If You Were the Only Girl

They didn’t eat it all, but Minnie cut all the children slices of bread from the loaf, which she spread with the creamy butter. The rest she put away: she said, so she could have something wholesome to make a good meal for Lucy before she would have to return to Letterkenny.

‘Don’t worry about me, Mammy,’ Lucy protested, as she poured water from the kettle above the fire into the bowl Grainne had got ready, and began to wash the bowls. ‘I didn’t come here to eat the food I brought. That was done to help all of you.’

‘You will have a good feed before you leave here,’ Minnie said determinedly. ‘God knows, I do little enough for you now.’

‘Ah, Mammy!’

‘No, Lucy,’ Minnie said. ‘Please, let me speak. When I saw you get off the rail bus I could hardly believe my eyes. In the short time that you’ve been away you have grown and there’s far more meat on your bones. I didn’t expect that. For all Clara said, I thought that they would have you run ragged.’

‘And let me tell you, Mammy, there are few minutes in the day when I can sit down,’ Lucy said. ‘I am on the go from when I rise in the morning till I go to bed, after I have everything washed up, cleaned the kitchen and scrubbed the floor. When I first went there, I found the days long and the whole of my body ached. I couldn’t lift the heaviest and biggest pots that I had to scour and Clodagh would have to help me. However, I am used to the hours now, and the work, and although the pots are just as heavy, I can lift them up with the best of them.’

She dried her hands, went over to the settle, picked up the bag and gave it to her mother. She said, ‘At the bottom of the clothes you will find a cloth bag and inside there are thirty shillings. I only wish it was more, but that is yours, and every month I will bring the same. But look at the things Clara has sent first. She said she had no use for them.’

Minnie lifted the things out one by one. The warm black boots on the top had hardly any wear, and there were two winter-weight dresses: one in navy with cream trimmings, similar to the one Clara bought for Lucy, and the other dark red with navy collar and cuffs. There was a cosy, woolly blue cardigan, a cream blouse and a brown skirt, and wrapped up in the skirt a pair of lisle stockings unopened. The children stared open-mouthed, but it was Lucy that Minnie was looking at. Her eyes were very bright and her voice choked as she repeated, ‘No use for?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘That’s all she told me, and she sent a Christmas card as well.’

‘I know,’ Minnie said, and she lifted out the envelope and slit it open to reveal a beautiful card with a snow scene on the front. When she opened it up, a five-pound note fell out and the children let out a gasp.

‘“Have a very happy Christmas, all of you. Lots of love, Clara,”’ Minnie read out, and she picked the note up from the floor and said to Lucy, almost angrily, ‘Is this something else Clara had no use for?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I truly didn’t know about the money. To be honest, when it first fluttered out I was a bit annoyed myself because it makes my contribution look so small and unimportant, and then I thought that that was a selfish way to think. She doesn’t know whether she will get to see you before Christmas – travel in the winter is so dependent on the weather – and she wanted to make sure that you didn’t go without at Christmas. Can’t you see it in that light?’

‘I don’t think she meant it as any sort of insult,’ Danny said. ‘You know her better than I do, of course, but from what I saw of her she was a sort of kindly person. Wouldn’t you say so, Lucy?’

‘Aye, I would, Danny, definitely.’

Minnie was thinking hard. She wanted to return the money because to her it was as if her friend was looking down her nose at her, playing the Lady Bountiful.

Lucy watched her mother’s face and guessed her thoughts. ‘You accept clothes from St Vincent de Paul for all of us,’ she said, ‘so what’s the difference to you accepting the clothes and money that Mrs O’Leary has given with a good heart?’

‘Things from St Vincent de Paul are different, and they have never given me money.’

‘You’ve had food vouchers, which is the same thing,’ Danny put in.

‘That’s right,’ said Lucy. ‘And just because there is plenty of wear in the boots and clothes and all doesn’t mean that Mrs O’Leary will ever wear them again. I would say that it’s wrong to have clothes just hanging in the wardrobe that you know you will never wear when others are in need. If she had given them to St Vincent de Paul and they had made a gift of them here you wouldn’t have found a problem with that.’

‘Yeah,’ Danny said enthusiastically. ‘This Mrs O’Leary is just cutting out the middle man.’

‘And as for the money,’ Lucy continued, ‘can you put your hand on your heart and say that you don’t need it?’

Minnie looked at the family grouped around her, their hollowed faces white and anxious, and she knew she couldn’t. For some time she had been worried about the children’s footwear and had known that unless St Vincent de Paul came soon with boots in their bundles, Danny and Grainne at least would have to go barefoot, winter or not, because their boots were so small they were crippling them. Grainne, anyway, was near walking on the uppers. With the money, Minnie could have her old boots soled and heeled for Danny, and get Danny’s fixed for Grainne. A knot of worry fell from her shoulders and she knew she had to accept the money, and with good grace. ‘You’re right, both of you,’ she said to Danny and Lucy. ‘This was meant to help us all.’

‘So is this,’ Lucy said as she withdrew the bag that she had put her money in and placed it in her mother’s hands.

Minnie held it out to her. ‘You must have something for yourself,’ she said. ‘I have no need of it all now I have Clara’s Christmas box.’

‘No, Mammy,’ Lucy said, closing her mother’s hand over the small bag. ‘I don’t want any back, for I need very little. I kept back enough for the fare to come here and I needed sixpence to put together with Clodagh and Evie so that we can buy some nice soap and shampoo for our hair.’

‘Is that what it is?’ Grainne said. ‘I have never seen your hair so nice and shiny.’

‘And it smells nice, too,’ Liam said. ‘I noticed that.’

‘Yes, that’s the shampoo,’ Lucy said. ‘I had been used to using soap, but Clodagh stopped me and gave me some of her shampoo and I saw the difference straight away, so now we share the buying of things like that because we all sleep in the attic – Clodagh, Evie and me – and we have our own bathroom with a flush toilet and a bath, too, when we ever get time to use it.’

‘Are they nice girls?’

‘Lovely,’ Lucy said enthusiastically. ‘And it helped to have them there when I was suffering homesickness.’

‘Were you homesick?’ Danny asked.

‘Course I was,’ Lucy said, and then grinned at her brother. ‘Missed seeing your ugly mug, for a start.’

‘We missed you, too,’ Sam said, before Danny had time to reply. ‘I cried loads, and Liam did.’

‘No, I never.’

‘Yes, you did,’

‘No, I never.’

Grainne raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Here we go again,’ she said.

‘Boys,’ Minnie cut in, ‘I am ashamed of you arguing the first time that Lucy has been able to get home to see us, and over nothing at all.’

Though Minnie told the boys off and they subsided and looked thoroughly chastened, Lucy had been pleased to hear her young brothers arguing because it was what they did and it was familiar. She realised then that that was what she missed most – just family life. Seeing them once a month was not going to be enough to be part of it. She would be the absent sister, the one they spoke about and remembered in their prayers but hardly knew. She realised, though, that she had to hide how she felt from her mother at all costs. The family’s survival depended on her.

Fortunately, Minnie’s attention was still on her obstreperous sons and so she didn’t see the shadow flit across Lucy’s face, and though Danny did, he said nothing.

Minnie continued, ‘We all missed Lucy a great deal – it would have been strange if we hadn’t – and every one deals with that differently.’ She got to her feet and added, ‘Now, I am going to make that tea I promised you while Lucy tells us more about the life she is living now.’

Lucy looked around at the family she loved, which she must leave again in another few hours, and for a moment couldn’t think of a thing to say. Danny, guessing her state of mind, prompted gently, ‘What about the other girl you mentioned that shares the attic? Evie, was it?’

‘Yeah, Evie.’

‘Well, what does she do?’ Danny asked. ‘Is she in the kitchen, too?’

‘No, she’s a housemaid,’ Lucy said. ‘She hasn’t to touch the Master’s room, though, unless she is asked to, because Rory does everything needed in there, as Norah does for Lady Heatherington, but she has to dust, polish and run a carpet sweeper over every other room in the house. As well as this she has to lay and light fires in all the rooms and keep all the scuttles filled up. She lays the table with a fresh cloth and napkins for every meal apart from breakfast, and often serves afternoon tea.’

‘Well, I’d say she’s kept busy.’

‘She is always at it,’ Lucy said. ‘And Jerry is supposed to fill up the coal scuttles for her in the morning and chop up the kindling, but often Evie has to fill the scuttles herself and search for Jerry to find out where he’s put the kindling.’

‘Is that all he does, this Jerry?’

‘Well, he cleans the shoes for the family as well,’ Lucy said, ‘though it’s only Lady Heatherington and the Master in the house at the moment. They put the shoes they want polished out at night and he has to see to them and replace them the following morning and he has to lay up the table for breakfast and then serve it later. I don’t touch any crockery or glassware used by the Family. That’s all stored in the butler’s pantry, and each day Jerry has to clean the silver before it’s used and wash it up afterwards. He sharpens the knives for Cook as well.’

‘And Clara, what does she do?’