by Penny Feeny
They joined the brothers at a table in the conservatory, overlooking tranquil well-tended gardens, pansies in the borders, roses in bud. Tom was reading down the menu and chuckling. ‘Beats me why everything must come with a jus.’ He exaggerated his Kerry accent. ‘They do a magnificent roast chicken here, to be sure. Will you not have the roast, Bel? The chef will wring the bird’s neck personally and serve you potatoes three different ways. Your English potatoes, you know, bear no comparison with ours. And…’
‘Actually I’m vegetarian.’
‘Would you believe it!’ He slapped his thigh. ‘Then you probably have a choice of salad, salad sandwiches or salad.’
‘I was going to try the mushroom risotto. It’ll be my first mushroom for a month.’
The young men were amused by the idea that anyone would compute their mushroom intake. Presumably they had been brought up on slabs of bloody meat: half a cow in the freezer and strings of home-made sausages dangling in the pantry.
‘And what about you, my darling Clementine?’
‘Burger and chips.’
‘Isn’t that what you had on the boat?’
‘It wasn’t very nice,’ said Clemmie. ‘That’s why I want another one.’
‘However did you manage it?’ said Kieran. ‘A daughter who knows her own mind. You could learn from her, you know.’
Clemmie sat up a little straighter, preening, but at the same time she glanced in her father’s direction, as if unsure how he’d react. Tom didn’t notice. He went to place the order and when he came back his demeanour had changed again. He ran his fingers down the smooth chilled side of his glass. ‘Less than two hours from Tulsa,’ he said.
Bel said curiously, ‘Don’t you want to go home?’
‘Conflicted, I’d say. Wouldn’t you, Kieran?’
His brother nodded. ‘Our mother’s strong on disappointment.’
When the food arrived, it came in enormous portions on enormous plates. The men both had steaks that were pooling blood, staining their chips. Bel tried to concentrate on her own dish but struggled to make headway. She poked her fork into the grains of rice, clumped together under a glistening veneer of cream, and it stood upright.
‘Are you all right, Bel?’ said Kieran. ‘Is it not what you were expecting?’
‘No, no, it’s fine. It’s just I’ve been ill – got bitten in Africa – and it’s affected my appetite.’
Clemmie had been about to take a chunk from her bun. ‘Was it a lion?’ she asked, her round eyes popping with speculation.
‘More like the opposite,’ Bel said. ‘An insect so tiny you can hardly see it.’
‘Like fluke in cattle,’ observed Tom, attacking his steak.
‘Anyway,’ said Bel, uncertain of the comparison. ‘I’m better now.’ She was reluctant to go into details. She approached the risotto again, but whether she nibbled into the sides or dented its centre the heap didn’t seem to diminish much. She yearned for Rachael’s dainty portions: small, tempting, easily digested.
Clemmie tugged at her father’s sleeve. ‘I’m bored.’
‘Jaysus, Clem, we’re eating our dinner.’
‘Can I play on your phone again?’
‘Are we not company enough for you?’
‘It’s been a long journey for a kid that age,’ said Kieran. ‘She’s held up well.’
Tom laid his phone on the table top. ‘Okay then. But don’t drop it.’
Clemmie seized it with glee and in between mouthfuls of burger and snatches of fries her thumbs moved swiftly on the screen, which gave out a series of grunts and bleeps and satisfying trills.
Tom pushed aside his plate and said in an undertone to Kieran, ‘We need to check up on things with Sean.’
‘Well go on then.’
‘Can I borrow your phone?’ His head jerked towards Clemmie. ‘Best if she stays occupied while we sort it out.’
Kieran delved into his pocket. ‘I thought it was sorted.’
‘It will be.’ Tom took the mobile, and moved away to a quiet corner. Bel could see him beginning to speak, his expression animated. Then it became shuttered. She thought she heard him swear. Kieran was alert, half rising from his seat as if expecting Tom to beckon him over. Instead he turned his back and paced the length of the room, still talking, until he headed into the foyer and out of view. Clemmie, absorbed in her world of avatars, was unconcerned. Kieran fidgeted restlessly.
‘Do you and your brother always swap everything?’ said Bel after a while.
‘You mean the phone?’
‘And your jacket.’
‘Oh that. He just borrowed it to go out on deck because he’d left his in the car.’
‘You don’t live together?’
‘Christ no! I’ve been in Birmingham the past few years. Tom’s in London mostly.’
‘Because of Clemmie?’
‘Partly. They’ve not long been back in touch.’
‘You don’t have any children?’
‘No,’ he said and they fell into silence again. He wasn’t an easy man to draw out, Bel felt, although his brother’s presence seemed to stir him up, get him going.
Eventually Tom returned and, shortly after, a waiter came over with a tumbler of Coke and three brimming pints.
‘I thought we could do with another round,’ Tom explained.
‘A half would have done for me,’ Kieran said. ‘You know I’m driving.’
‘Ah go on, you can hack another.’
‘No I can’t.’
Bel had scarcely touched her first drink and now had two in front of her. She thought she could recognise a manic determination in Tom’s flouting of common sense.
‘Right,’ he said, pressing his fingertips together. ‘Here’s a thought for you. We’ll stay the night.’
‘What!’
‘I know. I know.’ He began to hum ‘Twenty-four hours from Tulsa’. Then he said softly, ‘Sean’s not ready for her.’
Kieran, reclaiming his phone, frowned. ‘I knew it! It was too much of a gamble. We should have broken the journey in Dublin. We could have stayed at Ned’s.’
Tom said, ‘You were the one who wanted to get it over with, insisted we could do the whole thing in a day.’
‘Yeah, because I wasn’t sure Ned’s place would be fit for Clemmie. And because I thought if we don’t stop then at least I have the chance to get you there in one piece. Those were my instructions. Not to lose you on the way.’
‘It’s only a minor delay,’ said Tom. ‘Sure, who will notice? We should make the best of it.’ He plucked at his T-shirt. ‘And the state I’m in, let’s face it, is rank. You can’t clean up in a washroom. I need a shower, a proper lathering. All we have to do is make a call home. We can be there dewy-eyed and sweet-smelling soon after breakfast. And you can enjoy your drink.’
The velvety black Guinness was sitting in front of Kieran like a reproof. ‘You’ve blown it this time,’ he said, lifting the glass.
Bel exclaimed, ‘How can you let him manipulate you like this?’
Tom hummed another few bars, fixed her with his intense sky-blue eyes, so very different from his daughter’s. ‘Because underneath he’s a great softie,’ he said. ‘Possessed with the notion of doing the right thing. For the grace of the Lord.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘He has a calling, darlin’. As a priest.’
‘A what?’
‘I’m not a priest,’ said Kieran.
‘Why did he say you were then? You don’t look like one.’
‘Of course I don’t. He’s winding you up.’
‘It’s, like, totally a lie?’
He shifted on his stool. ‘Maybe not totally. I did think at one point I might have a vocation. There was a lot of talk of it around our house. I was wrong.’
‘You were never a priest?’
‘I was never ordained. I stuck about two years in the seminary. And then I came out the other side.’
‘Came out!’ c
rowed Tom. ‘And wasn’t it a bugger’s delight while it lasted.’
‘Feck off. Don’t you believe a word he says.’
Tom’s giggle had fished Clemmie away from her game and back into their world. ‘Can I have an ice cream now?’ she said.
‘Sure you can. What flavour are you after?’
She leaned her head against his shoulder. ‘Strawberry.’
Tom leapt to his feet, pulling her with him. ‘I have a grand idea,’ he said. ‘We’ll go and choose your ice cream and then we’ll ask the lovely lady at the desk if they have rooms free. How would you like to stay tonight?’
‘Stay in a hotel?’
‘You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?’
‘What about your friend who makes the music?’
‘Ah well, that’ll be the night after. And maybe they’ll be having some live music later on in the bar here. If you’re good you can stay up to listen to it. This is a magical mystery tour, is it not? Full of surprises.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ said Kieran. ‘We have another passenger.’
Tom’s eyebrows shot up. His expression was innocuous. Bel thought she had never seen anyone change character so often. ‘It’s not a problem for you, is it?’
Kieran didn’t give her a chance to answer. ‘Of course it is,’ he said. ‘Her mother’s expecting to meet her and you’re eating into her holiday. Ah Christ, but we have ourselves a mess.’ He jiggled his knee, chewed at his lip. Then he said to Bel, ‘If I drive you to Tralee you’ll still arrive before the train and your mother can pick you up like you arranged.’
‘How long would that take you?’
‘An hour or so each way, I guess.’
‘Then it’d be daft!’
‘You could ring her, couldn’t you?’ said Tom. ‘She won’t have set off yet. Tell her we’ve some trouble with the car or something, but it’ll be fixed in the morning.’
‘Well… I guess I could. I mean, like, I don’t mind. I’m not in a hurry. I just don’t quite understand what the hold-up is. What exactly is going on?’
Tom sighed and went on to explain that Clemmie had been going to stay with their friends, Sean and Kath McCauley, for a day or two because her grandparents needed forewarning. It wasn’t fair to spring a shock on a couple who were already beleaguered.
Bel could see the logic of this, though it vexed her the girl was being treated like a parcel – her mother handing her over to a distant father, the father handing her over to strangers. ‘Does she know these people?’
‘Sure she does! Kath’s come to London many a time. It’s only because she’s unexpectedly away on family matters that we have to change our plans now. Maybe it’s my fault for not firming up the date. Whatever. But Kath will be home tomorrow. And I might even stay there myself. The point is, we get a chance to prepare the ground.’
‘You,’ Kieran said. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
‘Look, I didn’t even know Clem existed till recently when her ma came after me for the maintenance. We’ve all had a lot of catching up to do.’ He clasped the child’s hand. ‘And don’t worry about the cost. I’ll put the rooms on my card, the bar tab and all. It’s great that you’re coming along with us for the ride, Bel.’
9
The Encounter
In Julia’s eyes the town of Dingle wasn’t much altered. There was more bustle perhaps, more hanging baskets and fresher paintwork, a rash of new bungalows in vibrant colours plonked down like little Lego homes, but people still came from their scattered smallholdings to drink and gossip, to get their hair cut or their shoes mended, to stock up on necessities; visitors still marvelled at its quaintness as they trundled the narrow streets. She remembered well the kink in the road, the sea wall spread with fishing nets, the boats bobbing in the harbour. As she parked the car and set off on foot she half expected to come face to face with her old self, the unscarred Julia.
The call last night hadn’t surprised her – not a bit – though it had made her curious. ‘Sorry, where did you say you are again?’
‘Actually,’ Bel had said. ‘I’m not sure. A pretty place, dinky little thatched cottages and a wonderful scent of peat. I’ve forgotten its name.’
‘Right, I see.’
‘You’re not upset, are you? You don’t feel I’ve let you down? I’ll be there tomorrow morning, promise. The hotel staff know a mechanic who can sort out the car. I couldn’t get a train now anyway because we’re miles from a railway line.’
‘These people you’re with…’
‘They’re sound, honestly. One of them even used to be a priest.’
‘Used to be?’
‘Like a trainee. Years ago. It doesn’t mean he’s crossed over and grown horns and a tail. Anyway, I can look after myself.’
That’s what she’d said when she set off for Sudan. But there was no point in arguing; Bel had travelled widely and Julia preferred not to hear about her more dubious encounters. ‘It might be tricky to find the cottage. It might be too remote for the satnav.’
‘Oh but they know the whole area, the guys – they were brought up round there.’
‘Even so, I think it will be easier to meet in the town, in one of the hotels. I’ll be waiting for you.’ Julia was too restless to spend the morning pottering in Dolphin Cottage. She’d enjoyed being on her own until the moment of finding the memorial stone. That had spooked her. ‘Text me when you’re half an hour away and I’ll let you know where I am.’
Since she was down to her last few euros she delayed going for a cup of coffee. On her way up the hill she passed Dick Mack’s pub and recalled with a flash of nostalgia the cobbler publican and the two wooden counters facing each other: one a working bench for shoe last, hammer and leather; the other fitted with hand pumps. She could picture Dick Mack laying down his tools and shuffling from one occupation to another as he crossed the aisle to pull two pints of Guinness (and a red lemonade for Matt). The old man must have died by now, but when she peered inside the bar looked exactly the same.
She continued in the direction of the church. Mass had just ended and the congregation was spilling out of the doors and into the road. She tried to turn back to avoid the knots of locals gathering, but found herself trapped in the surge. She also had the uncomfortable feeling she was being watched; not so much spied on as talked about. It wasn’t her imagination: three women were staring directly at her, blinking and conferring. She couldn’t think why until she realised one of them was Teresa Hogan.
Julia waved a tentative greeting. Teresa came towards her. ‘Good morning,’ she called out. ‘And how are you? Have you everything you need?’
‘The cottage is perfect, thank you,’ said Julia. ‘Very well equipped.’
‘Dr Wentworth,’ said Teresa. ‘Let me introduce my friends, Mary O’Connor and Breda Malone.’
The women shook hands and Mary O’Connor twitched her head to one side like a bird. ‘Is this your first trip to Kerry?’ she asked.
‘Well no, actually I came once before. Ages ago.’ She didn’t elaborate, but added, ‘It’s as lovely as ever.’
The women were in their Sunday best, their hair prettily coiffed. They were smiling and fiddling with the straps of their handbags. They didn’t seem anxious to move on.
Julia said, ‘I went exploring yesterday and came across an old church. A ruined one covered in ivy. Very atmospheric, but such a pity that it’s fallen into disrepair. Though I noticed the graveyard’s still in use.’ She wondered how she might drop the memorial plaque into the conversation.
‘Ah yes,’ said Teresa. ‘You’ll be meaning St Silas. The gable end is quite dangerous you know, but no one does the least thing to stop it falling. You could get a mighty crack on the head just strolling past to tend a loved one’s…’
A text pinged into Julia’s phone and Teresa failed to finish her sentence. Julia apologised for the interruption but didn’t feel she could pick up the thread again without making her question too obvious. The women we
re already darting enquiring looks at each other.
The message was from Bel:
Sorry, running late xx.
‘My daughter,’ Julia said with a mock sigh. ‘Never gets anywhere on time.’
‘She’s coming today?’
‘She was due yesterday! See what I mean?’
‘Indeed she was,’ said Teresa energetically as if she wanted to show her friends she was fully informed. ‘There’s no major problem I hope?’
Julia shrugged. ‘I’m hoping the same thing.’
Her phone was lying flat in the palm of her hand. She had a picture of Danny, wide-eyed, as a screensaver. Leaning forward, Mary O’Connor said, ‘What a little sweetheart. Your grandson?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s coming with your daughter?’
‘Oh no. He’s my son’s child. That photo was taken over a year ago actually. He’s just started school now – he’s growing so fast!’
‘Ah, he’s at a lovely age, so. Do you have any other pictures?’
Which was how Julia, at their urging, found herself flicking through the photos of her family. The women studied them, cooed and clucked and nudged each other, and agreed that little Danny took after his father and what a fine pair they made.
Eventually Teresa passed the phone back. ‘We mustn’t keep you,’ she said. ‘But you will be sure to let me know if there’s anything we can do for you during the week. We want you to…’ she paused a moment ‘…think well of us.’
‘And enjoy your holiday,’ said Breda Malone, reaching out unexpectedly to pat Julia’s shoulder.
Then the trio tottered away, heads as close as schoolgirls’, and Julia decided to take her coffee break. She’d earmarked the hotel lounge: restful and old-fashioned with wood panelling and high-backed chairs, sepia photographs on the walls, a row of Sunday newspapers neatly folded. She settled herself in a spot where she had a partial view of the street entrance. A waitress took her order and she idly turned the pages of the Irish Independent.
She had no idea what ‘running late’ actually meant. It was anybody’s guess – Bel’s poor timekeeping was well documented. She could miss trains and appointments with ease. Even when she’d been dropped in front of the school gates, she could miss assembly or registration. There had been a single exception, twenty-six years ago, when she’d sallied down the birth canal three weeks early to great inconvenience. Julia had her case packed in readiness, but it was a shock to find her waters breaking as she collected Matt from Cubs.
