A female driver stepped out and swept her gaze over the impressive lawns, gardens, trees, and house before turning her attention to the entrance. Donal had to step back sharply from where he was standing by the window lest he would appear to be peeping.
The girl, apparently unabashed by the impressive surroundings, brazenly opened the front door without knocking or making any effort to announce her presence. So, she had little regard for ordinary courtesies or manner, Donal thought.
What galled him particularly was that the front door, normally locked, had been left open. The girl strolled nonchalantly through into the hallway. He heard her footsteps along the corridor which led down to the kitchen at the back of the house, and listened as she retraced them. He sat down just as the drawing room door opened slowly.
Unannounced, she thrust her head inside, overtly smiling as she peeped in at him.
“You must be Dad, then.”
She appeared to be amused at what she had said, or it could be she was amused at him.
His rage was so great that his immediate reaction was to shout at her to leave his house immediately and never set foot in it again. However, there wouldn’t be any satisfaction in disposing of her, without first teaching her a well-deserved lesson.
He remained seated and took a small sip of wine. Next, he sampled a piece of the salmon. He chewed on it slowly and deliberately in an effort to dissipate the anger boiling up inside, and to offend her. She could not be mistaken at being treated little better than an intruder, unless she was stupid, which he doubted. It was his turn to be rude.
Undaunted, she strolled into the room, leaving the door open behind her, and after a precursory glance about planked her bottom down on the arm of the best chair in the house, a delicate Chippendale of which he was justly proud.
Don’t shout at her. Don’t even attempt to scold her. Keep the head. Keep the cool. The better to triumph over her. Yes, triumph! Dance on her grave! Triumph over this obnoxious girl!
Seemingly, she was still amused at him, for she was looking directly at him with laughter in her eyes.
“But you are Dad, aren’t you?”
He was beside himself with rage. Was there no end to this insufferable girl’s effrontery?
“Yes, I am Joe’s Dad.”
As soon as he had replied, he knew he should have ignored the question. His response sounded weak, but then he had always lacked the cutting edge, the wit and self-confidence to be sarcastic. Whilst trying to conjure up something offensive to snap back at her she began talking.
“You’re just as he described.”
She was smiling again as if it still amused him.
“What do you want?” He spoke sternly and stressed the word you. He repeated the question.
She could hardly be so naïve as to ignore such an obvious rebuff, and yet her reply was calm and measured. Obviously, she had taken not the slightest umbrage for she continued, as before, “There is a very definite resemblance between you both.”
There it was again, that same sweet smile he so resented and found decidedly impertinent. She next took to appraising his features, evidently taking in his height, appearance and everything about him. He glowered back, becoming increasingly tenser by the minute, staring rudely and searching about in his mind for something offensive to say that would wound her.
Money! That was it. She was bound to have come for money.
“I’ll have to ask you again. What do you want from me?”
“It isn’t so much what I want. It’s what Joe’s asked me to do that has brought me down here.”
So, the fine lady won’t come out and admit she’s come down to him looking for money. She wishes to avoid being implicated. There must be no suggestion of participation on her part. No, that would never do. How canny to emphasise it was his son who needed the money! Well, he’s spent far too many years at boardroom meetings to fall for that silly little twist on words, and decided there and then that there had been enough niceties. It was time for a few home truths.
“So you’ve come down here to look for money from me.”
She laughed nervously and when he looked around, she was no longer smiling. Instead, she looked genuinely surprised by his uncivil attitude, disappointed even that he had introduced such a note of common grossness. There was even a hint of disdain in her bright eyes as she appraised him as if assessing him anew. However, she had lost none of her composure.
“Money,” she repeated. “No. No. Joe didn’t say anything about money. Not at all. Joe didn’t send me here to talk about money. Money? Oh God, no! Nothing like that. To be honest with you, I don’t believe Joe is interested in money anyway.”
“Then why in hell’s name did the fool try to rob a bank, and make such a botch of it when he was at it?”
“Do you not think I’ve asked myself that same question a thousand times? I can tell you one thing. It had nothing to do with money. Sometimes, I think he did it just for the craic, for the sheer enjoyment of it.”
“Then what brings you down here? What do you want from me? You know I’ve disowned him.”
“Oh, yes! I’m well aware of that. It’s in relation to another matter that he wished me to talk to you. You see Joe and I have a child. A complication has arisen about her. She’s a little girl.”
Then for some reason she added in an almost apologetic undertone, “Julie.”
He must be careful. Everything about this girl infuriated him from the very moment he had first seen her – before he had first seen her, in fact. But a child! Whatever about Joe and this girl, they had had their chances in life and apparently blown them. A child was different. A child was entitled to its opportunities. Joe wasn’t married. This girl was married to another. He would want to be careful, very careful. Then it struck him forcibly. The money angle. It made more sense now. Of course! It was needed ostensibly for the child. What else? The child was Joe’s way to his father’s chequebook. This child, like himself and his great friend Mary Boyle, had been born out of wedlock. If Joe was the father, then there was need for caution, extreme caution and a cool head.
“What proof have I that this child is Joe’s. What proof have I that it’s …”
His voice trailed off as he hesitated, and looking forcefully at her continued in a faltering voice, “… that the child is my grandchild?”
“Only that it is Joe’s child.”
“But you didn’t marry Joe. You chose instead to marry his accomplice, his partner in crime. The man Joe had protected by refusing to name at his trial. Consequently saving the blighter’s neck.”
“Joe had been sentenced when I discovered that I was pregnant, and he wanted a proper birthright for our child. It was Joe wanted me to marry Tommy Gavin. He insisted. It was he who wanted it that way. I was at all times totally opposed to the arrangement. I didn’t want to. I’ve regretted it my whole life since. Tommy Gavin is a mean man and a violent man, and always nasty to Julie.”
Donal kept reminding himself to tread warily, with extreme caution. Better to talk to someone like Mary Boyle first, before committing himself to any promise or outright rejection. This problem needed the wisdom and integrity of a woman’s counsel.
“I still can’t understand why you acted so irresponsibly.”
“When you are young and facing a nine-year prison sentence, it seems the end of the world, and, remember, I was pregnant. In that state, you don’t have too many friends to offer advice or in whom you can trust. It was Joe who was appalled at the prospect of his child coming into the world without a father, or worse still, the child of a convicted bank robber. It was under pressure from that kind of background that we panicked and Tommy Gavin, wanting to save his own neck, was then as nice a pie and only too pleased, of course, to take on the responsibility as he always called it. It was solely for the child we made the decision, sacrifice if you like. But, it was a terrible mistake.”
“Why should Joe have been party to such a stupid and foolhardy plan? He was ever irresponsible. But a fool? He was not a fool. You don’t surely expect me to believe that, do you?”
“I’m not in the slightest bit interested in what you choose to believe. Joe didn’t ask me to do that for my benefit or for his own. There was no merit in it for either of us. Just disgust. It was to give Julie a name, a birthright. Joe didn’t want her to be a convict’s daughter. Oh, God, I know we were stupid. That’s the way it was. Now, we’ve got to live with it. It’s like a nightmare. In the beginning, it seemed the right thing to do.”
For the first time since entering the room, she fixed him with a defiant stare while she spoke solemnly and determinedly.
“Was our child not entitled to a birthright? Surely, Mr. Moran, you accept that even in this day and age a child born out of wedlock to a criminal is a little stigmatised?”
“I still don’t understand why you’ve come to see me.”
“Tommy Gavin, who is her registered father, has filed for custody. There is also a fear that he may attempt to snatch Julie from where she resides in care in a Dublin convent.”
“And why would he want to do that?”
“Because he’s mad, sick, and probably, out of spite.”
Then somewhat impatiently, she added dismissively, “Oh, it’s a long story.”
“But surely, as the mother your claim will supersede all others. Why haven’t you got custody of the little girl? Why don’t you report him to the Gardaí?”
“No, I don’t have custody of her.”
Donal Moran walked over to the bay window and looked out but without seeing anything. Just as quickly, he returned to his seat. Anger still dominated his attitude towards her. He wondered what role she expected him to play. Perhaps his best bet would be to remain as he had been for the past six years – detached. However, because of the child, the proper thing would be to hear her out first.
“And why the hell do you not have custody of the child?”
She paused for a moment and for the first time since she had come into his presence appeared offended by his dismissive comment on her motherhood.
Pensively, she drew the fingers of her right hand down along the side of her neat black skirt and her leg tucked under her; she spoke without looking up.
“Yes, I supposed I deserved that comment. There again, perhaps I don’t. After Joe was sentenced and I married Tommy as we’d planned, things got very rough for me. We weren’t supposed to be together. He started to come around and began bashing me about and he drank to excess both night and day.”
“I thought you said it was only an arrangement, not a marriage.”
“That’s right. But then, you don’t know Tommy Gavin. He’d just come around and move in. I was terrified of him. I don’t know how Joe got mixed up with him. He’s a complete psycho. I’d be terrified of him this minute if he came through that door there.”
“What about the little girl all this time?”
“Whilst he never interfered with her in a physical way, he was as objectionable as he could be. She felt the rejection. Then I got into drink and neglected Julie. For some twisted reason Tommy hates Joe’s guts. No one seems to know why. As I said, he’s mad. His mind is deranged. He can be dangerous, even though Joe took the rap for them both. Anyway, he phoned the welfare officer and Julie was taken into the care of the local authority in Liverpool.”
“And what about your own family, your mother and father? Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“I don’t have family.”
She barely glanced up as she spoke.
“Our problem is that Tommy Gavin is registered as the father of the girl. How will anyone ever believe Joe and me? Joe is a convicted criminal, and needless to say the welfare of the child does not bother Tommy Gavin in the slightest.”
Donal Moran felt confused. At first, he couldn’t think of anything to do or say. Besides, she had not yet stated why she had come to see him. What role did she expect him to play? More particularly, what did she want from him? The meeting was taking on a whole new dimension and his earlier resentments now seemed less important.
“What do you expect from me? Why come to me? Really, I don’t know anything about this child, this little girl. I’ve never met you before and, as for Joe, why you well know I have long since cut him out of my life. What has all this got to do with me right now? What do you want from me?”
“It has nothing whatever to do with you. Nor am I down here to ask you to do anything on our behalf. However, we have it on good authority that Tommy Gavin intends calling you as a witness on his behalf. He wants the court to know that not only is Joe unreliable as a witness and a father, being a convicted criminal, but also, in addition, on your evidence that you rejected him as a son, even before the trial, as being an unfit person to have within the family. Turned down by his own father! How much more unsuited does that make him to be a proper father to Julie?”
Sharon stood up out of the chair and fixed him with a cold stare. Her voice became a trifle emotional as she adopted a challenging attitude.
“Joe said he would not ask or expect you to do anything whatever for himself or his child. He emphasised that he never found you to be any help to him whenever he needed you.”
Donal had been sitting down when she had addressed him and, apart from the one foray to the bay window, he had deliberately remained seated throughout and acted discourteously towards her, to demonstrate his rejection of both herself and Joe. Now, the conversation was taking on a whole new, dark twist. He was becoming the accused and she the prosecutor. When she had entered the room, he hadn’t bothered to stand up or extend any greeting to her.
Now he found himself standing up, but not out of courtesy; he was shouting.
“What did you say?”
His belligerent manner was overbearing, as if by frightening her he might prevent her from repeating the words which she had just spoken. It was as though his aggressiveness might compel her to withdraw the words or frighten her to the extent she would be afraid to repeat them.
“What did you say? What did you say?”
Quite unperturbed, she faced him and, with her head a little to the side, was unflinching in her response.
“Joe explained that you were never any good when he needed you. It doesn’t really matter to me, one way or another, what you think of us. I love Joe and I love Julie. You don’t mean a fig to me. Get one thing clear in your mind. No one is down here to ask you to do anything for them. It’s not expected of you. It’s not being asked of you. No one is begging you to help in any way. Joe felt you should know about us and the child as the other side are depending on you to strengthen their case by calling you to say in evidence that you had found your son unworthy to be a member of your family … that you denied your own son. They believe this will influence the court against Joe’s suitability and mine. No, we don’t want anything from the likes of you. Why should we? Why, we don’t even want you to soften your evidence one way or the other. What brought me down to see you was first, to tell you about Julie and secondly, that the other side intend to call on you to give evidence against your own son. And now that I’ve passed on the message, I’m not obligated to you further.”
She spun around bringing the meeting to an unexpected end and without further ado or words of farewell went smartly in the direction of the door.
All seemed changed, utterly changed in a matter of minutes. Donal’s conscience was pricked by a flicker of guilt. He couldn’t concentrate on what he should be thinking about, or what he should be doing, only that she mustn’t be allowed to leave the room. After all, the child was his grandchild.
“Come back here! Don’t you go!”
Unintentionally, he was still barking at her. She paused by the door but didn’t turn around.
“I don’t have to, you know.”
She was still in command of her quiet voice and still facing away from him.
He was much more conciliatory in his tone when he again addressed her.
“Please, I don’t want you to go for a moment. Leave me to myself for a second or two. But please, do not leave the room.”
He walked over to the French windows again and gazed outside towards the avenue and the trees.
Even though the season was late in coming, it was now a beautiful spring day. The branches of the evergreens near the window moved gently in the light breeze, and the sun was reflected off the still waters of the pond at the side of the rockery. Little green shoots were to be seen everywhere in the hawthorn bushes, and the rooks, working hard on their nest building, cawed busily in the beech trees beyond the flower gardens. Everywhere he looked, bunches of gold and yellow daffodils were proclaiming the miracle of spring.
In a subdued voice, totally changed from the arrogance and impatience he had adopted earlier, he remained looking out on the idyll stretched before him and whispered, “Tell me again what Joe said.”
She emphasised, as before, that she had come to see him merely to pass on the information about the child and the court case, nothing more, and she did not feel in any way further obliged to him.
“Basically, what Joe said was that, as far as he was concerned, you were never any good to him as a father.”
There seemed an interminable pause before she added, “At least, as far as he was concerned.”
She talked on in the same easy dispassionate voice.
“Joe left here because he understood Richard was getting married and the place was intended for Richard and his wife. On the few occasions that he returned, the only communication between you and him was your criticism of all the failures in his life, especially on the subject of his drinking. He had no pluses, just all failures. Only during the time his grandmother was alive was he happy here. She was nice to him, and understanding. After her death, he felt quite alone, an imposter, certainly not a son of the house. He has no wish to return here, or to meet you ever again. He is adamant in that. The only reason I came here today is because of your kinship with Julie. When the other side summon you, as they are going to, at least you will know what it’s all about. Joe also said you would refuse to see me if I phoned and asked you for an appointment on his behalf. At least, he was wrong insofar as you did see me.”
She paused in a way he knew she was going to add more and its impact was not going to be pleasant. He remained by the window and waited apprehensively for her to continue.
She was a remarkably self-controlled young woman.
“What Joe said was – I clearly remember what he said – ‘much as that man hates me’.”
She paused again and looked across the room towards where he was standing sideways on to her. He didn’t look up yet he felt the penetration of her gaze.
“Much as that man hates me,” she repeated, “I hate him twice as much. Why that man would be more concerned with what the neighbours thought than with his own son’s welfare.”
Hatred – never there when he needed you – the neighbours would come first – strong words and phrases, and when taken together they were damning.
Where arrogance and self-righteousness had reigned a few minutes before, doubt now tinged with guilt began to intrude, increasing in intensity with the passing of each second. It so concentrated Donal’s mind as to rule out the possibility of thinking or responding with any degree of effectiveness.
What was the point now in explaining to this girl that he would have paid for third-level education only Joe dropped out? Joe’s drunken visits home now seemed irrelevant, trivial, not worth remembering compared with other hardships in life.
“No,” he said, “I suppose when he needed me for the trial I wasn’t there.”
“It wasn’t just the trial,” she answered gently but firmly.
“He didn’t ask to see me either. Throughout all that time, he never once asked to see me.”
“That’s right. He didn’t expect that you’d bother with him and, of course, you didn’t. He knew he didn’t mean that much to you.”
Standing facing the window, Donal Moran leaned against the sill. He buried his head in his hands and in the darkness of his shuttered eyes cast about in his mind for something to say. Seemingly, there was nothing. His mind was blank, and there was a throbbing in his head brought on by the word ‘hatred’ and a rising sense of guilt.
“I loved that boy,” he said at last and in desperation.
“I don’t think, Mr. Moran, you understand what love is. You seem to be a fair-weather lover – one who loves exclusively on his own terms when the weather is fine and to his liking. It’s easy for the parent to love a child who is doing all that pleases the parent, but when something goes drastically wrong of which the parent disapproves, the parent is then needed by the child and the parent’s love put to the test. How often in Ireland do we see the unmarried daughter being rejected and secreted away to a place of confinement, when the parents’ love for their child is secondary to all other considerations? Love is about saying ‘yes’ to the wrongdoer who is in need. You never loved Joe, Mr. Moran.”
Silence enveloped the room. She looked towards him. He was, as before, looking out of the window. When he did speak, his voice seemed unsure and she thought she detected the slightest trace of a tear. From where she was standing, she couldn’t tell for certain.
“You can tell him from me that nobody – just nobody and I mean nobody – will take his child away from him. I will see to that.”
Throughout his life, Donal Moran had been a practical man and that was part of the reason for his success in business. Often he quoted one of the first lessons which he had ever learned. He remembered it as he stood there, told to him by a labourer going about his daily work – ‘never joust at windmills, or work in your own light, or try to drive water up a hill’.
Never, and certainly not now, was he going to try to drive water uphill.
What made it possible for him to apply these three principles throughout his working life was his inherent ability to overlook the part which guilt played in his transgressions. Others might agonise for weeks or months, or even years, over the culpability of their ways, but not Donal Moran. Instead, he would apply himself, his energy, his time to setting matters to right in a practical common sense way. He was able to forget his sinfulness in a way of which only the very successful seem capable.
Now, fate was playing an ironic twist in their lives. Here was his son and this girl, who had both undergone a painful sacrifice in the interests of their child. Now, they were embarking on a further traumatic struggle for her custody. Now, he was the grandfather, once a child who likewise had been saved from a similar fate because of the absolute love and determination of his mother. He was now being accused of having spurned his son and of contributing to his granddaughter being assigned to the very fate from which he had himself been rescued as a child.
There were tears in his eyes as he turned back towards her and an edge of remorse in his voice.
“So you don’t think that he would meet me at this time, if I went to the prison?”
“No, that wouldn’t be wise. Obviously, you don’t fully understand his feelings. That would not be a wise thing to do at all. I only came here to caution you lest you are called by the other side. That’s all. I didn’t come bearing an olive branch.”
“Yes. I suppose it’s understandable.”
Then he looked fully at her, appraising her as if for the first time, evaluating her worth as a person.
“Tell me, how did you meet Joe?”
“I was a typist in a solicitor’s office and had just begun studying at university at night to become a solicitor.”
“You were doing well for yourself.”
“Yes, I suppose I was doing all right.”
“And then, you threw it all away on my big stupid son.”
She didn’t take it for what it was intended, a light-hearted aside. Instead, she seemed peeved by the remark.
“I wouldn’t exactly say that.”
He was now smiling and she smiled back.
“I will be seeing the solicitor tomorrow and will try and fit you in for an appointment with him. That’s the best I can do. Of course, you understand that I will have to speak to Joe first. I would never do anything without consulting him.”
She walked towards the door, turned back and looked towards him.
“What else is there to say?”
Then, she was gone.
Donal resumed his stance by the window. This time, it didn’t matter whether she saw him watching her or not. The cruel words she had spoken were ringing in his head. As she got into the car, his eyes followed her. She still looked to him to be a very ordinary girl. However, he knew now she wasn’t. For there were quite extraordinary things about her, not least of which was her strong character and loyalty to Joe and their child.
A chill was creeping into the late evening air. He took up the glass of wine and finished it. Such a mistake not to have offered her a drink, a cup of tea, coffee or whatever, he thought, especially as she had come quite a journey. How very rude of him. Such a blockhead!
“Oh, Jesus – help me now.”
Pausing for reflection, he added with conviction.
“And Joe, too.” He paused again “… and his two lovely ladies.”
The fire was set. A box of matches lay beside the table lamp. He lit a match and put it to the kindling of twigs and paper and soon bright flames began to dance in the grate. Before long, the aroma of hand-cut turf sods pervaded the air and the room began to warm up.
Across the hallway in the dining room was the drinks cupboard. As he groped through the bottles arranged along shelves, it occurred to him he how seldom he did this. A regimen of strict frugality in his daily life was normal. It was against his natural instincts to open a bottle of wine for himself just to drink a glass or two. Today however was different. It wasn’t like any ordinary day. It had brought new and far-reaching changes to his life. There was nothing he could do about them now, this minute, at this late hour of the evening. Though not a drinking man, he poured the first of what he knew would be strong measures.
The alcohol would upset him. It always did, but he was going to drink this evening, whether or which.
What about a bottle of white for a change? Why not? Dulce. Why not again? The glass became important. He picked one with a roped stem and a large globular bowl. He held it up to the light as he poured a full beaker. It tasted good. He swallowed a drop more. It was pleasant on the palate, easy to take. There’s not too much volume in a beaker of wine. He filled the large glass to the brim again and quickly drank it.
Next, he took a bottle of fine French brandy from the cupboard. It is said that brandy is best sipped from a special brandy glass, the better to appreciate its singular bouquet and texture.
Donal Moran poured a stiff measure into his wine glass. After all the shape of the glass, or the remnants of a drop of sweet white wine, could hardly change the taste of the liquor, let alone its scent and colour.
He swallowed. It wasn’t as palatable as the sweet white wine. A drop of peppermint was what was needed. There’s nothing like peppermint to give brandy a bit of a twang. He found it easier to sip. The peppermint made it effortless to swallow.
A gleaming bottle of Powers Gold Label caught his eye. Using the same glass, he half-filled it with the golden liquid. Now which was it to be, red lemonade or a drop of spring water?
He held the glass against his closed lips and, without sampling, it smelled its strong aroma with deep breaths, and held it there for a few seconds. A smile crossed his features and a pleasant wave of intoxication passed through him as he felt his spirits beginning to rise already.
“I’ll drink a toast. To my granddaughter! By God, but I’ll not see you wronged.”
He downed the whisky in one gulp, and shook his head and made a wry grimace, and shouted aloud,
“Ye ha who!
Rise up a laddie and give us a trate,
and give us a bit of yer Christmas cake.
What about another drop of whisky
to keep a fellah company?
Fill her up, me fine fellah!
I’ll run her up.
I’ll run her down.
I’ll run her into Clinnygowan.
I’ll break her back.
I’ll bind her knee
and I’ll carry her home on a holly tree.
Ye ha who!”
He took the glass with him back to the drawing room. There was a football match on Sky. He couldn’t tell if it was the same one as he had been looking at earlier.
He heard footsteps in the hallway. Richard and Priscilla had returned and now joined him before the fire. Immediately, they began putting questions to him about the girl.
There was no reason why he should give them any information, apart from saying she was a charming girl and that Joe was going to be released in the next few weeks, if not days. After all, she had come to him in confidence to let him know that he might be called by the other side to give evidence against his own son. That was the bit which was hard to swallow. It was unthinkable that his evidence might be instrumental in depriving his granddaughter of being reared and claimed by her own. A man couldn’t live with that! Donal Moran couldn’t anyway. After all, his granddaughter was an innocent little girl. It would be a breach of trust to relay the conversation which he had had in confidence about the child.
Priscilla was intent on staying put by the fire and foraging for information. Repeatedly, she reverted to Sharon’s visit. She hadn’t the slightest interest in the football match. Yet, she viewed the screen as if it was her only interest, while at the same time she saw nothing wrong in talking and distracting others who were interested. Donal mentally put her lack of awareness of others down to nothing short of backwardness.
He could never understand his son’s infatuation for her, his total commitment to please her every whim. Whilst she stayed put before the fire, Richard would also remain there. She would not have to tell him to. He would know by her attitude that it was expected of him. She would not have to communicate with him either by sign or by covert gesture. It was as if there was an interaction of mental telepathy at work between them. They were nice people but, divine God! – there were times when they could drive a sane person around the twist, so persistent and … and pathetic, that was the word, their attitudes. The atmosphere was becoming just about intolerable for Donal.
He stood up out of the easy chair and, tossing down the last of the whisky, made for the door.
“I’m going out for a while.”
Richard offered to chauffeur him in to wherever he wanted to go, but Donal declined.
There was a slur in his speech and giddiness in his step as he made for the door. By heavens, he was in irrepressibly good humour, and was tempted to give vent to another “Ye ha who!”