After she left, Fiona said to the housekeeper, “Mary Ellen, did Mam ever mention to you about getting somebody else to work in the shop?”
“Recently?”
“Well, since...you know, since Daddy died. Since she’s been sick.”
Mary Ellen thought for a few moments. “There was a lot of talk about it when you were going to America, but I can’t recall her saying anything about it since.”
“Well,” Fiona said, “if she doesn’t get any better soon, we’re going to have to think of taking someone on. Can you imagine how we’ll be here at Christmas if there’s only me serving? I’ve just started taking payments for the Christmas clubs, and all the orders for bikes and dolls’ prams and the big toys are already coming in.” She shrugged, feeling overwhelmed at the thought of it all. “And come the end of November, we usually have to get the window sorted and all the toys and things displayed. How am I going to do all that on my own?”
“It’s early days yet,” Mrs Mooney said. “We have a few months until Christmas.”
“I suppose so, but I can’t see Mam being able for work for a while yet.”
“There’s a bit of an improvement in regards her health, but she needs to get out of the bed and start living a normal life again. She’s at a bad age for something like this. I’ve seen people taking to the bed and never getting back out of it again...”
Fiona’s face dropped. “Oh, don’t say that. I can’t imagine what our lives would be like if that happened. She would need looking after for the rest of her life!”
“Now, I’m not saying it will, Fiona, I didn’t mean to give you a fright. All I’m saying is she should be doing a bit better at this stage than she is.”
“She’s agreed to go to the doctor in a few weeks, if the new tablets haven’t started to make a difference.”
“Let’s hope they make a good difference and if there’s no improvement you’ll just have to start making your own arrangements to get help down here. There’s no doubt about it.”
Just then, Fiona noticed the blue hired car pulling up outside the shop and her heart lurched when she saw it was Michael O’Sullivan.
“How are the two girls doing?” the housekeeper asked. When she got no reply, she looked at Fiona then slowly followed her gaze to the window. “Well, that’s a new face I’ve never seen around here.” She gave a little laugh. “He’s all the fashion with the long hair.”
Fiona turned back around, her face flushing red. “Actually, he’s an American. His name is Michael O’Sullivan and he arrived in Tullamore yesterday.” She spoke quickly, to tell all the relevant information before he came in. “He stayed in one of the rooms upstairs last night, and he wants to see around the place before going to Connemara, so he’s staying until next Monday.” She saw him coming out of the car now, and took a deep breath so as to appear calm. “He’s really nice...Maggie O’Connell met him when he was looking for somewhere to stay and she brought him up here as there was nothing else in the town, and Patrick said we would sort him out.” She deliberately mentioned everyone else who had met him, so it didn’t look as if it was just her who had instigated things. “Anyway, we were all chatting after the pub closed last night and then I got chatting to him again this morning...and he’s asked to take me for a meal tonight.” She lowered her voice now. “We wouldn’t be late or anything. It would be around seven o’clock, so I wondered would you be able to look in on Mam later on? I don’t like to leave her on her own unless I’m working. It’ll only be for a couple of hours.”
“Well, a date with an American! I’m delighted for you. You deserve a night out.”
Fiona’s eyes widened in alarm. “Shhhhh! He’s coming in now...”
“You go and enjoy yourself and forget about –” Then, as the outer door opened, Mary Ellen halted mid-sentence and niftily moved over to the shelves where the fruit was displayed, to look as though she was examining a bunch of bananas.
Fiona turned away as if checking something on the till, and then the shop door opened, and Michael O’Sullivan came in. She swung around as though surprised, “Oh, hi,” she said. “You’re back...”
“Hi,” he said, smiling warmly at her, and then came over to lean on the counter. “I don’t want to disturb you at work or anything...” He inclined his head in Mrs Mooney’s direction, and then said quietly, “I thought I’d check how things were for tonight...if you can get away for a few hours.”
“It’s fine,” she told him. “I can be ready for about seven, if that’s okay?”
He winked at her and said, “That’s great.”
Fiona noticed the housekeeper glancing sideways to get a better look at him. “Oh, Michael...” she suddenly said, “I’d like you to meet Mrs Mooney – she helps us up at the house.”
Mary Ellen turned around, with a vague smile on her face, as though she hadn’t been aware of anyone else in the shop.
“This is the nice American man I was telling you about,” Fiona said. “He’s staying in the room upstairs.”
Michael stretched his hand out immediately. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Mooney.”
“And the same to you,” she said, holding out her hand and allowing him to take it. “And how are you finding Tullamore?”
“Very nice,” he said. “It’s a very interesting little town. Patrick, from the bar, loaned me a history book with information about the castle and the canal. I’m hoping to see some of the places over the weekend.”
She looked over at Fiona with raised eyebrows. “Well, isn’t that great? It’s good to know that we have some things worth looking at, and I’m sure we’ve never seen half of the places ourselves.” She paused, thinking. “What part of America are you from?”
“My family are from Boston,” he told her, “but I spend a lot of time in New York.”
“I have a first cousin out in a place called Yonkers,” she told him. “Her name is Teresa O’Rourke. I don’t suppose you were ever out that far, were you?”
“I have been there actually, a few years back when I was studying.”
“She’s a smallish, thin woman. She’s been out there for over thirty years, and she still sends me photos of herself and the family. She married a fella from Limerick called Paddy O’Rourke. Seemingly, they met at a church dance. I don’t suppose you ever came across them? He’s a tall, well-built fella, and according to Teresa he’s a great worker. He has his own garage out there.”
Fiona stood listening, trying not to look as though there was anything amusing about Mrs Mooney asking Michael O’Sullivan if – out of all the millions of people in New York – he knew her cousin.
Michael narrowed his eyes in thought. “O’Rourke, did you say?”
“Yes, Paddy O’Rourke.”
He shook his head. “I can’t recall seeing a garage by that name, but next time I’m in the Yonkers area, I’ll certainly keep a look out for it, and call in and give them your regards.”
Mrs Mooney beamed at him. “Can you imagine it? If you were to find the place, and to go in and tell Teresa you were speaking to me in Tullamore!” She shook her head. “Isn’t it a small world?”
She then went on to tell him about someone else she knew who was out in Pennsylvania. “Stella West – lovely name, isn’t it? She was a niece of a neighbour of ours,” she explained, “she was a good five years older than me when she went out there. I used to hear all the news about her through the neighbour after she first went out. Stella was great one for writing letters, but then the old neighbour died and that was that. I never heard a word about her since, and I doubt now if I ever will.” She gave a little sigh. “Funny enough, I always think of her when I hear Glen Miller playing that tune, ‘Pennsylvania 6-5000’ on the radio.”
“Ah,” Michael said, “that’s one of the old greats. My mother loves Glen Miller.”
A young lad came in looking for a sliced pan and half a pound of butter, and Fiona left them chatting while she served him. As she went out to the fridge for the butter, she t
hought how kind it was of Michael to indulge the older woman’s ideas of how people lived in America.
“He’s a lovely, lovely fella,” Mary Ellen said, after Michael left the shop to go in to see Patrick. “If I had my time over again I wouldn’t think twice about going off with a fella like him. Sure, what did we know? We were too young and innocent and knew nothing about life.” She came over to the counter and put her hand over Fiona’s. “You take your chances when you get them. Go out and enjoy yourself tonight, and don’t give a thought to anyone else.”
Fiona suddenly felt all emotional. “Thanks, Mrs Mooney – you’re very good.”
Mrs Mooney looked at her. “Enjoy yourself, but be careful. That’s all I’m saying.” She glanced around her in case there was anyone coming into the shop. “The last thing you want is him gone back to America and you left with a bundle in your arms.”
“God almighty!” Fiona said, blushing furiously now. She wondered if she had heard correctly. She had never heard the housekeeper talking like this before. She knew she could be outspoken, but she had never heard her refer to sex in such a direct manner. “Surely you don’t think – I’ve only just met him. That would be the last thing on my mind...”
The housekeeper gave her a long, knowing look. “That’s what they all say before it happens.” Then she started to laugh. “Mind you, I wouldn’t blame you – he’s a fine-looking fella. Well, apart from the straggly hair and the long oul geansaí.”
“I like his hair,” Fiona said, “and those long jumpers are all the go at the minute.”
Talking about him kept Michael O’Sullivan present in her mind, although she hadn’t imagined talking about him like this with – of all people – Mary Ellen Mooney.
“Ah, well, I suppose it’s the modern way,” the older woman mused. “The styles and the fashions and that kind of thing. Believe it or not, we had all that kind of thing when we were young too. We didn’t have the same money to spend of course, or much choice when it came to shops, but we made the effort with our hair and things.” She halted, thinking. “Did you say it was Maggie from the hairdresser’s that brought him back here looking for a room?”
“Yes, she had a friend from Galway staying for the night, and they bumped into him down the town. He told them Bolger’s Hotel was full with the funeral, and he was looking for somewhere else to stay in the town. The girls felt sorry for him because he had driven all the way down from Dublin, and he was going to have to drive on to Birr or Mullingar to find somewhere to stay.”
“Begod, you’re lucky she didn’t get there first. Maggie is always on the lookout for a man. And she’s a good-looking girl with plenty of good chat as well.”
Fiona started to laugh. “You’re gas this evening, Mrs Mooney! Maggie wasn’t a bit interested in him – besides he’s a few years younger than her.”
“Sure, what difference does age make?” The housekeeper gave Fiona a clap on the back of her hand, before turning towards the door. “I might even be tempted to go off with him myself!”
“Not tonight,” Fiona laughed. “I need you to look in on my mother.”
Mary Ellen halted at the door, her face serious now. “Are you going to tell her about your date?”
“Yes, I will,” Fiona said. “It wouldn’t be fair not to. But it’s not as if I’m a teenager and need her permission.”
“Make sure you have a nice time. I’ll see to the fires and everything for the night. And I’ll be in early in the morning to see to your mother’s breakfast, so you can sleep it out without worrying about anything.”
“Thanks,” Fiona told her. “I feel a lot better than I did when you first came into the shop.”
Chapter 27
Fiona looked into her wardrobe, wondering what to wear. She wasn’t sure where they were going to go in Mullingar, but she guessed it wouldn’t be too fancy. She had a feeling that if Michael changed at all, it would probably be into something casual.
For some reason, he didn’t strike her as a typical American. Not the type that Elizabeth described so vividly in her letters. According to her, the young men from New York who went to the dance-halls were confident, snappy dressers with bold-coloured ties and slicked-back hairstyles like Elvis Presley. Some of the more sophisticated ones, Elizabeth wrote, wore cologne. Fiona could not imagine Michael O’Sullivan being like any of the men her friend described. She found it hard to picture him standing on the side of a dance floor with a gaudy tie, and when she thought about it she started to giggle to herself.
It was a mild evening for September, so she decided to wear a blue A-line, sleeveless dress which had a fashionable round white neckline and was hemmed in white. She would wear it with a white cardigan, which she thought she could take off if it was warm inside. She pinned her hair up in a loose bun, and then put a large diamante clasp to hide the pins. She put some light make-up on, and then decided to try a new dark-brown eyeliner she had bought in a chemist the last time she was up in Dublin.
She had only one eye done when she realised she had made a mistake. The liner was too dark and heavy – more like black – and looked ridiculous with her light-brown hair. How, she wondered, did Angela always manage to get it just perfect? The eyeliner she wore for evening was the thinnest line with a tiny flick at the ends, which made her look like a model from one of the magazines. Sighing in exasperation, she reached for her Anne French cleansing cream and cotton wool, rubbed it all off, and then started all over again.
Earlier on, when she came in from work just after six o’clock, her mother had been in bed, but Fiona was pleased to see her propped up on pillows reading a magazine. She was also pleased to notice that there was no sign or smell of cigarettes in the room.
When she explained her plans, her mother had been fine about it, and had also been agreeable when Fiona told her that Mary Ellen would be calling in around nine o’clock. Fiona had explained about Michael – about how he was staying down in the pub over the weekend to see a bit more of Offaly. She emphasised that he was a real gentleman, a qualified architect with an Irish family background, and all the things that her mother put great stock on.
“An architect? Well, that’s a good profession,” Nance had said. “And his mother was from Connemara?” She nodded her head, digesting the details. “All in all, he sounds very nice...but isn’t it a pity he’s only here on holiday? It would be better even if he was from Dublin or somewhere within reach.”
Fiona had let her breath out in a sigh of impatience. She should have predicted this reaction. “Well, I’m sorry he’s not an Irishman, Mam, but so far I’ve never come across anyone remotely like him at home. And it’s only a meal out, it’s not as if I’m getting married to him or anything.”
“Oh, Fiona, there you go again. I didn’t mean it like that.” Her voice became softer now. “I’m actually delighted you’re having a night out, and he sounds like a very nice chap.”
Fiona felt the annoyance seeping out of her. In truth, her mother had only touched the raw nerve she herself had been trying to avoid. Of course it would be much better if Michael O’Sullivan was an Irishman – in fact, it would be perfect. It would be the answer to everyone’s prayers. But what was the use in even thinking things like that?
“I’m going to get ready,” she said.
Her mother smiled at her now. “What are you wearing?”
Fiona’s face lightened, glad that peace had been restored between them again. She told her about the blue-and-white dress.
Her mother nodded in approval. “That sounds lovely. Is he calling to the house for you?”
“No, I’ve arranged to meet him down the street at his hired car around seven. I didn’t ask him up here because I wasn’t sure whether you would be downstairs. I didn’t want you feeling awkward about being in your dressing gown.”
“I suppose I would feel a bit uncomfortable,” her mother said, “with my hair not the way it should be and everything – so you did the right thing.” There was a little pause. “I’m
going to come down and have a cup of tea shortly, and see how I feel.”
“That’s a good idea,” Fiona said. “The more you move around, the better you will feel.”
“Come in and see me before you leave,” her mother said. “I’d like to see you dressed up.”
As she got ready, Fiona thought that, despite the little jarring notes, her mother was in a more positive frame of mind than she had been. She wondered if the row they’d had in the afternoon had perhaps made her think, and make her decide to push herself that little bit further. Neither of them had mentioned her contacting Aunt Catherine, and Fiona decided to leave it for the time being. She would not think about it tonight.
Tonight was all about herself and Michael.
After getting her mother’s approval on her outfit and make-up and hair, Fiona took her light raincoat from the hallstand and left the house just on seven o’clock. She walked carefully down the street towards the pub, taking her time as she was wearing a pair of navy patent shoes that had higher heels than she was used to. They had a white bow on the front that matched her dress, and she had bought them for a friend’s wedding last year.
As she walked along, she wished she had worn them a few more times since the wedding as they had not been sufficiently broken in to make them comfortable. As she got nearer she could see the blue car and Michael O’Sullivan leaning on it reading a book. She smiled to herself, noticing that he was wearing a blue open-necked shirt with fairly smart black trousers. They would match nicely, she thought, and was glad she had made the effort to dress up herself.
He looked up when he heard her heels on the pavement coming towards him, and waved, and then he reached through the open window to put the book into the back of the car. He walked up to meet her, and then he put his arms around her waist and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he told her. Then he took her hand in his and they walked to the car.
A Letter From America Page 21
