The real father would remain a dark secret. A secret that Biddy would take to her grave.
In the meantime, she would stick to the story about the three boys dragging her into the bushes. At least the bit about there being three of them was the truth – but only one of them was a boy. Whenever the time came to tell Tara her secret, she would stick to the safe story.
If the truth came out, Biddy knew she wouldn’t have a friend in the whole wide world.
* * *
Madeleine was allowed out of hospital in time for Christmas. She came home the same day that Gabriel broke up at university, which took some pressure off Elisha. On Christmas morning the family drove into Tullamore for twelve o’clock Mass. Elisha decided that it was best not to rush Madeleine too early. The new drugs the hospital had prescribed – although effectively controlling the more worrying aspects of her behaviour – made her sluggish for the first few hours of the day. She looked more like her old self. Her hair had grown a bit, and she had lost some weight. There was no mention about God talking to her or any of the other voices she had been hearing.
Elisha decided that this year Christmas celebrations would be kept to a minimum because of Madeleine’s condition and because Elisha was now wary of inviting people, after the fiasco of her daughter’s birthday party.
“I really feel people are not as concerned about Madeleine as you think,” William said on Christmas afternoon, as he, Elisha and Gabriel were relaxing with a drink. “I’m sure there would be no problems if we were to invite a few friends over to celebrate St Stephen’s night.”
Elisha went to the sitting-room door to check that Madeleine was upstairs, and out of earshot. She came back a few moments later, biting her lower lip. “I wouldn’t feel confident enough . . . not yet.”
“For heaven’s sake, isn’t she back to her old self?” William sighed. “She’s very quiet and is hardly likely to offend anyone. We can’t live our lives in perpetual fear of what Madeleine might do or say.”
“It’s too early,” Elisha insisted. She walked over to the large bay window, a deep frown forming between her brows. “I couldn’t relax . . . I would be watching her all the time . . . worrying what was going through her mind.”
“Look, Mother,” Gabriel intervened, “if you would like to invite friends for drinks, then ask them. I’ll be quite happy to sit upstairs with Madeleine . . . listening to music or playing games. Father’s right – we can’t live our lives worrying about Madeleine all the time.”
Elisha stared out of the window at the bare, wintry garden. “I’m not sure – it wouldn’t be fair on you.”
William came over to stand beside her. “How would it be,” he said, putting his arm around her, “if we invite her young friend from Ballygrace? It would keep Madeleine company, and leave Gabriel free to mix with the other guests. It would also give. . .” He paused. “I can’t think of the girl’s name . . .”
“Tara,” Elisha said helpfully. “Tara Flynn. You’ll have to remember that if she’s going to start working for you soon.”
“Yes, indeed,” he said, guiding her back to the fireside. “It would also give Tara a distraction from her situation at home. . . her grandfather’s death and all that sorry business.” He seated Elisha, then poured them both a small sherry. “I think having a friend here to occupy Madeleine would serve the purpose. I could also talk to Tara about her position in the office, and the particular jobs I would like her to pass on to Madeleine, when she’s ready.”
Elisha looked thoughtful. It would indeed be a relief to have Madeleine out of the house, and have someone else taking responsibility for her. “I see your point about inviting a friend over,” she said slowly, “but I have reservations about Tara Flynn.”
“Oh?” William raised a surprised eyebrow.
“Her class,” Elisha said bluntly. “However the girl may present herself, she’s still of the peasant variety.” She took a dainty sip of the sherry. “I know it’s wrong to judge people on what they have . . . and normally I’d be the last to do it. But we have never had this close contact with her sort before. Working for the family is one thing, mixing socially is another. I’m just not sure if it’s the right thing to do. I’m not sure if it’s the right thing for Madeleine. It’s as if we are saying she’s not worthy to have the same class of friends that the rest of the family has.”
“Mother,” Gabriel said gently, “Madeleine has no other friends. It’s over a month since her birthday party, and not one of her school friends has contacted her. Any Christmas cards she received from them had little messages saying how busy they would be over the holidays. They were quite plainly stating that they would not be available to visit her, or have her visit them.”
William gave a little sigh of relief, and settled back in his armchair. It was very gratifying to have Gabriel argue his case for him. It was a delicate one, because he did not wish to appear to have any personal interest in Tara Flynn. He had always conducted his previous liaison in Athlone with great delicacy. Now that the affair was over and done with, there was a gap in his life. A gap that he felt might be filled with the daily contact of a beautiful young woman with striking red hair.
“Tara Flynn is not an ordinary girl,” Gabriel continued, still fighting Tara’s corner. “She’s not to be compared with the others from Ballygrace. She’s highly intelligent, well read, and is currently educating herself at evening classes to a higher standard than many of the so-called gentry. To look at her – her clothes and the way she carries herself – she could easily be mistaken for one of the girls from Madeleine’s boarding school. In fact, she’s better spoken and has more interesting conversation than any of those girls.”
“But her father . . .” Elisha persisted in a high voice. “Peasant’ is the only word to describe the man. According to Mrs Scully he’s also a drunk, and an incompetent husband and father. . .”
Gabriel shrugged. “She’s never lived with him. She was brought up by her grandfather, who was a respectable man.”
Elisha turned to William. “What do you think?”
“Mmm?” William looked at her in a deliberately distracted manner, designed to convey disinterest in the situation. “I can’t see that it would do any harm. I’m quite prepared to stick my neck out for Madeleine’s sake, and have the girl work in the office.” He leaned across and patted his wife’s knee. “The home is your domain, and you must decide as to whether you want the girl as a friend for Madeleine, or not.” He smiled warmly. “As always, I have complete faith in your judgement.”
* * *
Tara came to spend St Stephen’s night with the Fitzgeralds. William had driven Madeleine over to the cottage to ask her around lunchtime, and they picked her up at seven o’clock that night. Tara said that she would be more than happy to cycle over, rather than have William going to the trouble of driving out to the cottage again.
“It’s my pleasure, dear,” William said, looking deep into her eyes. “And in any case, the weather report is none too good for the next few days.”
As Tara closed the door after they had gone, she thought how William Fitzgerald had the exact same blue eyes as his son, although one was fair and the other dark. She smiled and wondered if Gabriel would look as young and handsome as his father when he reached middle age.
Tara’s visit on St Stephen’s night went so well that she was invited to join the family again for lunch on New Year’s day. She had actually been asked to stay overnight on New Year’s Eve, but she had apologised, explaining that a friend had bought her a ticket for a dance in Tullamore.
“Are the tickets for the dance all gone?” Madeleine asked eagerly.
Gabriel stood behind his sister, frantically shaking his head.
“Yes, I’m afraid they are,” Tara replied. “Biddy said she got the last two tickets.” She consoled her by saying, “I think it might be full of old farmers – not the kind of place you’d like, Madeleine. I’m only going because I don’t want to let Biddy d
own, since she paid for the tickets. If it’s a good night, I’ll go with you another time. I’m led to believe they have a dance every month in that hall.”
Later on, Gabriel quietly thanked Tara for putting Madeleine off the dance. “She’s just not well enough for public places at the moment,” he explained. “Maybe in a month or so.”
All the Fitzgerald family were grateful to Tara. Not only had she conducted herself well within the family circle, but she had also given a very good account of herself with their guests, two businessmen and their wives, who had travelled over from the Birr area.
They were quite unaware of Tara’s background, and had assumed she was a friend of Madeleine’s from boarding school. No one asked directly about her family; they seemed much more interested in the accounting work she had been doing in the distillery, and the fact she was going to work for Fitzgerald’s auctioneering business in the new year.
After supper, when the women had gone through to the sitting-room to have coffee, and Madeleine and Tara had departed upstairs, the three men and Gabriel sat in the dining-room with cigars and brandy.
“An exquisite-looking young woman,” David Coombes, a balding, wealthy businessman commented to William, “and such striking red hair.” He leaned forward. “And a fine pair of breasts too! Oh, a man could be sent mad with the likes of those breasts . . . and the thought of that soft hair tumbling down over them – all naked and bare!” He laughed softly and dug William in the ribs. “Some hope we’d have of that – I say – some hope we’d have of that at our age!” He pointed his half-smoked cigar in Gabriel’s direction. “It’s a young buck the likes of Gabriel she’d be looking out for, wouldn’t you say? A young buck?”
William took a mouthful of his brandy. “Indeed,” he said aloud, “indeed she might.” And there again, he thought to himself, indeed she might not.
* * *
“I can’t believe the difference in Madeleine when Tara is here. She really knows how to handle her,” Elisha said in amazement to William, after the guests had departed. “For the first time in weeks, I felt I could relax in my own home without having to check on her every five minutes. Tara talks to her about ordinary things, and if Madeleine wavers off and starts talking about religion or other inappropriate subjects, she just guides her back to the main topic again. She’s more in tune with her condition than some of the doctors we’ve been paying good money for. Gabriel was right – we shouldn’t judge people by their backgrounds. The girl is a godsend – no less than a godsend!”
* * *
Biddy called for Tara on New Year’s Eve as planned. She cycled over, an hour earlier than planned, in a high state of excitement, wearing her new pink dress and a nice belted coat which Tara had grown out of.
“You look lovely!” Tara said, smiling in admiration, when she opened the door. “What have you done to yourself?”
Biddy did a pirouette round the floor and then proceeded to regale Tara with all the details of her new hairdo and the new makeup she had bought. “Mary McGinn – from up the backroad – she’s learnin’ to be a hairdresser. She’s really brilliant; she copied the style from a magazine.” She took off her chiffon headscarf, and patted the piled-up hair, held together by hairclips and hairspray. “D’you like my nail varnish? It’s called ‘French Chiffon’. I got it from the chemist’s in Tullamore, and the girl picked me out a pink lipstick to match.” She pursed her lips together in a kissing motion for full effect.
“You look great, Biddy – just great,” Tara said, although she wasn’t quite sure about the make-up. For her own taste, it looked a bit on the heavy side. Still, looking at the attractive girl in front of her now, Biddy was a million miles off the poor, starved little orphan Tara had known when they first started school together. Although still on the thin and small side, she had developed into a very good-looking young woman. The poor, straggly hair was now a rich healthy brown and the dirty clothes were a thing of the past since she was allowed to do her own washing when she was doing the priest’s.
“Did you have trouble from Lizzie about going out?” Tara called from her bedroom as she changed into her own outfit. Earlier in the evening, when Mick had gone out on one of his recent jaunts, she had filled the tin bath and soaked in front of the blazing fire.
“Lizzie gave me no trouble at all,” Biddy replied, “because she’s in bed again with the runs. She was up the whole night with the diarrhoea.”
“Again? She’s had a lot of trouble with that recently, hasn’t she?”
“She has,” Biddy said lightly. “And it’s me that knows all about it – runnin’ about emptyin’ buckets and everythin’. It would turn yer stomach.”
Tara pulled an agonised face. “Has she been to the doctor?”
“She says she’ll call him out tomorrow if there’s no improvement. She’ll likely be fine by then.” She looked into the mirror above the fireplace and admired her new hairdo again. “It does her no harm to have to take to her bed now and again. It makes her a bit more pleasant when she knows she’s dependin’ on you,” Biddy said unsympathetically. “How many people would be willing to clean up all the mess, and have to cut up newspaper and everythin’ for a cantankerous ould’ witch like her?” She gave a little laugh. “It’s a pity she doesn’t have the diarrhoea more often – she might be more civil to people then. The only thing she has any regard for is money.”
“As long as it’s not too serious,” Tara said with a frown. “It’s very bad for you to have anything like that for long. It’s weakening to the system.”
“Oh, there’s no fear of anythin’ serious happening to Lizzie,” Biddy said. “She’ll be up and about in the mornin’, moanin’ and groanin’ as usual.” She lifted the kettle from the hearth and put it on the hook over the fire. “Will I make us a cup of tea while you’re gettin’ ready, Tara?”
“Grand,” Tara called back, “and you can cut some cakebread and cheese, and a slice each of Christmas cake. We’ll have to keep our strength up, if we’re going to be dancing all night and cycling there and back!”
* * *
After queuing in the cold for twenty minutes to get in, it was a relief for everyone when the dance hall doors were opened and the crowd surged in. The hall – its cold walls normally bare and bereft of any adornment – was festive and welcoming with garlands of holly and ivy, and brightly coloured paper decorations. There was even a Christmas tree with shiny ornaments and coloured lights to the side of the stage.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Biddy breathed, excited before the evening had even begun. She couldn’t wait to get into the ladies’ cloakroom to divest herself of the coat and show off her new dress. “Won’t it be great when we get the electricity in Ballygrace? We’ll all be able to have Christmas trees with coloured lights then.” She giggled and nudged Tara. “Can’t you just imagine Lizzie’s face if I asked her to buy a Christmas tree and fairy-lights?”
Once all the checking of hair and the re-applying of powder and lipstick had been completed in front of the mottled old mirror, the girls hung up their coats and scarves in the cloakroom, and went back into the main hall.
“Your suit’s lovely, Tara – that dark wine colour looks well with your hair. Where did you get it?” Biddy asked as they looked for a place to sit.
“Dublin. It’s the rig-out I bought for Madeleine’s party. I thought it would be warmer since it has a jacket.” She gave a laugh. “And if I get the feet danced off me and I get too hot, I can always take the jacket off.”
The three-piece band started up with a quickstep, and within seconds, several female couples were out on the floor getting into the swing of things. Groups of males of all ages lined along one wall of the hall, while the girls sat primly on the wooden forms on the opposite side, waiting until the band struck up in earnest.
Biddy and Tara walked halfway down the hall, Biddy greeting anyone she knew with a loud ‘how-ya’ as they passed. They found a space on one of the forms and sat down.
> “Won’t you be cold?” Tara commented as Biddy took her cardigan off, to reveal the low-cut, sleeveless dress. “It’s freezing in this place.”
Biddy rubbed her goose-pimpled arms. “I’d sooner be cold than look like an oul’ granny in a knitted cardigan.” She gave Tara a sidelong grin. “Hopefully, I’ll soon have a nice pair of arms to keep me warm. Did you see who’s just walked in? And don’t make it too obvious that you’re lookin’ at him.”
Tara kept her head straight, and swivelled her eyes to the door. “That PJ Murphy?” She pulled a distinctly unimpressed face. “Don’t tell me you still have a notion of him – and him after standing you up?”
“He might not have been let out that night,” Biddy said defensively. “His mother and father are fierce strict.”
“He made no effort to let you know,” Tara pointed out, “leaving you waiting in the cold. I’d have nothing to do with him, if I were you.”
But you’re not desperate for a father for yer baby, Biddy thought. “I’ll see what he has to say for himself if he dances me later . . . but I won’t go runnin’ after him.”
As soon as the band struck up the first proper dance, both girls were met with a rush of partners, and no sooner had they sat down when the same thing happened for the next, and the next dance again. Tara realised her lie to Madeleine about the dance being full of farmers was nearer the truth than she thought. As soon as they asked her where she came from, she found herself engaged in conversation about all the great grazing there was out in Ballygrace.
After putting up with several heavy-footed farmers tramping on her toes, Tara made her way back to the ladies’ cloakroom in search of Biddy, who had disappeared ten minutes earlier. The last Tara had seen of her, she was in a deep conversation with PJ Murphy at the side of the dance floor. She presumed they had gone outside for a breath of fresh air. At least she hoped that was what they had gone outside for.
Tara Flynn Page 20
