She wanted to cry.
But she kept walking. Her mother grabbed the hand that Tansey had been holding. Usually, Mary wouldn’t have let her mother do that. She was too old for it. But her mother’s hand was warm, and the hand, the fingers, told her: her mother needed Mary now—and Mary needed her mother.
They walked through the smoke and stares. Mary wanted to look back, to see if she could see Tansey, or a hint of Tansey. But she didn’t look. The entrance doors slid open and they went straight in, still holding hands.
he looked at the little girl playing at the well. The little girl, her daughter. The little girl was dropping pebbles, leaning over to hear how long it took before she heard the pebble smack the black water down below.
A little girl, but she was getting bigger by the day. She’d grown out of the green coat. Tansey saw her wearing a new coat one day, the start of the winter days. Tansey knew it was winter by the slant of the sun—because she didn’t feel the cold. She wished she could, but she couldn’t. She saw Emer in the new coat, and two feelings ripped through her at once, pride and a dead woman’s heartache. Emer was growing up—she was already tall and she’d the long legs of a foal—and Tansey could only watch. The new coat was somebody else’s choice. The day out to buy it, the trip to Enniscorthy or even Wexford, the adventure of the day, all the things Tansey had been looking forward to—gone, stopped, never there.
She couldn’t go near her. She wouldn’t—she’d never frighten Emer. Tansey was dead. She was dead three winters. But she couldn’t go.
It was a sad little face, searching for good pebbles. Four of the greyhounds were staring at her, through the fence. But Emer never looked their way. She had a way of avoiding them—she didn’t even have to think about it. She could move around and look everywhere, except at the dogs.
She’d found the stone she wanted. Tansey could see, it was bigger than the others. Emer wiped her nose on her sleeve. A mother’s job, to make sure she had a hankie. She watched Emer go back over to the well. She watched her lean over. She watched one leg rise off the ground. She waited for Emer to drop the stone into the well. But she didn’t. The one foot came down, then both feet were off the ground and Tansey knew this was different, this was bad.
She went over the yard, fast, and through the fence, straight in among the greyhounds. They saw nothing but they knew she was there—and they went wild. They bit at the air and tumbled over themselves and created a riot that had Jim’s mother charging out the back door in a second. She grabbed Emer up off the well and carried her away from it.
Emer was protesting.
“I wasn’t falling in! I was not!”
“My heart!” said Jim’s mother.
“I was only dropping the stones.”
“You scamp, I told you.”
“I wasn’t falling in!”
“But for the hounds you’d be drowned.”
“I hate them.”
“They saved you.”
“They didn’t! I saved myself!”
Tansey was back across the yard, in the shade of the milking parlor. She could only watch, and she could only wish that the angry words were being shouted at her. She watched Emer follow her grandmother in the back door. She watched the door being closed.
ranny?”
Mary watched her granny’s eyes.
“Granny?”
The eyes opened.
“You’re back, are you?”
“I am,” said Mary, and she thought she sounded like Tansey.
“Did you come on your own, did you?”
“No,” said Mary.
“Where’s your mammy, then?”
“She’s talking to a doctor.”
“Oh, she shouldn’t be talking to those fellas. They don’t know the half of what they think they know.”
“She’s asking if we can, like, take you out,” said Mary.
“Ah, now,” said her granny. “I don’t know if I’d be up to a trip to the zoo or the seaside. If that’s the kind of ‘out’ you mean.”
Her head moved on the pillow, and her shoulders. She tried to sit up. “But d’you know what?” she said. “It’s lovely to see you, anyway. You’re a bit of a tonic.”
“I’m a gin and a tonic?”
“You are indeed,” said her granny.
Mary helped her with one of the pillows. She put it behind her granny’s back.
“Now,” said her granny. “So she’s talking to one of the doctors, is she?”
“Yes.”
“The big fella?”
“No,” said Mary. “A woman.”
“Oh,” said her granny. “Grand.”
She looked carefully at Mary. “But I’m really not well, you know,” she said, quietly, seriously.
“I know,” said Mary. “We know.”
“‘We know,’” her granny repeated. “So, why do we want to get me out of this bed?”
Mary thought about this.
“To meet someone,” she said.
“Oh.”
“Someone special.”
“Oh,” said her granny. “Someone special. That’ll be Elvis, will it?”
She smiled.
“Better,” said Mary.
“Better than Elvis?”
They were joking, but it was a serious conversation. They were often like that, Mary and her granny, when they were alone together.
“Yes,” said Mary. “Like, way better.”
Scarlett came into the room. She sat on the bed.
“The doctor says fine,” she told Mary—and Emer.
“Fine what?” said Emer.
“It’s fine for us to take you out for a little while,” said Scarlett. “So. Well, Mammy. Is there one more adventure in you?”
“Adventure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
Emer closed her eyes and opened them again, as if to make sure that Mary and Scarlett were still real and there.
“Well, now,” she said. “I think there just might be one more small adventure left in me. And it’ll be nice to get away from all the coughs and splutters.”
She sat up properly, for the first time in more than a week.
“God, now,” she said. “I felt that.”
She pulled back the sheet.
“Look at the skinny legs on me,” she said. “I’m like a chicken on a supermarket shelf.”
“No, you’re not!”
“Cluck cluck.”
Emer brought her legs to the side of the bed, and let them drop. Her toes nearly touched the floor.
“I’m still lanky Emer,” she said. “Bring your shoulder over here now,” she said to Mary.
Mary stood right beside her granny. Emer put her hand on Mary’s shoulder.
“You’ve grown again,” she said.
“Have I?” said Mary.
“You have.”
“Cool.”
Emer held on to Mary’s shoulder, and stood.
“God, now,” she said. “I haven’t been this high in months.”
She took a step. Mary went with her.
“Good girl.”
She took another step.
“Nothing to it.”
And another.
“Oh, boy.”
And another.
“Are you all right?” Scarlett asked.
“I’m grand,” said Emer.
She leaned on Mary.
“I’m grand. But I’ll be needing one of those chairs with the wheels for the rest of the journey, wherever it is we’re headed. The ol’ legs are rattling here.”
“There’s a wheelchair right behind you!”
“Lovely,” said Emer. “A Rolls-Royce, I hope.”
She held on to Mary’s shoulder—Mary could feel her granny’s fingers through her hoodie, and she thought her granny felt nervous—as she lowered herself into the wheelchair.
“There now,” said Emer. “I landed safely.”
The ni
ce nurse was walking past the door.
“You’re off out,” she said.
“I am,” said Emer.
“Somewhere nice?”
“Ah, now,” said Emer. “Anywhere’s nice with this gang.”
“Be sure to wrap up,” said the nurse. “It’s a cranky enough night out there.”
Scarlett put a blanket over Emer’s legs.
“That’s nice,” said Emer.
Mary and Scarlett collected what they thought Emer might need, her dressing gown, her coin purse, her handbag, her slippers, her coat and a cardigan.
Mary got down on her knees in front of the wheelchair.
“Don’t run over me, Granny.”
She put the slippers on Emer’s feet while Scarlett wrapped the dressing gown around Emer’s shoulders.
“Lovely,” said Emer. “Why are we doing this again?”
“You’re meeting someone,” said Mary.
“Oh, that’s right,” said Emer.
“I remember. Who?”
“Someone special.”
“That’s right.”
“Someone who really wants to meet you.”
“Grand,” said Emer. “But I’m too old to be getting married again, you know.”
Scarlett laughed.
“Ready?!”
“Anchors aweigh,” said Emer.
hosts don’t sleep.
But sometimes they close their eyes.
Tansey’s eyes were closed when she heard the car door being unlocked. She opened them, and saw Mary’s face.
“How did you get in without the key?” Mary asked.
“Ah, sure,” said Tansey. “It’s one of the tricks. I thought it best to stay hidden away in here. And I like it.”
She could see Scarlett’s face now, looking over Mary’s shoulder. Then Mary and Scarlett stepped out of the way. And Tansey saw a new face.
The new face stared back at Tansey.
“Emer?” said Tansey.
“What?”
“You’re Emer,” said Tansey.
“I know I am,” said Emer.
Scarlett and Mary were there again, at the open back door of the car, on either side of Emer in the wheelchair. Tansey watched as her daughter, her ancient daughter, put one hand on the arm of the wheelchair and the other on Mary’s shoulder. Then she watched her stand up. Her face, her head, disappeared for a while. Then it was back, big and getting bigger, as Emer, helped by Mary, slid into the backseat, beside Tansey. They could hear Scarlett at the back of the car as she tried to fold the wheelchair and put it into the boot.
“I can’t do it!” they heard her.
“Let me try,” they heard Mary.
“I think you press this thing here!”
“Mind your fingers.”
“I am—ouch!”
Tansey and Emer looked at each other.
“Do you recognize me, Emer?” Tansey asked.
Emer looked. She looked, and saw—it happened slowly. The face was hazy, as if it was hidden behind a mask made of very thin material. The material got thinner and thinner. And Emer knew who she was looking at.
She spoke very quietly.
“I think I know you,” she said.
“Good girl.”
“You’re my mother.”
“Yes,” said Tansey.
“Have you come to collect me?”
“Not yet,” said Tansey. “There’s no hurry.”
“But you’re dead.”
“I am.”
They heard the boot being slammed. Then Scarlett and Mary walked past them and, at exactly the same time, opened the front doors of the car and climbed in. Then they sat there quietly, almost afraid to turn around and look at the women behind them. Nothing was said, and they couldn’t hear breathing.
Then Emer spoke.
“You’re a ghost, so.”
“I am.”
“In the back of a car.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a new one,” said Emer. “I never saw that in any of the films. A ghost in a car.”
They were quiet again, for a while—for too long.
“Will we go for a drive?!” said Scarlett.
She looked into the rearview mirror and saw her mother, but not Tansey.
“Is she gone?!”
She turned quickly, and saw Tansey looking straight at her. Scarlett screamed—and everyone else in the car seemed to scream. They all screamed once, but the screams were trapped inside the car, so they bounced and ricocheted and were still there when the laughing started.
“I got such a shock!” said Scarlett. “Sorry!”
“Was it the mirror business?” Tansey asked her.
“Yes!” said Scarlett. “I couldn’t see you!”
“Ghosts can’t be seen in mirrors, Mammy,” Mary told her. “They have no reflections. Or shadows.”
“Oh,” said Scarlett. “I didn’t know.”
“Sure, everyone knows that,” said Emer.
“Well, I didn’t!”
“Well, then, you should,” said Emer. “And not be screaming like that and scaring the wits out of us all.”
“Emer,” said Tansey.
“What?”
“Stop being so rude,” said Tansey. “Say you’re sorry.”
“I will not, faith,” said Emer. “Why should I?”
“I’m your mother,” said Tansey. “So go on now, do what you’re told. Say sorry.”
“I’m sorry, Scarlett,” said Emer.
“This is weird,” said Mary. “And I am so not being cheeky.”
“What’s weird about it?” Emer asked.
She tried to lean forward, so she could see Mary’s face properly. But she couldn’t.
“Well, for a start,” said Mary, “your mother’s younger than mine.”
“You’re only jealous,” said Emer. “But I can see your point, all the same.”
She looked at Tansey.
“Are you really a ghost?”
“Oh, I am.”
“And you’re really my mother?”
“Yes,” said Tansey. “I am.”
“I’ll tell you what’s really weird, then,” said Emer. “I’m not all that surprised.”
“And that makes it even weirder,” said Mary.
“That’s true, I suppose,” said Emer.
The car park had emptied while they’d been sitting there. The last of the hospital visitors had driven away and there were only a few empty cars left, in a space designed for hundreds.
“We’ll go somewhere!” said Scarlett. “Will we?”
She turned the key in the ignition, then stopped.
“I don’t want to be pushy,” she said.
“I don’t want to stay here,” said Mary. “It’s spooky. I’m not being cheeky.”
“Where will we go?” Scarlett asked.
“I’m hungry,” said Mary.
“Are you hungry, Mammy?” said Scarlett.
“No,” said Emer.
“I wish I was,” said Tansey.
“So, where will we go?”
Emer tried to lean forward again, and this time she managed it. Her face was at Mary’s shoulder.
“I want to go to Wexford,” she said.
“Wexford!”
“Wexford,” said Emer. “The farm. That’s what I want to see and that’s where I want to go.”
She fell back into her seat.
“But it’s such a long drive!” said Scarlett. “And it’s dark and quite late already and—”
“I want to go there as well,” said Tansey.
“But I told Doctor Patel that we’d bring Mammy—Emer—back in an hour!”
“I want to go to Wexford too,” said Mary.
“But the farm doesn’t belong to the family anymore!”
“I only want to see it,” said Emer. “Sure, I don’t want to rob their cattle.”
“You’re being cheeky again, Emer,” said Tansey.
“Sorry, Scarlett, love.”
<
br /> “Oh-kay!” said Scarlett. “Let’s go to Wexford!”
“Cool,” said Mary.
Scarlett started the car. Before she took her foot off the brake, she and Mary heard a voice behind them.
“I have to go pee.”
“Who said that?!”
“Ghosts don’t pee, dear,” said Tansey.
Mary sat up a bit, so she could see in the rearview mirror. She could only see her granny. There was no hint of Tansey back there. She didn’t turn around. She kept looking in the mirror.
“Do you have to go pee, Granny?” she asked, as she watched her granny’s eyes closing. The car was dark, but there was a fluorescent light on the low ceiling of the car park, just behind the car’s rear window, so Mary could see her granny perfectly. She’d fallen asleep.
“Put your belt on, Mary!” said Scarlett.
“In a sec.”
Mary’s granny was asleep and she was leaning against something that Mary couldn’t see—as if an invisible hand was stopping her from falling sideways. And there was something else. Mary looked at one of her granny’s hands. It looked like it was in midair, and holding something that Mary couldn’t see.
She turned now, and saw it. Her granny’s hand was on Tansey’s lap and holding Tansey’s hand.
“That is so cool,” said Mary.
Tansey smiled at her.
Mary put on her seat belt.
t was quiet. Scarlett just drove. Mary looked out the window. She didn’t ask for music or food. Her granny was asleep and Mary knew it was special, this trip. It was something that hadn’t been planned. It was actually impossible. Four generations of women—“I’m a woman,” Mary said to herself—heading off on a journey in a car. One of them dead, one of them dying, one of them driving, one of them just starting out. I’m a woman. She looked out the window and knew where she was, for a while. They were driving beside the sea, still in Dublin. The lights lit places and buildings she’d seen before. The big chimneys of the power station were behind them, and they’d just passed one of those things, a Martello tower, that had been built when Napoleon Bonaparte or someone like that had been thinking of invading Ireland—or something. The name of this place came into her head. Sandymount.
Then the sea was gone and they were on a motorway—Mary could tell by the way her mother put her foot on the pedal and made the car go much faster. She didn’t know where they were anymore. The road was everything for a while. There was nothing else to look at in the dark.