Feeding Strawberries to Pigs

by Gerry Rose

  ‘It gives the East Pier Theatre great pleasure to welcome fresh from communing with the Spirits… Mystical Molly.’

  The stage was suddenly lit with hundreds of candles and the audience gasped as Molly appeared dressed in a Victorian bathing suit.

  ‘Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen, and of course we mustn’t forget our spirit guests.’ Molly stressed ‘spirit guests’ in her deep velvet voice and paused as if awaiting a response from them, none was received.

  The Duchess, who was seated on a rather distinguished gentlemen’s lap in a box wearing her best summer frock, rose and took a bow. Marie who had bought an ordinary ticket in the gods smiled but was careful not to wave at her.

  ‘Now let us begin.’ Molly surveyed the audience through hooded eyes. ‘I see one of our spirits here with us already. He is dressed as a lifeboat man.’

  The Duchess looked around her and could not see a spirit matching that description, and thought.

  ‘Huh no such luck!’

  Molly undeterred continued.

  ‘Is there anyone here, who had a distant relative who was a lifeboat man?’

  Several hundreds of people in the audience shot their hands up. Molly chose a gullible looking woman whom she’d seen earlier in the bar limping.

  ‘It’s you dear, this relative was he called, oh it’s a little misty, Bill, Phil, Tom, John, Charlie or maybe its Pete or something like that?’

  ‘I did have a second cousin called Bill who was a lifeboat man.’

  ‘That’s him; I can see him surrounded by southwesters. He says your limp is getting worse and you should see a doctor.’

  And so it went on. The Duchess was fuming. At last she could no longer contain herself, she flew onto the stage and summoning all the energy she could, bellowed into Molly’s ear.

  ‘Sure, you’re a fraud and a cheat like your great grandmother was.’

  But to the Duchess’ amazement Molly collapsed and the tatty safety curtain was hastily pulled down.

  During the interval Marie and the Duchess plotted their next move. Just as Marie was about to take her seat and the Duchess was seeking a cosy lap to perch on, the scent of camels hit their nostrils and who should waft into the theatre dressed in full Bedouin outfits, none other than Marie’s mother Teresa and her aunt Mary.

  ‘Ah sure Marie we’ve found you!’ Marie’s mother planted a chilly kiss on her daughter’s cheek.

  ‘Your mother was worried about you; we were so surprised not to find you waiting for us at the beach hut as usual.’ Aunt Mary blew her niece a camel breath kiss.

  ‘Listen we’ve got some hard work to do in the second half of this show. We have to save Darjeeling School and make sure that our beach hut remains in our family forever!’

  Marie’s mother and Aunt Mary looked like they had seen a poltergeist, but with a quick briefing from the Duchess and Marie they were even more than ready for Mystic Molly! Marie took her seat and waited for her to take the stage again.

  There were excited whispers amongst the audience as they waited for Mystic Molly to appear.

  The lights were dimmed and then a ghostly wail started up quietly and then became frighteningly loud and across the safety curtain a message appeared in shaky writing that appeared like a cloud.

  ‘Who was Dolores O’Dowell?’

  The air was heady with a cocktail of spices as Mystic Molly appeared dressed as a belly dancer. She gave her coin belt a ‘shimmy’ and announced that her spirit guide Fatima, was ready to be asked questions from the audience.

  Luckily for Marie, the Duchess, Aunt Mary and Marie’s mother a woman in the first row was quick to ask….

  ‘Who was Dolores O’Dowell?’

  The audience witnessed Mystic Molly gasp and for the second time that evening collapse on the stage.

  The safety curtain fell and 5 minutes later an embarrassed theatre manager emerged to say the show would not continue and a 50% refund would be paid to all.

  In Mystic Molly’s dressing room the Duchess, Teresa and Aunt Mary got to work on Molly.

  ‘So you can see us then, and do you remember who we are?’

  Molly was lying on a chaise longue as white as a sheet.

  ‘Th- th- the O’Grady’s.’ She had dropped the deep velvet voice and sounded petrified. Her hand shook as she reached for a silver hip flask.

  ‘Yes, and we know all about you and your great grandmother you are both frauds and thieves! Your great grandmother deserved to be sacked and thrown out of Darjeelings.’

  ‘I’m no thief!’ Molly’s courage was bolstered by nips of Vodka.

  ‘Well I disagree’ said prim Aunt Mary, ‘you have taken money tonight under false pretences!’

  ‘S’not my fault if people s’are gullible’ Molly was beginning to slur her words.

  Teresa, cut to the quick. ‘Well you’ve bought Darjeelings with the profit from all of this fakery and we are the real thing. We can do you a big favour and you can help us too.’

  Before Molly became too drunk, some smart negotiation took place between the Duchess, Teresa, Mary and Molly.

  The future of the beach hut haunt was secure and the following year ‘Darjeeling’s finishing off School.’ boasted real spooks and won the prize as the spookiest place to visit in Britain. But only in summer because: as the Duchess insisted.

  ‘Sure we spirits are awful busy and after all, old habits die hard and sure we have our standards and still have to do the Seasons.’

  Marie kept Molly in line, and even managed to retrieve some of Darjeelings’ long lost silver. The finishing off school was not quite the place that Darjeelings had been, but as long as she had her beach hut and her family around her she was happy.

  SPANISH POINT

  ‘I’m sorry Marion but your father and I think it’s for the best.’

  Her mother’s words had stung her deeply; she had been told that their summer holiday was cancelled, but not the reason. It was too awful for a seven year-old to cope with.

  ‘But why?’ Marion had sobbed. She lay on her bed and had cried softly, as she listened to her parents’ whispers. She would be the only girl in the class not having a holiday that year. It was bad enough that she was so different from all of her friends. They lived in smart new houses and had brothers and sisters all she had was this small bedroom in the terraced house where her dead grandmother used to live. She asked so many questions but never got the answers. She did have her special friend Miss Carrie, but her parents frowned upon this and cruelly called her ‘Marion’s imaginary friend.’

  Marion could however rely on her friend who at this very moment was singing her a lullaby and soon she was fast asleep.

  But things got worse; her mother was rushed into hospital without any explanation. When her father told her he was taking her to Aunt Bridget’s house in Clare, she knew that throwing another temper tantrum would not work. His face had that really serious look that grownups have when something bad is happening. She had seen that face many times.

  They set off on a soft day leaving Dublin and all she knew. She thought of her friends flying off to Spain to their second homes and wondered why she had been so unlucky to get the parents she had. She felt guilty for thinking these thoughts and would have to confess all to the priest at her next confession.

  Aunt Bridget was her mother’s eldest sister and lived by the sea and painted pictures. In her paintings it was always hot and sunny and they always seemed to include the most perfect looking family having fun on the beach, a tall handsome man, a slim blonde woman, a boy who looked about 10 and a girl about her age having fun on the beach. They had a lot of Aunt Bridget’s pictures at home and Marion used to stare at them and wish that her family was more like the people in the paintings.

  The weather improved and by the time they got to Limerick it was sunny and warm. Neither Marion nor her father fully appreciated it; they were quiet and alone with their thoughts. There were things that Marion longed to know, but was too young to know how to ask,
and too young to hear the answers. Her father looked pale, and she thought his eyes looked strange and shiny. When they got to Spanish point the surf was up and the sun was sparkling on the water, the beach looked inviting with plenty of children to meet and play with. But when her father said he could not come in with her, as he needed to get back to Dublin as soon as possible Marion suddenly felt abandoned and so alone. Aunt Bridget made a big fuss of her but she watched as her aunt hugged her brother-in-law with a serious face and said something about luck and God’s lap. There were anxious looks back at her and more whispers and then her father came back and hugged her again.

  ‘Now be careful and do whatever Aunt Bridget says and don’t go near the sea on your own.’

  His parting words bounced off her like all of his other warnings, adults were such kill-joys. His tears were wet on her cheeks.

  The seagulls called to Marion and to her their eerie cry told of the cruelty of the sea, she watched her father’s car disappear along the headland. Once her father’s car was out of sight her aunt wore a face that tried to look jolly. ‘Don’t worry Marion everything will be grand I’m sure. Now this way you get a holiday by the sea too.’

  Marion smiled at her aunt out of politeness, but what fun would it be all alone in this cottage with her aunt for the summer. Aunt Bridget had grey hair and looked old. She had a husband and children once, but lost them, her Mammy had said. Marion knew this made Aunt Bridget sad. Marion could remember getting lost in the supermarket and her mammy had howled and howled when she was found. She knew that losing people made you sad.

  Aunt Bridget lived in a damp cottage with ‘night storage heaters’ which made no sense to Marion. The room she was shown to was pink and looked like another little girl had just popped out and would return at any moment. There were clothes in the drawers and the wardrobe, old fashioned clothes and Marion struggled to find space for the things her father had hastily thrown into a suitcase for her. Miss Carrie was most unimpressed and refused to unpack her rucksack.

  While Aunt Bridget cooked supper Marion explored the rest of the cottage. There were three bedrooms upstairs; the largest was Aunt Bridget’s which she did not enter, the third room was full of boys’ toys mostly boats and airplanes which hung from the ceiling. The bed was made and the room smelled of glue, she hurried out feeling uncomfortable amongst boys’ things.

  They ate supper in silence, her aunt seemed unable to think of anything to say and Marion was happy to escape to her room to read the ‘Swallows and Amazons’ books that seemed to fill the book shelves. Miss Carrie was sulking and refusing to do anything, except insist that they should return to Dublin. Marion told her to ‘go to sleep, tomorrow is another day.’

  The next day was cold, they went to a deserted little beach near the cottage and she was left to make sandcastles, as long as she promised not to go near the water. She would play with Miss Carrie. Miss Carrie was green and no one else could see her. Her mother would not let her play in the street at home so Miss Carrie had become her best friend. Marion did not see the other girl until she lost her bucket.

  Marion had been making a large castle with a moat and was going to the edge of the sea to fetch water. A sudden gust of wind blew her bucket along the beach so she gave chase. It was blown into the sea, so she went into the water to get it. The water was cold and icy. She felt a shiver run up her spine. Then suddenly there was someone behind her, who touched Marion on her shoulder.

  ‘Stop Marion.’

  Marion screamed and turned to see a blonde girl about her age standing behind her.

  ‘The sea is a dangerous thing.’ She stared at Marion with familiar pale green eyes.

  ‘My bucket I must get it.’

  ‘It will suck the air from you.’The girl then turned and looked at the bucket. The bucket stopped floating out to sea and seemed to glide back to Marion. She bent down to pick it up, and then turned to talk to the girl, but she had gone. She went back to her sandcastle, sad that the girl had disappeared; it would have been nice to have another friend. Miss Carrie told her not to worry she was still there.

  Then her aunt called her in to lunch.

  Whilst eating ham sandwiches made with delicious white bread not the heavy brown bread she had to have at home, Marion thought about the girl. She hoped she would come out to play after lunch and thought about games they could play. Aunt Bridget looked sad; she had spent the morning in her studio. Suddenly Marion found herself asking if she could see her aunt’s latest painting. She did not know why she had asked; she just found the words slipping out of her mouth. Her aunt’s reply had shocked her.

  ‘No, I cannot show anyone. It’s too awful; no one’s eyes should have to see what I have seen.’ Her aunt burst into tears and ran from the room. Marion felt desperately sad and alone. Her tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks landing on her half eaten sandwich making it soggy. There was a tap on the window; the girl was there. Marion dried her eyes on her napkin and smiled. The girl beckoned to Marion and she got down from the table and slipped out the backdoor. She did not want to disturb her aunt so left without saying anything.

  The girl led and Marion followed, on and on they walked away from the house away from the beach away from anything familiar to Marion. When she stopped and looked back, knowing she should not be going, the girl would call her and Marion followed. The sun had come out and it was hot and the road ahead was shimmering, and she did not see or hear the car as it came towards her and neither did the girl. Suddenly a man was pushing her away from the road and onto the grass. He was tall and blonde. She landed hard bumping her head on a rock the next thing she heard was the man telling the girl off.

  ‘Lou-Anne be more careful she could have been killed.’

  The girl turned and looked at Marion, she watched Marion’s blood seep from a cut in her forehead.

  ‘Come Marion.’

  Marion wiped her head with her sleeve and got up and followed the girl.

  Back at the cottage, Bridget had gone to apologise to Marion but found no sign of her in the house. She had abandoned her lunch and was no where in sight. Bridget ran up and down the beach shouting for Marion. What was happening? Her sister’s news had upset her, what if she lost her sister’s child too? She found the abandoned bucket by the water’s edge and broke down. It was happening again. It was all her fault. The tape in her mind rewound and played again, rewound and played again.

  The little boat looked inviting. It was wooden with a single mast a perfect boat for a child. Marion traced its name ‘Otter’ with her finger she liked the name.

  ‘When can we have a sail in it?’ The girl was not listening. Marion suddenly realised that she did not know where she was and that her aunt would be cross.

  ‘I need to go; my aunt will be worried she will miss me…’

  A man appeared. It was the man who had saved her. Marion smiled at him and said ‘Hello’ but he ignored her. The girl suddenly seemed to become animated and Marion’s head hurt and she stumbled backwards, it felt like she was watching a film.

  ‘Can we go Dad please, just a quick sail around the bay Otter’ looks perfect. Pleeeease.’

  ‘There’s a storm brewing it’s not safe Lou-Anne.’

  ‘Here’s mummy look.’

  Marion looked in the direction that the girl pointed. She gasped; it was Aunt Bridget or at least someone who looked a lot like her. This woman was younger, she was blonde not grey, she was smiling and looked beautiful. She had the same pale green eyes as the Lou-Anne.

  ‘Hi there.’ The woman said. ‘Look at Otter it’s beautiful, Bill certainly has made a good job of restoring it.’

  ‘Can we take it out Mammy? I’m dying to have a sail in it.’

  ‘I said no Lou-Anne. I can feel a storm brewing.’

  ‘But it’s a lovely day Mike.’

  ‘You don’t know this bay like I do. A storm can just come up out of nowhere. You know the history of Spanish point and the wrecked ships from the Armada.’

&n
bsp; ‘But that was centuries ago with old boats, you can get back; you don’t have to go far.’

  Marion began to cry but no one heard or even noticed her.

  ‘Oh alright, just a quick once around the headland.’

  Marion fainted.

  Bridget cradled Marion both terrified and relieved to find her.

  ‘Aunt Bridget where am I? The boat?’

  ‘I found you lying here on the roadside. Doctor Riley’s on his way, he said not to move you.’

  Marion drifted off again, and saw the woman wave Lou-Anne and her husband off, as they sailed towards the headland.

  When she woke again Marion realised she was back at her aunt’s cottage and was lying on the chaise longue in her aunt’s studio, her aunt’s canvases surrounded her. The smiling happy faces were now very familiar to her.

  ‘Any news of Mammy?’

  ‘Yes darling, your mammy is fine and you have a new baby sister. The doctor says that all you have is a couple of grazed knees and a bump on the head.’

  ‘A baby, was that what it was all about?’

  ‘Yes darling, she’s very little but doing well. Your daddy is coming to collect you tomorrow.’

  Later when her aunt had crept out thinking she was asleep, Marion got up and walked over to her aunt’s easel. It was draped in a cloth, slowly and carefully she lifted the edge of the cloth to look at the painting underneath. This painting was unlike any of aunt Bridget’s other paintings, it was dark and gloomy there was no blue sky, yellow sand and blue sparkling water. At first she couldn’t see any people in the picture. It was a picture of a tremendous storm. A boat was being tossed in the gigantic black waves. Marion peered closely at the boat’s name-plate Otter it said. She could see three figures crouching in the boat. Her eyes searched the canvas further and saw that there was a fourth person. A woman stood on the shore, her mouth was open, Marion had heard that scream.

  They had to wait weeks before the baby was allowed home. When Marion was allowed to hold ‘Baba’ as they called her she opened her eyes and revealed surprisingly for a newborn, the palest of green eyes. The words popped into her mouth and were spoken before she could stop herself.