Tara Flynn

by Geraldine O'Neill

  According to Biddy, Tara seemed to get everything just right. At fifteen years old, she outwardly had the confidence and poise of a girl several years older. Her long auburn curls were restrained with a russet bow, but still managed to bob along with a life of their own as she walked with a ram rod straight back, and her head held high. On this warm Sunday afternoon in September, Tara wore a sparkling white blouse with half sleeves and a lace collar, and a mid-calf-length skirt the same colour as the bow in her hair. Brown open-toed sandals matched the neat little leather bag strung over her shoulder.

  Tara knew that the other girls in the queue were scrutinising her outfit as she crossed the courtyard to join them – but it did not concern her one iota. She knew she was different from them in many ways, and her clothing was only the outward sign. Most of the others in her class had left school and were working in the factories in Tullamore or in the local hotels or shops, but Tara was one of the few who had moved on to a convent school in Tullamore to do her Leaving Certificate.

  Thankfully, her granda had not argued about her staying on in school. This was partly due to the fact that he was proud of her doing so well, and partly because she was earning reasonable money doing the books for two of the local shops in Ballygrace. She was also making a little more money since she had expanded her egg business.

  With the help of her granda and her Uncle Mick, Tara had extended into their field at the back of the garden, and had widened her range of poultry to include turkeys and a few ducks. So much so, that the previous Christmas she had made enough money from selling turkeys and geese to buy a brand-new ladies’ bike – cash instead of paying it up – and was slowly, but steadily, adding to her collection of good-quality clothes.

  Most of the time, her granda and Mick had no idea of the origins of her clothes. She could appear in clothes which had come in an American parcel, skirts she had learned to make on a treadle sewing-machine at school, or a dress she had paid up weekly in the exclusive ladies’ wear shop in Tullamore. The men were none the wiser about where they came from, or of the balance in the little wooden box which was kept under Tara’s bed.

  This afternoon’s outfit was American. The previous month her Aunty Mona had come on a visit to the aunties in Tullamore, and had brought a full suitcase of clothes for Tara. With the skilful use of a needle, she had adapted any which were too long or too wide, until they fitted her tall but curvaceous figure perfectly. She had passed on any others which were too small to the shorter and thinner – and everlastingly grateful – Biddy.

  “You can have them on one condition,” Tara had warned her friend. “That you keep them spotlessly clean, and that you must be spotlessly clean, too – before you put them on.”

  “I promise you that I will be clean, Tara,” Biddy had assured her. “Oh, indeed I will . . . no doubts about that.”

  “I’ll take them straight off you, if I catch you lookin’ like a tinker!” Tara had threatened. She had heard Biddy’s promises before, only to find her wearing good clothes that were all messed up from doing dirty jobs.

  Biddy made the sign of the cross on her chest. “I promise I’ll look after them. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “You will,” Tara grinned, “if I catch you with those good clothes all messed up.”

  The two girls joined the others in the queue for the Sunday afternoon matinee, Tara standing a good head above the rest. She first cast a casual glance to the front of the queue, and then to the back. Two equally tall figures – with the autumn sun glinting on their whitish-blonde hair – caught her eye. Then, when one of them waved and a familiar voice called out ‘Tara!’ her heart skipped a beat. It was Madeleine Fitzgerald and, standing beside her, was her brother Gabriel. For a few seconds Tara froze, then, mustering all her composure, she gathered herself together and slowly moved towards the back of the queue.

  “How are you, Tara?” Madeleine asked with a big smile on her face. “I haven’t seen you for ages.”

  “Grand,” Tara replied in a breathless voice. “Have you been away for the summer?” She was surprised to notice that Madeleine’s face was sort of pasty-looking, and that she had put on quite a bit of weight. However, her well-cut, shiny blonde hair and her expensive clothes ensured that she still stood out from the rest of the crowd.

  Madeleine nodded and looked at Gabriel. “Yes, we were over in London. Mother has a sister there . . . and we spent a month in Scotland, too. What about you?”

  Tara shielded her eyes against the sun. “We’ve had visitors over from America . . . my Aunty Mona and her oldest daughter. Joe’s been back in Tullamore for the summer too. We all had a day out in Galway, and another day up in Dublin. The shops are brilliant up in Dublin . . . we got some new music books.” Tara paused for a moment, trying to think of something to make her summer sound more interesting. “I haven’t really had much time for holidays . . . I’ve been kept busy doing bookkeeping for some of the local shops.” She deliberately didn’t mention all the work she had done up the bog, footing and heaping the turf with her father and her Uncle Mick. Neither did she mention the unglamorous hours she had put in with looking after the poultry. She knew instinctively that those sort of details would not impress the Fitzgeralds.

  “Bookkeeping?” Gabriel asked, with a curious note in his voice.

  Tara’s face flushed. “Yes,” she replied, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve been doing it this past few months.”

  “Do you deal with stock and wages . . . that sort of thing?”

  Tara nodded, amazed at his interest. Without thinking, she lifted her head, and suddenly met Gabriel’s piercing blue eyes staring straight into hers. For a moment, their gaze held, then she quickly turned away and tried desperately to ignore the tight sensation which had gripped her chest.

  Tara couldn’t believe how handsome and mature he seemed since she last had seen him at Sunday Mass. Exactly three months and one week ago. It was very rare to see the Fitzgeralds at Mass in Ballygrace these days, as their parents now favoured the larger parish of Tullamore.

  “The shops are only small,” Tara explained, in a voice which sounded funny to her own ears. “They don’t carry a lot of stock, or have many staff. It’s only the baker’s shop in Ballygrace and the hardware shop. I check their order sheets every week, and balance the books.”

  “Didn’t I tell you how clever Tara was in school?” Madeleine said to her brother in a high-pitched, excited tone. “She was always the top of the class. She’s also a wonderful pianist. She’s been playing the organ in Ballygrace church this year, and from the pieces I’ve heard, she’s miles ahead of us. Her brother Joe’s a gifted pianist, too. It obviously runs in the family.”

  Tara blushed at her friend’s exaggerated praise. “I’m not really that good,” she argued. “Half the time I only play by ear.”

  “Don’t be so modest,” Madeleine told her. “Mother always says that women should be more positive about themselves and have confidence in their talents.” She gave a little laugh. “She would be delighted if she had a daughter like you, Tara. If I had half the talent that you have, she’d be ecstatic. Have you decided what you’re going to do when you leave school? Do you think you’ll go to somewhere like England or America?”

  “I’m not sure,” Tara said. “It all depends on my granda . . .” Madeleine’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, Tara! I forgot all about your grandfather . . . I heard he was ill over the summer. Mrs Scully mentioned it to me. How is he now?”

  A picture of the cross old maid who had thrown her out of Ballygrace House flashed through Tara’s mind. How dare that old witch even mention her granda’s name! Then, seeing the concern on her friend’s face, she swallowed her anger and said: “He’s much better now, thanks. The doctor gave him some tablets and told him that he has to take it a lot easier.”

  Because of that advice, Tara had found herself volunteering to spend the summer evenings up on the bog with her Uncle Mick and her father – doing
the work which her granda had loved to do in the fine weather. The work which Tara knew he would never do again.

  “I’m glad to hear he’s better,” Madeleine said, and then added in a surprisingly light-hearted manner. “It would be awful for you if anything happened to him, wouldn’t it? You’d almost be an orphan . . . just like poor Biddy.”

  There was a shocked silence for a moment, during which Gabriel glared into his sister’s face, trying to alert her to the terrible blunder she had just made.

  Tara found herself rooted to the spot by Madeleine’s words. How could she? How could she have said such a thing about her granda? And then – adding insult to injury – how could she have compared her situation to poor Biddy’s?

  Never, since the day Mrs Scully had thrown her out of Ballygrace House, had Tara felt so hurt and belittled. She looked around now to see if anyone else had been close enough to hear Madeleine Fitzgerald’s comments. Thankfully, the rest of the youngsters were too taken up with the impending entertainment. As she turned back to Madeleine, the crowd suddenly cheered as the film projectionist came round the corner, jangling the keys to the Town Hall.

  “Nothing is going to happen to my granda,” Tara said in a low voice. She narrowed her eyes. “What else did that Mrs Scully say about him?”

  “She said something about him having a heart attack,” Madeleine said airily, oblivious to the ill feelings she had aroused in her friend.

  “It wasn’t a heart attack!” Tara said furiously. “The doctors said they weren’t sure what it was – but nobody mentioned the words heart attack.”

  “Oh, well,” Madeleine said, giving a little shrug, “Mrs Scully often gets things wrong . . . doesn’t she, Gabriel?”

  Gabriel looked at his sister, in dread of what she might say next. It was because of this recent change in her behaviour – her tendency to say the first thing that came into her head – that he had been asked to accompany Madeleine to the film show. Only last week she had ruined a dinner party at home, by rushing downstairs and accusing one of the guests of having entered her bedroom and taken one of her books.

  “Gabriel?” Madeleine prompted, as though he were the one behaving strangely.

  “Yes . . . yes,” he said quickly. “Mrs Scully gets things very wrong at times.” Then, he turned to Tara, praying that Madeleine would not say anything else which would make the situation worse. “In the future . . . Father reckons that there are likely to be more businesses opening in the Midlands . . . and I’m sure that they will all need bookkeepers. It would be quite well paid, too. I’m sure you could negotiate a position when you leave school. There are classes at night school, where you could sit some sort of certificate in accounts.”

  Tara took a deep breath, then smoothed the top of her hair back with both hands. “Do you think so?” she said quietly.

  “Yes.” He coughed to clear his throat. “From what Madeleine has told me about your mathematical abilities . . . I’m quite sure you would find it a doddle.” He ran a finger around the neck of his white collar. “If you like, I could find out about the training and qualifications necessary.” He cleared his throat again, smiled, and when he looked at Tara he was alarmed to see that her green eyes were brimming with tears.

  Gently, he gripped her by the elbow and guided her to a quiet spot away from Madeleine and the rest of the moving queue. “I’m so sorry, Tara,” Gabriel said in a low voice. “Madeleine didn’t mean to upset you . . . she’s not been herself lately . . . she says things without thinking, and doesn’t realise the hurt she’s causing.” He dug both hands deep into his jacket pocket, deeply embarrassed. “My father took her to a specialist in Mullingar, who deals with this sort of thing . . . apparently, she’ll grow out of it. Please don’t mind what she said – only someone who is ill could find a similarity between you and poor Biddy.” His face suddenly flushed red. “In my opinion . . . you’re likely to grow into a more refined and beautiful lady than Madeleine could ever hope to be.”

  Several little sparks ignited in Tara’s heart at his kind words. A spark of delight that he had commented on her good looks, and a spark of hope about her aspirations to become a real lady. But the brightest spark of all told Tara Flynn that she had fallen in love – for the first time in her young life.

  *  *  *

  It was seven o’clock by the time Biddy hopped off Tara’s bike, at the top of her lane. As she walked along, Biddy giggled to herself recalling the antics of Laurel and Hardy in the film they’d seen that afternoon. She also giggled every time she thought of the lads who had sat in the row behind her and Tara and Madeleine. They had messed about, pulling at the girls’ hair and putting their feet up on the backs of their chairs.

  Sick of their messing, Tara had turned round and really given out to them, telling them they should either act their age or move seats down to the front beside the younger children.

  They had quietened down after that, but one of the lads had kept leaning forward every now and then, touching Biddy’s hair or pressing the toe of his shoe into the back of her chair, whispering: ‘How’s it goin’? The film is great oul’ craic, isn’t it?’

  Biddy had giggled out loud but had stopped abruptly when Tara told her off, saying she was only encouraging them.

  Madeleine had leaned across Tara, who was in between her and Biddy, and whispered: “I think that one with the fair hair fancies you, Biddy! That’s what happens when girls get all dressed up in their finery. Men can only judge a book by its cover.” And then she had gone into peals of laughter, as though someone had just told her a hilarious joke.

  Tara had seemed a bit annoyed with Madeleine, Biddy thought. In fact, Tara had seemed annoyed at everything. First, she had moaned about the number of younger children who had been let in, and the noise they were making. Then she had criticised the mess people were making of the hall, throwing sweetie wrappers on the floor.

  Later, Tara had given out again to Biddy for whispering and smiling back at the boy with the fair hair. He had just told her his name was PJ Murphy, and then asked Biddy what her name was.

  “Surely you don’t want to get landed with the likes of them?” Tara had hissed in Biddy’s ear. “They’re no-users. If you give them the slightest encouragement, they’ll be after you every time you come into Daingean.”

  “Sure, they’re only messin’,” Biddy had said. “They don’t mean any harm.” Then, as Tara stood up to straighten her skirt, Biddy noticed the lingering glance she gave the back corner of the hall where Gabriel Fitzgerald was sitting, and she realised the real reason for Tara’s bad humour. It was obvious to Biddy that the only boy Tara wanted to sit beside was Gabriel, but unfortunately for her he was too shy to sit with three girls on his own.

  During a quiet part of the film, one of the lads behind them cleared his throat loudly, and then spat on the wooden hall floor. When Tara turned round and gave him a look of contempt, the whole group started to jeer and laugh at him.

  “Isn’t that a fine fella for you?” Tara said loudly. “The oul’ pig we have at home would have better manners!”

  Once again, Madeleine went into her irritating shrieks of uncontrolled laughter.

  Biddy’s face had burned with embarrassment at Madeleine’s silly behaviour and Tara’s uppity manner. She decided that next time she escaped to the pictures, she would go with some of the more ordinary crowd from Ballygrace or Daingean. At least they wouldn’t show her up. There was no point in fighting with Lizzie, getting her hair washed, and getting all dressed up in her good clothes, if she couldn’t even have a laugh with a few of the lads.

  Still, the afternoon hadn’t been completely spoiled. Biddy suddenly smiled to herself. Unknown to both Madeleine and Tara, she had managed to make a date with PJ Murphy. When they had gone to buy minerals and sweets at the interval, he had leaned forward and asked her to go to the cinema in Tullamore the following weekend. “We’ll have great craic in Tullamore,” he told her, “without yer miserable friends. Howsabout it?” />
  Biddy had not been slow to agree. He might not have asked the second time.

  As she walked past the kitchen window, Biddy could see Lizzie lying fast asleep in the bed. She smiled to herself, wondering how long the diarrhoea would last. Hopefully, for another day or two, because an incapacitated Lizzie was much easier to handle than Lizzie in the whole of her health.

  Dinny obviously thought the same, and was passing the time chopping up some firewood, as he waited for Biddy coming back from the pictures. As soon as he heard the bike’s brakes screeching to a halt in the lane, he put the axe down and came to the side of the house, waiting for her to come in the path to the cottage.

  “Biddy!” he softly called, motioning her to come round to the turf shed. “Come here, quick – I’ve got something to show you.”

  Biddy walked towards him, trying not to make too much noise in case Lizzie heard her.

  “It’s all right,” Dinny reassured her in a low voice. “She’s been asleep this ten minutes. I gave her a good sup of brandy in hot milk and a couple of tablets. It should knock her out for a while.”

  “What is it?” Biddy said with a frown, thinking how old and wrinkled the lodger looked compared to the lads in the hall. “What d’you want to show me?”

  Dinny winked meaningfully and reached for the buckle of his belt.

  “Ah, no –” Biddy stepped back, shaking her head. “Not if you haven’t anythin’ for me.” She turned away from him, as though making towards the cottage. Dinny knew the score by now, she thought. Nothing for nothing. If he wanted to have his way with her, he had to pay the price. And the more he wanted, the higher the price.

  “Wait now, won’t you?” Dinny said quickly. “I have a real surprise for you . . . something you’ve been hopin’ for, this long time.”

  “Well?” Biddy demanded in an impatient tone, knowing she held all the cards. “I’m waitin’.”

  He pointed to the back of the turf shed. “I have it round there . . . go on and see for yerself.”