Poor lad, thought Thomasin. Why should I have so much and he have nothing? She patted his hand. ‘Nay, not kind, love, only fittin’. There weren’t two finer blokes to name him after.’
* * *
The luxury of laying in bed began to pall. Thomasin was becoming increasingly impatient with her mother’s fussing. Tears flowed frequently and unexplainedly. Eventually in a fit of pique she sprang from the bed and pulled on her clothes. Assuring her mother she would be fine she packed her off home and sank down in relief, enjoying the sudden emptiness of the house. Patrick had taken the children out for a walk and John was out Heaven knew where; there was only her and the baby at home.
She pushed herself from the chair, wincing, for she was still sore where the baby’s quick exit had torn her. Looking around for jobs that needed tackling she could find none; her houseproud mother had swept away any trace of grime. The house was as clean as a new pin. A search of the cupboards revealed a surfeit of baking, so there was no option left but to return to her chair where she sat staring at the wall. Would they live like this always, she wondered, gazing at the rough bare plaster. Patrick’s hard work had enabled them to furnish the house a lot more comfortably than most in their position, but it would be euphemistic to call it anything other than a hovel. Oh, to see some pretty flowered curtains at the windows instead of those dreary brown ones, or a couple of pictures on the walls to brighten them up. But, though essentially a materialistic person, Thomasin never regretted marrying Patrick and her protestations that he must not think he had to work all hours that God sent just to please her were sincere. The impoverished surroundings mattered not when she had three fine children and a good strong man to warm her bed.
Her thoughts were distracted by a knock on the door. Hoisting herself from the chair she opened it to find Father Kelly on the doorstep. ‘Liam!’ He was the last person she might have expected. ‘Well, I never come in.’
Liam scraped the mud from his boots and entered. ‘I expect you’re surprised to see me?’
‘No, me hair allus stands on end like this. Sit down. Eh, Pat’ll be sorry he missed yer. He’s just taken t’bairns for a walk – never been known. Will yer ’ave a cup o’ tea?’
‘I will, an’ very kind it is of ye to offer after the way I’ve treated ye.’
Thomasin raised her eyebrows. ‘The way you’ve treated us? I would’ve thought it were t’other way round.’
‘True,’ replied Liam. ‘But I reckon I was the guiltier of the two parties. ’Twas no way for a Christian to behave, walking out like a truculent child just ’cause I couldn’t get me own way. An’ truth to tell, in walking out I was admitting defeat, which is something a man in my profession should never do. He should stand by his friends an’ help them overcome their prejudices. So, when I heard ye’d had a new addition…’
‘Yer thought yer’d come an’ have another try,’ supplied Thomasin. ‘Aye well,’ she handed him a cup of tea and sat down opposite at the table, ‘I shouldn’t give up yet, Liam, yer might get yer own way in t’end.’
Her words whet Liam’s interest and he leaned forward. ‘Do I detect a hint of reason?’
Thomasin brought her grey eyes level with his and said honestly, ‘I’m not sure yet, Liam.’ She toyed with the handle of the cup.
‘Something’s happened since I saw ye last?’ ventured the priest.
‘Did yer ’ear about Erin’s nasty episode?’ Liam frowned. ‘No, I don’t expect anyone would’ve told yer.’ She related the episode, at the end of which the priest’s face crumpled.
‘God… an’ I wasn’t here to comfort ye. What kind of a priest am I?’
‘You weren’t to know, Liam,’ she absolved. ‘Anyway, before that ’appened Erin was an evil little monkey, by she really was. I couldn’t seem to do owt right for her. The way she looked at me sometimes… it were like she couldn’t stand the sight o’ me. An’ I’m afraid I came close to feelin’ the same way about her sometimes. Then, after this bad job it were like… oh, I can’t describe the feelin’ but we suddenly came together like that.’ She locked her fingers to illustrate. ‘Somethin’ ’appened, Liam. Don’t ask me what ’cause I couldn’t tell yer. I were just so thankful an’ happy that Jos Leach hadn’t harmed her that I came to thinkin’ there must be somebody up there after all, watchin’ over us, yer know. It were such a lovely feelin’.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Do I sound daft?’
Liam shook his head and said quietly, ‘It sounds to me like ye’ve found God, Thomasin.’
‘Ah well, I wouldn’t know about that.’ She sipped her tea. ‘I just know that Erin’s accepted me at last. Whoever’s work that was I’m very grateful.’
‘An’ how is the wee girl now?’ he asked concernedly. Thomasin sighed. ‘Physically she’s fine, but mentally who can tell? She won’t go to play in Britannia Yard any more, just stays ’ome wi’ me or plays wi’ little’ns in our own yard.’
‘Ah well, I should try not to make too much of it,’ advised Liam. ‘Scars like that take a long time healing. She liked and trusted somebody an’ he let her down. She’s bound to be a bit withdrawn at the moment. Give it a few months and she’ll come round. She’s a lot luckier than the young chap who set upon her. He’s got to spend the rest of his life in that place, an’ him little more than a child himself.’
‘Surely yer didn’t expect us to say nowt about it?’ she asked amazedly. ‘Just let him go his own sweet way molestin’ little lasses whenever he felt like it?’
‘No, no of course not,’ answered Liam sadly. ‘’Tis just the thought of him mouldering away in that lunatic asylum, an’ him not understanding why he’s been locked up.’
‘Well, I for one am glad he is locked up, Liam,’ said Thomasin firmly. ‘Where he can’t do no more harm. It’s Erin yer should be feelin’ sorry for, not him.’
A meditative nod, then Liam returned to his former subject. ‘So, ye think ye might’ve changed your mind about having the boys baptised?’
‘We’ve discussed it, yes. Pat can’t make up his mind.’
‘Isn’t that Patrick down to his boots? He’d sit on the fence an’ watch the house fall down. D’ye feel I should have another go at him?’
‘If yer like but I don’t know that it’ll work – oh but, Liam,’ she smiled and touched his arm, ‘he’ll be that pleased to see yer in his ’ouse again, whatever the reason. He’s missed yer company, yer know.’
‘I’ve missed his too,’ answered Liam. ‘Tell him I’ll call again when I get the chance – if you’re sure I’ll not get a bunch o’ knuckles. I’m just off to visit Mrs Dougherty now. The poor thing is dying I fear.’
Thomasin fought down the urge to joke that she hoped the woman had hung on until Liam had finished jawing here; the priest might not appreciate her black humour. ‘We’ll look forward to seein’ yer, Liam.’
* * *
Concern grew over Erin’s dogged refusal to visit Britannia Yard. Thomasin had tried gentle coaxing: ‘That nasty man isn’t there, yer know, love,’ but still Erin refused, preferring to stay at home in the company of her little brothers, her doll and her harp. Then, one drizzly morning, Erin had suddenly asked to be taken to visit Granny.
‘Well, you certainly pick yer moments,’ said a surprised Thomasin, up to her elbows in flour. ‘Can’t it wait till this aft?’
‘No, I must go now,’ replied the girl intensely, but when Thomasin enquired why the hurry she could not answer, for there was no tangible reason. ‘Please, Mam,’ she begged.
Thomasin smiled. It had taken some getting used to, hearing Erin calling her ‘mam’, and despite the inopportune moment she was glad that the child had made her own decision to go to Britannia Yard and had not had to be pushed into it. ‘All right, I’ll just finish this dough.’ She pummelled away inside the large bowl. ‘You go wrap Sonny up warm, then I’ll be ready.’ It had been necessary to give the new baby a nickname with two Johns in the house.
‘I’ll have to take my harp as well,’ sai
d Erin.
‘Yer can’t lug that great thing over there in this weather,’ cried Thomasin, then sighed as a heavy rapping came at the door. ‘All right, all right, I’m comin’, don’t break door down.’
‘Oh, Mrs Feeney, sorry to bother yer.’ Sarah Wilson hopped about on the doorstep, trying to avoid the rain. ‘Can yer just spare me half a cup o’ sugar? I’ve run short again.’
Thomasin admitted her. ‘Aye, I suppose so – if you’ll do me a favour in return. Can yer keep yer eye on these two bairns while I nip round to Brit Yard with Erin? I’ll only be as long as it takes me to get drenched.’
Mrs Wilson put her hands on her knees, bending to speak to the youngest member of the family who rolled over and over on the mat in front of the fire. ‘Eh, haven’t you grown! By, it dun’t seem like five minutes since he was born an’ look at him.’ She tickled Sonny’s ribs, making him laugh. ‘Eh, who could hurt ’em?’
‘Y’oughta be ’ere when he’s squawkin’ his head off an’ darted up to t’eyeballs,’ said Thomasin. ‘Away, Erin, fetch yer harp. Shan’t be long, Mrs Wilson.’
The rain drove into their faces, turning their hair into frizzy rats’ tails. Erin glanced about her nervously as they entered Britannia Yard; even in the knowledge that Jos was incarcerated she was still afraid.
Her sudden entry to Bridie’s kitchen startled the old woman from her nap in the rocking chair. ‘Well, fancy coming out on a day like this,’ she cried, rubbing her eyes. ‘Oh, but ’tis glad I am to see ye an’ no mistake.’ She held out her hand to Erin who clasped it firmly and climbed onto the old woman’s lap. Bridie screwed up her face in discomfort as the bony rump adjusted itself on her pained knees.
‘I’ve missed ye,’ she told the child. ‘’Tis like someone took a knife an’ cut out a little piece o’ me heart, what with you not payin’ your normal visits lately. It must be ages since ye last called. I thought I’d seen the last o’ ye. “Bridie,” says I, “ye’ve taught the girl all ye know an’ now she’s forgotten all about ye.”’ In the course of instructing Erin in the joys of the harp Bridie had realised that she had untapped genius. Often she had tried to fox Erin by giving her a difficult piece to play but had been invariably out-done. The girl was a natural. Soon she had been able to play the most exacting tunes without stumbling.
The sound of Erin’s harp had seemed to revive and renourish her. Every time the girl played, Bridie was once more in the Emerald Isle, a girl again, long, long ago. How the boys had flocked about her then, bewitched by the strains of her harp, lured by a siren in a sea of green fields. In her memory it was always summer, always would be, with the laughing tanned faces of healthy young men wrestling for the privilege of walking her home. Ah, she could have had any man in County Mayo then, such was the power of her music, but the one she had finally chosen and with whom she had lived for forty years was gone now, and there had been no children. She was quite alone.
It was ironic, the way she had tried so hard to die when she had lost him to the Great Hunger, when all about her were falling like swatted flies. It must have been a will greater than her own which had kept her alive and brought her to this foreign land, where she had been surrounded by people, yet strangely alone – until she had met the child.
Erin was speaking. ‘I’ll never forget ye, Granny. I wanted to come but I was frighted.’
Bridie sighed and hugged the girl. ‘Aye, I can understand that, my pet. ’Twas just that… well, an old lady gets to thinkin’ strange thoughts. I got the feeling on me that I was never going to see ye again an’ it made me sad, like.’
‘Don’t worry, Granny.’ Erin checked for signs of tears on the other’s face. ‘Look,’ she pointed to the harp which was propped against the doorjamb. ‘I’ve come to play for ye.’
‘Oh, that’s grand.’ Bridie helped the girl from her knee. ‘An’ did ye come on your own or did Thomasin bring ye?’
‘Mammy brought me,’ said Erin, surprising Bridie with the title bestowed on Thomasin. She dabbed the moisture from the curved frame and sat next to the old woman, wriggling her bottom between the arthritic knee and the chair arm.
‘’Tis good to have ye back,’ whispered Bridie as the enchanting chords leapt from under the plucking fingers, producing a soporific melody which made her eyelids unaccountably heavy. Slowly they closed and at once she was far away in that green and luscious country, feeling the heather scratch her bare feet as she danced over its purple carpet. Her hair was no longer grey and wound into a restrictive bun, but flowed free and golden in the wind, streaking out behind her like a yellow banner. Her limbs were firm and supple carrying her over the dew-kissed grasses in a joyful, abandoned dance.
Erin finished playing and opened her eyes – Wouldn’t you know it? Granny had fallen asleep. She tiptoed to the door, then turned to gaze at the wrinkled countenance with its peaceful expression and ran back to plant a soft kiss on Bridie’s cheek. Opening the door quietly, so as not to disturb her friend, she slipped away to Molly’s house where Thomasin was still sitting.
The woman looked up at the child’s entrance. ‘S’truth, ’ave I been here that long? I’d best get meself gone else Mrs Wilson’ll think I’ve absconded. Have yer enjoyed yerself?’
Erin nodded. ‘Except that Granny fell asleep halfway through my tune.’
Molly opened the door for them. ‘Ah, ’tis her age, ye know – but I’ll bet she enjoyed your visit. I’ll go see her myself when this rain has eased up. Sure, the poor old divil gets mournful lonely.’
An hour after they had left and the rain had stopped, Molly picked her way through the muddy puddles in the yard and went to call on Bridie. Staring down at the strikingly beautiful face of the old woman Molly felt a brief ripple of shock and crossed herself. If she had needed further evidence of Bridie’s departure the cold hand provided it and she shivered as she touched the icy fingers. Pulling a blanket from the bed in the corner she tucked it around the old woman, then berated herself for such a ridiculous act; as if Bridie was bothered about being warm now…
She took a final look at the body, just to make certain, then slipped outside, already making plans for the wake. They would have to give Bridie a proper send-off, her having no family to speak of. If everyone contributed they could have a high old time.
By the time she had reached her own front door the shock of death had turned to pleasure.
* * *
‘Good to see y’again, Pat.’ Liam shook the man’s hand warmly. ‘’Tis only sorry I am it couldn’t be a happier occasion. Ah, but you’re looking fine, the pair o’ ye.’ He embraced Thomasin with his smile. ‘And your handsome brood.’ He put his face close to the child in her arms. ‘Faith, what a bruiser. Ye’ll be able to go ten rounds with your father before you’re much older. Sure, wasn’t he only a wee sprout of a thing the last time I saw him. An’ young Dickie-me-lad, how are you? The ladies’ll have to be sure an’ watch out when you grow up. Ah, an’ I see our beautiful young colleen will be treating us with her harp.’ He straightened. ‘My, it promises to be a fine wake.’
Thomasin glanced at the guest of honour in her plain wooden box, then at the table of food: oatcakes, scones, apples, bread, baskets of piping hot potatoes, the jugs of liquor and the pot of tobacco, the bowl of salt for those who were carrying the coffin to sprinkle in their pockets to ward off harmful spirits. Everyone was chattering and laughing and saying didn’t the corpse look a picture of happiness. In fact it all appeared more like a party than a funeral.
‘Sure, I can see our good lady’s thinking we’re crazy.’ Liam was smiling when she looked at him. ‘I’ll wager ye’ve never been to a send-off like this, Tommy?’
‘Last time I did, it was a weddin’.’
‘Ah well, I guarantee it’ll make your eyes widen as the day goes on,’ predicted Liam.
It certainly did. As the wake progressed it became more of a circus, the guests succumbing to the potent beverage with which Molly kept refilling their cups. Feats of strength bega
n to be performed in the middle of the floor, along with wrestling, juggling, acrobatics and other games — some bordering on the obscene, which Father Kelly quickly vetoed. The latter, though, was a prime contributor to the stream of jokes and riddles that were bandied.
As Ghostie Connors was called upon to provide the music John announced loudly, ‘Flamin’ ’ell, it’s the first time I’ve seen a corpse play at its own funeral!’
Ghostie, never appreciative of laughter directed at himself, threw his workmate a disdainful glare, shuffled to the centre of the floor where he proceeded to dish up the most inappropriate funeral music.
Thomasin was half-appalled, half-bewitched by this strange breed, one side of her wanting to join in the merriment, the other telling her it was disrespectful…
‘Ah, I can understand your shock,’ said Patrick, bouncing a child on his knee to the music. ‘But don’t y’agree this way is a lot better than standing round a big hole with long faces? After all, ’tis a better place Bridie’s gone to.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in that any more,’ teased his wife.
Patrick shrugged, looked sheepish at being caught out. ‘Nor do I – in the church anyways. But an afterlife? Well ’tis logical is it not? There must be somewhere better than this, otherwise what’d be the point of it all?’
‘I think I’ll bring Liam over to listen to this. I’d say he stood a pretty good chance of recapture right now.’
A Long Way from Heaven Page 27
