As the day of the councillors’ vote approached, the pressure was really on. Last-minute ideas kept occurring to people who wanted them added to the submission, and Hanna and Sister Michael had to be firm. Then, just as Hanna was about to approve the final printing, Conor turned up on his Vespa with a man from Ballyfin. He was a fisherman, Conor explained, who had rung him up last night saying he wanted to speak to Miss Casey. The library was crowded so Hanna took them into the kitchen. With the three of them crammed together the space seemed small.
“His name’s Lar Dunne, Miss Casey. He and his brother have a couple of boats. They used to go fishing with the fleet back in the old days.”
Lar, who must have been in his fifties, shot a look at Hanna from under a pair of bushy eyebrows. Was it true that she was against the new marina? Since there was little point in denying it, Hanna said that it was. “It’s not that we’re against the people of Ballyfin. Part of what we’re trying to do is save jobs there. And I know that there’s an argument that the marina will create new work. I mean that the cruise ships will bring new tourists and that’ll bring more wealth to the village. But we’re trying to focus on the whole peninsula. Though I suppose the marina idea is important to you as a fisherman . . .”
Hanna’s voice faltered. Lar Dunne continued to stare at her, his bushy eyebrows knitted over his beaky nose. Then he thumped the work surface so violently that the coffee mugs rattled in the sink. The last thing he wanted, he announced, was a huge bloody marina and a load of cruise ships. Had Hanna any idea of the disruption that the project would cause to marine life? Or of how much Ballyfin’s fishing fleet had been damaged by its tourist industry?
“Don’t get me wrong, now, I’ve nothing against the visitors. My sister has a grand little bed-and-breakfast back there in Ballyfin. And if people want to come and lie on the beach and catch a few fish, sure they’re welcome. They’ll want a drink and a bite to eat and a few bits and pieces out of the shops to take home to the granny afterwards, and why wouldn’t they? But Holy God Almighty, the place is gone mad altogether. And damn the penny the government or the council had put into the fishing fleet since that blasted film star wrote his book. There were twenty boats working out of Ballyfin when I was a lad, Miss Casey. How many do you think there’s going to be if they take away our pier?”
This was gold dust. Brian Morton had told Hanna weeks ago that Ballyfin was already overdeveloped, but at the time it had seemed a subjective opinion so she hadn’t thought of it again. Now she was hearing that it wasn’t just Lar and his brother who opposed the marina. Most of the other fishermen in Ballyfin did, too.
“We just never thought there was any point in making our voices heard.”
Everyone knew that the rich lads in the big hotels were in with the property developers, Lar told her, and what was the use of raising your voice against them?
Hanna managed to shake hands with Lar and walk calmly out of the library before taking to her heels and rushing to find Sister Michael. Even if they had to dump some of the copies they’d already printed, this was a new and vital page to be added to the submission. If they could get their skates on and draft a petition, Lar Dunne had promised to get it signed by the fishermen of Ballyfin.
By the time the night of the decision arrived everyone was exhausted. The meeting was to take place in the council chamber in Carrick and half the peninsula was planning to be there to watch from the public gallery. To add to Hanna’s stress, Jazz had rung up unexpectedly to say she’d be home for a stopover, and the call produced a furious row with Mary.
“Holy God, Hanna-Mariah, you bring half your troubles on yourself!”
In this case, Mary was right, though Hanna was in no mood to admit it. The last thing she’d expected was that Jazz would turn up at the campaign’s climax. So, not wanting to worry about the chance of the library’s closure, she hadn’t told her what was going on. Now, with no time to talk to her daughter before setting off to the meeting, she instructed Mary not to mention it when Jazz arrived.
“And what in the name of God is the good of that? Isn’t the whole place talking about it? Do you not think that she’ll hear about it out in the town with her friends?”
Hanna felt as if her head was about to explode. How could she have thought every other detail through and failed to plan for this?
“I hoped she wouldn’t be home till we’d won the vote.”
Mary Casey looked at her scathingly. “Oh and you’re certain you’re going to win, are you?”
It was the final straw, and Hanna screamed at her: “For God’s sake, Mam, will you try to be helpful for once!?”
Upon which, the hall door opened and Jazz came into the kitchen.
Hanna and Mary both turned to her, summoning smiles. After a flurry of greetings and hugs and a rush for the teapot, Hanna looked repressively at Mary and told Jazz as casually as she could that she had to go out to a meeting. To her astonishment, Jazz beamed and raised her teacup in a toast.
“I know, it’s fantastic. Here’s to the plan!”
It was all over Twitter, she said, and she thought it was brilliant. “Who’d have thought it, Mum? Finfarran’s trending with the hashtag #LibraryAtTheEdge.”
Hanna sat down abruptly. In the midst of the working parties someone had mentioned a Twitter account but she didn’t do Twitter herself, so it hadn’t sunk in.
Jazz opened her phone and scrolled down through her Twitter feed. “How come you didn’t tell me you were being Joan of Arc?”
Ignoring Mary Casey’s sardonic gaze, Hanna pulled herself together. “I was far too busy rallying my troops.”
Jazz looked at her apologetically over the teacup. “The only thing is—I feel awful—but do you mind if I’m not at the meeting? My flatmate, Carlos—well, we’re kind of seeing each other now—we flew in together and we’d planned to hang out tonight.”
It was his first visit to Ireland, she explained, and he probably wouldn’t fancy hanging out at a council meeting.
“I didn’t know about your meeting till I saw it on Twitter. But I could text Carlos and cancel if you like.”
Hanna’s heart seemed to melt in her chest. She’d been so concerned about protecting Jazz that she’d never seen her as an ally. And now, even though this Carlos was clearly important, she was willing to ditch him if Hanna should need her support. At that moment a car horn hooted outside.
“That’s my lift.” Grabbing her bag, she reached out and hugged Jazz. “Conor’s driving me and Sister Michael to the meeting. And don’t be daft, you mustn’t cancel your date. Just wish me luck.”
“Of course. And I’ll tweet like crazy. Oh, and if you’re getting a lift is it okay to take your car?”
“Of course.”
Hanna looked round for her coat, her mind on a thousand details in the submission that now were too late to address.
“Wish us luck.”
“I just did. Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll be celebrating tomorrow.”
Hanna crossed her eyes at her, picked up her things, and ran.
The parking lot was overflowing and when they reached the council chamber it was stiflingly hot. With their bird’s-eye view from the gallery they could see the bound copies of their submission on the table. None of them looked particularly well thumbed.
Most of the seats were already filled, so Hanna left Conor to find a place for Sister Michael and pushed her way through to an empty seat in the middle of a row, near Gráinne from the Ballyfin tourist office. Letting her coat slip down over the back of the seat, Hanna tucked her bag under it and leaned forward to listen.
The County Manager began the proceedings by announcing sternly that the meeting was not a public one. It was an occasion on which Finfarran’s elected county councillors, advised and informed by council officers, would debate, consider, and vote upon a proposal that lay before them. He was aware that a submission had been made that, in effect, amounted to an alternative proposal, and consideration of its content would, of course, form part of the debate. But he would like to reiterate his former statement. This was not a public meeting. Should there be any disturbance in the gallery, he said, looking up over his glasses, he would have no hesitation in having it cleared at once. Hanna prayed that Conor, among others, would take heed. She had already made the same point herself, in a pre-meet in the library. Everything that could be said had been said in the submission. The weight of their presence in the gallery should impress the councillors, but that was all they were there for; they mustn’t lose their cool.
For the first ten minutes she was on the edge of her seat, listening to every point that was made and watching for every reaction. Then, as the voices droned on below her, she became aware of Tim Slattery, sitting almost directly opposite her, in the third row of the circular gallery. His eyes were like stones. For a moment Hanna ducked her head. Then she raised it again, telling herself firmly that she was surrounded by friends. A couple of rows behind Tim, Conor gave her a thumbs-up. In the car on the way to the meeting he had told her that he and Aideen were saving up for a long weekend in Florence, where they were going to rent Vespas; he’d been giving lessons to Aideen, who was doing great. To Conor’s left, leaning against the wall at the back of the gallery, Hanna could see Fury. And crowded into the seats all around her were Johnny Hennessy, who had been the first to send herbs to the garden; Dennis from the Credit Union; gawky Ferdia the website designer; Bríd and Aideen; the Knockmore seniors and the fishermen from Ballyfin; Gunther, Susan, and the Cafferkys; Conor’s mum and dad and his brother, Joe; Dan’s friend in the leather jacket with his arm round his gum-chewing girlfriend; and dozens of other neighbors from Crossarra and Lissbeg.
Then, as a councillor below her stood up to ask a question, Hanna was startled by the sound of her cell phone dinging in her handbag. The chairman threw an irritated glance at the gallery, and, deeply embarrassed, Hanna groped for her bag and found her phone. She flipped it open and stabbed at the OFF button.
Then she saw the text from her mother on the screen.
JAZZ IN CAR CRASH
For a moment Hanna didn’t take it in. Then, clutching her bag in one hand and her phone in the other, she stumbled from her seat and made for the door. Outside in the foyer, her phone bleeped again.
ON MY WAY TO MARY MOTHER OF GOD
Hanna was halfway out of the building when she heard Brian’s voice behind her. She hadn’t even known he was at the meeting.
“Hanna, what’s happened?”
“It’s Jazz. I have to get to the hospital.” She looked at him distractedly. “Oh God, I’ve got no car. She was driving my car.”
Minutes later they were in Brian’s car, driving toward the Mary Mother of God Hospital at the far side of town.