A Week in Winter(83)

But old habits die hard.

Irene felt that you could not be someone’s assistant and bad-mouth them to others. She said nothing at all about her upsetting encounter with Miss Howe. She assured Fiona that she felt strong enough now to get her bus home, but at that very moment a man called Dingo arrived at the house delivering topsoil and trays of bedding plants. The Carrolls were going to have a gardening weekend, they told Irene. The boys were going to have a flower bed each.

‘Dingo will drop you home, Miss O’Connor,’ Fiona insisted, ‘it’s on his way.’

Dingo was perfectly happy with this suggestion.

‘They’re a delightful family,’ Irene said to him as she settled into his van. ‘Are you a family man yourself, Dingo?’

‘No, I’ve always been a believer in travelling solo,’ he said. ‘Believe me, Miss O’Connor, not every marriage is as good as Fiona and Declan’s. Some of the couples you meet are like lightning devils. You never married yourself then?’

‘No, Dingo, I didn’t. I did have a chance once but he was a gambler and I was afraid, and then my mother needed me, so here I am.’ She realised she sounded defeated, which was not her normal response. Miss Howe had done this to her today.

Dingo drove on, unconcerned.

‘My uncle Nasey is just the same. He says he fancied someone years back but missed his chance. He’s always asking me to look out for someone in their forties for him. Are you in your forties, Miss O’Connor?’

‘Just about,’ Irene said. ‘Don’t ask me next year. I’d have to say no.’

‘Right, I’ll tell him about you now before it gets too late,’ Dingo promised.

Irene went home and prepared the supper. She never mentioned the events of the day to her mother or to Kenny. They could have no idea that all Irene’s work for Miss Howe had been dismissed in one cold, cruel sentence.

Nor did they know that at the very moment they sat down to supper, efforts to find Irene a husband were under way. Dingo had called to see his uncle Nasey with the news that there was a very pleasant woman of forty-nine on the market. And he was so convincing, so persuasive, that Uncle Nasey was very interested in finding out more about Irene . . .

Over the next few weeks, the teachers at Wood Park School noticed that something about Irene had changed. She became shruggy rather than eager when they tried to discuss what kind of leaving ceremony they could arrange for Miss Howe, and what gift should be chosen.

‘I don’t think it matters, really,’ Irene would say, and change the subject. Possibly she was worried about her position there, they thought. Maybe the next Principal would want to choose her own assistant.

Irene continued to do her work as reliably as always but without any warmth and enthusiasm. If Miss Howe noticed, she gave no sign of having seen anything amiss. Irene stopped serving tea and biscuits at awkward meetings. She retrieved the little kalanchoe, fed it plant food and nursed it back to glowing health in her own office. Gone were the days when Irene would tell cheerful tales of the world she lived in.

But now Irene had a social life of which Miss Howe was totally unaware. Nasey had called, and said that his eejit of a nephew had spoken very highly of her, and perhaps she might accompany him to the cinema on the odd occasion. Then they went bowling and to a singing pub. His real name was Ignatius, he explained, and at least it was better than being called Iggy, which another lad at school had been named. He worked in a butcher’s shop for a Mr Malone, who was the most decent man ever to wear shoe leather.

He took to calling at Irene’s house and bringing best lamb chops, or a lovely pork steak. Irene’s mother Peggy loved him and lost no opportunity to tell him what a wonderful woman Irene was.

‘I know that, Mrs O’Connor. You don’t have to sell her to me. I’m hooked already,’ he said, and Peggy was pink with pleasure about it all.

Nasey came from the West of Ireland and had little family of his own in Dublin. He had two nephews: Dingo Irene had met already; he drove a van and did odd jobs for people. There was his sister, Nuala, and there was his sister’s boy, Rigger, who had been unfortunate in his life and spent a lot of time at reform school. He’d been sent away to the West of Ireland, and it looked as though he’d fallen on his feet over there. He had found a nice girl, grew vegetables and kept chickens. He had a job as a sort of manager for a place that was just setting up; a kind of small Big House, if you could understand that. It was perched on a cliff and the view would take the sight out of your eyes. Nasey promised that one day he would drive Irene and her mother to see the whole set-up. They’d love it.

Kenny liked having Nasey around too, and was always on hand to keep an eye on his gran if the two lovebirds, as he called them, wanted to go out on the town.

Then, just before the end of term, after six months of courtship, Nasey proposed to Irene. A small wedding was planned, and when she told him, Kenny offered to give his aunt away. But Irene had something else on her mind. She waited until Peggy had gone to bed.

‘I have something to tell you, Kenny,’ Irene began.

‘I’ve always known,’ he said simply. ‘I knew you were my mother when I was nine.’

‘Why did you never say?’ She was astounded.

‘It never mattered. I knew you’d always be there.’

‘Do you want to ask me anything?’ Her voice was small and she started to cry.