. She stayed there, unmoving, as her heartbeat gradually returned to normal, then eventually she lay down again and tried to sleep, praying that she wouldn’t have the dream again.

Someone had told her that you never have the same dream twice in the one night. She hoped that this was true, as she lay with closed eyes, trying not to think any more about the most terrifying night of her life.

B
arry sang along with the closing hymn, but today it was a struggle. Each Sunday morning he went to Mass with his grandmother, and normally he liked the atmosphere in the garrison church, with its stained glass windows and aroma of incense. It was an army chapel attached to Collins Barracks, but civilians were allowed to attend services, and his grandma and many of her neighbours got Mass there each week.

Barry thought it was more interesting than a normal church, especially when he could glance up at the choir loft, where inmates from Arbour Hill Military Prison were brought under escort to attend Mass. This morning, though, Barry’s mind was elsewhere. After Communion the priest had suggested that people pray for their special intentions. Barry prayed as usual for Dad away at sea, for Mum’s safety in Liverpool and for Uncle George in the prison camp in Germany. And without warning he felt a piercing stab of homesickness for his scattered family. Even though Grandma was really nice to him, he suddenly felt really sad that they were all separated.

There was a lump in his throat, and he had to blink back the tears from his eyes. The welling up of emotion had taken him by surprise, especially since he had been away from home almost four weeks and so far he hadn’t given in to homesickness. Steeling
himself, he tried hard now to sing along normally with the final hymn, not wanting anyone to see his upset.

He lowered his head a little as though in reverence, and discreetly wiped his eyes. He glanced around the church, anxious that Grace shouldn’t see him looking teary-eyed.

He had met her a couple of times since the day she had shared the jam slice, and the more he got to know her the more he liked her. Somehow she seemed to combine a no-nonsense manner with a real sense of fun. He had also started to be accepted in the schoolyard as a good footballer, so it wasn’t as though he wasn’t settling in to life in Dublin. But for whatever reason he had suddenly missed his mum and dad. It was the kind of thing that Grace might actually understand, but still, he didn’t want a girl to see him looking upset.

Barry looked across the aisle to where he had earlier spotted Grace’s granddad and her uncle Freddie. He didn’t see Grace and her mother, however, and as the congregation finished the hymn people genuflected and began to make for the exit doors of the church.

Barry and Grandma followed the crowd, and Barry hoped that they could avoid the Ryans today. Grace’s granddad was nice enough, but her uncle Freddie was what Irish people called an eejit, and Barry definitely wasn’t in the humour for him this morning. Barry reached the door and stepped out into the fresh morning air. He was descending the steps with his grandmother when he heard his name being called.

‘Mr Malone.’

There was only one person who ever called him that, and Barry looked around, a little startled to see Mr Pawlek approaching across the gravelled area in front of the church. But then most Poles were Catholics, so perhaps it wasn’t that surprising to see the drill teacher at Mass.

He approached now, smiled at Barry and said, ‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning, sir.’

Mr Pawlek turned to Grandma and bowed formally, then held out his hand.

‘Karl Pawlek, Madame.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Pawlek,’ answered Grandma shaking hands. ‘Peg Malone, Barry’s grandmother. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

Mr Pawlek tilted his head a little playfully. ‘Really? Not all bad, I hope?’

‘No, no, no – nothing but good!’

‘How flattering,’ said the teacher with a grin. ‘If only all my pupils were like Barry.’

‘Oh now…’ said Grandma with a high-pitched little laugh.

She beamed with pleasure, but Barry felt uncomfortable. Obviously he didn’t look red-eyed, which was good. But it was embarrassing to be discussed like this, and he felt vaguely unsettled with how readily Grandma was responding to Mr Pawlek’s charm.

‘He’s doing well at school. Very good at maths, according to his master,’ said the Pole.

Barry hadn’t realised that his master, Mr O’Brien, had been discussing him with the drill teacher.

‘Takes after my Derek, if I say so myself,’ said Grandma proudly.

‘Ah yes, your son in the navy. He’s doing well, I’m sure.’

‘Oh yes, he’s a Petty Officer now.’

‘Really? You must miss him – so far away.’

‘Yes,’ answered Grandma, ‘but he’s good at writing. Sent me a lovely picture of Gibraltar for my birthday.’

Mr Pawlek raised an eyebrow. ‘Gibraltar? That must be an interesting spot to be based.’

‘Yes, though of course he’s not really supposed to say where he is.’

‘No, of course. Nice though that he’s in touch.’

‘Derek was always a good lad,’ said Grandma.

‘And Barry tells me his mother is working hard in Liverpool,’ said Mr Pawlek.

‘Ellen is a great girl.’

‘Let’s hope she can get over to visit.’

‘Yes, she’s trying to organise her holidays.’

‘Good, good. A fine city, Liverpool,’ added Mr Pawlek, ‘when I first left Poland I worked there for a while.’

‘Really?’ said Grandma with interest.

‘Yes, I lived in Allerton and commuted to work in Birkenhead. Where does your daughter-in-law have to travel to?’

Barry thought that Mr Pawlek was being a bit nosey, but Grandma answered readily.

‘Out past Aintree. She gets a bus there and back. Great little worker, Ellen.’

‘I’m sure she is,’ agreed Mr Pawlek. ‘Well, I mustn’t keep you. Nice to have met you, Mrs Malone. Barry.’

‘Sir.’

‘Lovely meeting you, Mr Pawlek,’ said Grandma.

The drill teacher nodded politely in farewell, then headed off across the churchyard.

‘He’s a proper gentleman,’ said Grandma. ‘You’re lucky to have him, Barry.’

‘Yes,’ answered Barry, and he walked alongside his grandmother as they made for the churchyard gate. He said nothing more, knowing that Grandma was probably right. But still, just at the moment, somehow he didn’t feel lucky.

Grace was shocked, even though she had tried to prepare herself. It was her first visit back to the North Strand since the night of the bombing, and now she and Ma were walking through their old neighbourhood. Dozens of houses had been demolished and damaged on the night of the raid, but more had since been razed to the ground because of their dangerous, bomb-damaged condition. And hundreds more homes couldn’t be lived in until repairs had been carried out. The summer sun shone down onto streets that had been cleared of rubble by now, but Grace couldn’t help but
feel that the neighbourhood as she knew it was changed forever.

It had been a strange few days in general. Grace and Ma had been to a Mass for those who had died in the air raid, and the ceremony had been attended by the Taoiseach, Eamon de Valera, and other members of the government. The Army Band had played, and Grace had felt important to be present as a member of the North Strand community. At the same time she felt really sad about neighbours who had been killed, and a little guilty about enjoying the band and the sense of occasion.

On a brighter note, Uncle Freddie hadn’t tried to get any friendlier with Ma, and had missed yesterday’s trip to the Hollow in the Phoenix Park. He had been called in to work overtime as Dublin Corporation went flat out to finish its new housing scheme in Cabra, so that people displaced from the North Strand could be housed.

Grace wished that she and Ma could have had one of the new houses. For years they had had a joke between them – going back to when Grace was a toddler – that a fancy house near the strand in Sutton was ‘Grace’s house’, and that she would live in it when she was grown up. Now she would have been delighted to take one of the more modest houses being finished in Cabra. Priority was given to larger families, however, and she and Ma would have to stay in Granddad’s until Ma could find somewhere else.

Grace had enjoyed the trip to the Hollow with Granddad and Ma. Granddad had even treated her to a pink fizzy drink at the park entrance – though it still seemed a bit strange to hear a brass
band playing jolly tunes, when only a week before so many people had been killed in the same city.

Now that they could see again the devastation of the North Strand the contrast seemed even more jarring, and Grace sensed that Ma was upset as they walked through the shattered neighbourhood. She squeezed her mother’s hand and looked at her. ‘Are you OK, Ma?’

‘Yes…yes, I’m all right, love.’

Grace slipped her arm around her mother’s waist as they walked along. It was the first time she ever felt responsible for her mother, and it was strange to have their normal roles reversed. They reached the door of Mrs Murray’s house, an old friend and neighbour of Ma’s, and they halted.

‘I’ll just pop in for a few minutes, Grace, you go and play with the girls,’ said Ma, indicating three nearby girls who were using a piggy to play hopscotch on the pavement.

‘OK,’ answered Grace. Her two closest friends, Joan and Kathleen, had also lost their homes and were staying with relatives, but Grace knew the girls who were playing hopscotch and she greeted them easily.

‘Hello, girls,’ she said, approaching.

‘Grace,’ said the one who was throwing the piggy. ‘Where are you living now?’

‘Arbour Hill.’

The second girl raised an eyebrow. ‘Where’s Arbour Hill when it’s at home?’

‘It’s near Stoneybatter.’

‘Why did you move there?’

‘It’s where my grandda lives. I’m going to school there too, Ma says it’s too far to be coming back here.’

‘And what are the teachers like?’

‘Same as here. Some are grand, some are a pain.’

‘Any nice youngfellas?’ asked the third girl.

‘No, sure it’s a girls’ school.’

‘I meant in Arbour Hill.

‘Oh. No…no, I just got to know some of the girls,’ answered Grace.

It was a lie, she realised immediately – she had made a friend in Barry.
Why had she hidden that?
Maybe it was because Barbara, the girl who had questioned her, was nosey and silly, and was always talking about boys. Grace didn’t want her going on about herself and Barry and perhaps making fun of her new English friend.

She was a little surprised by her protectiveness, but though Barry certainly wasn’t a boyfriend, she still thought of him as a friend. And he hadn’t just left his
neighbourhood
, like her, he had left his
country
. So she would stand up for him if need be, or better still, keep his existence from silly busybodies like Barbara.

She took the piggy before the other girl could question her further, threw it accurately onto the far end of the chalked bed, then hopped confidently along the pavement in front of the bombed out houses of her old neighbourhood.