An Irish Country Love Story (39 page)

She pointed to a shelf bearing a row of four mugs, each decorated with the coat of arms of the British royal family. “They give all the schoolchildren—I was just ten then—that one of Edward VII in 1902 for his crowning, way before Lewis and me got married. Since we got wed, we've seen two kings come and go, and our queen, Elizabeth, have her coronation in 1953. That was on the telly. It was dead on, so it was, all them dukes and earls and thon great big woman, Queen Salote of Tonga. It was coming down in stair rods in London and yet there she was, riding in an open carriage, smiling and waving. She was grand, so she was.”

“I remember her,” Barry said.

“I hope Doctor Laverty and I see our fiftieth anniversary,” Sue said.

“Aye, and with plenty of bairns too,” Lewis said. “Not just the one, like us.”

Barry frowned and said, “Is it fun being a father, Mister Miller?”

Lewis Miller reached out to take his wife's hand and nodded. “Next to being wed to my Gracie, it was the greatest thing in my life. Our Joy lived up to her name right and proper, so she did. At first we was puzzled, you know, that there was no weans. Then after a couple of years we went til see Doctor Flanagan and he sent us til see Professor Johnstone, him that got a knighthood in 1938, up at the Royal. But no matter what tests the doctors done, they never found out why.”

Unexplained infertility, Barry thought. A frustrating condition with no diagnosis and no logical cure. Today, specialists were using injections of gonadotrophic hormones or the new fertility pill clomiphene citrate, but the results were contradictory. It was hard to tell if any pregnancies were a result of the medications or had simply happened spontaneously. He glanced at Sue and saw her frowning.

“And then, glory be,” Lewis said, “about two weeks shy of her thirty-ninth birthday didn't Gracie get up the spout, and our wee Joy was born in 1931.”

“I'm glad for you both,” Sue said. “I love children. I can't imagine not being a mother one day.”

“Well,” said Lewis, “it's not my place to give a learnèd man advice, but no harm til yiz sir, once you and Miss Nolan's married, don't leave it too late, and if the wee ones do come, make sure you spend time with them. They're only kiddies for a very short time. They grow up quare nor fast.”

“We'll take your advice, won't we, Barry?” Sue said.

Barry thought back to the commitment he'd made on the riverbank at the Nolans' farm three days ago. He still wasn't sure he felt comfortable with the idea of being a father, but Sue was waiting for a response. He had no choice but to smile and agree.

“Now,” said Lewis Miller, “we'll be running along so you can take a good long gander at the place. Just leave the keys on the hall table. I've got the other set. Come on, old girl.” He stood, took his wife's arm, and headed for the front door.

Gracie stopped and with her eyes glistening said, “I'll miss this wee place sore, so I will. So many memories.” She turned and walked slowly away.

Barry heard the front door close.

“What a lovely couple,” Sue said. “I hope they're making the right decision. Mrs. Miller seems more than a bit cut up about leaving.”

“After fifty years I'm not surprised,” Barry said. “They've spent their entire adult lives in this house. But it sounds like they've got a good situation waiting for them in Portrush, close to their daughter and grandchildren. Now, I think we should get a move on so you can see the rest of the place.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” Sue quickly inspected the kitchen. “Good. Lots of storage space. Nice cooktop, four burners,” she said, opening the oven door. “Good oven. I noticed two Calor Gas liquefied natural gas cylinders outside as we came in. It's efficient and cheap. I like to cook with it.”

Barry, whose only familiarity with a cooker had been with Kinky's great range back at Number One, bowed to Sue's expertise and was delighted that she approved so far. He had fallen more for the private location and the view.

She looked under a shelf. “Now that's a very convenient place for a small refrigerator and it's a Frigidaire—good brand. She peered under the worktop. “Oh-oh.”

Barry frowned. That didn't sound good.

Sue straightened and dusted off her hands. “I think the washing machine must be one of the original Hoover models from the fifties. Top loader, with hoses to attach to the hot and cold taps at the sink. No spin dryer, but with a wringer, and I noticed a clothesline in the back garden.”

Barry relaxed. “I'm sure we could get a more modern one, and maybe a dryer too, if there's room.”

Sue frowned. “They'd need to be rewired and plumbed in.”

Barry chuckled. “Not only did God create woman, he also gave us Donal Donnelly, and if he can't do the jobs himself, he'll find us a good sparks and a plumber. I don't think we need let that put us off.”

She smiled. “It wouldn't have, but it might make a difference to the price we offer. Wiring and plumbing will cost money.”

Barry laughed. “Right enough,” he said, “Broughshane's only a couple of miles or so from Ballymena.”

Sue frowned. “I don't see what that's got to do with getting the price of the house down.”

“They do tell,” Barry said with a grin, “that a Ballymena man would wrestle a bear for a halfpenny. I suppose it applies to Broughshane girls too.”

“You are a buck eejit, Barry Laverty.” She kissed him. “That's one of the reasons I love you. Now, come on, show me the rest.”

He happily stood back while she approved of the bathroom, although she thought the pink fittings looked more 1957 than '67. After looking at the two smaller bedrooms, she announced, “The one at the back of the house will be ideal for a nursery, and then when number two comes along…” Sue hesitated, bit her lower lip. “Barry, how many folks are like the Millers and have trouble getting pregnant?”

It was his turn to pause. The most recent figures suggested the rate was as high as one in ten couples and he didn't want to scare her. “We don't start to worry until they've been trying for at least two years, unless there's something screamingly obvious in the history like the man having had mumps as a teenager, and I haven't, or if the woman has a history of tubal infection…”

Sue shook her head.

“… or irregular or no periods.”

She grinned. “You could have set your calendar by mine even before I went on the pill.”

“I'm sure we've nothing to worry about,” he said. Damn it all, he hoped he'd get the hang of it when the first child was born—in a few years.

“In which case number one will be promoted to the bedroom at the front of the house and number two will get and keep the nursery. Meanwhile, we've room for guests if, for instance, Mum and Dad want to pop up from the farm or your pal Jack Mills wanted to stay. What do you think, Barry?”

He smiled, pleased that his opinion was being sought. Here in rural Ulster, the care and feeding of babies was very much considered to be women's work, and as such it was right that Sue should decide about things like nurseries. But wasn't it typical of her not to take complete charge? To make him feel he had a contribution to make. “Sounds good to me,” he said, “and we'll certainly need that washing machine. I've done my bit of handwashing nappies when I was a student in the Royal Maternity nursery.” He wrinkled his nose.

“I'm told modern mums use disposable ones now,” Sue said.

“Bloody good thing,” Barry said, “because I hear modern dads are expected to help with the changes. At least after RMH, I do know how.” He led her into the biggest bedroom. The bed was newly made and the curtains had been left closed. He decided, for good reason, not to open them. “How do you like this for us?”

“Certainly big enough,” Sue said, “and,” she opened double doors in a built-in wardrobe, “good hanging space, some drawers, but we'll need a dressing table for socks and undies.” She moved to the curtains and began looking for the cord to open them. “I'm sure the Millers wouldn't mind if we—”

Barry moved closer to her, took her hands in his, and said in a low voice, “And what kind of bed would you like in this room, soon-to-be Mrs. Laverty?”

“Well, Doctor Laverty, I'd really love a big old-fashioned brass bedstead, and you in it to wake up to.”

He held her close, kissed her, and said, “I do love you.” He laughed. “But don't you go getting me all hot and bothered. You've a plane to catch and more of the house to see.” Barry had, by stopping her from opening the curtains, deliberately done exactly as Dapper had and kept the best until last. “One more room,” he said, and led her back along the hall. “Ta-da.” He ushered her into the combination living-dining room.

Even practical Sue stopped dead and simply stared through the great picture window with its vista from shore to shore of Belfast Lough and the Antrim Hills interrupted only by one of Kelly's ubiquitous coal boats on its way to discharge its cargo on Bangor's Central Pier. The little vessel was dwarfed by an anchored bulk-carrier.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. She gasped, her green eyes sparkled, and a single tear ran down her cheek. She turned to him. “Barry,” and her voice was barely above a whisper, “I've seen the highheejins' mansions on their own promontories overlooking the Copeland Islands down at Donaghadee, but I've never been in a place with such a lovely view. Never in my whole life. I love it.” She moved to him, nestled in his arm, and held her mouth up to be kissed.

He needed no encouragement. He kissed her long and soundly before letting her go so she could say, “And I love you, Barry. Thank you for finding such a perfect spot.”

“It is, isn't it?” he said. “I knew, as soon as I saw it, I just knew you'd be impressed.” He took her hand and led her out through the front door. A perimeter path of white and black oval stones surrounded a trimmed lawn. The little garden was thirty feet from the house to another low, whitewashed wall. Beyond the wall fifty yards of coarse marram grass stretched to where jagged rocks tumbled fifteen feet to the shore. “Listen,” he said. Only the harsh cries of gulls and the piping of oystercatchers interrupted the regular
swoosh
of rollers tumbling onto the rocks below. All else was silence. No traffic. No chattering people. No transistor radios. She was standing in front of him and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on the top of her head. They stood like that, listening, neither moving. Finally, Sue stirred in his arms.

“Do you remember Nina and Fredrick?” she said softly.

“I do. Wasn't he some kind of baron?”

“He was. From Denmark. They sang this beautiful song,

Listen to the ocean, echoes of a million seashells

Forever it's in motion …

“And it is. I love the sea, Barry. Can you imagine coming home here after a rotten day? Such peace. Look.” She pointed. “What are those birds?”

He saw, bobbing on the waves close to shore, a small flock with black heads, backs, and wings but with white bellies and chests, paddling along and diving from time to time. One surfaced with a tiny silver fish wriggling in its beak.

“Guillemots,” Barry said. “I never knew much about birds until I started taking walks with Fingal. People often mistake them for storm petrels, he says. He's quite the authority on waterfowl.”

Sue listened to their high-pitched piping call. “I think,” she said, “the birds here will make very nice neighbours.”

She looked down, then up. “Here I am picturing us living here, and I haven't even asked how much the Millers are asking for it. Can we afford it?”

He nodded. “Five thousand, but Dapper reckons I could get it for four thousand eight hundred.” He chuckled. “Less the price of fitting a new washing machine, of course. I need a ten-percent down payment and I've shares in a company called Baker Perkins that my grampa left me when I was nine. They're worth more than that now.”

“Oh, Barry. Your grandfather's inheritance. Should you use it?”

“I can't think of a better way,” he said.

“So, you'll buy it,” she said softly.

“No,
I
won't. We will. I want it to be jointly owned.” He was going to say, so that if anything happens to me you'll still own it. But given her dad's recent coronary, he decided to let that hare sit. Sue was satisfied her dad was mending well. Four days had passed since his heart attack, and he no longer required morphine. She had said her cheerios to him during visiting hours yesterday. Even so, she'd been quiet on the hour it had taken to drive here from Broughshane and Barry knew that Selbert Nolan was never out of her thoughts for long.

“That will be my wedding present to you, darling, and we've lots of time. It's not coming on the market until April.”

Sue spun, stared at the bungalow, turned, and looked at the view again. “It'll be wonderful, Barry. I just know. Thank you.”

“And,” he said, “thank Dapper for thinking of us and letting me see it first.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, we need to get you to Aldergrove. You head on round the house and I'll leave the keys inside and lock up when I leave.”

He rejoined her in the Volkswagen. “I'm so glad you like it, pet. While you're away I'll get on with lining things up so we're ready to buy it as soon as it comes on the market. And I'll keep you posted by letter.” Remembering Lewis Miller's look and his wife's tears when she'd said how much she was going to miss the place, he hoped to God the Millers didn't change their minds about selling.

Before he could start the engine, she leaned across, kissed him firmly, and said, “And all the while I'm gone I'll be able to think of us, in July, snug in our nest. Just the three of us.”

Barry frowned. “Three? Three?” After all that talk about babies—Oh my God, was Sue—