Loopy (34 page)

When Loopy would ask O'Hara what possible use a dead language could be to anyone, he would just sigh and roll his eyes to heaven. Now incense hung in the air, blending with his beloved Latin to make a powerful cocktail of sorrow as candles flickered on the altar where the soul of Pat O'Hara was being commended to God with all the pomp and ceremony that Father Spillane could produce.

Loopy and Margaret, the only surviving relative, were sitting in the front row, flanked by Brona and the children. Margaret had invited them to join her, otherwise she would have had to sit there by herself all through the mass, an ordeal in itself.

“Poor Pat always spoke highly of you and your family, so it's only right that you should keep me company as I mourn his passing.”

The school choir sang “Amazing Grace,” their shrill young voices a reminder that for three decades or more their teacher had prepared the youth of Trabane for the life that he had just departed. As the mass ended, Father Spillane sprinkled holy water over the wooden coffin that held the mortal remains of Pat O'Hara. Then it was time for his final journey.

The road from the church to the cemetery ran through the town. All the shops along the route had closed their doors for the procession's passing. Foley's pub had already disgorged its customers onto the pavement. Caps in hand, they bared their heads, and some went so far as to drop to their knees in silent tribute to a departed friend and, until recently, fellow drinker. Some of them went so far as to suggest that had O'Hara still been drinking, he would never have seen the dog, much less killed himself trying to avoid it. That way, the Linhurst girl might be missing a dog, but O'Hara would still have been to the good.

Loopy, walking behind the hearse, his arm linked with Margaret's, fought back the tears and wondered bitterly if the Irish had more respect for the dead than the living.
Here's someone who gave all his life to teaching the kids of this town,
he told himself,
and what did he get in the end? A lousy funeral with three bloody wreaths and a dozen mass cards. Some thanks for a lifetime's work! I hope to God there'll be a better turnout for my funeral when the time comes.

The wreaths had been sent by the GAA, the Golf Club, and his sister-in-law, Margaret. Seamus Norbert had sent a mass card on behalf of the Trabane Gaels—this despite O'Hara's proud boast that he had never attended a GAA match in his entire life. Another card, placed on the lid of the coffin by Leo Martin in person, promised that a solemn, requiem mass would be offered for the soul of the recently departed. The irony of this would not have been lost on the deceased, for it came from Allied Banks of Ireland. Loopy sent a mass card, as did Brona and the girls. Whom the rest were from he didn't even bother to look.

The night before, Pat O'Hara had lain in state in his own small house. A long queue snaked down the street, waiting to pay their respects. Margaret, dressed in black, stood next to the open coffin, accepting the sympathy of those who filed past. She said the same thing to Loopy as she had to everyone else: “Sure God took him in His own good time.”

Loopy couldn't bear to look at the corpse as he offered Margaret his condolences. He preferred to remember his friend as the jubilant figure he was at the Atlantic Trophy, leaping up and down and screeching with excitement, “Attaboy, Lynch, good man yourself! We'll show 'em what you're made of!”

Loopy was just beginning to realize how much he was going to miss his friend, cantankerous and difficult though he might have been. O'Hara had warned him sternly that drawing strength from the old fort was all well and good, but from now on whatever strength Loopy needed would have to come from within.

“You'll find there'll be no forts where you're going, my lad. What'll you do then? You'll have to look inside
yourself,
that's what! From now on,
that's
where you'll have to get your strength, and never forget it!”

A week later O'Hara was dead. Loopy was glad O'Hara had had those magic days at the golf tournament. He seemed to have found a new vigor in walking every inch of every hole that Loopy had played. He led the cheering as the crowds grew larger the closer Loopy got to the final victory. O'Hara would turn to complete strangers during a lull in play and proclaim loudly, “Played his first round of golf with me, y'know. Right from the start I could see that he was something special!”

Loopy remembered O'Hara's bear-hug moments after Loopy had received the huge silver cup. How often had he heard him say that a lifetime's teaching would be worth it all if he could produce one, just one, pupil who had done well because of him. Loopy hoped more than anything else in heaven or earth that those few days at The Atlantic had made the schoolteacher's empty life seem a bit more worthwhile.

Almost without Loopy's realizing it, they were at the graveside. An angry mound of fresh earth, glistening in the rain, was heaped beside the dark rectangle into which the coffin would be lowered. But first came the prayers for the dead, doleful mantras promising life eternal far beyond the grave. These were followed by a decade of the rosary given out by Father Spillane, with Margaret at his shoulder mouthing the responses in a dull monotone. Ten Hail Marys and one
Pater Noster
 … “Our Father, who art in heaven … hallowed be Thy name … Thy kingdom come…”

For Loopy, his gaze shifting from the coffin to the waiting grave, it seemed to take forever. Suddenly the droning stopped, even if the rain still pounded mercilessly on the forest of umbrellas surrounding the open grave. The polished timber and silver handles of the coffin were flecked with raindrops reflecting the last rays of a weak, watery sun trying desperately to break through the dull, gray overcast. Then it was time to step forward and help lower his old friend into the earth. As he did so, he renewed the vow he had made minutes earlier.

I'll be the one. I'll show them that you
did
make a difference for at least one of your pupils, so rest easy, old friend.

*   *   *

The Golf Club had laid on a meal for those who had attended the funeral. Loopy, without even meaning to, found himself behind the counter, helping Linda. She needed him as the crowd was growing bigger by the minute. It was better that he had something to do rather than sitting grief-stricken between his mother and Margaret, who was still receiving the condolences of everyone who passed by:

“Ah, sure, wasn't he the lovely man, God rest his soul.” Followed by Margaret's unchanging reply: “God took him in His own good time!”

Loopy was so busy bringing plates of sandwiches and trays of drinks to the tables that he barely noticed the arrival of Joe Delany and Edward Linhurst. They were waiting at the door for Amy. When she joined them, Loopy saw that she was wearing a long, black leather coat. Suitably funereal and yet very smart, he thought as he directed them to a table not far from where his mother and Margaret were sitting.

“Hello, Amy.” He gave her a big hug. “Good to see you. You're looking great. Now what will you have? The usual?”

Linhurst threw a quizzical look at his daughter. “The usual” suggested a degree of intimacy of which he was not aware.

Joe was in first. “A pint of stout and a ham sandwich for me.”

“Same for me,” Linhurst intoned, adding, “and the usual for Amy, whatever that may be.”

After Loopy had gone to bring their order, noticing the look of surprise on her father's face, she explained quietly, “Loopy and I have been seeing quite a bit of each other. Enough for him to know what I eat and drink anyway.”

“Nobody tells me anything round here.”

“Well, you never asked, did you? We met on the beach the morning after I ate the head off him for bringing you home pissed.”

Linhurst made as if to say something, but she cut him short with an impatient wave of her hand. “I apologized and told him I was wrong.”

Well, that's a first, for sure!
Linhurst left the thought unspoken.

“He accepted my apology and then we got to talking about this and that. I mentioned that I was doing a viability check on the Makings and he set me right about a few things. So much so that I more or less changed my mind and recommended that instead of shutting the place down, they should expand the operation instead. Looks as though that's exactly what they are going to do.”

“About Loopy and me—as you know, I've been away most of the time since then, but we've kept in touch by phone.” After a pause she added, as much to herself as anyone else, “He's a really nice guy, once you get to know him. He's coming back now, so talk about something else.”

“Two pints of stout, a plate of sandwiches, and a gin and tonic with lemon but no ice for the lady.”

“Sit down here for God's sake,” Joe insisted. “I'd better go and help Linda behind the bar for a while.”

He left and Loopy took his seat next to Edward Linhurst, who muttered in his ear, “Didn't realize you two were friendly. Friendly enough to know what she drinks anyway.”

Amy cut in, “Don't let him drag anything out you, Larry. He's awfully curious behind that calm exterior, is my dear father. Simply must know everything about anything, that's him.”

Suddenly Joe was back. He said to Loopy, “Linda has just reminded me that there's a registered letter in the shop for you. In all the excitement over the funeral, I forgot about it. I'll get it for you now.”

As Joe left, Edward Linhurst turned to Loopy. “I've been wanting to ask you this. Have you decided yet what are you going to do with yourself now?”

Loopy played for time, not quite sure what Linhurst meant. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, are you going to look for a job or something? You could always stay here and help in the bar while living at home with your mother, I suppose, but there's not much of a future in it, is there?”

Loopy nodded glumly. “I suppose you're right. I hadn't really enough time to think about it properly these past few days but—”

Just then Joe Delany rejoined them with the letter. “Arrived here yesterday.”

It was addressed to Laurence Lynch, Esq., c/o Trabane Golf Club.

Loopy examined it before opening it. “What does
Esq.
mean?”

“‘Esquire.' It's almost never used nowadays, except by a certain class of person…” Linhurst might have elaborated further had not his daughter again cut him short, her eyes firmly fixed on Loopy.

“English upper class actually. It's just another of those silly hangovers from Daddy's generation.” Amy held Loopy's gaze, glad that the ordeal of the funeral was done with and that his eyes were no longer reddened from grief. Usually they were nice eyes, she reminded herself, big brown ones. The sort of eyes she could gaze into for a long, long time.

Joe Delany, however, was more interested in the contents rather than the form of address of the letter. “Can't you open it for God's sake and see what's in it?”

“I wonder who this is from?” Loopy muttered.

Joe was becoming agitated. “Well, you're not going to find out till you open the bloody thing, are you!”

Wordlessly Loopy ripped open the envelope and straightened out the folds of the heavy vellum notepaper, whose heading was Allied Banks of Ireland in embossed print.

Dear Mr. Lynch,

I was greatly taken by the manner in which you comported yourself during our match. Nothing I have learned since then has caused me to alter that view. I have no idea what you intend doing with the rest of your life, but in case you are undecided about what career to pursue, I would suggest that you read the attached form carefully. As you will see, it is an application for the post of junior executive in our Public Relations Bureau, where I anticipate there will be some vacancies in the very near future.

Usually there is an educational requirement, but I feel the Board of Directors would look favorably on your application if you were to indicate that you were prepared to study for graduation while in our employ. As for the job itself, it requires a young person of pleasant personality with as broad a range as possible of sporting expertise. I am reliably informed that your prowess with the hurley almost matches that with your golf clubs.

Should you wish to apply for this position, a letter of reference is required. You should have no problem in obtaining one. I would ask you one favor in return. As the interviewing panel will almost certainly include myself, please do not indicate that we are already acquainted, as this may give the wrong impression to the other members of the interviewing board.

Yours faithfully,

Andrew Villiers-Stewart, Bart.

Joe Delany spluttered a profanity. Amy clapped her hands in delight and bent across the table to kiss Loopy full on the lips—something that did not escape his mother's notice a few tables distant.

Edward Linhurst gave a low whistle and said, “Looks like he's practically offering you the job. I advise you to grab it while it's there. It'll allow you to play all the golf you want and get paid for doing it without losing your amateur status. You can have that reference from me, if you want. I still put quite a bit of business their way, which may be of some help.”

Suddenly it all became too much for Loopy. He almost broke down, blinking back the tears. Amy put her arm around his heaving shoulders. It was her turn to whisper into his ear occasionally, but most of the time she just sat there with her arm around his shoulders, a comforting presence.

Out of the corner of her eye Brona saw everything, but chose to stay where she was. Her son seemed to be in good hands, and anyway, Margaret was halfway through describing her last visit to Rome and how she'd nearly met the pope. Joe Delany and Edward Linhurst sat in silence, averting their gaze from the young couple by drinking their pints and working their way through the plate of sandwiches.