The Body at Ballytierney

by Noreen Wainwright

  “Mam, you haven’t answered me. Will you take me with you, to see Daddy, tonight?”

  “Not tonight, Elizabeth.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake. I’ve built up the courage to go, and now you treat me like a child, I want to see him. He’s my father.” Her voice wavered at the last few words and her face wobbled.

  “Elizabeth. It isn’t that I don’t want you to go with me. That’s not it at all. The whole thing is a shock to him as much as anyone else. He’s very…” She hesitated. It was so difficult to find the word to describe the state that he was in. She was back in her usual role again of trying to appease everyone and maintain everyone’s view of the world. For a moment, she wondered whether all that protecting was a waste of time, whether you couldn’t, in the end, save and protect everyone and by trying to do so, you might even make everything worse. It was difficult to change, though.

  She put an arm around Elizabeth’s rigid shoulders.

  “I’ll speak to him tonight. I’ve also got an appointment to see the doctor who is looking after Daddy. It’s good of him to stay and see me.”

  She couldn’t start telling Elizabeth about the other worries, not at the moment. Frank was at an expensive private clinic, St. Martin’s. So far, there had been no mention of money, and she had an idea that the bank might meet the expenses – for now. One of the jobs she’d set herself for today was to ring head office and speak to the man in charge of personnel. He was called Andrew Higgins and couldn’t have been nicer. It had given her a boost. He’d reassured her that Frank had many years of good service behind him and that the bank would keep his position open and continue to pay his salary for the next few months. It had been hugely reassuring, but Gerry wasn’t going to be too lulled. All the goodwill in the world would only last so long. Things would change. In the bank, young Cooney might well gain confidence, and do a good job. Frank might no longer be seen as indispensable.

  “Try not to think too far ahead,” Father Stephen told her when he called around for a cup of tea yesterday. “You’ll drive yourself mad.” He put his two hands up to his forehead.

  “Sorry, a stupid thing to say.”

  “It isn’t a stupid thing to say. I can’t tell you the relief to be able to talk to someone, Father Stephen. I haven’t been out much, just on the bus to do a bit of shopping and people almost crossed the street to avoid me.” She despised the forlorn tone in her voice. It was true.

  One of her worst traits was the tendency to bear grudges, and she would forever remember the couple of decent people who had treated her normally. Maggie, the priest’s housekeeper was one and Helen Brosnan. Unfortunately, she’d probably remember the ones whose eyes had looked away from her and whose words had been stilted when they had brought themselves to utter anything.

  “People probably don’t mean to make you feel bad, Gerry. It’s more about them than it is about you and Frank. It is a big mystery, anything to do with the mind. It frightens people.”

  He smiled.

  It was one good thing to come out of Frank’s breakdown. Father Stephen had come to the house a few times for a cup of tea, and he was becoming one of the few people in the town she saw as a friend. All those people they socialised with through Frank’s connections and Frank’s job. Unbelievably, none of them had telephoned. That had been hurtful, but in a strange way, it had focused Gerry’s mind. All her thinking had become clearer, and now, she didn’t even pretend to herself any more that those people were friends.

  Now, out of the blue, Elizabeth was crying. It was like a sudden summer squall breaking through her brave front. See, Gerry told herself. This isn’t all about you finding your inner strength and discovering who your friends really are. Elizabeth was suffering, at least some of the time, though she still had the young person’s ability to shake off the gloom in seconds.

  “He will get better, Elizabeth and something else will happen in the town that will take people’s attention away from the O’Sullivan family, and this will be what people call, ’a nine-days’ wonder.”

  Elizabeth smiled and wiped her eyes with a really childish handkerchief that belied her persona as a woman of the world.

  Gerry wasn’t sure she believed her own strong words. It probably would fade into the background, Frank’s public breakdown and hospitalisation, but it would take a while. There was also the stigma of mental illness and the unbelievable ignorance of many on the subject. Father Stephen was probably right, and it may well be their own fear, but knowing that didn’t make too much difference.

  She hadn’t told Elizabeth, but tonight she was getting a lift to Cork with Derek Cooney. He had telephoned, and her admiration for his sincerity made her agree when he asked if she would like a visit and if it would be all right for him to visit too. He was the first apart from herself and Father Stephen. Frank’s only brother lived in Edinburgh, his father was long-dead before he even met Gerry and old Mrs. O’Sullivan was confused and lived with another elderly sister, though one who was less frail and sharper in her mind. Gerry hadn’t got around to telling them yet. Neither had she telephoned Frank’s brother, but it was something that was nagging her –another thing to be dealt with.

  She took a chance and decided to take Derek Cooney in with her without asking Frank. Even a week ago she would be never have done such a thing. She had a feeling that there would be a lot of firsts in the months to come. She had already looked in the telephone directory for driving instructors. Some people just got behind the wheel, and off they went, but she wanted to do it right—not to give Frank, or anyone else…who was she kidding? Not to give Frank the satisfaction of failing. Mind you, that was the old Frank. The man who shambled down to the day-room with her now, when she visited St. Martin’s wouldn’t notice whether she drove or not. Her stomach lurched at that frightening thought. It was as though the roof of their solid Basil Row house blew off in a storm, leaving her exposed and cold and not knowing what to do.

  * * *

  Maggie sought out a minute where she could take young Father Tom aside and try one more time to talk to him. If she didn’t hurry, either she or he would have left the parochial house, and the opportunity would have gone. That made her uneasy. She couldn’t put her finger on the cause of that unease. What was she frightened of? Was it possible that she was using this as a diversion from her own looming dilemmas?

  She wouldn’t feel any better until she’d had the meeting with the writer of the letter. Sometimes, the thought that Reggie might be alive after all these years was beyond ridiculous. It would take some explaining. In fact, it would make a good plot for a film or novel. Her other dilemma was just as urgent, more so, perhaps. She needed to find a job and a place to live. Her mind kept returning to Conwy and her life there. But, was going back ever a good idea?

  On her third day back in the parochial house, she was baking with the wireless on—there was a play on, and apart from the nagging worry that was always with her at the moment, she was relaxed. Baking was soothing. You couldn’t rush it, and the smell was comforting. She tried to make herself forget the temporary nature of her present way of life and just appreciate the moment. Her mother used to have a saying. “God is good, and Jack is earning.” That had always made her smile–the serious prayer or wish lightened by the practical note.

  She had her health and strength and a few steadfast friends. The canon came into her kitchen at an interesting part of her radio programme and the second she saw his face, she could tell the mood he was in.

  “Father Tom missed a meeting this morning at the school. They telephoned me…” Maggie had heard the phone and had been on the point of going out to the hall when the ringing had stopped. Breaking his normal habit, the canon had answered it himself

  “Have you seen him, at all?”

  “I’m, do you know, I’m not sure…Let me think for a moment…”

  She began kneading out the bread, the dough pliable and good to touch.

  “Surely to goodness, you should know whether you
saw him? I’m not asking you about something that happened a month ago.”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked at him, and he dropped his gaze. Just for a minute, he’d forgotten all about what had happened in the past few days, and it probably cost him to back down, but he did,

  “It doesn’t matter, Maggie. I’ll let you get on with your baking.”

  “I did see him, briefly, Canon. It was as I was going out to Mass. I remember thinking that he was going off without having a bite to eat.”

  “That’s a couple of hours ago, around the time he should have been leaving for the school. Wherever on earth has he gone to?”

  He left without waiting for her to answer, and Maggie continued with the bread, trying to think whether there had been anything different about the young priest, anything to indicate that he had either forgotten about the meeting or ignored it, which seemed very unlikely. He’d be too frightened of the canon to do such a thing. Or, would he? He had changed almost beyond recognition since he’d been taken into the barracks. Maggie wondered if she really knew him at all. That was stupid. She knew that he hadn’t killed Simon Crowe.

  His mother had come to see Maggie one last time before going back home.

  “Are you glad you came to spend a few days with Tom?” Maggie had asked Deirdre Lally, feeling foolish as she did so. What she really wanted to ask was why was she going back so soon. She had no other children or grandchildren, and she no longer worked, so what was her hurry to leave Ballytierney?

  She enlightened Maggie.”I don’t feel there was a lot of point in me coming.”

  Maggie opened her mouth to contradict her, but reconsidered.

  “He’s very closed off. It’s as clear as crystal that there’s something very amiss, but he made it obvious that he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  Maggie’s heart had beat faster, but she said it, anyway. “Do you think it could be something to do with his adoption?”

  For a heart-stopping few seconds, Maggie thought she’d over-stepped the mark.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Look, Deirdre, I’m sorry if I have spoken out of turn. But something has happened, something is very much disturbing him. I wondered…if it was something relating to his past, wouldn’t he be very slow to talk to you about it. He’d be nervous of upsetting you. I suppose you could argue that you’d be the last person he could talk to about it.”

  “So, you think this man who died had some connection with Tom, with him as a child? And that he told him?

  “I don’t think I had thought it out to that extent. My own mind is muddled, but it’s one of the few things I could see having such an effect on him … and there’s something else.”

  “Yes?”

  She hadn’t offended Deirdre Lally, not at all. But, Tom’s mother’s jaw was taut, and she’d pulled the cuffs of her cardigan down over her hands.

  “I was talking to Mary Crowe. That’s the widow, Simon Crowe’s widow.”

  “And she said something about Tom?”

  Deirdre was frowning. She looked so vulnerable that Maggie hurried in. “I’m sorry, Deirdre. I’d say I’m not making a lot of sense at all, here, am I? She didn’t talk about your Tom, like that. Not directly, apart from saying that he’d been very good to her husband and had made a favourable impression on him. I got the feeling Simon Crowe hadn’t a lot of time for the church despite being well-in with the canon, here, in the past.”

  Maggie had lost that urge to be discreet, keep her mouth shut at all costs. Maybe it came from having more or less been put on notice, or putting herself on notice. It was liberating, the feeling that she had burnt her boats and even if the canon walked in on them now, she didn’t care.

  “She mentioned about girls having babies back in the past and it all being kept secret and the babies being taken away for adoption How everything was hushed up.”

  “Do you believe her? It sounds farfetched to me, Maggie. Even if there was some truth in that, it’s a big stretch to thinking that all this is connected to Tom. We’re from Kerry, over the border in Kerry. There are lots of children put up for adoption.”

  What could you say to her? It was true, the connection, if there was one, was tenuous. Many children in Ireland went for adoption. What she said about her Tom being adopted in Kerry didn’t mean a lot. Throw a stone hard enough in a part of Cork, and it would go over the border to the neighbouring county.

  “One good thing, my husband insisted on was that we had the phone put in. Would it be all right if I telephoned you and asked about Tom? I’ll write to him, of course, but that isn’t the same. I wish he would ask the canon if he could take a bit of holiday and come home with me for a few weeks. I mentioned it, but he wouldn’t hear of it, told me he was far too busy here.”

  “Of course, you can telephone me, and I will ring you too, if there’s anything out of the normal or if I’m concerned about him. Try not to worry too much, Deirdre. He’s among friends here, you know. Your son is well-liked and respected.”

  Deirdre smiled and once again, Maggie noticed how young she looked when her face was animated. She was the ideal mother, warm and didn’t seem like she would rush to judge. It must be serious indeed if she was the one person Tom couldn’t bring himself to talk to.

  After Mrs. Lally had left, Maggie had a curious feeling that this was a woman she could become close to. Maybe it was because of Tom, or maybe it was because of her nursing background that Maggie could relate to the other woman. She was most likely mistaken,though; they were unlikely to become friends. The truth was that Deirdre Lally had gone back to Kerry, and more to the point, Maggie would also have left Ballytierney before the month was out.

  It turned out to be a long day, as half-consciously, Maggie was listening for the return of the Morris Minor. The canon, at least, stayed out of her way. She had been meaning to call round to Helen’s, to take her something, just something small to thank her for giving Maggie somewhere to stay and friendship over the last few difficult days.

  Maybe Maggie had been avoiding Helen, though, almost without realising. It wasn’t that Helen would demand a quid pro quo – need the lowdown on Maggie’s life and plans in return for her friendship. That was not Helen. But, all the same, Maggie needed to get a few things straight in her head before she could begin to explain herself to anyone else.

  She had taken a quick look at a few places where priests’ housekeepers or even other kinds of domestic posts might be advertised. There was the Catholic Herald and The Universe and the Ireland’s Own. She’d even gone into the big paper shop by the bank and bought a copy of The Lady.

  She did take them home and sat with a cup of tea as she went through them. The whole thing seemed like an elaborate gesture, though. Somehow, her heart wasn’t in it, and that was worrying because what did that tell her? Did she want to leave the parochial house or not? Did she want to leave Ballytierney or not? Until she straightened a few things out in her own head, there wasn’t a lot of point in her talking to anyone.

  The doorbell made her jump because she was still listening out for Father Tom and for the canon and trying to devise ways keeping the peace between them.

  Of all the people she expected to call around, it wasn’t Mary Crowe. She had on a purple two-piece that bordered on garish, and a stole over her shoulders, which Maggie thought was mink. It had glass eyes and was repulsive.

  “Oh, come in, Mary. Did you want to see the canon?” She led Mary Crowe into the well-polished hallway.

  “Always make sure the wood is shining, and the hall smells of beeswax polish,” the canon said when he took one of his notions to dictate the domestic arrangements of the parochial house.

  “Mmm, the canon? I’m not sure, Maggie. Is he in? I’m not too sure he’ll want to see me.” She gave a short laugh. “I’m not one of his favourite people. Sure, I bet he thinks I’m a right pagan.”

  It was difficult to know what to say to that. “Well, come into the kitchen and have a cup of te
a, with me.”

  Maggie was uncertain. She had spoken to Mary Crowe a few times lately, and they had gone to Kelly’s together, but she couldn’t say she knew her well. Maybe it was because of that phone call the night her husband had been killed. Didn’t they say that sharing an experience like that made a bond between people? Maybe that was it.

  “Are you coping all right, being on your own?” Maggie was turned away from Mary pouring the water into the pot. It was a shock to hear the laugh.

  “I found myself frightened after that first night when I’d persuaded Hannah that I would be all right on my own. I talked more bravely than I felt, I can tell you. But, when I first went out to Rhodesia and when we were living there, I thought nothing at all of living a different sort of life altogether. Much less safe, more rackety; some of the company Simon kept…well, I’ll put it like this…they didn’t need to forces of law and order to settle their arguments. Dog eat dog, isn’t it, they say. But here, in Ballytierney, it’s a closed-off, safe little world, isn’t it, Maggie? Two dogs fighting in the street would nearly make the Cork Examiner.”

  She was talking rapidly. Maggie had noticed that before, that day in Kelly’s. It was as though she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. She must be starved of company out there. Even before her husband had died, he was ill and probably not much company. It was uncanny, as though the other woman had read her thoughts.

  “I lay awake straining my ears at the slightest sound, my heart racing nineteen to the dozen and I gave myself a stern talking to. I said, Mary, for all the defence, Simon could have provided in the last two years, sure you’d have been no better off. And that made me smile to myself. It did the trick. I fell asleep and knew I’d be all right. If I don’t do it now and settle back into Inishowen House as a woman on her own, I never will. I might not stay around here forever, but I’ll leave in my own good time not because I’m driven out of the place by fear.”

  Her words echoed Maggie’s own feelings, so closely that she was tempted just for a tantalising moment to confide in her. But, she pulled back. How well did she know Mary Crowe?