Nora Webster: A Novel

by Colm Toibin

  “We could fall over,” he said.

  “No, no, the train has to stay on the tracks. It’s not like a car,” she said.

  He kept his nose up against the window, fascinated by the danger. Donal, also, did not move from the window even when the train came into Dún Laoghaire station.

  “Is that the end?” Conor asked.

  “We’re nearly there,” she said.

  “Where are we going to go first? Are we going to see Fiona first?”

  “We’re going to go to Henry Street.”

  “Yippee!” Conor shouted. He was trying to stand on the seat, but she made him sit down.

  “And we’re going to have our dinner in Woolworth’s,” she said.

  “In the self-service?”

  “Yes, so we don’t have to wait.”

  “Can I have orange with my dinner and no milk?” Conor asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “You can have whatever you like.”

  They got off at Amiens Street and walked through the damp and dilapidated station. They moved slowly along Talbot Street, stopping to look into shop windows. She forced herself to relax, there was nothing to do, they could waste time wherever they wanted. She gave them ten shillings each to spend, but as soon as she did, she felt she had made a mistake, it was too much. They examined the money and looked at her suspiciously.

  “Do we have to b-buy something?” Donal asked.

  “Maybe we’ll get some books,” she said.

  “Can we get comics or an annual?” Conor asked.

  “It’s too early for annuals,” Donal said.

  As they approached O’Connell Street, they wanted to see where Nelson’s Pillar had been.

  “I remember it,” Conor said.

  “You c-couldn’t. You’re too young,” Donal told him.

  “I do. It was tall and Nelson was on top of it and they blew him into smithereens.”

  They crossed O’Connell Street, alert to the several lanes of traffic, cautiously waiting for the lights to change. Nora was aware as they walked into Henry Street that they must seem like country people. The boys managed to take everything in and, at the same time, keep everything at a distance. They watched this world of strangers and strange buildings out of the sides of their eyes.

  Conor had become impatient to go into a shop, any shop, to buy something.

  “Would you like to look at shoes?” she asked, figuring that when he said no, he would be pleased that he was the one who was deciding where they would go.

  “Shoes?” He wrinkled his face in disgust. “Is that what we came to Dublin for?”

  “So where do you want to go?” she asked.

  “I want to go up and down an escalator.”

  “Do you want to do that too?” she asked Donal.

  “I s-suppose s-so,” he said glumly.

  In Arnotts in Henry Street, Conor wanted Nora and Donal to watch him going up the escalator and then wait for him and watch him coming down. He insisted that they not come with him and not move. He made them promise. Donal was bored.

  The first time, Conor kept looking back at them, and they waited while he disappeared at the top and then reappeared on the escalator coming down. He beamed at them. The second time, he grew brave and took some of the steps two by two, all the while holding on to the rail. The next time, he wanted Donal to come with him, but insisted that Nora still wait below. She explained to him that this would have to be the last go, that maybe they could return here in the afternoon, but three times up and down the escalator was enough.

  When they came down, she saw that Donal was animated as well. They explained to her that they had found a lift further over and they wanted to go up and down in that.

  “One more and that’s it,” she said.

  She moved away and began to look at umbrellas, noticing fold-up ones, small enough to put into your handbag, which she had never seen before. She thought that she would buy one in case it rained. As she waited for the cashier, she watched out for the boys, but they did not appear. When she had paid, she walked back to their meeting point, and then to the place near a side door to which the lift descended.

  They were not there. She waited between the two points, looking out all the time for them. She thought of going on the lift herself, but realised that this would only add to the confusion. If she stayed here, she thought, she would be bound to see them.

  When they found her, they pretended it was nothing, that the lift had merely stopped at every floor. When she told them that she had thought they were lost, they gave each other a look as though something had happened to them in the lift which they did not want her to know about.

  By three o’clock, they had seen all the Dublin they wanted to see. They had been to Moore Street and bought a bag of peaches, they had had their dinner in the self-service in Woolworth’s and had been to Eason’s where they bought comics and books. The boys were tired now as they sat in Bewley’s waiting for Fiona. Nora believed that the only thing keeping Conor awake was the idea that you could take as many buns as you liked from the two-tiered plate.

  “You have to pay for them,” Nora said.

  “How do they know how many you’ve taken?”

  “Most people are honest,” she said.

  When Fiona arrived the boys became excited and bright again, both wanting to talk at the same time. To Nora, Fiona appeared thin and pale as she sat opposite her.

  “Do you want to hear a D-dublin accent?” Donal asked her.

  “We were in Moore Street,” Nora said.

  “Get the ripe peaches,” Donal said in a singsong voice without a stammer.

  “Look at my ‘buke,’” Conor added.

  “Very funny,” Fiona said. “I’m sorry I’m late, the buses all come in twos and threes and then you have to wait for ages for the next one.”

  “I want to go upstairs on a double-decker bus,” Conor said.

  “Conor, let Fiona talk for one second and then you can talk,” Nora said.

  “Are you having a nice day out?” Fiona asked.

  Fiona’s smile was shy, but her tone was adult and confident. She had changed in these few months.

  “Yes, but we’re all tired now and it’s nice to be sitting here.”

  Neither of them seemed to know what to say next. Nora realised that her answer to the question had been too formal, as though she were talking to a stranger. Fiona ordered coffee.

  “Did you buy anything?” she asked.

  “I didn’t really have time,” Nora said. “I got a paperback, that’s all.”

  Nora noticed how briskly and efficiently Fiona had ordered the coffee, and how she looked around the café, her eyes sharp, almost critical. As she began to talk to her brothers, however, she became almost girlish again.

  “Have you heard from Aine?” Nora asked her.

  “She wrote me a short letter. I think she was worried that the nuns read letters and she’s right, they do. So she didn’t say too much. Just that she likes the Irish teacher and got good marks in French for a composition.”

  “We can go and see her in a week.”

  “She mentioned that.”

  “We’re selling the house,” Conor said to Fiona suddenly in a loud voice.

  “And are you going to live on the side of the road?” she asked, laughing.

  “No, we’re going to rent a caravan in Curracloe,” he said.

  Fiona looked at Nora.

  “I’m thinking of selling the house in Cush,” Nora said.

  “I wondered about that,” Fiona replied.

  “I didn’t decide until recently.”

  “So you are going to sell it?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Nora was surprised to see that while Fiona was trying to smile, there were tears in her eyes. She had not cried at Maurice’
s funeral, just remained silent, staying close to her sister and her aunts, but Nora could sense what she felt all the more because she did nothing to show it. Nora did not know what she should say to her now.

  She sipped her coffee. The boys did not move or speak.

  “Does Aine know?” Fiona asked.

  “I didn’t have the heart to tell her in a letter. I’ll tell her when we see her.”

  “And you have definitely decided?”

  Nora did not reply.

  “I was hoping to go there in the summer,” Fiona said.

  “I thought you were going to England in the summer.”

  “I am, at the end of June, but I finish at the end of May. I’d thought about spending the month of June in Cush.”

  “I am sorry,” Nora said.

  “He loved that house, didn’t he?”

  “Your father?”

  Fiona lowered her head.

  Nora brought Conor with her to find the toilets. When she came back she ordered another coffee.

  “Who are you selling the house to?” Fiona asked.

  “Jack Lacey, May Lacey’s son, the one in England.”

  “May Lacey came to the house,” Conor interrupted.

  Donal nudged him and put his finger to his lips.

  “The money will come in very handy just now,” Nora said.

  “In two years’ time, I’ll be earning a salary,” Fiona said.

  “We need the money now,” Nora said.

  “Are you not going to get a pension?” Fiona asked. “Has that not come through?”

  Nora thought that maybe she should not have said that she needed the money.

  “It means we won’t have to sell the car,” Nora said and tried to indicate to Fiona that maybe they should not worry the boys with any more talk about money.

  “We had lovely summers there,” Fiona said.

  “I know.”

  “It’s sad to think of losing it.”

  “We’ll go other places on holiday.”

  “I thought we’d always have that house,” Fiona said.

  They said nothing for a few moments. Nora wanted to go, take the boys back to Henry Street.

  “When are you going to sell it?” Fiona resumed.

  “As soon as the contract is ready.”

  “Aine will be upset.”

  Nora stopped herself saying that she couldn’t bear to go there anymore. She would not be able to say that in front of the boys; it would sound too emotional, it would give too much away.

  She stood up to go.

  “How do you pay here? I can’t remember.”

  “You have to get the waitress to fill out a docket,” Fiona said.

  “And you have to tell her how many b-buns you’ve had,” Donal said.

  When they walked out to Westmoreland Street, Nora wanted to say something else to Fiona but she could not think what. Fiona seemed downcast as she stood on the street. For a moment, Nora felt impatient with her. She was starting her life, she could live where she liked, do what she liked. She did not have to get the train back to the town where everybody knew about her and all the years ahead were mapped out for her.

  “We’re going to walk around to Henry Street by the Ha’penny Bridge,” Nora said.

  “Make sure you don’t miss the train,” Fiona said.

  “How are you getting back to the college?” Nora asked.

  “I was going to go to Grafton Street first.”

  “Will you not come to the station with us?” Nora asked.

  “No, I’ll go,” Fiona said. “I have to get something before I go back and I won’t be in the city centre again for a while.”

  As they looked at one another, Nora felt Fiona was hostile, and forced herself to remember how upset she must be, and how lonely she might be too. She smiled as she said that they would have to go and in return Fiona smiled at her and at the boys. As soon as Nora walked away, however, she felt helpless and regretted not having said something kind or special or consoling to Fiona before they left her; maybe even something as simple as asking her when she was coming down next, or emphasising how much they looked forward to seeing her soon. She wished she had a phone in the house so she could keep in more regular touch with her. She thought that she might write Fiona a note in the morning thanking her for coming to meet them.

  In Talbot Street, on the way to the station, Conor spent the rest of their money on LEGOs, but could not decide which colour bricks to choose. Although Nora was tired, she listened, paid attention and offered suggestions as Donal stood apart from them. She smiled at the cashier as Conor changed his mind at the cash register and went back to exchange one box of LEGOs for another.

  It was dark now and becoming cold. They sat on broken plastic seats in the small café of the station. When Nora reached into her shopping bag to find her purse, she discovered that the peaches that had seemed so fresh and firm just a few hours before had become all soggy. The paper bag had split open. She dumped them in a rubbish bin, knowing that there was no point in trying to take them any further, they would only rot more in the train.

  The boys had not realised that it would be dark for the trip home, and as the train began the journey south, the window was covered in condensation. They opened the LEGOs and Conor played with it while Donal read. After a while, Conor moved over to her side of the table and fell asleep against her. She noticed as she looked across at Donal how oddly adult he seemed as he turned a page of his book.

  “We’re going to school t-tomorrow, aren’t we?” he asked.

  “Oh yes, I think you should,” she said.

  He nodded and looked back at his book.

  “When is F-fiona coming d-down next?” he asked.

  Her words with Fiona in the café, she knew, would work quietly on his mind. She wondered if there was one thing she could say that would stop him worrying and brooding over this.

  “You know, Fiona will love the caravan,” she said.

  “She d-didn’t s-sound like that,” he said.

  “Donal, we have to start a new life,” she said.

  He considered her statement for a moment, as though he had a complex piece of homework in front of him. And then he shrugged his shoulders and went back to reading his book.

  Nora gently moved Conor aside while she took off her coat in the overheated train. He woke for a second, but did not even open his eyes. She made a note that she must ask about caravans in Curracloe.

  In her mind, she stood in the house in Cush again, and she tried to picture the children on a summer’s day, taking their togs and towels from the line and going down to the strand, or herself and Maurice walking home along the lanes at dusk trying to keep the swarms of midges at bay, and coming in to the house to the sound of children playing cards. It was all over and would not come back. The house lay empty. She pictured the small rooms in the darkness, how miserable they would be. Inhospitable. She imagined the sound of rain on the galvanised roof, the doors and windows rattling in the wind, the bare bed-frames, the insects lurking in the dark crevices, and the relentless sea.

  As the train made its way towards Enniscorthy, she felt that the house at Cush was more desolate now than it ever had been.

  When Conor woke, he looked around him and smiled at her sleepily. He stretched and lay against her.

  “Are we nearly home?” he asked.

  “Not long now,” she said.

  “When we stay in Curracloe,” he asked, “are we going to put the caravan near the Winning Post or are we going to the caravan park up the hill?”

  “Oh, near the Winning Post,” she said.

  She knew she had answered too quickly. Donal and Conor earnestly considered what she had said. Then Conor glanced at Donal, watching for his reaction.

  “Is that d-definite?” Donal asked. As the tra
in slowed down, she managed to laugh for the first time all day.

  “Definite? Of course it’s definite.”

  When the train shuddered to a stop, they gathered up their belongings quickly. As they made their way to the door, they met the ticket collector.

  “Ask him now about the t-toilets,” Donal whispered as he nudged her.

  “I’ll tell him that you’re the one who wants to know,” she said.

  “Would this sausage like to come to Rosslare with us?” the inspector asked.

  “Oh no, he has to go to school tomorrow,” Nora said.

  “I’m not a sausage,” Conor said.

  The inspector laughed.

  As she drove out of the Railway Square she remembered something, and she found herself telling the boys what had come into her mind.

  “It was when we were married first, and it must have been during the summer holidays, and didn’t we drive to the station one morning to find that we had missed the train by one second. It was gone and, God, we were very disappointed. But the man in charge that morning was not the usual stationmaster, he was a young fellow, and he was taught in school by your daddy, and he told us to get back into the car and drive to Ferns and he would have the train held for us there. It was only six or seven miles away, and that’s how we caught the train that morning and that’s how we got to Dublin.”

  “Did you d-drive or d-did he d-drive?” Donal asked.

  “Daddy drove.”

  “He must have driven queer fast,” Conor said.

  “Was he a better d-driver than you?” Donal asked.

  She smiled as she answered him.

  “He was a good driver. Do you not remember?”

  “I remember once he d-drove over a rat,” Donal said.

  The streets of the town were empty and there were no other cars. The two boys seemed alert now, ready to talk more, ask more questions. When they got home, she thought, she would light the fire, and they would tire quickly after the long day.

  “But why didn’t you just d-drive to D-dublin that d-day and forget the t-train?” Donal asked.