Firefly Summer (13 page)

‘That’s never the time!’ he said, amazed, looking up at the old clock and back at his watch trying to work it out.

‘No, I came home a bit early.’ Kate put down her parcels and sat up as if she were a customer.

‘Couldn’t wait for a ball of malt?’ he teased her.

‘John.’

‘What is it?’ His face showed that he knew something was wrong. ‘Are you all right, do you feel all right?’

‘I’m fine.’ Suddenly she was weary; she knew it would be an uphill struggle trying to make him realise how serious things were going to be.

‘What
is
it then?’

‘Did you hear what’s happening to Fernscourt? They’re going to make it into a hotel, have a bar. Americans are going to stay there, and there’ll be a bar the size of a football pitch. He’s put in for planning permission.’

‘I heard that it was going to be a hotel all right. Tommy was round with the mineral water deliveries. Oh, he left the invoice there on the shelf by the way, it’s behind the . . .’

‘Will you stop bleating on about invoices? It’s mighty few of those we’ll be seeing in the future. Did you hear what I said?’

‘I heard you, Kate. There’s no need to shout like a fishwife.’

‘Like a what?’

‘A fishwife, look at you; you have your hands on your
hips even. Stop being so impatient, and let’s discuss this thing properly.’

‘I’m the one who ran the whole way back from Fergus as soon as I heard about it. Don’t you think I want to discuss it properly?’

‘Yes, Kate. But not in public. Not in the middle of the bar.’

Kate looked around at the empty room.

‘God Almighty, have you lost your mind? Who’s here except Leopold, are you afraid the dog’s going to start gossiping about us and our business round the town?’

‘Don’t let’s start something that we’ll have to cut off as soon as someone comes in that door.’

‘All right, all right.’ She made a gesture with her hands as if calming things down. ‘Very well, but in the meantime do you mind if we talk about what’s going to become of us, or would you rather read me Curly Wee out of the paper, or have a discussion about the weather?’

‘We can’t know what to think, until we know what’s going to happen. How many times do I tell you not to go off at half cock about every single thing? We’ll hear in good time what he’s going to do. It might be the making of us for all we know. A whole lot of new people coming to the place, a lot of business we never had before. How many times have we wished that we were a tourist area where the people came on holidays? Now we will be, if what Tommy said is true.’

‘The making of us; the making of us. How could it be anything except the end of us? For as many times as we said we’d like tourists, haven’t we been thanking the stars that they’re all so dozy in there in Foley’s and Conway’s and half packed to leave in Dunne’s? We never had any
competition, and even then we barely make a living. How can you be so blind?’

A flash of annoyance crossed John’s big, good-natured face.

‘Listen to me, I know you work hard, I know you put in all the hours that God gives you making a life for us, but answer me this, why am I being blind? What should I have done? Should I have bought the place myself? Or killed the fellow who did? Come on now, tell me. I’m standing here minding what I agree is at the moment a very slow business, some would say non-existent . . . and hoping that there’s going to be some kind of good spin-off instead of doom and disaster for us, and you come rushing in the door shouting at me like a tinker’s woman and saying I’m blind. That’s a lot of help, Kate, thank you very much.’

Before she could reply the door opened and in came Marian Johnson, face flushed and wispy hair blowing all directions. Rita Walsh of the Rosemarie hair salon said that she had often known people with two crowns in their head of hair, but Marian Johnson had three. The woman couldn’t be blamed for looking like a refined haystack. Marian was anxious to know if John Ryan could oblige her with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

John Ryan couldn’t. He had Scotch all right, but nothing else except Irish whiskey. They might have it in the town, he supposed.

‘Very fancy tastes you’re getting above at the Grange,’ he said companionably. He couldn’t have said anything more welcome. Marian was dying to release the news. It was for the American, the man who was going to buy Fernscourt, or who had bought it in fact, but was going to open a hotel there. She went on and on, words falling over
each other in excitement. There were going to be fishermen, not people like from here, not just the visitors from England who stayed in guest houses, but rich Americans with their own rods going to come and fish the Fern for pike and rudd, for bream and perch. And there were going to be Americans who would want to ride horses, they would even come in winter so they could hunt. They’d be here the whole year round. She was unaware of the silence that she spoke to. But eventually even Marian ran out of wind.

‘Isn’t it great?’ she said, looking from one to the other.

‘I’d have thought you’d be very put out. Isn’t that all your kind of business that he’s going to be taking?’ Kate said, avoiding the look of caution that her husband was trying to beam at her.

Marian tossed her head. ‘Heavens no, isn’t it all to the good, isn’t it going to build the whole thing up for all of us? They’re going to want horses. Apparently I’ll be expanding all that side of our business. It’s going to change the whole place.’ Marian hugged herself almost girlishly at the thought of it.

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Kate said. ‘That it’s going to change the whole place.’

‘Oh, Kate Ryan, you’re as young as I am,’ tinkled Marian, who was most definitely the older of the two. ‘Don’t be an old stick in the mud. It’s going to transform your lives. Think of all the people that’ll come tripping across that footbridge there to have a drink in your place. It will be just what you need.’

John seized her words as if they were a lifeline. ‘That’s just what I was saying to Kate when you came in the door. It could be the making of us. It could be the bit of luck we
were always hoping for.’ His face was bright with enthusiasm.

Kate watched, wordless, as her husband and Marian Johnson made plans for the future. They never talked about all the people who would like to go and have a drink in the big hotel, who would trip across the footbridge in the other direction. She looked at John and tried to work out whether he really believed this optimistic line of chat, or if he was only trying to buoy up the Ryan family. She decided that he really believed it; he wanted so much for things to turn out well that he refused to look at any other possibility. She felt a mixture of annoyance that he should be so naïve, and a protective, almost maternal anxiety because she had this cold fear that things were indeed going to change, and that something very bad was about to happen.

The twins crept in through the back door. They were filthy and carrying a big battered box between them. They looked like small dark criminals. They both put their fingers on their lips, warning Carrie not to cry out.

‘Oh God, you’ll get killed,’ Carrie said, half pleased and half worried on their behalf. They’d been up to no good whatever they’d been doing.

‘We’ll be clean by the time Mammy gets back,’ Michael said to reassure her.

‘She’s back already,’ Carrie cried triumphantly. ‘She’ll take you apart so she will.’

Carrie, who greatly feared Mrs Ryan’s hurricane-like visits to the kitchen, and her great ability to see things that were not done right, was always guiltily pleased when the wrath fell elsewhere. Carrie had long straight hair that fell into her frightened eyes – except when she saw Mrs Ryan
looking, then she took a hair slide from her apron pocket. She was a mousy little thing who could look very nice when she tidied herself up. Mrs Ryan was always finding a blouse or a brooch or some little thing for her. Carrie only wore this finery on her day off when she walked four miles back to the farm from which she had been glad to escape.

She was fine unless she was fussed, and this was fussing her, the twins having skipped school and dragging this big box guiltily upstairs. Nobody ever came to Carrie’s kitchen during the mornings except young Declan. And now here were Dara and Michael home way in advance. And the mistress was home early too. Really it was very troublesome. Carrie always arranged to have the kitchen looking well when Mrs Ryan came back at one o’clock; the pots were washed and put away. Now it looked a mess, and she was bound to be criticised. She sighed heavily and started to clear up the things that were most likely to offend.

Gently Michael and Dara eased themselves into the bathroom to shake out their crumpled school clothes and wipe off most of the grime.
What
was Mammy doing home so early, on this of all days? They had banked on at least an hour to get themselves to rights. This was the very first time they had ever mitched from school. Dara had told Sister Laura that she had a pain in her tummy, and Michael had told Brother Kevin that he had eaten too many potato crisps. Sister Laura had been understanding in case it might be Dara’s first period, Brother Kevin had been dismissive and said what could you expect of a boy brought up in a pub but to eat like a pig all the rubbish in packets that was put in front of him? But it was too dangerous for them to
go to school that day. If the man had been wandering around Fernscourt in the middle of the night they had to go and take their things away. Somehow they both knew that at the same time and realised it had to be done. They never dreamed they’d meet the man himself.

The Ryans never ate lunch together as a family since John was always in the bar. And the first rule of the house was that the children never appeared in the bar at all. John said that most of his customers came there to escape from households of screaming children racing round the place, and they mustn’t be allowed to see a hint of the same thing in Ryan’s. So Dara and Michael would have had no idea who was in the bar as they sat down to lunch.

Eddie and Declan had come in at the normal time.

‘You were quick,’ Eddie said to Michael. Normally they all raced together from the brothers, beyond the bridge down River Road. Dara’s convent was up the other way, past the Rosemarie hair salon and Jack Coyne’s. Nobody could tell whether or not she had come home. It was only Michael who might have been missed.

‘Yes, we got out a bit early.’ Michael looked from under his lashes to see if Mammy had made anything of this exchange, but her mind seemed to be miles away. She hadn’t even noticed how crushed their clothes were from being bundled in a bag.

The twins hadn’t decided what to do for the afternoon. They would have to walk towards school of course, and then they could meet somewhere else. Eddie and Declan had no afternoon school so there would be no need for Michael to go all the way to the brothers. There were a host of possibilities. But before any were settled, the door of the pub opened and Daddy came through.

‘Kate, Kate, come out and meet Mr O’Neill who’s bought Fernscourt. He’s called to pay his respects. And bring the children too, he says he’d like to meet them.’

Leopold, who was the most antisocial dog in the world, decided for once that he was included in the invitation too. Looking exactly like an advertisement from a Cruelty to Animals brochure, he walked ahead of them, sidling and cringing as if expecting a blow at every turn.

Kate smoothed her skirt and shepherded the children in front of her. There was time only to wipe the excess of food from Declan’s mouth; to pause and titivate them would have been a weakness with the door open and the great O’Neill waiting for them. Declan and Eddie hung back and had to be pushed forward. Dara and Michael were equally unwilling. In fact they both looked as if they had been caught out in some crime. Kate supposed they felt awkward meeting the man whose arrival they had hated so much. She didn’t realise how deadly accurate her first thought was. They had been caught out. He was going to say he had met them this very morning. They would be discovered.

Kate was surprised at his looks. Like a handsome Irishman on a fair day with a drove of young bullocks to sell. Not like an American tycoon. He had a tweed jacket in a pepper and salt colour. It was very well cut. It would suit John, she thought, hide some of his stomach. This man was big, with bright blue eyes and a million laugh lines. His big hand was stretched to her.

‘Mrs Kathleen Ryan. My own wife, the Lord have mercy on her, was Kathleen too. I’m glad to know you.’

He
seemed
glad to know her.

She had never got such a shock in her life.

All morning she had been thinking of him as the enemy, and here he was standing in their own pub, all smiles. No man could do that if he was going to take all your business. Even in America, where you had to be shrewd and tough to get on, they wouldn’t do that. There were half a dozen customers all eager and interested to see the introductions. They, too, would be introduced, they knew. But first the children.

‘These are the twins, Dara and Michael, and here’s Eddie. Take your arm from over your face, Eddie and Declan. Declan, come out from behind me.’

He repeated their names slowly.
That’s
why Americans were so good at remembering people. They didn’t just say how do you do, or hello. They actually repeated the name.

‘Dara . . . there’s a name. Is it short for something?’

‘It means oak tree. You know Kildare. That’s Cill Dara, the churchyard of the oak tree.’

‘Oak tree . . . Isn’t that something? And Michael. That’s the archangel, I guess?’

‘And my grandfather,’ Michael said more prosaically.

‘And you’ll come back and spend more mornings in Fernscourt, I hope,’ he said.

The twins were glum. Here it was. The discovery.

‘They will on their holidays, if they aren’t in the way,’ Kate said, filling the silence. ‘But these days it’s all school-work, I’m afraid. No idle mornings playing in Fernscourt until they get their holidays.’

Dara closed her eyes.

Michael looked at him in desperation.

‘Sure,’ said Patrick O’Neill. ‘Sure, I know that, but after school or at weekends or any time. The place is always there and I’m sure you must love it, what with
living so near and everything.’ He wasn’t going to say anything.