The Library at the Edge of the World

by Felicity Hayes-McCoy

  “His name’s Lar Dunne, Miss Casey. He and his brother have a couple of boats. They used to go fishing with the fleet back in the old days.”

  Lar, who must have been in his fifties, shot a look at Hanna from under a pair of bushy eyebrows. Was it true that she was against the new marina? Since there was little point in denying it, Hanna said that it was. “It’s not that we’re against the people of Ballyfin. Part of what we’re trying to do is save jobs there. And I know that there’s an argument that the marina will create new work. I mean that the cruise ships will bring new tourists and that’ll bring more wealth to the village. But we’re trying to focus on the whole peninsula. Though I suppose the marina idea is important to you as a fisherman . . .”

  Hanna’s voice faltered. Lar Dunne continued to stare at her, his bushy eyebrows knitted over his beaky nose. Then he thumped the work surface so violently that the coffee mugs rattled in the sink. The last thing he wanted, he announced, was a huge bloody marina and a load of cruise ships. Had Hanna any idea of the disruption that the project would cause to marine life? Or of how much Ballyfin’s fishing fleet had been damaged by its tourist industry?

  “Don’t get me wrong, now, I’ve nothing against the visitors. My sister has a grand little bed-and-breakfast back there in Ballyfin. And if people want to come and lie on the beach and catch a few fish, sure they’re welcome. They’ll want a drink and a bite to eat and a few bits and pieces out of the shops to take home to the granny afterwards, and why wouldn’t they? But Holy God Almighty, the place is gone mad altogether. And damn the penny the government or the council had put into the fishing fleet since that blasted film star wrote his book. There were twenty boats working out of Ballyfin when I was a lad, Miss Casey. How many do you think there’s going to be if they take away our pier?”

  This was gold dust. Brian Morton had told Hanna weeks ago that Ballyfin was already overdeveloped, but at the time it had seemed a subjective opinion so she hadn’t thought of it again. Now she was hearing that it wasn’t just Lar and his brother who opposed the marina. Most of the other fishermen in Ballyfin did, too.

  “We just never thought there was any point in making our voices heard.”

  Everyone knew that the rich lads in the big hotels were in with the property developers, Lar told her, and what was the use of raising your voice against them?

  Hanna managed to shake hands with Lar and walk calmly out of the library before taking to her heels and rushing to find Sister Michael. Even if they had to dump some of the copies they’d already printed, this was a new and vital page to be added to the submission. If they could get their skates on and draft a petition, Lar Dunne had promised to get it signed by the fishermen of Ballyfin.

  By the time the night of the decision arrived everyone was exhausted. The meeting was to take place in the council chamber in Carrick and half the peninsula was planning to be there to watch from the public gallery. To add to Hanna’s stress, Jazz had rung up unexpectedly to say she’d be home for a stopover, and the call produced a furious row with Mary.

  “Holy God, Hanna-Mariah, you bring half your troubles on yourself!”

  In this case, Mary was right, though Hanna was in no mood to admit it. The last thing she’d expected was that Jazz would turn up at the campaign’s climax. So, not wanting to worry about the chance of the library’s closure, she hadn’t told her what was going on. Now, with no time to talk to her daughter before setting off to the meeting, she instructed Mary not to mention it when Jazz arrived.

  “And what in the name of God is the good of that? Isn’t the whole place talking about it? Do you not think that she’ll hear about it out in the town with her friends?”

  Hanna felt as if her head was about to explode. How could she have thought every other detail through and failed to plan for this?

  “I hoped she wouldn’t be home till we’d won the vote.”

  Mary Casey looked at her scathingly. “Oh and you’re certain you’re going to win, are you?”

  It was the final straw, and Hanna screamed at her: “For God’s sake, Mam, will you try to be helpful for once!?”

  Upon which, the hall door opened and Jazz came into the kitchen.

  Hanna and Mary both turned to her, summoning smiles. After a flurry of greetings and hugs and a rush for the teapot, Hanna looked repressively at Mary and told Jazz as casually as she could that she had to go out to a meeting. To her astonishment, Jazz beamed and raised her teacup in a toast.

  “I know, it’s fantastic. Here’s to the plan!”

  It was all over Twitter, she said, and she thought it was brilliant. “Who’d have thought it, Mum? Finfarran’s trending with the hashtag #LibraryAtTheEdge.”

  Hanna sat down abruptly. In the midst of the working parties someone had mentioned a Twitter account but she didn’t do Twitter herself, so it hadn’t sunk in.

  Jazz opened her phone and scrolled down through her Twitter feed. “How come you didn’t tell me you were being Joan of Arc?”

  Ignoring Mary Casey’s sardonic gaze, Hanna pulled herself together. “I was far too busy rallying my troops.”

  Jazz looked at her apologetically over the teacup. “The only thing is—I feel awful—but do you mind if I’m not at the meeting? My flatmate, Carlos—well, we’re kind of seeing each other now—we flew in together and we’d planned to hang out tonight.”

  It was his first visit to Ireland, she explained, and he probably wouldn’t fancy hanging out at a council meeting.

  “I didn’t know about your meeting till I saw it on Twitter. But I could text Carlos and cancel if you like.”

  Hanna’s heart seemed to melt in her chest. She’d been so concerned about protecting Jazz that she’d never seen her as an ally. And now, even though this Carlos was clearly important, she was willing to ditch him if Hanna should need her support. At that moment a car horn hooted outside.

  “That’s my lift.” Grabbing her bag, she reached out and hugged Jazz. “Conor’s driving me and Sister Michael to the meeting. And don’t be daft, you mustn’t cancel your date. Just wish me luck.”

  “Of course. And I’ll tweet like crazy. Oh, and if you’re getting a lift is it okay to take your car?”

  “Of course.”

  Hanna looked round for her coat, her mind on a thousand details in the submission that now were too late to address.

  “Wish us luck.”

  “I just did. Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll be celebrating tomorrow.”

  Hanna crossed her eyes at her, picked up her things, and ran.

  The parking lot was overflowing and when they reached the council chamber it was stiflingly hot. With their bird’s-eye view from the gallery they could see the bound copies of their submission on the table. None of them looked particularly well thumbed.

  Most of the seats were already filled, so Hanna left Conor to find a place for Sister Michael and pushed her way through to an empty seat in the middle of a row, near Gráinne from the Ballyfin tourist office. Letting her coat slip down over the back of the seat, Hanna tucked her bag under it and leaned forward to listen.

  The County Manager began the proceedings by announcing sternly that the meeting was not a public one. It was an occasion on which Finfarran’s elected county councillors, advised and informed by council officers, would debate, consider, and vote upon a proposal that lay before them. He was aware that a submission had been made that, in effect, amounted to an alternative proposal, and consideration of its content would, of course, form part of the debate. But he would like to reiterate his former statement. This was not a public meeting. Should there be any disturbance in the gallery, he said, looking up over his glasses, he would have no hesitation in having it cleared at once. Hanna prayed that Conor, among others, would take heed. She had already made the same point herself, in a pre-meet in the library. Everything that could be said had been said in the submission. The weight of their presence in the gallery should impress the councillors, but that was all they were there for; they mustn�
��t lose their cool.

  For the first ten minutes she was on the edge of her seat, listening to every point that was made and watching for every reaction. Then, as the voices droned on below her, she became aware of Tim Slattery, sitting almost directly opposite her, in the third row of the circular gallery. His eyes were like stones. For a moment Hanna ducked her head. Then she raised it again, telling herself firmly that she was surrounded by friends. A couple of rows behind Tim, Conor gave her a thumbs-up. In the car on the way to the meeting he had told her that he and Aideen were saving up for a long weekend in Florence, where they were going to rent Vespas; he’d been giving lessons to Aideen, who was doing great. To Conor’s left, leaning against the wall at the back of the gallery, Hanna could see Fury. And crowded into the seats all around her were Johnny Hennessy, who had been the first to send herbs to the garden; Dennis from the Credit Union; gawky Ferdia the website designer; Bríd and Aideen; the Knockmore seniors and the fishermen from Ballyfin; Gunther, Susan, and the Cafferkys; Conor’s mum and dad and his brother, Joe; Dan’s friend in the leather jacket with his arm round his gum-chewing girlfriend; and dozens of other neighbors from Crossarra and Lissbeg.

  Then, as a councillor below her stood up to ask a question, Hanna was startled by the sound of her cell phone dinging in her handbag. The chairman threw an irritated glance at the gallery, and, deeply embarrassed, Hanna groped for her bag and found her phone. She flipped it open and stabbed at the OFF button.

  Then she saw the text from her mother on the screen.

  JAZZ IN CAR CRASH

  For a moment Hanna didn’t take it in. Then, clutching her bag in one hand and her phone in the other, she stumbled from her seat and made for the door. Outside in the foyer, her phone bleeped again.

  ON MY WAY TO MARY MOTHER OF GOD

  Hanna was halfway out of the building when she heard Brian’s voice behind her. She hadn’t even known he was at the meeting.

  “Hanna, what’s happened?”

  “It’s Jazz. I have to get to the hospital.” She looked at him distractedly. “Oh God, I’ve got no car. She was driving my car.”

  Minutes later they were in Brian’s car, driving toward the Mary Mother of God Hospital at the far side of town.

  58

  Afterward Hanna could remember neither the journey nor the arrival at A&E. All she knew was that, without looking back, she had flung herself out of the car and slammed through the doors to reception. There at the far side of the waiting area Mary was clinging to Pat Fitz.

  Hanna froze at the sight of her mother’s ravaged face. Then Pat came towards her, holding out her arms.

  Hanna’s mouth was dry as a bone. “Where is she?”

  Pat took her hands, speaking gently, as if to a child. “It’s all right, pet. She’s here. They’re doing their best.”

  The next thing Hanna was aware of was that she was sitting down with her head pressed to her knees. After a minute the hand on the back of her neck relaxed and she sat up. Someone handed her a plastic cup of water. Then Mary was beside her, holding her hand.

  “They’ve taken her into surgery.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. She has cracked ribs but that’s not important. There’s internal bleeding. Holy God, Hanna-Mariah, a guard came knocking on the door.”

  Mary had been watching the television when the knock came. “And I thought she’d forgotten her key. And then there was a guard on the doorstep. Two of them, one was a woman. And, you know yourself, Hanna, when they send a woman it’s never good news.”

  Pat interrupted gently to say that Ger had gone to get tea. “There’s a machine round the corner. He’ll bring us a cup in a minute.”

  Hanna looked around, trying to see a nurse. “Isn’t there someone I can talk to? I need to know how she is.”

  They’d been told to wait in reception, said Pat, and someone would bring them news.

  “And that’s good, isn’t it, Pat? Isn’t it, Hanna?” Mary’s hand on Hanna’s felt like a vice. “They’d put us in a room of our own if they thought she wouldn’t make it. They wouldn’t tell us she was dead and we sitting in a crowd.”

  Hanna reached for her bag. There was a sign saying that you couldn’t use cell phones in reception so she stood up and went outside. She leaned against a wall feeling tears streaming down her face. Then, with her hands shaking so much that she could hardly use the phone, she called Malcolm.

  It took four hours for Malcolm to reach the hospital and when he arrived Jazz had come out of surgery. But no one had yet told them how she actually was. Pat and Mary were in the restroom and Ger Fitz was fetching yet another round of teas. Hanna was sitting in reception when the automatic doors swished open and she saw Malcolm making for the desk. His overcoat was spotted with raindrops and his hair was blown back from his forehead. Hanna tried to call out but her mouth was too dry. She stood up instead and Malcolm turned and saw her. Then she ran until her forehead was pressed to the familiar comfort of his shoulder.

  There was more waiting and then more cups of tea. Malcolm explained how he’d caught a flight from London City Airport to Cork. He’d phoned ahead and arranged for a car to meet the plane. Mary repeated the story of how Ger and Pat had reached Mary Mother of God almost as quickly as she had. The guards drove her. They were very good. Hanna sat by Malcolm and held his hand. It was strange not to feel his wedding ring. A drunk man got belligerent and was taken away by security. Then a long time later a tired-looking nurse came and told them that they could see Jazz.

  She was lying on a bed looking white, surrounded by drips and monitors. But her eyes were open. The doctor who spoke to them in the corridor, said she’d been lucky. The internal bleeding had been serious because she’d had a badly ruptured spleen. But the surgery to remove it had been successful. Seeing Hanna’s expression, he had patted her arm. It was a common procedure, he said, and Jazz should make a full recovery. Her underlying health was grand so she should be home soon.

  Pat and Ger said they’d stay outside so Hanna and Malcolm sat round the bed with Mary. When Jazz smiled at them Hanna felt dizzy.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello.” Jazz turned her head on the pillow. “What is this, a family get-together?”

  Malcolm touched her cheek. “How do you feel?”

  “Cold. Pretty crap. Apparently I was in a car crash.”

  Her voice was a bit hoarse but the nurse had said it might be.

  “What hit me?”

  “You hit a cow.”

  “Well, I hope she feels better than I do.”

  The car had skidded into a stone wall. Hanna managed to smile. “That’s the last time you’ll borrow my car, I’m telling you that.”

  She could see that Jazz was getting sleepy. Leaning forward, she tucked in the sheet.

  “Go to sleep, love, we’ll see you in the morning. And you’ll be home doing your happy dance in no time.”

  Jazz turned her head again and her eyes became more focused. “Carlos . . . ?”

  “He knows. I rang him. The nurse gave me your bag and there were about ten missed calls on your phone. Don’t worry. He sends his love.”

  Jazz smiled. Then, struggling to keep awake, she looked at Malcolm. “How come you’re not in London?”

  “Because you scared the life out of me and I had to come over and see that you were okay.”

  “That’s nice. I mean, it’s nice that you’re both here together.”

  Mary Casey couldn’t repress a snort. Hanna glared at her. Jazz frowned.

  “You and Dad are okay, aren’t you? You’re not locked in some ghastly row that I don’t know about?”

  Mentally daring Mary to open her beak, Hanna took Malcolm’s hand.

  “Dad and I are fine. Now you go to sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”

  Smiling, Jazz allowed her eyes to close. Under Mary Casey’s outraged gaze and still holding hands, Malcolm and Hanna watched her drift into sleep.

  59

  It seemed
to Hanna that Mary Casey had aged ten years since she’d left the bungalow that evening. As they left Jazz’s room Mary was still pale and her hands were trembling, yet, as soon as she saw Hanna still holding Malcolm’s hand she rallied and glared pointedly. Hanna took a step toward her and gave her a hug.

  “It’s been an awful night but it’s over now, Mam. You let Ger and Pat drive you home.”

  Mary bridled. “And what, leave you here with that fellow? I’ll do no such thing.”

  With an apologetic glance at the others, Hanna drew her down the corridor. Then, sitting Mary on a plastic chair, she crouched down in front of her and took her hands.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see the little group outside Jazz’s door looking discreetly in the opposite direction.

  “Do you know what it is, Mam, you’ve got to let go. I’m a grown woman and my life is my own.”

  “Yes, well as long as you don’t let that fellow worm his way back into it.”

  “Mam!” Hanna stood up and pulled Mary to her feet. “You’re exhausted, will you just go home?”

  As Hanna made to lead her back down the corridor, Mary turned and looked her in the eye.

  “Right so, you’re a grown woman. I’ll leave you to get on with it. But if you think I’m too protective of my daughter, take another look at how you treat Jazz.”

  There were faint pink streaks in the gray sky when Hanna and Malcolm stood at the hospital gates waiting for his taxi. Although he had a day in court scheduled, Malcolm was loath to leave.

  Hanna shook her head at him. “Go on, you can’t disappear in the middle of a case. You heard the doctor, Jazz will be fine. I’m here. And you and she can Skype tomorrow, or WhatsApp, or whatever it is you do.”

  As he hesitated she smiled at him. “Honestly, Malcolm, it’s fine. You can fly over and see her at the weekend.”