Gracie. Marie Maxwell
answered she saw someone else standing behind her mother.
‘No you’re not, you’ve got a visitor.’ Dot replied shortly.
‘Good day to you, Gracie. Your mother was telling me you have a problem that needs my help …’
Gracie looked at Father Thomas, the parish priest, and her heart sank. In that instant she knew what was going to happen. Her worst nightmare was about to become reality: she was going to be sent to St Angela’s.
‘Yes, Father …’ was all she could say.
‘Don’t say anything else out here …’ her mother looked around furtively as she whispered to both of them. ‘Wait until we’re somewhere private. There are too many listening ears in this house – I don’t want a soul hearing about this, not a soul …’
Gracie’s knees were shaking as she turned and headed into the living room at the front of the house, followed closely by her mother and the priest. She felt incredibly ashamed having her very personal and private business discussed in front of Father Thomas but at the same time he was someone she quite liked and respected. Gracie sat down on one of the upright chairs that were crowded around the dining table tucked in the bay window and waited passively for him to outline his plan.
‘Now young Gracie, I’m here at your mother’s request to seek a resolution to the problem. We’re thinking you should be going to St Angela’s until this baby is born and then we’ll arrange for it to be adopted by a loving married couple who will raise it as their own. You’re unwed and just eighteen years of age; it will be for the best. There are many good couples in the parish seeking a baby. It’ll be well placed to be having a good future with good married parents.’
Father Thomas’ expression was as kindly as it could be under the circumstances and his tone was calm but there was no avoiding the disapproval and disappointment that accompanied his words.
‘Thank you,’ Gracie shrugged, aware that her fate was sealed.
She’d known of other girls who’d trod the path to St Angela’s mother and baby home, a large country house on the other side of Rochford which was run by the strictest of nuns, some of whom were nurses, and used by local churchgoing and non-religious parents alike as both a warning and a threat to their daughters … If you get yourself into trouble that’s where you’ll have to go. You’ll get carted off to St Angela’s, and you know what happens there …
That day, when the truth had come out and Gracie had been spirited out of the house and driven away under cover of darkness by a silent stranger, had been a pivotal point in her life. She would remember it clearly forever – because it was the day her relationship with her family had been irreparably damaged.
Gracie hated her mother for sending her away so rapidly with no time for any discussion and no say in her own fate and that of her child’s; she resented her father for not intervening even though she knew deep down that he had no more say in the matter than she herself did, and it upset her that her sisters didn’t understand why she disappeared without a word, never to be a part of the family again.
Gracie had seen a few other girls disappear for a while and then return thinner, sadder and tight-lipped about where they’d been. Everyone guessed they had been to St Angela’s but no one ever spoke about it. It was the bogey-man that had to be avoided at all costs.
Father Thomas had been as kindly as he could be with Dot McCabe standing close beside him and had presented the stay at the home as the only solution for her predicament. Gracie would stay there until the baby was born and adopted, and then she could return home to continue her life with her reputation intact, with no one ever knowing that she had fallen by the wayside.
It had all sounded almost reasonable, until the moment she had been led through the doors of the building that looked just like a large country house from the outside.
But inside the home had been another story altogether.
Summer 1954
With butterflies that felt the size of blackbirds flapping away inside her stomach, Gracie wandered around the guest lounge at the Thamesview Hotel several times, looking at and touching everything. She ran her fingers along the edge of the marble fireplace, moved a chair a fraction and carefully straightened the new green velvet curtains that framed the sash windows of the room that was going to host her wedding reception. It wasn’t a huge space, but it had a beautiful view out across the estuary and was big enough for the limited number of guests they had invited. Ruby had made good her promise to host their wedding breakfast; the ceremony was to take place in the church just up the road in Shoebury and then the informal reception was being held back at the Thamesview Hotel afterwards.
As Gracie looked around and pondered, she found it hard to believe that in just three days’ time the wedding she had long anticipated would be happening and that she would soon be Sean’s wife. It had only been a few short months since their engagement at the beginning of the year but everything to do with the day was organised down to the last detail, including her beautiful dress that was hanging in wait on the back of the bedroom door.
Gracie tried to calm her pre-wedding nerves by thinking of the occasion rather than the personal aspect of getting married but still she could feel the nerves in her stomach.
After a final look around she closed her eyes and tried to imagine the complex group of invited family and friends in the room together, hopefully laughing, chatting and celebrating her and Sean’s marriage.
Gracie McCabe was hoping against hope that she was making the right decision in marrying Sean Donnelly.
She still felt wary about the two families meeting and how they would all interact, but she was less concerned about her own family being at the wedding after their meeting with Sean had gone so well.
Gracie had been so cautious and nervy when they had arrived at the front door, but her father had immediately welcomed Sean, and encouraged her mother to do likewise. And then Gracie had watched in awe as her new fiancé had turned on the charm and her mother had softened in a way she had never seen before; the normally fierce and abrupt woman practically melting in front of her. It had certainly been an eye-opener to see the feminine side of her mother and it made Gracie smile every time she thought about it. Fred McCabe had been his usual amiable self and her sister Jeanette had giggled girlishly and blushed at Sean’s humorous flattery. Her other sister Jennifer had stayed unobtrusively in the background looking disinterested but despite that Sean had made every effort to charm her and include her in all the conversations.
‘He could charm the birds out of the trees, that one …’ Dot McCabe had said under her breath as they were leaving and Gracie thought that was the nearest thing to a compliment her mother could have uttered. For the first time in all those years she allowed herself to think there was a possibility of a truce between them.
Gracie had been so relieved at the successful outcome, and so buoyed by its success, that it had been a bit of a shock when they’d made the journey to Ireland and she had discovered Sean’s mother was a completely different kettle of fish to the jolly mammy that he himself had described to her.
The instant they had turned up at the Donnelly family home on the outskirts of Dublin, Gracie had realised that she was in for a rough ride. His mother, father, sisters, their respective husbands and some of the nephews and nieces were all waiting outside in a reception line on either side of the garden path and while Sean had excitedly bounced along and said hello to them all, Gracie had been left behind to face a maternal inquisition.
Gracie had done her best to be as charming and receptive as Sean had been to her family but when it came to Sean’s mother she knew immediately that the woman had taken against her on principle. The three days spent in Dublin had been a nightmare for Gracie but she’d survived it by telling herself it wouldn’t have to happen often as they all lived such a