The Carmel Sheehan Story

by Jean Grainger

  She tapped the townland Tim gave her into the sat nav and eased the car out into the slow-moving traffic once more.

  He didn’t speak, so neither did she. He needed to compose himself, and the silence wasn’t awkward as Carmel deftly manoeuvred the car around the twisty roads. As they turned off the main road and drove up a hill, there was a fine two-storey farmhouse on the left, and the sat nav indicated that it was their destination. The hedging all around the house was neatly kept, and the house itself didn’t look derelict—quite the opposite. It looked as if it had been recently painted brilliant white, and the windows gleamed, reflecting the afternoon sun.

  ‘Is that it?’ Carmel asked, surprised. She’d been expecting some tumbledown ruin, overgrown and neglected.

  ‘Yes... I think so. Well, I know it is, but it looks much better than it did when I lived here. It’s not like I expected.’

  They pulled into a neat farmyard, where a newish looking tractor was parked up in one corner and stables lined one side. Right in the middle of the yard was a cherry-red BMW convertible. What an impractical car for Irish weather, Carmel thought. It was such a flashy, showy car, she wondered who on earth would own such a vehicle.

  Tim and Carmel got out, and immediately they were spotted by a middle-aged man who ran over to greet them. He wore a shiny suit and a pink shirt with a really garish tie. Carmel deduced immediately that he was the owner of the convertible. She thought the welcome he gave them, as he pumped Tim’s hand, a little too effusive to be genuine, and she didn’t like his lecherous gaze and his nudge-nudge remark to Tim along the lines of, ‘Life in the old dog yet, eh?’ His boomy laugh was also very off-putting.

  Tim made the introductions. ‘Carmel, this is Jim Daly, the auctioneer, and Jim, this is a friend of mine, Carmel Khan.’ Carmel didn’t imagine the slight emphasis on the word friend, but Jim was too thick to grasp it.

  ‘Carmel!’ he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek and placing a hand on her waist. He smelled strongly of aftershave. He was paunchy, and his hair had a peculiar plum sheen to it. She’d seen old lads in Birr dying their hair jet-black when they were in their seventies, fooling no one of course, but this dark purple colour was a new one on her—and certainly a colour never found in nature. Jim clearly saw himself as a bit of a hit with the ladies, and the double entendres just kept coming.

  ‘So, Tim, as I was saying on the phone, this is good land, and a fertile farm is better than a fertile woman, I always say, and if you’ve no plans to settle down here yourself, however tempting the company…’ He winked at Carmel, and she deliberately remained stoney-faced. It put him off his stride. ‘Yes, well...eh... If you’re not staying around then I think we should look for 500,000 for the farm, and if they want the house, and I think they will, we’ll bring it up to 700,000 for the whole shebang. They’re getting a good deal at that, and they can’t afford not to take it because they’ll be surrounded if they let it go to someone else. You see, this farm almost encircles theirs, so we have them by the short and curlies.’ Jim beamed, delighted with himself.

  Before Tim could respond, a couple Carmel judged to be in their thirties entered the yard.

  ‘Ah, here we are now, Tim, and Carmel of course, this is Catriona and David Lynch.’ Jim was enjoying being the Master of Ceremonies. ‘They have the neighbouring fa—’

  ‘I know exactly who you are,’ Tim cut across him. ‘We’ve corresponded, and I knew your mam and dad, Catriona. My condolences on his passing.’

  The woman smiled and shook Tim’s hand. She was dressed for farming in jeans, boots and a dark-green fleece. She had a pleasant, open face, and her brown hair was tied up in a ponytail. ‘Thanks, Mr O’Flaherty. Mam got your mass card, and she really appreciated it.’

  ‘Call me Tim, please. And how is she, your mother?’ Tim asked.

  ‘Ah, Tim, she’s OK, but she’s in the county home now. She has senile dementia, so she has good days and bad days, you know? Most of the time she’s content enough, though.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Your parents were much younger than me, but I knew the family of course when I was growing up.’ Tim turned to her husband. ‘And you’re a native of Westport as well, I believe, David?’

  ‘I am.’ He was tall and balding and very quietly spoken, also dressed for farming. They were an unremarkable-looking couple, but they seemed very genuine and Carmel liked them. They were worried, she could tell. Their whole livelihood depended on what happened here today.

  ‘My family, the Lynches, are farming in this parish for six or seven generations at least. My older brother has the family farm now, out at Scarteen Cross, so myself and Catriona are farming here.’

  ‘And you have children too?’ Carmel asked, though Jim seemed anxious to get on with the negotiations, clicking his pen and jingling change in his pocket.

  ‘We have. A boy of eight called Jack and a little girl, Katie, she’s three, so we’ve our hands full. We have a German au pair at the moment helping us to look after them because we’re making silage and we need to stay at it for as long as the weather holds.’ Carmel loved his soft West-of-Ireland accent.

  ‘It sounds like you’re busy so,’ she said with a grin.

  Chapter 19

  ‘So maybe we could have a look inside the house and have a chat in there? You are interested in buying both the farm and the house, I take it?’ Jim was practically salivating at the thought of the easy commission he was about to make.

  ‘If you don’t mind, Jim, I’d rather stay out here for now,’ Tim interrupted. ‘I haven’t been in there for many decades, so if I go in there...I’d like to go alone.’ He glanced up at the gable end of the farmhouse. Carmel was surprised how assertive he was being; he always seemed so mild-mannered. But it was clear he didn’t like Jim Daly any more than she did. She had only ever known Tim in retirement, but she could see in the way he was dealing with the obnoxious Jim how he’d risen through the ranks in the bank during his career. There was a quiet confidence and determination to him, and something about his demeanour brooked no argument. It was a side to him she had not seen before.

  Jim was chastened, but he was determined to keep his commission on track. He was the kind of guy who had probably been bragging to all and sundry about the killing he was about to make. He wasn’t going to have it snatched from him now.

  ‘Right, well, OK so. Well, David, and Catriona as well of course,’ he added her in as an afterthought, ‘as you know, this is a fine farm of land, excellent road frontage, and well drained. As good grazing as you’ll get anywhere in the county, and the house is in great shape, from the outside anyway.’ There was that boomy laugh again that was really getting on Carmel’s nerves.

  ‘It’s fine inside too. We go in every week, open the windows in summer and air it out, and in the winter, we keep a heater on.’ Catriona was matter-of-fact.

  Tim was perplexed. ‘You’ve been doing that since when?’

  She looked surprised at his reaction. ‘Well, since always. When your father died, Dad used to look in on your mother, check she was OK, do odd jobs around the house, take care of the garden, that kind of thing, and then when she died, he just kind of kept on doing it. So I suppose, when we took over the farm, when Daddy died, we took that on as well.’

  ‘So your family have been taking care of this place for years?’

  ‘Yes, well, since before I was born,’ Catriona said. ‘Your parents were very good to us, and then your mam renting us the land for very cheap for so long, and then you doing the same, it was the least we could do. Our families have been good neighbours for generations.’

  ‘Well, times change, and we must all move on, I suppose.’ Jim did not like the direction this conversation was taking. ‘Now, Tim here is living the high life over in London, so he’s happy to sell this property, but only at the right price, of course—’

  Tim silenced him. ‘Jim, I’m sorry for dragging you out here, but I think we can manage this ourselves. It seems like my family and Catr
iona’s have had many happy years of peaceful co-existence and co-operation, so we’ll continue that. That means, unfortunately, we have no need of your no doubt excellent negotiating skills. Thank you, though, and of course I’ll settle up with you for your time to date. If you just send me a bill for hours worked, land registry searches, that sort of thing, if you carried them out?’ Tim smiled innocently, and Carmel had to stifle a giggle.

  Jim puffed up like a bullfrog. ‘Well, this is not advisable at all, Mr O’Flaherty. You could seriously jeopardise your position. If I could just have a quiet word...’ Jim felt his commission slipping away.

  ‘There’s no need, I assure you. My position is fine, and as I said, we’ll take it from here.’

  ‘But... But legally...’ Jim was grasping at straws.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry on that front,’ Tim assured him. ‘My solicitor will ensure that whatever we decide today will be all signed sealed and delivered properly, but I appreciate your concern, Jim. It’s so nice to know people care.’

  Jim had been given his marching orders in no uncertain terms, and he knew it.

  ‘On your own head,’ he muttered as he almost stomped back to his ridiculous red car. It began to spit rain as he drove away, and he had to stop again and struggle to get the roof to close. Realising they were all watching in amusement, he got back in with the top still down and drove off, the rain soaking his purple hair.

  ‘Would you both like to come up to our house, have a cup of tea?’ Catriona asked.

  Tim smiled. ‘That would be lovely.’

  As they made their way back to the car, David said, ‘We can actually walk. It’s only a few minutes through the field, but it’s three miles around by car. If ye don’t mind a bit of drizzle.’

  ‘Not a bit,’ Carmel laughed. ‘We’re Irish and well used to the rain.’ They chatted easily as they went through a wooden gate around the back of the farm house. But as they turned a corner, Tim stopped, stock-still.

  Carmel put her hand on his arm as he stood and stared.

  ‘This…’ His voice was hoarse... ’Who did this?’

  The garden behind the house was a riot of wild flowers, every imaginable colour and size, and the entire thing was surrounded by a beautiful dry stone wall. Right in the middle of the garden was a stone seat and a sundial. Carmel thought it was like an oasis of paradise in the patchwork quilt of green farmland that stretched down to the Atlantic.

  ‘Oh, the wild flower garden?’ Catriona asked. ‘That’s been there for years and years. We don’t do much to it, to be honest; it kind of flowers every year itself. We mow it at the end of the season, and let the seeds fall out and then gather up the clippings. That’s what my father did anyway. Your mam loved it, but it was your dad that really minded it apparently. ’Twas he built the stone wall around it and added in the seat. I remember my father telling me how he offered to help, but your dad said no, he’d do it himself. Every night, after a full day farming, he’d be out there, fixing the wall or making the sundial. I don’t remember him, he died when I was young, but my parents spoke of him often. Your mam loved it too, and right up to the time she died, she’d ask Kathleen, that’s the home help, but sure you know that, ’twas you paid for her to be here, to push her out to the garden in her wheelchair. I remember my uncle visiting once and remarking how it was out of character for the O’Flahertys to have such a thing. They weren’t given to that kind of frivolity, I suppose, but they just loved the place.’

  Catriona’s chatting covered up Tim’s shock, and Carmel linked his arm through hers as they walked. He was a deeply private man, and she knew he wouldn’t want them to know the origins of the garden. To spare him, Carmel prattled away with Catriona and David about life on the farm and their children until they arrived to a new house.

  ‘Oh, I was expecting another farmhouse!’ Carmel remarked as she took in the new-looking brightly painted dormer bungalow.

  ‘Well, we built this when David and I got married. Mam and Dad were still living in the home place. We have their place rented out now, to our au pair and her boyfriend, actually. He’s Dutch, and he makes knives. They’re happy as Larry there. The place needs modernising, really, but they’re kind of alternative so they like having no central heating and stuff like that.’ Catriona grinned.

  Their kitchen was warm and bright, the big fridge covered in drawings done by the kids.

  ‘Are Jack and Katie here?’ Carmel asked. Tim was yet to speak. The discovery of the wild flower garden that he’d planted all those years ago had shaken him to his core.

  ‘No, they’re at a camp. It’s a community-run thing for the kids of the area; they go to the playground and down to the beach. Kristiana, that’s the au pair, is with them. Now, can I get you tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea please.’ Carmel gazed around the sunny room. Toys were stacked in one corner, a pair of tiny shoes under the table, small bright-coloured coats hanging on a hook near the back door. The normal stuff of family life was strewn around—Disney character lunchboxes, colouring pencils. It wasn’t chaotic or dirty, just a real working home. To anyone else, it would not have been remarkable, a similar scene represented all over the world in homes where small children were loved and cared for, but Carmel realised she’d never been anywhere like it in her life. Bill didn’t encourage friendships with people her own age in Birr, and as a kid, she wasn’t allowed to go to anyone’s house to play. Not that she was ever asked, but she often wondered what family houses looked like. And now she knew.

  ‘Tim? What can I get you?’ Catriona broke through his reverie.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, what a lovely home you have. Tea would be great, thanks.’ He seemed distracted, and Carmel wondered if they shouldn’t leave the deal for another day.

  When David went to answer the phone, and Catriona went out to the pantry to get something, Carmel whispered, ‘We can do this another day, if you’d prefer?’

  Tim patted her hand. ‘No... I’m fine... It’s just a lot to process, the garden. I just don’t know whether to be happy or sad. I’m both, I think...’

  Catriona came back with some scones, butter and jam and placed them on the table, moving a stack of colouring books. ‘Sorry about the mess. It’s like shovelling snow when it’s still snowing trying to tidy up after my pair.’ She was doing her best to make space on the table.

  ‘Please, don’t apologise. It’s lovely. I would have loved to have grown up somewhere like here.’ The words were out before Carmel realised she’d said them. She didn’t often discuss her past, and never with strangers. She reddened in embarrassment, frantically trying to figure out a way to divert the conversation.

  Catriona looked at her for a moment and seemed to understand her discomfort. ‘I know sure. They have so much now.’ David came back in then. ‘Everything OK?’ Catriona asked him.

  He nodded.

  ‘So, Catriona and David, I’ve been thinking,’ Tim began. ‘And do you mind if I ask you a personal question? It’s only in relation to what we’re going to do.’

  ‘Of course.’ It was Catriona who spoke.

  ‘How are you both, financially speaking?’ The words hung in the air.

  Carmel felt she should excuse herself. This was their private business. But to do so now would be rude.

  The young couple looked at each other, words unspoken passing between them.

  ‘We’re fine,’ David began.

  ‘We’re really struggling.’ Catriona’s voice was louder.

  ‘Cat—’

  ‘No, David, we might as well tell him the truth. Look, Tim, we came down today, and our plan was to ask you to do us a deal. I know the place is worth six hundred thousand, more probably, but we just haven’t got that kind of money. Jim Daly has been saying to people that the place would be up for auction soon, and we’ll be almost totally surrounded if someone buys it. We’re doing OK, on the bit that we have. But we’re into organic farming, and producing ethically sound food is much more expensive than the alternative. Our ch
ickens are free range, the cows are grass fed most of the year, and what we’d love to do is set up an open farm—you know for families to visit, and maybe have a farm shop selling our produce and a cafe. We run the local farmer’s market in Westport, and we’ve a great little co-op running, but we are stuck in that we can only produce so much on the land that we have. We can’t really afford your farm, that’s the truth, but we can’t afford to let anyone else have it either. We went to the bank, and they can’t—or won’t—lend us that much...certainly nothing like six hundred thousand.’

  Tim glanced at Carmel, and she knew he was checking in with her: do they seem genuine? She thought they were, and she guessed Tim did as well.

  ‘So you don’t want to buy it?’ Tim asked.

  ‘Well, we do, as in, we can’t let anyone else buy it, but now is not ideal for us, Catriona is right.’ David sounded tired. Carmel imagined them night after night sitting at this kitchen table going over the figures, trying to find a way to save their livelihoods, and her heart went out to them.

  ‘But I thought it was something to do with grants from the EU?’ Tim was gentle but probing.

  ‘No, we just said that to Daly.’ David cut a scone in half and buttered it. ‘He’s such a blabbermouth, everyone in the place would know our business if you told him. Nobody with any sense tells him anything.’

  ‘I can well imagine that’s the case all right.’ Tim thought for a minute. ‘OK, how about this? I could just say let’s keep going with the rent, but I’m not a spring chicken, and when I die, you’ll be faced with the same problem. Worse, actually, because I don’t have anyone to leave it to so I was considering leaving whatever I have to charity.’

  Carmel knew how hard this was for him, denying the existence of his children, but it was their doing, not his.

  ‘So here is my proposal: I give you the farm, the house, the whole lot. It’s either you two or a charity, and the way I see it, you are just as deserving as any other cause. Or, if necessary for legal reasons, I’ll sell it to you for a euro or something, and I might come back now and again, for as long as I’m able. I know I didn’t want to go into the house today, and maybe I will some other time, but seeing the garden, knowing the place is taken care of… I didn’t think it would affect me so much, but it has, and I realise that this place is a part of me, even after all these years. The fact that your family cared for it means more than I can say.’