A Week in Winter(22)

Nuala said nothing.

So Carmel decided to finish. ‘We will always be ready. And he needs to be a son again. That’s all I wanted to say, really.’ She hardly dared to look Nuala in the eye. She had gone too far.

The woman was not well. She lived in a world of her own. All Carmel had done was to annoy her and upset her further.

But she thought that the lined, strained face had changed slightly. Nuala still said nothing but she definitely looked less tense, her hands didn’t grip the edge of the table so hard.

Was this fanciful, or was it real?

Carmel knew she had already said more than enough. She would not speak any more. She sat very still for what seemed a very long time but was probably only a minute or two. Around them, the wedding party was singing ‘Stand By Your Man’.

Rigger came towards them.

‘They’ll be going in a few minutes, do you want some confetti to throw?’ he asked.

Now Carmel realised that Nuala’s face had changed. She was definitely looking at the eager, happy face of her son with different eyes. It was as if she could see that this was not someone she had destroyed but a proud, happy man secure in himself and steady as a rock.

‘Sit down for a minute, Rigger, knowing Nasey it will be hours before they get going.’

‘Sure.’ He was surprised and pleased.

‘I was just wondering who was looking after Rosie and Macken tonight?’ she asked.

‘Chicky and Miss Queenie. They have our mobile number. Chicky rang an hour ago to say they were all asleep except herself – Miss Queenie, the twins, Gloria . . .’

‘Gloria?’

‘The cat. She’s a heavy sleeper.’

‘The cat wouldn’t sleep in the pram?’ Nuala looked anxious.

‘No, Gloria’s much too lazy to get up to that height. Anyway, they’re watched all the time.’

‘Good, good.’

‘Chicky wanted to know how it was all going,’ Rigger said.

‘And what did you tell her?’ His mother was actually asking a question, looking for information.

‘I said it was a great wedding,’ Rigger reported.

‘Will you be talking to her again tonight?’ Nuala wondered.

‘Oh, you can be sure we will. This is the first night we’ve ever left them,’ Carmel said.

‘Could you say to her that she’s to keep a sharp eye on them, and to tell them that I’ll be coming to see them myself before too long? I’ve just got a few medical things to sort out but then I’ll be there.’

Rigger struggled for the words. He was determined not to break the mood. This was not a time for hugs and tears.

‘And won’t they be so pleased to hear that, Mam,’ he said. ‘So very pleased.’

Just then there was a rush to the door. The bride and groom really were leaving.

Carmel looked at Nuala. She wanted to tell her that with those words she had made her son feel complete.

But there was no need. Nuala knew.





Orla

When Orla was ten they got a new teacher in St Anthony’s Convent. She was Miss Daly, she had long red hair and she wasn’t remotely afraid of the nuns or Father Johnson or the parents, who were demanding that the girls get first-class honours and scholarships to university. She taught them English and history and she made everything interesting. The girls were all mad about her and wanted to be just like her when they grew up.

Miss Daly had a racing bicycle and could be seen flying across cliff roads pedalling madly. They must all take exercise, she told them, otherwise they would end up as little wizened old ladies crawling around. If they were fitter they would have more fun. Suddenly the girls of St Anthony’s became fitness freaks. Miss Daly had an early-morning dance exercise class and they all turned up eager for new routines.

Miss Daly told them that they were very foolish to resist the computer skills classes, this was the future, this would be their passport out of a dreary life. And even the noisy, troublesome pupils like Orla and her friend Brigid O’Hara listened and thought it made sense. They became part of the fundraising drive to get more computers for the school.

Their parents had mixed feelings about Miss Daly. They were glad, and indeed astounded, that she had such an effect on the children and was able to control them like no other teacher had even begun to do. On the other hand, Miss Daly wore very short shorts on her racing bike; she was almost too healthy, with wet hair and a just-out-of-the-sea look in all seasons. She drank pints in the local pubs, which women didn’t usually do.

It was reported that one elderly bar owner had hesitated before pulling a pint for her, saying that ladies didn’t normally get served in this manner. Miss Daly is meant to have said politely that he would pour the pint or deal with a complaint to the Equality Commission, whichever he preferred, and he poured the pint.

Miss Daly was not seen regularly at Sunday Mass but she put in more hours at that school than any other staff member had ever done. She was there half an hour before lessons began with her dance exercise class, and after the bell went at four o’clock she was there in the computer room helping and encouraging. A generation of girls in St Anthony’s became confident with Miss Daly as their role model. She told them there was nothing they couldn’t do and they believed her utterly.

When Orla was in her last year, Miss Daly announced that she was leaving St Anthony’s, leaving Stoneybridge. She told everyone, including the nuns, that she had met a fabulous young man called Shane from Kerry. He was twenty-one and trying to set up a garden centre. He was quite gorgeous, twelve years younger than her and besotted with her. She thought she’d help Shane put his garden centre on the map.