Music from Home

by Geraldine O'Neill

“But you didn’t apply to Inverness,” her mother had argued. “And it’s not even a Catholic college. Imagine going all the way to England! What will the Parish Priest say?”

  Lily shrugged. What did it have to do with him?

  “Well, that’s lovely,” her mother had said. “And it’ll be me that has to face him every day.” Mona had been the priest’s housekeeper for over a decade and found herself in the firing-line if any of her children strayed off the conventional religious path.

  “Are you sure?” her father, Pat, had asked her later when they were on their own. “You’ll be a good distance away from us.”

  “I’ll be home every six weeks,” Lily said. “And I’m absolutely sure.”

  She had remained firm in her decision when Father Finlay called around, and told him that going to an English college wouldn’t change her religious views one bit. She didn’t elaborate on the fact that she already disagreed with many things about the Church.

  “I find it very odd,” the elderly Irish priest had said, “that anyone would want go to England if they didn’t have to.” He raised his eyes heavenwards. “But then I shouldn’t be surprised – you’re not the first one in the Grace family to go down a different road.”

  He was of course referring to Pat’s sister who had married a Protestant, and her cousin Kirsty who had caused uproar when she took up with an older man her parents had disapproved of.

  While Lily was delighted with her choice and happy to explain to anyone why she had chosen the modern college and fantastic campus, her mother had remained tight-lipped.

  A few weeks after Lily left – laden down with a huge case and bags filled with Scottish bread, pies and packets of Oddfellows sweets – Pat had noticed a change in his wife. Although Lily phoned her regularly, she stood at the window each morning watching for the postman with letters from Newcastle. And he had to stop her phoning the halls of residence every other day to see how Lily was settling in.

  Mona’s sad demeanour reminded him of the time when Lily had been seriously ill with polio as a child. Her determination had pulled her through, but the slight weakness it left in her legs had put paid to Lily’s plans to be a dancing teacher.

  One Friday night he phoned the pay-phone in Lily’s student house to check that she was free the following day, and then he told his wife they were going to Newcastle first thing in the morning.

  “We’re driving to England?” Her hand had flown to her throat. The only holidays they took were to Ireland or one of the nearby seaside towns. “We can’t . . . it’s too far away.”

  “It’s only a three-hour drive. We’ll leave about nine and be there after twelve. And then we’ll see her. Isn’t that what you want?”

  By eight o’clock Mona was sitting with bags full of more bread and pies. By midday, they had found signs for the Northumberland college, and a few minutes later were signing the visitor’s book at the Porter’s Lodge.

  “Well, what do you think?” Lily asked, as she walked around the college campus between her parents, linking both their arms.

  “It’s beautiful,” Mona said, as they stopped to study the circle of immaculate Victorian houses situated around a large green oval of lawn and flower-beds. “England is nothing like I imagined.”

  Lily had laughed. “This is only a small bit of it, and of course Newcastle isn’t the biggest city.”

  “It’s big enough,” her mother said.

  An hour later, after lunch in the dining-room and two sherries in the Students’ Union bar, Lily knew that parents’ fears about her had evaporated.

  She was now in her second year and she had made the journey from Newcastle to Rowanhill so many times she no longer gave it any thought. She was delighted to get a break from college, and since it was for a funeral in Ireland she could string it out to nearly a week. Luckily, it was a term when she didn’t have any teaching practices, so she wouldn’t be letting any school down.

  It was wonderful to be able to fit in a quick visit home to Scotland and then fly over to Ireland. She would also have a couple of days back home after the funeral. A great way to fill the last grey week in January. She had arrived home last night, Tuesday, having caught an evening train to Edinburgh, and her father had picked her up at the station and driven her down home to Rowanhill.

  The blustery, wet weather and dark mornings added to the excitement. She felt she was cheating it by travelling, instead of looking at it out of the college windows.

  Lily had sat up until twelve with her parents and two brothers, drinking tea and catching up on family news and local gossip. She loved her independent life in Newcastle, and she loved teaching – but she also loved coming home to Rowanhill.

  She was surprised to discover she was the only female going to the funeral along with her father and two of her brothers: Seán, who was nearly thirty and married with two children, and Declan the youngest of her brothers, who was single and still living at home. Michael and Patrick were too busy with their own families and working in the family taxi and coach business.

  “I thought you were coming with us,” she said to her mother.

  “Oh, I couldn’t face it. The thought of going up in an aeroplane terrifies me, and then driving down those dark wee winding lanes would just finish me off. It’s bad enough in the summer never mind the heart of winter.”

  “But it’s all right for me to suffer the terrible trip?” Lily said, making big eyes. “Travelling from Newcastle tonight and going straight to Ireland tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Get away with you!” Mona gave her a sidelong glance and then started to laugh. “There’s no need for you to go at all, and well you know it.”

  Lily’s brother Declan winked at her. “Admit it: you just fancied a holiday off college and the chance to fly in a plane.”

  “No, I feel I should go to the funeral. She’s Dad’s aunt.”

  “What’s her full name then? First and second.”

  “It’s Mary Grace.”

  “Rubbish,” Declan laughed. “Her name was Grace before she got married. If you know her well enough to go to her funeral, you surely should know her married name.”

  An indignant look crossed Lily’s face for a second – and then Declan winked again and she started to laugh. “Her name doesn’t matter, I just think it’s nice for some of us to go to represent the Grace side of the family. And anyway, it’s ages since I’ve been to Ireland. I’ve been working every summer while all you boys went over there fishing.”

  “Well,” her father said, “I’m delighted that you’re coming with us, Lily. And so would my Aunt Mary be, whose second name is Jordan by the way. At least we won’t need to worry about having to make chat to people when you’re there. You can talk the hind legs off a donkey.”

  Everybody laughed.

  “I’m really excited about flying,” Lily said, grinning. “One of the girls at college goes abroad all the time and she was telling me all about the food and the drink they give you.”

  “It’s only Ireland,” Pat reminded her. “It’s just over an hour in the air, so you won’t have time for much.”

  “How long will we be there?”

  “Four to five days. The removal is tomorrow night and the funeral is on Friday. We’ll travel back on the Sunday. Seán and I can’t leave the lads any longer.”

  “You’re entitled to take time off,” Lily said. “You’re always working.”

  “We’re needed – we’ve got a lot of runs on with both the coaches and the taxis.”

  “Michael and Patrick will manage without you and Seán,” Mona told him, “and they can always get someone in if they get busy over the weekend.”

  “Five days in Offaly at this time of the year will be long enough,” Pat said. “And it will give Lily a day or so when we come back home.”

  Mona didn’t argue. There had been times when her husband had gone to Ireland every chance he got. “It won’t do Seán any harm having a bit of a break – in fact, he could do with it.” A determ
ined look came on her face. “Eileen has a list of jobs waiting from him every evening he gets in from work. She’s obsessed with the house being perfect, and everything has to be the latest fashion. She had him fitting wall-lamps after work the other night and, when the screwdriver made a slight mark on the wallpaper, she told him to watch or they would have to repaper the whole room!” She clucked her tongue. “If it’s not painting or decorating, he’s running her or the kids over to her mother’s house. She hardly gives him time to have a bite after work before he’s up and running again.”

  There was a short silence.

  Seán and his highly-strung wife was a favourite topic of Mona’s. Once she got into her stride, there was no stopping her.

  Lily searched for something to say. “What time is the flight?”

  “I think it’s at two o’clock,” her father took his cue. “I have the tickets in the bedroom.”

  Some eight years ago Pat Grace, who was a bus-driver for the local company, and his two eldest sons Michael and Seán, who were mechanics, had bought a second-hand coach to do runs at the weekend. The business had taken off quickly and, after several big school contracts and a hectic Christmas driving groups into Glasgow and Edinburgh for work nights and pantomimes, they had bought a second coach.

  A year or two later they acquired a couple of taxis as well and were busy enough for Patrick and Declan to join them and for Pat to give up his bus-driving job. The boys had always been mad on cars and engines, and between them all they were able to maintain the vehicles themselves which kept them busy between runs.

  Pat came back in with the tickets. “Ten past two,” he confirmed. “We’ll get into Dublin for half three and pick up the hired car. We should be down in Ballygrace in plenty of time for the removal.” He looked at Patrick who was driving them to the airport. “We’ll have to be gone from the house around eleven to be in plenty of time.”

  “No problem, the school runs will be well finished.”

  “I’ll be up around nine,” Lily said, “and then I’ll drop over to Sophie’s for half an hour.”

  “Will you have time?” Mona asked. “Don’t leave everything to the last minute as usual. And make sure you pack your good black dress and coat for the funeral.”

  “Mother –” Lily rolled her eyes, “I’m not a teenager any more, I’m nearly twenty-one years old and will be a trained teacher by next year.”

  “That doesn’t stop you being late. You never change.” Mona studied her daughter for a moment and then she laughed and shook her head. “Although I think you have us all wrapped around your little finger. I’ll bet you do everything perfectly when you’re in collegeor on teaching practice. You must have done it right, or you wouldn’t have got all those high marks.”

  “Of course I work hard,” Lily told her, “but I’m entitled to relax and be myself when I’m at home.”

  “What you mean is you save your laziness for us,” Declan said.

  Lily pulled a face at him. “Anyone know what the weather forecast is?”

  “Cold and wet here,” her mother said. “And though it’s not as cold, you can always depend on Ireland to be damper.” She paused, studying her daughter’s trouser-clad legs. “Are teachers allowed to wear trousers in school in England?”

  Lily stifled a groan. Her ‘outlandish’ clothes – her mother’s term – were another bone of contention between herself and her mother. “They’re allowed in some schools,” she said, gazing down at her polished fingernails, “but not in the ones I’ve been on teaching practice in. All the students and lecturers wear them in college.” She knew the fact that she said ‘lecturers’ would halt her mother for a moment.

  “And what about the mini-skirts you wear? Surely you’re not allowed to wear them in school?”

  Lily saw Declan sniggering and felt like killing him. “I wear longer skirts when I’m on teaching practice.”

  “I thought so,” Mona said. “As you say, you do everything right when you need to.”

  Lily decided to get the argument over tonight. “I’m wearing trousers for travelling over,” she said. “Everyone wears them these days.”

  Her mother pursed her lips together, a sign she was upset.

  Lily looked at her now and immediately felt sorry. What was the point of coming home for a few days to spend it arguing over stupid things like clothes? And, although they had different views on things, she loved her mother with all her heart. Lily leaned over and squeezed her hand. “You don’t need to worry,” she said. “I won’t show you up by wearing anything outlandish, and I promise I’ll wear the nice dress and coat for the funeral.”

  Mona looked at her and smiled. “Good girl,” she said. “I know I’m a bit old-fashioned, but I know what people are like and I want them to get the right impression of you. It might not seem fair, but teachers do have a responsibility. They’re expected to give an example.”

  Lily suddenly pictured herself with the lecturer the other night and a heaviness descended on her. She knew exactly what her mother would say if she knew. Him being a lecturer and older would be bad enough, but the fact that he was foreign and coloured would be even worse. And her father’s reaction would be exactly the same.

  She almost shuddered at the thought.

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