A Week in Winter(89)

‘Did you get into trouble again?’ Miss Howe’s lips were pursed as if she had expected him to go to the bad.

‘I met all the fellows I used to know. They were all doing well but not legit, if you know what I mean. They said it was dead easy and you couldn’t get caught. But my uncle Nasey put the fear of God into me. He thought I should get a fresh start in the country. I didn’t want that at all. I was afraid of cows and sheep, and it was very dull compared to Dublin. But my mam had lived here when she was young, and she said she had loved it.’

‘Why did she leave then?’ Miss Howe hated grey areas.

‘She got into trouble, and the man wouldn’t marry her.’

‘And did she bring you back here?’

‘No, she has never been back herself but she is coming. Soon, as it happens.’

The market was busy. Miss Howe watched as Rigger sold eggs and cheese made from goats’ milk. He heaved bags of vegetables out of the back of his van and carried large amounts of meat back into it, ready for the freezer. He bought two little ducks, which he said would be pets for the children rather than food for Chicky’s table.

He seemed to know everyone he met. People asked about Chicky Starr, about Rigger’s children, about Orla. Then Rigger had to call on his wife’s family and drop in some eggs and cheese. Miss Howe said she’d stay in the van.

‘They’ll offer me tea and apple tart,’ he said.

‘Well then, eat it and drink it, Rigger. Leave me to my thoughts.’ She watched people looking out the window of the farmhouse, but she had no intention of going into a small, stuffy kitchen and making small talk with strangers.

As an outing it was hardly a success, but Chicky was grateful to Rigger.

‘Did you learn anything about her?’ she asked.

‘A bit, but it was like the confessional of the van. She probably regrets having told me.’

‘Let it rest, so,’ said Chicky.

The following day, Miss Howe called on Carmel in Rigger’s house at the end of the garden. Carmel, knowing of the situation, welcomed her more warmly than she might have if left to her own devices. She introduced Miss Howe to the babies, who smiled and burbled good-naturedly; together they went to see the rabbits, the tortoise and the new ducks, who were called Princess and Spud.

Miss Howe drank tea from a mug and refused to be drawn into giving any praise for Stone House or for the holiday in general. Carmel struggled on, even when Miss Howe lectured her on the merits of learning poetry by rote.

Suddenly Miss Howe asked to look through what books Carmel and Rigger had in their library.

‘We’re not really the kind of people who’d have a library,’ Carmel began.

‘Well then, what a poor example you will be giving your children,’ Miss Howe snapped.

‘We will do the best we can.’

‘Not if you have no dictionary, no atlas, no poetry books. How are they going to see the point of learning if there is no sign of learning in the home?’

‘They’ll go to school,’ Carmel said defensively.

‘Yes, that’s it, leave everything to the school, and then blame them when things go wrong.’

Miss Howe’s tone was hectoring. It was as if she were speaking to a disobedient child in her school rather than a kindly woman who had tried to help her to enjoy her holiday.

‘We wouldn’t blame the school; we’re not like that.’

‘But what have you to offer them? What is the point in anything unless the next generation get a good grounding and a proper start? You don’t want them ending up uneducated and in a reform school like your husband.’

Carmel could take it no longer.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Howe, but I cannot have you insult my husband like this. If he told you about his past, and he must have because Chicky wouldn’t have told you, then he did so in confidence, not to have it hurled back at us in accusation.’ Carmel was aware that her voice was sounding shrill, but she couldn’t help herself. What was wrong with this woman?

‘I’m sorry but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Now. I’m too upset, and I’ll say something I might regret. I know nothing about you or your life and why you are so horrible to everyone, but someone should have shouted stop long, long, long ago.’

Without warning, Miss Howe’s face crumpled. Suddenly, she put her head down on the table and cried so hard her whole body shook.

Carmel was astonished. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do, but then she tried to put a comforting hand round Miss Howe’s shoulder.

Stiffly, Miss Howe brushed it aside. There were two spots of red on her long, pale face.

Carmel made a fresh pot of tea and then sat down in front of her unwanted guest and gazed at her in silence.

Slowly, hesitantly at first, Miss Howe started to talk.

‘It was 1963. I was eleven; Martin was eight. There were just the two of us. President Kennedy came to Ireland that year, and we all went out to line the route to see him.’

This was all unreal, Miss Howe talking about her private life fifty years ago.

‘I remembered that we hadn’t locked the downstairs windows at home. That was my job. The house was empty. Dad was at work, and my mother was going to her sister’s and they were very strict about locking up. So even though I didn’t want to, I had to leave the grand place I had and run home. In the house I heard noises like someone was being hurt, so I ran upstairs and my mother and a man were on the bed, naked. I thought he was killing her and I tried to drag him away . . . and then my mother went down on her knees to me and begged me not to tell my father. She said she’d be good to me for the rest of my life if I would keep this little secret between us, and the man was getting dressed and she kept saying, “Don’t go, Larry. Nell understands. She’s a big, grown-up girl of eleven. She knows what to do.” And I ran out of the house and I telephoned my dad at work and said to come back quick because a man called Larry was hurting my mother and she wanted me to keep it a secret and he came home and . . .’