by Maeve Binchy
Paccy Moore said that the chances of being kidnapped by anyone in the know were slim. If you knew anything about the Westwards you’d know they could hardly pay their bills. If the poor child had been kidnapped it was by some gombeen Dubliner who thought that she was wealthy because she had a posh accent and came from a big house.
Mrs. Healy said to Sean Walsh that they’d be singing a different song up at Westlands now. They had always been so distant and different, and things that happened to ordinary people never happened to them.
Sean wondered why she had turned against them. And Mrs. Healy said it wasn’t a matter of that so much as being slightly peeved. Mr. Simon Westward had implied that he would be having the most important of people to stay at the hotel in the near future, if they had evening dinners. Mrs. Healy had put on those dinners, but Mr. Westward had never partaken.
“But other people have,” Sean Walsh said. “You’ve made your profit on them, that’s all that matters.”
Mrs. Healy agreed, but you didn’t like to be hopping and jumping like people in a gate cottage just for the whims of the aristocracy.
She said as much to Mrs. Kennedy from the chemist’s, who looked at her thoughtfully, and said that it was a sad thing to have a hard heart when there was a child’s life at stake, and Mrs. Healy changed her tune drastically.
Clodagh told the news to Peggy Pine. Clodagh thought that a man in a raincoat had offered poor Heather a whole box of chocolates in Dun Laoghaire harbor.
Mario said that all the men of Knockglen should go out and beat the hedges with sticks looking for her.
“You see too many bad films,” Fonsie complained.
“Well, where do you think she is, Mister Smartie Pants?” Mario inquired.
“I see too many bad films too. I think she went for that bloody horse of hers, and rode off into the sunset.”
But it was one of the many theories that didn’t hold up because the horse was still up in Westlands.
Peggy Pine went up to the convent to talk to Mother Francis.
“Eve was on the phone from London,” Mother Francis said. “I could hear her grinding her teeth from there. Apparently they thought she had taken Heather with her. I dread to think what she’ll do when she gets back.”
“But Eve would never have done that.”
“I know, but there was some kind of row up in Westlands last week, needless to say Miss Malone didn’t tell me anything about it.… Lord, Peggy, where would that child be?”
“When you think about running away you think about running to somewhere you were happy.” Peggy Pine was thoughtful. It didn’t get them much further.
Heather had never seemed to be all that happy anywhere.
Sister Imelda had started the thirty days prayer. She said it had never been known to fail.
“The poor child. I never met a girl who was as appreciative. You should have heard her telling me how much she enjoyed toasting my tea cakes up in Eve’s cottage.”
Suddenly Mother Francis knew where Heather was.
She reached into the gap in the wall and as she suspected, the key wasn’t there.
Mother Francis moved softly to the front door of Eve’s cottage. It was closed. She peeped in the window and saw a large box on the table. There was something moving inside it, a cat she thought first, a black cat. Then she saw it was a bird.
A wing of black feathers came at an awkward angle out of the box.
Heather had found a wounded bird and had decided to cure it. Not very successfully by all appearances. There were feathers and bits of torn-up newspaper everywhere.
Heather, flushed and frightened-looking, was trying to get a fire going. She seemed to be using only sticks and bits of cardboard. It would flare for a moment, and then die down.
Mother Francis knocked on the window.
“I’m not letting you in.”
“All right,” Mother Francis said unexpectedly.
“So there’s no point in staying. Seriously.”
“I brought your lunch.”
“No, you didn’t. It’s a plot. You’re going to rush me as soon as I open the door. You have people out behind the wall.”
“What kind of people? Nuns?”
“The Guards. Well, maybe nuns as well, my brother. People from school.”
Mother Francis sighed.
“No, they all think you’re in London. That’s where they’re looking for you as it happens.”
Heather stood on a stool and looked out of the window. There did not seem to be anyone else.
“You could leave the lunch on the step.”
“I could. But it would get cold, and I’ll need the dish for Sister Imelda, and it means I don’t get any.”
“I’m not coming home or anything.”
Mother Francis came in. She left a covered dish and the big buttered slices of bread on the sideboard.
She looked first at the bird.
“Poor fellow. Where did you find him?”
“On the path.”
Gently Mother Francis lifted the bird. She kept up a steady stream of conversation. It was only a young crow. The young often fell from the high trees. Some of them were quite clumsy. It was a myth to believe that all birds were graceful and could soar up in the air at will.
The wing wasn’t broken, she told Heather. That was why the poor thing had been trying so hard to escape. It had just been stunned by the fall.
Together they felt the bird and smiled at the beating of the little heart and the anxious bird eyes not knowing what fate was in store for it.
Mother Francis gave it some bread crumbs, and then together they took it to the door.
After a few unsteady hops it took off in a low lopsided flight just clearing the stone wall.
“Right, that’s the wildlife dealt with. You get rid of all those feathers and newspapers and put back this box in the scullery. I’ll see to lunch.”
“I’m still not going back, even if you did help me with the bird.”
“Did I say a thing about going back?”
“No, but you will.”
“I won’t. I might ask you to let them know you’re safe, but that’s all.”
Mother Francis got the fire going. She explained to Heather about the dry turf, which stood leaning against the wall. She showed her how to make a little nest of twigs and get that going with a nice crackling light before putting on the turf. Together they ate Sister Imelda’s lamb stew, and big floury potatoes, and dipped their bread and butter into the rich sauce.
There was an apple each and piece of cheese for afterward. Mother Francis explained that she couldn’t carry much more, because the path was quite slippy and anyway she didn’t want to arouse suspicion about where she was going.
“Why did you come for me?” Heather asked.
“I’m a teacher you see. I imagine I know all about children. It’s a little weakness we have.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
“Ah now, we never know that till we’ve examined all the possibilities.”
Eve rang Benny from England. She said she had spent more time making cross-channel phone calls than she had spent being any help to Kit. The whole thing was so infuriating she was going to tear off Simon Westward’s affected little cravat and tie it round his thin useless neck and pull it hard until he was blue in the face and only when she saw his tongue and eyeballs protruding would she stop pulling.
“You’re wasting time,” Benny said.
“I am. I suppose there’s no news is there?”
“Not that we’ve heard.”
“I’ve just had an idea where she might be. It’s only an idea,” said Eve.
“Right. Who will I tell. Simon?”
“No, go on your own. Just go up as if you happened to be passing, and if the key isn’t there you’ll know she’s inside. And Benny, you know how comforting you can be. She’ll need that. Tell her I’ll sort it out when I get back.”
On her way up the town Benny thought
that she might buy some sweets. It would break the ice if Heather was there and needed to be talked out of the place. She had no money, but she knew that her credit would be good in Birdie Mac’s.
As she passed the door of Hogan’s she suddenly thought of the Drawings slips. She could sign a pink piece of paper and write “£1 miscellaneous goods” on it. Why should she, from one business premises in the town, ask credit from Birdie in another.
Sean watched her carefully.
“There, I think that’s in order, isn’t it?” She smiled brightly.
“You’ve taken a great interest in the mechanics of the business,” he said.
She knew he had something to hide. She knew it. But she must be careful. She continued in her same cheery tone.
“Oh well, one way or another I’ll have to be much more involved from now on,” she said.
He repeated the phrase with an air of wonder.
“One way or another?”
She shouldn’t have said that. It implied that there might be doubt over his partnership. She had told herself so often to be careful. Best now to play the role of someone who was not the full shilling.
“Oh, you know what I mean, Sean.”
“Do I?”
“Of course you do.”
She almost ran from the shop. In and out of Birdie’s and up to the square. She had better not go through the convent, even though it was quicker. The nuns would see her and ask her what she was up to.
Eve wanted this done on the quiet.
They had been over a lot of ground, Mother Francis and Heather Westward. The school in Dublin and the games and the other girls having lots of family coming to see them and houses to go to at weekends.
And how much Heather loved Westlands and how horrible Grandfather had been to Eve, and the fear that Eve might not come again.
And how nice it would be if there was a school that she could cycle to every day.
“There is,” Mother Francis said.
There were some areas that had to be argued through. Mother Francis said that there wouldn’t be any effort made to convert Heather to Catholicism because the main problem these days was keeping those that were already in the flock up to the mark.
And there would be no idols of the Virgin Mary to bow down to and worship. There would however be statues of the same Virgin Mary around the school to remind anyone who wished to be so reminded of the Mother of God.
And there would be no need for Heather to attend religious doctrine classes, and she need have no fear that history would be taught with an emphasis on the Pope being always right and everyone else being wrong.
“What was it all about, the split?” Heather asked.
“The Reformation do you mean?”
“Yes. Was it about your side worshipping idols.”
“I think it was more about the Real Presence at mass. You know, whether Communion is truly the Body and Blood of Jesus, or just a symbol.”
“Is that all it was about?” Heather asked, amazed.
“It started that way. But it developed, you know the way things do.”
“I don’t think there should be all that much fuss then.”
Heather seemed greatly relieved that the doctrinal differences of three hundred years appeared to be so slight. They were just shaking hands on it when there was a knock on the door.
“You said you didn’t tell anyone.” Heather leapt up in dismay.
“Nor did I.” Mother Francis went to the door.
Benny stood there with her speech ready. Her jaw dropped when she saw the nun and the angry little figure inside.
“Eve rang. She wondered whether Heather might have been here. She asked me to come and … and well …”
“Did you tell anyone?” Heather snapped out the question.
“No, Eve particularly said not to.” The face relaxed.
Mother Francis said she had to be going now before the community assumed that she too was a missing person and started broadcasting appeals for her on the wireless.
“Are they doing that for me?”
“Not yet. But a lot of people are very worried and afraid that something bad might have happened to you.”
“I’d better tell them … I suppose.”
“I could if you like.”
“What would you say?”
“I could say that you’ll be back later this afternoon, that you’ll be calling in to the convent to borrow a bicycle.”
She was gone.
Benny looked at Heather. She pushed the box of sweets over to her.
“Come on, let’s finish it. We’ll tear through it, both layers.”
“What about the man who fancies Welsh women, the one you’re getting thin for?”
“I think it’s too late.”
Happily they ate the chocolates. Heather asked about the school and who were the hard teachers and who were the easy ones.
Benny asked about her grandfather and whether he knew all the awful things he had said.
“Did she tell everyone?” Heather looked ashamed.
“Only me. I’m her great friend.”
“I don’t have any great friends.”
“Yes, you do. You have Eve.”
“Not anymore.”
“Of course you do. You don’t understand Eve if you’d think a thing like that mattered, she didn’t want to like you in the first place because she had all the bad memories about that old business years ago. But she did, and she always will.”
Heather looked doubtful.
“Yes, and you can have me, too, if you want me, and Eve’s Aidan as a sort of circle of friends. I know we’re way too old for you, but until you make your own.”
“And what about the man who goes off with thin Welsh people? Is he in the circle?”
“On the edges,” Benny said.
In a way that was more true than she meant it to be. She had met Jack twice during the week, and he had been rushing. There was a lot of training, and hardly any time to speak alone.
He had been very contrite about some still unspecified incident during the friendly match they played in Wales. Some girls had come to the club, and it had all been a bit of fun, a laugh, nothing to it. Tales had been greatly exaggerated. In vain Benny tried to tell him that she had heard no tales so nothing could be made better or worse because there had been no stories to exaggerate.
Jack had said that everyone was entitled to a bit of fun, and he never minded her jiving away in Mario’s when he wasn’t around. It had been highly unsatisfactory.
There was an uneven number of sweets, so they halved the last one, a coffee cream.
They tidied up Eve’s house and damped the embers of the fire. Together they left and replaced the key in the wall.
Mossy nodded to them gravely as he passed by.
“Who was that?” Heather whispered.
“Mossy Rooney.”
“He’s broken Bee Moore’s heart,” Heather said disapprovingly.
“Not permanently. She’s going to be Patsy’s bridesmaid when the time comes.”
“I suppose people get over these things,” Heather said.
Mother Francis handed Heather Eve’s bicycle.
“Off you go. Your brother will be waiting for you. I said he should let you go home on your own pedals.”
The nun produced Heather’s small bag of possessions, her Nature book, her pajamas, the photographs of the horse and dog and the small sponge bag. She had wrapped them neatly in brown paper and twine and clipped them onto the back of the bicycle.
Benny and Mother Francis watched her cycle off.
“You guessed! Eve always said you had second sight.”
“If I have then I’d say you have some big worry on your mind.”
Benny was silent.
“I’m not prying.”
“No, of course not.” Benny’s murmur was automatic politeness.
“It’s just being what people laughingly call out of the real world … I hear a great deal about
what goes on amongst those who are in it.”
Benny’s glance was inquiring.
“And Peggy Pine and I were school friends years ago, like you and Eve …”
Benny waited. Mother Francis said that if it was of any use to Benny she should know that Sean Walsh had enough money, from whatever source, to think himself able to buy one of the small cottages up in the quarry road. Cash deposit.
Benny’s mother said that Jack Foley had rung. No, he hadn’t left a message. Benny thought harsh things about Heather Westward for having taken her out of the house when the call came. And she wished that she had not run so readily to do Eve’s bidding.
But then Eve would have done the same for her. And if he loved her and wanted to talk to her, he would ring again.
If he loved her.
Nan’s mother came to say that there was a Simon Westward on the phone.
Nan’s tone was cold.
“Did I give you my phone number?” she asked.
“No, but that’s irrelevant. Heather’s home.”
“Oh, I am glad. Where was she?” Nan was still wondering how he knew where to telephone. She had been adamant about not telling anyone how to contact her.
“She was in Eve’s cottage, as it happens.”
It had been a distinct possibility that Nan and Simon might have been there also. The thought silenced them both for a moment.
“Is she all right?”
“She’s fine, but I can’t leave. I have to sort her out.”
Nan had been ironing her dress for the last hour. It had complicated pleats in the linen. Her hair was freshly washed and she had painted her toenails a pearly pink.
“Yes, of course you must stay,” she said.
“Oh good. I thought you’d be annoyed.”
“The main thing is that she’s safe.”
There was no hint of the rage that Nan was feeling. His tone was so casual.
Simon said that apparently Heather had been very unhappy at the school in Dublin. Nan sighed. Eve had been saying this for months. Heather had probably been saying it for years, but Simon had not listened. There were just a few schools that were suitable for his sister and she would jolly well have to learn to like the one she was in. That had been his attitude.
“So maybe tomorrow?” He was confident and sure.
