Chapter 41

Diana drew the Mini to a halt outside Contis’ house, and sat for a few moments surveying the Estate Agents’ ‘For Sale’ sign. Then, she breathed deeply and got out of the car. It was lunch break at Gladrags,and so she was in her working outfit of a blue bouclé dress, short co-ordinating jacketand white court shoes.

Franco was already in the house waiting for her, and when she greeted him she could see that some of the weight of Leo’s death had been lifted off him. The sadness that he had worn like a heavy cloak from the minute his friend had died all through the week of the funeral had started to ease a little from his shoulders and his face. She could see that it had not entirely gone, but, like herself, normal everyday life had started to creep in. It had begun the process of carrying them both forward into a life that was less without the vibrant, kind man they both, in their different ways, had loved.

“You saw the ‘For Sale’ sign?” Franco asked.

She nodded. “When did it go up?”

“Last Friday,” he said. “And they have had six enquiries already, and two of them are viewing the house tomorrow. The Estate Agent thinks it may well be gone by Christmas.”

Diana looked around Leo’s sitting room, across to the corner where his coffin had stood, and was now replaced by the usual armchair and cabinet that had always been there. The grate which had always held a blazing, comforting fire was now cold and grey and empty. Soon, she thought, there would be no trace of him or Maria in this house. All their belongings would be packed and stored and new people would be living here as if the Contis had never existed.

She went and perched on the edge of one of the armchairs by the cheerless fireplace, and Franco sat in the one opposite.

“Is there any news from the bank?” she asked.

“They think they have all the final documents now, and should soon be able to give us an exact figure as to what Leo owes.”

“What about the horse?”

“Charlie has paid the rest of Leo’s loan off, and he’s happy to just take complete ownership of Bella Maria.”

“That’s good,” Diana said. “That, at least, is another problem less for Maria. And when the house is sold then it’s just Leonardo’s . . . Any idea how that is financially shaping up?”

“I have the bills and invoices laid out on the table in the dining room, if you want to have a look at them.”

Diana looked at him for a few moments and then she said, “No, Franco, I don’t think I do want to look at them. I’ve been thinking recently that maybe I’ve been involved in Leo’s business as much as I should.”

He shrugged and held his hands out, palms open. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that what happens now is not my business. You are the one in charge here now, the one who is acting on Maria’s behalf. You are the one who knows everything about the restaurant business.” She shrugged. “I am not Leo’s wife or even his fiancée – I’m just a girlfriend who happened to meet him a few months before he died. I don’t think I have the right to be involved in the sale of his house or what should happen to his money or what should happen to Leonardo’s.”

“But you were more than just a girlfriend,” Franco said. “Leo told me that. He said that he planned to propose to you at Christmas.”

Diana looked at him, her breath taken away. “Really? He said that?”

Franco nodded. “He told me that one of the nights he brought you to the restaurant. He said he would have asked you sooner, but he was afraid to rush you or Maria. He told me he wouldn’t wait any longer than Christmas.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before now? Why didn’t you say something before Maria went to Ireland?”

Franco looked awkward, unsure what to say. “I didn’t think about it,” he told her. “I was so shocked about Leo and then with the funeral and everything. Things like that didn’t seem to matter any more.”

“But it would have mattered to me,” she said quietly. “It would have made me feel I had more of a place in things, instead of worrying about whether I was being too pushy or presuming that I meant more to Leo than I did. It would have mattered to me because if I thought that Leo was going to marry me, then maybe I would have felt it was all right to offer Maria should come to live with me instead of going to Ireland. I could have explained that I would have been her stepmother quite soon.”

Franco paused, his brow creased deeply, as though giving great thought to her words. “But what about Leo’s letters?” he asked. “Leo wanted her to go to her mother’s family.”

“We could have given her a choice. Leo had written that letter before he met me, before he knew he had someone else to look after her. He knew you and Bernice had a busy house with your own children, and he knew Mrs Lowry was getting too old to look after a teenager. The way it happened, poor Maria was presented with no alternative to Ireland.”

“I am so sorry,” Franco said. “I thought we were all doing the right thing. The thing that was best for her. The thing that Leo wanted.”

Diana looked at the chef now and suddenly felt sorry for him – that she had been too hard on him. “Maybe it doesn’t matter . . . and maybe it was the right thing, because Maria seems to be settling over in Ireland. I had a letter from her yesterday, and she told me she was hoping to start evening classes to learn to type and that her grandparents have arranged for her to have classes in her other subjects with a teacher who lives nearby.”

Franco looked relieved. “Good,” he said, “that’s very good to hear. I told her I was no good to write letters, but that I will phone her sometime. Her grandfather gave me their phone number. I just wanted to wait until I had some news about the house or the restaurant and, at the moment, I have nothing to say about it.”

“I think she still plans to come back here in a year or two when she is old enough. She said she is doing things to fill the time until she is eighteen.”

He held his hand in his chin, thinking. “She might settle there and not want to come back.”

“Yes,” Diana said. “She might settle there but, in the meantime, I’m going to invite her to stay with me for Christmas.”

Franco’s eyes lit up. “That would be wonderful,” he said. “Bernice and I were saying how sad it would be not to see her this Christmas.”

“If her grandparents agree, then I don’t see why she shouldn’t come – if that’s what she wants. She might be settling with her family in Ireland, but still might like to come back here because she said that she misses her friends and even us older people.”

“Good, good! And maybe by then, we might have news about the house and about Leonardo’s.Maybe we might even open Leonardo’s for Christmas Day.” He looked sadly at Diana now. “You know we always had dinner in the restaurant, don’t you? Leo and Maria, me and Bernice and the children. It gave them room to move around and play with their presents from Father Christmas. The boys would take their bicycles and scooters out into the lane to ride up and down …”

His face suddenly fell, and Diana knew that once more he was reliving the accident in that same lane that put an end to Leo’s life. The accident that changed every one of their lives.

Chapter 42

It was a quiet weekday afternoon in mid-November when the dinner dishes had been washed, the men were fed and back out working in one of the fields, and Ambrose was having his customary rest. Under the watchful eye of her grandmother, Maria sifted flour, bicarbonate of soda and a few pinches of salt together, then she made a well in the centre of the dry mix and poured a jug of buttermilk into the middle of it.

“Now, make your hand as wide as you can,” her grandmother instructed, “and draw all the dry mixture into the milk. Do it lightly and get as much air into it as you can.”

Maria worked on it for a few minutes, giving it her fullest concentration as Theresa had advised. Living in the moment, as the kind neighbour called it. She was getting better at blocking out the endless thoughts and memories that would haunt every waking moment if she wasn’t vigilant. Forcing her full attention on even the smallest activity would hopefully keep her too occupied during the day to revisit the raw wounds within.

Ambrose, of course, helped her greatly to do that without realising. When he had the energy he spent hours reading to her or playing cards or doing a jigsaw or playing chess. Sometimes they just sat with the rest of the family watching television or listening to the radio. Other times, Ambrose just talked for seemingly endless hours about things like the geography he or Maria were studying, or perhaps about interesting snippets he had heard on the World News.

Maria loved their chats but there were times when he said things – usually unexpected – that put her heart crosswise in her chest. Just the other day when they were sitting by the fire, and his mother was washing towels in the sink in her usual quiet way, he had said how lucky she was to have travelled to Italy.

“I would love to go there,” he said, “to see all the old statues in Florence and I’d love to see The Leaning Tower of Pisa. I would also love to go to New York and see all the places that Sister Theresa has lived in.”

“Maybe you will one day,” she had said, smiling at him.

“I doubt it,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I cod myself that I will, but I know really that a sick individual like myself would never be fit for the journey over to Europe.”

Maria’s throat had almost closed over and she struggled to say, “You never know when you are older, Ambrose. You might improve.”

He had lifted his thin arm up and put his hand on hers as though to comfort her. “Unfortunately, Maria,” he said softly, “there will be no great improvement for me. With what’s wrong with my chest and heart, I’m doing well to be as good as I am.”

As his hand made the smallest squeezing gesture, she gripped his frail hand in hers as though by doing so some of her own strength might transfer to him.

He looked over to the sink. “Isn’t that right, Mammy? Isn’t that the truth?” When there was no reply he looked at Maria and winked and then said loudly, “But I’m grand really. I have a good life here and I’m grateful to be able to do as much as I do.”

Maria glanced over at her grandmother and she could see by the look on her face that she was not able to speak. Maria had observed that look on her face so often now – almost a tragic look – that she had become afraid of adding to the burden the older woman already carried.

She had thought on several occasions that it was the right time to ask about her mother’s past only for Ambrose to say or do something, and she would postpone the conversation she both needed, and yet dreaded, once again. Things had got easier in the house generally, and her grandfather and Jude now talked openly about when her mother was young and some of the funny things that they remembered about her. On one occasion her grandfather had given her some schoolbooks belonging to her mother and on another, her grandmother had given her a lovely floral chiffon scarf that had belonged to her too. Jude on a different occasion gave Maria an LP record of an Irish ballad singer that her mother had listened to, but he told her to keep it in her wardrobe and asked her not to play it when his mother was in the house.

She had also got used to being the object of the local people’s curiosity and had noticed on recent visits to church and the shops in Tullamore that people had got used to her. If they had anything to say about her, they didn’t do it when she was there or within earshot.

Her studies with Sister Theresa filled several mornings and afternoons and between her night classes and practising on her Olivetti typewriter in her bedroom, she had become proficient enough to slowly type out three neat letters this week to Paul and Diana and one to Mrs Lowry.

She had become more interested in her studies back in September when she received encouraging news in a large brown envelope that Franco had re-addressed to her. Seven O-level passes, four A’s and two B’s! She had almost forgotten about them and the excellent grades had convinced her that it was worth continuing her work with Theresa.

Over the last couple of months she had received letters from Paul at least twice a week and had received two from Stella who was still down in the clinic in London, but was now allowed home at weekends. She didn’t say much about what she did there, but she said her weight had gone up a bit and that the doctors were happy with her.

Both Paul and Stella had written in their letters to say that Tony had suddenly left Spencers’ stables. He had come in one Friday and said he had been offered a job in Birmingham and that he had to leave that very weekend. He hadn’t given Paul any real information, but said if he was ever up in Manchester again he might look him up.

Stella wrote to tell her that she had never heard from Tony again after the day she had fainted. He had, she said, never returned even one of her calls. She said she had been heartbroken to start with but, after she had had time to think about it, maybe they hadn’t really been that suited. She had spent time chatting to a special nurse in the unit about it and she thought now that maybe she had been attracted to Tony because it was a way of getting back at her mother for trying to control her life. Whichever way, she told Maria, her mother had definitely had a fright. After her parents had a few meetings with the doctors and the nurses in the unit, her mother seemed to be much more understanding and willing to listen than she had ever been.

Paul had kept her up to date about his equestrian course, and told her in every single letter how much he missed her and how much he was looking forward to seeing her at Christmas. Every time she thought of it, her heart soared. On several occasions when she had one of Jude’s Beatles albums on and she thought of her trip back home, she found herself dancing happily around the room, feeling so, so grateful to Diana for inviting her to stay with her and for not forgetting her.

Her grandparents had been quiet when she told them about her letter and said she wanted to spend Christmas and New Year in Manchester.

“It’s your choice,” her grandmother said. She had looked as though she was going to say something else, but had remained silent.

“We’ll have to let Ambrose know soon,” her grandfather said. “Because he’s already been talking about some of the things he wanted you to do with him over the Christmas.”

Maria had immediately felt guilty but said, “We can still do those things. I know he wants me to go to the cinema with him to see The Jungle Book, but I think it comes to Tullamore a couple of weeks before Christmas, so we can see it before I go.”

“That’s grand,” Patrick had said, “but the main thing is that you need to look after your own business, and get to see all those people who have been so good to you.”

Maria now felt she not only had something to look forward to but each day had a real purpose as it not only brought her closer to going home, but was making her more proficient in all the subjects she was studying, both with Sister Theresa and at her evening classes. She had also become friendly with a girl from Tullamore who now kept her a seat in the class and chatted to her during the break when the students had a cup of tea. All in all, she had to admit that she was settling into life in Ireland, and as long as she didn’t keep comparing people with the ones she had left back home, she found she was coping and at certain times even enjoying herself.

She looked down at the lump of dough now, then feeling that it was still too wet and sticky she used her dry hand and lifted another handful of flour to mix in. A short while later when she felt the dough was of the correct consistency, she turned it out onto the well-floured wooden table top.

Eileen Donovan carefully inspected it and said, “That looks grand.”

Marie felt a small glow of satisfaction at the praise as she patted the dough into a tidy circular shape, then patted it again on top until it was the required level of thickness.

That was placed in the old oven, and then Maria looked at her grandmother. “Will I try something else, a cake maybe? Didn’t you say Sister Teresa was calling up this evening?”

The older woman thought for a few moments. “We might do a few fruit scones. I think we have enough self-raising flour left and there is a full packet of sultanas.” She went over to the pantry and came back with the necessary ingredients.

A short while later Maria slid a tray with perfectly circles of flat dough of just over an inch thick into the oven to join the soda bread.

A small cough came from the nest by the fire. “Isn’t she very handy, Mammy?” Ambrose suddenly commented. “For a young girl who was only used to gas cookers, she’s got the hang of the solid fuel. She had no problem lighting the stove today and getting it up to the right temperature for cooking.”

Maria smiled over at him.

Eileen Donovan considered his words. “She’s only doing what every woman should do if she’s going to be able to run a house in the future.”

“But isn’t it great if Maria can lend a hand by doing a bit of cooking and baking now and again? It would let you go into town – or even up to Dublin – and have a bit of a break for yourself.”

“Ah now, Dublin indeed,” his mother said, gathering up the bowls to be washed in the sink. “Don’t be getting carried away. Baking a bit of bread and a few scones doesn’t mean someone’s fit to run a house.”

But Ambrose was not to be swayed from his topic. He shifted in his bed to look over at his niece. “My mother works too hard,” he said. “She always has done –”

“Sure, that’s nothing new,” his mother said,running the tap to fill the basin. “When you’re the woman of the house, it’s the case of the oul’ dog for the hard road.”

Ambrose laughed and chimed in with, “And the pup for the path!” He looked at Maria now. “You probably think we’re talking double-Dutch with the oul’ Irish sayings?”

Maria shrugged and smiled. “I remember my mother telling me some of the Irish sayings, and my father used to tell me the Italian ones.”

“I’d love to hear the Italian sayings. Can you remember any?”

Maria glanced over at her grandmother and saw the sad look on her face. “Another time,” she told him. “I’ve some washing I need to do now.”

Chapter 43

As December approached, the days grew shorter and much, much colder. Maria felt that the days were flying by and then they all began to merge together, all heading in the direction of Christmas. Theresa called a few days before Maria was due to fly back to Manchester to take her into Tullamore for some Christmas shopping. Her grandfather had given her some money, which she felt bad taking, but she did so with the proviso that if any money came through after all the legal business at home was sorted, that she would repay him.

“You’re welcome to it with a heart and a half,” he told her. “Just enjoy it as much as we’re enjoying having you here.”

They set off into town in Theresa’ s green Morris Minor, Theresa clad in her wax coat and hat, and Maria in her jeans and boots and a warm duffle coat and bright striped scarf that her grandmother had helped her to knit. There were lights strung outside a few of the shops, and Maria thought how scant and disappointing they looked compared to the lights in Manchester and Stockport, and the thought of seeing them all when she got home made her feel really excited now.

She bought Ambrose a Lego kit and a guide book of Italy that she had ordered in the local bookshop and a jigsaw of the map of France. She bought Jude a record token from the music shop, and she bought her grandmother a matching necklace and earrings. It was from the jeweller’s, although not from their very expensive ranges, and of the same dark crystal stones that were in the necklace that had belonged to her mother that she often wore.

They were just passing a local hotel, when Theresa suggested that they go in for a hot drink to warm them up and maybe a mince pie.

Maria was very impressed with the inside of the hotel when she saw the lovely Christmas tree and decorations and the big fires that were on in all the rooms.

There were a few young men sitting at one of the tables in the bar area, dressed in suits and shirts and ties, and as they passed by one of them kept staring at Maria. He was of average height with short brown hair and a light moustache.

“Ignore him,” Theresa said. “He looks as though he’s had a few drinks too many. We’ll sit in the room opposite so he doesn’t annoy you.”

When they had put their bags down and taken their coats off and sorted their hair, then given their order of coffee and mince pies to the waitress, Theresa smiled at Maria and said, “You’re a very striking girl, and I suppose you will have to get used to attention from young men.”

Maria had rolled her eyes and laughed. “I’m not interested in anyone,” she said. “I have a nice boy who writes to me from back in England, and I’m happy enough with that.”

They had just finished eating when the young man who had been staring at Maria stuck his head in the door, and said, “Would I be correct in thinking that there is a Miss Donovan here?”

Both Theresa and Maria looked at him.

“No,” Theresa said, “that’s not either of our names.”

He walked over to the table, a slight sway in his gait betraying the amount he had drunk. “Would I be correct then in saying that there’s a connection of the Donovans here? Maybe a daughter of Anna Donovan?”

Something about the look on his face and the slight sneer that on his lips when he said her mother’s name made Maria’s heart freeze.

Theresa remained calm and kept an easy tone in her voice. “Why do you ask?”

He pulled a chair out at the table beside them. “Because,” he said, “I know her mother hadn’t the neck to show her face in this town again after what she did to our family, and I’m surprised that her daughter must think we all have short memories.”

As Maria looked at him now, she suddenly knew that this young man had the key to all the questions she had been unable to ask. Before Theresa had a chance to say anything else she looked him square in the eye and said, “If it’s any of your business, my mother is dead.”

“It’s well I know that,” he said, “and it is my business, because if your mother had had her way, our family would have been left with neither a mother nor a father.”

Theresa stood up now. “Go away!” she said, making shooing gestures with her hands. “You’ve no business to be talking like that to a young girl.”

The young man stood up now and placed his hands flat on the table. Ignoring Theresa, he stared at Maria.

“My name is Michael Casey,” he said, “and your mother ruined our family. She played my father like a good oul’ fiddle . . . and then the pair of them ran off to England together and were never seen again.”

Maria’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Go!” Theresa ordered. “Go now or I’ll call the manager to remove you.”

But Michael Casey stood his ground. “You didn’t know, did you?” he said to Maria. “I can see you’re shocked. I suppose the oul’ Donovan one thought she would just bury her head in the sand and hope that no one opened their mouth? That no one would tell you what your mother was and how she ruined our family.”

Theresa moved towards him now, her hands on her hips. “I won’t tell you again,” she said in an ominous voice. “If you don’t move I’ll move you myself.”

Michael Casey looked at her and started to laugh. A small bitter laugh. “You’re well met up, the pair of you – an oul’ failed nun and the daughter of a whore and an I-ti!”

Maria looked at him now, hardly able to breathe, then, as Theresa went to grab his arm to make him move, she slipped between them – a sudden, unexpected spark of courage propelling her on. “My father was the most decent man you could ever meet,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes, “and his Italian nationality is one I am very proud of.” She stepped away from him now. “I’m sorry for whatever has happened between my mother and your family … but it was a long time ago. It has nothing whatsoever to do with me.”

He looked back at her now and she saw a change in his face. “They should have told you,” he said, his voice quieter. “Because there’s still bad blood between the families and it’s not something that will ever be forgotten.”

“You’ve said what you wanted to say,” Maria said quietly. “Please go and leave us alone.”

Chapter 44

When they left the hotel, there was a sudden icy chill that had not been there earlier, and as they walked along, flakes of snow began to fall. Normally, Maria would have had a childish delight in seeing the first snow of the winter, but now she barely registered it. When they got to the car, Theresa told Maria to get inside and try to keep warm, while she took a scraper out to clear the windscreen.

As they drove out through Tullamore towards the farmhouse, the snow still falling, Theresa kept constantly checking that Maria was okay and apologising for not telling her all this before. Maria just quietly repeated that it was not her fault and that her grandparents or Jude should have told her.

“It’s hard for them,” Theresa said. “They’ve lived with it for years without talking much about it, and they obviously thought, or hoped, that the Casey family had done the same and would continue to do so.”

“I think there’s more he didn’t tell me,” Maria said, “but before the night is over, I’ll know everything I need to know, or I will be getting on a plane tomorrow and going back to Manchester. I don’t care where I go or where I stay – someone will have me. I can’t stay here unless I know the truth.”

Theresa had shifted her gaze from the white road for a few seconds to look at her and said, “It won’t come to that. Please, God it won’t.”

As soon as they entered the house, it was obvious to Maria’s grandparents that something serious had happened. Theresa took her grandmother out into the hall while Maria put her shopping upstairs and when she came back down a few minutes later, her grandmother was sitting at the kitchen table, ashen-faced.

“Ambrose,” Eileen Donovan said, “we’re going down to the parlour to have a chat with Maria and Sister Theresa. If Jude comes in from the Vet’s Suppliers, tell him to have a cup of tea and some brown bread, and that we’ll have the dinner later when we’re finished. ”

Ambrose sat up in his bed and, as he went to say something, he suddenly went into a fit of coughing. His father rushed to the tap to get him a glass of water, which he slowly sipped, and gradually the coughing subsided. Sister Theresa went to her bag and brought out a comic which she had bought for him in Tullamore.

“You can go and have your chat now,” he told them, a wheeze still in his voice. “I’ll be glad of the peace to read my new Rover.”

As soon as the parlour door was closed, her grandmother started to cry and Patrick had to give her his white hanky.

Maria shivered as she walked over to a chair, as the room was cold with no fire on.

“This is not the way I wanted this done,” Patrick said, “and it’s our fault for having let it happen like this.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Maria asked quietly. “Why did you wait until a total stranger – an angry stranger told me, to sit down and speak to me?”

Her grandfather’s hand came up to cover his eyes and Maria realised, with some alarm, that tears were running down his face.

Sister Theresa said, “I think it might be best if everyone sat down, and maybe, if one of you feels able for it, you might just run through the main events of what happened when her mother left this house.”

“I can’t sit down . . .” Eileen Donovan said, her voice cracked and faraway-sounding. She moved over to the window.

“Okay,” Patrick said, brushing the back of his hand now to his damp eyes. “The truth of it all is that Anna . . .” he looked at Maria, “your mother . . . from when she was thirteen or fourteen, used to go into town for piano lessons to John Casey. He was a man ten years older than her, with four or five children.”

“Five,” Eileen Donovan said. “They had five young children.”

“Anna was very gifted musically . . . she played the fiddle too . . . Anyway, as she got older – maybe around sixteen or so – and better on the piano, John Casey used to enter her for all sorts of exams and competitions. He often used to call out here to tell her about them, and take her up to Dublin for the day.” He waved his hand over to the ebony piano. “And when we got Anna the piano, he was in and out of here all the time, supposedly tuning it and bringing her new music books. Then one night Mrs Casey appeared at the door here in a terrible state. The next thing we knew all hell had broken loose when she went for your mother, accusing her of carrying on with her husband, calling her names and pulling her around by the hair . . .” His hand came up to his eyes again and he had to stop to compose himself. “It was that bad we nearly had to call for the Guards. Poor Jude was only a little fellow and if you’d heard the screams of him when he saw them fighting! He got such a fright.”

Maria sat in stunned silence, unable to imagine her lovely, quiet mother being involved in all of this secrecy and scandal.

Eileen Donovan looked over at her husband and then she came over to stand by the side of his chair, and put her hand on his shoulder. “Your mother and Casey denied it all,” she said now in a quiet, thin voice, “and naturally enough we took her side . . .”

“It was her age and the fact she was a quiet girl,” Patrick said. “She had never given us a minute’s trouble before she met him.”

Eileen gave a great sigh now. “We said we would find a new piano teacher. Then, a couple of weeks later, we woke up one morning to find that Anna was gone and a note on her bed to say she was in love with him and they had run away to England.”

There was a silence and then Patrick said. “Tell her it all. Tell her the rest of the story . . .”

Maria glanced up at her grandmother and was shocked when she saw how white her face was. “We found out from her friend at school,” Eileen said, “that she was expecting a baby. We were devastated and worried sick about her but, when his wife got to hear of it, she almost went mad. She went down to the canal and threw herself in, and if it hadn’t been for her two brothers who went looking for her and dragged her out, there would have been five children left without a mother or a father.” She stopped now, just staring down at the floor.

“And it didn’t finish there . . .” Patrick said.

Maria got to her feet now and went over to stand by the window. She didn’t want to listen now; she didn’t want to hear any more. She had heard enough to understand why her mother could never come back to Tullamore to live again. She had heard enough to understand now why her grandmother was the way she was.

Her grandfather shook his head and gave a strange sort of laugh. “The following night, after they’d had a few drinks, her two brothers came up to the house here looking for an address of where they had gone. Of course, we were no wiser than them, but they wouldn’t believe it. They thought we were covering up for Anna and Casey.” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “Anyway, one word borrowed another – they were volatile fellows, like that son you met tonight – and the next thing the pair of them set about me and Eileen had to run inside and phone for the Guards. A half an hour later we were all sitting in the station in Tullamore.”

“If it hadn’t been for our solicitor speaking up for us,” Eileen said, “we would all have landed up in the court and no doubt the newspapers and everything.”

Maria suddenly thought. She turned around now towards them again. “What happened about the baby?” she asked. “Did he get divorced and did they try to get married or anything?”

Her grandmother looked at her, then she smoothed her hands over her greying hair, as though trying to gather herself together. “No – no. We heard nothing from her for two years. We didn’t know where they were or anything. And then we got a letter from Anna to say that she was getting married to your father. It seems she lost the baby after she arrived in England. She got some kind of job playing the piano in a hotel and then, a few months later, Casey disappeared again and left her on her own. It seems the people who owned the hotel were good to her and gave her a room and all that, and then she met your father.”

“You know the rest of it,” her grandfather said. “Anna knew she could never come back here and she didn’t want your father to find out the truth, so she told him and you that we didn’t approve of her marrying an Italian.” He held his hands up. “There’s no point in us going over it all again … it’s not going to change anything now.”

“She was a young, silly girl,” Eileen Donovan said, “but she was never a bad girl. She was more naïve and easily led at that time. She didn’t know what she had got herself into with John Casey, and then she never managed to find a way out.” She halted. “And then of course Ambrose was born and was very ill, and we all had a lot more on our minds. We knew she was okay and we just thought it was better to let her live her own life over in England since that’s what she wanted.”

There was a silence in the room and then suddenly there was the sound of shouting and feet running down the hall. Everyone looked startled and, for a moment, Maria thought she was imagining things, as though listening to the accounts of the dramatic events had made her relive them in her head.

And then, the door was flung open and Jude stood there looking at them all.

“It’s Ambrose!” he shouted. “What the feck are you all doing down here, leaving him on his own? He’s collapsed up in the kitchen. He can’t get a breath!” He swung back towards the hallway. “We need to get him into the car and straight into the hospital. If we wait for the ambulance we’re going to lose him . . .”

Chapter 45

The snowflakes fell heavier and thicker as Maria and Sister Theresa followed the Donovans’ car slowly, through the slippery, winding roads all the way to Tullamore Hospital. Theresa had phoned to warn the casualty department that they were on their way while Jude and Patrick were carrying Ambrose, swaddled in his blankets, out to the car. By the time they arrived at Casualty, there were two doctors and two nurses waiting for them.

Theresa and Maria abandoned the green Morris Minor and ran over to the other car to check how he was.

“He’s not great,” Patrick said, as the nurses settled Ambrose onto a trolley and covered him with more blankets. “We gave him his inhaler and all the usual things, but he’s not great . . .”

And then, when they got inside the doors, the family were asked to stay in the waiting room and Ambrose was wheeled off down a corridor. There were a few other groups of people in the waiting room, but no one any of them knew. They went over to sit at a Formica-topped table in the corner.

When they were settled down, Jude asked, “When did Ambrose’s chest start up again?”

“This morning,” his mother said. “It was only a bit of a wheeze to start with, but it worsened as the day went on . . . I’ve never seen it go as quickly as this before. Hopefully when they get the machines on his chest and clear it, he’ll come around.”

“What was so important,” Jude asked, in the same brittle tone he had used back at the house, “that you had to leave him on his own?”

Maria felt her chest tighten and closed her eyes hard to stop herself from crying.

“It was my fault . . .” she started in a quivery voice. “They had to explain something to me that we didn’t want Ambrose to hear.”

Her grandfather put his arm around her. “Now, you can forget fault and blame,” he said, his manner gentle. “If we’re going to talk like that, then we have to take the blame for leaving it so long to talk to you.” He looked over at Jude. “She had a bit of trouble in Tullamore this afternoon with one of the Casey lads . . . that’s what started it all off. Seemingly, he’d had a few drinks and it must have loosened his tongue.”

“I thought they were all in Athlone,” Jude said. “The family moved years ago.”

“One of them works in Salts Factory in Tullamore,” Eileen said, her voice flat and emotionless.

Jude’s eyes darted from his father to Maria. “And was he very awkward?”

“Very,” Sister Theresa said. “But Maria stood her ground and he eventually went.”

“So,” Jude said, slumping back in his chair, “you all had the big talk when you came back?”

“We did,” his father said. “It’s all out now. There’s nothing else to say about it.”

There was another silence and then Maria looked around at the other four faces. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry it happened when Ambrose wasn’t well . . . I’d no idea how sick he was.”

“None of us did,” Patrick said. “Sometimes it comes on that quickly it catches you unawares.”

“Oh God,” Eileen said, her hands coming up to cover her face, “I hope he’s all right, I hate to think of the poor soul down there with the doctors on his own. I hope he’s not frightened . . .”

Sister Theresa went over to take her hand. “He’s a brave boy, Eileen,” she said. “He’s braver than any one of us.”

“I wonder at times does he understand the seriousness of it all,” Patrick said quietly.

“Ah, he does . . . and he doesn’t,” Jude said. “But Sister Theresa’s right, he’s a brave lad.”

There was a lull and then Maria said in a low voice. “It all seems so pointless now. All this stuff about my mother . . . when I think of poor Ambrose, it just seems stupid to have been so upset. It was years ago . . . what does it matter now? The only thing that matters is that Ambrose gets well.”

“You’re so right,” Sister Theresa said, smiling over at her. “Those are wise words. Let the poor souls that are gone rest in peace, and let the rest of us get on with the business of helping one another.”

A young blonde nurse came down the corridor, and when she turned in to the waiting room and came towards them Maria was surprised to see it was Cathy, the girl she had met in the cinema. The girl that Jude had said his mother wasn’t keen on.

“Mrs and Mrs Donovan?” she said. “The doctors would like a word with you now.” She turned her gaze to Maria and said hello to her, and then she looked at Jude. “I’m sorry about Ambrose . . .”

Jude nodded a brief greeting to her, then he said, “Is it all right if I go with them? I’d like to see him too.”

She thought for a moment, and then she said, “Yes, I think it will be okay. If it’s not, you can wait outside.”

They all went down the corridor then, Cathy walking alongside Ambrose’s parents and Jude walking behind them on his own.

Sister Theresa reached across the Formica table now and took Maria’s hand. “It’s been a hard night,” she said to her, “but you’ve done well. You’ve learned a lot since you arrived, in more ways than one.”

A while later the three Donovans came walking back down the corridor with grave faces.

“Ambrose is very bad,” Patrick told Maria and Sister Theresa. “But they’re doing all they can for him. They have him on ventilators and oxygen and machines to clear his chest.”

“How is he in himself?” Sister Theresa asked.

“He can’t talk or anything,” Jude said. He gave a weak smile. “And that’s always a bad sign with Ambrose.”

“We just have to wait,” Patrick said. “Wait and pray.”

Maria sat still saying nothing. She had been through all this before just a few months ago. If she closed her eyes she could still picture herself sitting in the hospital in Stockport along with Diana. And the worst thing was, she felt almost as sad now with Ambrose as she did with her own father. She didn’t know how she would manage if anything happened to him. She just couldn’t imagine life in the Donovans’ house without his cheery presence. She couldn’t imagine life without him at all.

In a few short months, she now realised, she had come to know and love her young uncle very much.

Chapter 46

It was almost midnight when the doctors came to tell them all that Ambrose had turned a corner. A small corner – but there was significant improvement in his condition nonetheless. His chest and lungs had started to clear of the thick mucus that was obstructing his breathing.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” the doctor said, “but Ambrose is a fighter. We’ve seen him this way before and he’s pulled through.” He looked at the weary five. “I’d advise you all to go home and go to bed now. We’ve given Ambrose something to help him sleep, so he should be settled overnight.”

“You’ll ring us if anything changes for the worse?” Eileen Donovan brought her hanky to her mouth.

“The very minute anything changes we’ll ring,” the doctor said.

Cathy came over to them now. “I’ll be with him all the time and I’ll make sure you’re kept up to date.”

“Thank you,” Eileen said. “I’ll feel easier knowing that.”

They made the same slippery journey back home, although a frost had settled down over the snow making it more compacted and slightly easier to drive on. Theresa dropped Maria off at the house and said she would call up first thing in the morning.

They were all exhausted when they finally got into the house and, after a slice of tea and toast, they began to prepare to go to bed. Maria was touched when her grandmother, in the midst of everything, took the time to fill her hot-water bottle for her.

“You’ll need this tonight,” Eileen said. “Apart from the cold, you need to get a good night’s sleep.”

She paused and looked at Maria. “You were supposed to come here to be minded after your poor father died, and look at what’s happened to you now . . . You’ll be wishing to God you’d never laid eyes on any of us.”

Maria felt tears welling up. She shook her head. “No, it’s quite the opposite . . . Tonight has shown me that I’ve found what my father wanted for me. Tonight when I saw Ambrose on the trolley I realised how much I love him. It’s only been a few months, but knowing him has changed everything. It might sound the sort of dramatic thing a teenager might just say for attention, but I really mean it.”

“We know you do,” her grandmother said. “You only have to look in your eyes to see you mean it.” She then moved and, for the first time, held her granddaughter tightly in her arms. “You’re a good girl, Maria. And God bless your father for having the good sense to send you to us.”

“I think we all agree with that,” Patrick said. “And nobody more than Ambrose!”

After a while, when they moved apart, brushing tears away, Maria went over to her grandfather and Jude and took both their hands. “Whether we all wanted it or not in the beginning, I’m part of this family now, and whatever happens, I’ll be here to help look after Ambrose.”

Maria woke several times in the night, and each time she vividly remembered the dream she had just come out of. The worst one had been one where she and Stella were walking at the edge of a canal and then, without warning, Stella had just jumped in to the dark, muddy water. Maria had run up and down the bank trying to find her, but eventually had to give up when two tall policemen in uniforms came and took her away. As they drove her away in the car, there was a line of people all waving to her, and when she looked back at them, she could see her father and mother and Ambrose and Franco all laughing and chatting together.

When she woke up after that particular dream, she knew that she had dreamt about Stella because she had crossed her mind a number of times recently, since all the things had come to light about her own mother. The comparisons were frighteningly obvious. She knew without doubt that her friend had been so besotted by Tony that, if he had encouraged her, Stella would have run away with him too. And, like her mother, she too had got herself into a situation where she might easily have been pregnant.

As she lay in the dark working it all out, she realised that while she liked Paul Spencer very much, she was not besotted to the extent she would get into the trouble either her mother or Stella had.

She did not know if this meant she didn’t care enough about Paul, or whether she was more old-fashioned and sensible. Time, she knew, would let her know where her feelings lay. For the present, she was more than happy to look forward to seeing him and her other friends in Manchester at Christmas and catching up on all his news.

She had fallen asleep again and it was light when she woke from another dream about her grandmother playing “Morning” on the piano. It was a strange dream, but not so frightening as the one about the canal. She had just turned over when the phone ringing down in the hallway sounded throughout the house. Her heart started to pound and, as she ran across the room to get her dressing-gown and slippers, she was mumbling ‘The Memorare’ prayer to herself, asking Our Lady to look after Ambrose and not to let him die.

She had just got down to the bottom of the stairs when Jude came towards her.

“It’s for you,” he said, smiling and pointing down the hallway to where the receiver lay on its side on the table. “It’s your friend, Franco, from Manchester.”

She didn’t know whether to be relieved it wasn’t about Ambrose or pleased it was a call from home. “I won’t be a minute,” she said. “Just in case the hospital might be trying to phone . . .”

Jude winked at her. “As far as I’m concerned, no news from them is good news.”

“Hello, Marietta!” Franco said, sounding like his cheery old self. “How are you over there in Ireland? I was talking to your nice uncle and he said you’re settled in well.”

“I am, thanks, Franco,” she told him. “But I’m afraid my other uncle is very, very sick and in hospital, so I can’t talk long in case they are trying to phone us.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said, “and I will be very quick. I have good news for you, Maria. The house has a buyer, and at a good price. The other news is that the solicitor found a big insurance policy which will give you much more money than we expected, and your father had cleared a lot of his debts this year, so the bills are not as bad as we thought. The accounts show that the restaurant was making a good weekly profit as long as every-thing . . . as long as everything was properly documented.”

Maria said nothing. She knew that Franco meant as long as the owner didn’t keep taking money out of the till for the betting shop. “That’s good, Franco,” she said. “That sounds much better than I expected.”

“I’m afraid it was just not enough to keep the house, so I hope you’re not upset about that?”

“I am sorry to lose it in a way,” she said, “but I know it’s not sensible for a young girl to run a place that size. I know it’s the right thing.”

“But,” Franco continued, “there is enough money to pay the mortgage off on the house and the mortgage on Leonardo’s and clear all the bills that are outstanding.”

“What does that mean, Franco?” she said. “Can we keep Leonardo’s?”

“Yes . . . yes!”

Maria’s heart soared at the news.

“The solicitor and the manager from the bank explained it all to me,” Franco said. “Everything was left to you in your father’s will, apart from a small amount of money he left me to help with the children growing up.” He paused. “I was worried about accepting it at first because I thought it might help you keep the house, but it’s not enough to make any difference . . I’m sorry . . .”

“Don’t be sorry for anything, Franco!” Maria told him. “You were like his brother, and in the same position you would have done the same. I’m delighted you have something, and I am just so happy about the restaurant.”

“Good . . . good,” Franco said, his voice full of emotion now. “It means that you will own Leonardo’s outright with no mortgage, and will have just enough left to buy a small house in Heaton Moor with no mortgage either. Diana said there are small houses for sale near her and near Mrs Lowry.”

“Franco, I haven’t thought it all out because I never imagined we could keep anything, but I know I want Leonardo’s. You’ll run the restaurant for me, won’t you? You haven’t gone anywhere else, have you?”

There was a silence. “I’ve been working in the Midland Hotel in Manchester,” he said then. “But it’s a temporary position until Christmas.” His voice suddenly sounded thick with emotion. “After that I would be delighted to open the kitchen again. I would be honoured to do it when all the finances are sorted out.”

“You still have the keys, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“You know you can use it for Christmas Day, as usual, and the children can bring all their toys and things?”

“Yes, Diana told me you’d written to her about it. But we’ll see you before then and discuss it all. You’re coming over in a few days’ time, aren’t you? Bernice and the children are looking forward to seeing you very much.”

Maria paused. “It all depends, Franco,” she said. “It all depends on how Ambrose is.”

Chapter 47

Christmas Day

Maria, dressed in the new pink mohair jumper that her grand-mother had knitted, sat at one side of the table. Next to her sat Ambrose, resplendent in a red festive jumper with the head of a reindeer on it, which was a gift knitted by Sister Theresa. He was paler and slightly thinner than before, but he was as cheery as ever. Her grandmother and Sister Theresa sat opposite, while Patrick Donovan and Jude sat at the either end, and the roast turkey and the ham reclined in the middle of the table along with the roast potatoes and the vegetables. All of them wore the colourful paper hats that had just been retrieved from the crackers Jude had bought.

“Aren’t we lucky this year,” Ambrose said, “to have Maria here with us? Who would have thought it a year ago?”

“We are indeed lucky,” Sister Theresa said.

Ambrose gave a few cackly laughs, and then he had to stop when he lost his breath and started coughing. He held his hand up before anyone had a chance to speak. “I’m grand,” he said, “I’m grand . . .” He took a few minutes to catch his breath and then he started again. “I was only going to say the nurses at the hospital aren’t so lucky, because they were all hoping to hold on to me for Christmas. They told me they were hoping I’d keep the ward entertained, but I told them that I was going back home – I told them au revoir!”

His mother’s eyebrows lifted. “You know you have to go back in the New Year?” she said. “The doctors said you could come home for Christmas and New Year, but they need you back in after that for another week or two.”

“I know,” he said. “Why do you think I said au revoir instead of salut?”

His mother looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

“Au revoir means goodbye for now. It means that I will return to the hospital when I’m good and ready.” He made a little bowing gesture to the table and they all laughed. He pointed over to the corner now. “I have too many jigsaws to make and too many books to read to be hanging about in the hospital.”

Maria bit her lip, trying not to let her feelings get the better of her. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “And what about the Lego?’”

He looked at her solemnly and then he gave her a big grin. “Exactly,” he said. “I have far too much to be doing to be wasting time in hospital.”

“But you have to mind yourself,” Jude said. “And not be talking too much and driving everybody mad.”

“Would you listen to who’s talking?” Ambrose said. “Even in the hospital you were busy chatting to all the nurses. Especially the blonde one – Cathy, I think her name is.”

“She was a nice girl,” his mother said. “She was very good the night you were taken in.”

“Yes, she was. But did you notice she had to wear specs at times, Mammy?” Ambrose said. “But I think she forgot to put them on when she was looking at Jude.”

“Now, now,” Jude laughed, “we won’t have any sneering at the table. It’s Christmas Day.”

He caught Maria’s eye and they both smiled. He had told her last night all about Cathy, and how his mother hadn’t been keen because there had been some scandal about her sister having a baby adopted. His mother felt that their own family had enough for people to talk about without adding more to it. But, after seeing the way she looked after Ambrose, and the professional but kind way she had gone about her job, her attitude seemed to be softening towards her.

Just after dinner when Maria was helping the women with the washing-up and Ambrose was dozing among his cushions, the phone rang and Maria’s grandfather called her to say it was her friend, Paul.

“Now, tell him that you’ll see him in a couple of days, as soon as we get the flights sorted,” Patrick said quietly. “Tell him you’ll be over for New Year.”

Maria smiled and nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell him if everything is still okay I’ll be over.”

An hour later, when she was helping Ambrose with his Lego model, the phone rang again. This time it was Diana.

“Is everything okay?” Diana asked. “I wondered if there was any more news.”

“Things are just the same,” Maria said in a low voice. “Ambrose is doing better than we thought, but he’s still very ill. We’re just so very lucky he was able to come home for the week or so.”

“I’m so glad for him too,” Diana said. “He just sounds the loveliest little chap.”

“Oh, he is,” Maria said. “I absolutely love him.”

“Has it been difficult?” Diana asked. “Has it been a very depressing Christmas Day for you?”

“No,” Maria said, smiling to herself now as she thought about it.. “Not at all. It’s been a lovely Christmas Day. I’m sorry our plans didn’t work out, and of course I miss you all but, this year, my place was in Ireland.”

“Well, I’m glad it worked out so well for you.”

“It has,” Maria said, “and all being well, I’ll be over in a few days to spend New Year with you, and I’m looking forward to seeing Mrs Lowry and Stella.”

“Oh, Maria, that’s wonderful,” Diana said. “I’m so looking forward to seeing you and having you to stay for a while. And Franco has said if you make it over he’ll open the restaurant again on New Year’s Eve and we’ll have a bit of a party in it.”

“It sounds great,” Maria said. “I was talking to Paul earlier and he said he hadn’t anything planned for New Year, so he might join us too.” She halted. “How is Stella? Is she back to her old self?”

Diana paused. “She’s better than she was, but she’s still not one hundred per cent. She’s not as thin as she was but she is still too thin to be healthy. They had to take the keys of the little ballet studio off her, as they found her up practising in the middle of the night again. Apparently she used to do that a lot when she was trying to lose weight. The clinic have said she’s not allowed to dance at all now until they feel she’s fully recovered.”

“Poor Stella,” Maria said. “And it’s all off with her and Tony. Apparently he just disappeared off to Birmingham without a word.”

“I think,” Diana said, “you’ll find there was more to that than Stella knows. I think her parents gave Tony a little nudge in that direction.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her mother said they just gave him a financial offer to move away that he couldn’t refuse. Apparently, he’s bought into a share of the stables he moved to down in Birmingham.”

“Oh, my God!” Maria said, “I can’t believe it!”

“Don’t ever tell Stella, of course,” Diana said. “But I think if he was happy to take their offer, then he wasn’t the right person for her.”

“I suppose so, when you think of it like that.” Maria paused. “How are you, Diana? Are you okay? Are you missing Dad very much?”

“Yes, Maria, there’s no point in lying. I still think of him all the time.”

“You made such a lovely couple . . .”

“I know we did, and that’s what’s so difficult. Where will I ever meet anyone like him again?”

“I’m sure there are a lot of nice Italians around . . .”

“Where?” Diana gave a little laugh. “Where am I supposed to bump into a nice Italian man?”

“Maybe in Leonardo’s when we reopen it next year. I thought you might like to help me and Franco with the accounts and maybe the odd night front of house. I’ll need somebody there when I come back. I’ve decided I want to work there – to eventually run the restaurant myself. I have great ideas for it.”

“Are you serious?” Diana asked.

“Yes, I am. Very serious.”

“What about the travel agent’s?”

“That was always a fall-back position because my dad didn’t want me being a waitress. I’ll do night classes in business studies and restaurant management. It will be the professional job he wanted me to have but, more importantly, it will be the job I love.”

“I’m delighted,” Diana said, “so delighted I don’t know what to say. And we have so much to talk about with the restaurant and working out where you might like to live when you come back.”

“I don’t know exactly when it will be, it might be in three months, it might be six months . . . it might be a year.”

“Why is that? Franco checked with the lawyer, and as long as your grandparents are okay with it, he will be your guardian in England until you are eighteen and fully independent. It won’t be long until you’re eighteen.”

“I know that,” Maria said. “That’s not the reason. It’s Ambrose.” She looked back down the hallway. “I’ll explain it all to you when I see you in a few days. Give my love to Mrs Lowry and Stella. I’ll ring nearer the time to give you the exact details.”

“I’m so, so looking forward to seeing you,” Diana said. “It will give us both a lovely start to the year.”

Maria put the phone down and then she stood for a minute before joining the others. It was lovely to hear from her friends back home and she couldn’t wait to see them when she went back. But for this last week, and especially today, this was the right place to be.

The doctors had told them there was every chance it was Ambrose’s last Christmas, and nothing in the world was going to make her miss that. There was a chance of some new drug that had recently been approved and was due out in a few months, and there was a machine due to arrive soon that might help clear his chest, but the specialist gave no guarantees. From now on, each episode would bring Ambrose down a little bit further. And a more serious one he might not survive.

Maria hadn’t even given Manchester a second thought when she heard he was coming home, and knew he wanted her to be there. Even if he had been kept in hospital, as they feared he might, she still would have stayed in Ireland to visit and be close to him. She was happy with her day-to-day life for the present here with her family in Ireland, and she was happy with the future that looked mapped out for her back in Manchester.

The sound of ‘Blue Christmas’ suddenly drifted out into the hallway, and Maria knew that Ambrose had asked for the volume on the radio to be turned up so she could hear it. They had both said it was their favourite Christmas song only this morning. She knew he would be hoping it would make her hurry up on the phone and come back to join them.

She smiled now as she walked back towards the kitchen. She wouldn’t think any more sad thoughts about Ambrose or her father or her mother. She would not spoil today with the past, and she had learned that there was no point in worrying about the future.

For today she would live in the present. For today she would be grateful to be spending Christmas with Ambrose and her new family in Ireland. The new family that Leo had found for her.

If you enjoyed

Music From Home by Geraldine O’Neill

why not try

Summer’s End also published by Poolbeg?

Here’s a sneak preview of Chapter One

Geraldine O’Neill

Summer’s End Chapter 1

January 1966

Lily knew she shouldn’t feel happy about going to a funeral, but it was a perfect excuse to get away from college for a while. It would give her time to forget the fool she had made of herself the other night.

After months of being curious about him, she had caught the eye of the young-looking history lecturer across the late-night bar. She had noticed him when he joined the staff at the beginning of term, and was immediately drawn to his smooth caramel-toned skin and beautiful dark eyes. And although she knew his colour and culture would have been too different for some of the girls, it made him all the more interesting to her. She had been disappointed that he wasn’t teaching her course and had waited for the chance to get to know him.

They got chatting and he bought her a glass of wine. They were still talking and drinking when the rest of her group had gone back to the student halls.

He told her that he had just finished his PhD in London before moving to Newcastle, then he told her about growing up in what he called the ‘fusion culture’ in the Seychelles with his English mother and Seychellois father. She listened intently as he talked about the art, music and food, and the colourful festivals.

It was unlike any other conversation she’d had before, and it stirred her curiosity and interest about different people and places.

As they walked back to the student houses in the dark, he asked her about growing up in Scotland. She told him about Rowanhill, the small mining village she grew up in, which was happily served with a train service going in one direction to Glasgow and the other to Edinburgh. She described how she had travelled to the cities to shop and mooch around most weekends since she was thirteen or fourteen. They stood outside chatting for a while and then he invited her into his flat for coffee.

That was when she made the mistake. And she couldn’t blame alcohol; she’d only had a couple. The all-day hangover she suffered when she first arrived at college had made her wary of it. She couldn’t have imagined how the months of wondering about him would evaporate in just a few minutes. A few humiliating minutes when she realised she was well out of her depth.

And now she was desperate to avoid him.

She pushed the mortifying memories away and thought of her escape. She loved travelling, and the fact she was flying for the very first time was a bonus. And it wasn’t as if she knew her father’s aunt very well. She would be solemn and commiserating with her close relatives.

Lily Grace held her compact mirror up, studying her face and light-brown hair which still had a few streaks of the blonde she had as a child. She supposed she wasn’t bad-looking, but there were times she wished she was taller and more curvaceous. Her second cousins in Ireland would see a big change in her. Her last visit was when she was sixteen. She was twenty now, and in her second year at teacher training college, just over the border in Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

She had applied to the traditional Catholic colleges in Scotland, but the exam points were higher than England. Her careers tutor had advised all the teaching candidates to apply to an English college just in case, so she had chosen Newcastle.

Lily had been interviewed at three different colleges, and when the results came out she had enough points for the Scottish ones, but she opted for Newcastle which had also accepted her. It was far more modern than the others and it was mixed. A religious, all-girls teacher training college held no appeal for her. With four brothers, she was well used to boys, and had attended a mixed secondary school in Hamilton, some ten miles from Rowanhill. Another plus was that she would get to live on a college campus in England, whereas if she stayed closer to home she would have to travel from Rowanhill by train on a daily basis.

There was no contest. She had got a taste of the bigger world at her Newcastle interview and wanted more of it.

Her mother, Mona, on the other hand, had been devastated. “Why on earth are you going away to England, when you could go to a college here?”

“I liked it better,” Lily said. “And it’s only a few hours’ journey from home. It would be the same distance if I went to somewhere north of here like Inverness or Aberdeen.”

“But you didn’t apply to Inverness,” her mother had argued. “And it’s not even a Catholic college. Imagine going all the way to England! What will the Parish Priest say?”

Lily shrugged. What did it have to do with him?

“Well, that’s lovely,” her mother had said. “And it’ll be me that has to face him every day.” Mona had been the priest’s housekeeper for over a decade and found herself in the firing-line if any of her children strayed off the conventional religious path.

“Are you sure?” her father, Pat, had asked her later when they were on their own. “You’ll be a good distance away from us.”

“I’ll be home every six weeks,” Lily said. “And I’m absolutely sure.”

She had remained firm in her decision when Father Finlay called around, and told him that going to an English college wouldn’t change her religious views one bit. She didn’t elaborate on the fact that she already disagreed with many things about the Church.

“I find it very odd,” the elderly Irish priest had said, “that anyone would want go to England if they didn’t have to.” He raised his eyes heavenwards. “But then I shouldn’t be surprised – you’re not the first one in the Grace family to go down a different road.”

He was of course referring to Pat’s sister who had married a Protestant, and her cousin Kirsty who had caused uproar when she took up with an older man her parents had disapproved of.

While Lily was delighted with her choice and happy to explain to anyone why she had chosen the modern college and fantastic campus, her mother had remained tight-lipped.

A few weeks after Lily left – laden down with a huge case and bags filled with Scottish bread, pies and packets of Oddfellows sweets – Pat had noticed a change in his wife. Although Lily phoned her regularly, she stood at the window each morning watching for the postman with letters from Newcastle. And he had to stop her phoning the halls of residence every other day to see how Lily was settling in.

Mona’s sad demeanour reminded him of the time when Lily had been seriously ill with polio as a child. Her determination had pulled her through, but the slight weakness it left in her legs had put paid to Lily’s plans to be a dancing teacher.

One Friday night he phoned the pay-phone in Lily’s student house to check that she was free the following day, and then he told his wife they were going to Newcastle first thing in the morning.

“We’re driving to England?” Her hand had flown to her throat. The only holidays they took were to Ireland or one of the nearby seaside towns. “We can’t . . . it’s too far away.”

“It’s only a three-hour drive. We’ll leave about nine and be there after twelve. And then we’ll see her. Isn’t that what you want?”

By eight o’clock Mona was sitting with bags full of more bread and pies. By midday, they had found signs for the Northumberland college, and a few minutes later were signing the visitor’s book at the Porter’s Lodge.

“Well, what do you think?” Lily asked, as she walked around the college campus between her parents, linking both their arms.

“It’s beautiful,” Mona said, as they stopped to study the circle of immaculate Victorian houses situated around a large green oval of lawn and flower-beds. “England is nothing like I imagined.”

Lily had laughed. “This is only a small bit of it, and of course Newcastle isn’t the biggest city.”

“It’s big enough,” her mother said.

An hour later, after lunch in the dining-room and two sherries in the Students’ Union bar, Lily knew that parents’ fears about her had evaporated.

She was now in her second year and she had made the journey from Newcastle to Rowanhill so many times she no longer gave it any thought. She was delighted to get a break from college, and since it was for a funeral in Ireland she could string it out to nearly a week. Luckily, it was a term when she didn’t have any teaching practices, so she wouldn’t be letting any school down.

It was wonderful to be able to fit in a quick visit home to Scotland and then fly over to Ireland. She would also have a couple of days back home after the funeral. A great way to fill the last grey week in January. She had arrived home last night, Tuesday, having caught an evening train to Edinburgh, and her father had picked her up at the station and driven her down home to Rowanhill.

The blustery, wet weather and dark mornings added to the excitement. She felt she was cheating it by travelling, instead of looking at it out of the college windows.

Lily had sat up until twelve with her parents and two brothers, drinking tea and catching up on family news and local gossip. She loved her independent life in Newcastle, and she loved teaching – but she also loved coming home to Rowanhill.

She was surprised to discover she was the only female going to the funeral along with her father and two of her brothers: Seán, who was nearly thirty and married with two children, and Declan the youngest of her brothers, who was single and still living at home. Michael and Patrick were too busy with their own families and working in the family taxi and coach business.

“I thought you were coming with us,” she said to her mother.

“Oh, I couldn’t face it. The thought of going up in an aeroplane terrifies me, and then driving down those dark wee winding lanes would just finish me off. It’s bad enough in the summer never mind the heart of winter.”

“But it’s all right for me to suffer the terrible trip?” Lily said, making big eyes. “Travelling from Newcastle tonight and going straight to Ireland tomorrow afternoon.”

“Get away with you!” Mona gave her a sidelong glance and then started to laugh. “There’s no need for you to go at all, and well you know it.”

Lily’s brother Declan winked at her. “Admit it: you just fancied a holiday off college and the chance to fly in a plane.”

“No, I feel I should go to the funeral. She’s Dad’s aunt.”

“What’s her full name then? First and second.”

“It’s Mary Grace.”

“Rubbish,” Declan laughed. “Her name was Grace before she got married. If you know her well enough to go to her funeral, you surely should know her married name.”

An indignant look crossed Lily’s face for a second – and then Declan winked again and she started to laugh. “Her name doesn’t matter, I just think it’s nice for some of us to go to represent the Grace side of the family. And anyway, it’s ages since I’ve been to Ireland. I’ve been working every summer while all you boys went over there fishing.”

“Well,” her father said, “I’m delighted that you’re coming with us, Lily. And so would my Aunt Mary be, whose second name is Jordan by the way. At least we won’t need to worry about having to make chat to people when you’re there. You can talk the hind legs off a donkey.”

Everybody laughed.

“I’m really excited about flying,” Lily said, grinning. “One of the girls at college goes abroad all the time and she was telling me all about the food and the drink they give you.”

“It’s only Ireland,” Pat reminded her. “It’s just over an hour in the air, so you won’t have time for much.”

“How long will we be there?”

“Four to five days. The removal is tomorrow night and the funeral is on Friday. We’ll travel back on the Sunday. Seán and I can’t leave the lads any longer.”

“You’re entitled to take time off,” Lily said. “You’re always working.”

“We’re needed – we’ve got a lot of runs on with both the coaches and the taxis.”

“Michael and Patrick will manage without you and Seán,” Mona told him, “and they can always get someone in if they get busy over the weekend.”

“Five days in Offaly at this time of the year will be long enough,” Pat said. “And it will give Lily a day or so when we come back home.”

Mona didn’t argue. There had been times when her husband had gone to Ireland every chance he got. “It won’t do Seán any harm having a bit of a break – in fact, he could do with it.” A determined look came on her face. “Eileen has a list of jobs waiting from him every evening he gets in from work. She’s obsessed with the house being perfect, and everything has to be the latest fashion. She had him fitting wall-lamps after work the other night and, when the screwdriver made a slight mark on the wallpaper, she told him to watch or they would have to repaper the whole room!” She clucked her tongue. “If it’s not painting or decorating, he’s running her or the kids over to her mother’s house. She hardly gives him time to have a bite after work before he’s up and running again.”

There was a short silence.

Seán and his highly-strung wife was a favourite topic of Mona’s. Once she got into her stride, there was no stopping her.

Lily searched for something to say. “What time is the flight?”

“I think it’s at two o’clock,” her father took his cue. “I have the tickets in the bedroom.”

Some eight years ago Pat Grace, who was a bus-driver for the local company, and his two eldest sons Michael and Seán, who were mechanics, had bought a second-hand coach to do runs at the weekend. The business had taken off quickly and, after several big school contracts and a hectic Christmas driving groups into Glasgow and Edinburgh for work nights and pantomimes, they had bought a second coach.

A year or two later they acquired a couple of taxis as well and were busy enough for Patrick and Declan to join them and for Pat to give up his bus-driving job. The boys had always been mad on cars and engines, and between them all they were able to maintain the vehicles themselves which kept them busy between runs.

Pat came back in with the tickets. “Ten past two,” he confirmed. “We’ll get into Dublin for half three and pick up the hired car. We should be down in Ballygrace in plenty of time for the removal.” He looked at Patrick who was driving them to the airport. “We’ll have to be gone from the house around eleven to be in plenty of time.”

“No problem, the school runs will be well finished.”

“I’ll be up around nine,” Lily said, “and then I’ll drop over to Sophie’s for half an hour.”

“Will you have time?” Mona asked. “Don’t leave everything to the last minute as usual. And make sure you pack your good black dress and coat for the funeral.”

“Mother –” Lily rolled her eyes, “I’m not a teenager any more, I’m nearly twenty-one years old and will be a trained teacher by next year.”

“That doesn’t stop you being late. You never change.” Mona studied her daughter for a moment and then she laughed and shook her head. “Although I think you have us all wrapped around your little finger. I’ll bet you do everything perfectly when you’re in collegeor on teaching practice. You must have done it right, or you wouldn’t have got all those high marks.”

“Of course I work hard,” Lily told her, “but I’m entitled to relax and be myself when I’m at home.”

“What you mean is you save your laziness for us,” Declan said.

Lily pulled a face at him. “Anyone know what the weather forecast is?”

“Cold and wet here,” her mother said. “And though it’s not as cold, you can always depend on Ireland to be damper.” She paused, studying her daughter’s trouser-clad legs. “Are teachers allowed to wear trousers in school in England?”

Lily stifled a groan. Her ‘outlandish’ clothes – her mother’s term – were another bone of contention between herself and her mother. “They’re allowed in some schools,” she said, gazing down at her polished fingernails, “but not in the ones I’ve been on teaching practice in. All the students and lecturers wear them in college.” She knew the fact that she said ‘lecturers’ would halt her mother for a moment.

“And what about the mini-skirts you wear? Surely you’re not allowed to wear them in school?”

Lily saw Declan sniggering and felt like killing him. “I wear longer skirts when I’m on teaching practice.”

“I thought so,” Mona said. “As you say, you do everything right when you need to.”

Lily decided to get the argument over tonight. “I’m wearing trousers for travelling over,” she said. “Everyone wears them these days.”

Her mother pursed her lips together, a sign she was upset.

Lily looked at her now and immediately felt sorry. What was the point of coming home for a few days to spend it arguing over stupid things like clothes? And, although they had different views on things, she loved her mother with all her heart. Lily leaned over and squeezed her hand. “You don’t need to worry,” she said. “I won’t show you up by wearing anything outlandish, and I promise I’ll wear the nice dress and coat for the funeral.”

Mona looked at her and smiled. “Good girl,” she said. “I know I’m a bit old-fashioned, but I know what people are like and I want them to get the right impression of you. It might not seem fair, but teachers do have a responsibility. They’re expected to give an example.”

Lily suddenly pictured herself with the lecturer the other night and a heaviness descended on her. She knew exactly what her mother would say if she knew. Him being a lecturer and older would be bad enough, but the fact that he was foreign and coloured would be even worse. And her father’s reaction would be exactly the same.

She almost shuddered at the thought.

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Summer’s End by Geraldine O’Neill,

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