Ronnie had scarcely slept; her mind was in such turmoil. She had found the child a candy-striped duvet and tucked her into Nuala’s old bed because, however obliging the McCauleys might be, they were not family. Ronnie couldn’t be certain the child was family either – what proof did she have? – but she knew well enough how to conduct herself. Until there was clarity in the matter no one would be able to say she hadn’t been dignified in her behaviour, shown loyalty to her son.
On Wednesday morning she gave the girl a plentiful breakfast of sausages and bacon rashers. She let her fondle the dog. JP was not usually welcoming of strangers, so it was possible that he scented some Farrelly blood, but Ronnie was wary of making an inference. ‘It’s good that you’re not scared,’ she said. ‘Do you have a dog at home?’
‘No,’ said Clemmie with a profound sigh. ‘I want a dog but we haven’t any room and Mummy’s too busy to take him for walks.’
‘You poor thing,’ said Ronnie, thinking how dreadful it would be to step out of your house and see nothing but tall buildings and pavements and traffic all around. Her life wasn’t easy but at least she had her own sweet air to breathe. And on a sunny day when the hedgerows were aflame with the scarlet of the fuchsia and the gold of montbretia, the sight never failed to dazzle her.
Kieran had gone out on some mysterious errand, before helping his brother-in-law with the fencing; Pat was not yet up. While Clemmie and Tom raced around the yard, throwing sticks for JP in the rain, Ronnie answered a call from Teresa Hogan.
‘Teresa! I was about to ring you myself.’
‘Well I have some news for you,’ said Teresa. ‘You remember I told you about the English doctor who was staying? And how I had an idea she might be your man’s widow? Well, I checked through the press cuttings with Mary and Breda and they agree. There’s no doubt at all now.’
Ronnie closed her eyes. She had no wish to relive that nightmare period but she could see it unscrolling in her brain like a reel of Technicolor film. She’d been out on the tractor because getting in the silage was a trial at the best of times and you had to seize the dry days when they came. At the sight of her neighbours’ frantic semaphoring, her thoughts had flown at once to Tom. She’d supposed at first he’d been run down: some stupid feckin’ drunken bastard taking the bend wide, on the wrong side of the road, would have ploughed into his skipping legs so the boy rose into the air like an angel, like he was flying.
But no: the children were on the beach. Tom had been dipping his net into rock pools, prising the green translucent shrimps from their hiding places when the tide turned and the wind got up. Back in those days, very few of the locals learned how to swim. In fact it was unlikely anyone who knew the habits of the sea would have gone after him. It would have been madness to race across the sand, shed jacket and shoes and plunge into the turbulent water, thinking only to help a child in difficulty. The madness that takes a stranger.
‘Sweet Mother of God,’ said Ronnie. ‘Why? Why did she come?’
‘Who knows? A pilgrimage into the past? Seeking closure perhaps? I wouldn’t have said a word but for the fact that your Tom is here also. It’s an opportunity for their paths to cross.’
Ronnie gazed out into the yard. The rain was coming down more heavily but Tom was cavorting in imitation of the dog with a wild grin on his face. A free spirit, she thought fondly. The little girl was giggling and clapping her hands and stamping in puddles.
‘Are you saying we should invite her tomorrow night?’ she said. ‘I suppose it will be easier to meet while there’s a gathering.’
‘That’s an excellent notion,’ said Teresa. ‘You’d want to be hospitable. Your boys are both such handsome fellows and don’t the women always fall for Tom’s charm?’
‘Will you ask her then, on our behalf? It may be better for you to make the introductions.’
‘I will, no problem.’
‘She won’t turn us down?’ said Ronnie anxiously. ‘Only I tried to thank her at the inquest and she looked straight through me as if I wasn’t there. Or as if she hated me.’
‘Sure, she’s a pleasant person,’ said Teresa. ‘She wouldn’t be the sort to bear a grudge after all this time. I’ll get on to it right away. Will I ring you back when I’ve spoken to her?’
‘Actually,’ said Ronnie. ‘I was thinking of calling over to you myself, in about an hour or so. If you’re going to be in?’
‘I’ll make a point of it.’
‘I have something to show you.’
Although the prospect of the Englishwoman was a little unnerving, it wasn’t worth dwelling on. Ronnie couldn’t imagine anything that would eclipse the appearance of Clemmie. She stood in the boot room and called for the child to come inside.
‘Look at the both of you!’ she exclaimed. ‘All wet and bedraggled. Worse than JP.’
‘We was having fun,’ said Clemmie.
‘I’ll have to put you in the bath again. We’re going out.’
She would make her as presentable as she could. She had calculated that there’d be no need to parade her around the neighbours once Teresa had been informed. She wanted their reactions under control before the child was seen at the party and Teresa would be her most efficient conduit. She’d concocted the plan last night. (And run it past Anna and Nuala who agreed, though they hadn’t shown much sympathy. ‘Why are you even surprised?’ they’d said.)
Clemmie said, ‘Is Daddy coming with us?’
Tom kicked off his shoes. His shirt was clinging to his chest and, like Clemmie’s, his curls had tightened in the damp. ‘No,’ said Ronnie. ‘He’s staying here with Pat. He doesn’t need to be with us.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘What are you planning?’
‘A trip to Teresa’s.’
‘Hah! I get you. A conspiracy of the good women of the Dingle peninsula. Head them off at the pass.’
‘Tom, you have flung us into this. We have to find a way of handling tomorrow night. Teresa will help out.’
His anger flared, but she knew it would soon expire, like the striking of a match. ‘It never lets up, the gossip!’
‘What do you expect?’
‘Kath and Sean were fine.’
A pair of hippies. ‘They’re nearer your generation than mine. And as it happens we’ve had plenty else to talk about since the money troubles began. Not just yourself.’
‘And my grand little girl,’ he said, tickling Clemmie under the armpits until she squealed. To make her squeal even more, he shook his hair like a dog so drops flew about in a rain burst.
Ronnie was doing her best and she wasn’t certain that Tom appreciated this. She passed him a towel, wishing she could take his wet head between her hands and rub some sense into it. ‘You should change into something dry before you get a chill. Why can’t you take better care of yourself?’ It was a question, she thought, that could apply to everything he did. Including the feckless women he went with. ‘And don’t be leaving Pat on his own,’ she added. ‘So you can go chasing after girls in boats.’
‘I promise I’ll look after him. And when Kieran gets back we can go out for a jar. Dad must be going stir crazy stuck in the house. He could do with meeting up with some of his mates.’
‘Go easy on the drinking, the both of you.’
‘Mam!’ his expression was half-wounded, half-teasing. ‘Don’t you trust us? Anyway, it’ll help him get into form for tomorrow.’
Ronnie gave up. She marched the child upstairs and dunked her in the bath. She tied fresh ribbons to her plaits, knotted the laces on her trainers and drove over to the Hogans’.
Her car wheezed and snuffled like a sick pig. The passenger windscreen wiper had snapped off so she had to drive slowly and Clemmie’s view was of the rain swishing down.
Ronnie said, ‘We’re visiting a close friend of mine. I know you will show her what a good girl you are.’
Clemmie, sitting pert and upright, thrust forward her chin and pouted. Ronnie wondered how much of a risk she was taking.
‘Well now,’ said Teresa when she saw them on the doorstep, bemusement quickly turning to curiosity. ‘And who have we here?’
The child didn’t let Ronnie down. ‘My name is Clementine Alice Beaumont,’ she said in a voice that was high, clear and polite.
‘Clementine indeed?’ Teresa’s eyes sought Ronnie’s and she did a little double-take, compressing her lips, arching her brows. ‘Will you come in and tell me about yourself?’
Teresa’s house bristled with knick-knacks. Ronnie had never understood why you’d want to take on so much dusting, but Clemmie was enchanted. She stroked the china ornaments and admired the model boats in full sail. Her meticulous tour of the items put Ronnie in mind of Tom’s homecoming routine but she soon dismissed it. ‘Watch you don’t break anything,’ she said.
‘I’ll put the kettle on while you get comfortable,’ said Teresa. ‘Back in a moment.’
She returned with a carefully arranged tea tray: porcelain cups and saucers, a plate of biscuits, a teapot under a quirky knitted cosy. Ronnie herself had been responsible for more tea cosies than she could count.
‘Will you have a chocolate biscuit?’ Teresa asked Clemmie. ‘A little girl like you must surely love chocolate.’ Then she blushed as if she’d said the wrong thing and the plate wobbled in her hand.
‘She has some colouring books,’ said Ronnie. ‘Sit over there, Clem, with your crayons. And maybe Teresa will put the television on for you.’ The animated squawks and screeches from the children’s cartoons would drown out the details of their conversation.
Teresa poured a steady stream of tea into the cups. ‘So who?’ she began, although there was no need for Ronnie to answer her. She completed her sentence with: ‘Well, hasn’t your Tom always been one for springing surprises?’
‘It was as much of a shock for him,’ said Ronnie.
‘That seems to be the way it goes these days. Children popping out of nowhere. Has she any of his talents at all? Can she sing?’
‘I’ve no idea. He may have been taken advantage of.’
Teresa tut-tutted. ‘What do you know about the mother?’
‘Almost nothing! Her name is Monique, but he says she isn’t French.’ (Though how you could have a name like Monique Beaumont and not be a bit French baffled Ronnie.) ‘She comes from London, still lives there… I don’t even know how they met.’
A million questions were bouncing around her head like rubber balls; she couldn’t field them all. Flapping her hands in despair she knocked a magazine off the coffee table. It fell open at an advertisement for spa treatments: seaweed wraps and hot stone massage. She’d noticed that you couldn’t move these days for promises of pampering. ‘Look at this!’ she exclaimed. ‘The self-indulgence of it. Why on earth would you want to lie around with your face dressed up as a salad? A total stranger fondling you? It’s not like in our day, Teresa. People think only of themselves.’
‘You’re right. It’s different altogether. Girls will open their legs for anyone after a few drinks. They haven’t had the terror put into them by nuns.’
‘Ah, the nuns. Do you remember how our embroidery had to be just as fine on the inside as on the outside?’
Teresa nodded. ‘Because God sees everything.’ They were both silent for a moment, contemplating the strictures of their girlhoods. Then Teresa asked, ‘So what happened? Did this Monique not tell Tom she was pregnant? Why would she keep the baby a secret?’
Kieran had hinted that Tom might have let the girl down, pointing out that he wouldn’t want to look bad in his version of the story. But Kieran hadn’t met her, so all was supposition. ‘These modern women think they can cope without a man.’
‘Well you would know the truth of that. What with Pat off on his projects, leaving you to manage the farm and the kiddies.’
‘I missed him though. And he was providing for us. We were doing what was necessary to survive; we weren’t acting against nature.’ Still, she didn’t want to paint the picture too bleak. ‘Maybe the mother had help from her family. I gather it’s some sort of nursing she does. But she was out of work for a while. That’s why she pursued him.’
‘And did he help out?’
‘He tried.’
Teresa whispered, ‘He has acknowledged the little one then?
‘Well, that’s why he brought her here to meet us.’
‘But they’ve not done the test? For the DNA?’
‘I don’t think so. I have to tread carefully – this is a delicate matter.’
‘You don’t believe she’s his?’
No, Ronnie didn’t. How could she? This wasn’t the way you acquired a granddaughter. She’d never cooed over the new bundle and mused: who do you think she looks like? She hadn’t held Clemmie in her arms as a baby; she hadn’t watched her learn to crawl or toddle or caught her first words. She’d been presented with a school-age child – well behaved, which was a blessing to be sure – but one who didn’t in the least resemble her son. An alien being.
‘For the moment,’ she said. ‘We have no choice. We have to make the best of it.’
‘What does Pat say?’
‘Pat is glad to have his family around him. We must concentrate on getting through the week now.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘Do you remember how after Conor was born, Eoin asked Anna if they could send the baby back? He didn’t want it to be a permanent fixture…’
‘I know exactly how you feel.’
Was that possible? Could Teresa really understand when she’d never had kiddies of her own? Ronnie could scarcely recall a time without her children, she’d started so young. She was pregnant at twenty-three with Anna, not quite ready for babies – not ready either for the terrible loss of the twins she was carrying after Nuala. It took a while for a person to get over something like that. Perhaps that was why, when Tom came along, he was so close to her heart.
‘You’ll be worrying about tomorrow night,’ Teresa observed. ‘She’ll no doubt cause a stir.’
‘Don’t think I don’t realise that!’
‘But she may not be the only one.’
Teresa went over to a cupboard and extracted a box. She sat down again with it on her knee as if it were a mysterious treasure chest. Evidently she didn’t want her thunder stolen. She gave Ronnie a direct look. ‘She said yes by the way.’
‘Who did?’
‘The widow.’
‘Ah…’
‘I rang her after I’d spoken to you. She was pleased to hear of the invitation. Very appreciative I’d say.’ She passed over a photograph cut from the Kerryman. ‘Here she is.’
Ronnie examined the picture; recognition stirred. ‘Ah yes, she had a son herself.’ At the hospital, waiting for Tom to be discharged, she’d seen the woman with a little boy in her arms. Her shorn hair had been sticking up in short spikes; her eyes had dark rings around them. She was accompanied by a pair of gardai who were taking her to the hospital morgue.
‘Did I not tell you? He’s a solicitor. I spoke to him myself when he rang.’
‘You have to take a lot of exams to become a solicitor,’ said Ronnie.
‘You do so. He’ll be a hard worker, for certain.’
‘She must be proud of him.’
‘Oh, she is. He’s married now – she showed me a photo – such a beautiful wife, he has. And he calls his little one Danny boy, like the song. It goes to show, doesn’t it, he’s been able to overcome the loss of his father.’
Ronnie smoothed the strip of newspaper and handed it back. How could you possibly tell, looking at an innocent child, how they might turn out? As a parent you could only try your best. Don’t make comparisons. Be grateful. Nevertheless she felt uneasy. ‘But what shall I tell Tom? How can I prepare him?’
Teresa glanced over at Clemmie. ‘How did he prepare you?’
The child must have sensed the atmosphere because she turned her head and regarded them both with a grave stare. Well she may be cute enough, thought Ronnie, and Tom may be trying to do the right thing, but it’s quite obvious she doesn’t belong here. She could never match the image of that other family; those perfect people Teresa had conjured up.
Then Clemmie gave her such a sweet smile her heart flipped over. She would have to harden it.