The Christie Affair(13)

‘You make it sound as if Finbarr’s the clever one,’ said Megs. ‘I’d say it’s the dog.’

‘They’re both clever.’ But I knew Finbarr could do the same with any dog. He had a gift.

‘Perhaps I’ll go next summer, too,’ Megs said.

‘Give your sister some competition for this clever Mahoney boy,’ my father said.

My sisters and I had a particular look we exchanged when my father said something ridiculous. We would never fight among ourselves over a boy.

Mum ended the conversation by saying what she always did, speaking to me but looking at Colleen. ‘Don’t you go marrying that Ballycotton boy. I don’t want to have grandchildren I only see but once a year.’

‘Why do you always look at me first?’ Colleen objected. ‘I’d be the last one ever to leave you, Mum.’ She stood up and collected our plates, stopping to give Mum a kiss on the cheek.

That night in our room Colleen said, ‘What if I go with you next summer, to get out of the city? Do you think I’d like it?’

Colleen and I slept in one bed, by the window, Louisa and Megs in another, pressed against the wall. I sat up and said, ‘Oh, you’d love it.’ I started to spill into my usual paeans for Ireland and she clapped a hand over my mouth.

‘Yes, I know,’ she said. ‘It’s sheer heaven. But even heaven’s not for everyone.’

‘Heaven may not be. But Ireland is.’



The following summer I was fifteen. Uncle Jack’s farm was going strong, but not strong enough to pay passage for two of us.

‘I wonder if Colleen should have a turn,’ Mum said, when Da got Jack’s letter. She was tying a bow at her collar, trying to look smart on her way to work at Buttons and Bits.

‘Oh, I’d never take Ireland away from Nan,’ Colleen said quickly, before I even had a chance to turn pale with loss.

‘Just as well,’ Da said. ‘I want this one here where I can see her.’ He tapped her chin fondly but the way Colleen bit her lip I could tell she knew he was only half joking.

The exchange occurred so fast I only realize in the telling of it the debt I owed my sister. Travelling back to Ireland on my own. I must have had my share of doubts and forebodings, during this time in my life, as we do in all times of our lives, even childhood. But what I remember is a beautiful ignorance of everything the future held. Ignorance of the looming war, and how it would permeate all our days to come. Reality wasn’t the newspaper making my uncle’s face crease with worry. Reality was the way the ocean carried through the air I breathed. Reality was the clean white sheets we hung on the clothes line to dry in the sun, so that by the time they got to our beds a hint of brine stayed with them, filling our dreams with waves, rocks and seals. Reality was the black-haired, blue-eyed boy and his dog, travelling over green hills to see me.

‘Nan,’ Aunt Rosie called. It was morning. I had just come downstairs and was tying my apron on to help her with the boxty. ‘Finbarr Mahoney’s out front. He’s wanting you to ride with him.’

‘May I go?’

‘Sure you may.’ As much as my mother hated the idea of my one day moving to Ireland, her sister-in-law loved it. ‘Jack’s got errands in town so there’s no work with him today. You can ride Angela. Let Finbarr take Jack’s horse. Be home in time to help me with supper. And take Seamus with you.’

The three of us rode half a mile down the road, towards the shore. Alby trotted beside us. Finbarr drew his horse to a stop and pulled tuppence from his pocket. He sailed the coin over to Seamus. It was a good toss but Seamus missed it. He had to struggle down from his horse to collect it off the road.

‘There’s a good lad,’ Finbarr said. ‘Go off on your own, will you? We’ll meet you here in a few hours.’

Seamus tossed the coin back to Finbarr. He was only twelve but knew he’d been sent along as my chaperone. ‘I think I’ll be staying,’ my cousin said, and climbed back on his horse.

Finbarr laughed. He clucked and his horse took off, galloping towards Ballywilling Beach. I understood I was meant to follow, the two of us outrunning my cousin, but Seamus was a stalwart sort and he saw through this plan. He had also been practically born in the saddle and was a much better rider than Finbarr, who’d never had his own horse, or me, who’d only learned to ride two years ago. So, as Aunt Rosie envisioned, it was the three of us, riding in a group, sandpipers and plovers rising into the sky to get out of our way. Clouds overhead moved aside to let the sun through. I would have betrayed my mother in an instant, taking myself and future children away from London, across the sea, to live on these shores forever.

‘The tide’s out,’ Finbarr said, as my horse came to walk abreast of his. ‘We can pick across the tide pools from one beach to the next.’

Horse hooves clipped over tiny pebbles and dipped into the salty water. Alby splashed through the waves, porpoising through the deeper shallows. We climbed off the horses and Finbarr showed me some whistles he’d been working on as commands. Seamus stayed on his horse, a polite distance, eyes on us.

‘Here,’ Finbarr said, trying to teach me to whistle. He cupped his hand around my chin, pushing my lips into a pucker.

I tried to release the same sharp-noted whistle that had made Alby run forward, then backtrack in a wide circle. But the saddest little bit of breath came out.