by Carol Coffey
I’m delighted to be part of such a love story. I knew a little about their story when I was a teenager and thought it was romantic and sad. The train doesn’t come through here any more and the station is now overgrown with weeds, but I think about them any time I pass it. Perhaps they will finally have a chance to make peace with each other and with those that separated them? Thanks again for writing and please give our regards to Aiden.
Kind regards
Nóirin McGonigle
Aishling puts the letter down and wipes the tears that have been falling down her face.
“Poor Father Francis,” she says quietly.
She walks into the Penance Room and sits beside him. She smooths a large tuft of grey hair from his eyes. He smiles at her. Aishling takes his glasses off and cleans them.
“Aiden?”
Father Francis looks up and smiles.
“Yes?” he says brightly.
“I have something for you,” she says to him as she puts the photo into his hands.
He looks at it and a huge smile spreads across his face.
“Deirdre is in America,” she says, smiling.
“In America?” he asks.
“Yes, Aiden. In New York. Deirdre is alive in New York!” She hugs him and rocks him slowly.
Aishling moves back from him and wipes the new tears that have fallen down her face. She stands a while longer and together we watch him talking to himself as he stares at the picture.
“A stór!” he says.
Steve arrives and Aishling returns to the kitchen to collect the picnic basket that she had packed earlier. When she gets there she notices that Mina has taken some of the food back out of the basket and has put it back into the pantry. Aishling just laughs and throws her eyes up at Li.
Li draws Aishling aside and says, “I was thinking . . . Mina missed out on teaching her son how to run the bakery. My son, Kai, wants to be a confectioner. I cannot help him. I am not so good at sweet things. Maybe I ask Emma if Kai can come here to learn from Mina?”
Aishling nods. “Sounds like a great idea. Hope she doesn’t give him a hard time though.”
“Will toughen him up, I think,” Li replies. “Young ones too soft now.”
As Steve leaves with Aishling I feel that surge of jealousy returning. I don’t like feeling this way. I wander down to Wilfred’s room. He is listening to music. I stand inside the door watching the turntable move around and around in a hypnotic motion. I look at the record sleeve which reads “Mozart Symphonies No 40 and 41”. His eyes are closed and he looks like Mina does when she has had too much to eat: satisfied yet wanting, a look that I am still trying to find a better description for. He is facing the wall and is lost in thought. He moves his hand around in swirling motions, conducting the music. I follow his hand and find my upper body swaying slightly and wish I could hear the sounds he is so obviously enjoying. As the record is less than halfway through I leave him and wander down to Jimmy’s room. Jeff is there and Tina is helping him to pack up some more of his father’s pyjamas.
“How’s he doing then?” she asks.
Tina always wears a kind smile on her face and I know my mother wishes she could work more hours, but she looks after both her elderly parents who came to Australia from Italy. I wonder briefly if she knows Maria and her grandfather but cringe at the thought. I saw Aishling say that Australians think that Ireland is so small that everyone knows each other and it must be the same for other Europeans. When she’d go into town people would ask her of she knew Mick O’Brien from Galway or Mary Murphy from Dublin and it always annoyed her. She told me once that although Ireland is much smaller than Australia, it is not so small an island that everyone knows each other.
Jeff looks exhausted. His shoulders drop forward and he rubs his hands over his lined brow. “Not as bad as they expected. I mean, first night there they were telling me he’s a goner. But he’s pulling through. He’s a strong old codger. Can’t move his right arm at all. His left arm was affected by the first stroke so he’s pretty helpless. His speech is much harder to understand. He’s really frustrated.”
Tina expresses her sympathy and puts her hand on Jeff’s arm. “My dad had a stroke few years back but there’s hope with the right care.”
Jeff nods. “Be great if he’d accept the care,” he said and I know that he is referring to Kora who has spent hours at the hospital when Jeff had to leave to feed his stock. Jimmy’s daughters live far away and have only been able to visit him on weekends.
Tina nods. “He’ll come round. He’ll see how you two are meant for each other. He’ll see how Kora’s the woman for you.”
Jeff blushes a little and makes his excuses to leave.
“Get some rest!” she shouts after him, “You look exhausted. Not safe to be driving like that.”
Jeff waves back and I am once again left to wander the house alone.
I take a brief look into the Penance Room but leave quickly as Iren is continually shouting for Aron and the other residents, including Martin, are finding it hard to cope with her. Martin looks over at Jimmy’s chair. I know he is missing his grumpy nemesis more than he’d admit. I know that right now he is thinking how alike he and Jimmy are. Both full of anger and regret. Brothers in arms.
I leave the room and sit on the front step to watch passers-by. It is not yet eleven and I am wondering about Aishling and whether or not she is enjoying herself. I look up into the sky and remember something my mother once said to me. “Look for happy things in your day,” she said but all I see in front of me are dried-out trees and people, hoping for rain.
Chapter 18
Later that evening, Greta takes Penelope out of the Penance Room and brings her into the dining room. I follow the pair to see what is happening.
“’Ere. Look what I’ve brought you,” Greta says, taking a crumpled booklet from her bag and handing it to Penelope who immediately begins to work out the creases in the paper without looking at it.
Greta waits for some recognition but when it doesn’t come she asks, “Don’t you like it? Thought that’s what you wanted.”
Penelope looks closer at the paper and begins shuffling through its pages. A rush of blood goes to her face and she reddens from her neck to her forehead. My mother once said I should not pass remark on this as it is normal for this to happen to older women.
“What is it?” she finally asks.
“It’s a book of music sheets. Old time jazz,” Greta says, smiling. “I got it for you in the bookshop. It’s second-hand but I thought it’d do till we get you some new sheets.”
“But it’s not allowed!” Penelope says, looking behind her and wiping small beads of sweat from her forehead.
“Says who?”
Penelope takes out her handkerchief and dabs the rest of her face. She doesn’t answer Greta but continues to look like a trapped hare. Her eyes dart from left to right and she begins to sway from foot to foot as though she needs to use the bathroom.
“Penelope, your father’s not here. He died years ago. You don’t have to be afraid any more.”
“Henry got into trouble,” she says finally, ignoring Greta’s comments about her father being dead.
“Look, how about you leave it in your room? You don’t have to play it. Not unless you want to.”
Penelope nods and without as much as a thank-you races off upstairs to hide the sheets among her clothes. I follow her and stand in the doorway as she runs from drawer to drawer saying, “Oh my!” over and over until she finds the perfect hiding place. I watch while she opens Victoria’s bedside locker and hides the music among her sister’s underwear.
“There!” she says. “He’ll never look in there.”
Penelope looks into the mirror and dabs some powder on her face before returning to the Penance Room. On her way down the hallway I grin as she opens the dining-room door and looks briefly at the piano. I watch as a broad smile washes over her face and in that moment she looks like a naughty child, planning mi
schief. My mother once said that that is what Penelope and Victoria both are. Naughty children who were so hurt when they were little, they never really grew up. I return to the Penance Room and sit in my usual seat, watching the sun through the stained-glass window. Streams of coloured light make odd patterns on the floor and look like spotlights shining down from the heavens. I watch the light dance slowly across the wooden floor and illuminate the pews. I look up and notice that Iren is staring straight at me and smiling an odd smile. She gets up and painfully makes her way across the room. Victoria and Mina are sitting together quietly and they watch with interest as Iren stops at my pew and touches my face lovingly. They look at each other and back at Iren who looks quite beautiful and young in the sunlight.
“Jacob,” she says quietly and as the light changes and moves away she returns to her chair and closes her eyes tightly.
Mina leans in closer to Victoria and says, “I think this poor lady has lost her mind.” Victoria nods even though she probably doesn’t know what is going on. I am overcome by sadness and I rise quickly, wiping my tears in my shirt.
A sudden blast of hot air tells me that someone has come in the front door and I wipe my tears quickly. I come out onto the hallway and see Aishling with sunburnt legs walking down the hallway with Steve. They are both smiling and I think my day cannot get any worse.
“Fancy a beer?” she says, looking back and shaking her long curls in his direction.
“Sure,” he says in his easygoing manner that has begun to annoy me.
I have never been light-hearted. I wouldn’t know how.
Aishling opens the screen door and directs Steve to the back garden where they sit on the bench at the back of the house. I race upstairs and go into my room to watch their conversation. I blush as I see her midriff showing and I can see Steve looking at her the way my father sometimes looks at my mother. I have a sudden urge to use my voice, to shout out my window for him to go away. I only wanted Steve to come here and help me. I didn’t plan on him taking over. But I lose courage and simply watch their words. Aishling is tearing the label off the beer bottle and smiling at Steve. I can tell that this is not her first beer today and that she and Steve had probably been drinking before they came home. She starts to tell him about Father Francis and the letter she received that morning. Her expression changes and she looks sad.
When she finishes the story Steve, who has been listening carefully, says, “So, you feel sorry for his lost opportunities?”
Aishling takes a deep breath in. “I suppose, but it’s more than that. Someone else made a decision for him that ruined his life and he sits in there now day in and day out. He doesn’t really know what’s going on. He had a breakdown years ago and he’s been in care ever since. It’s just . . . it just seems unfair that none of what happened was his fault, that someone else made decisions that affected the rest of his life.”
Steve moves in closer and moves a long bang of hair from Aishling’s eyes. He knows that Aishling’s reaction to Father Francis’ situation has something to do with her own reasons for being here. I can see him thinking about his response, waiting for the right moment.
“You know, I was once a priest,” he says seriously and watches while Aishling’s mouth opens in shock.
But she suddenly starts to laugh. She leans forward and places her head in her hands, concealing her face. I can see her shoulders rise and fall quickly and know that she is laughing hysterically. Steve starts chuckle too although he doesn’t know why Aishling has reacted the way she has. I do because I have read her letters. She sits up and looks at him. There are tears in her eyes and her face has changed to a look of half amusement and half despair.
She looks up towards the sky and says, “God, what is it with me and priests?”
Steve is interested and motions for her to continue and so for the first time I see her tell the story of how she came to be here. A story my mother knows a little about and I know because of my snooping.
Aishling takes another swig of her bottle and looks cautiously at Steve. She is not drunk enough to make a fool of herself.
“So this is like a confession?” she jokes but I know what is worrying her. She is worried that her story will get out. Steve makes a mock Sign of the Cross and I see her stiffen on the hard wooden bench.
There is a pause and then she begins.
“When I was sixteen I was involved in the local parish folk group. You know, guitar-playing Holy Marys and that sort of thing.”
Steve didn’t know but he beckoned for her to go on.
“Well, most of the girls in the parish met their husbands that way. It was all so civilised and I only joined because my mother signed me up for it. I was a bit wild. Not doing well at school, hanging around the football pitch with my brothers and their friends. I only joined because if I didn’t sort myself out, my parents were going to send me to an all-girl’s boarding school.”
Aishling’s expression becomes more serious and she looks down at the beer bottle and sighs. I can see her eyes water and her long throat swallow, trying perhaps to push back painful memories.
“My parents had it all worked out for me. Nursing training after leaving school. My mother was a nurse. Marriage to a policeman or if I got lucky, a doctor. I was suffocating. It was such a double standard. They encouraged my brothers to travel after university, to see the world. There was no mention of marriage for them. They were free to see what the world had to offer them but for me, well, it was safer to see me married off to a nice man with a good salary who would look after me. The nursing training was for insurance if I couldn’t manage that. There were such rows at home and all over me. If I’d had a sister maybe there would have been someone to share the pressure with but with three brothers who could do no wrong, well, I rebelled any chance I got. But the threat of the boarding school quietened me for a while anyway. I couldn’t have coped with that. Despite my behaviour I was – well, I was a sensitive girl really – deep down anyway. So I went to the folk group and sang at Mass. After a few months a new curate came to our town.”
Aishling blushes a little and Steve smiles. He is trying to make it easier for her.
“He was good-looking – an awful waste, some of my friends said. He was nice to me. He was nine years older and of course I fell in love with someone I could not have. I started going to confession and if I got the parish priest I would wait in line again in the hope that I could be alone with the curate.”
Aishling reddens again. She tries to stand up but Steve grabs her arm and prevents her from fleeing.
“I just need another beer,” she says but he gives her that intense gaze of his and smiles so sweetly at her that I can almost see her knees weaken as she sits back down.
“What happened next?” he asks.
“I – I chased after him. I spent as much of my time as possible at the church. I even helped my mother with the flowers for Mass on Sunday, something I wouldn’t have been caught dead doing beforehand. I knew he was attracted to me and sometimes I’d think he was trying to avoid being alone with me. He’d seem nervous when I approached him with a question after Sodality Group. Oh, I joined that too, a bible study group that met each Wednesday evening. His stand-offish ways only made me want him more. I was stupid and reckless and sitting here now, so many years later, I cannot understand what made me the way I was. I thought it was a game. I’d chase him and he’d finally succumb to my charms.” She sighed. “You know, I‘ve never told anyone the whole story. You have . . . a strange effect on me.”
Steve doesn’t answer and she continues.
“Well, it went on that way until he’d break out in a sweat at the sight of me.”
“That could have been your beauty. Perhaps he was struggling with his vocation?”
Aishling looks down at her empty bottle and an expression of guilt spreads over her face. “No. I – I think he was afraid of me. Anyway, during the summer, there was a retreat for some of the town’s disadvantaged children. I put my
name forward as a volunteer. Not because I wanted to see these kids get away for a few days but because I wanted a chance to be alone with him. There were four other volunteers, one lad and three girls who I knew at school. The girls and I shared a large dorm room in an old convent with the twelve little girls on retreat while Neil, the male volunteer, slept in with the boys. There were about six boys, all rough young lads who were hard to manage. Peter, Father Kearns, slept in a room on his own. In the day, we were supposed to teach the kids prayers and also to bring them out on walks through the countryside. I hated every minute of the day and spent my time day dreaming of – well – you know.”
Steve tries to stop himself from smiling. “It’s all right. I won’t judge you.”
Aishling doesn’t respond and continues to look at the brown bottle in her hand.
“What happened next?”
“On the last night we had a barbeque or at least we tried to. It rained heavily so we had to abandon it and run inside. We were all soaked. We put the kids to bed and sat around talking about life. One by one the others drifted off to bed. Peter was quiet all night. He kept clearing his throat and looking at me with my wet hair and blouse. I knew that this would be the only chance I got so when he excused himself and went to bed I followed him into his room and sat on the end of his bed. I can still remember my heart beating so loudly. He sat up and asked me what I wanted. I . . . I told him that I loved him and wanted to be with him. I leant forward and kissed him quickly. Then he looked at me with . . . with such disgust . . . I . . . anyway, he jumped up and asked me to leave. I was so embarrassed. I said, ‘You led me on . . . you made me think you liked me.’ He denied it. He said yes, I was a beautiful girl and that as a man of course he had noticed me but that he had devoted his life to God. He asked me to leave the room. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life. I ran from the room and cried my eyes out in the dorm. Margaret, one of the volunteers, asked me what was wrong but I couldn’t tell her what I’d done, what a fool I’d made of myself so I said I had a bad stomach ache.
