Joe shook his head and smiled. “You’re easy riled, Mary Slattery, you’re easy riled.”
Mary banged the small sack of coins down on the bar counter and then turned to look at Rose with a resigned look on her face. “What would you do with an amadán like that?”
Rose just smiled. She listened carefully as Mary Slattery ran through a list of instructions for the day.
“Now remember, no tick in the bar – under any circumstances – for Noel Pearson, and no tick in the shop for the Mullens and the Foleys.” She tutted loudly. “I could kill that Joe for startin’ that racket off – letting them pay when they like! They think we’re running a charity here!”
Rose nodded her head understandingly, although she had already been told by the landlord to give a loaf and a few potatoes to the two aforementioned families any time they were in need. But always to make sure his wife wasn’t around.
Mary picked her handbag up. “I know you’re a sensible girl, Rose, and I can trust you to manage things on your own like you did when we went to the wedding. And if I’m satisfied, there might be a little bit extra in your pay this evening.”
With a final glance about the premises, she went to join her husband.
Rose stood at the door of the pub watching as the landlord’s car disappeared off along the coast road, then she went back inside, delighted to have the place to herself for the day.
It was rare that Rose had anywhere to herself. It was very hard to be alone in the Barrys’ house. Especially in the colder weather when everyone congregated in the kitchen seeking the warmth and comfort of the old range. Occasionally on a warm summer day, Rose would go into the bedroom she shared with her grandmother and younger sisters, to lie on her bed and enjoy a few minutes of cool solitude. But it never lasted. After a while the younger ones would come looking for her, and if she chased them out her mother would appear shortly afterwards to check that she was all right.
Rose never quite found the words to explain her need for a bit of peace and quiet, to have some time to herself just to think. It always came out sounding a bit strange and broody.
“As long as you’re all right,” her mother would say. “As long as there’s not something wrong . . . something you don’t want to tell us.”
And so it was easier for Rose to keep smiling and pleasant and join in with the general hustle and bustle of the house.
As she entered her teenage years and was allowed a bit more freedom, Rose found that walking down to the shop or post office on her own allowed her to have the space and the peace that she couldn’t find at home. The mile or so there and back – feeling the fresh sea breeze running through her hair and the warmth of the sun on her face – gave her exactly what she needed. There were times when she walked really quickly to allow herself a short break later along the strand. Rose loved that. She could lose herself in the sound of the waves and among the small sea-pools in the rocks on the shoreline.
As she closed the door of the empty pub behind her, Rose decided that the chores could wait. Instead she slowly wandered around the bar, pausing at one of the four windows to gaze across the street to the small post office and the grey stony hills of The Burren which stretched out far beyond.
Nothing stirred apart from a few cattle in the field opposite.
Drifting to the back of the pub, she looked out over the shimmering, bluish-green water of Galway Bay where local fishermen eked out a seasonal living.
Then the bell from the small shop rang out, shattering the absolute silence and heralding the first of the morning’s customers.
Rose had completed most of the tasks on the landlady’s list by the time Ruairí and Michael Murphy arrived in the bar. She was delighted to see them but her pleasant, casual manner gave no indication that she held them in any greater affection than the other local lads.
After she served them, Rose gave half her attention to the glasses she was rinsing and drying and the rest to the two fair-haired brothers as they played cards at the table by the window.
Time passed as she pottered about behind the bar. It was lovely to be able to do things at her own pace without having to keep watching out for Mary Slattery. She glanced over at the two brothers again and Ruairí, the younger, caught her eye. She immediately felt herself blush. They were both good-looking lads but it was Michael she preferred.
Ruairí held up his almost empty glass, the white frothy Guinness dregs sliding to the bottom. “We’ll have another two pints when you’re ready, Rose!”
The shop bell sounded.
“I’ll be back in two ticks,” Rose said, putting her drying cloth down on the counter.
She went through the door behind the bar and stepped down into the little shop.
Two thin, pale faces looked up at her – Patrick and Ella Foley. Around ten or eleven years of age, they were somewhere in the middle of a squad of nearly a dozen children. Like the other members of the family, they were inadequately dressed and to Rose’s mind they looked too skinny and underfed.
“A stone of spuds, Rose,” Patrick said, heaving an old battered shopping bag up on the counter. The handles of the bag had broken and were reinforced with pieces of twine.
Rose weighed out the stone of potatoes for them and piled more on top, just as Joe would have done if his wife wasn’t in the vicinity to witness it. Then she reached under the counter to the tray of currant buns and gave them two of the staler ones, left over from the day before.
“Don’t tell a soul I gave you them,” she ordered, “or Mrs Slattery will take my life.”
As soon as they were finished eating, the two children lifted the heavy bag between them again and Rose held the door and stood watching as they started the good mile’s walk back home with their awkward load.
Rose was just putting the head on the pints of Guinness when the bar door swung open and a large group of lads came through, loudly discussing the match they were all heading for. Rose felt her cheeks immediately flame up, uncomfortably aware of being the only female in the place – and because she would have to serve them all herself. The fact that her younger brother Paul was in the middle of them didn’t help. She would have the worry of him trying to sneak a glass or two of Guinness when he wasn’t eighteen and risking the wrath of her father if he found out. As usual, he gave her the briefest salute of acknowledgement before disappearing into a corner with the noisy crowd.
She carried the pints over to the Murphys, earning two big smiles from them. When she came back she was inundated with orders from the other group and time flew as she drew pints and poured lemonade.
Eventually there were only three lads left leaning on the bar. She flushed as she realised one of them was Liam O’Connor.
“Rose Barry! The finest lookin’ girl in Kilnagree!” he announced, his hands drumming lightly on the counter. “‘The Darlin’ Girl from Clare’!”
Liam O’Connor was the tallest and most athletic-looking of all the lads in the parish and was hugely admired for his skills on the hurling field, being the only one of them to have reached the level to play in the county team. He worked hard and he played hard. Like many of the local lads, he kept two jobs going, working on the small family farm with his elderly father and helping his brother out with deliveries in his greengrocer’s shop in Gort. He also did bits and pieces of woodwork and often helped his neighbours out with complicated repairs on furniture and windows.
Rose took a deep breath. “Now, lads,” she said, affecting a casual manner she didn’t at all feel, “what can I get ye?” She lifted the bar cloth and started to polish a glass she had already dried and polished earlier.
“I wouldn’t mind a kiss,” Liam went on, winking at the other two, “but I suppose, since it’s the middle of the afternoon, I’ll just have to make do with a pint of stout.”
Rose gave an embarrassed smile and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what time of the day it is,” she retorted lightly. “It’s only drinks I’m serving.”
One of the
other lads clapped him on the back. “By Jaysus, O’Connor, you’re the boyo when it comes to the women!”
Rose turned away now and, as she stood on her tip-toes to reach up to the shelf for the three glasses, she felt suddenly conscious of her skirt moving up higher on her legs and the flush on her cheeks grew deeper.
“If you want to take a seat, lads, I’ll bring the drinks over to you when they’re ready,” she told them, anxious to remove herself from the spotlight of their stares. Especially Liam O’Connor’s stare. The close attention he gave Rose always made her feel slightly unnerved.
“Go on, you two,” Liam told his companions with a nod of his dark curly head. “I’ll be across in a minute.”
The two lads moved away from the bar now, used to taking the lead from him.
Liam paid and Rose started to pull the pints.
“It’s a fine day,” she said, keeping her eyes well away from Liam’s face. She nodded towards the windows at the back. “I see there’s a few fishing boats out now, taking advantage of the good weather . . .”
“Rose . . .” Liam said, leaning across the bar towards her, his voice softer and his manner suddenly serious, “I hope I didn’t offend you earlier . . . about the kiss? I was only coddin’ – a bit of oul’ banter with the lads. I would hate you to think badly of me.”
Rose rolled her eyes to the brown, smoke-stained ceiling. “Ah, sure I’m well used to it, working in here! I don’t pay any attention to half of what’s said.”
He nodded his head slowly, his face still serious. “I was wondering . . . will you go with me into Galway this evenin’ to see an oul’ film? I have the loan of my brother’s van for the night . . .”
Rose took a deep breath, her mind working rapidly on an excuse as she lifted the first pint onto the bar. With any of the other lads she would have just laughed and fobbed them off but she knew it wouldn’t work with Liam. He was a couple of years older than the others and she knew his loudness was only a front for the other lads and that behind it he could be serious enough.
“I’m working again tonight,” she told him in a low voice, turning away to top up the second pint.
“How about tomorrow night then? Or a night through the week?”
“I think my mother needs me at home . . .” She gave a little shrug, then bent her head so that her dark straight hair formed a curtain, shielding her from his stare. “And I don’t think my father would be keen on me going to Galway in a van with a lad on my own.”
Liam paused for a moment, his tanned brow furrowed in thought. Then he nodded his head. “Ah, sure, fair enough . . .”
Rose lifted the second pint onto the bar now, careful to keep her hand steady so as not to spill it. She didn’t know what else to say to him so she stayed silent. She knew there was no point in giving him any hope because, even if she wanted to go out with him, there was no way her father would allow it.
When she’d started working in the pub, her father had warned her about the way some of the men treated women in pubs, especially when they had a few drinks on them.
“I know what I’m talking about, Rose,” he told her. “I’ve heard the filth that comes out of their mouths after they’ve drunk more than their share, and I’m not having any daughter of mine putting up with the likes of that.”
“Now, Stephen,” her mother said, “you know well that Joe and Mary Slattery wouldn’t allow that to happen to Rose. They keep a close eye on everything that goes on in the bar and they’ll make sure she always has someone sensible to see her home.”
“I’m only warning her,” he said quietly. He turned back to Rose. “Just make sure that you don’t go making too free with any of them. There’s no decent man that needs to be intoxicated to ask a woman out and, besides, you have time enough for all of that nonsense. You’re only working in the place to make a few shillings, so make it plain to any of the young lads that spend half their week in Slattery’s that you have no interest in any of them.” He paused. “There’s time enough for you to meet the right type of fellow who’ll treat you decently and be able to look after you.”
But, despite those strong words, she felt that her father approved of the two Murphy boys and that when the time was right he might even allow her to go out to a dance with them or to a concert. Even though he hadn’t voiced anything of the sort, she had heard him say that the Murphys weren’t just musically talented, they also had brains or they wouldn’t have got the good jobs they both had in Gort.
But she knew he wouldn’t allow the likes of Liam O’Connor anywhere near his family. And, actually, her father’s strictness was a good excuse to get out of this particular situation. For all he was good-looking and confident – and for all that most of the other girls had an eye for him – Liam O’Connor just wasn’t her type. He might be good on the playing field and a hard worker, but she was looking for more than that in a man.
“You’ll be at the dance down in the hall next weekend?” Liam asked, as she put the third pint on the bar.
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head.
“Well, keep me a dance, so,” he said, his gaze still fixed on her.
“I will,” she said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
The shop bell gave a loud ring now, giving her the perfect excuse to end the conversation.
A short while later a small coach pulled in at the side of the pub. About eighteen lads came pouring out of it and they all made straight for the bar. They were supporters of the opposing team from a neighbouring village and they greeted the local lads they knew with a shout or a wave. A crowd this size arriving unannounced would have put pressure on the pub staff any Saturday afternoon but with Joe gone Rose felt overwhelmed – and more than a little self-conscious – as the crowd of lads tried to catch her attention and laughingly jostled with each other as they waited to get served.
Eventually Rose had served their first round of drinks and set about sorting out empty glasses before they returned in ones and twos for refills. Thankfully, the shop had been quiet but of course it didn’t last. A small but steady stream of customers to the shop kept her busy going back and forth between there and the bar for the next hour or so.
At one point she was just returning to the bar when she saw Michael Murphy standing there waiting to be served and her heart skipped a beat.
“Last round,” he told her light-heartedly, glancing up at the clock. “We’ll all be gone after this for the match and you’ll get a bit of peace.”
“Sure, it makes no difference to me,” she replied in a cheery tone. “The busier it is, the quicker the time flies.” Rose looked up at the clock now and realised that she should have called drinking-up time nearly five minutes ago. “Is it the same?” she asked him, feeling a little flustered as she rang the bell under the counter.
“It is,” he said, indicating the two empty glasses he’d put on the bar.
Rose was conscious of him watching now as she pulled the two pints of Guinness.
“Have you heard from that cousin of yours lately?” he asked. “The one from Offaly – Hannah, isn’t it?”
Rose suddenly stiffened at the mention of her cousin’s name. The last time she’d been down for a holiday in Clare, last October, the dainty, blonde Hannah had made a hit with all the lads – but this was the first time that Michael Murphy had shown any particular interest in her. Hannah had obviously made a big impression on him. The thought gave Rose a tight feeling in her stomach.
“She keeps in touch regularly,” she said, trying to sound normal. “I got a letter from her last week.”
“And how’s she doing? She was talking about going over to England or up to Dublin at some point, wasn’t she? Did she go yet?”
“Oh, that’s Hannah for you,” Rose said, raising her eyebrows to the ceiling. “She’s always planning to go somewhere and do something – but she’s never left home yet. And there was no mention about her going anywhere in the letter.” She put the two pint glasses to the side now, w
aiting for the froth to settle before filling them up to the brim. “That’s as far as she gets, talking about it.”
A small frown appeared on Michael Murphy’s face. “It’s a mighty big step – going away from home. But sometimes it’s the only way forward.” He leaned his elbows on the bar now, a thoughtful look on his face.
“Will you be playing at the dance next week?” Rose asked. Chatting about the music was an easier, more subtle way of finding out if the two brothers would be there.
“They have a three-piece band booked from Ballyvaughan,” he said, nodding his head, “but we usually end up playing a few tunes one way or the other. I usually have the oul’ fiddle along with me just in case.”
Rose felt her heart lift. There hadn’t been a dance in the local hall since Christmas. This coming weekend would be the first one of the year and thankfully there was no sign of Hannah travelling down for it. Rose had been careful not to mention it in any of her recent letters and Hannah hadn’t enquired if there was a dance coming up – so all was safe on that front.
“I believe your cousin can play the piano,” Michael said now. “She was telling me she’s been going for lessons since she started school. She must be a well-accomplished player after all those years.”
Rose felt a stab of irritation now and hoped that it didn’t show on her face, because Michael Murphy might interpret it as jealousy – and it certainly wasn’t. It was sheer annoyance at the fact that Hannah complained non-stop about her mother making her go for music lessons, moaning about having to practise every night at home, and yet, when she had been sitting all cosy with the musicians at the last dance, she had made out that she was absolutely passionate about her music just to get their attention.
“I’ve not heard her playing for a few years,” Rose said casually, “but, like you say, she must be good if she’s been practising all that time.”
“I’d love to hear her playing. We must get her out to the hotel in Kinvara that has a piano some evening and let her play a few tunes for us all.”
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